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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Claimed

Part One // Part Two

Pairing: Angel x vamp!reader

Request: as promised I'd like to request a part 3 to So wrong it’s right/Natural attraction

[Desc: Third part. An old friend of Angel’s comes to town and makes him wonder where your affection truly lies]

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Swearing. Implied sex/sex reference. Biting. Blood. A little violence.

You let me handle the plot so, as always, things got carried away. The timeframe moving from the previous part is either a while later or diverges a little from the show depending on where your imagination wants to take you. 🖤💖

You were slumped on the sofa in front of yet another re-run. So, incredibly bored. As if the lack of his presence had made life unbearably boring. When he was around he made you feel alive. Made you excited - as if you wanted to be someone he could hold affection for.

But all of this embarrassing hope had been dashed. You hadn’t seen him in so long, you only had the delicious memories of your last stolen moments with him.

But without him, the colour had been sucked out of the world again. It was so bleak that you were stuck inside moping over him hopelessly. God, when had you gotten this way?

It had been too long. You missed him so badly you ached. Yearned in this guilty way to be even just in his presence. This wasn’t just lust anymore. The excitement of sex or trading blows with him. Somewhere inside you knew that it was all of him that you wanted. Craved.

Mind, body and even that stupid soul of his.

He had crawled into your dead heart. Made a home there. Leaving you suddenly full of life. Wanting to be more. It still irritated you, at how much influence he now held over you. But you couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to anymore.

But he had been away recently. Dropped you as soon as he heard some Slayer was in trouble. He had been away in some ugly little town called Sunnydale. She needed his help. You soon learned from Angel’s team this Slayer was his ex.

You dropped in on them every so often now to check in when you were bored and thought you might as well help them save the world or whatever. You were fun to be around, you didn’t hold back and they couldn’t help but like your company. So you stuck around them, enjoying the feeling of having something close to a group of friends.

It was new to you, but you secretly enjoyed it. You spent a lot of time sharing your knowledge and trying to make their lives easier. Something you wouldn’t have even considered doing. Not before him.

But he had left you sorely lacking ever since he skipped town without so much as a word. You had really hoped that he might tell you himself, not get Wes to pass on some vague message about his ‘weekend plans’.

The television buzzed soullessly as you stared through it. The only vision you wanted to see being him. And you were just sat there. Not even having the heart (or the attention span) to open a book. All you could think of was him. You were so bored. You were even considering masturbating for the millionth time to distract you from the way you needed him.

You started to move as if to do just that, when there was a massive thud at the door. Someone was knocking pretty urgently.

Shit. Debt collectors. You owed a lot of people a lot of kittens. You muted the tv and stumbled over your feet in the opposite direction from the door. You decided for everyone’s sake it would be better if you disappeared. Pretended not to be in.

You were almost panicking a little, not really sure if you had the mental or physical strength at the moment to take on a fight. So you did something too embarrassing to even describe properly. You rolled under your bed. Hid.

After some more urgent knocking, whoever it was got bored of waiting and just kicked the door in. As you had been expecting. You were hoping whoever it was looking for you was either too stupid to check under the bed for you or thought better of you than to even consider looking there.

The door was broken clean off its hinges. And you stayed still. Hearing two pairs of footprints stomping through your home. You were considering sliding out the window and onto the ledge while they looked around your living room. But then you heard something.

“Y/n?” His voice sounded urgent. Your chest swelled at the sound of his voice. Angel.

You rolled your eyes though. At what you were doing. God this was embarrassing. It was either stay hidden and risk not getting to see him or admit you had just hidden under a bed like some soon-to-be-dead loser in a shitty horror flick.

You decided you would just have to bear it. You rolled from under the best giving him the best scowl you could muster (you couldn’t help smiling a little at seeing him again).

He had the decency not to say anything about you rolling out from under the bed, although he had to hold back a small smile about it. He would tease you later, he was sure. Hopefully if there was a later he thought to himself.

“Funny how a weekend trip can last the full fourteen days now, isn’t it?” You hinted. You had missed him. You wanted him. He had left you longing.

“Look, it’s a Hellmouth stuff happened-”

“Too bloody right-” Someone else spoke up but you cut the stranger off. You hadn’t noticed him at first, your eyes only on Angel.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Look, he’s-”

“And why the fuck is he just stalking through my house like he owns it?” You snapped, snatching a rare book of yours back from his hands.

The pair shared a look at your outburst as if you were the unreasonable one. You smelled it then. They both had souls. You eyed them both, not sure how you had found yourself the only sane, normal vampire in a thirty-mile radius.

“Name’s Spike” he offered and you squinted, recognising the name.

“Oh. Old flame right? Did you go through every ex’s town on your way back from Sunnydale or just the ones you thought were attractive enough to make me jealous?”

“Spike is not an old-”

“One time! It was one-!”

“Well, that hit a nerve” You muttered, rolling your eyes. Great. You had more competition for Angel’s affection. And God, did you want all of his affection laid on you. You wanted him so badly that it almost made you throb with need just from this brief interaction.

You were just staring now as he spoke. The way his eyes glistened in the dim light. His features chiselled as if made just for you. He made you feel things you weren’t sure you could even name. Some long-forgotten emotion that made your chest swell and your stomach feel like there were baby bats in there.

“I thought you said they were a help. Fat lot of good this one is considering their fourth wank of the day in front of bloody Time Team” You snapped out of your Angel-induced daze to scowl once again at the blonde man and his, unfortunately, accurate depiction of the way you were currently living.

They turned conversation quickly to try to convince you that you were needed. There was yet another plot to take over LA. Someone had informed them on the Hellmouth. To reverse it, they needed three vampires, ones that have enough good in them. No human could stand the pain of it. Angel insisted the third one is you.

He had faith in you. In some way, it made you fill with pride. But, again, this wasn’t your life. You had never wanted to save the world. He mentioned that there was a ritual you could do to check, to at least prove him right and to begin the reversal of this apocalypse was needed.

“And tell me again why I would want to go through all that pain rather than, say, relocate?” You muttered, already knowing you would agree. For him.

“Y’know... because you’re good now, right?” Even as he said it, Angel knew these were the wrong words to use. You scoffed at him. You had never claimed this. You just liked the company of the team. Enjoyed a good fight. Enjoyed… the proximity with him.

“I’m okay, thanks. Don’t care. Sorry. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out”

“Listen here, pet-” The other vampire appealed to you. Which was also the wrong move.

“Why is this Billy Idol impersonator talking to me? Is it a joke I’m too cool to understand?”

“Oi- look here-”

You didn’t speak this time, you just went to punch the man in the face. But Angel caught you before either of you reacted. Wrapped a strong hand around your wrist. Kept it there.

His grip tightening in a way that made you smirk. You had missed this. God, you had really missed this. He lowered your hand, his still firmly grasping your wrist. And you just stared at him as he did. Hoping he would lean in and catch your lips again. Tear the fabric of the walls apart just with a look.

“Enough” He warned. Touch lingering as his eyes did on your form.

You would let him wreck the house if you thought it meant you could have him pressed against you again even for a second. He was dangerous to you and you loved it. He, on the other hand was still more cautious of the way you navigated your relationship. Of how he showed just what you meant to him.

He thought about you all the time. More so, while he was away. He was addicted to you. The way you moved, spoke. Held yourself. Had such entrenched opinions and he might even deign to say morals (loosely, of course).

He thought more of you than he had ever done before. Dreamt about you. Thought about what you could be doing, wanting to know what you were thinking. What made you tick. He held on to every intimate detail he could discover.

Remembered it in such crystal clarity. Because it was you.

He decided to get you on side, he would appeal to the more logical side of you. Which, surprisingly, worked. He managed to convince you to put your un-life on the line. Because it would help your new sort-of friends. To save Fred and the others, you could try it.

You finally relented. You almost didn’t so soon, hoping that he might descend to fighting you over it. Some contact with your skin. It was needed after so long. You nodded though and they nodded and you started for the door. Stepping over it as you left.

“What a bloody delight” Spike murmured so that you could hear it.

“Can it, Blondie” You hissed as you strode behind them, your usual confidence evident to all around.

Angel side-glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips at seeing you again. Even if all of your barbs were being thrown Spike’s way. It was so good to see you.

Angel had never been so sure that he wanted you around. Permanently. He just wasn’t entirely sure how to admit this. To himself or you. You always left him wanting more. That demon part of you matched his. The demons had claimed the other long before either of you had embraced how you felt.

Neither of you had dared ask the other how they felt. What they wanted from this relationship. It may shatter the illusion you both had. That there could be a future there. That at least some of your eternity could be theirs.

You were staring blankly at a carved tablet, one that Wesley had found in connection with this stupid apocalypse you had been roped into stopping. You weren’t really reading, just skimming it. You’d catch up later, you always did. Right now, you were thinking about Angel. He was all you were ever thinking about at the moment.

“What’s that? Picture book?” A British accent asked. Spike.

“No” you said shortly. God, he was dumber than a bag of rocks. What had Angel ever seen in him? He rubbed you up the wrong way. And not in an exciting way either.

Wesley explained what it was as you had a rant in your head, just staring at the tablet.

“All that eternity and you can’t even read. What exactly do you do?” You couldn’t help it. It slipped out. He was a fly you wanted to swat away. Squish into nothingness.

You glowered at him, but knew there was some big stupid prophecy so Spike had to stick around. You did what the powers wanted just enough to save your own skin. And, well, if you staked him God forbid, they tried to make you a champion in his place.

Angel frowned at your words. He wanted you to be talking to him. Ragging on him at how he couldn’t read them either. Wanted the charged tension that always stretched between you back. But since he had returned you had appeared more distant. Less smug about the way you rendered him simultaneously infuriated and obsessed with you.

You were laughing with the team when Spike stalked in after calling up his precious Slayer and talking loud enough to wake the dead. Or, at least wake Angel who had been trying to sleep. Instead he had joined you and the rest of the team. Your face had lit up when Angel entered the room but he hadn’t noticed. Or, you thought he hadn’t anyway.

The laughter died when he entered and he scowled. Spike had enough of you. How nobody appeared to accept him but even with your ‘evil’ nature and lack of soul these people embraced you with open arms.

“Why’s every bugger hangin’ on their every word? Hello, I’m the one with the bloody soul here”

“Because nobody likes you Spike” Angel shrugged from the doorway.

“Yeah, because having a soul makes you suddenly likeable and some all-encompassing good right? You’re kidding yourself - choices are what make us not writhing around in the sand with some dumb demon for a couple months”

Everyone had braced themselves, expecting your usual rant about not having a soul not meaning anything. That you could make good decisions. You could do what you wanted and still not be evil. But you had decided to just make a cheap shot.

“Piss off. Like you could stand it anyway”

Angel had been watching with a frown. Didn’t like the way you gave Spike such attention. He thought it was the way you used to give him attention before you began to deepen your relationship.

He wanted you to be focusing on him. Only him. He missed you. In his bed. The way you looked contorted in pleasure. His.

When he thought about it, truly thought about it, he missed talking to you. The way you could make him laugh. Speak to him the way nobody else could. You embraced every side of him. Even the parts that he struggled to embrace himself.

He found himself almost needing that interaction. Needing you. Desperately. Not just your body but your mind too. All of you in fact. He ached for it, quivered with need. He didn’t care you lacked your soul anymore, he just needed you. Thirsted for every side of you.

You kept glancing at each other. You weren’t his partner but he really wanted you to be. He was finally able to admit it to himself. He just didn’t know how to ask. How to tell you what he wanted. He wanted it just you and him. Not to have to smell any of the particularly nasty lingering scents of lovers you had taken since he had been away.

Angel kept making snide comments about Buffy and Spike at any opportunity. This always made you scowl because he seemed so bothered by them. Spike smirked smugly. Which made you scowl even further. It was mostly to distract himself from his feelings from you. But you didn’t know this. You wanted his mind to be on you again. He hadn’t even pulled you aside during any slow moments like he usually would.

On a particularly boring day, while they were taking a break from the research that was making everyone have a headache (except you and Wesley), talk turned to Spike’s new soul. And why he had fought for one. For this Slayer.

“I think it’s romantic!” Fred cooed as you caught on to what had happened.

“For love? You got a soul for love?! That’s so cute, did it come with a complimentary heart shaped box? A dozen roses?” You cackled and Spike looked like he was about to thump you. Pretty ruthlessly too. But Angel pulled you away before he could. Apparently he was the only one allowed to berate Spike.

He took you by the shoulder and pressed you against the wall in the corridor once you were alone. You smirked, face lighting up expecting his lips on yours. Just like the last time you had been close in this way. But he just half-heartedly chastised you instead.

“Cool it off” he warned. You were disappointed with his tone, you missed the way he would excite you. Mix with anger and passion the way you had missed so badly.

“Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable? It’s foreplay for us. You know it, I know it” You plucked the nerve just to see what would happen. Making his blood boil. You saw it then. That hint of jealousy. This flicker of the demon side of him, he wanted to claim you as his.

“Whatever. Do anything you want after the case, just not here” He consciously tried to even his voice this time, hide the growl. But his chest rumbled dangerously at even the thought of you and Spike. He was clinging to his human form as the demon protested.

This is what made you tug on the nerve, near severing it. You leaned into him, so that your lips brushed his ear. Your tone seductive, one he would usually enjoy.

“Don’t be jealous, baby, I’m very good at sharing myself out. Especially while you were away-”

You were cut off by his hands tightly gripping your shoulders. Even as a vampire, you were sure you would bruise. Your stomach flipped at the fire behind his eyes. The need for you to not stray from him. He slammed you back against the door you had just left out of, near shattering the glass behind you. God, you had missed this. So badly.

You couldn’t help smirking. You were ready to take him right here. Fucking or fighting. Either one would do it for you. So long as you received his full attention. Just you and him.

He had come back so disaffected. His face mostly neutral. You thought he had barely looked at you, let alone touched you. Even in this way. You would take what you could get and savour every second of it.

