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blackresin75 · 3 years

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The Heart of My Sea

TW: Choking, virgin reader, rough sex, loving sex, bondage, nipple play, oral (fem receiving), and overstimulation.

A/N: Hey so this is my first fic like this so please tell me what you think. My roommate did help me out a LOT @violinwizard thank you so much. This is for the Mythology and Folklore collab so please check out the others here. I have the masterlist reposted.

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Dad always tried to control where you went. He wanted you to stay in his sight when you weren’t with the others luring sailors to their deaths. You’ve never wanted to kill but it was your only saving grace from your fathers grasp, but maybe that was what makes the Captain of the Midnight Rose so alluring.

The main crew looked to be about the same age as you and your friends, they also looked more content in their place on deck. Your feelings of jealousy grew more and more as each ship passed by and sank. Maybe that’s how you ended up in this position, stuck in a net blinded by jealousy and rage.

You feel the coarse net grind against your skin as you struggle to get free. The thrashing around causes the net to scrape up your arms and your tail. No matter how much you squirm, The coarse fibers don’t budge. You feel the water sink below you as you rise up. Panic starts to set in your chest as the light from the surface grows brighter.

“Shit, shit! No no no no fuck!” The ropes cut deep into your skin as your thrashing grows desperate, you feel the salt water flow around your body. You break the surface gasping frantically, thinking of all the stories of sirens before, kidnapped and left for dead. You've seen the aftermath, but you never dreamed it would happen to you.

Your breathing soothes but the panicky feeling in your chest doesn’t leave. You can hear gruff voices, but you can’t hear anything outside of the beating of your heart and the surge of the waves. The panic becomes so immense that by the time you’re set down on the mahogany deck you are already too far gone

When you wake up, all you can see is the shadow of a man on the far side of the deck. At first, his eyes are all you notice, deep and black as the ocean on a new moon night. There’s a scar running under the left one, giving him a dangerous and rugged appearance. He is dressed as many of the sailors you’ve taken to the deep, loose shirt with a deep cut, betraying a strip of an almost well defined chest. His tight pants leave nothing to the imagination, while his long coat makes you wish there was more to see. A scarf hangs around his neck, the end just dipping into the V of his shirt. “I wonder what he would look like in the ocean, all wet and mine for the taking.” The thought comes unbidden and you quickly scold yourself, a blush forming on your cheeks . Someone clears their throat, taking you out of your daydream and you look around at the rest of the crew. Their glares make you look away, and you quickly turn your eyes to the man in front of you. He walks towards you, taking off his trenchcoat and drapes it over your naked figure.

“I’m bringing her into my quarters, if you need anything.” .He stares daggers at the crew, while his hair flies up and eyes turn red, “Don’t.”

With that the roguishly handsome man picks you up and takes you to a cabin below deck. He lays you back on the mattress in the corner of the exquisite cabin, then he leans up against the desk in front of the neat bed. “So, you got a name?”

“Y/n,” you hesitate, “are you going to hurt me, sir?” His eyes go wide, his body stiffens a little, and he bites his lip. Bringing a strong callous hand up, he gently takes a piece of hair and tucks it behind your ear.

“You think I’m going to hurt you?” His whisper carries straight to your heart, the amount of care in his words sends a shiver through your spine. “Well, y/n, I’m Shota Aizawa, I own the Midnight Rose. I know you’re not human, so what the fuck are you exactly? We caught you in the sea, maybe a Kraken, or mermaid, or perhaps a siren.”

His voice gets lower and his face gets closer, you’ve sung songs to sailors that promise their dreams. A lot of sex, but there were a few of just pasta; those songs are your favorite. You can now see the allure of sex and love just by looking into this man’s tired eyes. Instead of answering him, you opt to stay quiet. “Not talking? That’s okay, kitten. I have ways to make you talk.”

Your face darkens even more at his words, why is calling you kitten? What are his ways to make you talk? The panic returns in full force, he sees the fear and panic on your face and he walks over to the bed and puts a loving arm around you. You freeze, and he decides to rub your back, “shhh, kitty, it's okay. I’ll protect you now. I want to know what you’ve been through.”

His gentle reassurance surprises you, it's not everyday that you see someone so handsome and gentle. Someone who doesn’t want to treat you like a toy, but maybe that’s what made you want him to treat you like a toy. Just to see if he still would want you after or throw you back to the sea violated.

“You didn't answer my question, are you going to hurt me, sir?” You lean in closer to Shota. The tension starts to thicken, with just five words.

“Do you want me too?” Shota looks at you differently, he wasn’t malicious or terrifying. He pulls you closer, looking into your eyes, his breath taking up your air. The different songs flew through your head but only one thing felt right.

“I want you.” You lean forward and kiss him with your entire soul. You’ve never felt this way before, and from what Aizawa was reciprocating, he feels it too. The kiss deepens and a heat starts to form in your pussy and gut. He groans into your mouth and he pulls you on top of him. Feeling his hard cock against your pussy sends a shock that jolts through your bones. He grabbed your arms and started kissing where the net cut into your skin.

“I’m sorry y/n, I did this to you. I’m so sorry.” He kisses you everywhere he can touch, soft, loving kisses. When he reaches your neck, it sends shivers down your back, and a moan bubbles up in return. The shivers soon travel to your stomach, where his hands are caressing in full circles, slowly heading upwards. You can feel the rough texture of the coat on your nipples driving the sensitivity to new heights. Suddenly he slips the coat from your shoulders, and you hear it hit the ground at the same time his hand finally hits the swell of your breast.

His lips leave your neck, a whimper escaping your throat at the loss, which is immediately followed by his moan as his mouth closes on the peak of your breast. You feel his tongue circle your nipple, caressing it slowly, and you are awash with heat, striking to a forbidden place in your core. His tongue is soft, and wet, giving you a pleasure never felt before. He grabs your backside possessively, pulling you impossibly closer, you moan, grasping his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself afloat in the rushing tide that is him.

In your state, you barely manage to gasp out a “Don’t stop”, and you clutch harder as he slowly starts to suck on the breast he is tethered to, his tongue still making tortuous movement. One hand lightly caressing your other breast, his other starts to slowly head downwards, mapping your skin, which has started to gather sweat. He gently nudges your thighs apart and begins to descend further into uncharted territory. Before he can reach his destination, he pulls back and meets your eyes.

“Is this ok?” He asks. Frustration hits you at the loss of his ministrations, and you grab him by the scarf, pulling him back to you, “Please, keep going”. You feel his smirk before he begins, this time on the other breast. His hand continues in your depths, to circle around a single point that opens a floodgate. You grasp him tighter, your hand going into his hair in pure joy, as his fingers continue at the same pace, tracing a whole new alphabet on your center.

You want more pressure, you begin to move with him, trying to encourage him to go faster. “Kitten” he admonishes, his voice low, “Do you need more?” You can only moan in response. His hand is suddenly grasping the back of your neck, pulling you away from him, the breath leaves your throat, and you feel as if you're floating, pleasure filling the space of total awareness.

He laughs, “Cat got your tongue?” You want him, want more, you reach out blindly, catching his shirt in the process. You want it gone, you tug, and it floats down beside you. You see his smirk turn sinister.

“You shouldn’t have done that. Do you know what happens when the Kitten gets the cream before she’s meant to?” He slowly takes the scarf off his neck, and before you can comprehend that you can see the sweat coating his neck, he has lowered you to the bed, the scarf wrapping around your wrists, tying you to the bedpost. Panic rises inside you, before it bubbles over, he slowly kisses you, passionately bringing the softer feelings from earlier back into the game. It calms you, enough to notice both his hands have pressed your thighs back to their open stance, and he is moving down your body, his chest heaving. You feel his breath on your lower stomach, his tongue taking just enough time to dip into your belly button before working further down.

The heat is back, flooding your senses as you feel his breath on your thighs where his hand is, you feel his tongue, followed by his teeth, lightly nipping, moving towards the place you want him most. You want to tug him close, but you are restrained from above, you consider thrusting closer, before he is there. You feel his breath on the most intimate part of your body, sending shivers to your very soul, and ripping the part of you wanting to escape away. He sits there making you wait, before you finally feel his tongue on that same spot from earlier.

It is somehow both cold and hot at the same time, and impossibly wet, adding to the sensual feelings bubbling up from inside. The soft tongue is a stark contrast to the nails on both your thighs. With each swipe of his tongue you are brought to new heights. Just left to moan and writhe on the bed, with no hard body to soothe the shivers. Finally his lips close over the nerves, and your soul is drawn from you and into him, you can’t stop moaning, arching off the bed, your feet finding solace along his muscular back. Your thighs crushing the head between them. He groans out, possessively grasping your thighs to pull you closer to the torture that is his mouth. You feel something else on your folds, one of his fingers, gently prying the opening to your depths, which you have just realized is dripping liquid.

His finger sinks deep just as his tongue passes over the top of the nub, and you almost scream, your breath rising, your vision gaining spots. His finger is joined by another as they twist and scoop, scraping against a part of you that sends pure heat to your heart, and your heart to the heavens above. He keeps striking the place inside as his lips pull your very being into him. Once you take a breath, twice, you rise from the bed. Thrice, you are screaming. And then you are falling grasping at the headboard above. You have spots dancing in your eyes and a fire in your belly. As a tsunami of pleasure ripples through you, starting and ending with the man who is still milking you into him.

“Shota, p-p-please” You moan, as you ride out your intense first orgasm. The pleasure comes in waves as Shota cleans you the mess you made with his insatiable tongue. As you come down from your high, he comes up by you and he kisses you with hunger. He slowly pulls away from you, bringing both hands up to cup your beautiful face. One hand gently caresses your cheek and soothes your heated face. He let his thumb wander to your plump lips and let it drag down slowly to see your bottom teeth. With your mouth wide open, he brings his hand, still wet with your juices, to your open mouth.

“Clean, Kitten.” You stick your tongue out a little and lick a small amount of your essence off of him. Shota groans as you lick his fingers coated in your slick. You love the feeling of falling off the edge for him, the world melts as he takes his fingers away and kisses you with full force. He puts the fingers back into your sweet, sticky spot, pumping in and out, until you could feel the heat return. You let out a small whine, “‘s too much, sir.”

He takes his fingers out and you whine again, not wanting his fingers to leave your heat. He lets out a small chuckle, “Do you want me or not? I thought you wanted me, we’re not even close to being finished.”

You let out another whine as he places his fingers back in your pussy. This time he starts with two fingers and quickly slips in a third, stretching you out. He kept pumping you full, hitting the spongy part in you multiple times. He takes out his fingers, hitting your swollen clit on the way out. You feel so close to the edge again. Not wanting the pleasure to stop, you try to bring your hand down to give some much needed friction to your neglected area. The headboard clicks against the wall of the cabin, reminding you of the scarf that ties you up. You glance down and see Aizawa pumping his full, slightly curved, cock, dripping with precum. The engorged tip is a flushed pink, you watch as he mixes your essence with his pre. Satisfied with the prep work, he comes up and grabs your hips, coaxing your legs to wrap around him. He lines up his length with your pussy, and looks at your panicked face.

“Kitten? Are you okay with this? Have you done this before?” His questioning is endearing, you’ve haven’t had sex before, but you know a lot about it. With all of his ministrations on your body, you don’t want it to stop.

“No, but I don’t want you to stop.” You share a breath with Shota, both of you not wanting to break the silence. He looks at you lovingly and whispers a kiss over your mouth.

“Okay, I’ll try to be gentle, Kitten.” His kissing gives you reassurance. He lines his swollen cock to your folds and slowly lets himself into you. The pressure is painful at first and the pain slowly changes to pleasure. You look down to where you are joined and see that only his tip is in. How is that possible? Is he even going to fit? You feel so full already but there is still more? “Shhh, it’s okay Kitten,” he wipes away a stray tear from the pain, “You’re so beautiful.”

He slowly puts more of his large cock in you, pain makes you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut. He caresses your hair, petting you and giving you praise as you take his entire length. As he bottoms out in you, you let out a wail that would put the banshees to shame. You both wait for your tight cunt to adjust to his size. Your chest heaving as you tap on Shota’s shoulder signaling him to start moving.

“I need actual words, Kitten.” You gather your breath and whisper a small yes in his ear. With that small yes, Aizawa kisses you temple and starts to move in your heat. You feel his cock move at an antagonizing pace, and you need more.

“More, sir-” Aizawa growls in your ear, it is already so difficult for him not to lose control and he doesn’t want to hurt you. When you keep calling him sir, the difficulty increases. He picks up speed slowly, moans coming freely from your throat and tears from your eyes. Every now and then he kisses the tears from your eyes and sings your praises.

“My good kitten, doing exactly what I need.” He starts to go faster and harder. Words and moans mixing in your mouth bubbling up to the surface, coming out as much of a mess as your cunt. You feel a coil of heat rise in your stomach as the tip of his cock pounds relentlessly into your cervix. Something was different about this edge, no longer was it the tsunami of pleasure like you knew it. It’s like being sucked into a whirlpool that doesn’t end, the feeling growing larger and larger until you let go.

You hear Shota shouting, “Fuck, I’m cumming, Kitten,” He kisses your lips, as you fall back into the whirlpool of pleasure. You feel thick ropes of cum coat your fluttering walls, you let the whirlpool take you completely. A clear liquid coats both you and Shota as you let out another wail. He looks down at the mess and back to your face. You both let out a little laugh, and he pulls down the covers of his bed. He grabs a blanket from one of the wardrobes and drapes it over you. He clambers into the bed and pulls you close.

“You’re so beautiful. I think I’m falling for you.” He kisses you. You’ve never been the one to believe in love at first sight, but with him, how else could you explain it? You have totally fallen for him since you landed on his deck.

“Shota, I think I love you.” You whisper.

“I think I love you, too.” He kisses your nose lovingly.

“Even if I’m a siren?” He looks at you and brings you into a hug.

“You’re the Heart of my Sea, I will always love you, y/n.”

#bnharem collab #aizawa shouta #pirate #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #bnha smut

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fkingsteverogers · 3 years

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Tell Me We’ll Be Just Fine

A/N: A couple points: 1) I made a new blog for these writings to make them easier to find 2) I have a tag list! lmk if you want to be added to it 3) For my non US babes and others, your third amendment rights say you can’t be forced to house soldiers. Long Story Short

Contains TFATWS Episode 5 spoilers

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With John Walker being Honorably Discharged after an International Incident, you’re stuck under house arrest. (The United States Government would tell you house arrest is too strong of a word, it’s simply Strongly Advised you stay in your apartment.) You want to scream from the rooftops that you had nothing to do with him, that it was all an act, but you’re being Strongly Advised, so that’s not an option. You hope, wherever he is, Bucky is having a better time than you are.

Five Days; Eastern Europe:

Bucky is not having a good time. They’re in a country where everyone wants them dead, holed up in a shitty motel and all he can think of is the absolutely devastated look on your face when he walked out the door. It makes him brood.

“You have to talk about her sometime.”

“Who?”

“Whoever makes you frown like that.”

“‘M not frowning. What do you know about it anyway? You’re single.” So maybe he was being an ass about it. You were so far away, probably cuddled up with John or Steve, and he was here, sitting in a motel room with Sam. John Walker was probably feeling you up right now, running his hand over those beautiful thighs of yours as you kissed him, making soft little noises--he clenches his fist so hard he breaks the bowl he’d been holding, splattering rice and beans all over the floor cracked tile floor.

“Yo, man, what the fuck?!”

Day One; New York City:

Steve’s allowed to visit, because of course he is. He flashes some badge and the guards (who are Strongly Advising you), stand down. “Why are you here, Stevie?” And you hate that you still call him Stevie. Stevie is what you called him on the quiet nights when you two were alone and he was still yours. Steve gives you his sad smile and you want to fall into his arms, to sob into his chest and tell him how you fucked it all up. You don’t.

“Just go, Stevie.”

Four Days; Eastern Europe:

Sam goes to do some surveillance, announcing that he “couldn’t deal with this shit,” leaving Bucky alone in the shitty room they were sharing. Before he’d been deployed, he would’ve spent an afternoon alone in a hotel curled up with a pretty girl or a handsome boy. During the war, he’d spend a quiet day catching up on some sleep or rereading a well loved copy of The Hobbit. During his Hydra days (which he hated thinking about but also couldn’t stop thinking about), there really weren’t days off. There were days where he killed and days where he didn’t. Since then, he’d spent most of his days off trying to remember how to be a human.

You had made those days feel like living again. And now you were John’s girl, dressed all pretty up for him and everything. Bucky’d been fucking stupid to think you’d want someone like him, someone damaged, someone with blood on his hands. You were good and soft and pretty. You spoke four languages and had probably read every book ever written.

You’d been good enough for Steve.

He breaks another bowl and has to lay down after.

Day Three; New York City:

You glare down the solider that’s sitting in your kitchen, eating a sandwich. “This is violating my Third Amendment Rights, you know.”

The smug bastard grins and keeps eating his sandwich.

Two Days; Louisiana:

“That shield’s the closest thing I’ve got left to a family, so when you retired it, I felt like I had nothing left.”

The mission had gone down as well as any of their missions go, they’d been shot at, gotten out by the skin of their teeth. Sam left to go back home as soon as he could, Bucky followed. Where else did he have to go?

“You have her.”

