#i can hear 'what a howl of protest!' in his voice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sp1cy-t0ss · 1 year

Text

Antares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721

The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.

He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.

“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?”

“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding.

The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.

“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.

“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.

Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.

The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear...

But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.

The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.

This is his plan?!

There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.

The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.

“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.

Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”

What?

The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.

“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes.

Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.

“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”

The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”

The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out.

They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--

When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving.

But he’s not looking at them.

Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.

He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.

Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.

“Dove, it’s alright.”

To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.

Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.

“Come back to me.”

The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.

Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”

‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.

Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.

Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed.

The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest.

Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.

This is the same person?

By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again.

Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.

Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.

“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head.

“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”

Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.

‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss.

A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.

When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle.

“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”

“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.

Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.

Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak.

“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”

And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.

“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.

A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.) The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground.

Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.

Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.

“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”

The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”

"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.

Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”

That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”

Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it.

“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.”

Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?”

“Bribery.” “Threats.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.

“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”

Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.

“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”

Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.

“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.

Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more.

Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)

Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.

“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.”

With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.

Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.

Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.

#dp x dc #dead serious #they're 16 and 17 #danny says he wants a divorce at every mild inconvenience #danny has dozens of titles and damian has memorized every last one entirely to annoy him #they alternate between adorable cats and those heckling muppets #spice writes #dc x dp #danny x damian

2K notes · View notes

ghoulie-67-baby · 10 months

Text

One too many mistakes- Criminal minds.

Summary: You’re a member of the BAU and have been captured by the unsub. You know they’ll save you but you have to be patient.

Prompts: You escape captivity and start running, only to run into your saviour.

Warnings: Blood, mentions of murder, kidnapping, language, crying, vomiting.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader.

Word count: 1,068.

"You're sick." I spat up at the unsub, my hands aching from being tied up. "Why do you do this?" I watched as his chapped lips curled into a sickening grin, revealing rotted teeth and the stench of blood on his breath.

"Maybe I am sick, maybe I'm the normal one." He shrugged, attacking a tube to the cannula in my arm. "Either way I enjoy it." My eyes widened at the horrifying chuckle that filled the room. Silence overcame us as he fiddled with his equipment. I knew what would happen soon enough. He would collect as much of my blood as he wanted, drink it, and repeat for a few days. When he wanted fresh blood he would dump my body just like with all the other women. Two nights had already passed and I knew my time was limited.

"Rest now sweet pet, ill be back soon." My body slid down the wall as I feigned exhaustion.

A few hours had passed since he left and I had been working hard to escape the ropes. I just about managed to fray the one around my ankles using a nail sticking through the floorboard. My hands shook in my lap, the locks on the door echoing through the room. With my head hanging, I faked sleep, holding back a grin when he left the door wide open.

'That's your first mistake asshole.' The thought made me shiver with anticipation but I waited patiently, knowing timing was imperative. Once he turned back around, I readied myself. His second mistake.

Scrambling to my feet, I yanked my arms from the cannulas and sprinted for the door, not giving him the chance to react.

Pains seared through my limbs as they screamed in protest. The ground was uneven and the lack of light from the dense foliage proved it more difficult to guide myself. Heavy boot falls sounded from behind me as he began the chase. Using tree trunks and bushes as cover, I hid myself and tried to figure out my direction.

"You bitch!" I could tell he was stalking closer, his voice getting louder. Taking an unsteady breath, I stumbled through the threes, trying to ignore the dizziness clouding my head. "You can't run forever!" He was right, especially with the state I was in, but I'd give it a damn good go if it meant a better chance of surviving.

"I can hear you," he sang into the darkness, his sickening grin flashing through my head. "I can smell you, almost taste you. All that fresh blood going to waste." My heart raced in my chest, cementing my fear that he could actually hear it.

Tears clouded my vision as I staggered through branches and rotting leaves. The tree roots seemed to latch onto my feet as I ran, making me trip and struggle for balance. With my captor's voice converging on me and my senses overtaken by panic and pain I didn't notice the figures ahead of me.

The howl of a dog broke me from my panicked stupor and I fell back, eyes wide and blurry as the animal barked at me.

"Y/N?" A figure called my name and I scrubbed my eyes with the heels of my bound palms. They focused a little better, revealing the angry face of Hotch and the concern and relief of my team. My body flooded with relief as my knees shook, teeth chattering in the autumn air. "Hey, you're okay. Y/N walk to me."

I followed the voice, tears streaming down my face as I tried to stay on my feet. My face came into contact with a bulletproof vest but from the cologne, I could tell it was Hotch. Seconds passed before he pulled away from me, hands holding my elbows as his eyes inspected me for injuries. My bound wrists pressed against his chest as his eyes rested on the bleeding wounds on my arms.

"Tell me sweet pet," the yelling made my head snap up as Hotch untied the rope from my sore wrists. "How close am I? Close enough to taste you yet?" A shiver passed up my spine as I gripped my boss's sleeves, tears still falling as the team moved to shield me.

"He won't touch you again, we won't let him." I faced the direction of the voice, hands clutching Aaron's behind my back as the grimy man came into view.

"Tut tut sweet pet, thought we were exclusive?" Hotch's hands flinched slightly as I shook. Third mistake.

"You can't go anywhere now, man, put down the weapon." Morgan's voice was hard and tense as agents surrounded the unsub. "Put it down!". His eyes stayed locked on mine as he put his shotgun down, a sick smile on his face, and knelt amongst the autumn leaves.

The agents closed in quickly, Morgan snapped cuffs on him before hauling him to his feet. I motioned for him to bring him over.

"Why?" My voice shook no matter how hard I tried to keep it steady. "Why did you really do it?"

"I already told you pet," he leant closer, ignoring Morgan's pull. "Because I enjoy it." With a wave of demented laughter, he was dragged off, laughter mixing with Morgan's commands.

what little colour was in my face drained as I doubled over, hurling up the bile in my empty stomach.

"I've got you. JJ, alert the medics." My hair was gathered back as I heaved what little I could, retches shaking my body.

"M'sorry didn't mean to do that." I chuckled weakly, not even trying to make it sound real as I dragged myself upright. Aaron shook his head, wrapping his jacket around me before guiding me out of the forest, the flash of the ambulance calling my name.

"Don't apologise. I'm just sorry we weren't here sooner. He didn't do anything else did he?" He trailed off, not wanting to imagine what else that monster could do.

"No, he didn't do anything else, just the blood. I'll never look at a doctor the same way ever again." I sighed, sitting on the ambulance step, moving so he could sit with me. "You were here in time, that's all that matters."

Resting my heavy head on his shoulder, exhaustion stopped me from caring that he was my boss, let alone closed off. Instead, I chose to revel in his warmth.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #x reader #reader insert

843 notes · View notes

crispywaffles2 · 1 month

Note

Hello 👋 I hope you are having a wonderful day or night! May I request a Macaque x reader oneshot? Were both are having like flirt contest or sm like that, and they try act all smug and confident, but in reality, they're very flustered with each other? Thank you <<3

Hi!!! Of course I can, and thank you so much for requesting! I'm sorry for how long this took!

First to Fall (Macaque x Reader)

Macaque leans against the tattered cushions of the old couch he stole for his dojo/residence a while ago, throwing his head back as he howls with laughter. He places one hand on his forehead, the other cradling his sore stomach while he cackles at his companions misfortune.

"It is not funny! Stop laughing!" your frantic and embarrassed protests ironically fall on deaf ears, however.

Just minutes earlier the two of you were playing a fun game you had suggested, A Hat in Time, on your Switch. Everything was fun and lighthearted at first; the two of you laughing at the zany situations and lightly poking fun at the others playing style. But everything went downhill when you made it to Subcon Forest.You had jokingly made a comment about how Snatcher, the antagonist of the level, looked eerily similar to the simian beside you, to which Macaque took great offence.

To get you to answer for your crimes, he willed the lights to flicker. That alone was enough to get you a bit on edge. After that the lights turned off, and you could feel or see him beside you anymore.Just before you could delve into a panic, the lights suddenly turned on and Macaque loomed over you from the shadows.

"Boo."

And that lead you to now; the demon struggling to catch his breath as he wheezes at your dispense and you looking angry and utterly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry-! But the look on your face!" he takes a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself not to break out laughing again as he leans forward with a small breath of relief.

"Ahh... you are so cute when you pout like that," the demon hums teasingly, thick eyebrows arched in amusement as he gazes at you through half lidded eyes.

The way your eyes widen at his sudden change in tone is something that can't be controlled, but you are not one to be bested twice. Through sheer will, you force your cheeks not to warm up and give him a steely glare. Two can play at this game. Your grumpy frown melts into a suave smirk, mimicking your companion's.

"I only did it to make you smile. I love the way your face lights up when you laugh." and it wasn't exactly a lie. You really did love seeing his sharp pearly whites when he smiled, even if it was in the smug or condescending manner he usually did. And the sound of his deep, rich cackles stirred something deep within you, something that made your knees go weak.

Macaque doesn't seem to sense the faint undertones of sincerity in your tone (thank goodness), and takes this as a challenge.

He never thought he'd see the day that little old you would challenge someone as naturally suave and charming as him to s flirting battle, but he wasn't complaining.

"You're talking about my laugh? I have yet to hear a giggle as cute as yours." Once again, it takes everything in you not to burst out stammering.

You weren't some pushover, and you weren't going to stand for Macaque scaring you even if his words send jolts of electricity through your body and he was so damn hot when he lowered his voice like that-

You huff and roll your eyes. "Macaque please. We both know that you're the finest thing in this room," you speak as if it's common knowledge, and for some reason that makes Macaque pause.

As confident as the simian is, he doesn't get many compliments. Usually things along the lines of 'conniving' or 'sneaky' are used to describe him. But fine? Oh, you had no idea what you made him feel with that one.

"Oh, I beg to differ doll-" he begins, only to get cut off by a snarky guffaw.

"I beg to differ, handsome." you give him a hard, stone cold stare. This was your chance to let out all of the things you've been feeling for him for who knows how long without being questioned. He wouldn't know you were being serious. Why not just pour it all out now while you have the chance?

"Your smile has got to be one of the most charming things I've ever seen, and don't even get me started on your eyes. Those two things alone could sweep some poor lady off of her feet. And your voice- I could go on for hours about your voice. It's so deep and- and relaxing- you should totally do a podcast or something because it'd have me out like a light in just a few minutes. And that thing you do where you run your fingers through your hair when you think something is funny makes me want to-"

You abruptly cut yourself off, slapping a hand over your mouth. You basically almost confessed. You'd cut yourself off, but the intentions were clear. Your blush spreads so far and fast it reaches the tips of your ears. It was just fun and innocent flirting until you went and ruined it by being genuine and passionate like an idiot.

You slowly look up, eyes wide with embarrassment and fear as you prepare yourself for that harsh and demeaning laugh that he gives everyone when he thinks they're stupid. But it never comes. Instead, what you see when you lift your eyes, is a red faced simian trying to cover up his face with his scarf while looking away from you. But the flush on his ears couldn't be denied, and neither could the smile playing at his lips.

".. you really meant that didn't you?" he asks shakily, making you immediately try to backpedal.

He wasn't making eye contact with you anymore. That had to be a bad sign. But before you could open your mouth and begin letting a waterfall of apologies cascade out, a small snicker can be heard. It was Macaque, obviously. He tries covering his mouth, but the laughter seeps through. Except this laughter wasn't mocking or mean. The six eared Macaque was sitting on your couch, letting out almost comically giddy giggles.

He might as well have been twirling his hair and kicking his feet too. Surprised by this unexpected reaction, you slowly begin laughing along. His laughter still had that deep, rich twang to it, but now it was filled with a lightness that made you feel.. all kinds of different things. Macaque quickly gets his act together, clearing his throat and straightening up with embarrassment.

"I... guess we have our winner huh?" he asks in a slightly awkward tone, looking as though he was holding himself back from something. You're quick to speak up before you can get cut off again.

"Macaque I'm so sorry- I just got carried away and I don't- I poured my heart out like that by accident!" you stammer, hoping what you're saying is at least a bit intelligible.

Macaque puts his hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's okay dude, I'm not mad or anything.. in fact..." he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss against your cheek, causing you to freeze up and go completely red.

"now I have more things to tease you with," he cackles, pulling away before you could land any sort of hit on him.

He sinks into one of his shadow portals, making you frown, before he reemerges in the kitchen. You knew what this was about. If you wanted revenge you'd have to work for it. You shoot up from the couch, running around his dojo like a headless chicken trying to catch your dark furred friend. Er... partner? A kiss on the cheek wasn't exactly platonic, but he never said he wanted to be more than friends either.

You decide not to think too hard about it, focusing on finding Macaque instead. And when you finally do manage to tackle the monkey, it's obvious it's only because he let you. And to enact your revenge, you begin peppering kisses all over his stupid, smug face. Macaque lets out another round of that giddy laughter, and then brushes his lips against yours before disappearing.

You chase him around the apartment again. And so the cycle continues.

#macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lmk x reader #lmk oneshot

132 notes · View notes

kairismess · 4 months

Text

⤹˚˖♬୭ karaoke night.

🍰 genre: fluff ~ ! ✒️ word count: 969 💭 summary: sakusa has a hidden talent, which he's only willing to show off while the other three are drunk, and you're here to listen. 🍥 author's note: if y'all get my reference as to which idol that is, i will love you forever frfr

sakusa has always avoided group gatherings as much as he could, there was simply nothing enjoyable about being clumped together with a group of people he hardly called friends–associates were the correct term–and sharing the same space with then when they could potentially carry life-threatening pathogens, with or without them knowing.

what a cruel reality it was for him that only he seemed to care about proper sanitation and hygiene, seeing as how bokuto, atsumu, and hinata all just shared the same sake bottle over a round of drinking in this disgustingly compact karaoke room that had zero ventilation whatsoever.

his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes set in a permanent glare, wherever he gazed, he always had something to criticize about its cleanliness, of course, he wouldn't even comment on the sticky table between the four of them.

unbelievable, sakusa thought to himself, as atsumu–in his slurred, drunken stupor–clutched the microphone as he chuckled, with hinata and bokuto cheering him on like his number one fans. the opening beat to the song 'baby' by justin bieber blared through the loudspeakers, and sakusa felt like he could pass away right here, right now to end the suffering; but that would be awful, because then he'd decompose with their clutter around him.

sakusa was curled up into a ball, waiting for you to come back from getting some water for the two of you (he didn't trust the water from the bar), but while you were gone, the rest of the msby jackals were just howling out the lyrics of some ear-piercing song that sakusa didn't even want to hear the end of.

when you got back, sakusa had never been more relieved in his life. he thanked you for the water and, after inspecting its contents and its container, he drank from it. you sat down next to sakusa, making the rest of the team that was terribly drunk tease you two through that dreaded microphone.

"omiomi and manager, sitting in a tree..." "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

bokuto just spoke gibberish for the latter part of that, because he felt like vomiting due to all that alcohol. "...can we please leave?" sakusa asks you in a low voice, leaning in close to your ear. you shiver a little and turn to look at him, your nose touching his that was covered by a mask. he moved away immediately, watching as your eyes widened and your face got a little flustered. "well... we can't just leave them here, i-i mean, look at them, omi..."

sakusa took one look at this sorry bunch that was spurring up all kinds of chaos, he was honestly surprised that they hadn't started a fire yet. turning back to you with a deadpanned look, sakusa spoke in a levelled tone. "they look like shit," "see, omi? so we can't–" "all the more reason why we should leave," sakusa insisted.