You didn’t realise just how hard it was for him to be back in Sunnydale or all of the baggage he had left there (some of it that he had had to bring back as well). Dredging up his past had confirmed something to him. That he wanted you with him. Wanted you to be his. He wanted something more than what you were already doing. It scared him. Made him nervous, which is why he had kept a distance from you.

Even though it guilted him that this was selfish and something that would make him happy. Even though you were rough around the edges and morally dubious. Even though you had never expressed softer feelings of your own.

You meant something. Everything. And he couldn’t deny it now. Couldn’t begin to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to.

That was why he didn’t like you interacting with Spike. Because he felt this so strongly. That you belonged with him. Not with anybody else. But you had never labelled your relationship and he didn’t know how to even begin to tell you.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, let me go” You warned. Hoping he would do the opposite. He gripped tighter for a moment and you got excited but then he just let you go.

Disappointment washed over you and you frowned. You had so wanted to taste him on your tongue again. To have his body, hot with desire, pounding against yours.

As time went on, Angel began to get more and more jealous watching you and Spike interact. You began to notice it more. The way his furrow deepened whenever you glared holes in the man. Mistaking the interaction for something that excited you.

But he didn’t say anything. Barely looked at you. Which left you so sore. So needy for him.

So, you took it into your own hands. Of course, you didn’t actually speak to him about it. Oh, no. Instead, you dialled it up. Speaking to Spike much more. Making Angel so jealous he would shake. Aiming to make him want you more.

The ritual couldn’t be conducted for a few months yet, just before the steps to the scheduled apocalypse had begun. So there was a lot of waiting around and planning. However, your mind was less on that and more on how to get Angel to touch you again.

You had an idea. You gestured with your head to get the blonde vampire to come over and speak to you. The vampire was hung up on the slayer and you were hung up on Angel so neither of you had any particular interest in the other.

“Look I don’t like you, you don’t like me. But you wanna annoy Angel right?” You offered, giving him a knowing look. You weren’t stupid, Spike had an obvious and complicated past with your- the man.

“I’m listening” He squinted. And you didn’t waste any time, you whispered in his ear your suggestion.

Along with your obvious intelligence, you could be very persuasive. Near manipulative (it was how you had survived this long and gotten yourself out of many, many debts).

So, the next day you swung your plan straight into action. It wasn’t a particularly clever plan. But it was enough for you and Spike to know it could end badly wrong. Like, dust on the floor wrong should Angel be in a particularly bad mood.

You and Spike turned up to the building with his arm slung around your shoulder. You had asked to wear his jacket but he told you to sod off. So, you compromised and had him sling his arm over your shoulder told him to whisper something. Anything. Encouraging him to be as crude as possible. Implying that you had spent the previous night together.

You were speaking to the room but your eyes were on Angel the entire time. Watching the way his thoughts began to spin out of control behind his eyes. He was shaking with anger. Filling with pure jealousy. The way Spike was allowed so close to you. How he pressed against you the way he should be pressed against you. Natural touch that should be his.

He couldn’t just stand there. Watching. He just walked up to you, snatching your hand in his and dragged you from the room. If he didn’t he would have exploded then and there.

“Problem?” You asked, that infuriating tone you always used. He just directed you by the back of your head to move your ear next to his mouth.

“You’re mine” he growled and you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped in excitement. Made you weak for him. Your eyes lit up. But you wouldn’t let him see you submit that easily.

“Prove it” You challenged. And he did just that. He pulled you into him, crashing his lips to yours. The rough embrace made your heart soar with happiness. He wanted you. He really wanted you.

As you made your way to the bed you stopped in your passion every now and again on the way. Slamming you into the walls, more furniture lost to your desire. You pushed him back onto the bed smirking down at him. He reached for you and pulled you down against him.

Lips crashing. Hands grasping. Skin slapping.

He claimed you as his. The feeling, it was shared. His eyes telling you that he was yours. He clutched you, while you grinded against his body. He made you feel alive. It was primal. This animal attraction never ceased. But this connection was deeper than anything either of you could name.

Your demon forms shifted, facing each other again. As they always did when you were together. They had missed their equal so desperately. You moved with him. As if you were one. He bit down hard, fangs embedded in your neck. You moaned in his ear and it made him bite harder still.

Your blood tasted so good in his mouth. He hadn’t done this in so long. Hadn’t trusted anyone this way. This bond, it ran deep.

You directed his head further into you as he did this, grasping at the hair on the nape of his neck. It was pure pleasure. Blood oozed down your chest as his mouth moved from the bite on the side of your neck. He pressed some open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone, following the trail of your blood. He licked slowly up it, catching every drop. His eyes bored into yours. Telling you what you already knew. You were made for him.

He pressed further into you, with a urgency that matched yours. He was finally embracing his demon. The way you had hoped he would for so long. You wanted all of him. To do this, you would have to give all of yourself. So, you did.

You stayed in bed together a lot longer than you usually might. You were just lying in bed together. You were on a slant, the bed had been lost to your passion. Frame splintering and collapsing. He would have to replace it. You were leaning on your side facing him. God, you had missed this. He had left you aching, empty without him.

He hadn’t so much as implied wanting to touch you like this since he had returned from Sunnydale. Just spent his time squabbling with Spike. So, this had been a needed release. Building up over so long.

“I missed this” You admitted, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked and you just nodded your reply. He found himself reaching for you, stroking your bare skin. You met his eyes, this tender touch he had never afforded to you before. It was alien but you wanted more of it.

“It was hard. Bein’ back there” He said slowly, referring to Sunnydale, “Seeing them both. Together as well, it hurt. Didn’t know what to do about it”

“Still hung up on them then?” You sighed, looking at a pull in the cotton. Twisting it in your fingers for something to do. Anything to distract from the way you had begun to hurt at the thought of him not feeling the same way as you did.

He shook his head but you didn’t see it. His hand stroking down your arm and resting on your hand. It was the most tender he had ever been. Action a lot subtle that you had ever shared. You found yourself wanting more of it.

“No. ‘Cause when I saw you again I, uh knew… knew that I’d rather be with you than anywhere else” He said slowly. He said it awkwardly, the words strung together as if they didn’t quite fit next to each other. But he meant it. He wasn’t sure if he had ever meant anything as much before in his entire life.

You didn’t know what to say to this so you just nodded. It was the best he could have hoped for. When you weren’t teasing, it was hard to reveal how you felt. You laughed though, mentioning you didn’t even like Spike anyway. You had just wanted him to pay you more attention again.

You then muttered something about not knowing what Angel had ever seen in him. Angel gave you a look but you didn’t get it (he felt that it was because you and Spike were too similar, that’s why you didn’t get on). Thankfully, he liked you a lot better than he liked Spike though.

You smiled at each other, both of you feeling even slightly more secure. You hadn’t been able to admit that you wanted to be exclusive, but you had both now implied it. Which was the best either of you could wish. You found yourself almost wanting to be his, the way he had hissed it in your ear. You couldn’t recall feeling that way before.

There it was again. That feeling that frightened you. Hope. It had crawled into your heart and only spread the longer you spent with him. An ugly thought popped into your head. One that embarrassed you immensely.

As you watched his face turn into that small smile beside you in bed. Understanding stretching between you. A glimmering hope that still frightened you more than anything else ever had. His jealousy still a delicious taste in your mouth. The wreckage of the room surrounded you but the atmosphere was almost... soft.

It was a thought he had already had himself and started to accept. You shuddered as you thought it though. Finding that maybe you truly had found your anti-soulmate. In Angel of all people.

#Angel btvs #Angel btvs x reader #Angel x reader #Angel btvs imagine #Angel imagine #angel btvs x you #angel the series #ats #ats imagine #ats x reader #ats x you #angel the series imagine #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Bad Reputation

Synopsis: Henry and his girl can’t get enough from one another. They keep finding themselves in rather sticky and lusty situations while other actors are present around them. 🤭

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, exhibition kink, public display of affection, dirty language, slight fingering, daddy kink.

A/N: This is by request made for thigh riding! I see this as a slight sequel to Putting up a Show and Good Girl just because in my mind they are the same couple. Many thanks again to the marvellous @agniavateira for doing the beta! Masterlist is here.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed! Thank you for reading as always :)

PR fucking nightmare - that’s what our managers call us.

They thought it would go away after our first year of dating. But the sad truth is, Henry just loves to touch, and I’m a hot-blooded woman who loves to fuck shit up. Three years in being married and the line is so goddamn blurry by now; I am never quite certain which one of us initiates it, nor do I even care.

I see my bear sitting sprawled across the red leather sofas, legs spread open as he can never keep them shut. I know I’m terribly biased but that black tuxedo suit sure as hell looks great on his strong figure, especially with the crooked bowtie and the beard he’s been growing for his new movie role.

And as if the bad boy vibes and big dick energy he sends everywhere wasn’t enough, the half-empty Grey Goose bottle on the round golden table next to him and the slight sweat that covers his forehead is a red flag that we are definitely getting into trouble tonight.

Bring it on.

Armie is sitting right next to him, telling him about some scheme by the gesture he is making with his hands. But I can tell Henry has other things on his mind. I can feel his eyes looking at me even when I am standing far away. Our gazes meet, he offers me a mischievous smile, showing off the large dimples of his cheeks. This is what I call a wet, slippery invention.

I blush and look away. I mean, I have Rebecca Ferguson holding my forearms. That woman makes me want to invite her into our bedroom, but Henry doesn’t like sharing, not even with women. It doesn’t matter how much I’d pout and beg, he likes me all to himself, and he loves it when others can see that I am his.

It’s always his hand between my thighs, riding up higher, thumb tickling at my clit teasingly. We sat through an entire acceptance speech with him working me hard. If anyone looks closely at that video on Youtube, you can see the exact moment when he hits the spot.

Sorry, Leo, I wasn’t smiling because you won.

This is us being subtle. Hotels and parties, however, are a different story. We already had a manager quit on us because we made sure the entire floor hears what we are doing through the night.

Rebecca kisses me on the cheek, the gorgeous Swedish redhead is already tipsy, and I’ve had my second glass of wine. She’s in a red satin dress, her impressive breasts showing through her cleavage. I also spot a few freckles on her chest. It makes me pout and look at Henry, who shakes his head in refusal.

“Where is your hubby anyway?” she asks playfully, and I point in the direction of where he is sitting. Armie is just getting up, leaving Henry alone. He pours himself some more vodka, fills the glass with ice and then takes a sip with a lustful gaze. That’s probably my cue to keep him company and take that glass away.

That video when he told everyone to get naked will forever be online. He also has a tendency to start making impressions of others when he is flustered, and I can’t contain my laughter when that happens.

“He’s too drunk to get up.” I sigh, shaking my head while he makes playful, sad faces at me. I shrug and take my phone out my purse, seeing two text messages from him.

Henry: “Where are you, babygirl?” Henry: “I want to squeeze that ass.”

I text him back “Armie’s? Go for it. Can we have Rebecca, pleaaaaase?”

He reads my reply, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in complete refusal.

“Not. sharing. you. Do you want me to spank you in front of all these people?”

Rebecca is oddly enough very touchy-feely, her hand sliding down my forearms while she speaks about how wonderful Henry is, and how fun it was to work with him on MI6.

“He’s not like all the other ones, he is an actual friend,” she explains to me, her beautiful green eyes lighting up.

“I know, that’s how he got me, pretended to be my friend for years.” I chuckle, remembering the times we were still just friends. If you look at videos of us from interviews and photos from events from the time we worked together, you’d think we’ve been dating already. He always touched me subtly, his eyes staring at me intently when I speak. And of course, no one cracks him up the way I do.

But Henry waited 5 years for both of us to be single at the same time to “kidnap” me during a walk with our dogs at the forest, where I’d literally be unable to run away. He did that so he can tell me he’s been in love and growing in love with me ever since we met.

I smile at the sweet memory. I held my tears when that word left his lips.

“I’ll come to say hello later, I’m starving,” she says and rubs her belly gently. I nod and lean forward to kiss her, deliberately kissing her soft, red-painted lips for Henry to see. Us girls, we really don’t mind.

As I turn to face him, he is already frowning. He’s not amused by my vexing behaviour. I give him my best angelic posture, batting my lashes and holding my hands together while my head is tilted to the side. In that pale blue and silver dress, I might look like some saint right now, but my darling knows I’ve come from south to heaven.

I make my way to him, walking slowly, a smile both in my eyes and between my cheeks. I can feel the fire burning in my chest, the sight of him is dashing, those thick thighs ever so inviting. He spreads his legs even wider, the bulge in his groin made only for me. He has his pinky finger pressed between his teeth while checking me out.

My body heeds his calling, I’m tingling wet.

I stand in front of him, my cheeks warm as if this is a first hook up of some sort. Henry rises his beautiful blues to stare straight into my eyes. The beaming lights in the hall make his sweaty skin glow in neon pink and gold, his eyes flashing bright as the different colours dance across his face.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask, gesturing at the glass, noticing the half-empty bottle. I hope not too much, I expect to be rammed tonight when we return to the hotel.

He shrugs, putting the glass away without bothering to finish it. He is British, and boy, he can drink a lot. He is not as half as flustered as a different guy would be, but yes, he is certainly quite drunk. Enough to give me that look of his-one eyebrow rising up-while his eyes drink in my dress, cleavage, ass, and that slit that runs from my legs to my thighs.

My friends asked me if Henry is an ass or tits man, to which my answer was “he is ‘all of me’ man.”

“Gotta love women's liberation.” He speaks in a deep, low voice, gesturing at my provocative dress.

“Come to daddy.” He demands, holding out his hand for me to come and sit on his thigh. To which I am more than happy to comply.

I spread my legs, moving to straddle his muscular thigh. There is a burning sensation at my core as my pelvis meets his taut muscle. My body always reacts to his touch. Henry’s hands immediately take my face, thumbs stroking at my cheeks.

“Why do you tease me, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fierce gaze tracing my face, always taken by me, memorizing every freckle and flaw as if it’s the first time we ever sit so close. God, he makes me feel so beautiful even in my ugliest of ugly days.

