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pangtasias-atelier · 4 months

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Well Deserved Rest And Snacks

I wanted something involving smaller sizes so have this short little drabble on Shan-nan and Oif-ey cause I love em. Was gonna have like angst but then that would've taken over everything so that was scrapped lmao

Warning: This is a fetish story!

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…

Shannan doesn't bother to so much as even think about a single motion of his sword; the stationary dummy is the perfect recipient of his training. The plain wooden sword that he swings and thrusts with such fervor proves more potent in his hand than even the finest blades in his enemies’. Shannan’s flowing mass of long black hair is tied into a loose ponytail, the thick bundle of hair swishing behind him, following his motions. The noticeable amount of flab also follows Shannan's movement, his newfound breasts jiggling with each swing of his sword while his stomach—now at the onset of an actual gut that just ever so slightly creeps down past where his belt rests on his hips—wobbles after ever resounding thwack that sounds out each time his sword strikes the dummy. Shannan pays no attention to his larger, heftier size, nor does he tire himself out despite the extra weight he sports. He simply continues to take deep breaths as he trains and works out.

“Hmph, I guess you're just as focused as ever,” Oifey announces his presence, entering the extremely private training room meant solely for Isaach’s king—for those lucky enough to inherit the blood of Od.

Shannan continues his practice for a little while longer, easing himself down from more involved movement into much less intensive swings that only involve his flabby biceps before stopping all together. “I noticed you when you first stepped in. I simply needed to continue my practice,”

Despite finishing his training, Shannan still refuses to turn around and greet Oifey; even with him being well aware of Oifey’s visit well in advance. His face shows a faint trace of red. Not from exhaustion, but from his dismay at being seen at his plumper size. Shannan's clothes still fit him; the stretchable material of his underclothes able to cover up his body in return for showing off his extra girth, the light lilac of his draped robe snug as well but not as tight. His 350 pound body has an hourglass shape to it. Shannan's thighs are outlined by the elastic pants, the curvature of squished, blubbery upper rolls of his legs that overhang visible. The same is true for his even more shapely and filled out bubble butt from the extra poundage. The fabric of his robe drapes over it to show off some of its width despite being covered up. The small strip of fabric of his robe that drapes in between his legs seems smaller with his extra weight, the clothing lightly caught in-between his thighs. Shannan's little belly presses against his as loose as possible belt—the thick belt nowhere near as large looking with the way it strains against his new gut. Shannan's chest is far plumper than it used to be. His broad, defined pecs that strained his outfit before still do the exact same as a hefty pair of breasts. In fact, they do an even better job of it as they splay out to strain the stark black material and splay over the gold inner trim of his robes. Shannan's arms not as affected as the rest of his figure, the bulkier, flabbier arms still need the straps of leather on his arms to be loosened a tad bit more to accommodate the extra heft on them.

“But to train when I'm visiting?” says Oifey, reaching an arm around Shannan's shoulder. “You are dedicated, but even you know when to relax,” Oifey's other arm is looped around Shannan's torso. He cups Shannan's belly with his hand, rubbing the bundle of flesh flab with his thumb.

“I’ve been relaxing too much,” But Shannan remains in Oifey's embrace. His arms are crossed, his arms squishing into his plump chest.

Oifey chuckles, throaty laughter escaping without a second thought. “Then I've also been relaxing rather well lately,” Oifey only sports a small additional 20 pounds on his still built frame unlike Shannan's extra hundred and some pounds. The extra weight gives Oifey the slightest bit of softness around him, his abs now sporting a hint of a pooch. “Especially when I'm not as busy as a certain king,”

Shannan grumbles, head leaning forward tilting back to rest in the crook of Oifey's neck. “You rule over Chalphy now. And regardless, you deserve it,”

“And so do you,” Oifey counters. His hand lets go of Shannan's belly roll, instead going to rub his stomach. “I didn’t cross the Aed Desert to not give you your gift,”

Shannan unwraps the carefully preserved basket of gifts to reveal a handful of different types of bread. Some warmth is still preserved in the variety of treats, the sugary and sweet breads wrapped in their own clothes to keep them warm. Inside the basket as well are a few jars of preserves, the more climate fruits not available to Issach’s colder, harsher climate in the North East. “This can’t all be from Chalphy, much less anywhere in Grannvale,” Shannan grabs one of the treats, the muffin far from the hard texture he expected it to be from such a long distance of travel. The dense yet just airy enough mouthful of buttery bread goes down easily in Shannan’s mouth; he only stops himself from going for a second bite with Oifey expectantly staring at him.

“I went to Tirnanog. A few bakeries picked up on Grannvalian bread after how long we stayed there. And you always enjoyed the bread back then,”

“Perhaps I did,” Shannan holds back both his flush and his glare. “Isaachian bread is too airy for my preferences,” he says as he bites another mouthful of bread, crumbs dusting his lips before Oifey wipes at them. Shannan ignores the glance Oifey gives his portly stomach that he now refuses to suck in, his belly pushing against the strip of lilac fabric that barely covers his doughy stomach.

Oifey leans down despite the minimal few inches of height between them, whispering in Shannan’s ear with one hand on his shoulder. “And perhaps I enjoyed watching you eat them,” Oifey places a kiss on Shannan’s cheek just like the two once did so many years ago.

“I actually prefer seeing you enjoy such treats,” he whispers as he plops a chunk of bread into Oifey’s mouth, only a speckle of crumbs landing in his mustache. “So then perhaps we can do this in a more private location,” Shannan leads Oifey back to his private chambers, the respectively fat and pudgy men walking hand in hand.

It takes minimal time for them to head back to Shannan's room, the door locked behind them and the basket of bread on his table.

It takes even less time for Shannan's hands to quickly find their way onto Oifey's clothes. In turn, the thinner man's clothing find their way on the floor, the fabric tossed aside. “Perfect,” Shannan gazes at Oifey's near naked state, his once sculpted abs now faded out from a slight bit of adipose from the years of leisure after fighting for so long. Body hair adorns Oifey's small bit of belly flab, the forest of hair most noticeable by the trail of it leading from his navel to his groin, and his ever so softened up chest is also covered in dark brown hair. His tight underclothes is all Oifey has to cover himself up. His drawers are snug all around, but Oifey's slightly widened thighs aren't too unbearably tight beyond showing off his bit of heft and curves.

Shannan's hands roam across Oifey's body, one hand caressing his slightly softened bicep while the other gropes his rear. It doesn't take long for Shannan to try and push Oifey down onto the lounge, except he's met with some resistance, Oifey's hands testing and feeling Shannan's added heft.

“It's only fair I return the favor,” Oifey whispers to the defiant Shannan who struggles against Oifey's insistence on disrobing him as well. Shannan's robe comes off easily enough, the plump swordmaster’s figure shown off close to its entirety by how much his black skin tight clothes show off every single extra pound he now sports on his 350 pound body, Shannan's gut lurching out forward. Oifey grabs a hold of it, his fingers holding the underside of his gut with his thumb rubbing the top of it. “There's no need to be embarrassed, we've both seen each other in more compromising situations,”

“Fine then,” he says curtly with a glare. Shannan pushes Oifey down onto the couch, smirking down at his seated frame while Oifey continues to work on removing his snug underclothes. As he cooperates by lifting up his arms—Shannan showing off his belly with only a minimal amount of body hair for a happy trail dusting it—Oifey takes a moment to pause and grope Shannan's gut, his hands fondling and lightly smacking his fat before fully removing his shirt.

“See how much better this is?” Oifey grins as he looks up at the shirtless Shannan who's now only clothed by sheer black leggings.

Shannan rolls his eyes but relents upon seeing Oifey's enjoyment. “I know what will make this even better,” He joins Oifey on the couch. Except he uses Oifey's lap as his own chair, resting all of his weight on his thighs. Reaching over to the side—one hand using Oifey's shoulders to steady himself while Oifey steadies him by keeping his hands on Shannan's plump torso—and grabbing another pastry just to cram in Oifey's mouth, the delicacy filled with a strawberry filling.

The slightly older man allows it, slowly chewing through the large treat. His cheeks are stuffed full from the food alone, his face comparable to a squirrel’s. He gives Shannan a sly grin before he reciprocates the action and shoves a cloyingly sweet pastry into Shannan's mouth, his other hand pinching and caressing Shannan's breasts.

Oifey has his arms lifted up, allowing Shannan to explore his body. The groping and caressing doesn't help him from keeping his squirms and moans to a minimum. Shannan's ass on his disk certainly also doesn't help, Shannan's larger, flabbier ass definitely putting a large, hefty weight on his chubbing up tool.

“I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one enjoying this,” Shannan leans into Oifey, pressing his gut into Oifey's bit of belly pudge. And the instant Oifey finishes his treat, he hands him another one—handing it to him by forcefully kissing him, nails practically digging into his skin, and shoving a pastry into his mouth right after.

And for Oifey's part, he reciprocates the motion by feeding Shannan the instant the heftier man even thinks about speaking, his left hand permanently focused on tending to Shannan's ass with it snaking underneath his tight leggings, the two men enjoying their shared rest in each other's company.

#my writing #fat emblem #male weight gain #feeder emblem #fat fiction #maleweightgain

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sadistpet · 3 months

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☘ and ☾ !

headcanons.

