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seijorhi · 2 years

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The Hand That Feeds

Commission for the lovely @tink2kagome I hope you like it bby! <;33 Oikawa Tooru x female reader x Iwaizumi Hajime w.c 5.3k tw: a/b/o, non/extreme dub-con, smut, murder/minor character death, human trafficking, blood, yandere vibes

Measured footsteps echo across the concrete floor of the old, decommissioned factory. Iwaizumi Hajime, features set in a scowl, eyes the line of men forced to their knees before him.

Five in total; thin, filthy, their faces bruised and bloodied courtesy of the soldiers standing at their backs, the last alone dares to meet his eye. Iwaizumi figures him for the leader, the oldest of the bunch by at least a decade.

Walking forward, he comes to a stop before him and drops into a low crouch.

The acrid stench of Beta fear permeates the air, blocking out almost all else. Yet the man doesn’t break the stare, even as his hands begin to tremble.

“I’ll ask only once,” Iwaizumi says, his voice cold and clipped. Impatient. “Where’s the Omega?”

The man swallows. Licks his lips nervously. “Gone. We lost her during the transport, she escaped. Didn’t– she didn’t understand that we were trying to help her.”

Iwa sighs, the muscle in his jaw tightening.

He doesn’t have time for this. In a single, ruthless motion, he whips his gun from its holster by his thigh and pulls the trigger.

The Beta, a bullet between his eyes, slumps to the floor – dead before he hits the ground.

He turns his attention to the next in line, quaking now as Iwaizumi steps in front of him and firmly digs the barrel of his gun against his forehead. “That Omega’s at least six hours into heat. She isn’t running anywhere.”

And true to his word, Iwa doesn’t ask again.

“She’s long go–”

Another ringing shot. Another dead body – blood and brain matter splattered across the concrete floor and the unflinching soldier stood behind him.

He has his orders from above; capture and retrieval first and foremost, but they’ll want captives to interrogate and make an example of. This wasn’t a simple snatch and grab, the plan too sophisticated, too many working parts to be solely the efforts of these five. Other Omegas are at risk, and the Commission cannot allow that.

Iwaizumi has his orders, yes.

He also has his priorities.

The third does not sob when the muzzle of Iwa’s gun turns on him. Staring resolutely at the dusty floor, his shoulders rise and fall with a resigned sense of finality. “We’re dead men anyway.”

Under other circumstances, Iwa might be tempted to find the defiance in the face of death almost admirable. As it stands, though–

He lowers his pistol, fires it again. This time, the shot ripping through the Beta’s thigh rather than his head.

He screams, howling in agony as the bullet hits bone, and it’s purely due to the soldier seizing him by the shoulders that he’s kept upright at all.

“Stop! Please–”

The cry doesn’t come from the injured Beta. Iwa’s head snaps to see the last in the line stumbling to his feet, flinching when the soldiers instinctively turn, guns trained on the perceived threat. Only by the fingers he lifts do they stay their hands.

“They’re lying. I’ll… I’ll take you to her if you promise you won’t kill them,” he stutters, shaking off the hand that desperately tries to pull him back down. “No more killing, please.”

He’s short, no older than nineteen or so, his frame lithe in a way that borders on soft, and it takes a minute for Iwa to notice that the scent that surrounds him isn’t quite right.

Not a Beta, as he’d first assumed. An Omega on scent blockers. His eyes narrow, but he agrees with a short jerk of his chin, following with two of his men as the teen leads them down into the maze-like complex.

Groups like these operate under the assumption that they’re helping the Omegas they steal. That a life in fucking squallor, hungry and fighting for scraps, defenceless against any Alpha who might look their way is better than being trapped under the Commission’s thumb.

They think themselves white knights. Liberators.

That hypocrisy begins to fall apart the moment they stop in front of a locked, windowless room.

“I-I don’t have the key, I’m sorry,” the kid mutters, eyes flickering between Iwa and the soldiers, looking half terrified that they’ll lash out and hurt him over the revelation. “The others hid it when they knew you were closing in.”

Iwaizumi’s patience runs thin.

“Move,” he growls, barely pausing long enough for one of his men to tug the nervous Omega out of the way before using his full bodyweight to kick at the door. The metal groans loudly in response. Gritting his teeth, the vein in his temple jumping, Iwaizumi kicks out a second time.

This time, the lock splinters, the door ripping from its hinges under the force of the blow. The very moment the door gives way, he’s hit by the smell of an Omega in heat. Simmering and heady, sweet and so fucking tempting, it washes over him in a heavenly wave that’d drive lesser Alphas to their knees.

His pupils dilate, heart spiking as the mouthwatering aroma curls around his throat like a noose, overwhelming his senses. Behind his lips, his teeth itch to sink into supple flesh, to mark. Claim.

Even his soldiers stiffen, the sharp intake of air behind him evidence that they’re not as unaffected as they’re trained to be.

Still, nothing can prepare him for the sight that awaits him when he finally crosses the threshold.

The room is barren save for an old, worn out mattress, a few blankets and an IV hooked up to your shivering, half clothed form. And it’s rage that he feels, pulsing hotly through his veins as your eyes struggle to open, a pained noise leaving your lips.

“It’s only a mild sedative, we– we had to, her heat–”

But Iwa’s beyond listening. Beyond caring. They’ve taken you. Touched you. Drugged you.

Dropping to a knee beside you, olive eyes are quick to assess your condition.

There’s an Omega’s heat and then there’s this.

Your skin’s pallid, sweat slicked, yet it burns beneath his fingertips when they brush along your neck to check your thready pulse. Drifting between consciousness, you whimper like a kicked puppy in shallow, trembling breaths – the noise ripping at the fraying threads of his self control.

“Take the Omega,” he snaps, tugging out the IV in your arm with as much gentleness as he can manage. “Kill the others.”

You flinch, crying out incoherently when he scoops you up, cradling you to his chest. That lovely, Omega scent wrapping around him like a cocoon. It calms the roaring beast that lurks in his blood somewhat, and Iwa cannot resist dropping his nose to the crown of your head and inhaling deeply, relishing in it.

Home, he thinks, clutching you tighter against him.

—

They talk about you as if you don’t exist.

Your behaviour, any outbursts. How many days it is until your next heat, that’s all they truly care about. Not you, and certainly not your happiness.

Physically speaking, you’re the healthiest you’ve ever been. Years have passed since the days of starving, of having to hide yourself like a stowaway and steal what you could in order to survive.

Your hands are no longer calloused and rough, nor your fingernails brittle. Your hair shines and bounces with movement. Even your skin carries a healthy glow.

Not for your own sake, of course. Nobody wants a sickly, underfed Omega.

Even with the scars of silvery bite marks on your neck, you still carry some use. Sure, the Commission can’t sell you off to the highest bidder to be mated, they won’t breed you, but the rights to an Omega – even for a few hours – is still a prize worth fighting for, and the Commission knows how to leverage that all too well.

The soldiers, the higher ups, anyone whose pockets run as deep as their generosity can earn the privilege of fucking an Omega in heat. Out of it, too.

There’s a new Doctor today, a tall, wiry man with glasses and dispassionate, hazel eyes. Bare as the day you were born, you stand stiff as a rod whilst he appraises you, making notes on his clipboard, occasionally telling you to turn this way or that.

In the years that you’ve been here, you’ve lost count of how many people have seen you naked, yet under his piercing, analytical gaze, your skin crawls. It’s an effort not to shrink away when he touches you, not to cover yourself with your arms to preserve what little dignity you have left.

When he notices the smattering of bruises along your throat, the corners of the Doctor’s lips twitch downwards, and he shoots your handler a raised eyebrow.

She shrugs, the back of her knuckle trailing slowly down your cheek, “The Captain was a touch overeager. He has been duly reprimanded.”

He hums, a short, dissatisfied noise, but makes no other comment. Bruises will heal, after all.

You’re not one of the prized ones anyway.

—

He’s been watching you for weeks now.

No doubt you think yourself quite the adept little thief, stealing away after the lights of the factory shut off and the last whistle blows. But you’re not as stealthy as you think, and Oikawa would know the scent of an Omega anywhere.

Knows yours now by heart, etched into his very being.

It becomes somewhat of a game between you two. Whatever he can spare, he’ll leave as a gift, lying in wait for you to crawl out from your secret hidey-hole and steal it away. Mostly it’s rations, sometimes some clothes or a spare blanket. Once, after he’d noticed you creeping around in bare feet mid-winter, a pair of socks.

(Threadbare and scratchy, but better than nothing, no?)

Not every night, even you’d get suspicious then, but enough that you keep cautiously coming back.

And if Alphas are hunters by nature, Omegas are most certainly prey. Watching you stay low, every footfall so carefully placed as you glance furtively around for your mysterious benefactor – or anyone else who might stumble across you – serves as an endless source of entertainment for the man.

You really are too cute when you think you’re being sneaky.

“She’s going to get caught,” Iwaizumi mutters beside him one night, having followed him up to the rafters.

The implication of his statement isn’t lost on the brunet. Omegas are rare enough as it is, Omegas running free from the Commission are practically unheard of. Did you slip from their grasp, he wonders, or run off before they ever had a chance to test you in the first place? How long have you been out here, fending for yourself?

“You know what she is,” he continues when Oikawa remains silent. “You keep encouraging her to come back like this and you know what’ll happen.”

Of course, Iwa might just be pissed because this time it was half of his rations he’d left for their lovely little Omega friend.

Oikawa glances towards him, mouth curling into a knowing smirk, “Would you rather we gave her nothing? You know what she is, Iwa,” he says, parroting his words back at him. “Are we supposed to turn our backs on a poor, defenceless, unmated Omega? Let her starve?”

The glower he receives is answer enough.

Satisfied, Oikawa returns to his vigil, following you with rapt attention as you spy the hidden food, your face brightening in a moment of sheer, unguarded relief. The rations are hardly more than bread, dried out protein and vegetables – a half portion at that – but you look at it as if it’s heaven on earth, taking a quick nibble of the bread before stuffing the remainder into the pockets of your coat. Oikawa’s coat once upon a time, before he’d left it for you to find.

Pride thrums through his veins, that baser part of himself preening at the sight. An Alpha’s job is to provide for his Omega, is it not?

“You can’t keep doing this,” Iwa grunts out eventually. “She’s going to get caught one way or the other, either by security, the floor managers, or some other Alpha sniffing after her.”

And there’s enough of an edge in his tone that Oikawa shoots him a curious look, only to find that his attention’s back to being wholly fixed upon you, darting for the exit now that your boon is safely stashed away.

“Oh?” he quirks an eyebrow, wicked delight tugging at his lips. “And what are you suggesting then?”

You might be light on your feet, nimble and quick, but you’re no match for two Alphas in their prime.

The deal they propose is simple enough; they’ll give you food, a warm place to sleep, supplies, and in return you won’t run. They won’t hurt you, won’t so much as touch you – at least, not in the way that you’re afraid of – but there’ll be no more night time raids. No more running around on your own.

They’ll keep you hidden from other Alphas and the Commission. Safe, so long as you stay put and do what they tell you.

And it’s so abundantly clear from the set of your jaw, the wariness in your eyes as they dart between the pair that you don’t trust either one of them.

