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twstheadcanons · 4 years ago

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Self-Indulgent TWST Geography

A long post of generalised geography headcanons for the world of TWST complete with continents for my own personal needs. The post divides locations by Continent.

Anyway why is there a homeland whose name is just the definition of a desert.

Continents (and ocean)

Errant - a western continent in Twisted Wonderland. Mzunguko - the second largest continent in Twisted Wonderland. Yalmae - the largest continent in Twisted Wonderland. Abíní - a continent West of Errant. Tridente Ocean - the largest ocean in Twisted Wonderland.

Errant

Rose Kingdom – a country in the western region of Errant. It isn’t a particularly large country, and traveling from it to its neighbouring countries is possible via buses or car. Crownsshire – a county in Rose Kingdom Crowns – the capital of Crownsshire. It is the town Riddle, Trey, and Che’nya live in.

Land of Pyroxene – a large country in Errant. Known for its cold, snowy winters and history with legends pertaining to five of the Great Seven. Waldburg – province Vil’s family is from. Largely influenced by another country within Errant. Argent – a province in Land of Pyroxene. Verre – a city in Argent. Trein and Cater are from here. Félicité Cosmetics originates here. Miroir – a province in Land of Pyroxene. Has a large outlet mall popular with fashion-lovers and shopaholics. The Ténèbres brand originates here. Enchantée – a town in Miroir. Jack and Vargas live here, whilst Vil and his father move here. Scharlachrot - a province in Land of Pyroxene. Epel’s Village of Harvest resides here, and is famous for its widespread organic produce.

Isle of Lamentation – island country, its popularised global name is a translation from the isle’s original Nísos Thrínos. It has robust technological advancements and is the homeland of the popular idol group On the Edge, known for having concerts with elaborate imagery and visual effects from some of the best technicians available. Due to legends of the God of the Underworld, dogs are extremely popular on the Isle of Lamentation. Kapnós – capital of the Isle of Lamentations where the Shroud family resides.

Valley of Thorns – an isolated country small in population, largely consisting of a large mountain range. The closer one is to where its Queen resides, the colder it gets. It is said the Valley of Thorns can go weeks with nothing but moonlight. Geimhreadh - technically the name of the forest near the Valley of Thorns’ mountain range, where the Queen makes her home at its peak. Its name spread to the residential areas nearby.

Mzunguko

Afterglow Savannah – country in Mzunguko, ‘Afterglow’ acts as a loose translation of its name, Baadaye. It lies in eastern Mzunguko. Famous for its royal guards and leading role in nature conservation. Kiburi – a county in the east of the Afterglow Savannah. Mwamba – capital of Kiburi, where the Kingscholar royal family lives. Maisha – a county in Afterglow Savannah, with its capital sharing the same name. Jioni – a town in Maisha. Ruggie and his family live here.

Manyoya – county in Afterglow Savannah. Well-known for a famously expansive library and a high population of avian beastfolk. Uzuri – a city in Manyoya, where Rook is from.

Yalmae

Land of Hot Sands – one of many countries in the continent of Yalmae,. Within the country, it’s referred to as Aldif’. Rich with its magical history and origins of astrology, Aldif’ nurtures Magicians skilled in divination. It has a vivid musical scene as well. Misbah - governate of Aldif’. Yatamanaa – capital of Misbah, a largely lucrative city within Aldif’ and city where Kalim and Jamil live.

Abíní

Port of Jubilee - a diverse nation where Sam’s family lives, owning an extensive emporium. A vast amount of cultures reside in Port of Jubilee, many sharing common ancestors and languages with one another. Nanm - province in Port of Jubilee. Sekrè - port town in Nanm that Sam is from. His family owns an impressive emporium popular with locals.

Tridente Ocean

Coral Sea - a sea within the Tridente Ocean. Many of coastlines range across countries within Errant, Mzunguko, and Yalmae. Beneath its waters lies a kingdom sharing the same name as the sea.

Name Trivia

Continents (and ocean)

Errant - the continent of Errant has the homelands based off movies such as Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, Hercules, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, and Cinderella. The name stems from certain scenes in the movie marking a particular moment the protagonists feel out of place or stray off the expected course.

Alice in Wonderland: Alice’s misadventures begin when she makes the decision to follow a strange rabbit, straying off the course of simply reading and studying as her sister wished, where the curious and at worst annoying strange creatures and nature of Wonderland take a turn when she meets the Caterpillar, who questions Alice’s place and identity, and the stress of her situation and being unable to return home overwhelms her emotionally.

Snow White - the horrific moment Snow White, in a state of panic, rushes through a dark forest, where her fears envision hidden horrors within the trees and wildlife.

Hercules - after refusing to listen to Phil’s warnings about Megara being in cahoots with Hades, Hercules faces the devastating fact that Megara (reluctantly) deceived him, and loses his superhuman strength and faith in himself.

Sleeping Beauty - shortly after meeting a man she falls for, Aurora becomes devastated and resigned to her fate being betrothed to a complete stranger out of responsibility for her future and country.

Beauty and the Beast - Maurice’s ventures through a mysterious forest consequently leads him to the Beast’s castle in a desperate attempt to escape cold, only to be imprisoned by the Beast for intruding, ultimately putting the story into motion. After Belle makes a deal to swap places with her father and free him, Belle starts off terrified and in over her head despite saving her father’s life.

Cinderella - after the mice’s hard work creating a fitting ballgown for Cinderella to enjoy the ball, her stepsisters ruin the dress and Cinderella’s chances of leaving her oppressive family’s home. Her distress and tears lead her to meeting the Fairy Godmother.

Mzunguko - “circle” in Swahili, the language prominent in Lion King’s names, lyrics, and Rafiki’s dialogue, as well as the official language of Kenya, where much of the movie’s settings take inspiration and blatantly feature. Taken from the iconic “Circle of Life” song.

Tridente Ocean - “trident” in Italian. Yes, I hear you. The author is from Denmark. The statue is in Denmark. The movie references the statue in Denmark. However the surname Ashengrotto and Azul’s mother running a ristorante screams Italian and there’s the overall edgy mafia vibe the Octatrio has going on. I win this one.

Yalmae - “shine” in Arabic (يلمع). I wanted a name that illustrated the vibrant, lively diversity of the continent’s many countries, cultures, flora, and fauna. Something akin to a name that inspires a welcoming feeling.

Abíní - “morning” in Navajo. I wanted a name that inspires energy and enthusiasm, like a sunrise in summer.

Homelands

Rose Kingdom

Crownsshire - just the most painfully English name I could think of. “Crown” refers to, naturally, the crown of the Queen of Hearts. Also decided to make the Rose Kingdom its own, smaller, more limited country, instead of allowing its apparent monarchy to leech off 20+ different countries Crowns - do you have any idea how genuinely shocking it is we don’t actually have a town here named this.

Afterglow Savannah

Baadaye - “afterglow” in Swahili. The official and native name of the Afterglow Savannah. Interestingly, my findings found translations of it meaning “future” as well, which I consider fitting. Kiburi - “pride” in Swahili, can refer to a ‘pride of lions’ or confidence (often overconfidence). Mwamba - “rock” in Swahili, alluding to the Pride Rock that Mufasa’s pride resides in. Maisha - “life” in Swahili. Jioni - “evening” in Swahili. This refers to where anywhere the sun doesn’t reach, Simba shouldn’t wander, because it’s too dangerous. Originally, I wanted to go with “Kivuri”, which means “shadow”. However when I went to double check that ‘shadowland’ was a thing in Lion King, referring to where the Elephant Graveyard is, it’s actually a song from the Broadway musica called “Shadowland”, sung by Nala (Heather Headley). It both mourns the desolate state of the Pridelands under Scar’s tyranny, and narrates Nala’s resolve to leave and find a way to save her people and their land. The song is absolutely gorgeous, solemn, and powerful, and contributes more than any live-action CGI Disney movie could ever come up with. Its instrumental composition features the melody lei-motif prominent in the animated film (yes, That song. the heartbreaking one). It’s one of my favourites in Lion King alongside “He Lives in You” and “Not One of Us” because I like the ones where the chorus goes off. Please just listen to the Lion King Broadway soundtrack it makes me cry with how gorgeous and heartfelt it is. Anyway in their money-grubbing ways I hope Disney puts the Broadway on Disney+ so some brave soul takes one for the team to pirate it Manyoya - intended to mean “feather”, but to my understanding it also encompasses “fur”. Uzuri - “beauty” in Swahili. Nothing too deep here, just something pertaining to Rook.

Land of Hot Sand

Aldif’ - “warmth” in Arabic (الدفء). Meant to allude to a comforting warmth, kind of hinting that the popularisation of “Land of Hot Sand” more or less leaves the official name lost in translation. Misbah - “lamp/light” in Arabic (مصباح), naturally referencing the magical lamp sought after throughout the movie. Yatamanaa - “wish” in Arabic (يتمنى). Meant to be bit a bit of a cheeky play on words. The “wish” inside the “lamp”.

Land of Pyroxene

Waldburg - Wald is "forest” in German. References the forest that Snow White runs away into after being warned of the Evil Queen’s intentions. Argent - “silver” in French. References Cinderella’s silver dress. Verre - “glass” in French. References Cinderella’s glass slipper. Miroir - “mirror” in French. References both the Mirror of Snow White and the enchanted mirror Beast gives Belle. Enchantée - “enchanted” in French. Ties into the theme of enchantments, curses, and charms prominent in French fairy tales, and specifically makes me think of the Enchanted Rose from Beauty and the Beast. Scharlachrot - “scarlet” in German. References the red colour that hides the infamous green of the poison apple’s true nature.

Isle of Lamentation

Nísos Thrínos - Greek for the isle’s name. Kapnós - “smoke” in Greek. References Hades’ iconic appearance surrounded by black smoke.

Valley of Thorns

Geimhreadh - “winter” in Irish. References the winter court of Unseelie fae in Celtic folklore.

Port of Jubilee

Nanm - "soul” in Haiitan Creole. References the importance of determination and drive prominent in Princess and the Frog.

Sekrè - “secret” in Haitian Creole. References Dr Facilier’s ulterior motives.

#twisted wonderland #worldbuilding headcanons

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separatist-apologist · 3 years ago

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If you have the chance, would you be able to write something along the lines of Elain moving on from Graysen (the asshole) and deciding to give Lucien a chance?

Hi anon! I hope you don't mind but I made this a one-shot. It's on AO3, but I'll post it here as well.

1 year:

Elain sat in the window of Feyre’s home, staring down at the city stretched beneath her. She could see the people of Velaris moving about, smiling, talking, living. Some part of her was jealous, though not enough to prompt her into moving from the same spot she’d been in for weeks. Every time she stood, the memory of Graysen came crashing through the gates of her mind, demanding recognition. It would have been fine if all she thought about was that last, painful reunion but her mind replayed all their best moments. Over and over on a loop, Elain watched herself fall in love with Graysen like it was the first time. Every whispered compliment, every shared laugh, every promise, over and over until she could scarcely breathe.

Her skin felt too tight, unable to contain the breadth of emotion constantly roiling inside her. She barely slept and when she did, her brain convinced her she was still human, still his. Each time, she woke to the crushing realization he was really gone. She’d never hear his voice, see him smile, feel his touch. It was too much.

So she sat, waiting for the moment she could finally house the pain somewhere manageable. She knew she’d never love again and to that end, Elain only hoped to learn how to move around while she carried it. She thought if she could just force a smile and pretend, somehow everything would be alright.

She resented the strangers before, so blissfully unaware of her, of what was happening just above them. Look up! Her mind screamed. Look at me! But no one did. No one but him, without fail, every time. He was walking up to the house as she watched, a little package tucked beneath his arm. He tilted his head, the sun reflecting off his bright red hair, and their eyes met just like always. He held her gaze for a moment, as if to say hello, and Elain, like always, looked away.

Leave me alone.

He didn’t acknowledge her beyond those shared looks, didn’t speak to her, didn’t stand too close if he happened upon her. She wondered, at times, if he didn’t know how she felt. Perhaps he sensed she didn’t want to talk to him. Graysen’s replacement, she thought bitterly. Everyone was waiting for her to get over her engagement, to forget him and move on with him. She didn’t want another, didn’t want to try again, to start over.

She wanted Graysen. She wanted him so badly it made her teeth ache. Her stomach constantly bubbled with anxiety, her chest flooded with sadness. What good was life without him? Was Graysen missing her? Would he move on, love again? That thought terrified her to the point of distraction. She wanted to run away, to see him, to beg him to take her back. She crafted arguments in her mind, imagined scenarios in which he came to find her. She daydreamed of a way to become human again so she could have him back.

None of it made living alone any easier. So Elain stayed, curled in her window.

Waiting.

9 months:

Elain looked down at the pen in her hand with a sigh. Three months of letters, all unanswered. She wanted a chance to explain, to tell him what happened. To see him, if she was honest. She’d begged and pleaded and screamed all to no avail. Graysen didn’t respond, not even to tell her to leave him alone. His silence was a response, though it didn’t make things any easier. She set down her pen next to an untouched piece of paper and rose, resisting the urge to try again. She felt insane, constantly reaching out, constantly waiting. Nothing could fix what was broken, though it hardly made her feel better.

She’d stopped crying every night though the dreams persisted, and her appetite hadn’t altogether returned. Her sisters stopped watching her so carefully when she managed to plaster a smile on her face and pretend she was moving on. Was she? Was this what moving on felt like? She felt empty, numb. She was going through the motions, baking and gardening and reading but none of it gave her joy. She felt no sense of purpose.

At times she thought she could throw herself into the Sidra and it wouldn’t matter at all. She was wondering, again, if she ought to walk out to the bridge and see if this was the day she might hurl herself over the railing. How long would it take anyone to notice she’d left? A day? A week? Would they sigh with relief, no longer burdened by her presence?

She jammed the heel of her palm into the bread dough she worked. Perhaps they’d miss her cooking, but not her. No one looked at her long enough to see what was missing. No one really saw her at all. She could have been the paint on the walls, the—

“Elain?” A deep, male voice asked from the swinging door of the kitchen. Elain froze. She recognized that voice. His voice.

She looked over her shoulder wordlessly as he stepped inside, his black boots clicking softly on the tile beneath his feet. He seemed uncomfortable and out of place so finely dressed among her flour coated dress. Two steps were all he took, close enough to reach the black marble counter at the furthest end of the room. He set a small box atop it, his eyes fixed on her face. She didn’t move.

“Have a good day,” he murmured, offering her a slight bow before stepping back out. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her hands out of the dough to get the package he’d left. She wondered if he’d wrapped it, running her fingers over the shiny gold paper. Carefully, cringing when she accidentally ripped some of it, Elain opened the perfectly wrapped gift to find a hard covered book sitting inside. She opened it with trembling fingers.

Fairy tales, the kind she’d grown up with, complete with beautiful paintings done with vibrant oil. He’d left a silver foiled bookmark in front of one of the stories and Elain flipped to it, gasping softly. A brilliant picture of a sunlit sea and a story of mermaids awaited her and she wondered absently if he was trying to tell her that was his favorite. Elain closed the book reverently, hugging it to her chest.

It wasn’t until later that night, buried under a blanket with nothing but a candle for light, that Elain realized that book was the first thing that made her feel anything in months.

She wondered if he knew he’d kept her from trying to jump off a bridge that day.

She wondered if he knew how she felt at all.

6 months:

Ripping up weeds offered Elain a small amount of savage pleasure. Over and over, she imagined it was Graysen she pulled at, her mind angrily replaying the speech she wished she could scream at him. You act like I wanted this! She yelled silently at a particularly deep-rooted weed. You act as though I left you! She tossed the weed onto the pile she was collecting, tsking when she realized she’d broken another nail. Feyre would chide her for not using gloves, his gloves, but she liked the feeling of her hands in the dirt. She liked feeling the earth give way, bending to her will.

Retribution, she thought savagely, ripping another. You abandoned me! She imagined she’d scream. You promised forever and then left me to rot! She imagined how he’d blubber, what pathetic, cowardly excuses he might offer. Would he apologize? She wanted him to. She wanted him to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness so she could ruthlessly tell him no. She wanted him to feel every second of agony he’d put her through. It wasn’t fair he got to get on with his life, got to move on and be happy while she’d been left with the mess he’d made.

Truthfully, it was too cold to be out digging but Rhys’ magic kept that garden alive year-round, she suspected as a gift, and Elain wasn’t about to let it become overrun. It was something to do, a small thing that made her feel like she mattered. In the scheme of things, she didn’t matter. She laughed and smiled and everyone thought her all better. No one saw her, not that she expected them to.

It didn’t make things hurt any less. Elain sighed loudly, reaching for another weed when she heard the sound of boots crunching on the gravel. Something tightened in her stomach, that familiar cord humming softly as he approached. Elain kept her hands in the dirt, fisted tightly to prevent herself from getting up and yielding to the mating bond.

“Good afternoon,” he said, hidden from view by her curtain of hair. Her spine straightened ever-so-slightly at the rich timbre of his voice, washing over her like warm water. She wondered if he expected her to respond. She nodded her head instead, her thoughts drifting towards the book he’d left, dog eared, the spine cracked. She read it almost every night, despite having the entire thing memorized. He didn’t need to know that. How had he even known she was there?

“I recognized your handiwork on the way in,” he continued pleasantly. Handiwork? She thought. “Maybe one day you could show me how you manage to make the azaleas bloom so nicely, even in the cold.”

He’d recognized her gardening? That was impossible. Anyone could plant azaleas. She stiffened, swallowing hard when he crouched beside her, his impeccable boots pressed right up against her pile of weeds.

“From the continent,” he told her, setting an ivory pouch just beside her gardening tools. She looked up, finally parting her hair with her chin, but he’d already turned his back, revealing nothing but the broadness of his back hidden beneath a cerulean coat. Elain waited until she was sure he wasn’t watching to unearth her hands and pick up the bag.

Inside were tulip bulbs from the continent. She’d always wanted to see them, had heard they bloomed more beautifully there than anywhere else in the world. Her father had told her of valleys filled with nothing but tulips. Had he seen them? How had he known she wanted to?

She brought that little bag inside with her when she finished, tucking them carefully away in her sock drawer just beside the pearl earrings he’d given her for solstice. She’d hidden those so she wouldn’t have to see them but this…this should be protected, she thought. She wanted to plant them somewhere special, somewhere just for her.

“You look good today,” Cassian commented when Elain half skipped down the stairs for dinner. She paused, turning for a bathroom so she could look at her reflection. She was surprised to find Cassian was right. She looked…almost happy.

Someone had seen her.

3 months:

All she had to do was hand him the package from Rhysand. Simple, in and out, a hello and a goodbye and nothing more. Elain concentrated, having been dropped off by Mor on her way to do other business in the human lands. Mor assured Elain she could return to where they’d arrived and wait, that she didn’t have to remain with the humans…the band of exiles… if she didn’t want to. Elain didn’t. In fact, she wished Mor could do it all and she could have remained where she was.

She saw the manor, an estate really, made of polished gray stone that made it look like a thing of legend. A fortress that might repel the truly terrible, monsters and dragons and—

“Elain?” An all too familiar voice asked. Her heart sank to her feet and time seemed to stop as she turned to face Graysen. He was human…she was in the human lands…it hadn’t occurred to her that she might see him. She’d been too absorbed at the thought of seeing him.

Graysen looked exactly as she remembered. Thick, brown hair almost flopped into his soft, puppy eyes. Angular, strong face…toned body…Graysen.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, taking three steps towards her and Elain instinctively took one back. Hurt flashed over his features for just a moment before his eyes strayed towards her arched, pointed ears peeking through her hair.

She swallowed. “Am I not allowed to be here?” She replied, refusing to give him a straight answer. He’d forfeited his right to know about her life when he left all her letters unanswered. Graysen’s eyes shifted, looking towards the manor.

“You’re here to see him,” he said, disgust curling over his words. Elain merely shrugged, as if to say so? Why did he care, she wondered? Her fear began to settle, and Elain couldn’t deny that some little part of her still missed him.

“I would hate to keep the fine, Fae Lord waiting,” he sneered, his anger clearly not directed at her. Not completely, anyway. Did he miss her, she wondered?

I don’t care, a soft voice whispered in her mind. “So would I,” she agreed, offering Graysen a soft nod of her head. Everything she’d ever imagined saying to him, every angry accusation or begged plea slipped from her mind. Instead, Elain said, “It was nice seeing you.”

Graysen’s eyes warmed, not enough to convince Elain he still cared. “You, as well.”

Elain turned, then, readjusting Rhysand’s package, and finished walking to the manor. By the time she got to the door, her anxiety was back…and Graysen was forgotten. She blew out a soft breath, raised her fist, and knocked.

It was a servant who answered. Why was she suddenly so disappointed, she wondered?

“This is for—”

“Elain?” He asked, his body appearing in the hall behind. Elain sucked in air at the sight of him. She’d never seen him so casual before, in well-fitted, brown trousers and a billowing white shirt he’d half tucked into his pants, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He held them up with black suspenders that matched the color of his boots and his hair, typically pulled off his face, hung loose.

“From Rhysand,” she said when the servant melted away, leaving just Lucien standing in the doorway. Her eyes drifted towards his forearms, corded with muscle. Why did she like that, she wondered absently.

“Ah. I was told you would be Mor,” he informed her with a frown. Her heart sank.

“Sorry,” she murmured, moving to step off the porch and back to her meeting place with Mor. Lucien surged forward, one hand outstretched as though he meant to grab her but thought better of it.

“I’m not,” he assured her. From behind him, Elain saw a pair of bright blue eyes half hidden beneath copper colored hair peer at the pair of them. A tall, surly man stood just above her, his face etched with disapproval. “Would you like to come inside?”

She opened her mouth, about to say yes, when she remembered who this was. Who he was.

“I uh…I’m supposed to meet Mor,” she replied instead. He nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

“Of course. Another time.”

And Elain, for reasons she’d never understand, said, “I would like that,” just as Lucien was about to shut the door. He froze, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll send word?” He asked hesitantly, as though he expected her to back out. Her heart pounded painfully, her tongue sticky in her mouth. She nodded, unable to speak and he smiled.

“Another time, then.”

Elain waited until the door clicked shut to exhale the air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She walked back to where Mor was waiting, her expression one of apology.

“I’m so sorry,” Mor said the moment Elain was within earshot.

“For what?” Elain replied, still thinking of his smile.

“I didn’t know Graysen would be nearby. I heard he spoke to you. Elain…if I had known…” Mor’s voice trailed off as she studied Elain’s face. “Did you see him?”

“I did,” she agreed, blinking. “I guess I forgot.”

Mor arched delicate, blonde eyebrows and offered Elain her hand to winnow back to Velaris. She looked over her shoulder, back towards the estate hidden in the distance.

All she could see was him, standing in that doorway.

When had that happened?