☘ : My muse’s relation with their family. (If they speak with each other and how much, if they are close or estranged, e.t.c.).

ivan used to be very close with his mother, specifically. he's always maintained some level of distance with the rest of his family - his father and his brothers - due to just how fundamentally different he is from them. he's never been traditionally masculine ; he likes reading, he enjoys fairy tales, he prioritises looking pretty, he does ballet and gymnastics. his brothers and his father, on the opposite end of the spectrum, are all far more stereotypically masculine ; their lives are primarily dedicated to manual labour, farmwork, and military service. ivan, being the youngest and additionally far more feminine in comparison to the other men in his family, is seen as an outlier. he's always been teased by his siblings for his femininity and general cowardice, sometimes downright bullied, so he's never had much of a close relationship with them.

so he's far closer with his mother as a child. she dotes on him, and is the one who encouraged him to take such good care of his hair and appearance in general, specifically being the origin of his habit of brushing his hair 100 times every day.

when he came back from his mandatory military service, the experience had left him... jaded, to say the least. his growth spurt during his absence had marred any chances of him professionally pursuing his hobbies, and his experience of killing during his service had ultimately awoken something inside him, and made him far more vicious. it's this viciousness that inevitably pushed even his own mother away from him, unable to reconcile with how animalistic he had become. he was no longer a passive recipient of bullying, of being ordered around ; his brothers would mock them and he would take them to the floor and drive a blade up against their necks. paradoxically, he had become the exact kind of man that he was expected to be when he was born, and instead of being proud of him, they were afraid.

he was "disowned" eventually. it was partially disowning, and partially his own choice to go back to the military and find an outlet for his bloodlust. he kept in contact with his mother, or tried to, but i'd imagine that's a very sparse contact. so, tldr, he doesn't really speak to his family at all. he changed his patronymic after he left to further distance himself from them ( though i do wonder if volgin's actually the one that suggested the name to him lmao ) and probably tries not to think about them at all. he misses his mother, though. he has an unsent letter to her from his conscription days that he keeps in his drawer.

☾ : My muse and sleep. (How much they sleep, how much they wish to sleep, if there is something that never fails to put them to sleep, e.t.c.)

difficult ! i do headcanon raikov with chronic fatigue syndrome which includes being constantly tired despite sleeping, so i think he sleeps. a Lot. which is kinda completely unsurprising considering there's lines in-game outright stating he sleeps on the job. he's sleepy !! he probably sleeps like... an average amount of hours every night, maybe 7-8 ? sometimes he sleeps in, depending on how, um... active the previous night was. he takes a long time to get up and get washed, dressed, etc, though. he wants to sleep all day, but he obviously can't because he has work to do -- but considering most of his work is just paperwork and patrolling, he gets a lot of free time to sleep. and sleep he does ! he probably gets at least ~2 hours' worth of naps every day, partially thanks to the fact he just. finds a place to sleep and does it. he can sleep in any position ( though in bed he's probably curled up ) .

somewhat because he is genuinely just... lazy. and somewhat because he has a condition that makes him tired. being the lover of someone as high octane as volgin certainly takes a lot out of him, too. ( not that he's complaining. not at all. )

he usually reads before sleeping, if he can, and it's something that's always helped him drift off, even since he was a child. i think sound plays a part in how easy it is for him to fall asleep ; if there's rain, or a snowstorm, it makes him feel very comfortable and probably sends him to sleep super easily. any kind of repetitive noise, really ? like, he could fall asleep at his desk just listening to volgin doing paperwork.

and yeah, of course, volgin is another one of the things that sends him to sleep right away. ivan runs colder than most people, and volgin - being a man literally coursing with electricity - is exceptionally warm, and that's to say nothing of how fucking huge and muscular he is. raikov loves being held tightly in his arms and falling asleep on his chest. he loves being able to listen to yevgeny's breathing, his heartbeat, the near silent thrumming of his electrical current ; being able to touch his skin, feel every deep trench of his scars and the firmness of his muscle ... it reminds him that he's not alone, that he's loved and cherished and cared for.

when he's struggling to get to sleep, usually from waking up during the night due to nightmares, i like to imagine he convinces volgin to read to him for a bit. he loves fairy tales, and he loves volgin ; being able to cuddle up together and listen to him read ivan's favourite books is just. so good. definitely helps him fall asleep even when he's shaken up from nightmares.

oh and sex puts him to sleep too. obviously. being railed hardcore and electrocuted does that to a guy

#this got so long smiles.#g: ¦ ❝ answered. ❞#g: ¦ ❝ headcanons. ❞

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wickedanddeadly · 7 months

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Ivy Collins Bio

I'm just a saleswoman. I got a boss like everybody. He holds the contract, not me.

Crossroad Demons are demons tasked with "buying" souls for Hell through deals with humans. These deals consist of the demon granting the human's wish in exchange for ownership over that person's soul, resulting in the person dying and going to Hell to be transformed into a demon upon death. Crossroad demons are named as such because they, in particular, can be summoned at crossroads by humans seeking to make deals.

While the deals are typically beneficial to humans, the benefits are almost always temporary as the deals are usually made at the price of the person's soul. Crossroad Demons are master manipulators and love to play with people's emotions, particularly negative emotions such as greed, guilt, and fear. All Crossroads Demons sign their contracts with a kiss.

A Crossroad Demon can be summoned by digging a hole in the dead center of a set of crossroads and burying a box containing a picture of the mortal wishing to make the deal, some graveyard dirt, and a bone from a black cat. The demon most often prefers to possess the bodies of strikingly attractive women who appeal to the men making the deals. The recipient of a deal suffering an accident is a technicality that allows a Crossroad Demon to collect their soul early as long as the demon did not personally kill the person. However, this is considered bad practice by Lucifer and is forbidden under his rule.

Powers and Abilities:

Demonic Possession - Like all demons, they require vessels to walk the Earth.

Super Strength - Crossroad demons are stronger than humans, most monsters, and normal black-eyed demons.

Astral Perception - They can see other beings that are invisible to humans, such as hellhounds.

Reality Warping (by deals) - The crossroad demon's main power is that it can manipulate reality to make the wishes of the mortals it deals with come true. However, they can't do this without a deal for a soul.

Resurrection - The ability to resurrect the dead as part of the deals they make.

Healing - Crossroad demons have shown the ability to heal as part of the deals they make.

Soul Reading - Some crossroad demons, can assess the condition of one's soul.

Teleportation - They have the ability to teleport, and commonly appear when summoned to make deals.

Immortality - As demons, they can live forever unless killed.

Super Stamina - As demons, they don't require food, water, sleep or oxygen to sustain themselves.

Invulnerability - As demons, they are invulnerable to most forms of harm.

Telekinesis - A crossroad demon is able to throw people around with their mind.

Flight - In their demonic smoke forms, they can fly.

Weakness:

Devil's Trap - A Devil's Trap will hold a Crossroad Demon for an indefinite amount of time.

Hex Bags - Hex bags can cause extreme pain to a Crossroad Demon.

Higher Demons - Higher Demons such as Princes of Hell and Knights of Hell can effortlessly overpower a crossroad demon, regardless of their status.

Holy Water - Holy water affects Crossroad Demons.

Angels - Angels can overpower and kill Crossroad Demons.

Angel Blades - It can kill a Crossroad Demon.

Demon-Killing Knife - This knife can kill a Crossroad Demon.

Exorcism - It will pull a Crossroad Demon out of its host and send it to Hell.

Demon Curing Ritual - A Crossroad Demon could be cured by this ritual and become human.

Burning Their Human Bones - Burning the bones of a Crossroad Demon's original human body could kill them while just scorching them caused harm to the Crossroad Demon. Threatening them was an effective form of leverage against a Crossroad Demon.

The Colt - This gun could kill a Crossroad Demon.

Lucifer's Spear - Lucifer's Spear can kill a Crossroad Demon.

Nephilim - A child born from both a Human and an Archangel can kill a Crossroad Demon if it manages to survive the wrath of Heaven.

Family:

Lucifer - For He Is Her Father/Creator

#✷✷Bios✷✷#✷✷Bio✷✷[Ivy]✷✷

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haunted-machines · 2 years

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[SURFACE PRESSURE] | Metal Man

playlist

Serial No. DWN:001

WRA Registry: DWN:009

Activation Date: 02/09

Literal Age: 14 yrs

Mental Equivalent: Adult

Pronouns: He/Him

Height: 178 cm (5ft 10in)

Weight: 130 kg (287 lbs)

Function: Combat Unit / Lab Hand / Secondary Medic

The eldest of Wily’s children and one of the most viscous, Metal Man takes nothing from no one with a glare that cuts far deeper than any of the blades on his body.

Metal Man was Dr. Wily’s first venture into making a humanoid robot entirely on his own, so he intended his very first line to one-up Dr. Light’s in every way possible. They would be stronger, faster, and smarter than anything Thomas could achieve with a whole industry! The primary focus of Metal’s design in particular was speed and mobility. Metal Man is incredibly fast with a highly sensitive gyroscope that allows him to remain stable in any terrain or position. Though this focus on movement means he is lighter and less sturdy than most robot masters. While it is difficult to knock him off of his feet, he is uniquely vulnerable to high amounts of pressure and, ironically, sharp blades.

Metal has taken this admittedly laughable oversight in stride, mostly because no one who wants to stay in one piece would dare laugh about it. This relative weakness resulted in Metal acting as Wily’s lab hand more often than his enforcer for quite some time, before Shadow Man eventually took over that position. He has since returned those skills to good use by acting as the city’s resident medic, taking care of injuries too severe to be handled by their recipients but too mundane to be taken to Wily himself. This leaves Metal spending the most time around the other residents of Wily City out of his brothers, all of whom have long since distanced themselves from their master’s inane world domination attempts to do things that are actually helpful for robot kind.

Metal is a rock within Wily City. He is reliable, patient, and has just enough of a grasp on socializing to not come off as too intimidating to speak to. He truly does see himself as the eldest sibling of the family and acts as such. Though he may have a very gruff approach to helping, he does his best to stand in when their father cannot.

last updated 01.02.23

#[SURFACE PRESSURE] | Metal

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mouridsenlyhne9 · 2 years

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Why Innovative Ceos Are Tearing Down Their Marketing And Advertising Silos

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#INSTALLGAMES.CO

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.’

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

‘I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

this is such a general thing but defiant villain whumpee slowly breaking pls :)

Thank you so much for the ask!! I hope this is slow enough. It's not exactly the traditional whumpee breaking, but I hope it's interesting nonetheless! Feel free to send in another ask if you want something different ^^

CW//Talk of mass destruction, sleep deprivation torture, brief pet whump mention, forced to eat gross food

"It's over."

There was a weariness to the newscaster's voice-- the kind that those in the profession were never meant to display. The sheer essence of bone-deep exhaustion. A body squeezed dry of adrenaline, until fight or flight turned to fatigue.

But, the fight was won.

"For the last three days, we have been running twenty four hour coverage of the battle occurring downtown. The battle began when Villain's forces attempted to overrun an R&D lab, following the occupation of their original headquarters by our city's heroes.