I lean forward to get even closer, my ass riding up his leg and my hands reach out to tug at his white buttoned shirt. “Oh, Henry-Bear, it’s. So. much. fun.”

Someone sits right next to us on the big red sofa, saying a friendly hello. We answer at the same time, without breaking eye contact. We never bother looking who is the actor, producer, or whatever who moved to bug us. Too lost in our own little mist of admiration. Henry’s fingers descend from my face to my neck, fingers skirting down my neck sensually.

“You know what I love about these ceremonies and parties?” he asks as he leans closer to whisper in my ear and then places a wet, lingering kiss on my shoulder. His chin pushes the straps of my dress away, letting it fall on my forearm as if by accident. I let it glide, shivering as the coarse hair of his beard marks my flesh.

“I get to show you off while you’re wearing these outrageous dresses and everyone knows I am taking you home to fuck you until sunrise.”

I chuckle lustfully, my tongue pressed between my teeth. “Last time we didn’t even make it home remember?” I hum gently, feeling his rough touch on my breasts. The tip of his thumbs circles my nipples, teasing them to harden through the thin fabric of my dress. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Henry had me topless right now and sink his fangs in my tits for everyone to see. But he is far too selfish, I was made for his eyes and his eyes only.

He settles for a “chaste” show, laying a kiss beneath my chin and then pressing his face at my cleavage, inhaling the scent of my body lotion before nibbling at my breast through my dress. His breath smells like vodka-sweet and spicy at once.

“I remember, Cumberbatch saw the whole thing,” he answers, his hands holding my ribs, slightly guiding me to move my body on top of his thigh in ghostlike movements. I am searing hot, my mound feels as if it’s seconds from catching fire. I am certain he can feel it, his blue eyes now hazy and dreamlike as they watch the pink tint that runs through my neck to my cheeks.

“Fuck me, daddy, I am so horny!”

My whisper comes out as half a cry, weak and desperate. My body is a void, it suffers without his touch, it aches when we’re disjointed. I hope we’ll never stop feeling this way toward one another.

“Ride me, babygirl.” he urges me, raising his thigh up higher, so I’ll slide down closer. The friction makes me lose sight for a moment. My vision blurs as I throb wet and hot onto him. Good thing his trousers are black, otherwise, everyone would be able to detect the wetness I am leaving on his pants.

I can’t reject his decree, my body needs him.

“You like it when they watch, don’t you?” he asks me with a slightly slurred voice. His hands glide down to squeeze my ass, assisting me in dancing on the rock-hard muscle of his leg. I am grinding slow and rough, shifting my weight forward, my right hand reaching his other thigh, clawing at him with growing pleasure.

Everyone is looking at us, I am sure, some embarrassed and perhaps even appalled. How puritan of you Hollywood. These people formed their own religion and hidden sex clubs. But I am convinced many enjoy this facade and discreetly salute us, some probably holding out their cameras.

I roll my hips up and clench my inner thighs, whimpering as my body begins to tremble.

It doesn’t matter who is staring while I ride him so passionately, seeking my pleasure with urgency while Henry’s hands support me, saddling my hips and pulling me toward him. We don’t see anyone else. We’re locked into one another, the way we always did, just like when Henry had a girlfriend, when we were “just friends” when I dated that asshole. We’d walk into a room, and it was just me and him, hearts and chest bursting with love.

Every moment we couldn’t have one another was stolen from us, we now fight to own it back.

“I’d sit you on my face in front of everyone, but I think Gretchen would kill us.” Henry half whispers against my throat and then licks up my neck as I lift my chin to the ceiling with gaping lips. He has his hand between my legs, drawing at my centre and sneaking between the slit of my dress to finish the job.

“Fuck!” he teases my clit, his middle finger travelling at my seams. My entire existence shudders. The bass of the music blasts through my chest, my eardrums throb, and my eyes see all the colours of the neon at once as my cunt implodes with orgasmic bliss. Henry steals my gasp into his mouth, his hand pressing my cheeks, crushing my mouth with hunger.

Who could ever hate us for our expression of true love?

I gasp feverishly, holding onto him as if I’m about to fall. Henry’s lips are on my temple and then my cheek. Pressing against me and not moving away. He envelops me in his big arms, a clear statement to all our viewers that I am his and he is mine. We both move our heads to see who's been sitting next to us this entire time.

Alec Baldwin and Jake Gyllenhaal. They pretend not to stare, at least Alec does. Jake gives us a wide, knowing smile. Everyone else has also been staring as I hear the whispers and gasps.

“Really? They did that again!?”

We bump our foreheads together and snicker with delight. Like we ever gave a fuck about being caught. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. We just can’t get our hands off of each other.

“Better call Gretchen now.” I tell Henry, hanging my arm around his thick neck.

“Before or after I fuck you in one of the back rooms here?”

#Henry Cavill #Smut #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill Fic #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry cavill fanfic #Fanfic #henrycavillsmut #henrycavillfanfic #henrycavillxofc #henrycavillfic

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

Note

Ok please if you don’t mind saying - who is Stuart semple and what did he do? I’m so confused. Like I recognise the name and I think he might the an artist or something but I have no idea

He is indeed an artist! He’s a English multidisciplinary fine artist best known for his ongoing beef with English sculptor Anish Kapoor over the 2016 exclusive licensing on the process to make Vantablack colour coating, which meant Kapoor was the only artist allowed to use it. Then Stuart Semple made Pinkest Pink pigment and said it was available to everyone but Anish Kapoor, and there was a big blowup which there’s a lot of documentation of - it was very memed.

Since then, Semple has made a bunch more pigments, most of them with the available-to-everyone-but-Anish-Kapoor disclaimer, and the beef periodically flares up, although I will say as time goes on it seems to me to have got increasingly one-sided given that Kapoor has pretty much wandered off.

(I’ve used several of his colours, btw. Pinkest Pink is pretty good. Blackest Black, his attempt to make the blackest possible paint (as opposed to Vantablack which is a nanofibre coating) I was pretty disappointed in, I’ve honestly had better light capture from mid-range art shop paints. His other pigments vary in quality - some I really liked, some I was meh on, but I think Blackest Black is the only one I was actively unimpressed by)

Anyway. Where I come in is much less exciting.

A few months ago I reblogged a post on Tumblr asking about Semple from a discourse tag (my reblog did not tag or @ anyone), and I made a glib comment where I said (very truthfully) that while I thought he was pretty decent at pigments, both his paintings and his online persona came across pretty adolescent to me.

so it turns out Stuart Semple is an inveterate name searcher (hi Stuart if you’re reading this!)

(Side note: I actually should have guessed this from 2019 Twitter when he saw and commented on an untagged thread I wrote about him and Kapoor’s beef (which was because I’d seen an article in which Kapoor, a British-Asian man, said that the racist Prevent strategy was liable to drive young British-Asian men into the arms of terrorist groups by making it clear their country hates them reblogged on Semple’s account with a caption claiming Anish Kapoor was pro-terrorism, which, while tongue-in-cheek, isn’t a neutral statement for a white person to make about an Asian person and was a pretty phenomenally bad-faith reading of Kapoor’s actual words) and in my thread I pretty much said that when the story had broken, I, like everybody else, had found it very funny and been firmly on side with Semple’s bit, but I felt that a) after a couple of years it really wasn’t very relevant any more and it had started to feel less like Fighting The Power and more like bullying the amount of Semple’s web presence was devoted to talking about Anish Kapoor; b) that it was a shame that Anish Kapoor was increasingly only known as The Vantablack Guy given that I really like a lot of his work and c) that continuing to frame a Jewish person of colour as the Face of the Artistic Elite was a bit weird given how overwhelmingly white the high-end art world is. but I digress. Semple responded to that thread, I don’t really remember what he said, it wasn’t an acrimonious response but it was a bit Oh I Didn’t Do Anything To Tag You?)

so anyway he found my reblog and commented saying ehhh I don’t remember, something along the lines of not feeling like I was being very kind and that he was trying his best. also I think he said I had accused him of being racist? which again the actual Tumblr post literally just said I thought his art and persona came across as juvenile and I think in the tags? I mentioned that I thought it was time for him to step off the Kapoor beef.

then he screencapped my post, including my profile picture and username, and posted it on all his socials with a kind of :( people are so mean on Tumblr :( caption and um

idk if you know this about Being A Public Persona With Tens Of Thousands of Followers but. if you post someone’s identity and say ‘I do not like what this person is doing’ it. can get messy fast.

uh I don’t follow Stuart Semple (see the original post I made) but he commented to make sure I knew he’d posted my post on Instagram and “all my followers like your wig :)” which. according to my partner who did go and look at the time, the Instagram comments were largely about how I was an ugly non-passing trans woman aka “man in a wig” which. throw the whole suitcase out. There were a good few days where I got a lot of angry anons, ranging from ‘stop bullying Stuart Semple!!!!!’ to ‘die in a ditch graphically’ to ‘how can you claim to have opinions on art when You Are On Tumblr’ (I have been a freelance illustrator for 7 years and I have a Masters in art and design) to ‘your art sucks and you’re fat and ugly’ and my personal favourite ‘how can u be cis and use she/her pronouns you dumb snowflake’

(within that furore was a whole branch where someone was like ‘sex worker huh bet you’re bad at it’ and I was like ‘yep! that’s why I don’t do it any more! it’s hard work and it involves a lot of self-promotion and customer skills which I don’t like and am not good at!’ and this was a Whole Thing where they kept trying to insult me (much like today’s anon) about my supposed failures as a Slut Who Is Bad At Sex and I kept going like ‘ok but here’s how that just. doesn’t make sense in reference to what sex work actually is so like, ok?’)

and Stuart Semple and I were also having a conversation which, depending on your perspective I would call his attitude either conciliatory or passive-aggressive, there was a lot of ‘me and my followers would never say rude things about you :) keep up the art kiddo :)’ and being charitable I would say he was trying to be nice while being angry, and to avoid escalating (but with the added context I got later about the wig comment, I think that interpretation of his behaviour maybe. has some cracks?) and ultimately he took down the posts, we had a brief conversation about keeping pet reptiles (apparently he has a lizard) and we left it on, if not good terms, at least peaceable ones.

however I still periodically get messages about it from angry Semple stans. and I’m not sure the argument was resolved, in that I still very much think it’s fair to make criticism, including quite harsh criticism (which I’m not sure ‘adolescent’ is), on art which is put out for public display and enjoyment, and that it isn’t a personal attack to post a criticism of someone’s public-facing work and statements on social media unless you actively target it towards them (for example, @ ing them), and Semple still thinks there’s no difference between a random blog with under a thousand followers criticising a public figure’s work and a public figure with 100k followers on most platforms criticising that blog (out of context - he clipped out the post I was reblogging from and my explanatory tags, and looking at my blog you may notice that 90% of my nuance is in the tags) while giving his followers all the information to find said blog.

(also as multiple people have remarked. if you want to say it’s an unfair criticism to call your online presence immature, being a middle-aged artist who as far as I can tell has a net worth over a million who spends your time name searching yourself in order to get mad at untagged mild criticism from strangers on the internet and share it on all your socials for your followers to join you in Being Big Mad is uhhhhhhh. it uh. it’s not like. not super thin-skinned and immature)

(also also I just googled his net worth and unsurprisingly I can’t find a source on it I’d consider reliable, but I did find multiple articles about him getting in trouble for breach of contract and nonpayment for gallery employees, including two accusations of him writing a big defensive blog post then changing it after a few hours to a very short post saying I LOVE YOU so like idk how true that is but it does seem. consistent with the above interactions.)

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (51) || atz

You don’t know what to do anymore.

Everything is falling apart to pieces, the world around you, the people at your side, you yourself, crumbling into ruins. Yunho is suffering from poison, having been stabbed in the side by his dearly beloved brother himself, who is cooperating with Commander Kang, Vice-Commander of the Royal Navy’s Red Rose fleet.

He also happens to be Yeosang’s estranged father and the man with the antidote to Yunho’s poison. He wants your captain to give up his magical knot, the nautical maps, you, and Yeosang in exchange for pardons for the whole crew… and Yunho’s antidote.

Wooyoung is avoiding you like you’re down with the plague, refusing to look you in the eye and cutting short all your feeble attempts at conversation with curt, uninterested replies. He’s become like some sort of wraith, gone more times than he is present, and the immense loneliness that clenches deep in you doesn’t help at all with the pains that have started to emerge in your chest.

You’re terrified. Terrified about exactly what exactly is happening to you.

And then the Kraken…

The Kraken is dead.

Jongho had reported the incident to your captain the moment the four of you had returned to the vessel, him being more worried about the Royal Navy ship present in the waters as compared to the death of the Kraken, but you had barely reacted to his worried questions, unable to comprehend what you had just seen.

The ancient Kraken is… dead.

You sit against the mast in empty silence, watching the stars blankly as the ship sails beneath them on a sea reflecting the galaxies in the night sky, lost in the majestic wonder of the sight and in your thoughts. Tonight, the air is freezing, and instinctively your hand reaches out next to you, seeking for the usual warmth that is always present by your side.

Then your fingers falter, halting hesitantly in mid air when they find nothing but cold, empty space.

Despair wells up in you and your hand falls back to your side, limp. Your head falls forwards as you try to hold back the sudden, warm tears that threaten to slip from your eyes. It hurts, deep in your chest, as real and raw as the sporadic pains you’ve been experiencing since leaving the Grand Iguana, and perhaps if you’re honest with yourself, even more so.

When you close your eyes and wish hard enough, with all of your might, you can see Wooyoung’s content smile as he lounges on the deck next to you, eyes fixated on the stars overhead. Wish a little more and you can feel the comforting weight of his head resting on your shoulder, the warmth of your intertwined hands in the lining of his pocket. Even if it was all a lie, even if he had never really cared about you, even if you were nothing more than a game to him, you just want to stay in that single moment forever, trapped in your knitted cocoon of comforting lies.

But you don’t have time to be worrying about those things, you think as you aggressively wipe the tears from your eyes. Because there are so many more problems that you need to focus on, bigger ones that are looming over you in spite of your own troubles.

Yunho is still dying.

