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dukeoftheblackstar · 3 months

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ѕαтυяиιиє || ρℓσ кσσи χ fєм!яєα∂єя

Dividers by Saradika

I was supposed to make something smutty, but then it didn't go so well and then it went okay and now it's out of the WIP furnace, I can sleep.

“Don’t..”

It was all you needed to keep your eyes closed and the room vehemently dark. You didn’t particularly like it, but there you were, drawing your hand back over your chest before you could even reach for the lamp. You could tell it was one of those nights Plo wanted something he could never bring himself to ask nor speak of. Nights when he’d come from a grueling mission that left him doubtful even through numerous hours of meditation and decompression with the other Jedi Masters; nights when words fail even the most eloquent and wise Kel Dor that he’d come to you unannounced to be something that is not of a Jedi — himself.

Plo had already broken his vow of celibacy when he had met you and it had been even more of a constant struggle to manage a certain emotion that he knew well within himself should not be a difficult task. Plo never once was plagued with the need to temper insecurities or jealousy for that matter, they were insignificant negativities that hardly impacted his role as a Master Jedi.

It would not deter him from being a remarkable pilot or an exemplary swordsman, nor will it tarnish the depth of connection he has to the force knowing he had, if not perfected, neutralized an unbreakable hold of his emotions to not let it cloud his judgment. Surely if he could have harnessed such power to procure control over his Electric Judgment, mere jealousy would be of no match… yes?

But he had seen you days before he had finally landed the interceptor a walk away from your humble abode. He had seen you so full of mirth and without a care in the world as you danced and twirled, and cheered, and sang, and laughed, and smiled with the locals celebrating some sort of festivities that he wasn’t even made aware of. He had seen you bask in the glory of peace and though his heart swells at the sight of you safe and sound, merry and perhaps having the time of your life, he couldn’t rid the darkness that pooled within him in the form of envy.

Vicious, vicious envy caressing him like the mistress of hate that had taken form in that very man you had allowed to touch you so closely, so intimately. He had spent hours of meditation to rid the image of how he had held you in his arms as you danced and sang, and twirled, and laughed, and smiled. Hours indulging his fellow Jedi for a bout or two, had hovered over the designated docking area for the interceptor but opted to leave with an even heavier heart.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak to the Grand Master either for reasons he knew he should be able to handle this with the grace of a Master Jedi and one of his experiences. And so he did; he had kept himself away for days when he had been granted time to tend to ‘personal matters’ to retain a sound mind for when he would be called for business. He had also elected to keep your messages unread and your calls declined — all at the expense of satiating both conditions ; to be sound as a Master Jedi and to be sound as a beloved who would not be in any way unreasonable, confrontational, and untrusting. After all, it was just a dance … right?

A meager dance with his fingers laced between your delicate digits, your eyes sparkling with unabashed bliss as you laughed at everything he said, smiled at every turn and twirl with your forehead against his and your body so firmly in place against him.

An inconsequential matter that should not have his own fists balled up under his sleeves as he listened to his commander reprimand the chaos of Boost and Sinker arguing over proper bathing etiquette while Comet and Warthog heartily cheered ‘brawl’ repeatedly. A minute happenstance that should not even qualify as a problem but it has.

And so it brings us to the current.

“Plo, what’s wro —”

You drew breath from the deepest recesses of your lungs, pitched and rapt with unexpected pleasure as you felt a pair of talon-clad fingers press against the sweet bud nestled between your folds. Your voice shakes and you silently curse how wet he had made you with just a press as if you were some switch that activated a harem of whores begging for a fuck. He hadn’t even moved the slightest, but you could feel the rough hide of his fingers caress you in short, circular motions, parting to spread your folds not even by much to let his fingers slide down, but enough to make you whimper a little.

You knew something was wrong by how he had chosen to touch you but not dare look at you. He had always been one to tell you how beautiful you look, how your lips beckon him even in silence, and how your eyes illuminate the darkest of his nights when lost and uncertain. He had always kept the light on; always looked down at you when you writhe under his touch and begged him to fuck you as raw and unbridled as possible, knowing the next may never be certain.

He’d always trace the contours of your face from the bridge of your nose to the curves of your lips, from the arches of your brows to the spans of your jaw, and from the column of your throat to the dip between your clavicles before he’d ask — no, beg; beg so desperately to touch you as if you were some fragile little thing that would break under the size of his hands and the sharpness of his spurs.

You shudder under the cold, stannic mask grazing along your thigh and you could hear the slight whirr you’ve come to love, knowing it was how his breath had gone heavy as yours. You’ve memorized every ridge and texture, every camber and cavity, every point and tube that has roamed your body many times over your skin but never often there.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t for reasons so valid you’ve forgotten it ever existed — it being the feel of his mouth or tongue that was hardly permitted to kiss you on the lips more so down south, it being how beyond comprehensible it felt when he’d go down you, and the fact that Plo Koon is indeed, a pussy-eating champ that would leave the both of you literally breathless.

“Plo, are you al— Fuck.”

He had descended to daub along the stripe of your cunt until you were fully glossed with arousal, bestowing upon him a web of intimacy between his fingers. You feel his touch briefly part and the whirring heightens as the mask, too, had abandoned your thigh. Plo Koon grunts as his talons bury onto your calf, complying with the unspoken request to spread yourself more for him. And so you do, you lift your knees and part to the stance that had made the mattress sink further to his comfort and his grip firm on each leg.

The spurs of his mask prod at your thigh for a moment as if to distract you from the cold, viscous, hardness of his rebreather smearing over your flesh until he had pressed his rebreather in between. Your legs closed abruptly and swift that even Plo didn’t anticipate the sudden clamp. But before you could mutter an apology, he had brought one leg down with his hand and blocked the other, hooking it slightly elevated over his shoulder.

He pressed his mask further into you, nuzzling and rubbing the metallic device all over, parting your folds and dragging every groove up and all over. You writhe and arch your body up, peaks attentive should they be given the attention they so desperately crave beneath your shirt. Hands balled on each side with blankets scrunched between your fingers, pulling one off by a corner. You moan and whimper, hips lifted swung left to right only to be stilled back down and be slipped two fingers in, ruthlessly pumping with abandon you swore it was laced with animosity.

Plo had focused his rebreather between your folds and right over your clit, turning and tossing his head lightly as he fervently fucked you with his fingers, one curling after the other inside you. You propped yourself on your elbows as if it would do you any good, but all it did was reel you back into the bed and have you rake and pull your hair back as your hips sank onto the bed and your chest arch to the heavens.

Your breath ragged and desperate, toes curling as you felt your walls constrict. You were so wet with shame that you’ve come apart so ungracefully onto him, so.. prematurely without even a fight.

He stopped when you did — fingers steady inside and his mask slowly pulled away. You can feel yourself drip from his mask and onto your leg. You can hear his mask whirr louder for a moment and feel the rustling of the blankets as he wiped his mask clean with it. Panting, you apologize and beg him to come up and hold you. You tried to ask what troubles him as his fingers slipped out gently and lathered the stripe of your pussy with your own slick before you sensed him dismount the bed quietly.

You hear a loud whizz and locks unclipping. Then footsteps and the chime-like sound the antiox mask made when he’d hook it over a specialized stand when he would clean the filters or tweak the seals. You’d expect the room to pump Dorin gas any minute and you were ready to reach into your side of the bed and take out a smaller version of a mask you’ve made for yourself as a present so he could undo his mask when he’d have the time to visit.

You turned to reach for the nightstand, but he had pulled you back to the center of the bed as he mounted your shared cot. Plo had pulled you by the hips high up over his lap and folded your legs until your knees touched the pillow underneath your head.

“I saw you..” Came Plo’s sullen response, his voice soft and barely audible without the mask. It wasn’t velvet sweet or sultry deep, it was neither arousing nor hypnotic — rather it was as real as he could possibly make it so. He would have to scream for you to hear him and you heard him. You heard him scream how he had seen you and it didn’t take long for you to realize that it truly was him flying over during the festival. You felt it in you that day and instead of rushing home, you danced and sang, and cheered, and laughed, and smiled — you were so drawn by the crowd and the music that you turned not to meet him, but meet him.

“Happyier.”

It wasn’t an argument, let alone a conversation — mainly because he wouldn’t let you speak. Not when he had dragged his tongue from the very pinnacle of the back of your pussy to the very peak of your clit with the thickness of his tongue and the deliberate slowness of his stride without ever disconnecting the touch. He lugged his tongue back in the same fashion; slithering back all the way back ensuring no crevice nor flesh left untainted while you stammer and desperately explain yourself that it was harmless fun.

You were panting when he stopped. Chest heavy with confusion and unexpected guilt as if you’ve committed such a crime that you wonder if it is unlawful for a Kel Dor’s partner to be seen dancing or embracing another man — considering they have such a peculiar law against theft.

You force your quivering voice to make your point, explaining how it meant nothing and it was truly, truly, just happenstance that the man was there for the dance. But you couldn’t, not when he had lapped at your pussy with such vigor and quickened flicks while both his hands took purchase of your breasts with such roughness and aggression you were starting to believe that it had truly, truly upset him — no, infuriated him.

“Betrayal” was all you heard, but you can feel how loud he had shouted — how loud he wanted to be for you to hear him.

You feel him hover more as his hands grip at your hip, allowing one leg to fall before shoving himself head to hilt without warning. He pulls you steady, anchoring himself with every thrust that deliberately disentangles himself from you only to plunge himself all the way back to the hilt.

You groan in pain, not so much the pleasure. He bottoms you out rough enough to make you cry and reach out to push him, but only for a while. Plo had rarely been anything but kind and sweet that it was starting to feel like a well-deserved punishment. You sniffle and grunt in agony until you finally manage to speak.

“Plo, it hurts…” You’d say softly that it sounded more like an apology. Not because you should, but because he couldn’t. He couldn’t apologize for something he is yet to understand. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t comprehend the concept of envy, but because he couldn’t calibrate himself to a level of understanding said emotion as a Jedi should — not one to suppress or indulge, but one to manage and neutralize.

Plo Koon pulled away and once more dismounted the bed. You hear him pace in the dark and reattach his mask with a loud hiss and a few clicks. A sigh soon followed — resigned and troubled; followed by a shift of weight on the mattress as he sits by the edge of the bed.

“I am.. old.” He would say with an equally pliant huff.

“You are.” You’d smile. Biting the urge to laugh as you test the waters of his mood.

“Obstinate.”

“Mhm.”

“Disconsolate.”

“I don’t know what that means, my love, but yes.” Came your response that merited a small chuckle from your beloved, currently sullen and stressed Kel Dor lover.

“Captious, perhaps?” Replied a much calmer Plo Koon. The warmth of his hand over your calf meriting another smile and ease in your chest.

“Sure, my love.” You giggle, clearing your throat in mock remorse. His hand moving further up the back of your knee.

“Saturnine.” Came another as he positioned himself knelt between legs he’d lift by the back of your knee and part very gently.

“Oh, so we’re just making up words now?” You teased, propped on your elbow and slightly sat up.

“Old and cranky.” You hear him chuckle, followed by the cold touch of his mask on your forehead, then at the tip of your nose, your chin, the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder, pushing you back onto the bed.

“Sounds about ri—(ght).” You groan, feeling him hard between your thighs with one hand by the side of your head and the other wrapped around his cock. You hear him grunt at the slightest contact of his engorged head slip between your folds with each stroke.

“Mine?” Plo would ask, once more barely above a whisper — that of a plea to hear no other word than ‘yes’.

“N.. Not… Not yet…” Your voice trembles, reaching to place upon fingers on each shoulder as if to brace yourself knowing fully what was about to come. And ‘come’ it came.

Plo slid himself slowly inside, only to pull and angle himself so the engorged head of his cock would dip and slip out with a wet pop a few times, knowing how flustered it makes you to hear yourself so damn wet for him. You whine in complaint as he purposely timed himself to move away when you tried to sink down on him. You harrumphed and he’d titter, reaching to flick the lights on.

You wince and blink, trying to acclimate your sight from the darkness that surrounded you hours ago.

“Beautiful.” He’d say. “And now?”

“Spirits, yes!”

Whether it was your answer to his question or the fact that had just plunged himself all the way to the very hilt, lifted your leg up over his shoulder, angled himself to strike that deliciously sweet spot of yours that made you moan like a proper bitch in heat than the elegant lover of this seasoned, saturnine Master Jedi, we may never know.

We do, but you know — cue dramatic effects.

#♝#plo koon #plo koon fic #plo koon x fem!reader #plo koon x reader #plo koon x femreader #jedi master plo koon #jedi plo koon #dukeoftheblackstar #mildly smutty #mildly angsty #duchii writes

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 6

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 6 - This Venerable One's Shizun

Xue Meng had lived on Life-Death Peak since he was a child. He was familiar with shortcuts and terrain so he had no problem catching up with Mo Ran

He escorted him all the way to the back of the mountain. The back mountain of Life-Death Peak was the closest place to the ghost realm in the whole world, separated by an enchantment, behind it is the netherworld.

Looking at the miserable situation in the back mountain, Mo Ran immediately understood why that person was clearly at home, but still needed Madam Wang to treat guests in the front hall.

It wasn't that the man didn’t want to help, but he couldn’t step away--

The barrier of the ghost world was broken.

At this moment, the entire back mountain was filled with a heavy spiritual resentment. The ghosts that hadn't taken on a body howled and hovered bitterly in the air. At the entrance of the mountain gate, there was a giant breach ripping through the sky. Behind the breach was the ghost realm, and a tall, bluestone staircase stretching thousand of steps escaped from the barrier cracks. Seeing out from the staircase, the fierce spirits that had regained a flesh body were climbing down this step disorderly and chaotically, rushing from the underworld to the human world.

Any ordinary person would be terrified at the scene unfolding. The first time Mo Ran saw it, he was shocked to the bone, but he was used to it now.

The barrier between the human and ghost realms was set by Emperor Fuxi in ancient times. Today, it was very weak. It would grow weak spots every now and again, which need to be repaired by immortal cultivators. However, this kind of thing not only does little to improve one's cultivation but is thankless with how much spiritual energy it consumes. It was a real drudgery, so few immortals in the upper cultivation world were willing to take this job.

When a fierce spirit was born, the people of the Lower Cultivation Realm were the first to come under attack. As the protectors of the Lower Cultivation Realm, Life-Death Peak was forced to undertake the task of repairing the barrier. The back mountains of the sect faced the weakest point in the barrier all to ensure they could be repaired swiftly.

There would be breaks in the barrier about four or five times a year. It was just like an old, chipped pot; useless.

Now, at the entrance of the ghost world, on the long bluestone stairs, a man stood there with snow-coloured clothes and wide sleeves flowing in the wind. He was surrounded by the aura of his sword, the golden light shimmering. Using his own power to clear out the evil spirits and ghosts, he repaired the small holes appearing in the barrier.

The man had a slender waist and an elegant appearance, with a holy aura and a handsome face. From a distance, it was easy to imagine he was a scholar reading an ancient scroll under a flowering tree. However, looking closely, he had sharp eyebrows, phoenix eyes slanted upwards, and the bridge of his nose was straight and narrow. While he seemed to be gentle and elegant, his eyes were mean and seemingly unkind.

Mo Ran glanced at him from a distance. Although he thought he had prepared himself, when he saw this man appear in front of him alive and healthy again, it made him tremble down to his smallest bones.

Half fear, half. . . excitement.

His Shizun.

Chu Wanning.

This was the person that Xue Meng had cried and begged to see when he arrived at Wushan Hall in the previous life.

It was this man that ruined Mo Ran's ambition, ruined his plans, and was finally imprisoned and tortured to death by Mo Ran because of it.

Logically speaking, if Mo Ran had the chance to avenge himself and defeat the enemy that had blocked his progress.

The sea is wide and free for fish to swim in, the sky is high and the birds could fly endlessly, no one could reign him back anymore. At least, that's what Mo Ran thought.

However, that doesn't seem to be the case.

After his Shizun died, something else seemed to have been buried along with his hatred.

Mo Ran was not a man of culture and didn't recognize any other feeling than being evenly matched with a worthy opponent.

He only knows that here on out, he had no archenemies.

When Shizun was alive, he had been afraid, paranoid, and anxious. When he saw the willow vine in Shizun's hand, the hair on the back of his neck stood on up. He became just like a beaten mutt, just the sound of a wooden club slap caused his teeth to ache and legs to give out. Even his calf muscles would spasm from fear.

Later, when Shizun died, the person Mo Ran had feared the most was finally gone. Mo Ran felt that he had grown and matured, being able to finally commit this act of murdering his teacher.

Afterwards, when looking at the mortal realm, no one dared force him to kneel down, and no longer slapped himself in the face.

To celebrate, he opened the pear blossom white wine, sat on the roof, and drank wine all night.

That night, under the influence of alcohol, the scars that Shizun had inflicted on his back when he was a teenager seemed to feel hot and painful again.

At this moment, when he saw Shizun reappear in front of him, Mo Ran started, filled with hate and anger, but there was also a slight twinge of ecstasy.

Such an opponent, lost and now regained, how can he not please?

Chu Wanning ignored the two apprentices who broke into the back mountains and continued concentrating on fighting the scattered undead.

His facial features were elegant, his eyebrows are evenly long. His phoenix eyes were cast downwards, his cool demeanour powerful. Amidst the demonic air and blood rain, his expression had not changed. His face remained calm, as though he might sit down and burn incense or play the guqin at the moment.

However, such a gentle and beautiful man, at that moment, was holding an icy exorcism long sword dripping with red blood droplets. With a flick of his wide sleeve, the sword's energy sliced through the bluestone steps in an explosion. Crushed stones and bricks rolled down, cracking an immeasurable chasm from the gate all the way to the bottom of the mountain, splitting the staircase and its thousands of steps!

So ferocious.

How many years had it been since he had seen his Shizun's power?

This familiar and powerful dominance made Mo Ran lose all his strength. Shakily, he fell onto his knees with a thump.

It didn't take long for Chu Wanning to kill all the ghosts, and neatly fill in the holes in the barrier to the ghost world. After doing all this, he fell from mid-air and went over to Mo Ran and Xue Meng.

He first glanced at Mo Ran kneeling on the ground, and then raised his eyes to look at Xue Meng, his phoenix eyes holding a powerful chill.

"Causing trouble again?"

Mo Ran sucked in a breath.

Shizun had the ability to always correctly assume any situation.

Xue Meng: "Shizun, Mo Ran went down the mountain, committing the two crimes of stealing and prostitution. Please punish him accordingly, Shizun."

Chu Wanning was silent for a while, expressionless. He coldly remarked: "I know."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

Xue Meng: ". . ."

Both of them were a little confused. Then? Is that it?

However, just when Mo Ran thought tat he had gotten off lucky, he looked up at Chu Wanning and caught a a glimpse of a sharp golden light suddenly cutting through the air. There was a lightening-like crackling sound that slashed across Mo Ran's cheek!!

Drops of blood splashed everywhere!

The speed of that golden light was so fast, Mo Ran didn't even have a moment to close his eyes, let alone dodge it. The skin on his face was flayed open with a fierce pain.

Chu Wanning stood with his hands clasped behind his back, standing coldly in the chilling breeze of teh night air. The air was still filled with the foul aura of fierce spirits and ghosts mixed with the smell of human blood. It made the forbidden area of the back mountains appear even more eerie and terrifying.

In Chu Wanning's hand was a willow vine that had whipped Mo Ran. The vine was narrow and long, with green leaves sprouting from it, hanging down near the edge of his boots.

It was clearly sucha graceful object. Looking at it would have made people think of poems such as "Pliant is the the willow branch I gift to my beloved".

It's a pity that Chu Wanning was neither pliant or had a beloved.

The willow vine in his hand was actually a magic weapon named Tianwen. At this moment, Tianwen was glimmering with golden red light, piercing through the surrounding darkness, and also reflecting in the bottomless depths of Chu Wanning's eyes.

Chu Wanning pursed his lips, and said sensibly: "Mo Weiyu, you are so bold. Should I really not do something to discipline you?"

If this really was the fifteen-year old Mo Ran, he might not have taken this exclamation seriously, thinking that Shizun was just trying to scare him.

But after being reborn, Mo Weiyu had thoroughly experienced Shizun’s "control" with his blood in his previous life. He immediately felt the roots of his teeth ache and blood rushing to his head. His mouth was already moving, ready to deny everything and clear his name

"Shizun. . ." His cheek still bleeding, Mo Ran raised his eyes, staining them with a thin veil of tears. He knew that his current appearance must look extremely pitiful. "This disciple has never stolen. . . has never laid with a prostitute. . . why did Shizun listen to Xue Meng's words and strike me without even listening to my side of the story?"

". . ."

Mo Ran had two tricks to get out of trouble with his uncle. First, act cute. Second, pretend to be pitiful. Now he tried these out on Chu Wanning, trying to look so pitiful that tears almost fell from his eyes: "Is the disciple really so worthless in your eyes? Why doesn't Shizun even give me a chance to defend myself?"

Xue Meng stomped angrily next to him: "Mo Ran! You, you piece of shit! You truly are shameless! Sizun, don't listen to him, don't be fooled by this bastard! He really did steal! All the stolen goods are still on him!"

Chu Wanning looked through his eyelashes, his expression cold: "Mo Ran, you truly never stole?"

"Never."

". . . You should know the consequences of lying to me."

Mo Ran's arms were covered in goosebumps. How could he not know? But he still foolishly persisted: "Shizun, please!"

Chu Wanning raised his hand, and the shiny golden vine waved again, but this time he did not draw it on the face of Mo Ran. Instead, he used it to tightly bind Mo Ran.

This feeling was all too familiar. In addition to whipping people on the regular, the willow vine "Tianwen" has another function——

Chu Wanning stared at Mo Ran, who was held tightly in Tianwen's grasp, and asked again: "Have you never stolen?"

Suddenly, there was a familiar stabbing pain straight in Mo Ran's heart, as if a sharp fanged small snake had slid its way into his chest and was playing with his organs.

Accompanied by the severe pain was an irresistible temptation. Mo Ran couldn't help but open his mouth, his voice hoarse: "I. . . never. . . ah. . . !!!"

Tianwen's golden light seemed to pick up on his lies, glowing harder. The pain caused Mo Ran to break out in a cold sweat, but he still desperately resisted such torture.

This was Tianwen's second function: interrogation.

Once tied up by Tianwen, no one could lie. Whether it was a person or a ghost, dead or alive, Tianwen had a way of forcing them to speak and reveal the answer that Chu Wanning wanted to know.

In his last life, by relying on a strong cultivation base, there was only one person who had finally managed to keep a secret under Tianwen's influence.

That person was the person who had become the emperor of the mortal realm, Mo Weiyu.

After being reborn, Mo Ran had hoped he'd have a bit of luck, thinking that he would still be able to resist the forced interrogation of Tianwen. But after biting his lip for what felt like forever, with big beads of sweat dripping down over his dark eyebrows and full-body trembles, he finally bowed before Chu Wanning's boots in pain, gasping for breath.

"I. . . I. . . stole. . ."

The pain abruptly disappeared.

Mo Ran hadn't even caught his breath before Chu Wanning asked another question, his voice even colder than before.

"Did you commit debauchery?"

Smart people don't do stupid things. Since he hadn't been able to resist before, it was even more impossible now. This time, Mo Ran didn't even resist, and when the pain struck, he went so far to even shout: "Yes yes I did!!!! Shizun please! No more!"

Xue Meng's face turned blue at his side. He exclaimed with shock: "You, how can you. . . That Rong Jiu is a man, you actually. . ."

No one paid attention to him. As the golden light of Tianwen slowly dimmed, Mo Ran gasped for breath, his whole body was drenched as if he had just been fished from the water. His face was as white as paper, his lips still trembling, and he collapsed on the ground, unable to move.

Through sweaty eyelashes, he looked up at Chu Wanning's elegant figure, wearing a green jade crown and wide sleeves that fell to the floor.

A strong hatred suddenly surged into his heart - Chu Wanning! This Venerable One wasn't wrong in is treatment of you in his past life, that much is true!! Even after being reborn, the hatred still burns strong! Fuck all eighteen generations of your ancestors!!

Chu Wanning didn't know that this crafty disciple was going to fuck all eighteen generations of his ancestors. He stood there for a while with a sullen expression, and then said.

"Xue Meng."