Lucky for them, whether you trust them or not is irrelevant. You’re in no position to bite the hand that feeds.

—

The plan had always been to wait for your first heat.

Slowly work to build your trust, to show you that you’d find no better Alphas to take care of you. By the time it swung around, you’d either offer yourself to them willingly, or they’d wait until your heat truly took ahold of you, and you begged for their knots.

Iwaizumi could kid himself and say that it was for practicality’s sake. The other workers might not have noticed your scent before, the faint traces that lingered in the room after your nightly break-ins, but having an Omega in such close quarters is a different story.

Their clothes carry notes of warm honey and spice, it seeps from behind the locked door of their room. The others have noticed, their curiosity kept at bay only due to the two Alphas who guard you zealously.

Violently, in one case.

When your heat sets in, though, and that inviting scent of yours blossoms and spreads throughout the complex, he and Oikawa won’t have a choice but to fight off any who come seeking you out. And they will come, hungry and driven rabid with want. Desperate to sink their cocks into a warm, needy Omega.

And while the higher ups usually pay little attention to what they do beyond the hours they slave away on the factory floor, a brawl like that certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed. A claiming bite would keep anyone from separating you, even if you were discovered.

Mating you, claiming you before any of that happens is simply pragmatic, but it’d be a lie to say that was the sole reason behind their decision, or even the driving one.

It sings through his blood, the call of like to like.

There’s a reason Oikawa crawls into the bunk behind you after you’ve fallen asleep to hold you against him, why Iwaizumi himself cannot truly breathe easy until he has you in his sights, safe and sound and tucked away from anyone who’d try to take you from them.

You’re their Omega.

They planned to wait, to ease you into the bond as gently as they could, but the day the Commission comes looking for you that choice is taken out of their hands.

“She’s asleep,” Oikawa says, already taking his place on the bed beside you, carefully shifting you into his lap – gazing at you with such blatant adoration that Iwaizumi feels his chest tighten in response. “We’ll do it now. She’ll understand.”

You don’t, and the Commission rips you from them regardless.

—

“If I may, sir?” the woman, whose name Oikawa’s already forgotten, interrupts his perusal of the contract.

From the crisp, knee length pencil skirt and matching jacket to the slicked back ponytail, there’s not so much as a hair out of place in her appearance. Pretty and bland, a carbon fucking copy of the women the Commission has employed at their various Omega compounds. Not Alpha enough to command any real respect, and lacking in the natural allure of an Omega, she’s merely a shadow of what the Commission can truly offer.

Oikawa smiles, a genial thing, and sets down his fountain tip pen, gesturing for her to continue. “Of course,” he replies, “speak your mind.”

The woman nods. Swallows, as she carefully mulls over how best to phrase her concern. “I don’t mean to overstep, or to question your… choice in the matter. It’s just that, well, you understand that the Omega you’ve selected has already been mated? She won’t be able to take another’s bite.”

He understands her concern. Truly, he does.

At his rank, with the importance his name now carries, Oikawa could have his pick, he needn’t be limited to choosing an Omega already bound to another. He could have his own; a fresh faced, untouched jewel, his for the taking.

His smile sharpens. “I’m aware.”

The woman blinks, clearly taken aback by his answer. Quick to remember herself, though, she snaps her mouth shut and offers another gracious nod. “Of course, sir. My apologies. If you’re satisfied then with the contract, we can have her ready and delivered first thing tomorrow.”

He’s waited years for this. Rose from less than nothing to claw his way up the ranks of the Commission by any means necessary, all for the sake of hunting down his lost– stolen Omega.

He can wait ‘til morning.

—

Consciousness drifts just out of reach.

There are voices speaking, but it’s like you’re underwater, the words garbled and thick, lost to the ocean that keep you. A pleasant warmth flutters over your skin, dancing along your arms, your cheek, the curve of your throat. As nice as it is, it pales in comparison to the kindling in your blood, the warm, pulsing ache that settles into your core and grows and grows with each passing moment.

Is it seconds, or hours?

Thinking hurts, easier just to sleep. Rest, in that lovely, soothing warmth.

…

……… No.

No, it’s hotter now. Uncomfortable. You squirm, a low, breathy whine slipping from parted lips, and there’s that sensation again, that feather-light caress at your jaw.

“You coming back to us, baby?” The voice is deep and rough. You recognize it, though you can’t pull the threads together to remember from where. It stokes the flames inside of you, the fire licking hotter, searing–

Or maybe that’s the scent that accompanies it, deep and rich, like home. Smells so good, you wanna chase after it, bury yourself in it and let it lull you back to sleep.

The ache between your legs worsens, harder now to ignore. You can sleep when it stops hurting.

Another whimper, and a soft, pretty laugh sounds on your other side. “Poor thing. It hurts, doesn’t it?” A new voice, this time, sparking that same vague, frustrating sense of familiarity.

Your eyelids are too heavy to lift, but you manage a shallow nod.

The voice coos, “Let us take care of you. You want that, don’t you, Omega?”

“Oikawa–” the first cuts in, and your body jostles, the surface you’re lying on – a bed, maybe? Soft and silky, you might actually enjoy the feel of it if every cell in your body wasn’t screaming at you with a desperate, aching want – displaced under a new weight.

“You need your mates to make you feel better.” It doesn’t sound like a question, yet you find yourself nodding anyway, biting down on your lip to stifle another pained cry. “Good girl, now open your eyes for me.”

Good girl. The praise makes you shiver. It’s an effort, forcing your lids to comply, but eventually you manage. Your vision swims, fuzzy and out of focus, and it takes a few blinks for clarity to settle in.

Gazing down at you from above, you’re met with a familiar, toothy grin.

Oikawa Tooru.

And despite the aching, gnawing need inside of you, the fire that burns, seething through your blood, urging you to submit and beg for the Alpha – your mate – to ease your suffering, you still have enough lucidity to recognize the panic that lances at your heart.

“No,” the word slips from your tongue. Your limbs aren’t strong enough to cooperate when you try to scramble away from him, not that there’s any space between you and the headboard to allow for that.

“… When?” your voice is hoarse. Hollow. It’s not that you weren’t aware that the Commission was in the business of selling off prime Omegas to the highest bidder, merely that you never thought it was something that might happen to you.

You were used goods. Useful enough as stress relief, a warm hole to fuck after a long, tiring day, but any Alpha worth their salt wants an Omega they can claim and conquer for their own. The ugly, twin scars on either side of your neck make that an impossibility.

“Tomorrow,” the Doctor replies bluntly. “Once I clear you medically, you’ll return to your room for the night, and in the morning they’ll transfer you.”

Sitting on the edge of the sheet lined examination table, staring at nothing in particular your mind slowly processes the information. “Why are you telling me this?”

He’s not usually so forthright, but perhaps that has something to do with the mysterious absence of your handler tonight.

He doesn’t hold you in suspense, shrugging easily. “Because I’m offering you a choice. A way out, if you want it.”

“Oh.” A heavy silence settles between you. Then, swallowing, you ask, “Do… do you know who–”

Why that’s the first question you have, why it even matters when your freedom’s just been dangled in front of you like a carrot, you can’t say. Only that it does.

And if the Doctor finds it strange, he gives no outward indication. “My understanding is that you’re to be gifted to a young General in the First Army. Iwaizumi Hajime, I believe.”

“No?” he parrots back, settling back on the thighs that straddle you to shrug off his shirt, revealing the taut, golden planes of his chest. He’s so much bigger now than he used to be, muscles where there used to be only skin and bones.

Years playing the Commission’s lap dog have treated him well, you think bitterly.

“No, it doesn’t hurt, or no, you don’t want your mates to help you?”

He trails a possessive hand from your throat down the valley of your breasts, coming to a stop just above your navel. And try as you might to hold it back, a keening whine escapes you, the skin beneath his touch igniting like liquid fire.

At the apex of your thighs, thick, viscous slick begins to pool.

More, the Omega within you begs, more.

“Are you sure?” Oikawa croons, nostrils flaring as your shameful little secret makes itself known.

“Enough.”

Your attention darts to your left, where you find your other captor – mate, your subconscious supplies, your gut clenching at the thought – closing in, impatience written across his features.

Impatience edged with hunger, as olive eyes roam greedily over the bare flesh on display before him. “Enough teasing. I’m the one who brought her home.”

He says it like it’s supposed to mean something. And perhaps it does, because Oikawa sighs, bending down to nip at your mating gland, chuckling lightly when you shiver and whine beneath him. Nevertheless, he lifts himself off of you, settling on the other side of the bed with a half hearted mutter of “Killjoy,” to make room for the stockier Alpha to take his place.

And your heart stutters in your chest when Iwaizumi licks his lips and takes a knee upon the bed. Already, you can see the tenting in his pants, evidence of his own rising need as he coaxes your chin up, forces you to meet that simmering, predatory stare.

“I killed for you today, little Omega,” he says, neither a condemnation nor a brag. Merely a statement of fact.

He’d done so before, back in the days before their teeth had bloodied your neck and shackled you to them. He’d looked at you much the same, that day. Eyes too dark, frightening in their intensity.

You should’ve run back then.

You should’ve run the day Oikawa’s hand caught at your wrist, and you learned that nothing – not even the food you stole to abate the gnawing, endless hunger – ever came for free.

And yet you’re near crippled by the pang of shameless need that surges when large hands take you by the waist, rolling you over and shifting you onto all fours.

Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, your body sings as he grips your hips, the fabric of his pants the sole barrier between his quickly hardening cock and your wet, needy cunt.

His palms stroke at heated skin. “You’re gonna be good for us, Omega.”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to stem the tears that well up and blur your vision. “N-no,” you gasp, biting down on the shuddering whine that follows a moment later when Iwa ruts his hips against your pussy, completely unbothered about the traitorous slick that leaves a wet patch on the front of his uniform.

Not enough, you need more. Need to be filled, need to be fucked–

You’d crawl if you could, if your trembling arms would support you, if it weren’t for Oikawa, whose hands cup flushed, feverish cheeks, arcing your throat up.

The soft clinking of Iwaizumi unbuckling his belt sounds behind you.

Oikawa’s thumb drags along your bottom lip, dipping into the wet heat of your mouth and holding you there. “Such a needy little thing.”

Iwa’s cock, thick and heavy, drags along your slicked entrance and your hips buck, chasing the friction. It’s all the warning you get.

Oikawa grins over your shoulder, the grip Iwa has on your hips tightens and in one snarling thrust, Iwaizumi slams his cock home.

The pain is heaven, the stretch a bliss that wracks your body in waves, the lewd, breathy moan that leaves you near pornographic as your pussy tightens, squeezing deliciously around the sudden intrusion.

And Iwaizumi swears behind you. Curses absolute filth, blunt nails digging crescent shaped marks into your soft skin as he holds you there, grinds his cock deeper, lets you feel it throb and twitch insistently inside of you.

A perfect fit.

You shudder, every last thought eddying from your mind.

There’s nothing but you and the Alpha, your mate, and the drag of his dick along your sensitive inner walls as his hips draw back to plunge his fat, heavy cock into your sopping heat. Even Oikawa, fingers still in your mouth, watching with pupils blown wide and a flush creeping along his chest, fades into the background in the wake of quaking, wanton relief.