"aww, c'mon, omiomi! y'fuckin' killjoy..." atsumu muttered under his breath, taking another swig from the sake bottle. "y-yeah! you haven't... sung a single song... since we got here ya... ya..." bokuto couldn't even finish his sentence, he vomited in the corner, with hinata patting his back, hiccuping, as he tried to help him through it.

"okay, i think—hic!—w-we might—hic!—need to... go home—hic!—soon..." hinata mused, which atsumu and bokuto couldn't even protest against, they were going to be so badly hungover the next morning that they'd forget their names.

"h-hey, omiomi... we'll go home..." atsumu mumbled, handing him the microphone. "...if ya sing a tune," the blonde uttered slyly. sakusa furrowed his eyebrows in disdain at his ultimatum, but he knew that this would be the most peaceful way to resolve things; he couldn't walk out that filthy door without you, you were the only one keeping him sane and put together at this point.

sakusa sighed and with a tissue paper, scrolled through the song list until he found one by an idol his cousin komori introduced him to when they were younger. it had an oddly jolly vibe to it, one you wouldn't expect sakusa to enjoy or even be familiar with in the first place.

atsumu groaned, but you and hinata were getting into the song. for the first time that evening, sakusa took off his mask to sing clearer; you had never seen sakusa that serious about something that would force him to take his mask off that wasn't volleyball.

the way sakusa sang, it was so... alluring. it was like everyone, regardless if they enjoyed the song or even knew it, would be inclined to listen to him sing. nearly everyone in the room shut their mouths and held their breaths as they listened to him sing; a siren, that's what you likened sakusa to. his voice was so captivating, he didn't sound professional, he didn't sound fake nor seasoned in terms of singing, he sounded very graceful, very emotional, in a way, when he sung.

it was just right, every note was hit perfectly with the right amount of emotion, and it felt like every word he sung, he meant it; as if those were the words that came from his own heart and out through his melodic voice.

afterwards, sakusa sighed, put on his mask, and handed the microphone back to atsumu, while you, hinata, and bokuto clapped for him. "can we please leave now?" the dark haired boy asked, turning to you. you blinked a little and stammered out a response, not realizing he was asking you. "a-ah, right, i'll start the car," you said with a slight smile, still gushing internally at how amazing sakusa's singing voice was.

you just hoped the drunken trio wouldn't harass sakusa over it, they'd be here all night now after learning their dear omiomi has a lovely singing voice.

182 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 7 months

Text

Engravings (Chapter Two)

(Makarov x F! Reader)

Engravings Masterlist

Word Count: 4.8k Rating: Mature Tags: Brainwashing, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, False Romance, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Injury/Blood, Whump, Stockholm Syndrome, Winter Soldier AU, No Fluff, Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse by Proxy, Mind Games, Eventual Happy Ending Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Mind the tags (Read on Ao3)

You dream of them.

They surround you, and the TV drones on in the background. Your legs are propped on someone’s lap, one of them sprawls on the floor in front of you. You itch your fingers through his mohawk, listen to his huff as his hand closes atop yours. A smile graces your features, and a smoky, raspy voice murmurs something to a figure standing behind the couch, arms crossed, swaddled in a dark hoodie. His face is hidden by a balaclava, but his eyes are soft when they rest on you. Trusting.

You reach for him. He evaporates into smoke along with the rest of them.

When you wake, your entire body hurts. It’s dim, dark, and you can still smell your own blood that has stopped oozing from your shoulder. A flickering fluorescent lamp glows above you, blinking too bright against the back of your eyelids. You’ve been stripped on your gear, mercifully covered by a blanket that keeps the thin, frigid air at bay. A bunker, you guess, and by the Russian signs on the walls it’s one of your own. There’s voices from the other room, speaking in grim, low tones you can hardly hear.

It takes effort to rise, bones creaking in sharp protest. The blanket drapes across your form, legs unsteady. You wobble towards the voices of your comrades, unsure what exactly you’re looking for. Yet as you amble down the hall on bare feet, the lamp light of a desk catches your eyes, and with it- a series of photographs.

You shouldn’t be curious. You know better than that by now. Quiet, complacent, don’t ask questions. Poised, perfect, savage and silent. Yet like an invisible tether you’re drawn inwards, a moth to flame. There’s pictures, photographs taken from afar, grainy and vague. Yet the figures in the photos are familiar, and as your fingers graze over them something sparks inside the hollow of your chest. A distant flame, and for the first time you feel warm.

“Ghost.” You whisper, scarcely audible as you take in the skull mask that stared across from you on the rooftop, had faltered when he found you in his sights. Gaz, who had tried to stop you atop the bridge, eyes full of despair. Soap, who had so long ago slung his arms across your shoulders and infected you with his laughter. Price, who had cornered you in Prague, had whispered the words that had taken root and blossomed into a grotesque doubt that has haunted you ever since.

“What did he do to you?”

It starts off as a distant sense of falling, the air around you strangely serene, silent. Light blossoms inside the hollow of your chest like an unfurling explosion, and as you gaze at the dazzling brightness of it you almost forget to brace for the shock wave that sends the world around you into lawless chaos. With it returns the howl of their voices- of Gaz’s cry, his hands stretching for you as you careen off the bridge, trying to rescue you from the dark waters, the inescapable tide of violence you noticed too late. It closes over your head, pulling you downwards into the darkness of his embrace.

Makarov.

You stumble from the room, chest too tight, gasping for air. The truth unfurls with sickening reality inside you, memories colliding in a horrible realization of the truth.

The plane being shot down. Jumping into the sky, your parachute unfurling, only to collapse when burning debris shot through the fabric. Hearing your team scream as you rocketed downwards, panicking, reaching for your second chute, seeing the ground race upward as you spun downwards-

“What is your name?”

“I don’t know.”

Your stomach empties itself before you can stop yourself, and the noise makes the murmurs in the other room go quiet. You tremble, clutching the wall, and your mind screams of enemies. Danger. Your body aches with a fierce pain, unable to contain the stress, heart too loud, too fast-

A figure out of the corner of your eye, one of Makarov’s men. A man you once called a comrade. You reel away from him, confused, frightened, and the motion sends your head spinning, the world dizzy in dim color.

You’re unconscious before you hit the ground.

---

They bring you back to him, his prize turned puppet. You awaken in his lap, eyes opening to his, and there’s something in your hindbrain that purrs at the mere sight of him, ready to open yourself to him, do all he asks of you and more. His dark eyes churn like storm clouds, and you force yourself not to stiffen, to show fear, to give the barest indication that you know.

“Sleep well, beautiful?” He breathes, and the smile you give him feels too real, pulling at a tepid heartstring you wish you didn’t have.

“You saved me again.” You murmur softly instead, raise a bandaged hand to caress his face. The glimmer of darkness in his eyes relaxes into something mildly resembling serenity. “Makarov.”

It’s breathed with a sigh, a confession you will now never speak. He accepts it like an offering unto his altar, leans down to kiss you. You part your lips, slot his mouth against yours, drink in the taste of him, the faint scent of vodka that clouds your fragile judgment. He moans the name he’s given you, gathers you into his arms, nips at the growing bruises on your skin and whispers devotions there. Each word is tender, beloved, as if he’s realized he nearly lost you, that he can never let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your jaw. “I should have never made you go.”

It’s said with a desperate rasp, his hands gripping you closer. It softens you at the edges, the adoration you hold for this man, this murderer, a creature of violence born in darkness. He holds you to him like something precious, something to be cherished. Uncertainty of a different kind blooms inside your ribs like a macabre bouquet.

He took you. Stole you away but saved your life. He could have killed you a thousand times over but he hasn’t. Even after this, even after failing him, nearly dying without his permission, he embraces you like a lover. Beloved. Only his. He’s engraved himself into your bones, carved a place for himself that even now you can’t deny. You wonder if it’s all true. The lynx painting watches you from over his shoulder, a predatory stare. You wonder if his eyes are the same.

You wonder why you still love him despite it all.

You’re battered, bruised from your near-death experience. It takes weeks for you to recover, for your bones to mend, your cuts to heal, the bullet wound in your shoulder to close, the ringing in your ears to stop. Time does not heal the broken pieces of you shattered by the truth.

It itches under your skin, the waiting. There’s a trained reflex inside you to be moving, active, useful in the way weapons are. Your purpose is to serve him. Without purpose you’re nothing but a broken, empty thing. The bred urge inside you strains to yield to Makarov’s hands, to throw yourself into the path of danger for him, to treat his orders like divine prophecy.

It scares you.

The worst part of waiting is not the patience it takes for your body to recover, but the emptiness. Makarov has left you in his absence, but not alone. There’s a guard outside your safehouse at all times. Makarov says it’s for your safety. The guard doesn’t speak, barely looks at you. Yet you feel his eyes when your back is turned, and you know you’re being watched.

It’s a dangerous game you play, pretending nothing has changed. Your routine goes unaltered from before. You rise early, eat, tend to your wounds, exercise, occupy yourself silently, obediently, a mere object waiting for his return. His polished prize, his beautiful, gleaming dagger, sitting in a glass display until he’s ready to use you again. The guard watches you with a cold stare, sees you silently retire for the evening where you curl into yourself with wide eyes, trying to understand the chaos inside you, the way your world has evaporated into smoke overnight.

You aren’t supposed to be here. Your true home lies a thousand miles away, and in your dreams the desperate, despairing eyes of Price and Gaz call to you, echoing the name you’d forgotten. Soap reaches for you, Ghost stares at you through his scope, rust colored gaze betraying his grieving shock. You belonged to them once, you think, before you were his.

Makarov loves you, something inside you whispers. He doubts you, doubts your loyalty, but you can’t erase the gentleness in his eyes, his soft touch as you lay on his bare chest, stroking your cheek with crooked knuckles. He wouldn’t kill you. You’re his. His weapon, his beloved, his marionette.

Yet the truth of it all lays bare against your skin. He stole you from them, took apart your fragile mind and rebuilt it to something better, something greater. He turned you into something you could never be before. Fearless of death, skilled beyond measure, overflowing with undying loyalty. You soak in the blood of his enemies and arrive back to sink to his feet, sigh into his palm as he cups your face and smears red against your skin. He’s turned you into a shell of yourself, hollow except for him. He places you in the path of danger with a kiss, collects you once you’ve been charred to ashes and whispers sweet praises until the time comes once more to repeat this cycle of violence once more. Each time he unsheathes the blade of you your body and mind fracture a little further. You know there will come a day where you do not come back to him, and you know the part of you that loves him will speak his name with your dying breath.

Just how far has he burrowed himself inside you, you wonder? Just how certain are you of his adoration for you, this man who will use you again and again until you’re broken, but will press you into his silk sheets with murmurs of adoration? Makarov is not a gentle man, and you know too that he will someday meet the same fate he predestines for you. He makes you earn his love because his morals will allow nothing less. If you are to stand beside him, two steps back, by his right shoulder, you must be more than just beautiful. Lethal, unquestioning, compliant. He hasn’t killed you yet despite his doubts, and you tell yourself it is because of his love for you.

Despite everything, you know you can’t stay.

Escape remains a distant possibility, a far-fetched fantasy. Guarded at all times, injured still as you are, there’s no way to flee. Neither is there a way to contact the men you’ve been robbed from, tell them you know now, tell them you’re in danger, plead to come home, confess to them that you think you are home. The silent weeks without him allow you to plan, and in that time you practice utter composure, face blank, refusing to reveal even an inch of doubt. The second you do, the second you express uncertainty, you become useless to him...

You tell yourself he’ll let you live. Perhaps he’ll lock you away like a fragile dove, keep you in a gilded cage until the fractures of your mind widen, crack your resolve until you once more fall into step behind him. He won’t kill you, not if he loves you.

Even so, your fate at his hands is a tragic one. Death or surrender. Neither one you can accept. So with each dawn you try and convince yourself you will never be safe here despite your tenderness for him, and you tell yourself even that is another falsehood woven into your skin.

You’re not completely healed by the time he calls on you again. It’s a test. He’s expecting you to protest, to say you aren’t ready, to show a glimpse of uncertainty. You swallow it down as he smiles, telling your guard to leave you both alone. You lean into his kiss and wonder why it feels so right.

There’s an instinct to yield to him automatically, to surrender. It’s easier, simpler, to resort to this life you’ve led at his hands. To struggle with the truth robs you of sleep, cracks at your composure. To fall into him feels like a gentle sigh, releasing the voice inside you screaming to be freed, to run.

You cling to him tighter, trying to memorize the shape of him so you’ll remember when you leave him. When you escape.

As you get dressed you limp, your leg not entirely healed. Makarov places you atop the edge of the bed, kneels at your feet to draw a sock up your calf. It’s intimate, tender, and the velvet softness of his eyes conceals the calculation in his stare. A horrible wrongness bubbles in your stomach at this foreign gesture, so delicate and careful even as you know he is once more hurling you in the path of danger. He’ll wait for you to return to gaze into the emptiness of your eyes that alight only when you’re with him.

It’s not an easy assignment. Your target is a CIA informant, and for once your mission is not to kill her. Capture, kidnapping, so you can bring her back like prey caught in your jaws. She’s not unlike you, you think. Your age, about your height. The same colored eyes. You wonder if it’s just a coincidence, or if somehow he has predestined this as well. A mind game, watching the vision of your own demise, recalling the memories of being stolen away into his blood soaked grasp. You want to scream, to warn her, to tell her to flee. You know it may come at the cost of your own life.

She struggles as your arm closes around her neck, hauling her backwards into the black, unmarked van. Her shout is muffled by the chloroform cloth across her face. As she grows limp in your grasp, as your driver speeds off into the night, you feel something inside you crack open further, and you pray to whatever god is listening that you will someday forgive yourself for this, for the act of pretending so you stay alive.

When the spy is dumped on the steps of the American embassy, you struggle to not weep.

In the deaths that follow, your soul slowly brittles into a gasping, fragile cry.

He’s testing you. Each new assignment forces you to choose between your morals and your life. You wonder if this is his method of breaking you, compressing you down into yourself so he can fill the cracks with his poisonous adoration. Breaking you in body and mind, hollowing you out so there’s only him, only ever him. You scream in the prison of your mind, the noise silent but deafening. You belong to him, your heart his, but the promise of freedom struggles to overwrite the gentle touches he engraves into your skin under the hazy blue light of his bedroom.

With each death, each assignment, every new mission the cracks widen. Hysteria threatens to force its way up your throat in a desperate wail, begging the stars he divines in a plea for mercy. They gaze down at you unblinking, and you know he has written your fate amidst the constellations.

You swallow down tears as he braces above you, sheets tangled around your forms. You kiss him and remember how it feels to love him, wondering why the grace of his love is so painful. He gathers you to him after, form bare, he watches your face with unblinking fixation until the dreams take you once more.

There’s a part of you that wants to go back to that time of ignorance, back when you clung to the smallest bit of affection he gave to you, the only reason for your existence. A simpler time, when you were his and only his, not haunted by the truth. If you could return to that time, when you had both stood in the December dawn, when he had pressed a kiss to your knuckles and then held your face in his hands with a tender smile. If you could go back, if you could forget, if you could die being his...

There’s no going back. Not anymore.

Escape eludes you. Each mission is amidst a team of others. You’re never alone except for the safehouses he keeps you in, caged until he once more has use for your fangs. The others watch you, and you struggle to mute the sound of your own rapid heartbeat lest they hear it. They study your blank expression for indications of uncertainty, disloyalty, and a whisper of potential betrayal. You dread what will happen when they eventually find it, if they’ll haul you back to him screaming and thrashing, the noose of your fate closing around your throat. You force the shake in your hands to still, force yourself to not mind the way blood catches under your fingernails.