Although Xue Meng knows that men were the popular choice among rich businessmen and wealthy households, and many people play with male prostitutes just for something new and not really because they liked men, he still couldn't digest it. After a while, he said: "Shizun, this disciple is here."

"Mo Ran went against the three mandates on corruption, debauchery, and deception. Take him to the Yan Luo Hall so he can repent. Bring him to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil tomorrow morning so that he receive a public punishment."

Xue Meng was startled: "What. . .? Public punishment?"

Public punishment means taking the disciples who have committed severe transgressions in front of the disciples of the whole school, in front of everyone, even the ladies in the dining hall, and punishing them for the crowd.

Utterly shameful.

It should be known that Mo Ran was a disciple of Life-Death Peak. Although the disciplinary measures in the school were strict, because of Mo Ran's special status - his uncle pitied him for losing his parents so young and was scavenging outside for fourteen years - he couldn't bear to punish Mo Ran. No matter what Mo Ran did, he would just get a small lecture in private, and he would be beaten.

But Shizun wouldn't even save the face of the sect leader. He wanted to take his precious nephew to the Platform of Righteousness and Evil and publicly punish and shame Young Master Mo in front of the entire sect. This was something even Xue Meng hadn't expected.

Mo Ran, however, wasn't surprised.

He lay on the ground with a sneer at the corner of his mouth.

How great and selfless his Shizun was.

Chu Wanning was truly cold-blooded. In his previous life, when Shi Mei died in front of him, Mo Ran cried and pleading, pulling on his clothes, kneeling on the ground and begging him for help.

But Chu Wanning turned a deaf ear.

And so his disciple had breathed his last breath before him, and even with Mo Ran crying his heart out next to him, Chu Wanning simply stood there and ignored his sobs.

Now all he was doing was putting him on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil to be dealt with before the public. There was nothing strange about this.

Mo Ran could only resent how weak his cultivation base was now. He couldn't peel off Chu Wanning's skin, rip out his nerves, drink his blood, can’t pull his hair back, can't insult him, can’t torture him and destroy his dignity, make him desire nothing but death. . .

He hadn't been able to hide the beast-like hatred in his eyes, and Chu Wanning picked up on it.

He faintly glanced at Mo Ran's face, a stoic expression on a gentle and elegant face.

"What are you thinking about?"

Fuck!

Tianwen hadn't been removed yet!

Mo Ran once again felt the vines tying him up, and his internal organs felt like they were about to be squeezed into mush. He yelled in pain, panting and roaring out the thoughts in his head——

"Chu Wanning, you think you're so refined! Watch me fuck you to death!"

No one made a sound.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

Even Xue Meng was stunned: ". . ."

Tianwen suddenly retracted Chu Wanning's palm, turning into a small speck of golden light before disappearing altogether. Tianwen was made from the bones and blood of Chu Wanning and could appear when summoned and vanished at will.

Xue Meng's face was pale and he stuttered: "Shi-Shizun. . ."

Chu Wanning didn't say a word. His delicate black and slender eyelashes lowered, examining his palms for a while. Then, he raised his eyes, his face even, but his complexion even colder. He glared at Mo Ran with a gaze saying "this disciple deserves death", then said in a low voice:

"Tianwen is broken, I am going to go fix it."

Chu Wanning threw down these words, turned and left.

Xue Meng was kind of slow: "How could an immortal weapon like Tianwen be broken?"

Chu Wanning heard it, and glanced back at him with a look of "this disciple deserves death" as well. Xue Meng shuddered.

Mo Ran lay on the ground, half-dead, with a blank expression.

What he had been thinking really was looking for a way to fuck Chu Wanning to death. He knew that the Master Chu, who held titles like "Yuheng of the Night Sky, Beidou Immortal", had always paid attention to elegance and correctness, and he couldn't stand being stepped on by others, defiling him.

But he didn't want Chu Wanning to know that he was thinking that!

Mo Ran whimpered like a stray dog, covering his face.

Thinking of the look in Chu Wanning's eyes when he was leaving, he felt that he probably did not have long to wait until his death.

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#the husky and his white cat shizun #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #2ha #2ha translation #2ha novel #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #mo ran #chu wanning #yaoi novel

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

A Sick Thought - Part 3 - on ao3 or on tumblr pt 1, pt 2

Lan Wangji had long ago suspected that he had done some terribly wrong in a prior life, if only because something had to explain everything he’d suffered from the death of his mother to the destruction and rebuilding of his sect to the loss of Wei Wuxian and the terrible wrenching pain that accompanied it.

If before he suspected, now he was certain.

There was no other way to explain why else he would be tormented by the return of his beloved – as a feline.

He had difficulty even thinking about that, really, even though he’d gotten relatively used to dealing with the fact of it in real life. The thought just sounded so absurd in every possible way:

Wei Wuxian is back, but he’s a cat.

The Yiling Patriarch returned at last, meowing.

Purr, says Wei Ying.

(That last one tended to lead him to disturbing thoughts, and so he refrained.)

They were traveling together now, working together, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian together. It was everything he’d ever dreamt of, except for the part that his wildest fantasies on the subject somehow failed to cover the possibility that Wei Wuxian would be small, four-legged, and insist on riding on Lan Wangji’s shoulder except for when he felt the distinct need to zoom around wildly and would pelt up and down the road at top speed, chattering cheerfully as he did.

Similarly, when Lan Wangji had imagined sharing a meal with him, he had perhaps anticipated Wei Wuixan’s eyes going big and round and pleading, the way he inhaled the smell of spices, the way he would reach out to grab – but he hadn’t anticipated that he would need to bat away Wei Wuxian’s little paw before he consumed anything with onion, garlic, or other alliums, which were bad for cats, and would instead be feeding him little bits of raw chicken with no salt. Sometimes, even often, he would succumb to Wei Wuxian’s pleading and rub on a tiny little bit of chili powder – spice was also bad for cats, no matter how they lusted for it, and so it was bad for Wei Wuxian no matter his pleading.

He had imagined sharing a pillow with him, hearing his breathing, and they did, he did - and yet, they were literally sharing the pillow, Wei Wuxian’s entire body curled up into a perfect orb of cat right next to his cheek and sometimes waking him up with foul cat-breath, and instead of needing to watch for nightmares he was more concerned about dreams involving chasing (Wei Wuxian had pounced on his forehead ribbon more times than he could count). He could sooth him with his hand, as he’d hoped, but there was a lot less sighing and a lot more purring - a rumble like distant thunder, more vibration than sound - than he’d thought.

Also, he’d imagined their duets to include somewhat more flute-playing and less…yowling.

Yes, it was all…very, very different.

No matter. It wasn’t important that it didn’t match his dreams; what was important was that Wei Wuxian, his Wei Ying, was back.

That was what mattered.

“I really wish we could’ve gotten more information from Mo Xuanyu,” Wei Wuxian said, padding along at Lan Wangji’s side. He’d permitted Lan Wangji to replace the cheap red ribbon Mo Xuanyu had found for him with something a little more elegant, and Lan Wangji hadn’t been able to resist using one of his spare forehead ribbons (dyed red, of course, to match Wei Wuxian’s tastes); the obvious end result of this pleasurable subterfuge was that Lan Wangji was now having some difficulty looking straight at Wei Wuxian without blushing.

It seemed an appropriate example of suffering the consequences of his own actions.

“I know he doesn’t know anything about the ghost hand – or the legs, I guess, now that we’ve gotten them, and wasn’t that weird with the Nie sect? Poor Nie Huaisang looked even more torn up about it all than I would’ve expected, all dark circles under his eyes and pale skin, you’d think he’d be better at running a sect if it’s been a decade already – anyway, I’m distracting myself from the main point. The main point is, I can’t help but feel like this whole thing is connected to Mo Xuanyu somehow.”

“Agreed,” Lan Wangji said.

Poor Mo Xuanyu.

Lan Wangji had not in nearly a decade and a half regretted his decision never to willingly set foot in Jinlin Tower, but now that he had seen what work they had made of Mo Xuanyu, he regretted nothing more. He who took such pride in being where the chaos was had missed the chaos and wretchedness right under his very nose – for Mo Xuanyu was very wretched indeed.

Lan Wangji had resented Mo Xuanyu at first, always laying his hands on Wei Wuxian without the slightest bit of shame – not that there needed to be shame, given that Wei Wuxian was, well, a cat, and of the subgenre of felines that Jiang Cheng for some unspecified reason continued to crudely refer to as “cuddle-sluts” – and for how Wei Wuxian worried about him and cared for him.

It did not help that Mo Xuanyu was so well known for being a cutsleeve.

And then, one day, Mo Xuanyu had gotten Lan Wangji alone and told him with great emphasis that he was deeply devoted to his successful courtship of Wei Wuxian, offering his help in any possible respect, and also wistfully added that he wouldn’t mind it very much if Lan Wangji were willing to offer some suggestions on how to court Jiang Cheng, who was utterly oblivious to any hints.

After that, Lan Wangji remembered himself what shame was, and guilt, and felt it thoroughly – it was no excuse to say that being around Wei Wuxian roused his worst protective and possessive instincts, for it was his duty to overcome them. Be strict with yourself, the rules said, and as always he had failed to remember the rules when he needed them most.

The extent of his pettiness was only magnified when he thought about it all more closely. Mo Xuanyu was not merely someone to be pitied, was more than simply a victim who had suffered under the outrages of the Jin sect – the harassment, the abuse, the deliberate poisoning and destruction of his mind in order to reduce his credibility...That was all bad enough, and it pained Lan Wangji to no end to hear it.

But more than abuse, more than madness, more than exile to a misbegotten place that somehow managed to beat out Jinlin Tower for sheer viciousness –

It was due to Mo Xuanyu that Wei Wuxian had returned.

He had been willing to give his very life, his body and soul, to bring him back.

And for that, Lan Wangji owed him everything.

Even when it meant –

“We should return to the Cloud Recesses to fetch him,” Lan Wangji said, and Wei Wuxian craned his head around – his tiny, tiny head that could easily fit into Lan Wangji’s palm, covered in a short layer of fur more comfortable than the softest silk – to look at him in curiosity. “I understand that it is a detour.”

“It is,” Wei Wuxian said. “You wouldn’t propose it for no reason, either. What are you afraid of? He’s in the Cloud Recesses, and with Jiang Cheng – surely he’s as safe as safe can be.”

“It is nearly the end of the month,” Lan Wangji said. “My brother will be returning home soon.”

“So?” Wei Wuxian asked, puzzled. And why should he not be puzzled? To even think…and yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. “Jiang Cheng will explain everything to him, won’t he?”

“My brother will be returning home,” Lan Wangji said again. “After a month and more abroad.”

Wei Wuxian looked at him silently, awaiting an explanation. His tail lashed gently against Lan Wangji’s leg.

“He was visiting his sworn brother,” Lan Wangji said. “Lianfeng-jun.”

“Jin Guangyao,” Wei Wuxian said, his tone heavy – he had understood. “Does your brother visit Jinlin Tower often?”

Lan Wangji nodded tightly.

“And has for many years, I expect? Since the end of the Sunshot Campaign.”

He nodded again.

“Surely you don’t believe that he knew what was happening to Mo Xuanyu?”

Lan Wangji hesitated. “I do not know how he could not have known,” he confessed. “I think to myself if I had only been there – if I had overcome my disdain for the Jin sect –”

“Don’t think like that,” Wei Wuxian said at once, a balm to Lan Wangji’s soul. “You couldn’t have known. The Jin sect is the most talented at deception and misdirection – they wouldn’t have let you see. Nor your brother, either - you would have seen only what they wished for you to see, and poisoned the well of your thoughts to discount anything you did see.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji said, and felt more at peace. It was true that even his brother, with his token, could not so easily travel through the depths of Jinlin Tower freely, without an escort. “I do not think Brother knew.”

“I agree. Impossible.”

“And yet - his sworn brother...it is not unheard of for Lianfeng-zun to unexpectedly accompany my brother back to the Cloud Recesses, and I cannot bring myself to believe that he did not know. As a precaution, therefore…”

Wei Wuxian’s ears flicking back and forth. “I see your point. But still, I don’t think it makes sense for us to go to them – why not write to Jiang Cheng and have him bring Mo Xuanyu to meet us here, while we investigate the Chang clan?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“I’d prefer that, anyway – I really can’t use regular cultivation without Mo Xuanyu around, just demonic cultivation. As we continue to hunt for the ghost pieces, it’ll be good to have both.”

Lan Wangji wondered a little at that. In their first life, hadn’t Wei Wuxian completely abandoned normal cultivation in favor of demonic cultivation?

If so, why the shift back now?

“Besides, I have an idea I want to try that involves him,” Wei Wuxian added casually, so casually that Lan Wangji merely nodded and did not question and did not know until it had already happened.

“Success!” Wei Wuxia hissed in delight, then frowned, poking at his teeth. “Well, mostly.”

“You turned yourself into a catboy,” Jiang Cheng said, his hand over his eyes. “Because of course you did. I hate you. Have I mentioned that I hate you? Becuase I hate you.”

“What’s a catboy?” Jin Ling asked. Apparently he had insisted on joining them, as had Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi – Lan Wangji would have instructed them to remain, but Jiang Cheng had yielded more or less immediately to their requests.

Typical.

“You don’t need to know,” Jiang Cheng said at once.

“How do you know?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Jiang Cheng! What are you doing going about knowing things about catboys? We’ve talked about this –”

“What? No we haven’t! We haven’t talked about anything! You spent the entire conversation that we had over catnip crying your eyes out about how tasty pheasants are!”

Lan Wangji had always surmised that there was more to the conversation than that, being as both of them had emerged significantly less likely to murder the other, but he didn’t have any presence of mind to devote to that line of thought.

Or to any thought.

Not when Wei Wuxian was…well, mostly human.

He had his old face, but a build that more closely resembled Mo Xuanyu’s slenderness and height; his hair was the correct shade, but poking out from the strands were two now-familiar ears that flickered back and forth with excitement. And he was also possessed on inhumanly sharp canines, sharp claws, and what appeared to be a very active tail.

All the features attributed to…well.

Catboys.

(Lan Wangji had also seen the specific genre of pornography being referenced and every single one of those images – including his particular favorite, which involved a collar – was refreshing itself in his mind with a new figure in each starring role.

He was going to spontaneously combust.)

He stammered some excuse and fled the scene at once.

By the time he returned, they had more or less packed up to continue following the guidance of the ghost hand – it almost reminded him a proper night-hunt, actually. The adults, such as they were, led the way, with the juniors following behind, chatting amongst themselves; Mo Xuanyu was hanging off of Jiang Cheng’s arm and chattering at Wei Wuxian like old friends, his eyes curved up in crescents, with much of the terrible pain that he had always carried sloughed off like an old skin, while Jiang Cheng nodded along, oblivious to any hint as always.

Lan Wangji was abruptly struck by a feeling of – satisfaction, he thought.

This was good.

(Don’t look at Wei Wuxian or you’ll start slowing down the trip.)

But how could he resist?

He headed over and took his place at Wei Wuxian’s side, receiving a wide smile – he would die a thousand times over for that smile – for his troubles.

“What do you think, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked him, and then barreled right on with the conversation without bothering to wait for a response.

Yes.

This was good.

This was how it should be.

Even Jiang Cheng, who Lan Wangji had despised for years…he made Wei Wuxian happy. And since that was the case, Lan Wangji would be willing to put up with him – on a temporary basis, anyway.

“What is this place, anyway?” Lan Sizhui asked from behind them.

“It’s called Yi City, with the Yi as in ‘coffin’,” Wei Wuxian said casually. “Didn’t you see the marker outside?”

“A better question,” Jiang Cheng said. “If it’s supposed to be a city, why isn’t there anyone here?”

“There is, though,” Lan Jingyi said, pointing. “Look, over there – huh, no. I must have seen the wrong thing.”

“No,” Mo Xuanyu said, and him actually disagreeing with someone when it wasn’t in the middle of one of his fits was so unusual – even after he’d had so much healing – that they all turn to look at him.

He was smiling.

“You’re right,” he said, clapping his hands together happily, his eyes fixed on the distant spot. “There is someone there! I can see them!”

He raised a hand and waved.

“Xue-gege!” he shouted. “Xue-gege, it’s A-Yu! Come out and meet my friends!”

#mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #mo xuanyu #jiang cheng #jin ling #lan sizhui #my fic #my fics #a sick thought

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acklesterritory · 3 years

Text

That Kind of Love Never Dies_Chapter 1

Hey guys, Now that more voted to split my fictions in 2 parts, I'm back with the first part. I hope you like it. Don't forget to leave me feedbacks. I'll always appreciate them. Love you all.

This is for writing event @tvdspngirl314

My quote is "That kind of love never dies"

Dean x Reader series (just 2 parts)

This chapter words: ~5k

Series warning:

Angst, fluf, smut, angry Dean, hurt Reader, hurt Dean, there's some more but I hate spoilers so I insist on "Angst & Hurt"

It all started with a stupid argument at home. What was it? Three months ago? Sam couldn't remember the exact date but after years, it was the first time this awkward coldness between Dean and Y/n had started to build. He could remember the first time he and his brother came across Y/n like it was yesterday, they were hunting a very nasty creature who used to kidnap young and lonely women at night, then got them wrapped in ropes and ties on a bed in a warehouse to rape, torture and feed on their blood until the victim either died or accepted to turn into one of his kind.

Sam could remember the helplessness in people's eyes too. The pain of the victims' families, the frustration and anger on cops' faces when no one could find the criminal yet, even after the sixth missing girl.

"Sammy, he just kidnapped another girl. And I think I know where he's gonna take her. Let's hunt this son of a bitch."

When Dean was saying that, Sam never expected him to fall in love with the woman they would save that night. Well, unfortunately they weren't fast enough to prevent any harm to the girl. When they arrived and Dean killed the nasty creature, Y/n was almost dead. The monster had already raped her, tortured her … and when he felt the hunters enter the place, he drank almost all of her blood, to gain more energy to fight. So as always, Dean was up to blaming himself. Of course only in his own eyes, not anyone else's.

"Call Cas to come home. Tell him it's an emergency."

Dean told his brother when he finally could get Y/n out of those ropes. And Sam knew he was right. At that point, no one could save Y/n unless God or his angels. Maybe she was not so lucky coming across a nasty supernatural creature like that but she was lucky enough that Cas arrived just on time and healed her. However, angels can only heal physical wounds. But Y/n was hurt much more than that. She couldn't just move on from the things that the bastard had put her through. Even after Cas tricked her brain to forget some certain things, she still had bad nightmares and had this dark shade of hopelessness in her eyes. Soon, she started to eat and talk less and less. And Dean just couldn't let her go. He really wanted to fix all of that for her but she kept shutting him out… until the depression hit her. It was so bad that Cas felt the need to tell them to prepare themselves for her death. Because after all those days and unlike everything else in their lives, The Winchesters were already used to her presence around them; like the way a lonely person can get used to a wounded cat more and faster than anyone else.

"I'm not gonna hunt until I'm sure she can live her normal life." When Dean stated that, Sam really thought he was joking. But after a few days he started to believe it. Dean truly would do anything to keep her alive. From cooking vegetables to laughing at his own dad jokes in front of Y/n to make her smile. That was when Sam started to feel that they can be more than a random hunter/rescued victim relationship! It felt like his brother had finally found his motivation in life: "Saving Y/n."

Gradually Y/n started to respond to this special attention from Dean with trust and smiles. Soon they became a power couple that could motivate each other so easily that sometimes Charlie would call them out. And honestly Sam had no problem with it. In fact Y/n had become his other sister.

"My God, Dean! You're burning up!" It was two day after a werewolf hunt in which Dean had got hurt. At first it was just some scratches on his arms and chest. Yet as the time passed, more symptoms started to appear: headache, pain, fever, cold sweat, even nose bleeding and before they could figure it out, Dean fell unconscious. Apparently the claws of the werewolf were poisonous. However Sam wasn't sure. The only thing he got no doubts about was the fact that it was already too late. Dean couldn't make it to the hospital. So either Sam had to do anything possible to save him or Cas should've picked up his God damn phone.

"No. no, no, no, no. Dean … Dean!!!"

That was when Sam got to hear Y/n's helpless cry and see her true feelings. She was already in love with his brother.

Luckily, unlike typical love stories; no one died that night. Sam's antidote worked. And Dean opened his eyes an hour later.

"Sammy … Y/n?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Y/n grabbed his face and put her thirsty lips on her beloved hunter's, letting the tears stream down on her face… and then his.

"Never do that again." She begged, breaking the kiss, her trembling hands holding Dean's face so she could look into his eyes.

Sam couldn't stop his smile remembering how cute they were. Y/n literally had Dean wrapped around her little finger, to the point he accepted to teach her how to hunt and soon she was part of their team too. Until … a few months ago. After two years of them being constantly close to each other, Sam could tell something was off when Dean started to go out without eating breakfast with Y/n. Of course she got suspicious after the third time and that was when their endless arguments started.

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Because nothing is wrong, Y/n."

Actually there was. Something was VERY wrong. Anyone could tell that just by the change in Dean's eyes whenever he wanted to look at Y/n. Day by day he was getting more quiet and cold. Now they didn't even eat pie together or watch movies late at night. And Sam couldn't ignore his brother being grumpy or drunk on hunts, not anymore.

"Ok man, I've had enough. You either tell me what's wrong with you or next time I won't make any excuses so you can leave Y/n out of our hunt plans. I'm serious, Dean, I'll tell her the truth." He finally said, when they were alone in the impala, on their way to do their next hunt.

"She wants more."

"More?"

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like she sees more in me. She thinks we can have a different life. There's no need for any saying, I can see it in her eyes whenever we accidentally come across some family at a diner that try to feed their kids or people's wedding photos whenever we go to talk with some witnesses or whoever during the research! Sometimes she even looks up wedding dresses or kid stuff on the net!" Dean blew his anger out of his nostrils and sighed, shaking his head.

"Wow." Sam couldn't find the proper word to say but he couldn't hide his surprised face either.

"What?" Dean gave him an annoyed look.

"I mean …" Sam chuckled. "… are you telling me you're actually angry with her for imagining the things you always dream about?!"

"Sam …"

"No, really. I'm just curious. What's wrong with you, man?" Sam asked genuinely, waiting for an answer.

"What's wrong with me?! You think something is wrong with me just because I'm the rational one in this relationship; who's actually able to see the difference between a dream and the reality?"

Yeah, anyone could take that earnest speech, but not Sam. He'd seen and knew enough about his brother.

"What's the reality? Aren't you and Y/N living that dream life already?"

"What?! No. No … that's not the same." Dean shook his head.

"Really? How is it not? It's been two years, Dean. You two are constantly with and/or around each other. Always worried when the other one is in trouble and still looking at one another like there is nothing in the world that can make you happy as much as this relationship. So … excuse me if I won't buy your pretty speech; man ." Sam said, Rolling his eyes.

"Ok, let's say you're right but ... is it gonna be like that forever? With all the supernatural crap that we have to take care of … and the constant danger and chaos in this hunter life we have… I …"

"You what?" Sam asked when Dean didn't finish his sentence. He was lost in his thoughts, staring at this unknown point in the depth of the road. Finally he blew out his despair.

"I just can't let her fall for the things I know I can't provide for her. It's not fair, Sammy. It's not fair to lock her up in this dark life with me just because she loves me … especially while I know there is a whole bright future out there waiting for her."

"Here we go, the old Dean's self-doubt" Sam thought to himself as he took a deep breath before finding the best words to wake his brother up from this nightmare

"Yeah, I know but I don't think it's your call. If Y/n wants to go to hell with you instead of living in heaven with someone else, it's her choice. Not your responsibility. Right?"

Dean shook his head while his lips curved up a little to fake a smile but he never answered or said anything about that conversation ever again. He kept his silence for like three weeks … until someone new showed up: "Gary Smith". A tall man with the most stylish haircut and the most perfect teeth and smile.

They saw him for the first time at their hangout bar, as the new bartender who almost jumped in Y/n's way as soon as they entered the bar.

"Oh my God, bunny! Is this really you?" He said, pulling her in his embrace. Like she was the long time missing piece of his beloved puzzle!

"Bonny? You're wrong. Her name is Y/n." Dean said, pretty annoyed by the way Gary tightened his arms around Y/n's little shoulders, making him chuckle.

"No, uh … it's just a nickname." Y/n said as soon as the guy let her go.

