#And then he carries her wherever she wants to go because he's powerless to say no on several levels lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elen-aranel · 3 years

Text

Down from Uptown

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Canon-typical violence; off-screen deaths of (young) adults WC: 6k Tag list: this isn’t the story I said I’d tag you for but it is Captain Pike X Reader @jusvibbbin ? does this count?? I can untag you! A/N: Me: it’s a one-shot Me: oh wait I can’t leave it there here’s a sequel @autumnleaves1991-blog: here’s another amazing Writer Wednesday prompt Me: I guess it’s a series of one shots now?? Also this is super long for me having written it in one day. Not sure where all these words came from. Other writers write feelings; come to me for a healthy dose of plot. tl;dr: Elen saw the picture and thought, what if Captain Pike, but driving a speeder?

It is all his fault.

You shouldn’t even have been here in the first place: you are an engineer. Not a diplomat. Sure you had read the briefing the comms team had put together, but maybe if you’d been better at reading alien body language, they wouldn’t have got the jump on you?

Now you’re sitting in what feels like a cellar, no windows, one flickering light panel above you, leaning against the wall feeling sorry for yourself.

Still. You will admit – having checked Chris over and determined, to the best of your knowledge from your limited field medic training, that he was probably fine – that you would rather be here with him than on the Enterprise worrying, powerless.

While you wait for him to wake you take an inventory of what you have, and think back to how you had gotten into this predicament.

“Are you sure, Chris?” He likes when you call him that, even if you’re on duty, so long as you’re alone. “It’s a first contact, and not even with a society that needs help from us. There’s got to be someone better than me?”

“Of course I’m sure. The Eloma value couple bonds; it would be strange not to take you. Unless,” —he peers up at you under his eyelashes, mouth quirking slightly,—”you don’t think you’re up to it? I could bring—”

“No, I’m up to it all right.” You bristle at the obvious manipulation attempt. You may not be as confident over away missions as the crew who go on them regularly, and your minor meltdown in Earth’s past still has you nervous about how you may react if things go wrong off the ship, but the only way to overcome worries like that is to confront them. You know you can do this. “Louvier’s going to be mad, that’s all. I promised him I’d oversee the shuttle upgrades.”

“You let me handle Louvier,” he says with a small smile.

“Well if I end up on gamma for the next two weeks and you don’t see me at all, you only have yourself to blame,” you say with a shrug.

“Being the captain does have its perks, you know. I can change the duty rosters if I wish.” He grins back, blue eyes sparkling and dimples on display, knowing he’s won this one.

The first impression you get of Eloma is calm beauty. You beam down to a roof garden high on a sky-scraper, with Captain Pike at your side, and Lieutenant Spock and Ensign James from security.

The garden is gorgeous. You meet your hosts on a paved area, but there are trees and flowerbeds all around, a few little paths winding between them, and you can see three ornate stone fountains behind your hosts, the largest of which shoots a plume of water into the air as you watch. You think you’d like to sit on one of the benches with a book – you would enjoy being able to hear the sounds of traffic wafting up from below (something between hover cars and shuttles by the sound of the engines), the horns beeping, and the occasional distant peal of laughter – it would be nice to feel part of all that but also separate from it.

You don’t have too long to dwell on your surroundings, however, because the captain is stepping forward to greet your hosts.

There are two native humanoid species who collectively make up the Eloma: the Mraden who are tall, grey haired with skin shades varying from sky through to ultramarine blue, faces humanlike apart from ridges beneath each eye; and the smaller, black haired, ice-white skinned Ginera who could almost pass for human if their skin was warmer in colour and their dark eyes didn’t flash silver at certain angles. A pair of Mraden and a pair of Ginera step forward to meet you, all wearing long white robes. You wonder if this is normal dress or whether it’s ceremonial, and you resist the temptation to smooth down your red jacket. The Mraden guards standing at attention behind your hosts are dressed more like you, though; a more practical black style.

“Greetings Captain, honoured partner,”—the Mraden lady looks at you as she says this, and you nod slightly in acknowledgement—”I am Nera, first lady of Eloma. May I welcome you on behalf of the first and second couples.” She gestures to her partner first, then to the Ginera couple, who bow. “We are delighted to open contact with the esteemed united Federation of planets, contact which I trust will lead to our mutual benefit.”

“Thank you, Nera. Myself, my partner and officers are grateful for your kind hospitality.”

You try to pay attention to the formalities between Nera, the Captain, and Lakir the first man, but you aren’t a diplomat, and beyond trying to keep your expression pleasant and listen out for anyone addressing you directly, your mind wanders a little. You wonder about the vehicles you can hear. You’re on top of a tall building, possibly the tallest you’ve been on, and as you look around past the trees and flowers you can see other buildings of similar heights. You think the gravity here may be a tiny bit lower than Earth standard, but this culture really does seem to use its sky space a lot.

You’re also interested in your hosts; although your briefing said that the Mraden and Ginera were equals on the planet, all the guards are Mraden and you’ve barely heard your Genera host’s voices, never mind their names. You wonder whether they communicate telepathically, or whether first and second couples switch between the species periodically. That’s probably it, you reason, and probably the first couple is responsible for security. You turn your attention to the fountains – the middle one is in the shape of a tree, and you’re marvelling at the individually carved leaves, when Chris takes your hand.

“Still with us?” He murmurs into your ear, as you look up to see your hosts are leading everyone through the garden.

“Of course,” you reply quietly, before raising your voice a little. “It’s just so beautiful.” Nera overhears that and smiles over her shoulder, and Chris squeezes your hand, pleased.

You follow the group past the fountains and to a door you hadn’t noticed before. It appears to lead down to a stairway and some guards go through, followed by the second couple, Spock and Ensign James, the first couple, then you and the captain.

But as you approach the doorway you hear a vehicle get louder, and suddenly the guards grab you. Your combat training kicks in as you see Chris struggling – you lean back and stomp on the guard’s foot, eliciting a stream of profanities as you try to elbow him in the solar plexus. But he’s a lot larger than you and had the benefit of surprise, and his grip doesn’t loosen as someone else stuffs a cloth in front of you and you can’t help breathing in the fumes, and you try to hang on but everything goes dark.

It is all his fault.

But blame will have to wait until later.

You assess yourself – other than a mild headache, probably due to dehydration, and a slightly bruised left hip, you feel fine. And the bruising isn’t going to slow you down if you need to make a run for it.

You go through your pockets. Your pants pockets are empty, but you unzip your uniform jacket and the inner one hasn’t been found – the custom one you modified the standard jacket synthesiser program for, because you always need to carry more than the uniform designers planned on, and you didn’t want delicate tools getting damaged when you shoved a communicator or PADD into your pants pocket.

You always have some tools with you because wherever you go, whether you’re on duty or not, someone will say, “You’re an engineer, right? Can you just have a quick look at...” and you make a show of grumbling but actually part of the reason you became an engineer in the first place is that you like to get things working for people. You’re grateful today that that extends to away missions.

You’re surprised to find your communicator on the floor near you, but as you pick it up you realise why it was left: it’s damaged. It had been in your left pocket, and whatever happened to you happened to it first; the casing is all bent and when you try to raise the Enterprise, you get nothing, not even static.

Figures that this would happen again, you think as you examine your communicator, assessing the damage. The real reason you shouldn’t be taken on away missions is because of your terrible luck. This one isn’t totally fried, you discover as you pry it apart and examine the components, but while it will still function as a translator, the transmitter was crushed. The communicator will work again if you can find a compatible part, but there’s no chance of communicating with the ship, and they can’t even lock on to your signal. You pull out the broken transmitter parts and put the case back together, and as you bend the cover back into shape you hear a groan.

“Captain?” You get up and crouch by him. He is leaning against the wall of your windowless cellar, blue eyes squinting. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, but fine. You?” He straightens, focusing on you, reaching out a hand to touch your cheek gently.

“I’m fine. A little bruised.” You lean into his touch, briefly, before sitting back down next to him.

“What happened? I remember following our hosts, then a fight, and now I’m here..?”

“Wherever here is. That’s all I remember too. I hope Spock and James are okay.” Now Chris is awake your brain is allowing itself to worry. You frown. You can’t panic again like last time.

“What’s going on in there?” Chris is looking at you, concerned.

“Just... making a decision. To be strong. It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”

He leans over and places a soft kiss on your lips, and for just a moment you forget where you are – it’s just you and him, and the special thing that you have between you. “That’s a decision we all have to make,” he says as he pulls away, thoughtful. “It becomes... less conscious. With time.”

You nod, and you take a moment to breathe. You’ve got this.

“Seems like they’ve been through our pockets,” Chris says, getting to his feet. “My communicator is gone.” He walks over to the door, which is locked. That was going to be your next project.

“I still have mine but unfortunately it won’t communicate,” you say, standing too. “The transmitter got broken at some point. The translation functions are still operational though and it has power.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’m good, but not that good,” you say, pulling the pieces of the component out your pocket to show him.

“Ah. Any ideas? Other than waiting?”

“After I failed with the communicator I was going to try to pick the lock,” you say, heading toward the door.

“With what?”

“With this.” You pull out a tool with a hook on it which you use to lever broken components off boards when they’re too small for your fingers.

“How do you–”

Chris’s question is cut off by the door in question opening. You just have time to put your tool in your pants pocket before two Ginera appear, brandishing energy weapons. You raise your hands and back away.

“Sit down,” the lead one says, waving his weapon, and you both comply. The other, also male, steps round him and puts two bottles of water on the floor, and a plate of what looks to be food.

“I’m Captain Christopher Pike, of the United Federation of Planets. I promise if you let us go unharmed my people won’t seek punishment against you, or retribution. If not, though, they will come after us.”

The boy, and he is a boy, you realise, twenty at most, snickers. “We don’t intend to hurt you, but we’re not going to let the best chance the GLG has had to be taken seriously go just like that. Sorry.”

“The GLG?” Chris asks, voice gentle. Unthreatening.

“Ginera Liberation Group. And no, your ship knows we have you, but they’re not going to find you. We called them on your communicator, Captain, and told them we had you, and not to look. We weren’t stupid enough to call from here, either,” he adds, and a little spark of hope in you flares out. “And there are 60 million people in this city alone, they’re not going to be able to resolve the life signs of... whatever you are, among all of us.”

“And what is it that the... Ginera Liberation Group wants?”

“To wake people up. To tell the Mraden”—he spits out the word like it’s a curse—”that we won’t take being treated as second-class citizens anymore. And to give the Ginera hope – that we can take back what’s ours. We don’t need their skyscraper cities, where they force us to live in the dirt. We don’t need their language or their stupid pair bonds. We had our own society before and we can have it again.”

Chris sighs, and leans back, looking up at the boy. “Take it from someone who is old enough to be your dad: taking hostages is not the way. The Federation won’t pay a ransom for us. The Mraden won’t listen to you while you have us. But if you let me go, we can have Federation diplomats come, and—”

“We’ve had enough of diplomacy, Captain. We’re taking matters into our own hands now. Enjoy your food.” He turns abruptly and stalks out, his companion in tow.

Chris examines the food – there are four pre-packaged energy bars. He passes one to you, opening one himself. “Might as well do what the kid says.” He takes a bite, grimacing slightly.

You are not hungry, but you take a bite of yours anyway – you know you need to keep your strength up. You grimace too – the flavour is a weird combination of sweet citrus and something almost cheesy. In general you like salt and sweet but this is not it.

Still you force yourself to finish it; you both need to keep your strength up. Thankfully the drink is just water.

After you’ve finished eating Chris speaks again.

“So how about getting out of here? How do you still have that tool, anyway?”

“I have a pocket in my jacket. I have done for years. It’s reinforced so you don’t see it from the outside – as an ensign my commanding officer cared more about aesthetics than practicality – and that’s where I keep my more delicate tools.”

“Ever the engineer, huh?” Chris’s expression is fond and you smile back, warm inside despite your situation. “Come on.”

He stands, and puts his hand out for you. You grasp hold of it and pull yourself up, appreciating the contact. You go to the door, hook tool in hand, and listen at it first. When you’re sure you don’t hear anything from the other side you gingerly put the tool into the keyhole. It doesn’t shock you, which is a good start, but it still takes a few minutes to work out the structure. Chris is patient while you work, not breathing down your neck. You smile in satisfaction as the lock softly clicks open.

“Well done. I figure we sneak out of here then try to alert local law enforcement. Hopefully they can put us in touch with Nera’s people, who can get us back to the ship.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, stepping back to let him take the lead.

You follow him along a little corridor then up a flight of stairs, pausing when he motions you to stop. You can hear voices coming from your left and he eases the door open then gestures you to follow again. You catch a glimpse of the room your captors are in on the way past, but happily they have their back to you, looking at a display screen. Then you’re past them, to the front door. Chris opens it as carefully as he can but the last bolt is stiff and scrapes as it opens. You sense movement behind you but you’re through, slamming the door shut behind you, racing across the street and into an alleyway on the other side before they get out. You keep going behind the building opposite, and then Chris has you double back to face the street you were on. You peep round the edge of the building – your captors are standing in their doorway, the leader berating his companion, although you can’t hear what he’s saying.

You step back into the alley.

“Well, the—” Chris starts to say, but he’s interrupted by a loud bang. An explosion. People are screaming and you smell smoke, see orange light from flames.

You follow Chris back onto the street but the building you were in, small, apparently, just three stories amongst all the giant skyscrapers, is billowing flame and smoke from all its windows, on all floors. There’s a crowd of people standing, staring in disbelief, as the last window shatters, sprinkling glass over the crowd.

You turn to Chris. “We—we were—”

“I know,” he says, reaching for your hand. You take it, hearing sirens getting louder. You walk toward the building, knowing there was no way the boys could have survived. You stand at the edge of the crowd, looking at the smoke billowing out, as the authorities arrive.

First there are some Ginera on what looks like a fire appliance. They begin to set up hoses, faces grim. Then some Mraden swoop down in a vehicle painted white with a green logo on it. The crowd, who you notice is made up mostly of Ginera, back away slightly. Chris tows you forward, toward the Mraden who are wearing the same uniform as the guards were in the garden, who knows how long ago. They’re not the same people; their skin tones are both quite pale, but to your horror as soon as they see you they raise their weapons and fire.

You’re running again, keeping up with Chris who leads you straight into the smoke and through, round the corner of the block, down the street, into an alley, out onto another street, into yet another alley, until he’s certain you’re not being followed.

You breathe heavily, holding your hip – you were able to run, and could again, but it hurts.

“That was... unexpected,” Chris says, deadpan, and suddenly you find you have your arms around him, holding tight.

“Too close for comfort,” you say, pulling away a little, as he pats your back.

“I really did think this mission was going to be normal,” he shrugs a little as you step away. “Definitely not worse than last time.”

“I mean I know in theory that away missions are dangerous, but I—I didn’t expect someone I thought was going to help us to shoot.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Seems like we were supposed to die in that fire...” he frowns as you both try to make sense of what just happened.

“What if it’s all a trick?” You muse aloud. “What if the Mraden are the ones who want us to die? Then they can blame the Ginera and crack down on them even further. And all they had to do was manipulate some kids...?”

Chris’s blue eyes are serious. “You’re right. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. We need to contact the ship. But we can’t trust anyone, and we need to get away from here.” He eyes you speculatively. “It’s an old-fashioned term, so I hope you’ve heard it before, but how do you feel about grand theft auto?”

“It’s called a speeder,” you say, frowning at the display. It hadn’t taken you long to find and break into a suitable vehicle. It was small, rust coloured and nondescript – not shiny and new, but not banged up either. You popped the doors up and open with ease; not that lock picking was anything you’d tried before today, not really, but you may have broken into a shuttle or two during your academy days.

Chris had got in on the drivers side, leaving you to puzzle out the on-board computer with the help of your communicator.

“I’ve hacked into the admin menu and changed the transceiver code; we need to use it to change lanes and stuff – to move up and down.” You scroll though the options in front of you, displaying in English now, rather than the the native Eloma language. Maybe the native Mraden language, you think wryly, as you find a setting which taps into the city’s store directory.

“There’s a hardware store in a block a couple of miles east of here. I know we can’t trust anyone but I think we may have to try. As far as I can tell it’s quite low down – only on the second level. I think it’s more likely to be Ginera than Mraden.”

Chris pauses from where he’s examining the controls. “We may be better off with the Ginera. I’m willing to bet our captors were a fringe group. I’m sure a lot of the Ginera agree with their goals, but probably not their means. They may be less inclined to report us to the authorities.” He nods. “All right. Strap in. Let’s get this show on the road,” he says, as he presses the ignition.

You look out the windshield at the street around you as Chris gets the speeder moving; with all your running away earlier you hadn’t paid attention to your surroundings beyond wondering whether you could be seen. It’s grey, down here. Drab, even with all the colourful advertising signs. There’s a layer of grime, something dirty in the atmosphere.

You stare out the window as you drive, keeping an eye out for law enforcement, but you don’t see any. As you get further east the traffic gets a little lighter. You eye Chris sidelong; he seems relaxed as he navigates the unfamiliar city.