The destruction has been uncountable. But, it's over.

After a final assault at three in the morning, today, the last of Villain's personal guard fled the stronghold, and were taken into captivity. An hour later, the menace themself was captured.

It's over.

What exactly will be done with Villain is unclear, but Leader has assured us that appropriate measures have been prepared for their secure containment.

As for us? At long last, goodnight Metropolis."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"And good morning, sleepyhead."

Villain could not help but wince as light washed over them in a boiling wave-- the warmth of darkness torn away from them-- as the back doors of the truck were swung open.

"You're making the biggest mistake of your life." They snapped back, hoping the venom in their voice reached its recipient, standing at the truck's mouth.

Hero.

Of course, of all people, their welcoming committee had to be fucking Hero. The biggest asshat Metropolis had to offer. The worst, most stupidly noble, stupidly loyal, stupidly-

Their fury reached a boiling point to which enraged thoughts turned incoherent. It did not matter why they hated the idiot standing before them. It mattered only that anger alone made their veins feel as though they were overflowing with magma.

"Am I?" The noble fool cocked their head to the side, mocking and arrogant. "Or are you just upset that you've lost?"

"You think I've lost?" Villain let out a hearty chuckle. "All this effort, and you've caused me a minor setback, at most."

"Well, which one of us in the cage?"

They narrowed their eyes to slits. Hero was right. They were both staring through the bars of a cage, but Villain was very much the one contained. It was a tiny, steel construction. Large enough to stand up in, and take one step in each direction, but such was all.

Loaded into the back of a truck like some kind of zoo animal. They wanted to scream!

But, unlike the heroes, they could hold back.

"Me staying here to amuse you does not equate to defeat, Hero."

"Is that all you're doing? Humoring me?"

"Do you have any reason to believe otherwise?"

"Plenty." They smirked. "For one, sitting in the back of a truck for fourteen hours doesn't exactly seem like something you'd do to humor me."

Fourteen hours...

"Have you considered that I'm simply playing a long game?"

"It'll be the longest game of your life, then. Don't plan on getting out of here anytime soon. Or, y'know, ever. That's kind of the whole point."

"You really think you can hold me forever?"

"Oh, I know so. If you knew what was coming for you, you wouldn't be taking this so lightly."

"Oh, I'm so scared. What are you gonna do, give me a donut and tell me to hug this whole thing out?"

Hero chuckled, at that.

"Why don't you come and see for yourself?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're sure this will work?" Leader cocked a brow, hoping that the teeth marks in their lower lip weren't visible. It was a nervous habit, chewing like that.

"Certain." Scientist had a chipper tone to them-- a student having solved a math problem. "We've been developing this method for months. Trust me, they have no chance."

"None?"

"None. Even better, this technique is more than a simple containment method. It has a progressive weakening effect. Within a few months, they'll be like putty in your hand."

"You know we're talking about Villain here, right?"

"Precisely!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain had expected high security.

Of course they had. They'd quite frankly expected something ridiculous. A cell suspended over a pit of lava. Or a shark-infested pool. Or maybe they'd simply contain them through the power of sedatives.

None of the options sounded particularly enjoyable. But, all three sounded better than the room they stood in front of at that moment.

Six guards stood around them, each heavily armed, and not afraid to display this fact. Two stood on either side of them, each holding a chain attached to one of the twin manacles that adorned both their wrists-- they'd expected handcuffs, but two shackles per wrist seemed a little excessive. The two remaining guards stood with one in front and one behind. Their chains were those connected to Villain's feet. One tug, and they'd be face-first on the tile.

The restraints didn't make them want to flee any less. Not when they saw that room. Even chained as they were, they squirmed at the very sight of what stood before them.

It was rather large, though not ostentatiously so. Though, its size was accentuated by the complete lack of furniture lining the walls.

No. There were only two things inside the chamber.

The first stood at the center. A massive, metal ring, perhaps ten feet in height and the same in width. Four cylinders of the same material extended into the circle's center, looking terribly like hungry mouths.

One for each wrist, one for each ankle.

They were going to be splayed out like a bearskin carpet. Not to mention the vulnerability... With their limbs spread in every which direction, everything would be exposed. Their stomach, their back, their head. And they would be without a hope of retaliation.

It was a terrifying thought, but the elaborate restraint was nothing compared to the other thing inside the chamber.

Light.

There must have been a thousand of them. Shimmering, dazzling lights. On the ceiling, on the walls, some even on the floor.

It had not been since Villain's childhood that light had truly affected them. The manifestation of their abilities had coincided with the appearance of their acute sensitivity to the sun. Such was to be expected' a supernatural ability to move through places dark and shadowed, to control the shroud as though it were a thing rather than an absence did not exactly leave one looking forward to the sunrise.

Yet, they were not a vampire. Through gradual acclimation, they had learned to become comfortable with normal levels of light exposure. Spending a few hours under the sun's rays was not a problem, nor was existing within an indoor space, dominated by artificial lamps and LEDs.

But that room...

Villain could not take it. In desperation, they pulled, tugging on the restraints that dangled around them like tails. But, even they were no match for six men.

And, thus, they entered.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Now, I can see you weren't lying!"

The voice startled Villain, sent a jolt through their chest, but it did nothing to raise their head or open their eyes. Not immediately. Lifting their gaze was a task accomplished with a considerable amount of effort, and unveiling their eyes from their lids made their corneas feel to have been pierced by searing blades.

They could hardly see Hero, through the blazing lights.

"You really were trying to humor me. This is hilarious!"

It was with a terribly uncomfortable feeling that they felt fury overtake their fatigue.

"It's only been six days. I can play the long game."

"Is that why you've been hanging around?"

Though they tried, in their manacles, it proved impossible to ball their fists. The metal fit too closely around their fingers, contoured to not allow the slightest shadow of movement.

"Maybe it is, Hero. Maybe it is."

"Maybe." The Hero took a step forth, then another, until they were mere inches from their captive nemesis. "They've really done something here, huh? Ya' can hardly move an inch."

"There's a difference between not being able to and not wanting to."

"Is that so?"

Hero placed a chilled hand on their nemesis' side-- just above their hip, where their range of movement was the most limited by their splayed limbs.

Villain's heart leapt as they felt a tiny spark, jolting through their chest.

Suffering a direct blow from their nemesis was a fate they had only endured a handful of times. Now, there was nothing to protect them from it. Not even the adrenaline of battle.

"They say you're gonna give up, y'know." Hero trailed their hand, up and down Villain's taut skin. "I think they're betting on it, up in HQ. It's only a matter of time. We can all see you're getting weaker. Tired. You aren't great at hiding it."

"What I'm good at is acting."

"You're saying this is all an act? So you won't mind if I do... this?"

That time, the feeling was more of a spark.

Villain's scream echoed throughout the chamber, but there was no one to hear them but the light.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey! Get up. Can't you hear me?"

Of course Villain could hear Hero. They'd been hearing their stupid voice every single one of these last...

How many days had it been?

They couldn't remember. Too many.

"There's a difference between hearing and listening."

"I thought this whole breaking you thing would be more fun."

"I'm sorry that I'm not entertaining you."

"Nah, I don't think seeing you strung up like this will ever get old." Like a child, Hero laughed. "Anyways, I brought you some food. It's fish!"

Villain hated fish.

But, struggling would mean opening their eyes. Looking at the light.

And, thus, they ate.

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"Come on."

A sharp vibration rattled through the restraint frame, and, consequently, to the cores of Villain's bones. But, they did not move.

"I know you can hear me. So get up!"

Hero kicked the frame again, but received the same reaction.

"I thought you were playing the long game. I'm looking for some payoff, here. This new Villain is boring."

Maybe.

Maybe they were boring.

But they didn't have the energy to be anything else. Not anymore.

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"What did I tell you?" Scientist smirked. "Like putty in your hand!"

"I still don't understand how you did it." Leader shook their head. "The biggest threat to the city..."

"Oh, it was easy. They've got those weird dark powers, yeah? So they aren't hurt by the light. Not exactly. But, when there's lights on, they can't sleep! Not a wink. You could leave 'em outside and give 'em the keys to your own car, and they still wouldn't be able to escape."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. By the way, who won the betting pool?"

"Engineering department. They said three months, they were the closest. You're saying they haven't slept in three months?"

"Yep! There's not much left of the old Villain anymore, though. So... I mean, now, they can be whatever you want them to be. Do you have any ideas?"

"Hm..." Leader drummed their fingers against the wall. "I have always wanted a bodyguard."

"I thought you always wanted a dog."

"True, true."

"So... why not both?"

"You have a technique for that too?"

"Yep!"

#villain whumpee #pet whumpee #hero whumper #hero villain whump #whump #whumpblr

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defenderrosetyler · 3 years

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APAHS Chapter 6

AN: Chapter 6 has arrived! I love all of your guys feedback it really makes my day ^_^ No real warnings this time I think..... WC: 2,221 Beta thanks to the wonderful @flamencodiva and dividers by @winchest09 Storybrooke

“What do you mean you want an engagement ring? Hasn’t Samuel gifted you with one?” Rowena asks Ruby, closing her loan payment ledger. Yes, it was only lunchtime, but there were a few payments that had rolled in. Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms as she tossed her hair over her shoulders. “As if, he has yet again tried to throw me out onto the streets. Both of our names are on that lease. I won’t let him kick me out. I do care for him despite what the town thinks.”

Letting out a hum of thought, the red-headed loan shark headed to her back room. Looking through her drawers of things her debtors had used as a pawn of sorts to help pay off their loan. Finding the jewel she’d been looking for, with a smirk she headed back to the front of the store and placed the ring in Ruby’s hand. The ring was a thin silver band, in the middle sat a bright white diamond, on either side of the large gem, however, sat two bright sapphires. Rowena hadn’t even asked Ruby’s ring size, but this ring she’d grabbed fit her hand perfectly. “Oh, Rowena, it's beautiful,” Ruby smirked wickedly, “Sam is mine, I’m not about to let him get wrapped around another woman’s finger. Despite what people think, I do care for Sam, and I’m going to prove who he belongs to.”