At least until those fingers are replaced with the flushed, glistening tip of his own erection, smearing pre along your lips like a gloss until they part with a whining moan and he can force the head of it into your mouth.

Your tongue curls around it, lapping obediently at the salty skin.

“Fuck,” he hisses, biting down on his bottom lip. “Such a good little Omega.”

Distantly, there’s a twisting in your stomach, a warning bell chiming in some vacated back corner of your mind, but it may as well be a whisper, lost to the cacophony of heady pleasure that pulls at the very seams of your soul.

You rock your hips backwards, desperate to meet the fervid thrusts as you do your best to suck and gag on the cock now steadily filling your mouth. Slick gushes from your cunt, coating Iwa’s dick, dripping from his balls to make a mess on the sheets below – adding to the lewd symphony of grunts and skin papping against skin.

You’re beyond shame, beyond sense. Nothing else matters but your mates and the delicious stretch of being split in two.

And you’ve been fucked by Alphas before, used in and out of heats for glorified stress relief, but nothing like this. Your whole body hums, electrified and oversensitive.

More, more, more, you wordlessly beg.

Your mates are nothing if not obliging.

Stuffed to the brim – Iwa behind you, mindlessly pumping into your guts with an animal pace, and Oikawa, one hand fisting at your hair, using your mouth like his own little fucktoy to a chorus of choked, garbled moans and whimpers – the scent of your own arousal thickens in the air.

Pleasure burns and coils inside of you, every snap of their hips driving you closer to a brink you can’t comprehend. The world could burst into flames around you and you’d go down singing sweetly for them.

His grip holding you tight, Oikawa bullies his cock deeper, bucking now into your spasming throat while he coos and snarls in fervent delight. And as your eyes, glistening with unshed tears, glassy and glazed, stare imploringly up at him, Iwa hits that small bundle of nerves deep inside your pussy and you scream around his length.

Your pussy tightens, convulsing as pleasure explodes inside of you like a thousand fireworks going off at once. The bond between you pulls taut, and you feel them–

That rabid mania, the hot, ravenous pleasure that courses through their veins, urging them to take, take, take–

Your eyes roll back into your head, eyelashes fluttering, and you try to submit yourself entirely to ecstasy.

It should be perfect, it should be enough, but the fire within you’s only been stoked, not extinguished and the unshed tears now fall in glistening streams as you sob in desperate want.

“Please,” you beg when Oikawa pulls back to allow you to breathe, “I need–”

You can’t force the words out. You don’t have to.

“He’s right,” Iwa growls, reaching around to rub rough circles at your throbbing clit, “You are a needy fuckin’ thing.”

He’s jackrabbiting into you now, driving his cock balls deep with each sloppy, frenzied thrust. Your mouth now free, Oikawa having momentarily decided to take a back seat and watch, there’s nothing to smother the whorish moans that fill the room as his knot swells, fucked as deep inside of you as it’ll go.

At the mercy of his brutal pace, his fingers still coaxing at your clit, you’re helpless to do anything but collapse against the sheets and hold on for dear life, your cunt fluttering around him.

But it’s the soft, whimpering cry of his name that finally pushes him over the edge.

Stilling with a snarl, white hot ribbons of cum spurt from Iwa’s cock, coating your insides. Pulsing, as the waves of his end wash over you both.

Eventually his knot’ll swell down, enough for you two to separate, and that familiar, gnawing ache will set in once more, begging to be satisfied.

You have another mate yet to cum, days of your heat remaining, but for now you let your mate pull you into sweaty, strong arms, let him nose at the mark he left on your neck and tell you what a good job you did, taking your Alpha’s knot.

For now, that’s enough.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere iwaizumi #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere iwaizumi hajime x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere iwaizumi hajime #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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reds-skull · 4 months

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Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

I'm going back to my parent's house for the holidays, so I'm probably gonna post less in the next couple of days...

Soap’s eyes dart between the 3 revenants in the room, wide and fearful.

Ghost watches how he turns it into rage.

“I’m not a ‘revenant killer’, whatever the fuck they call it.” Soap snarls, glaring at the screen as if he’s looking at Laswell, “I wasn’t killed by a revenant.”

Laswell exhales, Ghost can imagine the smoke streaming from her mouth, “a revenant killer is a revenant that is made to combat other revenants. You were created to defeat whoever killed your squad - to kill Konchar.”

Johnny’s revenge… the reason they’re both stronger than they truly had to be. And yet, they’re different, Ghost muses.

Soap wanted retribution for his dead mates. Ghost? He wanted payback for his own.

Johnny clutches at his hair, hands burning bright, fire crackling dangerously. Ghost takes hold of his left hand, gently pulling it away from his warhawk.

“Johnny.” Soap glares at him.

“So much fuckin’ evil comes out because I lived that day, Simon. Sometimes I’m real feckin’ sick of it.”

Soap tries to fight his hold, but Ghost pulls him closer, towering over him, “then do something about it. The past is unchangeable, you’re already alive. What are you gonna do about it.”

Ghost squints, his voice lowers, “you wanted revenge? Let’s fucking get it, Sergeant.”

Flames dance in blue skies, anger and rage that knows no bounds, uncontrollable forest fire decimating everything in its path.

Johnny nods, determination fueling his flames.

Laswell was the last break they needed before they could truly form a rescue operation. She informs them of Graves’ power limits, his priorities, the reason he captured a platoon’s worth of revenants.

He aims for Soap. One giant bait the American knows Johnny would never ignore. If they could get their hands on the original revenant killer, they hope to be able to replicate his “success”. Create a pipeline of vengeful not-dead.

Gaz will cover the skies, radio in locations of shadows, suspicious movements, and if he can, the locations of their teammates.

Ghost, Soap and Rudy will take to the underground, tunneling under the prison and freeing Alejandro. From then on, it’s a race against time, Gaz and Alejandro using their abilities to find everyone, and Rudy and Soap clearing the Shadows from their paths.

Once everyone is outside his range, Ghost will use Limbo to annihilate any remaining Shadows. Before that, Ghost’s main objective is keeping Johnny safe. Limbo’s new docile state brings with it the long-lost control he had on the realm, the ability to create only a small circle of void around him, one that Ghost thought he’ll never have again. That means, if any Shadows try to grab at Johnny, Ghost will simply let his victims rip them apart.

They don’t have the element of surprise in that Graves is waiting for them, but what the Shadow Company revenant doesn’t know is how much they understand his limitations, as well as Ghost and Soap’s changed powers.

Laswell has to leave soon after they finish planning, Shepherd breathing down her neck. She promises to do anything that might help them, but their group is operating outside any government jurisdiction as of now.

Meaning, if they were to fail, no one will come to save them.

They have one shot. Ghost prays the Reapers that’s all they’ll need.

Johnny drags him to the back of the safe house right before they’re supposed to gear up, ignoring Ghost’s questioning hum.

He slams him against the wall, fingers digging into his shoulders, nostrils flaring with barely restrained anger.

“Let me get the kill on Graves, LT.” Soap says through clenched teeth, “this entire thing is my fault - I can fix this.”

Ghost tilts his head, mauling it over, “if the opportunity arises-”

“No.” flames grow in his peripheral, and Soap lets his hands fall away, “I need to kill him, I need-”

“Revenge?”

Ghost can see how Soap’s heart stops beating. How he stills. Ghost risks a hand, bringing it up to brush Johnny’s hair, wild and unruly from the previous days’ events. “I understand. But remember your first priority, Sergeant.”

Johnny closes his eyes, pushing lightly against Ghost’s hand, “get the others out alive.”

“The others and yourself, Johnny. Graves has his sights on you.” his hand travels down to Soap’s neck, pulling him closer, “if he catches you…”

Johnny nudges his head under Ghost’s. “I’m not easy to hold, Simon. Was made to destroy.”

Simon wraps his arms around Johnny, taking deep breaths of his smell, burning fireplace and safety.

Now that they practically disobeyed their Reapers, he’s not sure anymore that his Reaper’s prophecy isn’t null and void. If Johnny is still destined to kill him first. Simon’s mind conjures a million images, scenes of Johnny laying dead, body broken beyond repair, eyes vacant staring at the sky, never to meet Simon’s again.

“I’m going to be alright. I just told you I’m too strong for anyone’s good.” Johnny tries to joke under him, sensing his sudden tension.

Simon pulls him closer yet, “you’re still mortal, last I checked.”

A huff of breath tickles his neck, where the mask rucked up in light of Johnny’s wiggling. Simon brushes another hand over dark strands, ungloved hand tingling with the sensation, and he gets the urge to bury his face in it.

Simon is used to living in regret, in ‘what would’ve’s and ‘I should’ve’.

He doesn’t want Johnny to become another memory to fuel his aches.

Simon reaches above Johnny’s head, taking hold of the skull mask. With a deep breath, he slides it off his head.

“What are ye-” Johnny looks up in confusion, before his eyes soften, creases smooth over.

Blue eyes dart over his features, mapping the newfound grounds, tilling paths in their wakes. Simon can almost feel their weight, the burn, as they follow scars to landmarks.

A hand, white flames curling around it, raises slowly to brush over his skin, hot and cold, gentle yet firm. Simon feels tears gather in his eyes, and he lets his lids shut, head bowing to rest in calloused hands.

Johnny’s breath fans over his cheek, making him shudder, “didn’t know you had face markings.”

Simon opens his eyes, brows furrowing a little, “I don’t.”

Mirthful eyes follow a track down his cheek, “ye do… right here.” a thumb brushes from Simon’s lower eyelid, to his jaw. “They’re white, reminds me of yer eyes in Limbo…”

Tear tracks.

“They’re new…” Simon relaxes a little when he understands, “when you entered Limbo, I… my tears must’ve left them.”

“Fuck…” Johnny purrs, “You’re breathtaking, Simon.” he lifts Simon’s head when he tries to back away, “beautiful. Knew yer bonnie under that mask of yers.”

“Fuck off…” he turns away.

Johnny laughs, “I’m serious. Let me look at ye, please?”

Simon glares at him before relenting, Johnny resuming his examination, eyes and hands caressing him.

“Thank ye…” Johnny breathes, “thank ye fer… fer existing. Without ye, or Gaz, or Price… I wouldn’t have so many reasons to live.”

Simon inhales shakily, Johnny whispering now, “I couldn’t imagine wanting something more than repent before I met ye.”

“And now?”

He hears the small smile in Johnny’s voice, “now I want to be with ye, fer as long as I can. Fer as long as the Reapers will let me.”

Simon covers the hand on his face with his, “we don’t need permission from them. I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”

Johnny gives him that crooked grin Simon had come to love so much, “I’m afraid that will be quite a while, m'eudail.”

The dirt in Las Almas doesn’t smell too different from his grave’s, Ghost decides. The mask is the only thing protecting his mouth from its taste, and even that feels too thin.

There’s no place for panic on the field, no space for the soldier inside Ghost to raise his head and shout “I’m scared.”

Soap’s controlled explosions burn that smell, transform it into something more familiar.

Fuck, he could kiss Johnny’s insane exploding hands right now.

Their comms crackle to life, “Shadows didn’t notice you yet, clear to continue pushing.” Garrick’s voice barely sounds over the explosions.