“Time to go up,” he says, pressing a control and pulling a lever. You see a flashing indicator to see you have permission to change level, and then you’re ascending.

You’ve spent lots of time in shuttles, piloted yourself in an out of orbit more than a few times, but it feels different in a speeder. More immediate, somehow.

Up here the traffic is moving faster, and you see many different speeders, in all colours and all designs. Some of the buildings have balconies with people, mainly Ginera, sitting reading, hanging out washing – a slice of daily life.

You pass a major junction, impressed with how Chris is handling the traffic signals, and the buildings change – the road is a bit wider, and the shops have speeder parks outside.

You wish your briefing notes had mentioned the local currency, not that knowing about it would do you any good.

“I think we’re here,” Chris says, as he slows the speeder down and sets it down in front of a shop. You look at the sign – you can’t read it but it has the same logo as in the store directory. “Will you be okay to go in alone? I think I should stay here...”

“In case we need to make a fast exit? Aye Captain.” You catch his eye and grin, unplugging the communicator and climbing out of the speeder.

Louvier would love this place, you think as you look around the dark interior. The aisles are narrow and full of parts, a few of which you recognise, and most of which you don’t. There are bins with various components like resistors and capacitors, and power supplies, regulator circuitry, almost anything you could want. Except, as far as you can see, the thing you need – a transmitter.

At the back of the store, sitting behind a counter, is an older Ginera female, hair greying a little, screwdriver tucked behind her ear as she focuses on soldering a circuit. You wait for her to put the iron down.

“Excuse me? I’m wondering if you can help.” She looks up and her eyes widen – she can’t see aliens too often, you think.

“You—” she frowns, shakes her head. “You’re from that starship. But the news net said you were dead. Murdered by those GLG kids.”

“You, um... can’t believe everything you see on the net?”

“They said that the legislature was going to be recalled. That your people are going to come and punish us.”

“That’s—that’s not who we are, at all. Even if some kids had killed us the Federation would never retaliate like that. They would try to find us, if they thought we were alive, and it might complicate negotiations between our peoples but there would be no punishment. But... how many did they say died?”

“The two of you who were abducted from the first couple’s garden.”

Spock and James were safe. The fist bit of good news you’d had today.

“I really need to call my ship, let them know that we’re alive. But my communicator is broken. Do you have a micro transmitter? Something like this?”

You lean down over the low counter to show her your broken component.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing I’ve got here would be able to take the power you’d need for orbital communications. We don’t need things like that down here.”

Your shoulders slump. “Thanks anyway,” you say, straightening up.

“Wait. My cousin works in a shop at the shipyards by the spaceport. He’ll have what you need.” She rummages under the counter and produces a business card. “That will show you the way. His name is Jima. Tell him Asba sent you, he’ll give it to you for free.”

“Thank you, so much,” you say, taking the card and putting it in your pocket. “You don’t know how grateful I am, truly.”

“You’re welcome, love.” She turns her soldering iron on again, and smiles at you before getting back to work. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So am I,” you say, as you turn to leave the shop.

“I have good news and bad news,” you say, as you plug the communicator back into the speeder and put the card into a slot that’s clearly designed for such things: a route shows up on the screen.

“Bad news first,” Chris says with a wry smile, easing the speeder back into traffic. “Although I can guess what it is considering we’re not calling for a beam out right now.”

“ I should have said great, good, bad and worse. You’re right about the bad news – she didn’t have the part. The worse news is that she thinks we’re dead and the Federation is going to come and get revenge on the planet.”

“The Federation will what?” Chris almost swerves into another speeder as he takes the turn late, narrowly missing and causing the other speeder to honk its horn angrily. “Sorry about that,” he adds, a little sheepish.

“My fault for not warning you before dropping bombs. But the good news is Asba in the shop gave us the route you’re following to the shop where her cousin works near the spaceport. And the great news is that we were the only ones captured – Spock and James should be fine.”

“Oh thank god,” he says, fervent.

You access the speeder’s admin menu again as he drives and change the transceiver code again, mainly for something to do, but partly in case the driver of the speeder you nearly hit decides to call the authorities. Then you review your route. The shop you’re going to is several levels higher than you are now; you hope your speeder won’t stick out too much up there.

There are plenty of new things to see out the window, though. As you get higher the buildings are cleaner, windows larger. The shops you see have more elaborate displays with fancier goods, there are more Mraden around, and, as the light begins to turn golden, you pass your first park, full of Mraden children playing.

“The GLG had a point,” you say, almost to yourself.

“In what way?”

“The higher you get, the nicer it is, and the more Madren I’m seeing. Obviously their methods are wrong but... I kind of get it.”

“When we get out of here, I’m going to tell the Federation negotiators that we shouldn’t agree to anything without conditions of the Ginera being discussed. It feels a little like letting the bad guys get what they want in a way, but you can’t make an entire culture suffer because a couple of kids make a stupid choice.”

“And they were probably manipulated, too. That doesn’t excuse them, but—” you lock eyes with a Mraden enforcer as you pass a junction. She recognises you, even through the glass, and mutters into a communicator of some kind.

”But?”

“We’ve been spotted. Turn left! Now!”

Chris makes the turn, speeding up as he also changes up a level. He weaves in and out of traffic, trying to shake your tail, while you hold on for dear life, glad that you strapped in.

“Relax,” he says, as he takes another alarming turn, flying away from another chorus of horns. “My first assignment in Starfleet was as a test pilot.”

“That’s... um... good to know,” you say, weakly, as he brings you up another level and slows sharply. He takes the next turn at a much more sedate pace, before spotting an empty lane in front of you and speeding up again.

“Are we nearly there yet?” You ask, getting a laugh.

“Actually we are.” As you look around you realise you’re on the edge of the industrial district. Ahead you can just see some star ships, a large freighter and shuttles flying around it. “And hopefully we lost them.”

You reset the transceiver code for the third time, back to its factory default, as Chris makes a right between two tall buildings. You switch the transceiver off completely before he makes two more turns; hopefully it’s owner will be able to pick up the signal when it came on again and find it.

“I’ll come too this time.” Chris says, opening his door.

“Thank you for not crashing,” you say as you exit the speeder.

“Any time,” he says, and you both laugh as you enter the shop.

Where the last shop was cramped, this one is spacious. You recognise a lot more components here; they’re not Federation but they’re ship components and you understand what they do.

You and Chris find the small bin with the piece you need pretty quickly, but it’s locked, and you look around for help. You feel eyes on your back and you turn to see a Ginera male looking at you curiously.

“Excuse me,” you say, tone polite and not too eager, “do you know Jima? We’re looking for him.”

“I’m Jima,” he says, stepping closer. Chris puts his hand on your back; for your sake or his you can’t say.

“Asba sent us. She said you could help me get a component to fix my communicator?”

“Is this what you need?” He indicates the bin you were looking at. He pitches his voice quiet and you match it.

“Yes. This is the one I need.”

He unlocks the bin, takes a couple of transmitters out, and beckons you to follow, keeping an eye on the only other customer, a Mraden male. You pass between the aisles to the edge of the store, quietly following his lead, and go through a doorway.

“Asba called me, said you’d be coming. She also said to keep you out of sight. You should be safe here, to fix your tech. Call me if you need anything.” He steps back through the doorway as you hear some other customers enter the shop.

You put that out of mind though, as you hand Chris the communicator while you get your tools out. You can feel tension radiating off him as you take it back but you ignore that too. This is fixing things. It’s what you do. You open the cover and slot the component in, bending a couple of pins to fit and adjusting the power output to compensate for the non standard part.

“They were seen in this area. The speeder they stole is just out here.” Even though you’re concentrating, you can’t shut off your ears entirely. The people you thought were customers when they entered? Law enforcement.

You shut the cover again and hand it back to Chris.

“Didn’t I see them with you, Jima? They must be in the overflow storage.”

You hear loud footsteps as Chris says, “Pike to Enterprise! Get us out of here now!”

He reaches for your hand catching hold as the Mraden enforcement officers come through the door, and the gold light takes you, leaving them staring.

You thought you were glad to get back to Enterprise after you were on Earth. But that was nothing to how you feel now. You keep it together, however, in front of Number One, Spock, and the transporter technician.

“They said you were dead,”Number One says in greeting. “They showed us the burning building. They showed us your burnt communicator with the power cell removed. They said that was the only thing that survived.”

“What’s the quote? ‘The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated’?” Pike shrugs, giving her a half smile.

“ ‘The report of my death was an exaggeration.’ I’m glad you’re okay, Chris, but don’t do that to me again. At least not for another month.”

You shower in your own quarters, having got your bruise treated in sickbay, trying to calm down. Away missions are still a lot. Chris told you to take twenty four before reporting for duty again, and you will, but you get a report written first – you need to make sure that Jima and Asba are safe, and that the ship sends some compensation to the person whose speeder you stole. That done, you check with the computer, change into civvies and join Chris in his quarters.

“Hey,” he says as you walk in, standing from where he was sitting by the window and drawing you into a hug, then a soft kiss. You bring a hand up to his face, running you fingers over the stubble that’s there after a very long day, and kiss him back, heated, your lips moving across his, his tongue licking into your mouth. You pull apart, staring up into his blue eyes.

“You were right,” he says, drawing you across the room to sit next to him on the couch. “There was a Mraden plot. Nera and Lakir have resigned, although they claim they didn’t know what was going on, and Tura and Sama, the Ginera second couple, have taken power until they can hold new elections. It’s going to be a tough road for Eloma, if they’re going to properly confront their problems, but the Federation will help.”

“I’m glad,” you say, leaning into him, enjoying how safe you feel with his arm around you. “I—I hope those boys’ sacrifice turns out to be worth it.”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing your head, and you sit in silence for few minutes.

“Dinner?” He asks eventually.

“Yes if we can have your chilli again. I think we’ve earned it.”

“Oh you definitely did,” he replies, standing to go over to the synthesiser.

“Lieutenant?” It’s two days later and you’re on your way to Engineering from the mess hall. You turn in the corridor, to see Number One standing there, an amused expression on her face.

“Commander?”

“Next time he asks you to go on an away mission, just say no.”

#christopher pike #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike x you #Captain Pike #writings of the girl from outer space #fanfic #fanfiction #star trek discovery #star trek strange new worlds #writer wednesday #The Engineer's Adventures

39 notes · View notes

kareniliana · 3 years

Text

Kol: “I Made Tea”

A//N: Okay for this one Kol will in portrayed as Daniel Sharman when Kol was in Kaleb something’s body. He was a witch! Okay enjoy!

xx Karebear 💛🧸

Your parent’s died a few years back, a newly turned vampire had gone on a spree in the streets of New Orleans. Two of the many dead were your parents. They went out on a date while you worked your tourist store. When you heard the news of a vampire on the loose, killing anyone and everyone, you immediately went to check it out and find your parents. But when you found them, they were drained of all their blood. They were piled onto other dead people. You became furious with whoever the hell called themselves the King of New Orleans. Letting his army kill innocent people, especially your parents.

You went full evil powerful witch on the vampires, killing only the vampire who was responsible for their deaths. Leaving Klaus Mikaelson with a threat, if anymore of your people pop up dead, the nest dead body is his or a member of his profound dysfunctional family. Since that night, he had his sights set on you. He wanted you as an ally, not an enemy. And he made that insanely obvious.

Your family comes from a line a very powerful witches, your ancestors carried a rare type of magic. Immense power get passed on and accumulates, but only once every 20-30 years. You’re not bound to a place, unlike the covens here in New Orleans. If they leave the area, they are powerless.

You worked the store, your Aunt and Uncle becoming owners of the store after your parents. They also became your guardians, you were grateful that you had them. You know plenty of people in the world don’t have the same luxury as you.

The sound of the door opening and sound the bell, sprung your head up. In comes the Kaleb Westphall. When you were still in school, he was the guy every girl wanted and every guy wanted to be. You knew he was a witch, catching him cast a spell on a bully a few years back. But you never spoke to him about it.

He looked around gathering certain crystals and herbs. He went to the counter, dropping his items. “You guys got any vervain? I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

You looked up at him with a slight smirk, “You must of not looked hard enough.”

You stood up walking around the counter and going back to the table of common herbs, “It was next to the valerian and bee balm.”

“Oh, Yeah. Would you look at that, I must have.” He smiled at you, “Sorry for the waste of time, Y/n.”

You muttered in a rude tone without realizing, “Yeah I’m sure you are...” walking back behind the cashier register, how does he know your name?

His smile fades, “damn, Y/n, I said sorry.” You rang up his items; quartz crystals, vervain, valerian, bee balm and mugwort.

“No, no, I didn’t- I - I just didn’t think you knew my name.” You suddenly became shy, he never spoke to you in high school. You were a nobody.

“What? How could I not know who you are? You’re becoming a powerful witch and my brother is looking forward to you growing into your power.” Kaleb paid for his items and retreated from the store.

You stood there looking at the door in confusion, Kaleb doesn’t have any siblings.

“His brother?” You whispered to yourself out-loud, “Klaus.”

Hours after ‘Kaleb’ left your store, your aunt finally came in to finish off the shift and close. You had cleaned up the shop, restocked, and redecorated the window showcase. Getting a feeling that someone is watching you, you canvas the street, seeing a few locals and tourists. Then you saw him, ‘Kaleb’. He noticed you saw him, turning around and walking into an alley.

You rushed outside, running after him. Waving your hand across, pulling a dumpster to stop him. He sighed in defeat.

“Okay, you caught me. What do you want to know?” He placed his hand on his hips.

“Who are you? And don’t say Kaleb, I know that's a lie.” You didn’t want to be lied to, and wanted to get to the bottom of whatever this was.

“Okay, how’d you know? Was it the powerful witch comment?”

You scoffed, “Everything gave it off. Kaleb doesn't even know I exist, he doesn’t have a brother and Klaus told me the same thing.”

“Said what?”

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to talk about it but, “The night my parents died I threaten him. Klaus. And he said he was looking forward to me growing into my power. Something about how he hasn’t seen one person hold this much potential since that one Bennett witch.”

He chuckled deeply, “Ah yes, the Bonnie Bennett. Now she is a tyrant. And unstoppable force, thank god I never tested her like Nik here.”

You flung your finger at him, thrusting him back against the dumpster rather harshly. “This body doesn’t self heal, take easy love.”

You scoffed, “You’re a Mikaelson, wherever you go pain and strife follow along.”

With that you turned around, going back to the shop. Grabbing your things and walking back out. Making your way to the nearest pub for food, but being delayed when ‘Kaleb’ grabbed a hold of your elbow, stopping you in your tracks.

“How rude? We were having a conversation.” He smirked, walking alongside you.

“I don’t care, get out of Kaleb’s body and leave this place alone!” You shrugged off his hand.

“Mhmm, sorry love I can’t do that. My mother put me in this body, can’t leave until she takes me out of it.”

You rolled your eyes, “What is Kaleb had plans! A future he was looking forward to! You’re taking a portion of his life that he will never get back.”

“This guy is useless, he wants to be a professional race car driver, that's so mediocre and boring. His life is already wasted.” He grabbed your arm again, stopping you from running away from him. “Are you mad at me because of the body I’m in or because of lying to you?”

“Why do you care?”

“Y/n, just settle here for a second. Look, I know the power our hold is immense. If your feeling what I feel just by touching you, then you and I both know if you don’t get your emotions under control. It could be destructive, for you and everyone in New Orleans.” You leaned against the cold building wall.

You sighed, knowing he was right. “Why are you doing this? Why’d you come into my store?”

“Niklaus mentioned you and I wanted to keep an eye on you. Keep you safe, you’re innocent in everything. With your parents, with your magic.” He leaned against the building with you.

“I don’t even know who you really are.” You scoffed a little, almost hating that you’re in a weird position. Kaleb doesn’t deserve to be used like this, but Kol’s genuine care for your well being, made you not care so much.

“Names Kol, it’s very nice to meet you.” He said gently, you smiled at him. Knowing you’re in big trouble now.

“So what was that stuff for?” You asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Oh, I made tea.” He smiled at you, earning a burst of laughter from you. He laughed along with you.

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson imagine #the originals imagine #the originals x reader #the originals #tvd universe #kol x reader

91 notes · View notes

oumaheroes · 3 years

Text

Earthbound: Arthur’s Story

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Full fic can be found here.

---

Arthur is eight. He sits on the side of the playground, watching the children run about and play games together that he was never invited to play and which he doesn’t really want to, anyway. This is what he tells himself, at least, because really, he does want to play but whenever he’s asked to join in before, they’ve said no, so he’s stopped asking now. They’re fun to watch though, both the game itself and the people playing it. He can watch who cheats, who misses the kick, who pushes too hard on purpose and who kindly let’s things go.

He learns a lot, from watching.

Arthur has always watched. He watches his parents fight when they think he can’t hear or see them, he watches his mum graze her hand over Mr Benson’s arm as she passes him in the corridor of their building, watches his dad see and press his lips into a firm line but say nothing.

