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thepenultimateword · 2 years

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i know you just posted it, but part 2 of My Mistake?

Here’s a sandwich 🥪

*Monch* Thank you! 😊

Part One

CW: Medical supplies and drugs (sort of, their medical)

Villain swiped the packages of loose medical supplies to the van floor and settled Hero across the backseat.

The red and blue vigilante thrashed their head from side to side, sobs reduced to pathetic whimpers. Tears had a hard time escaping the confines of their mask, and growing wet spots darkened the fabric around their eyes a deeper shade of red and blue like a brightly colored raccon.

"Do you happen to be allergic to nitrous oxide?" Villain asked slowly.

Hero stared at them blankly from under half-lowered lids, still whimpering and hissing their breaths. Was anything even reaching at them at this point?

"Laughing gas?" they clarified anyway.

Their eyes cleared just a little. "I-I'm not..."

"Good. I'm going to give you a little, for the pain and the stress." Hero might have protested, but if they did, Villain didn't hear it. They were already in motion, sifting through medical supplies, ripping open packages, and hooking an oxygen mask to a nitrous oxide canister. Leaning back over Hero's wet, bloodshot eyes and barely contained agony, they realized something. "I'm going to have to remove your mask."

Villain caught the smallest of nods. Hero must be in so much pain. The thought made their hands tremble a little as they worked their thumbs beneath the chin of the mask and carefully folded it away. A shock of stubborn half-flattened curls poofed out to the sides as they were freed.

Villian wanted to throw up.

“Geez, Hero, how old are you? Like 20?” They wanted to sound lighthearted, but it struck despairing instead. It was also weird using that name for a stranger, but Villain wasn’t sure what else to call them.

Of course, Hero's only response was the muffled breathing through the oxygen mask. And Villain hadn't really been looking for an answer. In fact, they'd rather not have one. As they slammed the van door shut and moved around to the front seat, they decided, for their own sake, that Hero must only look young for their age. After all, there were age restrictions to hero debuts now. The courts had made sure of that due to complaints of endangering children and endangering civilians by putting them in charge. The rules were strict: you must be at least 25.

They hit a bump and more medical supplies--bandaids, gauze, suturing needles wrapped in plastic, etc--tumbled off the dash and skidded out from under seats.

“W-why do you have all this stuff?” Hero slurred with some difficulty. One hand hung off the seat, clenching and unclenching like a habit they couldn't stop.

"Because I used to be a doctor. Professionally."

What was the use in hiding it? It wasn't like the world didn't already know. Crazy Dr. [civilian name], turned to evil after an incident at an orphanage, malpractice on a hero, stripped of their honors. They shook the thoughts away just in time to swerve a left turn through a red light. The echoes of sick feelings lingered a little longer, but they ignored them. Now was not the time.

Villain swallowed the bitterness and continued. "Now I just get stuff from suppliers and do what I can for the people here in the back allies."

“Are you going to help me?”

It sounded so pathetic. So hopeful.

“No. No, I don’t know anything about burns. I’m taking you straight to your agency. They have a hospital for you heroes, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“Good. They'll take care of you. You'll be back out there in no time." It strained in their mouth, but hopefully, Hero was too drugged up to notice.

They turned the van up a gravel side street, and the gates of the agency slowly appeared over the ridge of the slope. Villain sped up.

They reached the black iron bars in a couple minutes. Villain thrust the car into park before they'd even come to a full stop, the gears grinding concerningly and the whole vehicle giving a sick jerk.

They kicked open the driver's door and dashed to the backseat, the door thunking a little too loud as they slid it back. They were about to gather the hero in their arms when they saw their mask discarded on the ground.

Villain snatched it up and tugged it snugly back in place. "There. Never happened. Got that?"

Hero nodded woozily. It was possible they hadn't even registered what Villan said.

"You don't need to mention anything other than that I tortured you and brought you here as a sick joke, ok?" Villain repeated, scooping Hero off the seat.

They weren't sure what the agency would do if they knew Hero's identity had been compromised, maybe nothing, but Villain wasn't taking chances. It wasn't like they recognized the kid anyway. It would be a waste if the agency let them go because of that.

It would be a waste if they never fought again because of what you've done.

Villain ignored the thought and pressed the buzzer on the gates.

"Hey!" they shouted, putting on their best sadistic villain voice at the click of someone picking up over the receiver. "I have your precious Hero here! Thought you might want them back. They're a little more banged up than when I found them, but still good, right? A toy is still a toy no matter how you break it."

"We have a security team on its way," a cold voice boomed from the speaker. "You have ten seconds to set them down and retreat or you will be terminated on sight. If you try to take them, you will be pursued."

Villain threw out a scoff before following the voice's directions, retreating into their van, and driving to the lip of the hill. They paused just before Hero was out of sight, assuring that the group of security heroes really did take them inside before sailing away at top speed from a few well-aimed bullets.

A wash of relief rushed over them. Hero would be ok. They would never see them again. At least not anytime soon. Once Hero recovered and the feelings of revenge had properly settled in, they might meet again on the battlefield, but it would be different then. Villain would know better than to strike so severely, and Hero wouldn't be so innocent anymore. They'd fight properly.

Or so Villain thought until four months later when Hero showed up on their doorstep with a box of assorted cookies and a limp.

Part Three

#did a little poll for this continuation #but it turned out as a tie #so I decided to push myself in the direction I rarely go #and try writing a platonic relationship #writing snippet #platonic villain and hero #heroes and villains #villain #creative writing #hero #fiction #heroes and villains community #superheroes and villains #hero x villain #but not really cause it's platonic haha

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benjaminthewolf · 1 year

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The Last Resort In Battle (Vore Story)

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO I’M BACK, BABY!

So yeah remember when I said I had a huge Christmas project going on that was gonna have vore in it? Well…here it is. This is an excerpt from Kyle Kills Santa Claus 3: Rudolph Goes Insane.

Btw, the character named “Bread” here is basically Kyle’s JoJo stand, they’re just not called one. And yeah they’re named after the band “Bread”.

Here’s the link to the entire KKSC3 document in case you want to check it out!

WARNING: BLOOD

****

“You better start focusing on me, now, Rudolph.” Kyle whispered to himself under his breath. “…you have absolutely no idea just how much release I am getting right now…”

As if he was able to understand exactly what Kyle had said, Rudolph, in his positively incalculable seething, scorched wrath, narrowed his eyes and gave a primal roar in the exact direction of the man, before leaping forwards in fury with an open-jawed pounce, his gums still considerably caked in blood.

Kyle could tell that Rudolph wasn’t going to hit him from the angle at which he lept, he was going to snap his teeth at his newfound buddy Bread, instead; a being who was magical in nature, and thus, as Kyle assumed, couldn’t be harmed by any physical attacks.

That was where Kyle was wrong.

Not only did Bread begin bleeding when Rudolph’s teeth came crashing down onto him, but Kyle was similarly forced to take a leap back in shock as he, too, felt the pain. Poor Kyle had absolutely no idea what was going on with the both of them, but before he could figure it out, Bread, as they were currently immobilized in pain, was swiftly shoved to the back of Rudolph’s mouth as his tongue gave them a good flick. Bread soon landed near the reindeer’s gullet, though not before striking their body against the man’s dangling uvula in classic slapstick collision, and splattering down onto the back of the tongue as a result.

Forcing his body to swallow despite all of his pain, Rudolph was soon able to gulp Bead down entirely, a squishy, audible sound effect practically rattling through the air, reducing them to now nothing more than a bulge traveling down the giant reindeer’s throat, as said throat was promptly cleared, due to still bleeding rapidly from Alissa.

It was only after the deed had already been done that Kyle was aware of his surroundings again. Surprisingly, and to the baker’s even greater confusion, even though it wasn’t him that was currently getting squeezed and constricted by the muscles in Rudolph's throat, he was still able to feel it, as if it was, indeed, him that was swallowed, instead.

Unfortunately, however, in the time that it took for Kyle to get back his bearings, Rudolph was already striking again. Kyle could not even hear Minti and Mrs. Claus crying out his name as the gigantic reindeer’s jaws finally sealed him inside.

Kyle’s body jolted. He let out a gasp. And then, it finally settled in.

Before the baker’s body could move a single centimeter, though, the gargantuan reindeer’s tongue had already quite literally slapped him out of the air, forcing him to land upon its slick, squishy surface as such, as the front half of the muscle swiftly folded over itself, in order to weigh the man down, and prevent him from escaping.

Kyle was all of a sudden able to sense all of the teensy, minute details of his current, fleshy surroundings, in massive, articulate detail. And as the seconds ticked by, he cataloged them.

First, the back of the tongue rose up, almost causing Kyle to bump his head against the roof of Rudolph’s mouth. He just barely managed to put his head down in time before striking the rough ridges. Then, the area sloped downwards, as the reindeer’s injured, bloody gullet opened up, and Kyle, with his chin deeply squished into the flooring of taste buds and spit, began to slide down towards it.

Kyle took notice of the plump, swaying uvula situated above the deathly drop. And then, he knew implicitly, that this was his only shot. Kyle positively squeezed his hands onto the thing, before hauling himself all the way up onto it. Rudolph was forced to suppress a gag.

Kyle was able to hear many whines, groans, and roars emulating from the reindeer’s voice box as the battle continued outside. Kyle, in the meanwhile, was clinging desperately to this flesh sack, praying rapidly that he wouldn’t get forced off.

Rudolph, however, had rather different plans in mind for the fate of the young baker, and as a result, once again forced his epiglottis to cover up the entrance to his windpipe, as the natural sucking force that resulted from the swallow stretched the uvula downwards. Still, Kyle held firm. Rudolph knew he would need many more swallows before Kyle was forced off, and that was exactly what he did next.

With each subsequent gulp, the uvula was stretched further and further downwards, and Kyle was able to gaze deeper and deeper into the awaiting gullet below. His grip upon the uvula was rapidly weakening at an exceedingly rapid pace, and, with one last exceedingly painful swallow, Kyle was finally flung off. The uvula practically slingshotted back into place as Kyle was shoved through the upper esophageal sphincter with a gulp.

Now, at last, it made sense that he could sense the walls of the esophagus. Squelching the poor man down in a constant, rhythmic pattern, Kyle was able to feel the sleek, glossy muscles tightening in on him, before shoving him forwards a little, relaxing their grip again, and the whole cycle started over. Eventually though, despite the fact he had legitimately no idea how long he had been here, he was also able to detect sounds that were not the esophageal muscles doing their thing, causing him to shudder aggressively.

Kyle’s hearing grew unexpectedly acute as the pounding of Rudolph’s heartbeat literally echoed around in his ears. This meant he was past the reindeer’s collarbone, and would quite soon join in with Bread inside of the reindeer’s stomach. The poor man instinctively shook as he also began to detect the echoing gurgles and growls reverberating around inside the reindeer’s guts.

When at last, the lower esophageal sphincter was in view, Kyle knew that if he wasn’t still able to float, he was soon to be submerged inside of the acids. Thus, he began honing in on his Christmas magic, and though that meant he wasn’t exactly able to sense it when the sphincter opened up and effortlessly squelched him on through, he was able to sense the fact soon thereafter, that he had not been submerged inside the acids, and as a result, had managed to succeed in floating.

Kyle immediately heaved out a sigh as he shook his head and opened up his eyes. The first thing he was was his ally Bread. They appeared to be rather disheartened at the moment, considering where the two of them were. Kyle’s heart twinged as his face, too, began to sink.

Nonetheless, the fact was that they were, in reality, trapped, effectively imprisoned, deep inside of Rudolph’s enormous body, in the chamber that was his enlarged stomach. Kyle merely floated there blankly for a while, attempting to contemplate the situation, as the constant rumbles and groans rustling around the area combined with the orgain’s natural heat, and the goopy, churning stomach walls, all came together inside of the baker’s mind. Before at last, it hit him.

The realization was nearly just as quick as the impulsive, spur-of-the-moment reaction that came after it. All too quick for even Kyle to be able to discern. And yet, as the figurative dust settled, and the color in Kyle’s eyes returned, he now understood what had just happened.

Bread, just as Kyle himself, was trapped inside their current bodily position, their muscles pinching tight. Unlike Kyle, however, Bread had been acting upon the baker man’s orders, and the position they were now stuck in was one that Kyle knew by heart, if only by the fact that he lived in the middle ages.

Bread was holding high their butter knife above their head, frozen and abruptly locked into the perfect position to strike, with their body lurching forwards, and a certain glaze in their eyes, just as if they were not holding a butter knife, but indeed, an axe. More specifically, an executioner’s axe. Kyle was jolted through the consequences. What would have happened exactly, had that blow been landed? Kyle’s being convulsed. He knew very well the answer.

The walls around him churned. The heat around him seeped. The sounds around him boomed. And then, Kyle made his final deliberation.

“No…” Kyle breathed out with a quivering, shaky voice, at last putting both him and Bread at ease.

“I am not going to kill him.”

Bread subsequently placed their butter knife at their side, before allowing the thing to tingle, and at last, magically whisk it all away, in nothing but short of a gentle magical breeze.

Kyle silently hung down his being, his head, shoulders, and all of their further connected parts shlumped down in the air, as Kyle dangled precariously, over the bubbling chamber below.

Kyle had absolutely no idea how long he stayed like this. All he knew was that, sometime after once again opening his eyes, the moment finally ended.

Kyle then shuffled with his fingers. And then…his left hand bunched up.

“...but we do still need to stop him.”

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americxn · 3 years

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The Evans + neck kisses 💜💜

headcanons for: kit walker, kyle spencer, jimmy darling, james patrick march, rory monahan, kai anderson (pre-cult, cult and prison), mr. gallant

warnings: NSFW, neck kissing, biting, hickeys, mentions of penetration/oral, swearing

kit walker

Kit adores both giving and receiving neck kisses.

He’s overly generous when it comes to pressing random kisses to the side of your neck throughout the day, knowing exactly what the small gesture does to you and chuckling as you bat him away with a playful glare.

You’re able to read his mood through the manner with which he attaches his lips to your skin, your body relaxing fully into his touch upon contact, the tentative scrape of his teeth against your skin pulling a shudder from you. Kit always notices the impact of his actions, smirking against your skin and attacking your flesh with more persistence; he is equally as attentive during sex, your moans only growing with fervour as the softness of his lips provides a perfect contrast to the sweet pressure of his cock thrusting leisurely in and out of you.

kyle spencer

Kyle isn’t really too bothered about giving you neck kisses. He’ll press a few quick ones to the side of your neck but there are many other places that he would rather be kissing and so he doesn’t waste much time on your neck before moving onto other areas.

He is into hickeys though, sucking them around the base of your throat, along your collarbones and across the sloping planes of your chest, enjoying the small noises that his careful ministrations pull from you.

Franken Kyle would immediately get hard when you kiss all over his neck, especially when you suck and bite on the spot beneath his jaw; he gets so hard immediately, melting into the warm wetness of your lips against his skin. Adores being marked by you, savouring the sharp pain of your teeth sucking bruises onto him, and loves the way they look afterwards.

Always begs you to give him more marks during foreplay and you can never find the strength within you to deny him, not when the small whimpers you’re able to draw from him with your lips are so pretty to your ears.

jimmy darling

Jimmy goes through phases of wanting to spend all day with his lips attached to your neck, wanting nothing more than for you to waste away the hours tasting his own skin, or completely abandoning the notion of neck kisses and going straight to fucking.

They’re a huge turn on for Jimmy though and anytime your lips stray even remotely close to his neck, your warm breath fanning onto his skin, it’s guaranteed that his cock will be buried in you within a matter of minutes.

Because you’re both performers, visible hickeys can be problematic; the others at the show take the unending piss out of the both of you when the small purple marks appear on either of your bodies, Elsa losing her shit and lecturing the both of you about the importance of professionalism.

When Jimmy is in the mood to grace the column of your throat with kisses, he’s gentle and thorough, tracing the tendons in your neck with hot, wet patterns, reducing you to breathlessness and neediness before he satisfies you with his fingers, tongue and cock.

james patrick march

James is more familiar with the skin of your neck than the back of his own hand and nothing gives him more pleasure than to dine on your sensitive skin for as long as he pleases, relishing in the noises his skilful ministrations pull from you.

He always rips off his own shirt whenever he is given the privilege of having full access to your neck, shuddering in delighted gratification when you walk your fingers up and down his scar littered spine, running your nails across the pronounced planes of his back whilst your breathing becomes laboured as he kisses, licks and bites the entire surface of your throat, each trail of your fingertips adding to the steadily growing hardness of his cock.

It is the definition of intimacy for James to have you surrender your neck to him, trembling in exultation as he works his mouth on your skin, scraping his teeth and flicking his tongue across the hot skin beneath his lips until you’re beginning him for more.

James doesn’t often permit you to subject the overly sensitive skin of his neck to the same treatment, jerking away from you the moment your lips brush against his skin with a bit too much persistence, shivering and shying away from your touch. He prefers you to be rougher with his skin, his mouth parting slightly if you use your teeth on him, biting forcefully and bringing dull red marks up onto his pale skin.

(also the big ass slice across his throat kinda gets in the way)

rory monahan

Rory definitely prefers to be on the receiving end of neck kisses and literally melts into your touch the moment your hot lips come into contact with his skin.

His hands come to tangle in your hair as soon as you begin giving the sensitive skin of his throat attention, his chin lifting to give you better access.

With Rory, it doesn’t take long before he becomes feverish with need, gripping your hips from your position astride him and forcing you up, moving you so that your knees are braced on either side of his head before returning the favour, your hands now coming to tangle in his roots as he feasts upon you, either taking you into his mouth or licking you with as much fervour as you licked up and down the column of his throat.

pre-cult kai anderson

Loves giving your neck attention with his mouth but is often too timid to initiate it. Knowing this, you are generous in your encouragement, taking his head gently in your hands and leading his face to the crook of your throat, offering him hushed praises as he works the soft skin of your neck with his warm lips.

He steadily gains more confidence, much to your delight as the gentleness with which he attends to your neck sends a flurry of excitement fluttering through you.

Although he adores your lips on his skin, becoming instantly engorged, the stimulation can be overwhelming at times, especially when you use your teeth to mark his skin. You know his boundaries and you know how much he loves being granted full access to your neck and both of you are more than happy to indulge to each other’s needs.

cult kai anderson

Kai will only kiss your neck if you ask for it, enjoying the way that your eyes avert his when you finally give in and request his lips on your skin, forcing you to beg before providing you with what you want.

He can be rough, using his teeth and biting hard enough to bruise, or he can be dizzyingly gentle, running his tongue softly across your throat and tenderly pressing his warm lips to your skin; there’s rarely any in between and you can never gauge which mood he is in until he shows you.

He’s very into hickeys, not only because of the noises he coaxes from you whilst sucking them onto your skin, but also because he likes you to display them at cult meetings, painting the underside of your jaw with them and watching with delight as the cult members eyes immediately flick to the marks when you enter the room.

prison kai anderson (the best kai anderson)

He secretly loves when you attend to his neck and covertly aches to feel your hot lips and tongue on his skin. Although he would never ask for it, you oblige him occasionally, usually when he’s generous enough to let you ride him, leaning over his body and attacking his neck as he thrusts up into you from underneath.

Hickeys aren’t really his thing, he dislikes the way the marks linger and feels as if they make him look submissive, which isn’t true. You’re occasionally able to sneak some onto his hips bones however, and he hisses in pleasure when you do, gripping onto the back of your head and forcing your mouth further onto his skin.

He is very attentive when it comes to having his lips on your skin, sucking and biting a sizeable collection of marks onto your neck and collarbones, biting down on your skin hard enough to break flesh, stopping only when you yelp out in pain, releasing his firm hold on your skin and licking softly over the hurt in contrasting tenderness.

malcolm gallant

Gallant takes his sweet time with your neck, dining on the supple dip at the hollow of your throat, licking at the bump of your adam’s apple at nipping at the soft flesh at the underside of your jaw.

Only when he’s reduced you to a panting mess beneath him will he progress down the planes of your body, lower and lower as you buck your hips into the hand he has cruelly rested on your hardening bulge, eventually granting you with the pleasure he made you so desperate for, following through with his hot mouth.

He gets equally as riled up when you get a turn at attaching your lips to his neck, knowing the exact spot that makes him whimper: the tender spot where his neck meets the slope of his shoulder.

It becomes a sort of competition, to see which one of you would be the first to become sated under the touch of the other’s lips, one of you smiling in victory against the skin they attended to as the other submits to the tongue licking intoxicating stripes up their skin.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins (dm to be added or removed <3)

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runawaymun · 3 years

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Might I request Elrond x Platonic reader h/c and fluff fic, where reader comes home after a hunting trip etc. with a minor injury like a bump in the head or something and Elrond gets very fussy about it. Extra points for parent/child relationship cause I have problems.