And San doesn’t have a cure.

“I don’t know how to create the antidote.”

You don’t know what you should do, to be honest. There are all manner of emotions rushing through you right now – fear – despair – hopelessness – anger; directed at yourself or someone else, you don’t know, but all that matters is that Yunho is dying.

And that neither you nor San can do anything to stop it.

Slumping against the mast once more, you let out another exhausted sigh. You’re tired, completely worn out, battered from the constant strain and worries on your mind. All you want to do is lie down and sleep, but you can’t bring yourself to go to bed in front of your master, who is still burning midnight oil night after night as he and Yeosang search fruitlessly for an antidote.

You can’t bear to see the haggard, gaunt expression on his face as he rifles through the same books yet again, knowing full well in his heart that they don’t have the answers he needs, that only powerful magic could hope to have any sort of effect on the poison. You can’t continue to hear your master sob quietly to himself every night from under your covers as his worry for Yunho and the sheer weight of his failure takes its toll on him, the candlelight flickering across his face only making the tear tracks on his cheeks all the more pronounced.

And in the morning, when he wears a bright, falsely cheerful grin, telling you that everything will be alright, guilt eats away at you like a starving man when you know that he is the one who needs your comfort instead.

You bury your head in your hands with a soundless scream. Your sanity feels like it’s ripping apart at the seams, unraveling and crumbling to ash. There are too many worries and burdens stifling you from within, choking you like poisonous ivies, the thorns digging into your lungs and suffocating you of the air that you so desperately need. You want to spill everything in your chest to someone else, to relieve the burden from your shoulders, but who would be able to lend you a listening ear at this time of the night?

You glance about the deck instinctively. All your crewmates are sleeping below decks, San and Yeosang are tirelessly researching into the night for a cure, Wooyoung still won’t speak to you, and your captain… he…

Actually, why don’t you speak to your captain?

Leaping to your feet, you nearly trip over empty air in your haste as you scramble to the captain’s cabin. To your immense relief, you can see the faint flicker of candlelight coming through the glass windows, signifying that your captain is not yet asleep. You raise a trembling hand, and after a moment of hesitation, rap on the heavy wooden door with your knuckles.

Knock, knock, knock.

You’re left hanging for a moment when there’s a brief moment of silence, but before your hand can fall to the side in disappointment, a soft, raspy voice comes from behind the closed door.

“Come in.”

Relief floods through you and you pull open the door, stepping into the dimly lit interior of your captain’s cabin. Knowing that he usually sleeps in the hammock in the corner, your eyes flit there at first glance, but you’re surprised to find it empty. Instead, you finally see him at the glass window overlooking the sea, lounging on a chair there as he stares unblinkingly at the scene outside. He’s in a state of casual undress, signature red jacket slung over his shoulder and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to the elbows as his fingers dance absentmindedly on a sheaf of thick parchment paper on his lap.

Then the smell of alcohol hits you like a punch to the gut.

In his other hand is a bottle of liquor, and from the pungent scent it’s a strong, powerful one. For a moment, you’re actually worried; is your captain too unable to cope with the pain and fear of losing his friend? Taking a hesitant step forward, you call out to your captain softly.

“Captain? Are you alright?”

If Hongjoong is surprised that you’ve come to search for him in the wee hours of morning, he doesn’t show it, subtly sliding the bottle of alcohol behind a curtain before he begins to tidy the papers on his lap as if he hasn’t heard your question in the least. When he’s satisfied with the state they’re in, he finally turns to glance at you.

“Ahh, Chin Hae, what do you need from me?”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Because your captain, Kim Hongjoong, is not wearing his eyepatch.

You’ve never actually thought about what was under that slip of black cloth. As the eyepatch has just… always been there, in some way you’ve forgotten that beneath your captain’s eyepatch, there are the scars of your captain’s childhood. You remember that your captain had told you once how his father had abandoned him on an island and shot him in the head, causing him to lose his eye in what must have surely been a traumatic accident for any child.

But the alcohol must have addled with your captain’s mind a lot more than you’d thought, because he doesn’t seem to be aware of the fact that he’s not wearing his eyepatch, instead cocking his head curiously to the side as he awaits for your response.

Your own eyes trace his face, lingering on his right eye as much as you try to tear your gaze away in polite courtesy. The eyepatch is such a big part of his wardrobe, even more significant than his red jacket itself, that you feel like he’s bared a part of himself to you without intending to.

You’re not going to lie. The scar is ugly, shallow ridges of scar tissue joining his skin of to his cheek, slightly fainter in colour than the smooth, unblemished skin around it. It mars what you would have almost called a flawless face, an unsightly stain upon what was once a perfect, white canvas.

You can almost imagine the sight happening before your eyes. Your captain as a young, innocent child, still with both soft green eyes and not yet exposed to the horrors of the world, scrambling backwards desperately in the sand, terror sending his body into sheer mind numbing panic as the one person who was supposed to protect him raises a musket to his head.

And it’s the last thing he’ll ever see out of that eye.

Your captain’s other eye, the healthy, working one, is a hazy green, dulled by the alcohol and pain. It takes him more than a second to realise what you’re looking at, his mind fogged over with liquor, but when he does, you’re terrified, yanking your eyes back to the ground as you can.

But it’s already too late.

“Get out!” Hongjoong roars, every syllable trembling with rage, rising to his feet in one explosive action. The papers on his lap slide to the ground and scatter everywhere, but they’re the least of your troubles right now. At the moment, you’re a lot more concerned about how your captain is practically looming over you, handsome face twisted in fury, warm breath hitting your cheeks. Your eyes are drawn back to his eye once more, almost instinctively, and Hongjoong clamps one hand over the scar, so hard that his fingers turn white, turning away from you so you can’t see it any longer, shoulders wound tight with tension.

Your heart breaks.

“Captain-”

“I said, get out.” He seethes, making to move across the room to his table, where his eyepatch lies. But the alcohol must have affected him a lot more than you thought, because he only manages five steps before his knees give out beneath him and he crumples to ground in a limp heap with a cry of pain. A yelp of horror leaves your mouth and you rush to help him, but he merely waves you off, one hand still pressed tight over his eye.

The message is clear. He doesn’t want you seeing his eye.

“Get me my eyepatch.” Hongjoong manages through gritted teeth and you scramble to obey, feeling the rough cloth beneath your fingers as you pluck it from the tabletop. Your captain practically snatches it from your hands when you return with it, yanking it over his eye as fast as he can.

The two of you remain there for a moment, your captain trying to get his breathing under control as you merely stay still before him, afraid to move. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and it’s only now that you notice his sallow cheeks, the old rum stains on his shirt. He’s been drowning all his fears and sorrows in liquor, and your heart only shatters more when you recall the brave front he’s been putting on in front of you and all the crew.

“I’m… I apologise.” Hongjoong finally rasps and your eyes dart to his face. His fingers still linger at his eyepatch, as if subconsciously trying to hide his scarred eye, his expression almost unreadable, forlorn, defeated. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. You should go.”

Part of you does want to leave, terrified of what might happen if you stay here any longer. But even more than that, you’re worried about your captain. He’s clearly completely drunk on both alcohol and his emotions, and you can’t just leave him on the floor like that. So, mustering your courage, you put an arm around him and yank him to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in your chest when you do so, pulling him to Yeosang’s bed.

All the fight has clearly evaporated from your captain, because he merely goes along with what you’re trying to do, a complete turn from earlier when he’d been shouting at you to leave, albeit on unsteady feet. When Hongjoong reaches the bed, he simply topples over onto the mattress with a soft groan, eye shut as you sit next to him on the edge of the bed, a hundred and one questions running through your mind with nowhere to begin.

“Why?” You manage to whisper, the question soft to even your own ears. Exhaustion and alcohol must have loosened your captain’s tongue, because he actually answers you, voice so forlorn it almost brings tears to your eyes.

“I…I couldn’t help it... I felt like such a useless captain.” Hongjoong breathes into the silent room, voice laced with pain and depression and guilt. “Yunho got stabbed because I was too slow. Yeosang and you are wanted because I failed to protect the two of you. Now, we have no cure to save Yunho, but I… I just can’t give either of you up to that bastard. I don’t want to make a choice, so I’m trying to forget, but it just isn’t working.”

Everyone on board of this ship, Yeosang himself included, have reassured you that your captain would never give any of you up, but to hear it for yourself, with your own two ears, means so much more to you. Some sort of relief settles in you, but it doesn’t last long.

Your captain lets out a self deprecating chuckle. “I’m such a selfish man, aren’t I?”

You don’t know what your captain is talking about. What does he mean that he’s selfish? Kim Hongjoong is one of the most kind hearted people you’ve met, willing to go to any extent for his friends and crew, you included. But when you open your mouth to refute, your captain speaks once more, voice slurring ever so slightly over his words.

“Hey, Chin Hae... I’m terrified.”

The pained whimper that breaks forth from him is the final blow to your heart as you feel it shatter into teeny tiny pieces. You have this urge to comfort him, to reassure him in any way that he’ll be alright, but then Hongjoong is sitting up on the bed once more, green eye clouded with desperation as he grabs you tight by the shoulders.

“You can’t die, Chin Hae.” Hongjoong’s voice is shaking with some sort of deep rooted fear as his gaze searches yours. “Please… no, that’s an order. I order you not to die, Chin Hae. I… no… I won’t be able to bear it if any of you die so please…” His voice breaks at the last word and a single tear rolls down your cheek at the sheer anguish in his words. “Please… please don’t die.”

He’s begging you.

“I’ll take all the danger, all the pain, everything. Please, don’t do anything dangerous.” He continues rambling weakly, head bowed before you in supplication as he pleads with you. He’s drunk. Too much so, you think blankly, your heart ripping itself to shreds at his words. “Getting tortured… even dying would be a better fate than losing any of you, so please…”

You’re frozen, unable to move an inch at the sheer wretchedness of his pleas. Your captain, your stupid, foolish and utterly selfless captain, doesn’t care for anything else except the safety of his crew. Your captain, who is always a pillar of support to all of you, perhaps doesn’t realise that he too, needs comfort as well.

Hongjoong is still mumbling ‘please’ brokenly under his breath, tears actually streaming down his cheeks as he begs you to stay alive and safe. You don’t know what to do, one hand coming up to grip the fabric above your chest, right where your heart is.

How? How are you ever going to tell Hongjoong about how your life might just be ending soon?

At this point, you don’t even know how to worry about yourself. Instead, you’re more concerned about what will happen to your captain if you do die, because how can you bring yourself to worry about you when your captain cares for your life more than his own?

The answer is simple, really.

You can’t.

This isn’t like that time from so long ago, when the biggest secrets you’d been keeping from the crew was the fact that you were a woman. Your captain is already tearing himself apart from the inside over all the problems he has to face now, what would happen to him if you told him you were dying and there was likely no way he could fix it?

He’d go insane.

So, as you hold back the tears that are desperately trying to escape your eyes, you pull him close in a hug and he clings to you, as if he’s drowning and you’re a lifeline. You press your nose into his shoulder and pat him, rubbing soothing circles into his back much like San used to do for you.

“I won’t die.” You lie through your teeth, and your heart clenches painfully, seemingly aware of your fibs. But Hongjoong nods desperately, trembling uncontrollably against you, your legs tangled in the blankets.

“You promise?” His voice is so weak, so afraid, that the tears spill over your lashes and onto your cheeks, soaking into his shoulder. You attempt a reassuring smile, but even to you, it’s forced and brittle, like flaking clay that has been left out in the sun too long.

Your reply is nothing but a sweet lie, one that you know you cannot possibly keep.

“I promise.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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bigtittydemonwife · 4 years

Note

Headcanons for laughing jack, jane, jeff, ej and toby meeting their soulmate and starting a relation ship with their soulmate? With either "the first words they tell you are on your wrist" or "a timer counts down until you meet them" trope -tea anon

I’m a slut for soulmate aus, I went with the word one I hope you don’t mind

Laughing Jack

“I like your style” the words were as clear as day on his wrist, when he asked Issac about it Issac happily told him

When he realised what it meant he was sh o o k

imaginary friend/demon clowns can have soulmates?

Apparently

meanwhile you can’t wait to meet your soulmate so you can sock them in the face

“thanks doll-face....wait...bloody hell!”

it was an odd one, took up most of your wrist to, at least it wasn’t casual

you both lived your life until you became a proxy of Slenderman, you were walking around the mansion trying to meet other people, when you walked into the kitchen there stood a 7′3 clown with no colour, you started at him for a while until he turned around and saw you

“I like your style”

The moment it left your mouth you panicked, was this your soulmate?

“thanks doll-face....wait...bloody hell!“

You choked on the drink you were drinking.