“WHAT?!” Soap yells up front.

Rudy cups his hands to shout back, “keep going, hermano! We’re in the clear!”

“COPY!”

Ghost waits for Rudy, walking beside him to check the map, “how close are we to cellar level?”

Rudy taps a pen over a point, “this is our target…” the pen moves down, stopping about 2 inches away from the cellar, “and this is where we should be, according to my calculations.”

Another explosion shakes their tunnel, Soap rushing back to burn off oncoming debris from the ceiling, “we need teh move faster than this! Tunnel’s not gonna hold!”

Ghost nods, clicking his comms, “Gaz, we’re going to start running, be prepared.”

“Copy, good luck down there.”

Rudy mutters under his breath in Spanish, “may the Reapers keep us alive.”

Soap looks back, “on the count of three!” his body tenses in preparation.

Two…

One…

“NOW!” Johnny lets go of the ceiling, sprinting ahead and practically melting his way, Ghost and Rudy running right behind him as the tunnel collapses.

The three revenants continue running, Gaz informing them the Shadows have started suspecting something’s afoot, until Rudy rushes ahead to grab Soap’s shoulder and shout in his ear, “stop! Alejandro should be right here!”

His Sergeant instantly lifts his hands above him to hold the ceiling. Ghost notes they’re now surrounded by concrete rather than dry earth.

Rudy adjusts the light attached to his tac vest, trying to calculate where Alejandro is exactly.

Ghost instantly aims at the left wall when something goes through it.

Alejandro appears, Rudy and Soap gaping at him, before the Colonel grabs Rudy into a hug. The Sergeant Major returns it after a second of stunned silence, and Alejandro starts mumbling something in Spanish, before he lifts his head and notices Soap.

“You bunch of pandejos! What is he doing here?!” he points at Johnny.

Soap grunts, “can we get to the accusations later?? I’m still holding the steamin’ ceiling!”

Ghost shoves the two Vaqueros out of the way, and Soap stretches a hand to explode the wall to Alejandro’s cell. They all rush inside with Soap behind them.

“Ghost.” Alejandro nods to Soap, “you are aware Graves is after him, right?”

“Affirm. We got intel from Laswell.”

The Vaquero scoffs, “and you still brought him here?!”

Johnny walks around Ghost to confront Alejandro, “I’m here on my own volition. Unless you wanted Rudy and Ghost to walk through the front gates.” he casts a challenging stare at the man.

Rudy lifts his hands like he’s trying to calm an angry beast, “Soap knows the risks. We needed to save you. Do you know where Graves holds the rest of them?”

Alejandro’s face relaxes when he looks at Rudy, “probably on the top floor of the prison. I didn’t see anyone since we got caught.”

“Shadows are moving on your location, Bravo!” Garrick shouts through the comms, “strongly suggest you start moving, now!”

Ghost searches the cell for an exit, spotting a trap door on the high ceiling, “you’re not hiding a ladder anywhere here, do you Alejandro?”

The Colonel shakes his head as Soap follows Ghost’s gaze, noticing the door.

“I’ll get it, stand back.” Johnny’s eyes are locked on the ceiling as he positions himself under the door.

Ghost’s brow furrow, “what are you planning, Sergeant?”

Soap smirks in a way that brings only trouble, and turns on his comms, “gonna use the rocket technique.”

Ghost has to shove the bloody thing away when Gaz shrieks, “without me?! Oh, I’m gonna get you back for this, MacTavish.”

“Sorry mate, maybe next time.” Johnny snickers.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost grabs the two extremely confused Vaqueros, dragging them back, Rudy muttering “rocket?” and sighs heavily, “get on with it, Sergeant.”

Soap smiles at him before looking back up, “with pleasure, LT.”

His Sergeant drops to a crouch, placing his hands on the ground, and inhales. The cell is too damn small for this “technique”, and Ghost has to cover his face with a forearm when Soap explodes up.

Ghost lets his arm fall when he hears a comically loud THUNK when Soap hits his head on the door, watching the Sergeant scramble to hold the edges. Johnny twists his body in a remarkable feat of agility, and kicks the door open before swinging out.

A moment later, a ladder drops down, Johnny popping his head out of the door, “all clear!”

When they climb up, Ghost notices blood trickling down Soap’s temple, and he calls, “Johnny, how copy? Solid?”

The Scot lets out a frankly concerning laugh, “aye, think Ah got a wee concussion, bu’ it’ll heal in no time.”

“It fucking better, Sergeant.”

Soap offers a hand and helps Ghost up, “of course, sir.” he has a dopey smile when Ghost lets go of his arm, “have I ever told you how beautiful yer eyes are, LT?”

Ghost grabs the back of his neck and shoves him forward, ignoring the giggling Vaqueros behind him.

He’s going to smack Garrick for putting this idea in Johnny’s mind next time he sees him, fucking hell…

You guys don't know how long I've been waiting to put the rocket technique in a mission

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teecupangel · 10 months

Note

Desmond lives after the Solar Flare but half of his face is torched and all his ancestors (including Haytham) can control his body sometimes..... which is basically just a Two-Face/Harvey Dent scenario

If I remember correctly, Two-Face can’t control which side takes over, right? (then again, I’m sure there’s a specific timeline or arc where he can in the comics)

So let’s use that.

Desmond can’t control who takes over, but there’s pretty much trust among them all, and they’re cooperating with each other, although there is a lot of suspicion being directed at Haytham because he is a Templar.

Although Haytham is acting quite ‘cooperative’ (which is suspicious all by itself too) and they all have the same priority: to keep Desmond safe.

Unorganized Notes:

Prioritizing Desmond’s safety was bound to happen. They all share the same body so that means they need to protect said body.

Desmond wouldn’t wear any ‘two-faced’ themed clothes because that kind of fashion sense will catch people’s eyes. He’s most definitely going to keep his hood on and maybe even get a face mask or some kind of fabric he can wrap around his lower face to make it harder for people to see how half his face is torched.

He might even grow his hair, so he could use it to hide half his face, although that would end up being scrapped because, goddammit, it’s hard to see and the hair gets in the way.

The most ‘two-faced’ theme clothes he’d do would be to wear a full on half white half black mask. Maybe even add a bit of gold accent to it?

Wanna make Desmond’s life more annoying? It’s not just his face. Half of his body is torched, and the middle of it looked like the burnt part was slowly creeping towards the other half. (I kinda like this idea of him being more like the burned version of Hel, the half-normal, half-rotting goddess of the dead… so, like the Muspelheim-version of Hel XD)

In this scenario, Desmond could be a rogue Assassin, working alone to fuck up Abstergo while looking for Bill Miles because he (especially Altaïr and Ezio) want his Apple back.

Altaïr usually takes over when something tech-heavy is needed, since his time studying the Apple helps him understand 21st century tech far more easily than Desmond himself.

Ezio usually takes over when it’s time to put on the charm and for any situation where swaying other people to their side is paramount.

Ratonhnhaké:ton takes over when they need to hunt something or someone, or if they need someone who hits fast and hard with no qualms fighting a lot of people with really fast guns.

Haytham usually takes over when it’s time to stop being nice and manipulate people. Threatening and intimidation? That’s more Altaïr’s alley. Haytham is there to lie and cheat and manipulate people into doing what they want without them realizing it. Oh, and if the need to act like an elitist prick is needed (“There’s no need to for such rudeness.” “Bite me, Haytham. Ow! Did you just… bite my own arm???” “It was not me. I would never drop to such immature tomfoolery.” “… Guys…” “Not me/no/It was not me.” “Well, obviously, one of them are lying.” “Uh-huh.”) (It was Ezio)

#uncontrollable bleeding effect switching #two-faced inspired au #desmond is the muspelheim-version of hel #physical-wise #if you want to add glowing golden lines in the cracks of desmond’s burned body #go ahead #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #haytham kenway #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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notstilinski · 10 months

Text

The Twisted Ones Starters !

Taken from the 2019 novel by T. Kingfisher, The Twisted Ones! Some of these have already been edited. You can change them however you see fit!

“She was born unkind and graduated to cruel early.”

“Not much point, is there? The only reason anyone would show up was to make sure they’re dead.”

“If I get in an accident, you’re gonna go right through the windshield, you know?”

“As you can see, he’s a terror.”

“Ohhh, is that all? Man, I thought you wanted me to hide a body.”

“I bet it’s aliens. It’s always aliens.”

“I could have gotten out of here. This place sucks.”

“Buddy, if this tunnel gets any lower, I’m sure as hell not crawling after you!”

“You being murdered? Were you at, honey? I’ll get ‘em!”

“Aw, mint juleps are so classy. Just straight bourbon over ice makes it sound like I’m lush.”

“I’d stay away from them. You leave stuff like that alone, it leaves you alone. Mostly.”

“I could un-ask, you know.”

“Oh my. That’s…. That’s a thing right there, ain’t it?”

“I swear, I don’t usually have breakdowns like that in the parking lot.”

“Well, I’m under a lot of stress. Monsters are stressful. And I should probably stop drinking coffee.”

“I don’t think the holler people are doing yoga.”

“Lord. Talk about being caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea.”

“Is it a good idea to be drunk if there are…uh…things out there?”

“Bit late for that, I’d say, since everybody’s dead.”

“I am so far from okay that I cannot see okay from here. Other than that, I’m fine.”

“You’re nodding off right here at the table.”

“I don’t care if it’s Elvis and the Blessed Virgin. Don’t go opening that door!”

Shit, what am I, the monster whisperer?”

“Shit, (Name), you say it like that and I sound like a real asshole.”

“That was… A thing you just said. Yes.”

“I sure as hell ain’t opening that door! I’ve seen horror movies!”

“I just want my dog back.”

“The prodigal son has priorities, I guess.”

“I know. But I have to. Somebody sent me a note asking for help.”

“Hey, maybe you got cute bones.”

“Look, if it’s gonna come to life and take a chunk out of me, I’d rather it do it now than when my back is turned.”

“Shit, (Name), i shoulda known better than to let either of us get into this.”

“Do you think this is what happens to people who get abducted by aliens?”

“Look, being terrified makes me hungry.”

“(Name), for all I know they’re gonna eat us and are trying to find a recipe book.”

“I doubt y’all are gonna let me reload, but the first six could be interesting.”

“Interesting woman, your grandmother.”

“How are you not having a complete breakdown?”

“Well, I figured one of us needed to be sober in case we needed to drive.”

“We live through this, hon, I’ll even fart in front of you.”

“But that’s why it keeps trying to get in. It doesn’t want us. It wants to come home.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence starters #sentence meme #starter sentences #ask meme #ask prompts #inbox memes #inbox prompts #novel sentence starters #i thought this would be longer but here we are

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assassinsdragons · 8 months

Text

@ununquadius

ARE YOU READY?

Here comes P1 of this year’s gift!!

“Halt! Turn around slowly, with your hands above your head.”

Draco keeps his gun trained on the culprit as they do as told. They’ve been backed into a dead end alley. They have nowhere to go, yet Draco doesn’t mean they don’t have any other tricks up their sleeve.

As is revealed when the hooded figure has finished their one-eighty turn and lifts their head, it is their identity that is the trick this time.