"Yeah, actually the most fitting nickname that I could think of. I mean … you have to agree. She got the most cute little ears in the world." The guy explained, chuckling and pulling on her little star earring. Well, if Sam wanted to be honest, he had to agree with him. He never paid any attention to it before but now that Gary mentioned it, he could tell Y/n's ears were truly small.

"I see … So … I guess this means you were close friends?" Dean said, already hating the way Y/n e's blushed with hearing her old nickname.

"Uh … well, no. Actually more than that." The guy grinned, ruffling his own hair while he was awkwardly laughing and looking at Y/n. Just like a proud embarrassed teen!

"We used to date." Y/n said.

*oh* Sam tried his best not to let that stupid grin sit on his lips but Dean's frown and his sudden heavy silence didn't let him do so.

"Yeah. We are kinda each other's first. Like … you know? prom date." The man added, giving Y/n a wink while Dean's gaze was still locked on his large arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah. It's been years, Gary."

"I know. But believe me, bunny. you still look the same." He said, bending to put a kiss on her right cheek.

Dean would kill him. Sam just knew that. Because his brother's eyes were already burning with jealousy.

"By the way, don't you wanna tell me who these gentlemen are ?" The guy asked Y/n, giving her his softest smile.

"Of course. This is Sam and this is Dean. My colleagues who are my friends now. I live in their place."

After they met, everything got even more complicated. Y/n, the girl who was still trying to get old-happy-days Dean back suddenly stopped whatever she used to do. No more complains, no waiting at nights to see Dean before going to bed, no more effort to get involved in hunts, no nothing. And despite what Dean had claimed before, it was making Dean even more frustrated. Day to day he and Y/n were getting colder towards each other and there was nothing he could do to fix it. That was what made him even more furious. Sam already knew all of that and he still had to live with both of those grumpy faces. So last night when they began to fight, he could see this was coming: Y/n left the bunker after Dean let some hurtful things out of his mouth, just because he didn't know how to deal with all the heartache anymore. He now was convinced that Y/n didn't love him anymore. Yet the next day after drinking whatever strong drink they had, he begged Sam to come with him. Apparently Jodie texted Dean about Y/n being in her place for that night. Just to make sure that her crazy step son won't sell his soul over a tracking spell! So Dean almost begged his brother to be there with him, cause Dean believed that as much as Y/n didn't care about him, she still respected Sam and cared about him. Like a little sister and her elder brother.

So here they were, In Jodie's living room, in front of her and Y/n.

"Considering your sleepy eyes, I think we caught you at bed time, huh?" Sam asked, checking Y/n's obvious eye bags.

"Who says that? I'm totally good, Sam."

She said with a small smile, looking much more in control and stronger than before. So Sam knew it was a lie. Y/n Just had made her peace with what had happened last night. The realization۹ kicked Dean in the gut. Y/n always used to be stronger and bolder when she got hurt.

"I'm gonna make some coffee for us. Why don't you guys take a seat till I come back?"

Jodie interrupted, to ease the heavy and sharp silence that suddenly had fallen over all of them.

Y/n gave her a smile.

"Of course."

It was so fake. Her smile didn't even curl her lips completely. She was still badly hurting.

Sam swore in his head when he looked over his brother who sank silently into the nearest seat at the end of the table like a broken shell that he was too . One of Dean's hands was in the pocket of his jacket, the other formed a fist on the table. Sam was sure Dean knew it too. He knew everything was almost past saving. "Almost". Sam tried to stick to their small chance.

"So …" He cleared his voice before he put some (semi fake) hope into his words."You're … you're gonna come back home today or did Alex and Claire made you promise them otherwise?" He laughed and tried to make it funny but the truth was he asked this for Dean's sake, knowing he already was struggling to find the words … to let Y/n know how much he wanted her back … to ask her to come back.

"To be honest … I don't think I can live in the bunker anymore." Y/n said and as Dean's head snapped up to look at her in horror, she raised her hand to stop his (likely) protests.

"I applied for a job 3 weeks ago and to my surprise they called me this morning to tell me I'd actually got it."

*What?*

No one had to ask it. The question was already hung in the air. She snored mockingly in her nose. "Perfect timing, right?"

She moved her gaze from her interlocked fingers on the table to Dean's eyes.

He didn't answer, he didn't move but he got tense. Still staring back at Y/n.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam asked, once again saving Dean from asking the question he was itching to ask with some other words that for sure couldn't be nice.

"I wanted to but I didn't think I could actually get it and even if I did, I never figured out how to tell you. Besides, I never considered the "move out" option before..." She looked at Sam for a second before she turned her gaze on Dean. "... But I actually appreciate that you bring it up. I think now I can take the advice. I'm gonna move on."

Sam's heart dropped in his stomach when he heard those words. Because he knew what this meant. It felt something like having to watch Dean get stabbed in the heart.

"Is this … because of that Bartender?" Dean asked, staring deadly at Y/n with his bloodshot eyes. He was already chewing on his bottom lip. And Sam knew a heavy storm was on its way to hit them.

"I don't want to answer that question."

*shit*

"Why? Because you can't just simply say no?" Dean scolded and Sam could see how it pushed on Y/n boundaries.

"No. Because it's not your fucking business and it's not Gary's business either. But at least he knows his limits."

*well, fuck*

"By "limits" you mean when he drools on you just because for God knows whatever the reason, you started to wear leather jackets when we go there?"

"WHAT?!"

*Oh, fuck* Sam thought to himself, watching Y/n rise from her seat.

"You think … you really think that I …" she laughed nervously and Sam could tell she would punch Dean in the face if she wasn't a sweet, super nice person.

"How you can even …"

"I can even what, Y/n? Are we now going to pretend like I'm a blind man who can't see how you got attracted to your ex again? Did you really think I couldn't see how your hands were shaking when his filthy face lighted up by seeing you for the first time after all these years?"

Sam wanted to interrupt him or at least leave the room but everything was happening so fast.

"So what? Why and since when you care about my private life?"

"Since you stopped drinking bunker's beers just because you rather drink those crappy poisonous cocktails he makes at the bar!"

Dean was on his feet now as well. And despite his will, Sam couldn't stop his smile. He never saw his brother this jealous before. It was fun.

"Poisonous? … You … of all people, you are the one who says this? cause as much as I know, you're the one who puts dormitives in my guest's food so the poor guy gets tired and can't spend his time with me!"

"Yeah, because your poor guy is not welcomed in MY PLACE!" Dean yelled, punching the table with so much power that made everyone almost jump out of their skins.

"Dean!" Finally Sam interrupted but as soon as he stood up, someone rang the doorbell and Sam could hear Jodie welcoming someone inside.

"Guys … I know it's not my place to interfere but you two really need to sort things out somewhere private … of course that's when both of you can be much calmer than this."

"No, we have nothing to say or to talk about, anymore. Your brother was clear enough when he said he wants me to move out, so I'll move out. And that's it."

Y/n declared, looking at Sam to resist any eye contact with Dean, probably to make him even more crazy.

"And that's it? You wanna ignore that part where you were too eager and ready to accept that suggestion and leave the bunker instantly like your pants were on fire?!"

Dean retorted while Y/n was shaking her head like she couldn't believe him.

"Whose pants are on fire?" Jodie interrupted as soon as she re-entered the room with the coffees she'd made, this time a man was with her. Y/n's guy. The famous bartender.

*Oh, No!*

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a second so the guy couldn't read his face.

"Obviously not mine." Dean hissed through his teeth, looking first at the guy and then at Y/n with such a disappointment and rage that no one could ignore.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The guy asked, choosing the worst spot to stand on: right next to Y/n.

"My typical life I guess. Nothing's new." She mumbled in reply to him but her eyes were still on Dean.

"No, nothing is wrong with your life, Y/n. It's about your choices. That's what's wrong with you. As always." Dean said bitterly. As sharp as a knife, as cold as ice. Sam could see how it drained color from Y/n's face.

"You better watch your mouth, buddy." The Gary guy warned Dean and Sam could tell that if it wasn't for the sudden thud sound that stole everyone's attention, Dean would throw a fight right there. But …

"Y/n!" Jodie almost screamed. Y/n was laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"Oh, God." Sam said as Jodie rushed to her.

"Y/n? … Y/n can you hear me?"

As she sat next to her, Gary's fingers already were on Y/n's carotid pulse point. So Sam couldn't stop himself from looking up at his brother, who was still standing where he was. In shock.

"Oh, shit!" Gary's worried voice made Sam check Y/n's pale face again but Jodie was the one to dare ask the question which was on everyone's minds.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Her pulse ... too faint." He said before turning to Dean: "Is she bleeding?"

"Bleeding?" Dean blinked and mumbled in confusion.

If it was up to Sam, he'd ask *What bleeding?* & *Why are you asking this from my brother?*

"Oh my. You still don't know. Do you?" Gary sneered.

"Know what? What's happening?" Jodie was freaking out now and Sam actually felt the same. He didn't like the way this stranger pretended like he knew her better than them. However what happened next was much more unexpected. And … rude!

To everyone's surprise, the guy reached out to Y/n's jeans and drew his hand between her legs but before anyone could react, he spread her legs open so it could be possible for everyone to see that big red stain there. Then he raised his hand. It was all wet and red in blood!

"She's having a miscarriage." He revealed.

Sam's gaze instantly caught Dean's ... Burning. Dean was burning inside with his heavy silence.

"Don't you worry. It's not mine." Gary added more fuel to that hell with such a mocking tone, staring right back at Dean's eyes.

Now Sam could feel it. The storm was there: rising in his brother's roar!

Before Sam could've moved any muscles, Gary was already pinned to the wall, Dean's hands on his now-ripped-out collar.

"Dean, no!" Sam jumped in, trying to catch his brother's arm before his fist make any contact with the guy's nose but all he could do was changing the direction of the punch which landed on Gary's shoulder, making a painful cracking sound.

"I said no … Dean, stop it." Sam had to literally cage Dean in his arms so the furious man couldn't tear Gary apart.

"Get off me, Sam. This son of a bitch has to learn his place."

"Enough!" As Dean just broke himself free, Jodie's scream stopped everyone in their tracks.

"It's enough!" Jodie warned all three men, pointing at them one by one.

"You want to fight? Not here. Not in my house!"

"But ..."

As soon as Dean opened his mouth to protest, Jodie cut him:

"And you … you should know Y/n is pregnant with your twins. So … you'll be a responsible man who will try his best to save them or you can get the hell out of here and never come back!"

"What?" Sam was too shocked to suppress his reaction while Dean couldn't even find any words to say. His confused look darted between Jodie's face and Y/n's figure while his parted lips kept moving without making any noise, just like a dying fish on the shore!

"I promised her not to tell anyone but it was a promise under normal conditions, not this." Jodie sighed, struggling to keep her emotions under control. Sam saw the worry in her frown. Like a real mother, worried for her children. However it was nothing in comparison to his brother's blank eyes and pale face.

"Dean, It's ok. We just need to take her to hospital. … it's ok, man. I promise."

He had to grab Dean by his jacket, as his brother was struggling to process all of these in his head.

"Come on, man. We got no time. Do I need to do this alone or you'll …"

"Get the car, Sammy."

It was just a simple sentence. Yet it had enough power to make Sam's heart sank. Since Dean had put the car keys in his hand saying that, Sam couldn't stop thinking about that tone. Dean never had called Baby a "car" In years. And Sam had never heard that crack in his voice since their Dad's death.

"You ok?" He finally let himself ask, two hours after they arrived at the hospital.

"I want to be." Dean closed his eyes and put his head against the cold wall, letting the dim light to darken the shadows under his eyes.

"I'm sure she'll be good. She's strong, Dean. You know that."

He smiled and Sam looked away not to watch him. He knew that smile. Dean used to give him that, whenever everything was gone so wrong that Dean couldn't promise him anything good. Like when both of them were still kids. Hungry, cold and all alone in a rusty motel room where John had left them on their own for a one day long hunt but then a heavy snow had crashed the roads and kept them apart for half a week. So Dean had to wash the dishes and do the laundry in the motel to rent the room for another day and provide some snacks so they wouldn't starve to death. But after three days, the hotel managers didn't want them to be around. And Sam could vividly remember that smile on his brother's face when he asked: *Where should we go then?*

"You were always such a father material. You know?"

Sam admitted with a broken smile on his face.

"You were always responsible, kind and caring with me as a kid. And I can't imagine anyone who deserves to be a father more than you."

Dean took a deep breath and opened his eyes without looking at him: "But I don't want ... I really can't, Sammy."

All, it certainly wasn't the response Sam had expected. He used to believe that Dean would never turn down any chance to start a family with Y/n. Especially after everything in the world was back to normal.

"Are you kidding me? You always wanted this."

"No …" Dean finally turned his gaze to meet his brother's confused eyes. "No, Sammy. Not like this. I don't want to raise another kid without his mom. I'm not that strong anymore."

Dang. Once again Sam's heart dropped in his stomach. Dean was really helpless.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean was on his feet as Sam just realized the doctor's presence.

"It's me."

Sam prayed for any good news as doctor took a glance of Dean and fixed his glasses on his face …

"To be continued …"

READ CHAPTER 2 HERE

tag list:

@jay-and-dean @adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278

The next and also ultimate chapter will post on Sunday, April 25. Thanks for reading.

Feedback are always appreciated.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x ofc #dean x you #dean winchester #allyswritingevent #Acklesterritory #dean winchester x ofc #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you

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ahopelessromanticwritersworld · 3 years

Text

This is my extremely late fic for the Secret Santa exchange for @flightlessangelwings!!!

I’m excited for you to read this, and I really hope you like it!! I have a second part planned for this, so that is in the works!

This was inspired by @softpedropascal’s own pirate!Pero! AU, and I highly recommend everyone go check it and all of her work out! Everything she writes is *chef’s kiss* magnificent!!

Thank you so much for your patience! 💙💙💙

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader

Warnings: blood, violence, maritime action, lack of maritime knowledge, lots of Spanish in places

Ángel de la Muerte

As Pero felt the warm blood of his blade’s latest victim, he closed his eyes for a brief second. In that time, he prayed that perhaps today, of all days, would be the day that he finds the answers he was searching for. The man that he had just struck down had also been the last man that had taken part in taking you aboard a rival captain’s ship.

Pero had discovered your kidnapping when he stopped at your home city’s harbor and went to call upon you. When he arrived, what he found was utter destruction. Your door had marks in it as though someone had tried to axe their way through. All your furniture was overturned and thrown about the room. It was obvious that someone had either broken in recently, and you hadn’t had a chance to clean up yet, or…

Pero still shudders when he remembers his reaction to the second, more likely scenario as to why your home was in such disarray. He roared with a primal rage so unlike anything he had ever felt; not even the overwhelming adrenaline of a raging battle upon the sea got him this worked up.

After quickly interrogating your neighbors and learning some of the men’s names who had stolen you away as well as the name of the capitán they served under and the ship they had sailed away upon. He also learned that at least a week had passed since you had been taken, which felt as though someone had driven their sword through Pero’s chest, making his heart stutter and his breathing falter.

Now knowing that he was already working with a disadvantage for catching up to you and the dead men currently awaiting their visit from La Parca, Pero quickly made his way back to the docks and his ship, Ángel de la Muerte.

Pero was proud of his crew that they were able to mobilize so quickly; he couldn’t care less if it was because they feared him and his reputation, or if it was due to the fact that you took such good care of their capitán and they feared for what might happen to them if you were not around him any more. He was able to quickly set a course based on reports given to him by other seamen he trusted in the harbor who saw the rival pirates set off with you.

Pero was loath to admit it, but this rival capitán knew how to make it difficult to track himself down. Pero and his men were still searching for you, and it had been about two months since you had been taken.

At each port they stopped in, they gleaned another vital clue, whether it was a direction of travel or the name of one the men that had taken you. But it seemed as though each clue was smoke in the air: helpful right when he got it, but utterly useless when he began tracking again. The longer they searched, the more desperate Pero became because he refused to consider a world without you in it.

So whenever he or his men tracked down a lead, Pero had his second in command, William, write it down in a book to return to when plotting the next leg of their journey. That way, La Parca would have a ledger of all the men that had had any part to play in daring to steal away his tesoro and strike them down.

Finally, after four months of searching, he and his men were able to catch up to this rival’s ship. Pero was unable to stop the crooked smile emerging on his lips as he thought with glee of how he would cut these men down before coming to you with the blood from the dead men still warm on his face.

He was able to send a cabin boy to deliver his personal message to the capitán.

It read: “You have something that I want. You may think you have an idea of what you have in your possession aboard your ship, but I assure you that you do not. She will soon be back with me. She means more to me than you will ever know. You will not live long enough to rue the day that you crossed La Parca because I will kill you and every single man who touched a hair on her head. You may think you can flee, but know this: no man can escape La Parca.”

At first, Pero was sure that his reputation would ensure that the crew surrendered to him, but the longer they took to respond, the more his hackles rose. Then, the man on lookout called out because he saw them preparing to sail off as well as preparing their cannons. This made Pero and William share a quick glance. They both had no doubts that Ángel de la Muerte would emerge triumphant, but if they were forced to engage in cannonfire, there was no way to ensure your safety.

And this made the two men extremely uneasy.

Pero barked out the order to go after the ship, with his blood beginning to boil the longer he gave chase with you so close yet so far away from him. However, before Pero could engage in battle with this cobarde, the ship was pulled into a scuffle with a British Navy vessel.

Pero could only watch in horror as his rival’s ship was battered beyond belief by cannonfire, and his hope that you would escape unscathed dwindled to a quiet flame burning in his chest. Before his eyes, he watched as the ship was scuttled, and the victors began to sail away.

As Ángel de la Muerte made its way to the wreckage, Pero scanned his eyes among the flotsam for any signs of you. The longer he searched, the more he realized that you might not be alive. That didn’t stop him from desperately calling out for you as he and his crew continued searching for any sign of you. But when he came to that wrenching conclusion, Pero began to feel desperation and disbelief warring within himself.

There couldn’t exist a world where you did not live. Absolutely not! If you, his tesoro, had passed into the next realm without La Parca at your side, he would drag himself to the depths of el infierno and demand that you be returned to his side. And if he couldn’t bring you back to the living, he would demand from whatever immortal being he had to to strike him down. If only so that he could then join you in the after life.

Then, he could once again pull you into his arms, breathe in your sweet scent that was ambrosia to him, and reassure his sweet princesa and himself that you were really there, that you were safe and that there was nothing that he wouldn’t do to ensure your safety.

But right now, as William gave him a look and a subtle shake of his head, he had to come to terms with the fact that all souls were lost on this ship.

Now Pero gasped for air as his grief drove into him and made him feel as though his worst enemy had driven their sword through his chest. How was he to go on without his tesoro? You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, and now he was to accept that you were gone? NEVER!! He would never, in a hundred years, accept that you were gone.

Pero Tovar, capitán of Ángel de la Muerte vowed to all the gods listening that he would scour the ends of the earth and all the seas to find anything to bring you back to him, or he would die trying. And at the moment, he didn’t have a preference for either outcome. All he knew was both ways would eventually lead him to be reunited with you. Whether in this realm or the next, he didn’t care.

Pero glared up at the heavens, where he knew that his tesoro would be temporarily residing, if you had indeed left this mortal coil. He knew what he now had to do. He would track down a relic that he had heard only whispers about, a stone that was said to return the dead to life. And if it worked as it was rumored to, the stone would restore you so that it would be as if you had never left this world at all.

The groans from the man wounded at his feet brought Pero out of his reminiscing. For three years now, Pero had been searching for this stone that could revive his princesa, his tesoro and return her from muerte’s icy clutch. Before his personal quest began, he would have scoffed at such talk surrounding a mystical object; however, now he prayed that all the stories about this resurrection stone were true so that he could be reunited with his estrella, his North Star that served as a beacon to bring him home, no matter how far apart they were.

He barely spared a glance at the man lower than a barnacle in his eyes as William came up to him.

“My friend, look what he had in his cabin.” He opened up a journal, which had maps and scribbling in it.

“From his writing, it looks as though he and his crew lost something or someone valuable three years ago in Port Royal.”

Pero’s eyes slowly rose from the pitiful bottom-feeder to William.

“That could possibly be your beloved, amigo.”

Yes, Pero thought, I’m not an idiot. As soon as he realized that he might have gotten the biggest possible lead in his quest to be reunited with you, Pero crouched down so that he could be eye level to the scum.

“You will tell me what I want to know, then I will decide whether or not I should kill you. But if you dare to play me for a fool, I will take great pleasure in killing you so slowly that you shall be begging La Parca and Ángel de la Muerte to come visit you.”

The man whimpered, but did little else.

“What exactly did you lose at Port Royal?”

It seemed to take a great effort out of him, but the man finally wheezed out “a woman.

The captain wanted her, so we stole her away.”

“Where did you steal this poor, unfortunate woman away from?” Pero had to fight to keep his stoic composure in place when the man breathed out the name of the port city you used to call home.

“And did any one of your men or even you yourself touch her after stealing her away?”

“Never! I swear to God!”

Pero now felt that small, flickering flame of hope he had been nursing within himself for three years begin to grow warmer. However, before he could indulge in the heat emanating from this renewed sense of hope, he had to deal with the situation at hand.

Now that he had no use for the man, he quickly drew his dagger.

“Thank you for being so helpful.”

At first, the cobarde relaxed as though he honestly thought that Pero would allow him to live after admitting to such crimes against the capitán’s woman.

“But you see, you dared to harm mi princesa, mi preciosa tesoro.”

The man tried to move away, his eyes widened in fear. Pero’s hand coming down hard upon his shoulder prevented the scum from moving any further away.

“And for that, for touching what wasn’t yours, for stealing something away from La Parca, you must pay. For situations such as this, only one payment will satisfy this debt. A life for a life.”

Now this pathetic excuse of a man was begging for his life before Pero’s own eyes, and while he might have had some sympathy toward his fellow pirates since the harsher crackdowns by sanctioned ships in any other case, Pero was nowhere near ready to allow one of the brutes who stole away his tesoro to remain on this mortal shell.

Pero swiped his hand out and drew his dagger quickly across the scum’s throat. As the man began gurgling and choking on his own blood, Pero wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt and rose, keeping his eyes on the dying man in front of him.

It seemed an age, but the cobarde finally died and not a minute too soon. Perhaps that was only because Pero was so eager to see the demise of the man in front of him. As soon as he saw the light leave the man’s eyes, he turned to face William once more.

“Come, amigo, we must make our way to Port Royal.”

With that, the two comrades clasped their hands on each other’s shoulders before heading back to Ángel de la Muerte. Without another glance backward, Pero barked out orders to his men to throw the body overboard and feed it to the sharks.

As the ship changed course to begin making her way to Port Royal, Pero slowly climbed the stairs to the helm to overlook the crew working to ensure that they set sail as quickly as they could. He watched for a minute or two before he went to the railings and pulled out the chain that had resided around his neck for almost four years now.

A locket that had been caressed so many times by Pero’s fingers that he had worn the metal smooth over time hung at the bottom. Pero rubbed his fingers over it once more, knowing that a lock of your hair also resided inside but not daring to chance opening the locket for fear that a strong gust of wind would sweep the precious gift away from him.

Opposite your hair in the locket was a cameo as well, to aid the memory when he was away at sea, the shopkeeper had advertised. Pero had scoffed, as if he would ever require assistance to remember your stunning visage. But now that he hadn’t gazed upon your beauty for years, he was eternally grateful you had talked him into the luxurious purchase all those years ago.

Next to the locket hung the ring he had purchased with the hope of placing on your finger one day. And with this latest clue, Pero had renewed hope that this ring would soon make a home upon your hand. He raised the locket and ring to his lips and placed a reverent kiss on both before looking out at the sea once more.

“Te extraño, mi tesoro. Espero verte pronto. Te amo, mi amor.”

Translations:

1. capitán- captain

2. Ángel de la Muerte- Angel of Death

3. La Parca- the Grim Reaper

4. tesoro- treasure

5. cobarde- coward

6. el infierno- Hell

7. princesa- princess

8. muerte- death

9. estrella- star

10. amigo- friend

11. mi princesa- my princess

12. mi preciosa tesoro- my precious treasure

13. Te extraño, mi tesoro. Espero verte pronto. Te amo, mi amor.- I miss you, my treasure. I hope I will see you soon. I love you, my love.