How they start a relationship

you realise quickly that a relationship with LJ isn’t what you’d see as a normal relationship by far

Hes a murderous clown and the only human emotion he’s ever felt in the longest time has been rage

its confusing for both of you

he doesn’t really show you love at first

because he thinks, you’re his soulmate, you can’t leave him

but then he hears that another creeps soulmate ran away from them and married someone else so they had to kill them

then he gets scared

like really scared

he doesn’t show affection like normal people do

at first its tiny things, like tiny touches that linger a little longer, small gifts left outside your room (things like unpoisoned candy and trinkets)

the longer your there the more he gets used to the idea of having someone there for him again

He gives affection like a cat, headbutting and lies on you at the worst times

It’s like that guy and his cat Cooter on tiktok

He gives the bestest hugs honestly

And he will carry you everywhere even if you don’t need it

Jane The Killer

“You’re....really pretty”

She loves her words, they’re so sweet

She’s honestly excited to meet her soulmate

yes nervous, but excited, she wants to have someone to love her and someone to love

After the garbageman incident she gets even more anxious,

what if you don’t love her?

what of you think she’s ugly?

but she remembers her words and her love grows

whenever she gets nervous she rubs her fingers over the words

once she meets you you’re just chilling on the couch with Ben playing games when she sits down next to you

“You must be new here”

You have a mini gay/straight panic attack

“you’re....really pretty”

Jane has a mini heart attack to

before shes over the moon

How she starts a relationship

Shes a little scared, but she wants to start to get to know you

its no surprise she falls in love

shes not used to loving someone as much as she loves you

it does scare her at times

the thought that you could be injured keeps her up at night

yes you both cannot die as proxies, but she knows what its like to go though immense pain and not die

and trust me sometimes she wishes for the latter

but she will learn that fear needs to be controlled, it cannot control you

(also she sees you Batista bomb Jeff and she falls even more in love)

she will cuddle you a lot

affection is a must

if Jeff tries anything she will absolutely demolish him

she finds it hard to show you love sometimes because shes scared of losing you

she loves to take naps with you

she will pamper you endlessly

Jeff

“suck my dick joker wannabe”

He hated his words, for most of his life he had no idea why his soulmate was calling him that

until the incident happened

One day he crawls though someones window ready to kill them but gets a show thrown at him

“Suck my dick joker wannabe”

He laughs so hard honestly

he decided not to kill you and instead kidnap you

so yay Stockholm syndrome

(sorry but this man is not mentally stable so you’d have to be insane if you think any of his relationships are healthy)

How he stared a relationship

God good luck to you

that’s all I could really type

yeah basically he kidnapped you

A relationship with him is a rollercoster

He acts like the world revolves around him

He actually likes napping with you and holding you but he never lets you know

he whispers his secrets and how he actually feels to you when you are asleep

yes he does love you

its shocking he can have soft moments with you, but they’re either very short or very disguised

come on, its Jeff,

So if you like emotionally constipated men who only show their love by fucking, degradation and not murdering you then welcome to the life of Jeff’s soulmate

Eyeless Jack

“...you look...majestic”

His words always confused him, how could someone think he was beautiful? He never believed the possibility of something like him having a soulmate

When he’s crawling into someones house looking for some food, before he can cut them open they wake up and imminently start thrashing

they knock him and themselves off the bed

He raises his hand to stab them and they knock his mask off, he’s shook and they’re both still. black tar slips out of his eyes and onto their face

“...you look...majestic”

He feels like his heart is gonna pop out of his chest

he puts one hand on your cheek and manages to raspily whisper

“Soulmate?”

Yeah not the person you expected to be universally bonded to, but you’re not in any ways disappointed (If you’re a monster fucker then 1: welcome to the club and 2: you are the luckiest mf alive)

How he starts a relationship

emotionally stunted he is

it takes aggggeeess for him to realise that soulmate=lover

then he gets nervous

he will avoid you for a while

leaving you wondering

he doesn’t feel like he deserves love, that he deserves a soulmate, that he deserves you.

but he begins to realise the more he leaves you alone the longer you don’t have a soulmate

he believes the fates got it wrong

once again it’ll take a while for him to come back

when he does, don’t make a big deal about it, hug him, tell him you’re glad to see him again and act casual

once he finally starts to realise ‘oh shit maybe I do deserve this’

(yeah no shit)

expect a lot of affection. Not in public though

in private you get all the cuddles you want

hes a big spoon, he likes to wrap you in his arms. it makes him feel like he’s keeping you safe

Ticci Toby

“Cool goggles”

His words confused him to no end

Once he donned goggles he started to think that he didn’t have a soulmate

Or maybe that they had died before he met him

When he finally the new proxy he didn’t see them as anything to special until they looked at him, smiled and said

“I like your goggles”

He nearly dies

Then he panics

He’s like ‘hhhhh....soulmate....me?’

When he can finally form sentences

“Fuck”

You couldn’t help but laugh

“You are aware how I’ve spend my whole life with that on my wrist?”

How they start a relationship

He wants to start one straight away

He can’t wait to get to know his soulmate

He’ll fall in love pretty quickly to be honest

All the fucking affection is given once you start

He treats you like a queen like he couldn’t do anything without you

Because to be honest he has trouble

You two have to sleep together even if it ain’t sexual he just wants to be near you

#cp #creepypasta #cp imagines #creepypasta imagines #jane the killer #jeff the killer #Creepypasta Soulmate #Ticci Toby #Laughing Jack #Eyeless Jack #Jeff The killer imagines #Jane The Killer Imagines #Laughing Jack Imagines #Ticci Toby Imagines #Eyeless Jack Imagines #cp headcanons #creepyasta headcanons

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reinekes-fox · 3 years

Text

@varart

Some dramatic writing for my MC, and an aesthetic under the cut.

Words: 1.687

They needed a distraction and as soon as he saw the pole he knew what he would need to do. They didn’t need two agents after all, surely Atin would be fine without him. A part of him didn’t like it, remembering the stares that made him feel both desired and dirty. He could turn people heads by just undressing, a talent -at least that’s what he liked to call it... it sounded better to him than stripping- that he never thought he would have to use ever again. The other part almost looked forward to it, to this exercise that showed him he was able to perfectly control his body and movements, to make it look effortless and almost ethereal. He made his way over to the platform, Quinn the one to gently stop him while Atin just looked at him confused. Off course Quinn would be the first to understand his intention. For a moment he seemed almost scared but that had to be a trick of the quickly flashing lights. The music almost loud enough to drown out the elf’s words. „Are you sure about this, Xaver?“ Poor Atin still didn’t seem to get it... or maybe he didn’t want to. Knowing a trusted colleague used to work such a job? Surely it destroyed the picture Atin had about him...

„It will be a good distraction.“, he made sure his hands were dry and tried to ignore his faster beating heart. From fear, excitement, disgust or the fact that Quinn seemed almost like he was about to go up there himself?

He was quicker than the elf, making sure that others stayed safe was his job after all, and on the stage the familiar view he had on the crowd made him almost feel like nothing had changed at all. Colourful lights, loud music that he could almost feel in his veins, all eyes on him... he would earn some money, go home to a family that hated him, or maybe spend the night outside, just wasting time and getting into trouble just to do something? He took a deep breath, those times were over. Different time, different bar, different him. He wasn’t a scared and angry teenager anymore, he had a purpose now. Still he couldn’t quite shake of that feeling as he slowly started to move, almost immediately falling into the rhythm of the music and doing some easy but impressive looking movements on the pole to get a feeling for it. It was easier, falling into old habits, smirking provocative at the customers, too easy for his liking. His favourite part, teasing them with his looks, his slowly removed clothes, he could even pull that off with ugly clothing if he just moved in the right speed, and showing what they couldn’t have. Selling pretty illusions and nothing more, seeing the hope die in their eyes when they realized they were only allowed to look, the surprise when he proved to be stronger than he looked like, but not always strong enough. The scars in his face only added to his charm, they gave him something dangerous and mysterious, an unspoken question as to what exactly happened there and made him more interesting. Not like something delicate that only looked pretty, he was pretty sure he had some werewolf in this weird family tree of his, it gave him strength despite looking like a graceful doe... Who knew, maybe some other race was the reason why he was tiny but that probably had just been his bad luck in the genetic lottery. It made what he was able to do even more impressive, everyone fooled by his looks. Off course it did nothing for him when he became an agent and he had been strangely happy about it. He began to unbutton his shirt, he shouldn’t do that now, he should just stop and get off the stage, back to the normal life. Where the air didn’t smell like alcohol and too many people dancing in a room, where there was no music that made his body vibrate with the bass, no people staring at him like they wanted to own him... He blinked and the music seemed to be muffled, blood pounding in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest and he felt the sweat running down his neck, his muscles burn under the by now unused exercises. But he still moved, he couldn’t stop now, not when he managed to get everyone’s attention. He could feel the stares, in his hazy mind like barely tamed beasts that would devour him if they could and seemed to burn his skin. He wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he stopped, bowed with a playful smirk -it felt unfamiliar on his face, his lips dry and hurting like he carved that smile into his cheeks and sticking glass shards into them so he would stay smiling and looking pretty- and left trough the back. He also wasn’t sure how he managed to leave the building itself but the cold air helped him come back to his senses a bit. His legs began to shake and he sat down, surely he didn’t dance that long? Shivering he pulled his still open shirt around him, and took the phone out of his pocket. Missed texts from all three, but the mission had been a success. It felt almost surreal they were worried about him... he hadn’t been the one to do the actual mission after all. When a hand was on his shoulder he flinched, but calmed down when he realized it was Quinn. The look on the elf’s face was painful to watch and Dathan wanted to ask him who hurt him, but no sound left his mouth. Atin and Roga stood a few meters back, looking at them to make sure he, and probably Quinn too, were alright. Quinn slowly reached for his face, so that he could pull away whenever he wanted. The warmth made him realize how cool his skin was, for how long did he sit here, and he was surprised when Quinn gently caressed his cheek, wiping away the tears. When did he start crying? He had no reason to cry! „Come, lets get you home. I bet Roga can make you something to calm down, how does that sound?“ He managed to nod and slowly stood up, hating himself for behaving so damn weak in front of everyone. Angrily he wiped across his eyes, half expecting his fingers to be covered in that cheap shit glittery make up he had worn back than. It had looked good on stage, that had been all that mattered. „Sounds good.“ he finally managed to say, proud that he sounded perfectly normal. He could almost ignore his still open shirt, his still hammering heart and all that stuff that went wrong with him. He was an agent now, his badge his shield against all the shit from his past. His hands were shaking and he angrily stuffed them into pockets, the air too dry when he breathed in. He missed the small warmth and well known smoke of a cigarette but no way he would bring back more ghosts from the past! They could stay exactly where they were now, on that graveyard in his mind, where he buried them with his bare hands. The grey smoke that would vanish within seconds wouldn’t help him, but only pull him back in that old life he worked so hard to leave behind. Plus it took him ages, to get that smell out of everything he owned and he really had no desire to repeat that. But his thoughts kept going back to that bar. „How many people call you Xavier?“ He looked up, Atin stepped closer, it was clear his colleague was worried about him. But distraction always worked and he smiled thankfully at the tall half orc. „A lot... It’s not like I don’t pronounce it clearly! There is no i, stop forcing it in! Unless it’s the nickname.“ „What is the nickname?“ Dathan began to slowly close the buttons again, his fingers still cold. „It’s Xavi off course.“ Nobody said anything and when looked up they looked at him like he just grew a second head. „...What?“ he asked slowly and Quinn just laughed, before casually putting an arm around his shoulder. Trying to ignore the weird angle because of the height difference, which was easy because Quinn’s touch did distract him from nearly everything and like always when Quinn did something like that his brain turned into mud. But this time mud was welcome, it blunted the sharp and ragged edges of the memories and let them sink back where they belonged: deep into the back of his mind, locked away until they managed to claw and bite their way out again. „It sounds so damn cute!“ Atin was grinning too, probably thinking about the countless situation where he could use it. „But come on, lets go home.“ It felt easier talking about it here, in the safety and comfort of his own home. He was safe here and his past was far far away, too far away to hurt him except in his own head. „I can do that shit in high heels too.“ Atin nodded, thinking about that new piece of information to that puzzle called his colleague... that puzzle had gotten a lot of new pieces today and it changed the overall picture into something darker and much more depressing. „So, why don’t you wear them more often, Xaver? You clearly have the balance and you would be taller. No offence, but we all know you hate your height.“ Dathan just snorted and took a sip of the tea. „Sure. But you explain this to Jakeman afterwards.“, he tried to recreate Atins voice, but he sounded too high, who knew maybe there had been a siren too in that ridiculous mess that were his ancestors, „Sorry, Stark broke his ankle while chasing a criminal in 12 cm high heels and he accidentally tripped.“

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 4 years

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So motivated by anyone who shares they are working on losing weight. FYI 10kg is nothing to sniff at, esp. if you're not being too restrictive (as a lot of restrictive diets basically make you lose water weight at first, prob not your case). Keep it up!! If you don't mind answering, what are your goals?

I don’t mind, but I’m putting it under a cut because it’s going to be a looooooonnnnng ass ramble and I’m going to include some pics and I’m aware that I’ve already clogged everyone’s timelines with enough pictures today. Before I go off on my tangent, though, I want to make it really clear that I firmly believe that any person can be beautiful and love the way they look at any size. This is something that I am fighting very hard to believe about myself, too, regardless of what weight I am. I am not at all a believer in slimming down for the sake of vanity (despite my negative opinion of my own looks, vanity has never been a big enough motivator for me to lose weight), but this has progressed to the point where vanity isn’t even a consideration anymore.

Okay, so, backstory. When I first moved to England, I weighed 140lbs (63.5kg) and I looked like THIS ↓

Aren’t I BEAUTIFUL? I think so, even if nobody else does, I think so. I think so now. That part matters.

I can distinctly remember that when all three of these photos were taken, you see. I also distinctly remember looking at each one afterwards and thinking, “Fat, repulsive, disgusting.” Fat, repulsive, disgusting. That was my opinion of myself. I repeated those words in my head on a daily basis. I truly believed them. Hence, I’m wearing the same ugly cardigan in two of those pictures, because whenever I wore pretty clothes I felt so undeserving that I was compelled to cover them up with something ugly (the red dress is an anomaly because there was a dress code involved). EVERY TIME. It practically become automatic. “I’ve spent £40 on this dress, so what can I cover it with?” was basically my mantra. It was fine, I thought, because I didn’t care about pretty clothes. Liking pretty clothes was beneath me. This was a lie. I love pretty clothes. I love bright colours. I was drawing pictures of pretty gowns and tiaras from the age of six. But hey, easier to pretend that you don’t give a shit about pretty dresses than admit that you don’t feel worthy of wearing them.

I am seven whole-ass years older now, and I topped out at 283lbs (128kg) on the scales fives weeks ago. That is the heaviest I have ever been. I have doubled my body weight. By medical standards, I am extremely obese, and I’ve had seven whole-ass years to think on how I behaved back then. I’ve thought a lot about how much I hated my body and how undeserving I felt and how I stuffed myself full of junk food and said it didn’t matter because I was repulsive anyway, so why not? I wasn’t being kind to myself. How can I be a kind person if I don’t treat myself kindly? My own self-loathing has cost me my health, because in 2013, I didn’t need to take stomach tablets every day. I wasn’t vomiting a few times a week because of chronic digestive issues. I had regular periods. I lived in Sunderland and would get out of bed on my days off and walk three miles to Seaburn beach, just to hang out with a book and build sandcastles and paddle in the water and thoroughly enjoy my life. I had the ability to do that without wanting to collapse. I had the energy to write for hours on end without getting sleepy after forty minutes. I had lots of energy, lots of it!