Draco sighs and lowers his gun.

“The report said you were armed,” Draco tells the other man. “But you never carry any weapons. Any idea where that misinformation may come from?”

A smirk. “You know me so well, officer. I guess I should be honoured. They’re taking me seriously enough to lie about how dangerous I am.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. You are dangerous. Even without weapons. And you need to be more careful, or they will catch you. They won’t care whether the report was false or not, this means they’re allowed to shoot you if they think you’ll draw against them. You know they won’t hesitate to employ that loophole. The higher-ups want you caught. Dead or alive, doesn’t matter. And if you keep going on like this, all of this will end with you… dead.”

While Draco has been talking, the other man has slowly made his way over to Draco. He’s now standing close, too close. Within Draco’s personal space. Draco doesn’t mind.

“And I know you don’t want that, love,” the man murmurs. “But you also know I have to do this. Someone has to work against all the corruption in this city.”

“Why does that someone have to be you?” Draco asks, voice quiet.

The man puts two fingers under Draco’s chin pressing up until Draco meets his green stare.

Draco sucks in a breath, loudly, as always when he sees the intensity in those eyes.

“Love, I promise, I’m careful. Iäll be home for dinner, okay?”

Helplessly, Draco nods. There’s nothing else he can do.

A quick peck on the corner of Draco’s mouth, and then the man is gone.

“Harry!” Draco calls out, but only the sound of the traffic on the main street behind him answers him.

~~**~~

The afternoon proves tiresome after that. Draco returns to the precinct, reporting that he has seen the criminal, but failed to apprehend him (again). He argues that the man was unarmed since he saw both the man’s hands empty when he ran away, but the chief doesn’t think that’s enough proof. The gun could’ve been hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, the chief says.

Then he calls Draco into his office for a private meeting.

He asks Draco how it is possible that Draco always finds this specific criminal first (because Draco knows him) but never manages to catch him (because Draco loves him) when that’s not a problem with any other crooks. Does Draco know his priorities (Harry is right, someone has to fight the corruption) or does he need reminders (he reminds himself he will see Harry again at dinner, Draco just has to push through a few more hours).

The chief releases Draco after too many reassurances falling from Draco’s tongue, leaving his mouth dry from all the lies. He is ordered to do paperwork until his shift is over – the chief doesn’t trust Draco enough to let him back out on the street.

~~**~~

He’s late, Draco thinks. He’s anxiously turning his head back and forth between the front door and the clock hanging on the kitchen wall.

Harry promised, Draco reminds himself. He promised he’d be here for dinner.

One minute turns into five, and then fifteen. Draco tries to ignore the heavy beating of his heart, the worried nerves tingling in his arms.

Half an hour, and he’s pacing the flat, unable to sit still any longer.

“Where are you, Harry?” he asks the empty air around him. He doesn’t recognise his own voice. “Where are you?”

#drarry #unun’s annual gift

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slothquisitor · 24 days

Text

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Five

A post-campaign Baldur's Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

Chapter Summary: In which I gently remind you that this is a horror AU, and I'm genuinely unsure how to tag everything in this chapter. Uh, shit gets wild. TW: body horror and blood.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

___________________________________________________________

Liv and Astarion wander the Wide until the Bailiff closes it down and with practiced efficiency, the stalls pack up and the people disperse. No one else’s blood catches Astarion’s attention though, and coupled with the lack of strangeness in Moira’s blood, Liv feels a bit like she’s failed.

She suspects that’s why Astarion is still here. They’re slowly meandering back towards the shop, and she’s wondering if she should suggest that they start popping into some more taverns, but her heart’s not really in it. She asked for his help, and he’s given it. She doesn’t want to waste his time chasing down leads she doesn’t have.

Liv’s not even sure why this whole mystery means so much to her. She wanted to help Astarion because it meant finding a way out of Baldur’s Gate, and here she is ignoring all sense of self-preservation grasping at straws and trying to solve the unsolvable. It’s not her job to find these answers, and it would be so much easier to look away and pretend that nothing is wrong. It would be the Vires way, after all.

And perhaps that’s why she can’t quite leave this alone. Solving this is the antithesis of everything her family is, everything she grew up being told. Just once, she wants to add something good to this world instead of benefitting from all of the ways it is unfair.

“You’re quite sure that there’s nothing odd about that woman’s blood?” Astarion asks, pulling her from the spiral of her thoughts.

“We can look at it more closely at the shop, but yeah, nothing odd.”

“It absolutely smelled the same,” he insists.

“Oh, I believe you. That’s what’s so odd though. If her blood is the same as Alfran’s and Iona’s, why isn’t it behaving the same?”

He looks relieved, but she’s not sure why. “You’re the scholar.”

“Not this kind of scholar,” she sighs.

“What kind of scholar are you then?”

The question feels a little close to the things she’d rather not talk about, but he’s shared plenty about himself, perhaps it’s fair she answers. “Evocation. I studied evocation magic for a very, very long time. Medicine and healing…it’s relatively new to me.”

“You might have mentioned that when you promised to help me,” Astarion says with a hint of judgment.

“And what? You expected to find a specialist in vampiric curses in a random alchemy shop in the Lower City?” she prods back.

“I had hoped,” he says with resignation.

“I promise that the second we solve this, I’ll turn my full attention to your condition. If you still want me to after you’ve seen how easy it’s been for me to solve anything about this blood disease.” She worries that all she’ll be able to give him are dead ends and empty promises.

“Would it help if I told you that I’m strangely comforted by your commitment to a lost cause? That means that maybe you’ll actually solve mine, you know, eventually.”

The words are kinder than she expects from him. “Well, I’m still sorry it’s a lower priority.” And she is even though she sort of implied she wasn’t when she demanded his help.

“Darling, there’s very weird blood shit happening in Baldur’s Gate. Trust me when I say I am very used to traveling around with the do-gooding types who will solve everyone else’s problems first. I will….attempt to be patient.”

“Like you were with Moira tonight?”

He rolls his eyes. “I got you what you wanted, didn’t I? And just as you preferred, there was no knocking out and dragging people into random alleyways to steal their blood.”

“I appreciate your self-restraint-”

She’s cut off by the sound of someone calling her name from up the street. Beside her, Astarion tenses, and she’s pretty sure he’s reached for a dagger she didn’t know he had on him. Flashbacks of the night before come unbidden, and she’s already reaching for her magic before she realizes that she knows the voice.

“Liv! Thank the gods!” One of Iona’s sons is running towards them, breathless and haggard.

“Daniel? What’s wrong?”

Daniel pauses, sucking down several deep breaths before explaining. “It’s Nathan. He…well, I’m not sure what’s wrong. It’s like his limbs aren’t his own? I was headed to the shop, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Where is he?”

“Back at home. Henry’s with him, can you come now? Please? We need your help.” There’s panic in his eyes and a pleading tone she can’t abide.

“Of course, right behind you.” There’s no hesitation from her, but Astarion looks a little unsure of what he should be doing.

“One of Iona’s sons,” she explains. “Might be connected.”

His eyebrows raise, and he nods. “Well then, no time to waste.”

They follow Daniel through the labyrinthine streets of the Lower City at a pace that’s just below an all-out sprint. That’s how she knows it’s bad, that there’s some sort of real emergency. If Liv ever thought of the Lower City, she would have pictured streets like this one. Cramped buildings, faded paint, and a general sense of neglect in the air. She surprises herself by preferring it to the sterile opulence of the Upper City. She recognizes Iona’s street, and the house on the corner, still marked for mourning with the black cloth in the window. She slows as they approach, she has a stitch in her side and is breathing hard while Astarion seems deplorably unfazed. And then she remembers he doesn’t have to breathe and she hates him a little bit.

But every thought eddies out of her head when she sees Henry and Nathan and the small group of people surrounding them. Nathan lies sprawled on the ground, face scrunched in pain. Henry stands off to the side hands outstretched, looking utterly helpless. He looks as if he wants to touch his brother, but isn’t sure how. It’s only when she gets close enough to see Nathan that she realizes his limbs are tested unnaturally, arms and legs extended at wrong angles.

With a shudder, part of his arm attempts to inch up the street, but it’s like his limbs don’t know how to move like parts of him are trying to move without any thought of bone or muscle. There’s a horrifying crunch, and Nathan cries out as his forearm drags along the cobblestones, as if it could drag the rest of his body with it.

“How did it start?” Liv asks, stepping forward and reaching for every healing potion in her pack. “How long has he been like this?”

“He was fine, and then he just collapsed half an hour ago, and then I ran to get you.”

As she kneels down, Nathan’s body seems to change direction. His legs lunge for her, but not like they should. Instead, the top of his thigh and a calf move towards her in a fit of movement that completely ignores the rest of Nathan’s body. His answering scream is horrifying, and so are the bruises that line his limbs, like his blood is attempting to leak out of his pores.

She glances up at Astarion, asking a question she’s almost sure she already knows the answer to. He only nods from several feet away, grimacing at the harrowing scene.

“Can you help him?” Henry asks, tears pooling in his eyes.

She does her best to look Nathan over without emotion, punching down the horror and the worry. She needs a clear head; she needs to figure out what to do. First things first, solve the most obvious issue. He’s in pain, the shock will kill him if she doesn’t do something about that. She opens her bag and reaches around for a paralytic.

“We need to knock him out and then reset his limbs before he can be healed,” Liv says to Henry and Daniel.

“I don’t know that knocking him out will help,” Henry says, voice barely louder than a whisper. “He passed out about twenty minutes ago, and his limbs still kept trying to move.”

She considers that for a moment, and another spasm rocks Nathan’s body. His legs keep moving toward her like he’s some puppet on strings, but the person working the puppet has no idea what a human body should move like at all. There’s a sickening sort of crunch as his limbs sputter towards her. What is happening here? She needs time to figure this out, to work it out.

And then it dawns on her. His body had changed direction when she knelt down because of the blood in her bag. His blood is moving in his body, that’s why his limbs aren’t working. If all the blood in one’s body attempted to move without using muscles or tendons or bones…then it would probably look a lot like this. Fuck. A paralytic won’t help because it’s not his body and the blood doesn’t need him alive in order to move, she’s seen that. The best she can do is buy him time, buy herself some breathing and thinking room.

She does the only thing she can think to do in the moment: she pulls out a small jar of graveyard dirt she’s been carrying since she saw Kharis use this spell on Iona. He had bought them a precious hour that hadn’t been enough but had given them time. She forms the symbols with her fingers and utters the words, feeling the cool breeze of death moving through her to Nathan.

He goes so very still.

“What have you done?” Daniel says, terror lacing his voice.

But Nathan is no longer screaming and his body is no longer moving. And it is a relief. “I put his body in stasis. We need to get him off the street.”

“Can you help him?” Henry asks.

“I hope so,” Liv replies. And she prays to whatever gods might be listening that her idea works because it’s the only one she has.

***

The horrifying scene that Astarion found himself spectator to is somewhat undercut by Liv’s relative calmness, and the way everyone simply does what she asks. After placing Nathan in some sort of magical stasis, his brothers had obediently brought him inside, placed him in a bed, and then left Liv to do her work. For his part, Astarion has been hovering on the edge of the room, waiting for instructions or dismissal or for the horror of watching a man’s limbs move so unnaturally to wear off.