Dad!Elrond x Platonic!Reader ~ Iris

Genre: hurt/comfort/fluff Warnings: mild blood and injury cw (reader has a broken nose). For: @tuuliii Reader pronouns: she/they

Sindarin Translations: Ada - informal: dad/papa Tithen pen - little one

You’d spent most of the day out hiking in the surrounding woods gathering wild herbs and other plants for your own experiments. Usually you’re pretty sure-footed, but there had been a hard rain the night before and you completely misjudged how slippery a certain slope would be. The rain had loosened the soil and clay and you’d slipped, rolled down it, and managed to crack your nose-- which, in your opinion, was marginally better than spraining something. At least you’re capable of getting yourself back home.

Lindir walks past just as you cross the bridge back into Imladris and, as he turns to look at you, his eyes widen to saucer-proportions. You’re painfully aware that you look awful-- covered in mud from head to toe, hair askew, scrapes along your arms and and knees from where you’d broken your fall. And, of course, your nose was starting to swell. You’d managed to stop the bleeding on the way here but it had to be bruising by now.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” you insist. “I’m going straight to the healers. Don’t you dare tell Ada.”

Lindir swallows and you brush by him up the road and into the house. It takes some maneuvering (the last thing you want is to run into Elrond on the way in), and you garner more than a few concerned looks. When you reach the healing halls, you head for one of the unoccupied surgeries and find Mírion inside, mixing up some tinctures and poultices. You set your travel bag unceremoniously on one of the chairs and hop up onto the bed.

He turns to look at you, first taking in your disheveled state and then trailing to the floor, where you’ve tracked mud all the way in.

“What happened to you?”

“Don’t ask. It’s too humiliating. Can you just patch me up before Ada sees? He’ll throw a fit.”

“Lia will throw a fit about the floor,” he scolds.

“Tell her I’ll mop it.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh and gathers up a few items: bandages and plasters, a bowl of hot, clean water, and some honey and strong spirits and brings them over to the table by the bed.

Just as he starts examining your nose, Elrond bursts in.

“What happened?” he exclaims, rushing to your side. Mírion backs up to give him space as he takes your face in his hands, turning it this way and that, gray eyes filling with worry.

Lindir is right behind him, hovering nervously in the doorway. You shoot him a betrayed look which he returns with a helpless (and rather apologetic) shrug of his own.

Elrond prods the bridge of your nose with his thumb and you hiss in a breath at the sharp burst of pain. “Ai! Ada!” you try and brush him off but he won’t be moved. “I just had a nosebleed, that’s all.”

“It’s broken,” he scolds. “What were you doing?”

“I lost a fight with a riverbank,” you say dryly. “Slipped and fell. I’m fine.” Your nose, the treacherous thing, picks that exact moment to start bleeding again. You roll your eyes as his mouth sets into a thin line. He produces a handkerchief and presses it to the bridge of your nose.

“Lean forward,” he commands, utterly unamused. You obey and replace his hand with your own, pinching to stem the bleeding and wincing at how that just makes everything hurt more.

Mírion slips out with Lindir and Elrond washes his hands and returns back to the bed to examine all the little bumps and scrapes, making little disapproving noises in the back of his throat. Once the bleeding has stopped he takes the handkerchief, sets it aside, and takes your face to glower at your eyes, then holds up a finger for you to follow. You do, glaring at it as he drags it left, and then right. Satisfied, he asks:

“Your ears are not ringing?”

“No, Ada.”

“And you aren’t dizzy?”

“No, Ada.”

“You did not lose consciousness when you hit your head?”

“No.”

He sits on the edge of the bed to take cool, wet cloth and make you press it to your nose to help with the swelling, and then sets to work cleaning the mud out of all the little scrapes. “If your sight blurs or you begin to feel nauseous or have trouble sleeping, tell me.”

“It’s a nosebleed,” you complain. Your voice sounds nasally even to your own ears.

“It could have been a concussion,” he clucks, “Or a septal hematoma and neither of those ought to be taken lightly. You are fortunate it’s not necessary for me to reset anything. You are not to go out on your own for the next week.”

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” you mumble.

“Which is why I am glad Lindir did,” he replies back, because with that superior hearing and experience raising two very mischievous twins, you have never ever been able to get anything past him. “And Mírion would have anyway. Sleep with an extra pillow to keep your head above your heart until the swelling reduces.”

You pout while he plasters up the scrapes, applying the alcohol as disinfectant and the honey and plasters where needed. If you’re honest, though, the attention is kind of nice, though you would never admit it out loud.

“What were you doing climbing down a muddy riverbank in the first place?” he asks at last. “You know better.”

You have the decency to blush and you reach for your travel pack and pull out a now rather smashed up bouquet of purple crested irises. You’d seen them growing at the base of the bank and, to your credit, had actually gotten ahold of them before picking your way back out.

“I know how much you like them,” you say, but you’re far too embarrassed to look at him.

He’s quiet for a bit too long, and when you glance up at him at last he looks completely torn between laughing, scolding you profusely, and crying. He takes them from you and kisses your forehead.

“You are so dear to me,” he murmurs. “Thank you, tithen pen. I love them.” He can’t keep from adding: “But you must be more careful.”

“I promise not to go climbing down any riverbanks after it’s rained,” you say.

“Good, but don’t think that will get you out of house arrest. You still are stuck here until I am certain you have not given yourself a concussion.”

You sigh. He presses his hand to your head and hums a tune in the back of his throat, and you feel the pain in the bridge of your nose ease. He brushes your hair back from your face with another affectionate kiss to your still-muddy forehead and says: “I will bring you some new shoes before you get up so you avoid tracking more mud everywhere. Be sure to apologize to Lia and Lindir for the mess.”

“Yes, Ada.”

He stands from the edge of the bed and takes the wilted irises over to the the poultice-mixing station to find a glass to stand them in, and the next time you go into his office, you find that he has dried them and put them in a vase as a permanent fixture on his writing desk.

#elrond x reader #elrond #lotr #lotr imagine #elrond imagine #gif cw #(gif not mine)#And Rohan Will Answer! (Requests)#this was so nice to write #thank you for the excellent request!#i hope it hits the spot <3 #also the because I have problems made me laugh because that's SUCH a mood #me? keeping background OCs consistent between my fics and other imagines? never

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popopretty · 3 years

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Storm Bringer Spoilers (6)

One of my favorite scenes where Port Mafia went all out on Verlaine in CODE;4. I like this part because it introduced a lot of Port Mafia’s skill users that have never appeared in both the manga and the other novels. It was so fun to read.

Dazai made some interesting statements and theories here too. I like the dialogue at the end, where he kinda slipped and let out some of his real emotions.

PS: I can’t believe I actually typed out 5000 words! I was drafting this on my phone so I didn’t notice the actual amount of words. I know it’s not gonna be perfect and I am gonna make mistakes and I will want to punch myself so much but gosh, I am so proud of myself now!

...

The train driver put one hand on the handle, his eyes staring at the darkness in front of him.

Twenty-seven years of service. He is a veteran. He has held this handle through rains and winds, through the Great War where the bombs poured down like rain, messing up the landform.

Even for him, today’s job is unusual.

The train company he works for was bought out overnight. Together with the trains and the service schedules. Then he was ordered to operate a temporary ride. Yet there is only one passenger on this train. Even when he protested to his boss, what he got was only “stop questioning and just drive.” And then one more thing, “If you run away, it will be even worse.”

The driver took another look at the scenery in front of him. The trees have sunk into the darkness. All he could see were the silver railroad tracks and the yellow headlight. Those are the only guidelines to tell where the train is heading.

What his boss said might actually be true. Putting other cities aside, this is the unorthodox Yokohama. Anything can happen. Even if there is only one passenger, he has no intention to talk to them. If he does so, he might end up having to catch his cut off head with his chest. _

At that moment, from the eternal darkness of the night that looks no different from the bottom of the ocean, he felt something moving.

His well-trained eyes managed to capture it from the distance. Is that an animal? No. Is it just the trees rustling? No.

That’s a person.

A person is standing on the track.

He pulled the break even before his brain went ”Oh no”.

The compressed air was released, and the train’s speed reducer made a violent metallic noise. But it was too late. The train bumped straight into that human figure.

However, that figure took the train’s hit. A tremendous force was applied on the train. The first car jumped forward. It was like they were being pulled, the rear cars also jumped off, derailed, rolling over into the woods. Like a rampaging huge iron snake, the train hollowed out a big area around it, knocked down a bunch of trees, before finally stopping.

The person who witnessed the whole event, Verlaine, smiled with satisfaction. He took the train head-on but suffered no scratches. He started walking. Towards the car with Mori Ougai. Jumping over the cars half-buried underground, getting through the cars whose electric system were starting to catch fire, he reached his target.

Mori Ougai was lying face-down. The train was fully flipped sideway, the walls become the floors and the ceilings became the walls. He was facing away from Verlaine, not moving an inch. From beneath his body, a pool of blood is slowly spreading.

He did investigate the target’s skill in advanced. It’s not the kind of secret that a formal spy like him cannot find out. Mori Ougai does not possess a skill that can withstand such an impact.

“Too easy.”

Verlaine muttered and approached his target. He is not as stupid to walk away without confirming if his target is really dead or not. He is going to check and if by some rare chances the target is still alive, he will finish them off for real.

Verlaine flipped Mori Ougai’s body over. Then his eyes opened wide.

That was not Mori Ougai.

That was a man he had never seen. He was wearing a wig and clothes to disguise as Mori Ougai. But Verlaine’s assassination preparation was thorough. He had set up a hidden surveillance device in the last station. And the images taken from there were definitely Mori Ougai’s.

When he grabbed the man trying to confirm his identity, suddenly a hand was put on his chest.

“Too easy.”

A powerful repulsive force coming from a skill blew Verlaine away. He flew through the glass windows and landed on the humus soil outside. He rolled further while scattering the soil, and hit his back against a tree before finally stopping.

”... Not bad.”

Verlaine push his hand on the tree to stand up.

He brushed off the dirt from his clothes and started thinking. The face he saw at that moment moment, the repulsive force coming from his palm. That was probably one of Port Mafia’s constituent members, the one who with the repulsion skill, Hirotsu Ryurou.

A double!

They knew about the hidden device and let Mori Ougai’s image captured on purpose, then quickly switched the double in. In other words, Verlaine’s assassination plan was seen through. Ever since he came to this country, he only knew one person who has the ability to outsmart him with such finesse.

“Hello, Verlaine-san.” A small was sitting on the edge of a car, on top of the overturned train.

“Dazai-kun”, Verlaine said as he picked up the hat that had fallen to his feet. “I have heard the saying that age doesn’t matter when it comes to talent, but you are really frightening.”

“You are just bad.” Dazai said with a dry voice as though he was lecturing Verlaine. “This time you acted on your personal feelings too much. When you are like that, I can read all your moves. Why are you so obsessed with Chuuya?”

“Is it that strange for someone to be concerned about his brother?”, Verlaine said as he dusted the mud off his clothes.

“It is, a lot.” Dazai affirmed. “First of all, what made you believe so firmly that Chuuya was your brother?”

“What?” Verlaine narrowed his eyes.

“You saw that too, right? Chuuya’s original experimental body. Turned into bones and died.” Dazai spoke while swinging his legs that were dangling out of the train top. “That looks almost the same as Chuuya in terms of appearance. In terms of abilities, too. And a lot of other things in common. What if that thing was actually a skill-containing artificial life form, and the Chuuya who is living outside, whose only redeeming trait is being energetic, was the original one? Can someone like you who is not an expert, someone who has only browsed through limited materials from the past, see through that?”

“That is impossible.” Verlaine shook his head. “I’m not as stupid as to mistake the target in my infiltration mission. What I stole away from the lab nine years ago was undoubtedly the same as me, an artificial life-form.”

“If I look it up I will understand right away.” Dazai said casually. “Fortunately this time, the guys from the labs has demonstrated the method to rewrite the code formula inside Chuuya. If I capture some of those researchers using Mafia’s power, they will be more than happy to tell me how to read those codes. And then I will know which one Chuuya is actually. We have all the time in the world.”

“You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don’t you?”

“I am”, Dazai laughed with a sigh. “There is no way a man-made string of code could create such a personality that I detest that much.”

Verlaine signed then started walking towards Dazai. His footsteps were heavy, as if he had to clean up a lot of tedious work.

“I can gently whole-heartedly explain to you the reason that was a misunderstanding... but now I have another job for you.“ he said, walking up the gentle slope that he fell from. “That is to spit out where Mori himself, not his double, is. It’s a painstaking job. Literally”

“So you have no intention to back off?”

“Of course not.”

Dazai didn’t look at anything, he gazed aimlessly into the air, “Is that so?”. Then he spoke with a disappointed face, “Then it is your loss.” A sniper bullet went straight for Verlaine’s head. Verlaine bent his upper body, and felt down the slope of humus. He rolled three times then looked up, looking at Dazai with stern eyes.

“Sniper?”

Before he could finish his sentence, yet another bullet struck Verlaine’s forehead. He almost fell to his side, pushing his hands against the ground to support.

“Your ability only works on things that you can touch.” Dazai said, swinging his legs as he looked down on his opponent. “That’s why the bullets that hit you will hit you. They just stop immediately. However, if we aim a larger sniper bullet, which has several times the velocity of a normal bullet, then it will still give you a blow the moment you use your gravity to stop it. Also...”

Dazai casually raised his hand.

From the top of the hill, through the gaps of the trees, from inside the humus, on top of big trees, more than fifty sniper bullets were fired at Verlaine at the same time. All the bullets pierced him, Verlaine growled.

Verlaine tried to hide under the shades of the trees while protecting himself by gravity. But even in the places he ran to, he got attacked from behind. Even if he tried to lower his posture to hide, the attack would come from above the trees. He had nowhere to run.

“To be able to set up this many snipers... in such a short time...”

A bullet pierced through Verlaine’s clothes and slid through his skin. It’s not a wound that could make him bleed, but there are so many of them. Ten shots in one second, then twenty, and more kept coming. It’s like the air that surrounds his whole body has become his enemies and attacked him.

Verlaine had no choice but to protect his head with his two arms and rolled himself up.

“You picked the wrong opponent, Verlaine-san.” Dazai chuckled. “I am an expert when it comes to dealing with gravity. Because no matter if I wake or sleep, the only thing I think about is how to annoy Chuuya.”

“Don’t underestimate me!”

While enduring the rain of bullets that were striking him, Verlaine grabbed a tree close by and pulled it out of the ground.

“You think you can kill me with this kind of rock throwing play? Verlaine swung the tree, trying to throw it. He planned to use the tree as a spear to crush the snipers who were hiding faraway in the dark.

However, that hand of his stopped halfway.

It was because the tree had been cut into pieces.

“Hoho, if I look closely, you look terribly like my subordinate.”

There was a flowing female voice as graceful as the sound of harp.

The burning bright red hair, eyes of the same color. Her crimson red

ombré looked like the color of ripen maple leaves. The most eye-catching thing was what floated beside her, a masked demon in a kimono. The demon was tall with long hair. She carried a sword of almost the same height as a child, as if it had no weights at all. The golden kimono melt into the air from her knees downwards, showing that it was not a real body.

“However, it was Mr. Brother who selfishly tried to poach our boy from us. I guess I can let that go after cutting off one of your limbs or two. So you’d better get lost quickly.”

Ozaki Kouyou. The Port Mafia’s young sword-woman. A powerful skill user who took Chuuya as her subordinate, accompanied by the golden demon, an embodiment of her skill, a beautiful beast.

Kouyou rolled a bright peony-colored umbrella on her shoulder. And then she twisted its handle and pulled it out. A silver blade appeared. A hidden sword.

“Mafia’s skill user?” Verlaine smiled like a beast. “But what can a mere ability user with two swords can do against gravity?”

Verlaine lowered his posture, ready to jump at Kouyou.

“Who said that I was alone?”

Verlaine’s body sank in.

Startled, Verlaine looked at his feet. The ground undulated like a snake, swallowing his two legs and even crawling up.

Verlaine was caught by surprise. He got rid of the gravity of his own body and jumped up. He landed on a trunk of a tree nearby. But even the trunk that definitely looked tough started to liquify the moment his shoes touched. It reached for Verlaine, trying to eat him up.

“This is...” Verlaine leaped again. However, the spot he planned to land on already turned into a mud with a will of its own, opening its mouth to wait for him.

“Hahaha. Keep running, young man. Youngsters like you exist to entertain this old man. Please die quickly and offer your head to me.”

Coming from the darkness of the woods was a big, strong man who looked just like a big tree. A military uniform that has faded in places. His bristle looked like a sewing needle. He wore a judo belt around his waist, and wooden clogs on his feet The arms folding in front of his chest were as thick as a tree that has lived for hundred years.

Port Mafia’s elite, a veteran who survived the Great War. His nickname in the organization is “Colonel.”

He swung his arms like an ancient tree and squeezed his fist tightly in front of his eyes. At the same time, the ground started to muffle. The liquified soil, trees, even the overturned train, all rushed to attack Verlaine in the air. An skill user who can manipulate objects and turn them into liquids?

Verlaine kicked the first wave of liquified soil that came towards him and retreated backward. But the soil was also coming from that direction. Even if he tried to change his orbit to run, liquified soil was still coming from beneath his feet and above his head. If they touched him they would still be blown away by the gravity, but the liquid will start to cover up from the top again, giving no time for Verlaine to prepare a counter attack.

On top of that, as if to stitch up the gaps, there were sniper shots coming from all directions.

“Tch...”

Verlaine densified a small amount of dust in the air, and stepped on that to leap his body up. He wanted to take some distance. Abilities that manipulate things like Colonel’s, in most of the cases won’t work for things that are out of their sights. That’s why he planned to hide deep in the wood then throw a huge rock enforced by gravity to finish them off.

An odd thing entered Verlaine’s field of vision at that moment.

A watch.

A watch was floating in the air.

From the outside, it looked just like a normal pocket watch. A dial with numbers, a long hand and a short hand, a crown, and the internal mechanism peeking out from the edge of the dial.

The strange thing about it was that it had a size of a man’s upper body. Also, it kept turning around as if it was staring at Verlaine.

Verlaine, who possesses a wide range of knowledge on skill users, sensed the danger from that watch almost immediately.

He tore off one button from the sleeve of his suit and amplified its gravity until it weighted dozens of kilograms. Then he threw it towards the watch.

That button comet holding enough power to knock down a building, however, couldn't interfere with the watch. It smoothly slipped through the watch, knocked off trees and disappeared into darkness.

“You can’t destroy that thing.”

A gloomy voice came from the ground.

Verlaine diverted his gaze and without his notice, a boy was already sitting on the ground. He was hugging his knees with his two arms, looking miserable. He looked up at Verlaine.

“It’s no use. That thing looks at everyone. Including me, and you. We have no choices but to die. One day it will find us. One day it will catch up with us. It’s　“time”. It’s the enemy of us all.”

He looked and sounded miserably. His clothes were so long it became awkward. The hems were all frayed. The boy who was so skinny you could see his bones through his clothes glared at Verlaine and waved his finger as if he was telling him “Come here, come here.”

The two hands of the watch clicked and pointed to the number 12 at the same time. Immediately afterwards, the watch in the air was sucked into Verlaine.

That was not a metaphor, it was literally sucked into him, into his chest.

Being wary of the disappeared watch, Verlaine stiffened his body. But nothing happened. There is nothing within his sig...

The liquified soil twisted around his legs.

Startled, Verlaine shook the liquid off by gravity. Then he looked around. He had got pretty far away for sure. It was so strange that the liquified soil could chase him this close. Right after that was a shock. A sniper bullet hit his head. Verlaine span halfway in the air. He landed on the ground, scraping the humus to stop.

It was weird. The speed of the sniper attack went up. The speed of the bullet by the moment it reached him was so fast that even if he used gravity to bounce it back, he was also blown away by a corresponding force.

“Did they replace their guns or bullets with more powerful ones? No, this is...”

The ground liquified again. Verlaine jumped out to dodge, before being eaten by the soil. But the speed of the liquid tentacles that extended and followed him also increased. Verlaine took a quick look around. From the treetops that were hit by the sniper attack just now, leaves were falling down. They were not fluttering, they were dropping as if they were stabbing the ground. This means, the attack speed didn’t get faster...

“Was my time... slowed down?”

“Everyone will die before me.” the gloomy boy stared at Verlaine with dubious eyes filled with hatred. “Brothers, parents, everyone will be killed by time. But I will get away with it. With this special power of mine”

A skill user who meddles with time. For the first time, Verlaine got a cold sweat on his forehead.