Tagging people I think may be interested: @gamingaquarius @miraclemoreno @absurdthirst @scribbledghost @aerynwrites @storiesofthefandomlovers @f0rever15elf @cinewhore @softpedropascal @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @flightlessangelwings @hopelikethemoon @jawabear

#pedros12daysofchristmas #pero tovar au fic idea #pero tovar #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better.

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you.

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you.

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind.

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea.

That is, until this very second.

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have.

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor.

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out.

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior.

What are you hiding from him?

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry.

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time.

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me.

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before.

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.”

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries.

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me.

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human.

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.”

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him.

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on.

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck.

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower.

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it.

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.”

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income.

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you.

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it.

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me.

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco.

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not?

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.”

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno.

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom.

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left.

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help.

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day.

Having him to talk to is nice.”

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him.

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on.

Envy doesn’t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal.

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory.

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco.

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment.

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion.

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation.

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for.

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--”

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore.

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath.

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that.

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity.

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted.

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either.

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up.

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?”

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight.

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Ducktales Della Arc Reviews: The Spear of Selene or THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES, GOD OF HOMEROTIC SUBTEXT OUT OF MYTH!

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to my coverage of the Della arc! It’s our last 2017 episode before the Finale, and it’s a huge one as we delve into a fan faviorite that introduces a pair of fan faviorites, a drum of tzatkiki sauce worth of gay, an asshole so odious getting sent to the bowls of hades and laughed at for all enternity after being cast out by eveyrone he knows really was getting off light, and at last some plot progression on this arc. At the time it aired mind you at this point Dellas been a beloved cast member for three years, and we’ve known what happened to her for longer than that.

At the time though.. it’d been 8 MONTHS since the Great Dime Chase. Let that sink in. The Della reveal was the biggest hook of an already exceptional pilot: It not only promised to flesh out a character who’d had all of one story in the comics at this point in present day, but solve the mystery of why she was gone. Not only that but Scrooge and Donald’s feud clearly stemmed from this exact moment. And the first full episode in the arc confirmed it: Della had taken whatever “The Spear of Selene” was and apologized to Scrooge for it. So why had she taken it, why did Donald blame scrooge, why did Scrooge not blame himself, at least outwardly, where was she, what was the spear of selene...

As I pointed out last time airing order didn’t help and due to airing the arc episodes really close together, gave the impression the arc would not only move fast but take up more of the season than it did. In practice both arcs take up a fourth of the season not including the finale, which would take both up to about a third. The expectation on how much of the season would be taken up by the arc.. was on Disney for airing things badly. I will give credit where it’s do as they moved this episode up in the order to try and make up for it (and give themselves a huge mid season opener).. but then for some reason shoved the last episode before last crash, ie. the only one they coudln’t move, way back to right before that episode. “ Here’s an actual photo of the person who made this decision

As I said they did get better next season with only a few swaps and only for good reason. So props.

HOWEVER.... this episode still has some flaws with pacing and revealing info, with or without Disney drunk driving the schedule. The wait between episodes in this plot is an episode LONGER in production order... and dosen’t move the plot forward by much. I will get to that when the time comes.. and that DESPITE this treatment of the fans.. this episode is still one of the seasons best. How are both things true? Join me under the cut to find out.

Thunderstormy to be precise and the Sunchaser is natrually encountering loads of turbulence with Launchpad barely holding int here while Donald’s buffeted around the back. Why Donald’s with them...

But it’’s one of his only five starring episodes in the season, out of 9 appearances total the rest of which are cameos. Yeah now seems as good as time as any to talk about Season 1′s Donald Duck problem.

See Donald was promoted as a major part of the series, rightly so since he was reduced to a guest star for the 87 series due to a combination of Disney not wanting to overexpose the characters, people possibly not being able to understand his voice and thus making plots hard to understand, and Tony Anselmo being new to the roll at the time. So the reboot went all out promoting the fact Donald would be in it, front and center and gave him TWO character shorts to the rest of the casts one. Disney really went out of their way to show he’d be in there so as a certified Donald Fanatic, I was sure he’d actually be in the show a lot and on the adventures a lot. The crew were not blameless as both promotional arts featured him. Launchpad and Beakly conversely were asbent, so the impression given by all of this was that Donald would be central to the series and in a lot of episodes, given equal focus to scrooge and the kids.

This.. didn’t happen as you all know. Instead as stated he’s up front and center for 5 episodes, and makes cameos in others, but generally is hardly around. Now there is KINDA an excuse to this as he doesn’t want to adventure, be in the mansion or any of that.. but it’s a REALLY weak one. He still at least could’ve made more cameos, the fact he was working on the boat all that time isn’t made clear till last crash, and his two spotlight episodes both have him dragged along on the adventure anyway, so it’s not like his not wanting to be there meant he woudln’t be forced to join in anyway. There were ways to include him, still have him in a supporting role instead of leaving him back at the mansion.. and even the second episode proved there was still comedy to be mliked from that.. and pathos don’t forget the pathos. So yeah this was easily the biggest mistake of the season and one season 2 largely corrected: He got four dedicated plots, and was around a decent amount in the first half of the season and while he DID get shot up to the moon... it was for valid reasons. They wanted to focus on Della and the kids, give her room to breathe as a brand new major addition to the show, and thus him being around and the elephant in the room of his and scrooge’s feud that was never dealt with on screen, would’ve distracted from that. And even with that they still gave him a focus episode that somehow added more depth and MASSIVELY advanced the main plot, and a sizeable roll in the finale. Season 3 likewise had things better: while he shows up as much as in season 1, the episode count is lower by one, and he’s a major part of the plot in every one BUT Last Christmas, with four of those having the spotlight on him in some way. They eventually did figure out how to use him far more ballanced. So yeah credit where it’s do it got MUCH better, but he still felt like a recurring character in his own series, that was still bad, and I still needed to give out about it.

But Webby and Dewey have a mission even if Dewey dosen’t quite get what’s going on so they flip a switch to turn on a warning light of some kind forcing Launchpad to make an emergency landing on a gorgeous tropical island. To Huey’s amazement, as the place was apparenlty only a myth, though naturally the guidebook did have it’s aproximate location listed... Ithaquack, home of the gods. Naturally Scrooge and Donald want to leave as soon as possible for reasons we’ll get into but Launchpad , for once is being a responsible pilot “Better safe than.. something right? Scrooge is of course irate that Launchpad picked NOW of all times to be safe, and the Kids.. don’t listen because Huey sees a beautiful realm of myth, Louie sees a beach vacation and Dewey and Webby.. have work to do. Webby eventually fills Dewey in on why their here, having wrongly assumed he got why they were going to a mythical greek island. As Dewey delightfully puts it later “Don’t assume I know anything. “ So she pieces it together for him: Selene was the greek goddess of the moon... Della took the SPEAR of Selene. Ergo this island is the best place to find the Spear and failing that, Selene herself to get more info on it and Della.

So we have our two plots. Scrooge and Donald dealing with their pasts and the gods, and Dewey and Webby diving into his mom’s past. And unlike the last review where a genuinely unsettling story about an abuse victim forced to manipulate her girlfriend not going into a murder vault was paired with Louie having to deal with a Sasquatch while Huey catches a case of Dewey’s stupidity somehow, these two plots are perfectly paired: Their both perfectly thematically connected, both dealing with the past, Della’s absence and Scrooge and the Twins past encounters with the gods.. but both being self contained outside of that, entirely unconnected but stilll necessary to be in the same episode. THIS is how you do two plots. But since they don’t really synch up again till the end, let’s cover each one at a time shall we?

“What if My Mom was a Bad Person?”

The plot is pretty straight forward but expertly done: Dewey and Webby first check your standard Zelda dungeon which apparently has a cursed weapon at the end. We also get an utterly adorable and sweet shot of Webby comforting Dewey after he’s clearly shook from it. Awwww. Turns out it’s the SWORD of Selene. and quickly turns into a game of put the Cursed Sword back before we all die.

Next up is a monster who nearly kills both protecting it’s spear.. the spear of POSIDEN. (Look at meeeeee). And since they aren’t going to be on a boat that isn’t a house boat anytime soon, they don’t need that and the monster cheerfully redirects them, with Dewey apologizing for calling it ugly.

So all pretty standard stuff for the show and really good stuff.. but it’s the building tension underneath that truly makes the episode and leads to one hell of a climax for this plot. All the while Dewey is DESPERATE for some explination for his mom’s disapperance that isn’t her betraying Scrooge, maybe returning the spear because it was cursed or getting eaten by a monster. Just ANYTHING but the mounting and horrifying suspicion.. that his mom was a bad person who destroyed her family and betrayed her uncle and laughed all the while. Webby.. does not help, backing that side of things and constantly voicing hte idea Della betrayed Scrooge, so obsessed with solving the mystery of her life.. but so unfamilliar with people she dosen’t see the very real toll this is taking on her best friend. To her she’s just making a logical counterpoint.. to him it’s just another idea in his head about the way his mom could’ve betrayed everyone she cared about.

So that climax is where it explodes. Our heroes find a scale model of ithaquack (Complete with Tiny Maniticore! It’s so cute Webby just wants to slay it) and an opening.. with an ominous message about incurring the wrath of the god seemingly conforming the worst. So Webby prepares to find out the whole story.. only for Dewey to stop her. No one’s finding this out, whatever it is, no matter how far they’ve come. And given this is the biggest mystery of her life and she simply dosen’t understand WHY Dewey dosen’t want to know.. both sides are ready to fight for this. And Webby DOES try to back him down, pointing out he really can’t beat her in a fight. But Dewey’s already grown leaps and bounds form the pilot and is working smarter not harder. Beat Webby, who spent a good chunk of her life being honed into the most badass child on the parent, one who can take on several of scrooge’s worst foes one on one? Not on his life. But hold her off long enough for the gate to close? He can do that.

So the result? One of the best fights of the series... and given the sheer amount of great ones we’ve gottten since this one it still says something it holds up THIS well. It’s an even, furiously paced fight, with Dewey using every advantage he has including tossing said manticore to keep up, but not slowing down one bit. It’s heartbreaking to see the two come to this but it’s an delight to watch. Webby DOES win eventually, though time’s running out to get in and she finally asks WHY. And while the stakes have been crystal clear for both this whole time.. we get them laid out in the most painful way for both.

Webby: We're so close to the truth! Why won't you let us find it?! Dewey: Because...*his voice cracks* what if my mom was a bad person?

It hits VERY hard. For Webby this has been a puzzle something to solve the greatest achivment of her life, her chance to make her mark... and her best friend just wanted to abandon it. But in one swift response, he disarms all of that.. and makes her see how insnstivie she’s been: He may not know his mom.. but he can’t bear the thought she was a bad person. That she left or WORSE, because she didn’t care about him, or scrooge or ANYONE. Knowing nothing is better than knowing she was a monster.

Webby realizes what she’s been doing to her friend and is horrified and offers to back out. The answers.. aren’t worth destroying her brother. But her willingness to back down.. finally gets Dewey to see the light. His fear was valid.. but at the end of the day, it’d never go away. it’d just keep eating him for the rest of his life, every time she was mentioned or he found something else out he’d just wonder if it was a lie and wonder wht he COULD’VE learned this day. And if Webby’s willing to sacrifice THIS MUCH to give him peace of mind... then he can sacrifice that peace of mind for the truth, for her, and for himself. So he pulls them inside.

Inside they find Selene who suprises them.. and is then confused. Their not della. Also I guarantee mentally she’s thiking “Thank me I didn’t do it naked this time. “. After some confusion as to who this is, Webby explains that IS Selene, and Dewey begs for answers about the spear... only to find out she dosen’t have one. Nope. The sword seen before and a SPHERE, yes.. but no Spear. So the poor boy breaks down, back to square one. It’s hard not to see why... all this effort, all of this sacrifice.. and he’s no closer than when they first set down.

Selene does help though... giving him an idea of who his mom WAS: one of her closest friends (And let’s face it Della named the ship after Selene and Selene casually uses Della’s shower. If they didn’t go out at least once, I am an outer god. And I very much am not and they very much banged hard. Goodnight. ) , a good person who brought fun to everyone, and loved her family more than anything. Wether she betrayed Scrooge or not, she wasn’t a bad person. And her own orb shows it showing Della in her prime, brightly smiling next ot her family. Selene encourages the boy not to give up, that his mom always loved a mystery.. and he can solve this one and gently hugs the sobbing child.. with Dewey quickly pulling webby in. It’s genuinely touching and a satisfying ISH ending.

The ish... is because while this is a VERY good plot, i’ll gush more about it at the end, it does have one supreme flaw: the mystery dosen’t progress. And with the huge gaps between this episode and hte next one, in BOTH airing orders... it’s unforgivable to not have EITHER plot give us any hints about what happened. I don’t ask for much, but they could’ve found a clue in the sphere Dewey got, or saw a memory of her that brought up the next place they look, just something a little. While it’s still a very fine story, the main plot suffers a bit by having one of the ONLY three episodes delving into the della mystery before it’s fully revealed in sunchaaser have almost no progress. Della was probably a good person, which comes from her ex who clearly still loves her so that’s not really reliable, and the spear isn’t literal. While the lack of progress works for the story in the episode itself.. it comes at the cost of any actual plot progression. We end up exactly where we started and have to wait SOME TIME before we get to the next spot on the tour. Well we did, you guys will find out Monday or Tuesday depending on if the finale goes up in the morning or Disney holds it till the actual airing. Please don’t you bastards. Point is it’s VERY good plot, but it’s hampred by not really progressing the arc.

The arc progression for this storyline is painfully slow, and tha’ts not on disney. In either order there’s a MASSIVE gap of 15+ episodes between what we learned in the great dime chase and what we learn in castle mcduck. It’s sloppy writing and I expect better from this team, especially since the Lena plot the same season is far tighter paced: each one builds a bit, both on Lena as a character (Why she’s doing this etc), her development as a person, her relationship with webby growing and Magica and her growing more and more spiteful with one another. They could’ve had at least ONE MORE subplot to build this up, especially since we really dind’t need the sasquatch episode but just.. didn’t for whatever reason and it’s still frustrating. But as always credit where it’s due.. the next two seasons were better about it.

Season 2 while not perfect, and we’ll get to it’s plots someday.. and I do say plots as not alternating between the two plots for season 1 was a mistake if a well meaning one as not to drive up the price for Kev but for future refrence if any of you want me to cover an arc for something I WILL have to cover all of it or any adjacent to it that flow into it. Point is they move faster and both Glomgold and Louie’s are pretty lowkey and low stakes so while enjoyable, their not moving incredibly fast dosen’t hurt the show. And the Moon plot has the best pacing of the three and possibly of the series plots period: We get filled in on Della fairly quick, getting answers on her WAY faster, get introduced to the moon and it’s people right away, get a whole episode on them, and the most importantly in sharp contrast? She returns HOME halfway into the season.

I will probably go into this again when I get to nothing will stop della duck but Season 1′s pacing and general wisdowm made me think she wouldn’t get home anytime soon and she’d return in the finale. Instead? We get a whole half a season fleshing her out further, seeing her connect with her kids, all that good stuff, WITH an episode advancing the moon arc, without that arc feeling unimportant, but still having the slow pacing.

Season 3 meanwhile while again not without bugs, the last few episodes before the finale having no real build up to it really wasnt a good idea and I question why these two episodes were the ones leading into it, has two seemingly barely related plots.. that EFFORTLESLY merge into one, with one hell of a huge twist in impossibin that ratchets up the stakes. I don’t know how it’ll payoff.. but we’ll see.

So they did get better, i’m still hard on it because it happened.. but I will never stop stressing how this crew usually corrected a mistake. If they fucked up, they LEARNED FROM IT, course corrected, and made it better and they listened to US. IN the good way, not letting fans run the series but listening to valid concerns and adapting to them. And given how fucking rare that is and how hard it must’ve been with the tight schedule, I.. I really appricate it and i’m going to miss it. And I can’t think of a segue so enjoy this picture of a turtle hitting a trapper in the face with a bat instead.

“Someone Always Gets Hurt”

So let’s take it back a few hours. Hit it boys!

Donald tries getting the boys back on the ship, clearly fearing something coming for him.. and we soon meet that something. Yes it’s the hero of legend, the stork out of myth, the star of a LOT of Donald Duck Slash FanFiction only half of which he wrote, STORKULES!

In case I didn’t make it clear when I reviewed New Gods on the Block! I love this guy. He reminds me a LOT of the marvel version: Boisterious , horny (if in a far more pg version), Gay (Pansexual for the marvel version), flawed but still immensley likeable. Stork is a bit diffrent, a bit more naive, a bit peppier and entirely blind to the fact his father is a terrible person. But my love of the marvel herc means Stork was an easy sell for me and Chris Dimatopolis’ performance is second to none, only topped in this series by his later work as Darkwing where he got a bit more range than “Joyous ham who wants to bang”. Also I’m 100% convenced he’s made this memetic expression to donald at some point...

If someone hasn’t redrawn that with Storkules yet, we have failed as an internet. And if someone has please show me.

His crush on Donald is also endearing even if I don’t ship the two. And if your curious as to why it’s simple: Storkules is attracted to a version of Donald that no longer exists. Storkules craves a Donald whose a brave daring hero who loves adventure. And while still a brave hero when the situation calls for it as this episode will bare out.. he just.. dosen’t have the passion for adventure he did as a kid. While a LOT of that is loosing his sister for a decade, even once he makes peace with that and later gets her back... he just wants a normal life. His greatest wish was for one. He apparenlty “wishes for this every day”. He dosen’t hate adventuering anymore and by season 3 has come to terms with the fact he’ll never get everyone else to stop.. but I also think it’s always been obvious he clearly wants to one day. To have a normal life, settle down, find a girl, and if she wants to get married. Get old , fat and happy. I honestly think that’s the direction the finale’s heading in judging from the previews. I don’t think he’ll ever stop entirely, his family life’s too insane for that.. but he just dosen’t want to keep going forever and Stork, being an immortal hero does. They want diffrent things entirely and that just won’t work. Though that’s also JUST me and if you ship them or have a way around that, feel free. This is just my opinon.

Anyways Donald’s not happy, the kids are confused and Scrooge. has problesm bigger than simply not knowing how to say i’m not into you.... aka Zeus, king of the gods and of all assholes. He was originally supposed to be a swan due to a certian myth.. but they realized since that myth is both really fucked up and really not for children to not do that because why the fuck would you. Point is Zeus in myth is an asshole, a rapist, a cheating husband, and a vengeful, petty dick and that’s with barely any knowledge of Greek Myth on my part. He’s played by Micheal Chiklis whose famous for The Comissh and the Shield.. but whose famous to me for playing the ever loving Blue Eyed thing in the Tim Story Fantastic Four movies.. and honeslty, at least till marvel takes a crack at it soon, is the best screen version of the character. Look the film is flawed and I don’t remember a lot of it.. but his stuff in it just NAILS the character perfectly, at least the first one, and while the look is.. eh, he was the perfect casting. He just wasn’t in the right movie. So he’s naturally awesome here as history’s greatest douchebag.

As for why Zeus is pissed at him unlike say Donald (The whole Spear of Selene fiasco) or Magica (Who while even worse than Zeus still lost her brother because of his callousness), or others he’s wronged.. Scrooge did absolutely nothing wrong here. During a beach party Storkules intiates, he reveals he used to be king of the beach and loved and worshipped by the people of ithaquack, which last time the adult ducks visited was a lovely hideaway for heroes. Scrooge naturally did a bunch of heroic and cool stuff, and upstaged him, and then bested him in various games and what not. Zeus claims they ran off because of this and because they didn’t want to party with a god bested by a mortal.. but scrooge reveals pottery showing it’s because Zeus threw a temper tantrum aka “a year long lightning storm”. So yeah for once all Scrooge did was just upstage someone who was already objectively horrible and who brought all of htis on himself. Scrooge even points it out perfectly “They didn’t leave because they liked me, they left because they didn’t like YOU. “

Pissing off the god who already didn’t like you for stupid reason goes about how you’d expect and when Storkules tries to cool things down by suggesting a game, Zeus turns it into a contest. His son against Scrooge’s nephews. Because he uh dosen’t want to lower himself. Yeah that’s it, totally not that Scrooge would kick his ass and then fucking kick his ass. Yeah that’s the ticket.

So our boys don Toga’s, and gear up for the first challenge: grabbing the bag of winds. In case you thought Spongebob just made that up. Zeus of course opens it so Donald can’t just leave, but Huey simply thinks his way out and wins , Zeus demands best 2/3 and we soon get a montage of various events from chariot racing to sculpture where we get our title picture, lest you thought I was kidding abotu Storkules obession with donald. I mean there’s subtextually having a character have a crush on another and then ther’es making a naked muscular statue of him. I.. I don’t even have a joke here. He made a naked muscular statue of Donald. The only way they could be less obvious without just coming outright and saying it was if hte statue was of hima nd storkules making out. And i’m 100% sure Frank, Matt and Dana, yes Dana Terrace was involved in this one i’m as unsurpised as you are, only didn’t do that because Disney said no.

Zeus declares one final round because he’s tired of this..e ven though he CLEARLY won the last one while Donald once again tries to just leave and Storkules finally calls him on it wondering why he’s given up adventuring and wondering what della would say if she could see him like this, having just given up and not caring anymore about any of ths stuff. “Well she can’t! Someone always gets hurt....”

And that one very sharp and painful line both outlines Donald’s arc here, and for the season, and makes it VERY clear why he retired and why I felt like he was already on his way and the spear of selene was simply the final straw. He gave up.. because he was just tired of it. Tired of being the one who got hurt.. and devistated when it wasn’t him that time. When he lost his sister for what he felt was NOTHING. Sure hte stars would be great but they’d done everything and gone everywhere..w asn’t.. wasn’t that enough/ Couldn’t they just be done? Couldn’t he just stop. The spear gave him an excuse to do what he always wanted, but it also caused him to harden up and view EVERYTHING about his old days of adventuring as bad when like most things i’ts not that simple., There were good times, sunshine, giant sized gay men obessing over you.. okay maybe the last part isn’t a plus in his book, but point is there was good and his arc is seeing that and realizing he can’t just cling to his pain. He has to let go so he can move on heathliy.

As for said final challenge Zeus tasks the boys and Storkules with stealing the golden fleece from a little girl. While this is part of a whole scheme... he undereistmaed his son’s valour and Storkules is naturally sent spinning over having to steal from a child and is sent into a crisis. Louie however has no such qualms, as he is a children.. and he’s also louie.. but as he tries to the child starts singing. As Scrooge puts it “nothing good happens when creepy children start singing. “ Very true, it’s usually a sign freddy kruger’s about to show up or your about to be taken by a miltiary orginzation obssed with The Doctor.

The boys plug their ears.. and Zeus’ plan becomes horrifically clear. Turns out he had no real interest in an actual contest this time, and has the child take control of Storkules to murder them. And gives the doucheist shrug imaginable when his OWN SON IS BEGGING HIM NOT TO MAKE HIM MURDER SOME CHILDREN.

Scrooge naturally gets involved. Meanwhile Donald is trying to escape the lightning cage Zeus is using to make sure no one leaves... when he hears the boys cries of terror. He may hate this kind of thing.. but there’s one thing and only one thing that can make him snap back into who he used to be like it was yesterday. And that’s harming his boys. So Donald snaps into action and it’s a glory to see as Scrooge snaps back with him “Just like old times”. The two once again get a little closer to reconclisation by wrestling a golden pansexual to prevent him from brainwashdely murdering two children. God I love this show and this job.

Huey however is more of the aim for the head sort and Louie simply uses his natural talent to talk the siren into working with him, with him as her agent. As he puts it Zeus just wants to use her.. he wants to use her too.. but to make them BOTH rich. She agrees, Louie wins, and Donald finally accepts storkules is his friend. Scrooge TRIES to use this to mend fences with Zeus.. but Zeus being a petulant dick wants another game and Scrooge simply throws a game of billiards or something like it to get this over with.

So we get our wrapup. Dewey and Webby return, and Storkules and Donald say their goodbyes. Donald finally admits he’s his friend.. and in that one act finally admits he can’t just bury his past because parts of it are painful. And as Storkules puts it he may be done with adventure.. btu adventure’s not done with him. He’s got more of his old self in who he is now than he thought. Dewey also accidently wins and our family finds launchpad took the plane apart. There.. there’s no real ending. I can only assume Selene said knock this shit off when she found out or beakly later came in guns blazing. I don’t know.