1 year:

It had been raining non-stop for days and Elain was going out of her mind. She wanted to be out in the world, to see people, to do anything. Instead she sat in the window of her bedroom, looking wistfully out at the empty streets as lightning cracked across the sky. Spring storms seemed endless, trapping her in her bedroom to pace restlessly. She pressed her forehead to the glass, wishing for the barest hint of sunlight. Elain pulled her bare feet beneath her lilac-colored dress as her mind wandered towards a letter he’d sent two weeks before. He was traveling again and he wrote of what he saw, of the things that fascinated him, of what made him laugh. She’d written back, desperate to hear more but he hadn’t responded.

Perhaps he’d tired of their constant communication through letter alone. It disappointed her, each morning that she woke with nothing new on her desk. She didn’t want him to tire of her. She wanted to see him, if she was perfectly honest. She thought she’d been obvious regarding her intentions, but perhaps something she’d said made him think she was no longer interested.

Elain glanced back down at the street where a figure was walking, a dark hood pulled over their head, body covered in a long, cloak. Her thoughts of him vanished as her interest peaked. Who was brave enough to come out in the middle of the thunderstorm raging around them? What could possibly have pulled them outdoors? Elain watched as they approached, closer and closer until they removed their hood. Red hair, a flash of gold and Elain launched herself off the windowsill and out of her room without a second thought. Her feet slapped loudly against the floor beneath her even as thunder shook the walls. She practically jumped the steps, half-tripped over a carpet runner in the hall, and yanked open the front door. Warm, spring air hit her in the face as a bolt of white lit up the dark gray sky around her. She didn’t care. She plunged into the pouring rain where he was, still walking to the front door.

He caught her the second she flew into his arms. “Lucien,” she breathed into his neck, her hands in his hair. They’d never been so close before and yet it felt right.

He chuckled, his arms tight around her waist. “Hello to you, too,” he replied, lifting her off her feet. Water drenched them both, her dress clinging to her skin but she didn’t care. She touched his face as he lowered her back to the pavement, directly into a puddle of water.

“You didn’t write,” she said, her face mere inches from his own. His expression softened, that russet eye melting into flame even as the golden one clicked softly as though responding to her words. “Things suddenly became very hectic. I came to offer you my apologies in person—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she assured him as he held her face in his broad hands. Beautiful, she thought. He was so incredibly beautiful. Lucien smiled.

“Of course I do,” he assured her, lowering his mouth ever so slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment they touched. Thunder boomed around them again, not that either of them noticed. It might as well have been her pounding heart, leaping with excitement. His lips were soft and somehow, and she couldn’t explain it, he tasted the way sunshine felt.

“We should probably change out of these clothes,” Lucien told her, eyes still closed, voice strangled, when they broke the kiss.

Elain burst into giggles. He looked at her, cheeks flaming. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course not,” Elain agreed, her hand slipping into his own. “But perhaps you could help me all the same?”

Lucien nodded, following as she led him back to the house.

And as she walked through that door, soaking wet and beaming, Elain thought she’d never been half as happy as she was in that moment.

With Lucien.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien one shot #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #i am so soft for these two #i genuinely enjoyed writing this #and would write more like it

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asexual-abomination · 4 years ago

Text

Plat!Yan!Chrollo x Autistic!Reader x Plat!Yan!PT - Soulmate AU Part 1

This is largely self indulgent writing, as I know that very little of this niche exists, if any. The reader here is largely based on myself and my own thoughts of the world, but I hope others enjoy my writing. I have no formal education in writing, so if you have any advice for my writing style, please feel free to send it in.

This idea was largely inspired by the lovely @kiame-sama, who wrote this concept with a romantically yandere Chrollo, though I am aro-ace and changed it just slightly for my own writing. I hope to continue this series with more parts, but they may not all follow the same story thread.

This part just includes the body swap.

-----

You were never going to make the best impression on your soulmate. Or at least, you could never make the best impression on their friends, and that was what mattered largely to you. Talking to people would never be your strong suit, but at least on your end you had many months and other friends to keep your soulmate entertained. Waking up in a stranger's body, talking to other strangers about all details of their life? Horrible.

It should have been a comfort that there was a small yellow flower tattooed just below the date on your back, indicative of a platonic soulmate, but the idea that you would likely be expected to spend time not just with your soulmate, but with their friends as well threw you off so incredibly. Your soulmate would surely need the patience of a saint to deal with you, at least according to most people you speak with about your soulmate.

Your preparations for the switch were over now, all things embarrassing put away for now, some good food prepped, and a letter you had written taped to the inside of your bedroom door. For now, you were going over the final rules for your friends who were under strict instructions of exactly what they could and could not speak about with your soulmate. Even though they chuckled under their breath about your extreme caution, at this point you had to trust that they would follow what you said, since your switch was just minutes away.

Your closest friend, Jo, assured you that they would keep the rest in line. Knowing their authoritative personality and intimidating aura, you were much more reassured that things would go well. Even as you got up to leave, they were giving everyone their famous evil eye to keep them quiet.

Heading into the bedroom, you laid down, only to realize that your breathing was coming short and there seemed to be not enough air getting in your lungs. Were you seriously having a panic attack just before your switch? You tried to calm yourself with the breathing exercises you had been taught, but there was little you could do, which only made your panic grow faster.

You had only seconds to spare, and the reality of the situation hit you with the force of a freight train. Keeping your eyes open, you took one deep breath to hope you wouldn't ruin everything on the spot.

Everything changed in an instant, the position of your body, the tension of your muscles, the temperature and smell of the room. And the last thing to hit you, the fact that your soulmate decided to switch while driving on a highway.

Internally, you felt a massive surge of panic, outweighing the mild anxiety you had been feeling by a landslide. Until you realized that the body you were in appeared to be functioning on its own.

It was common knowledge that during the switch, there was no change to the body's ability to understand and speak languages, though you wondered if you were among the first to find the same thing applied to driving skills.

Slowly, you brought your breathing back to a calm, knowing that a meltdown right now could spell things much worse than humiliation. Once you felt ready enough that you wouldn't cry the second anything moved a moment to fast, you looked up to the rearview mirror to take in the inhabitants of the car.

Seeing the body you were in -- your soulmate -- was jarring, but he didn't appear immediately scary in the mirror. He had slicked black hair, wide eyes the color of granite, and wore a black trench coat with white fur that was open to show his bare chest underneath. But your attention was quickly drawn from his reflection to the fact that there were others accompanying you in this car.

Sat next to you in the passenger's seat was a woman with bright pink hair and a stony face, staring straight ahead at the road, who didn't appear to have noticed that there was any difference in her driver's behavior. Taking up the back seats were three men, one blond with a babyish smile, another blonde much taller than the first with a toughened look about himself, and a man with long black hair tied back looking grumpily out of his side window. All of them gave off intimidating vibes, almost putting you off of speaking at all.

After a few moments of quiet driving, it became apparent to you that these people weren't going to notice you until you spoke up. You were grateful for the time to prepare your first words, but with the menacing energy all these people gave off, you had to put your minimal understanding of conversation to its maximum.

"Ah... This wasn't quite what I was expecting..." Not the best opening line, but at least you had begun to announce your presence.

It was the pink-haired woman next to you who first responded with a questioning hum.

"I'm not sure who this is, but whoever they are, I'm their soulmate." That seemed to incite a reaction from the entire car.

"Soulmate!?" The black haired man jumped from his position, his grumpy mood dissipated and replaced with confusion mixed with excitement. The two other men were looking between themselves, while the woman's face somehow got even tougher, glaring towards you with something that you assumed was suspicion.

"Hah... I'm about as surprised as you are!" You tried to add some joy to your tone, hoping that matching their excitement would somehow dispel the situation faster. However, they continued to glare at you, and you began to wish that you could sink away into the seat, though there was very little that would help with at this point.

It's almost deathly quiet in the car for just a few moments, before all hell breaks loose. The others in the car were yelling questions at you, and yelling in general at each other.

"Would you lot calm down!?" The woman seemed to be your ally here, "If you keep this act up, we're gonna scare his soulmate off before the switch is even over!"

"Why wouldn't the boss have told us about his switch? This isn't like him in the slightest!" The black-haired man was clearly upset, though you weren't sure if he was angry at 'the boss' or at you.

The woman hushed him by saying that 'the boss' likely meant this as a test, which only served to confuse your perception of these people further. After a few moments of whispering between themselves, they finally turned back to you.

"So, who are you?" The rougher looking blond asked, not exactly setting a good tone.

It took you a few moments to even notice that he had even spoken to you, as the realization that your soulmate made seemingly no preparations for your switch hit you hard. Even though the day he would switch with you was embedded on his body, he had let you wake up in some random moment of his life, while you had spent months working around this day to get the best outcome possible.

"My name is (Y/N)," you introduced yourself carefully, not quite sure if you wanted to give your full name away to these people, "And who might you be?"

The four looked between themselves, completely ignoring your question. "No-one we know by that name."

They went further into their suspicious act, but were kind enough to also give their own first names before continuing their own interrogation. It was the baby-faced boy in the backseat, Shalnark, who asked the majority of the questions, he seemed to be very pushy and tricked you into giving answers multiple times.

The conversation was very one-sided, as you tried every trick you had ever been taught for keeping interactions equal, only to eventually realize that all four of them were working against you, using tactics for talking that you had never thought of before.

You were quick to become frustrated with their incessant questions. There were no spaces for the others to talk, leaving you feel like bug under a microscope as they stared at you. Eventually, it seemed that they were happy with the information they had gotten from you, which was a lot, including the full name you hadn't wanted to give them earlier, your home nation and your line of work.

Whoever these people were, they were good at interrogation, Shalnark especially good at tricking you with simple questions that he insinuated much greater answers from, which worried you for what these people could do for a living. If your soulmate was their boss, could he be even better at this type of talk? You didn't think you could handle conversations with a man that potentially intelligent.

Now that they were being less interrogating, you tried to take the opportunity to add your own questions, but you could only glean a few things from the way they answered. For one thing, the highway that you were currently on was on the same continent that you lived on, but a few countries over. For another, there were many more members of this group that worked for your soulmate.

Asking questions about your soulmate got a strange reaction each time, all of the passengers of the car taking a moment to look between themselves before giving you vague answers. His name was Chrollo, and as their boss, they didn't feel it was right to tell you too much about him, or so they said. You found that he was well-read, though they still refused to tell you much about precisely what he read.

It felt useless to try and pursue the conversation further, as you were nowhere near their level of smarts in conversation. To try and alleviate some of the tension you were feeling, you attempted to bring up lighter topics, asking them for funny stories, which they somewhat complied with. Although their style of telling stories seemed odd to you, as they left out a lot of details without prompting, but you were at least happy that the focus was off of you.

They told you stories of traveling around the world, and how they saw some of the worlds most gorgeous sights and expensive luxuries nearly everyday. You had to assume that they were embellishing most of it, but they made their lives sound rather fun, and you wondered if your own friends were giving Chrollo anywhere near as good an impression back home.

It had to have been at least an hour before another fear hit you, one that plagued you nearly everyday. From your perspective, everything was going well, they were laughing and telling stories not just to you but with each other, which indicated that they were happy with how how you acted. However, the fear that plagued you from inside told you that they weren't happy, that you had done something wrong and now they were laughing at you. Looking back on every word you had spoken, you felt almost physically sick, seeing every flaw in your word choice and tone in hindsight.

The passengers were looking and laughing between themselves and talking, so they didn't notice right away that there were tears gathering in your eyes, for which you were grateful. Just as suddenly as you were sat there, surrounded by happy voices with tears in your eyes, you were back home, sat amongst your own friends, who laughed perhaps even louder.

Once you came to and realized that you were no longer driving, and in fact were sitting on your own couch with your own friends, the tears really started to run. The letter that you had spent so much time carefully writing was clutched hard in your hand, but not so much that it would crumple or bend.

You quickly stood while mumbling an excuse, rushing to your room as your friends called after you. It felt odd to be back in your own body, the smells and sounds of everything hitting you horribly clearly. There was very little you could do to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed.

Your friends had already been prepared for what to do if you were overwhelmed coming back from your switch, but that didn't stop their concern for the way you were acting.

"Hey, (Y/N)? You okay in there?" Jo's voice came through the door, and you were grateful that your closest friend was here for you. "The others are all gonna start heading home now, but I'm gonna stick around. I don't want you to feel alone at the moment."

With a quick confirmation from you from behind the door, Jo headed to get some rest in the living room. Practically falling into your bed, you pulled the weighted blanket you had gotten as a gift over yourself, staring up at the ceiling as all of the feelings of excitement and fear finally crashed down on you.

-----

Thanks for reading!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #chrollo #yandere #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #machi komachine #phinks magcub #shalnark ryusei #nobunaga hazama #self insert #self ship #soulmate au #body swap #autistic reader #gender neutral y/n

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fridayfirefly · 4 years ago

Text

A Guardian in Gotham

Read A Guardian in Gotham on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 19 - Guardian

Note: In this AU Master Fu gave out the Ladybug Miraculous to Marinette and the Black Cat Miraculous to Adrien before consulting the Kwami. Marinette turned out to be a true holder, but for the Black Cat Miraculous, not the Ladybug Miraculous. However, she and Adrien made it work and were able to defeat Hawkmoth anyway. After Hawkmoth's defeat she becomes Lady Noire full-time.

----------

Being the Guardian of the Miraculous was hard work. There were no family vacations, no sleeping in or going to bed early, no breaks. Marinette could not relax until Hawkmoth was defeated. Which explained why it was such a jarring change once the Miraculous Team defeated Hawkmoth.

Gabriel Agreste was behind bars. The citizens of Paris were free from the threat of akumatization. Tikki, Plagg, and the rest of the Kwamis went dormant in order to restore the damage done to Duusu's Miraculous. Marinette didn't exactly know what to do with herself. Suddenly it hit her that she was no longer the middle schooler who accepted the burden of Guardianship. She was in her final year of high school, nearly an adult. All around her, her friends were making future plans. Adrien was taking a gap year to help Emilie recover from her coma. Alya was accepted to a prestigious journalism program. Nino was DJing at one of the best clubs in Paris. Luka was releasing his EP. Kagami was training for the Olympics. Chloé took up an internship with her mother.

Marinette couldn't move on, the way all of her friends were able to. Marinette couldn't be a normal girl anymore. She couldn't go to university, start a family, live a normal life. She needed the rush of adrenaline that came from two little words - Spots on! or more recently, Claws out!

It was around this time that the Temple of Guardian got in touch with Marinette, offering her an opportunity to continue her work as a Guardian of the Miraculous. They send Marinette a box of old journals, dating back to the 18th century. The journals detailed the discovery of twin "wells of evil" located in the American cities of Gotham and Metropolis, then named Mortham City. The Masters of the Miraculous who made this discovery studied the evil and expressed the desire to find a way to remove it, but didn't have the chance to complete the task before the Temple of Guardians fell. When the Temple reappeared they believed that the Masters had managed to destroy the evil in Mortham, due to the reports of the city's recovery and renaming to Metropolis soon after, but were unable to destroy the evil in Gotham. The city festered, growing more and more troubled while Metropolis flourished. Marinette's task was to do her best to study and remove the evil in Gotham.

Marinette applied to Gotham University, feeling relieved that she might finally find her purpose.

----------

Marinette's dorm room at Gotham University was rather lackluster; it was the typical tiny, cramped American university dorm, complete with a stained carpet and a bathroom shared between six girls. Her roommate was a computer science major named Barbara Gordon. Barbara was older than Marinette, a senior while Marinette was only a freshman. It was a fluke accident that the freshman dorms had filled up before she was admitted. Secretly Marinette wished that she had been able to room with another freshman. Barbara was rarely in the dorm room, too busy with her coursework and her real friends to make small talk with her nervous roommate.

Marinette barely spent any time in her dorm room, either. She spent most of her time in class or at the library studying. Marinette had the ambitious plan of double majoring in both fashion and business, in order to start her own fashion company someday. Her classes overwhelmed her, and Marinette began to regret overloading her first-semester schedule. It gave her barely any time to work on her Guardian work, let alone join an extracurricular.

Marinette wanted to decorate the dorm and make it more of a home, but because of a plane delay, she ended up arriving at the university the day before classes started, giving her no time at all to go to the store and buy anything. Another unfortunate casualty of Marinette's late arrival was that she still hadn't figured out how Gotham's bus schedule worked, so she walked everywhere, even in the pouring rain.

Overall, Marinette's first week of classes was miserable. That was why Marinette was crying in her dorm room, alone, at six in the evening on a Friday night. It all started when Marinette saw a picture of her old class on social media. Alya and Nino were making faces at the camera; Marinette and Adrien were both grinning, Marinette's blue scarf wrapped around his neck; Ivan and Mylène were holding hands, staring into each other's eyes; Rose was posing, kissing Juleka's cheek; Alix was perched on Kim's shoulders; Nathaniel had his arm wrapped around Marc's shoulders; Max was holding up Markov so he could wave to the camera, Sabrina and Chloé were smiling, holding hands.

The photo had been taken years ago, on their first day of lycée. Marinette remembered it well. They had all been nervous about starting at a new school. There was no guarantee that they would all be in the same class. Max had calculated the odds for even half of their class staying together and it wasn't good. But that morning, when Marinette walked into her homeroom and saw all of her friends sitting there, she knew that it would be okay. Chloé revealed that she had gotten her father to provide a generous donation to the school to keep them all in the same class for the rest of their education. Marinette had been so happy to get to stay with her friends. Now she was on a different continent from them.

The tears started to fall, slowly at first, then more and more until Marinette was sobbing, face pressed into a pillow. How could she have made such a stupid decision? All of her friends were in France and she left them, all because she couldn't move on.

Two knocks on the door halted Marinette's sobs. "Babs? Are you in here?"

Marinette got up and opened the door, revealing a young man. He looked to be her age, tall, with black hair and blue eyes. "Barbara isn't here right now," she told the man.

The man blinked, looking at Marinette like she wasn't what he expected at all. "I guess I should have called her before I showed up. I'm Tim, by the way. I was just here to drop this off." Tim held up a container filled with chocolate chip cookies.

"I'm Marinette. If you want, you can drop the cookies off on her desk. I'll tell Barbara that they're from you, once she comes back to the dorm." Marinette wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve, trying to get rid of the evidence of her crying.

"Are you okay?" asked Tim.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just a little homesick. Nothing to worry about."

"You should come with me to get dinner," offered Tim. "I was just about to stop in at the dining hall."

Marinette shook her head. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"It wouldn't be an imposition at all. I hate eating alone."

Marinette gave him a wary look. "I don't know you. Why would you invite me to eat with you?"

Tim shrugged. "You look like you could use some company, to take your mind off of your homesickness. Unless you want to spend the rest of your night crying in your dorm."

Marinette bit her lip as she thought it over. It would be nice to get out of the dorm and get something to eat. On the other hand, Tim was a complete stranger whose intentions Marinette still didn't trust. Then Marinette remembered the photo of her friends and made up her mind. If she couldn't have her old friends here in Gotham she would have to make new ones. "Alright. Just give me a few minutes to get ready."

Marinette threw on a pair of jeans, a Gotham University hoodie, and her sturdiest pair of sneakers.

"So what's on the menu tonight?" asked Marinette as they walked out of the dorm building to Tim's car.

"Uncertain. I can't remember the last time the dining hall actually updating its online menu. I was planning on crossing my fingers and hoping that they would be serving something edible tonight."

Marinette wrinkled her nose. "Is the food usually edible?"

"It's hit or miss. If you want, we could go to a diner instead?"

Marinette nodded. "I don't want to spend my weekend with food poisoning."

"Good choice." Tim turned the car around and started driving into the center of Gotham.

"Are you a senior like Barbara?" asked Marinette.

Tim shook his head. "I'm a sophomore. How about you?"

"Freshman. This is actually my first Friday in Gotham."

"Where are you from?" asked Tim.

"Paris, 21st arrondissement."

"That must be a pretty big change. What made you choose Gotham?"

Marinette shrugged, not wanting to give away her real reason. "I figured all the supervillains and Rogues might remind me of home."

Tim looked confused for a second before a realization passed over him. "I forgot about Hawkmoth. It was a big deal here in Gotham when he first emerged because the Mayor of Paris refused to allow the Justice League to intervene. All because he was worried about 'damaging the historic buildings of Paris'."

Marinette let out a bitter laugh. "That wasn't the real reason, you know. I was friends with Andre Bourgeois's daughter, Chloé. She says that he didn't want the Justice League to get involved in the fight against Hawkmoth because he couldn't merchandise any of the Justice League members. Ladybug, Chat Noir, and the rest of the Miraculous Team, on the other hand, never copyrighted their images. Paris used the Miraculous Team to bring in billions in tourism and Bourgeois never paid them a cent."

Tim looked surprised. "You sound like you know a lot about the Miraculous Team."

"I got to know them all pretty well. My classmates were known throughout Paris as the 'Children of Hawkmoth' - as if it was our fault that Hawkmoth targeted my school at a rate astronomically higher than the rest of the city. Of course, when it turned out that Gabriel Agreste's son was one of my classmates the nickname got a bit more personal."

Tim let out a break. "I suppose moving to Gotham makes sense when you've spent that much time in proximity to superheroes and supervillains."

"Gotham is an improvement to Paris under Hawkmoth. At least none one your Rogues can mind control." Marinette shuddered at the memory of her friends and loved ones turning against her due to Hawkmoth's influence.

Tim pulled into the diner parking lot. The pair got a booth in the back and put in their orders. Tim and Marinette spent the night trading stories of the most interesting Parisian akumas and Gotham Rogues.

Tim was enraptured. He told Marinette that for years it had been difficult for outsiders to get any reliable information about the Miraculous Team, outside of what Andre Bourgeois used for his tourism campaign. So Marinette did her best to share all the little details that every Parisian knew like the back of their hand: That Valentines Day was the worst holiday because all of the akumas were love-based. That they were trained in school to either lock their emotions down or let them all out, if they saw an akuma, to try and diminish the akuma's power. That Ladybug and Chat Noir, once they realized that their fanbase was primarily children, made it a point to never swear during their battles.

By the end of the night, Tim and Marinette made plans to meet up the following day. Tim promised to take Marinette out into the city for the shopping trip that her delayed flight caused her to miss. Marinette went to bed that night hopeful for her future in Gotham, a feeling she never thought she would have again.

----------

Over the next few weeks, things got better at Gotham University. Marinette started spending more time out of her dorm room with Tim, and eventually, with her roommate Babs and Tim's brother (and Bab's boyfriend) Dick. Tim became Marinette's lifesaver after he taught Marinette how Gotham's bus system worked. Marinette finally got around to decorating her side of the room. Her new style and color scheme (navy blue and sunflower yellow, Gotham University school colors) suited her much better than the pinks and whites of her high school days. Her productivity increased as she settled into the school, and Marinette found that she actually enjoyed her classes. It wasn't perfect, but Gotham University began to feel a bit more like home.