Arthur stands apart from other people, cut adrift on his own, and takes in what he sees, carries the information he finds in his mind like pebbles in a pocket and tucks them away for later. He feels that this keeps him safer, somehow, because he knows about things. Not that he knows what he will use any of what he’s learned for, or why he feels as though he needs to carry secrets that aren’t his in his heart, but he does, anyway.

Granddad tells him it’s ‘endearing’, that he watches, when he catches him doing so. Calls him patient, and a wise old soul with an island heart. Arthur doesn’t know what an island is, and Granddad tells him that it’s something Earth used to have, swathes of land rising out of the sea.

‘Is all land not an island, then?’ He asks, ‘Because the earth was mostly all sea, wasn’t it?’ At least, this is what he’s heard in school in lessons about the Fall; stale secrets as old and thin as air, a dying whisper across the ages from humanity long ago.

Granddad shakes his head and combs a calloused hand through Arthur’s hair. ‘No’, he says, ‘islands are smaller bits of land apart from the rest. They’re surrounded by the ocean, all on their own.’

He means it kindly but Arthur feels hurt anyway, because he doesn’t want to be on his own. He tries to make friends, tries to play with the other children and talk with them and share his collection of secrets but they never want to, telling him that he’s strange or haughty or boring.

Granddad notices his disappointment and crouches down to pull him in for a hug, pressing him into his chest. ‘No, it’s not a bad thing!’ he says, holding him tight. ‘Islands are strong, they stand up all on their own. The sea keeps on pushing and pushing, but an island pushes right back, no matter how hard it is.’

He pulls back, looks Arthur in the eye. ‘Don’t change for the sea of people, Arthur; you don’t need to be anyone but yourself. Sometimes it’s better to be an island, than to lose sense of who you are.’

Arthur nods, feeling better. Half of him hates that even Granddad sees him as that, alone and different, recognising his failure to fit in, but the other half of him takes pride in it, that he is who he is and if that’s different from everyone else, then maybe that’s okay. So, he carries on watching the children play games without him, carries on looking for secrets and listening for change, hoping all the while that, maybe, they’ll reach out and invite him in.

Arthur is eleven when his granddad dies. It wasn’t a surprise and he knew it was coming, but the blow hits him hard anyway and sweeps him off his feet. He feels hollow, like his insides have been carved out and not replaced with anything; a ringing deadened nothing that weighs him down and leaves him numb. It doesn’t seem real, because Granddad was here and now he’s not and Arthur is exactly the same but his world has collapsed. And that, that doesn’t seem possible because how can so much be the same when such a huge part is missing?

After the funeral, a sad sorry affair where adults drift aimlessly like ships unmoored, he hides himself away in his room where his heart hurts and he can hardly stop crying long enough to think. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, now, because Granddad was the only person who really knows- knew- him. He curls in on himself, tight fists and thick throat, and reaches for an e-tab, loaded with stories Granddad thinks -thought- he’d like and even some straight from Granddad himself. They’re all old, old old old things about heroes and monsters, courage and loss, long journeys across wide wide seas, and from the tales of others Arthur forgets himself, briefly, and escapes for just a moment.

Using them to start, he begins to try his hand at his own.

Each night when he is supposed to be sleeping, Arthur huddles under his blankets and spins his own stories, weaving together all of the secrets he’s ever found to make somewhere real and alive; a large family with scores of people to talk to he sails ancient seas and explores the unknown, making friends wherever he goes. They speak to him as he sleeps in unknown familiar voices and it’s a place warm and happy where he can’t hear his parents scream at each other and someone will remember to wish him goodnight.

More and more Arthur hides himself away, feeding off tales of a different place entirely and a yearning in him grows so strong that he’s surprised no one can see it, read it like his soul is mapped on his skin.

Arthur is fifteen and his school have decided that it’s time for a school trip. It’s to the botanical gardens, this time, set up in the middle of the main city dome. It’s only recently been built because, as with all human colonies, the focus is on survival first, the basic needs for life: oxygen, water, heat, food. His colony isn’t new, but it also isn’t that old and things are just advancing enough that money can be spent on more frivolous things. The gardens are just plants: grasses and flowers and trees that aren’t good for anything other than looking pretty, he guesses, but it’s new and educational so his school bundles them all up into year groups and ferries them across town to study what’s there and write a journalistic report to justify the excursion.

Arthur has made a few friends now, people he can talk to about homework, sit on shuttles next to, and hang out with after school. The air between them is stale and flat but safe and predictable, and Arthur is thankful he has this, these people at least, who like him enough to tolerate his presence, a small fragile bridge connecting them together. They’re all corralled into dreary lines as they approach the gardens, Arthur’s group slinking at the rear, so it takes a while for Arthur to notice that they’ve properly arrived.

He hands over his ticket, watches it marked with a stamp, and turns his gaze to go through the doors and stops, dead. There, right at the start to welcome them in, is an assault of colour; flowers bursting from the ground in a cacophony of hues that capture the eye and dazzle him. It’s a vivacity that he’s never before dreamt was possible and he can’t look away, even as people jostle him to get past and he feels himself moving powerless along with the tide.

It’s odd, it’s strange because he’s seen flowers and things in e-books but he’s never seen any before in real life and he can’t seem to match them together in his head, the pictures in his mind and what is in front of him now. He’s overwhelmed with the experience, the sights, the smells- a heady thing that turns his mind to cotton, and he stumbles forward to touch them, fingers stroking velvety petals before his teacher pulls him sharply away.

‘Can you not see the signs?’ she hisses at him, ‘we need to stay off the grass; I told you all this in the shuttle. Don’t touch.’

Her voice comes at him through a fog and it is an effort to turn his head to look at her, nodding dumbly. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters, fingers tacky with pollen and time, ‘I just-‘

He just, what? He doesn’t have the words to describe this, what he’s feeling, even to himself; his emotions a curious storm of sensations: he feels home, he feels homesick, he feels calm and sad and happy and angry, for some reason because it’s so familiar and beautiful and achingly new that what he really wants to do, embarrassingly, is sit down on the grass and cry into the dirt.

Luckily, he has enough presence of mind and teenage pride to shake himself free of whatever is happening to him and manages to locate his friends, watching him awkwardly from the path. They greet him, unsure, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care, can’t bring himself to be ashamed for not hiding his strangeness, for letting his normalcy slip. He feels the bridges between them shake and weaken but his eyes dart about the trees, drinking in the depths of green and he struggles to stay afloat in today.

That night he dreams of the sea, the sea and the sky and an endless horizon that broadens outwards, endlessly, just for him and he feels the tug of the unknown call to him across a vast and forgotten ocean. Then, as the sea rocks him in his dreams it turns dark; pulling him down into its vast weight he drowns on sea foam and regret. Unfulfilled dreams and broken promises fill his boots and drag him down and it's all his fault, all of it, everything he ever did could have been so very different, all those people he hurt when he didn't mean to, all those terrible things he's said, all those-

He gasps awake.

His room is dark, starlight blocked by curtains, and unmoving, but still he feels rocked by non-existent currents and the room dips and sways when he moves his head to clutch at his knees.

The visit to the gardens, plainly, changes him; something morphs or grows within and he knows, deeply, that he doesn’t want to do anything else. He begins to select classes and at nineteen he specialises his studies in agriculture, in plants and trees and earth and grasses. He wants to grow them; learn how they work and how to use them for things. They have so many uses, in so many sectors, and Arthur can’t understand how other people don’t find them as fascinating as he does.

There’s a breakthrough, that year. Earth, the original home of humankind, becomes viable and opens its arms wide. They’re looking for people, for farmers and fishers and growers and makers to stabilise the colony and Arthur knows that that’s where he needs to be, that’s where he needs to go and he can’t wait, won’t wait, not for one moment longer. He applies, pouring hours over his application the days before he submits it because there is a wild hunger in him, a need that he knows deep in his bones won’t be extinguished any other way and he makes sure to press what he knows about plants into what he writes.

It’s a wait, a tense hard thing than wears at him, eroding him away but then, at last, confirmation; he’s in.

A two-year journey is all that’s between him and the sea of his dreams and the greenery of fields and trees. He tells his parents, separately. They divorced, last year, and Arthur is glad, so glad that they never had any children other than him, glad that there was no one else caught in that maelstrom of words and bitterness. It poisoned the house, poisoned the space between them all and filtered down to Arthur, trapped in the middle with nowhere to go.

But not anymore. He packs very little, stands to reminisce not for very long, before heading out of the door. He’s early, about five or so hours left before he can board, but once he’s said his goodbyes and gathered his things it’s as though he can’t stand to be there in that house, in that place, for one more second. The opaque material of his colony’s domes press down on him as he walks, murky and grey; he all at once feels as though he is sinking underwater and he stops on the way to the launch site, arms swinging and a pounding in his head. A deep breath, a catch in the throat, and he instead turns to veer back towards town, to the botanical gardens.

They’re familiar to him now, as known to him as his own hands, and he settles himself underneath a wide thick tree next to a bush of roses spilt red like blood and gets out an e-tab. His granddad’s voice emerges, soft and old like paper telling tales of the sea, and his words curl around Arthur’s chest to rock him back to himself and wish him good luck.

#APH England #APH #hws #HWS England #Hetalia Fanfiction #hetalia fic #My writing #arthur kirkland #one day i will finish the second part to Arthur's story by golly

21 notes · View notes

tintentrinkerin · 3 years

Text

Cathartic Arrest

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Characters: Michael (Supernatural), Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Caning, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), It’s all about inflicting and receiving punishment, Jealousy

Summary: ”Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer’s abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell.

And he’s JEALOUS.”

Word Count 1,793

READ HERE OR ON AO3

Sam was still shaking when he got back to the bunker. He had taken his time before he came back home, but still. This time, it had all been different. She had to help him back into his pants, his shirt, even tuck his shirt in, help him ground himself; when he still didn’t come down from what just happened, she made him sit in her “calm room” as she called it.

She gave him food, good food. Fruits. Pineapple, strawberries, vanilla infused yoghurt. Juices of passion fruit and apples, bread with butter and some lean chicken tenders. He could choose whatever music he wanted, but all he ever would choose was hard rock – the music of his childhood, part of his youth and part of Dean. The music in his ears, usually is of a different, much more intense nature. He’d tried pop. One Direction. Too happy. He’d tried Nu Metal. He was too old to bounce back into his emo stage, also known as his years at Stanford. He had tried all kinds of metal. Trash, Death, Melodic, Symphonic. Nightwish. Later Aesthetic Perfection. All good music, quality wise. But nothing was ever louder than the noises in his head. The crying of baby Sam Winchester, inner-child Sam Winchester. Traumatized and angry and helpless.

Only the noise of a cane meeting his skin, his ass, his legs, even his feet, his own painful cries, the muffled grunts, the thank you’s and the yes'es, the reenactment of his shame, would silence the child. It’d been rough today. The wax on his chest left pink swollen spots, the cane beat him bloody this time.

“I can stop, aye?” she said.

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her slave. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam was still shaking when he started Baby’s engine, slowly rolling away from the place he visits when pressing on his scar stops working. And it’s been working less and less and less. Until nothing else will help but being beaten up by someone to finally overcome the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being weak and useless. Sam Winchester might be broken, but he still can take a beating without crying.

Dean hates liars. Which is kind of, let’s say hypocritical, given his nature, his past. He lied to Sam about hell, he lied about the deal, he constantly lies to the only person who will probably never leave him. Because even if Sam does leave, he always comes back. He won’t even die for good. Dean doesn’t, Sam doesn’t. They’re here, two moons in this earth’s gravitational pull, doomed to circle each other; the forces of nature keeping them in place but always keeping them apart.

It's one of those days when Sam says he’s about to go jogging, but since when does he have to drive fifty miles to some secluded forest area to jog when they're in the literal middle of nowhere? Dean has seen Sam in the showers. They have their privacy here, both want that or pretend to, but the showers are group showers, long lines of shower heads like in school gyms. They usually lock the doors, so why, this one time, does Sam not lock himself up like he used to? Dean knows about the nightmares, the triggers, the sudden flashbacks and the pressing of Sam’s thumb against the palm of his cut hand. He noticed cuts, deep cuts around Sam’s wrists, that never heal because he keeps on scratching off the scab. The bleeding never stops.

Dean decides that today, enough is enough. He knows this trauma, he was in Hell too. He tortured innocent people, he tortured Bela fucking Talbot. A woman he really respected in the end, though he sugar coated it with cunt-y behaviour. He’s seen so many faces twisted in pain and agony – and all they do in the end? – cry for mama. They cry for their fucking mother, and Sam? Dean wonders who he cried for in the Cage?

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall.

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam’s nostrils flare and damn, now Dean is on freakin’ thin ice. He is so goddamn jealous of this woman giving Sam something that Dean would give him freely. And happily. He would give him the relief he needs.

“Don’t talk like that!” Sam hisses, trying to wind himself out of Dean’s grip but he’s still sore from the last time Lana tied him up like a Christmas present and hung him on the wall like a pig-half at the butcher’s. Sam loved the marks of the rough rope, loved the feeling of just hanging there, floating, the ground beneath him so far away, the rock bottom so far…“You have no idea how I feel!”

Dean’s head tilts to the side. “I tortured people in Hell, Sam. I know how to make you feel the worst pain of your life – but I can also give you the greatest relief. I can show you mercy, because that’s what you really want. Isn’t it?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back.

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

Dean drags him up and brings Sam, who is suddenly so pliant, to his room. What no one has ever known about is the secret door. Dean’s not a witch, Sam would be a great one, but Dean managed to hide a tiny little torture chamber behind his room. Sam fights, he insults Dean. Dean knows, yes he knows, it’s Sam’s way of provoking him and, kind of, making Dean stop.

Sam knows that, when he came back from Hell, Dean fucked around even more than before he’d died –but no one ever saw him with the girls, the submissive ones, the broken little dolls he found. This is Deam’s coping. Reenacting Hell.

Sam clings on to Dean when he’s tied to the bench, naked. Sam is still black and blue, some of his bruises had turned green-yellowish already but no one should hurt him there again. These bruises would take ages to heal, if they’re lucky, without a doctor needed. Sam isn’t fighting anymore, he’s crying.

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding.

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened.

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

WANTS

BROKEN

And Dean is giving him that. He can think of the girls and boys in Hell while doing it, like he’s not the one inflicting this pain on Sam, but it feels so damn good. Purging. Sam’s cries and whimpers, his yells and finally, finally, when Dean is about to lose control and maul Sam alive – there’s the one Sammy would cry for.

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs.

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent.

“Dean, I want to go home….” and that is truly when Sam is broken, the last bastion of his mind, his pride, his goddamn pride is stripped from him. He babbles, he cries, snot and tears and gulps, he even chokes on his cries. “I want to be home with Dean, please hold me, Dean, take me home, Dean…”

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean leans onto Sam’s heaving, still tied up body, sweat and blood, tears, the sobs. When Dean releases Sam from the restraints and carries him to a sofa, he huddles up in Dean's lap. Like a newborn. Overwhelmed with the world outside, sobbing and crying for Dean. Dean is here, holding him tight. Offering him water and more blankets.

Lucifer has never been closer, but Dean has blown him away from Sam. He made Sam just forget for a while. It’s so fucked up, but he can live with fucked up. As long as it’s with Sam and Sam never, fucking never, goes to a whore again when he can have everything from Dean.

Dean will do anything for Sam.

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

@laxe-chester67 @deanking @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @cloudesworld @all-4-wincest @ohnoitsthebat @rpsocsandcanonohmy @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

IF YOU WANT TO BE INCLUDED IN MY MAILING LISTS, SHOOT ME A MESSAGE <3

#wincest #sam and dean #hell trauma #cage trauma #sin is sinning

34 notes · View notes

meltingangels · 3 years

Text

As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind.

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were.

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands?

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place.

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan.

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado.

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory.

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s.

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her.

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked.

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is. Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after?

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was.

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them.

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for.

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end.

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family.

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top.

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive.

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here.

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius.

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music.

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock.

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience.

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could.

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following.

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels.

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld.

Ok, it was kind of an obsession.

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life.

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts.

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit.

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that.

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later.

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia.

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient.

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door.

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did.

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing.

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall.

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard.

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band.

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you.

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster.

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

50 notes · View notes

morallygreyprompts · 4 years

Note

Can I request a fic where villainess was hero's childhood best friend, and first love. They went their separate ways, but villainess still cares for hero, but hero has given up on her. So when Hero is injured by villain, villainess gets involved to protect her former lover, and hero realizes he was wrong to give up on her?

Here you go! I hope you like this :)

Hero groaned on the floor, stuck in a puddle of his own blood. These wounds were… survivable, if he got help soon, but the look in Villain’s eye didn’t suggest he was going to get that chance. Maybe if he was lucky, they’d capture him, lock him up, and keep him for information, if he was less lucky… well, this would be the end. He swallowed hard and braced for whatever was going to come next.

“There’ll be others like me,” Hero managed with a shaky voice. “I.if I fail, someone else won’t.” “Then I’ll just have to kill them before they win, won’t I?” Villain grinned. “Look at you- you’re pathetic! You were meant to be the city’s best? More like the city’s tragedy.”