Final Thoughts: This episode is excellent. It has it’s fault: there’s no plot progression, and the ending is just stupid and is the only one of the series that feels like nothing was resolved. That being said.. the rest of the episode makes up for it. It’s filled with great gags as usual.. but the real meat is the character work. Dewey’s worries about his mom, and Donald’s attempt to literally leave his past behind, it’s really amazing stuff that elevates the episode past it’s flaws and into one fo the series best. Wheras revisting Other Bin reminded me it had a bad subplot that drug it down.. revisiting this one showed me just HOW near perfect it is with only a few things holding it back. Even with the dispaoitnment factor.. this one’s still excellent, with Ben, Kate and Tony all at the top of their games. Great stuff.

Next Time on this Arc: Dewey has to face the future when the truth comes out. And Scrooge.. bitches with his dad for half the episode. Sure beats his dad sadly btu sweetly passing on to be with his wife huh?!

Next time on this blog: Amphibia time! Speaking of facing the consequences of lying to your family, Hop Pop’s FINALLY forced to face hiding the Box from Anne, and we also get an ivy episode. Super fuckin shooters.

If you liked this review, consdier joining my patreon, link’s in the blog and next stretchgoal is a darkwing duck episode a month. Until the next rainbow it’s been a pleasure.

#ducktales #the spear of selene #delene #della duck #dewey duck #donald duck #storkules #zeus #scrooge mcduck #huey duck #louie duck #webby vanderquack #ithaquack #reviews #della arc

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bxllafanficc · 3 years

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A world without heroes

Summary: Loki is imprisoned after the sudden attack on New York and with that, rest of the earth. And while you always thought you would have your lover's back, you find yourself unable to forgive this one. It's time for you to decide when enough's enough.

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x reader

Sidenote: This was inspired by the song "A world without heroes" from KISS. I just immediately though about a moment where reader would be thrown into a deep sea of darkness after finding out the major betrayal lingering beneath many layers of Loki Laufeyson's charismatic persona.

The cold surface of the bulletproof glass is supposed to have a large impact on your wrist as the two objects collide. It's supposed to hurt but it doesn't. The glass is meant to stand and for you to give up. You're meant to lay off and calm down; meaning, stop slamming your fist into the cell like if it was going to break if you just willed your way through.

They say that if you want something enough, you possess the power to do anything. But what do you want to such an extent? More importantly, what does he want? What did he really want? Has he ever wanted any more than a throne to sit on? Or was there something more to it? Did he even know what it really meant? And if so, did he realize the consequences of his actions; not just by the billions of lives he would have destroyed, but his family, yours and especially his own as well.

A part of you wants to believe that he was under some kind of control; that he wasn't really conscious these past days. All the lives he already stole, you want to think that if he had a choice, he would've spared them. You want to believe it all so badly. You want to throw all your common sense away and just collapse into his arms. Give him a tender kiss and gaze into his eyes with lingering warmth like you used to. To forgive and forget.

But the common sense stays where it should be. You can't. Because the past days he's been imprisoned, he's confirmed every action. He doesn't even defend anything; thinks he doesn't need to. Rock-hard believing his decision was the right one to make when he really had no right.

And your eyes are no more tender and soft; but clouded and swollen, piercing through the pair of eyes on the other side of the glass. And your mouth is not tasting the sensetion of sweet lips. Only the salty wetness of your tears pooling like mad rivers.

Your chest feels heavy and about to explode. You need to scream; feel like that's the only solution to relieve the pressure. You almost feel like you're being choked. Choked on love, choked on hope, air, trust, literally everything your life has contained so far.

And the man in front of you doesn't seem to understand how your world is seemingly falling apart before him. The pure confusion in his eyes is twisting your stomach and your feel like throwing up.

"I thought I knew you."

Your sobs has quieted down. Before, you weren't able to speak very well. You just had to wait the storm out until it came rushing back ten times worse next time.

"You do, darling. You always have."

Calm as a snake and laid back. He doesn't even seem to realize that every word spoken will matter in the following moments of actions where you will decide both your fates for him.

"Did I, really? How can you look me in the eyes and say that with your disgusting pride!" You spit at the glass; aim at his feet but it doesn't seem to faze him a tiny bit. You want to bring out a reaction from him, cause maybe then, you would get some sense of honesty out of him.

"My disgusting pride? The world we're living in is disgusting and twisted. How can you even compare midgardians brutality and greediness to Asgards prosperity and beauty?"

You don't want to hear this talk again. Only a couple of years ago, you would have ignored it as just one of his endless bitter rants and thought nothing more of it, not knowing that he was actually planning to find an end to his irritation.

"(Y/n), darling, You have agreed with me on this! We agreed that humans are short minded, only good for the cause of starting a war between their own race and assassinate each other. Their petty little lives are doomed anyway."

You can't even process the amount of irony and hypocrisy seeping through his sentences. You want to scream at him. You want to hold him. You want to cry, give him a piece of your mind. But you want to fall asleep in his arms. You miss his embrace so much. Endless tiredness since he vanished, only to find he's become a monster.

Your fists attempts to break the glass once again, aiming at his perfect eyes. Those damn eyes. The same eyes you used to adore. You still do. Torn between what you want and what you should do.

"You had no right! Who are you to choose who gets to live and who doesn't?! Why should you be any different from the humans?"

Your words are no longer contained into normal conversation. Only now, Loki seems to actually start realizing the weight behind your rage.

"I did it for us, love! For you. How am I supposed to give you everything if I'm just a mere god, son of a bastard and feared of my own people. Is that the man to give you everything? Is it?"

You don't even know where the thought process of this has sparked in his mind. Never have you asked anything unusual from him, just endless trust and honesty. You have always supported him when no one else would and when nobody wanted anything to do with him. A shoulder to cry on or an ear for venting. You've heated him up with your warmth when he was feeling cold and kissed him back to health countless of times. You used to be his. In return you only asked for trust and honesty. And the funny thing? In the end, you got none of that.

"I never wanted the world, Loki! I wanted you! Couldn't you see that you were enough?"

"Why do you care about the midgardians so much? What have they done for you? Have they given you flowers when you were sad? Have they kept you company at nights where you were haunted by nightmares? Did they do any of those? Because I recall it was me who stood by you all those years!"

Why is he suddenly so angry? It makes no sense to you. When he for once speaks from his real thoughts, anger and frustration is still the feeling behind it. Even if he got his plan to destroy earth through, it wouldn't stop his burning hate.

"You speak like they are nothing but soulless objects, pawns for you to manipulate when you feel like it!"

"They need a group of unstable mutants to protect them from dangers! A bunch of heroes that they don't even really like sometimes. The heroes gets the blame of the catastrophe happening even if they are the one fighting it! Is that a society worth fighting for? Their beloved little heroes are nothing but fools."

"Everything is worth fighting for. You don't know these people, do you? And as for the people, the heroes are a beacon of hope; a sign to stand strong and come together!"

You stand quiet for a second. Your fist lowers itself against the hard surface.

"Against people like you."

You don't want to see him anymore. Heard enough. Ready to go. You've made you decision. Because how could there ever be a change to this man? When he's been hiding his true nature behind your back for so long? Did you even know who you loved? Could you even call it love?

"Did you ever love me? Or was I just being fooled this entire time?"

Concern is now displaying on him for real. Maybe he's realize where you're going; what you're about to say.

"Why would you ask that? I love you more than anything! (Y/n), please understand this! I'd do anything for you!"

"Then tell me one single moment, just one, where you've spent time with me and thought 'I could be satisfied with this. I don't need power. I'm good with what I have'."

You heart is aching with anticipation. It's almost fatal. You don't want to know but he must realize it himself before you can finish.

And you can really see how he's trying. He's trying so hard for you, he thinks. He probably thinks he's tried doing everything for you; when he really just needed not to do anything at all. And just like you guessed, there comes no words. He knows you'll see if he's lying and knows you're right. But you don't ever think he will ever regret his attack for the right reasons. Nor for you, to get you back. No, you'll never accept that.

"I can't live like this, Loki. Can't you see you're breaking my heart?"

"I didn't mean to-"

"No. You didn't mean to do it, right? That's what you're gonna say... But I've heard enough. You have made a decision. And it's about time that I make mine as well."

The realization hits him almost instantly. And all the traces of his usually calm manner were gone in an instant. He's no longer standing with hands clasped behind his back. But they're clawing and pawning at the glass keeping the two of you apart. Loneliness is the one fatal emotion he hasn't dared himself to feel for years with you by his side. But now when it all might be taken away from him in a matter of seconds? How is he supposed to react?

He's begging, pleading, punching and screaming. Sobbing and begging even more. His silvertounge can't save him now. Nothing can save him now from the unruly fate. A path he himself had laid out beneath his feet.

"Please, (Y/n) I love you! I don't want to be here alone!"

...

"Please... It's cold and dark. I can't breathe without your warmth! Just.. Please!"

You can't stand to hear any more. His pleading is too much and you've stayed enough.

Your heart feels like it's being torn in half by your own hands as you turn around, the cold of your back hitting him in the deepest depths of his despair. And it sets him off.

You're going to leave him. The only purely good thing in his life is going to leave him. Where is he going to get his hugs? It doesn't matter because they won't be from you. Is he even going to remember your face when time has passed? Will he even remember your laugh, smile or your goofy little moments together? Will you find somebody else? Forget about him and move on.

Loki doesn't want you to move on; doesn't want you to move at all. He's ready to do whatever it takes to get you to stay.

And he would, if there wasn't a thick wall between you, keeping him from you no matter how hard he slammed it or how loudly he screamed at you.

Pleading became despair and despair led to threats; the only solution left to try.

He knew it was wrong. Wrong to threaten a loved one, especially you. But he would never accept his fate knowing that he hadn't tried anything in his power to make the only thing left for him to love slip past his hands.

But a tiny part of him knows that you won't hear him. Won't listen to him like those late summer nights under the moon on a cozy blanket, you tightly wrapped into his embrace with a content smile on your face.

Or the time when a sudden attack of sorrow and anxiety hit him in the middle of the night and you held him close to your chest while whispering sweet assurances for him to fall asleep to.

You had been his anchor to the real world.

You were the only thing to keep him sane enough.

But it wasn't enough in the end.

You had been his hero.

But not even a hero could save someone's world sometimes.

Especially when he was the one ruining it.

His love.

(Y/n)

#inspiration #marvel #marvel imagine #art #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki of asgard #loki x y/n #loki series #loki friggason #loki x you #loki angst #marvel fanfiction #marvel angst #thor odinson #thor x reader

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bindi-the-skunk · 3 years

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The seas of time lead to many places chap 1

The sun shined against the water and almost seemed to glow as if veins of gold laid in its depths and the beach sand was warm, but not yet too hot to sit on.

Which was why the league had chosen to stop at the little island for a small vacation of sorts, to enjoy somewhat dry land after so long of being cooped up in the Nautilus, as nice as Nemo's lady was, her walls and halls did tend to get suffocating after a while.

Not that anyone would tell Nemo that without risking the ear chewing of their life from insulting the beloved ship.

Said captain was floating around in the gentle waves, as much as he sailed the seas with pride in his heart and fire in his belly, he rarely ever swam in them or in any body of water at all, sad when he chose to think about it.

The sea was his home, was the home for them all now, but enjoying the embrace of her depths or feeling your soul seem to float with your body were a rare sensation.

Almost no time for such pleasures, taking care of his lady and her crew was a job that did not lend itself much personal amusement for her captain, but Mina had insisted that they all needed a vacation proper and Nemo was inclined to agree, the temperature was perfect and did wonders for all his aches and pains.

And it was a rather amusing show seeing the normally brave Allen Quatermain sticking his foot in and out of the water like an unsure child just starting out, the water was a shock when you first got in, but you got used to the temperature quickly.

And the footprints from invisible feet heading straight for the hunter was telling the captain that someone was ending up in the water with him before long.

SPLASH

Just not the one their gentleman thief thought, or wanted.

"I could smell your intent you invisible rat!" came the irate shout from the still dry Quatermain as the water seemed to fly up from nowhere as shrieks of shock popped off.

"Feels like Siberia all over again! I can't feel my neither region!"

"Good!"

Nemo resisted the urge to chuckle as he dove down, eyes closing as he relaxed, the muffled shouts above him not bothering the sea captain in the least, let them work out their own problems, nice and peaceful...hm?

Something brushed past his leg...must have been seaweed...

But just as the man went to surface for air...his fingers met something just above his head.

Brown eyes snapped open to meet what looked like a sheet of plastic, but most certainly was not.

Looking down Nemo saw the tell-tale tendrils but he almost could not believe it.

A jellyfish, but it was HUGE, big enough to have trapped the sea captain under its bell and Nemo tried to relax and was thankful at least he did not see a whole bloom of them.

He had to get out before he ran out of air...Nemo boasted being able to hold his breath for longer than many, but longer, did not mean forever and he was starting to feel the burning.

Slowly...

Nemo tried to duck under the bell and just avoid the stingers altogether, but seems it was not his luck as a tendril floated upwards and a bolt of pain went up the man's leg making his body give an uncontrollable jolt which just sent more tentacles flying from the wave.

And with it more pain

"He's been down there a while" Jekyll pointed out as he saw their captain disappear under the waves and not surface for precious air yet.

"I think the man's part fish, he likes it!" a floating bruise, given when Allan punched the invisible goofball, seemed to jump up and down as Skinner no doubt was waving his hand dismissively to the others concerns.

"No, wait...something dragged him down!" Mina called out and before anyone else could react, dove into the depths to retrieve their comrade, the vampiress was many things, but a coward was certainly not one of them.

The ex-music teacher swam down, and saw something floating just a few feet in front of her and at first thought it was a plastic sheet, it was not.

Mina's eyes widened at the monstrosity before her eyes settled on the one in its grip, of whom looked unconscious, or was just trying to not get stung by staying still she did not know.

The vampiress grabbed the ex-pirate as soon as she had an opening and ignored it as a sting went through her hand, thankfully not getting its first victim again, she would heal in a moment, but the captain desperately needed air.

Lunging upwards and breaking the surface of the water, the others body still limp in her hold till they both smacked down into the sand and a shaky breath drew into the other as Nemo's lungs were finally allowed salvation.

Good, he was still alive

"He was stung by a jellyfish!" Mina reported quickly as she moved the captain so he would not get sand in his injury and tried to encourage him to take deeper breaths to sooth his abused lungs.

"Find something to put seawater in! Then fetch me some vinegar!" Jekyll ordered already moving towards the injured captain, thankful to not see any stingers in the ugly-looking sting marks as he examined it, careful to not actually touch the marks, so he did not need tweezers.

Think...Put seawater on the stings to wash away any stingers or other jelly residue you can't see...then apply vinegar...put a mix of seawater and baking soda on the wounds...hot packs to relieve the pain...he would need to raid the painkillers cabinet just in case...

The wounds looked ugly and angry, but did not seem to be too severe, no doubt the captain would be sore for a while though, and he would be staying in bed even if the doctor had to strap him to it.

"What type of jellyfish was it?" Jekyll asked, hoping it was not one of the nastier ones,

"I'm..not sure...it was bigger than any jellyfish I have ever seen or read about," Mina said honestly "It was big enough to trap him under its bell"

Henry's eyes widened at the thought, and he was glad no one else had gone into the water, save Rodney who stayed in the shallows and got right back out to nurse his dignity after he was thrown in.

They did not need any more trouble or injuries

"Well, we can treat him better inside, let's just get him back to the...wait...where is the ship?"

Open water is what greeted their eyes

The Nautilus was gone

--------

hope you all like this little experimental fic

#league of extraordinary gentlemen #mina harker #mina murray #captain nemo #henry jekyll #tom sawyer #rodney skinner #allan quartermain #seas of time AU

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ejm513 · 3 years

Text

ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMESTRIS-CHAPTER ONE-THE ATOM BOMB

~ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMESTRIS~

~CHAPTER ONE~

~THE ATOMIC BOMB~

Riza Hawkeye’s boots clanked against the smooth, cold stone floor as she moved down the ornate halls she knew so well. Her broad shoulders were held tall and erect. Her thick blonde mane was pulled off her neck. She held her head high, keeping her gaze steely and her large chocolate eyes straight ahead. A frigid air of authority hovered around the Major, keeping all others at bay. Some would glance her way with timid eyes or offer a small, cordial smile. Some who had broken into the elite circle she moved in greeted her with a stiff salute and brisk “Good morning Major.” In return she would respond with an equally stiff salute and a tight smile.

All the while Riza refused to drop the icy, distant aura engulfing her. It was her only protection from prying, curious eyes. Whether it was due to her air of authority or her harden gaze she was given a wide girth.

All for the best.

It meant no one noticed how faded and pallor her ivory skin looked. No one saw how her calloused hands gripped the files she held for dear life. No one was able to detect the weariness and terror burning beneath those steady eyes.

Not a soul knew… and that was precisely how Riza wanted it. Sweet, beautiful ignorance was all that kept her moving forward. It allowed her to meander through her day as if nothing was wrong.

As long as she kept moving forward everything would be fine.

“Just keep moving. Just keep moving”

Riza repeated the words on an endless loop, letting them skin deep into her bones. On and on the mantra went with each clacking step in the vein hope it was a reality.

None of it mattered.

The Major couldn’t drown the knot clawing at her stomach. It radiated throughout her body, slowly infecting the chant circling in her head. It reminded her of an ugly truth she had been trying to steal into the depths of her soul;

Nothing was fine.

Nothing was fine, and there was no possible way for her to right it.

The brutal reality smacked her square in the face when her journey came to an end.

Riza found herself face to face with a pair of large, dark sumptuous doors. For a moment all she could do was stare at the intricate cravings and listen to her pounding heart. She could already feel her limbs and muscles grow numb. Her blood slowed to ice, sending shivers throughout her body. The sea of chatter and stomping boots morphed into nothing but roaring static.

Riza’s lips pursed into a hard line. She dug her nails into the abused files, letting her chest heave with a large breath. With a short, rapid blink she reached towards the cool handle and pushed the door open.

She was greeted by a large, open room swimming in sunlight. Despite her drumming heart and fragile nerves, Riza’s lips fought the urge to smile.

Everything about the airy room was blessedly mundane; everything from the grand window to the emerald chairs were unspeakably soothing. The symphony of scratching pens, rustling papers and screaming phones sliced through the wall of static. She felt a twinge of warmth as familiar voices danced in her ears.

This benign setting was almost enough to break through the wall she had erected. Her lips almost dared to turn into a small, friendly smile… until one voice rose above the chatter.

“Major General Mustang.”

The moment the deep, warm, baritone voice danced in her ears all warmth faded. Riza’s iron barriers were impenetrable once more. Every inch of her frame was numb and frigid. In fact, Riza could have sworn she felt her lungs contract and her heart stop.

The whole world stopped.

Riza swallowed, readjusting the files clutched to her chest. She kept her shoulders tight and square. The wall morphed into rigid steel, cloaking the fear screeching in her head.

The only spark of relief came from the fact she was a fly on the wall.

All eyes were focused on the scattered sheets of paper and other various task. All were ignorant of the creaking door or Riza’s creaking steps. Even the illustrious Major General-who always seemed to know the sound of her boots and stiff gate-was occupied with the phone in his hands.

Riza kept her head down as she pulled out her chair and sat. She quietly placed her paperwork in front of her and dived deep into them.

Rigid and regular… there was nothing out of the ordinary about the thin sheets of stark white paper resting before her. The small, ebony letters were neat and orderly. Riza could feel her heart rate begin to slow and her soul begin to relax, even with the Major General’s voice prattling behind her. If her attention held to the work before her all the wave of emotions and thoughts would fade into nothing.

“Oh, good morning Major Hawkeye.” Lieutenant Havoc said, taking a long drag of his beloved cigarette. Riza held up her hand and gave a small wave, ignoring the sudden swirling in her stomach.

“Good morning Lieutenant Havoc. If you don’t mind, please don’t smoke near me.” She mindlessly batted the powerfully foul smoke away from her face. The tall, strong framed blonde cocked his head. His cornflower blue eyes narrowed. Havoc crossed his arms over his broad chest as he reached up and plucked the offensive object from his thin lips.

“I’m sorry Major. I didn’t think you minded.” Havoc claimed, snuffing out his cigarette.

“She’s probably tired of all the secondhand smoke. I think we all are at this point.” A short, stocky auburn hair man barked. The room filled with mundane, comfortable chuckles. Any other day Riza would have felt the corner of her lips twitch into the smallest of smiles and her eyes roll.

On that brisk late winter day Riza remained detached, her dark eyes frozen to her safe, familiar work.

“Ha ha very funny Breda.” Havoc drawled, sitting his tall frame back in the chair. “Hey, isn’t tomorrow bring your dog to work day?” He questioned. Havoc tilted his up to gaze at the ceiling, tapping his finger to his chin. “I’m sure my big shepherd dog would love to meet you.”

“DON’T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT!” Breda shrieked, leaping out of his chair as all color drained from his tanned skin.

The Major remained unphased by the bickering, letting the sharp words and biting laughter roll off her shoulders. Her lips collapsed into a hard line, her ivory skin growing paler. Had anyone glanced her way they would have seen the green tint to her skin.

Much to her relief the room remained buzzing.

Havoc and Breada continued their banter, forgoing any attempt at feigning interest in their jobs.

Then there was second Lieutenant Fury. The pale, dark haired man was the smallest and frailest of the men. His bespectacled face was lost in his radio, his expert hands tinkering away.

There was First Lieutenant Falman. The graying man was the only officer who showed and ounce of Riza’s tireless drive. His large frame was slumped over his desk, his pen diligently scratching on smooth paper.

Finally, there was Major General Roy Mustang.

Though she refused to glance his way or acknowledge his existence, Riza could all to clearly picture the esteemed man. He was leaning back in his chair, his legs and arms both crossed. One hand gripped the phone and held it to his squared face. A pen dangled carelessly between the rough fingers of his other hand. His mess of midnight hair fell effortlessly into his moon slit, onyx eyes.

The very thought of Roy made Riza’s heart sputter, and all the tension in her body climb to her throat. Every fiber of her being wanted-no needed- to fool herself into believing he didn’t exist. His very presence sent her heart flying and her soul mad. Her fingers ached to run through his ebony mane. Her skin tingled for his fingers to trace every inch of her. Her lips burned. Riza wanted to ignore him and the fire he ignited deep within herself.

Yet it was impossible to block his baritone tones tickling her ears.

It was impossible to neglect the panic tearing her stomach apart.

If she didn’t know any better, Riza could have sworn her stomach was nothing more than liquid.

Riza’s pen came to halt as her stomach gave a violent churn. Burning bile climbed up her throat. Any remaining color fell from her oval face. A vile green hue possessed her alabaster features.

“Not now.” She thought, her free hand flying to her stomach. Her eyes fluttered shut as her breathing grew slow and labored. She staid as still as stone, praying her tumbling stomach would settle. Riza forced her eyes open. She willed her quivering hands to move-yet her stomach continued to swim.

Finally, the bile burst into her mouth. Without a second thought the Major rose from her chair and bounded to the door, bursting it open.

“Major?! Are you okay?” Fury cried, shooting up from his chair. All officers gazed at the open door, taking in the grand expanse of the humming hallway. Their faces were etched with stunned concern. Even Roy-who had otherwise been occupied with his phone call-gawked at the door, letting the phone slip through his fingers. He stood up, letting his hands fall to his desk.

“Okay… something is up with her.” Breda said, echoing what everyone else had been thinking.

“Yeah. Come to think of it wasn’t she late because of a doctor’s appointment she made at the last minute?” Havoc mused, bringing his hand to his chin once more. Roy blinked for a moment, the gears in his head slowly churning.

A last-minute doctor’s appointment…

Her request for Havoc to stop smoking around her…

A sudden bout of nausea…

Roy’s eyes widened as the dots quickly began to connect.

Could it be….

The Major General shook his head and waved his hand.

“She’s fine. I’m sure it’s just a bug.” He claimed. He happily let the words replace any stray thought and shield him from the curious stares around him.

“Back to work!” Roy barked, plopping back into his chair. Like the obedient underlings they were, each officer gave a salute and returned to their task. Roy leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. His full lips curled into a satisfied, demonic grin. His chest bloomed with pride at the ordinary, mundane scene before him.