He didn’t, not really.

“I don’t want to talk about her, Sam.” Bucky tosses the shield, scowling deeply.

Sam sighs, catching the shield. He turned to face his friend, were they friends?, and looked him up and down. “Yeah, you do.” So maybe Bucky does want to talk about you, about how betrayed he feels by you choosing Walker over him. The government hadn’t been powerful enough to stop some gossip magazine from publishing a spread of you and Walker, you in a little red sundress that makes you look incredible and his hand on your thigh. There’s some bullshit story about how you met and had been so enamored with him you’d asked him for coffee on the spot.

It makes Bucky physically sick with rage.

Day Four; New York City:

After four days of being Strongly Advised, you’re ready to start pulling out your hair. The news is nonstop coverage of what happened to John Walker, the green beret who had gone crazy and killed a man in a moment of grief induced rage. And to top it all off, People released a spread that makes you want to scream. The whole shoot hadn’t been your idea, some government publicist had insisted it was necessary to sell the story. In reality, it’d been five hours with John’s hands all over you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. During a break, he’d asked you about Steve, his tone suggesting something that was none of his business.

“You don’t get to talk about Steve.” John had smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. It clearly annoyed him, someone thinking he wasn’t good enough for something. “What about your wife, John?” A look of surprise crosses his face but it’s gone in a moment, the mask he wears to keep people out back in place.

“Olivia isn’t part of the deal. I thought we could be friends,” he spits the word out like it’s dirty, “but clearly you’re not interested in that, clearly you’re interested in--”

“Be careful how you finish that sentence, John.” Your voice is low, betraying the landmine he’s almost stepped on. Given the chance, you’d stab John Walker in his pretty face. Decades in prison means nothing when the love of your life abandoned you and the man you thought you could count on ran out. (So maybe you were thinking about Bucky, it doesn’t actually matter.)

Bucky had been a solid presence in a sea of uncertainty. He’d made you feel safe and okay. After Steve’s departure and the death of Tony, the only member of your family left, solid and safety had been in short supply. He’d showed up, ate his cold beans in silence in the kitchen, and hadn’t left. He’d made you laugh in a way you hadn’t in months. You’d developed a routine, Bucky would wake up before you and boil water for tea, you’d stumble out and cook something to serve as breakfast, and you’d both go about your days. In the evenings, you’d come together, talk about the stupid shit that had happened during the day, watch a movie on Friday nights, and go to bed. It was nice to have a routine, something and someone you could depend on.

The nights had been quiet since he left.

Twelve Hours; New York City:

Bucky’s plane lands and he breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s raining when he steps out of the airport, a down pour by anyone’s standards. Fine by him, less people to avoid. He manages to make it to the little coffee shop outside your apartment without getting too soaked. Going up there wasn’t an option, not when you were probably angry with him for running out. So he sits, drinks endless cups of coffee and watches.

“She takes it two creams, no sugar, if you want to bring it up to her.” Bucky turns and finds himself face to face with Steve. His friend looks old, but happy, at peace even. There’s so much he wants to say, he wants to ask Steve why he left, what he thought about Walker. He wants to punch him or throttle him or hug him. Bucky wants a long fucking hug.

“I don’t think she wants to see me, punk.” Steve sits, shaking his head.

“I didn’t think she wanted to see me, either. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her..”

Before Bucky can reply, before he can really process what Steve is saying, he gets a text from Sam and he’s off to save the world again.

Day Five; New York City:

Because the universe hates you, you can’t even use your phone to entertain yourself. Someone leaked your personal number and it hadn’t stopped ringing since. And, since the internet has no nuance, they’re mostly death threats. You’re reading a book when the guards who are Strongly Advising you abandon their posts. There’s something going on, something that no one bothers to inform you about.

You go back to reading your book. Hopefully Bucky’s not being thrown through a wall.

Thirty Minutes; New York City:

Bucky gets thrown through a wall.

It fucking hurts and he’s dizzy after. Like can’t-walk-straight-am-I-actually-drunk-dizzy. Sam, the useless bastard, loads him into a taxi, tells him he’ll be fine, and gives the driver your address. Bucky’s dimly aware of this fact, aware of the fact that this poor man is driving him, a bleeding super solider, to the one place he wanted to be but wasn’t welcome.

Two Minutes; New York City:

The guards aren’t back by the time the downstairs buzzer starts ringing incessantly. You’re in the middle of your book, right at the moment where the head-strong damsel and the Lord she hated are about to kiss. You try to ignore it, With a groan, you stomp down to the doors.

Standing there, half supported by Vasily, the Russian cabbie (who is definitely into some shady business), is Bucky.

Now; New York City:

You thank Vasily, telling him you’ll pay for the cab when you see him on Friday for Shabbat, and take the bleeding Bucky into your arms. Bucky mumbles something, clearly speaking Russian but too lowly for you to actually understand. Vasily glares at him, muttering curses as he stalks away.

Dragging Bucky up to your sixth floor apartment means sharing a run in with Daisy Mae, your elderly neighbor who’s 90% blind and enjoys loitering in the elevator. She seems to take offense to Bucky mumbling Russian children’s songs to himself.

“Speak English dear, not Communism. We’re in the United States.”

“Mind the business that pays you, Daisy Mae.”

She hmphs, but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky, for his part, gives a rousing performance of the Russian alphabet. Finally, you get Bucky into your apartment and unceremoniously drop him on your couch.

It’s not long before he falls asleep, leaving you to stare at him for hours, wondering just what he’s going to say when he wakes up.

When he does wake up, it’s to the scent of your soap, sweet watermelon that always leaves an aching in the pit of his stomach. Waking up on your couch, smelling your soap, and listening to you cook feels like a dream. How many times had he thought about this exact moment while he was with Sam? Soon enough you’d turn the corner from the kitchenette and smile at him, that beautiful smile that never failed to make him feel a little dizzy.

And then he’d wake up in a shitty hotel room, listening to Sam take a shit through the paper thin walls.

He waits, but when you appear, you’re frowning anxiously. And God, you’re so fucking beautiful. You’re wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts that expose your long legs to his greedy eyes. Your hair is pushed back off your face, exposing the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

Steve was a lucky man, to be able to love you. Maybe one day he’ll find a woman like you to love, if he’s lucky. Has he ever been lucky?

Bucky looks confused when you appear holding tea. “Hi.” He doesn’t say anything back, just frowns back. Your mind races, realizing he probably doesn’t want to see you, that he was dropped off here by some well meaning friend, and he was going to get up and walk out the door again.

“At least let me clean you up before you go.” Bucky nods wordlessly, looking like he’s still a little stunned. He takes a seat at the kitchen table as you pull down the first aid kit you’d put together when Steve was still here. There’s a cut above his eyebrow that’s still oozing a little blood. It’s in such a place you have to situate yourself between his legs in order to get to it.

It’s quiet while you work, Bucky’s never been a man of many words and now he’s probably trying to figure out how to tell you you’re never going to see him again. As soon as he’s cleaned up well enough that you’re satisfied he won’t die sitting at your kitchen table, you step away to admire your handy work. Bucky’s left hand, his metal hand, catches your wrist and pulls you back to him. It holds you there while his right hand comes up to cup your face, running a thumb over your cheekbone.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He’s not sure what possesses him when he pulls you back into him. All he knows is if he doesn’t get you close, if he doesn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are, he won’t be able to breathe. You make a little noise of exasperation, your gorgeous lips parting. “I mean it.” “Bucky…” You try to pull away but he holds you there, studying every inch of your face and committing it to memory. There’s an electricity between the two of you, it feels like the air is charged enough to light that stupid snail lamp you’d bought from Arrow or whatever that store you loved was called. “Bucky…” You repeat, your voice softer, in a tone he can’t quite describe

Before either of you can move or say anything else, the door swings open to reveal Sam and Torres, flanked by three soldiers. None of them take notice of what feels like a very compromising position.

“Oh good, you’re here, Sargent Barnes. You're all being moved to a safe house. Pack enough for an indeterminate amount of time.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws x reader #tfatws imagine #I hope ya'll like this one as much as the other one!!#these idiots don't realize they're in love and I HATE it #I have all kinds of plans and I'm so excited for this to become a series #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #ls!reader #Sara writes

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fromparishwithlove · 3 years

Text

Nothing But Handprints

[2,663 words, Destiel, mostly canon compliant]

A/N: Hey, hi, it’s midnight and I spent three days writing something and I actually finished it. It’s not that long, maybe 3,000 words but it’s something and I’m kinda proud of that. Ever since Supernatural ended I’ve found myself writing more and more. I’m actually working on a full fic and right now, it’s the most words I’ve ever written for one story, even though it just a shitty first draft. But before I publish that, I wanted to share something smaller, ease my way in so to speak. So this is a lot of Dean Winchester angst and a sort of continuous ‘Oh Shit’ moment in which he processes lots of memories and realises the impact Castiel had on his life, many of which are connected by the significance of the handprint. Ahhh the beloved handprint! Tbh I was kind of inspired by Jensen’s enthusiasm for bringing it back in 15x18 so you can thank him if you like this story. I think I’m going to eventually add this to Ao3 and it may get a sequel but for now, I hope you like it. Or at least don’t hate it.

Cas was gone.

Dean felt the loss as surely as if one of his lungs had been ripped out. Maybe it had. Maybe that’s why it was so fucking hard to breathe. And still he kept dragging in air, each breath a razor blade - Inhale. Exhale - forcing himself to endure the exquisite pain of survival.

Survival, he knew, was its own brand of suffering; barbed with regrets and heavy with the keen sting of memories.

Behind his eyelids bullets ripped through a dusty trenchcoat. A familiar voice admonished him; he was almost out of minutes. The cool press of fingertips brushed against his forehead. The silver streak of an angel blade caught the light. A fist collided with his jaw with a sickening crunch. A huff of involuntary laughter escaped from reluctant lips. Stubble scraped his cheek as he pulled the angel into a hug. Shades of blue crowded his vision - the garish blue of a crappy general store tabard, the endless blue of the morning sky as he wrestled his way out of his own grave, the untamed blue of angel grace, humming with raw energy. And best of all, the solemn blue of that unflinching gaze. There was a discarded cowboy hat on the backseat of the Impala. A game of Sorry pushed across a table and into his hands. A shitty four door saloon the colour of middle-aged misery.

And the brand of salvation burning on his skin - the Righteous Man, touched by an angel. The same handprint that now stained his jacket bloody.

As hard as he tried, all he could do was remember as shuddering breaths turned to wracking sobs.

Whatever this thing was, it had marked him. Searing it’s own handprint into the flesh of his shoulder, staking its claim.

Dean couldn’t help but feel... violated.

He looked like a walking advertisement for one of those crappy tourist spots: take nothing but photos, leave nothing but footprints but in his case it read: take nothing but liberties, leave nothing but handprints

He ran a tentative finger over the raised flesh and hissed at the contact. It felt raw, like a burn; still stinging and angry.

He glared at it, hoping the sheer force of his loathing would somehow dissolve it. But it remained, stubborn and resolute.

It looked human. That was the worst thing. To think there was something out there - something monstrous - masquerading in the body of an innocent person... And with enough power to pull him from the pit.

That thought alone was enough to chill the blood in his veins.

And what did that mean for him? He bore its signature on his skin after all. Did that mark him as it’s property?

He belonged to no man. And no monster.

He would rather spend a lifetime in Hell.

Getting up off the floor had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Turning his back on the last place he’d seen Cas near impossible.

What if, by some miracle, he came back? He deserved to know Dean had waited. After all, Cas was the only one he’d ever really had any faith in.

But Dean had given up on miracles long ago.

He let his phone ring out again and again; the sound too harsh in the grief-stricken silence. What if he never answered? What if he let Sam believe he was dead? Cas too. Because in reality, he felt as good as.

When she saw the mark on his shoulder, her eyes widened a fraction, her mouth parting in what Dean recognised as wonder.

Dean Winchester is saved.

The words came back to him as she aligned her palm with the echo of Castiel’s, caressing the raised skin with a gentle touch.

Something about the contact made him feel nauseous. Even though they were pressed together, not a breath between their bodies, he felt as though she had dug her nails into an open wound. A shudder of revulsion ran down his spine. He suppressed the urge to shake her off, instead drawing her attention away with a searing kiss.

The feeling of unease was harder to dislodge.

The mark itself no longer bothered him; it had faded somewhat and by the time Pamela used it to make contact with Castiel it hadn’t so much as tingled. This sudden display of hostility triggered by Anna’s touch unnerved him.

Maybe it was because she was an angel. Maybe it could sense her power, reacting with whatever traces of energy Castiel had left behind.

Or maybe it was something subconscious in Dean; something he didn’t want to acknowledge - couldn’t acknowledge - for fear of what that might mean.

But he couldn’t outrun the truth.

He noticed how Castiel turned away when Anna leaned in to kiss him goodbye. Thought he saw a flicker of jealousy contort his features. But only for a split second.

And once again that involuntary feeling of distaste rose up inside him, rearing it’s head, demanding to be heard.

And this time he listened.

And this time he recognised the ceaseless lament of his guilt.

Every cell in his body screamed in protest as he staggered out of the bunker. Every step a monumental effort. It was as though The Empty had created a vacuum when it had taken Castiel, and now it threatened to drag him into the same darkness.

He was exhausted; more than once he had to fight the urge to lay down and never get back up. But he knew he couldn’t.

He had to get to Sam, had to confront Chuck and demand he bring Cas back. He pinned all his hopes on it. Because if Chuck - Lord God Almighty himself - couldn’t bust Cas out of The Empty, what hope did he have of doing it himself?

So he dragged himself behind the wheel of the Impala and tried to ignore how normal it felt to sit there, as if he were just heading out on another case. As if the whole world hadn’t shattered apart and been clumsily glued back together in a matter of heartbeats.

He refused to look over at the passenger seat, refused to acknowledge the empty space beside him. Castiel had occupied that space just a few hours ago.

Could that be right? Had it only been a few hours since they’d made the journey to Lebanon, their silence weighted with shared worry yet still companionable? How had he lost so much in so little time?

Castiel arrived in the nick of time.

Zachariah had been gearing up to do some serious damage. He might not have been able to kill Dean on account of his status as Michael’s Vessel but he could still make him suffer. And Dean knew he had riled him. But nothing, not even the threat of what was to come would induce him to say yes. Zachariah had simply given him an advantage, a roadmap of what not to do to. He wouldn’t end up a cold, callous, merciless soldier like his future self. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe there would ever come a day when he would willingly sacrifice his friends and family - his fellow comrades - no matter what Heaven or Hell put in front of him. He would rather die than live to see himself become so despicable.

“That’s pretty nice timing Cas.”

“We had an appointment.”

His answer was so matter of fact, so practical, that Dean couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face. It implied that Dean could’ve been minutes away from death or simply completing the crossword and Castiel still would’ve come for him at that exact moment. But there was something coy about the set of his features, something like amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Dean was under no illusion that, somehow, Cas had sensed he was in danger and, despite his apparent ignorance, had slipped in and taken Dean while Zachariah’s back was turned. It was crafty, calculated, almost petty in its brilliance.

And now Castiel stood looking at him, ready to talk, to plan their next move, without even a hint of expectation in his gaze.

He didn’t boast or demand gratitude. He didn’t want Dean’s thanks; he just wanted to be included.

The realisation hit Dean all at once, Castiel’s own words coming back to him as he considered how the balance between them had shifted.

You don’t think you deserve to be saved.

But Cas had saved him. Had been trying to save him for a while now but Dean had just been too blind to see it. When he had freed him from Hell he had been following orders but now, he had simply taken it upon himself to remove Dean from trouble’s path.

Against all odds and the interests of Heaven, an angel had his back.

Dean took a step forward and, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, he said, “Don’t ever change.”

What he meant to say was: Don’t ever change back. Don’t ever serve the interests of others when you know in you’re heart they’re wrong. Don’t ever become unreachable, unknowable. Don’t ever stop being the angel on my shoulder because without you, I’d die.

There was so much he had meant to say but the words died on his lips. He hoped that Cas understood just from the look in his eyes, the force in his tone, the significance of that hand on his shoulder.

Dean knew that he didn’t always tolerate human contact but Castiel didn’t shrug him off. He allowed Dean to grip his arm, the fabric of the trenchcoat screwed up under his fingers. For a minute Dean held on and when he finally drew away, he half expected to see the shape of his palm imprinted there, just as Castiel’s handprint adorned his own shoulder.

He drove on autopilot, trusting his body to react accordingly; his mind was otherwise consumed by bittersweet memories that made his throat ache and his eyes sting.

He replayed every journey they’d ever made together, nothing but open road before them and unsaid words between them.

You changed me Dean.

His tears ran hot, spilling down his cheeks and splashing into his lap.

Dean had immediately recognised the truth in Cas’ words, but they still reverberated through him like the tremors of a distant earthquake. Letting himself consider the possibility that he, an insignificant stain on the Earth’s crust, had changed Castiel, a centuries old celestial warrior, was incomprehensible.

It was like... staring into the sun.

The more he told himself not to, the more he became blinded by its glare. Dean wanted to squint whenever he looked at it, shield his eyes from its radiant sincerity.

Because he had known it this whole time. Known and never admitted it to himself.