Your opportunity comes suddenly.

Your handler, as you’ve begun to refer to them as- the ever-changing cast of soldiers under his command that monitor you, watches you carefully. You walk in step beside him, as he leads you through the winding streets of Minsk in a seemingly random pattern. He says you’re walking to rendezvous with a contact. You’re not sure if you believe him. He leads you to an open park and your skin itches, the site too open, prone to sniper fire. You try to shift your gaze without him noticing, sweeping the rooftops for the glint of a scope. You pause by a bench, and the man sits, gestures to you to do the same.

“Stay here.” The handler tells you in Russian, and then leaves you.

Alone.

You blink in astonishment, watching him vanish in the distance. The silence in his absence rings in your ears. You think perhaps this is it, your final, profound act of rebellion as you jump to your feet and flee. You wonder if a hidden sniper might shoot you down if you do. The hope that is supposed to spark to life inside you is smothered by a choking shroud of dread.

Something isn’t right.

Why give you the chance? With how his trust in you wavers? Why leave you alone knowing it gives you an opportunity to flee? No doubt you’re being watched even now, but perhaps you can outrun whoever it is that is observing you. Is this a test? One you’re designed to fail? Would he actually let you go? Without a goodbye?

It draws across your thoughts suddenly, like the flash of a distant explosion as the ground trembles under you ominously.

You’re being used as bait.

They’re expecting them to come for you. He had you paraded you through the streets in clear view, made a display of proof of life, and then left you like bait in a trap. He’s expecting one of your team to sneak up to you, to try and rescue you. He wants them to take you by the hand and pull you to safety, only for you to watch them cut down by sniper fire as their blood splatters across your immaculate wardrobe. He’s using you to execute them.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you scan the park for familiar faces. It’s mostly empty, the lane of trees leading up to the fountain bare from the deep freeze of winter. Your eyes fall on a figure there, slouching against a tree trunk, mask pulled down so cigarette smoke floats from the corner of his mouth. Sandy blonde hair peeking from under a beanie, a scar snaking up to his jaw, but the rust eyes are the same without his skull mask.

Your eyes lock, and he holds it for a moment before his gaze sweeps up to a nearby rooftop before landing back on you. A silent question. You nod. He grimaces, and those trusting eyes sink with a sadness that engraves itself into your bones alongside the name of your puppet master.

A simple hand signal, one you’ve seen him use a hundred times.

Wait.

Your heart sinks. You want to call out to him, hurl yourself towards the safety of his arms, beg for rescue and hope that the mere touch of him and the others will erase the things you’ve done, the person you’ve become, the phantom of Makarov’s embrace. Yet Ghost warns you to wait, to stay put. They’ll find another way, one that doesn’t risk your life for the price of freedom. You can’t stand it. Here’s right there, he’s so close.

You part your lips, and you mouth to him a single word.

“Help.”

Your handler comes to collect you. Ghost is gone before the car Makarov’s man escorts you to pulls away.

Later, a stranger bumps shoulders with you at the airport, muttering an apology before running off and dragging a piece of luggage behind him. You blink after him. He looks familiar.

It’s only after you’re stashed into a safehouse, discarding your clothes on the floor of your bathroom that the note flutters free from your pocket. Handwritten, scrawled hastily. You recognize Johnny’s handwriting, with the barely dotted ‘i’s and crossed ‘t’s. Your name is written at the top. The one you’d forgotten.

This is your name. We’re not sure how much you remember, but you were a soldier, a warrior like us.

More than that, you were our ally, our friend.

He took you from us. We didn’t know, hen, we swear. We thought you died in the plane crash.

We mourned for you. We didn’t know you were alive. We didn’t know what he did to you.

We’re coming. We’ll bring you home. We won’t stop until you’re safe.

Be patient, stay alive. We’ll find a way.

If you can get away by yourself, contact Nikolai. He can help you.

Come back to us.

Please.

You memorize the cell number on the paper, look once more at the beloved words of your friends, and vanish the letter without a trace.

---

The gun in your hands is familiar. A Soviet era semi-automatic pistol, 9-millimeter. His favorite. A relic of a bygone era that continues to prove its usefulness. A ghost of the past that in so many ways mimics his ideals. Your hands close around it, feeling the cool grip against your fingers. You lift the sights to your gaze, stare beyond to the target who stands before you, his hands raised.

Price’s eyes are wide with grief and disbelief.

Behind him are the men you once called brothers. They stand in shocked silence, not reaching for their weapons, refusing to lift them to you, shoot you down, even in this. There’s heartbreak in their eyes, an inescapable despair that sucks the fabric of hope from their souls.

The gun trembles in your grip. The safety clicks off like the sound of a thunderbolt, and the voice of your true self wails in a bone chilling shriek the others don’t seem to hear. Agony pulses scorching in your blood, eyes locked with the light of anguish in Price’s stare. The cracked marrow of you, where Makarov has etched his engravings, thirsts for warm blood to soak your skin. You know the warmth of his tongue as he drinks it from your wet, heaving gasps.

“Shoot him.”

Cold, detached, a voice you’ve heard a thousand times and will hear a thousand times more. His form presses into your spine, arms looping around your waist so he props his chin on the crook of your shoulder. You don’t need to look at him to know the darkness in his eyes, the absence of a smile that he’ll only reveal in the wake of your violence.

Lips skim the shell of your ear in a feather-light touch. You shudder, instinctively pressing back into him in search of his embrace, the place where you’re safe, home, loved.

“Do you like my marionette, captain?” He asks smoothly, gaze blinking slowly like a cat. Unbothered, apathetic, cruel. “Do you like what I’ve made her?”

Price’s face hardens into fury. You startle at it, mistaking his ire not for Makarov but for you- The one who has yet to find your way back, who had earned the price of your life by killing the ones he’s fought to protect. You wonder if he can smell the viscera on your hands. You wonder if someday you’ll earn his forgiveness.

Makarov chuckles, as if he’s amused by the hateful scorn on your captain’s face. His hands snake up your sides, your arms, until his calloused palms close over the grip holding the pistol.

“Just pull the trigger, darling.” He whispers silkily. “Kill them and come back to me.”

His finger presses yours down on the trigger. You tremble. You can’t move. Price doesn’t flinch. The hollow inside you clenches so violently it forces the air from your lungs in a wet, gasping sob.

A kiss to your jaw.

“Come back to your cage, Marionette.”

The gunshot is muffled by your scream.

---

“Marionette!!”

You push at the hands that wrench you from slumber, voice rising in a wail that cracks at your throat. Hot tears overflow from your eyes, and your watery gaze takes in the looming shadow that braces above you in the dark. A whimper escapes you, and you try to pull away, to escape. Scared, confused, delirious with fear, you fumble at his hands securing your arms, begging in a wrecked plea for mercy.

“No, please-”

“Marionette.” He hisses, angry now at your fearful delusions. A hard shake forces you to gasp and suck cold air into your lungs. “Look at me.”

You do, choking on a sob, shaking from head to toe. You look at this man who had captured you and poisoned the spirit of you, made you forget even your own name. You can barely see him in the darkness aside from the glint of his predatory stare. The grip he has on you will leave bruises, and a part of you still accepts this too.

“Breathe.” He whispers, and it’s a soft sigh, gentle in comparison to his inherent viciousness. “You’re safe.”

Am I? You wonder feverishly. With you?

You force yourself to swallow as you shudder, taste the liquid pulse of your heartbeat against the cage of your ribs. It thumps in the hollow inside you, where his strings ensnare your soul.

“I saw him.” You force yourself to rasp, desperately scrambling for an excuse for your hysteria. “The man who tried to take me from you.”

Makarov’s grip on you doesn’t loosen. In the darkness, he stays silent.

He doesn’t believe you.

Panic flares inside you, and once more you whimper, quiver in his hold.

He could kill you, right here. He could stretch to cup your face in a delicate hold, whisper a soothing murmur only to snap your neck. You could die here, in his arms, in the way you are meant to.

Instead he releases a slow breath through his nose, shifts so he lays you down with you curled into his chest. His arms close around you in a tender embrace. They feel like shackles. He plants a beloved, gentle kiss to your forehead and you sob, remembering the time when it was all you ever wanted.

“It was a nightmare, beloved.” He whispers soothingly, a hand tracing your bare spine. “Just a dream.”

A hand raises up to your nape, tilts your head into the stare of his glittering darkness. He’s silent for a moment, seeing the way your eyes sparkle with tears, and you wonder if he smiles at that, enjoying the sight of your desperation. A thumb smoothes moisture across your cheek. You lean into it with a sigh.

“They’ll never take you from me.” He promises in a murmur. Low, lethal, imminent with his intent that rewrites the heavens.

You know he divines this prophecy too.

You cling to him like a child afraid of the unknown, feel the warmth of him bleed into you. You think about how his violence and vengeance scares you. You think about the way his lips taste on yours. You think about the endearments he whispers into your skin with dearest sincerity. You think about the things he’s done to you despite his affections. You think about the bruises and scars you bear as a cost of his love. You think about the death in his stare as he slaughters his betrayers...

and you know you’ll have to kill him.

Taglist:

(If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, please reblog this post and add 'taglist')

@writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror @soapskneebrace @badame0224 @mayhem-baby @emrzennn @papaver-decervicatus @warenai @ggeveryone99 @justmare @merkitty49 @darkstars-14 @lostagoodcigar @gazs-blue-hat @siilvan @bucca2 @franticallyfanning @danjo-ao3 @scatter-mind001 @lonesome-doves

(If you'd like to be removed from this taglist, pls DM me)

#makarov x reader #makarov x you #makarov x f! reader #Makarov x y/n #cod x reader #darkfic tw #darkfic #dead dove do not eat #fic: engravings #mwIII #call of duty mwiii #cod mwiii #call of duty modern warfare 3 #x reader #reader insert

220 notes · View notes

fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

More Than Friends

Part 2 of Good Friends

Pairing: hangman x female!reader

TW: angst, fluff, drinking, forced proximity

Summary: After you get snowed in with Jake, dagger squad is tired of watching you avoid each other like the plague.

Word Count: 1.9k

You and Jake built your friendship from the ground up after your relationship burned to the ground but after that evening at the Hard Deck, he's been acting distant. He brushes you off when you try to bring it up, and it's starting to take a toll on you. He's your best friend and you miss him.

Part of you wonders if it's because of what you said when he tried to bring up rekindling your old romance, but a better part of you thinks that can't be it. It hit a boiling point last weekend when he completely ignored you and walked away when you tried to talk to him. You haven't spoken since then.

Which is exactly why you're not happy about your current predicament. The Dagger Squad has had a ski trip to Northern California planned for months, and it was too late to back out. You've been here for a week and it's been hell. Now as the wind howls outside and snow flutters down from the sky, you find yourself snowed into a cabin with your ex-turned-friend.

He hasn't spoken a word to you since you arrived, and your feelings are starting to tip from hurt to pissed. He's sitting on the opposite end of the couch deliberately avoiding you, and your face has been pinched in a permanent scowl ever since you realized he's not going to put on his big boy pants and talk to you.

Phoenix is watching from the kitchen with Bradley and shakes her head.

"When are those idiots going to figure out they never moved on?" She huffs and Bradley chuckles. They've watched the two of you skirt around each other for months, but being exposed to the torture the last week has them at their breaking point.

"At this point, I'm starting to think it may have to be the end of the world for them to pull their head out of their asses."

Phoenix snorts in response and a comfortable silence falls over them before Bradley speaks again.

"Maybe we should get them drunk." He suggests and his friend turns to look at him.

"That's diabolical. I love it." She nods and they begin gathering their supplies.

You look up when they return to the living room and your frown deepens when you see Bradley holding a bottle of tequila.

"Okay," Natasha begins with a loud clap. "Since we're stuck here, let's drink and play truth or dare."

Jake breathes a laugh and shakes his head. "What are we, seventeen?" He quips and Bradley smacks him on the back of the head. You fight back a smile upon hearing his voice for the first time in a week and move to stand.

"I'm good." You say while forcing a yawn. "I'm going to head to bed."

Phoenix pushes you back down on the couch and you stare up at her with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry, participation is mandatory." She announces and you groan. You start to protest but your mouth snaps shut when she sends you a sharp look.

"Fine," You grumble. "What are the rules?"

Bradley smiles mischievously while sitting on the floor and you can already tell you're not going to enjoy this.

"If you don't want to answer a truth question, you take a shot. If you don't want to do a dare, the alternative is dealer's choice." He explains and you sigh. You glance at Jake to find him wearing a displeased expression similar to yours.

Thirty minutes later you and Jake are both several shots deep after avoiding embarrassing questions and the group is laughing loudly as everyone loosens up from the liquor. It's your turn again and Bradley turns to you.

"Okay, Y/N. Truth or dare?" He asks and you ponder for a second. You’re pretty sure if you have to take another shot right now, you’ll puke.

"Give me a dare." You answer and you immediately regret it when his mouth turns up into a wicked grin.

"I dare you to kiss Jake."

Your mouth drops open and you vaguely hear Coyote mumble an 'oh shit'. Your eyes dart to Jake and his face has paled significantly.

"No way in hell. Give me an alternative." You insist while shaking your head and Bradley shrugs.

"Fine, the alternative is stripping down and streaking in the snow."

You stare at him blankly, trying to figure out if he's serious. You are nowhere near drunk enough to do either of those things.

"You're fucking joking." You stutter and he shakes his head.

"Nope." He pops the p and your eyes narrow. You look around the group before landing back on Jake and you know you can't get out of this.

"Fine." You sneer through clenched teeth before crawling over to the blonde pilot.

He stares at you with wide eyes and you take a deep breath before leaning in. Your lips finally meet and you're shocked when Jake leans into the kiss. You can't deny the electricity that shoots through your body as you taste tequila mixed with remnants of his mint toothpaste.

Both of you linger a little longer than necessary, and when you finally pull back his green eyes are staring into yours. You hear someone clear their throat loudly and launch back.

"Okay, who's next?" You ask, trying to divert the attention away from whatever the fuck just happened.

The game goes on for a while longer before everyone decides to head upstairs, leaving you and Jake alone. You shift awkwardly and decide to avoid conversation by cleaning up. You clamber up off the floor and stumble a bit. You're drunker than you thought, and you freeze when you feel Jake's hand steady you.

His hand is warm on your bicep and you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. Neither of you says anything as he releases his grip and you turn to start picking up scattered cups and plates.

He watches you closely as you flit around, his mind running wild. He's definitely had less to drink than you, he's sure of that as he observes your sloppy movements. He stands to help after a few minutes but it's not until he reaches around you and your hands brush in the kitchen that the dam breaks.

You whip around and steady yourself, your breath hitching when you come chest-to-chest with him. You had no intention of saying anything but the liquid courage has impaired your decision-making skills, and the words leave your mouth before you can fully process them.

"Why are you being mean to me?" You meant for it to come out strong, but your voice is more of a whisper and your words slur just barely.

"What do you mean?" He asks sincerely and you roll your eyes. You're trying to look intimidating but Jake can't help but think you look like an angry puppy. It's just too cute to take seriously.

"I mean," You say while jabbing his chest for emphasis. "Why have you been avoiding me?" Jake's heart squeezes when he notices how sad you look and he silently scolds himself for being the cause.

"You're the one that said to leave well enough alone." He finally responds and confusion washes over you.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" You question and he sighs. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid and he pushes down the bile as he realizes he's going to have to come clean.

"Do you really not see it?" He asks softly and he runs a hand down his face when it dawns on him that you really are oblivious.