It reminds him of ceremorphosis. The breaking and cracking of bones as they elongated and shifted. He finds it hard to look at Nathan, at his limbs bent…wrong. So instead he looks at Liv who is rummaging around her bag pulling out countless vials, including one full of blood. Probably Moira’s.

Liv is pale as she stands over the man, and holds Moira’s blood near his body, twisting the vial in her hands. It’s hard to tell at this distance, but he’s pretty sure he sees a tendril pressed up against the glass, trying to get at Nathan’s body.

“Well fuck,” she whispers.

“So much for Moira’s blood not being strange,” Astarion agrees. “You’ve got a plan, I presume. You’re far too calm to not have a plan.”

Liv looks at him, and her deep green eyes are full of fear and apologies. “I have exactly one idea and if it doesn’t work…” Her voice wobbles a bit as it drops off.

Shit. He’s the one freaking out, so she’s not allowed to also freak out. “Talk me through it.”

Her voice is steadier when she speaks next and he’s grateful. “I’d like to see if we can pull blood out of him, whatever is in his blood is what is causing this. I don’t know how to separate it, but when Iona was in this state, and when Alfran was dead, their blood came out of them on their own. Maybe if we pull enough of his blood out of him, we can stop whatever it's doing.”

“You think his blood is doing this?” The question comes out pitched an octave too high.

“Look at the bruising on his skin.”

Astarion does and immediately regrets it. He’s seen plenty of bodies in various states of ruin. He’s even been the harbinger of that sort of chaos on a body, but that was all good, simple, gore. Whatever’s happening to poor Nathan is absolutely grotesque. But she is right, parts of his limbs are covered with deep mottled bruises, as if the blood is trying to escape his pores.

“So what, we drain him of blood? He’ll die. Trust me on that.” Though as he says it the thought of draining Nathan makes him gag.

“Well, that’s what the stasis is for, and then restoration draught. Followed up by a health potion.”

“And you think it will work?”

Liv shakes her head. “I have no fucking idea, but I’ve got to try.”

He doesn’t understand her or this cause she’s taken up. The set of her jaw and the certainty of her words remind him so much of Tavren that he can barely breathe around the strange weight of it on his chest. Liv is good in the same way Tavren was good: committed to a cause, kind to a fault, likely to infuriate and awe him in equal measure. He pushes past his fear. He’s in this now.

“Tell me what you need me to do, and please tell me it’s not draining him dry myself.”

There’s a gratitude in her eyes she doesn’t voice. “Just help me with the vials? Neither one of us is touching anything, okay?”

He nods and moves closer. Liv is quite pale, but she’s moving with confidence anyway. She leans over Nathan and slices down his forearm where the bruising is deepest.

Astarion isn’t prepared for what happens next.

He’s stabbed enough people to know what happens to wounds like the one Liv has given Nathan. But the blood doesn’t spurt or pool as it should, instead it grows. He’s seen the blood branch within the vials, tiny tendrils pressed against the glass, but this is different. The blood branches out of Nathan’s arm like a plant blooming all at once. The stench in the room is almost unbearable, but there’s something about it he hadn’t picked up before, some sense of otherness. He’s frozen there against the beside Liv, filled with fear. Something is very, very wrong.

The branching blood is all too happy to be manipulated and moved into another vessel. Liv is careful not to touch it, but she works meticulously, filling several vials. It is Liv’s calmness that pulls him back from the brink, that gets him moving, putting lids on vials and handing her fresh ones. They work until as she slices into the man’s skin the blood no longer branches, no longer reaches toward them.

“Okay, I think that’s all of it. How does his blood smell?” Liv asks.

He stopped breathing several minutes ago so that he could function. He sniffs the air tentatively. “Still bad. Maybe less so?”

“Before I can heal him, we’ll need to set his bones right.”

Ugh. No part of him wants to do that. “Must we?”

Liv looks almost as thrilled about the idea as he is. “I can’t set all his bones on my own.”

Damn it all. “Do you think this worked?

Liv shakes her head. “I think this is a stop-gap, not a cure.”

“Was this happening to anyone else?”

“No. But we pulled more blood out of him than anyone else. Let’s start with his arms.”

Setting Natha’s bones is slow, terrible work. His limbs feel like sandbags, and Astarion isn’t sure that what’s happened to him is something magic can fix. But then, limbs righted, Liv drops the stasis spell and pours two potions down Nathan’s throat in quick succession. The first for blood loss, the second for healing, and he’s shocked at the way the bruises recede, the way the swelling subsides. The horror is erased, as if it was never there in the first place.

It’s the same sort of disconnect as being revived, he thinks. The wounds were there, they were real, death had visited the body, but magic wiped them away. If Nathan is lucky, this half-hour of pain will fade away to nothingness. Perhaps his body won’t even remember the horror of what happened. He won’t even bear scars.

Liv watches Nathan for several moments, staring at every minute shift of his body. She presses two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse point.

“Nathan?”

The man stirs a bit, and he can see the way Liv’s shoulders cave in relief before she punches the emotion down. Unflappable as always. “Nathan, how are you feeling?”

Nathan winces a bit. “Awful. Like I was run over by a carriage.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Nathan looks down at his body, whole and unbroken. “I had the worst dream…I was…I think I was dying.”

“How did it start?” Liv prompts.

Nathan rubs absently at his chest, right above his heart. “I had weird pains all day, and then I was coming home from the docks and my legs just…broke…right under me.”

“When did these pains start? Were you doing any sort of work that you don’t usually do today?”

“Just an odd job for Huido that I pick up sometimes.”

“Huido?”

“Smuggler for the Guild. Sometimes I help move things for him…the extra pay is nice.”

Ah. Another Guild connection. He knows that Liv’s caught it too by the way she glances at him. “Alright, Nathan. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep for a while, okay?”

The man nods and drinks the draught Liv brings to his lips. And then he sleeps. “He’s working for the Guild too.”

“Yeah, I caught that. Sounds like we’ve got a new lead,” Liv says. “I don’t think I cured him. Just bought some time, I hope. Help me gather all of this up…then we can talk with his brothers and go.”

They gather vials in silence, and Liv prestidigitates the blood and mess from the bed. He’s careful as he places the vials in the bag, worried that they might break, but as he does each one disappears and he realizes she’s got a bag of holding. Well, at least that explains how nothing in her bag broke despite their sprint here.

“What are you going to tell his brothers?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t like to lie, but I don’t see a way around it. We can’t tell them the truth.”

“No,” he agrees. “He was hexed.”

She shakes her head. “No hex would behave…oh.”

“Not everyone knows as much about magic as you do.”

“Alright.”

The brothers swallow down the explanation easily. Especially when they see their brother is whole and alive. They aren’t suspicious, simply grateful. They try to pay her, but of course, she doesn’t allow it. Offering gentle words and instructions and requests to contact her if anything changes, she gets them out of the house quickly. It is only then that the exhaustion is clear in every line of her face.

“I need a drink. How about you?”

Gods, he’d love a little oblivion after all that. “Please.”

They walk back to the shop in a silence that isn’t uncomfortable. The things they’ve seen, the work they’ve just done hangs like a weight between them. He can feel the way it connects them, and they don’t have to talk about it. In fact, he’d rather prefer if they didn’t. The streets are quiet and empty as they wander back to the shop, but Astarion feels watched all the same. While she unlocks the shop door he looks around and studies the shadows, but he sees nothing so he follows her inside.

“You keep booze in the shop, how scandalous.”

Liv rolls her eyes and walks over to the stairs. “No, I keep booze in my apartment.”

“I didn’t realize you lived here,” Astarion says with genuine surprise. He realizes that there is an awful lot he doesn’t know about Liv. The realization bothers him for some reason. He’s suddenly not sure if she’s simply not telling him things or if she just doesn’t tell anyone anything. He wishes he knew which it was.

“It’s one of the reasons why I took this job. Came with free housing,” Liv explains as they climb the staircase. She pauses at the threshold and looks at him over her shoulder. “Come on in.”

“Where were you living before?” he asks, following her inside and pretending not to be grateful for her specific invitation, for remembering at all. The apartment itself is small and simple. It’s a single room, though she’s put up a screen between her bed and the rest of the space in a failing effort at creating a partition. The kitchen area is small too, with just two cupboards and a little stove and counter that runs the length of the wall. All of the furniture looks rather secondhand, and mismatched. It doesn’t feel like it’s hers though there’s an art piece here or a knickknack there that would betray otherwise. The only part of the space that screams Liv is the bookshelf in the corner, groaning under the weight of various tomes.

“With my family. We didn’t part on good terms, so I needed a place to stay. Kharis was kind enough to offer up his old place since he lives in the Upper City with his husband now.”

“You have a lot of books,” he says, wandering over to the bookshelf. He drags a finger along the spines. “I expected more medical texts or spell theory books. These are mostly novels and stories.”

She’s in the area that passes for her kitchen fishing a bottle out of a cupboard and two mismatched cups. “Yes, well, I do like to enjoy what I read every now and again. I think we’ve been going about this wrong.”

He joins her at the table and allows her to pour him two fingers of what looks like Mermaid Whiskey. It was what she’d ordered the other night. Expensive taste for someone who rarely seems to drink. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I don’t think this is a disease. I think it’s spreading somehow, but it’s not a disease.”

He throws back his whiskey wishing he didn’t have to ask the question he’s about to ask. “Then what is it?”

“I think it’s a thing…we’re just finding parts of it scattered in the blood of certain people. It’s trying to bring those parts back together.”

“You think that the blood tendrils are…what? Trying to get back to whatever it is they came from?”

“We already know they’re attracted to each other. Where was Nathan’s blood trying to go before we showed up…crossed the signals? What was making his blood move when no one else’s had done that? If this was a disease, then it would be affecting people more similarly. We both saw Moira, she was fine. Alfran and Iona had similar symptoms, but that wasn’t the same either…”

He hates that she’s making any sense whatsoever. He pours himself more whiskey. “Fine. So if it is a thing…what do we do about it?”

“I don’t know. But…I have some books.” She’s already on her feet, pulling books off her bookshelves. “And there’s the Guild connection. That’s got to be something.”

“It just so happens that I know where the Guildhall is, and I’m fairly positive that Nine-Fingers won’t kill me on sight, so I can go speak with her,” Astarion replies.

“You know her? She helped in the battle, didn’t she? I read that.” Then she smiles. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’re familiar with the Guildhall. Should we go now?”

He laughs. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, darling, but I’m not about to walk you into the Guildhall.”

“And why not?”

“Because they’re rather secretive, and I have enough enemies as is. If I bring a stranger in, no matter how well-intentioned, they’re more likely to kill you than ask questions. I’m not even positive that she’ll see me. It was Tavren and Jaheira who had the influence there, not me. Besides, I’m hoping I have something more for them to go off of beyond ‘we think there’s a terrifying creature controlling people’s blood on the loose’.”

“Then we best get researching.” She brings over several heavy tomes, none of which look very promising, but it’s as good a place to start as any.

He grimaces. “How wonderful.” But he’s scarcely been as afraid as he was earlier tonight, watching that blood bloom out of Nathan. And so he settles in for an evening of reading and research, hoping beyond all hope for answers.