Time manipulation is not just a powerful skill, it is a extraordinary skill out of this world. As far as Verlaine knew, there were only a few cases reported in the world. The fist on the list of those time manipulation skill users who are separated from the world’s reasons, was a former skilled mechanic, H.G. Wells. After creating the skilled weapons called the “Shell”, she disappeared and became the world’s worst terrorist.

The time manipulation type of skills tinker the basic principles of this world, and rewrite them at will. Because if you look from the universe’s perspective, time and space are equivalent. The time manipulation skill users hold the same power that can alter the world, just like Verlaine’s gravity. Verlaine whose movements have become dulled because of the time delay　was flooded with Mafia’s attacks. All the bullets, the swords and liquified soil.

Even if he tried to retreat, because his time has been delayed, he could only move sluggishly as if he was under water.

Verlaine’s expressions became stiff.

Dazai gracefully looked at the wooded area echoing with gun shots and roaring sounds. He looked down at the battlefield that had turned into a hell, with such a carefree expression that cooled down in the night breeze._

“This is the rule of this world.” Dazai spoke like he was singing. “It applied in all times and ages, all creatures, the absolute truth. In this world, a group is stronger than an individual. A skill user is stronger than a group. And then...”

Feeling the pleasant cold breeze coming from the blasts of the battle on his cheeks, Dazai smiled.

“... a group of skill users are stronger than one skill user.”

Verlaine pushed his body’s gravity to the max. With a powerful driving force that surpassed the effect of the time manipulation skill, he quickly escaped from the battlefield. Verlaine’s bones cracked at the sudden speed acceleration that exceeded his limit.

Even when the danger struck in front of him, Verlaine’s judgement did not falter. It was not yet a hopeless situation. He would retreat as much as he could, taking as much distance he could from the waves of skill attacks. Then he would fix his posture, manipulate the gravity of the bullets that managed to reach him, repel them and knock down the skill users, one by one. That would be his win then.

Only three skill users. Not too much of a difference in strength.

Suddenly, blood came out from his skin.

Verlaine looked at his cuffs. The skin under his clothes was peeled off, exposing the flesh inside. But only a little blood came out. He felt almost no pains.

He landed down on the ground as a reflex. Upon touching the ground, the skin inside his shoes also came off. He could tell by the slippery feel from it. But again, there was no pain.

That was a new skill attack. But the true nature of it immediately became clear.

His breath was white.

His skin is frozen, there was frost on his eyelashes.

“Let us be held. By the frozen love. Let us be held. By the frozen flower that breaks in its full bloom.” the new skill user appeared, singing with a thin and screechy voice.

Long, white hair, white fur around her shoulders, white breath. And a crimson red rose on her chest. Every time the woman takes one breath, the trees around her froze, cracked up and snapped due to the water inside it freezing and expanding.

Verlaine understood it right away.

A skill user who can cool off the temperate. The reason why his skin was peeled off earlier was because the skin was exposed to the low temperature and got stuck to the inside of his clothes and shoes. His body really became that cold in just an instant. He was frozen from flesh to born, but not much time has even passed.

A super dangerous skill user. Freezing attack does not involve physical clashes. That’s why he can’t dodge them using gravity. It is his natural enemy

Another sniper bullet hit Verlaine’s shoulder. He groaned in pain.

The bullet was cold. It froze by the time it touched his skin, forming a frost pillar. The low temperature invaded into him through the wound, eating up his flesh.

The enemies attacks were too synchronized. Time delay, freezing, sniping. Apparently, it was a tactic that had been put together to block all of Verlaine’s strengths and exploit his weaknesses. There is still something strange about this. He has been retreating at a considerable speed since a while ago, yet the gunshots never stopped. His escape route was totally seen through. Normally if he ran at this speed in the woods in the middle of the night, he would immediately disappear from the telescopic sight. Losing the targets, sniping attack would definitely become impossible. So why?

“Hihihihi, what a sweet face. Hey, just between us, but if you cry and slobber and apologize here, maybe I will let you go this time?”

The voice was close. Really close.

Verlaine turned to that direction. No one was there... No.

In the middle of no where, a hole the size of a coin was opened. It was like the space was burnt and hollowed out, and on the other side of the hole was another different space. From that side, a black eye was staring at this side through the hole.

“Yes, it’s me. You are being watched. From now on, you can be assured even if you lock your toilet door hihihihi”

The hole was so small to see the entire thing. But that eye alone is enough. The eye was filled with malice. It had been watching Verlaine, chasing him and reporting about his positions all the time.

Verlaine fired a rotary kick by reflex at the hole.

“Oops.”

Right before being hit, the hole closed up and disappeared.

“I’m here.”

The voice came from behind. When he turned around, the same hole had been opened in a different place, looking straight at Verlaine.

That was the type of skill that connects space and monitor the targets. The skill user was probably sitting in another safe place, and monitoring the whole battle using their space connection skill. He couldn’t attack the actual skill user. If he tried to touch it, it would close immediately so he wouldn’t be able to destroy it using gravity.

Just how many skill users they have thrown in this battle?

“Hihihi, I have a present for you. From Port Mafia with love.”

From the coin-sized hole, flower petals flew out. Countless petals surrounded Verlaine then started to shine white. Yet another new skill.

The moment Verlaine tried to take a quick avoidance action, all the flower petals exploded at once.

From the train where he sat, Dazai could see the light from that explosion very clearly. The white light split open the woods at night, the afterglow burnt into the night sky.

Dazai looked at that scene, he was grinning.

“How is it going, Dazai-dono?”

From inside the train, a middle-aged man appear. He was wearing the boss’ outfit. He was the one who played the boss’ double, Hirotsu.

“As you can see, it is going well. So well that it is boring.”

In the direction he was pointing, the explosion sound was echoing, trees were falling, sniper flashes and low frequency noises were ringing non-stop.

Hirotsu took off the wig, put on the monocle he always has on, and narrowed his eyes.

“As one would expect.”

“Of course, I had to earn a lot of time to prepare all this. “ said Dazai, who was crossing his legs elegantly like a royal. “Chuuya and I had a terrible hard time fighting Randou-san. So this time I came prepared. Just to kill Mr. Assasin King from Europe, I had to gather a total of 422 people from the combat troops and 28 skill users. That is the full strength that Mafia can put in now.” At the scene where they were looking, the cold air and gun flashes kept shining. Verlaine tried to escape by threading his way in between the trees but a yellow-white ray burnt off the whole night sky, blocking that escape route. That was yet another skill user.

The plan was extremely simple. Setting up a trap and waiting. Chuuya and Adam drafted the same tactic before to defeat the Assasin King. The plan that Dazai carried out was basically the same. Identify the next target, set up traps around that target, and ambush Verlaine from behind when he appears.

The only difference between this and Chuuya’s plan is the scale of those traps. What have been set up as traps this time, was the entire Mafia’s overwhelming combat unit. The result was a one-sided destruction.

“We can keep this battle going for the whole night.” Dazai said as if he was whispering to Verlaine from far away. “Verlaine-san, you are a flawless assassin. With that vivid skill of yours, you have never once been traced down and surrounded like that, haven’t you? That’s why you have no experiences when being cornered by such a skill users organization. Even Randou-san was afraid of that dangerous flawlessness of yours.”

Dazai took out the leather notebook.

Rimbaud’s memoir. The journal Rimbaud had kept about the birth as well as full accounts of skill user Verlaine.

“I mourn for you, Verlaine-san.” Dazai put his hand on the notebook and said as if he was praying. “I mourn not for your death, but for your birth. No one mourns for you for being born. The only one who does is you yourself. That is the reason you fights... I think you are amazing. You despise the fact that you were born, you despise your own power, you despise the world. And by doing that, you came to accept your meaningless life. How wonderful that is. I don’t have that kind of courage. That’s why I wanted to talk with you more. But this is already goodbye.”

Dazai stood up, turning his back on the battlefield in front of him. He walked away.

“Dazai-dono?”

“Report to me when it is done.”

Dazai’s voice powerlessly fell to his feet. He walked away.

The next moment. A black way swelled over the battlefield.

...

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #storm bringer #spoilers #bsd spoilers #dazai osamu #paul verlain #port mafia

367 notes · View notes

wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

Good at Starting Fires

I really hated the overly sexualised way that Cassian looked at Nesta in ACOSAF and ACOSF when he commented on her drastic weight loss. Instead of being concerned that she was losing weight at a drastic pace he was more 'boobs man, great they're still there' and it wound me up no end.

I was sent a prompt by an anon that said 'angsty Nessian set in the Illyrian camp where Cassian sees Nesta in her underwear for the first time' and I found that I wanted to try and right that 'wrong' in relation to the above. Probably not quite what the requestor had in mind but hey ho.

Some mention of weight loss and concerns surrounding it.

***

The rain lashed onto Cassian’s exposed skin.

The deluge hadn’t turned into a full storm quite yet but still, this was the worst weather he had seen in a long while, the wind barrelling into him warranting his full concentration in order to continue to fly upright.

Cassian would have chanced some different manoeuvres to make flight easier but he wasn’t flying alone.

The female in his arms had said nothing to him since they left the ground, perhaps planning to ignore him for the remainder of their eternal lives. Cassian would usually provoke her into retaliating against some jibe but tonight, with thick darkness surrounding them and the harsh pelt of the cold rain against their skin, goading wasn’t suitable.

Instead, Cassian flew through the onslaught, clutching onto a shivering Nesta.

They’d exited the river house in silence. Cassian thought she would fight the decision, fight Feyre, fight him, but she hadn’t. Her lips pursed together with her spine rigid and shoulders defiant; a stubborn refusal to give any indication of defeat.

Nesta hadn’t looked at any of them, or spoken either, instead turning with clenched fists to walk out the door she’d walked in from.

“Bye then,” taunted Rhys from his place by the fireplace.

A sharp rebuke came from Feyre while Cassian rubbed his hands over his face before glaring at his High Lord. His next action was to move fast to follow Nesta.

Feyre had been on his heels but if Nesta wanted nothing to do with him she wanted less to do with her sister. Cassian reached her first and Nesta stared at him with cold eyes. “We go now,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“Nesta!” Feyre called out from behind, half running towards them.

“Now,” she demanded again her voice thick and trembling.

For a moment it seemed like Feyre was going to shift into her wings and fly after them but maybe there was something in his expression, or Nesta’s, which stopped her.

Nesta had clung to his neck the way a child clung to their mother but he got the impression she really wanted to use her hands on his throat in a different way. The rain followed them from Velaris to the mountains; Nesta spending the entire flight with her face buried into his shoulder.

Cassian would pretend along with her that it was only raindrops falling onto her cheeks.

If the betrayal had cut her, she’d resolutely decided to not let the wound show. She’d been cornered like a wild creature by one sister and the other, the one Nesta adored with the fullness of her heart, hadn’t shown to say anything at all.

When they arrived at the cabin it was Cassian’s pity for her which made him absorb the spite spilling from her lips. The force of his landing caused mud to splash up their legs and Nesta pulled away from him the second her feet hit the dirt.

Despite the rain and with dripping hair and sodden clothes she was beautiful. The words from her mouth, decidedly not so.

“Pathetic,” she hissed at him over the roar of the thundering rain and he somehow understood her meaning underneath – how Cassian was a grovelling sycophant to his High Lord who would never place a wing out of line and never fight back.

Nesta spoke with fists clenched at her sides. Cassian wondered if there was a part of her that wanted to strike him and he wondered if there was a part of him that would let her. She turned away, her back as rigid as before, every bump of bone showing through the fabric.

Cassian frowned. The dress was drenched, clinging to her flesh in a way it hadn’t when dry, illuminating what the material would otherwise hide.

He shouldn’t have been able to see the sharpness of her spine.

“Do we have a place to go or are you reducing me to sleeping in the mud?”

Those words were small, sharp cuts which stung though Nesta had no knowledge of how Cassian’s nights as a youth were spent doing just that, with the smell of putrefying leaves on his skin and clumps of dirt under his nails.

“Well?” she snapped, turning her head to glare at him from the corner of her eye. This was a glance which said he was beneath her, that she didn’t need to turn to address him, that the sight of him offended her glorious eyes.

What Cassian saw painted a different picture; tinged pink eyes, and a red nose. The skin around her eyelids swollen.

He let the stings dissipate. Nesta had been thrown from one world into another and from that one into something new. He would hold his tongue.

“This way, sweetheart.” Well, to an extent.

They trudged across the mud, Cassian’s feet sinking into the earth as he overtook Nesta to show her the way and he didn’t bother glancing behind him to see if she followed. She had no choice, there was nowhere else for her to go.

Rain had seeped into Cassian’s clothes, his skin damp and his wet hair dripped water down the back of the neck. He was feeling wet and miserable and wondered how worse this was for Nesta in her heavy woollen dress.

His siphons emitted a soft red glow and that was all there was; them, the rain and the glow in the darkness. Not even the moon greeted them.

***

The cabin was a welcome sight.

Their belongings were there, mostly Cassian’s with some provisions Feyre had arranged for Nesta. The door creaked on the hinges as Cassian stepped into familiar, if slightly musty, surroundings.

A perfume of earth and open skies lay underneath the dust and he inhaled the scent through his nose and into his lungs. He hadn’t been here in so long with wars and commitments keeping him far away; but if Velaris was his home, this place was his sanctuary.

There was a shuffling behind him and for a moment, lost in euphoria, Cassian forgot he wasn’t alone.

Nesta stood in the entrance, surveying her new domain. Her wet hair had unravelled from her coronet braid and tendrils clung onto the side of her face. A fat raindrop travelled from her temple past her cheek and hung from her jaw before finally dripping onto her collar.

Cassian frowned again.

Nesta’s dress buttons had popped open in the flight and he saw her neck and collar bone, a strange sharpness protruding from the stark white of her skin. Shadows, he told himself, from the candle that had flamed into life. They cast shapes and make everything harsh.

Nesta’s fists were now balled into her gown as a puddle grew around her. If she noticed Cassian’s gaze she never let on and continued to sweep her eyes around the room with a bored detachment.

“This is it,” she said, “my prison for the indefinite future.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “If Feyre was going to keep me caged she should have at least made a gilded one.”

Yes, he wanted to say, because your residence was so lavish.

“Move,” but Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to step aside before pushing past him, head high and eyes forward. She stopped in the living room, her head turning left to right as she took in more of her surroundings. Her face gave nothing away as she scrutinised the spacious open living space which branched into the enclosed kitchen.

Cassian shook his head and ground his teeth as he closed the door behind her, the wind bringing sheets of rain into the cabin. A trail of water led across the floor to where Nesta stood.

The middle of the cabin was lighter, framed by the multiple fae lights and candles, and Cassian saw so much more. Nesta’s skin was white all over but her pale hands had red, cracked knuckles and dark circles like old bruises hung underneath her eyes. A shudder rippled through her.

Rain smashed against the window panes and Cassian looked to the vast inglenook fireplace which took over one full side of the cabin.

The hearth was filled with grey ash and lumps of half burnt wood and the basket aside the fireplace held strips for kindling. There were no pieces sizable enough to get a full fire going and getting a fire burning was exactly what they needed.

“Upstairs and to the left,” he said and Nesta turned to him. “That’s where your room will be. Mine’s next to it, same side. Both will warm up quick when the fire’s lit as the floorboards heat too.” Cassian jerked his head to the stairs, “Go and get changed, I’ll grab wood for the fire.”

Her face, one of permanent indifference and as smooth as porcelain, changed. The expression lasted only seconds before Nesta schooled it into something passing for neutral.

“Fine, I shouldn’t have expected you to be prepared.”

She stormed past him, leaving enough space so not a single part of them touched, not her dress brushing against his leathers – nothing.

Cassian waited until she’d gone before releasing a sigh. He hadn’t imagined what he saw; her eyes wide in alarm, flickering to the fireplace and back, a jerk of her body like someone had slapped her with the palm of their hand.

He’d best watch for that again.

***

A sandstone path ran down the left side of the cabin which wound around a small vegetable patch, a smaller pool and down into the sloped garden. At the very bottom was an alcove of trees and the shed containing Cassian’s axe, a chopping block and, if he was lucky, some pre-cut pieces.

Through the haze of rain, the distant lights of a camp flickered beyond. Cassian was fortunate to have this place for himself, not that he didn’t reside in the centre of camp on occasion to make his presence known, but this was his slice of comfort in the otherwise endless trudge.

Now, this place was also hers, for however long deemed necessary.

The rain bounced off the paving slabs as he approached his destination. The shed was old but well-kept and thankfully, stocked with thick slabs of timber.

“Thank you, old friend,” he said with a hand to one of the trees. They were fast growing and long burning, a house warming gift from Rhys half a century prior.

Cassian gathered what he needed and turned back, the cabin an angular silhouette outlined upon the backdrop of the night sky, the mountains looming some distance away. The candles and fae lights had lit the building up from within and shone through the dark at every window.

He was halfway up the path when he noticed how bright they lit Nesta’s new room.

Cassian had never been concerned with decoration, shoving a blanket onto a bed and gossamer curtains onto the window had been enough, but now he realised how thin those curtains were, how visible the room was from the outside.

Nesta wouldn’t be able to see him, not with his leathers black against the night, but he saw everything as though she stood before him in the flesh.

She’d untied the laces that bound the stays of her dress and Cassian imagined the wet thud as it fell to the floor.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Nesta in front of him, unrobing for him, those long, graceful fingers sliding up her collarbone and dipping down towards the ribbons of her bodice. In his dreams he would help her, his thick fingers weaving into hers, pulling at the material until it gave way to pools of silk and satin on the ground.

Imagination gave him options.

Maybe she would have been naked, with expanses of creamy skin readily available for his viewing or maybe there would have been a delicate piece of chiffon covering her like there was now, something flimsy for him to move aside.

He would have started by kneeling. His fingertips would trace the skin of her ankles before moving upwards to her calves, her knees and to her thighs which he would have kissed until she was breathless. Finally, he would have travelled upwards with his mouth, towards the apex.

This was his fantasy. Smoothing his palms over her curves, travelling up the cord of her spine, his tongue sliding over her skin, teasing with his teeth and all the while her breath would turn into pants, his name a prayer in her mouth.

This was a dream. Nothing more.

He stood alone in the dark, pounding heartbeat thundering in his ears and pouring rain saturating his hair as he spied on a female he now never hoped to hold.

By the Mother though, her body was far from what his mind had conjured and his heartbeat turned into a pain sinking between his ribs.

He’d thought he’d seen glimpses but here was the truth.

Her collarbone jutted out severely while her breasts and curves of her buttocks shrunk as her starved body ate away at whatever flesh it found. Nesta’s ribs - Cauldron her ribs – Cassian was able to count every one, the indents of her bone visible as though her skin was the thinnest paper. When she turned, he saw the same with the column of her spine.

He swallowed the lump in his throat down, a sting in his eyes that was nothing to do with the chilled wind.

***

Inside the cabin, Cassian dried out the wood and lit the fire, the red and orange flames dancing in the hearth.

Nesta might not eat but he would try and convince her, starting with something simple and small which would fill her but not make her sick. Shoving a plate of meat in front of her face was a bad idea so he decided on a light broth consisting of flavoured water and leafy vegetables and herbs grown from his garden.

Cassian was surprised she came when he called her down but was pleased when she did. Nesta stepped along the floor with bare feet, a new gown just as thick as the last covering the bones of her body.

She stayed close to the wall when she passed through the living space, the fire cracking and snapping opposite and she eyed the flames as though they would reach across the room and snatch her.

Cassian wasn’t sure where this fear had come from, tried to dredge any memory of where they’d faced fire and came up wanting. He’d ask her – not now – but when they’d reached a point of peace.

Still, she walked toward him, her throat moving as she swallowed fast.

“I’ve made us dinner,” and he gestured to the two watery bowls in front of him. Opposite each other. Face to face. Her eyes narrowed but she sat, suspicion on her face.

“What is this slop?”

He took a deep breath. Imagined her words as darts and his skin as impenetrable armour.

“An Illyrian broth; vegetables, herbs, some spices and the thinnest slices of poultry you’ll ever find.”

“It looks revolting.”

A muscle twitched in Cassian’s jaw. The dish was plain, colourless and watery but was filled with flavour and had what Nesta needed nutritionally.

He would refrain from telling her this was the staple of Illyrian’s recovering from sickness or injury, that he’d spooned this liquid into the dribbling mouths of multitudes of his brethren over the years and how he wasn’t above doing the same to her.

“Try it,” was all he said. “You might like it.”

“Doubtful.”