Most importantly, Marinette had begun to make progress on her work as a guardian. It had taken a whole weekend, but she eventually located the epicenter of Gotham's evil, a rundown tenement building in the heart of Crime Alley. The basement of the building housed storage units, one of which Marinette promptly rented. She set up her workshop there, bringing out the Miraculous Box so that she could consult the Kwami. Tikki and Plagg both woke up from their hibernation and Marinette got to work.

"I can sense the evil," spoke Tikki. "It's overpowering."

"It's like going from the Sahara Desert straight to the middle of the ocean," added Plagg.

"It does feel similar to drowning," Tikki agreed.

"Do either of you have any idea how to get rid of it?" asked Marinette.

Tikki shrugged. "I wish I could tell you how to defeat it, but it's unlike any enemy the Kwami of your Miracle Box have ever gone up against before. But look on the bright side, we know that it can be eliminating. I can only assume that the Kwami were involved when the evil was eliminated in Metropolis."

"The solution is easy. We cataclysm the evil," said Plagg.

"We don't know what would happen if we use cataclysm against something that isn't fully corporeal."

"Then we use Sass's second chance until we get it right."

Tikki brightened up. "Oh, that is a good idea - using second chance, not using cataclysm irresponsibly."

"See! I do have good ideas sometimes. We could also use Pollen's venom to freeze the evil in place and stop it from fighting back."

Marinette could listen to her two favorite Kwami argue forever. She had missed them terribly. But she had a job to do, so she interrupted their banter. "Do you think I should use Mullo to wield multiple Miraculous?"

Tikki shook her head. "You'll need at least one other person with you. If you get hurt, someone else will have to use second chance."

Marinette pondered that fact. "Luka's going on tour next month. He's stopping in Gotham for a weekend. Chloé is only an hour drive from Gotham, up in New York City, so she could be here any time. If we plan everything right, we could have the evil destroyed before the semester is over."

Once again, Tikki shot down Marinette's plan. "This is too strong for Luka's second chance or Chloé's venom. If you want to do this right you'll need to use true holders."

Marinette winced. Finding the true holder of a Miraculous was a near-impossible task. Of her entire Miraculous Team, only Marinette and Adrien were true holders. While the Kwami could sense a person's aptitude, they needed to be within fifty feet to get an accurate read. There was no way Marinette would be able to find the true holder of both Sass and Pollen. "Okay, new plan. What if I get Mullo to multiply myself and then have each copy of me take a different Miraculous?"

Marinette brainstormed with the two Kwami for hours, desperate to find a solution to the problem that had plagued Gotham for centuries. However, they still couldn't come up with a plan in which Marinette would be able to rid Gotham of the evil without enlisting the help of at least one other true holder. In the end, Marinette decided to take Tikki, Plagg, Sass, and Pollen back to the dorm with her, hoping that they might stumble upon another true holder.

"I wish we had a better plan," sighed Marinette.

"Keep your head up, Marinette. The only thing we can do now is stay positive and hope for the best," advised Tikki.

It wasn't a good plan, passively waiting for someone to solve her problem for her, but it was the only plan they had. Marinette had no other choice. If she tried to take on the evil alone, it would overpower her. It was disheartening. Marinette rode the bus back to her dorm. The streets of Gotham felt colder on the return trip.

Getting dinner with Tim was the only thing that could cheer Marinette up, so she pulled out her phone and sent him an invitation to meet up.

Marinette: Do you want to go get dinner? I heard the dining hall has vegetarian lasagne

Tim: Sure! Be there in twenty

Marinette put her phone away as she got off the bus and started walking towards the dining hall, dodging the sidewalk puddles that never seemed to dry. Even when it wasn't raining, Gotham was a dreary city.

Tim and Marinette chatted about their classes as they ate their food. By the end of dinner, Marinette felt a little better about her disappointing day. Tim could always lift her out of a bad mood. Marinette considered it his superpower.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Marinette as she got out of Tim's car in front of her dorm hall. She expected to get to her room without incident, but as soon as she got into the relative privacy of the stairwell, all four of her Kwami were circling around her head, speaking in rapid succession, too quick for Marinette to keep up.

"I can't believe it!"

"You've got some luck, Pigtails!"

"This is great news!"

"I can't wait to meet him!"

Marinette blinked as she tried to make sense of the Kwamis' words. "What's going on?"

Pollen's eyes were bright. "Tim is my true holder!" the Kwami squeaked excitedly.

Marinette gasped. "Really?"

"He'll make a perfect Bee. He seems so smart and funny and considerate. I bet he'll feed me loads of honey and get fresh flowers for all of his rooms and be my best friend." Pollen sighed dreamily, pure joy in her voice.

"Pollen, have you ever had a true holder before?" asked Marinette.

"Of course. It's been a long time, though - at least a thousand years since my last true holder died. I missed it a lot. But now I have Tim!"

Marinette smiled, overjoyed that she finally had the means to complete her mission, that Pollen finally got to meet one of her true holders again, that Gotham might be freed from the evil that had loomed over it for centuries. Mostly, she was overjoyed that she met Tim all those weeks ago, that he took the time to get to know her, that he was there for her when no one else was.

----------

"So the Kwami are little gods?" Tim stared at Pollen with an almost scary intensity, as if he thought looking away might make the Kwami disappear.

Pollen flew up closer to Tim to explain. "The Kwami are linked to certain aspects of humanity: creation, destruction, intuition, protection, et cetera. We have a certain amount of control over these qualities. I am the Kwami of Subjection, of control and mastery. I can give you the power to incapacitate your enemies."

"Incapacitate them how?"

"Using the power of venom, you will be able to freeze your enemies in place."

Tim wrinkled his nose. "That sounds a little morality dubious. How do you know I wouldn't use it for evil. This is Gotham."

Pollen rolled her eyes. "You're my true holder, Tim Drake. I trust you with my entire being."

"What does that mean, for me to be your true holder?"

Pollen's cheerful expression turned sad. "Of all the Kwami, my powers are the most often exploited. The power of subjection, of complete and total control over your enemies, is corrupting. However, you, Tim, are my true holder. Your self-control is strong, I can sense it. You will not be corrupted by the power I give you. You will wield it fairly."

Tim glanced over at Marinette, and she gave him her most encouraging smile. "I need you, Tim. I've needed you for a while. First, as a friend, when I was at my lowest, and now as my partner. There's an evil that resides in this city, that I have been tasked with destroying. I can't get rid of it alone. I need you to help me."

Tim's eyes widened. "You mean there's a supernatural reason for Gotham's condition?"

Marinette nodded. "There's a well of evil underneath the city. Using the Miraculous, I can remove it. But it's too powerful for me to do it alone. I know this is a lot to ask, but-"

Tim interrupted Marinette before she could finish her sentence. "You know, Gotham is well known for its distaste for magic-users and meta-humans." Marinette opened her mouth to protest but was interrupted once more by Tim. "However, I trust that you want to do what's best for this city. I'll help you."

Marinette's face brightened. "Thank you! I have a plan but I still need to fine-tune the details. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. For now, you should take the Bee Comb with you. You'll need to form an emotional bond with Pollen before you can achieve peak performance."

"You seem to know a lot about the Miraculous and the Kwami."

"It's my job to be knowledgable. I'm a Guardian of the Miraculous."

----------

"So how does a girl like you become a Guardian of the Miraculous?" asked Tim as they ate their lunch in the storage unit after a long morning of pouring over plans.

"I was chosen by the previous master. It's a long-standing tradition that the Guardian can only be a true holder, because true holders notoriously incorruptible except in the most extreme situations. I was the only true holder that Master Fu knew of, other than himself, so despite my age and despite the fact that I wielded the Ladybug Miraculous rather than the Black Cat Miraculous, the Miraculous I was the true holder for, he passed the responsibility onto me."

"How old were you when you became the Guardian full-time?"

Marinette tensed her shoulders. "I was fourteen. Master Fu wanted to wait longer, but there was a situation. I lost my only mentor, with only a fraction of my training completed."

"That sounds rough," Tim's tone was sympathetic. He placed his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

"It was difficult," Marinette admitted. "For the longest time, I was mad at Master Fu for waiting so long to start training me. It wasn't until I got older that I realized why he was so reluctant to start my training. He felt guilty for stealing my childhood away from me. The situation in Paris was bad and tough choices had to be made. I don't blame him, but there are a lot of things I wish had been done differently."

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost my mentor-" Tim's thoughtful tone turned frantic. "Not that my experience with mentorship would compare to yours, because I wouldn't know anything about being a teenage superhero."

Tim's words were suspicious, but Marinette didn't have time to figure out what he was hiding. They had a job to do. "Well, it's time to get back to work. You need to practice using venom on non-corporeal objects. I want to see if you're able to freeze the wind."

"Sounds good, Bugs."

"Bugs?"

Tim nodded. "I figured you could use a nickname. Do you not like it?"

"No, it's fine." Marinette paused. "Actually, it's better than fine. I really appreciate it. Thank you, Tim."

"No problem, Buggsy," Tim teased.

"Okay, now you're pushing your luck," Marinette teased right back.

----------

Lady Noire and her partner Yellowjacket stood in the basement of a rundown tenement building in the heart of Crime Alley.

Lady Noire spoke the plan aloud, the rhythm of her words revealing that she had spoken them many times before in preparation for the event. "I'll start by drawing out the evil. As soon as it senses the power of destruction that I hold it will try and consume me. I need you to be ready to use your venom the moment it emerges. Once it is frozen, I will use cataclysm. Are you ready?"

Yellowjacket responded. "I'm ready."

Lady Noire closed her eyes and let out her breath in a drawn-out hiss. The shadows around her darkened and she let out a pained gasp as she fell to her knees.

Yellowjacket sprung into action. "Venom!" he shouted, thrusting his palms out to let his power fill the room. The whole room lit up with yellow light, bright enough to rid the room of all but the supernatural shadows.

The shadows, which had been growing exponentially, suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. Lady Noire got back up onto her feet, a vicious snarl on her face. "You have been terrorizing this city for centuries. No longer will I will allow this evil to haunt Gotham. Cataclysm!"

The shadows crumbled, leaving behind only natural darkness. The transformation disappeared from Lady Noire, leaving behind a girl, who gasped for breath. "Tim, we did it!"

"Pollen, buzz off," commanded Yellowjacket. He was so impatient to hug the girl that he had his arms wrapped around her before his transformation was finished. "It's over, Marinette."

The girl shook her head gently. "It's not completely over. The effects will surely linger - Metropolis still sees its fair share of villains - but it will be nothing like what it was before. I imagine the vigilantes that roam Gotham will have a much easier job, though."

The boy tensed up. "Speaking of the vigilantes that roam Gotham, I suppose there's something that I should probably tell you. I'm Red Robin."

The girl blinked once, a dumbstruck expression on her face then burst out into peals of laughter. "Just my silly luck that I ask a vigilante to be my superhero partner."

The boy grinned. "I am rather fond of your silly luck. It's what brought us together."

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #timari #timinette #marinette dupain-cheng #tim drake #MaribatMarch2021 #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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bokutoslittlebird · 4 years ago

Text

Dark Nights

King!Oikawa x assassin!prisoner!reader

Author’s Note : This is the request for a prisoner reader and king Oikawa Au which is literally spiraled into a series. I am not sorry ; Everything will come to a close once the 5th installment is completed ; the request had “torture” and I didn’t realize until halfway through that torture probably wasn’t what you meant, but you’re gonna have to be more specific of what you want because I saw it and went “oh, noncon and maybe some actual hitting.” So, sorry if that’s not what you wanted.

Warnings: death of a minor character [no name OC], blood, dagger, noncon, degradation, kicking, Oikawa gets violent, Iwaizumi turns a blind eye, chains and dungeons, fingering, creampie, no aftercare, choking

Over the river and past the glen stands Fukurōdani, Kingdom in the Mountains that is under the rule of King Bokuto. The ruthless king that stands amongst his army as the bravest and strongest warrior, with his queen Kaori at his side. Deep in the castle, past the kitchen and deep in the dungeons, there sits three people. Amongst those three is a woman clad in all black, a dagger in her hand and a rag in the other, swiping away dark droplets that drip to the concrete floor. Before them, a man without a tongue.

“So, King Oikawa is looking for his bride-to-be, which is why he dared to trespass into the Dark Forest?” A rough voice speaks, his large hand tapping at his chin. His eyes pop open as a thought appears in his head, golden eyes turning to bore into yours. His smile is cunning and terrifying, but you just stare at him. “Maybe someone should see if he got what he was looking for,”

“If you’re suggesting I sneak into his castle, then say it. I don’t like puzzles and riddles, my lord,” your voice is dead, but loud enough to hear over the sharpening of your blade. “It’ll take a long time to get there and get back. Unlike your own kingdom, he has a barrier that is under watch by his loyal dogs.”

“You’re an assassin. Sneaking in is what you do,” he coos, standing from his chair. His presence is behind you, large hands settling onto your shoulders. “I ask of you to sneak into the Kingdom of Aoba Johsai and kill King Oikawa,”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit much,” your voice warbles. Killing a king is harder, much harder, than sneaking under the radar. You would know. “Killing a king isn’t easy, you know,”

“Oh, I know. I know very well, my dear,” his voice is barely audible, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “But, I can offer something if you succeed,”

“Which is?”

“Freedom. You’ll be able to fly again, my little songbird,” his lips press to your cheek, whirling you around to face him. You have to move your head to look up at him, but he’s grinning with lidded eyes. “You’re more than welcome to decline. Personally, I’d prefer it, however, I know you’re the best assassin I have,”

“Best disposable assassin. Why not send Keiji?”

“Akaashi is supposed to protect me. He can’t do that if he’s in another kingdom,”

“Fine, but only if you keep your promise. I’ll hold you to it,” you finally say, huffing as you sheath the dagger. Never one to not rise to the challenge, you turn on your heel to leave the dungeons.

The trip from Fukurōdani to Aoba Johsai would be a day on foot, but you were able to get to the base of the mountains and enter the Kingdom of Nekoma, which allowed tourists from neighboring kingdoms. There, you were able to get your hands on some rations and new clothes, disguising yourself as a beggar woman who’s traveling the continent.

Pathways lead from each kingdom to their neighbor, but you choose to duck into the forest, under the shadows of the leaves and proud standing trees. Go in too deep and you’ll arrive at the center of the Dark Forest, where the ruin of the Karasuno Kingdom lies. It’s an unspoken forbidden place, only those wishing to never leave dare to go there. Crunching dead leaves and twigs under your feet, you manage to find a clearing to stay for the night. Aoba Johsai is farther than you expected, but the reward of freedom encourages you to keep your head up and move forward. It’s not safe to travel at night, the forest is home to all sorts of beasts.

It’s dark, the birds have stopped their chirping as you rest in the tree. Above the ground, away from monsters lurking in shadows, you close your eyes to get some shuteye. A ear-piercing scream rips sleep from your grasp, head whipping to look for the sound. Below you, about 2 yards from your sleeping position, is a family of travelers that seem to be struggling to scare away a bear. Although it is simply a bear, the family doesn’t seem to be prepared for such a disturbance. Against your logic, your morals win as you take out an arrow and put it into your crossbow. It’s small, but your aim is good enough to get the bear’s attention, roaring as it backs up. Lodged in the shoulder, the bear retreats as it quiets down the roars. The traveling family seems to be relieved at the turn of events, but they then become rigid as you drop from the tree.

“We cannot thank you enough, dear comrade,” the man, most likely the father, says. He goes to get on his knees, but he looks to you. “What— how shall we pay you back?”

This could work, you think. “Where does your family travel to?”

“Seijoh, the Kingdom on the Water. Tales have spread that opportunities are booming and the King is kind and just,” he speaks, but then his words stumble. “I do not-! Kuroo-sama is very gracious! I would give my life for his-!”

“You can stop. I don’t hail from Nekoma, if that’s what you think. I’m from neither kingdom, instead just traveling the continent in search of a new life. Perhaps Seijoh would be the way to go? I originally was going to Nekoma, actually,” you spin the tale you’ve made for yourself, which relieves the man. He straightens his back, his height no more than your own. “Would you let me travel with you? I’ll make sure your travel is safe,”

“Of course! We’d be honored to have the person who saved our lives join us,” he bows once more, then turns to the carriage with his family. “Let’s move on!”

“Yes, let’s,” you agree, joining the man on the bench. He cracks the reins and the horse begins moving once more, as you watch for anything else. Travels alone are scary, but with an entire family looking about and a kind stranger by your side, you won’t have to worry. Getting some sleep is your main focus, now, closing your eyes and letting the man know you’re going to rest.

The carriage stops moving, jolting you from your sleep. Before you lies other carriages and caravans, stretched into a line that leads to a large waterfall. The forest is bright and the birds are chirping as a man barks orders at the families and people attempting to enter. You make small conversation with the family, given a cloak to cover yourself from the chill of the morning dew. When it is time to be inspected, you have to give kudos to King Oikawa and his kingdom, noticing how bright and welcoming his entrance is.

“What is your business in Aoba Johsai?” The man almost growls out. A loyal dog of Oikawa’s, from your earlier words, stands before you. His hair is yellow in color, dark lines running from ear to ear. He catches your gaze, eyes narrowing even more, then looks back to the man.

“A traveling family with hopes to start a new life. I’ve heard great and kind things about Oikawa-sama, so I wish to visit the Kingdom on the Water got opportunity,” It’s a believable reason, and then men searching the items the family has give the okay. The guardian of the waterfall steps back, a shallow nod before he barks orders to move. The waterfall is large and can easily drown someone with how hard and fast the water crashes to the earth. A diamond shelf is embedded in the water, two more soldiers standing on opposite ends as they part the water. Barely enough room for the carriage and family, but once inside, the water crashes back behind you.

Aoba Johsai is breathtaking.

The morning sun glimmers across the water, waves gently rising only to be quelled back down. Birds sing along with the fish jumping out of the water, only to then crash back into calming waters. Pathways built of crystal minerals, harvested from the mines of Dateko, and hold countless travelers who have come on news of the opportunities. Soldiers are posted at every archway, checking to make sure nobody has snuck past the soldiers at the waterfall. Security is top notch at this kingdom, you note, as neither Nekoma nor Fukurōdani have such strong protections before entering the main kingdom. The pathway continues into the main kingdom, the town on the water, where fishermen and merchants attempt to sell a fortune for items only available at their stalls. Your awe must have shown, as the man beside you laughs joyfully.

“Never seen such a sight before, have you?” You shake your head. “It’s beautiful. I wish we could’ve been born here instead. Lots of blues, whites, and greens.”

“I noticed the vast greenery. The open area allows for lots of plants to grow, I suppose. Rivers allow for fish to come and reproduce, as well as allow for aquatic plants. A beautiful cycle of life, with a magical kingdom in the center,” you comment.

“Well, no magic. Magic hasn’t been used in over 100 years, you know. Not since Karasuno’s king fell. Um, I think—“

“King Ukai. I remember the story told to me before bed when I was a wee child. The story of the fallen king and his kingdom.”

“Yes! King Ukai, I hardly remember him,” before he continues, he stops. “Ah, we’ll need to get a room at the Rose Inn, and let the horses stay here at the stables. Would you mind settling our horses in? That way you can explore, if you want, before reaching the inn,”

“That sounds lovely! Thank you, kind sir,” you bow to him and grasp the reins of the horses. The inn is right next to the stables, the grunts working to put the luggage into a room for the night. You smile, turning the horses into the stables. A large man stands posted outside the stables, talking with an older man.

“No problems this week? Seems like you’ve had a stroke of luck, good sir,” the soldier says, laughing as the old man laughs with him.

“I hope it stays that way. Oh, ma’am? Need us to keep your horses?” The man notices you and your eye drifts to the soldier, straightening his back as a lazy smirk appears on his face. Not very threatening with the smile, but his large stature makes you wary.

“Yes, my family is staying at the Rose Inn next door. How long can you keep the horses for?”

“We charge by the night. How much gold do you have?” You hand him the bag of coins the man gave you. He counts them, tallying up the total. “They can stay for five nights.”

“Perfect! Thank you! I’ll tell my father, now!” You now graciously, skipping off and past the guard. His eyes trail after you, but you keep your pace to the inn. You’ll have to explore later. That guard sets you on edge.

The inn is graciously spacious. There’s enough room for each traveler and the cost of the rooms is cheaper than most inns you’ve come across in Nekoma and Fukurōdani. There’s sapphire and quartz lights, flames flickering behind them as the light illuminates and projects farther than most candles. It’s innovative technology, and allows for the rooms to be more lit than dirty and dim taverns. Dinner is also better than expected, the menu being more than a sheet of paper. You order at the bar, ordering a plate of their special dinner, then sit at the bar. The men beside you are drunk, but you hope they don’t cause a scene. Something tells you that the security would deal with a bar fight quite brutally.

By the time dusk has fallen, lights flickering on as lower soldiers and owners of shops alight their street lamps, you’ve explored the town. It’s full of trusting people, so you’ve learned quite a bit. King Oikawa has a personal guard and the captain of the guard almost always by his side, whether he makes an announcement or visits down below. One man, Hanamaki Takahiro, seems to willing to joke and hang out with the townspeople, but the captain is much more stern. Iwaizumi Hajime is the name you were told. He’s dangerous, you gathered, and he’s almost always by Oikawa’s side, protecting his king from harm. As night falls, the soldiers rotate so the ones on the streets are now in the castle, as nobody else enters the kingdom after dusk. Disposable soldiers to patrol, skilled protectors inside and around the king where the nightfall can hide trespassers entering the king’s chambers.

Shedding the clothes you were given so graciously, you’re stripping off the clothes of the soldier posted at the inn. The blood flowing from his chest has turned to a large puddle, so you have to trade your shoes for the soldier’s. Larger than your own feet, but you must bear with it. Leaving the alley, you keep your head low and you pretend to patrol. A glance left. A glance right.

You’re stuck.

Soldiers manage to be spread far enough apart, but not enough. They can see where you stand. You breathe heavily and straighten your back. Time to impersonate a soldier through the night and wait for switching times. A brief memory of the dead soldier in the alley flashes, but you push it back. The body is hidden in shadows, even the sunlight in the morn wouldn’t dare shine on the corpse.

Chickens chirp and a rooster crows, soon the other life awake and the sun rises. Shedding light on your position, you look to the gate that leads into the castle. The captain of the guard stands there, opening the gate as soldiers stand tall behind him. You blend in with the other guards, standing straight as you all prepare to trade positions. However, a woman with hair black as night stands before the group. She has an air about her, but she looks familiar. Iwaizumi lets her go, having one of his shoulders go with her. He’s tall and familiar, the soldier from the stables. They pass by, but the woman catches your eye. Her eyes hold a bit of mischief and mystery, but then she’s gone and her soldier follows with her.

“Alright, switch up! You know your positions!” Captain Iwaizumi shouts. Everyone shouts their agreement and dutifully switch places. Eyes face forward, unwilling to look at the captain that seems to have his gaze focused on you. Every soldier goes their separate ways and you don’t seem to bring attention to where you go, entering a room that you and another guard seem to be assigned to.