#astarion #tavstarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #what moves in the dark #astarion x liv #uh be sure to check the tw on this one guys #read safely my friends #slothquisitorwrites

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a-concert-just-for-me · 20 days

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Which work of yours is your favorite and why?

OOOOH what a fun question. You sly dog, you’ve caught me monologuing.

Right now, I’m particularly proud of “Little Secret” (MASSIVE tw for childhood sexual abuse/dead dove if you go to read it). It was my first time writing about such an ugly, sensitive topic and the devastating effects it can have on someone’s sexuality and view of the world.

I had been nervous about getting a disgusted/angry reaction, but the reactions to it were overwhelmingly positive. Like, not a single mean comment. I was incredibly impressed.

The comments were really important to me; people were sharing the impact the fic had on them and sharing their own experiences. I appreciated getting to talk about my experience for the first time ever as well and finding people that understood what I was talking about.

Infodump about the fic + a couple honorable mention fics under the cut

I LOVED writing Hunter being the most unreliable narrator in the universe. It was hard to write, technically and emotionally. It made my stomach hurt so many times while writing it, lol. I put that poor baby through the wringer.

My goal was to create this…dissonance between what the reader can infer to be true, versus the lens that Hunter filters everything through due to his adverse experiences. Writing through that angle was really intriguing.

I really enjoyed writing about the healing process too, and the ideas it spurred in me for some spin-off fics (I have a couple of them half-written, but they’re wayyyyy lower on my WIP priority list right now).

But yeah, most of all, I was just really satisfied with the conversations the fic opened up for people.

—————————————————

P.S. I’m also quite feral about “Book Scraps” because I just KNOW these next couple chapters are going to make people hunt me for sport. I’m literally so excited to see the outrage. The readers of that one are gonna be sooooo pissed about the cliffhanger I’m about to drop, too >:)c

P.P.S. “Potionless” has also been a fun experience. I’m blown away by the love it’s gotten, especially when I feel like it’s one of my weakest works, lol. But writing it has been so fun due to the interactions I get to have with people in the comments!!! I appreciate my regular readers so much. I get so excited to hear what they have to say, every single chapter. That’s just as much fun (if not more fun) to me than writing! So thank you so much, to anyone that takes the time to read my fics, much less comment. It means the world to me.

#toh #my fics #💌 mail time 💌#thank you I love talking about fic. god bless

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mortiferumsomnum · 2 years

Text

TCF IDEA 2

(This idea is so messy... And when I say messy, I mean messed up 😂😅)

Warning: Slavery, Colonization, and mentions of children massacres.

Recorded Names

- In this AU, there is no White Star and Ancient Powers.

- The Mogoru Empire is spreading its power by colonizing other kingdoms.

- The Roan Kingdom had successfully been taken over by the Empire. (There is no curse here).

- The Royal Family had fled, but Zed Crossman had been kept by the authorities in order to persuade (demand) the people of Roan to submit to them, using Zed like a puppet and making him seem like he is talking to his people of his own accord when he really isn't (they’re forcing him to talk... there’s no magic).

- Kim Rok Soo is a high ranking officer from the empire, tasked with his assigned men to spread the empire's influence in various territories. He managed to accomplish his task, and reached his final territory - The Henituse County.

- Before him, a previous officer had already been assigned here, who proudly handed off the task to KRS.

- What's going on in the colonization is that people who had been in lower class and middle class families had become slaves for the Empire, forced to do farming and other labor tasks.

- Those who are nobles or in the higher class families are tasked with office work, not under their own power but under the Authority of the Ranking Officer assigned by the Empire.

- KRS meets Deruth, an average man who now wears ragged clothes. But his eyes are not close to giving up. KRS decided that he liked this man's determination.

- What the Empire doesn't know is that there is an organization of people going against the Empire to save the people who had been colonized. KRS is one of them, and their first priority is to help the children escape.

- KRS had worked hard to become one of the higher ranked officials to help the children escape to the Eastern Continent, where some of their allies bring them to different orphanages and foster families to take care of them.

- As a high ranking officer, who seems to have no emotions shown no matter how dreadful, the Empire tasked him the most convenient mission in Roan Kingdom - to kill the children of the families in order to prevent more people of Roan from multiplying.

- The KRS and the rest of the Anti-Mogoru organization began making plans on how they would help the children escape and how they would approach the territories.

- KRS said that he wouldn't mind playing the villain, to make it believable that he is doing his job. All they needed to do is plant their own people to help the children escape. They had to be careful of the Empire's actual people from connecting the dots, but it seems the only smart person in the Empire had been the Imperial Prince Adin, who was leading the colonization in the first place. They still needed to be careful.

- KRS would command the families to gather their children at one place. The children would then be brought into wagons heading straight for awaiting boats headed for the Eastern Continent. And then, the next day, KRS would emotionlessly announce that the children had been culled.

- It's never easy convincing parents to part with their children, as there is no guarantee that the parents and children would ever reunite. The Empire's power and influence is getting stronger with each passing day, after all. This is why KRS would rather convince the families that the children were dead, so that they would not get any false hope in case something goes wrong in the operation (not like he’d let anything go wrong in the first place).

- But despite KRS believing that he is fine playing the part of a villain, he isn't. The cries of parents will forever be etched in his mind. So would older siblings losing the light in their eyes as they realize that their younger siblings are never coming back.

- KRS took note of all the children he helped escape, took note of all the orphanages and foster families they escaped to. He's always had a good memory, a photographic memory it seems, that after taking note he'd burn them so there would be no evidence.

- Deruth and Violan are now working under KRS in his new office. Deruth handles paperwork and Violan is like KRS's secretary.

- And so, like how he handled the previous territories, after a week, he tells the people to gather their children at one place. KRS knows all the families here, memorized how many children were in each family.

- There will always be a family or two who will go against KRS' word and tell their children to run away. But KRS isn't worried, he's got trusted men stationed at many possible locations to catch the children and help them escape safely as planned.

- That evening, he broke the news to the people of what happened to the children, that they were killed and that the Empire will now be expecting full subordination from them here on.

- There were cries and there were screams.

- But one family is not crying.

- Deruth, Violan, and their eldest child who recently came of age, Cale. They were furious at him, alright, but it seems they had managed to help Basen and Lily escape on their own.

- Choi Jung Soo would report that he managed to catch the wayward children, and that they are now safely being delivered. It will take a week to receive news whether the children made it to the drop-off point, and another week to receive news of whether the children made it to the Eastern Continent. Then, after a month from now, he'd receive news of which orphanages and foster homes they're being kept in.

- For now, he has a new assistant with him, Cale Henituse, who can't put a lid on his rage at all.

- If KRS were any other officer, he would have beaten this punk up for the obvious insubordination.

- Instead, he gives Cale advice on how to hide his rage, and how to use it as a weapon. He teaches Cale how to use a knife and encourages him to try and attack him once per day.

- After a while, Cale ends up becoming KRS's personal assistant (who's getting better at trying to kill KRS, much to the amusement and exasperation of Choi Jung Soo).

- A new officer who is also part of the anti-Mogoru organization was next to be assigned to the Henituse Territory a week after KRS receives news about the children's successful placement into the Eastern continent.

- KRS will be returning to the Empire now that his sole mission was done.

- When Cale had been working under KRS, he realized that KRS wasn't doing anything to the people. Sure, he showed his face to the people now and then, but he's literally... Just... Doing paperwork of his own.

- Unlike the previous officer, KRS doesn't harass his father and st-- his mother into doing more work than necessary, he doesn't beat Cale up for insubordination, and he doesn't scream or wrongfully arrest the people to beat for entertainment.

- (Cale had finally allowed himself to get close with his step-family, because these people other than his father are the only family he has left. It's still taking him time to consider Violan as his mother, but he is getting along well with her now.)

- For someone who ordered the massacre of children, KRS seems quite.... Decent??????

- He even encouraged Cale to try and kill him, and told him ways on how to hide that he was about to kill him. Cale wonders if this man was trying to atone for his sins by doing this.

- But then, Cale hears KRS mutter to himself while he was doing his assigned papers.

- He heard the names of the children Basen and Lily became friends with. He heard Basen and Lily's names as well. He heard KRS repeat these names 3 more times before getting up to pour himself (and Cale) some tea.

- Why would a man as cruel as him want to remember their names?

- On KRS' way back to the Empire, that night when they were camping, CJS comes up to him in his tent with an amused expression. "We have a puppy on board with us."

- "...What?"

- CJS then playfully shoves Cale into the tent.

- Cale glares at CJS, then to KRS. He brings out a sheet of paper, and starts writing on it with a charcoal pencil. He then brings it up to KRS's face.

- "I want in." it says.

- KRS glanced to CJS, who didn't look apologetic at all.

- Cale found out. About them. About what KRS and other certain people under his command was actually doing, and he had the smarts to make sure not to blurt out anything...

- KRS sighed. Then, he tells Cale to get ready because things are not going to be easy from here out.

- Cale becomes part of their Anti-Mogoru organization.

#trash of the count's family #lout of the count's family #tcf #lcf #tcf fic idea #honestly this is more of a premise for a fic than an actual one #there is no plot yet #just an idea HAHAHAHAHHA #if you wanna use the idea GO FOR IT!!!#just please credit me #uwu

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sunriseverse · 4 months

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4 for the ask meme??? I desire all your thoughts. require them even. and a glimpse into your wips. 👁️

okay. deep breaths. i will not throw my phone out the window because tumblr crashed this ask and deleted everything i had written. anyway.

i have a LOT of wip ideas but the most active wip i have in my head at the moment is sunrise, and i have a couple things planned at the moment.

1. this is a xiaoge pov fic, with a mixture of third and second person pov (third for past/present, second for behind the rift). i keep trying to write it and stopping because it’s such uncharted territory for me and i want it to be PERFECT but i know i shouldn’t be so intense about it……..but also i want it to be exactly how i have imagined it in my head. here’s what i have so far:

2. this is a xiaosanjiao fic, with two main focuses: one, how wu xie in this verse is specifically callous and cruel towards li cu while also trying to maintain his innocence, the only reason he has any use for him, and two, the way li cu only survives because he is loved. i’ve got a lot of thoughts about prototypal anchor bonds and they are quite literally the case study for it—especially when you consider that their bond is basically comparable to the iron triangle’s. what can i say, sha hai took me out back and shot me with that metaphor and now i can’t let it rest.

now onwards and inwards towards my notes app, where lieth the beasts who dwell in waiting (wips i would like to get to some day but which have lower priority). there’s a lot of these so they’re going below the cut.

1. iron triangle time loop fic. i love a good time loop i love when things hurt and people have to watch their loved ones die. for a change of pace it would be pangzi who remembers the loops. because i like to torture the characters i love.

2. xiaoge taking pangzi and wu xie to visit baima’s grave. i just………have a lot of feelings about graves and how xiaoge only knew her for three days and how she wasn’t even really conscious and how despite that it was clearly an incredibly meaningful thing to him. also i think xiaoge would want the men he loves to meet the woman who loved him, even if they’re separated inescapably by time and distance.