Hero didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to waste his strength, besides, in a way, they were right. He had failed, and so easily.

“Such a tragedy… but what to do with you? I should make an example of you.” Villain raised the blade to Hero’s throat, making them raise their head. “I could torture you in front of your whole city, show them how weak you really are? I could keep you like a little pet to beat when I wished, or I could save myself all the trouble and kill you now.”

Hero barely managed to quickly swat the knife away. “N.no,” he managed, but he was getting weaker with every moment. Pain ebbed around his torso, burning deep in his body from the wounds, and there were several of them, the blood that poured from them joining together like the roots of a river, becoming one large stream of crimson dripping down his aching body. He shuddered with the cold.

He was finding it harder and harder to focus, to stay awake and stay aware of the enemy. They barely heard the sound of rushed footsteps, the clang of metal on metal. He could barely even sit up anymore. He needed help, and fast, everything was blending together into one incoherent mess.

“Back off!” someone snarled. A woman? Was that… Oh. Yes… yes, it was, but what was Villainess doing here?

Hero tried to get up, to get out of there, but he barely was able to lift his torso off the ground. His arms were shaking so badly that he just dropped back down, hitting his chin off the concrete with a groan.

“Make me,” Villain grinned. Hero tried to watch the two fight, but they were so weak it was hard to keep up with what was happening. They fought with knives, and Villain lost one of their knives quite early into the fight. He must have blacked out for a second, as the next time he looked they were rolling around the floor like dogs, fighting with their bare hands, fighting over him. He was powerless to affect the outcome.

Unconsciousness claimed him again, and the next time he woke up, it was to Villainess leaning over him, slapping his cheek softly. “[Hero], please. You need to wake up. I can’t carry you, you have to get up. Come on!”

Hero was groggy as he dragged himself up on shaky legs with Villainess’ help. She was supporting so much of his weight, he could feel it, but he couldn’t help it. He was spent. He was surprised he could even stand.

“Hold on, [Hero],” Villainess panted. “Hang on, come on, we’ll make this quick.” “W.why?” Hero managed, as Villainess wrapped his arm over her shoulder to support them. “Don’t speak, we need to move,” Villainess responded, helping him forward. Villain was nowhere in sight. How had she managed to fend them off?

“N.no… why? Y.you… you didn’t have to...” “Of course, I did!” she retorted. “[Hero], we may have gone our separate ways, we’re not lovers anymore, or even friends, I guess, but we were. And I could never just leave you like that when you need me. Now stop talking and walk.”

Hero didn’t understand it, and he felt a wall of guilt creep up inside of him. Guilt, because he really thought Villainess had given up on him… just as Hero had given up on her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. He barely even realised he said it. “I understand. Life is… complicated, to say the least, but I could never back out on you. I know I’m well, a criminal, but that doesn’t change how I felt about you, and I want you to hold on and get better, to save this city… even if it means saving it from me, I guess,” Villainess said as she helped him to walk. They seemed close to their base now, wherever it was tucked away at. But Hero was getting weaker. They were tired, and things were slowing down. They were going to pass out soon. “Hey,” Villainess said softly, with a gentle smile of encouragement. “Stay with me.” Hero was sluggish but murmured, “I’ve missed your smile.”

Then everything went black.

Like my stuff and want to support what I do? Then maybe consider buying me a Kofi? Ko-fi.com/morallygrey

#hero and villain #writing prompts #ask #hero #villain #villainess #good villain #whump #hero x villain #saved by a villain #800th post kids whoop whioop

151 notes · View notes

peach-the-owl · 3 years

Note

with valentine's day coming, think Jester, Beau and Yasha help child reader with their valentine?

Ahh, Valentine's Day, a day of gettting free chocolates from people… oh and love too I guess 😆

I took the basics of the ask, but also changed it around a bit… So I’m not sure how this’ll turn out, Valentine’s Day has always been a little different for me. This is gonna be interesting… Sorry if this ends up turning out badly 😖

Sweet Valentine

Child of the Nein (Jester, Beau, Yasha & Child!Reader)

Jester

"Hey, mama?" You say, making your way over to Jester with an important question in mind. Jester looks over at you, still getting used to the idea that you now refer to her sometimes as mama. She kneels down to match your height.

"What can I do for you?" She asks with a smile and boops your nose getting a giggle out of you.

"Ummm… what do you think would be fun to do with a valentine?" You ask, while swinging your arms from side to side. Jester taps on her chin in thought for a moment.

"Well, getting sweets would be a nice start, oh and looking at their favourite shops or maybe get them a gift they really like…" she starts rambling off different ideas, it eventually turned to really weird stuff that sounded like it was more from a storybook. "… and then he’d take you in his arms and carries you across a field and it’s so romantic. Oh Oskar~." Jester stares off in her little daydream.

"Oskar? That's the character from the book you say I’m too little to read yet, right?" You ask, having gotten lost along the way, this breaks Jester out of her daydream and she gives a faint blush while scratching the back of her neck apologetically.

"That’s right, so maybe don’t do all that, but giving someone treats or little gifts to show you care is always good. Who is your valentine anyways?" Jester gives you a curious look.

"That’s my little secret, but I don’t even know if they can or want to be." You fiddle with your fingers a little.

"Awww," Jester places her hands on your cheeks and lifts your head up so you can look at her. "Whoever you ask is going to be very luck, and as long as you have lots of fun that’s what really matters." You smile at her and nod in understanding. "I have to go now, my valentine promised a walk around town. You have fun and don’t get lost." Jester parts ways with you with a smile and a wave.

After a moment or two you got everything together that you needed and bow your head in prayer hoping this works, the sense of a second presents makes you open your eyes and you look over at the cloaked figure that now stood in the room with you.

"What can I do for you?" The Traveler asks simply.

"Will you be my valentine?" You ask excitedly holding up your handmade card to him. He goes stiff for a moment but slowly, carefully takes the card from your hands noticing the small mistake of it saying Happy Valentime rather then Valentine. He stays silent and just stares from you to the card.

"I- that’s not really how this works?" He says slowly, trying to think through each of his words. Your smile drops a little.

"Oh…" You sigh. "I get it, you already have a lot of people who adore you and probably are really busy, I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend some time with you like Jester has." You turn to leave.

"Wait." You pause and look back at him. "I didn’t say no." Once again he speaks slowly, working out each word individually as if to convince himself of something. You don’t really notice as your eyes light up again in excitment.

"Really! So you will?!" You bounce on your feet in anticipation. He balls his hand into a fist and brings it close to his lips in an unsure gesture, again you being too excited to really take notice of it.

"On two conditions." He finally says. You stop bouncing in place and stare at him. "Firstly, you cannot tell another soul about this." He places a finger to his lips with a quiet shushing sound you repeat the action with an eager nod in agreement, while trying to hold in a giggle. "Secondly," he pauses a moment and you see a devious smirk cross his features. "I go, if there’s promise of delightful mischief." Again you give an eager nod. "Perfect, now I need you to close your eyes for a moment." You quickly slap your hands over your face to cover your eyes, there’s a faint whooshing sound and when you remove your hands you see a man with wild red hair and bright green eyes in place of the Traveler.

"Whoa!" You stare in amazement. "You look really cool Traveler." He gives a small chuckle.

"We can’t have you calling me that outside, remember this is just between you and me. So for today and today only you may refer to me as Artagan." You give a small happy squeal and practically drag the man along with you.

The day went by very well, the two of you pulling various pranks on different couples in the streets, the added fact that you had your deity helping you cause chaos wherever you went was a delightful bonus. It wasn’t like you were causing major harm, some of your pranks even managed to bring a few couples closer together. Eventually you had to return to the inn you were staying at, having to sneak around as to not get caught by any anger couples or towns guard.

"That was so much fun! Did you see the look on that one couples face when they discovered their chocolate was spicy?" You laugh at the memory.

"Or the fellow who thought our fake wall was real." Artagan recalled. "Ah, best fun I’ve had in a while."

"I’m glad you agreed to be my valentine, this was great." You give him a large smile, he hums in responce.

"Well, I should take my leave, there’s a lot I have to do." He says a bit apprehensively, and in just a blink of an eye he’s gone before you can give a quick farewell. A moment later Jester enters the room.

"Sooo… did you have a good day?" She asks you. You smile and nod explaining some of the things you did, making sure not to reveal too much like you'd promised. "That sounds like a fun day to me, I’m sure the Traveler would be proud."

If only she knew.

Beau

You march into the tavern and sit down at one of the tables in a small huff, Beau taking quick notice takes a seat next to you.

"What’s wrong?" She gives you a curious side look.

"Is it normal for someone to be mean to the person they like?" You ask. Beau stares at you then gives a sigh.

"I want to say no, but there are people out there who are like that. But that doesn’t mean that they should."

"Ok, I wasn’t sure, because I ran into someone I know from my hometown and they were being a total jerk to me." You look away from her sheepishly.

"Alright tell me what happened." She says, a bit of a protective tone in her voice. You begin your tale…

While everyone else was busy doing their own thing or spending time with their valentine you took a walk around the town, you actually knew the area decently enough because it wasn’t too far from where you used to live, a day and a half's journey if everything went smoothly.

"Hey! I know you!" You hear an awfully familiar voice shout in your direction making your eye twich but for some reason you feel frozen in place. The kid was about your age, maybe a year older at most. Their snarky, judgemental gaze used to make you feel like you were powerless against them and while deep down you knew you weren’t anymore that stare made you revert back to thinking you were. They give you a smirk. "I knew I recognized a nerd when I saw one. You remember me!?"

"Hi… Layn (tried to make it gender neutral, idk)." You greet through gritted teeth.

"Man it’s been a while since I saw your gross face, and it looks even worse now." They laugh pointing at the smudges of dirt you had yet to clean off.

"Yeah it has been a while hasn’t it. I’m not the same kid you think you can just push around anymore." You huff crossing your arms. They give you a teasing look and start to aggressively jab at you, you use your reflexes to block most of them all while telling them to stop, they don’t. You get fed up to the point that you grab their arm and throw them over your shoulder slamming them to the ground and give them a hard look. They stare up at you in shock.

"Why did you do that?" They seemed genuinely upset and curious.

"Because you wouldn’t stop, I told you I’m not the same kid you can just tease anymore!" You fume.

"How else was I supposed to get your attention." You stare at them confused. They carefully pick themselves off the ground. "You always had your face in a book or something when our parents met with each other, I didn’t know how else to get your attention."

"You could’ve tried talking to me." You say matter-of-factly.

"And risk the cooties? No way!" You just stare at them. "Anyways, since no one else will be asking you… I was wondering if you’d like to be my valentine?" They give you and expectant look…

"So what did you do?" Beau raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

"You remember what you once told me about dealing with jerks?" Beau nods, she'd used another word to describe it but you weren’t sure if you could say it aloud yourself.

"Yeah, I told you if they absolutely deserve it, to sock 'em in the face… wait." She turns to face you fully, you give an embarrassed smile along with a light blush.

"I think I broke their nose." You say, scratching the back of your neck. Beau snorts a bit, trying not to burst into laughter, her fist banging against the table. It takes her a bit to finally calm herself down and clears her throat.

"So first you throw them, then you actually punch them. It’s probably good their parents weren’t around to see that."

"Its just that they’ve always been so rude to me, before I knew you I never knew what to do or how to defend myself. Now they suddenly say they like me and expect me to forgive everything they’ve done just like that?! Not happening! I don’t care if they like me, they should’ve treated me nicer then." You rant a bit, getting yourself worked up again. Beau places a hand on your shoulder making you look at her.

"You know what? You’re absolutely correct. People shouldn’t treat you like shiii– poorly if they like you, that’s basically abuse. Now while I’m not sure if punching them will solve the problem entirely, though I’m sure it would’ve been hilarious to see, I think you still made the right choice. I’m proud of you." She gives you a smile and you return one of your own.

Yasha

You sit deep in thought about what to do today, you weren’t sure how you were going to find someone to love and spend the whole day with so you decided to ask Yasha, she might know the answer.

"How do I find love?" You get straight to the point once you see her, Yasha nearly chokes on her drink at your question.

"What?" She looks at you shocked.

"You know a valentine or something, how do I find one of those?" She blinks a bit then give a small chuckle.

"That uhhh, isn’t really how it works."

"Then how does it work?" Yasha goes quiet, now having to figure out how she can explain this to you.

"Ummm… well it’s not just about… hmm… a valentine is someone you want to show you really care about and appreciate them, it doesn’t just have to be about holding hands or kisses." Yasha explains as best she can (I feel that).

"Oh! Okay, I think I get it." You nod. Yasha gives you a smile and pats your head before heading off elsewhere, probably with her own valentine, who knows. You once again go deep into thought trying to figure out who you wanted to show your appreciation to, an idea comes to mind and you begin your search. You stand in front of a door and give a soft knock.

"You can come in." You hear their muffled voice through the door. You open and shuffle through the door suddenly feeling a bit nervous and embarrassed.

"Hey Caduceus, I was, uhhh, wondering if you’d like to be my, ummm… my valentine today?" He looks at you, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Yasha told me that valentines could be people who we appreciate a lot and I, umm, I really appreciate everything you do for us. So I, uhh, I thought maybe you’d like to be my valentine and we could do something nice?" Each word you spoke made your face turn more and more red out of embarrassment. Caduceus just gives you a calm smile and a small chuckle.

"I see no harm in that, it sounds nice. What did you have in mind?" You stare at him a moment, slightly surprised he agreed.

"Oh! Well I saw this little shop that sells tea and biscuits, if you like that is… sorry I’m not very good at this." You scratch at your head and look away a little sheepishly.

"There’s no need to be sorry, I think that's a good idea." You give him a small smile and the two of you head out to the little shop. You did your best to make this a nice little day, but for you everything never really seemed to work out properly, Caduceus having to purchase the treats from the shop as you didn’t really have any money of your own. The streets were a little crowded today too, making you come to realize you may have slight claustrophobia as the large number of people made you very uncomfortable and nervous.

"I’m sorry, I can’t do this! I’ve ruined everything!" You run off crying back to the inn and hole yourself up in your assigned room. There’s a soft knocking at the door after a while. You don’t say anything, you already knew it was Caduceus who was knocking so you try to squeeze yourself into a ball and disappear. The door creaks open after a minute of you staying silent, the bed dipping a little from the new weight on it. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there with you in a calm silence. Eventually you uncurl yourself from a ball and look up at him, he gives you a kind smile. "I’m really sorry, I wanted to let you have a nice day to show my appreciation for you, but instead I ruined it and you still did everything." You pout.

"I don’t think you ruined anything, I enjoyed myself actually. The very idea that you wanted to do something nice I think is appreciation enough for me." You wipe your eyes and look back at him again, a small smile starting to form.

"Is it really?" You ask curiously, he gives you a nod in responce. "Ok… well since we still have a bag of treats, can we share them here? I don’t really want to go outside right now."

"Sure thing." He pulls out the purchased sweets and the two of you happily share them. Come the evening Yasha finally comes back from wherever she had disappeared to.

"Did you have a good day?" She asks. You nod and retell her the events of your day, she smiles as you finish your story. "I’m glad it worked out for you in the end."

"Me too. So how was your day?" It was your turn to ask and listen as Yasha tells you about what she did.

Bonus: (Bad pickup lines I made up for each kid)

Jester: I'd be your partner in crime any time Valentine

Nott: I can’t give you my heart Valentine… because you already stole it

Caleb: Let’s dance together Valentine, better then any colour ever could

Caduceus: I'd make a thousand flower crowns for you or with you Valentine

Fjord: I’ll be your knight whenever you need me Valentine

Beau: If anyone treats you badly Valentine, just tell me where to hit them

Yasha: If I could, I’d fly with you to a beautiful field, but they wouldn’t be as beautiful as you Valentine

Molly: Let me serenade you with any song you like Valentine, anytime, anywhere

Again I’m very sorry if this was bad 😣

#critical role #critical role & reader #mighty nein #the mighty nein #mighty nein & reader #jester lavorre #jester & reader #beauregard lionett #beauregard & reader #yasha nydoorin #yasha & reader #nothing romantic here

28 notes · View notes

flowerslut · 4 years

Photo

happy whumptober

I’ll be following the lead of @volturialice in doing however many of these as I can in a Very Random order throughout the month. They will all be painfully unedited and posted as they’re written. Tonight’s prompt is a ‘canon’-divergent piece for my Call of the Night readers. (MAJOR SPOILERS for those who haven’t finished CotN)

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Rating: T for allusions to violence Words: 2,238 Summary: The Protectors don’t make it to the clearing in time.

Borrowed Time

There isn’t a clock in the room.

There’s nothing, really. Not a bed—there would be no purpose for such a thing—or a chair—again, it would be meaningless—or even a window. Not one leading indoors or out. There’s a tiny vent on the ceiling, circulating air he doesn’t need to breathe, and there’s an intercom next to the black-painted door. The intercom is as pointless as the vent, in Jasper’s opinion. He hasn’t had a visitor in days.

Or maybe it’s been months.