“Don’t fuck this up, Wakashu,” the soldier beside you grunts. You glance at him, wondering if he’s talking to you, but he thankfully looks to be hyping himself up. Pushing the doors open, you understand why.

It’s the throne room.

King Oikawa sits on his throne as he chats with two people beside him — Hanamaki Takahiro and one of the guardians from the waterfall. Your hair stands on edge, noticing the familiar yellow hair and dark lines, but you attempt to quell your nervousness. The king notices you both, nodding as you both go to positions on either side of the doors. Gatekeepers, essentially.

“It’s sad to see Kiyo-chan leave so soon. I’d hope she would’ve stayed another night to think about her decision,” the king huffs and sighs, brown locks swishing side to side as he shakes his head. “Guess it can’t be helped,”

“She probably thought you were too much of a brat,” Hanamaki snickers. Oikawa huffs again, turning to his guard. “I speak the truth! You expect her to like someone like you? With a shitty personality?”

“Excuse me! My personality is perfect and women should be lining up to be my queen! I thought only Iwa-chan would be mean to me,” he pouts, cheeks puffed out. It’s almost a cute scene. Almost.

Which is promptly ruined.

The doors fling open, you and the other soldier startled by the sudden opening. Iwaizumi and another soldier are huffing as they stop before the throne. Oikawa’s eyes go from friendly to seriousness, his posture changing as he looks down on the captain and an underling. “Speak.”

“A soldier was found dead in the alley,” you and the other soldier immediately go on edge, but for different reasons. “This one found the body,”

Oikawa turns his attention to the soldier, who immediately goes rigid and explains the scene. He also mentions the boots found at the crime scene, which he has in his hand. Coated with dried blood, they’re obviously yours. The guard from the waterfall recognizes them and you panic.

“I’ve seen them before! Someone came into the kingdom with those shoes yesterday morning,” he growls out, then he looks to you, who doesn’t move a muscle. Moving would make a scene, so you of course stay still, but he stares. “You. What’s with the cut on your shirt?”

Shit.

In the dark of night, you didn’t notice the slash in the shirt. The darkened coloring prevented the blood from showing, but the slash showed that something happened. It’s not a cut like dodging a weapon, but more of a stab. Fight or flight response kicks in, so you choose the latter. You got your information, you didn’t kill Oikawa, but it’s better than getting caught. You swing the door open and shut it, bolting down the corridors as you shed the armor. Lighten the load, faster you run. It’s not long until the soldier from before stops you, tall and imposing. You’d remember those stupid eyebrows from anywhere.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He grins, but his grip is strong. You have a feeling he knew you’d be running soon. Footsteps approach behind you, then you’re pulled from the soldier’s grip and forced onto your knees. Chains are placed on your wrists and Iwaizumi grunts.

“Wonder who you’re working for,” he says. Oikawa is behind him, looking at you with the same look he gave to his soldier and Iwaizumi.

“Take her to the dungeons. I’ll see who she works for later.”

The tug of the restraints gets you off your knees, following Iwaizumi and his guard dog, the yellow haired one. Both of them prevent you from running and getting free of the restraints.

In the dungeons, you notice the materials. Similar to the pathway into the town, the dungeon bars are made of a shimmering mineral and you’re suddenly behind the bars. The restraints from before are removed, but your wrists are then placed into more chains along the ground. “Try and get out and see how well that works,” the yellow one grunts. Iwaizumi snaps his fingers and the soldier follows, leaving the dungeon.

“She’ll see soon enough, Kyotani,” the captain says, locking you in. “I’m sure the fight hasn’t completely left her,”

Then they leave. You’re all alone and you’ve failed your mission, but they’re right. You still have some fight left.

Hours pass by as you finally feel the fight leave you. There’s only one guard in the dungeons, but he’s nowhere near you. A thin man with ash brown hair stands posted at the base of the stairs, farthest from your cell. At first, you thought they lacked brains with security in the dungeons, seeing as you’re the only criminal behind bars, but the chains proved otherwise. Each movement you made, every breath you took, every grunt you voiced, the chains knew. They pulled tighter as if they had minds of their own, but they would loosen to their proper place if you were still for a certain amount of time.

Footsteps on marble stairs has you and the guard on alert. Looking towards the stairs, you see the king himself coming towards you. He smirks once he’s outside your cell. Iwaizumi stands next to him, not Hanamaki, and unlocks the door. “Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

“Well, could we help change that?”

“No.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Oikawa grins, crooked with a hint of anger. “I’ll get to the point. Who are you, who sent you, and what was your goal? I’m sure killing one of my disposable guards wasn’t the goal?” You don’t speak, so that angers him even more. It’s quick, the stinging in your jaw and the blood in your mouth the only indications his foot collided with your face. “Once more. Who are you?”

“My name is none of your business and neither is my home. My goal was to send that stupid head off your shoulders. Happy?” Your eyes stay narrowed, but he seems delighted at your answer.

“Treason, trespassing, and murder. I should kill you for this, but I wonder where you’re from,” he then has an unhinged desire in his eyes, grin splitting into something sinister. “I’ll keep you alive until you spill,”

“I’d rather eat your shoe again. What king wears white thigh-high boots, anyways? Your guards don’t respect you, they tolerate you. A worthless king with no pride, that’s all you are. I won’t bow to someone or kneel under their pressure when they have a weak resolve and no power. Admit it, you don’t run the kingdom, your soldiers do.”

A swift kick is administered, Oikawa’s breath heaving as he pants. His face is red with anger, frown evident on his face, but you’re grinning. Blood may be dripping from your mouth, but you know you’re right. He inhales sharply, then turns to Iwaizumi. “Understood,” he nods in response, leaving the keys on the wall as he goes to leave. Iwaizumi also takes the guard posted with him. You don’t understand why, but you don’t have much time to think about that.

“I may seem like a worthless king with little to no pride, but that’s all I have. My worthless pride. My guards and soldiers respect me because I am the power here,” he growls out, hand tugging on your hair that sends you collapsing against the ground. The chains pull in your arms, keeping you down as he straddles you. “You may not bow to me, but I’ll find out who you do bow to. I’ll rip every bit of fight out of you, beginning today,”

“Get off, you pervert!” Your screams echo against marble, reaching nobody’s ears. Oikawa goes to strip away the stolen clothes, eyes narrowing as he feels the dried blood against your chest. Ripping off the shirt, he exposes your breasts.

“Maybe I should take you as my royal lover, seeing as your body is supple and warm, perfect for someone to come to after a long day of work,” he grins, wicked and perverse as he looks at you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Fuck off!” You scream, legs kicking and body squirming. He sighs and shrugs.

“No use, apparently. Then, let’s see how the rest of you feels,” he licks his lips as he shuffled down your pants. He’ll have to get you some other clothes, ones with easier access than the ones of his soldiers. The pants are off and he mocking coos at you, fingers sliding around the waistband of your panties to have them snap against your skin. “Pretty. All white and innocent, aren’t you? That’s what the panties say, but I bet you’d look better in black, since you’re probably not innocent.” He doesn’t get a response, so he continues talking. “I’ll give you some blue ones later, they’ll suit your skin tone and match the bars of your holding cell. Aren’t I generous?”

He’s pulling the fabric down, your legs spread as he does. He expects your goods to be dry, absolutely unprepared, but to his surprise, glimmering strings connect your pussy to your removed panties, falling and breaking as he continues to bare yourself to him. A laugh escapes him, fingers pressing into your folds. “You’re getting off on being manhandled? Seems like you’re the pervert, sweetie,” he coos, licking a hot stripe of saliva against your cheek. It’s disgusting and revolting, but you can’t say anything against it. You’ve been in a similar position before, your body seems to not be able to tell the difference between men.

Oikawa’s fingers delve into your cunt, scissoring as he feels around. Rubbing against your walls, he’s pleased when your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, only for a hand to come and cover your mouth. It’s soon removed, the chains pulling your arm back down. Oikawa continues his violation of your most sensitive area, thumb rubbing against your clit as his fingers move and rub inside you. The building knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm coming on. You can feel it, it’s almost there, a moan escaping— then it’s gone. Oikawa’s hand has been removed, tongue flicking over the wet digits as he moans himself.

“Definitely not a virgin by the way you’re acting. A proper whore, you are,” he doesn’t expect an answer, standing on his knees as he goes to unbuckle his belt. Eyes widen as you realize he’s actually going all the way, but he just smirks down at you. Removing his cock from his pants, you stare at it. It’s almost beautiful, you think, staring at the slender cock and how it seems to just compliment his personality and how he holds himself. A hand wraps around the shaft of it, pumping as his darkened gaze lingers on your spread legs. Well, what’s between them. “Hope you’re ready,”

Although you most certainly are not, he doesn’t care. Pushing his tip into your cunt, he finds it hard to push too far. You’re not relaxed in his hold, tensed at his entrance into your velvety walls. His hand comes to your throat, pushing his thumb on your windpipe. “Any words?”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, eyes rolling as he plunges inside you. Pushing past your barriers and spreading you open wide, he’s not the biggest or longest you’ve ever had, but he’s by no means small. It takes effort to adjust to his length, but he doesn’t allow it. Once he’s in, he’s pulling out only to snap his hips back to yours. Your throat is free of his hold, his hand moving to hook your leg over his arm as his other hand is placed beside you. It’s a horrible thing, finding yourself enjoying his thrusts and how each roll of his hips seem to add to your pleasure. His own moans, much louder than yours, seem to prove he’s finding his own pleasure inside you.

Oikawa’s soon picking up his pace, his lips next to your ear as you mewl from pleasure. “Acting like a proper whore. You’d make a fine lover, chained to my side permanently,” he murmurs, lips pressing to your hot skin. He doesn’t get an answer, but he has a feeling your answer is no. Yet, he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure that he’s soon slamming his hips into you even faster. When he feels his orgasm coming, he leans back and applies pressure to your clit. Your squeal of pleasure has your walls creaming around him and sucking him in. He’s not far behind, rutting his hips against you as he spills his cum inside, your walls milking him of every drop.

When the high passes, he’s removing his limp cock from your hole as his cum oozes out. It drips and plops onto the floor beneath you, but he finds it mesmerizing. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll have to come back.

The shutting and locking of the doors tells you he’s gone, leaving the dungeons and you all alone. With his seed still gushing from your cunt, you have a feeling he’ll be visiting you tomorrow, too.

He wants to break you. You refuse to bend. Each night, you’ll find yourself looking forward to his company.

#haikyuu smut #Mr. Tōru #BB.Kinky #BB.Requests #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #oikawa x reader #tw.choking #tw.death #tw.blood #tw.degradation #tw.abuse #tw.no aftercare

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Escape Part 3:

This is part 3 of the "Escape" post I wrote. @whump-a-la-mode wrote a wonderful part 2. Which is here. Part 1 is here.

Quick fornote, this is not edited. I may look it over eventually, but beaware of mistakes and incorrect grammar. Perhaps a lot of it. Also, my creativity levels right now are like a piece of dynamite going down a waterfall, exploding, and the particles being shipped to a rocket and then discarded into space to be later burnt up by the sun.

Warnings: blood, vomit, collared whumpee, confused whumpee, exhaustion, hospital setting, needles/syringes, restrained whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, soundproof room, torture (head trauma, broken bones, beating), talk of death, referring to one as trash, fake drugs

Hero woke with a start, immediately digging her fists in the familiar mattress. She vaguely felt an odd throb right below her ribcage. Hero thought hard. She didn't recently hurt herself. Unless, of course, she cracked a rib when Villain knocked her down in the elevator. That impudent, little-

Something shifted on her lap. Hero tensed before reaching above her to flick a light on.

The sight below her made her heart skip a beat. Villain was huddled against her, clutching onto her gray t-shirt with ferocity- however weak- as if he would die otherwise. Hmph, making the little ignorant chicken did whole-heartedly believe that her attire was the only way to alleviate his suffering.

But something was wrong. Villain's face was a pallette of blood, spit, vomit. He coughed and buried his face deeper into her stomach. Quizzically, Hero looked all over him. His hands looked like he just had a punching match the plaster- the broken plaster on the wall behind him confirmed that assumption.

"Villain," Hero breathed and ran her hand over his quivering back.

A strangled whimper was the only response.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, noting his cut up heel- he wasn't allowed laces, and refused to sleep in the velcro shoes that he was granted- and the blooming flower of a bruise that erupted in the center of his forehead. Not to mention the blood, all the creamy velvet blood...

"N-no," Villain stuttered finally.

"Then get off of me." Hero proceeded to push the villain away from her, but he already did the work, spiraling onto the ground with a thump.

"What the heck is wrong with you?" Hero asked, crouching next to her foe.

"Not wrong with me," Villaim mumured. Hero scoffed. Yeah, no, Villain was perfectly healthy. He wasn't covered in blood and puke, and he definitely wasn't shaking in exhaustion.

"Sure," Hero grinned sloppily and started to take in Villain's figure. He was obviously weakened, but he was still strong. Oh so strong. His biceps were flexed- actually his whole arm was flexed, but Hero knew it was more reflexive than a boyish show-off. Even his back moved around as he breathed, muscles contracting to their maximum strength. Hero knew that he would have abs under the sweaty shirt. A hum of approval, the Villain Containment Practice really did wonders.

Yet amidst the undeniable cords of muscles, the body in front of her was truly exhausted, starved, and dehydrated. Hero doubted he would be to move, especially with the hidden injury.

It hurt Hero to watch his hand tentatively brush the collar around his neck, but it stung when it flopped back down. Maybe taking away his breakfast privileges was too much.

And perhaps snatching away his lunch, but that was all. He still had dinner, and snacks-

No, those were also taken away. Cruelly erased from his schedule and replaced with more reps. More lessons, more lectures...

The villain groaned and tried to shuffle away as spontaneously aware that Hero was in his vicinity.

"Wha' ya gonna do?" Villain slurred. His dull eyes glanced over to the plastic cup. "Gimme," he whispered.

"Manners," Hero began to warn, but stopped. Chastising such a pale prisoner would do more bad than good. She could just imagine a relaspe. Villain was doing... mediocre, but not terrible. Though the only points he received were from the continous physical exercises he performed daily.

So Hero stood up, clenching her teeth as her rib flared up again, and sauntered over to the kitchenette. She grabbed a new cup and filled it up with city water. Hero scowled- she hated this water. Once she lived in the country... the change of taste in the water was one of a kind.

Hero returned with the cup and handed it to Villain, but he immediately dropped it. Water spilled everywhere. Hero could see his skin turn red and tears spike in his eyes.

"Aww come-" Hero began, but stopped when she noticed Villain turned his head into the crook of his elbow. Hero sighed and went back for another cup.

She returned and propped Villain's limp head up. She tilted it back and ran her thumb over his lips, gently prying the shriveled muscles open. Villain, however tired, tried to refuse, glaring daggers at Hero.

"Villain," Hero growled. Villain tensed, so Hero rubbed circles on his neck. Comfort was not her greatest gift, but Villain relaxed regardless.

"You wanted water earlier," she reminded him, putting the cup to his lips. After a brief moment of hesitation, Villain greedily opened his lips and started gulping the water down.

"Slow down," Hero very rudely removed the much wanted cup from Villain. "Time for you to go to the infirmary."

"No!" Villain yelled and tried to push away from his nemesis. They may run into Nosey. What if they tried to kill Hero again? Or worse, Villain?

The trek down to the infirmary was beyond slow. Even Villain in his groggy state recognized that. The corriders and dorms all blended together into one gigantic smoothie. They didn't matter, only not running into Nosey mattered.

Hero carried him in a bridal carry. Though lithe and slender, she was strong. Very strong. Villain realized this with a pang of fear. She could easily dominate him and hurt him.

Especially if she found out that Villain saved her.

When she found out. Villain could only physically make it non-lethal and take away the majority of her pain. It still would scar and be painful to an extent, but he saved her.

He saved her.

"Using your powers is never the answer," Villain mumbled to himself. "Call the heros..."

"What's that?" Hero asked.

Villain shut up, right then and there.

"Well, okay. Here we are," Hero pushed open the door to the infirmary with her foot. The smell of disinfectant and medicine hit Villain's nose, making him want to throw up all over again.

"Hero." A deep voice. Not Nosey. He was safe, for now.

"Doctor. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Why is his collar still on?"

"Safety. I don't know. He was collapsed on top of me and throwing up."

"Maybe food poisoning. Lay him on-"

"He hasn't eaten in days, Doc."

Villain felt knew hands tenderly dabbing around the collar.

"Do you have keys for this, Hero?"

"Yeah, back pocket. Here." Hero sat Villain on the ground, using her foot to keep him upright.

"Hero?" Villain slurred. His tongue was too thick, his brain too tired to completely make sense of the dire situation. He limply rested his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes.

Healing never was this taxing.

Villain felt his head fall back, so he jerked back upwards into a strangers arms.

"Hey, Villain," the same deep voice cooed, like a baritone. Deep and eneveloping.

"Villain." Hero was behind him, but Villain hardly recognized it. He felt like he was falling into a dark abyss.

"Bring him to a bed," the doctor ordered. Villain, whisked away from the comforting promise of sleep, was rushed back into the present. He jerked and cried out, fighting against the arms that held him.

He was going to be punished. Punished for his negligence. Punished for his powers.

"Villain," Hero snarled. Her voice was taut with exasperation. "We are trying to help you."

"No!" Villain cried out, breaking free of the hero and the doctor. Blindly he scrambled away, knocking over tables. Liquids spilled everywhere. Glass cut into his palms, but he didn't care. Not when he was going to be punished.

"Twenty more laps Villain."

"Add more weight, 200 pounds isn't enough."

"I don't care. Another sit-up. With weights."

"Seven minute plank. Let's go."

All Nosey's voices. The seagull that swooped down and took his strength away, leaving him a parched rasion with only enough food to keep his body minimally functioning.

He couldn't. He couldn't be punished. He helped, he helped. Yet, Villain couldn't convince himself that was indeed the truth.

Heros never cared about the truth. That was evident when they never took the time to remove him from this jail when he was innocent. Yes, he landed the homeless man in the hospital, but it was self-defense.

Villain plummeted into a skinny nurse, laying her flat on the ground with a bleeding head. Again, not his fault. She had a horrendous looking needle.

"Villain!" Hero called out and tackled him to the ground, pining him by the wrists and keeping his torso down with a well-placed knee.

Villain threw himself upwards, trying in desperation to remove himself from Hero's grasp.

"We are going to have to sedate you if you keep this up," Hero warned. Villain froze. He couldn't unwillingly go unconscious or he would never recover from the horrors inflicted upon him. Heck, he might never wake up. The creaks in his bones, the dull ache throughout his overexerted muscles, the incessant headache- they all reminded him of his predicament.

"There we go now." Hero removed her knee and scooped Villain up, laying him on a hard hospital bed.

The doctor came around, eyeing the Villain's hands.

"Please restrain him," the doctor said and quickly walked away to grab who knows what.

Hero took the liberty to roughly shove Villain's hands into cuffs. The cuffs surrounded his hand like Elsa's cuffs in the movie Frozen. They blocked any and all chances of escape.

Escape. The once motivating words was now a nightmare.

Hero then worked to place a leather strap around his throat. Villain didn't even notice that the previous collar was removed. Now looking through the mess he made, Villain saw the collar strewn on the ground.

Another strap was placed around his torso. Hero tightened it one notch too tight, pushing his abs in. Villain groaned and glared, but it lacked intent.

Finally his ankles were attached to the bed, each dangling off the side uncomfortably.

"Okay. Good," the doctor chuckled before reappearing at Villain's side. "Let's start the exam."

"You intolerable little butthead," Nosey drawled, tossing Villain into the white room like a piece of trash. "First off completely failing tests like a kindergartener; second, being a prat and faking injuries which just led to you being punished; and third? Well, that hospital trampede was really necessary, wasn't it?"

"And what are you gonna do?" Villain retorted. "Wave your little middle finger at me and yell all your stupid insults? Honestly, brainiac, you sound like a dying cat."

Of course, Villain did not say any of this. He just thought it, an undying wish that threatened to bounce off his tongue.

"No answer?" Nosey asked, leaning against an ivory wall. Villain wondered if it was once pure white, but all the blood spillage stained it.

Now that wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Nope," Villain replied, completely compliant.

"You know I love the little stunt you played with healing dear Miss Hero," Nosey stalked over to the villain. "But my employer does not."

Villain vividly remembered the way Nosey's face paled when they laid eyes on Hero. And then he also definitely remembered the way Nosey snarled at him- wild and feral, ready to maim and kill.

"Wanna know how much killing her depended on my livelihood? Heck, I would've made thousands and then be promoted to her position. My employer, Superhero, is now furious at me. Hero, that goody two shoes and her 'redeemed the villains' morals are quite old-schooled. Don't you think? We need a more... let's say modern approach to dealing with you monsters." Nosey's black pointed boot pressed against Villain's cheek before it slashed down with such force that it should've knocked Villain out.

But, stupid enhanced healing powers delegated by the doctor always made the promise of black bliss an impossibility.

But the enhancement was temporary. Just enough to replenish Villain's utter exhaustion.

Nosey's fingers grasped onto Villain next finding a perfect pressure point on his throat. Villain squealed, his neck was still bruised and tender from the collar.

"Do you want to know what it feels like to suffocate? Villain? Hmm?" Nosey spoke quickly, not even giving Villain a chance to shake- or nod, if Villain wanted to go that route- before they started to press right against Villain's trachea.

"Lack of air. Painfully at first, but the moment you black out. The moment that death is almost upon you is precious," Nosey spoke through clenched teeth as excitement and adrenaline overtook him. Villain, on the other hand, was overtaken by fear as he wiggled around like a frying worm.

Almost as suddenly as the hand was placed, it was removed. Villain blinked away the black blotches and took gulping breaths.

"Pathetic," Nosey growled and grabbed the back of Villain's neck, picking him up, and ramming him against the wall. An volcano of stars erupted in Villain's vision as the room tilted.

Nosey smacked him against the wall like that a couple more times before grabbing onto his wrist and stepping down. A crack and a scream echoed throughout the soundproof room like dynamite.

"Think you are done. Do you think that you are done!" Nosey laughed wickedly as they discarded the villain on the ground.

Then the beating took place. Kicks and rabbit chops battered Villain's body until he couldn't even move to defend himself. Unconsciousness loomed at his vision, but each new flare of pain brought him back to the waking world.

His broken arm loosely hung, a bone popping out of the skin, as his body convulsed. But Nosey wasn't done. No, they went over to the wall and grabbed a wooden bat and began to hit Villain until his ribs began to break. One crack after the other, after the other-

Nosey flopped down on the ground next to Villain, carefully cradling their own head with their left hand as their right picked Villain's up.

"Do you see that window Villain?" Nosey asked. "It leads right out into the city. We are even on the first story. An easy escape if you weren't so weak." Nosey wrapped their arm around Villain's heaving shoulders in a brotherly fashion. "But that's okay. You can stay with me," Nosey chuckled and grabbed Villain's chin, prying his mouth open. The villain gurgled and spat in response, but allowed Nosey to keep him in that hold.