"I've been in love with you since the first time I made you laugh. I thought being friends would be enough, but it's not. I can't pretend anymore. I can't act like you're not the first person I search for in a crowded room, like I don't dream about you at night, like my hearts not breaking anytime I see you with another man." He confesses and your features soften.

"You're the only person I want to call when something good happens, and I want to be the one you run to when you have a bad day. I can't be so close to you and so far at the same time." He finishes and you're at a loss for words.

"Jake.." You breathe while reaching up to cup his face and he feels his heart break.

"It's okay, Y/N. You've made your feelings crystal clear, this is my problem. I understand that you don't love me back." He mutters, trying to blink back the tears stinging his eyes. You stare at him for a moment, just really taking him in.

This is Jake you're talking about. The man who over the course of almost a decade has always been there for you, even when you pushed him away. You've always known that he's just a phone call away, no matter what time of night or what the circumstances are. You're pretty sure you'll be using him as a baseline for any relationship you ever have, and you're also pretty sure no one else will ever measure up.

You wipe away a single tear that falls down his cheek and lean up to kiss the wet streak it left behind.

"What if I do?" You whisper and his eyes fly open.

"What?" He asks in disbelief and you smile gently.

"What if I love you? What if I always have and was just too stupid to realize it?" You respond and he takes in a sharp breath.

"You're drunk." He reasons and you chuckle.

"I've been drunk on you for ten years, Jake." Both of your faces scrunch up and you laugh.

"Okay, that was really cheesy. But there's no amount of alcohol in the world that can change how I feel about you, trust me I've tried."

He peers down at you for a while and you let him, knowing he needs to process.

"I'm in this for the long haul, Y/N. I'm done with the games. If you're not serious, please spare me the heartache." He replies and you shake your head.

"You were right. We're more stable now, we're on a permanent assignment. We've had time to figure ourselves out. We were always the right person wrong time. I think it's time to admit it's the right person right time, now."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Jake's lips are on yours and you fall into a searing kiss filled with years of repressed emotions and unsaid words. You stay like that for a while, just taking everything in. You only pull back when you hear a loud whoop.

"Finally!" Bradley yells and you and Jake both laugh.

"Get out of here Bradshaw." Jake shouts back and the man laughs loudly.

"Okay, okay." He turns to go back to his room but stops and yells back over his shoulder. "Don't fuck anywhere we eat!"

Jake goes to respond but you beat him to it. "No promises!"

You hear him laugh again followed by a door shutting and turn back to Jake. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back into a sweet kiss. You both smile into it, content to be back in each other's arms. Finally, you're back with the one your heart craves.

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @chair-things @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @rosiahills22 @gspenc @benhardysdrumstick @cookielovesbook-akie @wellshit6

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #top gun imagine #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #hangman fluff #hangman angst #hangman x reader #hangman imagine

414 notes · View notes

bimsha · 1 year

Text

Series : 100 WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU

Inspired by: 100 ways to say I love you

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

I Was In The Neighborhood

Pairing: Rindo Haitani x Reader

Tags: lovers, rain, fluff, powercuts, thunder, falling in love all over again

Tw: cursing

Word count: 1.6k

Note: Guess who's back! My writing has gotten a little rusty. Idk if people are still into TR. Let's see I guess <3 I'd continue if people read these anymore or else I'd move onto something else probably.

---

The howling wind slapped past the quiet streets of Shibuya. You looked out the windows, the gloom welcomed you save for the solitary street light flickering on and off, trying to survive through the tortuous summer storm. You sighed, pulling down the shades, closing off the desolate world outside. The weather reports had warned all the citizens in Shibuya to stay indoors and take cover. And you could see why, this storm was one of the worst ones you’ve seen in a while.

The shades didn’t block the howling of the wind or the clutter of rain. You ignored it as you walked to your kitchenette to make a small dinner. The earlier you go to bed, the better it is. You were not sure how much sleep you could get tonight. But at least you can try to get some decent sleep.

You searched aimlessly through your drawers, hoping to find some decent ingredients that wouldn’t give you diarrhoea. In the next moment, the dim-lit kitchen glowed with a strike of sudden light, a moment later, the sky growled, piercing the quiet night of Shibuya with its force. To add flavour to the surprise, next, the lights went out.

You stood in the middle of your kitchen, one hand hovering over the air, the other still inside the pocket of your hoodie as you waited for the comforting light to flood back any moment. Realising your fruitless attempt, you crossed your living room, peeking through the blinds to see the sea of darkness outside. The whole street was wallowing in darkness save for the flashes of occasional light of lightning.

You frowned, your eyes tracing the edges of your furniture, looking as if they would come alive at any moment.

Did I even have any candles? You thought, turning on the flashlight of your phone as you shuffled through your drawers only to discover an empty box of candles, only the scent of wax clinging to the cardboard. “Well, shit.”

You momentarily wandered heading straight to your bedroom but your stomach growled in protest, reminding you of your lunch which was a granola bar before you ran into your next class. You let your mind wander, trying to distract yourself from hunger. You had come to the decision that you would eat when the power came back. Till then, you could sit on your aged sofa and think.

You didn’t get much time to stop by and think these days anyways.

But a knock on the door drove you back to the situation. There was one thing more eerie than facing a storm alone in your apartment with a black out, it was facing a storm alone in your apartment with a black out and you hear a knock on your front door.

That is how horror movies always start, doesn’t it?

You stayed glued to your sofa, straining to hear the knock again. Have you imagined it? You frowned when another knock followed and this time a voice called out. You could barely hear the words through the storm outside. But your heart picked up pace as you reached the baseball bat you kept in the coat cupboard. Inching towards the door, you strained to hear a sound when again a muffled voice said, “Y/n, it’s me, Rin.”

You blinked, oh shi-

You turned the lock and threw the door open to see a half-soaked Rindo standing on your doorstep. The storm was raging and flakes of water carried by the brutal wind attacked your face as you took his arm and dragged him inside. He was still looking at the baseball bat in your hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“I thought it was a thief! Gods’ sake Rin, you're not supposed to be here today.”

“You don’t like me being here?” He asked, smiling teasingly as he dropped the plastic bag he was carrying to the counter as he took off his coat.

“You told me you have a meeting today.”

He shrugged, “It got cancelled, and I was in the neighbourhood. So…”

Despite the light banter, relief took over your heart. You were glad to see him, ecstatic even. You had never been a big fan of the darkness, and it didn’t seem as if the storm was going to let out anytime soon. “Do you have any candles Y/n?” He asked, walking to you, standing disoriented in the living room.

“I don’t think I have.”

A sigh echoed from where he was standing. “Don’t give me the parental disappointment stare,” You chided, trying to manoeuvre your way to your sofa.

“You can’t even see me!”

“But I can feel you,” You said. The two of you were on the opposite side of the room, screaming over the sound of the rain. You listened intently to hear any footsteps when he shone the flashlight of his phone on your face. You hissed, averting your gaze. Rindo chuckled.

“There you are, I brought food. Let’s eat.”

You peered into the plastic bag he brought as you two sat around the small table in the living room. Rindo balanced his phone on one side of the table before taking out two steaming cooked noodles. You knew the label, it was from the shop down the road. “I thought I was going to starve tonight.”

Rindo raised his brow, “Well, you don’t even have candles here.”

“Stop with the candles.”

“I will speak about candles in our marriage itself.”

“Is that a proposal?”

Rindo choked on his food and started coughing. You burst out laughing as you slid the water bottle across the table to him. After several gulps, he leaned back with a heavy sigh when thunder rumbled overhead. “Jesus christ,” Rindo muttered under his breath, picking up his chopsticks.

You both ate in silence for a while, when a strike of lightning illuminated the living followed by thunder. You dropped your chopsticks, startled. “Son of a bitch-”

Rindo reached across the table, “Language, m’lady.” His fingers caressed your skin as you blinked out the panic. It was not that you’re scared of thunder, but sometimes the screams of heaven took you off guard.

You laced your fingers against his, holding onto his hand tight as the assault of the sky continued. Rindo gave it a comforting squeeze. “You alright?”

You nodded at him, “Yeah. But I’d prefer if the light came back.” True to your words, the lights flickered on. You looked at Rindo with dramatic surprise on your face.

“What sorcery is this?” Rindo chuckled.

“I’ve always told you I’m an undercover witch trying to have revenge against all humanity,” You shrugged.

He rolled his eyes, standing as he picked up the two empty bowls, walking to the kitchen. You followed like a lost kitten not wanting to be far apart in case the lights flickered back out. He didn’t comment on this, instead welcomed the warmth as you wrapped your arms around his waist as he washed them. You listened to his breathing, the soft material of his sweater comforting against your skin. “I’ve missed you,” You murmured as Rindo wiped his hands on a clean towel.

“I’ve missed you too. Sorry I’ve been a bit busy with work.”

“It’s alright,” You said when he turned leaning back against the counter, just looking at you. You remembered how when you first started dating people were sceptical how long it would go on. Rindo was not someone who liked to be committed, someone who would give up everything for a life of two. But surpassing all the expectations there they were, dating for two years, his hands on each of your cheeks, looking as if you’re the only girl left on this very earth.

“Let’s go back. Movie while cuddling?” He suggested. You smiled nodding.

“Sounds like a perfect night for me.”

He leaned over, and kissed your ear, whispering. “Of course it can be.”

You flushed, swatting at him as he jumped out of your way with a loud laugh. He walked towards the corridor. “I’m going to use the washroom. Stay there.”

You nodded, sitting on the cold kitchen counter when his cell phone rang out its familiar tune. You peered to see Ran’s number flashing on his lockscreen. You answered the phone with a chirpy hello. Ran and you had been partners in crime for these two years. It was a bonus of dating Rindo.

“Hello, Y/n! Did Rin reach there safely? God knows what was going on in my mind when he just stood from the meeting and decided to drive all the way through.”

“What do you mean he drove all the way? Wasn’t he in the neighbourhood?”

Ran let out a confused sound. “Uh… no? Am I busting one of his lies?”

“Probably-”

“Shit.”

“Shit,” You agreed as Rann mustered a half-baked apology hanging up.

“Who was that?” Rindo asked, walking into the kitchen. He had changed his sweater to one of the t-shirts he kept here for emergencies.

You placed the phone on the counter and launched yourself at him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gave him a teasing smile. “Seems as if you were not in the neighbourhood after all.”

A rare flush spread through his cheeks as he held onto you for balance. “Ran?”

“Uh huh.”

He averted his gaze, his fingers tightening around your waist. “I heard people were having a power cut here, so…” He trailed off.

“I love you,” You said in return. He blinked in surprise when you caught his lips in a kiss. Both of you stumbled back against the wall as you two kissed, hands exploring each other.

When you finally parted his cheeks were fully flushed, but a grin had taken over his face. “I guess we’ll have to skip the movie after all.”

#tokyo rev #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers #tr #tokyo rev x y/n #haitani rindo x reader #haitani brothers #haitani ran #haitani rindou #haitani x reader #tokrev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers one #tokyo revengers oneshot #tokyo rev x reader #lovr #love #tokyo rev fluff

166 notes · View notes

blackcherryvelvet0909 · 8 months

Text

Eggcellent Volley (Vargas x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Characters eating raw eggs (Do NOT do this), vomiting mentioned

Note: Reader is an adult NRC staff member

“Everyone come up and draw a straw.” Vargas’s order boomed with the power of his loud voice. You were sure even non-beastman could hear him from the other side of the beach. “Long straws are the left team, short straws are the right.”

You watch the group of students present form a haphazard line in front of the bulky man, each hoping they’d be paired up with one student or another. Some silently celebrated with their result, while others were sorely disappointed. Both emotions only grew as each team was slowly formed; by the time the last straw was pulled, they were quite the opposition. Jack Howl, Deuce Spade, Leona Kingscholar (who convinced him to play?), and Kalim Al-Asim were some of those among the right team. Among the left were Rook Hunt, Ace Trappola, Sebek Zigvolt (from what you heard, he agreed to play because Leona insulted Malleus’s honor), and Floyd Leech. Indeed, quite the lineup. Hopefully they could all learn to get along for the sake of the game.

“Now that you have your teams, I will give you all a few minutes to discuss positions and strategies,” said Vargas. “Remember, sport is about teamwork - you can’t win on your own. Count the strengths and weaknesses among yourselves; collaborate on how to use those talents to balance out the faults.”

With a wave of his hand, Vargas gave the students the lead to begin their planning. You could already hear arguments begin to start up on who should be team captain - who called the shots. While Leona already took up the lead of his team, mutiny was viable to happen on the left team. Not everyone was too keen for Rook to be captain, despite his status and experience as a third year. Just a minute into the debate and Floyd looked ready to back out. That was to be expected, really. You were making bets with yourself on how long it would take either to fall apart.

Your gaze focused on Vargas, who was now a few paces away from where you sat on the sand. He sipped from his bulky water bottle, a few droplets dripping down his chin. His Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, the veins of his neck prominent against his skin. He let out a relieved exhale as he gulped down the last sip, right as he set the water bottle and picked up another. It was slimmer than the other, with a circular opening on the lid instead of a straw. You cringed as he began to gulp down the contents within. You knew what was in there, and you gagged at the very thought of just a drop going into your mouth.

“How can you stand that?” you asked, clear disgust across your face.

“Mmn?” Vargas hummed in question. He held up the thermos and shook it slightly. “This?”

“Aren’t you afraid to contract salmonella or something?”

“I always buy pasteurized eggs.”

“Still,” you protested, “they’re raw, Vargas. I know you’re big on building muscle, but…c’mon, there’s better ways. Much more tasty, too.”

Vargas shrugged as he gulped up yet another ounce of the liquid poultry. “I’ve never minded the taste. They’ve never made me sick, either. And besides,” he flexed those bulbous biceps of his with a grin, “it’s working, isn’t it?”

Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll pop like a balloon - was what you wanted to say, but decided against it. “I’m just afraid that, one day, you’re going to run out mid-class because you’ve suddenly contracted the shits.”

“Ah ah ah, [Name],” Vargas tutted with a tease. “Watch that language. You don’t want to be a bad influence on the students.”

Yes, the students, which a third of cussed up a storm on the regular. Even so, Vargas - for once - had a point. You didn’t give him the credit though. With a roll of your eye, you tore your gaze away from the bottle of nastiness and drank a bit of your water.

“Alright, are we all set?” Vargas asked as he walked back to the two dysfunctional teams. The volleyball net was like a flimsy fence that might keep them from tearing each other apart…might. When the youngsters let out a collective “yes, sir” in response, Vargas then instructed, “Team captains, step forward!”

Leona and Rook were now at the head of their respective groups. Ah, so Rook did manage to win out. You spied Floyd close behind him, glaring daggers into the back of his head. Rook seemed amused by the knowledge. Sebek, on the other hand, glowered at Leona on the other side of the makeshift field. You hoped he wouldn’t sabotage the whole game by trying to show the prince up.

“Being captain’s a big responsibility,” Vargas began to explain. “Your team’s gonna follow your lead - every decision is crucial. You gotta make sure everyone is-”

“With all due respect, sir,” Leona interjected. There was little actual respect in his tone, however, not with that arrogant grin stretched across his lips. “We’ve all heard this before. Spelldrive, basketball, dodgeball - the same ol’ same ol’, y’know? Have a little confidence in us, yeah?”

Vargas spared Leona a prolonged glance before he looked over at Rook. “What about you, Hunt? You know the rules? The responsibility?”

“Oui, professeur,” Rook replied with a smile and cheerful nod of his head. “I swear to guide my petits agneaux with the utmost care.”