He had witnessed firsthand Castiel’s transformation from a finely tuned, emotionless instrument to a discordant orchestra of empathy and feeling and not once had he suggested it was his own influence that had inspired such a change.

Because how could he have inspired such honesty and compassion, gentle humour and tenderness? He was stubborn and defensive, worn down by years of trauma and still so full of anger.

But he was wrong.

Of course he was wrong.

I cared about the whole world because of you.

It felt too big to accept so readily and yet... Dean remembered the first time he’d made Cas laugh, the first time he’d heard doubt creep into his voice, the first time his cheeks had flushed with embarrassment, his eyes had filled with sorrow, his shoulders had sagged with relief. He remembered it all and he remembered his own despair, his exhaustion, his cocky bravado. He had begged and reasoned and joked with reckless abandon. He had unwittingly smothered Cas with his humanity and instead of suffocating, Castiel had simply taken a deep breath, filling his lungs with every human emotion they’d ever dared to beat out of him.

His body felt beaten, his mind battered and broken.

Sam didn’t even have to ask as he forced himself out of the car to meet his younger brother’s eyes.

Understanding glimmered there. He might not know the details but Sam recognised the same heartsick anguish that gripped his own soul. The same bone-deep weariness that had settled over him ever since discovering Eileen was gone.

They had lost everything. Everyone.

Details would come later; coaxing out the truth one shot of whiskey at a time. Although, looking at the state of his brother, Sam wondered whether it wouldn’t take several bottles.

Dean took another pull on his beer.

He couldn’t understand why he’d done it. Maybe he hadn’t meant to. But sure enough it was gone. Every day the past slipped further and further away, fading as quickly as dreams but still he couldn’t help but reach for those memories.

There was barely anything left to remind him. Sam was... Well, Dean found it hard to think about Sam. And Cas... Dean hadn’t seen or heard from him in almost a year. He was starting to think Cas had removed the mark on purpose; some deluded attempt at helping Dean forget. Perhaps he thought it was a mercy.

But Dean didn’t want to forget. Not if it meant forgetting what it felt like to belong.

Once again he found himself in front of the mirror, beer on the counter, sleeve rolled up, his own hand pressed to the place where Castiel’s had once been.

He could hear Lisa moving around downstairs, glasses clinking, Ben’s laughter loud and jubilant out in the yard. He shouldn’t be here. Not again. Not today. He should be down there manning the barbecue, joking and celebrating with his family.

But he couldn’t seem to tear himself away. There was nothing to see and yet he kept on searching.

Mary had always said that angels were watching over him but his angel had abandoned him, leaving no trace behind.

Dean’s grip tightened, nails digging into his flesh. He relished the pain but it was not enough.

“You’ve got to bring him back.”

He’d ground out the words with deliberate force, still reluctant to admit Cas was gone, to admit that he alone couldn’t save him.

But Chuck had merely shrugged off their surrender. Apparently he was happy to simply watch them flounder. With no one left to fight for and no monsters left to fight, the brothers would be effectively made redundant. Just Sam and Dean and an eternity of suffering stretching out before them. How could that be the end?

In Dean’s opinion it was shitty, lazy writing. Surely Chuck would grow tired of their struggle soon enough and then what?

Stripping him of his power, his divinity, his immortality had been deeply satisfying. Dean relished the moment he turned his back on him, refusing to expend the effort it would take to kill him. That was, after all, not who he was. Not anymore.

For the first time in his life, he was going to carve his own path - without destiny or prophecy or some omniscient douchebag shoving him around on the chess board.

The thought terrified him. Did he even know how to live a life when his every movement wasn’t being dictated by someone else?

He supposed his first move would be the obvious one. But it was the only one he really wanted to make. With Jack taking on the role of God, his task of liberating Cas from The Empty seemed fractionally less intimidating. They would find a way.

Dean swore to himself that no matter how long it took, no matter the lengths he would have to go to, he would see Castiel again. And when he did, he intended to drag him out of the darkness and cover his soul with his handprints.

#deancas #Dean Winchester angst #spn #supernatural #destiel fic #am writing #a sort of prequel to a fix it fic tbh #15x18 #Castiel’s confession #destiel handprint #profound bond #Dean Winchester is bi #Dean Winchester #you changed me dean #spnfamiiy #lazarus rising #Castiel

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randomly-a-fan · 3 years

Text

Ferris Wheel Nightmare

Sequel to ‘IT’ Needs Advice, Where the ‘Star’ Falls and Friendships’ Strength (Malon and Archie’s Story)

*A little before the Ferris Wheel incident*

Aquarius and MJ were finished with their conversation and thought of fetching their kids. “Just remember for all the things he does for you…” MJ reminded. Aquarius nodded with a half-smile, while not being sure if Pennywise will forgive her.

Away from the crowd, Pennywise was hiding in the bushes in his Robert Bob Gray form, so no one will recognize him. Pennywise noticed that Jason was chicken-out; he did not like the disguise that Pennywise picked out for him. “Jason come on! You agreed that you support me through this.” Pennywise exclaimed in a loud whisper. “I feel utterly ridiculous!” Jason loudly whispered from his mind. Pennywise chuckled, “you don’t have to whisper in your head, only I can hear your thoughts. Now quit being such a sissy and come out of hiding…” Pennywise encouraged. Jason nervously came out of hiding, wearing a hoodie, which can easily tare if he flexed, and bootie shorts. Pennywise could not help but laugh from his throat; it’s almost as if he made Jason look like that on purpose. “I really hated the outfit you picked; this hoodie is too tight, I’m afraid they’re going to tare off.” Jason complained. “Then don’t flex, besides, this is the twenty-first century, women love big strong hard butted men… I’m trying to make you stand out… in a good way…” Pennywise ‘sort of’ complimented. Jason rolled his eyes before nodding, since he sort of knew he was only trying to ‘help’.

***

When the girls were at the Clown Show, they didn’t see their kids. “I should have known that Archie would wander off; he never likes to stay in the same spot for a long period of time.” Aquarius explained as she knew her son’s ways. “I’m sure we’ll find them, I know your son, he’s a sweetheart and a dear to Malon.” MJ admitted to boost Aquarius’s system. As the girls went out to look for their kids, they’ve heard a loud commotion over by the Ferris Wheel, “What’s going on?” MJ asked. “Looks like there’s been an accident. We got to get the kids out of here, we don’t want them to get traumatized by the sight.” Aquarius thought worriedly.

Jason was looking around the carnival, he’s never seen a carnival before, since his mom never took him out in public in all his life. “You’ve never been to a carnival, have you?” Pennywise assumed. Jason shook his head ‘no’. But before he could explain, he heard some cries over at the Ferris Wheel. Jason has the ability to see from afar distance since he was used to seeing victims from far distances. He saw that the Ferris Wheel was broken and some people are stuck. But what shocked him the most is when he saw his daughter on the tilted seat, along with Pennywise’s son. “Pennywise, your son is up there with my daughter!” Jason exclaimed in his head. Pennywise looked over towards the Ferris Wheel and saw where he was looking at. Pennywise was going to make his move until Jason moved ahead in a fast pace; since his daughter is in danger, he tends to find the strength to run faster.

***

At the Ferris Wheel, Malon has been screaming and crying in fear for help. “Malon, calm down, a sudden move might break the box seat!” Archie exclaimed for Malon to hear. Malon clings to Archie while crying. Archie felt very uncomfortable, but he knew he had to try to calm Malon down. The people were waiting behind the caution tape watching in horror. The rescue crew of the fair are willing to save the people on the lower and high box, but they couldn’t help Malon and Archie at the middle high end, since their wires can’t reach that high; so they have to wait for the fire brigade to come rescue the two kids.

Meanwhile, Jason was at the scene under the Ferris Wheel, worrying for his daughter and Pennywise’s son. Pennywise came rushing from behind. “Too bad humans can’t teleport… I would have come in a snap…” Pennywise gasped. They both want to save their own kids, but they need to work as a team. “Can you climb?” Jason asked in his head as he got a plan. Pennywise knew exactly what he was thinking… literally… So they both go on either side and climb the Ferris Wheel.

The people were panicking as they saw the two guys climbing the wheel. When Aquarius and MJ came to the scene; not realizing who the crazy climbers are, they noticed who was up the highest box. “MALON.” “ARCHIE.” The two ladies cried as they saw their children stuck up on the Ferris Wheel. Worse to come is that the box tilted further, which causes Malon’s panda to fall off. “Pandy!” Malon cried as she jolted to try to catch it, “MALON NO!” Archie yelled as he grabbed her hand before she falls to her possible death; now Malon is hanging with Archie trying his hardest to hang on. MJ screamed in panic when she saw Malon dangling up there. “Someone PLEASE… DO SOMETHING!” MJ begged and yelled at the security. “Ma’am, please remain calm, we’re doing everything we can…” “My baby girl is HANGING!” MJ shouted.

While the security people try to hold the people back, Jason and Pennywise were close to their kids. Malon was crying in fear. “Don’t let me fall Archie!” Malon cried up to Archie. “I will never let go… I’d fall with you if you fall!” Archie responded while sweating. Then he noticed a big hooded man in bootie shorts, Malon couldn’t recognize him at first until a gust of wind blew his hood off. “Daddy?” Then her hand is starting to slip out of Archie’s sweaty hand. Fortunately, Jason grabbed his daughter in time. Malon cling to her daddy with her arms and legs wrapped around him. While Archie sighed in relief, the box creaked more and is about to fall. “Archie… Take my hand, hurry!” Pennywise called over. Archie couldn’t recognize the human man, but he’s not going to think twice. After Pennywise grabbed his son’s arm, the box snapped and fell to the ground; that fall would have killed them if Jason and Pennywise hadn’t come to their rescue.

Everyone cheered and applauded when they saw that the children are safe. MJ and Aquarius cried and hugged with happy tears before they rushed over to their children. After Jason and Pennywise took their children down, Archie and Malon were still crying as they were traumatized by the event. “It’s okay son… Daddy’s here…” Pennywise said. Archie looked up in confusion, until Pennywise’s face appeared briefly. “Dad!” Archie exclaimed with happy tears. Jason was hugging his daughter while tearing up, Malon was amazed that her dad came out in public… in a very awkward getup. It was all cut short when Aquarius and MJ rushed over to their kids. MJ hugged her daughter while crying, “Malon, I thought I lost you…” MJ cried. “I’m sorry mom.” Malon apologized, even though she didn’t do anything wrong. Aquarius hugged her son tight, then Archie asked his mom a question. “Am I in trouble mommy?” Archie asked. Aquarius shook her head with tears and hugged her son again.

MJ looked up at the muscular man, which turns out to be her lover, Jason. She’s not going to ask questions about his getup, she just clings into her husband and hugged him tight. “My hero…” MJ said in a calm tone before she kissed him passionately. Pennywise nervously walked over to Aquarius while twiddling his thumbs. Aquarius looked up at the human figure which turns out it was IT. “Penny?” Pennywise raised a hand to tell her to let him speak first. “Star my darling…” Then he got down to his knees to Star’s height. “I’ve been a fool for keeping the necklace sensor a secret… You’re right, couples don’t keep secrets from lovers… Yet, I kept that a secret from a woman I loved… I’m not going to make you come back to me… For you, I’m going to let you choose… But I want you to know that I really missed your beautiful laugh and puns… I don’t know how I can continue existing without you in my life… And I’m telling the truth…” Pennywise said as he laid a hand on her shoulder. Aquarius cried before she responded. “Penny… I must admit… I realize that if you haven’t found out that I was in the wrong arms of a clown, I could have been violated… I was just too blinded to see the facts from your point of view… I’m sorry my love.” Aquarius admits. The two lovers stared at each other and hugged each other before they kissed. “Will you have me back?” Aquarius asked as a rhetorical question. “If I must… I think that can be arranged.” Pennywise winked.

After the family exits for home, Pennywise rushed over to Jason. “Hey Jay! I just wanted to say thank you, and for not killing me with your machete. Thanks to you, I got my family back.” Pennywise thanked. Jason just nods as he didn’t want to wake Malon up who is sleeping in his arms. “I see you want to take your family home… I understand… If you want me to erase Malon’s memory from this terrifying event, I can come by tomorrow to hear your thoughts on your decision.” Pennywise offered. Jason isn’t sure at first, but since his daughter was in a life-threatening situation, she’ll probably be too scared to go out and enjoy life; just like him when he’s too afraid to be near water, he didn’t want her to end up like he did, so he has a lot of thinking to do tonight. What would you choose?

Ending Coming Soon

#Friday the 13th #Jason Voorhees #IT #IT Chapter 2 #Pennywise #Pennywise the Dancing Clown #Aquarius #Aquarius the Singing Clown #Archie #Malon #MJ #fan fiction

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the-patrex · 4 years

Text

The Master bit back a frustrated growl as he weaved his way through the crowd of partying humans as he made his way to the refreshment booth. He needed a drink if he were to get through this night. Sniffing, he tried to gag at the sharp scent of alcohol and individual humans. Despite the strong odor, however, he caught the hint of something different. This one was lighter, more enticing than the others and had a hint of lavender perfume to it. Theta. He scanned the crowd but was unable to spot her. What was she doing here? Didn’t she have better things to do than stalk him 24/7? Irritated, he stood at the table and poured himself a cup of whatever drink was in the giant bowl. He wasn’t going to give any information on the Timeless Child if that’s what she wanted. In fact, he didn’t even want to see her anymore. The damn Matrix was enough to make him hate her, or so he’d thought before seeing her new face for the first time.

He clenched his teeth around the rim of the foam cup as he sipped, remembering her holy, angelic features. As if her spliced DNA being inside him wasn’t enough. He’d been awestruck seeing her new regeneration for the first time in person. The way the sunlight had made her hair burn like the early rays of morning and her smooth, perfectly crafted from seemingly God Himself(so different from the old, wrinkled face and bushy eyebrows he’d grown accustomed to as Missy!) made his hearts ache with an intensity he’d never felt before. “What are you doing here sulking about like that?” Speak of the devil, he thought bitterly, turning to face her. “Hello, sweetie.”

“Come to give me a check up, Doctor?” he asked sarcastically, smirking devilishly. She arched her brows, seemingly amused at the response.

“You missed your last appointment so yes.” He scoffed. “Enjoying the party?” His brows furrowed. There was something…off about her stance. She seemed a bit wibbly and sour smelling underneath the perfume. It was definitely not the smell of a rotting corpse or garbage but it made him faintly queasy. He decided to ignore it for now.

“What are you doing here? Don't you have to babysit your little human friends like you always do?” She chuckled, baring her milk white teeth like a feral creature. Hell, she probably was under that humanoid guise. Or maybe she was a creature whose true form was so incomprehensible to the mortal eye, it had to take the form of a Shobogan once it fell through the portal above that monument so it wouldn’t cause a ruckus. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t died in the Kassavin realm. Maybe they’d seen her other form and decided to let her go easily because of it. The Master took a sip of his drink which was probably some sort of fruit cocktail by the taste of it. Her other form was probably to beautiful to look at if she looked this blinding in the body of a Time Lord. Blinding like the suns of Gallifrey. The Doctor poured herself a glass of wine.

“Your thoughts are too loud,” she grumbled, taking a sip.

“No one told you to read my mind,” he retorted, moving away to the garden behind the ballroom. He could feel her piercing gaze on him as he pushed the back door open and headed toward the gazebo. “Where are they anyway? That trio of yours?”

“Sheffield,” she responded, picking a flower that complimented her blue dress quite nicely. “You have quite the imagination, we’ll tell you that. Your speculations are wrong. Probably.” Probably?

“You found out?” The Master turned to face her. That wasn’t right. She wouldn’t go looking for the truth unless he’d forced her to. She was a runner not a seeker. He searched her eerily serene expression for some sort of clue. A clue to what, he didn’t know. She was a mystery that he intended to unravel but not in the way her adopted mother had. The Doctor’s eyes bore holes into his own, analyzing every twitch and muscle movement on his face. He didn’t like that look of hers. It reminded him too much of Tecteun the explorer and exploiter. She smiled knowingly and placed the plant in his suit pocket. Who are you? he wanted to ask. Why are you here? What do you want? “Did it hurt?” he asked instead, ignoring the gut instinct to fear this person(thing?) he’d known since childhood. “I bet it did because it definitely hurt me.” He stepped closer to her(it? Them?), wishing she’d show some sort of weakness instead of the serenity he privately yearned for during the late hours.

“Of course it hurt you,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. “Everything hurts, doesn’t it? We can see it, all that pain hiding behind the rage in your eyes.” We? When did she start referring to herself as we? She stared sympathetically at him. “Do you want it leave? We can make the hurt go away. Would you like us to quell the rage and pain in your hearts?” Her voice was more soothing than ever and her eyes were so hypnotic, he could barely look away. Their foreheads touched lightly. “Please, Koschei. Let us help you.” He frowned, mulling over her words. Us? Why would she use the word “us” to refer to herself? The strange trance broke and he sharply pulled away, feeling disgustingly exposed and violated. What had just happened?

“How dare you,” he growled, lunging for her throat. She dodged out of the way and placed a hand on his temple while making a sound in her throat that, judging by her expression, was one of disapproval. The Master suddenly felt weak and crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to swirl and wobble around him, causing his brain to spin. When she released her touch, he felt nauseous and puked a bit on the grass. “What the fuck did you do?!” he snarled, wiping the mess from his mouth and glaring at her. The Doctor, or whatever the fuck she was, looked down at him with mild dissatisfaction.