Nosey reached into their back pocket and revealed a syringe.

"Power suppressant. Don't worry, I know your weakness. Can't be drugged or you will die. Blah blah blah. Hero's mind reading powers are good for one thing at least. But this-" Nosey stroked the clear syringe and whistled. "-is a masterpiece."

Villain tried to remove his throbbing head, but Nosey's grib was too strong.

"Can't have you dying on me when we are having so much fun," Nosey wrapped Villain into a close hug as they plunged the needle into his neck.

"Enjoy your stay," Nosey chuckled before leaving the room.

Before leaving Villain, alone and in pain, to deal with himself.

#villain whumpee #hero whumper #hero whumpee #in a way #continuation #escape #part 3 #torture #broken bones #exhausted whumpee #poor villain #tw needles

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friendofhayley · 4 years ago

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I’m back after my hiatus from fanfiction, to give y’all the best multifandom recs of the fics I read this month. Shoutout to all content creators who helped us live to see the close of this year. This fic includes 15 fics for Sterek, Larry, Winteriron, and Geraskier. The starred ones put me through heaven and hell *chef’s kiss*.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

1. Six Letter Word for Romance by @troubleiwant | domestic kink - omg there’s only one bed - soft Derek - oblivious idiots in love - 6k

Stiles definitely starts off thinking it’s fucking hilarious that Derek-sourwolf-Hale does crosswords and cares about scuffs on his furniture.

But at a certain point, and he can’t pinpoint exactly when, “fully functional adult couple” somehow becomes a massive fetish of his. Derek in sweats and bare feet, nudging his glasses up his nose while he does the Sunday crossword? Unff. Derek filling out forms to get some renovations on his property approved? Oh God, yes. Derek putting away groceries and bitching that the corner store was out of the right type of Greek yogurt? Take me now, Stiles thinks, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

This can’t be normal.

2. *Dirty Little Secret* by @isthatbloodonhisshirt | Cora & Stiles bffs - no one can resist the Stilinski charm - celebrity Derek - human au - 91k

“Holy shit, this is a date!” he blurted out, turning back to Derek wide-eyed. “This is a date! You intended for this to be a date, this was supposed to be a date!” He figured if he said it enough times, maybe he would believe it, but so far, no dice.

Derek was scowling again—seriously, did he want wrinkles?—but he just reached into one of the bags and pulled out a burger, checking what was written on the foil in sharpie before handing it over to Stiles.

“Of course it’s a date, what did you think this was?”

3. Can You Feel A Whole New Part of Your World? by @isthatbloodonhisshirt | i genuinely don’t look at authors names i just click i am sorry for spamming you but you write too good - neighbors Sterek - emotionally mature Stiles - the ideal fluffy world you’d want to live in - 53k

Can you hear me singing in the shower?” Stiles blurted out, because he had to know, now. If one of his neighbours had slid that note under his door, then it meant Parrish as another neighbour could hear him, too! He had to know if this was all a huge joke and one person had walked by and overheard him and decided to fuck with him.

Parrish gave him a weird look at the question, but answered anyway, making Stiles’ plans to leave the country speed up in his mind.

“Of course I can. You’re actually not bad. Though you have been singing a lot of Frozen lately, getting kind of tired of the soundtrack.”

4. Theory of Overprotective Canines by @petals42 | derek can turn into wolf - oblivious Stiles - future fic - mutual pining - 11k

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

Larry (One Direction)

5. **The Changer and the Changed** by @homosociallyyours | literally the best fic of all time i want to live in there - girl direction - NYC ‘70s au - trans Zayn - the girls are so lovely - 59k

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians.

Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love.

When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene.

6. others i’ve seen might never be mean (but they would never do) by @cherrylouvol6 | aaaaaaaa it’s lesbian When Harry Met Sally !!! - rom com - girl direction - coming out and first times - really great sex - 20k

Louis sighs.

“Do you remember what I said to you the first time we met?”

“That I’m naive and neurotic and would be hard pressed to ever find someone who could put up with me?” Harry snaps.

7. some things fade (some never do) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | aaaaaa this story took me apart and back together again just like Louis and Harry - urban fantasy au - second chances - exes to friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - 25k

Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or magical ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

8. we can take the long way home by @eleadore | i usually don’t rec my porn but there’s so much feels in this one - canon-divergent - kink discovery - friends to lovers - this was written in 2015 as a future fic but it felt like it was taking place now so good job - 27k

“Fertile,” Louis says, and then laughs because it sounds stupid to say out loud. He hasn’t ever really thought of himself in those terms. Baby-making terms. It’s just one of those things his body can do, like exercise, or go without tea. Doesn’t mean he will.

Winteriron (MCU)

9. **Dig No Graves** by @missaphelion | Tony finds out about his parents right after winter soldier au - Tony Stark has a heart - Bucky heals with bots and lots of sugar - slow burn - 142k

"I'm here to kill you, Terminator," Tony said slowly, "does that compute?"

The soldier looked up at him with wide blue eyes and no expression. "Okay."

Tony froze. "Okay," he echoed. "I tell you I came here to kill you and your response is 'okay'?"

10. A Rifling Matter by Penndragon27 | Winter Soldier has such a big crush on Tony’s weapons, he escapes Hydra au - identity porn - pining Bucky - fluff and angst - Winter Soldier is a fanboy and it’s cute - 37k

All the Asset knows is fighting, killing.

He also knows a good weapon when he sees one and Stark Industries... they make some great weapons.

11. *Winter is Coming (aka Fifty First Avengers Dates)* by @tisfan & @everyworldneedslove | enemies to friends to lovers to 50 first dates - pining Bucky - Tony gets amnesia - no Steve bashing but he’s a little bit of an ass - mental health issues - 109k

Bucky Barnes is still mostly The Asset, and he's pretty sure Hydra is going to come back for him soon, so in the meantime he's just going to keep an eye on the Avengers for them. But then Clint spotted him hiding in the shadows, so Tony came out and dragged Bucky back to the Tower, threw him in the shower, and fed him cheeseburgers.

Now The Asset is having anomalous feelings. In his pants.

Geraskier (The Witcher)

12. *no reason to run* by @yoursummerfrost | different meeting au - only one bed but camping - cursed Jaskier - soft Geralt!!!! - poly negotiations - 61k

"You'll change your mind one day," says the innkeep. "The road can't love you back."

What a strange way to flatten something so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. What a small way to love.

13. *He Fell into a Faerie Ring* by @geraltnoises | Jaskier gets bardnapped after the fight au - non-human Jaskier - soft Geralt - Jaskier encourages people to be kind and becomes a god - emotionally mature Geralt - 57k

Traders are a gossiping sort. If there was a scandal within the noble houses of Posada, you’d hear about it in Cretegor by the end of the week. So, the quick spread of a rumor about a little village in the Kestrel Mountain range was not at all surprising. What was surprising was the story that the traders wove. They said that Luibhtorrach, a sad, ghost of a farming town, had miraculously become a hub for trade, as if overnight. Their lands unbelievably fertile and brimming with crop. Even stranger, each and every one of Luibhtorrach’s people professed that their good fortune was the work of a mysterious beast they’d claimed as their personal deity. Most recent news foretold of their plans to throw a midsummer festival celebrating this newfound god. In preparation, silken blue banners were erected in every corner of the town, each bearing the symbol of their new patron: A delicate dandelion wrapping around a golden sun.

14. Barking Up the Wrong Tree by KHansen | 5+1 things - I’m worried about Geralt’s skills - non-human Jaskier - monsterfucker Geralt - crack treated seriously - 11k

Geralt is 100% certain that Jaskier is a vampire.

He's 100% proven wrong.

15. Bardic Idyll by Lisztful | fake relationship - Geralt is soft and oblivious - pining - fluff and angst - Jaskier you can’t show your emotions mainly through song! - 13k

Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.

#monthly fic rec #fic rec #sterek fic rec #larry fic rec #winteriron #geraskier #larrie hijinks #witcher #mcu

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wingingitonwheels · 3 years ago

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Exploring Differences

"By all means let's be open-minded, but not so open-minded that our brains drop out."

- Richard Dawkins.

Friday 8 April

I wonder what emotion I would feel in this adventure if I’d done north to south, working with rather than against the prevailing winds and following convention? Apparently, cycling two continents wasn’t enough of a challenge, and never mind the 1500 extra miles I’ve just given myself by setting out from Florida rather than San Diego. With approximately 7000km to cover and 51 days now to reach Vancouver, I need to cover an average of 137km every day. If I’d ridden from San Diego, that would have dropped to a measly 95km per day. If I’m honest, which of course I am, I’ll give it what I can, but the odds are stacked against me…I may have to cut or replan some of my excursions, which are Colorado Springs, Arches National Park, Monument Valley, Bryce Canyon, Zion National Park and Bonneville Salt Flats, all bar Colorado Springs and Bonneville require a southern and western detour, so they might be axed, to be replaced with Yellowstone and/or possibly Yosemite…I hit 175km today, but I’d planned to hit 254km, only because I’d finally lined up my first Warmshowers accommodation…but the wind had other ideas, and a face full of full on all day, my will finally broke, and I would have slept on a park bench if I’d had to. It was looking that way as American Patagonia, disguised as Florida, far from being the state with a motel in every town, seemed void of support for the weary traveller. At the point I most needed it, the only place to be found looked like Bates Motel before it was renovated, with one patron who could have been Norman. It was worth continuing at least out of the town to escape the possibility of being invited in…

This area of Florida seems to be off the beaten track. Riding on for 10 miles into the unknown paid off. I found a campsite advertising camping and cabins, and feeling wind-battered, rolled in and spoke to Wendy, the most lovely manager of KOA. After much solution exploring and number calling, not only did she have nothing, the only option looked to be a ride 25 miles back to Clewiston. That wasn’t going to happen. Next thing I know, she solved it. A brand new air bed, hard standing for a caravan, a couple of blankets, towels and a pillow from her caravan and I was set to sleep under the stars. I would have been perfectly happy, as long as the bugs didn’t bite, but just as I’d set up camp, along came a very friendly Mya, who completely insisted I take up her offer of a spare bed in their incredible camper, the likes of I’ve never experienced. I genuinely took a lot of persuading, but here I am, set up, in my own room with their cat Tuna for company.

I met the rest of the family too:

Tuna

Osprey

Dinasaur

Camo

Buddy

Ivy

Bryan

Mya

Maryna

Sayla

Some of these are lizards, two are Bryan and Mya’s 12 and 9 year old beautiful daughters, two are cats and all are devine! I was invited to dinner too with Bryan’s parents who are also staying here, but declined due to the massive pizza I had not knowing when I’d next get my hands on food, and because I am tired, have an early start and it was going to be super boozy! Normally, that would be the clincher but given another day of strong headwinds tomorrow, my continuing cold and wind-drained, I did the sensible thing and am getting an early night. It’s a shame though as these guys live such an I unconventional life. Mya is a non/practicing singer/songwriter, and Bryan works in the marine industry. When they both lost their jobs in covid, they took to the road, parked up this huge camper, which is moved by a lorry to wherever they want to work or stay for a while, et voila! A happy and mobile family! They’re here for a while as Sayla is teaching locally and her girls are going to the same school. And how trusting to meet a complete stranger and immediately invite them into their home and then trust them as they go out to dinner! How lucky am I?

When Mya returned, we spent a good hour chatting, her two beautiful girls keen to chat and ask why on Earth I’d want to cycle so far, and show off their two cats to me.

I’m glad I didn’t go too far into my views on American politics and vaccines. Somehow we got on to the subjects, and it appeared we were on completely opposite sides of the fence. Mya considered herself to be a liberal Christian, who rallied for Trump, believed it was right to carry guns, so people could protect themselves from the government, and didn’t believe in the vaccine, her husband having been in hospital with blood clots in his lungs as a result of Covid the summer before. When someone has been so open and kind as to offer you a roof over your head, it felt the wrong thing to do to share my views on 2 out of three matters that were strictly US topics…

Wednesday 13 April

As I continued my journey north from this first close encounter, it was clear that I had entered the Bible Belt of North America. Having been brought up as a catholic with no choice in the matter. And attending a convent for 14 years, at my first opportunity, and perhaps before, I began to rebel against all things catholic and religion. To this day, I have no issues with anyone choosing to follow their faith, church or their version of God, as long as they don’t ram it down my throat or try to convert me. In this area of the USA, “God” was being marketed from what seemed like 50% of marketing space: huge billboards, outside places of worship, coffee shops. Anger rose in me when two billboards, as big as can be imagined shouted out: “Abortion makes God sad” and a short time later, “Want proof of God?” above a picture of a perfect smiling baby. I’m not violent, in fact, I’d go as far to say I’m a pacifist. But if I had seen the people responsible for these posters, I would have turned into a modern female Bruce Lee and taken them all down. If a woman is deciding about what to do about a pregnancy, it’s undoubtedly come from a difficult place. These people who post these posters claiming they have an inside line to “God” who told them it makes him sad can only be described as deluded and heartless. The numbers of people practicing their faith should be declining, which it is, with this kind of blatant messaging.

Ironically, prior to these experiences, the first person I met in the USA host was a Jehovah’s Witness. Joe, who rather than me being ultimately the most grateful, couldn’t thank me enough for staying with him. This, the man who could not have done more, personally shopped for me buying half of Publix, to make up for my terrible experience of getting to him 3 days late, which was not his problem at all!

Before coming to USA, I put some questions together for the people I meet, so I can learn a little about them. The questions are:

- [ ] 1. What makes you and your loved ones happy

- [ ] 2. What makes you angry or sad

- [ ] 3. What or whom is the biggest influence on you and why and how

- [ ] 4. What does community mean to you?

- [ ] Do you feel connected or not?

- [ ] How do you see your future?

- [ ] What would you do to improve your quality of life?

- [ ] What is your happiest memory ever?

- [ ] What would you like my lasting memory to be of you?

I got on so well with Joe, I wanted to know more about him and what made him tick. Other than Mark and his mum Sue, I have never met someone so selfless and wanting to share as Joe. Father to a daughter and 10 years on his own, it’s hard to understand why he hasn’t found someone. He seems to give his whole life to helping others. At the time I stayed, he’d given up his room to help a friend and her two children who needed an address so her children could go to school. He had another guy staying with his two dogs, and constantly cleaned up after them all. Add to this the tiny cockapoo puppy, Bear, he’d got his 12 year old daughter, his devotion to the church, and his security job from 7pm to 7am, he never had time for him. His answer to this: it feels better to give than to receive.

I won’t go through all of his answers systematically, but can tell you what I learnt. He’s the oldest of 7 children, his biggest influence was his mum, who passed away last year. He identifies his community as being his family, and feels very much connected, and when they’re together, this is when he’s happiest. He was given the title of “man of the house” by his father, who said this was his role, even when his father was present, and did this with pride. His mother taught him a rhyme to help get his younger siblings to bed on time. This is probably not word perfect but went something like: “it’s 9, you’re fed, now off to bed!” And it worked! In his community, policing was done not just by his parents but by any of his neighbours! If anyone did anything wrong, the authoritarian would take some branches from some shrub or trees, and symbolically “whip” the offender with them. It would stop there! The person who chastised the offender would then tell the parents and they’d do the same! So respect was built in throughout his community, and he liked it!

We continued through the questions in a bit of a hurry as Joe had bible studies. When we got got the last question, “what would you like my lasting memory to be of you?”, Joe paused momentarily, and then responded “to remember me as a genuine person”…he expanded on this a little after taking another pause, and closed his eyes, trying to hold back emotional tears. When I wrote these questions, I never imagined it would raise such deep feelings in any person I asked, and Joe’s emotion really touched me. What more could I do other than to give him a hug. How this man does not have a partner is beyond me. They would be so lucky to have found him. He absolutely will be remembered as genuine, with the most huge and engaging smile and eyes.

The irony of these two views on religion in just a few days. Here, you have Joe, who almost convinced me (as I wanted to show willing and return kindness and keep an open mind) nearly persuaded me to attend the online event for the passing of Jesus for his church on Friday. And from the love of apparently the same god, emotional blackmail by a different church, which simply confirmed why I believe and practice good, not God.

As the days progressed in Florida, whilst South America was about culture and landscapes, it started to feel like USA will be defined by people. By Monday, day 4 of heading north, my good old friend the wind had been solidly against me, my gears stopped working on day 2 and were resolved via a detour to Orlando.

Overall, this feels not just like another country, but another world. No chasing dogs, a cycle lane and smooth tarmac for the whole, the land of plenty where I have multiple choices for food, at 4 times the price of the highest price in South America and twice as expensive as the UK. When turning the pedals, I can finally relax again, a feeling I had long forgotten. I wasn’t aware for the most part in South America that I was constantly on guard, and now the prospect that there may be other “easy miles” ahead feels quite exciting!

Before I leave you, I must tell you about my incredible Warmshowers hosts living in Sebring.

I haven’t used Warmshowers before: it’s a charitable organisation that provides hosts for travelling cyclists who also host, across the world. You send them a message, find out if they can put you up, either in their beds or a pitch for a tent. Most offer food too, and it’s all done on a voluntary basis.

I’d researched potential hosts once I’d landed in Florida and ditched my flight to San Diego. Elaine and Bill looked like a likely option for my first night, but the wind was too strong and I didn’t make it. They kindly offered for me to stay the Saturday night, but my intention had been to ride further that day, as stopping in Sebring would leave me short of miles.

I did stop for lunch there and let them know I’d definitely not be staying with them, and a short while later, remounted my bike. Within 2 miles, I got a massive Di2 failure: nothing worked even when charging. The likely solutions were staying in Sebring for a number of days whilst it was diagnosed on Monday (it was Saturday afternoon which is the worst time to have an issue with a bike), and potentially lose more days after that waiting for parts, or to ride to Orlando Sunday in the hope of a more speedy resolution on Monday. I went with the latter, and with cap in hand, contacted my new Sebring friends to ask if it was still possible to stay. I was in luck and only 2 miles from them.

Bill Schroeder, originally from Pennsylvania, veteran, was involved in organising the first Trans Am Bike Races, has ridden everywhere, and been everywhere else. His type of ride was just 300 miles. No drama. He is an absolute larger than life character who drinks bourbon like water! Elaine Decker a petite lady with legs to die for (who explained why she gets Bill’s bourbon for him - as she can then water it down and he doesn’t know 😂), at 80, is still riding, only now has a recumbent, due to her heart issues and the possibility of being dizzy and falling off a normal bike. In the last 4 years, she’s cycled 20,000 miles on it, accompanied by Bill! I loved this couple, who immediately felt like friends. I was their 20th guest since 2015, and felt like their most “normal” from the stories and books they shared from their other guests. I was the first to visit since Covid, and they made me feel so welcome. Dare I say it for my readers who are religious, I was relieved that without prompting, it seemed we were all members of the church of the bike. 😄.

Reflecting on 800km in Florida: I was expecting flat and featureless, and that I’d be glad to put it behind me. But I left feeling I really loved the countryside in the north, where properties seemed to have so much space between them, even in the towns, both rich and poor. Yards and lush gardens rarely had fences like we do in the UK, and it was so green! Not too hot, and driving was better than UK on the whole, whilst the roads and surfaces were the best I’ve seen anywhere I’ve cycled and in the north, even undulating but no higher than 105m. The roadkill included a six foot alligator, an ant eater, many smaller gators, lizards and frogs, and a few raccoons, some of which were cleared up by black vultures in large gangs. Retail was extensive, with most of the road from Orlando to Ocala lined with retail parks. Compared with anywhere in South America, life seemed pretty easy. But the overriding memory will be the omnipresence of religion, for which I know I wouldn’t be able to live with for long, even if the sun shone every day!

Georgia for a day and then on to Alabama - a storm is brewing! 😱

#Spotify

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billyspotato · 5 years ago

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Welcome Back - Geralt of Rivia

Words: 2.160 words

Type: Angst & Fluff

Summary: After Geralt finds Cirilla, he goes to your house looking for a place to stay for a while, but you haven’t seen each other for over a year.

Warning: English is not my first language. Sorry if I misspelled something.

Yennefer, even though she’s not mentioned, and Geralt didn’t have any kind of relationship in this imagine’s universe!

Btw, Azana is a character I created when writing, she’s not actually a character in the books, show or games.

Part 1 Part 2

A/n: Gif’s not mine :)

You look over at your now clean kitchen and sigh in relief. Now you can finally go to the market. You change clothes quickly and put on your boots before grabbing your basket and stepping out of your small house.

Like any other day, the sky is colored grey and the wind is cold. You pull the hood of your cloak over your head, making your face is now covered from the sides and shielded from the cold.

As you stepped in the busy market, some locals looked at your cloaked self and looked elsewhere right away, scared to be caught. Everyone still has the idea of your ‘friend’, Geralt, fresh on their minds. Even though he left more than a year ago and you have never seen him again.

People are still intimated by Witchers, and that also applies to the people that surround them. And it looks like it always will.

While looking at the various loafs of bread displayed in front of you, your mind was occupied with something else, or someone else. Geralt, and his well-being.

Could he be hunting right now? Getting payed well, you hoped.

Could he be happy? That can be discussed.

Could have he found love?

That thought sent a sharp pain through your chest. You don’t even know if he’s alive, how can you even think about him being in love with someone else?

You looked up at the seller and gave him a small smile before extending your hand with the coins. The man took it welcoming your smile and you grabbed the loaf out of the wooden table and putting it into your basket.

You moved on to the vegetables displayed by other sellers and while taking a look good at everything, so you wouldn’t take a rotten one by accident home, you hear someone call out your name.

“Y/N, my sweetheart” Azana, an old sweet woman from the village and seller from the market, calls out while extending her arms and looking at you.

“Hi” You say welcoming the smile and the daily hug.

“How has your day been?” She asks with an adoring smile on her face.

“Pretty tiring, decided to clean the house today” You say with a sigh, “Not the best idea. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m alright. The fruit is selling like crazy today for some unknown reason”

You laughed at her confused look and she then lifts her eyebrows and opens her mouth as if she remembered something.

“I’ve heard the Witcher came back to the village today” She states, and you give a sad smile.

“Azana, Geralt’s not coming back”

“Don’t say those things, my sweet. You know he is, he wouldn’t just leave you” She says before walking back to her table, which is filled with customers, “Here take this, for you and just in case he’s back, for him as well” She offers while starting to put various fruits and vegetables in your basket.

Azana always had the hope that Geralt would come back. She said that she had never seen you happier like the way you were when he was doing business in town. Azana would even offer food to Geralt after his work would be done as a ‘thank you’ for him to come back to you alive.

She was your neighbor when you were younger, ended up taking care of you many times as well, so a certain friendship grew, and now she just wants to see you happy. And Geralt made you happy. So that made her love him for it and be forever thankful.

That was until Geralt had to leave town to continue his work. Unfortunately, he can’t just stop and live a good life with the woman that he loves in a small cozy home with 7 kids, he is a Witcher after all. You understood that and you let him go, after making him promise to come back once in a few months.

But, you haven’t seen him since.