You scarcely heard Ace whisper to Floyd, “Did he just call us lambs?”

Yes, he did - little lambs, to be exact. From what you knew of the young man’s language, anyway. You had the faintest idea how Ace understood him, however. Did he study more than you thought, or was it just from exposure to his classmate? Either way, the Leech twin just gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I dunno. Seagull talks funny.”

“Alright then!” Vargas spoke with a clap of his hands, grin spread wide across his face again. “Looks like we’re ready to play.” He dug his hand into the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a coin. He turned to Leona and gave him a choice: Heads or tails?

“Heads,” Leona chose.

“Oo la la!” Rook practically swooned. “I get to be the tail? Marvellieux!” He eyed Leona with a smile that could almost be called eerie. “To be at one’s tail allows the predator to sneak up on its prey all the better.”

You glimpsed Leona mouth “fuckin’ creep” as he scowled and shifted his gaze away from the blond. Apparently he was not the only one who had a problem with the statement. “Rook Hunt, as the vice housewarden of Pomefiore, that is a highly inappropriate way to speak to your superior.” Sebek’s back was as straight as a soldier's, as always, his arms crossed over his chest. Rook peeked over his shoulder to get a better look at the half-fae as he continued. “Such manners are unfit for a captain. I must insist that you-”

“Seeebeek,” cooed a voice a few feet to your left. You looked to see Lilia situated on a large towel under an even larger umbrella. Malleus sat beside him, while Silver - the poor boy - was once again fast asleep on the ground. Lilia slipped his bat-shaped shades down the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the green haired youngling. “Be nice now~”

A quiet rustle of laughter surrounded the young man in an instant. You watched as his pale skin tinted pink, from his cheeks to his ears, in embarrassment. His expression fell, eyebrows and mouth downturned as he sheepishly lowered his head. “Yes, Master Lilia,” he mumbled, just loud enough for his own superior to hear.

Before the first year could be teased any further, especially by the redhead that grinned mischievously at him, Vargas called out again. “Tails it is!” He reeled around to face you and pointed to the volleyball sat next to you. “Toss me that, [Mr./Ms./Mx. Last Name].”

You nodded with a smile and took the ball in your hands. From where you sat on the sand, you threw the ball in his direction. He caught it, but not before it lightly collided with his abdomen. You made out the hushest of grunts rumble in his chest at the impact; for a moment, you were afraid you threw too hard and hurt him. That worry was quickly washed away as he shot you a smile and mouthed “nice form!” You breathed a small chuckle and raised your hand in thanks for the praise.

Vargas turned on his heel back around to face Rook. “Looks like you’re serving first, Hunt.” He tossed Rook the ball, which he caught in quick succession. “Everyone, get into your assigned positions.” Students shuffled this way and that - some stopped towards the front of the neck, others went to stand at the very back of their team’s side of the large square Vargas drew in the sand. Leona and Rook were at the head of each group; Rook held the ball between his fingertips, while Leona made ready to spike it the moment it reached him. With all of them looking so determined and ready to play, you could have mistaken them for a professional team.

“Ready?” The students nodded their heads. “Set.” Vargas held up his whistle. After a few seconds of tense silence, the sound of the waves beyond were broken by the shrill sound of Vargas’s whistle. As Rook tossed the volleyball into the air, so began the spectacle of your afternoon.

***

“Who’s winning?” asked a voice from behind you. You glanced to the side just in time to see Sam make himself comfortable beside you, a little cooler placed against his knee.

“So far? It’s a tie,” you responded. “Everyone’s been getting along, surprisingly.”

Sam pursed his lips in a single low whistle in astonishment. “That’s a rarity. You think the little imps would have pounced on each other by now,” Sam gestured to Floyd, “especially that tall one over there.”

Thankfully, Floyd had been quite entertained with the game, so much so he got along with his teammates for the most part. Must be all of that teamwork practice he’s had on the basketball team. The same went for Ace. Sebek wasn’t much to worry about as long as he kept his opinions to himself, and Rook was, well…he could be a good leader when he wanted to be. As for the other side of the net, though Leona was strict, it was for the team’s benefit. Deuce and Jack followed his orders to the letter, as did Kalim, even though the white-haired lad got distracted every now and again. Combined with the other students present, it was a pretty good game.

A soda appeared in your line of vision. You eyed Sam suspiciously as he offered it to you - he simply smiled at you. “On the house,” he said. “The least I could do for a favorite customer.”

You returned his smile and accepted the drink. “Thank you. Water does get kind of tiring after a while.”

Vargas took his attention off the game for a minute to look down at the two of you. “Those are bad for you, y’know that. Nothing but sugar and unnecessary calories, not to mention bloating.”

“Like you haven’t partaken in sugary drinks before,” you quipped back. “Who was the one who ordered a strawberry daiquiri when we went to that bar Saturday night?”

“It was a one time thing,” Vargas grumbled to himself.

“Sure,” you chuckled, not believing a word. As you cracked open your can, you added, “I almost expected you to order a drink with egg whites.”

“I think he was saving up for later,” Sam snickered as he glanced down at Vargas’s now half empty thermos of liquidated eggs. “I tried a raw egg once, y’know. I don’t see how you-”

In seconds, the volleyball hurtled towards you. You gasped and shut your eyes tight, arms coming up to try and protect your face. You heard the ball make contact - yet you didn’t feel a thing. When your eyelids fluttered back open, in front of you was Vargas. He’d lept off his place on the sand to protect you. He used his chest as an obstacle to make sure you didn’t get hurt. You supposed it was his gut instincts. One would develop them in their years as a teacher and an athlete.

“Watch it!” he barked out as he stood. He scanned the crowd of students as he tucked the ball under his arm. “Who did that?”

It wasn’t too hard to figure out. Kalim immediately ran over, expression between horror, concern, and humiliation. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to spike it that hard! I didn’t think it’d go in that direction.” He peeked around Vargas’s broad form to look at you. “Are you okay, [Mr./Ms./Mx. Last Name]?”

Despite the adrenaline that coursed through your veins, you forced a smile to reassure the boy. “I’m alright, thank you. Just be more careful next time, okay?”

Kalim nodded his head, earrings jingling along. Vargas, however, wasn’t done with the boy. “It’s those lanky arms that have got you so uncoordinated. Your muscles do a lot of work in directing the ball; they can help control its speed and velocity, too.” Vargas’s other hand was now placed on his hip. “When we get back to the college, I’m going to organize a special training regimen for you, Al-Asim.”

Vargas’s grin was between helpful and threatening, at least to you. “We’ll bulk you up yet, kid.”

While a student would usually balk at the thought (a certain Octavinelle second year came to mind), Kalim took the challenge head on. Though you could spy the exasperated glint in his eye at the very notion, he gave a firm nod. “I’ll do my best, coach!”

Before Kalim could turn around and go back to his team, Vargas stopped him. “Wait, I’ve got an idea.” He whirled around and stooped down to where his things were sprawled out on the sand. His hand grasped the thermos of liquid egg…oh dear. “Have a drink of this,” he offered as he held out the bottle for Kalim to take. “There won’t be any immediate results, but it’s a start. I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again: Eat four dozen raw eggs a day, and you’ll get as strong as me!”

You could spy the looks of disgust and pity that danced across the faces of Kalim’s peers behind him. Ace made a gag motion with his finger, Leona rolled his eyes, Floyd stuck out his tongue - even Sebek grimaced. In stark contrast, Kalim beamed brighter than the sun in the sky. “Thank you, sir!” He graciously took the thermos in his hands. “Do I drink the whole thing?”

“Go right ahead!” Vargas looked thoroughly pleased by the boy’s eagerness. You and Sam, on the other hand, pitied the oblivious kid. “Just don’t choke,” Vargas laughed, “they’re slimy.”

Without another word, Kalim popped open the cap on the lid and knocked back the yellow slime. While there were a few who cheered Kalim, the rest of the students made various noises of disgust and disbelief. The Al-Asim heir appeared to not like the taste, but he chugged it down like a champ. When he finished, he let out a loud gasp, a string of saliva dripping down his chin. He coughed once, twice - Vargas slapped him on the back to help him out. Not the best aid, you thought.

“Good lad!” he praised. “Now, get back out there and show me what you’re made of! Just try not to hit anyone this time.”

“Y-Yes sir!” Kalim’s enthusiasm was stuttered by a suppressed burp. There was a slight shake to his step as he jogged back over to his teammates. They all looked at him as though he were mad. Deuce laid a hand on his shoulder as he came to his side; the words you couldn’t discern were likely to ask if he was okay, maybe why he’d do something so brash.

“If he gets sick later, I’m pointing right at you,” you said as Vargas sat back down.

“He’ll be fine!” Vargas assured, tossing the empty thermos beside him. “Kid’s got guts - a strong stomach, too, from what I’ve heard. Just you watch: In a few months time, me and him will be chugging eggs like there’s no tomorrow!”

You highly doubted that. You pitied the boy later that night when he upchucked Vargas’s ‘gracious’ gift.

58 notes · View notes

versegm · 1 year

Text

The winds howl around him like a thousand beasts, snarling, prowling, nipping at any exposed skin with ice-cold teeth. Goredolf shudders beneath his coat, pulling it closer to his body.

"Is anyone out there?" He yells at the top of his lungs. He can barely hear himself above the storm. "Anyone at all?"

The only response he gets is a faraway thunder.

Alright. Fine. That's fine! He's Goredolf Music. He can handle some cold on his own (on his own?) all he needs to do is to keep walking forward, and he'll end up somewhere eventually (where?)

The thunder gets louder. Is it getting closer? Ah shit, the only thing worse than being lost among cold winds would be to be lost among cold winds while wet. Goredolf speeds up, seeking to outrun the incoming rain.

The thunder keeps getting closer though, like hooves hammering against the ground. Goredolf winces, bracing himself to get hit by water-

It wasn’t the thunder.

A dark figure bolts in his field of vision. A monster; no, a dragon; no, a horse. It towers above him with the all-compassing presence of the night sky. A knight sits on its back, covered in something that might be armor or might be scales.

“… Hello?”

Wordlessly, the knight extends a hand.

They’re quite scary, all clad in black, horns crowning their head. But they don’t seem hostile so far, and just as Goredolf has learned a pretty face isn’t always trustworthy, a scary one is not always to be feared.

The knight yanks him up, tearing a manly yelp out of him. They easily lift him up to set him right behind them. Goredolf opens his mouth to protest- but then the mount starts running, and all he can do is hold onto the knight for his dear life.

The world turns to a blur. The horse runs like the north wind itself- for a second, Goredolf even wonders if they might be flying. It outruns the lightning, the rain, the storm itself- until, eventually, it slows down and stops under clear skies.

“You should be alright now.” They- she? The voice seems feminine- tell him. “Can you get down on your own?”

“I- yes, of course.” He responds, and then immediately contradicts himself by almost falling on his ass. The knight grabs him by the hips before he can tumble down, then she gets down herself to set him down. This is the most embarrassed Goredolf has ever felt.

“… thank you.” His cheeks are burning red. He has never felt more mortified in his life.

The knight doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she reaches up, then lifts her helmet off her face, revealing-

Oh.

This is the face of Goredolf’s (friend? Girlfriend? Fuckbudy?) Or, well, this is a Saberface- this specific body type is far from X-exclusive. Which means that she is, most likely, a servant.

“Apologies.” She bows her head. “It was I who brought the storm here. I did not expect it to disturb your sleep.”

Ah. He gets it now.

This is a dream.

“Who are you?” he should probably get that jotted down first thing- friend or foe, ally or enemy, a name will be a big clue to that end.

A spear suddenly materializes in the servant’s hand. For a second, Goredolf is afraid he deeply offended her, but all she does is stab the weapon into the ground.

“Servant Lancer, Artoria Pendragon Alter. King of the Wild Hunt.”

King of the what.

Alright. Alright. This is fine. Goredolf has seen plenty of servants with impressive legends do the stupidest shit imaginable. He shouldn’t let himself be impressed by some grand title or another. “Well, I thank you for freeing me from that storm, Lancer. Though I would appreciate if it didn’t happen again.”

“It will.” Ah. Well okay then. “Master’s dreams are already filled with too many people. The least I can do is try to not add onto their load myself.”

So she’s coming to him instead. “Have you considered… not haunting people’s dreams?”

Lancer shakes her head. “That is not possible for me.”

Is it him, or is getting explanations from this woman like pulling teeth? “Why not?”

“I am a liminal being by nature. I’m an if of an if, a person who was never supposed to exist. I am the Artoria who chose what she should have never been able to choose. I am the butterfly who dreamt he was a man. I can seldom exist outside of dreams. Reality will not accept me.”

“… This doesn’t really make sense.” He replies.

“It doesn’t.” She agrees. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

She reaches down, and then, with no explanation whatsoever, ruffles his hair.

“It appears that you are about to wake up, and I must ride on anyway.” She turns around and gets back on her mount. “I will see you again. Take care, boy.”

Goredolf opens his mouth, blood rushing up his cheeks, and-

Finds himself laying on his back in his bed.

For a few seconds, he stares at the ceiling, mind racing. Then, very slowly, he looks down at himself.

Throbbing boner. Of course. She just had to call him boy in a mildly condescending way, didn’t she. Curse his thing for dangerous women who vaguely look down on him.

Something shifts next to him, then the Mysterious (And very Sexy) Heroine X pokes her head out of the covers, looking at him with tired eyes. “Is it morning yet.”

“N-no, it’s fine. I just had a dream. Go back to sleep.”

X looks at him, blinks, turns her head, and looks at the tent in the covers. “Must have been a good dream.”

Scratch that, this is the most mortified Goredolf has ever been in his life. “It’s not like that! It’s just- there was this woman-”

“Uh-huh.”

“She had your face!”

“I’m flattered.”

“She was a servant!”

That catches X’s attention. She frowns at him, thinking. “… Was she a Saber?”

“No. A Lancer.”

“Ah. Okay.” And just like that, her attention is lost. She crawls back under the sheets, until her ahoge is the only thing left poking out. “This can wait until tomorrow then. Goodnight.”

She is… right, he supposes. Goredolf closes his eyes, steadying his breathing. There’s nothing he can do about it at five in the morning. This can wait.

X’s voice rises one last time, so quiet Goredolf barely hears: “she can have your nights, by the way. So long as I can have you during the day, I don’t mind.”

#my writing #fate #goredolf musik

107 notes · View notes

wolffoxnation2 · 2 months

Text

Trials of Loki AU Chapter 1

@parrotxx I did it!

Well atleast the first Chapter. I'm still not sure how i'll get him to earn his place back to godhood. And it was a little rushed near the end. Also havent proof read.

------

Hi, I'm Loki Laufeyjarson. I used to be a god—err, Jotun. My 'godly membership' was revoked two thousand and sixteen years ago.

In my many, many years of living (if you can call most of it life), the Aesir have punished me in lots of creative ways. They've forced me to go get new golden hair for Sif. Let my mouth get stitched up. Murdered my sons and defiled their corpses to chain me to a rock. Put a snake over the aforementioned rock to drip venom on my face until Ragnarok.

But never in my immortal existence have they done something like this.

And I'm not even sure how they did it.

The last thing I remember was making an err...tactical retreat after a flyting with Magnus Chase. Being in a walnut that I definitely chose to be in, then sitting on a table surrounded by very angry Aesir, and then falling. Buildings spiralling in and out of my view. I tried to shapeshift into a bird, a dragon, or maybe even a butterfly—something that, as a Jotun, should come naturally to me, but I just kept falling, still humanoid. Which is very...uncomfortable.