He doesn’t quite think it’s been that long; his thirst isn’t bothering him as much as it usually does on a regular, everyday basis. (Or at least, he doesn’t think it is.) Which means he has to have fed recently. Which means someone has brought him blood. (Probably. He doesn’t think he’s hallucinated his meals.)

It doesn’t even frustrate him that he doesn’t remember. Or that he can’t tell what is real.

But there isn’t a clock in his room.

Sure, it won’t exactly help him orient himself. Knowing whether it is nine AM or six PM makes no difference in the grand scheme of things, but it may help settle him more.

His vision shimmers and blurs slightly. Jasper does what he’s done for days (or weeks or months) now: he stares straight ahead, unable to even brace himself, as the hallucination seizes him.

He doesn’t mind them anymore. After all, he’s been powerless to stop their onslaught. Just in the same way he’s powerless to control anything he does while they take over. It’s a strange feeling. He’s slowly becoming accustomed to the way his mind and body act while the world around him—a world that he’s not entirely sure is real or not—morphs and shifts.

He’s barely aware of the way he screams sometimes. At nothing, at everything.

It’s as if he’s been split in two. He is Jasper. He knows that much. But whatever hold Skye has put on him—whatever sickness she’s afflicted his mind with—has forced him, or the essence of who he is, to retreat far back into the recesses of his mind. When he’s able to think coherent thoughts he wonders if he’ll ever be able to make it back out of the pit he’s dug for himself in his own mind. In the area of his subconsciousness that is still his.

He’s partly aware of how he sees Maria in front of him. She’s dangling something, trying to draw his attention. He focuses on the detached limb she’s waving in front of his face, as if taunting him, and instantaneously he recognizes Alice’s skinny wrist.

He lunges at Maria but when his hands squeeze around her throat suddenly she’s not in his grasp and he’s spinning and hissing and screaming.

“You did so good,” he hears her voice purr as he desperately tries to find her in this room. “You did everything I needed you to.” Her accented voice is as high and clear as it’s ever been.

The part of his mind that is still sane struggles to be heard. She isn’t here. She’s lying. Alice is fine. Alice is okay. Focus. Ignore it.

But Jasper growls and lunges and yells for so long that eventually it’s been so long since he heard Maria’s voice in his ear that he doesn’t know how long he’s been screaming for.

And there isn’t even a clock in the room.

His body calms down as his mind begins to agonize over the woman he loves.

Alice. He wants to cry out for her. Where are you?

But he’s terrified to even attempt to speak the words out loud. He isn’t confident in his body’s ability to obey an order from the part of his mind that still belongs to him. And even if he could find his tongue and utter that two-syllable name he’s petrified that Maria’s voice will answer in reply.

Dead. She’s dead and you killed her. Those are the words she would say. Those are the words he’s heard her say in his mind for days or weeks or months now. Even before he’d been confined to this room they were the words he’d been haunted with. From the first nightmare Skye gifted him with to the most vivid hallucinations that seize him in this tiny, inescapable room.

He’s not entirely sure where he is. He knows he’s not in the clutches of Maria or her radicals any longer. The only solid memory he’s been able to form in the past few months is of the night his comrades took him back into their custody.

The smell of funeral pyres burning had registered in his senses before his airways had been cut off with a strong arm wrapping around his neck, ready to pluck his head from his shoulders at a moments notice.

He would’ve recognized Emmett’s signature hold anywhere and would have cried with relief if he’d been able to inhale enough air to complete the motion, but he was instead stuck frozen. After an unknown amount of time being subjected to Maria’s manipulation and Skye’s torture, he had nearly forgotten what it felt like to see, and to feel, and to breathe the air around him.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to exist in the real world.

With the way Emmett was holding him, Jasper’s head was stuck upward, staring as smoke filtered it’s way into the sky, the dark gray slowly blending into the blackness and dimming the stars above.

“Maria,” he managed to choke the word out with the little bit of air still left in his lungs. Kill her, he screamed mentally, just in case Edward was nearby.

And he was. Not two seconds later the sound of Edward’s distraught voice carried across the clearing.

“She’s dead,” Edward spoke monotonously, and Jasper couldn’t figure out why he didn’t sound relieved to be saying such a thing. Instead of relief, waves of sorrow and dread rolled over him as Edward continued uttering the words, over and over again, as if in disbelief. “She’s dead.”

He heard Bella crying—of course Bella was nearby, that was probably how they’d momentarily freed his mind from Skye’s hold—and then suddenly the haze was back, and he was lost to the nightmares once more.

Jasper doesn’t know how long ago that was, but it had been far too long.

Perhaps they’re still searching for a more permanent solution to his predicament. After all, Bella can’t linger by his side and shield him for the rest of their eternity. Perhaps there isn’t a solution. Perhaps this is their solution: to keep him locked away.

In all of his past research into Alice’s records, he’d never once given a thought about how a vampire asylum might operate if such a thing existed. But here he is, locked away with his mind wrapped up tight inside a snare, at the mercy to the lunacy that owns him now.

Time passes, because it always does, but Jasper doesn’t have a clock, so Jasper doesn’t know how long it is before suddenly he’s on his knees, inhaling what feels like his first breath of air in years.

He’s caught himself somehow and spends several seconds staring at the backs of his scarred hands. What he’s seeing is real, and he can just barely hear the sound of very muffled voices from beyond the door of wherever it is he’s being kept.

He’s scared to speak but after a few seconds, when the clarity doesn’t subside, he calls out as loudly as he dares. “Hello?”

His voice isn’t raspy but he knows that it isn’t carrying beyond the door. “Hello?” He calls louder this time, and the quiet sounds coming from somewhere outside of this room silence completely.

The lack of noise nearly drives him back into madness instantly.

“Please, don’t go. I need to know what—where am I? What’s going on?” He’s begging before he can control himself. On his hands and knees he pleads to whoever is listening in on his desperation, feeling like the shell of a man. “Please tell me you can fix this,” he raises his voice even louder as he calls out. “Please, I just want to talk to somebody.” Along with the clarity, he realizes something. “Bella? Are you there?”

The intercom clicks on.

“Hey, Jasper. You gotta stand up and back up or I can’t come in.”

It’s Emmett.

Jasper is so relieved to hear his voice that in a millisecond he’s off of the ground and as far away from the door as he can physically be in the tiny room.

“Now, I don’t want you attacking me or whatever, so you’ve gotta turn around and put your hands on the back of your head. Sorry man.”

Before Emmett’s even apologizing for the request Jasper has already done what has been asked of him. He doesn’t even care—and it makes sense; Jasper isn’t positive that he won’t attack Emmett—he’s so full of hope and relief that he would jump up and down like a fool if it meant he’d be in the company of someone familiar for any measure of time.

Jasper can hear more muffled noises before the intercom clicks on again. There’s a long sigh. “I know,” the first two words aren’t directed at Jasper, but the rest are. “You’re not allowed to turn around while I’m in there, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.” Jasper quickly assures the man. He’s so antsy to be in Emmett’s presence. He has thousands of questions and he’s praying his comrade—the closest thing to a friend he has in this world—will be able to help him understand what’s happening.

The hiss of the door opening causes a feeling of such pure relief that Jasper knows Emmett feels it the instant he’s in the room. But when Jasper doesn’t feel the door close behind Emmett, he knows something is off.

“Emmett?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Hearing his voice in person brings emotion straight to the surface and suddenly Jasper is afraid he might start to cry. As he struggles to reign in his emotions, he laces his fingers together behind his head and presses his forehead against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

“Where is everyone?” Jasper asks. “Bella is here, right? That’s why I can talk to you. I know that much. Is Skye dead? Is that why I can’t break free from whatever is wrong with me?”

“Bella’s around,” Emmett confirms, his words short. “Skye is alive, too.”

“So she can fix this?”

There’s a pause in which Jasper feels his stomach tighten. “We think so.” But Emmett’s words sound strange.

“Alice?” Jasper asks, still afraid that Maria will appear before him and start taunting him again. The fear just drives him to ask again, but louder, and with more urgency. “Is she here? Is she around?”

“Yeah,” Emmett’s voice cracks as he takes a few steps closer.

“I—can I talk to her?” He hates how childish he sounds. At the same time he hardly cares. He needs Alice more than he needs his sanity. Without her, he doesn’t even know what the purpose of fighting his way out of this haze even is.

“Yeah, you can.”

“I—” It only takes Jasper a few seconds to realize he can’t sense Alice in the vicinity; her emotional climate is so distinct that he would be able to sense her anywhere. Perhaps even in a hallucination. But with that thought, he isn’t so sure. “Do you have to call her? Where is she?”

“You can talk to her soon.” Emmett is much closer now, and every one of Jasper’s instincts has begun to alarm. He wants to turn around so badly and face his almost-friend. He wants to see a face that doesn’t belong to a hallucination and he wants more than anything to hold Alice in his arms once more.

“How soon?” Jasper demands, a crazed desperation beginning to take hold as he feels Emmett stop directly behind him. “I have to talk to her. I need to know she’s okay. You were right, Emmett. I love her. I need to tell her; I haven’t even told her yet.”

Emmett has to interrupt his escalating tirade. “You can tell her in a second,” and he hears Emmett shift slightly. With relief Jasper relaxes, anticipating the inevitable phone conversation that will transpire soon. Emmett must be pulling up Alice’s number because there’s a couple of seconds of silence before he speaks again. “You did really good, Jasper. You helped us finish things.”

“The war is over?” Jasper lets more of his weight rest forward and against the wall as Emmett’s words seep into his bones. “Maria is dead?”

“It’s all over buddy. Everything is going to be okay now.”

“And I’ll be able to talk to Alice soon.”

“Yeah,” and as Emmett’s voice cracks again, Jasper feels emotion begin to stir in him, too. “Real, soon, Jasper.”

“Okay,” Jasper whispers, relaxing as he hears Emmett shift his stance once more. “Okay.”

There is no clock in the room. Jasper Whitlock isn’t given a time of death. But time continues to pass nonetheless. The future comes, unseen. Ashes are intermingled with ashes. Love reunited in death and laid to rest together.

There is no clock in the room. But time does not stop.

#b4 any of u say anything: you're welcome that I didn't do this in cotn #jalice #twilight fanfiction #cotn #whumptober2020

49 notes · View notes

chupacabrahhh · 3 years

Text

*~{ Garden of Golden Deer }~* a Fire Emblem: Three Houses Part 1 drabble

okayyy this is kinda brazy, I've never written fanfic for a video game before but man fe3h really got my imagination juices goin, and it's all thanks to my wonderful Golden Deers Q v Q

[ set during the aftermath of ch5 when Miklan is defeated & you rescue the Lance of Ruin. I recruited Sylvain the previous chapter and he replaces Lorenz in my house. The professor tells her students a story her father Jeralt once told her long ago. ]

It was nearing late afternoon, and the end of the Golden Deer’s lesson for the day. Byleth had everyone practicing combat moves they had drafted earlier, the sounds of weapons clashing ringing throughout the training grounds. The professor herself was locked in special dedication with Sylvain, the Sword of the Creator parried against his newly acquired Lance of Ruin. This was the first time he was allowed a feel for the relic in combat, but his clammy grip and furrowed brow gave insight to inner turmoil unlike Byleth had ever seen on her student’s face, especially when wielding a lance with which he was already very proficient.

“Of course he must still feel some type of way over Miklan. I bet he hasn’t laid a hand on the relic that stole his brother’s humanity since the day it was handed over to him. This must be very difficult for him..” she thought empathetically. Next to Claude, Sylvain was her most cocky and skilled student with their weapon of choice. She had never seen him mishandle a lance or without a confident smile on his face, but in front of her now he kept changing grip position and shifting the weight of the Lance of Ruin away from him, his body language screaming that he still wanted nothing to do with the thing. Byleth wished she could ease her student’s troubles, but she didn’t know what to say to comfort him about wielding this Hero’s Relic when she herself still wasn’t all that acquainted with the Sword of the Creator. And her past experience as a mercenary made her nothing if not numb to the taking and end of life, either around her or by her own hand. Suddenly, a memory from years past flickered back into her consciousness from a time when she was very small and had questioned death for the first time, before it became a daily part of her existence.

“Sylvain, that’s enough for today,” she nodded at him with eyes as kind as she could emote, and sheathed her sword. “Everyone, wrap up your sparring and meet me underneath the oak tree outside of the training grounds.”

She turned her back to the sounds of her students exclaiming victories over the others or getting into teasing squabbles. Byleth grabbed her water canteen on the way out and took a few gulps, knowing she would need the hydration for what she planned next. A part of her felt nervous at the coming prospect but an even greater part was assured in the comfort she hoped to bring her Golden Deer. Taking a seat on a large rock underneath the shade of the great tree, Byleth closed her eyes and tried transporting herself years back in her memories of being a small girl in her father’s arms. She could recall the feeling of his fur coat’s neckline as she gripped it, could smell the crisp air of winter’s final gusts as spring made its grand appearance across the land. At this time the mountains were still capped white but the valleys were turning lush and verdant, and buds of the bravest flowers were starting to stand tall, yet withheld the magnificence of their blooms.

Opening her eyes now, she gazed upon seven colorful and expectant faces all looking up at her with mixed expressions, her own little garden she was tasked with tending. Sigh, but the face of their biggest problem plant- er, child, was not among them.

“Claude, get your golden butt over here and sit down with the others. I haven't dismissed you yet.”

“Augh Teach, I was just a few steps away from making it home free, if only you had stayed in your trance a moment longer,” the house leader lamented teasingly but obediently plopped down in the back of the bunch beside Leonie and the Lance of Ruin, which Sylvain had expectantly distanced farthest from him as he sat towards the front of the bunch.

“Professor, are you going to make us meditate because that’s really not my thing and I already promised to meet someone for tea so,” Hilda piped up next and smiled sweetly as she twirled the ends of her pink hair, hoping to be obliged to leave as well.

“No, Hilda, we are not going to meditate and I promise this won’t be long. I’d like to share a quick little story with you all.”

“A story?” Lyisthea spoke next with a twinge of annoyance coloring her tone, but her doe eyes gave away her true excitement.

“Yes, this is a story my father told me back when I was a young child, and it’s stuck with me ever since. As we continue receiving missions that send us onto the battlefield, you’re all going to have to become very acquainted with death, which still might be a difficult or painful concept for you to grasp, understandably.” The mood had shifted from playful to pensive as she brought up death, and the change had caused that prickle of anxiety to return. Lecturing about battle tactics was something she had been forced to get used to by now, impersonal, automatic and well within her wheelhouse, but storytelling with colorful language and emotional sentiment was definitely leagues outside of her comfort zone. She gulped back the fear quickly and cleared her throat to begin, not wanting the silence to stretch any longer than it had.

“This is a story about what becomes of those who die on the battlefield.” Her opening statement grabbed the attention of all her students, with Leonie leaning in the most, obviously setting her expectations high as she hungrily awaited the words of Jeralt. “It was around the end of the Lone moon and I was small enough to be carried by my father but had already seen the handiwork of what he and his fellow mercenaries were hired to do. The image of bodies lying facedown on the land had been imprinted into my mind, and as we walked among the melting snow and coming flowers, I asked him what would become of those who died fighting? Accomplished nobles had grand sendoffs, and villagers were lovingly prepared by the hands of their families, but what was to become of those violent strangers who met their end in a random battlefield? Without missing a beat, he said…”

Byleth took a moment to appreciate the looks on her deer’s faces, with Sylvain’s amber eyes gleaming the brightest of the bunch.

“They become flowers.”

“Flowers!?” Raphael booming incredulous tone contrasted the professor’s soft spokenness.

“Yes, the fighters become flowers. As their blood and life force seeped out of their bodies and into the land, the great exchange was transmuted by the goddess into the most delicate and lovely creation, flowers. What’s more, he explained, was that the soul of each warrior who had taken life as their means of living would spend their next reincarnation as a flower, to learn the lessons of fragility, powerlessness, and surrender. A brief moment in their soul’s journey back to the goddess where they embody what it means to be defenseless. A child could come running along to pick it, a deer grazing and eat it, or at the end of the year it withers to the natural cycle of the seasons, never once harming another soul in its lifetime. He says that is how balance is restored and how all warriors learn the lesson of gentleness.” Byleth concluded her storytelling with a breath and leaned back with a tiny amused expression watching the unexpected existential and poetic tale turn over in their minds.

Leonie was the first to speak up. “Pardon me, Professor, but I have trouble believing Captain Jeralt the Blade Breaker came up with a story so… uh, flowery.”

“Very perceptive, Leonie, you do know him well. You’re right that that tale didn’t originate from his thoughts. My mother told it to him. But I can assure you he does believe in its message.” Leonie blushed and huffed embarrassedly at being praised by her one-sided rival but nodded once in acknowledgement.

“So Teach, do you believe in that myth? That you and he and all of us will reincarnate as flowers in the next life?” Of course she was expecting that from Claude, a languid smirk on his face as he awaited her answer with interest.