“We opened you up to the influences,” she responded simply, turning away. The Master’s head was still reeling but he struggled to his feet to catch up with her.

“What influences? Who the fuck are you?” The creature didn’t even turn to face him as it- no, they answered his questions.

“We are Legion. Unfortunately, you’re not getting your friend back any time soon.”

“Wh- you’re possessing her?!”

“No, it’s a progressive alteration of the host’s brain to better fit the needs of the parasite.” A parasite, the Master thought bitterly. Of course. So that was where the smell was coming from. He watched as they plucked a rose from its bush and examined it thoughtfully in their hands. “This is perfectly normal for her kind, as I’ve explained to her.” Today was just full of surprises.

“You talk to her?” He didn’t know if he should be horrified, impressed, or enraged at the thing. What has it been telling her?

“Yes, we have tea together.” Legion looked at him. “Would you like an invitation to our next tea party? You seem…what’s the word? Distressed? No, that’s not it.”

“I’m going to kill you,” the Master snarled, getting in their face. They didn’t even flinch which was quite impressive. “You think I’d be okay with a parasite talking to my best enemy like that?”

“Ooh. Careful, Koschei. She’s listening to everything you say right now. Don’t want her getting the idea that you care about her or anything now do we?” They smiled, tapping his nose mischievously with the flower. He wanted to bite them.

“Fuck you,” he spat, storming off to the direction of the ballroom.

“Was that meant for us or your girlfriend?” They called.

“Both!” He paused, realizing the implication of their word choice. Motherf- “And you’re not my girlfriend!”

[Okay, Kos. Sure,] Legion said telepathically. [We’re greatly flattered.]

“Piss off,” he growled through gritted teeth, feeling their amusement roll off him like waves.

A/N: He kept the flower in his coat pocket by the way if y'all are wondering.

#b r o #this concept is soo good #Id read the fuck out of a long ass fic with this #jeyfeather1234 #submission

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

1081+1088. Highly Professional

This story was prompted by an awesome anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Allen60

Sixty shifted through the multiple sensors his body had been equipped with. Zooming in he could see Captain Allen’s back of the head partly peeking through the blinds of his office. His infrared vision detected he hadn’t moved in a while and if he listened closely, he could hear tapping on the keyboard. From that sound alone he knew the man was using the backspace more intently than any other key. Allen was writing something. And he was growing increasingly frustrated. Before he could hack his way into the system to find out what exactly he was working on, he was interrupted in the most annoying way:

‘Hey, Sixty, how are you?’ ‘Fuck off, Connor.’ If he zoomed in enough, maybe he could get a glimpse on his screen from the reflection in the window… ‘So, good as always, huh? What are you staring at?’ The other RK800 bend forwards to try and get the same perspective as the younger android. ‘Oh, so we are spying on our superior? Do I sense something there?’ ‘I don’t know Connor, you tell me’, Sixty grumbled, interfacing with his terminal. That hack was too tempting to care for protocol. ‘Hmm, I would say you have a crush on him.’ The terminal produced an error sound as Sixty flinched at the words and turned towards the other android. ‘Excuse me? I’m not the one who allows his feelings to overcome him. It would be highly unprofessional and against protocol. And even if, the Captain surely has other things to worry about at the moment. His reports are sloppy, and his research is not as thoroughly as it used to be. He clearly has something else occupying his mind and knowing his professionalism, it has to be something serious.’ But Connor only grinned at him knowingly. ‘Oh, so you are worried about him? How cute!’ ‘No, I am not worried’, Sixty near exploded. ‘I simply try to keep an eye on the team to ensure the best results on future missions.’ ‘Sure, sure. That’s why you keep staring at Allen’s office only. Come on, you can tell me! It’s nothing to be ashamed about.’ ‘I don’t have to tell you anything, Connor’, he hissed. If there was one thing, he could bond with the RK900 over it was that Connor was annoying as hell. But, well, so was Nines in the end. Sixty was very content to stay at maximum distance from their desks, sitting in a completely different building across the parking lot. But of course, the other RK800 wouldn’t agree and stubbornly insist to come visit him.

‘Hmm, well then for the sake of ensuring everyone is at their best in future missions, why don’t you visit your Captain after work, hmm?’ ‘And just why would I do that? That is a violation of privacy and would be highly unprofessional as we are co-workers.’ But Connor didn’t falter: ‘But you could find out why Allen’s work is so sloppy. And helping him getting better would be beneficial to your work, wouldn’t it?’ ‘There is some… logic in your words’, Sixty pressed out between gritted teeth. He knew the android’s main goal was for him to find friends. Little did Connor know he didn’t need any. ‘Hey, we got the same brain, haven’t we?’ Sixty looked over to the office again and grumbled under his breath: ‘Yeah, only that some people know how to use it and not play pretend with a human.’ Connor ignored his words. ‘I would say pizza and beer would be a good way to infiltrate his house and start the investigation.’ He winked at him and pushed himself off the table. ‘Hey, not everyone is a fast-food-loving alcoholic!’, Sixty complained, trying to ignore whatever implications that wink suggested. ‘His favourite kind is Fungi!’, the RK800 called back to him, already on his way back, Sixties offense not even wavering his joyous tone the slightest.

The whole day had been overcast and by the time Sixty walked up to the small house pressed into the space between two others, it had started to pour. The small little droplets that had occasionally hit against him now was more of a constant stream that had him soaked through in minutes. Not that it mattered: his hull was completely waterproof, and he couldn’t get ill, but it let his hair stick to his head and his clothes to his frame. It destroyed all the effort he put into his perfect outer appearance and although Sixty had always hated admitting to having strong emotions, he hated it.

And not just the rain. He was about to invade a co-worker’s privacy with this, worse even, his superior’s privacy. It didn’t matter how well they got along and how much every friendly interaction made his pump whirr faster and his processor heat up a few degrees. If Allen had wanted this, he would have invited him already. This “worry”, as Connor had put it, was something extremely out of place. This was only him satisfying his curiosity, nosing into something that wasn’t meant for him, and still he rung the bell. ‘No, sorry, I don’t have-’, Captain Allen said, exhaustion tiring his voice as he opened the door. But he stopped as he saw the familiar face of his colleague. ‘Sixty?’ ‘I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza’, Sixty deadpanned, overlaying that awkward feeling with pure confidence. ‘I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.’ ‘Err… what?’ ‘Your performance at work has been sloppy at best and you are constantly absent-minded. Because I… care for you – you and the team of course – I wanted to make sure I did my part trying to help you. I brought food and socially accepted drugs to apologise for my breach in protocol and unprofessional behaviour.’ They stared at each other, Sixty forcing his face to stay neutral and Allen looking at him trying to decipher the androids unique way of saying one thing and meaning the other. Then he smiled and laughed. ‘Get over here, you doof. Did you decide to take a swim or did your overly advanced processor forgot to bring an umbrella? Come in, I’ll get you a towel.’ ‘I don’t nee-‘ ‘You will if you want to join me at the table’, the Captain interrupted him while closing the door behind the dripping android. ‘Just put this in the kitchen for now, okay?’

Sixty nodded and located the room to put down the pizza and beer on the counter. From behind him he could hear Allen talk to someone. ‘Look Newton! Look who came to visit!’ Sixty risked a look around the corner to see the man kneel in front of a Great Dane. As soon as the dog spotted him, there was a low woof and he ran for him. Unsure about what to do but fascinated nonetheless, he watched the dog stand in front of him looking up and wagging his tail. ‘For God’s sake, pet him already, I can’t look at this’, Allen chuckled as he walked past him to inspect the pizza-box. ‘Okay, how the hell do you all know what my favourite type of pizza is? I swear I never told anyone.’ ‘Connor’, Sixty was ready to tell on his fellow RK800 unit. ‘He told me at least.’ ‘How does- ah forget it. Thank you, Sixty. Should we go to the living room? I… I guess I don’t have anything for you though…’ ‘I don’t eat’, the android said, standing up from where he had been slobbered by the dog. ‘… Right.’

They sat down on a table for four and Newton retreated to his own bed near it. ‘So, you are worried for me?’ ‘I wouldn’t call it worry. And it’s for the whole team.’ Allen smirked. ‘I never heard you making house calls with the others.’ ‘What does it matter?’ ‘Oh, nothing. Just an interesting point I think.’ ‘If I am giving you a special treatment, then that’s because you are the most capable human I know. That’s all.’ ‘Hmm-hmm’, Allen hummed knowingly and Sixty cursed inwardly. It had technically been the truth. But not the full truth. ‘Well, then, what are you all not-worried about?’ Sixty swallowed. ��Your reports are missing important details. All your work e-mails have more typos than usually in them. During training you aren’t as attentive. There is something on your mind and… I thought I could help.’

‘Did you… Did you hack into my computer?’ ‘Not yet’, Sixty admitted. ‘But I can see every data-transfer in our precinct as most is transmitted through the android network automatically.’ ‘That’s… a bit creepy.’ ‘Don’t worry, I corrected all your documents. No one knows.’ ‘You… Wow. Okay, I am mad at you, but I guess I also have to thank you? Why are you doing this?’ Sixty took to watching the dog finding a better position. He didn’t want to admit it himself, but maybe he had to. ‘I respect you. And I heard friends care for each other. I thought keeping you from other’s gossip and your own embarrassment would be what you wanted.’ ‘Well, yeah, I guess so…’ ‘Can I ask what has you so distracted, Captain?’

The man rubbed at his temple. ‘Oh it’s- It’s probably nothing, but my sister is at the hospital at the moment. I didn’t have the time to see her yet and I tell myself it’s not that bad because she is doing well, and we talked on the telephone already. But I still don’t feel too good about leaving her alone there.’ ‘Is it something serious?’, Sixty asked. ‘Oh, no, not really. She broke her arm in a stupid accident’, Allen explained. ‘But we are siblings and we had always been very close. I should have been there from day one or at least freed some time somewhere to go visit her. But I had always been that busy and forgot and-‘ ‘Then go visit her tomorrow’, Sixty suggested. ‘I can’t, there is a lot of work and the dead-lines are close. I wanted to finish that.’ ‘I could do that for you. Then you could go visit her.’ ‘You would do that?’, Allen asked surprised. ‘Why have an advanced android in your team and never make use of his abilities?’, Sixty followed up with another question. ‘Heh. Always thought you were the cold type, Sixty, not gonna lie.’ ‘I am what people expect. I won’t be as quirky as Connor, because I don’t want to, I have a thing for rules, and I am ambitious. Doesn’t mean I’m not looking after the people around me.’ ‘The people?’ ‘You.’ Sixty was now very focussed on the dog. He had already said too much.

‘Thank you, Sixty’, the Captain said and meant it. ‘I may have had the wrong picture of you, but if you could do that for me, I would be immensely grateful.’ Idiot, I would do anything for you, Sixty thought, but looked back up and nodded. ‘It’s no big deal, really.’ ‘Still, I have to thank you’, Allen insisted and leaned back. ‘Hey, now that you are here already… Would it be highly unprofessional if you stayed a while longer?’ The android thought about it and shrugged. ‘I think we passed professional as I walked in here.’ ‘Oh good, because there is this movie on later tonight and I thought maybe we could-’ Sixty remained a neutral face as the man rambled about the plot and thought back to Connor’s words.

Yeah, okay, maybe he was right. Maybe he had a bit of a crush on this man.

#detroit become human #dbh #Allen60 #Captain Allen #Sixty #rk800-60 #This may have been a bit rushed because I stared at pictures of doggies in between #I needed references okay? (I love big dogs)#Also you can't tell me that there is not some programmer at Cyberlife who implemented a line out of fun #and it ended with all RK800s absolutely loving dogs #But somehow I kinda picture Allen as someone who has birds. Just some big ass room or something reserved for birds #weird headcanon I guess

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nessamaurice · 4 years

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Simple, Ch. 9 (Loki x F!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary: Tony and the Avengers are in desperate need of something like a “babysitter” to have an eye on Loki and teach him “how to human”. He decided to stay on Midgard over the dungeons of Asgard as punishment for his deeds in New York. That’s where you swoop in. A simple receptionist at the Avengers compound. You have to share an apartment in the compound with Loki and damn, he’s a really tough nut. With your open and kind character it seems that you are slowly cracking his shell. But suddenly things are getting twists that will change your life and your relationships there irreversibly.

Story rating: M

Chapter trigger warnings: torture, humiliation, human experiments, captivity, harming, suicidal thoughts, murder/death

Words: 3971

It's been a week now since you disappeared. Tony had found several bugs placed in his system that surveyed everything happening in the lab. It turned out most of them didn't work properly so they were useless but one did its job, a simple digital wiretap that recorded everything that was said. That was how they found out about you. Tony cursed and kicked stuff through his lab, angry with himself that this happened. Everyone was just exhausted, haven't slept properly and totally at their limits. They had to rest, otherwise their bodies would force them to. So they agreed on shifts to supervise the program Tony installed to search JARVIS for the virus that kept your bracelet from working. Unfortunately Loki was not common with the earth technology and was clearly not in the state of mind to learn it now properly, so he could do nothing, and it was killing him. All he felt was guilt and anger. He could have stopped you from leaving. He wanted to. But he didn’t. Why? Because of his damn pride. Once again in his life, his decisions led to pure tragedy, not only for himself but for so many more people. Again. And again. AND AGAIN.

Angrily he threw knives at the dummy at the gym. After hittng the same spot over and over again the knives clattered to the floor because there was no space for them to dig into the puppet. He got more and more furious as he stepped towards the dummy, keeping on throwing knives until he stood right in front of it. He started screaming and ripped the dummy in two with his telekinetic powers. He looked above and watched the stuffing slowly falling down on him like snow. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Touching his neck he realized he was sweating. He never sweat on earth before? Turning around on his heels, he snapped his fingers to make his knives disappear back into his pocket dimension and went to his your rooms to get a shower, ignoring the mess behind him. He tried to distract himself with reading books but that didn't work at all. It was day seven now and after some heavy training he came out of his shower, slipped into his simple brown cloth trousers and green linen tunic, he stared out of the window. The silence was pressing down hard on him and he looked over to your winged chair. Your headphones were laying on it, just where you left them. He grabbed them, put them on and ordered, "JARVIS, play me Y/N's favorite music on this device of her." He closed his eyes, listening to your most loved songs, his wet hair soaking up the fabric on his back, thinking of you.

***

You didn't know how many days had passed, it was just you being awake and falling asleep. But you got four meals in your cell so you assumed it were four days. Together with the time you were forced in that lab chair you guessed it could be about one week now. It was so hard for you to bear the silence. You hated it, so you were playing music in your head, all the songs you knew the lyrics of. You startled as your door opened. Fieberbrunn was standing in the door, looking down at you.

"I think we can continue." His face was blank. He turned around and ordered, "Los, bringt sie wieder ins Labor. Aber achtet mir darauf, dass ihr ihre Wunden nicht zu sehr aufreißt, das wäre nur Energieverschwendung."

You wrapped the linen blanket tightly around your body like a towel as the guard stepped in. He grabbed you by your hair and pushed you along the corridors back to the lab. The sight of the chair let your heart rate rise. You tried to protest but the guard's grip was too tight and he just pushed you forwards. You were forced into the chair again, leather shackles closing around your wrists, ankles and a broad strap over your arms and chest. Fieberbrunn sat down in front of you and while he pierced you with several needles and stuck a bunch of electrodes onto you again. Ripping your blanket down to your hips to connect you with the monitors he explained, "We will make some tests now to prove if my father was right with his suspicions. The questions will not be about something you know, so you can't give wrong answers. The only wrong answer is not answering at all, and for that you have to get punished. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly you nodded. When he was done and turned on all the monitors, he turned around and looked at you. His gaze was empty, almost bored.

"Look at me. How do you think do I feel right now?"

"Bored. You don't really want to be here. But still, you are here for something you hope to find."

"Ah. Fine. Perceptive." He tapped something on one of the monitors. A little tingling shot through the electrodes on the shaved parts of your head.

"Wh- what are you doing?"

"You don't ask questions, you answer them. You are not allowed to speak unless you are asked a question." He didn't bother to look at you while he set up those rules. Studying the monitors he seemed to be pleased with what he saw. He turned one of your hands around in the shackles, palm upwards and laid his palm onto it. Instinctively you wanted to pull away but couldn't, so you were forced to touch his cold, sweaty hand.

"Now, tell me again, how do I feel. And don't answer right away. Concentrate, then answer." He said with the same bored voice and the same blank face.

You stared at him, but what you felt didn't suit to what you saw. Confused you said, "You... you are full of... anticipation. Curiosity. Hope, that your father was right. That you could fulfill his heritage. That you would have made him proud. And hatred, towards the Soldier. You want him dead, but you had to accept you are not in charge of such decisions. And... you are lucky that you aren't. You don't want the responsibility for all that's happening round here-"

His eyed widened and he retreated his hand in shock, pressing it to his chest.

You must have looked as shocked as he. "Why- why do I know this? How? Is it true? What is wrong with me?! What are you doing to me???"

Usually you should get punished for asking questions but Fieberbrunn was so in awe, he didn't realize the violation of his rules.