Thankfully, I had a soft landing.

I sat up, groaning in a pile of leaves, spitting out a red leaf, and glaring at the park groundskeeper, who was staring at me bewildered. My ribs ached, and I was pretty sure were broken.

"What?" I snapped, "Never seen a guy fall from the sky?"

The groundskeeper's jaw dropped, and he fled, leaving his rake behind. Pretty sure he needed that.

The very annoying voice of Odin rang in my mind: YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF, LOKI.

"Very helpful, Odin. Now, how do I fix it? Do I have to watch one of your stupid PowerPoints?" I asked, "Get you a new raven?"

Odin's shrill voice boomed in my head like he was yelling too close into a microphone: FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF.

I rolled my eyes, massaging my temples. Great. Just great. Not only do I get—

—AND MY POWERPOINTS AREN'T STUPID, Odin bellowed before going completely silent.

Well, they are, old man, I thought before attempting to pick myself up from the leaf pile. My ribs cracked and throbbed in protest, and my stomach clenched. I barely managed to stand up before I wanted to sit back down again.

My vision blurred. I was in some sort of park. Blobs that I assumed were mortal children were playing loudly on a bigger blob—a playground of some sort, maybe?— nearby. Another grey blob stood in front of me—A statue, sadly probably not of me. I could hear running water, a fountain?

I took a deep breath, which was a mistake.

"Owwwweee!" I hissed through my teeth, "Yep. Yep, ribs definetly broken!"

My entire body screamed at me to lie back down. This mortal form was so... fragile. Every movement felt like snake venom dripping on my face, only this time it was my entire body. Everything was so soft and painful — How do you humans live like this? How do you deal with being so, so...weak? So fragile? Broken that easily? I hated it!

I managed to —painfully— drag myself to a bench, which proved to me once again that my ribs were definitely broken.

On the bright side: my vision finally decided to stop pretending it's a funhouse mirror and I could properly take in my surroundings.

I was right about the statue, it was not of me. Very sad. It was of that one guy—Leaf I think his name was. Seriously you mortals should get a statute of me erected (haha) instead of that nobody.

The sound of wolves howling rudely broke me out of my thoughts.

Which meant Fenris' pups were on the prowl.

Now usually I'm fine with wolves, my own son Fenris was born a wolf after all and these were his children—my grandchildren. But, I knew well enough to tell the difference between an 'I'm hungry let's go hunt, guys' howl and an 'Oh my gods guys. I love you all so much' howl.

This howl was the former.

And I'm not sticking around for it. Not because I think they'll attack me. They wouldn't dare try that. But because watching my grandchildren tear apart a mortal or the odd demigod brings back some very um.... unpleasant memories.

With a very painful protest from my squishy, broken, weak mortal body, I got up from the bench and started hobbling out of the park.

As I trudged out of the park and up the street, It started pouring rain because I clearly hadn't been humiliated enough. Thor decided to soak me.

"Really?" I yelled at the sky, slightly regretting it at the sharp sting of my ribs.

YES REALLY, Odin's voice boomed in my head. Though that could have been my imagination or delirium from the broken ribs.

"I'd never do this to you!" I retorted, pointing angrily at my head. Earning some weird looks from passing mortals.

YES YOU WOULD, several Aesir said in unison before going silent once more.

It's true I would. But that was beside the point!

I am once again asking how you mortals deal with this? THIS IS TORTURE! And I should know! I've been tortured! Many times!

A car driving past decided I wasn't soaked and miserable enough and lovingly gave me a splash of muddy water, soaking my clothes, causing them to cling to my body.

I snarled before shivering.

I have to get out of here fast, I thought bitterly. I couldn't stay in one place for too long, not unarmed and injured anyway; I have too many enemies. All of which want me dead. Can't imagine why, I'm a delight!

But the problem with having as many enemies as I have is that I don't have many allies. There's my wife Sigyn, she's the only person I truly trust to not stab me in the back—mostly cause her hands are full from holding the bowl over my face but I digress.

But that opens up a whole other problem: I don't know where she is. She could be across the country ceramic bowl shopping for all I know!

So that kinda leaves me only one option, and I know neither one of us is going to like it. But I am really starting to feel woozy and I don't have a choice.

I stood outside Randolph Chase's mansion—well more Magnus Chase's mansion. I think Randy died, pretty sure I killed him. Not too sure about that, some of my memories are a bit foggy. Hope that's not a permanent thing.

Despite our rocky history of me trying to kill him and possibly killing his uncle, the son of Frey has proven himself to be somewhat sympathetic to me in the past. So maybe, I could appeal to his sense of compassion.

And if that doesn't work then I'll just convince one of my children to let me in. Because my children just cannot say no to me.

Because if they say no I'll make them say yes because they owe it to me for their powers and creating them.

Yay, parenting!

The snarling wolf knocker rattled as I knocked on the door. Seriously what was it with Randy and wolves? Like, dude your sister got mauled by wolves have some decency...oh right he worked with me. He doesn't have that.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. Why did I feel so tired all of a sudden? Why am I even doing this?

The door swung open and I had to dodge to avoid being hit in the face, something my broken ribs enjoyed very much.

It was in fact not Magnus that made an attempt on my life through door. It was the green-headed menace that I called my child.

Alex Fierro.

He—she? I couldn't tell, guess Odin didn't just take my immortality—didn't react to me in her/his usual hateful face. Which was a good sign. What wasn't a good sign was the fact that my vision was starting to swim again.

"Hey, Alex!" I chirped, before promptly passing out.

Oh for fuck sake.

------

Chapter 2: Will be written soon.

#mcga loki #loki mcga #magnus chase and the gods of asgard #mcga #mcga alex fierro #alex fierro mcga #alex fierro #my writing #fanfic writing #Trials of Loki AU

18 notes · View notes

ctitan98official · 3 months

Text

Alcina’s long lost child au: Miranda finds and tortures Y/N part 3

Here’s the ending! Let's get into it!

Jill runs up to you and wraps her arms around your neck. She is so relieved to see you.

You hold her by the waist. “Thanks for coming to find me.” You whisper, enjoying the feeling of her in your arms.

Dani can’t help the shit eating grin that plasters itself on her face. “Wow, Y/N has a girlfriend! How sweet.” She laughs.

Your cheeks erupt in a blush and Jill quickly distances herself from you.

“Uh… Thanks for your help too, Chris.” You say and scratch the back of your neck in embarrassment.

Chris playfully rolls his eyes. “I get it. I’m not as charming as Jill.” He says, but looks around at the Dimitrescu women. “Uh… Friends of yours?” He asks you.

You laugh. “Actually… Family.” You say.

Jill quirks an eyebrow. “Y/N, I thought you said you didn’t have any family?” She asks.

Before you can answer, Alcina jumps in. “It’s a rather long story, my dear. Hopefully, we’ll live long enough for you to hear it.” She says nervously.

“Have you seen what’s going on outside? It sounds like Miranda knows I’ve escaped.” You say.

“Well, she’s connected herself to the megamycete at the center of the village.” Chris informs you. “She’s kind of barricaded herself inside the main fungal root. Don’t worry, we’ve got aerial reinforcements to weaken her. My guess is that if we can cause enough damage, we’ll be able to find an achilles heel and infiltrate it.” He says.

Jill hands you your pistol and shotgun. “I thought you might be missing these.” She grins.

You smile at her in gratitude before turning to Alcina and the girls. “Um… We don’t need you four getting too close to the danger. Is there an evac helicopter?” You ask Chris.

Chris nods, but before he can say anything, Alcina beats him to it. “While I insist that the girls be left out of harm’s way, I am most definitely coming with you all. Miranda has been a plague on my life and my children’s lives for far too long. I need to make sure she’s dead.” Alcina says, leaving no room for argument.

You, however, become anxious at this. You can’t stand the thought of just having met your mother only for something awful to happen to her. “But-” You try to protest.

“No buts, Y/N. I’m your mother and I need to help do this for you. For all of you.” Alcina says and looks at everyone.

Jill and Chris’s eyes shoot wide open at learning that Alcina is your mother.

“Yeah… I definitely want to hear this story later.” Jill murmurs.

The girls make futile attempts to get Alcina to let them join you, but she quickly shushes them. “I’m sorry girls. The answer is no. The only reason I’m allowing Y/N to go is because they are highly trained to deal with situations like this.” She tells them.

“There’s a rendezvous point at the edge of the village. A helicopter with the acronym ’S.T.A.R.S.’ on it will be waiting for you. Just tell them you’re with Y/N L/N. They’ll make room for you.” Jill kindly tells the girls.

Bela nods in determination before hugging her mother and you. “Take good care of our mom, okay? I’m counting on you, sibling.” She says with a proud smile.

You nod and grin at her.

Dani tackles you in a hug while Cass wraps her arms around Alcina. The brunette doesn’t feel comfortable expressing physical affection with you just yet, but she tells you to be safe.

Dani quickly hugs Alcina before the three make their way out of the tunnel.

“Alright, let’s kick some old lady ass!” Jill cheers.

Alcina finds that she really likes Jill.

——————————————————————————

You four venture closer to the middle of the village.

Your mouth hangs open at the massive megamycyte. “Holy shit! That thing is fucking huge!” You yell.

“I know. This is the biggest B.O.W. I’ve ever seen.” Chris agrees.

Just as Chris finishes talking, five heavily outfitted and armored helicopters swarm in and begin firing missiles at the giant organism.

The sound of carnage and Miranda’s altered voice howling in pain are deafening.

“It’s working!” Jill cries out.

Chris suddenly gets a message on his radio. “Captain! There’s an access point just ahead of your current location. Proceed with extreme caution!” The person says.

“Affirmative. Going in now.” Chris answers.

You all hightail it to the small opening you can see in the megamycete.

“Wait, did that person just call you captain, Chris? What about Wesker?” You ask in confusion.

Chris looks at Jill in discomfort before turning back to you. “There have… Been a few developments since you’ve been away, Y/N.” He says.

You furrow your brows but shrug it off. Not the time to be thinking too hard about this.

You all are able to get inside of the megamycete as the helicopters continue to barrage the outside with missiles.

“Look, just up ahead!” Alcina whispers and points to a heavily mutated Miranda.

You crinkle your nose. “Eww…” You say, disgusted.

Alcina can’t help but chuckle quietly at your reaction. What? She can be petty after all these years of putting up with the ridiculous scientist.

“Alright, let’s light her up.” Chris says.

You and Jill begin firing your weapons while Chris and Alcina try to move closer.

Miranda shrieks as your assault starts hitting her. “I have waited all this time for another chance to see my Eva. And you try to take it away from me?! Die!” She screams as plant-like tendrils sweep across the ground.

Jill is able to dodge it, but one of the appendages slams into your leg, shattering the bones. You cry out as white-hot stabbing pains shoot up your leg. Despite the agony you’re in, you manage to still get good shots at her in. Miranda is beginning to take a lot of damage from your excellent marksmanship.

Alcina looks back and sees that you’re injured. Her vision turns red. “You dare harm my child?!” She yells. Alcina unsheathes her claws and plunges them right through the center of Miranda’s chest.

While normally Miranda would be unfazed, the attacks from the choppers on the megamycete, as well as you, Chris, and Jill’s up close shots have weakened her to the point that her body begins oozing black goo and turns to ash. She’s done. Her reign of tyranny is over.

“My EVA! You have ruined EVERYTHING!” Miranda groans as she withers away.

“Not bad for a failed vessel.” Alcina retorts.

The megamycete begins to contract and sink back into the ground. Miranda’s manipulation of it is no more.

Alcina quickly runs to your side and gently cradles you before picking you up. “Oh, I’m so sorry, baby. Mama’s here. Don’t worry, my love.” She says and gently presses kisses to your face.

You smile wearily and Jill runs over to see if she can offer assistance. “Y/N…” She says as she finally processes everything that just happened. She gives Alcina a pleading look.

Alcina smiles gently and lowers you to her level.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” She asks as she runs a hand through your hair.

“I am now. Miranda’s gone and I have all of you. I couldn’t ask for more.” You say and grin at her, before wincing. “Well, maybe some pain medicine. Anybody got an aspirin?” You joke.

“We’re going to get you medical attention, Y/N. Let’s get out of this shit hole.” Chris says.

Once you all get to the evac helicopter, you are strapped into a gurney and lifted inside.

A tearful reunion with your sisters and mother also occurs.

Bela and Dani place thankful kisses on your head for helping keep your mom safe.

Cass fiddles with her hands before coming over to see you. She stands in front of you for a moment, completely silent.

You look at her in confusion before she bursts into tears and wraps you in a hug. “Thank you, Y/N. You saved us all.” She cries.

Your eyes widen in surprise at the more reserved sister showing her emotions, but you quickly hug her. “It was a team effort, actually. Don’t mention it.” You say quietly.

Alcina wipes tears from her eyes at the beautiful display. “My babies…” She says, looking at you all. She can’t believe she gets to finally have you all together in one place. It had been a dream for so long, but now it’s real. She can’t believe it.

Jill, who is sitting next to you, and secretly holding your hand, clears her throat. “So… I’d like to hear that story now.” She says with a sheepish smile.

Everybody nods and offers agreements.

Alcina chuckles. “Well…” She begins.

Alcina’s story is incredible. It occupies everyone during the flight back to S.T.A.R.S. headquarters. She could write a whole damn book about it…

Masterlist

#re8 #re8 village #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x y/n #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil imagines #mother miranda #jill valentine #chris redfield

38 notes · View notes

sannes-reincarnation-saga · 21 days

Text

Chapter two: Ivar.

CW: Slaves in a medieval society, abuse,

The only thing keeping Ivar alive in this hellhole was his desperate desire to kill Katherine Blackthorne.

It was a freezing November night and Ivar knew he was supposed to die here, trapped in this narrow kennel in the middle of the castle's courtyard.

During the day, he was on perfect display, stripped of his clothes and dignity for the English to gawk at. But now, the night engulfed him in darkness as thick as the northern sea during a night dive.

Pain pulsed through Ivar’s legs. They twitched, unable to straighten in the cramped space.

The kennel's icy bars warmed as they pressed into his shins and he leaned his clammy forehead against them. They felt almost good against the burn of his fever.

His back must have gotten infected after the last whipping. The soiled hay in his kennel stuck to the dried blood on his back, irritating the crisscross of partly crusted wounds. Every twitch pulled his skin painfully, and he trembled violently in the frigid air.

Somewhere to his right, a heavy metal door slammed shut. The servants’'s entrance? It was too loud for a wooden door and not loud enough for a castle gate. But this late at night?

A pair of heavy steps rushed towards the courtyard, joined by a couple lighter ones. Nervous whispers echoed through the cloister walk as they drew near.

“Does Lady Blackthorne know of this?” asked an older maid. Ivar strained to listen. Nothing ever happened in Blackthorn castle without the bitch’tes knowledge. And explicit permission.

“Not yet,” came the gruff reply.

“But- you can’t bring a stranger inside! Who even is this girl? Oh gods, what if she's a witch?”

“Doubtful. Found her out in the woods, totally out of it.”

“But- The woods? At this time? A girl shouldn’t be in the woods at night. And why- why is she naked?” The woman's voice pitched high within discomfort on the last question.

“Dunno. Should I have left her to freeze to death?”

“No! But- but I have nothing to do with this, you hear. Nothing.”

A lone lantern flame cast their long shadows onto the courtyard as they rounded a corner. Hissing, Ivar shifted onto his side to see them set foot on the wet cobblestones. They glittered in the light.