Byleth pondered her inner self for just a moment then nodded slightly. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh, I knew that to be true, Professor! I always noticed that wherever you walk, you always take care to never step on flowers. It’s something I always admired about you..” Marianne was softly glowing with a rare joy then remembered she was in the company of all her classmates and immediately wiped the smile from her face and looked downwards.

Ignatz spoke next, the stars of inspiration lighting his whole body language. “Professor, thank you for sharing such a moving tale! I believe it must be true, as it aligns with all that I believe the goddess values as well! A-and if I may, Professor, I believe that in your next life, you will be a grand and magnificent tree, just like the one we’re all gathered under.”

“Ignatz, so bold! I’m impressed with you!” Sylvain smiled teasingly and ruffled his peer’s olive bowlcut, causing the boy to blush an even deeper shade than his proclamation had him before. “And I have to say, I agree with you. The Professor has to be a majestic and wise tree,” he said, turning his smile towards her. Byleth noticed most of the darkness had left his amber eyes and his inner light was shining through once again, so even though the storytime was a bit embarrassing and uncomfortable, seeing him embody a bit of his old self again made it all worth it, as much as the wonder in the rest of her Golden Deer’s faces. Yes, she felt herself smile genuinely, they were indeed a vibrant garden of individuals.

#WHEW UM YEAH #STAN GOLDEN DEER #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe16 #fe3h fanfic #golden deer #fear the deer #moomoo ramblings #sylvain jose gautier #claude von riegan #Byleth eisner #Leonie pinelli #Ignatz victor #raphael kirsten #lysithea von ordelia #jeralt eisner #marianne von edmund #hilda valentine goneril

2 notes · View notes

shadowsfascination · 3 years

Text

Sonamy (YAAU) - coming to terms [Chapter 15-A]

“You don’t have to let this get the best of you, you know?” The words cut the silence like a knife, breaking the vacuum of his daydreams, breaking in abruptly in the tormenting whirlwinds that were his mind lately.

“What are you talking about?” Sonic asked in an emotionless way. “Come on, hedgehog. You’re a mess ever since-“ “Don’t! Don’t say it,” Sonic snarled at the scientist. “So you do acknowledge it?” “I just have to forget about it.” Sonic turned his head around, just to shift his gaze to another point. He was sitting on a grassy slope, resting on his hands. The wide view over the green hills was amazing and the breeze that brought a gentle chill softly stroked the grasslands like a carpet. It was the most peaceful place Sonic knew and the most rest he could give his mind was here. Eggman kept standing behind him, staring into the open himself now too. It was one of the few times that the hedgehog and the scientist could share a serious moment without any rivalry. Even while he had not verbalized his thoughts, Sonic could feel he was denying himself and kind of hated that it took someone else to make him realize that. “Can you do that, though?” “I don’t know”

It had been six weeks and three, no- four, days ago when the team had split up in duo’s to investigate the widely stretched cave tunnels to learn more about their enemy in order to come up with a detailed battle plan against the A.R. Sonic remembered very well how many weeks and days had passed since then because it had awakened something in him that had taken him by surprise. During that particular investigation Shadow had teamed up with Espio, who had enjoyed each other’s quiet working style. Tails and Eggman teamed up, Knuckles with Rouge and Sonic with Amy. The blue and pink duo had been sneaking around in the tunnels, following some A.R. members but stumbled upon a dead end in one of the tunnels. Similar to the dead end in the Cabbureine warehouse, the A.R.-members disappeared, appearing to use Chaos energy to teleport somewhere. The difference here was that this teleportation act seemed to be working for them only and so Sonic and Amy were stuck in the tunnel when all of the sudden tens of armed A.R.-members showed up in front of them, blocking their way out. They engaged in battle with Sonic and Amy, trying to seize Sonic and teleport him with them, but Amy merged into battle and knocked some of them down. Sonic had known Amy’s strength for so long that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she would be able to handle it. That was, before he was introduced to the dark side of the A.R. in person. Sure, he’d seen the destruction they’d created in the cities and all, but their vicious ways of relentlessly hurting the ones in front of them like this… It was new to him and it shocked him to his very core. Amy was brutally shot in her leg and chained to a rock while being held at gunpoint. With her out of the way, they turned to Sonic, aiming a high-energy gun at him, pressuring him to leave her and surrender to them. If he’d resist, they’d finish her off – slowly. Whatever business they had with him, he still didn’t know.

They promised him they would torture her before his very eyes until death would befall her if he was playing games with them. And so, astonished by the sight of his crippled dear friend, screaming, bleeding heavily and crying until she passed out, he gave in. They handcuffed him with special equipment that was supposed to block any Chaos energy in his body, but when he was given a preview of their sickening promise, he snapped. Even without any Chaos emeralds near and the energy is his body being blocked, in a split-second the spines on his head and back curled up and darkened while sharp fingernails and teeth clasped into his enemy. With an uncontrolled, raging roar he smashed big rocks onto the heads of the A.R.-members, scratching their limbs until the blood was seeping out of it, colouring the place violently red. The screams were blocked from his ears while he was raging and attacking everyone one who was trying to destroy the one he loved. After killing all but one, he cornered the remaining enemy and ordered them to report this to their chef, as an example of what would happen if they pulled something like this again in the future. The remaining soldier was in awe of what he had witnessed, but smiled confidently at Sonic. Unnerving and uneasy it had made him feel, doubting whether this had been a set-up all along.

Sonic rushed over to break Amy’s chains, ripped a piece of her clothes to stop her leg from bleeding and let out a powerless whimper. The now unconscious woman in his arms was weak from the harm they had intentionally caused her and he was overcome by so much fear at once that it just hurt. His chest cramped and he started to feel this tingling sensation in his fingers. He was going to lose her because he wasn’t strong enough, hadn’t been fast enough. Before realizing it, he was crying like a baby, uncontrollably and loud. He clamped his body against hers roughly, burying her face in his chest, wetting everything with his sobbing. When the sparkly vision between his lashes focussed on the device on his wrist, he pulled back, wiped his tears away and closed his eyes. Tails’ device was able to transfer Chaos energy to heal her, something he’d never done before. Sonic held Amy’s hand, inhaled deeply and concentrated. A strong power and comforting warmth rushed through him. His surrounding slowly faded as he let the light of the Chaos take him wherever was needed, lifting them off the ground into and endless ocean of lights. The lights drew closer to them one by one, each and every one carrying a memory of him and Amy. Some of which he had forgotten they took place. Overtaken by this transcendent experience, his mind became peaceful again and his body relaxed. His heart overflowed with warmth and a confidence so strong: he loved her deeply. And with that confession the peace was gone again, and replaced by a fear that she had been able to feel what he felt, but she wasn’t awake yet. After that, Shadow had stormed in, alarmed by the many unknown markers that had showed up in the map where Sonic and Amy were. He had had taken her from him and took her home in his arms while Amy looked back at Sonic over her shoulder and he stared into the blooded cave, zoned out about all of it.

And now everything had changed. Ever since this whole fiasco he had felt it so strong and now it was undeniable: he had romantic feelings for someone! And not just someone, Amy for Chaos’ sake! Amy, who had been crazy about him for years when they were teens. Amy who has been dating Shadow for almost a year now. Amy, his friend. He never pictured his life without Amy, but it now dawned to him that there was this urge to have her with him in a whole other way and he did not know how to act around anyone at the moment. He had just forgotten how he would normally act and therefore avoided most of his friends. Shame fell on him that he was in love with his friend, the girlfriend of his other friend and he was ashamed of the massacre he made in the cave. It left him running in circles through the Green Hills in attempt to clear his mind, but his mind didn’t clear. The fog didn’t lift and so he stared into the wind on this cliff, talking to Eggman. “It might go away over time.” Sonic sighed. “Can you wait that long?” “What’s the alternative?” “I happened to find this document while we were exploring. I didn’t show it to Tails.” If he didn’t show it to Tails it was sure to be something suspicious. He handed Sonic an old, brown piece of paper that was folded twice and smelled like the dirt of the cave. Sonic unfolded and read it, slowly raising one of his brows in disbelief. “Do you really believe this crap? That the red emerald can take away my feelings for her? Why would it work like that?” “Not just take away, it would store them inside the gem, forever. You of all people shouldn’t be the one to whom I’d have to explain this to.” He already knew that the emerald did not only transfer energy, but also could connect with one’s feelings. He’d seen it happen, like when Eggman used the hatred of the Echidna tribe to destroy Station Square with Chaos. In fact, he had experienced it many times himself when he was transformed into his super- or dark form, but this was different and sounded like an old urban legend. A fairy tale. Or maybe, part of him didn’t want to say goodbye to these feelings. Maybe part of him was curious what would happen if Amy knew about his feelings. If it would change anything. If she still loved him. If she would choose him over Shadow. His cheeks and ears coloured slightly pink when picturing him holding her in his arms again, stroking her rosy quills and even kissing her. The second his hopes were rising, the guilt flushed it away like a stormy wave. He shook the thoughts off and rose up to face Eggman, who was holding out the emerald for him. Sonic gave him an annoyed look. “Don’t you want to get rid of these feelings? She is with Shadow now and hasn’t been in love with you for years. You’ve had your chance, hedgehog.” The words were harsh and stung a little, but they were true and he knew it. She would never be his. “And besides that: you’re a complete mess. We’re at war and you’re useless like this.” “Fine, but you can’t tell anyone about this!” Sonic hissed at Eggman and grabbed the emerald.

#YAAU #Young adults alternate universe #Shadowsfascination #sonic fanfic #sonamy #Shadamy #amy rose #Amy Rose the Hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sidestory

10 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #226: AN EYE FOR AN EYE

December, 1982

“Beware the -- EVIL EYE!”

Okay but which one though?

Because I’m pretty sure that Black Knight is carrying the Evil Eye but Balor probably has a pretty evil eye. Plus, that title.

I like the black/white tv static like background for this. I dunno why but it feels very fitting for whats going on.

That has been ART COMMENTARY with me.

Last time on Avengers, the Avengers were minding their own business when Dr. Druid burst into their meeting, hypnotized them, and kidnapped the team minus Iron Man by shooting smoke out of his chest eye.

The Avengers ended up in Crusade Times in Avalon where Black Knight and Amergin needed help fighting the Fomor of Irish mythology who were awfully mad that Amergin did a colonialism to them.

The team managed to kick some Fomor ass for the most part after they applied the barest amount of strategy (although the Fomor Dres escaped through Amergin’s eyes) but then biggest, buffest Fomor Balor was freed and he wiped out She-Hulk and Thor in a blink. Also, Dres escaped to the present day and he’s going to kill Dr. Druid! -crickets- Which will strand the Avengers in the past times forever!! -crowd gasp-

Are Thor and She-Hulk totally dead forever? Can anyone stop Dres from conquering the future aside from the one thousand other superheroes?

No and yes.

This time:

... That’s an unbearably smug Hawkeye on that pillar of team roster.

Dres gloats to a trancing Dr. Druid because villains love to hear themselves talk. And also love a captive audience. And aren’t too fussed about active listening.

Dres: “You were a fool, Doctor Druid! You sought to ensure the safety of this world -- but instead you have sealed your own destruction! Who can help you now? The Avengers? They battle my demonic brethren in legendary Avalon, eight centuries gone! The golden one -- in the grip of the hypnotic trance you placed him into? You yourself, who are in a trance that allows you to sustain a mystical path to the past -- through which I came to this time! Why waste breath? He is insensate, and unaware of the danger that overwhelms him! By his death, I will trap the Avengers forever in the past -- and unleash my power on this unsuspecting world!”

I like how he becomes self-aware of how pointless it is to do a villain rant to a guy who can’t hear you and then just keeps going anyway.

Anyway, here’s why you don’t do that, if you’re a villain.

(This is a free tip to any aspiring villains out there)

Thor and She-Hulk just pop into existence randomly just as Bres is finally going to actually do something.

She-Hulk mentions that they were just fighting a one-eyed giant which lets Bres put together that they were fighting Balor and why they’re here now.

Bres: “A giant? My cousin Balor, no doubt, whose glance disrupts all spells -- including that which held you in Avalon!”

And then instead of just killing Dr. Druid when he has the chance (Thor and She-Hulk aren’t even looking at him when they appear), Dres runs over and clocks Thor right in his face.

(Another free tip for aspiring villains here: do not clock Thor in the face)

Sooooooo, I’m of two minds here.

I expected Iron Man being left behind in a hypnotized trance was for this. That he’d come to somehow and stop Dres.

On the other hand, Thor and She-Hulk appearing out of nowhere to fight this guy because Balor inadvertently screwed over his cousin’s plans is pretty hilarious.

Also, pretty lucky that the time-travel spell was disrupted first, snapping Thor back to the future. If Thor had been fighting Balor on his own time, who knows what his malefic stare would have done to the enchantments on Mjolnir.

That’s a fun plot bunny.

Anyway, you wouldn’t think that Bres could stand for long against both Thor and She-Hulk. Thor was kicking Elathan’s ass and Elathan was the boss Fomor.

But Bres blasts She-Hulk away and then uses magic to tear Mjolnir from Thor’s grasp. Without Mjolnir, Bres and Thor are on more equal footing. Also that whole thing where Thor is going to turn into a powerless mortal in sixty seconds, which will put them on very much unequal footing.

She-Hulk decides she’s useless in a god fight, based on how much a glancing blast hurt. So she ducks behind Iron Man and uses her unconscious teammate as cover.

Pretty cold, She-Hulk!

But then she notices that Bres’ magic is splashing off Iron Man like magic water off an iron duck.

So she has a really good idea.

She picks up the unconscious Iron Man and throws him at Bres.

I’ve changed my mind. I’m glad that things shook out exactly this way.

So Iron Man hits Bres in the ass like a missile at about the same time Thor punches him in the shoulder.

Under this synchronized and silly assault, Bres folds like a sack of potatoes, with Iron Man slumped on top of him.

With Bres out cold, his spell keeping Mjolnir away fades, letting Thor retrieve his favorite hammer.

Looking ahead, Iron Man doesn’t show up for the rest of the issue and neither does Bres so I assume they just leave Iron Man laying on top of Bres to keep him out of trouble for the rest of the story.

Iron Man is going to have a bunch of questions when he wakes up.

Despite taking care of Bres, Thor realizes that they can’t go back in time to help the other Avengers because Dr. Druid remains entranced. So they’ve got to sit on their thumbs and hope that the Avengers do okay without their two strongest members.

Well they’re doing.

Not quite okay but not dying either. That’s pretty good against Balor.

Hawkeye has the bright idea to shoot Balor in the one eye with a smoke arrow so he’ll stop shooting death beams at them.

I don’t mean for that to sound sarcastic, it really is a bright idea.

Meanwhile, in the halls of Avalon (considerably less cool than the ones of Justice), Black Knight is ditching the plan to go help the Avengers and Amergin is unhappy.

But Black Knight is like nuts to your happiness, it was Black Knight’s idea to bring in the Avengers so he’s not going to watch them fight alone just because Amergin says so!

He has a flying horse! He can do what he waaaaaaaaaaaants!

And he takes off on the flying horse, which is something he has.

Amergin: “Your chivalry will be the death of us all!”

Hey, that’s no way to talk about a man with a sweet flying horse.

Black Knight and his sweet flying horse arrive in time to see Balor randomly blasting the ground and complaining because the Avengers are no fun.

Balor: “Puny flesh-things annoy Balor! Balor lives for fighting! If you will not fight -- go away!”

Balor is a guy of diminishing returns. He’ll never be cooler than that moment right when he wiped She-Hulk and Thor from existence while barely noticing he did it.

The fact that we’ve seen them pop up unharmed doesn’t help.

Black Knight attacks Balor, assuming he killed the Avengers and he wants to avenge the Avengers because if the Avengers need avenging someone needs to avenge the Avengers.

And Black Knight gets almost instantly slapped off his sweet flying horse because its Black Knight.

The Avengers were fine. They dove into the mud to hide from Balor but now they have to launch into Emergency Rescue Procedure which is something they’ve totally practiced! And its totally a procedure they specifically have for situations where they only have Wasp, Hawkeye, and Captain America.

Because its PRETTY SPECIFIC.

Hawkeye shoots two parachute arrows (Something that he just has, why question it? Its like Batman’s utility belt in his quiver) to slow Black Knight’s fall.

Wasp buzzes around Balor to distract him because being small and vaguely distracting is something she’s practiced around 200 issues for.

And Cap jumps up and catches Black Knight to further slow his fall.

They specifically have this specific emergency rescue procedure in case a man dressed as a medieval knight is falling off a flying horse due to a giant cyclops. For this specific situation.

Anyway, the sweet flying horse is doing fine too. Nobody needed to catch Valinor. He took care of himself.

On Black Knight’s suggestion the Avengers do a strategic retreat, all piling on Valinor and flying away as Balor shakes his fist and wonders who he’ll fight now.

Valinor doesn’t look thrilled at carrying three grown men, to be honest.

He deserves to be a Pet Avenger for his hard work but alas. No respect for Valinor.

Elathan and the rest of the Fomor creep out of wherever they were hiding and Elathan presents Balor with an offer.

Elathan: “Join with us, monster, and you’ll have fights for the picking, as many as you want!”