But she picked up the spoon, a tremor in her hand. Fear, withdrawal, or exhaustion he didn’t know. Maybe all three. Maybe rage.

Nesta bent her head forward, bringing the spoon to her lips and as she did, her dress, far too large for her frame gaped at the collar once again showing Cassian the sharpness of the bone under her skin.

Something sat heavy in his stomach, something like guilt and shame. He’d once thought of her as sharp tongued and soft curves, his mouth watering at the promise of the swell of her breasts and the shape of her backside.

His thoughts had been occupied with images of grabbing her with his hands, fingers digging into the folds of her flesh while they pounded the force of their desires onto each other. Nesta was no less beautiful now but when he thought of her body, thought of what he knew, he considered differently as to what his body would do with hers.

His fingers would likely bruise her, leaving crescent moons into her skin and the bones of her spine would be obvious to his gaze. Now, he wanted to use his build to hover over her, to envelop her with his wings and cradle the back of her skull with the palm of one hand and cup her cheek with the other.

Cassian needed to make this situation right but he didn’t know where to start other than this meagre offering of broth.

Nesta ate two spoons, possibly three, but at least she ate, her eyes fluttering closed as she savoured her meal, the shadows of her eyelashes playing on her cheekbones. He smiled at her enjoyment, however brief, feeling his heart soar.

Nesta opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Cassian dropped his smile and her eyes narrowed.

I’m happy you like the broth, he wanted to say, however little you take. I’m happy you tried. I think you’re dying. I don’t want you to die. I want you to want to live.

A log fell in the hearth and banged against the grate, popping into the air and Nesta flinched, her eyes snapping towards the sound.

The flames seemed to hypnotise her as they whirled among the wood, consuming what they needed in order to grow. Wherever she was in that moment she wasn’t in the room with him.

The moment passed and Nesta snapped her head back to Cassian, slamming the spoon into the bowl.

“I’m not here for your entertainment.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop staring at me like I’m a festival showpiece.”

Cassian frowned, “I wasn’t staring.”

“Tell your gawping eyes that.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched again. He was exhausted, not only from the long day but from arguing with Rhys about the plan, and from convincing Feyre that he and Nesta would be fine. His blood, already on the rise, had gained extra heat when Amren made her parting comment to him and all this was before he began flying.

“I wasn’t staring,” he repeated, “believe me when I say there’s nothing worth looking at.”

His temper was still hot, irritation singing a song in his veins and this was default for him, the well-travelled road to flinging insults.

It was a road Nesta travelled herself.

“Well, believe me when I say that even if I’m nothing I’m still worth twice of you, bastard.”

“You’ve been exiled to the camps so that’s not what your sister thinks. Either of them.” He gestured around with his hand, “Do you see Elain begging to be let in the door?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared, her hands now clenched into two fists, those red cracked knuckles on display.

“Well, this shows what your ‘friends’ think of you, if I’m worth little to nothing in their eyes and they have you taking care of me?”

“You should be thankful, sweetheart. No one else volunteered to listen to your temper tantrums.”

“Let me ease your burden then.” She stood, jolting the table and the bowl moved, spilling liquid over the side. “I would hate to bore you with one of my childish tantrums.”

“By all means, take yourself off to bed. You’re obviously in need of a nap.”

Nesta bared her teeth at him and Cassian schooled his face into one of boredom. She turned, her gown brushing against the furniture and as she passed through the living room, she grabbed a thick blanket draped across one of the chairs.

There was a change to her face as she went, fleeting but not fleeting enough for his sharp eyes. Regret? Yes. What she regretted he didn’t know but the snarl had also turned into a smirk, a twist of her mouth which screamed, I am victorious.

What had she won? The prize was a night alone in an unlit room with a blanket and empty belly.

As she left, the bored expression slid from Cassian’s face to be replaced by a furrowed brow.

Nesta was playing a game, one which required her to start fights so she could flaunt from the room as though leaving were her choice. He’d seen her grip, the furrow of her own forehead and the stark whites of her eyes.

She didn’t like the fire and she didn’t want to eat - or she couldn’t eat.

All Nesta’s choices had been stripped away from her in one afternoon and her decision to exit swiftly and in outrage was all she had.

He let her. He goaded her, stoking the small flame she held burning until she felt something, even if that emotion was irritation and anger - anything as long as it wasn’t cloying fear. If Cassian told her to leave then she would have stayed in her misery to spite him.

Cassian lifted a clay pot lid, surreptitiously positioned beside him on a chair, to cover her bowl. He would leave the dish outside her door with a slab of buttered bread. Maybe she would eat if it wasn’t in front of his watchful eyes.

He would eat his own in his room, the space of the kitchen and the living area seeming too big now, too empty without Nesta’s presence.

As he passed by the hearth, he lowered the flames with his siphons, letting them burn down. As he did, he thought of another fireplace, in another home, in a time which seemed forever ago.

He would help her even if she hated him for it. Cassian would prefer her vitriol to the nothingness living inside her where even her scent had turned glacial; ice cold to the bone.

So yes, Cassian would let the embers burn low for now but he was a creature of air and flame. He was good at starting fires.

TAGGING:

@nehemikkele

You are the only person who has ever requested a tag from me so thank you so much! :)

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosaf #acosf #i wrote something #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessianfic #nessian fan fic #fic request

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hhjs · 4 years

Text

kismet.

pairing ⇨ yoo taeyang x reader.

alternatively ⇨soulmates, royalty. more specifically, prince!taeyang + royal librarian!reader.

In both a hopeless desire to love and admiration for a blatant stranger, Taeyang finds love by a twist of fate.

wherein, soulmates are bounded together by shared scars.

warnings ⇨ elaborate descriptions of wounds.

word count ⇨1.9k

type ⇨mini fic.

The gash on his palm was a pink, golden stretch, giving the illusion of a simple graze. It used to look as though an animal had dug its claw in and tore it open - and he imagined it, imagined the scenarios his soulmate put themselves in to acquire such a dramatic wound.

He envisioned the sharp pain of a kitchen knife running along their palm in the split second while they're committed to a harmless task of chopping vegetables. He often found himself smiling at the thought, imagined himself rushing to help, cleaning it as he scolded them, these images helped Taeyang fill an endless hollow inside his chest that was evidence of his remoteness, even if the relief was temporary.

His innate brevity and intense inability to produce dramatic expressions of his emotions subsequently reduced him to a limping thing going through a abundance of unspeakably articulate individuals, someone who was to carry the weight of their despondence like it was the only thing that mattered and his world, a world of war and peace, the endless crowns passed down to his father and his father's father, a world that conditioned him to hide his true self under the unspoken bravado of being a prince, it had.

The library was a dramatically architectured room, giant shelves stretched for a few thousand feet, spines of a wide variety of novels sticking out, some new, some old, some shoved upside down. The tables were wide, even the relatively small ones designed for one person, little lamps perched up on each corner.

Behind them, laid different stories, of concentrated faces of scholars, astronomer, flustered faces of couples who've secretly kissed behind the foreign literature section, faces struggling to keep their focus and resorting to tapping their fingers and frowning - he's seen it all and he couldn't quite name what which category you belonged to.

"Like this." Placing a neem leaf between the pages, you beamed up at him in a way that made him feel as though he couldn't ever forget you. He said nothing, staring down curiously, in an umpteenth attempt that week, to act on his desire to act on his attraction for you, "That'll keep bookworms away."

Sensing his excessively lengthy stay, he finally nods, reaching out to accept the thick spined novel and just for a second your fingers brush up against his knuckles and linger, in a barely-there, airy gesture.

It's in this sudden ephiphanous moment, Taeyang decides that his concern for being absurdly lonely was less important than chancing upon you again.

…

"Watch where you're going." The tone of your voice was surprisingly chirpy for someone who just knocked over a heap of novels whilst they carried on a careless pursuit of practically leaping to their destination. It amused Taeyang.

In a confused fashion, he furrowed his eyebrows, pursing his lips as you attempted to collect the items quickly, piling them again into an unsteady heap. "You bumped into me." The calm reminder came from him, insinuating that you ought to take your own advice.

The sheepish design of your face greatly piqued his interest, if not the way your eyes widened when you immediately recognised him by his princely position and subsequently rendered an apologetic smile. It was different from the usual veil of confidence you wore when you worked tirelessly at the library. "Pardon me!" You quickly exclaimed, blinking profusely.

"You're pardoned."

Taeyang noted the immediate look of relief on your face whilst he knelt to your position, picking up the remaining set of the dropped elements with great care - but instead of returning them to your expectant hand, he held it snuggly against his chest. "if...if you let me help." He added, peering up at you from behind his lashes, only to find that you were nodding, in all but a poor attempt to bite down a gigantic smile.

...

Taeyang will admit that he doesn't rely on the truth to make "coincidental" visitations to the royal library - he just wanted to see you and in his defence, there was no way to be honest about how he felt without potentially embarrassing himself by blubbering nonsense he'd come up with whilst thinking over elongating conversations with you.

All he knew was he liked the way your eyes travelled over the ups and downs of words, sentences and how you pressed his thumb against the corner of a page before flipping it so there wouldn't be any creases.

He liked that you could always strike up a chat about the most random things, liked the way your mouth quivered when you'd try to stop yourself from smiling, liked how you two always forgot to take note of time, sitting hours tangled in a mix of silence and long stretches of talking deliberately with him, in the course of time, he developed the courage to grow closer to you just as he attempted; albeit, regardless of the fact that you seem to have become increasingly close, you never talk about your soulmate, or your scars or produce typical impassionate harangues about how fated you were to someone - not that it mattered.

In fact, whoever his soulmate was, he was sure he couldn't possibly grow half as fond of them as he is of you.

A bed of wet grass pressed up against his back, it was too cold and too dark and the moist earth was undoubtedly going to leave a nasty imprint on his milky tunic - but he didn't care, he didn't care about those trivial, unimportant, stupid things.

Because you were with him.

"Don't you ever wonder what it'd be like if they showed up? Your soulmate?"

Your question sounded more like a test than it did a question - dipping cautious toes in uncharted waters to see if the crocodile would leap and bite.

He tilted his head to you even though not a thing was visible in the intense black of the night.

It gave him immense pleasure to know that in spite of his hindered vision, he could still picture what your face might look like now, the slope of your nose, the anxious pinch of your eyebrows and a lopsided frown.

He shrugged, "Not really."

"Why not?" You asked, albeit the cheery ring to your voice seemed to determine that you were quite pleased with the answer, as if you've gained something in knowing he wasn't looking for someone else.

He scoffed in an offended fashion, like the answer's just that obvious, like you shouldn't have even asked, not allowing a single beat of silence to pass, he felt for your fingers in the dark and easily slipping his own ones, holding the interlaced pair up like it meant something to to him. "This." He said, "is more important to me than being lumped together by fate."

...

"Still practising, huh?"

Even in the acute quietude, vaguely disturbed by the distant sound of buzzing crickets and the slight crunch of twigs under his feet, the sudden sound of your all too familiar voice didn't startle him.

Taeyang pressed his finger down on the arrow's shaft and slowly retracted from a shooting position. Perspiration had effectively glued his fringe down to his forehead and he could feel his body slowly give away to overexertion. But it wasn't uncommon for him to push himself to a point of absolute lethargy when he put his mind to perfecting something, Taeyang was hardworking by nature.

Your face was yellow from the oil lantern you were holding up, your free hand was behind your back. Looking over his shoulder like this, he could make out that you were donning a look of utter worry, the colour barely found the lopsided curve of your mouth and disappeared all the way down to your throat, to the slope of your neck.

His chest heaved upwards and downwards from the heavy intakes and outtakes as he watched you in masked endearment.

Taeyang blinked, his curious expression replaced by a sudden look of apparent conclusion at the way your head's poised to stare at your toes. "Is something the matter?"

You produced a non committal hum and it startled him, the possibility of upsetting you when he hadn't intended to, Taeyang opened his mouth to say something but didn't know what exactly that something ought to be, so he closed it again.

You drew your hand from behind your back and held a digit up in the air, where the light caught on and he could clearly see a fresh scar atop.

It was earlier that day when it happened.

You ran your fingers along the smooth spine of a bent novel sticking out rather ungracefully.

All you could hear was nothing but the nervous ringing of your ears, the involuntary tremors of your excessively careful hand.

It wasn't like you to be so anxious at an unsuitable time like this. But there was an unsettling feeling inside your chest, like something was about to go wrong and yet you had no idea what that thing may be, the roaring and clapping and grumbling lightning before a cyclone hits.

You hissed, taking your injured skin into attention once you realised a deep wound had torn open on the tip of your index, it had an abysmal sting to it, the kind of sting that jolted up your spine and gave you a headache - but you stood frozen in your spot.

But you hadn't whipped your head about rapidly, searching for another person who could've been whelping in the aftermath of the same injury. Like you always did before.

You wonder when it came to this - when you stopped looking for your soulmate. This love, you told yourself, was enough, even if it wasn't perfect, even if you weren't fated. The way you care about him is deliberate, the way you're falling in love in spite of the unnerving fear of losing him is intentional and purposeful. And nothing in the world could replace this.

"I don't care for it." You said quickly and honestly, the sincerity in your voice so weighty that he could understand you meant this statement.

Taeyang's smile, of all things, wasn't something you quite anticipated, sensing that it was a gesture he just couldn't fight, he put the down instrument on the wet grass, padding closer to where you stood. It was a strange thing that bound you together, something indescribable, that led him to recognise that he needed to be in your proximity at all times.

And now he had a name for it.

It was earlier that day when he'd absentmindedly pricked himself while sharpening an arrow tip, the injury was apparent, a reflection. You blinked, once and twice. And then you smiled a big, wide smile.

"It's you." He said, mimicking your gesture. "It's always been you."

Shadows of his outstretched digits crawled along your face, reducing the splatter of light to mere speckles, he made a careful work of caressing your face, wiping away a thin layer of mist against the cool skin with the calloused pads of his thumbs. (And then he kisses you and it feels like something erupted inside the depth of his belly, a knot tightening and tightening and tightening, and this is something he's always wanted. To love someone, to love someone so much he thinks he could die for it, had fate put him to the test.)

...

#kwritersworldnet #kwordsmiths #sf9 x reader #taeyang x reader #taeyang imagines #taeyang angst #taeyang fluff #sf9 imagines #sf9 fluff #sf9 angst #kpop imagines #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kpop fanfiction

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domesticatedantelope · 4 years

Text

commute

Pairing: Raleigh x MC

Rating: Explicit | 18+

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Raleigh Carrera is a very bad passenger.

🚗

This wouldn’t be the first limousine they’ve defiled.

She’s always sorry about it — there’s enough small-town upbringing left in her for that, at least — but god knows this won’t be the last time, either.

Raleigh catches her eye with a smirk across the limo, stretches out a tattooed arm and slips two fingertips against the switch for the partition, and even with the bassy thump of hip hop music thrumming through the speakers, Carmen is distinctly aware of the soft whir that sounds its ascent. She tears her gaze away from Raleigh just long enough to watch the glass lift slowly into place against the ceiling, cutting them off with a final sort of quiet from their unlucky driver.

She feels an ease of relief that it’s not Hank today.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” she accuses her co-passenger, before he can even open his beautiful mouth.

Raleigh’s lips part to a grin, clearly pleased she’s deciphered his very subtle intentions. “Are we teenagers now? Is Fiona gonna ground us?”

“She’ll do worse than that if we miss another charity event.”

If Carmen is also aware of the way his muscles shift beneath the ink when he runs a thumb suggestively across his lower lip — well, she’s only human.

“Who said anything about missing?” In one smooth motion, he slips across the open space to sit beside her, letting his legs fall open into a comfortable sprawl when he settles, so that his knee bumps hers; and even through the denim of his artfully distressed jeans, she can feel his body heat. He lifts a finger to brush an errant curl of hair back over her shoulder, baring the skin there to his darkened gaze.

It’s getting harder to remember why this is such a bad idea. She only just recalls the sharpened edges to Fiona’s tone when she’d pinned them both with that threatening glare. “She specifically requested that we not be late.”

His eyes make another lazy pass down her body. “She didn’t see how good you look in this dress.” He reaches out to follow the path of his gaze, trailing his touch over her shoulder and the tanned slope of her arm. His fingers are temptingly warm, lifting goosebumps in their wake, rough where they’ve worn to calluses against the frets of his guitar. A tug of heat sinks from the contact to simmer in the pit of her stomach.

Damn him, this’ll be another lecture from Fiona.

“If we’re late…” she begins, but her voice fades into a breath caught in her throat when Raleigh drops his lips in a reassuring kiss to the span of her knuckles.

“I’ll get you there in time.” And he smirks against her fingers, promise in the husky murmur of his voice. His other hand has found its way between her knees, curling an easy grip around her thigh, where his thumb strokes languidly against her skin.

But it’s the look in his eyes that tips her temptation into purpose: his focus centered on her body with unwavering intent, raising slowly from her hips, to her neck, to the shape of her mouth when she drags her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’d better,” she breathes finally, and has only a moment to mirror the delighted smirk on his face before his mouth is on hers, lips moving desperately against her own. His hand lifts to weave among her hair as he deepens the kiss, urging her to part for him with a brief flick of his tongue.

She gasps his name when they break apart, Raleigh seizing on the opportunity to press himself into the space between her thighs, his hips falling into that delicious fit against her own. They don’t have much time, and he knows it, lingering as long as he dares to devote attention to the smooth arch of her neck. His stubble scrapes the tender nerves there, prompting shivers down her backbone at the contrast when he follows with his lips and tongue.

“Sure you don’t want me to take my time?” he rumbles at her ear, voice fraying to a sinful timbre.

“Ah —!” She barely locks a moan behind her teeth. “Mmn, I think we’ll… need a rain check on that.”

He grins, unfazed, dark eyes lidded as he drinks in the flush of want across her face. “Then I’ll just have to get my fill now.” He steals one last kiss — deliberately indulgent, letting his tongue swipe a taste of her bottom lip — before he’s sliding down onto his knees, catching her by the thighs to coax her legs open around him.

They both watch the hem of her dress slip higher at the motion, the deep emerald satin bunching carelessly around her hips and quickly forgotten there as Raleigh sets his mouth against the bare skin of her thigh. His mouth is even warmer than his hands, rougher when he teases her with the blunt of his teeth, sucking until a mark blooms in deep red beneath her skin.

Carmen slumps against the leather of the seats, clutching clumsy fingers at the cushioning as her breath threads into gasps, flickers of excitement rising through her with each press of Raleigh’s mouth. He forges higher, slipping a thigh over his shoulder, and when her legs fall further open in response, he flashes her a smirk and claims his prize, parting his lips against the delicate lace of her thong.

Her whole body shudders at the heat of his mouth, such tantalizing pressure when his tongue curls over her through the thin material, tasting where she is wet for him. He groans a hungry, searing sound and clenches harder at her thigh, pinning her open so his free hand can nudge her thong to the side and leave her shivering at the cool air that sweeps against her. She hasn’t long to suffer through it, his mouth swift to cover the slick of her arousal, and his lips and tongue and breath meet her skin with a scorching heat that reaves across her nerves, radiating to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

Raleigh is going to eat her alive.

She’s writhing back against the seats when the thought slithers through her frantic mind, an understanding that expands with wildfire intensity throughout her being. His mouth opens to drag the hot flat of his tongue against her, rolling to find every place that makes her squeak and arch beneath his hold, her thighs shaking and tensed around his shoulders.

“Shit — Raleigh, that’s — ohmygod!” Carmen whispers harshly through her teeth, straining to keep the words down, still distantly aware that they are not truly alone, that just a tinted pane of glass secludes them from an accidental witness. The very real possibility thereof should be enough to have her on her best behavior, but Raleigh Carrera has his head between her thighs, and there is very little (rapidly approaching nothing) else that matters.

Raleigh slicks his fingers down the heat between her thighs, the roughened tips of them wet with her arousal when he finds where she parts open and slips in. A tremble clambers up between her shoulders at the fullness of his fingers pushing in, thicker and longer than her own, crooking to reach that devastating intersect of nerves inside of her. The first brush of his fingertips reduces her to shaking limbs and a garbled plea that lurches from her teeth. Sweat gathers hot at the back of her neck and behind her knees, and she bites frantically at her fingers to smother the urgent noises breaking free of her control.

His mouth and tongue never slow against her, forcing bolts of pleasure through her body until they start to reach for something solid, a finality that she can feel at the very tips of her fingers. Her hips are taken by an urgent sway, tensing with each determined pass of his tongue as she chases the sensation, and past the music and the sound of her own pounding heart, she hears him give a moan of encouragement between her thighs.