These were his men, his closest confidants and most trusted allies. They had saved the world together, and now they were fighting to keep their new, fragile peace together.

Not only was a new world being forged from the bones of bloodshed and loss, but their whole way of life was also up in the air.

Fuhrer King Grumman had slipped into the heavens almost a year ago, and much to the surprise of an entire nation the throne continued to remain empty.

This new world was full of chaos, uncertainty, hope and above all else opportunity.

And all of it was happening under his watchful eye.

“MAJOR GENERAL!! MAJOR GENERAL MUSTANG!” Roy jumped out of his skin, his heart exploding. He bent down and yanked the phone, thrusting it back into his ear.

“My apologies sir. I dropped the phone and got distracted by one of my officers. Continue, please.” The voice on the other end continued to twiddle and piddle about this and that and this and that. The words went in one ear and out the other as a soft hiss. His eyes were focused on the open door, waiting for a certain Major’s comforting and stoic features. He needed to hear her calm, commanding voice amongst the chatter.

God help him, but he wanted to hear that voice scold him into productivity.

He just wanted to see if she was okay.

When Riza made her way back into the room, his anxiety began to peak. The blond moved as if nothing had happened. Her shoulders were tall and stiff, her head was held high, and her hands were clasped behind her back. Riza was every inch the perfect soldier.

Yet the very sight of her sent Roy’s heart falling into his stomach.

Her skin was as white as bone, colored with a pale green hue. There was a line of sweat dotting her temples and brow. Her deep, chocolate eyes were glazed and stared at nothing.

“Hey, Major, are you okay?” Havoc asked, his blue eyes glued to her as she returned to her seat.

“I’m fine.” Riza claimed, lifting her pen and scribbling as if she hadn’t just emptied her stomach.

“Are you sure?” Havoc leaned in, taking in the major’s feeble features. “You look kind of green. And didn’t you go to the doctors this morning”

Riza’s pen froze, and her eyes narrowed. She took in a breath of air through her nose as she slowly raised her head.

“Were you listening to my private conversations First Lieutenant Havoc?” Riza questioned, her voice low and frigid. Havoc threw up his hands and pushed his chair far away from the glaring Major.

“No no! I didn’t do anything like that I just”

“Relax Havoc I’m not going to shoot you.” Riza sighed. “I did go to the doctor and it was kind of last minute, but it was just a normal appointment-nothing serious. As for what just happened the doctor thinks I have a touch of a stomach bug, but I’ll be fine.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed and zeroed in on the major. He watched her return to her stack of files, ignoring the chittering voice in his ear. He paid close attention to her movements, the cloudiness in her eyes and her trembling frame.

“Major General are you listening to me?!” Roy glanced towards the phone and held it away from his face.

“I’m sorry General I’m going to have to call you back.” Before the voice on the other end had the chance to destroy his ear drum, he slammed the phone on its hook.

“Rotten bastard trying to make me go deaf” He muttered.

“Major General did you just hang up on General Schmidt?” Riza asked, looking at Roy with a sober face.

“Yeah, I did, and I’ll pay for it later.” Roy claimed. He stood up and without a word made his way out of the room.

His officers looked at each other, their confusion radiating throughout the large room. The bewilderment in the air only grew thicker when the Major General marched in with a cup of water clasped in his hand. Roy went straight to Riza and placed the cup beside her.

“You are going to drink this cup of water and they you are going home to recover.” Riza stiffened, her fingernails digging into the thin paper.

“With all due respect sir I am perfectly”

“Are you disobeying a direct order from your superior Major Hawkeye?” Roy asked, leaning in closer to her. Riza froze, her eyes narrowing into a glare. For a moment, the two locked eyes as they attempted to dig into each other’s souls. After her stomach gave another, violent churn Riza’s iron resolve broke.

“Of course not sir.” She brought the cup to her lips, taking a large gulp of water. The cool liquid soothed her scratchy, aching throat. It seemed to give her a new surge of life. She would never say as such out loud, but she was thankful for Major General’s god given gift to avoid work.

“Just let me finish working on the file I started and then I’ll go.” Roy nodded, his lips twisting int a victorious smirk.

“Thank you Major. I hope you know I am just looking out for your wellbeing.” Roy claimed as he strode pridefully back to his desk.

“Yes sir, that’s very kind of you.” Riza nodded, busily jotting away. Roy continued to smize, his ego expanding like a balloon.

“I hope you know that most of these files need to be completed and taken to various departments today, and since everyone else is occupied and I’m not going to be here you’re going to have to finish them.”

Silence fell over the room as all eyes turned towards the still smizing Roy Mustang. He blinked at Riza for a moment, all thoughts vanishing as her words threatened to slap him back to reality.

“I’m sorry but why would I have to do YOUR files Major?” He chuckled, his ego only continuing to grow by the second.

Riza lifted her head and turned her focus on the smirking Major General. Gone was any trace of how ill she had felt. Her gaze was no longer lost and glassy, her expression free from mark of exhaustion and sweat. Roy was faced with a cold, clear stare that threatened to go to the jugular of his massive pride.

“But sir you forget that these files are for you and I’m simply helping you lighten your workload by handling them for you. So yes, you will have to do them.”

The famous-or infamous-ego popped, causing Roy’s chest to deflate. His shoulders slumped and his head hung.

“God damn it.” He muttered, letting his head fall into his hands.

Riza let her lips curl into the faintest of smiles as she continued to sip the water. Light snickers filled the room as Roy pondered his life choices.

Particularly the one where he taught Riza how to expertly forge his signature.

He lifted his head when he heard Riza’s foots clanking towards him. He found himself greeted with an outstretch hand a clean, if slightly abused, manila file held out towards him. He scowled before snatching it out of her hand.

“I appreciate your generosity today Major General.” Riza said, straightening her stance and planting her feet together. “I did finish that file as I said I would. However, I would appreciate if you would give it a quick look over. “She stated. Roy’s ebony eyes hardened as he lips twisted with aggravation.

In all the years she had worked under him Riza’s work had been nothing short of perfection. She was usual the eyes he trusted to look over his work.

What kind of game was she playing?

“Really? You want me to look this over?” He questioned in a slow, careful draw. Riza gave a sharp nod.

“Yes Sir.”

“And you want me to do it right now?”

Another nod.

“Yes, Sir that would be preferable.”

Roy huffed, causing strands of his wild mane to fly off his face.

When he opened the folder, he expected to be greeted by the depressingly familiar sight of paper work filled in Riza’s expert hand.

What he saw instead were those papers underneath a small note.

Come to my place AFTER you finish your work. We need to talk.

Roy snapped to attention, his back straight against his soft leather chair. His eyes grew wide as color slowly began to drain from his face. His limbs went cold. The dots he had tried to ignore once again began to connect, sending his heart into a marathon.

“She couldn’t be… She can’t be…”

“Is there a problem Sir?”

Roy raised his head, his eyes still wide with shock. The Major continued to stand still the only way a soldier could, her eyes never leaving his pale face. It took every ounce of power for Roy’s eyes to stay connected to hers and not travel to her seemingly unassuming abdomen. Every instinct screamed for him to grab her arm, drag her far away and force her to say what he already knew.

What did the illustrious Major General, former war hero and savior of his nation do?

He carefully slipped the note in his pocket, closed the file, placed it on his desk and cleared his throat.

“No. Your work is perfection as always Major Hawkeye. Everything is fine.” Roy claimed. He stood, mimicking Riza’s stoic posture. The look of pure incredulity and shock had melded into the cold, professional features they all knew so well.

“That will be all today. You are dismissed with orders to rest, understood?”

Riza gave one last nod, clicked her heels together and saluted.

“Sir.” Roy copied her salute before she turned and strode out of the shining room. All eyes were on her as she faded into the crowd. Then, much to Roy’s horror, their perplexed, suspicious gazes all landed on him. Roy felt as if a spotlight had been shone on him, making his skin begin to crawl. Those eyes all seemed to ask one, central question’

“What the hell is going on?”

If they expected any answer they were sorely mistaken.

Mustang’s cold professionalism turned hard, his eyes narrowing once more and his face tightening with aggravation.

“What on Earth are you all staring at?” He roared, marching over to Riza’s desk and grabbing her files.

“I have a lot of work to do and so do you! So get back to work so we may have a prayer of getting out on time or maybe earlier!”

The hours seemed to climb at a pace that would put a snail to shame. Every time Roy glanced at the clock expecting hours to have flown by, he was horrified to see only minutes or even seconds had passed. It stung like a bee. Each sheet of paper he was forced to glance over, and sign was another weight on his frame, keeping him glued to his god forsaken chair. Roy wasn’t even sure he was aware of what he was reading. The words just seemed to fly by in a strange blur without the chance to truly settle in. As long as nothing jumped out as particularly reckless or idiotic Roy was more than happy to robotically sign each slip of paper if it meant freedom from that chair.

It didn’t help that whenever he dared to glance away from his work or the clock Roy found himself greeted with cautious, questioning stares. Their eyes would meet for a split second before they immediately darted back to their work.

The tension in the room grew thicker and thicker with each tick of the clock. Roy was uncharacteristically zealous in his attempt at productivity, plowing through the thick pile as if it were nothing but water. His subordinates continued to work while they watched and whispered. Their curious eyes and ears hunted for any clues or any scrap of information. It was clear from the Major General’s tense posture there was something brewing under that stoic face.

No one dared to raise their suspicions or even concern for their comrade. The day continued in heavy, graceless silence that could be cut with a knife. Only the sound of shuffling papers, scratching pens, ringing phones and the conversations that followed rose in the tense atmosphere.

All the while Roy forced himself to focus on anything else but the growing dread in his gut and his racing thoughts.

It was pointless.

Despite his robotic actions all his mind could focus on was Riza.

The sudden bouts of nausea…

The last-minute doctor appointment…

And above all else the note commanding him to her place.

If his suspicions hadn’t been raised before, that simple note said all it needed to say.

What Roy needed more than anything else to hear Riza say the words out loud, to confirm what he had been speculating throughout the day.

It was pure torture to have the truth dangling just above him, taunting him with its uncertainty.

And then, after hours and hours of this suffocating madness it was over. Roy reached for yet another file, taking a moment to glance at the clock yet again. Much to his intense relief the hands pointed in the direction he had been longing for all day.

5:00.

Roy eyes glanced back to the file. It seemed that as soon as one was completed another was added on top of it. As a result the Major General had barely made a dent despite all his hard work. For a moment he was left sitting and glaring, wondering how none of this could be done by any of the other souls wondering the halls. More to the point it left him with two options.

As he continued to sit and pout the many soldiers, officers and their staff were leaving the confinements of the garishly ornate building to the regular world. They would return to their family, their friends and their lives. Roy’s subordinates were no different… he was no different.

Yet Riza’s simple note weighed him down to the chair. It didn’t matter how urgent matter seemed to be-and if his fears were correct, it was a horrifically urgent matter-Riza would show no mercy if she found left his work uncompleted and unattended.

He grimaced. There was no question with path he would take.

Roy dropped the file on top of the pile. He pushed back his chair and stood, giving his shoulders a great stretch. His subordinates looked on with trepidation as he waltzed his way to the coat rack.

“I know we haven’t finished our work yet but it’s 5:00 and it’s Friday.” Roy began. He grabbed his long black coat and slung it over his shoulders. He slipped in his arms and gave it a tug. He had expected to hear a chorus of chairs scrapping against the floor and joyful chatter. At the very least one of the men should have exclaimed their thankfulness to God for having a Friday evening to themselves.

Instead, he was greeted with a dumbfounded silence and perplexed stares.

“What?!” Roy snapped, swinging his head over his shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

His subordinates exchanged glances each other. They stared for a tense a moment as Roy glowered down at them.

Havoc was the one to break the silence. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips, just waiting to be ignited.

“Well not really.” Havoc said. He reached for his trusty lighter and flicked it, bringing his cigarette to life. All the while he remained unbothered by the Major Generals relentless glare.

“It’s just that weren’t we supposed to get all of this done BEFORE we left. Or you know… at least YOU were supposed to?” Havoc questioned. He took an impossibly long drag of his cigarette as all eyes bore on him. Roy crossed his arms, his stormy glare exploding into outright aggravation. Roy’s hands balled into fist as his lips curled into a snarl.

“Lieutenant Havoc you let ME worry about my own business!” Roy swung his head forward and he grabbed hold of his hips. He marched out of the room with a face so red and boiling steam seemed to pour out of his ears. He left his men gaping in awe as he stormed away. The bustling hallways seemed to part like the red sea as thundered past them. He was once more the subject of the world’s prying eyes and hushed whispers… as if he couldn’t see or hear any of it.

“What has gotten into him?”

“None of your damn business you brown noser.”

“I don’t know he’s always mad about something.”

“I am NOT!!!”

“Major Hawkeye left early today didn’t she? Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“Yeah maybe.”

Roy stuffed his hands in his pocket as he continued to weave through the cold, stony gaze. He kept his head forward, refusing to look at any of the people gawking at him. He tried to keep the chittering whispers at bay, turning them into nothing but maddening background noise.

After all Roy was perfectly used to the baseless gossip that surrounded him. One does not become a Major General when approaching 33 without the ire of the public and the lashing of their tongues. It didn’t matter how far he climbed or what he had sacrificed for his country and his people.

They would always stare.

They would always murmur and mutter.

Under routine circumstances this attitude wouldn’t have resulted in more than a smirk of satisfaction.

On that bracing, shining day when his life seemed on the verge of chaos once again it all seemed pointless.

There were far more greater things for him to worry about than mindless banter.

However, when Roy finally left the world of the military and entered normality his shoulders felt lighter. His whole being felt lighter. It was as if the thin, frigid winter air filled his lungs and breathed new life into him. Maybe it was the glowing sun shining on his alabaster skin that made him feel at peace and melt the tension riddling his body. Or maybe it was the bustling, breathing world of East City that distracted his wandering thoughts. It was harder to become lost in his thoughts with so much life buzzing around him. More to the point it allowed him to fade into the background, become one of many despite his elevated stature. Not a soul seemed to care that the Flame Alchemist was walking on the same cobbled streets they did. He used this beautiful moment of clarity and anonymity to take the note out of his pocket and read it once more.

We need to talk.

Roy lifted his eyes from the note with a blank face and steady eyes. The small and all to monumental scrap of paper fluttered out of his fingers and into the breeze. With a quiet snap of his fingers, it disappeared into ashes.

Roy knew this sense of stability and contentment was fragile and temporary. The moment he crossed the threshold of Riza’s apartment it would be completely and utterly destroyed.

When he entered that humble space she called home, Roy Mustang would find out he was going to be a father.

Roy clenched his hands deep in his pockets. Before he laid eyes on that hastily crafted note he may have been able to buy her tall tale. After all there was nothing out of the ordinary of someone going to the doctor, nor was there anything strange about someone coming down with a stomach bug. Every explanation had been so dull there was no logical reason to question them if it were not for his overly active imagination.

But that note…

Unless he had misread every signal and over blew every sign, there was no mistaking what conversation was awaiting him. Of course, there was always the possibility he had flown head long over the mark. Outside of her note there was nothing out of the ordinary about her actions or her request. It was entirely plausible Riza simply needed to speak to him on something entirely different, and he would have a good laugh at himself.

The closer and closer he came to Riza’s apartment the more fantastic the idea seemed. As he spotted it in the distance Roy’s heart began to race once more. It seemed to pound in his head and make it scream. His fingers began to twitch on the inside of his pocket, desperately searching for the cool chain of his pocket watch. Once found he wrapped it around his rough fingers and pulled the watch to his palm. He gave it a squeeze. It allowed him one last moment of strength. It kept his head on the ground as he slowly climbed the stairs and stepped on to her floor.

It was only a short walk down a clean, plain hallway before he reached her door.

Roy stood motionless against the beige carpet. His head immediately began to spin and whirl. He bowed his head to not only have a pray of remaining one of many, but to give him a precious moment to clear his head.

Just because all signs pointed in one direction didn’t mean that was the path before him.

There was no way to know for certain what would come out of her pretty mouth.

So there was no need for the cold terror beginning to overtake him or his out of control notions.

Roy let his silver pocket watch fall back into the soft fabric with a thud. He lifted his head and came face to face with an unpretentious, plain door.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, held his breath and knocked.

There was first a storm of frantic barks. Roy could hear the sound of claws scraping against the floor as the dog ran towards the door.

“Quiet Black Hayate!” Riza commanded. Ever the obedient dog Black Hayate gave one last whimper before settling back into an agitated silence.

“Come in it’s open!” Riza called once the dog had quieted.

It was now or never.

Roy opened the door and with a racing heart, spinning head and frigid soul he stepped inside.

“Colonel.” Riza nodded, her lips twisting into the slightest of smirks. It was nearly impossible for Roy to not return her smirk or overlook how his heart fluttered.

“Lieutenant.” He returned, silently relishing the comfort of their old titles.

He found Riza lying contently on the couch with a thin blanket over her lap. Black Hayate laid on the floor. The moment his soft brown eyes laid on Roy his ears perked and his tail began to swing back and forth. A glass of water sat on a nearby table. Her small radio filled the simple, unassuming room with gentle music. Riza had discarded her royal blue navy uniform for a pair of thin, pale pink pajama’s. Her thick blond hair fell gracefully down her shoulders and chest, framing her face. The Major General would have smirked at the sight. Everything was so painfully normal it soothed his spiraling soul. Then there was her hair… Out of all of his many accomplishments, convincing the stubborn Riza Hawkeye to grow out her beautiful tresses once more was one of his greatest.

His smirk was halted by a sight that made his blood run cold.

In one of Riza’s hands was a small book. That was not an unusual sight. Her free hand, however, was not stroking Black Hayate as it normally would.

It was draped over her stomach.

“I’m glad you came.” Riza smiled as she placed her book on the coffee table. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to the door to greet you or that I’m not standing now. I’m still a little”

“Riza I know what you want to tell me.”

Riza’s gentle smile faded as what colored remained bled from her pale skin. Her deep brown orbs were wide and brimming with trepidation. Those eyes remained attached to Roy as he made his way to her. He stood between the couch and the coffee table, looming over her rigid frame like a dark cloud.

But his eyes….

When Riza met those onyx slits she found herself staring into a mirror. They were just as wide and filled with the same foreboding.

Neither of them was aware of how much time had passed in this foreboding silence. Time seemed to have lost all meaning. There was nothing either was willing or able to do but just stare and wait;

Wait for time to resume once more…

Wait for their voices to work….

Wait for someone to have the courage to break the strangling silence.

It was ultimately Roy who discovered an ounce of his courage. He swallowed hard as his hands began to tremble. Even before anything was said his heart refused to stop racing and head refused to stop spinning.

Yet he found it- the will to speak what both feared to utter.

“You’re…. you’re….”

“Pregnant?” Riza chimed in, her voice quiet and thin. “Yes. Yes I am.”

#fma #fma brotherhood #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai #royxriza #this is my first fma fanfic #Lord help me

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Robin slumped down in her seat with a sigh and the oddly bittersweet feeling of melancholy mixed with excitement. Over the rim of her sunglasses, she observed how Jorien rolled her eyes at Cas, but helped her stow away her enormous bag in the overhead compartments nonetheless. It was still before noon, but the sun was already scorching Robin's skin as it flooded the compartment of the Hogwarts Express they had chosen to claim. The school year was over. Time to head back to London.

Minutes later, when the train slowly started moving and the two other girls finally sat down as well, Robin couldn't help feeling more excited than sad at last. Sure, leaving Hogwarts had always dimmed down her mood quite significantly, but this year it was a bit different. For one, she had intentionally chosen to take the train back to London together with her roommates. She also could've apparated back home, now that she had passed the class and gotten her license, but she had decided against it. Perhaps for nostalgic reasons, perhaps because of her constantly babbling but very much appreciated company. But most importantly –and therefore the real reason why she was more excited for the summer to start than dreading to part from her beloved castle– she actually had plans for the holidays for once. Plans which included two of her favorite things in the entire world; potions (in the broadest sense) and Snape. The latter obviously being more reason to her current excitement than the former, but ultimately she was very happy about both.

Really, she had been planning it for a while now. Robin wanted to continue her hunt for rare ingredients, or rather her studies thereof, and after the by now renown success she'd had last October, she had been quick to decide that she would spend the summer with the same kind of expeditions to confirm her theories. Obviously she wouldn't be able to work her way through the entire handbook, which she had kept on expanding and improving throughout the last year, but she would just start somewhere and work her way through as far as she got. Fortunately, from the very moment she had told Snape of her plans, he had been dead set on coming along, saying how it was far too dangerous to deal with some of the things she would necessarily have to encounter on her own, and after a while of teasing and prodding, he had also admitted that he simply wanted to do this together with her either way.

To Robin, the prospect of that, of their plans, was enough reason to keep smiling to herself from time to time, or really any time she thought of it. The only dimmer on her mood was that their adventures would only be able to start from next weekend on; before then, Snape was still stuck at Hogwarts for whatever boring thing Dumbledore had the professors do after the students had left, and Robin for her part had promised to wait until then. For his sake more than her own, and unfortunately, that left her with a week to spend with her parents. Lovely.

"Earth to Robin! What are you all smiley about?" Cas wondered loudly, snapping her fingers in front of Robin's face to get her attention.

"Oh, just excited about my plans for summer." She shrugged in return, yet again unable to stop grinning to herself. Damnit, she really was as subtle as a pink elephant.

"You actually have plans for once? After years of saying you literally don't care? Spill the tea, what's the story?" Jorien quirked an eyebrow at her in doubt and question, and Cas nodded in agreement to the objection.

"No story, I'm just excited, that's all."

"What's your plans then?"

"Proving my theories about different substances and ingredients, testing methods and means to find them, and improving all of it based on the results of practical research." Robin explained in one breath, and received two questioning looks in return. With a sigh and a smile she added, "I will travel around and look for plants and animals I can use for potions."

"Uuh, going on adventures! Why didn't you just say that!" Cas beamed in return, then went off into her own direction with it. "You should write a book about it! Or better, a comic! With moving pictures and all that kinda stuff! 'Robin the lone scientist'... How about that?"

"More like 'Robin the mad scientist'." Robin laughed in return, letting her head fall back against the seat for a moment until she could tone down her grin a little.

"Perhaps you should let us come with you! Then you certainly won't be alone anymore." Jorien mused carefully, more hopeful than intrusive, and Robin's eyes fell onto the two grinning girls again.

"I won't be alone at all, actually… My best friend is coming with me." She finally allowed herself to admit, and the words were already enough to make her skin tingle. Geez, she really shouldn't be this excited about it… but it didn't hurt anyone either.

"Oi, that mysterious guy you never lose more than a word about?" Cas' eyes lit up, and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Perhaps you will finally get that passionate romance I've been hoping for!"

"Speaking of which, have you made plans to visit Simon?" Robin inquired, brutally changing the topic before they would try to snoop any more.

"Unfortunately, my parents aren't too fond of the idea of me having a boyfriend." The blonde rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, falling back into her seat with a huff. The grandeur of the gesture made Robin want to snort, but she suppressed it for empathy's sake. "So I probably won't see him at all until summer's over. I hope he doesn't find someone better than me in the meantime!"

"You can always write letters to him." Robin suggested with a shrug. "The anticipation and delay in that can be quite exciting as well. Carefully chosen words, the time taken to share a piece of one's mind with the other, the reassuring physicality of someone's handwriting on parchment…"

"You're terribly romantic, you know that?"

"Don't tell anyone." Robin replied, rising her eyebrows at them with a small smirk. "I have a reputation to uphold."

… … …

The one good thing once they arrived back in London, after Cas and Jorien had found their parents who had come to pick them up like always, was that Robin didn't have to deal with her trunk anymore. With a swoop of her wand, it shrunk down to a miniature and disappeared in the depth of her backpack. Thank God she was finally over seventeen… had been for a while now, actually. The summer would be so much more enjoyable now that she could use magic outside of school.