"Mein Gott, es ist wahr. Er hatte recht! Die ganze Zeit lang hatte er recht! Ich muss das sofort melden!" he exclaimed.

"What? What are you saying? What's going on here?!" Your questions were answered with silence. Fieberbrunn rushed over to grab the phone on the desk. He was speaking something in German, totally excited like a child. You stared down at your hands as if they would start to glow or sparkle any second. How did you know that? Does that come from the electrodes? What kind of tricks is he playing on you? Fieberbrunn hang up and came back. He run several tests with you for hours. You had to touch his hand, the hands of random lab persons. He regulated the electrodes and varied the stimuli to watch the differences in the outcome. You got the headache of your lifetime. As he recognized you getting too exhausted, he sent you back into your cell. He said he could only work on you properly if you were rested. The guard tore you down the corridors by your hair again, not bothering that you stumbled over the blood stained blanket, you had to leave it behind. In your cell were a glass of that thick liquid and a protein bar waiting for you. In that moment you realized that you haven't felt hungry or thirsty since your last 'meal'. You cowered down on your makeshift 'bed', trying to hide your nudity and chewed on that rubbery bar as you heard music playing. You looked around to maybe find the source, but didn't see anything. It took you a while to get that you heard the music in your head. It was like you were listening to your favorite songs, you didn't consciously think of each song and concentrated on it, they just played along in your mind. And there was something else. ...Someone else. You closed your eyes to concentrate on that certain feeling. Your breath went slow and deep.

"Y/N??"

You audibly gasped as you suddenly saw Loki standing directly in front of you, wearing your headphones. You totally forgot that you were completely naked as you stood up and stepped closer to him.

"No, don't touch me, this is just an illusion. If you try, the illusion will fade again." He looked all over you, brows furrowed and his eyes full of concern. "By the Allfathers, what have they done to you?"

You immediately hid your private parts and looked away, full of shame and agony.

"Y/N, listen, do you know where you are?"

Without looking at him you answered, "No, I woke up in a factory hall, naked and blinded by some kind of injection. They said it was meant to stay for one hour but I was unconscious for three. There was a giant iron machine connected to a conveyor. This building is full of corridors, cells and laboratories. I... they gave me a drug that opened my mind to my memories." Your voice almost died in the swallowed tears. "Tell... please tell my uncle... Uncle Tones... that I love him. Still. And always." Your voice finally broke into crying.

"Keep calm, my dear. We will find you and bring you home. Come on, beautiful lady, look at me." His soft words encouraged you to look at his worried face. "We will bring you home, to us. You are not alone."

You sobbed at his gentle promises. "Loki... Thank you. I-" you moved towards him and touched the illusion while you where speaking and the image of him disappeared in a shiny green glow. You came down to your knees, crying badly. You put your arms tightly around yourself since there was no one who could do that for you. As the tears slowly ebbed away and became more quiet again, you could still hear your beloved music. It made you smile and cry at the same time. Seeing his face again ignited your hope. You drew knew strength and said a thank you prayer. Just in this moment your door was opened and your guard took hold on your hair again, bringing you back to the lab. As you were strapped in that awful chair again, Fieberbrunn entered the lab.

"It looks like we don't have time to let you rest naturally. This will help." He held up a syringe with a cloudy blue liquid. Since you had no vascular access already he pushed the needle right into your arm. The cold injection run up your veins, letting them shine dark through your skin. It felt like an intoxication, all your senses wide awake. The light was suddenly so bright and every sound so loud.

"This time we will see what you can do to others." Fieberbrunn explained as he put a simple wooden chair in front of you. The clattering and screeching sounded like a whole battlefield in your ears. A guard brought another prisoner into the lab. He was in chains and overly confused. It was a man, around 50, looking totally devastated. As he realized that a young naked woman sat right in front of him, a dirty smile tugged on his lips. You felt so disgusted you just wanted to punch everyone in the face. Fieberbrunn stood beside you and turned your hand around again, palm upwards. He ordered the guard to place the prisoner's hand on yours. You wanted to pull away again, being disabled by the shackles. "Now," Fieberbrunn said to you, "make him cry."

Confused you looked at Fieberbrunn and back to the man in front of you. His eyes constantly wandering over your body. You felt his arousal and it made you sick.

"Go on. Concentrate on a feeling that makes you sad and send those feelings to him." Fieberbrunn instructed.

And you tried. You tried really hard. But no sad feelings were found inside you, just disgust. You loathed him so much it made your insides twist. Suddenly the expression in his face changed. His gazing stopped and he looked you straight in the eyes now. He wanted to pull his hand away but the guard didn't let him. He pressed his sweaty, rough hand onto yours. Slowly he started to mirror you. It looked like he started to feel extremely uncomfortable in his skin. Then he turned pale within seconds. He leant to the side and threw up on the floor.

"Well, not exactly what I ordered but it that's fine as well for the first time." Fieberbrunn said with a pleased tone. A small nod towards the guard and the prisoner was dragged away again. But he didn't stop to stare at you all the way long, in complete shock. Then, a little girl was pushed into the lab. "Komm her. Setz dich hier auf diesen Stuhl und nimm die Hand dieser Frau." Fieberbrunn commanded and the girl came over, sat down on the chair and took your hand. She looked in your face and you didn't need to touch her to feel her anxiety. "And now, make her cry. And I said CRY. Do what I told you or you get punished."

You stared at the girl for some seconds before you reacted, obviously too long. Fieberbrunn grabbed your face and slid a scalpel across your jawbone downwards. You and the girl simultaneously screamed. Shocked you looked at the girl that was covering the same spot on her face with her hand and then looked at it, as if she expected to see blood.

"Make her cry."

You concentrated and closed your eyes. You could never want to make a child cry. So you thought of something else. You on the shoulders of your uncle, running through the garden in the low sunlight of a late summer evening. As you opened your eyes again the face of the little girl was decorated with the most beautiful smile, pure happiness. You only heard Fieberbrunn sigh next to you, and before you could look at him he pressed your head into the high backrest. He placed his scalpel on your collarbone, pressed it hard into your flesh. You felt it scraping on the bone as you and the girl screamed and cried.

"See? That is crying."

This game went on for hours. New human lab rats, new commands. Every time you did not exactly what you were told you were either slapped or cut. At some point even Fieberbrunn started to get tired. He ordered a little break between the next prisoners. He rubbed his eyes and rolled a bit away in his office chair to pour himself a coffee.

This moment you saw something in your peripheral. Carefully you turned your wrist around and saw the soft green glow of the gem in your bracelet.

***

Just the second after Loki's connection got lost he rushed down to the lab. He flung the door open and told the startled Tony and Bruce what just had happened. He repeated the description you gave him and they began searching for buildings fitting the parameters. He grabbed Tony by his arm to stop him and added, "Tony, she knows who you are. They made her remember."

Tony turned paper pale within 2 seconds.

"She didn't assumed I'd know it, too. She just said I should tell her uncle, Uncle Tones, she'd still loves him. And always will."

Tony took hold on Loki's shoulder as he fought against the tears. Regaining countenance he just managed to mutter "Thank you, Loki.", then he turned to get the search on. Meanwhile the others came down to the lab and searched a radius of one hour distance with any vehicle for a factory that suited. After hours they could limit the results to four factories. They formed four teams and rushed to the landing site. Natasha and Clint took each one of Tony's cars, Steve hopped on his motorcycle and Bruce, Tony and Loki took the Quinn Jet. After half an hour of heavy reticence a green dot appeared on the map on one of the screens, accompanied by a modest 'ping'. The sound ripped Tony immediately out of his thoughts. He nearly jumped at the screen, zooming the map in.

"Oh. My. God. We got her. WE GOT HER!!!" He screamed. Finally his program was able to delete the virus and your bracelet was activated again. You were in the factory where the Quinn Jet was already heading to. Immediately Loki and Bruce were at Tony's side, staring at the screen before their joy kicked in (for each in their own ways; Bruce was loudly cheering, Loki drew a deep breath and closed relieved his eyes as his lips formed a soft smile). Tony was already informing the other team members and they changed their route. Suddenly Tony was hit by a horrific brainwave.

"JARVIS, turn off the gem on the bracelet, NOW!", he screamed at the screens.

***

Your eyes began to fill up with tears as you saw your bracelet shimmering in that beautiful dark, warm green. You concentrated on not to spit out a relieve laugh and quickly looked over to Fieberbrunn to check if he saw something. Luckily he was studying a screen while he drank his coffee. You turned your wrist back again and hoped so badly that they would find you before someone noticed the sudden glowing. Just as you stopped moving Fieberbrunn turned around and came back to you. He put his mug down besides you and said, "Okay, for today we have one last test. It's an important one, fateful for both of you. Bringt sie rein!" he shouted over to the door.

Your eyes widened as you saw the guard pushing the Doc through the door, dirty and chained, with a bloody lip. Her expression was as shocked as yours.

You cleared your throat, "Is... isn't that the do-, uh, nurse that looked after me?" You tried to sound unknowing.

"Uh, yes, could be. We got several of them. She tried to wake up one of our cryostatic soldiers and has to get punished." The guard almost threw her onto the interrogation chair in front of you. She looked horrified. As Fieberbrunn turned away for just two seconds she mouthed 'I'm so sorry', but you didn't understand what she was apologizing for. He unchained her and paid attention to your hands now and you got thunderstruck.

"Warte, was... What is that?" He turned your wrist around and it felt like your heart would break through your ribcage any moment. But just in the second he turned your hand around to look at your bracelet the light got dimmer until it was gone completely. You didn't know what was worse; that he could have find out that this wasn't just some jewelry or that your little green spark of hope died right away after like three minutes. You felt your heart crumble inside your chest.

"Hm. I guess just some light reflection. Okay, let's get this done. Alright. Now, think of suicide."

You just stared at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

He looked you dead in the eye before he said, "I will let you get away with this one now. But I won't repeat myself again. I'm sure you know that feeling. Maybe thought of killing yourself in the last few days. I want you to conjure those feelings of pure and utter despair and project them on her. That is her punishment. And a final test of your skills. This task is not easy so you will have a few minutes more time. Start now."

Your mind felt like it was about to explode. What should you do? They were going to kill her, that was out of the question. But you couldn't do it. How even? How should you bring someone only with your feelings to wanting to end one's life? You were torn apart. You didn't want to do this at any cost. No. Just no.

She felt what you were going through. She whispered, swallowing down the tears, "It's okay. I won't see tomorrow anyways. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." She tried to share a smile.

Your mind was running in circles. No. No, you wouldn't do that. No, no, no, GOD NO! Suddenly everything broke free. Everything they had done to you, the humiliation, the torture, the pain. It was like every single cell in your body was on fire. But before you could contain yourself you saw the wave of raging anger and hatred hitting the Doc in front you. God... no... Her face was fury itself. She even moved too fast for Fieberbrunn to react. She jumped off the chair, grabbed it and smashed it right into Fieberbrunn's face. The wooden chair shattered into pieces and while Fieberbrunn was on the floor, trying to see what’s going on through the blood on his face, the Doc took the scalpel from the tablet next to you and rammed it into Fieberbrunn's chest. Just as she tore it out and got ready to stab it in again you heard a loud shot and she stopped mid-movement. The scalpel clattered on the floor tiles and she doubled over to the side, her eyes staring into void. Everything happened too fast, you had not a moment to process. The guard was rushing to you just as the lights went out and earpiercing sirens started to ring. For two seconds you were in darkness and as the red emergency light turned on you saw the guard standing still, mouth open before he got down on his knees and fell right on his face, a dark handled knife in his back. Behind him appeared Loki in his complete battle armor. He took back his dagger as he crossed the room towards you with like 3 steps. Though you were still naked and all over covered in cuts and bruises, your eyes were the only thing he looked at.

"Your saviour is here.", he almost whispered low and soothing as he cut open the leathery shackles that held you back. You were unable to speak, your mind on pause. He gently picked you up and you clasped onto his neck. You looked down at the dead bodies, but the Doc was the only one you really saw. In that second you knew her rigid face would haunt you for the rest of your life. You just shut your eyes, trying to ignore all the noise around that almost made your head burst as he carried you through the corridors. Suddenly you saw bright light through your eyelids. You squinted into the sun and shielded your eyes with one hand. It felt like you haven't seen the sun for years. The fresh air was so relieving and you sucked it into your lungs eagerly. Your drug flooded brain did its best to let your eyes adjust to the brightness and you looked around. Loki carried you straight to the Quinn Jet parking right outside. You heard a well-known noise and turned your head just to see Tony fly over you in his suit and landing in front of the Quinn Jet. It felt like someone would press the 'Play' button in your mind again. Suddenly you were so nervous. You wanted to run over to him and pull him into a tight hug, just like you remembered from the past. But how could you? Even if you'd explain it to him, would he even slightly believe you? You started trembling at the thought. Meanwhile you were only a few steps apart. Just as Loki carefully let your feet touch the ground again, Tony exited his suit, coming towards you. You had no idea what muscle to move next, completely overcharged. He kept eye contact with an expression that confused you; it looked like relief, but so much more intense. As he was only one step away, he opened his arms and with the next step he embraced you dearly.

"Honeybun.", was all he whispered into the nape of your neck. It hit you like lightning, you haven't heard that word for about a decade; couldn't even really remember it but, damn, it had impact. One single word, a simple nickname was all you needed to completely lose it. Your skin was all chills, hesitantly closing your arms around Tony's torso.

"Uncle Tones", you said, your voice breaking away under the heavy tears. "I missed you."

You didn't care that you were naked, you didn't care that all the cuts burned like pure hell because of the hug. You weren't sure if you would ever get out there again. If you would get the chance to see your uncle again, the last bit of family remaining. But all that happened right now. You hoped so much this wasn't just an illusion or a dream.

Tony was the first one to pull away. He gently laid a hand on the side of your face.

"Damn, bun, you look shit. Let's get you home, kiddo.", and a broad, genuine grin appeared on his face.

Taglist: @it-jinxed-us, @humbledarkness, @lunawitch19, @redryderdesigns

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fiction #loki fan fiction #loki slow burn #slow burn #marvel fan fiction #marvel #marvel fiction #fan fiction #simple fanfic #nessa maurice #hydra

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maevehowserjournal · 4 years

Text

WEGSCHAUEN

I don’t give a flying shit about how bad it is. All I want is disaster. All I want is something, anything, to give this miserable series of events I call my life a purpose. Nothing is bad necessarily, but everything is dull. Dull is worse than bad, as the days would cease to bleed together if I could identify them by their pain. Even if I was in constant pain and agony, something is better than nothing. Pain is better than depressive apathy.

Another day in the pit. Another day, still, in this formidable hellhole. Travelling from this one to other formidable hellholes. Scrapping together weapons that will last me for the day. Feeling the ground suddenly shift into materials which, prior to this, I hadn’t thought to be physically possible. Wandering these halls of nameless cities that exist in worlds too hostile for mortal men. Yet somehow, I keep living through what I believe to be days, but what may be minutes to what resides here. I don’t miss it anymore, as I’ve found it here.

Cochdich’s Sub Sandwiches. What a fortunate name for a fortunate CEO of a Subway rip-off. The name was at least fitting. Very, very unfortunately fitting. 50 hours a week of degrading patrons who had so little palpable value for the man they spoke to, acting as if I wasn’t suffering by working there as much as they were just by being customers there. The days lasted weeks, as I would bide my time preparing both a physical and verbal arsenal to face the bestiary with. These days, my arsenal is solely physical, and far more challenging to construct than those identical, rounded gray tins of food products. Tuna, turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, silver vessels in rows, all the same. Trypophobia at its finest, here at Cochdich’s Sub Sandwiches.

The night of June 5th, 2003 was the night I was saved from my carbon copy, carbohydrate prison, but spared the rewards of such a Sisyphean duty. A night which sticks out in my mind as likely the biggest mixed bag I’ve ever had to pick from. Let me set the stage for you. It was 9:30 PM. I sat there, at that counter, scribbling endlessly in the composition notebook which I have simply labelled “SHIT” on the cover with a black sharpie. I wrote about my life and my growing sense of lachesism. All I wanted was for disaster to strike me one day so I may lead a more fulfilling life. In my own words, “I don’t give a flying shit about how bad it is. All I want is disaster. All I want is something, anything, to give this miserable series of events I call my life a purpose. Nothing is bad necessarily, but everything is dull. Dull is worse than bad, as the days would cease to bleed together if I could identify them by their pain. Even if I was in constant pain and agony, something is better than nothing. Pain is better than depressive apathy.” That’s simply an excerpt from what I wrote in my state of limbo. Eventually, somehow, I made it to 10:00 PM. Finally, a time when nobody in their right mind would be coming to Cochdich’s. No customers meant all the sweeping, mopping, and restocking humanly possible. Everything was done on time, and I could go home, free as a bird until 10:00 AM the next day.