Across town, Y/N was occupied, and in pain. After explaining to Amaya her situation with needing more work to keep up her payments, both women had agreed to work at the Queen’s Court inside the Rabbit Hole. This wasn’t the kind of work she had in mind, but what choice did she have. There wasn’t anything else she could do. There was the option of agreeing to marry Rowena’s son, Crowley, but that was a hard pass. She’d rather rot in hell before agreeing to be his bride. As she finished her routine, under the name White Swan, Y/N groaned, spotting Crowley standing at the employee’s entrance. “Y/N, sweetheart, can’t we just talk?” He asks. “Crowley, can’t you go sit in those crummy cars you sell? I’m sure the carbon monoxide would knock you out faster than living alone,” She snapped. Partly from seeing him, the other from the uncomfortableness of her heels. Walking and dancing in 6-inch heels when you’ve never done it before? Not the best thing to do.

The businessman lets out a sigh of resentment. “It's just a conversation, not a marriage proposal” He tries again. “Crowley, I’m sure there's a woman in Storybrooke who is better suited for your needs than myself. I can find ways to pay your mother back. I’m not about to just give up now” She says, brushing past him to go change. It had been a long, exhausting day, and all Y/N wanted to do was go home. Crowley left with a sigh, nodding to Ruby who stood at the street corner, waiting for Y/N to come out. Y/N groans spotting Ruby, muttering her name under her breath. “Well well, if it isn’t the little duckie coming out of the pond?” Ruby teased, making sure her left hand was in full view. The light from above catches on the gems. “Ruby, I really don’t want…” her voice trailed off seeing the ring. “Is that?” Ruby smirked, “My engagement ring from Sam? Oh yes, proposed last night after he got home. Guess he couldn’t wait any longer. He really does love me deep down, you know.” “That’s not how I understood it. He keeps trying to kick you out.” Y/N argues, trying to hold back her tears.

Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms as she glared at Y/N, “couples fight, duckie.” She licked her lips, “you would know if you ever had a man. Let’s face it, you’re too ugly for any man to ever want you.” Ruby noticed Crowley watching them, a sly smile on her lips, “Crowley must be desperate if he’s going for you. You know, his mom is almost as rich as Gold. Too bad you’ll always be down in the dirt, like the ugly duckling you are.” “Why don’t you just leave me alone Ruby.” Y/N scoffed, “Surely you must have something better to do?”

Brushing past her, Y/N turns to head back into the Rabbit Hole, spotting Crowley sitting at the bar. “About dinner…”

----- Enchanted Forest “Making me do all your work? What kind of witch are you anyway. You’ve got the girl, why can’t we just take over her kingdom instead of the Winchesters?” Crowley snarled at his mother as he grabbed his clothes. “Because they banished me for just a wee bit of magic. It's not like I was planning to kill anybody” Rowena says with a shrug, looking through the spellbooks she’d had Crowley sneak in and grab for her. Well, the one’s that King John hadn’t destroyed by putting them into a fiery blaze the day she was banished. “Mother, we both know you wanted Queen Mary killed, force yourself into King John’s bed till you were pregnant and solidified an heir.” This made Rowena blink. Her son was smarter than he looked, and minor details didn’t slip past him usually.

“Perhaps.” She says not confirming or denying her son’s allegations against her. Grabbing the final ingredient, tossing it into the black cauldron, she sighed, grabbing a ladle and portioned out the vials. “This will be the third batch this week. Are you sure you're making it right?” Crowley asks, arms crossed against his chest. Rowena’s dark jade eyes glare at him. “It’s a slow process. Can’t do it all at once.” “You said that after the first batch. I’ve been sneaking around, trying to not get caught, yet here you are making me risk my neck for you.” The red head sighed frustrated, “You know that Castle, as well as I do, Crowley. You know how to remain hidden and unseen. Only a fool would get caught.” This particular batch of poison made six vials in total. Taking four of them, and placing them in his pocket, Crowley makes his way back to Winchester Palace.

The poison his mother had made, in enough doses and in large quantities, was meant to make the drinker incoherent and unable to think clearly. Once the recipient had received enough, it would make her appear to have an incurable disease. Once to baffle the medical staff till they were blue in the face, trying to heal their precious and beloved Queen. Since Odette’s capture, Crowley had been giving Queen Mary four vials in the span of a week. He’d started off with two, but there wasn’t as much of an effect as his mother would have liked, so she made him up the vial amount to four.

Being he’d left later than he’d planned, Crowley had managed to sneak into the kitchens just before supper was to be served. The kitchen was more packed than he’d planned as the staff bustled about gathering the finishing touches for the evening meal.

Ever since Princess Ruby’s arrival, King John had spared no expense. Bringing the best protein and sides he could manage. He did want to leave a good impression on the princess if indeed she was to be Sam’s bride. As soon as Crowley was sure the coast was clear, he entered the kitchen through a secret passage. As he was opening the vial, however, he was stopped when the tip of a blade was pressed just under his neck. “Back away slowly, before I slit your throat and make a mess for the maids to clean,” a gruff voice said from beside Crowley. Stepping backward as he was asked, Crowley swallowed the lump in his throat as he met a pair of bright blue eyes. “Evening Castiel.”

“Benny, what do you mean I can’t go downstairs, it's time for dinner, as usual, what's wrong?” Sam asks him as he was prevented from leaving his chambers.

“I’m zorry, your highnez,” Benny let out. “It zeems Castiel haz caught our slippery snake,” he continued, leading Sam down a long hallway and towards the dungeons.

“Slippery….” Sam says confused before catching who Castiel had exactly caught. “Crowley.” “‘Ello, Samuel,” Crowley muttered, “Come to be my executioner?” “I’ll leave that to Castiel. He’s good at killing snakes like you.” “I was only doing as I was told!” Crowley argued, trying to make a defense for himself, “It’s not my fault my mother’s obsessed with ruling the place!”

“Your mother?” Castiel asked, raising his eyebrow at him. “The Witch Rowena,” Sam snarled through his teeth, “The one who stole Odette and killed her father”

“Then why was he allowed to work in the palace?” Castiel glared at Crowley, the tip of his blade pressing on his neck. “How did we not know?” “A girl has to have her secrets blue eyes.” Crowley muttered. “Benny, give me your sword.” Sam says looking over at him, “I’m sure Castiel would be more than happy to kill him, but this is one execution I’d have the pleasure of handling myself.” “Kill me if you want, boy, but that little swan of yours will still stay hidden.” Sam’s anger rose, his chest rising and falling as his nose began to flare out.

“Sam,” Castiel said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We need to notify your father. We need to know how we never knew about Rowena being his mother? Have you seen Crowley with Rowena?” Sam nodded, his gaze still fixed on Castiel. “Out by the lake, he and his mother are out there every night.” Back upstairs, John went to find Mary, wanting to make sure that she was alright. Upon entering their chambers, he spotted her still lying in bed. “Mary? Are you alright?” “It’s nothing. Just a little tired from this afternoon that’s all” The Queen replied, trying to brush off her husband’s worry. John felt his wife’s head, noticing beads of sweat running down her forehead. “Mary, you're burning up,” he whispered, running to the door to shout for the Castle Doctor.

“Forgive me your majesty, but your wife does appear quite ill. The problem is, I cannot tell what has made her ill.” He admits with a frown. “There has to be something you can do.” The King begs. The Doctor was silent, grabbing his things as he left the King and Queens chambers. “Your Highness,” another one of the guards says, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Forgive my intrusion, but your father is asking for you.” Sam looks at Benny and Castiel, “I’ll talk to my father about this. Get as much information out of him as you can, we need to find what he’s been doing here.” he says, turning to head back up the stairs. “Dad!” Sam calls appearing at the end of the corridor once climbing the stairs. “Son, we need to talk privately.” John says in hushed tones, “I have some concerning news concerning your mother.”

---- Storybrooke

After working through the papers at Gold’s office, logging the few items he’d gotten as pawns, Sam looked up hearing the clicking of heels. Groaning as he spotted Ruby leaning against the glass displays. It was valentine's day and Sam had planned on stopping by Granny’s to look for Y/N to give her a yellow rose for the day, in hopes to mend their relationship. “Ruby, what are you doing here? Couldn’t this wait till I got back?” Sam muttered

“What, and ruin the evening of valentines day? I thought maybe we could go out to Granny’s or something.” Ruby smiled, batting her eyelashes at him. “Well, Well, Miss Blackheart, wasn’t expecting a visit from you.” Gold says, making his way out of his office. “What a ring you have, looks like you did rather well Samuel. It would seem congratulations are in order.”

Sam looked over at his employer rather confused. “What?” he asks, finally catching the glint of the ring on Ruby’s left ring finger, “Where did you get that. I know I didn’t get that for you.”

“Course you did.” Ruby winked, pulling Sam along with her “Come on, I want to celebrate our engagement by having a special dinner.” Sam wanted to protest going to dinner with Ruby, he could barely stand the woman, let alone any more unnecessary stress. He just wanted one thing to go right, or even just halfway normal. He’d been meaning to find time to talk to Henry, or even Bobby. He’d talk to Dean, but given their recent conversations, it would just turn into an argument.

As they made their way into Granny’s diner, Sam felt his heart go cold, seeing car salesman Crowley Rosethorn press a kiss to Y/N’s cheek as he handed her a handful of red roses.

Sam felt the wind get knocked out of his chest. His heart felt like it was going to shatter, it held a secondary emotion though. Jealousy. He wanted to be the person giving Y/N roses, wanted to make her laugh, smile or just be happy.

Apparently Ruby had other ideas, as she forced his hand on their engagement. He had to break it off, but how?