In the end, he keeps his word. She comes just as the limo turns down Sunset Boulevard, the pink and golden colors of its namesake blurring to a bright kaleidoscope shimmer through the tinted limousine windows. She bites back a torrid gasp, lacquered nails curling to hook into the mess of Raleigh’s hair as the edge crashes over her and sweeps her fully into its embrace. Every nerve lights end-to-end with blinding pleasure, and she lets the rush consume her in the lunacy of climax.

When the blinding swell recedes, she feels her muscles give with disarming abruptness, leaving her in a weak splay of limbs across the seats. Raleigh brushes a kiss to her trembling thigh, muffling a breathless chuckle against her skin before he rises from between her knees. His hands are tender as he tries to slip her thong back into place, and it reminds her, in her post-orgasmic daze, of the same gentle way he reaches out to take her glasses off each night, baring her face to kiss her nose and cheekbones where they rest.

A heady warmth spreads through her chest, lodging in her heart with a squeeze of affection.

“Don’t bother,” she laughs, panting, cupping his face between her hands and drawing him into an exhausted kiss. “I think those might be good and ruined.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, with an unrepentant smirk. He holds her gaze as he drops a hand to palm himself through his jeans, the hard shape of him enough to steal the last remnants of her breath. “I liked that one.”

The slowing of the limousine around them urges her thoughts hastily back together, pulling her from the sudden urge to push him down against the floor and taste him too. She tugs her underwear down her shaky legs, balling the lace up and tossing it with a breathless huff into her clutch purse before straightening her dress. “If one of those paparazzi gets a lucky upskirt shot, I’m taking you down with me.”

Raleigh laughs, the sound still somewhat wrecked as he runs his fingers through the mess she made of his hair. His eyes glimmer with amusement, but a softness hangs there too, loving and undeniably fond as he lifts a hand to straighten the fall of her hair. “As if there’s anywhere else I’d rather be.”

🚗

PT: @choicesarehard, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @navigatorholmes, @simplymissjulia, @aworldoffandoms

#platinum #choices pt #raleigh carrera #raleigh x mc #raleigh carrera x mc #ns*fw

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penaltybox14 · 4 years

Text

@darknight-brightstar @zeitheist I stayed up past my bedtime to finish this.

Firemen get hurt.

It's the way of the job, Josiah thinks. You strike out at the beast and the beast bites back. The smoke is dark and thick and heavy as a bear in the night, and stair-steps come in ones and twos and then, of a sudden, not at all. The fire swaths you up like a child and you scream and scream, and that's how the soot gets in, until you're drowning in it.

Your mates drag you out and throw you on the wagon or the streets, you come to in a puddle, you come to coughing, your cap, your engineer, your rider, slapping your face and saying pal, you got to wake up. Not today, pal, not now.

Once, Pal Domino caught a boot on the cobbles and the line - a fat four-incher on a canalside warehouse fire that seemed to call in half the district - tossed them what felt like, later, halfway to headquarters. He remembers the wind kicked out of him, and a brilliant span of bruises down his side that looked like a map of the Seneca Lakes. He could hardly move his arm for most of a day, but it was a hell of a story, one to laugh about later. Pal Domino, tripping over ghosts and cobbles. Birchy, flat on his back instead of right on his feet and facing the fire.

Firemen are nothing if not proud men, who count their bumps and breaks and bruises and offer then up to the blazing god above like a challenge. Thumping and clattering in a carriage up to Little River, Josiah bites his lip and tries to liken it to riding the boards on a call. One arm looped in, one hand flexing to reassure the grip, knees loose and belly taut.

No fireman is ever so lucky he never sees the inside of a hospital, not that Josiah knows of. Every man he's met who's been on the job for any term has spent at least a night in a ward, and every man he's met who's seen the antiseptic white guts of a hospital hates it. They don't much like doctors and the doctors don't much like them, and it's better on both sides if a man gets out sooner than later. At best, the doctors treat them gingerly, like the lions in the Central Park Zoo, yawing and grumbling, as like to be asleep as take your hand off. At worst, the doctors think they suffer a sort of madness.

Perhaps they do. Perhaps it is. The Sear, to see the world as embers in the eyes of god.

When the carriage pulls up, at long last, at long and aching last, to the steps of the County Asylum, Josiah feels a kind of surging that hasn't struck him in a long, long time. His body, of a sudden, primed to run, cocked to fight. He is a boy, seventeen, blocking and knocking fists in an alleyway. He is brand new, no better sense, in the dorm at Wynantskill. He is meeting Thomas Castor, a month ahead in training, whose smile is as wide as the Hudson and brightens the room surer than a sweet peach pie. He is staring down his first fire, Pal Domino anchoring him, Silky ready with the axe.

He is a thousand shining sparks from the hooves of dapple horses, he is a night sky haunted by a distant glow, he is looking up at a very ordinary building of red brick and white columns with a weathervane atop a copper cupola that spins in the autumn wind. His leg burns, his ribs throb, and run, run, run, says something inside him. Run from the bars on the windows and the mesh around the fire escapes, run from the oak door and the worn granite steps.

When he lay in the ward at Bellevue after, when the world caved in on him and left him alone, his mind had bolted like a hound, leapt and howled and sent him far, his Sear had fixed itself on Silky, burning in another bed somewhere, one last and desperate light.

No, he thinks. No.

No, I will not. Not again.

The doctor at the door is thin and pinched and has a pair of ponce-nez glasses and hair that looks like it has been lacquered to his skull. At one elbow is a nurse in a cape and at the other a keeper with a set of keys that looks like it could sink a cruiser.

No, he thinks. I will not leave again.

He cracks a smile. "I'm from the city," he says. "I'm here to reduce your census."

None of the troika find this funny atall, which is their own problem. Josiah cocks his head toward his driver - "Be back in a shake, pal."

Along the cold wide corridor, which smells of scouring powder and sloughed skin. The men's ward, a funny place for a boy.

"He was transferred here for security," the doctor explains. In a room full of howling, rocking, staring, vacant, grinning men, some in pajamas, some simply in a shambles, that seems awful funny. Through the room, each man alone in his own world it seems. One fellow reciting poetry to a light fixture, rightly in its very own cage, on the wall. An old man in a long nightshirt who reeks of piss rocking on a wooden bench. A broad man with a flat face is asleep in a corner, naked.

The room at the end of the hall has a window the size of a fist.

"I am to understand, the city takes no recruits until they are sixteen."

This feels like a threat, so Josiah smiles back with the wolven side of his mouth. "We can make exceptions."

The keeper, sweating and tight-lipped, unlocks the room, and the doctor hovers like a dragonfly over marsh-grass, and Josiah feels curious and insulted at once. He could laugh. That such learned and brawny men alike are frightened of this black-haired fawn of a boy, not even yet a young buck, this pale creature sitting, hands folded politely, on the bed. He looks as if he is ready to recite his Latin. His eyes are stunned. They are not boy's eyes. They are a deep, deep green, and they are so, so tired. He feels that. From here. Up close. He feels a thousand things, a slow, unwieldy waking, like a flame crawling up a cedar shingle, tentative, taking its first unfurling breath.

"David? David Cleary?"

The boy is so tense you could strike a match off him. But his eyes flash.

"I'm here - " He swallows. "I'm here to - you're to come with me, son."

The boy is wearing a man's pajamas with a laundry mark from the county.

"Captain Birch - "

"Get me his walking clothes and his papers, and we'll be on."

"Captain Birch."

Josiah turns on him with height and shoulders, turns like a horse at the corner, neck arched and nostrils flared. "Son's the City's purview, doc, and your own papers say so. Idipathic igneosis, I can read too, doc, that's your diagnosis, that's how you diagnose the lot of us. The boy's coming with me, and you best get keeper to get his walking clothes and stamp his paper. My driver's waiting."

The doctor is trembling so hard Josiah thinks his glasses will pop right off. But he goes, with the nurse. The keeper stays to walk them out.

"Come on now, lad, we're going."

The boy stands, perilous on his feet. Josiah yearns to scoop him up and haul him out as if he were a babe caught with fire to the left and a window to the right and no way out but through.

"My name's Josiah Birch, son."

The boy murmurs something.

"What's that?"

"Captain," he says. "Captain, right? That's what the - the - " nervously, the child glances at the keeper. " - the light said. The - "

"Easy."

"You know it? You know what it said?"

"I know it."

David - Davey - looks immensely relieved. "We're going?"

"Aye, son." And, because he knows the answer before he knows the question: "We're never coming back, son. We're going home, you see?"

Green eyes like moss in the shallows of a cool lake. A cool lake, at the bottom of a wide sloping lawn, topped by a beautiful house that Josiah has never seen before but David - Davey - has. Home.

A trampled quadrangle surrounded by brick and clapboard buildings, alive with young men shouting, throwing hose, rising ladders, climbing rigs. Eating sandwiches and playing baseball. A house in the city, clanging bells. Home.

"I see it, sir. I do see.”

#decofiremen

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ckret2 · 5 years

Text

Toxic Genes

SPOILERS for Detective Pikachu below!! Even the summary has spoilers, avert thine eyes.

Fandom: Pokémon, Detective Pikachu movie Characters: Harry Goodman, Mewtwo, and Detective Pikachu Words: 5000 Summary: Three weeks after regaining his body, Harry and Pikachu come home to find Mewtwo crouched under a furniture fort in a way that reminds Harry far too much of how Tim used to hide when he was a scared child. Harry crawls in to see what’s wrong. They talk about nature and nurture, about murder, about friendship, about guilt, about hugs—and make the first steps toward processing the nightmare they went through. Notes: Vaguely a sequel to “Medical Research”, which is available on my ao3 linked in my description or on my blog in the #my writing tag, and I’d link it here except if I included a link then tumblr would hide this post from search results. If you don’t want to read "Medical Research”, all you need to know is that pre-movie Harry asked Mewtwo to voluntarily come to PCL, because he’d been told that PCL was doing totally harmless medical research.

"What the...?"

Harry's gaze was first caught by the streetlight coming through his inexplicably broken window blinds; then by the shattered glass beneath the window; and then, as his gaze moved across the floor, by upturned books and papers, smashed mugs, a broken TV, and half his furniture—desk, upturned couch, coffee table, and a bookcase from his bedroom—piled haphazardly in one corner.

"Oh, god." Who? He'd investigated a couple of criminal organizations over the last few years, he'd helped a thug with a Geodude get arrested only a couple of days before he'd been Pikafied— "Tim? Tim!" Pikachu jumped off his shoulder and darted for the pile of furniture while Harry rushed to the door to Tim's room. The bed frame was overturned and dragged halfway to the door, the mattress was missing—

"He is not home."

Mewtwo's appearance always came with what felt like an atmospheric change inside Harry's head, like a low pressure front heralding a coming storm. Its voice was a rumble of thunder: booming, inescapable, everywhere. Harry could clearly feel Mewtwo's pressure on his mind now; had he been too distracted when he came in to notice it sooner? "Mewtwo? Where are..."

Pikachu squeaked to get Harry's attention. He turned back to the living room just in time to see Pikachu's crooked tail disappear under the furniture pile.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.

Harry knelt in front of his desk. (Hoo boy, his old knee injury did not like that; maybe Mewtwo really did change atmospheric pressure wherever it went.) He bent down, peering under the desk, deeper into the furniture pile—

And there, in the dark, was Mewtwo. Sheltered beneath a fort made of upturned furniture, the couch and bookcase propped precariously over its head, sitting in a nest made with Tim's mattress and the couch cushions, huddled with arms and legs crossed in a way disturbingly reminiscent of how Harry had seen it curled up while in containment at PCL.

"Uhh... hi?"

"Hello."

Harry tried to shuffle on all four under the desk. "What's—ow." His back had banged into the bottom of the desk. He dropped down to army crawl in instead. "What's up?" He stopped when his forearms bumped into Tim's mattress and looked up at Mewtwo.

Mewtwo looked down on Harry like an alien surveying an Earthling for the first time, with vast violet eyes that seemingly held all the vast space and potential of a distant star-birthing nebula. It was humbling and terrifying, the profoundly powerful mind that could be glimpsed through those eyes.

And with that unearthly mind shining through its massive eyes, Mewtwo gazed down upon Harry—and with a voice like the thunderous warning of an inexorably advancing storm, it spoke—

"I wanted company," it mumbled.

"Oh," Harry said. "Under—under my furniture?"

Mewtwo adverted its gaze, like any embarrassed human would. "I—wanted a cave," it said. "But not to be alone in one."

"Oh," Harry said again. "Got it."

Pikachu had already climbed into Mewtwo's lap and settled there, nuzzling its crossed arms.

"I apologize for the mess," Mewtwo said. "I did not intend..." It started to trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished; but before it could truly leave the thought behind, it finished, "... to turn your home upside-down." It hadn't needed to finish the thought. Maybe, Harry speculated, a telepathically-transmitted thought came all in a package, and you couldn't just... stop one in the middle? That made sense to Harry, at least.

"Ahhh, this place has looked worse," Harry said, although it wasn't really true. He'd had a hell of a time getting his files reorganized after he got his memories—and his body—back; but he hadn't needed to worry about straightening out pieces of furniture that were precariously propping each other upright. But he'd worry about that later. He wasn't about to scold the most powerful Pokémon on the planet for making a mess.

Especially since, Harry figured, right now, Mewtwo probably needed its "cave" more than Harry needed a neat apartment. Harry wasn't as good at reading Mewtwo's body language as Pokémon he was more familiar with, like Pikachu or Ludicolo. But from what little Mewtwo had said so far, and from what Harry could see in the dark of its eyes, curled shoulders, and drooping tail, Harry got the impression that it was tired. Tired, and more than a little shellshocked.

When Tim had been four or five, he'd gotten a cheap blue toy tent, kept up with plastic white rods, with a big swirly Polywag face on the side. They'd set it up in a corner of the dining room for him. He'd loved to play in the tent. But when he'd started school, or when a babysitter was coming over, the tent gained a new purpose: it was a hiding place, where more mornings than not he'd run to hide when his parents looked for him to get dressed for school, or when the doorbell rang indicating the babysitter's arrival.

The phase hadn't lasted long. He soon got to know the kids and had fun at school. He always remained suspicious and distrustful of his babysitters, but when his grandma had retired and taken over babysitting duties he'd happily latched on to her. He outgrew the tent.

But Harry still remembered when his little boy had used it—how he'd curled up under the tent, crying tears of anger and fear, terrified to be taken to a strange place or left with a strange person.

Mewtwo was calm, quiet, subdued—almost abashed at its own behavior—but Harry was reminded so much of Tim in his Poliwag tent.

So he said what he'd always said when he found Tim hiding: "Do you wanna hang out?"

Mewtwo hesitated. "Yes."

Climbing into Tim's child-sized tent had been hard enough, and that had been when Harry was fifteen years younger. The furniture cave was a little roomier, but the underside of his tilted bookcase was a lot less forgiving than a vinyl tent when he bonked his head on it. Mewtwo hovered a few inches to the side to give him more space, tilting its head under the slope of the upturned couch, and Harry eventually managed to squeeze into the space beside it, turn around, and sit. At this close range, he was uncomfortably aware of Mewtwo's scent, which was something between "urban alley overrun with wild Meowth" and "Machoke that missed a shower after a good work out." He tried to breathe shallow breaths and told himself he would get used to it. He'd gotten used to a Pikachu in the apartment. Granted, Pikachu wasn't nearly seven feet tall and taking up half the space in a poorly-ventilated furniture fort.

Now that he was properly situated, he moved on to the second question he'd asked whenever he'd been permitted to enter Tim's tent: "You wanna talk?"

Tim had usually shaken his head and hid his tearful face in his crossed arms. So he wasn't surprised when Mewtwo replied, "I do not know that there is anything for us to discuss."

It was wrong, of course.

They could talk about Howard Clifford's pending trial, and whether or not Mewtwo was willing to appear as a witness. It was rare for Pokémon to provide testimony in trials, but it did happen, more frequently when the Pokémon was a telepath that could directly speak for itself, or when the Pokémon didn't have a trainer or partner who was involved in the trial and so couldn't be suspected of having been coached in its answers by a human—both of which circumstances applied to Mewtwo. But Mewtwo might not want to go to the trial, where it would be the center of astronomical attention and possibly a target. Having suddenly burst out of the tabloid pages into the streets of Ryme City, already tourists, scientists, and collectors were flocking to the city with hopes of catching a glimpse—or more—of the hitherto-unproven Manmade Miracle, The World's Only Clone Of The Mythical Mew, The Most Powerful Pokémon In The World.

Or they could talk about where Mewtwo was going to go now. Did it want to go back to Kanto, where Harry had found it and persuaded it to come to PCL? If so, did it want to fly all the way back itself, or would it be willing to ride? Harry would be happy to pay for whatever means of transportation Mewtwo was happiest taking—hell, Harry would buy a used car and drive it all the way back to Kanto himself, it sounded like a great road trip anyway—if Mewtwo even suggested that it was nervous about traveling, visible and exposed, all by itself, all the way home. It would be a valid fear, now that it had made international news. Or did it not want to go to Kanto? Did it plan to hang around a while longer? Or maybe go traveling, see some other regions, perhaps find somewhere new to live?

Or they could talk about the phantom pains Harry still had. They'd improved steadily during his first few days back in his own body, but the recovery had hit a plateau, and he felt like he'd been basically the same for the past couple of weeks. Even though Mewtwo had restored his body in perfect health—even reducing a few (but not all) old aches and pains he'd picked up in the course of his detective work—at times he still faintly felt the burns, the injuries, the broken bones, that he'd had when he'd dissolved into Pikachu. Like a second body, ghostly, superimposed over his own, still carrying his fatal wounds. Would these psychic hurts fade over time? Or otherwise heal? Was there something Mewtwo could do about them? Not that Harry wasn't grateful beyond words for everything Mewtwo had already done to save him; but it was exhausting to keep waking up feeling fire on his back and broken glass under his cheek and hands, to realize that the fire was his comforter and the glass was his mattress.

Or they could talk about what plans Mewtwo had now to protect itself. Early on, after Mewtwo had come to PCL but before they scientists had discovered the treasures hiding in its genes and demoted it from "volunteer research participant/consulting geneticist" to "harvestable cache of R," it had mentioned—and downplayed—its concerns about the organized crime syndicate that had pursued it before discovering its new location. Surely that fear had been multiplied tenfold, now that every eye in the world was peeled for a sign of Mewtwo. Anybody who spotted it would know what it was; any information about its location would spread much faster and farther without being dismissed as a hoax or urban legend. Was it going to withdraw from civilization completely again, find another cave or a deep jungle to hide in? Harry had been approached by an agent of the International Police a few days after the whole incident, interviewed, given a card in case he thought of or found any information to share with her, and told he might be contacted again later for more details. He could pass on Anabel's contact info to Mewtwo. She'd said she had experience with incredibly powerful and nearly unknown Pokémon, and that where Mewtwo was concerned, her top priority, above all else, was to ensure that it was safe and not about to end up in another lab. Harry felt like they could trust her; and if Mewtwo really did fear some crime syndicate coming after it, it could find few better allies and defenders than the International Police.

Or they could talk about whatever internal turmoil had driven Mewtwo to break into Harry's apartment, to trash the place in its frantic efforts to make a safe "cave," and to huddle there all alone for however long it took Harry and Pikachu to get home.

But Mewtwo said there was nothing to discuss.

So Harry said, "Okay. We can just sit for a while. How's that?"

"Very well."

And so they sat. Harry doubted the silence would last long. It rarely had with Tim.

Pikachu had been looking back and forth between them as they spoke, but now that things were settled, he returned to nuzzling. In the dark under the furniture, Harry could see tiny sparks where he rubbed his cheeks against Mewtwo's arm; and then faint spectral psychic light rippling through Pikachu's fur. Was Mewtwo petting Pikachu telekinetically? Pikachu started making that faint, high pitched, whispery "piiiii~" he always made when Harry found just the right spot to scratch under his chin, so apparently so. Wow. That was a new one.

Mewtwo held out longer than five-year-old Tim ever had. But eventually, it said, as quietly as a fleeting reminder of a subconscious memory, "My genes are toxic."

It was so quiet that it took Harry a moment to recognize the absurd statement as a rumble of thunder rather than some strange flicker of his own brain. "What?"

"The R," Mewtwo said. "It was derived from one of my own genes. Did the doctor tell you what she named the gene?"

"The doctor" always meant "Dr. Ann Laurent." Harry found that Mewtwo had difficulty telepathically conveying human names if they weren't also words with definitions. It had called him "Hairy"—which sounded the same as "Harry," but he could feel the difference in the way Mewtwo thought the word—until he'd persuaded it to stick to "Good Man" or "detective" instead. "Ann" or "Laurent" were far beyond its communicative capabilities.