Now, people in the small village would like to make, listen and spread rumors since nothing exciting happens in this place. The most exciting thing that has ever happened was the Witcher’s appearance. So, they would just spread rumors about his whereabouts, making you (the first 3 times) and Azana (even today) hopeful.

After thanking Azana for the food and getting another bear hug, you decided to walk back home. She kissed your cheek before you turned around and the smile plastered on your face warmed the woman’s heart, while looking at you like a proud mother.

As you walked out of the market and into the streets on your home, Geralt pulled Roach’s reins slightly, making her move slower, as they made their way in the village. Ciri’s eyes looked around what surrounded her, not alarmed by anything, just curious.

“What are we doing here?” Ciri whispers to Geralt, who is sitting behind her on the saddle.

“This is where we’re going to stay for some time” He explains while pulling the hood of Ciri’s cloak over her head, hiding her face from strangers.

Geralt pulls Roach’s reins once more, coming to a full stop, as they got into the barns of the village. He gets himself down the brown horse and helps Ciri next.

“Witcher, it’s been a while” A man states from behind him.

Geralt looks up at the man and nods, acknowledging his presence. The two men knew each other, you would sometimes visit the barn and take a look at the sleeping horses and somewhat sick/injured animals, in love with the idea of helping them. That’s when Geralt met the man, making him in some way trustworthy.

“I’ll take her” The man says once more, taking a hold of Roach’s reins.

Geralt’s amber eyes followed the man as he took Roach into the stables while in complete silence. Ciri looks up at the Witcher confused at how he handed his dear beloved horse to a stranger.

“Do you know him?” She asks and Geralt looks at her.

“Somewhat” He says before adjusting the swords on his back. “Let’s go get you something to eat”

They walked out of the barn, Ciri’s mind now occupied with what she will eat since they’re not in the middle of the hoods anymore (making the list of possible foods grow), as people shared looks and even whispered to each other, some in excitement and others in pure shock, with the sight of the white haired man.

The both of them stepped in the busy market and Ciri pulled Geralt by his leather sleeve to the table various vegetables were displayed right when her eyes laid on it. Geralt kept being, obviously, willingly dragged by the young girl while she gasped at the amount of food.

After buying bread from a very scared man, Geralt gives it to Ciri, who welcomed and started eating right away.

“Can we get apples as well?” Ciri asked as her eyes focused on the pile of red and green apples displayed in front of a lady.

Geralt nods before following the girl, who right away started the conversation with the lady behind the fruit. The lady, being Azana herself, smiled at the blonde beautiful girl before a tall man stood behind her, making her eyes go up to his face.

“Geralt?” Azana asks in shock as the amber eyes of the Witcher looked at her as well.

“Azana” Geralt says while biting off his small smile, which is begging to appear.

“Oh, my dear” She says before going to him and pulling the broad shouldered and strong man into a hug like she did to you seconds ago.

“Still a hugger?” Geralt comments making the woman laugh while pulling away.

“I will always be one” She says with a big smile, “Have you seen Y/N yet?”

“No, not yet” He says, “We will after Cirilla gets her food”

“Do you miss her?” Azana asks, wanting to know right away if his feelings are the same as the ones she told you, so you wouldn’t lose hope.

Geralt only nods while Ciri looks up curious at the conversation and with who you are.

“Do you still love her?”

The question made Ciri’s eyes widen and look up at Geralt in shock. The loner white haired man has someone, and he didn’t tell her?

Geralt, feeling Ciri’s gaze on him, doesn’t use words to answer Azana, he only gives her a small smile making the old woman almost cheer in happiness.

“And who are you?” Azana asks. Ciri looks up at the woman, giving her a small smile.

“His child of surprise” She simply answers.

Azana’s eyes widen at her words and she looks up at Geralt.

“Long story” Geralt simply says, probably slightly annoyed with how blunt Cirilla was. “I’ll tell you later”

“Alright, then” Azana says while Geralt grabs coins to give it as a payment for the apples Ciri picked. “No need, you’re apart of this family Witcher” She says, while walking back to behind her table, “And get going, don’t make her wait any longer”

Geralt nods at the old lady and Ciri looks between them entertained with the conversation. Both of them walk out of the market and Ciri starts her questions.

“Who’s Y/N?” She asks and Geralt doesn’t answer, “Your friend? No, it must be your lover”

Geralt slightly nodded, even questioning if Ciri even saw it. “How come you never talk about her?”

“I tried to forget about her”

“Why? If you love her, why forget her?”

“I didn’t keep my promise. I was supposed to come back in a space of months, but I was too far in the continent and too busy to come back”

“How long as it been?”

“A year and a half” He says almost is a whisper, sounding like he is disappointed in himself.

“Why are we walking so slow then?”

(…)

You turn the page on the book that you are reading almost drifting off to sleep until a knock on your front door is heard. You sigh frustrated, thinking of your neighbors that might need something (like always), but you look confused once you open the front door.

“Can I help you?” You ask the young blonde girl in front of you.

As Ciri looked up at you, Geralt appeared next to her. Your breathing came to a stop as your body went in complete shock. It’s not possible, right?

You let the girl in your house when taking a step back but your eyes don’t leave him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice cracking as you hold in your tears.

“I came back”

“Yeah, a year and 7 months later” You tell him as your heart started beating faster and faster.

Silence was the barrier that separated the two of you. Neither of you wanted to talk or knew what to say, making the air around you thicken up.

Your eyes welcomed his familiar face and so did his. Your heart just couldn’t really feel anger towards the person that you so deeply love, and your mind just reminded that ‘he came back for you’.

“I’m sorry. I really am” He states, not really knowing what to say. “A lot of things happened, -and I know that isn’t an excuse- But I came back here to tell you that I’m so sorry”

You sighed as your eyes filled with tears and you pulled him into your arms. The tears, being them of relief, start falling down your cheeks and a sob escapes your mouth. Geralt’s arms go around you and pull you up and closer to him, your familiar scent filling his lungs and your soft hair moving under his callused hand, relaxing him completely.

“I thought you were dead” You tell him as you pull away.

“And I thought you were going to kill me” Geralt jokes, trying to lift the air of tension that had been building up in these last minutes.

“I hate you” You say while smiling at his stupid attempt. Geralt wipes the tears off your wet face with his thumbs and pulls you in for a kiss. You lean in making your lips touch and your body exploded with emotions you haven’t felt in so long.

As you two keep evolving the kiss, Ciri has her half-eaten apple up to her mouth as if she was getting ready to take a bite but stopped mid-way; her face held a disgusted look and it slowly intensifies as you two kept going.

“Hello? I’m still here!” Ciri says, making you two pull away.

“Who is she again?” You ask Geralt but Ciri opens her mouth to answer for him.

“Shut it!” Geralt says while holding up his finger in Ciri’s direction, before looking at you once again, “I’ll tell you after lunch” He says as Ciri smiled and took a bite of her tasty red apple.

- - - -

This is probably awful but it’s not my fault! I swear! My family just kept talking super loud when I was proof-reading, and I couldn’t really do much!

Anyways, I never thought I was going to write for Geralt, but here we are. Hope you liked it.

Part 2? Maybe?

- - - - -

🌸✨Sorry, but I’m not writing in this account anymore. Go check out my new one @twinklelilstarkey✨🌸

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #netflix #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia imagines #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #henry cavill imagine #cirilla of vengerberg

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transsergio · 4 years ago

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Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 1/3 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 1893 words

Hotch and Emily have a drunken night together that Emily wants to forget, but Hotch can't let go. She and her girlfriend Penelope make a plan to get him out of their lives.

There's a brief paragraph describing Emily's dissociation in this chapter.

This started out as a parody of H*tchniss but then I got really into it. Hotch is pretty out of character and I'm picking on him this entire fic. There is no actual Hotchn*ss involved, which is why I didn't tag the ship, and because I don't need to fight with straight people today.

Emily’s head loathes her. She’s been hungover before, obviously, but this is something different altogether – she’s half-naked and her memory has completed ghosted her. There was tequila, she guesses, maybe vodka, shots, Hotch was going to give her a ride home because there’s something dangerous about a wasted agent wandering the city at night; snippets that don’t explain much beyond the ache hammering at the center of her skull.

At least Emily knows where she is. This is her apartment, her bedroom, her matted skin and grimy oils. The sheets reek of alcohol, so maybe she spilled some, or maybe it’s been sweat from her very pores. She’s missing a bra and she forgot to close the blinds last night. Only, she never forgets. It’s muscle memory. Did she…open them at some point?

The sink is running in the kitchen. And her toaster oven is beeping. Oh my god. She brought someone home last night. Hotch never would have left her in a cab with a stranger. How could Emily have picked someone up between the curb and her front door? She was a flirty drunk, but in no way smooth.

Emily moves on a slow incline, craning her body into an upright position. She winces. Sunlight beams directly into her eyes. It’s been a minute since she remembered exactly why she kept the windows covered. She pushes the duvet aside and swings her long, bare legs to the floor. They’re not bruised (yet), so she must’ve remembered to skip the stairs and go for the elevator this time. She’s tumbled down them before. Penelope made her promise she’d wear shin guards the next time she went out, Emily remembers, laughing under her breath.

Penelope, who definitely did not go home with Emily last night. She couldn’t have. She implemented a strict curfew after spending three consecutive nights in the batcave – bed by eleven, sharp. Unless Emily made a distress call sometime in the night. Emily scrunches the sheets between her fingers. A distress call, something like, “Come help me puke into my toilet for an hour and a half,” would bring Penelope running. Well, not running, but speed-walking, half awake. And it would be too late for Penelope to get home, with no one to text that she made it safely (except everyone else in the BAU, but that wasn’t the point). The point was, it could be her in there, popping Toaster Strudel in for the both of them.

Emily wobbles to her feet and kicks her crumpled slacks from her path. Oh, there’s her bra, launched to the other side of the room. She runs her fingers through her hair and hopes she made a difference, though it’s unlikely. Feet shuffle over her wooden floors, and someone opens and shuts the fridge door. Penelope uses fridges, coincidentally. That very well might be her.

There’s a cough, a low clearing of the throat. Emily stands upright like she’s been called to duty, and palms her forehead. Her headache makes it clear it did not like that. The cough does not sound like Penelope. Fear drains the strength from Emily’s limbs. Please, dear god, tell her that’s not a man.

Emily wants to crawl back into bed and have nothing to do with whoever’s in the other room. She wants to huddle under her covers and listen until the front door opens and shuts and it’s safe to emerge. She wants to have been sober last night. Instead, her phone vibrates on her dresser. Emily hadn’t realized that when it reverberates against the wood, her cell sounds exactly like a jackhammer, but she does now. She hears the same sound echoing in her kitchen.

Emily lunges for the text, from Garcia alerting them to a case, and slams all one hundred of those tiny Blackberry buttons to make it shut up, shut up, shut up. The bedroom door swings open.

“Two murders in Kentucky, looks like,” Hotch says. What? No.

Emily rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands. They come away streaked with dried mascara flakes and last night’s eyeshadow, but Hotch is still there. He’s standing in his boxers, a white undershirt, and five o’clock stubble. He doesn’t flinch at the fact that Emily is bare-chested in a pair of black boyshorts. This is bad. This is so bad.

Hotch says softly, “Can I…” Can he what? Can he call later tonight? Can he leave a toothbrush here? Can he have a drawer for his pajamas? “Can I get my shirt, please?”

“Oh.” Emily steps aside. His blue button-down is in a wrinkled pile beside Emily’s nightstand. Should she cover herself in the meantime? Would that make it weirder? He’s already seen what he’s seen, after all. The thought makes Emily gag.

“I’m going to get ready in your bathroom,” Hotch tells her. He makes too much eye contact. “There’s toast in the kitchen for you, if you want any.”

“Great, thanks.” Emily is tightlipped and dedicated to looking anywhere but his face. That leads to his boxers, and his dick inside his boxers, and the knowledge that they clearly had sex, and Emily might need the bathroom first if she didn’t vomit everything out last night.

Hotch disappears, and so does Emily’s presence in her physical body. She autopilots herself into her clean clothes, grips her dresser and stares into the mirror above it. C’mon, Emily, come back down to Earth. She tries what her therapist taught her in high school, focusing on a texture, on the feel of the woodgrain under her hands. How could she have come so far, a continent away, and still need the same techniques for the same problems? Hotch was an exercise in self-loathing and misery. Only this time, that exercise would be staring her down for extended periods of time while they mutually hunted killers.

Hotch reenters in the same suit he wore last night. Did he seriously have to wear a suit to the team’s night out? He couldn’t loosen up enough for a polo shirt and golf pants?

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again in this capacity,” he starts. “But I had… a great time, honestly, and I’d be open to another meeting.”

Emily’s eyes are dead. “No, thanks.”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Yep. I’m good. See you on the jet.” Emily yanks the bedroom door open. His cue to leave. He takes it, if not wearing the look of a kicked puppy.

He makes it into a cab, and the cab leaves, and clears her block, and turns the corner. Emily stays for another five minutes just to be sure the car doesn’t loop back around, looking for a second chance. She washes her face clean and falls to her mattress. This will only take a second – she stabs her face into her pillow and screams. And one more time. And maybe a long one, just to be sure. Emily comes to work that day hoarse, unbathed, and willing herself into another life.

A month later, they’re gathered at Haley’s funeral. Hotch gives a beautiful speech, and Emily’s all but forgotten the number of texts she’s received since their hookup. The sheer volume of “Thinking about you.. do you like Thai food?” and simple, two-word messages like “Good work..”, alongside “Hey. Horny?” are a thing of the past, at least for today. Maybe not tomorrow. Emily doesn’t really know how grieving works. She does, however, know what it feels like to want.

She ushers Penelope into a storage closet while the rest of the team (plus Kevin) is at the funeral reception’s buffet. They’ll make up some story about going to the bathroom and try to defuse JJ later, assuring her that she wasn't left out intentionally. Right now, life is for living.

Emily’s lips move across Penelope’s jaw, her neck, her chest. She presses them to Penelope’s like she’s made of china, set on keeping Penelope’s lipstick intact. Penelope grips Emily while her own wrist is between her teeth to stifle her sound. Emily is gasping for breath when her fingers reach for the button of Penelope’s sweater. She is desperate to have her undone.

“Wait, wait,” Penelope huffs, putting an arm’s length of space between them. Her chest is heaving. “I can’t do this here, not today.”

“Today is why I want to do this,” Emily counters.

“We have time.” Penelope’s voice breaks. She fusses with her little hat and rights it atop her hair. “We have time that Haley didn’t –”

“How do we know?” Emily interrupts. “It could be me next. You’ve already been shot once before, and I just can’t… I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with you on the fringe of my life.”

Emily wipes a tear streaking down Penelope’s cheek. Before Penelope can reach for her compact, Emily passes her hers. She says, “I don’t mean we have to do anything right now in… what is ironically a closet,” Penelope laughs and dabs at her makeup, “but I want you. And seeing you with Kevin today, having to be next to you while he holds your hand? It’s maddening.”

A quiet passes. Penelope sniffles and the crowd outside makes somber conversation. Penelope whispers, “I’m scared.”

Emily closes the distance between them and cradles Penelope in her embrace. “I know; so am I. Can we be scared together?”

Penelope nods into the crook of Emily’s shoulder. They sway in the warmth of one another, in the cramped haven that is shelves of industrial cleaner and mop buckets.

“So what do we do?” Penelope asks. “Should I break up with Kevin, or tell him the truth? Neither option feels, uh, super-duper.”

Emily snorts some of the hat’s feathers from her nose. “If you want to be outed, I think telling Kevin he’s your beard is a great idea.”

“Stop. Kevin wouldn’t do that.”

“Penelope. He’s a man. He’s going to feel used, emasculated, and plenty bitter. I don’t see a reality in which he doesn’t out you.”

“I know, I know, but I don’t think Kevin’s like that. He’s sweet on me.” Penelope further buries herself in Emily. “On the off-chance that he would, though, I guess I’ll dump him.”

Emily hums in agreement. They keep themselves safe in their darkness a little longer, resistant to go out and face the mourning. Emily’s heart is busy fluttering, anyway. She and Penelope might remain a secret, but this is officially more than a hook-up. It’s all Emily could dream of when she stormed Penelope’s batcave the morning after Hotch. When she spun Penelope around in her desk chair and strung their mouths centimeters apart – a question and a dare all in one. Penelope leaned through the divide and they were kissing, slow and tender but driven by a force that urged them on. Emily had wanted Penelope for so long, but that morning, she needed her.

When they return to the team’s table, Kevin is at Penelope’s side. Emily puts her focus on Morgan, on caring about Hotch’s well-being, anything but Kevin’s soft, drooping face. It’s like his skin could slide right off at any second. No, Emily will ask what they can do, will let the team explain that their power extends to waiting Hotch out, will squeeze Penelope’s hand as they leave for their next case in Nashville.

#penemily #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #cm fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fanfiction #mine

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jeranasblog · 4 years ago

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The Virus

Notes: If you have huge anxieties regarding Covid, please don't read this. It's an apocalyptic setting.

Rating: E

Pairing: Peter Parker/ Tony Stark

Summary: Three years ago, a virus killed 99% of the human population. It came out of nowhere, taking over cities, countries, and continents. During two months, more and more people died until no one knew where they could bury all the dead bodies anymore. When the virus was finally eradicated, 1% of the population was left, 1% resistant or lucky, and those 1% started to build-up the world they knew again. Peter Stark was one of the 1%.

But even though Peter was considered ‘lucky’, he had lost everyone. His friends, his family, even his husband. Tony Stark died three years ago, didn’t he?

Warnings: Apocalypse, Post-Apocalypse, Virus, Death, Character Death before the story begins, Sensitive Topic, Smut, check the tags on Ao3, please

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Three years ago, a virus killed 99% of the human population. It came out of nowhere, taking over cities, countries, and continents. During two months, more and more people died until no one knew where they could bury all the dead bodies anymore. Hospitals had closed because no doctor was willing to risk their life, supermarkets turned into battlefields and everyone was left on their own. What started with something that was compared to the flu, ended in chaos, despair, and death.

After a while, people gave up. There was no protection, no escape. A small part of humanity was resistant, but since the disease had destroyed too much to even think about an antidote, people accepted the world as it was. Virologists couldn’t even search for a vaccine because it spread too fast.

The pandemic lasted a year before almost everyone was dead and the virus was eradicated as well. 1% of the population was left, 1% resistant or lucky, and those 1% started to build-up the world they knew again. Peter Stark was one of the 1%.

Happiness was rare these days. Peter had lost everything over the last three years. His aunt May was one of the first ones dying due to the virus, and his best friends Nat and MJ followed quickly after. His husband, Tony Stark, had been on a business trip in China when the virus spread, and Peter couldn’t even say good-bye to him before Tony died like everyone else around him, alone in a country with no one he knew.

Peter was a lucky man. He was resistant. He didn’t die, even though the virus had hit him too. But completely alone, Peter didn’t feel lucky at all. Instead, he clung to everything that connected him to his past. The necklace May had always worn, a friendship bracelet he had made together with Ned and MJ in second grade, and most importantly, his wedding ring that he didn’t even take off to shower. It was the last connection to his husband and he would defend it with his life.

Every day was hard. He lived in a small settlement with 500 people. New York had been hit particularly bad, so there weren’t many people left. Peter needed them because he knew shit about hunting, collecting, and surviving in the wild. They needed Peter because he was an engineer and could help them get access to technology back. He had already built multiple generators that produced electricity for the most important things and communication devices for the people going out every day.

Mostly, Peter stayed for himself. He lived in a small hut, surrounded by all his engineer toys, and only came out if he had to. Peter knew he hadn’t adjusted well, knew he was one of the ones clinging to the past, but he couldn’t imagine a happy life without Tony. The only people he was talking to were Bucky and Steve, two married men who had magically survived both, and his inspector Nat.

Life was quiet. The settlement had only rarely problems with hostile groups, and conflicts were reduced to a minimum. It wasn’t like it had been before, but a lot of people got a second chance. A chance to survive and be happy again. But Peter couldn’t be happy. Not without Tony.

~*~

“Hey, Pete. What’s up?” Bucky asked him one day when he visited Peter in his hut. “Stevie and I went on an expedition and we found some stuff for you.” He placed a backpack in front of them that was filled to the brim

Peter eyed it suspiciously. “Anything interesting?”

Bucky gave him one of his bright smiles that made Peter’s gut clench and reminded him how lucky the other man had been. Steve was here while Tony was dead somewhere in China, probably alone in a fancy hotel room. Bucky still had his husband. Bucky only had to adjust to new circumstances because Steve was still by his side. Before Peter’s thoughts started to spiral again, he pulled himself back to reality. A reality without his husband.

“Let’s see, Petey.” Bucky rummaged in the bag and pulled out a few electrical devices. “We have another radio, headphones for wires, and an old laptop that still seems to work.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “How do you know it’s still working?”

The laugh Peter got in response was so carefree, it made him sick. “Stevie, the punk, had turned it on and the battery wasn’t empty. It worked. Trust me.”

Hot jealousy surged through his gut, but Peter forced himself to smile too. Bucky was so clearly in love, but Peter could only think about his own misery. What kind of friend was he?

“That’s great, thanks, Buck. I’ll see what I can do with it. Say hi to Steve for me. I still have work to do.”

The mood shifted. It was a clear dismissal and Bucky understood it as such. Peter knew it wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t stand other people’s happiness on bad days. And today was a bad day.

Thankfully, the other man didn’t take his mood swings personally and only gave him a pitiful smile. Before Bucky left, he put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Peter, I really like you, but you’re killing yourself with that. Don’t you think it’s time to try to move on?”

Bucky was right. Of course, he was right. But even thinking about taking off his wedding ring, even thinking about moving on, made Peter feel as if he would betray Tony. He once had sworn ‘forever’ to his husband and forever wasn’t over yet. Bucky couldn’t understand, he still had Steve.

So Peter forced his expression to stay blank. “One day, Bucky. Just not yet.” Both of them knew it was a lie.

~*~

The settlement they lived in was small. It was well structured and everyone had their specialized tasks, but they still depended on other settlements for trade. Especially when the winter came, and the food supplies had to be stocked. So Peter spent his days building communication devices to stay in touch with other settlements.

The things Bucky had brought him proved to be quite helpful, so around noon, Peter could bring a newly built communication device to Nat, the woman who was responsible for trade and his inspector at the same time. She and Steve were the leaders of their group.

Her so-called office was next to the gate of the settlement, a hut with a radio-station on a desk in the middle. It had been Peter’s first project, and thanks to him, they could now communicate with the settlement in Philadelphia and after a few upgrades, even with Boston and DC.

Nat sat on the chair in front of their radio station and turned his head when Peter entered the room. “Pete, do you have more of your toys for me?” Peter knew she was just joking. Nat had told him a while ago that she was grateful for his work.

“Always, Nat. Bucky and Steve found a radio and even a laptop. It’s still working.”

She whistled and gave him an impressed smirk. “You don’t see that every day.”