He tells Balor that there’s a whole new world beyond Avalon that they can raze and that Balor can destroy to his heart’s content.

Mmmmmmmm. I don’t like this. If Elathan can just talk Balor into joining the Fomor then all the build-up about how Balor was too dangerous to friend as well as foe kind of falls flat.

I’d really have preferred something where Balor becomes a third side unto himself plus maybe Cethlann as the Fomor and the Avengers have to sort of work around him.

But we get what we get.

Balor’s much smaller wife Cethlann tries to tell Balor to not trust Elathan but Dulb and Indech threaten to stab her much if she doesn’t shut up.

Poor Cethlann. Sure she’s evil but also she has no friends on team evil and her own husband is barely aware of her.

And of course Elathan is planning to betray both Balor and Cethlann after they win because villains be like that.

This is a whole lot of Fomor interpersonal drama info we’re getting in these two issues.

Meanwhile, within Avalon, Hawkeye is throwing a mini-tantrum about how bad things went.

Hawkeye: “Face it, Avengers! We blew it! Those Fomor clowns have us outnumbered and outpowered!”

Captain America: “We’re not finished yet, Clint -- and I’ve seen more than one apparent loser win the war!”

Geez, Clint. Settle down.

Amergin agrees. Particularly because the Avengers have played their unknowing part in his secret master plan perfectly. I mean, except for the part where Thor and She-Hulk died*.

(*They’re just fine, true believers)

But the plan always was for the Avengers to force the Fomor to release Balor because Amergin’s Evil Eye looking weapon needed a power source to power it and Balor is just the one.

No clue how the Avengers would react to being manipulated like this because the Fomor start attacking again and Amergin plops to the floor and then teleports away to confront them.

Outside the gates of Avalon, Balor’s DEATH BEAMS are making short work of Avalon’s defenses.

Then Amergin shows up standing on top of the walls, waving the Evil Eye, and telling the Fomor to get off his lawn. Well, basically.

Amergin: “Do not seek to taunt me, Elathan! Once I drove you and all your allies before me, and one could resist my might! Do you wish to see that day again?”

Elathan is like ‘yeah well you’re old’ and has Balor strike him down with an EYE BEAM.

Elathan: “Farewell, old enemy! None will mourn your passing!”

Ice cold, Elathan.

But, nah, Amergin isn’t dead so easily. In fact, This Is All According To Plan.

He climbs out of some rubble holding an Evil Eye which now glows with an awesome power.

And when Balor tries to EYE BEAM him again, Amergin absorbs Balor’s power into the Evil Eye.

Amergin: “You have always placed too much stock in your supposed power, Fomor! I too have loved power too much -- but I am wise enough to turn an enemy’s strength against him!”

Balor finally seems aware of Cethlann, asking her to make the pain stop. Cethlann, being Cethlann and not here to be helpful, points at whats happening and starts talking about how screwed they all are.

Elathan tries to jump the distracted Amergin but he is a noun and therefore when he opposes Captain America’s mighty shield, he must yield.

Even if he didn’t know that he was opposing Captain America’s mighty shield. Thems the rules.

Elathan decides ‘hey fuck this human a little bit’ and uses magic to make the Earth start growing up around Cap. As he’s swallowed up, he throws his shield at nothing.

The Avengers end up squaring up against the Fomor. And to Hawkeye’s irritation, he ends up facing Dulb again.

Wasp tries to block the tathlum balls but. Yeah. They’re still magic and dodge around her just to mess with Hawkeye.

Meanwhile, Black Knight realizes how stupid this entire plan was.

Black Knight: “This isn’t working out -- I was stupid to get the Avengers mixed up in this! What happened to Hercules, Iron Man, the Vision, the Scarlet Witch... all the people who were Avengers when I was a member? That’s who I wanted!”

Huh! That’s a good point. Black Knight would have no idea who the current Avengers would be and that line-up would have been a lot stronger for this situation.

(Of course, Iron Man is on the team. He just can’t join because magic reasons)

Black Knight goes to save Captain America but when Captain America throws his mighty shield, all who oppose his shield must yield. Including the Earth.

When he threw his shield at nothing he was really planning a ricochet to free himself.

Good work, Cap.

Meanwhile elsewhere on the battlefield, Amergin is still absorbing Balor. And he’s so totally focused on draining every drop of Balor’s power that he has no defenses against Elathan zaming him in the back from behind. Which is exactly what happens.

Meanwhile meanwhile, Wasp comes up with a plan to turn the tide of the fight. And as a side-benefit, make Hawkeye’s day a little less annoying.

She dzats Dulb in the face to get him pissed at her and throw his tathlum balls.

AND THEN SHE FLIES INTO TETHRA’S MOUTH

Thank god this isn’t the ultimate universe.

Anyway, this makes the tathlum balls hit Tethra right in the face and knock him on his ass.

So, on the one hand. Very effective plan and good thinking, Jan.

On the other hand, that’s gross. That’s gross what you just did.

Black Knight notices Elathan attacking Amergin. Cap tells him to go help the wizard while Cap holds off the other Fomor.

And then Cap immediately runs away.

Because he needs to think of a plan. Unluckily, one presents itself.

Cethlann is lurking around the wall of Avalon and when Cap runs by she grabs his foot.

Cethlann: “Not so fast, human! Cethlann wants to play with you!”

Cap thinks off his foot and flipkicks her into gooey, gooey Indech, gumming both Fomor up. Neither of them are thrilled by this.

Also, Cap, don’t be rude.

Over at Amergin, Elathan decides it will be both hilarious and ironic to leech Amergin’s life, as the wizard was draining Balor.

Black Knight jumps in to save Amergin, his cursed sword reflecting Elathan’s magic. Which is a handy feature. I had thought the Ebony Sword’s curse mostly thirsted for blood and made Black Knight brood. Anti-magic is a significantly nicer feature.

Elathan has a counter-plan though! Black Knight’s arms are going to get tired eventually and when they do, Elathan is gonna git him!

But Amergin realizes that he’s lost the Eye and that Balor has found the Eye. And Balor wants his power back and obviously thinks that the Evil Eye works like one of those Capri Sun drink pouches and just tries to squeeze the power out. Into his mouth.

Even though Amergin tells him not to do this thing!

Anyway, yeah. It explodes.

That’s not how Evil Eyes work and it explodes.

Balor is disintegrated by this (and oof Cethlann in the background looking distraught at her husband’s death).

The Fomor take off for the portal to Crusade Era Earth, telling the Avengers that they stand no chance with Amergin dead, because he’s probably totally dead, forever.

Black Knight finds Amergin (who is dying and not quite dead) while Wasp tells the Avengers to Assemble. To the portal to stop the Fomor.

Hawkeye thinks its a little cold to just leave Amergin to die but Cap points out that they can’t really do anything for him that Black Knight couldn’t.

Although, I’d argue that with Black Knight’s anti-magic cursed sword, he should head to stop the Fomor and someone, probably Hawkeye, should stay behind to do last aid. But it’d be a dick move to suggest that so lets let it be.

Black Knight digs Amergin out of the rubble and the dying druid wizard tells him that he won’t last the hour but that there’s still hope.

As catastrophically dumb it was that Balor tried to squeeze the Balor power out of the Balor sucking device, it did the trick. Balor has been completely converted into energy and is stored in the Eye.

Except its too much power and now whoever uses the Evil Eye will be destroyed.

Black Knight: “I’m just borrowing this body, Amergin -- my real body is stone rubble eight centuries away! Tell me what to do -- I’ll do it!”

.... I’d argue that the fact that you’re not in your own body means you shouldn’t be so quick to sacrifice it! What happened to the original occupant??

Amergin: “Yes, my son. You... must. Though it means your death. Find the Eye! This broken body has one last spell left in it! You will have your sword and horse in the next life, brave knight. Where all things are restored!”

Well, that’s a nice consolation to a heroic sacrifice. Your extremely cursed sword and sweet flying horse are going to heaven with you. Or maybe hell. You did do a Crusade, for fun.

Meanwhile, the three remaining Avengers show up to thwart the Fomor from exiting Avalon.

Ethalan: “Again? You are tenacious fleas!”

Hey, didn’t we just have a whole recruitment story because of the Avengers being shorthanded? Now they’re at three. Stupid magic, excluding Iron Man from the fun.

Hawkeye starts the futile hold the line strong, making me slightly sorry about making fun of him a little earlier.

He fires a sonic arrow because sure the Fomor are beefy sacks of magic beef but high pitched noises still hurt and distract. Maybe more, what with their elf-like ears.

Hawkeye: “If you liked that one, you’ll get a bang out of my patented exploding arrow!” -Elathan explodes the ground at his feet- “Or maybe not.”

Hah.

But maybe next time, shoot first and gloat later.

So Hawkeye is knocked out, leaving just Captain America and Wasp.

Wasp: “This isn’t working out so well, Cap! What do we do now?”

Captain America: “The only thing we can do -- keep going until we can’t go any further!”

Yeah, he can do this all day.

Not very effectively. But at least all day. He tries to wade through Thethra and Indech but he gets caught by gooey gooey Indech. And also Dulb helps.

Elathan is about to step through the portal to Earth when he spots someone on the other side who flings him away from the portal.

THE BLACK KNIGHT!

Amergin used his last bit of life to cast a spell to plop Black Knight over to the other side of the portal so he could stop the Fomor.

The Fomor say that Black Knight won’t strike with the Evil Eye if the Avengers are in the thick of it but Cap tells Black Knight to just go ahead and do it anyway, because that’s what Cap be like.

Black Knight: “I was ready to seal off the gateway at cost of my own life -- but not that of the Avengers! I can’t handle the power of the Eye... I’ll destroy us all! I - I’m sorry... my friends... I’m sorry -- but I don’t even have a choice!”

And then he explodes. Because he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

When the explosion fades, there is but a tranquil field, some Balor residue. And a skeleton where the Black Knight had been.

Welp.

Oh, and the Avengers are fine.

Captain America, Wasp, and Hawkeye pop back to Avengers Mansion. With the spell ended, they rubber-banded back to the future.

So they also get to see that She-Hulk and Thor are fine! They didn’t really have time to mourn them in the heat of the action so now they don’t have to. The superhero life. Always hoping your friends will turn out to be actually alive before you have to grapple with mortality.

Dr. Druid wakes up to Explain Everything now that everything is over with.

Hawkeye mentions hey maybe ask before you fling someone into the past to save the world maybe, huh?!

Dr. Druid: “In other circumstances, I would have asked -- yet your intervention allowed the Black Knight to triumph!”

That doesn’t sound like an apology to me.

Hawkeye asks what happened to Black Knight so Dr. Druid opens up a scry to reveal the skeletonized Black Knight.

Geez.

But before the Avengers can really grapple with mortality, the scry shifts by itself to Garrett Castle and the pile of rubble that is all that was left of the Black Knight statue.

The rubble moves by itself and reassembles into a Black Knight shape AND THEN unstones.

Black Knight: “What?! I - I’m home! That’s what Amergin meant by the next life! His... final... gift!”

Hey, not bad!

Sure, I’d have liked Black Knight do more grappling with him being stranded in the past without a future body to return to but that exceedingly long plot point of Black Knight being turned to stone finally has a happy ending!

Doubly so because Black Knight’s sweet flying horse is with him, as promised.

Hawkeye wants to contact Black Knight to celebrate but Dr. Druid suggests that they give him some space.

Dr. Druid: “The Black Knight has just come back from death. He thinks he has gone against principles and brutally murdered his friends to achieve his ends. Let him know you are alive, but give him time to adjust. When he is ready, he will come to you.”

That’s.... good advice actually.

You don’t just let him think you’re all dead because its easier than picking up the phone (X-MEN) but you let him cope at his own pace.

Maybe Dr. Druid isn’t such the Worst Avenger after all.

And then he leaves because he’s not much for mingling, telling the Avengers “until we meet again, my friends” which I feel is jumping the gun a little bit.

You just met these people and spent maybe two minutes total with them.

So Hawkeye isn’t just being sour when he says “Don’t call us, Curly -- we’ll call you.”

Just slightly sour.

So!

Two-parter fill-in between runs focused on the Black Knight!

It was okay.

Like I’ve said, I like Black Knight out of proportion of actually reading anything with him in it. I think I just like him in concept. High-tech knight cosplayer who falls assbackwards into a cursed magical family heritage when he just wants to be a scientist knight.

I feel like the two-parter doesn’t actually have enough of Black Knight in action? He sort of stays out of things for most of the first issue and doesn’t have a lot of action beats in the second? He gets a heroic sacrifice that also ties off his plot cul-de-sac of being in the past so there can be new Black Knight content in the future, if anyone cares to use him. So that’s good. I just wanted more Black Knight content.

Fomor are okay as antagonists. I feel like we get pretty deep into their interpersonal dynamics despite them not being in a lot of stuff outside of this two-parter. I appreciate that they had individual powers and looks so that they’re more memorable than the Zodiac at least who only have one of those sometimes.

Also its nice? To get Irish mythology in something? Its probably less accurate even than Marvel’s takes on Greek/Roman and Norse mythology but I learned a thing. Mostly about tathlum balls.

Speaking of not being in a lot of stuff, what about Bres? He gets knocked out with an Iron Man to the butt and then just disappears to the off-panel.

Well, the Avengers dumped him on Project PEGASUS which used a machine to keep him depowered. A power failure let him make an escape attempt and he tried to get Super-Skrull disguised as a child to kill Iron Fist but couldn’t even manage that and got locked back up. That was in 1985 so who knows what happened to him after that, what with all the nonsense that happened to Project PEGASUS over the years.

I don’t knows and neither does marvel wiki.

Next time on Essential Avengers, not Avengers. There’s a Spider-Man I need to do to make things make sense.

Follow @essential-avengers? Maybe? Like or reblog? Possibly? Enjoy the posts either way?

#Avengers #Fomor #of dubious pronunciation #the Wasp #Captain America #Hawkeye #Thor #She Hulk #Dr Druid #Amergin #Black Knight #Wasp does a really good job #a lot of people explode in this one #bres needs less iron in his diet #Iron Man #is technically in this issue #physically #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

6 notes · View notes

shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 4 years

Text

Panoramic

Raven Roth ambled along the crowded market of Fez, Morocco. It seemed like she had paused to stop at almost every shop and stall in the souk. But, if she hadn’t, she definitely wanted to - see everything. Since she had arrived here, she had been completely enchanted with the whole city. She couldn’t begin to describe it, and she was seeing it before her. It was almost inconceivable just how picturesque of a place it was. Everywhere she looked she saw beauty and vibrant colors. And it was all around her. It was in the people, the scenery, the food. The lights. The smells. The architecture. The cobblestone streets.

She felt her heart skip a little faster with each and every step she took. There was just… something in the air. She could feel it the second she stepped off the plane. This trip had been such a wonderful idea.

Oh goodness. Raven gazed up at the glowing lights that had been strung up to sway from a wire above - that elegant lantern would be ideal for her apartment. She could just see it there now.

Wow.

Something else was catching her eye.

Now she had to stop and take a closer look. Because.

There was…

Tea.

She gazed in wonder at the baskets. Closing in on chamomile flowers. Yes, flowers. Not crushed. Not powdered. Full leaves, whole herbs, and entire flowers. For every tea imaginable. And it would go great with those stunningly ornate tea cups she had spotted earlier…

Turning, she could see the stall with the positively delectable pastries and desserts calling. Figuratively and literally.

Raven inhaled the rich scents wafting around her deeply.

“Chebakia! Briouat! Golba!”

“Chebakia! Golba!”

“Sweets, Ms.?”

“No, thank you - shukran.”

Truthfully?

The pale traveling girl couldn't wait to eat when she was done shopping. She was eager to try one of the desserts that was made with rosewater in particular. With a cup of tea, naturally. Everything smelled scrumptious. Raven felt almost like a little girl with the blatant amount of joy she was finding in everything. But, this city was really taking her breath away. Besides, she really didn’t have to answer to anyone. She was travelling alone, so she was free to take her time and explore.

Raven initially had decided on a whole itinerary that she thoroughly planned out. She wanted to go see the University of al-Qarawiyyin. The world’s oldest learning institution - she had to. But when she heard about the souk in this part of the medina, she decided to stop in for a minute. But it was so lovely. The pale girl thought she might just stay here in the souk all day after all and go restart her schedule tomorrow.

The pale girl reached out and touched a sheer indigo scarf. “Pretty.” She smiled to herself.

“May I?” She asked the owner of the stall. Gesturing if she could try it on. The woman nodded. She pulled it from the pile and wrapped it around her neck. She looked in an ogee mirror in the corner on the ground. Feeling carried away by it all, she tossed it over her shoulder to admire herself. The dark-haired girl almost had to stifle a chuckle at her own antics.

Because, Raven didn't get carried away.

It was absurd, this was not something she normally did. But this place… The scarf was so beautiful. The blue and gold had caught the light in the most exquisite manner she had ever seen. She turned again, and almost knocked into a tall hooded man to her right.

“Aläafw.” She said politely, excusing herself.