#APAHS #APAHS chapter 6 #OUAT Fanfic #sam winchester imagines #ouat crossover

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herinterface · 2 years

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——————————————— @itsasset: a meme from a year ago

> # prompt: locked in the trunk of a car —————————————————————

she had seen the gas coming, even without the helpful heads-up she was given . but apparently it was important they made it to the gang’s base of operations with an escort in tow------- & that escort happened to include both of the two armed men in the front seat of an unmarked car & bound wrists in the trunk with her favourite partner. when she came to from the gas-induced sleep it took her a few moments gather her bearings-------- the darkness, the rolling movement beneath her back, the warmth pressed up against her side. the lack of feeling in her legs was a somewhat troubling factor in this equation, most likely a side effect of the paralytic agent & the awkward way they had been folded under her for who knows how long. but regardless, her lips erupted into an awed smile when she caught on, never one to shy away from the dazzling brilliance of one of Her plans coming together, “ so, what did you have in mind... ” she murmured with her unused voice, far from questioning Her, she felt the thrill of keeping up with the plans she made.

of course that was when the tiny razor blade she had been told to stash earlier that morning came into play, & a breath was expelled in simultaneous amazement & humour, " not quite the fun i thought i’d be having with it, but, ” & she kept smiling despite the minor disproval she could almost feel from Her end. she was on the straight & narrow now, but old habits died hard. she had pictured something a little more violent in nature, but she’d gladly take a palm sized escape plan instead.

she turned to shaw then with only her face & upper body in play, who was still out from the substance. the sight of the other woman unconscious was a surprisingly familiar one that didn’t fail to cast not-so-old memories in her mind & further built upon her good mood. she always looked so peaceful all docile like that, so inviting in a way that reminded her of prongs pressed deep into a willing recipient. she should be awake shortly by her calculations, based on the dose they’d both received, & considering the seething look that had been directed her way at the lack of warning before the lights went out, she wouldn’t be the happiest camper. but they were exactly where they needed to be, & shaw would need her hands free for when they saw daylight again.

when she managed to get a precarious but safe handle on the blade in her hands, she worked at turning onto her side, pressed flushed against shaw’s warm body so that she could gain better access to the hands that were bound at shaw’s front & work at making a dent in them. but it seemed that timing, for once, wasn’t on her side. the abrupt turn of the vehicle almost caused an unplanned incision as her body rolled atop of shaw’s with the force of it, knocking hard against the partition of the trunk. she felt the blade slice into her palm as she worked on reducing the volume of her audible response to everything in order to make it more suitable for an unconscious body in the trunk of a car, bringing it down to a pained gasp. even as she felt warm blood moving down her wrist, she had no complaint about this rather familiar & comfortable position that she had been manoeuvred into with the other woman now solid & beneath her.

when her eyes raised after catching her breath, she found groggy eyes blinking back at her with an intensity that would rival the blinding sunlight that was only now shining one crevice. it did dawn on her that there was a lot about the plan that she could share at this point in time, but instead one edge of her mouth hitched upward as her fingers sought for a better grip on the blade, coincidentally generating a decent amount of friction in a opportune spot with the back of her hand. “ don’t mind me, ” she breathed out & altogether too happy about all of this, her sharp smile intact as the blade not so innocently nicked at shaw’s inner thigh, letting it catch at the fabric of her pants as it dragged upwards towards its target, “ just giving you a hand. ” she knew shaw had no trouble flying blind anyhow, it was always more fun that way.

#the question isn't can they have sex while bound in the trunk of a car of which they're being kidnapped in #it's should they #( / ). ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴜɴᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴅ; ❪ s3 ❫#( / ). ᴘʟᴀʏғᴜʟʟʏ ᴡɪᴛᴛʏ sɪɢɴ ᴏғғ; ❪ ask ❫#itsasset

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sofuckingdarling-blog-blog · 3 years

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Erwin, Levi and Tea part 2 of 2.

So he told himself safe things, like that his admiration for Levi was perfectly reasonable, after all everyone admired Levi, even people who didn't much like the man admired him. His yearning for closeness was just a result of that admiration. But Erwin knew better and a part of him had known that he was drawn to Levi in a more passionate way then admiration would dictate, that he had felt something there that was strong and unyielding since he first set eyes on the way Levi flew. But Erwin tried his best to be careful during tea time, he focused on moderating himself, perfected the timing of his stares. Sometimes though, he felt himself to transparent, a gaze lingered to long an accidental touch that caused a bright red flush to become obvious on his pale cheekbones, but each time he thought he may have outed himself. Levi was as unaffected as ever and Erwin could internally sigh with relief.

Erwin was always the one to approach Levi and that didn't change until Levi lost Petra and Farlan. He remembers clearly the urgent knock at his door and the shock he felt seeing the smaller man's eyes bloodshot and rimmed red looking frantically around , trying to avoid looking at Erwin altogether As if somehow looking at him would hurt. Erwin just opened his door and offered to brew Levi some tea, his brewing skills had gotten better thanks to Levi's detailed and somewhat impatient instruction. Levi nodded still refusing to look at him and he left his office and came back with two cups and pot of chamomile tea, hoping it would help soothe Levi's nerves. The night was long ,countless cups of tea were drained and Erwin sat at his desk mindlessly going over the same pieces of paperwork, thoughts focused solely on the man in front of him. It seemed odd that hours earlier this same man held a blade to Erwin, furious and half in shock with grief, needing an outlet. Levi had lashed out .

Erwin was actually happy to be the recipient of that violent grief stricken action, it gave him a chance to let his comrade know the depth of his importance in the fight for humanity, it allowed him to express to the Levi that holding on to regret would only hurt him and the people depending on him. He was able to tell him with sincerity that they would push forward together and make sure that the death of his loved ones has meaning. He did his best to give Levi clarity and a solid goal while he was floundering in his grief. That this incredibly powerful man listened to Erwin's words through his pain set his soul alight. it was shaky, new and hard won, but Erwin knew that a certain amount of Levi's trust had been given to him in that moment.

Still as they sat facing each other mugs of tea in had Erwin was afraid to make a wrong step, to somehow damage his hurting comrades trust before they had a chance to build on it. He felt at a loss, his heart and guts felt tight and twisted up. Erwin knew to well that there was nothing anyone could say that would really help ease the pain. So Erwin was quiet, and as with most things in their slow blooming relationship, He let Levi take the lead. He remembers hoping that night that the warmth from the chamomile was comforting to Levi that somehow the familiarity of their interaction would help ease the frantic mans tension. At that moment Erwin wished he could infuse the tea with every warm thought he held for the man in front of him. He knew it was a stupid silly vain thing to wish for but the twisting in his gut relaxed at thought.

It was as though his body was calling out for him to comfort the grief stricken Levi. But he knew that they were not at such an intimate level and the knowledge was bitter in his throat, it pricked at the corners of his eyes and he had to compose himself subtly before looking back at the narrow steel grey eyes. His eyes seemed less frantic and more resigned underneath the delicate furrowed brows, and Erwin's stomach clenched at the thought of the turmoil Levi was experiencing. Erwin knew that Levi's heart was more tender then his in dealing with this sort of loss, not that Levi was in any way weaker because of it, just newer to the Corps and with a heart more decent then Erwin, Levi's heart to Erwin was a very clear indicator of strength, because despite all he had experienced it was still so full of the capacity to love. lost in these thoughts Erwin almost missed it when Levi said "Farlan, Isabel and I, we were saving up to go to the surface, you know? We were going to be filthy rich, the sort of rich where we wouldn't even have to wipe our own asses if we didn't want to." his fingers traced the outlines on a fancy tin of tea. "It seems stupid now, I'm sure it sounds stupid, but It wasn't about being rich, it was about comfort, if we could fantasize about a life that we didn't have to struggle through everyday just to be constantly shit on it was easier to wake up in the mornings."

Erwin blinked, shocked at the unprompted confession, in awe over the heart wrenching honesty. his heart pounding in his chest. Erwin hadn't known about the specific aspects of their plans to get to the surface, he knew the surface was the end goal of getting the bounty on Erwin but he didn't know the details. They came as a bit of a surprise to Erwin, but the comfort aspect made complete sense to him, having to live everyday struggling to survive carrying around the burden of a growling stomach would be hard without a fantasy to sustain you. That they fantasized about wealth was unsurprising. Full stomachs everyday, safe comfortable places to sleep, the ability to indulge in the things that made them happy. No longer being powerless.

Levi continued fingers still tracing the fancy lettering on the tin of luxury tea face resolutely pointed downwards "I wanted to tell you thank you though, for the tea, I don't actually care about being wealthy like the pigs in Sina but I didn't think someone like me would get the chance to look at some shit like this, and here I am drinking it almost every week, i mean shit its unbelievable, Isabel and Farlan were impressed, they didn't really like the tea very much but I'd bring some over to their ungrateful asses anyway, they were happy for me that I got to drink fancy ass tea. They were good people like that." Levi's laugh is hollow "Thanks Erwin" he gets up suddenly and walks to the door.

"We can drink tea whenever Levi" Erwin blurts out and before he can stop himself "Whatever tea you want, any sort of tea in all of Sina in all of the walls" and Erwin feels absolutely ridiculous and disgustingly bare under Levi's steady gaze. but to his massive surprise and relief the smaller mans lip curls up so slightly it would be easy to miss and Erwin probably would have missed it had he not spent so much time studying Levi's expressions. "Sure Erwin, whatever old man don't have a stroke" he closes the door behind him with a thud.

Erwin is left with his thoughts and the rising sun, he feels stuck to the spot behind his desk. His ears are red and he thinks about how Levi and his friends had dreamed of luxury, his friends are no longer around but Erwin is grateful that for the duration of their time with the Survey Corp they had full bellies and warm safe beds and even according the Levi got to try some of the luxury tea's that Erwin had bought. Erwin had no idea how Levi managed to sneak them out without him knowing but he suspects a lock picking kit and graceful, nimble, fingers that are all to familiar from Erwin's observation of them griping a tea cup by the rim or tracing over beautifully decorated packages. One day Erwin thinks he will manage to pluck up the courage to ask Levi why he holds his cup in such an odd way. Erwin shakes his head free from his frivolous thoughts, thoughts that are caught up in Levi completely.

Erwin knows that its selfish but he is so happy that Levi is still here living, breathing, and with him in the Survey Corp. He wasn't lying when he said that humanity needed Levi's strength, but Erwin knows that isn't the only reason he wants Levi around. He decides then that life really is to short, especially for them. In the short time they have left, since being in the Scouts is like living on borrowed time, Erwin wants to be the one that indulges Levi, he realizes this like a smack to his face stinging, bright and obvious. He wants to be the one that exposes Levi to every luxury possible given his budget. He may not be wealthy like the nobles in Sina but he has a fair amount of money, he is well connected, motivated and talented in scheming.