3. silly fake marriage fic that hinges on that stupid marriage chair of fo ye’s (okay that’s not what it is and that’s not what happened but allow me to jest for a moment. to joke.). this is 100% self indulgent and ignoring any real world implications etc etc so the likelihood of it getting written ever is vanishingly low (i cannot stop thinking about Implications, alas), but hey, it’s a fun concept.

4. technically i wrote this but i would love to revisit it: dæmon au where xiaoge’s dæmon isn’t able to cross over the bronze gate with him and instead is left comatose in the real world and the only true indication that wu xie and pangzi have that xiaoge is still alive. i think initially when i thought of it my plan was for wu xie to care for them, but i’ve since decided that he would probably entrust that to pangzi, both because that’s safer, and because he doesn’t trust himself with the task.

5. pangzi in a qipao as a disguise for some fancy party they’re infiltrating for whatever reason. do i need to explain this further. alternatively a mundane au where pangzi is a model.

6. au where wu xie’s hatred and disgust and fear of what he’s turning himself into physically alters him into being visibly “monstrous” and it doesn’t go away after everything and he tries to hide it because he’s terrified of how pangzi and xiaoge will react if they find out. heavily inspired by this one comic i saw about a character hiding in a bathtub behind the curtain because they turned into their monstrous form and can’t remember how to turn back, and then the other person gets into the bathtub and holds their hand and shows them a photo of some happy moment and tells them it’s okay, they’ll wait. yeah. also vague allegories for bipolar onset because i have exactly three dead horses and i’m not going to stop beating them.

7. wu xie with glasses. listen. look at me. the glasses agenda must be advanced.

8. boyfriend item thief xiaoge. sweaters. food. that one blanket pangzi could have sworn he left on the sofa. hearts. etc.

9. technically i kind of wrote this a bit with “hearts’ keep” but a fic where li cu and wu xie keep running into each other and li cu is horribly reminded repeatedly of the ways that people keep drawing parallels between him and su wan and yang hao and the iron triangle. i just want to write about complicated relationships and the horrifying knowledge that you are in love with your best friends you know?

okay that’s it i THINK. or at least everything that’s more than just three words and no context/scribbling that got incorporated into other things.

#ask #WOE. DMBJ UPON YE #sorry this took so long. enjoy.#c.txt

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aajjks · 5 months

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TPOL!JK

you’re a lot paler and certain parts of your body are even blue. your breathing is shallow and you’re still shivering despite the blankets surrounding your body. the sight of you just breaks jungkook’s heart as you let out coughs now and then but you don’t respond to his question. you don’t even turn to look at him, all you do is stare ahead and drift in and out of consciousness. he knows you need to see a doctor because you might’ve damaged your brain or damaged your lungs but he needs your response to tell him that you’re okay with him taking you yet he receives nothing.

two minutes, you’re unconscious and when that happens, jungkook just takes you to see a doctor anyways.

joonie 🐨✨

10 missed calls

yerin 🫧💕

6 missed calls

your phone is filled with notifications coming from yerin and namjoon but jungkook doesn’t bother to call them because his main priority is you and your health. he throws a shirt, pants, socks, and boots on your body and bundles you up to keep you warm before he’s off to the nearest hospital that could treat you.

when he walks in with your unconscious body in his arms, nurses are immediately rushing to get you in a room and look at your vitals which are lower than what they should be.

while the doctors tend to your body, jungkook sits and waits to make sure you’re okay which takes several hours. once they’re finished they call jungkook in to update him on your condition.

“you. are. a hero. if you hadn’t brought her in here she could’ve been dead. she damage to her lungs wasn’t severe and she has no fluids in her lungs. the brain damage, however, is minor but it could’ve been worse had you not brought her in so we’re going to keep ms. l/n to monitor her brain and lungs. i also have a…personal question if you don’t mind answering but was the drowning self inflicted or accidental? actually, we can talk about it later, i’m sure you want to see your partner so follow me” says the doctor who leads jungkook to your room which is pretty spacious. he nervously walks closer to you and when his eyes take in your form, you look a little better.

your lips, fingers, and body gained a little more color and you’re hooked up to an IV to give fluids to your dehydrated body. you’ve yet to even look at jungkook and you aren’t going to. because like he said, you’re a stranger now.

He looks at you carefully.

And thankfully you’ve gotten a lot better, you were pale before, and now your body has a little color. He calms down when he takes in your form.

“Yn, Can you respond to me please?” He asks you, standing right in front of your bed. He sits in the chair and stares at you, you move your face away from him. That hurts him.

All you do is hurt him.

But.. right now you’re not well so he’s just going to avoid that. “I-I’m sure that you don’t want me to stay so just call one of your friends or your boyfriend. I’m gonna go.” He says, crossing his arms across his chest.

“and I’m sorry I had to see your phone. You’ve got a lot of missed calls from your friend and.. him.” Jungkook gives you another look.

“do not worry about the bill because it’s already paid. And just take care of yourself. I don’t know why you did that to yourself? Don’t do that ever again.”

#ask: tpol!jungkook

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random-iz-stuff · 2 years

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May I hear your thoughts on Tak's ship and Dib's relationship? How they get along?

Not well at all. Dib wants to use Tak’s ship as an actual ship and The Ship’s AI will do anything in its programming to prevent that. They’ve occasionally bonded over their dislike of Zim, and that mutual dislike has been used to get the Ship to work with Dib, but even then Tak’s Ship would often rather have Zim drive them because even though Zim is Zim, they’re a pretty good pilot from what they saw in that dogfight with him and he takes pretty good care of his Voot Cruiser. Unlike Dib, who has no idea what he’s doing because the headlights in Tak’s ship alone are more advanced than anything on Earth.

Plus, that sense of Irken supremacy can still be found in Irken AIs, especially AIs created by uploading existing personalities like Tak’s Ship AI, so Tak’s Ship holds the belief that the only person worthy to pilot it is an Irken, not a big-headed mammal from an uncivilized planet of raw pollution that hasn’t even come close to the rest of the galaxy in technological advancement. To the AI, Zim is insufferable and they hate him, but at least he’s a better pilot than Dib and he’s an actual Irken, so they’ll keep the complaints to a minimum if they ever find Zim in the cockpit

(Also a small headcanon about Tak’s Ship that’s kind of important here: The Ship’s AI uses Tak’s voice and has a bunch of her personality traits, but it isn’t an exact copy of Tak and considers itself mostly separate from her.)

Dib needs to either trick or convince the ship to even get in the cockpit. The Ship has found that the best and most consistent way to prevent Dib from driving it is not letting him into the cockpit in the first place, and although Dib has successfully reasoned with it once or twice, 99% of the time Dib needs to force his way in or trick the ship into opening up. Once he’s inside the Ship can’t eject him (Tak already used the escape pod) and the AI has a bunch of rules that prevent it from killing the driver.

Due to Dib briefly uploading his personality into the ship, Dib is considered one of the “Drivers” of the ship. Lower priority than Tak, but he’s still considered a driver. Because of this, The AI can’t kill him directly and isn’t allowed to take full control of the ship when Dib is driving. It can’t force itself to crash either. So that’s why Tak’s Ship, despite very much wanting Dib dead with no care as to how that happens, can’t just kill him.

But the AI is crafty and one of the personality traits it got from Tak’s personality is her immense pettiness, so it gets revenge on Dib when it can.

The AI can’t kill Dib directly and what it can really do to him is limited, but there’s more than a few ways for it to limit what Dib is able to do.

I already mentioned that it does its best to keep Dib out of the cockpit, but when Dib is in the cockpit, the Ship hides all but the extremely essential parts. When Dib is driving, he can only access the steering controls, hyperdrive controls, weapons and a few tiny things things like the landing gear and lights. That’s it. The AI hides and restricts the rest. Because Dib is considered a valid driver, but isn’t considered the ship’s OWNER, he can’t just request that the ship give him back these things and have them be given back.

And apart from the steering, Dib doesn’t know how to properly use the things he has access to because the Ship refuses to translate things. In fact, it couldn’t even if it tried. Dib originally used the ship as a translator/computer in Backseat Drivers From Beyond The Stars via a remote connection, and when Zim woke up the ship’s AI, it automatically detected that remote connection and put the entire computer system into lockdown, revoking it’s access to the Irken database and any foreign connections. This means that it can’t update things like maps, can’t connect remotely to anything or be remote controlled, and can’t translate things from Irken, as the translation software relies on the Irken database to work.

Dib can’t disable the lockdown, Tak’s Ship can’t disable the lockdown, Zim can’t even disable the lockdown. The only person that can take the ship out of lockdown and reconnect it to the Irken database is Tak because she’s the Ship’s owner. So even if the ship wanted to, it can’t translate stuff for Dib or give him information that it doesn’t already know, as it can’t access the Irken internet and look things up anymore.

So if Dib wants to use the hyperdrive and doesn’t want to miss his target by several thousand light years and die in the cold dark emptiness of space, he needs the ship to cooperate and tell him exactly what to do, because Dib can’t read the maps or tell what he’s doing.

With weapons, Dib has full access to all weapons (mostly because the ship only has one) and can aim and fire it, but the AI also has access to the aiming systems and has a tendency to force Dib to miss shots.

And lastly, Tak’s Ship has one master plan to get Dib to stop using it: using up all its fuel.

Dib has no way of acquiring anything that an advanced ship can use as fuel. Tak’s Ship runs on concentrated dark matter for the main engine and uses exotic matter to power the hyperdrive, neither of which can be acquired on Earth. Earth scientists still consider dark and exotic matter to be completely theoretical topics that aren’t even worth researching, and it will be eons until humanity finally figures that stuff out. And that’s assuming that they ever do.

Tak’s ship also doesn’t have a modern hyperdrive that makes its own exotic matter on account of Tak’s Ship being built from scrap on a garbage planet. Tak didn’t have the time or resources to try and find things like a modern hyperdrive, so she used older stuff that she took from the wrecks of older ship models.

And Dib can’t go to charted space and buy this stuff for two main reasons: the language barrier, as English isn’t spoken outside of Earth since Earth is a recently discovered garbage world that isn’t worth travelling to, and money, as Earth money is useless outside of Earth and Dib has no way of acquiring accepted currencies.

Fuel is in very limited supply for Dib, and the Ship knows that. Even when Dib isn’t using the ship, the AI purposely leaves parts of itself (often parts that Dib is unaware of) on so it keeps draining fuel. The AI also refuses to show Dib how much fuel it has left or even the fact that it uses fuel at all, so Dib doesn’t know about the fuel usage. The AI also refuses to show Dib any damage it’s taken.

It’ll take a long time since Dark Matter Drives (the type of engine that Tak’s ship has) are really fuel efficient, but eventually Tak’s ship will run out of fuel and Dib won’t be able to get it going again. The AI also has hopes that it’ll run out of fuel when Dib is driving it, just so it can take him down with it.

#invader zim #headcanons #dib membrane #Tak’s ship #Tak’s Ship AI @Dib: If you didn’t somehow accidentally register yourself as a valid driver in my systems I would crash us both into the sea #Tak’s Ship AI @Zim: I absolutely hate you but if given the choice I’ll take you driving over Dib #Tak’s Ship AI @Gir: *PTSD flashbacks to Mimi destroying their interior* STAY BACK DONT COME ANY CLOSER FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

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