She held a hand out in front of her. Giving him an apologetic glance. A sort of bow-like nod. Before she looked away, drawing up her own hood. She pulled off the garment, folding it neatly. The way it sparkled and the way it made her feel - she had to get it. It would always remind her of this moment. This treasure would be the first thing she got herself during her stay. She fished around for her wallet as she went up to pay.

“How much is this?” The older woman waved her away. Raven wanted to say she did, but she didn’t entirely understand what was happening.

“Not this one?” The woman now shook her head at the pale girl before her. Raven had been fully prepared to haggle. It appeared, she would not get her chance - at least not yet. Her ability to communicate effectively was limited, but she had managed to get around so far in a mixture of Arabic, a little French and broken English.

Maybe she should have more thoroughly immersed herself in the language before her trip.

She sighed.

“Already paid.” Was the blunt reply in English she received.

What?

“Excuse me?” Raven asked, forgetting her Arabic completely.

“Already paid. Over there.” The lady pointed to something behind her. Raven turned.

That man in the cowl from before.

Unbelievable.

“Shukran.” She said to thank the vendor.

Raven marched over. Wrapping her ankle length hooded cardigan tighter around herself. “Aläafw,” she said to him again. “I could have paid myself.” His eyes were shrouded in shadow as he stared at her from under his hood. But he didn’t speak. It was a minute or two before he exhaled and nodded. “You understand, that I can’t accept this…?” He very well might not have. He still stood there and said nothing. “I’m sorry,” Raven tried.

She handed it to him. He shook his head as if he didn’t understand. And he really must not have, because he tried to hand it back to her. The pale woman shook her head, held out a hand and apologized once more. Then, Raven quickly walked away. She didn’t want to make a scene because she couldn’t accept his gift. It was nice, though a little forward - but she couldn’t. She was a woman traveling alone. Raven had to keep her wits about her, just as she usually did when she was home. She couldn’t suddenly go around accepting gifts from strange men.

One thing was clear…

It was time to go.

Raven found herself looking all about, as she tried to retrace her steps. She had found her way in and around with ease before. Traipsing along without a care. But now she wanted nothing more than to leave. How did she get out of this maze-like market? She felt a little claustrophobic all of a sudden. Uneasy. She shouldn’t have stayed there for such a long time. Raven should have stuck to her original plan. She glanced around herself at all the people.

What had seemed like an incredible and inviting place mere moments ago had morphed into one that was loud and a little chaotic. And then, on top of all that. The encounter with that stranger had left her feeling even more self-conscious. With her hair and her eyes, she was a rather easy target to spot. A tourist. A potential mark. She didn’t have a camera hanging around her neck, like - she looked around for the overt display of tourism - that guy over there with the baseball cap, but it was very obvious that she was a foreigner. It was probably why that stranger had approached her.

Raven was feeling out of sorts. It had happened a couple of times on this trip, but she told herself she would get over it. Wasn’t it on everyone’s bucket list to take a trip alone like this? It was supposed to be an enriching experience. And hadn’t it been so far? Strange men aside…

There was nothing truly wrong, but…

She tugged her hood further over her face. Wrapping the cardigan around herself as she walked along.

It wasn’t as if she had a significant other to go with her on this trip. There was no one waiting for her back at home. She had friends, but.

No boyfriend. No girlfriend. No fiancée…

When she was stateside, occasionally she got a little lonely. A tiny bit of loneliness was healthy. Raven liked her life, but sometimes… She gazed at the rich colors around her. The luxury leather bags. The elegant carpets. The rows of fabric lining the stalls and billowing in the breeze. It was like it had just occurred to her… There was such romance and beauty all around her. And no one to share it with.

Great.

And now, she was lonely here. Why did she think that going across the ocean to a place she knew no one, would somehow… Make her feel any other way? Now Raven wasn’t just alone, she was alone in a country with languages she had a limited knowledge of.

What was she doing even here?

And then, almost as if her silent plea into the universe had summoned something.

Or someone.

She felt the breath of a deep whisper in her ear, “Jamila…” Then a rustle of fabric. She looked down. The sheer scarf she had tried to buy was draped around her neck. Her lips parted in astonishment. The scarf. The beautiful indigo scarf. It was him. He followed her?

She turned to face a pair of striking, smoldering jade eyes, tousled dark hair, and gorgeous rich skin. In other words, it was everything she suddenly knew she needed - in the form of this tall, dark stranger. He was the man from before?

What… in heaven?

She stumbled, nearly knocked over by a bicyclist. And then, in her haste, almost tripping over a child running by. That and her weakened knees made for a poor combination. He took her by the arms to hold her up. Now smiling down at her, as if he had just haggled his way into scooping up a true gem. And not an uncharacteristically clumsy and frazzled girl. He slowly fingered a lock of dark hair that had escaped her braid. He tucked it behind her ear and replaced her hood. In all that, it had drifted down off her head.

That hardly mattered. His hands… She had never felt a touch like this. They presented promises of palaple pleasure. They were like satisfaction and sinfulness simultaneously. Somehow softness, roughness, and intense warmth all rolled together.

“Tueal maei rja'a” he murmured to her. The deep blue-violet eyes widened.

That voice.

That irresistible voice.

She was hypnotized.

Raven was powerless to do anything, but exactly what he said. And right now, he was requesting her to follow him. He held out a hand to her. She peered down at it, already knowing she wanted to go wherever he wanted to go. His calloused hand enveloping her own completely. Pulling her along gently, to lead her somewhere.

Anywhere.

They walked together in silence, with the noises around them slowly winding down to a muted backdrop. They were no longer out of the middle of the market. He had led her to a spot that was much more secluded. And more scenic. It was a lovely hideaway. He stood with her under an arch in a stone wall. One in a line of three. They were gorgeously carved with trefoil details. But she barely noticed anything other than what was standing underneath them. He was a stunning vision all by himself. Raven stared at the stranger in black for several moments, unable to say anything.

The man understood. He closed his eyes with a small smile.

His tan hand reached out for her hand and he pressed it to his broad chest. “Ismii… Damian.” He said in his deep, accented voice.

Raven bit her lip. Completely taken aback. By his boldness. By her fingers caress of the outline of his skin. She had never had an introduction like this before, and certainly not with anyone like him. She blushed, but followed his lead.

And her quivering palm grasped his own to shake it. Curious forest spheres observed her, silently encouraging her. She paused before she gave in completely. And placed his large hand right above her chest. “Raven… Ismii… Raven.”

“Rrrr-aven…”

A throaty, trill of tongue. A deep, full-bodied rendition of her name. That rendered both her mind and body, utterly useless. Her petite form trembled. An already rapid heartbeat was threatening to burst right out of her chest as it echoed in her eardrums.

She had never known her name could sound…

Like that.

“Naäam…” she agreed, in a daze.

And then, he repeated it.

“Rrraven?”

Oh…

His hand.

She forgot about his hand. That he could feel… her heart. Damian reached up and clutched her face tenderly. Searching. Eyeing her closely - clearly concerned that if her heart was beating so unnaturally fast, she wasn’t alright.

Funny, she had never felt more alive. Being in this city.

And now being in this city with him.

She was far better than she had been in a long time.

“I’m okay.” she murmured.

Although, him being that close to her, smelling the way he did and looking the way he did. She wouldn’t be for long.

He seemed to accept this and nodded slowly. And then, the deeply tanned man noticed their proximity as well. She was sure her entire body was bright scarlet. He smiled, brushing her cheek with a rough thumb. Her lips trembled and her heart still had not ceased the erratic beating.

She realized as she said this, that it was to herself, more than anything. “I’m… okay…”

Still gazing at him as if she couldn’t believe it. With her huge eyes, half-lidded.

A treasure she hadn’t expected to find. One she could never buy.

A miraculous moment in the market.

With a spell-binding stranger.

#damirae #demonbirds #ravenroth #damianwayne #damian #travel #romance #writing #me #oneshot #shortstory #gotcarriedaway #teentitans #titans #dc #dccomics #ravendc #robrae #ravenrobin #love #raven

92 notes · View notes

tintentrinkerin · 3 years

Text

Cathartic Arrest

Part one of ‘the fortress that is your soul’

Rating: Mature Pairing: Sam/Dean [neither romantic nor sexual; yet] Tags: Jealousy, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Codependent Winchesters, Punishment, Caning Summary: Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer's abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell. And he's JEALOUS. Word count: 1.7k

Read under the cut or on AO3

“I can stop, aye?” she said.

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her Slave. It's all about pain. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall.

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back.

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding. Dean is on fire, barely holding on. He let her. He really let her!

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened.

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

WANTS

BROKEN

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs.

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent.

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean will do anything for Sam.

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

#wincest #codependency #rating: mature #sin is sinning #punishment

12 notes · View notes

yourfaveisyanderematic · 5 years

Note

* yan! Kira but instead of killing women for their hands he kills women that look like s/o (s/o left him lol)

It should be noted that you, the reader, don’t make an actual appearance in this story, but hopefully, this still satisfies your request, Anon! Tried to do something a little different this time.

Warning: Kira is a creep. Non-explicit sexual content.

i. you are someone who did not die when you should have.

For Yoshikage Kira, hate had become something comfortable, routine, and every morning when he woke up he found it settling into his lungs as naturally as the air he breathed. Air that somehow, with almost unnatural persistence, still carried notes of your perfume, despite the fact that he’d scrubbed his bedsheets with every detergent he could think of before ultimately throwing them out and buying a new set entirely.

You had a habit of doing that. You were gone, a ghost, a memory he found himself reaching for when he wasn’t thinking about it (especially now, in these horrible moments between sleep and wakefulness, when all he could think about was the warmth of your skin against his), and yet wherever he looked he could see your hands resting upon the pillars of order he built his life around, threatening to smash it all to pieces with one delicate, almost casual push. You were gone, but the empty air of your absence had a weight to it all the same, and as Yoshikage Kira forced himself to sit up he could feel it crush him a little more.

He didn’t look at his bedside clock as his feet hit the floor. Even without an alarm, he had always woken up with more than enough time to do as he pleased and take the morning at his own pace. It was something he noted with a satisfaction bordering on vicious as he dressed himself, accepting how hate rubbed against his skin like a second shirt. You had taken his sleep from him, and his peace, but his routine was still his. It was the only victory he had in a war only he was fighting, and if he allowed himself to dwell on it a heartbeat longer than he had to, Kira would have found it breathtakingly pathetic.

Was it hate that pricked at his hands as he cracked a second egg into the pan, or was it just hot oil? Was that hate that warmed his skin as he sat down to eat at a table that now felt too large for a single person, or was the sun oddly bright for this time of day?

Kira forced himself to take a deep breath, chewing a bite of food he couldn’t taste. Hate ebbed and flowed when he glared at the space you obstinately refused to occupy, racing down the lines of his arteries and veins in a rush that threatened to make him light headed…

The scrape of his chair against the kitchen tile barely registered as he all but fled for the bathroom. He had time, he had time…it wouldn’t do to leave the house in this state. You would take his peace and you’d take his sleep, but you wouldn’t take his routine and you certainly wouldn’t take his composure.

This was the litany of lies he told himself as he shed his clothes and stepped into the lukewarm blast of his shower, as if any amount of water could wash away the hate clinging to his skin. Masturbating was a clinical, joyless affair, one he approached like an act of revenge as he forced himself to think of any and every woman he’d encountered recently who didn’t look a thing like you, imagined them doing the things you’d always refused to, a doll-like, docile, obedient glaze of adoration in their eyes as they breathlessly whispered and cried out his name in that way you never did. Gratification wasn’t the goal here; if it were, the disgust that deadened his insides would have turned this into yet another defeat.

He wasn’t even hard. His careful, practiced strokes were of absolutely no interest to his cock; he might as well have actually been scrubbing himself clean, for all the time he’d spent here. Kira realized he was biting his lip, hard enough to draw blood, a streak of red running down his chin only to be obliterated in the flow of clear water.

You wouldn’t take this from him. You wouldn’t. His hand clenched, hard enough to actually hurt, as if checking to make sure he actually could still feel something, and then he started again in earnest. He kept trying, and he kept failing, long after the water had gone cold, and he realized with a belated sense of horror that he had lost all track of time.

For the first time in his uncompromisingly mediocre career, Yoshikage Kira was late for work.

ii. they were victims of love, every one of them.

It takes a person and fixes them to the center of the universe. It renders them more compelling than gravity, more terrible than death. It makes them the foundation of dreams, the cornerstone of waking thoughts, the roof overhead that shuts out the stars. It makes their absence unbearable, but their presence overwhelming. Your pace quickens at the thought of chasing after them, your hands tremble in anticipation of what you will do when you reach them, when you feel their skin against your fingers.

What are we talking about? Taste its name on your tongue. Did you call it hate, or love?

She whimpers, a strangled animal bleat of weakness as he slams her head into rugged brick and dirty asphalt—not hard enough to leave a smear of drying maroon, not yet. If she offers resistance, it’s unnoticeable, she just whispers something in a desperate rush he doesn’t bother parsing. He considers the tone of her voice, turns it over in his head. It will have to be good enough.

He assigns her a name. The You of tonight isn’t anything like you, not really; not in smell, not in touch…

Kira leans in, unusually forward with someone he’s just met, and licks, dragging a long stripe along her jaw with his tongue, blind to her shudder at the contact. He tastes sweat, and foundation, maybe a distant hint of the sample fragrances from the perfume department at Kame-Yu.

She doesn’t taste like you, either.

There’s a fear here, though, a muted terror in her eyes as he pinches her flesh between thumb and forefinger and forces her to look at him. Her eyes are the wrong color, the wrong shape, but they have the very same look You used to give him, back when you were still his and knew you’d been bad, and you were finally alone to receive the punishment you so thoroughly deserved.

This You is an inferior substitute. A pale shadow of what the real thing would look like, would feel like, but Kira can’t help but feel a stir of excitement as his hands (so large, compared to her, fitting around her neck like she was made for this, and in that way the two of you were identical) rest against the hollow of her throat. He doesn’t press, not yet. He wants to savor this moment, has to fight against every atom in his body screaming at him to get to the good part, but his patience is wearing thin, and going by the uncomprehending horror on her face his composure has already failed utterly.

You had a habit of doing this. This is so like you, he decides, and in a very deliberate move he presses his hips against You instead of leaning away, letting her feel every inch of what You did to him, thin fabric all that separates her from its full obscenity. He brings his face to hers, close enough that they’re almost kissing, and despite Your frantic jerking she’s powerless to get away.

“You’ve made me late for work today,” Kira breathes, watching wisps of hair float away from her face with the action, “I’ve never been late before. You…humiliated me, in front of everyone I work with…as if your misbehavior at home wasn’t enough…”

You’re saying something again, breathless pleading he’s heard a thousand times—you always did this, you always tried to get out of what happened when you acted out of line—Kira I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kira I was just talking to him, were you following me I saw you on the train please don’t hurt me who are you talking about I’ve never seen you before I don’t even know who you are—

“Whatever will I do with you? I’m starting to think you enjoy being treated like this.” Deliberately, gently, almost for emphasis, he crosses his thumbs over her windpipe and presses, feeling his cock twitch in excitement as the start of her scream becomes a strangled squeak.

This You fights back, and maybe the two of you are more alike than he first thought, because she claws at his wrists and feebly reaches for his face and chest and neck in the same way you once did, and it’s just as futile as when you tried. He squeezes harder, and the tattered remains of his restraint evaporate entirely as she thrashes, canting her hips against him, and he ruts back, letting You have everything you asked for.

You had a habit of doing this. He doesn’t bother counting the seconds the way he used to—this was a punishment, after all, and if you didn’t learn you’d just do it again—and the faster his heart beats the harder he squeezes, until he’s certain he’s felt his fingernails break skin, tearing You apart the same way you continue to tear at him.

For several seconds, once You finally grow still and he’s all that’s holding her up, Kira thinks that she’s more resilient than the others, because he’s still feeling a pulse. Slowly, belatedly, he realizes that what he actually felt was just his own pulse; his grip is that tight.

Catharsis graces him, caresses his chest and makes breathing just a bit easier, but he knows it won’t last. As if a switch had been flipped, all his interest in You is completely gone; he simply lets go, letting her fall at his feet in a heap, already beneath notice or care. His attention now turns to the front of his trousers, as Killer Queen steps out of him in an easy breath and already gets to work, erasing all evidence of the prelude to your punishment, of this inferior You.

Kira clicks his tongue, an indulgent tsk as he sees what you’ve done to him, once again. You really can’t find it in you to behave yourself, can you? How is he supposed to go walking around, with this mess you’ve made him make of his clothes?

Hate settles around his shoulders, comfortable, routine, as he steps away and takes off his coat, holding it in front of him to hide the damage. If this is what he feels like now, he can’t wait until he’s caught up to you, until he finally has the real thing.

#yandere x reader #yandere kira #yandere jjba #by me #I tried something different than my usual style I THINK please let me know if it's any good oh jeez #Appropriate song to listen to: Choke by IDKHBTFM #alright crisis averted got the readmore working again

191 notes · View notes