That was until the hole opened itself up. You heard me right. As I left the breadwastes, I could hear the massive, obtuse sound of a thousand moles digging up soil. A thousand claws ungathering dirt in the ground, creating a large cavity between me and the car. My mind began to race, as I was pretty sure this hole wasn’t here this morning, nor was it here during my break. With fear, I moved closer and closer to this mystery hole, and stared down into it once I stood on its cusp. There appeared to be some sort of crimson, bloody light at the bottom, but it was either very small, or simply miles upon miles away from me. Yet this light was still somehow blinding me. My gaze then turned up to my car, and as my eyes left the hole, I heard once again the sound of the soil being drilled up. I spun my head around to see the hole, now seeming to have moved behind me. This seemed impossible, and instead of checking to see if I was dreaming, my first thought was to get into the car. But before I could make it, the hole once again shifted position, now underneath me. I plummeted into what went from moonlight to sheer darkness to a bright red light. The car fell just after I did. I knew if the fall didn’t kill me, the car would. However, that didn’t happen. Instead, after what felt like minutes and maybe hours, I found myself plummeting not from a hole, but instead a deep, purple sky. Almost a lavender shade of purple, darker beyond the clouds. So high up now, as if I were dropped out of a satellite, except over what clearly was no Earth. This is around when I noticed my car was no longer above me. I still don’t know where it went.

Eventually, after minutes, I plummeted into a deep red ocean. As my head was submerged under the bloody surface of pungent, thick slime, I could hear nothing but screaming, yelling, and groaning. An unholy choir sang to me from the depths of the sea. The sound of a thousand blue whales from the lowest bowels of Hell. The red sea of sorrows. In the dark red void below me, I could feel something massive awaited me. Even worse, I could sense it coming up to reach me. Something which I could never even hope to understand, with many tongues and throats that urged deeply to swallow me whole. This fear of what lived below me was enough to push me towards the shore. I could see just above the surface, I was close to some sort of land mass. Brown sand bedded a massive, elderly, deep red ziggurat. I could smell its age from this far away. It had an odor of times gone by, from the Medieval ages to Ancient Egypt. Like it was built by all the dead in our ancient history. It whispered its ancient lore to me from this distance, and there seemed to be more in store once I made it there. I felt as if I was being pulled directly to this thing, and as if the ocean wind had been pushing me towards it. Once I had reached the shore, the name of this place somehow hammered its way into my skull. It felt violating, almost as if a hammer had lodged into the middle of my brain, ruining my thoughts and separating my eyes from their roots. Crethm’chtha. That’s at least my interpretation on how you would possibly pronounce that horrific name. In my head, I was sure this name was said by an inhuman mouth, which made completely different noises to what I can. Even in its incomprehensible form, it still gripped my brain ever so tightly, with no intention of letting go. Straining my brainstem and forcing it to twist and eventually snap, but the fear came solely from waiting for it to inevitably break. One of the greatest difficulties I have ever faced to this day is trying to swim while this battle of unknowable forces took place within my head, bodies crashing against the sides of my skull. My teeth hurting as the swords of the little men inside missed each other and hit the walls. The itching as the ants from my heart ambushed them, eating their organs and leaving them to rot.

Finally, I was washed out upon the brown, wet shores. I stood, slowly, gazing upon these ruins before me. Creatures groaned and grunted in the distance, speaking gibberish to one another. Reluctantly, I trudged towards the ziggurat, but not before staring out at the massive horizon by the ocean. It’s sheer size is panic inducing. It looks as if this place is completely flat, and instead of seeing the curve of the planetary body on the horizon, it simply had no end. It appeared endless, and not even the fog interfered with the vast, endless stretch of bloody water. This impossible visage almost caused my eyes to turn back into my skull, and I was puppeteered by my own body to look away. This expanse was full of massive creatures, sea serpents leaving the ocean and entering the air. Massive rocks with faces plummeting from the sky to be drowned. In the sky, it appeared that a large mouth, its face impossibly stretched in a grotesque fashion, was slowly moving towards this place to swallow it whole. Hopefully he’ll digest it, I thought to myself, because this place shouldn’t exist, by any stretch of the imagination. On the front of the ziggurat, there appeared to be a rough, round hole that I figured my hand would fit perfectly inside, so I reluctantly pushed it forward. This is when the wall in front of me suddenly split down the middle, and opened up. This is when I first encountered the land creatures from this place, which I’ve nicknamed “Sea Monkeys.” However, that’s simply due to my inability to rationalize the pronunciation that forced its way into my brain, which sounded somewhat similar to Sea Monkey. A four legged creature with a head that appeared to be one large eye. Like one of those all directional security cameras. No iris, just a black orb, that seemed to grow and shrink depending on the light of the surroundings. Its skin… I don’t know what color it was. It’s a color I’ve never seen before. I never thought new colors were possible, but they are. Believe me, they are. They hurt the soul when you try to rationalize them, so I find it preferable to not think about it much. I don’t think about any of this much because here, human thought is dangerously outgunned, and will blow itself up if used. Human knowledge in Crethm’chtha is like a toaster in a bathtub.

The Sea Monkey had no arms, either. But when it spotted me, all it really did was study me. Its eye grew and shrank as it examined me. Fearful of what it might do, I stumbled back, and a piece of the crumbling stone wall fell off, in a perfect dagger shape. Perfectly pointed and jagged. I chose to act on my fear, and began wailing on the Sea Monkey, jamming the rock into its eye. The crepuscular creature did not bleed, and instead, it almost seemed to deflate as a gaseous substance escaped its body. Black and pungent, my eyes stung as it entered them. The Sea Monkey did not scream, but it did attempt to wrangle and impale me with its spider-like, chiton-built crab legs. Knowing I would be here indefinitely, I prepared a surplus of food. I stole every meaty piece of the Sea Monkey. However, this creature had no definable organs. Simple meat filled its shell. The only true organ was its head, which I also stole. I now had nothing left to do with this creature, but one thing. I figured one of its legs would make a better weapon than this piece of shitty rock. So, I used all of my strength to twist it, pull it, do anything to sever it from its host. Eventually, it gave way, and I now had a nifty DIY spear.

This is how I began my constant struggle for survival. Crethm’chtha was not the only strange place I would travel through. Many other bizarre realms of ancient origin awaited me, with new creatures. My routine was constantly changing, and never bored me. I always had to adjust to the next world I would be subjected to, and need to survive in. I never knew just how far, how many galaxies or dimensions I was from home, all I knew was the distance was probably so large I would never be able to fathom it. Over this time, I forgot my name, age, and way of leading life as I used to. I was now freer than ever, but trapped all the same. My resolve eroded overtime, as I no longer even thought about my old life. This was so much better. This was everything I craved. Everything I wanted. Everything my life lacked before. New creatures awaited me every day. The exoskeletons, beings that would latch onto the dead remains of their neighboring abominations and puppeteer them for strength. The dogs, four legged, meaty things that always seemed to be building structures. Altars. Churches. Occult worshipping grounds. The perforators. Spiny beasts which would wait until they got close enough, and then unleash their horrific needles. The first time I encountered one of those fuckers, I almost didn’t wake up.

It was not until recently that I found myself revisiting Crethm’chtha by accident. I wandered the disheveled, crumbled halls of what I had dubbed Distant Times Square. A world seemingly made of hallways that were constantly crumbling and falling apart, set atop a rough and coarse ground of drought-ridden desert. At some point, these halls had lead me into a building in Crethm’chtha, and just outside of this building stood the hole. The same hole from that fateful night. Except this time, the hole was now a deep, deep green. Nothing to lose, I willingly stepped down. I don’t know how long it had been since I had fallen like this. Maybe months, but maybe years. No clue. Finally, after minutes, I felt myself no longer falling. Like I was floating alone in this void. Gradually, water began to wash over my body, in this deep darkness of who knows how wide and vast. I wasn’t drowning, simply existing. This is around when I came to.

I emerged from the depths that surrounded me. My reaction, and realization of my new surroundings, however, was delayed. Earth. Blue skies. Darker blue waters. A school of fish below me. Land in sight. The city I had spent my whole life in. Its name… what was it… Seas… Seafron… Seetle… Seattle. Seattle, Washington. It was all coming back. I hoped my name would too. But I wondered, would I ever be able to return to my way of life? I don’t want to. I swam back below the water, to see if that would take me back. No. I was stuck. Finally home, but in the same sense as an abused child returning home. But if there was anything I had learned from my journeys, it was this: Nothing is gained in the pursuit of something futile. My next step was clear, or rather my way to finding my next step. Nothing stood in the ocean between me and the city.

Eventually, I made it to shore, and began wandering the streets. In a landscape like this, I thought to myself, all these people… leading shit lives and not being worth anything, maybe I could live here like I did in the beyond realms. The idea was growing more and more defined in my brain. It only depended on my own ability, and I had become quite the bloodthirsty motherfucker in those other places. However, my stream of thoughts was interrupted by something I never expected I would see again. An old face. This meant something to me. I knew it. P. P something. Pauline was her name. She looked older and in nicer clothes, but this was undeniably her. I had no clue how much worse I looked now. I hadn’t grown any hair for some odd reason, but I most likely aged. I had to have aged. Pauline was across the street from me, and the only thing I could think to do was, of course, like the madman I am, run across traffic and get spun in the air by a taxi.

“Holy shit, Donovan, I need to call you back. Some guy just got hit by a car!” She rushed to me to give me aid, and once she saw my face, everything seemed to click in her head.

“Jeff??” That was my name. It had been on the tip of my tongue for the longest time. I couldn’t think of what to say. Nothing came to mind. Nothing at all. I didn’t know what I meant to this woman in my past life. However, I suppose it was something romantic, as the blondie’s embrace when she wrapped her arms around me felt very familiar. The kiss also felt like something I once knew.

Not long after, we were both inside a cafe. Sitting across from one another at a table. 2 cups of coffee were carried to the table. I didn’t know if she had bought it for me or not, I wasn’t listening. I still wasn’t listening to her. Her voice was drowned out by my innate inability to understand these surroundings. At a certain point, I left this vapid nonsense behind. Why consume food I didn’t earn? Why eat something I didn’t hunt? She must have been screaming at me by this point to say something to her, but it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t bring myself to hear it. Classic victim of the low pass filter that my social skills have become.

The sun had passed the horizon, and I stood over the water, ready to either return to my old surroundings, or die. But I stopped myself when I went back to my thoughts from earlier. Who’s to say that I can’t lead life now like I did then? The answer was nobody. Absolutely nobody could stop me now. I had faced the beyond, beings that I was never meant to face, and I got out of it. I killed them. They feared me. They feared the monster named Jeff. How funny. I still had my duffel bag from all those years ago, which still had the Sea Monkey leg I had stolen. It also still had the composition notebook labelled “SHIT” in sharpie. That’s what I write these words in now. I can see somebody walking around right now, and they are the perfect start to the continuation of the bloodbath my life has become. That being said, here’s to another day in the pit. Another day, still, in this formidable hellhole. Travelling from this one to other formidable hellholes. Scrapping together weapons that will last me for the day. Wandering these halls of nameless cities that exist in worlds too hostile for mortal men. Yet somehow, I keep living through what I believe to be days, but what may be minutes to what resides here. I don’t miss it anymore, as I’ve found it here.

#horror #story #short story #max m.h.#max howser #wegschauen #cosmic horror #art #digital

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qhostqizmo · 4 years

Text

Temptation

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

- - - - - - - - - -

She couldn’t fight it. It stirred in her dreams like a plume of smoke; dark clouds hazing over everything and blotting out the interior of the residence she had been in. One second there had been cool stone and carpeting beneath her feet, with pillars to uphold the structure and doors that she knew lead to a garden, and the next she had been thrust in no-where. There was vertigo; no up or down, no east or west, no sense of direction and nothing below or above. Only gloom, and herself.

It had only been herself. As she tossed and turned; twisted and grasped at the nothing trying to get a grip on something, a figure began to materialize through the endless shadows. They were no taller then she, and their build slender. A hood obstructed their face, but they wore a brightly colored red lip stain against their grey freckled skin. A light haloed around them, but it was neither blinding nor particularly bright.

“What is it you desire?”

It was an echo; and although they moved their mouth, the words felt like they were vibrating all around Essätha; through her, inside of her. She clenched her teeth in hopes of stopping the rattle in her teeth, and clutched at her temples.

Her mind was instantly a playground; brutalized and vandalized. This had been nothing like Master Sadris Vodamire; who although caused much discomfort with his prying eyes, tore into her head like a rampant monster. It was like filthy hands groping; touching where they did not belong, taking without asking.

It searched, and as the violating sensation made Essie whimper and claw at her scalp, she observed glimpses of things and places, money and faces, people and animals.

“I could offer you a promise” the voice promised, velvety and sweet as any seductive mistress. “I can give you what you want most. In exchange, all I ask of you is to relinquish one small thing. That which is mine already, that you and your friends have in your possession.”

She didn’t have anything that didn’t belong to anyone else! Okay… that was not entirely true, but none of it belonged to anyone else for a while now.

Softly, the speaker compelled, “You must leave it beneath the roots of a Devil’s Roosewood tree. There I will find it.”

A beaded necklace appeared unwillingly to the forefront of her thoughts. Its pearl-like spheres were made of a pinkish-purple tinted wood. An amulet hung from it, presumably meant to be displayed upon the throat so far as jewelry went. It was made of an ambery-red metal no one recognized in the party; and was embezzled with gemstones. Adela recognized a few of them as decorative precious jewels, but others even alluded them.

What did the abandoned pendent they found lying in a creekbed have to do with any of this?

“That is none of your concern.”

Essätha struggled to open her eyes at the testiness of the voice to stare the individual down, but she no longer could. She could not will them to open, and the rampant path of strange and random photographic memories she didn’t even remember continued to invade her like a hurricane.

“Do you hunger for money? Mountains of it; as far as the eye could see?” the voice teased, offering visions of plentiful piles of coin and jewels, stacks of monetary notes and wages.

“Perhaps a lust for freedom?” A strange parallel; worlds and planes stacked on top of each other, easy to access at the touch of a finger.

“Or strength?” Tools and weapons; rings and tomes. “Glory?” Dozens upon dozens of people, crying out her name in the crowd, their faces written in expressions of awe and adoration. “A paradise to call your own?” A castle, expansive and fortified; surrounded by wildlife and trees, with the lapping sound water somewhere past the treeline.

“No?” chimed the voice; not waiting for an answer, but sounding… disappointed. “Immortality? To be human? No, not that, either. My, you are a tricky one. So complacent in your mundane life. You want things, but what are you hiding; what do you want more… what does your heart long for the most…”

Essie did not know if it was her own impulses, or the endless pursuit of answers that brought up the lonely figure, with their face turned only slightly towards her and the massive furry beast at their heels.

“Oho. What an interesting surprise. I thought different of you. Not many crave love as badly as they think they do; people tend to lean more selfishly to power and fortune then they believe themselves capable. But you crave that acceptance; that warm embrace, that spark that fills the empty, lonely voids inside your soul. You believe one man can make you that happy?”

The question was taunting; mocking her more then inquiring. It didn’t need an answer. No amount of true and honest love could ever fix all your mistakes, or unbreak you, or change you completely into someone new, or even lick all your wounds and make you perfect or change the world.

But it could change your world. Soften your negative outlooks; have a genuine conversation with someone, have someone reliable to lean on that could lean on you, too. It was intimate trust; going the extra mile, selflessly offering all that you had expecting nothing in return. Being vulnerable to another and knowing they would do everything in their power not to hurt you; that they would try to catch you when you fell, and pick you up when it can’t be helped. A bond of acceptance, of respect, of teamwork.

Loving Amon was worth more then all the bounties and rewards they could be offered. It was freedom; as open as the sky was vast. It was the strength she found inside every day. It was the fame of those moments when he stopped and stared at her, and so quietly said her name that she felt like the only person in the room. It was his arms around her; feeling of home and protective shield from every wounded word she’d ever heard. It rendered the idea of immortality obsolete. She felt eternal under the blanket of his heavy-lidded eyes.

Like a leech to blood, the figure offered a Cheshire grin Essie could not see. She had found her jackpot; her vulnerable weak spot to strike.

“Yours is not the easiest, but not the most difficult wish to achieve,” the lady hummed. “I can give you his heart. He can be yours, until your dying day.”

A fantasy played out beneath her eyelids, but it was one she’d had before. The table, their interwoven fingers, the sound of his faint chuckling and the soft impression of his mouth against her, wherever his lips could reach. Her throat, her cheeks, her lips so light and warm. She was almost dizzy, imagining it; the breathlessness from such a lingering kiss.

But then he pulled away, and the vision was not totally how she recalled it. The almost mechanical shape of his smile, like it did not belong there; painted on crudely, rather. The vacancy of his eyes.

Her hand went to her throat. She grasped at something hanging there, finding a heart-shaped locket hanging around her neck. Clicking it open, she could make out the strangely pulsating, beating shape within it as she squinted…

She did not want that. Her thoughts cringed, warding the nightmare away.

That was not her Lord Amon, and that was not the kind of love she desired.

“Is this not what you want?” the voice implied with a snappy tone, “is this man not the one you yearn for?”

Not like this. Never like this. He was not her m’lord; he was her puppet.

“Think of it,” the voice pressed, almost endearing. Shaming her almost, it cut the fantasy in two; blurring it out to reveal the dreaded future she feared. The solitary, winding roads. The isolated bedroom. The restless nights, tossing and turning. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. No one to put faith in; to put faith in her, to push her forward. Alone, again.

She sucked in a shaky gasp, choking. It felt like first breath she’d taken in minutes, and she was choking.