So when Levi comes to him a day after his night spent grieving in Erwin's room, Erwin is relieved. He let out a breath he had been holding since he stupidly let words naked with the desire of Levi's company spill from his mouth. Levi asks him if he's ever heard of tea that blooms when its brewed and Erwin smiles. He tells Levi he actually know where to get some, and Levi looks up at him through his fringe which looks like it needs a cut soon and says "Great lets get some of that shit" and Erwin's entire frame feels electric. He follows the request up by asking Erwin if he would be wiling to brew some tea in an hour or so, after dinner, and Erwin is sure his body is made of something capable of creating sparks.

He feels the desire to shower Levi in good things as something sharp and warm, almost possessive almost jealous. It's the part of him that guards his observations of Levi and each cup of tea he drinks with a feverish tenacity. That feels pleasure curl as deep as his bone marrow each time Levi requests a specific blend of tea, or lets out an obviously pleased sigh after sipping from his cup. That Levi had ever had the desire for luxury is a blessing for Erwin who delights in every good thing he can give the small man. Erwin who is awestruck by the wonder that colors Levi's expressions at things he never thought he would see or experience underground. He wants to keep those expressions to himself because there is something so fragile and breakable in those expressions of contentment, pleasure, excitement, wonder and awe that he has to fight back his instincts to protect and remind himself to enjoy the time he has with this incredible person. Erwin is no longer a frugal man, as Levi has unleased every indulgent part of him.

#eruri #eruri feels #levi/erwin #erwin/levi #erwin smith #erwin danchou #levi heichou #levi ackerman #aot #aot imagines #aot headcanons #snk #Levi/Tea

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mavericksy · 3 years

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BNHA Gift-Giving (4.5)

CLASS 1B

How they wrap gifts:

Monoma: Exquisitely done, with beautiful, high-quality wrapping paper and tasteful decorations, often a ribbon. Personalises his greeting card message for each person. Kendou: Average wrapping skills, but she does like to mix up the paper she uses. She usually switches between three or four different rolls, and especially likes that heavy-duty, sparkly paper. Not one to bother with decoration. Tetsutetsu: Has a tendency to get over-excited and completely fortify his presents. They get passed around the room, with each person trying to force a fingernail underneath the various layers of tape that have been adhered to the sides. Eventually Kamakiri steps in, or somebody goes to fetch a knife, but even then it becomes a battle to try and force the blade underneath a completely flat stretch of gift wrap, or a small mountain of tape. Setsuna: Very wrapping-averse. She puts a decent amount of care and effort into the first gift she wraps, which quickly dissolves into just trying to cover the darn things as quickly as possible so she can do something else. However, she’s good at using her quirk to hold down tape or paper that’s caught in awkward angles. Kuroiro: Minimalist and mysterious. He goes for plain white or black paper with a contrasting bow. He tries to make his wrapping neat, but there are some imperfections when you look closely. Komori: Eco-friendly gift wrap for the win! Her paper is good-quality and usually has a slightly bumpy texture to it, which a lot of people find nice to run their hands along. She goes all-out when it comes to decorations- usually giant, frilly bows- but the final effect is always tasteful. Honenuki: Has a thing for brown paper, with the recipient’s name written neatly on the top in black marker. Also a big fan of using string, which he thinks adds a vintage quality. Yanagi: Tends to go for gift wrap that has artistic designs or painted scenes. Despite liking Christmas itself, a major annoyance for her during the holiday season is seeing bright and goofy gift-wrap, which she finds tacky and overdone. Her gifts are beautiful, and always come with a red bow, but they have a solemn vibe to them. Kodai: She finds wrapping gifts extremely relaxing. She keeps a series of boxes in her room, which she sizes up or down using her quirk to make them fit the gift. Her quirk also enables her to make a single sheet of gift wrap last throughout the entire year, as she can just cut a small square and resize it where necessary. It isn’t uncommon for her gifts to have gigantic prints on them. Her wrapping method is precise and neat. Rin: Very neat, but a little plain. He likes to embellish his gift tags with small cartoons of each person. Likes paper with geometric patterns. Kaibara: Similar to Rin, neat but a little plain. He is more likely to use glossy paper in just one color, with a small metallic bow, usually silver. He does sometimes include origami gift tags with the leftover paper. Fukidashi: Designs his own wrappings paper for each person, including his friends and family. For people he doesn’t know as well, he has a series of go-to generic designs, but the level of skill and taste is high. The designs are sent to a website where they are printed, though the quality is a little cheap due to how many custom orders he ends up making. Decoration-wise, each gift is different, and elaborate arrangements are common. Midoriya gets very anxious about his own gift-wrapping prowess in the face of Fukidashi’s talents. Bondo: Tends to use glue instead of tape, just because it’s cheaper to use his quirk. He has his own mixtures that he uses for each wrapping paper texture, depending on what he has been able to afford. His hobbies as a model-maker has given him the finer motor skills that help him, despite his seemingly chunky hands. Kamakiri: Kamakiri is good at cutting paper, as his quirk allows him to have a perfectly sharp craft knife, and his mastery on a cutting board is unparalleled. When it comes to wrapping, taping, and decorating? Lost. He isn’t a fan of Christmas paper, so he tends to use plain, dark designs. Awase: His gifts are a mystery. His quirk allows him to use his quirk to perfectly seal the edges of each fold, which is just plain weird to look at. Shiozaki: Shiozaki likes wrapping with Nativity scenes during Christmas, but during other times of year, she uses pretty nature designs. Her wrapping is neat but scuffed due to her thorny vines draping over her thorns by accident, so the wrap is marked by tiny holes. She’s also a big fan of eco-friendly paper, from companies that donate the proceeds to various relief missions. Tsuburaba: Does everything at the last minute- buying the gifts, buying the wrapping paper, buying the cards, writing the cards, doing the wrapping. There’s a messy quality to his gifts, which are barely held together by a few pieces of tape, and usually peeling by the time he gives them to you. Pony: Pony’s family back in the states love Japanese gift wrap designs. It reminds her father of growing up in Japan, and the rest of her family think it makes her gifts look much more unique. She’ll buy good-quality rolls with some Kanji or hiragana writing in the design, and use that for all her presents. She’s not the most precise wrapper in the world, but she’s good enough. Her gifts tend to have quite chunky folds near the corners and edges. Shoda: Shoda isn’t keen on wrapping gifts, as he thinks it’s a waste of time. He’s more likely to just hand you something on its own. If he does feel the need to wrap something, he’s eager to find a way to get out of doing it, usually by paying somebody else or selecting the gift-wrap option for online delivery. Shishida: Shishida is bad at wrapping presents, and it’s a source of great shame for him. His giant pawlike hands and long claws tend to get in the way, causing him to accidentally tear the paper. He recently learned about furoshiki- traditional fabric wrapping- and has been finding it much easier to simply knot a piece of material. Plus, coming from a wealthy family, he has more than enough money to buy beautiful, high-quality silks. Yanagi, Komori, and Kodai in particular look forward to collecting another scarf each year.

#bnha #mha #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #class 1b #class 1b headcanons #i keep on forgetting just how many people twenty students is unu

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argent-vulpine · 3 years

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Play Stupid Games...

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Sylvain/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

He’d gone to bed alone for once, ignoring Felix’s dour stare and slipping into his room, decidedly not slamming his door behind him. Sylvain could admit to himself – and only to himself, in the privacy of his own room – that he’d messed up with the professor. And he’d messed up badly.

This was worse than the first time the professor had caught him mid-break-up with a town girl. At least then he’d only made a fool of himself by blatantly flirting with her, meaningless as it may have been. She was more than nice to look at, he had to admit, and it was worth a shot even if he knew it would go nowhere.

This, though… this was just… bad.

His mask had slipped. It was difficult to keep it up, but it was even harder to do around the professor. Something about her made him want to relax, and in that moment of honesty… he’d panicked.

Sylvain strongly doubted that she took it as a joke, even if he’d claimed it was. They both knew he’d been serious.

Groaning, he put his head in his hands and flopped on the bed.

He didn’t bother to get up or uncover his face when he heard the door crack open; there was only one person awake at this hour who would even bother.

“You’re an idiot, I hope you know that. Pull yourself together.”

Sylvain peeked through his fingers in time to see a dark head of hair turning away, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Shit. Had Felix overheard his conversation with the professor? That was doubly bad.

Sure, he was jealous of the professor. Growing up as a mercenary, protected by the Blade Breaker, living life away from the church and nobility – all while having one of the most powerful Crests in existence! – and not having to worry about the sheer politics involved with it… she was lucky. And he was jealous of that luck.

Jealous because the Crest system had made his brother despise him. It had ended with him having to kill his own kin. It meant growing up being told how he had to choose wisely in order to pass on the Crest to a worthy heir.

And… a part of him really did mean it when he’d said he would make her pay. Collect on that debt. But another part…

Another part was calling him worse names than Felix ever did, because despite himself, he liked the professor. He admired her, even. Sylvain flopped onto his side, staring at the wall and really thinking about what he’d said, what he’d done… why he cared.

The professor had a solid tactical mind. Her refusal to use the Sword of the Creator unless absolutely necessarily was beyond admirable; she refused to rely on her Crest or the (dubious) perks that came with it. Her swordsmanship was excellent – he’d heard Felix attest to that on numerous occasions – and even her magic was solid, though he doubted she’d ever be – or want to be – as proficient as, say, Lysithea or Annette or even Dorothea.

She liked tea, played board games, was an overall amazing instructor, even so far as going out of her way to learning other styles of combat in order to better teach her own students. She didn’t mind going out of her way to returning lost items to her students; even Sylvain had found himself the recipient of such treatment, though he had to wonder, sometimes, how she’d known when an item was his.

And lately, he’d gotten better at reading her micro-expressions. Maybe it was because of being friends with Felix; you just had to learn to read the subtext, but with her, it wasn’t so much what she didn’t say, it was her eyes, the subtlest quirk of her lips when she smiled, the slightest tightening that was her frown.

Sylvain had come to value her smiles, rare as they might be, and today all he’d done was earn not just that frown, but a disapproving stare, and the narrowing of her eyes that he knew meant trouble.