I don’t have the luxury of enjoying any of that stuff now. I have lethargy and sluggishness and I get breathless walking up the stairs, and a huge part of that is because I have gained so much weight over the years, and because I have been eating things that specifically exacerbate my digestive issues. And I’m sick of it. My brother’s lottery win has been the most insane blessing to my family in that it is allowing us all to live out our wildest travelling dreams, and I don’t want to be the person who takes an eight hour flight to Paradise, only to sit around and do nothing because she just doesn’t have the strength. There is an eleven-year-old diamond in my life who I would do anything for, and I want more than anything to be able to bring him places and have fun with him and partake, instead of sitting on the sidelines holding coats because I am too fat to ride the rollercoaster (which happened to me, FYI, shout out to Port Aventura for sticking to safety measures, though the woman manning the coaster didn’t have to poke my thigh and say, “fat,” to make her point clear).

The thing is, and maybe this is a tl;dr moment that could have saved me a lot of trouble, but I am unhealthy and I’m tired and this is like...my life. My one life. What am I doing? I owe it to myself to treat my body better.

So these are my aims.

I want to get back to 140lbs. That is a healthy and reasonable weight for my height and body type. I am aware that I will not look the way I did in 2013 because I am seven years older, but I don’t care. I am aware that I will have loose skin and a belly and wobbly thighs when I reach this weight, but I don’t care. I will have energy. I will be healthier. I will be able to bring my stepson to all kinds of places and have the most fun with him.

No fad diets ever. This is all I’ve ever tried before, and the end result has always been the same: lose a bit and put it back on. I am making legitimate and incremental changes to my lifestyle. I am building lasting habits. I will weigh myself once a week to keep track of how I’m doing, but never more than that. I will exercise every day for a small amount of time, but if I miss a day for any reason, I won’t beat myself up about it. I will not skip meals. I will not deprive myself of food.

I am an excellent cook and I love trying new things, so I will be using that skill to find and experiment with new, delicious recipes from all over the world for my family to eat. Once lockdown ends, I’m going to start throwing dinner parties. I think this will really help me to change my attitude towards food and make meals fun for me, rather than a self-inflicted punishment.

No denying myself things. If I want to get a McDonalds I will get a McDonalds because, y’know what? Tomorrow I am going to have lots of veggies and cook myself a good, nutritious dinner, and that McDonalds won’t be anything but a delicious interlude in my week that I am not going to feel bad about.

No hiding myself in drab clothes. I hate wearing brown, grey and black and yet it accounts for most of my wardrobe. Both of those cardigan pics were taken in the middle of summer. I have wasted years of my life sweating it out in long sleeves and leggings so other people wouldn’t see, and for who? For what purpose? I am going to buy all the pretty clothes I like, wear loads of bright colours. Fuck it, it’s just for me.

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your-daily-dose-of-fandoms · 4 years

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Hello! I’m sorry if this is weird, but could I request headcanons of how the main trio would react to a reader who wasn’t Japanese and was instead Indian/African? Like, they speak with an accent and are self conscious about it and how they have darker skin than the other slayers but they always try their best and never let it get them down? This is kind of wack but KNY is based in 1920s and a lot of the characters are Japanese so I wanted to know how you think they’d react to someone foreign

Ah, i love this request! I hope you love these headcanons as much as i do! Also sorry for this taking a little time, I watched the whole Dr. Stone's first season in two days so this got procrastinated a little bit. I hope you enjoy!

Main Trio With Foreign! Reader Headcanons

Inosuke

🐗 Would at first probably think that your face is just dirty. Don't get offended, he has just never seen anyone like you before

🐗 "Oi, there's a mud on your face!", he would yell and end up rubbing your cheeks, trying to get it off

🐗 Tanjiro and Zenitsu would have to get him off of you, so you could explain to the poor boy that no, it isn't mud on your face

🐗 He could see that his misunderstanding made you feel down, but wouldn't know what to do about it. Would probably ask help from Tanjiro or even Shinobu, and somehow you'd all end up celebrating and eating foreign food from your country together??

🐗 When you would get excited, you would start to speak in your accent more profoundly, and although Inosuke would find it absolutely cute, he would not understand a thing of your speech. You would have to repeat whatever you were saying all over again just for the poor boy to understand

🐗 He would absolutely love the food from your country, and would often ask you to cook for him

🐗 Would be super curious of the animals living in your country, and you would often tell him stories about the lions and tigers and stuff, depending on where you're from

🐗 If everyone ever would talk shit about you, he would beat them up without hesitation. Nobody mocks his special girlfriend p(╬ Ò ‸ Ó)q

🐗 Whenever you'd be missing your home, he'd try to cook the same food for you as you'd usually cook for him. He'd fail miserably, but the thought is what counts, right?

🐗 When you'd see the food, he had cooked for you, you would start to laugh, and probably cry, and make the poor boar headed boy confused

🐗 You would happily eat the food, and reward the boy for seeing so much trouble for you with cuddles and kisses

Tanjiro

🎴 He might have some prejudices beforehand, but at the moment he'd met you, all of his suspicions would vanish away

🎴 Would think that your accent is absolutely adorable, and would be smiling like a crazy everytime you'd get excited and you'd speak in your accent more profoundly

🎴 Would see the use in your skin color, as the darker skin, the easier it is to camouflage at night. Would compliment the hell out of you, no matter how much down you would look on yourself, like: "I've spent the positive vibes to you, and there's nothing you can do to stop them"

🎴 Whenever you'd be feeling insecure of yourself, he'd remind you in every way he could of the fact that you being different is a good thing

🎴 Would just make you feel so loved and special, that all your doubts would wash away. Would show you that what other people think, does not matter the slightest

🎴 Would react the same way when Nezuko was called ugly if anyone ever mocked your appearance

🎴 Honestly would not care about what you'd look like, he would fall in love with you and not your looks. Has seen so much, that darker skintone or different accent would not scare him away

🎴 Would be totally curious about your home country and would love to listen to stories about it. You would tell him stories almost every night

🎴 The look on your face, as if you're living in the stories you're sharing, would be priceless to Tanjiro, as he'd love to see you so excited

🎴 Whenever you'd be missing your home, he'd learn how to say 'I love you' in your language, and make your heart melt every darn time

🎴 Would also probably take you to stargazing with some hot tea and blanket. You'd fall asleep in his arms, remembering that country is not what makes a home, but the people around you

Zenitsu

⚡ At the moment he'd see you, he would be scared at first

⚡ But when Tanjiro would introduce you to him and convince that you're not a threat, he would take a proper look at you

⚡ And oh boy, he would be fascinated by your beauty

⚡ And not just that, the fact that you've managed to keep your head up despite people's prejudices, makes his knees go weak

⚡ And before he notices, he's in love

⚡ Would compliment every single aspect of you, so you would never see yourself in negative light again

⚡ If you're black, he would love the way color yellow suits you, and would often make you wear his demon slayer suit

⚡ Just seeing you wearing his clothes makes him absolutely soft and his heart go boom

⚡ He would love to buy you all kinds of outfits that'd match with your skin tone, would think you're absolutely gorgeous in them and will let you know it

⚡ You two would always dream of travelling to your home country and let him see all the places you've told him about during your late night talks

⚡ Whenever you'd miss your home, you would look at the painting he would have secretly made as he had took the book you had brought from your home country, and brought it to the town's painter. He had showed them the page where a view of your country was shown, and paid them to paint it

⚡ Although it's black and white book so the colours in the painting would be a little off you would love still it, and probably always carry it around to look at it whenever you'd miss back home

⚡ Zenitsu would be so proud of himself and get rewarded with a kiss

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 145

145

The following morning was awkward. Keith guessed it’d been close to sunrise when Lance’s body calmed. His boyfriend adorably clingy as Keith took care of him. Proud to say it was before coffee. Hiding his rising fears of something being wrong and Lance being sent into heat because of it, the pair of them came out to Coran changing the sheets like it was nothing

“Shiro’s waiting outside with coffee. Never mind, number two, you’re not in trouble”

Lance hid his face against Keith’s shoulder, arms around his waist as he whined softly. Keith feeling the need to defend their actions

“Uh... Lance... kind of went into heat”

“I gathered as much from when I came to check on you last night. He had a very stressful day, it’s only natural he needed some release of tension. Don’t make that face, I was once a young fae in my prime”

“But is he okay? I mean, it wasn’t a full heat, but his scent wasn’t settling”

“I suspect it’s a defence mechanism to keep you from straying when he felt vulnerable. We’ll get this sorted, then take a peek at our twins. I hope you don’t mind, I took Kosmo to do his doggy business. He’s waiting with Shiro. I won’t bother remaking it properly. I expect you both want to get out of here as soon as you can”

Lance had tried to send him to talk to Shiro yesterday, but with Lance’s emotions all over the place, he knew he needed to be by Lance’s side more than he needed to talk to Shiro. Lance having any heat like symptoms didn’t seem they should be normal... though Lance’s scent was particular strong when he’d gone to Cuba. If it was a normal pregnancy thing, then that was fine, as long as his boyfriend was healthy and happy, they’d work the rest out.

Lance started getting fidgety as Coran had him sipping water, Keith holding his boyfriend’s hand. He knew Lance wanted to apologise to Coran, but was deeply ashamed that his body had betrayed him

“Coran, you said that Lance might have gone into heat as a defence mechanism?”

Lance shot him a glare over the plastic cup, Shiro giving a small cough

“I’m theorising that thanks to yesterday being so emotional, instead of transforming into a bat as he would have, his scent called out to you to stay close to him. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, my boy. I’m just happy you’re home with us”

Lance lowered the cup, Lance lashing out

“You mean there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about. I thought this was over...”

Uh-oh... okay. Maybe meddling now was the wrong plan... But Keith knew Lance wanted things to move back to being normal and that he wouldn’t open his big mouth and tell Coran what he was feeling without prompting

“Lance...”

Tears formed in Lance’s eyes, Keith squeezing his hand, trying to calm Lance only upset him more

“No. It’s no okay! I can’t even talk to you and I don’t like it! I don’t know how to feel! I feel on edge all the time and I don’t know how to make things better! I don’t want to not be able to talk to you, but I... I thought I wouldn’t go into heat like that... I thought things had settled down. I did everything you asked for. I did... and I... I tried so hard and everyone keeps making me feel like I’m not!”

Coran sighed softly. Taking the cup from Lance’s hand, he placed it near the ultrasound monitor before sitting himself down on the bed facing Lance. Coran didn’t seem about to yell... He better not yell...

“Lance, I’m sorry my boy. I know I’ve been quite pushy, but I never meant to make you feel so low. I know the loss of Miriam has devastated you. It devastated me not being able to help you. I think of you as my own. And part of me wished to keep you by my side so I could be the one you leant on. That you’ve been keeping on with the care plan we designed, it’s a very good thing. For you and our little ones. I missed you very much. I only want you to have the smoothest pregnancy possible, and as you know, there could be complications closer to your due date. I’m not mad at you, my boy. Not at all. You’re grieving. Your hormones are all over the place, your increased libido is just one aspect of a whole lot of what your body is going through”

When Coran went to hug him, Lance sniffled as he hugged him back tightly. Who knew he was so good at fixing friendships? He was better at this than they gave him credit for.

“There could be complications?”

Keith had forgotten Shiro. He could have smacked his brother for the question. Pulling back, Coran wiped away Lance’s tears, giving them all a wobbly smile. The man had tears rolling down his own face. Couldn’t Shiro see they were having a bonding moment?!

“Possibly. The twins have Keith’s blood type, causing Lance to not feel very well. They’re also both human from testing. With Lance’s body being that of a vampire, it is possible that things may become complicated. He may suffer a bleed, or in the worst case scenario, lose the twins and his own undead life. Provided things settle, I’m confident if we can make 30 weeks we can start looking a caesarean in case of emergency, but with the best case scenario we’ll let these two little ones bake as long as possible. He’s had one bleed, the cause from stress, his body already seemed much more stable with Keith by his side. His colour is much better than it was the last time he was here. Though he did have a big day yesterday, before we even made it back home. It’d been a long time since I saw two panic attacks like that”

Keith wasn’t sure he’d count the first one as a panic attack. Panic attack and anxiety attacks both sucked testicles, but they both brought up different feelings

“I wasn’t ready. Everyone’s being so nice... but I can’t not think of Mami laying there when they give condolences. I can’t not think of her without her warmth... I didn’t want... I didn’t want to leave her behind”

“Miriam will always be with you. She loved you fiercely. She’d want to see smiling, my boy. I had the privilege of knowing her for a long time, and you made her so very happy”

“I should have brought her back to Cuba sooner. I should have... I kept her chained to me for so long...”

Keith moved to sit on the bed, gathering Lance against him

“You didn’t chain her. She was happy. Remember all her friends she had at the home? All her stories? She loved you. You made her happy”

“I let her down... I let my ego go. I let me go...”

“You didn’t. You acted to save someone you love”

“I left her alone and scared! I was scared! And you were gone... I should have... done more”

Lance was in ugly cry mode. Maybe staying up all night hadn’t been as soothing for Lance as it’d been for him. Keith had to admit he’d gotten pretty sore with his third orgasm. The fourth he was too lazy and simply did Lance from behind as they cuddled.

“You did everything right. Mami was loved. She is still loved. You told me how happy she was towards the end of her time. You’re alright, babe. You’re okay...”

Keith didn’t know if what he was saying was the right thing. Shiro would know, but his useless brother was being uselessly silent. Rubbing his leg, Coran hushed Lance

“It’s okay, my boy. It’s okay. I need you to take a few deep breaths”

“How can I? Apparently I go into heat?! I thought this was done! How can I be in heat when I’m pregnant?!”