"No, she didn't say."

"The Berserk Gene," Mewtwo said morosely. "It makes Pokémon vastly more powerful, but—confuses them. It makes them lose their minds with fury."

Harry nodded. He knew all that, of course—far too well. He and Pikachu had seen R at work in the streets, and they'd tracked it back to the source. His stomach had filled with lead every time they'd uncovered another clue suggesting the drug came from PCL, where he'd thought he'd left Mewtwo to safely work on developing medicine. But if Mewtwo felt the need to re-explain all that, even though it knew Harry knew—

"And this gene is inside me. This gene, that makes Pokémon powerful, but dangerous. And I, the carrier of the gene, the most powerful Pokémon..." Mewtwo could have trailed off there; but it again went on anyway, shame and regret tinging its thoughts: "I have been very dangerous." During the car wreck, Harry's nose had been clogged and singed by hot ashes, and he'd felt them coat the back of his tongue; carried on Mewtwo's thoughts, he tasted ashes now, but he didn't think Mewtwo was remembering the wreck. "After everything—is that, then, my nature? Is that what is foundational to me? To what I am? Danger, and an inborn incapacity to control my own anger?"

"No!" Harry said immediately. "No, no, that can't be— Look, you saved my life, didn't you? And the whole city. All while not destroying PCL in a fit of fury, or—or snapping Howard's neck." Harry had called him "Howard" the whole time he'd been working for him, back when Howard had been claiming that his work at PCL with Mewtwo would be used to create medicine for Pokémon and humans based on Mew's genes; now, after everything, the name felt wrong coming out of Harry's mouth. It sounded too familiar.

Even now, Harry still wondered if Howard Clifford had been lying, if he'd always planned to use Mewtwo to forcibly fuse people and Pokémon together; or if at one point he really had been planning to make medicine, and only zealously seized upon his new plan when the lab accidentally stumbled upon R and started working out what it and Mewtwo's powers were capable of.

"There's a whole lot of people you have some really good reasons to be furious at—even me, I'm the one who got you into this mess—but you never lashed out. You didn't punish—you saved. That's your nature."

"No, that's my nurture," Mewtwo said. "My nature is—destruction. My first conscious act was a massacre." It flinched, tail twisting and thumping against the wall, and it jerked its head to look away from Harry again, as though it hadn't meant to spill that revelation out. Pikachu hopped back at the suddenness of Mewtwo's motion, landing on the mattress in front of its crossed ankles.

And Harry was suddenly aware, once again, of Mewtwo's scent, of the weight of a thunderstorm pressing down on his mind, of the way the tilting furniture seemed to trap them together, of how thickly Mewtwo's presence filled the air surrounding Harry.

Mewtwo had killed people.

Harry swallowed hard; and asked, with a twitchy crooked smile, like he was trying to make it a joke: "Well—well, did—they deserve it?"

Mewtwo still didn't look at him. That was answer enough. But still Mewtwo replied: "No."

Harry tried to process this. He tried to lean back a little, to get some space to think; his head thunked against the bookcase again. "Ow."

Mewtwo flinched again, then shifted, and the furniture shifted with it. "I shouldn't have intruded."

And once again Mewtwo wasn't a killer but a self-conscious child. "No, no wait, hold on—" Harry automatically reached out and grabbed its arm. Mewtwo went still, and so did the furniture. "Hey, you came here because you needed company, right? What kind of friend would I be if I turned you out just like that?" ... Were they friends?

"Are we friends?" Somehow, when Mewtwo asked the question, it came across like a Pokémon one fifth its height.

Which sealed the deal for Harry. "If we weren't, we are now. How's that sound?"

"Even though I've killed humans?"

"What's a couple of murders between friends?" Harry asked, unconvincingly. "Hey. I'm a detective. I've worked with the police more times than I can count. You're far from the first murderer I've met."

Although it was the most terrifying murderer he'd met. And honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to get over that knowledge.

Mewtwo didn't leave, but it did shrink back from Harry's touch, pulling its arms and legs in closer to its body. Pikachu scooched closer to it, but didn't try to get on its lap again. Harry wondered if Mewtwo could feel his doubts.

"Okay—it's scary," he admitted. "You said you killed a bunch of people who didn't deserve it, that's scary. But you know what's scarier? The killers who say their victims did deserve it. That's—I don't know if it's possible for people or Pokémon to be 'dangerous' in their very nature. I honestly feel like it isn't possible, personally—no matter what genes you happen to have. But, if it is possible to have a dangerous nature—I think the only people with that nature are the ones who'd kill someone else, and then, looking back on it years later, say that they were asking for it. And that's not you. Right?"

Mewtwo lowered its gaze, thinking that over. Pikachu tentatively climbed back into its lap.

"Perhaps," it said grudgingly. Then straightened its back and snarled silently. "This is foolish. I decided years ago that I was not going to let who I was be dictated by how I was created—or what I was created to be. That what I am is determined by what I choose to do, and nothing else."

"Yeah!" Harry nodded encouragingly. "Exactly! That's the exact right attitude."

"But I had hoped that, for once, I could—find something in my nature to be proud of," Mewtwo said. There was an edge of desperation, of grief in its voice. "I wanted to—be something inherently good. The source of medicine. Not merely something inherently bad endlessly striving to try to become good. I thought I could be different. Even after they found the Berserk Gene, I thought—if I stayed long enough, if they kept looking, and found something else... they might find... it."

Mewtwo sounded unsure what "it" was supposed to be. Like it had no idea what, exactly, it had been hoping for.

"I don't know," it said. "I don't know. I wanted something good to come from me. Instead—I—permitted atrocities. Who knows how much R is still out there? Everything that has happened to Rhyme City is my fault."

Harry sat up straighter. (And, for the third time, bumped the sore spot on his head against the bookcase. Ow.) He'd had no idea Mewtwo blamed itself. He'd thought, if anything, Mewtwo would blame him.

(Harry elected not to explain that "Ryme City" didn't have an H, he knew it didn't make a difference to Mewtwo.)

"Hey," he said softly. "You didn't know. How could you have? You were trapped in there, remember? If you'd been able to get out of that tank, you would have."

"But I wasn't contained at the start," it said. "I had a choice. I could have chosen to leave at any time after they discovered what the Berserk Gene did. But I stayed, even while they were experimenting with what would become R, and I saw them losing interest in other avenues of research—because I thought I could make up for it. Until they sealed me up for good." Its tiny nostrils flared. (Harry found itself wondering whether Mewtwo could adequately breathe, seven-ish feet tall with those little holes. Was it getting enough oxygen?) "I'm not naïve around humans. I should have known better. I allowed myself to be deluded by hope." In Mewtwo's venomous mental voice, "hope" came out like a dirty four-letter word.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. It felt cruel to try to tell Mewtwo it shouldn't have worried so much about proving its DNA was "good" when its actions were what mattered, when Mewtwo itself had clearly already learned that lesson and was disgusted with itself for forgetting it; it felt disingenuous to try to reassure Mewtwo that it was indeed a good person regardless of what weird side effects one or two of its genes held when, suddenly, Harry himself wasn't entirely confident he thought Mewtwo was good after learning just a little bit more about its past; and so he said the only other thing left he could think of to say, the only thing that made sense and that he felt was true.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Everything they did to you, everything they made you feel about yourself—it's my fault. You never would have gone to PCL if I hadn't tracked you down and talked up all the great research they were doing. Whatever you blame yourself for—I don't blame you. I've never blamed you. The experiments they did on you, the R, the—the weird Poké-fusions—all of it, every bit, was my fault."

He paused.

"Okay, that's—that's not true, it's Howard Clifford's fault, and I can't wait to see his trial, but—that's not the point! I was the middle-man! I let you fool yourself into thinking that PCL was gonna do great things by playing around with your genetics, because—because I thought they were, too. I fooled myself. I—I really, really wanted to be doing something good."

He'd wanted, so much, to think he was doing something right with his life. He hadn't been able to somehow miraculously save his wife from a slow, declining death. He hadn't been there for his son when he'd needed a dad—not when he was grieving, not when he was struggling through puberty, not when he was trying to figure out how to be an adult. Even as a detective, he felt like half of his jobs were jealous spouses asking him to follow around their partners and see what secrets they were keeping—that wasn't fighting crime or helping people, it was just paid stalking.

And then Howard Clifford had asked him if he wanted to do something revolutionary for both human- and Pokémon-kind.

And Harry had gone and proudly asked Mewtwo the same question.

"You know—murdering aside," Harry said, "from what I've seen, I think, overall, you've been a much better person than me."

Mewtwo tilted its head, considering that.

"If you consider yourself responsible for everything I did because you brought me to PCL," it said, "then you must also consider yourself responsible for everything I did because you rescued me. I could not have saved myself, much less Rhyme City, if not for you."

"Well," he said grudgingly. "When you put it that way." Now he was the one avoiding eye contact. He could feel Mewtwo's gaze on the side of his head.

"You find that difficult to accept."

"Well, I mean—I guess."

"Feeling guilt is easier than feeling anything else. If multiple emotions are in competition, guilt wins." Mewtwo spoke with the authority of someone who had decades of experience and careful study to draw upon. "Is that true for humans, too?"

A lump formed in Harry's throat.

Howard Clifford had said Mewtwo had been made about twenty years ago—it might be younger than Tim, even if only by a few months.

Harry thought again to Tim crying in a tent by himself because he was scared to go to school, and tried to imagine someone younger than that being a murderer.

Surely, Mewtwo hadn't been responsible. How could it have been? It might have been its fault, but that didn't mean it was responsible.

Harry said, "Do you do hugs?"

"What?"

"Is that—is that a thing that Mewtwo do? Or that Mew do? I don't know where that behavioral instinct would come from. You, do you do hugs?"

"I—don't know," Mewtwo said. "Nobody has ever tried to hug me before."

"Oh, that's heartbreaking."

"I have been cuddled," Mewtwo offered. And dropped its gaze demonstratively to Pikachu, who was still snuggled up in its lap.

"Yeah? Cuddles are good, then?"

"I suppose."

"Great, then we're trying out hugs. C'mere. If anyone needs a hug, you do." He scooted over, looked Mewtwo up and down, tried to figure out the least awkward way to manage this—after a pause, Mewtwo helpfully leaned a few inches away from the couch—and at last, he slid one arm around Mewtwo's upper back, and another just below its crossed arms, so he wouldn't pin its arms in place. He'd pet a hairless Delcatty once. The texture wasn't quite the same, but it was close. "There. Good?"

For a moment, Mewtwo tensed; and then after another moment, it started to relax. It didn't uncross its arms, but Harry did feel a very light telepathic pressure around his torso, which he figured was probably about the same as getting hugged back. It was honestly a little disconcerting, but not bad for a first effort. "Thank you."

"Listen," Harry said. "You've had an incredibly rough time lately. And—throughout life in general, from what little I know about your whole mysterious history, but—especially lately. And I get that you're an independent Pokémon, you don't wanna be tied down by a trainer, that's fine, but—just because you're a loner doesn't mean you have to be alone, you know? You've got friends here—me, and Pikachu—"

"Piiika!"

"—and Tim too, I know he's grateful for all you've done to help us. If you ever need something—company, a safe haven, anything—you're always welcome to do just what you did tonight, and come right back here. I'll leave a window unlatched for you, okay?"

"You would let me take refuge here?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Mewtwo looked at Harry, then at Pikachu, then at Harry again; then finally looked away, and repeated, "Thank you." The words hung heavy with a multitude of conflicted emotions. Harry hazarded a guess that this was what Mewtwo being choked up sounded like.

"Any time."

After a moment, Mewtwo said, "I should tell you—because of the Berserk Gene, I am literally toxic."

"Yeah. That's the first thing you mentioned. It's all right. It doesn't define you. And hey, maybe it isn't even active in you? I mean, I've got the genes for my dad's blue eyes, but they don't show up in—"

"No. I mean I am toxic. At the lab they found a pheromone in my perspiration caused by the Berserk Gene. I sweat diluted R."

Harry jerked his arms off Mewtwo. After a moment, he scooped up Pikachu too. Pikachu squealed in surprise. "Thanks for the head's up."

"I should have mentioned it sooner."

"We'll do hugs with blankets next time, okay?" He wagged a finger at Pikachu. "And you're getting a bath." Pikachu whined.

He could see Mewtwo curling in on itself again. "Hey, c'mon. Don't be like that." He figured if he was mildly infected, it wasn't going to get any worse if he put a reassuring hand on Mewtwo's shoulder. "Vaguely poisonous sweat isn't a death sentence. It's—sure, it's a challenge, but—" Everything about Mewtwo's life seemed like a challenge. Who did it torque off in a past life to end up with such a bad hand in this one? "But now you know about it, and you can adjust. Right? And you've still got friends here."

Mewtwo didn't reply, apparently sunken into its own thoughts again. It was a melancholy thing, wasn't it?

Well. It had a lot to process. Harry didn't blame it if it had to spend a lot of time just trying to think things through.

They all had a lot to process. Mewtwo, Harry, Tim, Pikachu—the whole city... They'd hardly even started.

Harry was exhausted.

Mewtwo looked exhausted.

"Stay the night," he said. "You can sleep in here. And you should have something to eat. I have poffins, got any flavor preferences?"

"Grepa and occa berries make me sick."

"I'll check the ingredients." He set Pikachu down to let him exit first, and then awkwardly crawled out after him.

As he walked to the kitchen, he pulled out his phone to text Tim a warning about the state of the apartment. Tim could sleep on Harry's bed. Harry was used to roughing it.

He wondered if there was a place nearby where he could buy a small tent to set up indoors.

Comments/reblogs are welcome! If you want to leave a tip or like the fic on AO3, the links are in my description!

#detective pikachu #mewtwo #harry goodman #pikachu #pokemon #fanfic #my writing #spoilers

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aweebwrites · 4 years

Text

Move on Dragons Ch 15

"Any luck yet Sensei?" Lloyd asked from the bridge of the Bounty, watching Little G eat his fill from the small bowl of wild berries in his palm, the others next to him.

"Yes and no." Sensei Wu admits, something akin to frustration in his slitted golden eyes. "I managed to get closer this time but your father is a slippery man who insists on not being found. He has taken traveler's tea to leave the realm so I must follow him." He told them, shifting the view of the device to the sight of the small camp with an empty teapot there, the outed campfire still burning.

"I will still have to figure out just which realm he escaped to but there are only so many he's willing to visit. I may be unable to contact you all for some time longer." He forewarned them.

"That's cool Sensei. Everything's pretty chill on our side still. Nothing too major has come up and our tech team is getting closer to figuring out how the device works." Cole says as he glanced at Zane, Nya, Pixal and Jay close by.

"Indeed." Zane nodded at the screen showing their Sensei. "We've already learned how to turn it on and off but we're getting closer to figuring out how to activate its interface." He reported.

"That's good. Having a direct line to Vortica will prove to be most helpful." Sensei Wu nodded then looked to Kai who was a little jittery if his shifting wings and flicking tail wasn't enough indication. "Is something the matter Kai?" He asked him and Kai blinked then shrugged.

"Nothing's actually wrong but…" He says then grinned. "Wu and I will be checking the Dragon Dimension today. We hit the 2 month mark since the dragons left so we're gonna see how things are doing. We aren't expecting much progress so quickly, even though 5 years have passed there, but we're looking for small signs that the planet is recovering." He told them.

“It won’t be in its best shape but… I’ve missed the place, you know?” He added with a shrug and the others could relate.

They haven’t been there for long but it really was beautiful.

"I see. Be careful however. Extinction usually brings forward evolution in both animals and plants alike." Wu warned him and Kai nodded.

"I will be. We'll let you know the news of what's up next time we chat." He promised and Wu nodded.

"Then I will contact you once I am able to." He promised them.

With that, their conversation ended with well wishes and goodbyes.

“This infernal device is highly frustrating.” Pixal says glaring at the small device she held in hand.

“But it’ss pretty fun to sssolve! It’ss kinda like a rubix cube!” Jay grinned, taking it and looking it over, his flicking tail almost tripping both Zane and Cole, all of them used to he and Lloyd’s tails to know to stand clear of the area behind them.

It took a lot of adaption to work around their individual changes, especially both Jay and Kai’s changes as theirs was permanent. It didn’t bother either of them much anymore- Kai didn’t have a problem with, too used to it as he was- but there were days when they did miss being human and on days like that, their much bigger family was there for them.

“Are you ready Kai?” Wu asked, looking down at the team’s ship from where he sat near by.

Somewhere in the past week, they began being able to speak like them. Zane knew better than to question how they were able to what with the structure of their mouths. Pixal knew better not to as well, not after almost short circuiting trying to figure out how Zane too got the ability to shift. Both nindroids decided to call it magic and left it at that.

“Yeah.” Kai says as he walked over to the edge of the ship, pulling out the dimensional crystal.

“Don’t forget the camera so we can keep track of the planet’s progress.” Nya called and he turned around catching it with his tail.

“Thanks sis. I’ll get all the footage you guys need.” He grinned then hopped over the edge of the ship, using his wings to catch him.

“You guys sure you don’t need us to come along?” Lloydie asked, stepping forward from where he and the others stood.

“Nah. It’s just a quick in and out. We won’t be more than 5 minutes tops.” Kai reassured.

“Just make sure to stick close to my father.” Morro cautioned and Kai smiled, flying over to stroke his snout, bumping his forehead against his.

“Don’t worry Mor-bro. We’ll be fine.” He reassured and Morro wasn’t ready to admit he needed the reassurance.

He knew their world was in a bad state, knew it was dangerous to go as they weren’t even sure what the oxygen levels were like right now and with both Kai and his father going there… He blinked once Kai held the crystal out to him.

“Why don’t you send us off huh?” He grinned and Morro blinked at the pink gem then balanced on his hind leg and accepted it, the crystal tiny in his paw but he picked it up between his claws and glanced at Kai as he flew back to where his father was. “Just hold it up and it’ll do the rest- but make sure not to do it twice or else the portal will close.” Kai warned and Morro nodded before holding up the crystal as instructed, a large portal opening up close to the two as he did.

“Sit tight. We’ll be back in a jif.” Kai winked before he flew in as Wu walked through.

The first thing Kai noticed once he stepped through was that the sun was setting- which was good since the air was uncharastically hot. That combined with the obvious decline in air quality made it a little difficult to breathe. He glanced up at Wu as the dragon looked around at what once was a lush, bountiful planet, now reduced to desolence, nothing but broken and dead trees standing around the base of the mountain they called home. The sky held a noticeably redder colour and it was quiet. So uncharastically quiet. Kai turned the camera on, moving forward still, looking for any signs of life thriving here. There were bones of animals passed, decomposing still and fungi. Well. At least they were clear signs of life.

“We won’t be able to ascend the mountain. The air gets thinner the higher you go and it’s already difficult to breathe at sea level.” Wu spoke up as he too walked around, keeping his pace slow and his breathing even.

He couldn’t afford to get even slightly winded. As a dragon of his size, his lungs demand a large amount of oxygen with each inhale, amounts that the planet could no longer satisfy. He couldn’t stay for very long still, else he collapses from oxygen deprivation. But their future depends on any signs of life. Fungi was a good start but he was hoping that more complex life survived the decline in the planet’s environment. If not, then they would be in Ninjago for far longer than he originally thought.

“Nothing. Maybe we should try in a different area? This is still kinda on a slope so maybe if we head to flatter land…” Kai suggested, turning to Wu.

“Perhaps.” Wu says in consideration. “However-” He was cut off by a cough that quickly descended into a coughing fit.

“Wu!” Kai yelled, alarmed as he flew over.

“I’m… Afraid I cannot… Stay any longer here…” He rasped, barely able to prevent himself from coughing further.

“Then go back!” Kai urged, looking back to the portal and he nods, heading towards it. “I wanna look around for a minute longer but I won’t go far.” He told Wu as he paused to see if he was coming.

“... Be careful.” He warns and Kai nodded, watching as he returned to his world.

Kai looked up, the moons, rings and stars in the night sky holding a reddish tint from the oxygen deprived atmosphere before he looked around again, hoping for even the softest glow of an insect but finding none still. He sighed, turning the camera towards himself from where he had still been filming.

“Five years past here and no signs of complex life. I’d look around a bit longer but it’s not exactly easy to breathe here, despite my body needing less oxygen than the dragon’s. It’s dark but it’s still pretty hot out and the air is thick and heavy. Maybe things will be in better shape after five more years. We could probably even chek different locations then.” Kai shrugged at the camera recording him. “Might as well head back now.” He says quietly, looking at the reflective lense before he frowned, spotting something strange.