He grabbed his pillow and pressed it against his face, releasing another long groan of annoyance with himself.

And the worst part was… he knew he wasn’t going to be able to suck it up and apologize. He’d just have to continue the charade he’d started.

No one could possibly have predicted the events that happened next.

In the wake of Jeralt’s death, the professor’s quest for revenge against Monica – or Kronya or whatever her name really was – and the girl’s sacrifice by Solon, sealing the professor in darkness only for her to cut through the sky and step out a changed woman (literally), there was no time to really apologize even if he hadn’t been so bent on sucking it up and playing the philandering asshole he’d been for so long already.

Then had come the disaster in the mausoleum, Edelgard’s betrayal, and… war.

He found himself at the professor’s door two days before the Imperial troops were set to arrive, a board game tucked under one arm and a pouch of tea in hand. Sylvain drew a breath, wondering to himself why he was even here, and knocked.

The door opened a crack, then widened when she saw who it was. “Hello Sylvain. Is something wrong?”

“Ah… no, Professor, not… not exactly. Are you free? I brought tea,” he said, lifting the pouch, “and a game.”

Her vibrant green eyes (he was still getting used to those) flickered down to see the game tucked under his arm. “Sure,” she finally said, opening the door fully and stepping aside to let him in. Her room was less than immaculate, which was a bit of a shock. Papers were strewn about the desk, map figures knocked over or placed haphazardly.

It was in complete disarray, and he knew he was right to come, despite his own misgivings. Was she nervous? It was almost too unreal to believe.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing at the little table in the corner. At her nod, he set the game on it and moved the entire thing to the middle of the room, somewhere between her bed and her desk, giving her the option of where to sit.

She’d already pulled out her tea set, setting out cups and saucers on the table once he’d put it into position. The professor even pulled out a small box of shortbreads she must have had tucked away, adding that to the growing collection of items on the little table.

Sylvain poured water from a pitcher into a kettle, heating it with a touch of magic before pouring hot water and tea into the teapot to steep.

The professor had chosen… the desk chair, to his surprise, which left him the only other seat available in the room: her bed. He swallowed a lump in his throat and settled down onto it, angling himself so that his long legs wouldn’t disturb the table between them.

The door, of course, remained open. No doubt a requirement by Seteth, but Sylvain was glad for it for once.

They set up the game in silence while the tea steeped, the professor arranging the board just so. Nervous fidgeting, he guessed, watching her tweak the board into position. He let the silence drag on for a while longer, carefully setting the pieces up.

Perhaps King’s Table wasn’t the best choice of games, all things considered, but he liked games of strategy, and the professor seemed to enjoy them as well. And this way, she could still strategize and hopefully relax a little all the same.

Why do you care? came the voice inside his head. He didn’t have an answer to that.

“King or attackers?” he said instead, gesturing to the board once it was set up.

“Attackers,” was the prompt reply. Sylvain was surprised, actually; she usually took up the more defensive position of the king. But he nodded and settled in for the game, pouring the tea for the both of them when it was ready.

They stuck to lighter topics, for the most part. Places they’d visited or wanted to, sweets they enjoyed, jokes they’d overheard. The professor’s sense of humor had surprised him, once, having been convinced she didn’t have one at all. The fact that it was somewhere between dry and bawdy had frankly been the most startling to him, but once he considered her mercenary background, it made a lot more sense.

She was relaying a tale from her days with her father’s mercenary band when she suddenly stopped, shooting him a puzzled look, her brows furrowing rather adorably. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

He blinked, then flushed when he realized he’d been staring. “Ah, yeah, sorry… you were saying about the horse?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if gauging him, before she launched back into the tale, pausing only briefly to move one of her pieces on the board.

He glanced down as she finished her story, too shocked to register its end, though he knew it was amusing. He would have laughed, even, had he not seen that her finger rested on top of the king piece. When she knew she had his attention, she very carefully knocked it over.

He’d been surrounded and hadn’t even noticed.

“Sylvain, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I need your head in the game. I… I’m counting on you.”

He dragged his eyes back up to hers, clearly shocked at the admission. “Why?” She tilted her head, questioning. “Why me? I’ve done nothing but antagonize you all this time. Why would you count on me for… anything?”

The professor began to straighten the board, putting the pieces back into their starting positions, while she considered his question. After what seemed like an agonizing amount of time – though he knew it was only a few seconds – she spoke. “You try to hide it from the others behind this façade of yours, playing the fool, but every time we have tea, you play board games with me. Not easy games, either; you always bring something that requires serious thought, strategy, technique. You’ve even beaten me on numerous occasions.”

She toyed with her teacup, her thumb stroking along the handle absently as she thought of what to say next. “You – despite all your efforts to show otherwise – are one of the best tactical minds I have available. I think the only person who beats you, really, is Claude, and that’s just from how willing he is to play dirty.” A pause and then she sighed. “Okay, maybe Yuri as well, but for the same reasons. The point is, Sylvain, I need you. I need you to have your head on right for what’s to come, because I’m counting on you.”

The professor stood then, pacing around the little space in the back of her room. “Yuri has his orders; he’s preparing escape routes in Abyss for us, just in case we need them.” That drew a frown from Sylvain; it was the first he’d heard of that kind of contingency which meant…

“And Claude’s schemes can only get us so far.” She was worried. More worried than he’d thought.

“Professor…” She stopped her pacing and turned to face him. “I get it. I really do.” He gestured at the seat across from him. “Your tea is getting cold. We’ve got time for another round, don’t you think? Attack again. I think I know where I went wrong.”

This time, he paid more careful attention, knowing that this was, in a sense, another way for her to impart a lesson on him. She’d chosen to be the attacker for a reason, and he’d realized that too late.

She was counting on him to keep their people safe when Edelgard’s army attacked.

The thought sank into his gut, leaving him with a feeling of unease for the battle to come.

“Sylvain, find Claude! He knows the way to Yuri. Get everyone to safety!” It was the last thing the professor had said to him before she’d run off, sleeves flapping in the wind, sword glinting in the light as she cut down foe after foe, headed toward something that shouldn’t have been possible.

He did as she’d asked, herding his classmates, his friends, after Claude, lingering just long enough to see her fall. His heart clenched, a pang of grief he hadn’t expected, but he tamped it down. She was counting on him, after all, and he would not let her down.

#sylvain jose gautier #byleth eisner #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #Golden Deer Sylvain #Golden Deer #mentions of C support #mentions of B support #Sylvain has FEELINGS

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nemossubmarine · 3 years

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Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #30

Well, the party doesn’t sleep. They discuss about how they don’t remember anything. Larry tells the others they can call him George. Izarak is dubbed Matthew and Coco, because it takes her too long to come up with a name, gets dubbed Jimbo. There are servitors and servoskulls hovering all over the place, so they can’t really talk freely. Izarak and Coco discuss about going back to the ocean to try to get their memories back. Before they can do that, Larry and Alice want to get their feeling of pain back, so they get the tech-priest Chaerilus, who isn’t happy about being interrupted but agrees to do so. While Izarak distracts him Larry nabs the tupperware container of the spores he fished out of Larry. Chaerilus isn’t that keen on letting the people back to the water, especially the wounded ones, as the ocean can be quite dangerous. But he does eventually patch Alice and Larry up a bit better and after some convincing (and a bit of flirting from Larry’s part), even loans them his boat. He says if they’re not back by nightfall, he’ll come looking for them. The party takes the boat to the T’au ship and leave Mpandex behind.

The trip back to Treshan in the T’au ship takes about a week as the ship is considerably slower for the lack of Warp drive. A catastrophic fridge incident means they’re out of rations, except for what can only be called kroot pellets. Their medicine is also running out, the sedatives for the psyker and stims for Ferrus, meaning he is bed ridden and suffering from withdrawal. La’awali offers up the dead T’au ambassador for food, she and Tirak will not eat him. The party decides to put down the psyker (Izarak does it as humanely as possible and says a little prayer) and give that to the aliens, Michael and the Imperial family to eat. Larry butchers the T’au, which is a bit harder than usual meat prepping, but they manage to get enough food to last. The T’au tastes a bit like alligator, which we all know tastes a bit like chicken.

One day, having gotten the psykers Amantha and Galion to the common dining table to have some T’au haunch, Coco asks about sending astropathic messages. Galion says that though he is lacking equipment (usually he is hooked up to the ship itself), if some accommodations can be made, he can send out messages. He needs to know their location and the location of the recipient in the warp, and for receiving messages he needs Emperor’s tarot or runes or something of the like. Those can be arranged, though the tarots have to be scribbled on paper. Coco asks everyone if it’s okay that she contact Ace and ask for assistance with the eldar. Everyone seems fine with this, so she does. The psykers are still very keen on sending out their own message, but Larry persuades Ferrus not to give out the details for them to do that.

Eventually they reach Treshan and hanging on the orbit there’s an Inquisitional cruiser, Ace’s ship. Coco realizes she forgot to mention that she’s in a totally illegal xenos ship in her missive, but she sends another message and they get permission to land their ship inside the cruiser.

Coco and Izarak get off the cruiser, while Larry hides inside with the xenos. Ace comes to meet up with them in full Inquisition garb, though leaning heavily against a walking stick. He greets them both, though does frown a little when he hears Izarak’s name. Ace takes Coco and Izarak to his quarters for food and sends some food to the ship as well. Coco asks what’s up with Ace’s leg and he mentions dark eldar nerve poison. It’ll heal in a bit, but apparently if he takes too many hits it’ll (the leg) have to go. But he is more worried about how Coco looks so thin. Coco explains how she and her new-found friends got captured and then escaped Comorragh, which causes Ace to do a spit-take (apparently it’s not a common occurrence). Coco says she needs Ace’s help with translating the fucked-up burnt arm she found at the Countess’ place. Ace takes a look and says the writing appears to be from a craftworld eldar. It approximately translates to “Return to us our home or we will burn all you own”. Coco explains that they maybe got out of the Comorragh with the help of some xenos that may or may not still be on board. She is invoking her right as a rogue trader to hang around with xenos. Ace says it’s fine as long as they give him no reason to intervene, which is to say, keep the aliens out of the sight of people and don’t share with the aliens any important military secrets. That seems doable.