“I wouldn't call it a true heat. Think back to when your emotions became unstable. Your body sought the smallest form it could, knowing Keith would be there. Your body knows Keith is here, you’re just trying to keep him close”

“You mean I’m manipulating him!”

Good one, Coran. Well done. Keith didn’t feel very manipulated... He couldn’t help being really horny for the man he loved. Lance’s arse was next level

“No, babe. Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I told you last night, I’m okay. I’m okay and I’m here with you. Coran can we postpone the scan for a bit?”

“I want to see our babies! I want to know they’re still there!”

Good one, Keith. Way to upset his already upset boyfriend. Lance’s nails starting to dig into his arm. Okay. Calming Lance back down wasn’t working

“Okay. Hey, they are. They are. Guys... help?”

Coran rubbed Lance’s leg again, eying the fresh wounds on Keith’s arm under Lance’s nails, before flicking his gaze back to Lance’s face

“Lance, my boy. How about that scan? How about we have a little look. You should be far enough long that we can see what sex these little ones are”

Lance hiccuped, then sobbed out

“I want it to be a surprise...!”

They couldn’t win against an emotionally exhausted Lance. He’d been feeling ill before his not-heat rolled around. It kind of made sense to Keith that Lance would be stressed enough that he felt hopeless

“Okay, babe. We don’t need to know now. Why don’t we have a look at our little cupcakes? Hey, that’ll make you feel better, right?”

Lance nodded, his nails drawing back from Keith’s skin. Keith trying to move his arm so Lance didn’t see the blood, but it was too late, Lance’s bottom lip quivering. Why did everyone think he was the mature one?!

“Hey, it’s just a scratch. It’ll heal in no time. Think about the twins. We’ve got to pick a room for them, and we’re gonna need like two of everything... right?”

“Y-yeah... Mami... has gifts for them...”

Shiro opened his mouth, finally contributing

“I bet Hunk would love to plan the baby shower. Him and Curtis, and you know Pidge loves to party.

Making Lance cry harder again. Three full grown men were useless at comforting one pregnant vampire

“I didn’t think about having a baby shower!”

“Okay. Babe, it’s okay. See, Coran’s going to give you a scan, then we’ll go home, back to the apartment”

“He still needs to eat...”

Somewhere out there, some cosmic god was laughing at their failure. Keith glared daggers at Coran who hurried to get off the bed

“Yes, well, let’s get you settled and get that shirt up. It’d be much better if you were calmer for the scan...”

Keith continued to glare until Coran shut up. Matt would have been more useful than these two so called “adults”.

Getting Lance settled wasn’t easy. His boyfriend hiding his face as Coran slid his shirt up. No one dared upset Keith further by talking. Running his fingers through Lance’s hair, his boyfriend sniffled away, making a visible effort to calm back down. Maybe Coran would understand the kind of pressure Lance was putting on himself now? Bringing up the ultrasound, Coran soon had their twins on the screen

“Babe, look”

Lance raised his head, letting out another sob, Keith could tell this one was from relief at the pair of tiny twins

“Our babies...”

Coran made Lance jump with his enthusiasm

“Yes! Now, the heart rates are a little high, no doubt thanks to how upset you are, you two keep watching while I take their measurements!”

Yeah. They didn’t need to know that bit. Only that they were still floating around in there. The sight of them would never not knock him for six. They’d made those two lives. Sure, it’d been a complete accident, but the pair of them were already wrapped around their little fingers... The size of their heads had Keith already cringing in sympathy. His boyfriend’s arse was gonna be tender as hell if he was giving birth naturally

“Can we hear their heartbeats?”

“You sure can, number two!”

Both twins had racing heartbeats, as Coran had warned. Lance in a fresh wave of tears, wiping at his face as he did. How did a 45 year old man manage to be so damn cute? They we’re definitely going to be disgustingly in love parents

“I’m so happy you’re here... I couldn’t look last time”

It wouldn’t have been the same if Keith had been in Lance’s position. He knew how much Lance would have wanted to be there if their roles were reversed

“I’m going to be here for every scan, babe”

Lance snorted very wetly

“God... I’m feeling a lot right now”

“It’s okay. Sometimes you just need to cry it out”

“I feel like I told you that”

“You’re a very smart vampire”

“I don’t feel smart... I’m so sorry... I can’t stop crying...”

“These are happy tears, right, babe?”

Lance nodded

“I love them so much... I love you so much... I just love so much...”

Keith melted. He had the sweetest man for his boyfriend.

Shiro tried to muscle in on the free love

“I’m already the best uncle, obviously”

“I left... shit, I didn’t tell you... but I want you and Curtis to raise them if something happens to me and Keith... Rieva witnessed my will... Shit... I hadn’t told you yet...”

Keith had to have a will with his line of work. He hadn’t thought much about it. Lance had been thinking for the both of them

“Nothing’s going to happen. All that shit is over”

If you didn’t count the fact that Honerva’s drug was still out there. Doses had to exist that they didn’t know about... Rome slightly mad that Sendak had expired before they’d secured the distribution route. Lance didn’t seem to be thinking about it

“I hope so. I hope so, so much. I just want our life together to start already”

“Me too, babe. You and me. Sounds pretty good”

“Don’t forget your awesome brother”

Keith rolled his eyes

“How can I forget you? You’re kind of hard to miss”

“Just making sure you remember who’s your favourite brother when you need a baby sitter”

“Like hell I’m leaving you with our babies. We’ll probably come back and find you’ve been teaching them how to wield a knife”

“That’s more your thing. Obscure pop culture references and a decent taste in music is my gift to them”

“Can we get a refund?”

They all shut up when Lance started to laugh. Keith loved that laugh so much. Stupid Shiro hogging the glory for making Lance feel better. He was going to have to train Kosmo to poop in Shiro’s bed or something, it needed to be something really good to teach his brother a proper lesson. Still, he supposed he could give Shiro one free pass, on account of how mind boggling amazing it was to see their twins again.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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granddaughterogg · 4 years

Note

How do you think the Horsemen would react to learning that their s/o broke it off only to later learn they were threatened by the Council to do so?

Ah, fam, you’re breaking my heart here, but I’ll try.I suppose that by “learned that they broke it off” you probably meant that the S/O dumped them via a letter or text (shudder…) rather than gathering up the courage to tell them in person? That’s abysmal in and of itself and I can tell you that as different as they are - all the Four would take this really, really, REALLY bad.

Fury: Mad

She would feel as if she’s been slapped in the face. With a loo rag. Her pride cannot comprehend such humiliation. She used to think lowly of your race but learned to leave prejudice behind, open her heart and become more trusting. She really took a liking to you. And this is what she gets for her trouble.

After receiving the message she probably went and massacred something in the most unsightly way just to let off steam. She desperately wanted to hunt you down and demand further explanations, but again, that pride was like a chain that kept her pinned in place. You didn’t want to see her ever again? Fine. You weren’t going to. Even if she had to remain a flaming, festering ball of hurt and rage until the end of her days.

The revelation that it was all the Council’s doing falls on her like a comforting blanket. So it wasn’t you who have been proven untrustworthy - it’s been them and their scheming all this time. Fury feels immensely relieved that she hasn’t been dumped. She’ll go to you right away and act as if this whole faux-breakup was not a big deal at all, assuming a no-nonsense “why didn’t you tell me that they were threatening you, silly?” attitude instead. She wants to put this whole ordeal behind the two of you as fast as possible. And focus on making the responsible party pay.

War: Sad

When War got your message, he needed to sit down, because it felt as if he got clobbered over the head. With a church bell. He’s not that great with introspection, so he wasn’t able to name the feeling that crept on him. All he knew that it was as if all the colours, sounds and flavours have seeped out of his world.

The thought of finding you and asking you questions did cross his mind, but he rejected it. If you didn’t want him around anymore, it would be unhonourable to disrespect your wishes.He spent the next few days (or months) as in a daze, going through the motions of his Horseman work, but not really feeling alive. Even the primal thrill of bloodshed wasn’t there anymore. He ached all over, but couldn’t locate or name that wound. Whoever had the misfortune to cross paths with the Red Rider during this harrowing time, probably noticed how chillingly not-quite-there he seems to be, speaking even less than usual and killing mechanically, without mirth or mercy.

The news about this newest of Council’s betrayals had to be relayed onto him twice because he was too torpid to get what that means. And after the Big Guy finally understood that you didn’t, in fact, abandon him - gods, how he ran.How he made Ruin eat up distance as if he was a comet.How he lounged at you - and closed you in his enormous arms, pressing your tiny body to his chest so hard that you could hardly breathe.

Strife: Hurt

The gunslinger never was one to care much about pride or honour or somesuch. He thinks them to be superficial, fussy constructs. So when he got the message - he went straight to your place and banged on the door until you finally came out.“Babe”, he said, his yellow stare not playfully lewd anymore; now those gleaming eyes of his were big and hurting. “What is this? Is it, like, a joke? Because I ain’t laughing.”You gulped, remembering what the Council’s hellish emissary said to you. The memory of this creature made your skin crawl. So many bug-like eyes and not a mouth in sight. Tell him that you don’t want him around. Only this, and nothing else. If you try something clever, we will have him killed.“I’m sorry, Strife…” you said, your voice thick from tears. “I… am so, so sorry. It is what it is.”“What do you mean?”“I…need you to leave.”“Is that something I said? Something I did? Just tell me, for fuck’s sake! Don’t abandon me like this!”“I…really don’t want you anymore. Please, just go!”You’d remember forever how this seven feet tall hulk of a man clad in spiky armour let you close the door on him without as much as moving a finger. How you crumpled down said door until you were lying on the hardwood, sobbing. How you could tell he did the same from the other side. And he cried, too. Big, ugly tears, his handsome face contorted into an unrecognizable grimace.You can’t tell how long he remained there.

It’s better not to recall how he spent the next few weeks. Let’s just say that he cannot remember either, as he was seldom sober.

And then he crossed paths with that Watcher and squeezed the truth out of them. He snapped the creature’s neck in his fingers as if it was a chicken bone and rushed back to your doorstep.

“Babe!” he shouted. “Princess! Pumpkin! It’s okay now! I got this all fixed! You can come out now, I won’t do anything to you, I swear!..”

You opened the door just a little. Strife barged through, scooped you into his arms and pressed his lips to your forehead, your nose, your half-open mouth, all while heaving for air and crying once again.

“Don’t you ever do this to me again, kid”, he gasped, nosing your collarbone. You could feel the wetness running down your skin. “I might be old and rugged and shit, but my heart seriously won’t take another blow.” “Please forgive me”, you whispered while running your fingers through his hair. “He said they would kill you if - if I said anything…”Small, joyless laughter escaped your Horseman.“Well, I feel as if I’ve been killed once already.”

Death: …

He knew that this was going to happen. Sooner or later.Although he counted on later. He allowed himself to care, he indulged that stupid little flame that crept at the bottom of his age-old, dried up soul. Stupid little hope.

And now he hated himself for it.Of course, you’d come to your senses. You’ve finally seen him for what he was: a greasy, wiry abomination caked in mud and dried entrails of his victims. You were so beautiful, so innocent and full of life. He was a monster.

He didn’t go to confront you upon receiving the breakup message. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. After ages of avoiding Feelings altogether, Death didn’t know how to deal with them. He wasn’t willing to name all those pesky emotions, but of one thing he was sure. There were so many that if he had to look into your young, bright face once more… he’d probably break, collapse and couldn’t be repaired.

So he didn’t. He sent Dust instead. To watch over you. It didn’t matter if you hated him or not; should anything bad happen to you in his absence, the oldest Horseman would never forgive himself for it.

He isolated himself from his siblings (as in, more than before.) He’d spend a lot of time in some forgotten realms, sitting on the grass and looking at the alien sky, not thinking about anything in particular. Except maybe how tempting the call of the void is. What a relief it would be to cease existing. A small blessing, mercifully granted to any living creature between Heaven and Hell. But not to him.

The pain was always there, dull and throbbing and as faithful as a shadow. This was how it’s probably supposed to be from now on. Oh well, he was used to carrying vicious scars.

Finally, his siblings have found him and brought the news. About this latest fuckery designed by the Council. Death listened to them in silence. War, Strife and Fury were a little put off by him seemingly not caring. Although he did look like shit; his hair was practically dirt dreadlocks and the moldy remains of what used to be a perfectly nice set of clothing blew in the breeze on his giant, hulking, emaciated body.“So, yeah…” Strife finished nervously, feeling out of place while his brother’s stare went right through him as if watching something far away.Finally, Death spoke.

“They made her do this?” His voice was croaky from long lack of use. It was also completely level.“Ayup.”“They threatened her with my death should she say anything? I guess she doesn’t know I cannot be killed?”War shifted from one big leg to another.“Yes, that is unfortunate…”“Nevermind.” Death stood up. “Let’s go.”“But where to, brother? You probably wanna see her first…”“Later. Let’s go kill the Council.”

#darksiders #darksiders death #darksiders war #darksiders strife #darksiders fury #darksiders angst #so much angst #ask answered #ask me anything!

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deathstakes · 3 years

Text

How to be Buffy Summers — A Slayer How-To Guide: Tips, tricks and wood chips.

PREFACE: So you want to be the Slayer, huh? Well, newsflash. Everyone wants to be the hero. In the movies, it is flashy and cool. Well, here is a newsflash. Slaying isn’t exactly glam-o-rama. The movies really pump up the whole what it is like to be a hero, and let me tell you, it isn’t as cute.

Disclaimer: You might have heard a lot from the fang-population. They like to spread their gossip faster than a bunch of ladies sipping their afternoon tea. I’m here to clear the rumours and give you the insiders scoop.

I am more than just the Slayer. I am also Buffy. They go hand in hand like…. Hands going in hand. I like my weapons as much as I love a good sale. There’s nothing wrong with liking pink, dressing cute and also being able to kick some major ass, and trust me, if you ever doubt it, I can show you what a Slayer really is.