The lipstick curled up into a twisted smile as Essätha found herself able to open her eyes, the dream melting and fading all around her…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spine stiff and rigid, Sulhadur leaned forward, running his tongue over his muzzle. “… What did she offer you guys?”

Everyone avoided each other’s gazes. Penimra shifted uncomfortably, breaking the silence with a ragged cough, “Everything.”

“I did not know I even wanted some of the things they offered,” Pri’cha agreed, their expression mystified and mandibles parted.

“I had never seen the Drow before,” Adela whispered, leaning in to the table. “I think she was a Drow, anyway? Did any of you get a good look at her?”

“No, her hood was always up,” Rava stated.

Abe nodded. “Same for me.”

Essie kept her head down, and her mouth shut. Silence was safer.

“Well we can’t give her back the necklace; obviously it has some sort of value, and to a demigod of that sort of power…” Abe trailed off weakly.

Conflicted, Penimra offered out his trembling gloved hand. “Can’t we, though? We don’t know what it can do. It’s not our responsibility. Maybe she will reward all of us, if we put it back-”

“Penimra, that sort of trust is what got you cursed in the first place,” Adela commented tartly. She immediately seemed to realize her commentary, and slapped a hand over her open mouth as the warlock recoiled as though from a physical blow.

“Pen, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t.”

“I mean, she did make some good offers,” the cheeky wood-elf piped up, staring fixated at the necklace sitting in the middle of the round table. Her hand twitched, as though to reach for it.

The eldest paladin give her a firm but swift tap on the hand, glowering at her until she sat back, pouting.

“This isn’t up for debate!”

“You’re right, Pri’cha found it. They should get to decide what we do with it,” Pen eagerly stated, looking hopefully to the golden cleric.

“M-Me?”

“… We can’ trust them,” Sulhadur muttered, scratching his claws against his snout.

“This coming from the dragonborn who wanders randomly off into the woods, trusting the melody of some random desert music,” Penimra muttered with annoyance.

With vigor, the nobleman slammed down his fist. The action silence the entire table; turning towards the man with his clenched teeth bared like an animal.

“Stop arguing, all of you!” Amon grated out.

The exchange of glances across the table made the Briarton Protector deflate. Fear lit his eyes, and it took everything Essie had not to reach out and touch him, or take hold of his hand. As quickly as the rage had filled him, it seemed to disperse, but it left it’s lingering effects. The guilt in his shoulders; heavy. The stares that haunted him, past and present.

“… Before we make any rash decisions,” he continued on hoarsely, “like handing off this- this necklace that may have some potent abilities we’re not aware of, we need to know who this is, what this does, and why they want it so badly. Deities, or powerful beings, do not usually reach out to request things from mortals or their lessers. If it’s a test, I do not see why they would have a reason to act so…”

“Shifty?”

“A kinder way of putting it… yes,” he agreed, nodding solemnly to Abernathy’s words.

Nervously licking her lips, Ravamora eyed the amulet. “What do we do with it, for now?” she squeaked. “Who can be trusted to hold on to it?”

A few looks around the table, and most pairs of eyes settled on the Thri-Kreen, their curled antenna shooting up.

“M-Me?”

“You did find the pendent, Pri,” Essie whispered faintly.

“And you’re the one least likely to be swayed… Probably,” Sul pointed out.

Steadily looking around the group, the cleric clutched their claws together into little fists. They raised them up high and proud, announcing with vigor, “I will not let you all down!”

The Yuan-Ti sorceress glanced vaguely towards the amulet. For half-a-second, her clouded thoughts believed to see the disturbing locked, with the beating shrunken heart trapped inside it.

Swallowing, she looked down at the table.

Whatever the cost, it wasn’t worth it. Losing his very personality; the essence of who he was just for her to call him hers, it wasn’t worth the price. There was no value to be placed on who he was; as a man, and a friend, and a trusted companion.

If this is all there ever was, until they parted ways, so be it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rolling her denim pants up to fit within her bag, Essie could hear the heavy pacing of Amon’s boots, and the elevated sound of his breathing. She tried not to point it out, but Caesar seemed to be doing a fine enough job of that as it was. The mastiff trotted after him; claws clicking against the wood floors, and whined every chance he got up towards his master.

Tucking in a carefully folded shirt, she finally spoke up quietly, “Is everything alright, m’lord Amon?”

He grunted. She turned to glance at him, catching him wiping a hand over his face. His eyes were wild, and black hair mused from his fingers running through it previously.

“Fine.”

A frown pulled at her lips. She knew him better then that.

“Is… this about what occurred at the table?” she offered, cautious.

The nobleman turned to look at her, dazed. There was little focus in his eyes.

Scooting around on the bed, she placed her hands in her lap, remaining cross-legged. Essie offered a private smile, tilting her head to the side as she whispered patiently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

His throat jumped, and he looked away. “I… uh…”

Gently, she patted the bed. He obediently obeyed the implication, taking a seat on the opposite side stiffly. It reminded her so much of the images from last night, that she had to hold herself back from flinching away from him.

“It’s okay you got frustrated,” she soothed softly, reaching out to lay her hand atop his. “No one’s going to hold that against you. We’re all a bit… wound up. It’s a hard decision to make, when someone offers you your deepest desires right in front of you on a platter.”

His gaze was too intense, staring right into her. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and her palms start to grow sweaty. The ocean reeling her in; pulling her into the depths.

Again, he swallowed; his jaw working and shifting uneasily. Caesar, meanwhile, nosed his knee and whined; to which he didn’t respond to.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he finally uttered quietly. She beamed with encouragement, wrapping her fingers around his hand. “I forgive you. You’re allowed to feel your emotions, m’lord. I know you had no intentions on hurting anyone’s feelings. You’re understandably frustrated. I think nothing less of you. Maybe… we all needed a voice of reason to cut through the haze in that moment, anyway.”

Amon smiled thin, and with doubt.

Essätha did not move for some time. When he did not reply, she nervously began to remove her hand from him.

He instinctively reached for her; a flash of pain in his expression.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” he breathed. Relief bloomed in his eyes, still locked on hers, as he held her fingers in his now. Almost regrettably, he regarded their hands, and gently placed hers back down upon the bed.

“I’m sorry I should… I should not make you feel like you have to comfort me.”

Her brow knit, and she reached for his hand. “Have to?” she echoed, “I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t have to do anything; but I like to. I like to hold your hand, and I like to make you smile.”

Together, their faces simultaneously took on a rosy glow. Amon looked away nervously just as she did. The eye contact was suddenly too much.

The inquiry nagging at the back of her head, however, continued to pester her…

“M’lord,” she murmured, clutching his digits anxiously. “I…” She swallowed, acutely aware that his gaze was back on her again; burning her. Her face felt hotter. The room felt deathly quiet, and she found it difficult to breathe. The only sound her ears picked up on aside from her heartbeat, was that of Caesar’s tail thumping eagerly against the floor, staring at them both.

“Are you alright, Essie?”

Gods, she hated how she adored the way he said her name. The way he spoke to her; concerned and tender and patient, made her insides feel like they were twisted into pretzels.

Sighing, she shook her head weakly. “No I…” She nibbled her lower lip; exhaled deeply, and tried again: “I thought I knew what I wanted most of all in my life, once. Like Penimra said; she offered me everything; the world at my fingertips, to bend and morph however I pleased, to be whoever or whatever I pleased… She said I could have had anything; given me my deepest desires…”

Her eyes drifted, slowly making their way to where their hands were on the comforter; clutching each other.

“… But all I really wanted was this moment.”

“… This moment?” Amon parroted softly. When she did not reply, he squeezed her fingers gently. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry I-” flustered, she caught a glimpse of his face; vulnerable, soft, longing, and glanced away timidly, waving her free hand in the air. “I just- I mean- I only wanted your time,” she stressed, “I- I just wanted- want to s-spend my time with you to- to have your company-”

Fidgeting, she pulled at her hand, but Amon held her strong, but gentle. He waited for her eyes to find their way back to his.

“… You don’t think I want the same thing?” he whispered, grinning shyly. “I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

Essätha returned the smile, her pulse escalating. All she craved for, all she wanted to do right now was to throw herself into his arms. The block between her mouth and her heart was her brain, carelessly telling her that telling him the truth would be too much.

She promised me you, she wanted to scream. The enchantress witchy deity being offered me your heart, and your love. I know you’ll think I’m insane, but gods, I want to love you and be loved by you more then anything else in the world.

But not like that. Not that perverse, demented and warped reality.

The genuine warmth of his eyes, and the smile he wore now, that was her wanting.

“I wish she’d been right, about one thing.”

The hurt expression returned. “Right about what?”

If it could only be possible to capture his heart, in the right way. Slowly, with time, and with a lot of love. If only she could just be a little be braver, to tell him openly, how she felt.

“Oh just- about having more manageable desires,” Essie fretted with a short laugh. “Something attainable, within my reach.”

Between a mixture of confusion and amusement, the nobleman rasped playfully, “I thought you just said that all you really wanted was this moment.”

“It is! I do!” she burst out enthusiastically, holding his hand tightly, as though reluctant he’d pull away.

The same, brilliant smile; warm and enlightening. He leaned in closer unconsciously, closer towards her. The scent of pine trees and leather surrounded her, with a faded note of rosewater. Her eyes, unconsciously, darted all over him; to his chest, his mouth, back up to his all-consuming gaze.

She was the center of the universe once more, beneath his softly aglow night-sky regard.

“Me too,” Amon whispered, as though telling a secret.

She grinned brighter, feeling the butterfly-sensation swarming in her stomach.

Gradually, his gaze lowered; moving over her features, stalling. His eyes lingered a moment on her parted lips before jumping back to her eyes. They’d moved in closer, unintentionally, drawn in by gravity.

His voice trembled as he inclined closer still, murmuring, “You are far more beautiful here, right in front of me, then in any mirage hallucination she showed.”

Breath hitching, her lashes fluttered, waiting for the magnetic pull to drag him the rest of the way. She leaned in a little further as he did, her free hand reaching for him.

A knock at the door sent them hurtling backwards away from each other, mere inches away from contact.

Her heart was still thunder in her ears, muffling Sulhadur’s voice as he called out, “Everyone’s packed and outside; do the two of you need a hand still?”

“No- ahem, no, we’ll be out shortly!”

“I’ll carry some of your things for you.”

Cheeks burning, she glanced at Amon after hearing the break in his voice. He was looking to his faithful pooch, who huffed and laid their head upon his knee.

Had… had he just admitted to seeing her, in some of those fantasy-visions from the strange dream intruder?

Letting go of her hand, the nobleman silently pushed himself to his feet, heading towards the door with the mastiff trotting at his heels.

Essie pressed her fingers over her flush features, and her mouth. It was almost-had-been-too-close but was it really what she’d thought it had been? The moment charged with electricity, the softness of his eyes. Surely they hadn’t been that close. Maybe he’d been distracted by something, or had meant to… brush hair out of her face?

Removing her hand, she tried not to pout; or directly allow the Dragonborn paladin to see just how deeply blushing she still was as he entered.

There was absolutely, positively no way on earth his deepest desire could possibly be of her, too.

Right?

#qhost story #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #OTP: Essamon #softly written #ft: Noisy Bastards

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tcmpcral · 5 years

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full name. basil

pronunciation. technically BAY-zil but my dumb disney-loving brain defaults to BA-zil lmao nicknames. dumbass, dumb as ass (these are, of course, all lovingly given to him by his brothers) titles. basil the kicker, ‘our kicking basil’ courtesy of roh height. 5′11-6″

age. 23ish

zodiac. leo languages. whatever language they speak on his planet plus a few others

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour. red, white eye colour. black with yellow sclera skin tone. body type. very athletic and toned, but a little bit wiry tbh accent. like majora below, he’d technically have one to an earthling’s ear, but they wouldn’t be able to place it dominant hand. left posture. confident. has a definite swagger to his gait, and he sometimes tends to lean on one hip when he stands. other times, he simply has a very open, fearless stance scars. what scars he has are covered by fur tattoos. none most noticeable features. the fact he aint got no clothes on >:u possibly his doe eyes, which gives him a markedly more ‘innocent’-looking expression compared with his brothers

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. currently unnamed planet in U9 hometown. an overpopulated city where it was easy for him and his brothers to ‘disappear’ quite often from under ‘human services’ noses birth weight / height. he has no idea manner of birth. just. the usual, i guess :v first words. it was probably something like ‘bermo’ which was his babyish way of saying ‘bergamo’ lmao siblings. lavender, older brother, bergamo, oldest brother parents. his father died at some point before he was born, so he has no memories of him. his mother either died or was separated from the three around the time basil was one to two years old (which means i need to edit A Thing i wrote recently rip), so his memories of her are fuzzy and nondescript parental involvement. he was loved by his mother and treated overtly affectionately by her from the time he was born-- however, his time with her was short. from her disappearance on, he was raised by his older brothers, who did their best of course, but likely fell short in various ways

ADULT LIFE

occupation. ??? whatever it is, it’s not fully legal current residence. a small apartment with his brothers. thanks to a certain god’s influence, it’s a little more luxurious on the inside than one might expect based on its outward appearance close friends. uhhh. his brothers. minca, at one point. and probably again eventually. otherwise, he has various. uh. basically casual drinking buddies, so i’m not sure he’d consider them close relationship status. single financial status. it’s okay. paycheck to paycheck, but. again, thanks to a certain god, he and his brothers are able to live rather comfortably driver’s license. unfortunately, yes criminal record. Yes vices. impulsive, short-tempered, has a tendency to be irreverent without entirely meaning to (not that he’s not Trying to be, just that he’s not thinking about it), lacks common sense a lot

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. he personally identifies as heterosexual but tbh it’s bc he’s only had one girlfriend and hasn’t really thought about his sexuality in great depth. i could honestly see him being bisexual romantic orientation. ??? preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch | unsure preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch | sex repulsed libido. h-hahaa er. High turn ons. i don’t. know yet tbh turn offs. anything too Out There love language. how do i. explain it. it’s not affectionate exactly, but it would be very obvious to his partner that he likes them, bc there’d be signs like his face lighting up whenever he spotted them in a room, or the fact that he invites them to go with him everywhere, that he’d rather spend time with them than with his drinking buddies, etc. he doesn’t actually do a lot of PDA, i think, bc i tend to see him as being a little more immature than that tbh, but there’d definitely be signs of affection and. adoration there relationship tendencies. basil, at this point in his life, just wants someone he can have fun with. he doesn’t want commitment, he doesn’t want to think about the future (unless it involves daydreaming about visiting cool places)-- all he cares about is the now, and how he can have fun in the now. as such, he’s drawn toward those with like values and desires, and would be turned off by someone who seemed intent on ‘changing him into a better man’ or something similar

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. here we go again, renegades hobbies to pass the time. sparring/fighting, drinking, parties, tagging along with his brothers, causing mischief mental illnesses. avoidant behaviors but lbr mostly none physical illnesses. none left or right brained. right-brained fears. failure, disappointing his brothers, losing his brothers, embarrassing himself in a way he can’t Come Back From self-confidence level. ehh, tbh, it’s mostly high. he probably gets down on himself at times when he thinks he’s done something exceedingly stupid, but for the most part, he thinks pretty highly of himself vulnerabilities. don’t. don’t pull his tail, that hurts. his loyalty to his brothers, the secret feelings he keeps to himself about his childhood if anyone ever figured them out tbh, his fears that he really is kind of dumb

full name. majora pronunciation. MAH-zheruh nicknames. nurse baobei (an old one from shosa that majora absolutely hates to be called in public these days. not that he. loved it to begin with) titles. has an officer’s rank of some kind? does that count height. 5′8ish

age. Advanced (TM) no sorry i just haven’t decided how he ages compared to humans yet :v

zodiac. capricorn n/a languages. whatever language his planet/region uses, as well as a few neighboring ones

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour. olive green, white eye colour. ???? skin tone. body type. slender, slim, but toned. certain joints like his wrists and ankles are very thin and frail-looking, however accent. he’d have one to an earthling’s ear, but it’d be hard to place dominant hand. right posture. generally straight, tho sometimes a little slouchy just bc he’s tired. while he was a military nurse, he wasn’t required to complete any kind of military training, so he doesn’t have the perhaps expected ‘soldier posture’ scars. what scars he does have are easily hidden by fur. has a scar on his upper abdomen leftover from a splenectomy tattoos. none most noticeable features. his ears are huuuuge

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. some planet in U4 lmao hometown. a currently unnamed city on the coast. presently lives in a mountainous region in the northern part of the country/planet he lives on birth weight / height. ~6 pounds, ~19 inches manner of birth. something akin to twilight sleep first words. it was ‘pig’ bc he witnessed one of his older sisters calling another child the term as an insult siblings. four other siblings (two older sisters, one younger sister, one younger brother is the baby. he is the third oldest of five, right smack dab in the middle). his eldest sister is deceased. he is mostly estranged from the others and only sees them occasionally throughout the year parents. Mother: jima Father: rougu, i haven’t quite decided what it was that they did just yet but whatever it was left them rather well-off financially, enough so that they were able to allow their children to pursue whatever interests and hobbies they desired (assuming they were proper, of course). their beliefs were steeped in traditions and conventional wisdom, and these are what majora grew up with and probably still to some degree practices to this day parental involvement. somewhat negligent once he hit a certain age and was capable of helping with younger siblings and household chores, etc. his parents never were particularly affectionate with him, tho they encouraged certain interests of his (...martial arts, mostly) while discouraging others they felt tarnished his (read: their) reputation. this was especially true as he grew into his preteen and teen years and began showing behaviors they didn’t like