Instead of taking the first train back to Oxford like she usually did, Robin spent some time strolling around London. After all, she could be at home in a blink now whenever she fancied to be, and she didn't have luggage other than her backpack either. When she eventually sat down in a small cafe with a book Cas had practically forced upon her (not without making Robin actually promise to read it over summer), she couldn't help wondering what Snape might be up to right now. It was around this time when they would usually have pre-dinner coffee, or take a walk around the grounds, or set up for that evening's work in advance… oh bloody hell, she missed him already. But in the light of the impending week with her family, she also found herself missing Jorien and Cas. Anyone was better company than the people who were (probably not even) waiting for her in Oxford. For a moment, she wondered if they would care if she didn't come home today. If they would even notice.

Sighing, Robin ordered the largest coffee on the menu and then went to distract herself from the inevitable necessity to go home by reading Cas' book for now. It was the kind of read Robin wouldn't pick up even with her eyes closed; a cheesy romance novel about a girl around the same age as her, who slowly discovered the 'wonders' of love and physical intimacy in a plot that otherwise didn't even fit the romance. Robin couldn't help rolling her eyes every other page, but she had promised Cas that she would read it, and thus she had to suffer through all the drama and badly phrased make-out sessions now. Why on earth was this Cas' favorite book?! Admittedly, the girl deemed fashion magazines the high art of literature, but this… ugh. Sometimes Robin wished she didn't take her promises quite so seriously.

When her coffee was empty and a good third of the dreadful book behind her (which at some point had gotten a little less dreadful… not that she would ever admit that to anyone), she decided that it was late enough to make her way home at last. If she didn't want to sleep in the gutter, there was little else she could do. Well, technically she could camp out somewhere up north… she had everything she needed in her backpack… but some stupid part of her mind wanted to give her parents another chance to care. Some sparks of pathetic hope had crept through the cracks in her walls once again, even if she knew that she would only be disappointed again. It couldn't be helped either way. After paying for her coffee, she sought out the first space away from prying eyes, and finally went home in a swirl of time and space.

… … …

It had been three days, and Robin was already going insane. During her absence, her parents' house had turned into an outpost of the local university, or so it seemed. Not only had her bedroom been unrecognizable and all her things were packed up in boxes in the basement upon her arrival, but there simply were too many people around her on a constant basis, and no possibility to hide; Robin's parents, the three American scientists currently living with them, and usually two to five other people working on the same project even after hours. Begrudgingly Robin had accepted that she no longer had her own room in this house, and even that she had to live out of cardboard boxes for the moment… But the five other people living in this house with her currently were just too much.

The moment she'd come home on Monday evening she had noticed two things right away: One, her parents hadn't expected that she would actually want to sleep on the couch for more than a night. Two, the people from the States were assholes, to stick with their language. Well, two of the three, at least. A married couple who had moved into her old bedroom, and honestly, they could be summarized as mainly three things: religious, respectless and rude. Right on the first evening, they hadn't hesitated to make not so subtle but very much mocking comments about Robin 'attending a boarding school for special children', as her parents seemed to have explained the situation to them. Then they had gone on to comment on her 'disorderly choice of clothing', which they deemed entirely unsuitable for a young lady of any respectable family. Them finding out that Robin, in fact, didn't pray before meals (nor at any other time really), and also had absolutely no intention to, had resulted in a lengthy speech about the importance of God's guidance for a young lady (that term again…), especially when she was constantly tempted by vicious males around her. (They had also found it outrageous that the school she attended wasn't just for girls!) At that point, Robin had regretted ever coming back to this place, ever allowing herself to hope that it might not be completely awful. That had been three hours after her arrival.

Three days later, she was going insane for real. The only good thing was that every one of them was gone throughout most of the day, which allowed her to take a break from the constant orders and remarks given to her by four people by now, none of which actually had the right to do so. Honestly, she didn't know why she didn't just leave. Pack up the boxes in the basement and find some other place to live, where she wouldn't be either entirely ignored to the point of feeling invisible or pestered with disdainful comments. And now, four days into this mess, she made the decision that she would have to adapt her plans if she wanted to survive this summer.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow. I'm going to travel the country with a friend until the end of summer." She declared out of the blue, during dinner on Friday evening, after being silent for over three hours. Originally she had planned to take day trips with Snape, and come back here in the evenings to spend the days in between excursions at her parents' house. But now she just wanted to have a decent enough reason to leave and stay gone for as long as possible. Perhaps forever.

"That's amazing, sweetie! I'm glad to hear you have plans." Her mom was the first to reply, smiling in what looked like sincere relief upon the prospect of having her daughter out of the picture at last.

The conflict growing between the American couple and Robin hadn't passed by her parents unnoticed, indeed they were as well aware of it as everyone else, but they had always made an effort not to get involved, always avoiding to possibly upset their guests, even when they had clearly crossed a line. To Robin, they had thereby picked their side, and it had never been hers.

"Traveling the country… Spending your parents' hard earned money, eh?" The scarecrow on the other side of the table scoffed in a too high pitched voice, and Robin had to make a conscious effort to keep her facade of perfect neutrality plastered onto her face. "If I was your mother, I would see to it that you find yourself a job and get working as soon as possible!"

"We offered to pay for her expenses, should she wish to spend the summer elsewhere, because we had to clear out her room for you." Robin's dad explained almost apologetically. "But it might as well be a belated gift for… two birthdays and two Christmases, I believe."

"Never coming home and then expecting to be paid for nonetheless…" The scarecrow made a face at Robin as she let out a scoff. "Children, they're all the same no matter where you are in the world. I know why I never wanted any."

Robin's jaw clenched for but a second, the only tell of her true emotions, but then she calmly went back to cutting her chicken into neat pieces of exactly the same size as she had previously cut her vegetables and potatoes as well. "I won't need any of your money, thank you for the offer nonetheless. I believe it would be best for everyone if I was… financially independent as soon as possible. I'm an adult, so I might as well pay for myself."

"Oh, you're one of those types." Scarecrow's husband mused in an unsuccessful attempt at subtle distaste. "Traveling around like a gypsy, always deep in someone's pocket for a dollar… The youth these days just doesn't know what work is anymore."

"Actually, I work hard and earn my money like everyone else does." Robin replied coldly, not even honouring the man with a glance. It was a very twisted version of the truth she was presenting here, but it would have to do. "Just because I attend a school quite far away from the larger cities doesn't mean there is no opportunity to make a living on the side."

"Yes, and we all know how pretty young girls can make a living the easiest way, don't we?" Scarecrow scoffed, and the entire table fell silent for a moment. Nobody dared to speak, and all eyes eventually sought out Robin, who in return was desperately glad for her years of practice in looking entirely indifferent. On the inside however, her mind was raging. How dared this woman to make such accusations, or even hint at something like that?! A small part of Robin wondered what would happen if she simply cursed everyone in the room, and took their memories of it afterwards. But instead, she settled for merely being silent and clinging onto the thought that she would be gone tomorrow.

"Do you by any chance work in a kitchen?" The third American, the only decent human being in the room and the only person Robin wasn't currently mad at, asked and thereby broke the uncomfortable silence. "Because I couldn't help noticing how adept you are at cooking. The dinner you made last night was amazing, and I've never seen someone so skilled with a knife."

"Thank you." Robin offered him a small smile, and inwardly thanked him for saving her from the ridiculous situation like that. "I really do sort of work in a kitchen, actually. For the past few years I have been trained quite a bit in addition to the normal school curriculum, to properly select and prepare ingredients for example, but by now, I actually get to make entire recipes by myself." Again, not a lie. Cooking and potion making were quite similar in a lot of ways, and she would shamelessly take advantage of that now.

"I didn't know you were training to become a chef." Robin's dad frowned at her, then shrugged and continued eating at last. "But I'm glad to hear that you are looking into a serious and decently paying career path. Not that… odd stuff they teach you at school."

"So, who's the friend you're going to be traveling with?" Her mom asked, changing the topic and the tension that had been hanging in the hair was resolved as the others continued with their meals as well.

"You wouldn't know him; someone I know from school." Was all Robin replied, but perhaps she should've thought better of it.

"A boy?! Excuse me, but I just have to intervene here again, entirely for your own good…" The scarecrow was quick to respond, and Robin cringed at every single part of the vile woman's sentence. "Just imagine how that might look to some people! A girl and a boy, traveling the country together all by themselves… Do you truly want to have such a poor reputation?! Just think about the disgrace it would be for your parents! Or for your future husband! People might assume you were dishonored!"

If that woman knew that Robin was going to travel with Snape, a man who was eleven years older than her and who used to be her professor until a week ago, she surely would combust in outrage, or faint in shock. Robin had to suppress a snort at the thought, and the idea of telling her suddenly became very tempting. But she wouldn't, as that would surely only end to her own disadvantage. After all, it would put reality into even more of a false light… they were still going to part ways in the evenings to meet up again on another day. Either way, Robin had quite enough of the woman sitting across from her at this point.

"Bold of you to assume that I have any honour left for him to take in the first place." She said nonchalantly, in perfect indifference, and while four jaws dropped just like intended, the nice American scientist merely let out a snort. At least one person understood the joke inherent in this bloody situation… Still, this probably hadn't been the smartest thing to say if she ever wanted them to stop bothering her, but as it seemed, her reputation among them had been ruined long before she had arrived here in the first place. And it was the truth after all; at almost eighteen, it wasn't unlikely that she would have a lot more experience than she actually did. It wasn't her fault that a hug was the only form of physical intimacy she'd ever lived to share with anyone… even Cas had more experience than that, and she was only fourteen! Not that this bothered Robin in any way… it was just a fact, and she might as well use it to her advantage at this point.

Dinner continued quietly from then on, and while the silence seemed to be uncomfortable for everyone else, Robin actually found herself feeling more at ease than she had all evening. When willingly allowing yourself to sink quite so low in someone's eyes, even if based on false information and half truths, the result for your own self was quite liberating. No reputation to uphold, no need to impress, nothing to justify. Honestly, she just should've done this from the start. But then again, she had still wanted her parents to pay for her travels at that point. Still had hoped that the boxes in the basement would be unpacked again eventually, once the esteemed guests were gone. Now however, the idea of cutting herself off from her parents entirely had a shocking appeal to it, and she couldn't quite bring herself to step back from it again. Didn't even want to. No, she still had some Christmas money left that she had saved over the years, and from there on she could find some sort of work to make ends meet. Tomorrow morning, she would take the boxes in the basement with her and leave for good.

… … …

If there had been any doubt left in her mind by Friday night if she actually should go through with it, it was blown away Saturday morning when the only thing saying goodbye to her was a note on the kitchen counter that told her to put the rubbish out before she left. Thus she spent the early hours of the day gathering everything that was hers and storing it away in her backpack, while also taking some minor things that surely wouldn't be missed around here. An old record player and a few of her favorite records (both which weren't used anymore), that chipped mug she had been using when she was here for as long as she could remember, but also a photo album that only had the first five pages filled with pictures of her as a baby and toddler. If this was all that would be left of her childhood other than her own memories, she wanted to be the one to have it. She added in a picture of her parents that had been in one of their own albums, then hid the entire thing very deep down in her bag, in a box of things she wanted to keep but still forget about.

When finally she shouldered her bag to leave, she didn't even feel sad. Only bitter and, in a way, deeply hurt that it had come this far. Perhaps it had been her fault, partially at least. Perhaps it had been inevitable. But if the last five days had proven anything, it was that they would be better off going separate ways from here on. Maybe one day, if by that time they still remembered that they'd had a daughter once, she would come back to visit them.

… … …

Half an hour later Robin sat high up on the cliff on the Scottish east coast where their first adventure had started last year, legs dangling over the edge against the stone wall that dropped down way too far, as she waited for Snape to show up. They would have to meet somewhere after all, and this place had seemed like a good idea. Both of them had been here before, it was practically deserted, and thus it was easy to find each other.

The wind whipping around her cleared some of the bitterness the morning had left, dried some silent tears, and it was a reminder of the bigger picture, a reassurance that her problems weren't the end of the world. As dark as things might seem, the planet was still spinning and the only way to move was forward. She took a deep breath, and when the sun broke through the clouds at last, she put on her sunglasses and let it warm her face for once.

"You're early… A bit excited, are we?" Snape remarked the very moment Robin heard him arriving somewhere behind her, and even just the sound of his voice made her smile in an instant.

"So are you, in case you haven't noticed." She replied, leaning back on her hands to look up at him upside down when he came to stand behind her. Surprisingly enough, he was clad in ordinary black bottoms and a simple long sleeved shirt of the same colour. "I think I've never seen you in anything other than those robes you always wear at school…"

"Yes, well, our last… expedition has proven my usual choice of clothing to be rather unsuitable for the occasion." He mused, and finally sat down next to Robin so closely that their shoulders almost touched. "That, and muggles tend to be irritated when one wears robes around them. Since we haven't decided where today will take us, I thought it best to be prepared."

"Clever. As always." Robin smirked, and he rolled his eyes at her using his own expression on him, which she however didn't mind one bit. "How was your week?"

"Dreadful. Yours?"

"Even worse."

"Good."

"Hey!" Robin protested with a laugh, then with a grin she just couldn't fight. "What's good about me being worse than dreadful for a week?"

"It means that no matter if we succeed in our goals today or not, it will still be a better day for you than the last few were."

"Of course it will be better! An infinite number of times better even! Spending time with you is better than anything, you dunderhead."

"Call me that one more time and I will shove you off the cliff."

"Shove me off the cliff and I'll pull you down with me."

"I expect nothing less. That is what I'm here for, after all." He stated with an expression that was too serious looking to actually be serious at all. The not-smirk was an even better tell of that.

"You're here to jump off a cliff?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at him with a teasing smirk.

"I'm here to make sure you aren't alone when you do."

"So if I jump, you will too?"

"I would rather keep either of us from doing something ridiculously stupid as that, but generally, yes." He said, and the fact that he actually seemed to mean every word of that sent a wave of electric sparkles all through Robin's body and mind. She couldn't even put into words how much she adored him for that, and how infinitely glad she was to have him with her. If this was what being his friend was like, she couldn't even imagine how it would be to be more than that. Then again, she shouldn't imagine it in the first place. They were friends. Best friends, but only friends. That had to be enough.

"Good to know." She finally replied, allowing herself to smile at least, so very brightly that he almost had to smile in return. "So… what theory are we looking into today?"

"Get out that handbook of yours and we shall see."

______________________________

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a-detraque-barista · 4 years

Text

Marigolds and Sea Water

Yandere Siren Jimin x Reader, a little bit of Yandere Siren Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: yandere themes, possessive Jungkook, graphic killing, character death, mention of

Word Count: 3.1k

“Come on, come on! Wake up!” your voice was frantic as you held the half fish-man in your arms. You brought him underwater again and back up.

You had found him washed up on the shore. He was barely breathing so you tried to keep him alive by bringing him back into the water. So far nothing was helping. He still had a pulse but it was faint. You went deeper into the ocean so you were just barely touching the ground. Taking in a deep breath you went underwater and swam as far as you could. You didn’t want to let him go but you also couldn’t hold your breath forever. You could feel your eyelids drooping and your lungs burning. Seeing the man’s eyes flutter, you smile.

Everything went black after that.

When your eyes fluttered open you looked around to see plain white walls and the consistent beeping of the monitor next to you. Confusion took over your whole mind. You couldn’t piece together where you were or how you got there. It didn’t help how you began to feel nauseous. You felt a sharp pain in your chest. What was going on?

“Y/n please calm down, you’re in the hospital,” a nurse came rushing in after getting notified of your escalating heart rate. She took your hands and tried to get you to calm down, “Breathe, in and out.”

Eventually, you were able to calm down enough for her to explain how you ended up in the hospital. Someone had used your phone to call an ambulance but they were gone before EMS arrived. The nurse had also explained that you have gotten pneumonia from the water being in your lungs. To fight the infection you have to take antibiotics every day, twice.

You suspected the aquatic man had saved your life, even knowing enough about society to call an ambulance to help you. Staring up at the ceiling you were thinking about what to tell your boss when you went back to work in a few days. She didn't take lightly to excuses for not coming into work. As long as you had a doctor’s note, your punishment wouldn't be too harsh.

The doctor came in and said you would be able to go home within a few hours but you had to stop for your medication before going home.

You lived in a small town so it didn't take you long to walk to the pharmacy and home. The sun was setting and the wind was getting stronger. It felt nice but you just wanted to get home and sleep in your own bed.

The next day you took a walk along the shore as you silently hoped to see the mysterious sea creature that you met the other day. With no such luck, you went home to spend the rest of the day lounging on your couch while catching up on your favorite show you haven’t been able to get to in a while.

You kept going back to where you found the man ashore, every day. However, every day, there was no sign of him.

✤✤✤

Three weeks later you were laying in your bed. You had just woken up, looking over to your alarm clock, the big red numbers read 3:58 AM. Groaning, you reluctantly sat up and dug your palms into your eye sockets. Why did you have to wake up so early on your day off? It was a tragedy nobody should have to suffer.

You decided to go for a swim since it was warm enough and you needed something to do for another two hours until your favorite coffee shop opened up.

Choosing a random spot to set your towel and bag, you took off your coverup and walked into the water. You dove into the water once you were in decent depth. Most people would have been traumatized and wouldn’t go near the water ever again. But you didn’t really care, you loved the ocean and you weren’t going to let that one moment ruin it. You broke the surface and slicked your hair back as you stared up at the moon. It was full and bright while there were no clouds in sight. You began to float on your back as you daydreamed while gazing at the stars.

Dreaming of what could be and what could’ve been when you felt something wrap around your stomach and pulled you under the water. You struggled as much as you could but whatever grabbed you wrapped its arms around yours. You stopped kicking and tried to look behind you but it stopped you by digging his face in your neck. Your air supply was running low, noticing this, he brought both of you up to the surface. Taking in a deep breath you were able to level out your breathing.

“I forget you can’t breathe underwater sometimes,” his voice was smooth and light. The airy chuckle he let out was endearing. “I tried to stay away from you for weeks. But I just couldn’t do it.” His arms tightened around your middle. “I needed to see you again. And hold you again. Even only for a little while.”

He unwrapped his right arm from around you to grab your wrist. You felt your skin tingling the more he held your wrist. When he let go of it, he took your forearm and bent it upwards so you could see the marking he left. It looked like a bracelet that held charms, a moon crescent, stars, and waves were now embedded into your skin like a tattoo. Hugging you one last time he whispered, “I’ll be back for you.”

With that, he sunk back into the water and swam off before you could even process what had happened. You swam back to shore and quickly dried off and grabbed your things. The sun was already beginning to rise so you had to quickly take a shower and get dressed before the morning rush hit the coffee shop.

Once you saw your favorite barista working through the glass door you practically skipped up to the counter. He laughed the whole time as he watched the way you were walking. You loved being able to make him laugh, he was usually a very shy person.

“Gooooood morning, Jeongguk,” you rested your arm on the display case full of baked goods right next to the register.

“Good morning, Y/n. Your usual?” Jeongguk tried to hide his smile as he typed in your order.

“Yessssss, could you add a muffin? They are calling out to me.”

“Are you sure that’s not just your other personality?”

“I would say something if that weren’t true,” you both laughed as you talked while waiting for your drink.

Jeongguk suddenly stopped talking as he noticed your wrist. His eyes became dark as his coworker handed you your drink. You put both the bag and the drink in your left hand before looking to Jeongguk with your eyebrow raised. You reached out to poke his face but he quickly grabbed your wrist. He stared at the marking intensely before asking, “Who gave you this?”

You had never seen this side of Jeongguk. He was usually all smiles and witty comments. You were concerned about how fast his mood changed from seeing a marking from a mysterious seaman. Not knowing what to tell him you began to stutter, “I-I um, well, it’s kind of hard to-to explain Jeongguk.”

He said nothing for a while before he finally let go of your wrist, “ I’ll be over at your house to talk after my shift. Don’t go near the ocean. Got it?” His eyes were dark as he looked at you from under his eyelashes. You were too confused to respond causing Jeongguk to grab your wrist again and say, “Got it?”

He let go of your wrist after you nodded quickly. Exiting the shop, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Today was becoming too much for your heart to handle.

You drank your beverage and ate your muffin at your coffee table while watching cartoons that played early in the morning. You had almost forgotten about Jeongguk coming over as you lost track of time.

Your concentration on the cartoon was broken when you heard knocking at your door. You slowly set down your drink and stood up to open the door. There he was. In his all-black outfit and parted hair. You’ve had a tiny crush on Jeongguk for a while now. How could you not when he was so attractive, made you laugh, and was always kind to you? But you’ve never seen him like this before, angry and seething.

Without asking, he walked in while pulling you with him. He kicked the door closed and brought you to stand in front of him.

"What are you doing?" your voice was shaky as you watched him bring your wrist up to his mouth. His dark eyes stared into yours. You felt him smirk against your skin before he let out a humorless chuckle.

“You have no idea what this is, do you?” watching your head shake, he sighed before explaining, “It’s a mark that sirens leave on their mates to keep any unwanted creatures away. But I’ve waited and waited till the day I could finally mark you as my mate. I won’t let some wild beast take you away.”

After he said that, he bit into your wrist. Hard enough to break the skin and cause you to bleed. Jeongguk pushed you back until you hit the wall so he could pin your other arm and both legs so you wouldn’t be able to struggle. You couldn’t move or get a word to come out. It’s like you were practically frozen. You didn’t understand what was going on. Your brain going into overdrive to try and process everything that’s happening. Jeongguk was biting into your wrist after practically telling you that he was a siren just like the man you had saved from the beach. And saying that you were his while confessing he had been waiting to mark you. What the hell was going on?

He didn’t pull his teeth back until he was satisfied with the fading of the mark. If the mark was taking this much to get rid of then the siren that had given it to you must be incredibly strong.

As an apology, Jeongguk began to lick the blood and your wound. He never wanted to hurt you but it was a small price to pay to get the stench of another siren off of his beloved. He made sure the wound had stopped bleeding before he pulled away to look into your eyes. Surprisingly, you had kept quiet the entire time with the occasional whimper. He thought you would scream and curse at him but you did nothing as stared as if in a daze. Maybe you really did love him as much as he loved you. He smiled as he took you in his arms and held you tightly.

He brought you over to your couch and had you lay down so he could lay on top of you. Jeongguk rubbed his face against your chest and wrapped his arms under you. He had dreamed of this for so many months. Ever since he met you when you first moved to town from your big city life. How could he let someone, that hadn’t even known you for as long as he did, take you from him?

Jeongguk had practically fallen asleep right away. While you were left staring at the ceiling. So much has happened within several hours that you were exhausted but your mind was running too fast for you to fall asleep quickly. Over time, as the sun was hidden behind the clouds, you finally fell asleep.

Your eyes slowly opened as your pupils adjusted to the dim lighting. There was barely any light, only the light reflecting off of the water. Your legs were in the small pool and the rest of your body laid on the hard rocky surface. Your eyes were still unfocused as you examined what looks to be a cave. Trying to sit up you felt an arm bring you back down.

Looking over, you saw the man you had saved from the shore. He didn’t say a word. Just staring at you as you tried to get the strength back in your arms and legs. From where you were laying it seemed there was no other exit except the pool your feet were in. There may be one behind you but you can’t see it from there. You felt the arm around your middle tighten.

“There’s no point. I’m the only way you can get out of here.”

You made eye contact with the man who you assumed saved you before you drowned. His eyes were gold, they reminded you of the marigold flowers that grew around your house.

“Why did you save me?” he whispered while he gazed into your eyes like he was looking for something.

“I couldn’t just leave you there. You were gonna die. Or worse, someone else found you that would…” you didn’t know how to finish your sentence. Whatever this man was, he wouldn’t be saved from the bottom of their heart. He would be saved to be experimented on or worse.

All of these or worses made you want to crawl deeper into this cave. Humans were disgusting, even if you were one.

“I could ask the same thing,” you said quietly as you stared up at the ceiling of the cave.

“You saved my life, I had to save yours,” he rested his head on your shoulder before growling.

He sat up to sink deeper into the water. He could only stay above the surface for so long. This finally gave you the chance to sit up yourself. You were a little sore but nothing too serious. From here you could really see him. His light blonde hair was slicked back with a few stray hairs falling into his face. Which brought your eyes to the bluish scales adorning his cheeks, down his neck, arms, and to his tail. His hands that reached out for your legs were webbed as there were short sharp nails at his fingertips.

“It’s time to rehydrate, my love.”

“Rehydrate?”

He grabbed you by your calves and pulled you into the water with him. He held you by your waist, “We can’t stay out of the water too long or we’ll die.”

“Um, I’m human. I should be out of the water most of the time,” it was obvious you weren’t like him.