Nat was right. After the virus, none of them had thought about electrical devices and when they actively started searching for them, most of them had already been useless.

“I’ve rebuilt the radio into another communication device.” Peter placed the walkie talkie on her desk. “It’s improvised, but we can still sell it.”

She gave him an honest smile which was rare for Nat. “Thanks, Peter. We can trade that for food. Helps us getting over the winter.”

He shrugged and tried not to think about the upcoming winter. They would make it through, they always did, but the expeditions would stop and therefore also his work. He always had something to do, but not enough to keep the thoughts away all day long. Last year, he had spent three months in bed, crying over Tony.

“Peter!” Oh, no. Her voice was filled with concern. Of course, she could sense his sadness.

Even though he tried to cover it with a fake smile, Nat wasn’t as easy to get rid of as Bucky. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

She pressed her lips together and Peter could see the familiar frown on her face. “Peter, don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

No, it’s not time to move on. It will never be time to move on, not without Tony. He was Peter’s husband, god damn it. Marriage! As in forever. Not for three years until Peter would find someone else. Why didn’t they all just leave him alone?

“Soon, Nat. I’ll get over it soon.” Another lie, and just like Bucky, Nat didn’t believe him.

“Peter, you’ll never make progress if-”

Thankfully, a scratching noise interrupted her. “...-ello? Is there someo-...? Can you hear-...”

Immediately, Nat let Peter go and gave the radio station her entire attention. “Hello? Is someone there? Here is settlement 513 in New York. Can you hear me? I repeat, can you hear me?”

For a second, there was no answer and Peter had already thought the communication broke, but after a few seconds, the voice spoke again.

“Hello? Do you hear me?” This time the transmission was better and Peter could hear that a man was speaking. “We are two, we need help.”

Nat gave him a look that indicated he should stay but be quiet and Peter nodded to signal her he understood. Making contact with strangers was always a risk because there were a few outlaw groups in the wilderness that survived by hi-jacking settlements. Still, every now and then, travelers reached out to them for various reasons.

“Yes, we can hear you.” Her voice was neutral.

The scratching flared up again, but Peter could still hear the voice clearly. “My companion is hurt. We need help. We can trade tech for our lives. Please, give us protection.”

Nat hesitated. On the one hand, they needed more tech. The communication device Peter built secured their survival because they didn’t grow enough vegetables to get by themselves. Other settlements depended on them thanks to their tech and they always needed more. Still, trusting strangers was always a risk.

In the end, Nat decided to keep their location hidden and sent people for them instead. “Where are you?”

“Where the Passaic River flows into Newark Bay,” the scratchy voice answered.

That wasn’t too far away, maybe a six hours walk. Eight if they travel with baggage.

“We will see what we can do. Give us a day.”

“Please, bring a doctor.” There was still hope in the man’s voice.

~*~

In the end, Nat and Steve, the leader of the village, decided to send six people to look for the injured strangers. Dr. Cho to treat possible injuries, Peter to check out the usefulness of the tech and four warriors who would protect them, including Bucky. Peter was glad for the trip. Every second he had something to do was a second he didn’t spend thinking about Tony.

He grabbed his backpack, filled it with water, food, and tools like a screwdriver and tongs before he closed the door of his hut and walked over to the gate. They met there at dawn and Peter was glad he put on his winter clothes because autumn was coming to an end. Slowly, it became colder and colder.

“You’ve packed everything you need?” Bucky asked him when he arrived and Peter nodded with a small smile. He was glad the man came with him because he trusted Bucky with his life.

They kept walking and walking and walking. Through overgrown streets, bridges that had already collapsed, and past ruins that had once been houses New York had been so proud of. Now, it was just empty. Everything useful had already been taken, leaving behind a sea of waste, bones, and dust.

Peter swallowed when he walked through the streets. They reminded him of the life he had lost, of May, Ned, MJ, and Tony. Once, he had loved the streets of New York, loved the crowds of people and the busy atmosphere. Now there was nothing more left but death.

Bucky knew about his disgust, so he did everything to distract him from the city. He told him about the last time he went hunting with Steve, told him about the alarm clock Peter had given him for his birthday because it was a hardship to wake Steve up before noon. He actually managed to make Peter smile and when they finally took a break around noon, Peter’s mood had lightened up a little.

They ate and sat down for half an hour before they decided to keep going again. A few years ago, a group of the settlement had built a small shelter close to Newark Bay. If they wanted to get through the night safely, they would have to pick up the two persons and bring them there. It wasn’t safe to sleep under the stars anymore, so they had to hurry before it got dark.

After humanity had disappeared, nature came back. The forests were green again, animals went back to their natural habitats and the country became quiet. But with nature came also the danger. Wild animals like bears and wolves so they had to be careful again. Raiders, so desperate, they didn’t back off from hurting them. The night was their greatest enemy.

“It’s not much longer,” one of the warriors announced and Peter exhaled in relief. “Just around the corner and maybe half a mile. Be careful now. We don’t know if we walk into a trap.”

All conversations died down and they paid attention to the noises they made. The closer they came to Newark Bay, the more nervous Peter became. He wanted to tag along, wanted to go on expeditions, but there was always a risk and his stomach fluttered with fear. He was exhausted, the walk had been a long one, but if they would get more tech and save lives, it would be worth it in the end. Just a little longer. Maybe ten minutes.

When they finally reached the point the man had described, Peter could see two silhouettes in the distance. A woman that sat on the ground, her arms clutching her leg that was probably injured, and a man standing next to her, looking around with a concerned expression.

They walked closer, carefully looking out for possible traps, but there seemed to be no danger. Eventually, the man noticed them too.

“Oh, God bless. You didn’t leave us alone.”

Peter immediately froze. He knew the voice. It was as familiar as his own. Bucky, who had walked behind him, bumped into him and cursed, but Peter couldn’t move an inch. That’s it. He was slowly losing his mind. Maybe Nat’s and Bucky’s concern was valid, and he started to go crazy. That couldn’t be true. He was dreaming.

The man kept talking. “Please, we need your help. Pepper is hurt. We were attacked by raiders. They shot her in the leg. It’s inflamed and doesn’t look good. Could you-”

It was the moment the man raised his head and his gaze fell on Peter. The man’s eyes widened and he froze as well before he started to tear up and ran towards them. Bucky raised his gun and pointed it at the man, afraid they would get attacked, but it was a single word that made him lower it again.

Peter let out this one word before everything went black.

“Tony.”

~*~

When Peter opened his eyes again, he thought he was dreaming. They were in a hut that looked like the settlement’s shelter next to Newark Bay, but he was embraced by his husband's strong arms. Tony was dead. There was no way Peter could be in his arms again.

“Peter, are you awake?” It was Tony’s voice. Peter covered his ears with his hands because he couldn’t stand the soothing sound. He was going crazy for sure.

“Open your eyes again, baby.” Peter shook his head. “Please, Peter. Let me see you. I love you.”

The words were too much. Peter crumbled. He opened his eyes and looked up, seeing the familiar face right in front of him. Tony looked older, a few more wrinkles around the eyes and a small scar above his right eyebrow, but otherwise he looked exactly as Peter remembered.

“You’re dead.” It was a statement to convince Peter of his own sanity.

Tony pulled him tighter against his chest and Peter inhaled the familiar scent of pinewood and coffee. “Oh, baby. I’m not dead. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

“But you died. In China.” Peter knew he was right. It was a hallucination. But why was the hallucination smelling so good?

“Sweetheart, I didn’t die in China. I’m lucky, I’m resistant.”

No, no, no. Tony Stark was dead. Peter had been alone for three years now. “But you weren’t here.”

Peter could see Tony swallowing after his words and a hand started to play with his hair. A hand that felt so real that Peter shuddered.

“And I’m really sorry about that, Peter. After the virus spread, transportation was difficult. Planes didn’t fly anymore, ships didn’t sail. Baby, it took me three years to build a plane myself, three years to learn how to fly and navigate, to come back to you. Please, forgive me. I love you, I’ll always love you.”

Oh, God. It was the moment Peter realized this was real. His vision was too clear for a dream, the smell too strong and the pain on his forearm too sharp. Peter crumbled. He started to sob and clutched Tony’s shirt to pull him even closer. This was real. Tony was real. Tony was back.

Peter pressed his lips on his husband’s clumsily. Tony tasted salty, like the tears that didn’t stop running down Peter’s face, but it was perfect. The lips were familiar, and Peter relaxed for the first time in years when Tony pulled him onto his lap.

“T-they told me I h-had to get over you. I c-couldn’t. I love you so m-much. Don’t ever leave me again.” Peter didn’t care that he sounded desperate. He had never dared to dream about meeting Tony again. He hadn’t let himself.

But now, he got him back, got the second chance he was always waiting for. Suddenly, he grinned like he hadn’t grinned during the last three years. It was the first time he felt like being lucky.

He pressed his lips back onto Tony’s, this time with less force. He opened his mouth, inviting Tony to capture his mouth. It felt like before. Tony’s lips were still the same, still addictive. Peter could feel himself twitching inside his pants. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s chest, stopping him from moving away.

Before the kiss could get too heated, they were interrupted by a knock. “Peter?” Bucky stood in the doorway. “As much as I don’t begrudge you meeting Tony again, don’t make out on the bed. We only have two in the hut which means a lot of cuddling tonight.” The smile on Bucky’s face showed him the man wasn’t serious.

Peter giggled, a sound he hadn’t made in front of Bucky before, and the warrior gave Tony a smirk in return.

“I see, you have already transformed Peter into another person. Nice to meet you. I’m Bucky. One of the few people you husband has been talking to.” Tony shook Bucky’s hand with a crinkle around his eyes.

“Hey, that's not true,” Peter protested. He had talked to Bucky, Steve, and Nat. Three people were more than a few.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “It is true. You’ve been moping.”

Of course, Tony pulled Peter closer when Bucky confirmed that Peter hadn’t coped well with the loss. He turned Peter on his lap so that they both faced Bucky who sat down on the bed as well. “Baby, I’m here now. No reason to be upset anymore.” How could Peter stay mad when his husband was with him again? His smile turned even brighter.

Bucky made a gagging noise and pulled them out of their bubble.

Peter hissed at him. “Oh, be quiet. You and Steve are no better.”

“It’s not my fault Stevie is clingy,” Bucky said, his voice mockingly shocked.

Now it was on Peter to raise his eyebrows. “Steve is clingy? Who didn’t want to let him go on a mission last week.”

“It could have been dangerous.”

Peter’s voice was dry when he responded. “He had to chop wood.”

“Outside of the settlement.”

“Right next to the gate.”

Now, Bucky was pouting and his expression made Tony laugh loudly. God, Peter had missed the sound and he turned his head to press another kiss onto his husband’s lips.

“Whatever, Tony, how have your last years been?” It was obvious that Bucky wanted to stop them from making out again.

“Well, I was in a hotel when the virus spread. The authorities forced us to stay inside. It didn’t help. They all died anyway. When no food came after a few days, I left the room anyway. Found out everyone was dead.” The man swallowed before he continued speaking. “Pepper was in the hotel as well. She’s resistant, just like me. We both wanted to go back to the States, so she helped me build a plane by keeping me sane. We’re both from New York. The plan was to look for Peter, but then we stumbled into raiders and she got shot.”

“How is she?” Peter had completely forgotten about her injury after his blackout.

“She’s fine,” Bucky answered. “Cho is treating her. She’ll stay here for a few days until she’s stable enough to be moved.” Peter was relieved. Even though he didn’t know her, Pepper was a friend of Tony, so he cared.

“So, we’re all gonna stay here until she’s better?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, we need you to go home. Winter is coming soon and someone has to work on communication devices, so we can trade them for enough food.”

On the one hand, Peter was glad to go home again, but he didn’t want to leave Tony behind. “What about-?” He couldn’t finish his sentence because his gaze got caught on Tony.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll come with you. I trust your people. Pepper will be safe.”

Peter gave his husband a smile in return. Nothing could separate him from Tony anymore. He would hold onto his chance of being happy.

~*~

Time passed so much faster on their way home. Peter was ecstatic. He kept smiling, laughing loudly, and he even exchanged a few words with one of the warriors. Bucky observed him with a fond expression the entire time, and Peter knew he was really lucky to have him as a friend.

Peter’s focus, on the other hand, was entirely on Tony. He held his husband's hand, unwilling to ever let him go. Suddenly, the overgrown streets of New York didn’t look so empty anymore. There was new life. Little butterflies, hedgehogs, and Peter could swear he had even seen a deer. Yes, humanity wasn’t what it had been before, but they were on a good way to build the world back up again.

As much better as the walk was with Tony by his side, Peter still wanted to be home, alone with Tony in his hut. Walking close to his husband without really being able to touch him was like torture and Peter knew Tony suffered as well.

He could see it in the way Tony’s gaze was glued to his face, his thighs, his ass. Every time Peter laughed, Tony watched his throat bobbing, eyes darker than the night sky. Every time Peter talked, Tony’s eyes were fixed on his mouth, building up tension until Peter couldn’t stop his tongue from darting out and wetting his lips. And when Peter climbed over a broken car in front of Tony, his ass a temptation in front of his husband’s face, Peter could even hear him growl.

Three years had been a long time. They might have changed with all the misery, all the suffering around them, but the attraction for each other hasn’t lessened at all. Suddenly, Peter's thoughts were back to how it had been in the past. How close they had been, how obsessed. He couldn’t wait to finally get home.

When the settlement was already visible in the distance, Tony had successfully turned him into a mess, with nothing but longing gazes and occasional touches. Peter was still glowing with happiness, even though arousal was slowly taking over his mind.

After they had entered the gate, Nate took one look at them and started to smirk. Bucky had probably already told her about Tony via the communication advice, and Peter could see in her face how happy she was for him. And maybe he could also see that she noticed the pent-up state he was in.

“You wanna give me a mission report Peter?” She was totally mocking him, but Peter still gave her a pitiful look. Maybe his puppy dog eyes would convince her to leave him alone with his husband.

“My, my. Tony Stark. He’s clearly another man when he’s around you.” Tony gave Nat an honest smile. “Peter, Tony, I’m happy for you. And now go, before we all see something, we wouldn’t forget anytime soon.”

Peter blushed. He hadn’t done anything, he hadn’t even touched his husband in front of them. Tony, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care about her attempts of embarrassing Peter. Instead, he pulled Peter into his arms and didn’t stop asking until Nat told him in front of everyone where Peter’s hut was. Tony had never tried to keep their sex life hidden.

“I’m gonna be inside of you again, tonight,” Tony promised as they walked - okay, almost ran- towards Peter’s hut. “I’ve dreamed about this for years, baby. I need you so much. I need to feel that you’re mine.”

And of course, Peter let out a loud moan just when one of the residents crossed their way. He’s going to die of embarrassment tomorrow.

“I’ve always been yours, Daddy,” Peter whispered and Tony groaned in response to the familiar name. “Even when I thought you were dead. I never thought about anyone but you.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweet thing,” Tony cursed, but Peter could hear the fondness and the tears in his voice. The probability of them meeting again had been so small, but somehow, fate had made it possible.

When Peter opened the door of his hut, Tony was already all over his back, pressing him against the wood and sucking bruises on his skin. It was a challenge to open the lock while his Daddy whispered into his ear how good Peter had been, how obedient. With each new mark, more delicious pain blossomed on his neck and Peter’s legs almost gave in.

Eventually, the door fell close behind him. Every last bit of patience Tony had crumbled, and a second later, Peter was pressed against the wooden wall. His Daddy had almost shoved him and the impact pressed all the air out of Peter’s lungs. He loved it, finally feeling owned again, finally feeling overpowered again.

Tony was like an animal in his arousal, his focus solely on the prey. His eyes were black, lust taking over the chocolate brown, and Peter gave into the storm. He tipped his head to give his husband access to his throat and closed his eyes in pleasure. Peter’s body was burning, screaming and crying for Tony, for his touch.

It was the ripping of fabric that made Peter open his eyes again. “Daddy.” His words could barely be described as a whine, so turned on by Tony’s impatience. Three years had been so long and Peter was dying to finally feel his husband again. “Take me to bed, please.”

Tony growled in response, letting Peter go for a second, so they could stumble towards the bed. Peter was already half-naked. His pants were torn from his Daddy’s attempts to feel his skin and it slid down his legs as he walked over to the bed. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his t-shirt over his head, so the only clothing left were his boxers.

“Take them off,” Tony ordered and grabbed Peter’s arm so he couldn’t climb onto the bed. “I can’t wait anymore, sweet thing. I want you naked on the bed, hands and knees.”

Peter whimpered in response, his hands shaking with arousal as he undressed completely. He could feel Tony’s gaze on his body. Hungry, demanding, impatient, and it only urged him on to present faster.

Settling into the familiar pose on the bed felt like coming home. Peter rested his head on his crossed arms, his back arched beautifully while his legs were spread to give his Daddy access to every part of him. It was exactly like back then, when they fucked on Tony’s expensive sheets, even though it was almost better now. Peter had never been more grateful to have his husband by his side.

“Daddy.” Peter whimpered pathetically, trying to signal his husband he needed him, that he couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted to feel him again, wanted to be split open and used until everything he knew was Tony. Thankfully, his husband was just as impatient.

“Sweet thing, do you have some kind of lube?” His Daddy’s voice was dark, edging towards a growl, and Peter’s muscles clenched in response to the unrestricted dominance.

“Box.” Peter pointed to a wooden box next to the bed, and Tony opened it, pulling out a new bottle of lube. He lifted his eyebrows and smirked at Peter.

“Did you pleasure yourself, baby? Did you stretch yourself thinking of me?”

Peter shook his head. “I haven’t, Daddy. It felt wrong without you. I took the bottle when we plundered a supermarket, but I couldn’t use it.”

Clearly, his words seemed to please Tony. “Let me remind you that you belong to me, baby. Come on, show me where you need me.”

Peter spread his legs even wider and arched his back even further. He knew being on his best behavior would be the fastest way to get his Daddy’s cock, so he listened to every single command like the good boy he was.

Tony settled behind him and his hands began to roam over his entire body. He started at Peter’s shoulders, stroking his back and wandering lower until he could press his thumbs into the dimples on Peter’s back. The grip made Peter sob in pleasure, exactly like it had always done, and the familiarity was relief and torture at the same time. Tony knew every single one of his buttons, and he wasn’t afraid to press them.

Not even a minute later, Peter was a mess. The touch was too much, too good, and he twisted on the mattress, barely able to hold the position. He needed to feel his Daddy, needed to know that Tony was back, that he wasn’t alone.

“Daddy, please. I love you. Need you, please.”

Peter was so desperate, that he didn’t hear the click of an opening lube bottle and the slick finger was a welcomed surprise. His body sucked him in, one finger had never been a challenge for him, even though he hadn’t been split open for three years.

“Look at that,” Tony cooed while his finger thrust in and out of Peter’s hole in a maddening pace, savoring the tightness and the wet squelch of the lube. “So greedy. Sucking me right in. I’ve almost forgotten what a slut you are.”

It was a lie, Tony wouldn’t forget, but it still hit Peter exactly where Tony intended. “Your slut, Daddy. Only yours, missed you so much.” Peter wanted to prove to his husband how needy he could be, how desperate for Tony’s touch. Their time apart hadn’t changed their dynamic a single bit.

One finger became two. Tony opened him up thoroughly, making sure Peter could take his husband’s cock, but at the same time, he touched Peter’s body everywhere with his free hand. It was the desperate wish to feel that it was over, that they were together now, and every second Peter felt connected to Tony, he believed more and more that it was real.

“Gimme three, Daddy? Please?” Tony answered with a growl and another finger that was pressed inside of him.

Finally, Peter felt a resemblance of being full again, open and stretched, even though he hadn’t gotten his Daddy’s cock yet. It was only a matter of time. Peter could feel it in the way Tony’s fingers trembled in impatience and his voice wavered while he whispered filthy things in Peter’s ear. He only needed to take one tiny step and Tony would break.

Peter turned his head, looking at Tony with innocent eyes. “My hole hurt, Daddy. It’s empty. Need to feel your cock again. Need you to mark me up inside too.”

Just as he had thought, it was the last straw. Tony pulled out his fingers and opened his pants hastily, freeing the gorgeous cock Peter had missed so much. It was thick and red, slightly curved to the left and Peter couldn’t wait to feel every inch and every bump. He moaned from the sight alone.

Tony chuckled. “Do you like what you see, baby?” The question was such a cliché, but Peter whimpered and nodded affirmatively. He loved his Daddy’s cock and couldn’t wait to feel it inside him.

But unfortunately, Tony was a tease. He towered above Peter and blanketed him with his body, cock shining with lube. Peter expected him to press right in, but Tony dragged it out, his cockhead dancing around Peter’s fluttering rim. In the end, he only gave Peter the tip.

The denial made Peter sob. “Daddy, please, I- I need you. I c-can’t wait.” He tried to press his hips back, tried to get more friction, but Tony successfully blocked his movements with his entire body. Peter felt him everywhere, Tony’s legs against his spread thighs, Tony’s chest pressed against his back. He felt him everywhere but inside of him, the place he needed his husband the most.

“Tell me what you need, sweet thing.” The whisper was another tease, and Tony pulled back, only to press the tip back in. It was maddening.

In the end, Peter broke. He started to sob, his entire body pleading to be claimed while he struggled to get his words together. “D-Daddy, m’your slut. Need you. Need your cock. All of it. Gimme more.”

The words were too demanding, but Tony was lenient. He turned Peter’s head to the side, his hand buried in the brown curls, and at the same time their lips met, Tony pressed in.

Peter started to cry. Everything came together. The delicious pain of finally being stretched again, the burning arousal, and his Daddy who was back at his side. Not dead but alive. Tears ran down his face, dripping onto the mattress and joining their kiss. Suddenly, their lips tasted salty.

“Are you alright, sweet thing? Does it hurt? Should I stop?” Peter could see the worry on Tony’s face and he soothed him with a beautiful smile.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop. I need you. So much. It’s not about the pain. It’s about you being back here, with me. Promise me you’ll never leave.”

Tony smiled back, so beautiful and blinding that Peter’s tears came anew. “I’m here, baby. I’ll stay. Forever. Feel that?” Tony sat back on his heels, pulling Peter up so he sat on his lap and his cock slid even deeper. “I’m everywhere, baby. Inside you, around you, where I belong. Bounce for me now. I wanna claim you properly.”

Peter listened like he always did. His hands propped on Tony’s knees, Peter started moving, circling his hips and riding his husband's cock. He could feel every inch of Tony dragging along his walls, the tip occasionally hitting his sweet spot and it didn’t take long for him to moan so loudly, that the entire settlement would hear his sounds. Tony didn’t even try to muffle him, staking his claim in more ways than the marking of Peter’s body.

Peter had almost forgotten how good it felt. Everything was on the verge of being too much. His body burned with pleasure, his hole throbbed and his walls clenched around the cock needily. The muscles of his legs were straining, but he couldn’t stop chasing the delicious friction.