ADULT LIFE

occupation. retired; former nurse current residence. lives in a communal apartment setup. he lives at the end of the hall, is able to claim he has the largest room of the floor, and also has a nice little balcony attached to his room as well that he shares with the newly-married couple who live in the room next to him (who i’ve named chuan and cori). he’s quite fond of his living arrangement, despite what he may occasionally say otherwise close friends. ..........shosa. that’s it. that’s literally it relationship status. single financial status. he survives on retiree and disability benefits........ but altogether, it’s not bad driver’s license. doesn’t need one. both. bc the city he lives in is compact enough to be able to walk everywhere and bc. Blind lmao criminal record. lots of curfew and truancy violations as a teen fjfiea;g vices. proud, aloof, withdrawn, set in his ways, stubborn, self-sabotaging

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. generally identifies as homosexual romantic orientation. homoromantic probably preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch | unsure preferred sexual role. submissive | dominant | switch | sex repulsed libido. middles toward low, even when coupled, but he’s not repulsed by any means turn ons. ....like basil i’m. not entirely sure yet turn offs. treating him like a doll?? does that make sense, listen he might like to dress up but don’t treat him like a mannequin. and don’t take advantage of the fact that he can’t see what he’s putting on, that should be obvious. Anything without his permission, ignoring his discomfort if it comes up, not letting him know what you’re doing before you do it gdi love language. kinda stiff and awkward in the beginning, but he softens up soon enough. he never does get to be the type who is outwardly affectionate and forthcoming about his feelings, and particularly in public, will seem very distant and cool to his partner, but he is definitely the sort to enjoy being around a partner and seek their company quite often, whether it’s to accompany them about the town or simply to relax at home

relationship tendencies. truthfully, romance just isn’t on his mind much these days, but he’s always gravitated toward those that he could spend time with and not necessarily worry all the time. he’s not like basil and wants only to live in the present, but he does need something or someone to ground him in the present, or he thinks himself into a nervous frenzy about the future, particularly nowadays at his age and at his level of dependence on others. he worries occasionally that he’s too much of a burden, and that his efforts to decrease his status as a burden only exacerbate it

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. cleopatra hobbies to pass the time. fishing, listening to music/the radio, playing music occasionally (usually when he’s been left in charge of kids and they’re being little hellions rip), going to see plays and operas (even if he can’t appreciate the sets or costumes anymore, he can still enjoy the stories and acting, he supposes) mental illnesses. none tbh physical illnesses. some kind of anemia (think pernicious anemia), which results in fatigue and body aches, compromised immune system left or right brained. left-brained mostly fears. death, losing another sense, various small fears related to his blindness and his resulting vulnerability, being helpless/a burden, convalescent homes self-confidence level. relatively high to moderate while he keeps his independence. when he makes mistakes or otherwise flubs up bc of his blindness, it tends to crash a little vulnerabilities. his fear of both dying and debility/helplessness, frequent refusal to accept help, obviously he. uh. can’t see, tho his other senses help him out to some degree there,

#bas;; dash games #maj;; dash games #THIS TOOK ME SO LONG GOD PLS JUST TAKE IT FROM ME

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salomonsenthestrup1-blog · 5 years

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j-and-j-weekly · 4 years

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Angel Prompt

Mia Leandra Rutherford has never had a normal life. Born to an ex-nun who renounced her vows after she had fallen in love, she had grown up surrounded by religion, unfortunately so if you ask her. As a young child she picked up an affinity for art especially painting. Starting by painting pretty angels with white wings and halos to appease her mother when in reality the angels she saw in her dreams never looked anything less than terrifying. Now at the age of twenty–two with a stubborn refusal to have anything to do with religion she attends an art university on the opposite side of the country from her mother and has stopped talking about the angels that visit her in her nightmares instead she paints them and the rest of her nightmares.

Her unmatched talent for creating emotional, thought provoking paintings quickly took her to the top of her class when she started university. Now almost finished her stint here she already has offers from numerous galleries across the country to showcase her work. Although, her pieces have gotten darker as the years have passed, she has passed it off as finding the style that fits her. Though every time she has to field the question of where she gets inspiration from, she can’t seem to explain it in its entirety. Usually she will get away with saying the ideas come to her in dreams, which isn’t altogether untrue. Just more like they come to her in weird twisted nightmares that feel more strongly like warnings to her every passing day. Nevertheless, her beautiful pieces have gotten her noticed by all the right people.

Once again Mia had lost track of time creating a masterpiece of the latest nightmare plaguing her. This one feels almost as if it’s a self-portrait in a way. It’s of a girl, she feels is meant to be her, having an encounter with an otherworldly being. It’s almost finished in her opinion but the wings of the being are off and she can’t figure out in what way. With a sigh she resigns herself to be done for the day, or night now. Packing and cleaning up as quickly as possible, Mia starts her walk across campus back to her apartment. Tingles raise the hairs on the back of her neck accompanied by the feeling of being either watched from afar or followed, neither desirable. Just as she reaches the halfway mark between the studios and her apartment a flash of blinding light halts her in her path. Once she can blink away the spots from her vision and readjust it to the darkness once again, what she sees is not unlike her latest work of art.

Sweeping wings stretched out almost five feet on either side. The long cashmere soft looking feathers, about a foot in length each, of an almost reflectively glassy looking black inlayed with a smattering of iridescent feathers capture all her attention. There is clearly a pattern to the different feathers with how otherworldly beautiful the wings are overall, but Mia’s mind can’t comprehend what that might be at this point in time. It’s a shame really since they had the potential to be gloriously immortalized in one of her paintings. Maybe she will be able to think back about it when this being isn’t looming over her. Maybe towering would be more accurate, since it’s clear with their eyes closed and hands peacefully stretch out with palms facing her that the effort to look nonthreatening is definitely being put forth. However, with her measly five foot six inches compared to a being of almost nine feet, that might damn well be impossible. How do you not be intimidated and slightly awed by a being almost double your own height? It’s only human to be. Although her enrapture by the wings consumes her mind soothing away any fear that might have been sparked.

Slowly the lids slide up shriveling up any of the remaining awe from the wings or height that Mia was previously feeling. A glaring lack of eyes are revealed. Instead there are swirling pools of night skies, with unknown depths. As the pools focus on Mia they seem to slither and scrape under and through her skin and skeleton into the very depths of her mind, heart, and soul. Not once did this being actually touch her but the paralyzed stance the pools are holding her in and the depth of the stare tell her there will surely be a lingering unease and anxiousness long after this encounter. The scrutiny the pools were placing upon her felt like a violation in a way she never fathomed could exist. The whisper of a voice always in the far back of her mind, one she had frequently heard and chose to ignore throughout her childhood, urges her to address this being with respect despite the itching unease they have left her feeling from a simple look.

Once again Mia chooses not to heed her inner voice’s suggestion. It doesn’t help that she has come to the conclusion in her mind that she must have fallen asleep at the studio once again and this is simply another nightmare.

“Oh, how I’ve been blessed by Satan with the presence one of his minions,” Mia mocks with a fake curtsy.

“How dare thee,” the Angel spits back. “I am of the light with no connection to he who shall not be mentioned,” the angel continues righteously.

“Voldemort?” Mia whispers her laughter laced question. The angel tilts their head in confusion. “Bro, have you seen yourself? Me thinketh you doth protest too much...or you are just crazy, which you do you no offense meant.”

“What are you blathering on about child?” The Angel inquires with a sigh.

“I’m not a fucking child,” is muttered childishly under Mia’s breath as she crosses her arms. The display only lacking a foot stomp to completely imitate a five-year old’s temper tantrum. Whether that’s her intention of not is unknown.

A deep, bone weary sigh is released by the Angel, the only sign of their patience waning. “I come bearing a message from above for you, chi—young one.” Mia nods in approval of the term. “Are you prepared to receive your prophecy?”

Mia shakes her head in the negative. “Wait what I’m confused and honest to god sidetracked by being called child still. Who are you and are you sure you have the right person?”

The angel at a loss of words just stares, stretching an awkward silence between the two. Settling on an action to move the discussion forward the Angel rolls their shoulders, clears their throat, and begins. “You are a chosen prophet of the holiest order, chosen to bear this burden, gifted to you by above. Are you ready to receive the prophecy?”

“What the actual fuck, I ain’t holy!” She runs her hand through her hair, an uncomfortable tick she’s never tried to rid herself of. “Also, you can’t be gifted a burden that’s an oxymoron and just plain rude to do to someone. So no, I’m not, bye.” With one more pass of her hand through her hair Mia turns and strides as casually, but quickly, away from the Angel as she can. Disappearing into the night.

The Angel gapes after her never before having been given such a refusal.

By J. Kelli

#creative writing #writing prompt #j. kelli

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zhannabelle-eng · 4 years

Text

How group activities change your life for the better

6 reasons to join the group

Successful in her career, with her predestination revealed, happy in her personal life. This is what the perfect picture of your life looks like. In the morning, when you open your eyes, you realize that you are still lonely just like before. It is frustrating and you want to feel sorry for yourself, but you have to act to change your life. To make it perfect, like in dreams. How? Start attending Zhannabelle's group classes!

Reason one: to find your perfect partner

So, your perfect partner. You have a good idea of him, don't you? What kind of soul mate do you think he dreams of? I'm sure he dreams of having a stunning, confident, sexy beauty with shining eyes, a charming smile and a kind heart.

He can perform any feat, to do any incredible thing for such a woman.

"It's very interesting," you'll agree, "but there is a small obstacle: this whole story is not about me. No man would perform a feat for me."

You are very wrong about it! This story is about you! You just don't know about it yet. You just have not yet been taught how to reveal the most important superpower of any woman - her femininity. Of course, it's not taught at school or college.

There is good news for you: this is what you will learn at Zhannabelle's group classes. She will teach you the most ancient sacred techniques and practices. Thousands of years ago, the greatest women in the world used them all the time and were happy. With the help of these exercises you can increase your self-confidence. They will save you from problems and activate your sexuality.

These practices turn an ordinary woman into a woman of Power, to whom no worthy person can resist.

What is so special about Zhannabelle's group activities, because they bring great results very quickly? It all happens because people strengthen the energy. The more students participate in a ritual or practice, the greater the effect they give. Thousands of Zhannabelle's students can prove that. Take your chance and see for yourself!

Reason two: to solve all financial issues

You think you'll never have expensive things? You don’t even dare dreaming of a new spacious house in a prestigious area?

It’s not like that! You deserve so much more! Money is energy. You can learn to manage this energy. It's really possible. Zhannabelle speaks about the issue of financial well-being in great detail at her group classes.

How are the group classes unique? Imagine, the universe can see us. A lot of people attend group classes. And when they come together, they practice, for example, to open up a well-being channel. Everyone standing next to you increases the power of this request.

The Universe sees this group not a small particle, but a rather noticeable spot. If you put maximum forces into your emotions, the group will be a luminous sphere, which will be visible from anywhere in the galaxy.

And as a pattern, someone from this group gets a new car as a gift, someone receives a large sum of money unexpectedly, and someone gets a new position and a high income.

If the universe pays attention to you, it will have an immediate and most positive impact on your financial well-being.

Will a boundless substance like the universe be able to see one person? Of course, one universe may not even notice one person alone.

If you stay at home all alone and ask for something, the universe must be able to see and hear you with difficulty, or perhaps not at all.

That means that your wish is unlikely to come true. Or you will have to wait so long for your request to be fulfilled that you will be able to forget what you asked for. That's why group lessons are so effective.

Reason three: to be healthy

We used to get sick from time to time even before the coronavirus outbreak. Women's diseases in general seriously violate the hormonal background, cause infertility, decorate the female face with wrinkles and leave a feeling as if you were run over by a truck. Back and forth.

Doctors prescribe a whole list of drugs and procedures, but they treat not the cause of the disease, but its consequence. Vaccine for exhaustion has not been invented yet.

However, such a vaccine exists and has been known for a long time. It's an amazingly powerful female energy. The higher its level, the stronger, more active and healthier you become. You can not increase this level with the help of sports. But Zhannabelle can. She's not an ordinary person. She's a guide of the Power. Zhannabelle has the highest level of energy and shares it generously with her students.

That's why group lessons have such an incredible effect - many students forget about all their diseases right in the class.

For example, one of Zhannabelle's students, Julia, returned home after another group session. It was only in the evening she noticed there was missing a thing she couldn't do without for the last fifteen years. She left her glasses at the class and didn't even notice that she could do without them until the evening! But Julia had very bad eyesight, which she had lost as a result of her injury many years ago.

Blindness had progressed with each passing year. So the woman couldn't do without her glasses. And besides that, she was constantly suffering from the worst headaches that she had right during the practice. Although post-traumatic migraine tormented her for years, and no drugs or doctors could help her. And, after only one session, the pains disappeared. Forever.

Another Zhannabelle’s student, Nancy, Assistant District Attorney, has been taking pills for over eight years. Her collection included medication for all sorts of diseases. She didn't have time for treatment. She wasn't into a healthy lifestyle either. And the constant stress at work didn't make her healthier.

That's why Nancy lived by the principle: if you get sick - take a pill – and keep going.

After six months of group classes, Nancy found a bunch of drugs in her locker accidentally that she hadn’t taken for months. After all, lately she's only been drinking freshly squeezed juice to keep her alive.

And such stories happen all the time!

Reason four: to find true friends

It was such a fun to have noisy parties with girlfriends when you were a student. Every day, some adventure, an explosion of emotion. Your whole group went to the movies, to a cafe together too. Then everyone did yoga together (and dumped together, but that's not the point). And now all the girlfriends have families or make business. Nobody has time. Finding time for fun together is a whole problem.

You dream of finding your soul mate to be with a person on the same page. You want lively human support, sympathy. Don’t you? So no need to wait in vain for it. Zhannabelle's group activities will be the best option for you to make friends and meet like-minded people. You'll be accepted here for who you are.

Here you will always get help and support, and your success will be enjoyed as if it were their own.

Reason five: to become happy

Everyone understands happiness in their own way. As a rule, we call happiness what we lack. When a child is sick, happiness is their health. When your efforts at work are not appreciated, happiness will be your career advancement. When you suffer from loneliness, happiness is the person you love next to you.

It doesn't matter what is happiness for you. What matters is that it is possible! Zhannabelle's group activities change the lives of all her students. Any problem they come to the class will be definitely solved.

For example, one of Zhannabelle's students, Maria, was convinced that happiness is having her own home. For many years she lived renting a room because she could not afford to buy even a small apartment.

And it would have taken Maria nine lives to pay off the mortgage. Like Felix's cat.

When she came to group classes, Zhannabelle did a diagnostic and gave her special recommendations. Maria did her best, she wouldn't miss them. She bought amulets, watched all of Zhannabelle's videos on YouTube channel, attended seminars and a few months later received a job offer ... in Paris!

She now lives in the heart of this beautiful city in her own cozy apartment and gets a huge salary!

Small one but in a nice area near a big park. Can you believe it? You can meet Maria at Zhannabelle's classes, and ask her yourself))).

Reason six: to avoid fatal mistakes

Why learn from your own mistakes, if someone has already done it before you)))) And you shouldn't believe anyone who says that someone else's experience is useless. Of course it's useful! If we hadn't relied on the experience of our ancestors or other people, we'd clearly be extinct like mammoths.

Zhannabelle's group classes are a great way to learn the priceless experience of other students.

For example, Hannah was able to save ten thousand Euros thanks to the group! During one of classes, she told her friends that she had met a wonderful person online. Maximilian was a famous Spanish football player. They began to have passionate correspondence on the Internet.

The Spaniard was pushy, sang of his love and promised the moon.

A few weeks later he proposed to Hannah, and offered an apartment in the suburbs of Barcelona and a villa in Marbella. To match the wedding dress he sent his bride a diamond tiara, which was once worn by Catherine Medici.

But the precious thing had to be cleared. And that's not cheap, ten thousand Euros. Well, the tiara wasn't ordered from the Chinese website. Of course, Maximilian said he'd pay Hannah back that amount as soon as he came to visit her.

The woman didn't have that sum of money, so she decided to take a loan. Before that, she shared the situation with other students in a group class. They helped her see the story at a different angle. Maximilian turned out to be a classic internet gigolo.

Unfortunately, many of Zhannabelle's students had encountered such scammers in their lives. But now they are better than Interpol to track down any scammer and not become his victim.

Zhannabelle's students told Hannah who Maximilian really is and practically saved her.

So do not hesitate to use someone else's experience, because another bump on your forehead is unlikely to make you more beautiful!)).

Now you know that Zhannabelle's group lessons can solve any of your problems. All of them are effective, but it is communication with the coach always gives a faster effect. If for some reason you don't have the opportunity to participate in the seminars alive now, you shouldn't stand idle. Start changing lives today - register for Zhannabelle online school.

The school consists of several workshops aimed at solving different problems: with relationships, health, career, and predestination. Let this be your first step towards a successful and prosperous life. Zhannabelle will do everything to make it happen.

#group activities #seminar #coaching #zhannabelle #spirituality

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