TIPS, TRICKS AND WOODCHIPS

1. There is nothing fashionable about eye bags. Concealer is your best friend.

Patrol usually ends around 3 a.m, if the vampires aren’t biting much. If I am lucky, I get about four hours of sleep a night, and if I am even luckier those four hours are free of nightmares or weird, cryptic-y apocalyptic messages. Most of the time, I am not, and my dreams aren’t steamy with Swayze but the uglies, but we never go past second base because they always seem to die when they try to handle my stake.

Those sleepless nights are going to make you want to wear a caffeine drip. Speaking of, coffee will be your other best friend. Thank me later.

Oh, and you’re also going to need a concealer for the bruises. Trust me on this, you’re going to find bruises in places you didn’t even know you could have bruises. Those rough tumbles aren’t without consequence. Sure, they’ll go away in a bit, but in the meantime, do what Elsa said. Conceal, don’t feel. Cover it with translucent powder to really set it in and don’t forget to colour correct! This works for both bruises and for those vampire bites. Totally hickey-proof.

2. Sisterly duties.

Make sure Dawn is up for the school day. I used to get up much easier, in my opinion. Also, remember to pack a stake in her lunch and some holy water, just in case. You never know when she is going to need them considering she has a habit of getting kidnapped every other Tuesday. Replenish the supply every so often and get your witchy best friend to put in protection trinkets that you can slip into her backpack.

IMPORTANT: When it comes to her safety, nothing is off limits, at all. Monsters will play dirty if they have to, and the ones closest to you are the most susceptible. It’s a hard knock life.

3. Because this gig isn’t really big on the paying front, you also need a day job. Glamorous.

Remember that thing about how being a superhero isn’t like how it is in the movies. I was being dead serious about that. There isn’t a batmobile or really cool headquarters, unless you want to count the Magic Shop, and oh, that thing about getting paid? Hah. Yeah, you’re not really going to be rolling in the dough unless it is cookie dough. It is a whole, long-winded thing, so just make sure you have some resistance to temptation when you see a really, really good shoe sale. I am talkin’ goes with everything, cute but also practical heel. Don’t do it.

You might have to play pool shark, might need to flip some burgers and learn how to give your Buffy best smile while being dead inside, or you might need to bust an undercover demon black market. Get creative. Just don’t rob a bank. Morals still apply, you know.

TIP: Having a boyfriend who is good at forging credit cards is really helpful. Though, sometimes, he gets too crafty with the aliases.

4. Unchipped manicures? Puh-lease.

I’m going to give it to you straight, so it doesn’t get hard later on. You know that feeling of freshly painted nails? Don’t get used to it. There has yet to be a patrol that I go on that doesn’t end up with me chipping my polish.You’d think someone would get into the market for this stuff and break the bank, but nope. Well, considering I would probably be their only customer... Don’t even think about acrylics, who has the time and also, not great for grip. Gel? You’d think it would hold, but let me tell you, not even the best formula can stand against the roughest of tumbles.

Having pretty, polished nails was nice while it lasted. That isn’t to say I don’t do my nails, now, because I do. I’m not letting fangs take that away from me. They already took away my sleep.

5. Healing.

So, right about now, you might be starting to realize that being a superhero isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. So, let me throw in a decent thing. This isn’t to get recruits or anything. This job position is filled until further notice (or until I get the axe.) One of the good things about the gig is that you heal faster. That isn’t to say you don’t get hurt, because oh boy, do you get hurt. The pain aspect is still there, but you’ll heal a broken bone in days compared to weeks only to break it again. I’ve made with the stabby, and gotten out of the hospital the same night because I was healing quickly. Other than the limping, the bruises that go away in a day or two and the scars are barely there scars, you’re golden.

But that doesn’t mean that I am invincible.

If Slayers were invincible, I wouldn’t be here.

I still have my scars (the ones that can be seen) on my neck. From the Master, from Angel and those couple rounds with Dracula that I went, but that’s for another time. The naked eye can’t really see them, but get me under some great selfie taking lighting and it's there, just a sheen paler than my skin tone.

TIP: If you are trying to hide fresh ones, try scarves. Fashionable, but practical. Ascots if you’re into looking like Fred Jones, hubba hubba.

6. The weapon of the tongue. No, not that weapon.

Anyone can learn high kicks and how to throw a punch. Well, most anyone, anyways. But if you really want to know the inner workings of how to be Buffy, try me on for size. I only come in a small, though. When I do my rounds, I like to provide a double feature slayer combo, you know? Throw in a pun or two between my punches, give them a real show. You know why? It gets them going. It drives them crazy, and they get angry. That anger helps fuel the whole show. Also, I am great at talking circles, so sometimes, you just keep going and going and watch their undead brains try to scramble it together, and while they are doing that?

PRESTO-POOF-O.

It really is a Buffy skill, even if Giles doesn’t think so.

Well, except when it gets me in trouble because part of being me is realizing that my mouth speaks faster than my brain tends to comprehend and then it just becomes a whole intangible tangent that really shouldn’t even be called a tangent, because really, who---

7. Sacrificing fashion for slayage.

This one hurts me to write. This one hurts me because it is still something I struggle with, but what can I say? I’m a lifelong learner, dedicated to becoming the best. Nerd alert. There was a time when I used to dress cute. You know, the minis and the halters? The to-die-for booties? Well, guess what? Long gone are those days. Now, I aim for pr… for… prac… for practical. Sorry, it is still a touchy thing.

That doesn’t mean you still can’t dress cute, because you totally can. Have I given up my style? Nope, not a chance, and hey, sometimes my halters still see the life of patrol because I believe when we look and feel our best, we slay the best (Can I get an amen?) I wear booties all the time, but it’s because I know how to run in heels.

Body con dresses and tight skirts? Save them for a day you aren’t slaying, because otherwise, you’ll be sitting in a bank and suddenly be faced with a bank-robbing demon and you’ll have to slit your favorite pencil skirt with shears so you have enough leg room to fly-kick that ugly.

That was a nice skirt, it was.

8. Accessorizing is important.

It is no secret that accessorizing can make an outfit go from nay to yay. Come on, that is a given. But, being the Slayer, there are some accessories I have to make sure that I am wearing at all times. Keeping a cross on you all the time would be too bulky, and it isn’t for the religious aspect of things, so what do I do? Cross necklaces, chokers, rings or little dangly earrings can be the perfect way of making a vampire weak in the knees. Also, punching with rings really hits differently. For them, not me.

Keep some scarves on you, too, because well, it isn’t any of my business what happens to your necks, fangy or not.

TIP: Scrunchies? Make great face flingers if you need a real quick distraction to get out of a fangy situation. Just some tricks of the trade, you are welcome.

9. That appetite.

Let’s get personal, here. You think that you’re going to do all that cardio and vamp-ass slayage and not feel like you could eat a horse? Oh, it’s bad. Sometimes, the first thing I do when I am done patrol is hit whatever place is open or go straight for the fridge. It’s never cravings for a salad, either, nope. It’s 3 a.m, and all you want is a stack of double chocolate chip pancakes, some sunny side up eggs, hash and extra greased up bacon, maybe even some triple scoop chocolate shakes.

Dawn says she always feels like she is interrupting the fridge and I when she walks in on us, because my head is just always sticking inside it, but what do kids know, huh?

Also… there is another kind of appetite. This is why this book isn’t in the kids section. We’re all grown ups here. Sometimes, all you need is to get rid of that tickle that seems to always find a place. It’s explosive until you give in and have to do something about it. It’s kind of why I prefer solo-slaying, it gets real intimate.

A low-fat yogurt does the trick, too.

10. Weapons, ooh.

So, we talked about the power of words, but here comes the good stuff. Let me tell you, nothing feels good as the first poof after a freshly shaven stake. I never thought I would ever admit to that, but here we are. It is important to always keep your weapons ready to fight like it was the end of the world, because most times? It is.

Try to keep a knife in your boots. Pockets are important because you can slip in stakes discreetly enough, but don’t make them too bulky. Keep important spells on your phone because you’re not carrying around books everywhere you go. Never forget your phone, your gloss, crosses and holy water. You know, the essentials.

My favourite weapon? My precious baby. My scythe. It looks sweet and is just as killer. I like it for its double functionality because it does both the beheading mucho smoothly and the point of the stake? Talk about hot.

…. Yes, we all get attached to our weapons.

As for guns, they are still pointless.

Keep your weapons hidden. Somewhere they won’t be found. I went through storing them in places I knew my mom wouldn’t bother looking (crosses and holy water vials between the bookshelves, stakes in the closet…) Maybe build a trunk for it, for all your storage needs. This is where I plug Xander Harris. He built me a beautiful trunk on my 21st birthday. Give him a call.

11. Do NOT sleep with vampires.

So, here’s the thing. I don’t want to be a hypocrite but, sometimes, I just have to say it. Do not sleep with the enemy. Here’s the thing. I get it. I know. There’s this whole mysterious aspect to it, and sometimes at the end of it all, you just want to knock your boots with someone, BUT DO NOT SLEEP WITH THE UNDEAD. It never works out good for anyone. There are too many complications, like the loss of souls and dignity. The only shaft they should be getting worked is the stake.

There are plenty of living, breathing, normal human fish in the sea.

Seriously, screw vampires. By that, I mean don’t.

This message was brought to you in part by the Learn from Buffy’s Mistakes Association, because clearly she never did.

12. Don’t let it turn you into stone.

I’m going to get real with you. Being the Slayer… it is so easy to cut yourself off. From the world and everyone around you, because you think that it is easier that way. That it’ll hurt less if you keep this unbudging wall between you and the people you care about. Somewhere along the way, the hard heartens from all the losses that turn you into a ghost of who you were. Somewhere along the way, you stop wearing your heart on your sleeve because you’re not that innocent or naive girl anymore.

Being the slayer… it makes me different. It makes me different in a way that I don’t think anyone will ever truly understand, even when they say they do. I’m not saying that because I think highly of myself or I am trying to keep people at bay. It is just the way it is. This is a fight that belongs to the Chosen One, even when she didn’t ask to be Chosen.

It is about trying to find that balance. For a long time, I cut myself off, and sometimes I still find myself having a hard time letting other people in because I tend to swallow in myself when things get hard. I don’t like putting that on other people… they deal with enough just by slayer association. Now, I try.

I try to embrace the way my emotions give me power, the way they make me feel, even when I feel the most vulnerable - even more than I am mid-battle.

13. Don’t fight it, just accept it. - stop being so hard on yourself, you’re one girl.

One girl in all the world...

I used to hate it. I used to despise Destiny and wanted to give it the finger. For a long time, I hated this life. Hell, there are still times when I wish I wasn’t ‘the One.’ Being the one sucks, sometimes. The losses, the sacrifices, the constant worrying about everyone around you?

It hits harder when I think about the ones I couldn’t save. Yeah, I saved a bunch of people, but what about the ones I couldn’t? That is on me and only me. This is the heavy, so-not-star spangled stuff that sleeps with me every night. The guilt. The could-haves, the should-haves…

I have grown from not accepting this role to embracing what I bring as the Slayer. I know I am damn good at it, total humble-brag. Hey, longest lived for a reason, okay. My stats are impressive.

Sure, there are days where my bones are downright tired. There’s an ache I can’t really explain, and hurt that never goes away and sits in my chest. I have to remind myself that if it is not me, then it is some other girl and I want to save that girl and have her live a normal life for just a little bit longer, you know? She might have something important to get to. She might be Dawn’s age. I could never do that to her.

Every day, I am doing the best I can. There’s only me, and sometimes, only me needs to cut herself a break. Just like most everyone needs to cut themselves a break, sometimes. Have a break, have a Kit-Kat.

*** BONUS TIP: Practice safe necks. Just, please, people. We live in Sunnydale, this should be obvious. Don’t give into Sunnydale Syndrome, have a little awareness.*

CONCLUSION: There you have it, folks. A little intel about the oh so (not) glamorous life of a Slayer. Not coming to a theatre nowhere near you because books on my life are enough, thank you very much. If you have any questions, please contact your local library or that idiot named Carver Edlund. Spam him, spam him good, maybe even send him some hate-mail while you are at it.

END NOTE: If Giles finds this, I repeat, I did not write this. This was written by someone else who knows way too much about me. Probably Dawn because she reads my diary all the time.

A Buffy Summers Publication ™

#✞ :: | ✦ ❛ Drabbles of the Chosen One

2 notes · View notes

prince-toffee · 4 years

Text

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clone presence in WatchPoint Bay Q6 detected.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a hopeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that would just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. ‘Small talk’ wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes of life left... any last words?” Modulok asked shimmying on his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber, below a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which framed a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the outer metal casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to save that world, even if it was without him in it. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fidget with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through countless wars. We hauled-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our Brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” That was true, after the Horde Hordak knew no clone would have an easy time on that planet. Those people hated him, his face. He chose to believe that the common people of the world were as good as the Princesses that protected them. That all his fellow clone brethren could find a safe and fruitful life among the native Etherians.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think they’re all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t theirs to sacrifice.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. They would add some life to the ghost town, so that she wouldn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah well, whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right arm around. No wonder either, it was bent backward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a funny way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses? Totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet our brothers are all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pastel losers yapped about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm very soon. Even though there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he had said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bring the universe to bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speeches, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the known universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe without a second thought. The note said everything it had to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Des was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the war trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of hers, about how she hurt people close to her. About how she was sorry. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak wasn’t there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be. Perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always ‘she’ deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of them. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side, the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the ‘splicing initiative’. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal galactic sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the stolen dropship, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it was cut up with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he was nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. They were truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Yes. All a lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Holy Peak? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there... or down there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Through pure chance the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s defection was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compared to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Des’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the frontlines of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day when Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all that baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response was more of a cryptid puzzle than an actual answer

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

It was clear that Hordak, was on a long journey, one he had to trek himself. Search and find the meaning of it all on his own, in his mind. He needed to find his own meaning and purpose. And what that meant to him.

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just shrugged in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Des combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Des admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, ‘mere shadows of his greatness’. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he in turn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could we have done something, could we have ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could we have been good? Would it have made any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good...

But that would’ve been nice...”

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

#hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #spop

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