Tony dragged it out. He watched him struggle, whispering in his ear how good he was, how obedient. Peter wanted more, but his body was weak, his mind clouded by the endorphins and he desperately needed his Daddy to take over.

Eventually, Tony pressed him on the mattress again, rutting into him like an animal and chasing the overwhelming feeling. The friction against the sheets was enough for his neglected cock and faster than Peter wanted, his orgasm came close.

“Daddy, please, I’m close. Can I come?” Peter’s voice was high-pitched and needy, begging his Daddy for permission. Three years had done its toll and there wasn’t a single ounce of patience left. He would die if his Daddy denied him.

Thankfully, Tony knew Peter’s body very well, so he saw the signs that Peter couldn’t go on any longer. “Come for me, baby.”

It was the obscene squelch of the lube, the accelerating thrusts, and the light pain. Everything mixed together, taking Peter higher and higher until he exploded. Wave after wave of pleasure shook his body, and Peter was crying his orgasm out to the world.

He had missed this so much, missed the mind-blowing sensations, the feeling of being at someone else's mercy, and most of all, he had missed the closeness to his husband. Peter wasn’t alone anymore. Tony would guide him, he would catch him and he would take over every time the responsibilities would become too much.

Knowing Tony was there for him made Peter relax into the mattress. His entire body became limp, all the tension dropping off, only the muscles in his hole were still fluttering. Peter wasn’t done yet. He needed his Daddy’s seed. Needed to be claimed inside, on top of the marks on his neck, and the ring on his finger.

“Such a good boy. I’ve forgotten how good you feel, baby,” Tony’s voice was nothing but a growl and Peter knew he was close as well. “Gonna fill you up, stay in you for days. Just take it, sweet thing. Take your Daddy and show me you’re born for it.”

Peter obeyed. He didn’t pull back, even when he became sensitive, even when Tony’s tip hit his sweet spot, again and again, his body rebelling with overstimulation. He took it because he wanted to be claimed, wanted proof that his husband was back.

When Tony came Peter preened. The sensation of Tony’s come splashing against his walls made Peter proud of himself. He had been good and he had taken everything. Now he was allowed to keep it, buried deep inside of him.

Tony pulled out, and cuddled Peter against his chest, whispering sweet words into his ears. Peter was out. This wasn’t a dream. This was reality. If he would fall asleep now, Tony would still be there when he woke up. Content with the thought, Peter let the praise wash over him.

“Do you want me to clean you up?” Tony asked but didn’t make any attempts to stand up.

Peter shook his head. “Want to feel you inside me a little longer, Daddy.”

Tony’s smile was a mixture of fondness and possessiveness. “I’ll never leave your side, baby. Not for a mission, not for anyone in the world. I couldn’t stand losing you or being separated again. Promise me you’ll stay with me, too.”

“I promise, Daddy.”

They fell into content silence. Peter could feel everything. His Daddy’s body wrapped around him, his seed stored safely inside Peter’s hole. He never wanted to let Tony go again. No, he would build up the world again with Tony by his side.

For the first time in three years, Peter had a goal. He would do everything possible to get humanity back to what it had been before. As long as Tony would be by his side.

~*~

During the first few weeks, Tony didn’t leave Peter’s side once, not even for half an hour. He settled in perfectly, working together with Peter on communication devices and the regain of technology. Peter loved it. Besides Tony being his husband, the man was also a brilliant engineer and Peter realized how much he had missed bantering about tech.

After some time, Tony managed to improve the radio station until they were connected to every settlement on the east coast. Settlement 513 in New York became the center of communication. They were known for their access to tech and their life-saving devices. Tony and Peter even worked on a plan to reach out further, maybe even the other side of the country.

Life wasn’t easy. The winters were hard, but their little group had developed a routine to get through. Nat and Steve worked hard to organize enough food, and Pepper, who had stayed as well, turned out to be a brilliant businesswoman, and soon, she managed the trade.

Every few weeks, new people came to their settlement, and eventually, Peter felt as if he was living in a small village again. Sometimes he forgot the virus, forgot what it had done to all of them, especially when he spent time with Tony alone. It was almost like before the apocalypse, even though there were still days on which he missed his past badly. He couldn’t get May back, would never see Ned and MJ again, but he had Tony now and it was enough.

It was almost half a year after Tony had come back, that Peter woke up in the morning and Tony pressed a cup of coffee into his hands, his face lit up with a smile. Coffee was a rare treat these days and one of the few things Peter missed daily.

“Is there something to celebrate?” Peter asked curiously while he took a sip and closed his eyes in pleasure.

Tony pulled him into his arms and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Do you know what day we have?”

Peter shook his head. Dates had become irrelevant after some time, but Nat still had a calendar in her office and she tracked time almost religiously.

“It’s our wedding anniversary, baby.”

The words made Peter’s stomach flutter and he leaned closer towards his husband. They were married for five years now. Five years of which they had spent half apart. But it didn’t matter. Tony was back with him, and he wouldn’t leave.

“I love you so much, Peter. I would marry you again and again if I could. I would do anything for you. I would move heaven and earth if necessary, just to be at your side.”

Peter teared up. He felt the same. He would do anything for his husband. Anything.

But before he could reciprocate the confession, Tony spoke up again. “And I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Suddenly, the coffee was almost forgotten.

Tony walked over to their desk, picked up the blueprints he had worked on for months, and spread them on the bed in front of Peter. “Did you remember the arch technology I told you about before the virus happened?”

Peter remembered broadly. Tony had tried to create clean energy for years before the pandemic had scattered all of their plans. “You mean the reactor that could power an entire city without any fossil fuels?”

Tony smiled at him. “Not only without fossil fuels but without wind, water and sun either.”

Peter lifted his brow impressed. “That would solve many of our problems.”

The smile of his husband only got brighter. “Peter, I think I have found a way to build a reactor strong enough to power the entire settlement without any supply shortfalls in the winter. I think I can make a step towards building up the world how it has been again. Maybe even better.”

Peter looked at him, his eyes widened in surprise when Tony fell on his knees in front of the bed.

“Peter Stark, would you do me the honor and build the first arc reactor with me? I want to give you the world you deserve.”

“Jerk,” Peter snorted, but he still grinned at his husband when he pulled Tony onto the bed, back into his arms.

“I will.”

#starker #apocalypse #virus

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yue-muffin · 3 years ago

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Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War Review

It took months for me to complete, but at least I can finally say that I have played this game. Of all the older Fire Emblem games (pre-3DS era), this is the one that I have wanted to play the most and whose story intrigued me the most. It is, probably, now my favorite game in the franchise, and this review is the really, really long why.

Gameplay/Story Integration

Before I even mention the story, it’s important to address the mechanics that both make this game a wonderful experience of gameplay/story integration...and make it rather annoying, depending on your perspective. This game’s greatest flaws are also its greatest strengths, which makes me glad that it was produced so long ago. I still love modern games, and most have come a long way in making the player experience much less painstaking to an annoying degree, but there is also a lot of charm in older games like Genealogy, where the player is definitely made to suffer a little.

Like all Fire Emblem games, Genealogy is about a war involving dragons, invading nations, and legendary weapons. Unlike most Fire Emblem games, this one went out of its way to make the player feel like they are embarking on a campaign across a continent, spanning multiple years of nonstop fighting and traveling. Most FE games choose to focus on one battle per chapter, with the story segments in between explaining how we progressed from point A to point B. Genealogy chooses instead to make you move your entire frontline across a HUGE map, from castle to castle, crossing distances that span countries.

It’s a unique feature of this game, and I loved it, no matter how annoying it got to lug the army from the south to the north and back down again to defend a previous position from attack. It made you feel actively engaged in the progression of the conflict, made it easy to track your journey back to the beginning and see just how far you traveled. The tedium makes it feel, in the best way a mere video game can, more realistic.

By far one of the weirder and more annoying aspects of the game is the inability for units to trade money and goods between each other. In most games, there is a single pool of money and anyone in the party who purchases an item draws from that fund. In Genealogy, each unit has his/her own money, which cannot be shared with another unless that person is a spouse or the resident thief. This does make some sense because your army is basically a volunteer army built from people of multiple nationalities and affiliations. Many make it clear they’re here to lend a hand, not join you forever, so it makes sense that they don’t all fork over their money for the army to use. Still makes this part of the game annoying if you are micromanaging the army.

It was fairly difficult getting used to this game’s mechanics, which are way, WAY different from any other in the franchise. But I value the attempts made to integrate story with gameplay (another example is the ability to fix/repair broken or damaged weapons for a price, instead of them disappearing into the ether) far more over the frustration it caused me along the way.

Story

Finally, the actual story! **Spoilers onward**

The story of this game is initially no different from any other Fire Emblem game, and it’s similar to many fantasy stories. A main character’s homeland is invaded by the bad guys, main character fights back and eventually leads a resistance force against the masterminds behind the conflict.

Genealogy turns that story progression on its head in the first half, then plays it straight in the second half. The second half is undoubtedly the weaker of the two, but it’s not bad - just not quite as interesting compared to the absolute curveball the first half throws at you.

I don’t think I’ve ever played a game that had the guts to do what this game does. The closest example is Aerith from FFVII, but at least that was one character, not the entire playable cast. This game would be devastating if it had more room to develop its characters. Honestly, it does a really good job with the limited “screentime” its characters get. Most of them are given reasons for joining that are sensible enough. The game makes sure to lay out the stakes and consequences of the choices the characters make (at least in the first half).

I think one of the reasons I like it so much is that it makes sure you feel the heavy costs of a conflict like the one unfolding in the game. It makes you feel the loss, and not only through the permadeath mechanic. Let’s be real, many players reset if they lose a unit. But even if you reset, or just are good at the game and don’t get anyone killed, the game still makes sure you see the consequences of war.

Actually, it makes you see the consequences of a simple, well-intentioned action. If makes you see how a conflict can quickly snowball out of one man’s control.

The second half of the game is, admittedly, way more typical and less impactful. The world is suffering because of the failure of the first cast to resolve the conflict, so now it’s up to the main cast’s children to finish it.

There are interesting tidbits revealed randomly and at the very end that give the story more life, so I wish they would’ve utilized these parts a little more.

Characters

A lot of people find Sigurd, part 1′s main character, kind of boring. And that’s fair. He’s a typical noble knight, very loyal and an all around good person. And he falls in love at first sight. His ultimate flaw is...well, that he is a bit too trusting or just lacks foresight.

Which is all true of our main character. But he’s also a good example of a tragic hero. His greatest strengths are his nobility and sense of justice. He starts the story only aiming to rescue a childhood friend from the invaders who have kidnapped her. But those are the same things that lead him far from home, on a campaign that snowballs out of his control and soon comes to look very much like a man working on conquering the continent, putting him in conflict with the major power on said continent who doesn’t like what he sees is happening.

He also falls into a love that will lead to disaster, so. Very tragic hero-y of him.

But I lowkey love Sigurd. I love that moment he looks back and realizes oh shit, he’s way in over his head but he literally can’t turn back anymore. The only way out is forward.

I think Seliph, Sigurd’s son, is largely forgettable. The revelation at the end, and implication that he hasn’t truly chosen his own path this whole time but was led down it was a plot point I wish was expanded on, as well as his own feelings about it all. But it kind of fits that he...doesn’t have much substance to him. In the end, he really feels like a pawn, which makes that lofty title he later gains feel all the stranger in retrospect.

This game is good at making its characters feel small in the larger setting of its world. I appreciate that.

It has a large and largely forgettable cast of named enemies and npcs. I think it helps make the world feel lived in, rather than an empty place run by like 20 people. idk, I’d rather the world feel more realistic than every named character standing out like a sore thumb.

The game gives you a lot of units, some more memorable than others. This is where a remake could really help flesh out these characters, but I felt that in most cases their motivations and personalities were realistic and believable. The downside, on the gameplay side, is that mounted units really do dominate this game. The few units on foot that stand out are the ones with outstanding performance in one aspect or another, while the rest just fall by the wayside since it can be so difficult to get them to join the action.

However, I am a boring person who loves mounted units, so. I was very happy.

Overall

As you can tell, I loved this game. It can be a bit janky in some aspects, but it’s definitely one of the more adventurous of FE games (seeing as it came out before the series really settled on a “style”). It’s not a game for beginners, I would say, given its somewhat odd mechanics that aren’t explained very well from the outset. The pacing can be feel rather long and arduous, which is on purpose, but also keeping in mind that you can save at the start of every turn - it wasn’t designed for you to bang out a chapter in a single sitting but come back to chip away at your progress.

#the muffin's video gaming adventures #now to play it in japanese!#which is an odd experience #i got so used to the fan translation haha #also all the menus are in katakana which looks so weird #modern fe games go with kanji for the menu text

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watchingtheroad · 5 years ago

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Be Your Run-To

Damen struggles in the aftermath of his injury and the reality of losing his remaining family. Laurent helps him cope.

Post-Canon | Hurt/Comfort | Mourning | First Time Bottoming |

POV Switches: Damen >> Laurent >> Nikandros >> Damen

Damen watched as Laurent dissected another letter from Arles over his makeshift desk at Ios, a table and chair he had dragged into what was now Damen’s office space. Laurent loved it for the massive library attached. He had already brought in an entire new shelf on which he would display the books he planned to read separately from the ones he did not. It was very charmingly involved.

Damen loved it for the memories of his childhood—sitting on the King’s lap and reading as a boy, growing and studying alongside him as he worked at his desk—and hated it for the exact same reason.

Reality was strange to think about, stranger for it to be so. That was his father’s desk. His father’s books. His father’s rooms. His father’s throne. His father’s crown. His father’s city. His father’s kingdom.

His father was dead. His brother was dead, buried in the royal crypt with family rather than treated as the gullible traitor he proved himself to be.

Damen had thought he could save them both, will them to life and reason.

He had been wrong.

Grief crashed over him in inconvenient waves in the weeks immediately after his own injury and Kastor’s bitter end. It was different without the constant drama of plotting against the Regent and running around the continent with Laurent. Forced to endlessly sit and heal, Damen had time to dwell in his misery—entirely too much, arguably, that drained him to exhaustion in moments meant for rest—all while continuing plans to stabilize his own government and attempting to solidify an official unity with Vere.

It was quite a lot of work, investigation and tedious conversation: drafting documents, arguing more treason and laws, deciding which policies would be adopted kingdom-wide or remain independent to either Akielos or Vere. The matter of slavery was the most pressing to attend to, and one on which Damen and Laurent vehemently agreed. Total abolishment was the goal. It was a matter of implementation, and not every kyros in Akielos was as amenable to change as Nikandros.

They spent the majority of their days in grueling meetings once Damen was lucid, which began at his bedside, then expanded to common rooms as Damen grew stronger. Laurent had done an invaluable job at handling things when he was not, but there was still substantial progress to be made. He had named Nikadros Kyros in Ios, summoned the few, trustworthy members of the Veretian Council, new appointments included.

It added another layer of difficulty on both sides, given Vere’s chaotic political climate and Kastor’s treason. It was hard to know exactly all the places evil had touched their kingdom, and Laurent’s extended stay in Ios was a disadvantage in finding out and achieving true peace for Vere. None of the Veretians in Ios liked it there, and none of the Veretians in Vere liked that their future King was still away. Laurent’s focus should have been that, not shouldering Damen’s burdens beyond necessity.

As it was, Laurent refused to be parted from him until he was well again. Damen had been adamant for some time that he was well again, despite some moderate discomfort during his deep breathing exercises and soreness that lingered with certain movements. He seemed to be singularly convinced of that. Even Nikandros was on Laurent’s side, a rarity of astronomical proportion.

Under different circumstances, Damen would’ve already progressed his training to more rigorous levels, used physical exertion and pain as a distraction for everything else, then pushed through until it became tolerable. The lack thereof was making him incredibly irritable, but Laurent insisted he take it torturously easy, fretting about him every step.

From the look on Laurent’s face, it appeared whoever wrote the latest letter from Vere was returning the favor in making one irritable.

“What’s the matter?” Damen asked.

With reluctance, Laurent said, “I have to leave for Vere. The people have started congregating outside Arles, which I suspect is diplomatic phrasing for rioting. Resistance from the Regent’s leftover filth. Fucking brilliant.”

Innocently enough, Damen noted, “Going back sooner would have eliminated that.”

“Just what I wanted to hear, Damianos,” Laurent said, voice like the edge of a knife. “Thank you for your helpful counsel.”

“Laurent, I didn’t mean—” Damen started, then stopped, closing his mouth with an internally audible clack of teeth. He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I only meant that Vere needs to see its King. They’ll settle as soon as you enter the city.”

“Do you want me to go so badly?” Laurent asked. “If it will help, you can say it. Let us not pretend I haven’t been worrying you mad.”

“You haven’t,” Damen fibbed.

He had, at times, but only regarding certain things. Being fussed over had never been something Damen was particularly keen on.

Damen said, “You’re the best part of every day I live.”

The former did not make the latter untrue. Their stolen moments were the only thing that kept Damen holding himself together. The source of his foul mood wasn’t Laurent; his concern came from a place of love, Damen knew well enough. It was the circumstances, a result of sadness and lethargy and days and days of complete uselessness that Damen was unaccustomed to and despised to his core. It wasn’t fair to lay his frustrations on Laurent simply because he had nowhere else to aim them, but it’s what he had done.

“Am I?” Laurent asked, the prick self-deprecation clear and sharp. “You haven’t even pretended you want me to stay to spare my feelings.”

Laurent was talking nonsense. Damen ached to erase the doubt in his voice. He went to him, yielding before crossing completely into Laurent’s space where he sat at his table. It was clear when Damen needed to tread more carefully, when Laurent’s defenses were momentarily raised. Damen fancied himself safely inside them, not out in the cold. Still, he waited, until a nearly-imperceptible nod and a softening of eyes gave him the permission he sought.

He slid Laurent’s chair away from the table to better get at him, kneeling in front of him on the floor. Laurent looked at him as though he might break during the mere act of kneeling, but thankfully, held his tongue.

“Laurent, I don’t want you to go,” Damen explained. “These cuffs on our wrists?” He held Laurent’s hand in one of his, and with the other, let his fingers trail across gold. “Everything they stand for, I want. You, I want. But I don’t want you to stay here to the detriment of Vere because you think I need to be watched like an invalid. I am fi—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re fine,” Laurent stopped him. “You’ve said that since the moment you very nearly bled to death under my hand, through every complication. Are you so stubborn you cannot see you’re the least reliable regarding your own condition? Your physical state is not my only concern—” Laurent took his face in both hands, his touch gentle as he leaned forward to press his lips to Damen’s forehead, murmuring, “You’ve not been yourself, Damianos. I’m worried about your mind, your spirit.”

Damen clutched Laurent’s wrists, letting out a ragged breath. The whole truth spoken aloud unsettled him to the bone, made everything he fought to bury swell up inside, threatening to burst through his skin. His voice was strained, on the verge of disproportionate emotion, “It’s not you, Laurent. I swear it. It’s me. I’m—”

Broken.

He thought he had been managing, that the moments of shared happiness between them would disguise the torment in his heart.

Laurent cradled Damen’s head to his chest, and Damen’s arms found their way around him.

“You’re grieving, Damen. Your opportunity was stolen from you after your father was killed. It’s perfectly normal to need that time now, after everything. When Auguste died, I—” Damen sensed Laurent hit a wall and bear through it in the next breath. “It took months for the agony to subside enough that I felt I could breathe again.”

It only added to Damen’s guilt.

“Your brother was good, Laurent—” And I took him from you, Damen thought. “Mine tried to kill me more times than I’m likely aware of to accurately count. And my father— You hated my father. He was a ruthless conqueror, and I worshipped him in blissful ignorance.”

“My opinions about Theomedes are irrelevant. He was your father, your only living parent, your King,” Laurent listed, pressing a kiss to his hair, then another. “What you feel is acceptable, no matter how conflicting…There’s no proper strategy in mourning, my love, but you do not have to do it alone in silence. I am here.”

Damen felt his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t known were trickling free. He buried his face in Laurent’s chest, a choked sob escaping with his words. “It’s impossible to be here, Laurent. Everywhere I look, I see them. I feel like—”

An imposter.

Laurent was the last person who needed to hear that from him. Damen had been groomed for kingship his entire life and felt fraudulent when faced with it now amidst his sadness, particularly having evolved so drastically from who he last was in Ios. Even so, he couldn’t fathom having it thrust upon him as a boy as Laurent did, his grief unimaginable and obstacles unnumbered, the unspeakable abuse he endured.

“Tell me,” Laurent coaxed, his fingers moving in soothing strokes against his scalp. “Let me inside this head of yours.”

A deep, steadying breath.

“There are times I feel Ios doesn’t belong to me. It’s as though my father’s still here, alive in every hall and chamber. I’m so far from the Prince Akielos once knew,” Damen confessed.

Laurent lifted Damen’s head to meet his eyes, delicately wiping beneath them with his thumbs. His smile was soft, compassionate. His eyes shone with love Damen felt unworthy of receiving.

“Damianos, my King,” Laurent said, with a reverence in his voice that throbbed in Damen’s chest and ached through his ribs. “You are twice the leader and ten times the man your father and brother were. Not all change is unwelcome. If you stepped onto the balcony now, Ios would chant your name in the streets. Not your father’s. Not Kastor’s. They adore you. I adore you. Your effortless confidence, the power you hold in your body and words… I aspire to it. Your brother played at ruling. You were born to it. Akielos is yours. These ghosts won’t haunt you forever.”

His words were fleeting warmth wrapped around Damen’s body. He longed to feel it deeper, for them to speak to something solid inside him and hold.

“You’re kinder than I deserve,” Damen said. Then, eager to shift the conversation away from himself, split open as he was, he returned, “It was born in you, too. You’re brilliant, Laurent. I’ve never known a mind like yours. Arles will receive you with open arms, whenever you choose to return. I’ve seen how your people look at you.”

They had lined the streets of every town in Vere, ecstatic to catch a mere glimpse of Laurent as he rode through on their journey to Akielos. If there was residual unrest in the capital due to the Regent, Damen imagined the faction was small.

“If it hasn’t been ripped apart brick by brick before I arrive,” Laurent mused, with an exaggerated sigh. He caressed Damen’s face from brow to jaw. “You look exhausted. Let’s have a hot bath, shall we? Wait for me in your chambers, and I’ll attend you? I have one thing left to do here.”

Damen nodded. That did sound nice.

He shifted to stand, pausing to kiss Laurent on his way. His breath caught, lips trembling as the kiss deepened. His emotions were all out of sorts. Nothing meant more to him than making Laurent happy, merging their lives into one as Damen felt bound to him. He wished to feel better, and he wished to do it beside Laurent.

“Thank you, Laurent… Hurry to me,” Damen said, and because it was all he could muster while keeping his composure, he hoped it conveyed everything he meant.

[THE REST IS HERE]

#captive prince #Capri #damen x laurent #cp fic #damianos of akielos #laurent of vere #first time bottoming #hurt/comfort #post kings rising

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