He glanced back and up, looking at the sky suspiciously. Strange. He could have sworn he saw some kind of light- It flickered in again, growing brighter and larger this time. Kai’s eyes widened at the familiarity of the phenomenon in the sky. No way… He turned the camera towards it without much more thought, on the defense as he narrowed his eyes at the swirling multicoloured vortex above. Suddenly, two figures came tumbling out and Kai’s eyes widened before he darted forward, dropping the camera and catching one- then two, before they could hit the ground. Oh man were they heavy! A small sound from one of the two figures caught his attention and he really looked at them.

“Oh boy.” Was all he could think to say.

Wasn’t this a situation.

Outside the portal, Morro was fussing over his winded father, creating a gentle but oxygen filled airflow around his head as he caught his breath.

“Kai’s still in there. What’s taking him so long?” Cole says with a frown, wings out and opened, ready to perform a rescue mission if he must.

“If he doesn’t come out in the next minute or two then we go in.” Lloyd says, looking across at Cole and he nodded.

You better be ok Kai…

____

“Ugh!” Pixal growled in frustration.

“I agree! This is hopeless! Almost two months and we’re hardly any close to figuring this thing out!” Nya yells, resisting the urge to throw it down to instead place it on the table.

“I feared we wouldn’t be able to uncover the mysteries of this advanced technology. It appears this is becoming reality.” Zane says with a tone of frustration as well.

“I don’t know guyss, maybe we’re overthinking thingss.” Jay spoke up and they looked at him, both parts unimpressed and curious.

“Have you even interacted with this device? I think overthinking is quite necessary.” Pixal pointed out.

“No no.” Tempest says as he took over, Jay on the back burner. “I think Jay’ss got a point. Doess Vortica ssseem like the type of persson to use anything overly complicated? Doesn’t matter if complicated is within her knowledge basse, I think ssshe’d use sssomething that only takess a touch or two to activate.” He says as he used his tail to pick it up and bring it closer.

“Maybe turn it on then swipe?” Tempest mumbled as he did so, sliding his thumb against a pink panel before he blinked once a holoscreen and keyboard popped up, an image of Vortica sticking her tongue out at the top, making it clear this was a messaging interface.

Tempest smirked at the surprised, borderline angry looks both Nindroids and Nya wore, Jay yelling up a storm in the front of his mind.

“Well. I’ll be damned. Looks like the mystery is solved at lasst.” Tempest huffed.

____

“Alright. Let’s go in.” Lloyd says as he walked forward, Cole on his tail.

Before they could get any closer however Kai walked through the portal, struggling with the weight of the figures in his arms.

“Is that-” Blaze says with wide eyes as he and the others walked over.

“They are…” Wisp whispered, not sure if he should go on the defense or assist.

“Well. There’s two faces I never expected to see again. Especially like this.” Mist spoke up as Morro closed the portal.

“... Indeed…” Was Wu’s contemplative hum.

Perhaps… This was for the best.

____________ (I'm trying for updates every 2 days now for this fic. Also I cannot write the name Green Bean/Greenie and take it seriously so I updated Dragon!Lloyd's name to just Lloydie. They still call him Greenie and he's still annoyed by it but that's kinda in the background. Can you guess who came through the portal? ;)Thanks for reading!)

#ninjago #lloyd ninjago #kai ninjago #jay ninjago #cole ninjago #nya ninjago #pixal ninjago #Sensei Wu #morro ninjago #original characters #aweebwrites' work

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dragimalsdaydreams · 5 years

Photo

WHEW BOY, I’ve been itchin’ to draw these designs up for quite a while now and finally got around to it, haha. I’ve struggled a lot with my personal style for MLP ponies, trying to make something nice out of “realism with MLP proportions” with.... mixed results, lmao. but I was inspired by @jayrockin‘s tiny sapient ungulate au to draw up my own more specevo designs, and I think I finally got something here I rly like

while I took heavy inspiration from Jay’s au (esp for the pegasus wings, which I will discuss in further detail in that section), I genuinely want to make something of my own here, and hope that comes through. if I’ve failed to do so, I apologize Jay, and I’ll be happy to delete or shift designs as needed-- I don’t want to infringe on ur designs or anything,,

anyways, I have a lot to say abt these designs, so I’ll throw it under the cut

BASE

while this is basically the starting point for my ponies-- the “unaligned” base-- it got me thinking about how it could possibly appear in-canon. magic is such a critical element of pony life, it would have to be something pretty drastic to strip a pony of all unique, class-defining features. which leads me to believe that if it would ever occur in the show, it would have happened in Starlight’s equality town. I imagine this wouldn’t necessarily be on purpose, but perhaps an unintended consequence removing a pony’s cutie mark? or maybe just a consequence of the particular spell Starlight used? either way, she prolly wouldn’t complain about “equalizing” her townsfolk on yet another level (tho she might have to explain why she gets to keep her horn for the removal spell). either way, it’s fun to imagine a uniform, blank set of unaligned ponies..

I had a hell of a time trying to figure out the relationship b/t magic and evolution, and how that translated to hexapods vs. tetrapods and the presence of a magic horn. my tentative lore is that alicorns are the basal ancestors of ponies (briefly: vertebrate hexapod clade >> ungulate-analogue clade >> magic-horn clade >> alicorns >> ponies). the eventual division of labor in early pony society redirected magical energy towards the most essential morphology for the three classes of labor, resulting in earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi. though the genetic structures for horns, hoof-nails, and wings (+ secondary traits) are still present in any given pony’s genetic code-- it’s simply a matter of whether the switch for a particular set of traits is activated or not

physical remnants of horns and wings are still subtly present in ponies who don’t have those structures, in the form of a small bump on the skull and reduced wing-nubs just behind the front legs. often, the bump or nubs will have some identifying pelt pattern, though this isn’t always the case

now since my take on ponies is that they’re ~technically~ all genetically alicorns, this has the potential for more of a gradient b/t classes. in rare cases, an individual may be born with two different classes of magic+traits activated at once, dubbed a “bicorn”. however, without the regulation of a powerful alicorn to consciously divvy out the traits/magic in an individual’s body (as was the case for Twilight’s ascension), these traits/magic don’t express to the full extent that they could have if they’d been activated individually. as an example, I think Fluttershy would absolutely be a “bicorn”-- a pony who has the innate earth-bound magic of an earth pony, but the physique and wings of a pegasus (and I would hc her with small, underdeveloped hoof-nails as well, in this case). without the full extent of air magic to keep her aloft, Fluttershy can barely keep up with her swift pegasi cousins, and she doesn’t have the brawn typically associated with earth ponies. she’s still a very successful pony in her own right, but she had to find unique ways to fill in the gaps between earth and pegasi life that weren’t necessarily inherent to either lifestyle. due to their perceived ‘lack’ in cohesion and magic, some ponies call bicorns “the beggar’s alicorn” (or if I wanna be rly mean and up the age rating on this au, “the bastard alicorn”)

now past all that nonsense abt the classes, I want to detail some universal traits among pony anatomy.

for one, ponies have dexterous lips that they use to hold and handle delicate objects, much like manatees. this is basically reused from my past suggestion for Jayrockin’s own pony designs, but retrofit for my take on pony faces. since my faces have more pointed, upturned noses, I figure that the lips could hold an object in place, while rabbit-like nose-twitching could direct the angle of the object (like for writing). the bottom lip may still be able to help in angling, but the nose is the more directive force, in this design. this also makes it so the tip of a pencil is up in a pony’s direct line of sight, even if the pencil is a simple straight-line stick rather than more ergonomically-designed. this is important to me b/c I don’t know if more complex writing structures would necessarily be available in early pony society, so if ponies only have simple sticks to write with, I still want them to see what they’re writing lmao

this also directly influences ponies’ long, flexible necks. since pony heads are treated as an extra limb for dexterity (especially in those ponies without horns), the head needs to comfortably reach different parts of the body

pony “hooves” are essentially meaty mitts covering three inner toes. the thick padding and leathery skin usually obscures the internal anatomy, though sometimes indentations are visible (especially in earth ponies). the middle toe is the main anchor of support, with the side toes providing extra support. they also allow for some dexterity, as the side toes can pinch together well enough to even hold thin objects like pencils. while the overall construction of the legs makes dexterous use of the "hooves” a bit difficult, it’s not uncommon to see certain professions gravitate towards hoof use over lip use. many earth pony artists, for example, tend to use their hooves so they can keep their faces an appropriate distance away from their pieces to view the “big picture”, and painters in particular prefer the wide strokes they can get with their hooves

UNICORN

unicorn horns have a keratin shell with an inner base of bone. the center of the bone houses a thick bundle of neurons which extends back into the base of the brain. the keratin covering is composed of overlapping layers that grow into place as the unicorn ages (the tip is the oldest, while the base is the youngest). most newborn unicorns are born without a horn, but the first layer of the horn quickly breaks skin and grows into place within a few weeks of birth. a groove runs up the dorsal side of the horn, acting as a funnel for magic, which then spills into and out of the lips between keratin layers

unicorn spines tend to be rather long, consequently leading to long necks, torsos, and tails. their skulls are also usually a bit long compared to others. this overall length usually isn’t obvious when looking at a unicorn on their own, but next to any other class, they look a bit stretched

additionally, unicorns tend to style their hair long as well, coveting flowing tresses. hair appears in several different places on the body besides the head/neck and tail, such as the chin/jaw, throat, ear tips, and fetlocks. while individuals from other classes can sometimes grow hair in these extra places, it’s a rather rare trait, and seems to be associated more with bicorns than full-blood pegasi or earth ponies. interestingly, hair only seems to sprout from the end-half of unicorn tails rather than the full length as seen in other classes-- some ponies joke that unicorns’ first ancestors stole hair from their tails to fill out the rest of their bodies

PEGASUS

so this is where I more heavily reference Jayrockin’s designs, and where I apologize if I didn’t make my wing designs unique enough from Jay’s... I just LOVE the look of cartilage-lobe wings, and it makes so much more sense than *suddenly feathers* in pony anatomy, imo (unless I were to just make all ponies’ fur/hair highly-specialized feathers, which is.... I mean it’s not a bad idea, but I’m not super into it)

anyways, pegasus wings vary across individuals, with different shapes and sizes leading to different flight styles. all wings are too small to support a pony without magic, but there is still a sense of relative loading and wingspan that leads different modes of movement. all wings have four fingers, with the first digit usually serving as a kind of alula. the cartilage of the lobes can reach as far as halfway up the length of the fingers, though they can be smaller. due to the lobes, the fingers only have one joint about halfway down the finger, near the start of the cartilage. the cartilage spines near the elbow also have one joint, and can range from 2-4 on a wing. pegasus tails are much stiffer and straighter than those of other classes in order to support tail spines and webbing for flight. 2-4 pairs of spines sprout from the base of the tail and are constructed similarly to the spines on the wings. sometimes the webbing of the back edge of the wings and the front edge of the tail connect, but this is uncommon

pegasi are generally the tallest of the classes, with long, thin legs and necks providing ample height. to handle the forces of powered flight, pegasi torsos are much stiffer than those of other classes. while pegasus wings aren’t especially muscular due to the reliance on wind magic, they still bulk up the torso with thick pectorals (still on the fence over whether they need a shallow keel tho..)

pegasi usually don’t have upturned snouts, but rather a straight slope with a small snout tip, giving the overall skull an aerodynamic wedge shape. their ears are also smaller to cut back on wind disturbance

pegasi hair tends to grow rather short, and even then individuals will usually keep it cropped short so it’s less of a hassle while flying. tail hair generally only sprouts from the very tip of the tail, sometimes extending down some of the underside of the tail. unlike the mysterious short range of tail hair in unicorns, this growth pattern is a direct result of the tail spines/webbing. while pegasus hair is sparse, pegasus fur tends to be thick and fluffy, especially around the torso and neck. this helps insulate pegasi when flying high in the chilly skies

EARTH

since earth pony magic seems to be driven by tactile connection to the earth via their hooves, I gave them hoof-nails as a more distinct conduit for their magic. they’re designed after elephant toenails, so they’re thick and blunt

besides that, earth ponies have bulky, thick physiques to match their typically labor-heavy lifestyles. not much more to say since that’s a p universal hc for earth ponies so ¯|_(ツ)_/¯

#mlp #mlp:fim #My Little Pony #my little pony friendship is magic #this is like half my own personal drive for specevo half love-letter to jayrockin's designs asdfgfgh I'm sorry..#I have some Thoughts abt social dynamics/communication but I only rly have a handle on it for earth ponies so far so maybe later..#notes #specevo

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clownao · 5 years

Text

Sticky Situation

A Kimura + Okano fic, for Day 5 Adventure/ Travel of Assassination Classroom Rarepair 2019 hosted by @handy-dandy-headcanons

[FFN] [AO3]

Summary: Kimura and Okano get stuck in a net while adventuring. And they can't get out.

I’ve always been interested in their dynamic :D They’re like opposite and chaotic versions of ChibaHaya. And Okano and Kimura are pretty similar in personality and skill set as well.

Full fic under read more!

"Yoo! Race you to that mountain!"

Kimura groaned as Okano shot off. "Oy! You got a head start!" he complained.

Okano seemed to consider for a bit, slowed her footsteps then turned around. Her purple hair whipped in the wind, and her face practically glowed in the fading evening light. She was visibly excited at the prospect of exploring a new place.

"You two! Don't go running about!" Kataoka, the vice leader of their group, scolded. "We're here on a mission. We're supposed to learn how to survive in the wild, not enter unknown and potentially dangerous places!"

"You're kind of being a spoilsport," Maehara, who was setting up a tent, commented. "What's the fun in being out here without an adventure?"

"You're right, but we also shouldn't take unnecessary risks." Isogai crouched, snapped his fingers, and a spark appeared in a pile of leaves and twigs. Flames started to lick the pile, sending a thin ribbon of smoke twisting in the air. "Great, the fire's going."

"Isogai, be careful that the fire doesn't burn your uncovered half!" Maehara teased, making reference to how Isogai's fancy-looking armour only covered his front half.

As Kimura watched the rest of the group set up camp for the night, he felt a nudge in his ribs. He spun to see Okano, a wide grin on her face. "You still up for that race? It's not like they," she gestured to the group, "can't manage without us."

Logically, Kimura knew it was nearing nighttime, and it would be foolish to separate from the main group. But they'd travelled the entire day, seeing nothing but endless plains and boring grass and a few low-level slimes. The mountain was the first interesting thing they'd seen, and besides, when did Kimura think logically? The thirst for adventure was running in his veins. The mountain was calling out to him, begging to be explored. Kimura's limbs twitched in anticipation. He and Okano were fast. They could probably outrun any monsters (if there were any).

"Let's gooooo!" Kimura cheered and broke into a run, Okano hot on his heels.

The duo sprinted up the slope and nimbly leaped past boulders and roots. Okano grabbed a vine and used it to swing Tarzan-style. Kimura tried to follow her, but ended up almost smashing into a tree trunk.

"Aww, that was bad luck!" Okano teased, a few paces ahead of him.

"Oh, shut up!" Kimura snapped, but it all honesty he wasn't mad. He grinned and dashed in front of her. Okano's scowl brought him great satisfaction.

The duo encountered some slimes but easily defeated them. According to what Okano vaguely remembered from Kataoka's lecture, there were some higher level monsters around the mountain, but neither of them recalled which type of monster.

"If we don't remember, it's probably not important," Kimura said carelessly. He looked back at where their camp was, the fire now a bright tiny dot against the dark murky canvas.

Okano was a few steps ahead of him. She tapped her feet on the ground and said, "Yeah, I agree- AAAAAA!"

Kimura turned his neck so quickly he nearly gave himself backlash. "Okano?"

Then he saw the white net.

A large net made out of sticky white lines was dangling from a tree, presumably some trap set by a monster. And Okano was twisted in the net, her body upside down. Kimura's heart leapt in his throat.

"I'm coming!" he bellowed and leapt towards her-

Which was a stupid move, as he just ended up caught in the trap too.

Something soft and slimy wound itself around his ankle and hoisted him up. The dark world spun before Kimura's eyes and he screamed. Before Kimura could even cast a spell, he was tossed into the net and he crashed against Okano.

Okano yelped sharply and Kimura assumed he had squished her, so he tried to move but realized he couldn't. The net didn't allow any movement and Kimura was sure he was partly upside down.

They both struggled to no avail. Apparently the net was also enchanted and restrained their magic. They couldn't just burn the net or cut it using magic. Okano tried to hit the net but ended up accidentally kicking Kimura. When he tried to defend himself, he grabbed Okano's leg, which resulted in a swift whack to his face.

"I'm not molesting you!" Kimura exclaimed, exasperated. "Who do you think I am, Okajima?"

"You try having your leg all felt up," Okano retorted grumpily.

They continued to writhe like dying fish until Kimura felt like he'd exhausted every single cell in his body. Defeated, he flopped and Okano, who was pressed against him, did the same.

It was impossible to escape without outside help.

"This is stupid," Okano crabbed. "You shouldn't have charged over here."

"Huh, aren't you just the same?" Kimura argued. "Besides, you should've warned me."

"Maybe this gigantic-ass net is a warning enough!"

Kimura's limbs were uncomfortably entangled with Okano's. Kimura genuinely tried to avoid most body contact but it was inevitable in some cases. He was feeling as awkward and mortified as she was. Okano leaned back and her hair somehow brushed against his… leg. Kimura cringed. Thankfully Okano didn't have long hair or the situation would get even more ticklish.

Kimura sighed. "We should stop squabbing. It's not going to help."

Okano was silent. "What can we do to help?"

Kimura noted the setting sun and the gradual darkness surrounding them. Soon, they wouldn't be able to see anything. Kimura's chest clenched with unease.

"Do you think the others are searching for us?" Okano asked quietly.

"At the very least, I'm sure they've realized we've disappeared for too long. Should we yell to attract attention?"

"No, all the monsters are just going to find us." Okano tried to fiddle with the net again. "What if the creature who made this net comes across us…"

A cold shiver ran down Kimura's spine. "We'll just make a run for it, I mean, we're fast." His words sounded hollow even to him.

"I feel if we stay like this for a few more minutes, we'll be attacked by cramp," Okano complained.

Kimura stayed silent and he squinted his eyes in an attempt to see better in the dark. Now that Kimura had time to think properly, it was probably a very bad idea to have him and Okano out alone, as they were too similar in terms of skills and personality. They needed some common sense to balance out their impulsiveness.

"We're dangling from a branch, right?" Kimura asked as he tried to look up.

There was a pause. "You want to break it?" Okano asked skeptically. "It's not exactly a thin branch."

Kimura let out a sigh. "Well then, do you have any other ideas?"

After some awkward knee bumping and elbow jabbing, the duo managed to cause the net to swing from side to side in hopes of loosening it. Unfortunately, they were both either too light or too weak, as the net didn't really shift its position.

Within minutes, every bit of remaining energy had drained out of the duo. They ended up leaning against each other for support, panting. Kimura was feeling nauseous from all the spinning, and he really hoped he wouldn't vomit all over himself and Okano.

"It's getting really dark now," Okano peeped.

Kimura's stomach twisted. "Umm, I'm sure they'll find us," he laughed in a feeble attempt to reduce the tension. They were both such lost causes. They really should find someone to accompany them on their next excursion.

"Yo! Did anyone call us?"

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Kimura visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging.

"Maehara!" Okano exclaimed, sounding a lot more delighted by the boy's presence than usual.

Two boys came into Kimura's upside down view, wielding torches. Isogai and Maehara's familiar faces were illuminated by the flickering flames. They both immediately started to cut the ropes of the net.

"Yay! We're saved!" Kimura whooped, feeling immensely grateful for his classmates.

As Isogai tried to serve the ropes using magic, he coughed. "Well actually… we've been here for some time… we were trying to see if you guys can get out on your own…"

Kimura's jaw dropped. Any ounce of gratefulness he had vanished in a blink of an eye. "WHAT?" he bellowed, while wriggling himself as if he could somehow strangle Isogai that way.

"It was my idea," Maehara interjected sheepishly. "Of course, we made sure you were safe. We kind of wanted to teach you a lesson, that sometimes no one can come and save you. That's why you have to watch out for yourself."

Next to Kimura, Okano let out a feral growl. Kimura could clearly picture bloodlust brimming in her dimmed violet eyes. "Maehara Hiroto… I'm going to kill you…" she seethed.

The net broke apart and the duo tumbled down. Due to their agility, they managed to get up on their feet pretty quickly. Okano immediately kicked Maehara in the groin. Maehara automatically doubled over and grunted in agony. Kimura and Isogai winced, feeling the second hand pain.

"You should've saved us from the get go!" Okano hollered in Maehara's ear.

"But then you two won't learn your lesson!" Maehara howled in return.