Izarak requests some clothing and medication for the crew. Ace says he’ll send some over, though he does say he can’t provide too many stims since they’re easy to misuse. There’s also a question whether he has any clothes that fit Michael, but Ace apparently employs some ogryns, who should be big enough. Once Izarak leaves to take the stuff back to the ship, Coco stays behind to talk with Ace about her quest to find her brother’s killer. She explains the situation with the Countess (Ace has never heard of it) and how she has some kind of a hold over her family (which worries Ace quite a bit). Ace offers Coco some help and they agree that he should: A) covertly check up on Coco’s family B) check up on the gate through which the party escaped from Comorragh C) try to locate Jim’s (dead brother) twin Omar (in case they’re involved as the Countess seems to have been involved with Coco’s family about the same amount of time as the twins have been alive) and D) try to analyze the Countess’ mushrooms to understand something about them (Coco gets the samples from Larry). That’s about the gist of it. The party decides to get to Treshan after a night’s rest, so Coco gets to hang out with Ace a bit more and the rest get to have a good night’s sleep. Once it has become clear that they’re safe, Larry goes to the medbay to have his arm checked out. It’s been acting strangely ever since it was pierced by Hekathisis’ blade. The sister at the medbay informs him that it’s dark eldar nerve poison and that the poison has been in him for too long. The arm will eventually just stop working. The sister recommends getting it replaced. Since that’s so easy.

And that’s all folks.

#nemo roleplays #long post #wag rp s2 #wag rp writeup #insert campaign tag here later

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thethistlegirlwrites · 4 years

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Whumptober day 30 (Now where did that come from?)

Okay so it’s not all that whumpy but I have been having SO MANY feels about John’s parents the past few days so I ended up writing their first meeting!

Amarillo TX, 1963

Stephen Stoker is supposed to be somewhere else right now.

Technically, he's supposed to be meeting his host family. The Morgans, descendants of the founder of the Amarillo agency, and related to one of the hunters his grandfather immortalized by a different name in his most famous novel, are probably wondering what happened to their wayward houseguest. He's supposed to be here to teach PR strategies. His height isn't the only thing he inherited from Grandpa Bram, he's also an expert at weaving stories that conceal truths hiding in plain sight.

But he can't ignore his instincts, and those instincts have him on the track of what he can only assume is a powerful vampire. He knows he really ought to leave this to the local teams, but the guy got off HIS plane. Slept the whole flight over, aisle seat, grumbled about the windows when he got on, and pulled a fedora down over his whole face. A battered fedora that's seen better days, and had some suspicious stains on the brim. And most damningly, he tucked his carry-on bag under the seat when he sat down. And when he pulled it out, there was a smear of dirt left on the blue carpet.

Air travel has changed the way vampires make their way to new shores. The speed of travel means there's no time for raising suspicion, not even a need to feed on the journey. Vampires have the capacity to spread further and faster than ever. The only issue is the lethargy caused by sunlight, but choosing a flight that arrives in the night avoids that problem entirely.

Still, vampires don't leave home without a purpose. Transporting home earth in small quantities is risky, much riskier than shipping whole boxes. This vampire is here for a meeting of some sort.

And calling for backup could mean letting him get away. Not for the first time, Stephen wishes there was a portable means of communication easily available to hunters. He doesn't have time to stop at a pay phone.

The vampire stops outside a disreputable-looking club on a corner. He says something to the man standing on the corner, a hat pulled low over his face, and the man watching the door nods, letting the vampire pass. Fangs gleam under the streetlights when the man turns back to his vigil, tilting his hat slightly to get a better view of the street.

Stephen ducks into the shadows and considers his next move. He's not sure if he'll even be allowed inside that place. Vampires often like to keep to themselves.

He jumps at the sound of something moving in the alley, before he realizes it's just a cat scavenging. Tough luck for that stray, vampire clubs don't serve real food, just various types of alcohol and lots of blood.

The thought gives him an idea, and he slips back along the alley to where there's a door that most likely was used by the kitchen staff when this place was frequented by humans. Vampires like taking over existing locations. He picks the lock, much harder given that the style is different from the British type he's used to working, and steps into a dark, dusty kitchen.

So far, so good. No one thought to post a guard at the alley door, but there will be one at the door to the main room of the club, he's sure. He peeks through the dusty glass, watching the vampire leaning against the wall on the other side. He isn't sure what he plans to do, exactly. He's carrying only his travel pouch with its shorter stakes and a small amount of powdered garlic in a bag. Hardly enough to make a raid on a whole club. And yet...whatever that vampire came to do, he came a long way. There are plenty of things that shouldn't be changing hands, especially across the ocean.

Stephen is still biding his time when the room outside seems to become slightly brighter. He realizes stage lights have been turned on, and almost as one, every vampire in the room turns, heads fixed on what's now visible even to Stephen's human vision. Taking advantage of the distraction, Stephen pushes the door forward just enough to slip out, grateful that with his height came an awkward lankiness he has yet to grow out of.

Now that he's inside the club, he can see what's attracted the attention of all the vampires. Hosts. Stephen surveys the group of young women, in fashionable dresses with their necks adorned with velvet bands. Most of them look pale, a few have clearly done this before, drawn back most likely by addictions to the vampire bite. Others look fresher, less washed out. Literal new blood.

One by one, they walk to the edge of the stage and down the steps, mingling with the crowd, singling out admirers or being chosen, led away to dark corners or the curtained alcoves designed for the purpose of giving some privacy to a feeding. Stephen makes his way slowly through the crowd. At least the scent of human sweat won't be an immediate reason for every vampire here to turn on him. Even at night, the heat of the Texas desert seems to cling to everything.

Just as he catches sight of the vampire he was following, one hand resting on a leather briefcase set on a table, Stephen stops short. One of the hosts, a short, full-figured young woman with brightly tinted lips, wanders up to the vampire, trailing her brown fingers up his arm. She flips wild dark curls over her shoulder and laughs inanely. Her red dress makes her copper skin seem to glow in the dark club, and Stephen thinks she must be new. Hosts who've been fed on couldn't look that alive.

The vampire looks at the watch on his wrist, then stands up, grabbing his briefcase, looping his free arm around the woman's waist and leading her toward one of the curtained alcoves along the wall. Stephen's seen the same thing many times before; he's a field hunter as well as a PR expert, but something about this situation is different enough to attract his attention.

There's something about the way that host walks. And when he realizes what it is, his own blood seems to freeze. She's wearing flats, not heels, and the rolling, balanced movement of her stride is the kind of walk that every hunter knows.

He follows at a distance. He doesn't want to interfere in her hunt, she's most likely planned this carefully, and any change in her plans could get her killed. He waits as casually as he can beside the alcove where she's disappeared, pretending he's just another vampire waiting for a turn.

There's a sudden snarling scuffle from the area near the stage, probably a couple of vampires fighting over a host. At the sound, the curtain parts slightly and the young woman peeks out, only inches from Stephen's shoulder.

She jumps and looks up, her hand coming up with a silver knife in it, the blade smeared with a hint of blood in the groove. Stephen raises his hands. "Not a vamp." He smiles enough to show his teeth. She relaxes, lowering the knife. When she steps out, there's a handful of folded papers, stained with red, in her other hand. Stephen is sure that's what was in the briefcase.

Her velvet choker is gone, but there's a thin silver chain that must have been tucked up underneath it, and a medal that Stephen recognizes from some of the Catholic hunters at his home agency. The incredibly obscure St. Marcellus, patron saint of vampire hunters. He wonders if she was wearing it under the choker. That would be one hell of a dramatic reveal.

She takes a step toward the kitchen door, and Stephen follows. She must have planned to use his entrance as her exit strategy. It's as good as any. She frowns at him, but waits until they've both slipped through the door to the alley to say anything.

"What are you doing following me?" She whispers, her knife held with a dangerous casualness that Stephen knows could have it at his throat in a breath. "I don't have a shadowing student right now. So talk fast, or I'll throw you back to those vamps inside."

"I'm not here for you. I'm..." He frowns, running a hand through his red curls. It's hard to explain. "I came here to teach a class at the Academy, but there was a vampire on my flight. The one you just killed. I was following him to find out what he was doing coming all the way from London."

The woman raises an eyebrow. "One of my informants told me a courier with letters from Grigoras himself was coming into town." She tucks the papers into her dress. "We've intercepted the recipient already."

Stephen feels a chill slip down his spine. Grigoras. One of the First Circle, who is rumored to have followed Dracula to England but has never been seen in person there. He can only imagine what dangerous secrets those letters might hold.

"You say you're here to teach at the Academy? I can give you a ride back." The woman slips the knife back into a sheath concealed in her wide belt, then holds out her hand. "Sonora Morgan."

It looks like he's met his host family after all.

"Stephen Stoker." She blinks, probably in recognition of the name, and maybe also realizing that he's the instructor her family agreed to board.

There's a sound from inside the club, and Sonora tenses. "We should go." Someone's probably found the body. She leads him down the alley, cutting through a side street to a dimly-lit road with a few vehicles parked along it, and even fewer lights in the houses.

She slides into a heavily modified '36 Ford coupe whose dark-blue paint blends into the shadows, turning it over and pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires almost before Stephen's closed his door (he temporarily forgot that the drivers here sit on the left side of the car and was very confused). The engine roars, clearly a high-performance upgrade from the original model. He's heard that American hunters have a flair for creating their own specially modified vehicles.

"Sorry I walked into your hunt," He apologizes as the car speeds along toward the edge of the city.

"Sorry I threatened to let those vamps drain you," she replies with a genuine smile, effortlessly whipping the car around a turn seconds before the light changes. "Not the best first impression of someone you're about to spend two months in the same house with."

He grins, feeling the wind whipping through the open windows of the car turning his hair into a hopeless mess. "On the contrary. You're everything I would have expected from a Morgan." He's always loved the stories Grandpa Bram told about the daring, chivalrous Texan, and now he's met a relative of that man in the flesh.

"Oh really?" Her smile is the kind that says she takes that as a challenge. "Well, we'll see about that."

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts

#whumptober 2020 #now where did that come from #magic & silver #stephen stoker #sonora morgan #day 30 actually #I'm not tracking this week

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