The head of housemaids hurried ahead, head turning hectic on her long neck to spot any possible witnesses lurking in the dark. Her bonnet sat askew on graying brown hair, thrown on in a rush no doubt, but her black servants dress fell straight down to her ankles, the dark linen pristine and bar any wrinkles. In stark contrast to the bulky, mud smeared appearance of the huntsman following her.

His boots and leather trousers were crusted in late autumn slush. A thick scarf and hat obscured half his face. Only his frostbitten red nose and grim eyes were visible, looking down at the person he carried bundled in his coat.

“By the gods, did you hear that?” Ivar could see the woman's face now, her sharp features drawn tight in displeasure. Her thin lips pursed as she spat out: “I think that Norse pig is awake.”

The huntsman didn’t answer. Instead he wrapped his brown leather coat tighter around the unconscious girl in his arms. Pale, dangling legs and a shock of blond hair stuck out of it.

“How can you be this calm?” The woman spat, black skirt swishing as she faced him. “What if he rats us out for some extra food?”

The huntsman's bushy brows furrowed. “The Norse are too proud to bargain for food scraps.”

Ivars dry lips cracked in a smile, when a sudden burst of wind whipped across the courtyard, its howl drowning out the servants' protests and extinguishing the lantern flame. When it hit him, his black salt-sweaty hair blew into his gray eyes, hay flying everywhere.

“A bad omen,” hissed the maid. Cloth rustled and a match scraped against a matchbox’s striking strip. Once. Twice. “I tell you all this is a bad omen.” It lit with a crackling sizzle.

The wind carried a smell that sent goosebumps down Ivar’s back.

The stench of angels.

The sweet decay of death hit him like a battering ram, catapulting his thoughts to abandoned battlefields full of angels sprouting from the ground, decomposing the corpses of his comrades.

Why would the huntsman haul an angel touched corpse from the woods? Ivar wondered, swallowing down bile.

After some fumbling the maid’s lantern flickered back to life and Ivar noticed the small puffs of warm breath escaping from the unconscious girl. So she wasn’t dead?

A draugr perhaps? No, Ivar doubted it. Never would the huntsman make such a mistake.

But angels only took the living. And never let go of the dead.

Whatever this girl was, a living corpse or a human, Ivar knew at least one thing for sure:

She was an unplanned disturbance in Katherine’s meticulously run machinery of a castle.

And during war, disturbances meant chances.

Ivar curled up in his frigid kennel, back burning at the stretch. For the first time since his capture, he smiled.

Taglist:

@ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio @newbornwhumperfly @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @studyofwhump @dragyouthroughthewhump @studyofwhump @secretwhumplair @whump-queen @whump-captain

#isekai #dark fantasy #fantasy #isekai manga #light novel #manga #manga art #whump #viking whumpee #medival fantasy

13 notes · View notes

asukamood · 7 months

Text

Fond Memories

(Cross birthday special)

***

I almost forgot that October 10th was Cross’s birthday, goodness that was close.

(HOWEVER WHAT I DID FORGET IS TO UPLOAD IT ON TUMBLR.)

This is going to take place in the past, like the early timelines of X-Tale so we can see more of Frisk, Chara, him, and Papyrus being best friends because we were robbed of that.

Enjoy your reading!

***

Warnings: There should not be any, maybe mention of food but apart from that...

Synopsis: “Why do you two have to fight so often? We are all friends, aren’t we?” Papyrus sniffed, making them both panic. “Can’t you two make an exception for once so Cross can spend a nice birthday?”

Chara’s eyes widened. “Wait, It’s Cross’s birthday today?!”

***

Cross was frowning.

Was it him or was Undyne being particularly and unnecessarily demanding of him today? Should it not be the opposite? Since it was his birthday and all?

“Come on Cross, you can do better than that!” Undyne yelled across the field Cross was running on, her voice barely audible with the wind howling in his ears.

The weight of his armor was really starting to bother him, it was so heavy.

“I'm doing my best already Undyne!” Cross yelled back, heaving his body upward in vain effort. It was in moments like this that he sometimes wondered why he let Chara and Frisk convince him that getting into the royal guard was a clever idea.

Well, it is pretty fun when they fight and everything but just doing endurance training like that was so boring.

On his birthday too? Was Life against him after all?

As he questioned his existence, he did not even notice the fact he reached Undyne, who blew into the whistle, signaling the end of the test. Cross’s legs slowed down before eventually coming to a stop, almost giving out beneath his weight. Thankfully, sheer willpower was still enough to keep him balanced and not embarrass himself in front of the captain. That really would have been the worst thing to happen, especially so close to the final test.

“Good work!” Undyne slapped his back with a concerning loud cracking noise that she did not seem to hear. “You can go change back to your civilian outfit now, and don’t forget to take a shower too!” She swayed her hair onto her back, fixing some rebel strands on her face before bidding goodbye and walking away.

Cross heaved a loud sigh before he forced his body to move in the direction of the changing rooms where he could see Papyrus anxiously looking at his watch every few seconds, tapping the ground with his foot occasionally.

Cross would have called out to him, if not for the fact he was absolutely exhausted.

So, he just walked up to him silently, wondering how long it would take him to notice him.

Papyrus had grown taller than him that year, somehow.

Cross was supposed to be the oldest, how did that even happen?

He did not have the time to further dwell on these thoughts as his little brother’s face brightened up with a grin as he finally noticed him approaching. “Brother!” He waved his hand excitedly, Cross trying to repeat the gesture with less energy.

“You took your sweet time.” Chara, whom Cross had yet to notice by that point teased, his back pressed against the wall. “What happened to the champion of tag you’re it?”

Cross rolled his eyes, a little smile on his face. “He’s still ready to kick your ass, idiot.”

“You know you shouldn’t say bad words, Cross.” Papyrus lightly scolded him, before turning to face Frisk, who was hidden behind his tall figure. “You’re not going to say anything to Chara?” He tilted his head to the side innocently.

The last member of their squad finally stepped out of the tallest boy’s shadow, purple and red eye looking his brother up and down before he turned back to Papyrus. “No, I don’t see why I should.”

Said brother smirked widely as Cross let out a protest. “If he’s not going to get Frisk on his back for being immature, then why should I?” He fumed. “That’s so unfair!”

“Quit being a baby Cross.” Chara playfully elbowed him, earning a dramatic yelp. “Just because my brother likes me better than yours do doesn’t mean you have to throw a tantrum over it.”

“That’s not true!” Papyrus and Cross shouted at the same time. The two brothers blinked before turning back to face their common ‘enemy.’

The tallest of them curled his hands into fists, resting them on his hips as if to give his words more meaning thanks to his ‘authoritarian’ posture. “I do love Cross as a brother very much but as his sibling, it is in my duty to make sure he does not set himself on a path he will regret.”

“While I totally think you’re exaggerating on that end part, I totally agree with you on the beginning, Paps.” The shorter sibling crossed his arms around his chest, his arms resting uncomfortably against the metal of his armor he had yet to take off, having been interrupted earlier by the three others. “Besides, I don’t think love can really be compa---”

“Oh my Asgore!” Chara exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air, exasperated. “I get it! No need to get me deaf with your gross speech!” He stuck his tongue out, the pair giving him an unimpressed look.

Even Frisk facepalmed.

At the gesture, Chara gasped, offended. “Frisk! I thought you loved me!”

“Look, there’s only so much one man can take in five consecutive hours of hearing you ramble about how stepping on a Lego should be considered a good enough reason to get in the Emergency Room.”

“WE’RE TWELVE, WHAT DO YOU MEAN A MAN?” Chara shouted back, making Cross wince as he stepped back, rubbing his forehead.

“I love how you didn’t even deny having had that conversation with me.” Frisk snickered, much to Chara’s dismay. However, before he could think of throwing another tantrum or snapping at him with his girl-ish voice, Papyrus held up a hand to his mouth and stopped him, frowning.

He had noticed Cross.

“Are you okay Cross?” At the worried tone, Chara and Frisk also turned toward him, their faces reflecting Papyrus’ expression.

“You don’t look too good.” Chara observed, stepping closer to him, and trying to inspect his face closer. “You alright?”

“Did Undyne go too hard on you?” Frisk questioned too, rubbing his shoulder with a hand. “You know we can talk to Gaster if--” Cross halted the idea immediately, shaking his head no.

Embarrassing himself like that by having to ask for his father’s help was not how he was going to let things happen, that would cost him too much pride.

“It’s fine.” He croaked out at one point, shooing off the two younger siblings who took a step back to dodge his ‘hits,’ if they could even be called that. “I just have a little headache after listening to Captain Undyne screaming at the top of her lungs for an hour... or rather, I think it was an hour.”

“We’ve been waiting for an hour and a half but yeah, that’s fair.” Chara tapped Cross on the shoulder before backing away in his original place, his brother soon following his example.

“But don’t hesitate to ask for something if you need anything, okay?” Papyrus looked at him worryingly and Cross smiled, getting on his tip toes and thankfully managed to pat the other after some rather pitiful tries.

“Thanks Papas but it really won’t be necessary.” Before the other could think of giving the pats back, Cross quickly retreated to the side. Of the two of them, he was undeniably the fastest. “Anyway, what has gotten into the three of you to try and take care of me like that?” Cross raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“I’m the oldest, that’s supposed to be my job, I hope you three are aware?” Papyrus shrugged.

“I do not think it is something that relates to age. If one of us is feeling unwell, the others will take care of them, that will always be the case, whether the person is the oldest or not.” He said, quickly followed by Frisk who added his own grain of salt into the mix.

“Besides, you’ve taken care of us plenty before, so I think it’s only fair if we get to do the same now.” Cross smiled.

“Aw you guy--”

“Besides, you look like dog shit.” Chara added with a grin, making Papyrus shout out another ‘language!’ and Frisk facepalm.

Cross clicked his tongue. “You know, I was starting to feel appreciated and felt like we were having a very beautiful bonding moment before you intervened.” Chara gave him a thumbs up.

“You’re welcome for preventing you to cry like a baby.”

“F off, will you?” Papyrus gave him a sideways glance.

“What did we just talk about brother?” Cross threw his hands in the air in frustration, barely holding back a growl.

“I did not even say the word! It was just a letter!” Frisk hummed, looking at Cross’s raised arms. “Is a letter considered a curse word now?”

“Well, no but--”

“Weird, I could have sworn Chara did the exact same thing a few minutes ago...” Said one scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I told you all Cross was a copycat. "He feigned to flip his non-existent long hair, like the mean girls from that TV show he has been obsessed with for a while, grinning. “But I can’t exactly blame him either, who would not want to be like me?”

“Sometimes, I wonder how you put up with such a diva, Frisk.” Cross ignored Chara and turned to his brother instead, who was seen sighing. “I think I would have genuinely murdered him if he was my brother.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t have killed you first!” Papyrus frowned at the interaction, genuinely upset.

“Why do you two have to fight so often? We are all friends, aren’t we?” Papyrus sniffed, making them both panic. “Can’t you two make an exception for once so Cross can spend a nice birthday?”

Chara’s eyes widened. “Wait, It’s Cross’s birthday today?!”

“I- HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW?” Frisk suddenly shouted incredulously, attracting the attention of several animals who were just passing by. “Did you just think we were here to pick up Cross from training just because??”

“...” Chara smiled nervously. “Yes?”

A beat of silence passed before Frisk facepalmed for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Idiot.” He flicked him on the forehead, earning a yelp.

The interaction cheered Papyrus up who snickered but that was nothing compared to the loud snort Cross let out at the sight of Frisk insulting Chara for once.

The latter sent him a death glare that he pretended not to notice.

“Anyway, what did you guys have planned for me this year?” He asked nonchalantly, hoping one of them would fall into the trap he set them.

“We can’t--” Frisk began before Papyrus cut him off excitedly.

“We’re going to your favorite restaurant!” Cross grinned mischievously as Chara hissed his name. The taller child raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“It was a surprise, Paps!” His face fell but before it could escalate Cross dragged them all toward the exit.

“Then what are we waiting for? I am starving!”

While on the road, Chara tugged on the birthday boy’s sleeve. He turned around, eyebrow raised. “Hey Cross?”

“Mhm?” He replied, a sort of warm grin on his face.

“Sorry for forgetting your birthday.” He scratched his neck but yelped as he got slapped on the back.

“Don’t worry about it, just don’t forget it next time!”

Then they all walked away, promising that next year’s surprise would be kept this time.

***

“... Hey Cross?” At the call of his name, the soldier turned cold eyes toward Chara.

“What?” He hissed, making it obvious that whatever it was that he wanted, he was going to have to make it quick. Nightmare was not going to wait for much longer.

Chara looked away from him. “Happy Birthday.”

The latter stopped in his tracks; a foot still mid-air as he looked incredulously at him. A few seconds later though, he resumed his walking. “... Thank you.”

#cross sans #xtale au #xtale #xtale sans #xtale chara #xtale papyrus #xtale frisk #utmv #fluff #happy bday #bday

21 notes · View notes

jeysecretive · 2 months

Text

So, this story was written on inspiration from those fics: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411574/chapters/72254715

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53701390

You also have to give credit to the music: https://youtu.be/IW-oVKrHupY?si=cPkeacsJjVej10id

And most importantly, who I wrote it for. @blu-ish , this is for you :)

Important Mention!!! This chapter mentions injuries and the use of weapons! Plus, this fic is kind of OC × canon. THE TITLE OF THE FIC IS EXPERIMENTAL!

The Dark Secrets

of the Deep Sea

Chapter One: The Hunt

Chapter two

Important text notes!:

🔵= Sonic

🔴= Shadow

🟣= Indirect characters

🟢= Omega

💓= Rouge

italic font + bold font = Capitan Ghost

Italic font + any color = Thoughts

Simple italic font = special moments

Bold font = special moments

"Oh, come on! Can't a marvellous captain like you take down such a lowly opponent!"

A bullet flew over the head of the hedgehog who said those words with a howl, nearly taking off his ear. But he was abruptly torn backwards by a red echidna, shouting "Look out!"

With an offended snort, the hedgehog struggled to roll to the other side of the deck to continue his taunts.

***

A storm was raging at sea. Huge waves were rising and crashing down, threatening to sink the two ships as they circled round each other in a frenzied dance.

But it was as if none of the captains of these ships paid any attention to the storm, and continued to fight. Though only one of them was really fighting, the other was manoeuvring between the shells and trying to strike at the most important parts of the enemy sailing ship.

"Go Omega, show them your strength!!!" A young hedgehog with dishevelled blue quills exclaimed in a fervour, slide across the boardwalk deck on one foot.

In a threat to his life, he was leaping all over the ship and teasing the men from the other vessel, as if he didn't notice the shells whistling over his head.

A huge mechanism made of ship's debris and covered in iron hoops threw up its arms in protest at the young man's frantic plea.

"We're running out of shells, sir! There's no way cap will allow us to waste them on this!"

"WHAT?! WE HAD PLENTY OF POWDER AND NUKES WHEN WE SAILED!!!"

"You wasted half your war supplies on a game of 'who can shoot the furthest', sir! AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!"

"But you did enjoy being a part of-AAA!!!"

Hedgehog was grabbed from behind by the scruff of his neck and dragged towards the bilge. As he tried to fight off the strong hand squeezing his scruff, he heard a venomous hiss.

"Oh, come on, captain! I'm not done sending them curses yet!!! If you weren't mute, I swear you'd like it too!"

Instead of answering, the hedgehog was shoved sharply down the rickety stairs. The hatch cover slammed sharply over his head.

"Oh, well no! Sonic the Hedgehog is never left out!!!" Screamed the kid, trying to open his way out with his fist. But the boards stayed in place, proving that the hold door was securely locked from the outside.