Kimura deadpanned, "Oh great, they're bickering. Again."

Isogai shrugged his shoulders casually. "But we really should be going back. Kataoka's going to slaughter us otherwise."

When the party returned to their camp, Kataoka was predictably angry yet concerned for Kimura and Okano. With a stern frown on her face, she rapped their heads sharply.

"DON'T do anything like that again, you knuckleheads!"

"None of this would've happened if we weren't so bored," Kimura muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately for Kimura, Kataoka heard him. "Better be safe than sorry," she chided.

"Yeah, whatever," Kimura huffed.

#assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #fanfiction #kimura justice #kimura masayoshi #okano hinata #kimura and okano #handydandyrarepairweek #handydandyrarepairweek2k19 #this is probably my only contribution #i continue to be assassinated by a classroom

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justanotherloveaffair · 6 years

Text

Birthday Fail (Chadwick x Reader One shot)

Summary: Your birthday cake for Chadwick turns out horribly, but he finds a way to still enjoy it.

Warnings: smut, NSFW, food play, fluff

Word Count: 2,364

Author’s Note: I STRAIGHT RIPPED OFF “Hungry” by @captainsordersfic. I know she loves me though and won’t mind. I swear once I started writing this I had no intention of it going where it did, but things... happened.

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @afraiddreamingandloving, @stevesthot, @kumkaniudaku, @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child, @simplyyamberr, @wildaboutchrisevans, @fullonfrenzy, @h-challa, @theunsweetenedtruth, @ljstraightnochaser, @90sinspiredgirl, @maverickabull, @big3gocandykahn, @sarahboseman, @airis-paris14, @tacohead13, @blackmissmarvel, @jazzieomega ***sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged, just ignore.

Of all the times to have a baking fail, it had to be Chadwick’s birthday cake.

It’s not like you had everyone coming around in a few hours, or excited texts from your birthday boy who couldn’t wait to see to his double chocolate layer cake you had picked out in a magazine and confidently announced your intention to make while he looked at you, stunned.

“You gonna bake me a cake, baby?” His bright eyes had twinkled with excitement and awe.

“I’m going to try...” you wavered a little while smiling at his boyish enthusiasm and once the words were out of your mouth, there was no turning back. The magazine slid to the floor as Chadwick pulled you into his lap, and you recall what followed was a very passionate show of appreciation for your selfless commitment to make his day extra special.

The kitchen echoed with a single, long drawn out word:

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkk.”

Flour dusting your clothes and sweat on your brow, you stared at the collapsed, sunken mess.

Nothing had gone right.

An hour ago, two delicious smelling cakes came out of the oven looking perfect. Then – poof! – like magic, half an hour later they were half their height, as if someone had thrown a bowling ball in the middle of each.

Still, you persevered. It was nothing icing couldn’t fix, right? Taking a sip of wine, you hunkered down for the task of slicing the two flattened bricks into thinner layers that would be stacked in what you hoped would be a delicious, sensual, rich heap of chocolatey goodness.

The serrated knife you carefully guided lengthwise through where you guessed was the middle, sent a hail of crumbs to the counter and the floor while puncturing through the top of each layer. Frowning, you stepped back to inspect four discs that were hacked to pieces and that was when panic started to set in.

Ignoring it, you went to do the easy part – the icing. Well, it would have been easy if you had enough eggs for your chocolate meringue frosting. You ended up having to reduce the sugar to keep the ratio right, ending up with barely a cereal bowl’s worth of icing that was supposed to somehow cover an entire fucked up excuse for a cake.

That was when you finally broke down.

For the past few days, visions of your perfect creation floated through your mind. You imagined the loving look in Chadwick’s eyes when he saw you carrying it out, and everyone’s happy, satisfied moans of pleasure as they enjoyed your decadent cake.

The cold reality of failure set in with unexpected harshness and emotion welled up, constricting your throat and making your eyes burn.

Tears formed and dripped down your cheeks as you started to mechanically, soullessly assemble the layers, which half crumbled and fell apart as you tried to stack them. There was only enough icing to cover the top, and as you dumped it down and spread it with a spoon, tears turned into sniffles.

What you were looking at wasn’t worth the garbage can it was about to end up in.

At your lowest moment, you heard the key jiggling in the lock announcing Chadwick’s return home. There was no time to hide the flour, icing sugar and crumb spattered counters, your tear-stained face or the abomination of a cake before he walked in the room with a big smile that quickly faded.

“Y/N…. my god, what’s wrong?” Chadwick quickly scooted over after parting from his backpack, his eyes intensely focused on your tear-streaked face.

Even though you knew you were being silly, your emotions were too far gone now and his concern made you start to blubber. A fresh wave of tears accompanied your finger that extended to point to the counter.

At the sight that greeted him, Chadwick had to bite his lip to hold back the smile that he knew would only make it worse. At his cough to obviously swallow a laugh, you felt yourself become hysterical and your face crumpled with an oncoming sob.

Sympathy erased the smile that was forming and he rushed to take you in his arms as you sniffled, your words muffled as you pressed your face into his solid shoulder, “I’ve ruined everything, I ruined your birthday.”

“Stop, Y/N, stop.” He leaned back, gripping you by the shoulders to hold you squarely in front of him. “Do you see this?” He nodded his head towards the counter. “This, right here, means more to me than any gift.”

“It’s terrible… look at it,” you frowned, not grasping what he was trying to say through your wall of self-pity.

The affirming light in his eyes slowly began to warm you as he continued, “It’s not about the cake, we can order a cake,” he paused to wipe a tear with his thumb, “it’s the fact this meant so much to you, and you put your heart into it – for me. I’m touched.”

Though you were still crushed by your failure, a smile started to creep onto your cheeks and he cupped your face, drawing you towards him with tender admiration in his eyes. His sweet, soft kiss was the soothing balm you needed and you melted against him.

When you parted from the tight hug, he nuzzled your nose, “Feel better?”

You wiped away the drying tears and nodded. Looking back at the chocolate heap, you sighed. “Want me to order a cake?” In about four hours, all his friends were coming over and you’d be devastated not to have something special to serve.

Silence met your question and when you looked to him for an answer, he was distracted by the patches of baking mess on your skin.

You grunted as he gripped your thighs, lifted you and dropped your ass on the only square of kitchen counter that wasn’t covered in crumbs.

A hungry expression took over his face, darkening his eyes that were now level with yours, and you twinged with sudden heat. A little smile appeared as he looked down into your flour and icing sugar dusted cleavage, leaving no doubt in your mind about what was going to happen next.

His finger swiped into the cake, returning with a dollop of cocoa coloured icing that he held in front of your eyes and you both watched the glob slowly drop from his finger onto your chest.

“Oops,” he smirked, pausing to let your surprise turn into anticipation before he bent to swipe his tongue through the icing until it was gone, and your skin was left hot, wet and tingling. “Mmm,” he moaned, licking his lips as he stood, and noisily sucked the remaining icing off of his finger while you whimpered at the sight. “Tastes pretty good to me.”

“Chadwick….” Voice croaking with an overwhelming desire to feel him skin to skin, you started tearing at his shirt.

Your arms bumped into each other as you impatiently fought with each other’s clothing. His shirt was half off when he lifted your arms to strip you of your tank top, and you unsnapped your bra as Chadwick’s shirt sailed to the ground. Finally, your torsos bare, he returned his skin to yours, flattening your breasts to his warm chest.

He took another swipe of icing and you felt it, cool and thick, spread across your bottom lip and quickly sucked into Chadwick’s mouth with a groan. It tingled with pressure before being released, plump and wet.

Hungry for more, he scooped up another fingerful, and you watched his lips close over his finger before he kissed you, bringing his tongue intimately into your mouth. The sugary sweetness mixed with his own taste that you hungrily sucked from his tongue, the action met with enthusiastic moans from both of you.

Your jeans felt painfully tight and hot, and Chadwick began to work you out of them while your tongues battled each other for control of the passionate kiss, each searching for the last tantalizing remains of chocolate. You lifted off the counter, allowing his frantic tugging to free your skin of the restriction, all the way off your legs. Your hot skin returned to the cool counter and you ignored the crumbs that pressed into your flesh.

Your hands roamed the hard slopes of his shoulders as he worked his pants down to his knees, his belt making a loud metal clink against the counter as they went. His loud moan mixed into your kiss as your fingers gripped his silky cock and pumped him a few times in your tight fist.

Your mouths finally broke apart, both breathing heavily as Chadwick grabbed your hips to drag you to the edge of the counter. You teasingly bit his mouth and wiggled your hips against him, making sure he felt the wetness dripping from you as you pressed firmly along his hot, hard erection.

You got what you wanted. A primal, animal groan filled your ear as he lined up and sank his cock into your waiting body. Your ache was immediately satiated by thick, hot flesh, the stretching and filling sensation so good your eyes rolled in the back of your head. “Fuuuuuck,” you moaned. He kept pressing forward until he’d taken every inch of you.

“Lean back,” he whispered at your ear. Dutifully, your palms slid towards the back of the counter, angling your torso away and as Chadwick started to move, his eyes slid down to watch your breasts gently bounce. Your head fell back in pleasure and you arched towards him, giving him a perfect, luscious sight that was too tempting to resist.

His fingers dipped in the cake and painted a swipe of chocolate between your breasts, where he leaned down to messily, hungrily devour.

“Oh god,” you gripped the back of his head at the feel of his tongue on your skin, and Chadwick’s hips slowed slightly as his focus turned to spreading icing on your nipples next, each one getting the same luxurious attention. His hips moved with languorous thrusts, slow and lazy as he enjoyed you like a five-star dessert. He explored and tasted your breasts as you writhed, begging his name, sure if he continued you were going to pass out.

Finally, he’d had his fill. His mouth trailed up your body, and he pulled you back up against his chest just in time for your body to quake from the impact of a hard, snapping thrust that meant he was done messing around. “Yes…” you cried, lustily digging your nails down his back, using how much you knew it made him crazy to your advantage. You turned your lips towards his ear, huskily breathing, “Fuck me Chadwick. Come in my pussy...”

“Hold on to me….” He groaned a warning and you clasped around his shoulders, feeling his warm palms slide to your ass to hold you still as he began driving into you so hard you bit his shoulder to muffle your screams. Your body was clean off the counter, tightly grasped in his arms, lifted up to receive his long, driving thrusts.

With complete trust you let him fuck you like you both needed, your soft, warm body putty in his hands. His cries were growing in pitch, his thrusts getting harder as you bounced freely in his embrace. His impressive control kept you from falling to the kitchen floor and you squealed at being fucked in the air, your body swinging down to meet him right where he wanted you.

“You gonna come like this baby?” He grunted, the effort of fucking you in mid-air straining his voice.

You couldn’t respond, so focused on how your muscles were drawing inward, all centered on his cock sliding in and out, your juices dripping everywhere and you closed your eyes, hanging on for dear life, trusting he would keep you upright as you felt bliss spreading outward from your core. You clung to him by your nails and Chadwick kept you locked in his iron grip, continuing to rock up into you.

He plunged deep one last time, his fingers roughly massaging the flesh of your ass as he came with stuttering gasps, somehow keeping you both still as pleasure bloomed in his body. The muscles of his back rippled and tensed where you rubbed your hands up and down as he flooded you with warmth.

His legs starting to shake, Chadwick quickly backed you up towards the counter, your weight settling on the solid surface and he nuzzled into your sweaty neck, his arms coming around your back to hold you to him tightly.

“Well happy birthday to me.”

You beamed with a satisfied glow, your smile broadening even more when he added, “I don’t know what you were so upset about, the cake was delicious.”

Together, your eyes slid to the multiple finger-shaped holes in the icing atop the cake and started giggling.

“Not such a total loss after all,” you laughed and amused, you watched Chadwick gather another scoop of icing on his finger and swallow it down with relish.

“Mmm.” He hummed, the finger still in his mouth. Your heart leapt with affection and a faint stirring of desire.

Somehow, he had taken something awful and made it perfect, and you adored him for it.

“Okay, this is the last one, I swear.” He filled his fingertip again and just when he brought it to his lips, he deked out and swiped it right down the middle of your face from your forehead to your nose.

“Chadwick!” You screamed, the sound of his infectious laughter booming through the room and you quickly retaliated by smearing a big blob on his cheek.

Realizing it was about to turn into a war, you took the split second afforded by his look of shock to jump down from the counter and took off towards the bathroom, shrieking as he nipped at your heels, running naked through the apartment like a bat out of hell until he overtook you. He swept you up, lifted your body high in his arms, and walked you both towards the shower to clean up.

#Chadwick Boseman #Chadwick Boseman x Reader #Chadwick Boseman x Reader fanfic #Chadwick Boseman smut #Chadwick Boseman fic #Chadwick Boseman fanfic #Chadwick Boseman fanfiction #Chadwick Boseman imagine

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cassolotl · 6 years

Text

I hired a wheelchair

Or, Wheeeeeeeeee! (-lchair)

Some of this will be quite UK-specific, but lots of it is universal.

Here’s some things I learned, in no particular order!

Get cycling gloves first. I knew I’d need them but I didn’t have a chance to get them in advance and like, just do it. I ended up with a sort of hole/blister on the squishy bit at the base of my right thumb after a day of fairly minimal self-wheeling and being pushed around, and putting on cycling gloves was an immediate relief. Get gloves first and then you don’t have to be pushed around because you have blisters on your hands! Get ones that have fingers so your hands stay pretty clean and stuff. When you’re pushing yourself along by something that goes through puddles and over all kinds of floor-mank, your hands get grubby.

You’re gonna go through cycling gloves pretty fast! They were pretty worn down even after two days. I guess they’re kind of like socks on hardwood floors, or ballet slippers.

After a while you get good at putting the brakes on and off automatically and without having to look, so that’s cool.

All pavements slope towards the road for drainage, in a way that is not obvious at all when you’re walking, but when you’re noob-wheelchairing and one arm is knackered and doing all the work to stop you heading into the road it is really obvious.

Councils think they have made pavement kerbs wheelchair accessible but, I mean, they are not always that great, let’s be honest.

You won’t have enough arm strength and stamina to do what you want to do and go where you want to go without assistance for a while probably? I would push myself a bit, and then when I got tired I would ask Jay to push me a bit, and we’d alternate like that. I was usually slower than Jay, but I did get a bit faster, especially after we took the arm rests off.

At least when you’ve only been doing it a few days, it takes twice as long to get anywhere than you think it will, or more.

Take the arm rests off. They get in the way, you have to hold your arms at a funny angle that stops you getting your strength behind the push, you can't get the best grip on the wheel thingy, and you get tired faster. (Kate found a button that let us pull the armrests off the one I hired and it was great.) If possible, ask the hire people to remove the arm rests for you so you don’t have to worry about them.

Someone needs to invent a periscope so that the person pushing the wheelchair and the person in the wheelchair can see each other. Otherwise you both just feel really weird and impersonal and a bit isolated.

Similarly, when you’re being pushed and then there’s a pause, if there are people with you and they don’t come around to the front of the wheelchair and they just stay behind you that is really weird! So I had to get good at saying stuff like “can you come around this side of the wheelchair?” (if I had not got cycling gloves yet) or just turning around myself. It took a while for my “just turn the wheelchair around” instinct to kick in, I did a lot of twisting and craning for no good reason! :P After a while of being pushed I think inertia happened and I forgot I could move myself. (Another reason I preferred pushing myself, I think.)

Being able to put your stuff on the back of the wheelchair is great, but it does make pushing harder, especially on upward slopes. If you go up quite a steep slope without someone pushing you it feels like you’re going to tip over backwards. (Thankfully this did not happen to me!)

Going downhill is fun.

I was alarmed by everything being so high up in supermarkets, so I just got out and pushed the empty wheelchair around in front of me and put all my shopping in it. It’s kinda nice because it gives you something to lean on a bit while you’re walking.

The world is my bench.

I still wanted to get up and stretch and whatnot every now and again, and that was pretty cool because I was often with someone who appreciated a bit of a sit down in a convenient wheelchair, and maybe a bit of a push around too. So I stretched and pushed someone in a wheelchair for a bit and then sat down again, and they got to have a rest, and it was good.

Another nice thing about needing to stretch is that “do you want to have a go in the wheelchair?” is a great ice-breaker.

If you can get out of your wheelchair and lift it up small steps, you probably don’t need help from train assistance people with that portable ramp kerfuffle.

It was so nice to be like “wow being still is boring, let’s wander around and look at things while I wait” and not be like “that’s going to hurt and make my recovery take longer and severely reduce what I can do today etc.” I wasn’t invisibly trapped in space any more, I could just... go 10 feet over there and look at the newspapers, for no reason, just because! And nothing bad would happen! Incredible. It’s hard to really understand how disabled you are until you have something that takes away your problem. (Sometimes it gives you new problems but like, at least you’ve got the choice, right?) I had no idea that other people can just walk around, for no reason, just because it’s more interesting than not moving around, and there are no bad side effects - and in fact it usually feels nice and good and enhances your life to do so.

It’s also cool because I would like to be able to go to active things (gym? dancing?) and then be able to wheel myself home. At the moment if I do anything active outside of my house I am essentially trapped. One time I got a gym subscription from my GP and by the time I got to the gym I was feeling so bad that I had to go right back home or I would’ve been trapped. If I have a wheelchair then I can do LOTS on my legs and then let my arms take me home while the chair supports my weight! Which could mean that it’s possible for my legs to get stronger with a wheelchair than without, paradoxically.

It’s now two days since I gave back the wheelchair, and I am feeling it in my chest and the front of my shoulders and my upper back and upper arms. Not in a bad way, I can still do stuff, but it’s just the feeling of my muscles breaking down and rebuilding. I feel very lucky that I had someone to push me when my arms got tired, because without that my arms and chest and back would be on fire right now. It’s also amazing to feel like I’ve exerted myself and used my muscles, without the feeling that I’ve totally broken myself??? I can’t even remember a time when I’ve felt like that, because the gap between resting and “oops I’ve overdone it” is so so tiny for me usually! The fact that I have used all those muscles so much over several days and I’m not totally broken is just, wow.

The cost

It cost me £40 to hire a wheelchair for 4-5 days, and that was because the minimum charge was like 2 weeks or something? I paid less because I picked it up from the hire company office instead of having it delivered, which is apparently the standard. It was VERY lucky that the place I was staying was reasonably close to the hire company office, though.

I took the velcro foot straps off the wheelchair and then lost them and had to pay £10 extra, so like, look after the bits you take off!

Things I am looking forward to from an actually good for me wheelchair

Rigid frame. The folding wheelchair frame jiggles about all over the place, and it feels like half my effort at any given moment is rattling out through the joints (of my wheelchair and my body!).

Smaller front wheels? The little ones that help you turn were still just too big. They kept crashing into my feet on the footrest if I went backwards a bit and whatnot.

CUSTOMISING. That’s self-explanatory. I’m thinking embroidered things on the back, and maybe lights on my wheels? >:D Also if there is a good way to carry things easily (pockets? panniers?) then I want it.

Lighter. At least, that’s what I’ve heard? It sounds nice, sometimes I felt like an absolute unit with the backpack on and everything, so every kg helps.

Being a bit higher up maybe or something? I felt quite recumbent in this wheelchair, but when I think of other wheelchairs I’ve seen people using it’s like, your centre of gravity is a bit further up/forward, and that looks more comfortable and like you can use your body strength a bit better.

Overall I just got a feel for how these kinds of standard one-size-fits-all wheelchairs are designed for being pushed around, rather than comfortably wheeling yourself around on the regular. I wanna get a nice cushion and then maybe start going for wheels along cycle paths in the countryside. :)

The Jassian??? (Is that what we called it?)

This is a move that me and Jay have patented.

You’re crossing a road and you’re coming up to a dropped kerb on the other side of the road that isn’t all that dropped, and the usual solution is to get out of the wheelchair and then the pusher gets it up onto the pavement and then you sit back down again.

But that’s slowwww and you have to stand uppppp and it just sort of breaks up an otherwise smooth thing, right?

So if the person in the chair puts their feet on the ground behind the footrests and pushes down, the front of the chair lifts up just enough that you can get the front wheels onto the pavement. And then you quickly pick your feet up and put them on the footrests again, so you don’t stub your toes on the kerb, and you’re sorted!

It’s like, hup!

Edit: I’ve since found out from people with training and/or experience that the good way is to turn around and go up the bump backwards, because the big wheels can handle it better, but the Jassian technique is better because you don’t have to go backwards, in my opinion.

Interesting replies, in order

Popping a wheelchair wheelie (shinycat69)

Writing disabled characters based on my wheelchair post (author-exe)

Kerbs, from an expert (anarmyofawesome)