The man didn’t say anything, all he did was examine your features. You could see the color of his eyes more clearly from here. Not only were they an abnormal color but the pupils were also different. They were eight-pointed stars. You had never seen anything like them. Being this close to him also made you realize he was still a stranger, “I don’t even know who you are.”

He finally blinks and thinks for a moment. “My name’s Jimin. But you can call me anything you want,” his voice was soft and smooth. It almost put you into a daze. “And what’s your name, my love?”

“Y/n,” Why was his voice so soothing? To any other stranger you would reluctantly give your name, most of the time a fake one or none at all. Why did you give it up so easily? And why was he looking at you with such intensity?

“What a wonderful name,” he breathed, his face was already so close to yours. He began to hum an unfamiliar melody as he slowly twirled the two of you in the water.

Wait...how did you get here? The last thing you remembered was laying down with Jeongguk on your couch. Nothing was adding up. “Hey Jimin?”

“Yes?” he stopped humming to listen to what you were going to say.

“What happened to Jeongguk? And how did I get here?” you tried not to overwhelm him with too many questions so you could get the answers you needed to the more important first two.

“Well, Jeongguk and I made an agreement. Long story short, I’m the winner that gets to win your heart,” he sung with a sing-song voice.

Of course, Jimin didn’t want you to know that he murdered your dear friend. Jeongguk had idiotically explained how the two of you have been friends and how he has been trying to make you his mate for months. This only caused Jimin to fill with rage and kill Jeongguk. Jimin ate his heart as all sirens did when challenged and came out victorious. Leaving the rest of the scraps to the sharks. This underwater world was dangerous and feral which is why Jimin must protect you from all harm. Even from the surface world.

He sang as loud as he could towards your house, hoping it would be loud enough for you to hear through your walls. Luckily, it was just enough to seep through your open window and into your ears. You were still half asleep by the time you stood up but you made it out of your house and to the beach rather easily. As soon as you were waist-deep in the water, Jimin pulled you down and slipped something similar to kelp into your mouth and had you swallow it. Holding your face, he waited until he saw you breathe to make sure it had worked before grabbing your hand and swimming off.

Now here you were, dancing in the water with the siren that had taken you unknowingly. He began to sing as he sunk further and further down with you still in his arms. You tried to push away from him but his grip became tighter and his voice got louder. Even as you sunk deeper into the water you could hear his voice. Everything was becoming darker and darker the further you went. You looked to Jimin worriedly but all he did was give you a charming smile before you finally succumbed to his voice and let all of your worries swim away.

Sirens can live for thousands of years while humans could barely live for one hundred. That’s why Jimin needs to make you into a siren just like him. The only way to do that is to mate with you. And he very well can’t do that on the surface or near it where others can see your beauty, right? He’ll break you from his spell but not until he’s got you completely within his grasp, in his home, at the bottom of the abyss.

#bts jimin #bts jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere bts #yandere jimin #yandere jungkook #bts jeongguk #jeon jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook #park jimin x reader #bts park jimin #yandere #yandere siren #yandere male #yandere male x reader

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majoraop · 3 years

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I heard you wanted more Sabo fanfics, @akemichan007, so here you are (I’m sorry in advance). This short story was inspired by the “whump” prompt in my card for the One Piece Bingo hosted by @op-pirate-fleet.

Dying Flame Sabo woke up to the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He slowly opened his eyes but couldn’t see anything in the complete darkness. He tried to stand up despite his aching body, but he was chained to a wall and could only twitch his fingers or turn his head. As soon as he did the latter, though, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach and coughed more blood. An internal injury, probably. I feel weak…ad cold. Cold? Since when could he feel cold, now that he was fire itself? He had eaten his late brother’s Devil Fruit, the Mera Mera no Mi. He could turn into fire now; he had even mastered the fruit! His flames were so hot they turned blue-white, so why was he trembling? Am I dying? If he had an internal haemorrhage, probably he was. Sabo pulled on his chains with all his remaining strength, but he couldn’t get free of them. Seastone? That substance made Devil Fruit users like him lose their strength and feel a horrible sensation similar to drowning. Sabo felt nauseous, but he still tried to focus on his surroundings: he couldn’t see anything, but he still had his other senses. And Observation Haki. He could smell blood and some other unpleasant things. Probably, he was locked into some prison. Where, though? His best guess was Mary Geoise’s underground, but he couldn’t be sure of that yet. He felt dampness on his kin. Naked skin. Someone had removed his clothes and boots—his hat, even! He only wore his pants now, but their fabric was tattered and dirty. Next, he focused on sounds. The silence was almost absolute, only rarely broken by distant sobs and cries. Just once, he heard a high-pitched scream. He didn’t want to think what it was about, even if he probably knew the answer already. Finally, Sabo used his Haki. He could feel his “ambition” slipping away, but he was still able to detect the presences of a few other people in the dungeon—or whatever that place was. Some of them were just feeble presences—probably coming from injured or tortured prisoners—but others belonged to guards. He didn’t feel maleficence radiating from them, but just cold indifference—which was even worse. Anyway, he recognised those auras. I’m still in Mary Geoise, and I’ve messed up. The original plan was to declare war on the Celestial Dragons, but then he and his comrades had decided to save Kuma as well: a revolutionary like them whom the World Nobles had enslaved. It had been risky, but the rescue had been successful. However, another unexpected event had made things go downhill for them. But I couldn’t let those bastards kill Luffy’s friend! So, he had rushed to save Nefertari Vivi after leaving Kuma to Karasu and the others. I hope you made it out of this damned place safely… Mary Geoise reeked of arrogance, prejudices, and injustice. There, slaves died day after day both under the sunlight and in the depth of darkness, unseen by anyone. And they have the nerve to call this place the “Holy Land”! Sabo spat blood mixed with disgust. He needed to be out of there, but how? At least, he had managed to save Vivi. The princess of Alabasta should have left the Red Line at this point and should be searching for his brother using the vivre card he gave her. Her father hadn’t been that lucky, though: when Sabo had arrived on the scene, he was already dead. The late king had shielded his daughter, saving her from the CP0 members that had attacked them. Sabo wasn’t fond of monarchy, to put it mildly. There were better forms of government, and monarchs were horrible people for the most part. However, the Alabasta rulers were different. Their ancestors had refused to leave their people behind, and instead of becoming Celestial Dragons like the other families that had created the current World Government, they had remained just regular nobles. Sabo grimaced, remembering some very different nobles—his family. No, they have never been my family. The Revolutionary Army is. The Nefertari, however, were admirable people. Now, Vivi was the last living member of their dynasty, and she would search Luffy for help. What are you doing now, little brother? Sabo tried not to think about him but to no avail. To make matters worse, his predicament was probably similar to what his other brother had gone through before dying. Did it hurt so much for you too, Ace? Luffy would be devastated to learn that his only remaining brother had been sentenced to death too, accused of a crime he had not committed. Sabo gritted his teeth, remorse and pain clutching at his chest. The weight of his failure and its consequences was suffocating, and his rapid breathing and heart rate made him feel dizzy. He couldn’t accept the idea, but he wouldn’t survive long enough even to step on the scaffold—one last chance to get his freedom back somehow. No, he would die in that dark cell, alone. I’m sorry, Luffy. I’m sorry, Dragon, Koala…my friends! Sabo had often asked himself what Ace had felt in his last moments, and now he probably knew. He wanted to scream all his frustration and pain but felt too weak even for that. He pulled at his chains again, desperately, only gaining more wounds around his wrists. He panted in that damp, lonely darkness until his breathing returned normal, trying to calm down. However, all he could think of was his failure, his comrades in the Revolutionary Army, his younger brother. Forgive me, Luffy…everyone! Since joining the revolutionaries and even before getting his memories back, Sabo had known that his life would have been probably short. As a pirate, Ace must have thought the same, too. They all chose their own path, and there was no point regretting it now. Sabo knew it, but it still hurt. It hurt that he hadn’t been able to taste full freedom in his life yet. It hurt that he hadn’t been able to party together with Luffy. It hurt that he had never completely opened his heart to his closest comrade. Will you cry, Koala? Heck! Probably Dragon, their stoic commander, would cry too upon learning about his death. Sabo owned him everything: a new life, a place to belong, a goal. He closed his hands in tight fists as he realised that, without him, the whole army was at risk. Dragon’s lifetime goal itself was at stake: Sabo knew he was the strongest among them, but he was getting old. And I won’t be next to you in your final fight. The awareness of that hit him hard, especially now that he knew the time of reckoning was near. The Celestial Dragons had gone too far by killing the king of Alabasta and attempting on his daughter’s life. They had grown too arrogant—even for their standards. They wanted to suppress any flame, any spark of rebellion, but that would make the freedom-seeking spirit always latent in people only grow stronger. Sabo’s only consolation was that, even if Dragon’s plan would fail, there was no way his younger brother at least wouldn’t change the world. A world so rotten that any change would be for the better at this point. Sabo coughed more blood as numbness was slowly replacing pain. That wasn’t a good sign. How much do I have left? Days? Hours? Sabo smiled bitterly. All of his life, he had searched for freedom and its meaning; yet, he would die in an underground prison. Away from the sun, away from the people I love, away from the wind and the waves... Even if it didn’t make any difference, he closed his eyes. No, it did make a difference. Now, instead of darkness, Sabo saw his memories. His precious childhood memories with his beloved brothers, when they were still young and untainted by the cruel world. No, we were tainted even back then. Sabo had met Ace not long after running away from his home, and Ace had been distant and cold at him at first—aggressive even. His first brother had suffered for the “sin” of being the late Pirate King's child, despised by most people even before they learned of his existence. Sabo, instead, had lived in a cage, unloved by his own parents and with his whole life already planned for him. And Luffy, despite his smiles and eyes always brimming with life, had had something dark buried in the depth of his heart, too. Loneliness. Sabo didn’t blame Dragon for cutting ties with his son, but Luffy had suffered because of it. Without a mother, without a father, and only a rude grandfather taking “care” of him sometimes. But then, the three of them had become brothers, and Luffy hadn't been alone anymore. Unrestrained, tears fell from Sabo’s eyes and flowed down his face, slightly warmer than his skin. At least I’ll see you again soon, Ace. Sabo reclined his head on his chest, feeling his life draining away. Farewell…little brother. After that last thought, the young revolutionary stopped fighting the torpor pervading him. Later that day, the brightest of flames died in the underground of Mary Geoise: far from the forests full of adventures, far from the ocean overflowing with dreams, far from the freedom-whispering wind. That same day, historians agreed, marked the start of the Revolution.

#opbingo2020 #sabo #onepiece #one piece #opfanfic #opfanfiction #oprevolutionaries #revolutionary army #blood tw #torture tw #death tw #long post #majoraop #(As usual feel free to comment and also point out typos or any error you may find! Any feedback would be really appreciated!)#queued

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spoils of War: What if NHS's rescue Da-ge plan escalates the Sunshot Campaign during the "awaited" wedding between WRH and (maybe already pregnant?) NMJ. WRH is paranoid (but still arrogant) enough to invite only ONE of each from other sects as hosta-ahem- witnesses inside the Fire Palace. He didn't invite WWX, who in his typical dramatics (and part of The Plan), crashes the wedding and kicks up a fuss. How did this scenario went about?

original fic here - ao3 here

It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian hadn’t known.

Nie Huaisang had made it clear enough what the clever plan they’d put together would cost his brother, and at the time – looking at Lan Wangji’s pale face, at the rage in Jiang Cheng’s eyes and the pained way he looked at Wei Wuxian, looking at all the suffering they’d all endured, everything – Wei Wuxian had said it was worth it. That what they’d gain in the end was worth any amount of sacrifice, and he’d even been arrogant enough to believe it.

Perhaps it was the carelessness of his words back then, his reckless disregard for the pain of others, that turned his stomach now.

He had not spent much time with Nie Mingjue prior to this – people did not casually spend time with Wen Ruohan’s saber, not unless they were named Nie Huaisang – but he’d heard so many of Nie Huaisang’s stories about his brother that he almost felt as if he knew him. The man he’d heard so much about was stern but fair, generous and kind when he could be, cold and vicious in public because he had to be; a good brother, a loving one, a powerful man who held his head high despite all the terrible things he was forced to dirty himself with. A man who sought to be righteous in whatever few ways were left to him, who gave everything of himself whenever he could, however he could.

He didn’t see any of that in Wen Ruohan’s bride.

Look how beautiful Wen-furen was, people were already saying, sycophants with voices dripping sleaze; what a lovely wedding, the sort any bride would dream of, and what a gorgeous dress, the rarest of red silk and the finest of gold threads. And of course, it was good, they said, to see that Sect Leader Wen had wasted none of the time of their engagement – if one judged by the pronounced curve of Wen-furen’s belly, it was clear that their child would have been conceived almost immediately after the engagement had been announced, or possibly even before, when his bride had finally agreed to marry him. It was all utter hypocrisy, of course, complete rot: if it had been anyone less powerful, they would have laughed at them for not being able to keep their hands to themselves until the official wedding and shamed their child as nearly-a-bastard, legitimized only through technicality.

No one would even so much as imply such a thing, here. Not with Wen Ruohan.

Not with this bride.

One Wen sect retainer regaled a small audience not far from where Wei Wuxian was standing with the story of how, after Wen-furen had finally consented to the marriage and the auspicious day announced, the sect leader had celebrated his final victory by taking his bride right there on his throne, and then the two had retreated into seclusion for an entire fortnight – really, the man laughed, the real surprise wasn’t the child, it was that Wen-furen could still stand after being tossed around with such enthusiasm, a monument to Wen Ruohan’s kindness as well as his virility, and everyone laughed along with him.

Wei Wuxian turned away, then, and made his way through the party, his knuckles white where he was holding a jar of wine.

All the conversations were like that, he found. Not a single person in attendance so much as referenced Nie Mingjue, the Wen sect’s saber, the most talented of their generals, the most fearsome of their warriors, the creature of so many of their nightmares – it was as if such a creature had never existed. The man who had made something of himself even in the worst of circumstances had been forgotten wholly, all of his achievements erased as if they had never existed, an entire life abandoned like trash.

Wen-furen, Madame Wen, was all that was left behind.

The painted smile visible underneath the sheer bridal veil suggested it might even be true.

It was not the expression Wei Wuxian would have expected, that he had expected when he’d agreed to come here as part of their plan. Nie Huaisang had always been clear regarding his brother’s temper, but it wasn’t a grimace of rage nor a fixed smile of a man enduring torment; it was a smile.

A blank, empty smile, vacant and vacuous, as if there was nothing left of the person behind it.

As if there really was nothing left of Nie Mingjue, now that he had given up the last of himself to allow his brother’s terrible plan the chance it needed to have a hope of success.

Their plan.

All of them, all the ones who’d agreed.

It was easy to agree to this plan, to endorse it, from the depths of Yiling where Wen Ruohan’s favorite dog Wen Zhuliu had abandoned Wei Wuxian after destroying his core, thinking him little more than trash; the Jiang sect having been forced to formally endorse the banishment after the fact, Madame Yu and Jiang Cheng desperately trying to keep things together and hide the fact that Jiang Fengmian had suffered a similar fate. It had been easy when he’d looked at Lan Wangji, still pale, still marked by the terrible wounds his own sect had inflicted upon him in an attempt to satisfy the Wen sect’s bloodthirst and protect everything else; he had only very recently been able to start walking again, and it made Wei Wuxian’s heart bleed to see it.

It had been easy for him to say back then that they had to do it, no matter how Nie Huaisang, who had a heart as black as pitch when he wanted, hesitated, no matter how Wen Ning bit his lips to bleeding every time it was mentioned, how Wen Qing’s knuckles had been white from where she’d gripped Jiang Cheng’s hand.

It had been easy.

It shouldn’t have been.

Wei Wuxian was sick to his stomach with regret for it, seeing what had happened in the short time they had abandoned Nie Mingjue to Wen Ruohan without even a pretense to defend himself with, without the thinnest of paper to protect his mind from the horrors inflicted upon him; even though Nie Huaisang had spoken of the cost, he had not really accepted it, he had not really known.

He could not even imagine what Nie Huaisang would feel, when it was his turn to see what he had done.

When he saw his beloved brother turned into an empty doll.

The Nie features did not make for a classically beautiful woman – they were too striking for that, too bold, and Nie Mingjue was a tall man, broad shouldered – but everything that a make-up brush and a careful hand at clothing could accomplish had been done. Wen-furen sat demurely at the head of the room, new husband sitting right beside accepting toasts of well-wishing from all who came to greet him, and showed no sign of any objection to any of the proceedings.

Not much sign of anything else, either.

Wei Wuxian could only hope they hadn’t come too late.

(He could only hope that Wen Ruohan hadn’t broken him entirely. That there was something left to rescue – and, horribly, that there was enough there left to help them now, because even after everything they weren’t done taking things away from Nie Mingjue.)

He turned his head, as he had many times over these past few shichen, and finally, finally, saw the signal he’d been waiting for: he put down his jar of wine and picked up his flute, then took a deep breath.

Hold on a little longer, he urged Nie Mingjue mentally. You have not been abandoned – all you need to do is survive, survive and remember yourself. Remember what you need to do!

It was time to end it.

He put his flute to his lips, and gave Wen Ruohan a gift brought straight from the Yiling Burial Mounds.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #spoils of war #fic extras #tkpartisan

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keeroo92 · 4 years

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Frigid Delight

Dante x reader, NSFW. Inspired by the dialogue prompt “Did you seriously just look me up and down and then bite your lip?”

Word count - 1,463

________

Waves of shimmering heat radiated from the street outside, the blistering sun merciless in its assault. Even in your tank top and shorts, sweat glistened on your skin as you desperately searched for relief. The three box fans helped, but they could only do so much without a functioning ac unit.

“Babe, when are you gonna get ac?” you whined from your perch at his desk. Feet propped on either end and arms as far from your body as possible, it was the optimal position to disperse your limbs and keep them from touching.

Dante smirked and handed you a massive glass of ice. Rubbing it on your skin was one of many ways you somehow hadn’t died yet.

“I dunno. The heat doesn’t bother me,” he replied.

Pushing the damp fabric of your top away from your stomach, you sighed happily as you ran an ice cube over your skin. Another chunk went on your collarbones, the melting coolness dribbling down the curves of your chest.

“Do it for me, then. C’mon, I’m gonna die at this rate!” you shot back with a pitiful look.

But Dante didn’t seem to be paying attention. His eyes roamed your body, enjoying your splayed out position and revealed flesh. You couldn’t deny you enjoyed his attention, but just imagining him buried inside you made the already miserable heat downright unbearable.

The man had the nerve to bite his lip as he met your gaze, shattering the last shreds of your patience. “Did you seriously just look me up and down and bite your lip? Seriously?”

The ivory haired love of your life smirked and leaned on the massive desk, trailing a finger up your calf. “Can’t help it. You look pretty hot like this,” he quipped.

You threw an ice cube at his smug face. “No shit, Sherlock.”

The bastard caught the ice one handed, his reflexes unimpaired by the scorching weather. You rolled your eyes and leaned back, resting your neck on the back of his ancient desk chair. If it was just a little bit cooler, you’d be taunting him right back, but it was just too damned hot. You closed your eyes.

A spot of arctic delight trailed up your leg, leaving beads of blessed relief in its wake. You hummed and went limp, unable to deny Dante’s touch. Maybe you should’ve thrown a bigger chunk of ice at him?

“Hand me the glass, I’m gonna need more ice,” he rumbled.

Without bothering to open your eyes, you held it out to him. A moment later, the cubes rattled against the glass as he dug out a second piece to run up and down your other leg. Heaven.

“That feel good?”

You smiled. “Mmm hmm… Don’t stop.”

More rattling, then a scratchy but blissfully cool touch on your stomach.

Wait, scratchy? What the hell?

You glanced down to find a mop of white hair, a pair of sparkling blue eyes staring at you as Dante kissed your damp skin. There had to be ice in his mouth; he was using his lips to administer it. The scratchiness was his stubble. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

He paused a beat later, positioning your legs on either side of his body so he could crouch before you and resume his ministrations. The second it cooled off, you’d have to do something extra special as a thank you; this was the best you’d felt since the accursed heat wave began.

Peaceful enjoyment thrummed in your mind, all thought ceasing as you lost yourself in his cool touches. He was so good to you, always so attentive and caring. How lucky you were to have him.

His voice broke the haze of contentment after a time. “Hey babe, mind if I try something?”

Crap, that didn’t bode well. He only asked permission if it was something weird. You shot him a suspicious glance. “Like what?”

He smirked and grabbed more ice, sticking a fresh cube between his lips. “Just trust me.”

Whatever…it’s too hot to argue. I can always get him back later.

You nodded and closed your eyes, relaxing once more to enjoy the momentary break from being boiled alive. Lines of chilled water trickled down your thighs to drip on the floor, washing away the layers of sweat coating your body. Only an actual air conditioner could possibly beat this.

Then an icy finger tugged your shorts aside to swipe at your folds.

“Dante, what the-”

“Shh, just trust me. It’ll feel good.”

Another swipe as his other hand released the button; a heartbeat later and he tossed the garment aside. You forced yourself to relax; anything to keep his cold hands and lips on your skin. It’d burn all the worse if he stopped now.

“Seein’ you all sweaty has been driving me wild,” he murmured. “But watching you with the ice is just torture.”

Icy kisses peppered your stomach as he parted your folds, humming as he teased at your core. A shiver raced down your spine, the heat all but forgotten now.

“F- fuck, Dante! If you run out of ice I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He chuckled. “Why do you think I used the biggest glass in the house?”

You moaned as another frozen finger joined the first, brushing across every spot he knew you liked. His free hand found its way under your top, gently pressing ice against your peaks. Soft whimpers spilled from your lips as he kneaded and stroked, your body somehow both cold and hot all at once.

Sparks danced across your nerves and twitches wracked your core, a growing need curling your spine. Your heart was pounding, a tight ball of anticipation coiling in your gut. The two of you hadn’t been intimate since the damned heat wave started, weeks ago.

Fuck, you’d missed this.

Dante grinned and probed your depths, the barest of intrusions when you knew he could do so much more. You rolled your hips, desperate for him to stretch your walls, but he only chuckled and pulled away.

“You want more?” he asked innocently.

You huffed and glared daggers at him. “Do you want to get smacked?”

“As the lady wishes,” he quipped, bringing fresh ice to both hands and his lips.

Cupping the crystalline shapes in his palms, he ran his hands across your ribcage and stole a needy moan from your lips. He pushed your shirt away and dragged blissful streaks of frigid relief over every inch of your skin. Pulses of white flashed in your vision and you shuddered, lost to his touch.

The slightest pressure against your inner thighs was the only warning as his lips descended, his glacial tongue lapping at your essence. Not once did his hands stop moving, keeping the heat at bay even as he drove it higher. As he flicked and nibbled at your clit, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head, his chair creaked its protest to your quivering.

“Dante, p- please!”

Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he shifted, one hand joining his lips at your core. His tongue slid within you and curled, pulsing in and out, in and out as his thumb circled your swollen nub. Gasps and cries stole the breath from your lungs, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he didn’t stop, don’t stop, never stop, please don’t you dare-!

He moaned and quickened his movements, skillfully working your body into a frenzy. Your toes curled, legs clenching and spasming on either side of where his face was buried. The peak of ecstasy was seconds away, just a little bit more and you’d unravel.

Yes! Fuck, feels so good-!

As if he could read your mind, your beloved was merciless. His well-practiced lips moved in concert with his fingers, pushing what remained of the ice cube deep inside you. Bursts of lightning radiated from your core and exploded out of your throat in a sinful call of his name, the chill so delicious you swore you touched the stars.

But he wasn’t done, lapping away the gush of fluid like it was the sweetest nectar in existence. Static flooded your mind, barely able to breathe as euphoria consumed you. More than once you began the inevitable return, only for Dante to feverishly force you over the clouds again. He drew forth everything you had to give and demanded more, until you disintegrated completely.

At long last, his fingers slowed and his tongue withdrew. He pressed a reverent kiss upon your mound before rising, smirking down at your glazed eyes and limp form.

“Feel better?” he quipped.

Muscles quivering, it was all you could do to groan in response. Maybe this heat wave wasn’t so bad, after all.

#fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #dante x reader #reader insert #spicy #happy quarantine #one shot #dialogue prompt

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