"Hey! That's not fair! I want in too!" he wailed, hammering on the lid as hard as he could. But when he realised he couldn't get out that way, he sighed and put his hand on his hip, feeling the hilt of his blade with his hand.

***

The wind tore at his cloak as the captain of the brigantine called the "Black Wind" made his way to the helm.

The steering wheel was not occupied by the helmsman, for in times of battle or storms, the control of the ship was entrusted to the captain by default. No one could handle the "Wind" better than its master, and the crew understood that very well.

"HEY GHOST!!!" he heard a loud roar from the side of enemy frigate "STOP YOLOING AND FIGHT LIKE A TRUE FIGHTER, OTHERWISE THE WHOLE SEA WILL KNOW YOU'RE A COWARD!!!"

He snorted contemptuously upon hearing the voice. He had many names whispered by people all over the world, but this one specifically was used quite often. Threats didn't bother his hearing, it was far more important right now to fight off the enemy and keep the people on deck alive.

***

There wasn't a sea on this planet he hadn't sailed, and there wasn't a kingdom whose vessel he hadn't managed to plunder from. The fastest ship in the world belonged to him, and the captain of the "Wind" was elusive.

Despite the fact that he had only appeared on the open ocean about a year ago, the Cap had instantly become a household name as an outlaw.

He worked alone almost all the time, and getting on his ship as an employee was a big hit with the pirates.

No one knew his real name, but he was most often called "Ghost" or "Spirit". Not so often referred to by the simple name "Jack", but his rank and fame as an undead remained unchanged.

Rumours spread across the land that Captain Ghost possessed the most powerful spells in the world, thanks to which he always came out of any situation victorious and kept his ship intact. For this reason, he was constantly hunted, wanting to get the power he possessed. But no one had ever managed to learn his secrets. Perhaps it was the merit of clever magic tricks, but no one knew the exact reasons.

"Black Wind" and its master were covered with legends and tales like an old barque with clams, which made them even more desirable prey for all the pirates and sailors in the world. And perhaps that's the reason why this battle began.

***

Turning sharply to the left, the "Black Wind" nearly toppled over on its side. A hook with four iron claws was sharply thrust at the spot where the bow of the ship had just been. With a loud gurgle in the abyss, it attracted the attention of several crewmen.

"IT'S THE OTHER PIRATES! THEY'RE BOARDING US!!! Shrieked one of the crew. It was so obvious that the cap's tongue clucked unhappily.

But on the other hand he knew that ordinary people were not as observant as he was, so he continued to manoeuvre between the crests of the waves, shuddering unhappily at the rumble of thunder and the shouts of the people around him.

Something was wrong... He couldn't recognise what it was. The danger of being a prey to the waves did not let him forget about himself, and with all this it was necessary not to fall into the trap of "neighbours" and to keep an eye on the condition of "their own". But the sensation of a chill running between his vertebrae was so tightly lodged in the captain's soul that even now, fully absorbed in the battle, the alarm of unknown danger still tickled his nerves.

***

This crew he had taken to his ship a fortnight ago. The pirates, who introduced themselves as 'sea vagabonds', needed to cross the Sol Sea to meet up with, they said, old friends. Ghost knew that such explanations usually amounted to the phrase "it's none of your business," so he didn't go into detail.

These guys were generous with their pay and helped him with the ship, even though the cap was doing just fine on his own.

He hated being around people, and knew that anyone on his ship was a threat.

Despite their friendliness, all these pirates, including their blue-quilled leader, looked at him as dainty prey, and he could feel it.

A target for everyone he met, a target for the whole world.

But the money pouring faithfully into his coffers helped keep him in check.

Being dependent on bits of metal was horrible, but the brigantine needed immediate repair and maintenance after each adventure.

***

Which was why the captain now stood on deck, clutching the helm and trying to get away from the enemy. The pirates of the Wind, securely fastening themselves to the deck with ropes were monitoring the condition of the masts.

Another hook, this time on a longer rope, broke through the railing near the captain's cabin.

Damn it!

If the storm had cleared, he would have had no trouble rounding this frigate and disappearing into the distance.

At the thought that the ship might be captured, Ghost hissed quietly.

His passengers were favourable customers, and there was no desire to surrender into the hands of the enemy just yet.

At this time, a huge wave came up from behind, causing the Black Wind to tilt nose down. Feeling gravity pulling his body closer and closer to the edge of the ship, the captain used his secret weapon. His embossed-soled boots skidded across the deck, but the black cape wearer take some time to slamming them against each other. With a metallic click, sharp spikes came into view, catching tightly on the planks.

Tilting the helm as hard as he could, he tried to leap off the crest of the wave to keep the Wind from being turned into splinters.

But suddenly he was struck from behind, and Cap let go of the helm to avoid breaking it. Almost beside the helm was a hole from a cannon-ball.

At the same moment the sailboat tilted, losing control.

Realising that it was time to prepare for the worst, everyone on the Black Wind grabbed with all their might at the handrails and ropes by which they were tied to the main mast.

***

But a sudden cracking sound made everyone jump.

The sailboat suddenly levelled out and jerked sharply.

The ghost recognised the sound.

They were being hooked.

A thousand devils... Now we'd have to deal with three times as many problems.

Seconds later, hooks rained down on the deck in a hail, ripping boards and making holes in the hull.

A low growl rose in the captain's throat.

Glancing around, he realised that the storm was abruptly ceasing.

Of course it was the enchantments!

If he had more time to sleep, he would have been able to smell and dispel them.

But now...

It was a hopeless trap.

***

A huge frigate was approaching the Black Wind. The inscription on its bow said that the ship was called the Threat of the Seas.

Ghost recognised this ship.

It was worth preparing for the worst.

The pirates huddled together on the deck stared hopelessly at the approaching behemoth.

"We're screwed..." Rattled Omega in terror. The others murmured fearfully in agreement.

This ship's fame spoke for itself: sunk fleets of the Kingdom of Eggmanland, many robberies of Soleanna merchant ships, and a rumoured kinship with the leader of the Pirate Community.

Attacks on peaceful islands and robberies of other pirates were not uncommon either. All of their atrocities could be listed forever, but to all of this there was a loud rumour that since time immemorial the captain of the Thunder of the Seas had been stealing other pirates and killing them with a painful death. Mostly it was about captains, but occasionally people mentioned ordinary sailors as well.

Legends said that the leader of the Thunderstorm thus wants to gain power over all the seas and become the only pirate captain on the entire planet. He calls himself "Shadow", and this nickname has fully justified him.

For three hundred years, he has been considered the main threat of all seven seas. Invariably he led his crew, remaining a constant danger to every ship he encountered. All pirates who managed to see the captain with their own eyes and escape alive spoke of a black aura hovering around him.

Rumours crawled around the planet that Shadow had made a deal with the devil himself to stay forever young. In return, he would bring the blood of the pirates he killed.

No matter how embellished the legends were, Ghost knew that somehow some of these rumours were true.

He prepared himself for an unpleasant encounter.

***

A large sand-coloured bear landed on board. Its weight made the deck shake slightly. He raised his huge club on his shoulder, and swiftly headed towards the pirates.

But he failed to fulfil his intentions as something black and clearly unstoppable came at him from above.

The big man roared in fright and fell to the ground, trying to throw the unknown creature off him. But suddenly there was a strong blow on his neck, and the bear fell motionless to the ground. The club landed close by, half breaking through the boards.

"Bilge!" Ghost signalled, urging the crew of the Wind to wait out the attack in safety. But none of them moved.

It was strange.

The air around the captain thickened slightly.

That's it. That weird sense of danger... It wavered in him more and more, but Ghost realised that he had to fight off the enemy first.

He stepped behind the ledge so that the next attackers wouldn't see him before his time. Cap glimpsed a glimpse of his crew. They all looked pathetic and confused. Everything inside him cringed.

A very strange feeling was emanating from the entire group. No, not hypnosis or suggestion.... But some bitter, long familiar feeling to the captain. But now was not the time for such thoughts.

It would be easier if these oafs would at least obey a little. Especially Sonic! The important thing was that they didn't find him. Or at least kept alive. He's the only one who handles the money in this gang. Even if they manage to get away without casualties, this youngster will definitely be pissed that his safety wasn't preserved...

But the captain was no longer sure of his thoughts.

This was too strange behaviour for everyone, and knowing the hedgehog, he should have gotten out of the hold almost immediately after being imprisoned.

Too many weird details...

***

Three more pirates jumped out onto the deck. From the looks of it, they were much weaker than the first guest. But unlike him, they were not going to attack the ship so quickly.

Respectfully, they gave way to the one who was honoured and feared by the whole world.

Captain Shadow, in all his splendour, jumped from the outstretched cable onto the planks of the Black Wind's deck.

His hair looked like tar in the faded sunlight, and Ghost could see that it was more like Sonic's quills in texture. Concluding that Shadow was also a hedgehog, Cap continued to watch carefully.

Something dark was indeed emanating from the hedgehog... Something incomprehensible and tense. And somehow it was connected to the change that had occurred in the pirates.

A feeling consumed Ghost and he tensed up, preparing to attack and choosing the right moment.

Something was going to happen.

Shadow slowly made his way towards the pile of Wind pirates. Stopping five paces before the group, he looked them over from head to toe. Even from this uncomfortable angle, Ghost observed the cold menace that cast the dark Capitan eyes.

The small red arrows on his upper eyelids gave his gaze the sharpness of a dagger. The same lancet marks were also on the ebony quills, but they looked paler. These marks were like needles digging deeper and deeper into Captain Ghost's mind.

It was definitely for a reason.

Suddenly, in the silence that hung over the whole sea, the tar hedgehog asked:

"Where is your captain?"

***

Space froze in mid-air. Thoughts and guesses exploded in Ghost's mind, causing his head to blaze.

There was something in that hedgehog's tone. He wasn't... An order. It was a tone one might use to ask a question about the weather, but not--.

He knew the tone one used when addressing prisoners. This one on the other hand was as if Shadow and these pirates were--.

"Right behind you, sire!" Rang out a ringing, cheerful voice behind Ghost's back.

"...Sonic."

He turned around sharply.

The peephole of a carved pistol was staring directly into his forehead.

"Ah-hu-huh, mate! You shouldn't make a move like that, you don't want me to take your brain away, do you?" the blue hedgehog said, chuckling merrily.

This was it. The feeling that haunted him.

All these pirate invasions were just cheap scenery.

It couldn't be said that Ghost was surprised. Disappointment was the overriding feeling in his soul.

How typical.

"Okay, now you're going to have to put your hands up, Cap. I don't want you stabbing me with a dagger or anything" said the blue hedgehog with a smile, watching as the dark cloaked figure noiselessly followed his order. "Oh, I know what you're thinking, mate: "Ah, why did my crew betray me! Were they so intimidated that they refused to listen to me?", weren't they? Well, Cap, I'm afraid to disappoint you further, but this whole mess was a set-up from the start!"

A smug grin spread across the hedgehog's face.

That was the signal.

***

Ghost. A nickname given to him for disappearing from the scene of a crime without leaving a trace. But there's a second bottom may to have every nickname, isn't there?

The flesh thinned to dust, forcing his consciousness to move to the object of his desire in a throbbing lump. Time slowly flowed and wavered as if it were a thick fog.

The bullet had no sooner left the muzzle when Ghost dissipated into the air.

Sonic didn't know what had happened.

The one he had held at gunpoint a moment ago had dissolved without a trace.

A blow from behind caught Blue off guard. He went face-first to the ground.

The gun fell out of his hand and landed with a clatter on the boards, but was picked up at the same second by a black-gloved hand.

Lifting the hedgehog by the scruff of the neck like a cotton doll, Captain Ghost walked to the edge of the ledge where he had been sitting. In his hand a weapon glimmered coldly.

Eyes hidden beneath the hood caught the bright red pupils of Shadow. In the fleeting meeting of the dark hedgehog's gaze glittered a fury almost elusive to those around him, but vividly discernible to the experienced eye.

The ghost realised how much this blue hedgehog meant to the dark one.

"What do you want?" The ebony captain asked calmly. But there was clearly an embittered animal growl in his question.

A flapping of wings was heard from behind. No ordinary man in the world would have heard it, but Ghost's ears felt the rustling as clearly as the splashing of the sea around him. It was clear that the trap was slamming shut.

***

A duplet sounded.

Two shells fired simultaneously from different guns raced towards the people standing on the edge of the wooden ledge.

"To let a stray bullet take a young life would be too low. No matter how violently this boy saw the world, his blue quills should have felt the wind of the sea, not rot in a coffin. Many things he had yet to see and do.

One was to pierce the spine, heading straight for the heart, the other to enter the lung. Death in forty-two seconds from pain shock, cardiac arrest, fear and loss of breath.

There's a 48.6 per cent chance my body would be unharmed. The wind did its job.

Let's hope I can still get out of here.... My energy isn't that durable."

With a sharp whistle, the two small balls flashed past each other and flew far out to sea. And five metres away from the boardwalk, space warped for a moment.

***

Sonic's head snapped up sharply. He didn't realise why his feet were now on the ground. Everything had happened too fast even for his supersonic mind. The dark figure beside him swayed to the side, letting the blue one go.

But there was something clear that Sonic could sense.

Two capsules launched through his body. He could feel their coldness.

But at the same time, he realised he was in one piece. No wounds, no marks. Only an eerie sense of consequence.

"What are you...?" Whispered the hedgehog in confusion, but he was interrupted by a loud whistle.

The bat that had been behind them only a moment ago was now hovering about six metres to the left, clutching a pistol with a perplexed and angry expression. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she let out another signal before rushing to the attack.

"She shouldn't be there..." flashed through Sonic's mind.

In the next couple of seconds, he was pushed away by a strong arm.

Instead of pointing the weapon at Blue hedgehog again, Ghost forcefully pushed him away from him along with Blue and dashed in the opposite direction.

At exactly the same moment, the enraged girl struck the boardwalk with force, intending to punch her opponent in the head.

And Sonic realised with horror that she wouldn't have stopped, even if his life was in Ghost's hands.

***

Once again, a gunshot rang out. This time the source of the sound was very close to Sonic. Looking up sharply, he saw Captain Shadow standing on one of the zadarn planks left of the captain's cabin.

A blue smoke was billowing from the gilded muzzle of his pistol, confirming that it was the weapon that was causing the noise.

Tracing the direction of the barrel, the hedgehog spotted a dark cloaked figure standing in a fighting stance. Literally three centimetres from his fingers, Sonic discerned a small, sparkling copper puddle.

"Macarter blood. Instantly sedates and paralyses the victim for several days. So they want to take me alive."

"Let me tear him apart, sire!" The bat yapped impatiently, keeping his eyes on his enemy.

"There's no need, Rouge. He's already shown us enough." The black urchin replied in a level tone "...You're a smart captain who knows how to stand up for his own skin," he turned to Ghost. "And I'm prepared to offer you a choice: either you surrender to me, and I'll spare your life if you can be of any use to me.... Or, " his eyes glittered dangerously, "You can die nobly by my bullet and be buried forever in the ocean. Don't worry, the mere movement of your finger will be enough for me to shoot you, so the trick you pulled before won't work. So, what's your answer, Cap?"

A deep silence hung around.

Time seemed to start flowing three times slower again, but this time it only stretched for Ghost alone.

The first sound that rang out in that visceral silence was Sonic's exclamation.

"Oh my god, Shadow, did I forget to tell you about--?"

That was enough.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic fic #my fic #sonic fanfic #my fanfic

11 notes · View notes