#“To die for good it must be earned” is such a chilling line for me. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

author-morgan · 3 years

Text

Title: Feathered Confessions Rating: G Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader Summary: Eivor knows he made a mistake and now he must suffer for it. Or in which Eivor, drunk, talks to some chickens. Here you go @mrsragnarlodbrok, signed, sealed, delivered, as promised like 6 months ago.

THE END OF summer lingers in the air of Ravensthorpe as a chill on the wind. Once green leaves and grass have begun shifting to warm earthen hues of gold, red, and orange. It seems a lifetime ago when your father sat you upon his knee and explained why it is autumn, he loved best. Spring is too full of life, and in the summer months they are too strong and won’t let go —he motions to the changing leaves— autumn's the time, little one, in autumn everything is tired and ready to die, this is the time to root things up, so they won’t come back to trouble you.

Treading back up to the longhouse after helping Tekla and Tarben, you fetch a woolen cloak, tying it off beneath your chin —it will ward off the chill in the air while flying through the Mercian countryside on horseback. You glimpse Randvi and halt, path turning to the map room. She stands looking over the alliance map. There are still lands to the north and east where the Raven Clan may yet find friends. “Randvi?” She lifts her gaze. “There’s an apple orchard not far” —you gesture over your shoulder to the west— “would you like to ride with me?” You ask. “Just for the afternoon before the feast.”

“I would,” she answers, smiling at the notion of your thought to ask, and then her smile falters, “but I thought you would be with Eivor since he’s leaving for Vinland in the morn.” You’re certain you haven’t heard her correctly when she says Vinland, yet there is no indication of jest on her stern expression. You swallow the rising lump in your thought, feeling your ears burn hot and your face twist with anger. Why would he keep this from me? Randvi’s face falls, her lips parting at the realization. “He didn’t tell you?”

NOT EVEN THE High One himself could have avoided your wrath when you storm from the longhouse, marching to the northern extent of the riverbank in Ravensthorpe —the thought of a peaceful afternoon picking apples is long gone, replaced by frustration and something akin to betrayal. It’s where you last saw him fishing to help little Arth earn a few pieces of silver and begin stocking enough meat to pickle and cure for the winter months.

Eivor unhooks another trout from his line, dropping the wriggling fish into a basket at his side, doing his best to keep Sýnin from making off with too much of his catch. He doesn’t see you approaching, but the hairs on the back of his neck bristle —as though he can already feel your heated stare upon him. You call to him, hands turning to fists at your side. Eivor Wolfsmal turns, still smiling —delightfully ignorant to your incoming wrath.

“What is it, my love?” He queries, setting aside his fishing line and shifting as though to take you into his arms in greeting. His expression sours when he beholds you, standing with your arms crossed, the first signs of tears gathering in your eyes. Eivor steps to you, his brows furrowing.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re leaving?” You inquire, fighting to keep the tremble of anger and despair from your voice. Eivor was never one to keep secrets, not from you, and even if he tried, you could almost always pry the truth from him. To be left in the dark about his decision to undertake such a long and perilous voyage hurts in a way you had not thought possible.

He grips onto your arms, thumbs rubbing circles through the coarse wool sleeves of your dress. “I was going to tell you after the feast,” Eivor explains, guilt already seeping into his tone. You worry about him too much as it is —he did not wish to add to those woes with the change of the seasons. Though now he knows his intentions, while good, were misguided.

“Why wait that long when you told Randvi?” It’s difficult not to sound bitter. Difficult to understand why he would disclose his plans to her and Sigurd, but not you. “Am I not your wife?” Your voice cracks, and you quickly blink away the dampness gathering in your eyes. Eivor’s stomach churns at seeing your distress and knowing he is the cause of it. “Do I not deserve to know when my husband will come and go?” He looks away, drawing in a slow breath. “Eivor” —you lift your hand to his scarred cheek, pulling his gaze back to you— “it no small journey to Vinland. You’ll be gone for months.”

“Yes,” he concedes —the journey will be longer than any other and riddled with dangers, of that he has no doubts, but the gods favor him, and he does not believe he will founder on this quest. It is never an easy thing to leave behind his home, his people, or his wife, whether it be for a week or several moons. Vinland calls to him for a good reason, though, after the information Hytham found about the Order of Ancients and their far reaches —spanning across the western sea and to the deserts of the east. “Gorm–”

The name is one you had not wished to hear spoken again for the rest of your days. “I thought we had left this in the past,” you cut him off. Eivor claims to have had his thirst for vengeance and justice quenched after killing Kjotve the Cruel and seeing King Harald banish his son. But if his intent is to chase Gorm Kjotvesson and the Order of Ancients across the western sea, you know his claim is untrue.

“Why must you chase this quarrel?” Eivor does not respond, his eyes clouded and distant —like a storm swelling on the horizon, he steps back, letting your hand fall from his cheek and back to your side. His mind is set —this much you know. “Why couldn’t you have told me?” You ask, shaking your head with a nigh pained smile. “I could have prepared a sacrifice to Thor or–”

“I must do this,” Eivor tells you, slowly stepping away until he turns, retreating into the tree line with Sýnin on his shoulder.

HYTHAM OFFERS YOU a cup of mead, sitting across from you at the feast, noting your sour mood. You look to Sigurd and Randvi, finding them deep in conversation —another glance around the longhouse, and you are certain Eivor is not there. His absence leaves a hollow feeling in your chest and a sinking one in your gut. It is not like him to miss the chance to indulge in food and drink. “Have you seen Eivor?”

The young assassin shakes his head, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robes. “Not since this morning,” Hytham tells you. “What’s happened?” He asks, unsure if he should have a reason to be concerned for his friend’s absence from the festivities.

“A disagreement is all,” you answer with a sigh. Your and Eivor’s marriage is a good one, but even so, it is not without disagreements and small arguments —only now it does not feel right to be so upset with one another in the hours before his departure.

The longhouse quietens at the loud squawk of a raven. Sýnin is in the rafters above, strutting back and forth on one of the great wooden beams above where you sit. The raven wants your attention. You turn your gaze upward and watch as he drops down, perching on your shoulder —hopping from foot to foot. “Sýnin,” you greet, reaching to scritch the dark feathers on his belly, his croak akin to a low gurgling purr. “What is it?” You ask with a sigh, meeting Sýnin’s dark, beady eyes —his head tilts to the side, and then he pecks at your temple and pulls, hard, on a small braid half-hanging in front of your face. “Okay, okay,” you laugh, shooing the raven off your shoulder and onto the edge of the table, “I’ll follow.”

Incoherent mumbling coming from the poultry yard stops you in your tracks. Feeling your chest tighten, you draw closer, not making a sound as you come upon the split-rail fence where chickens and quails run about, pecking the hulls of grain and plucking worms from the soft earth.

Sitting amongst them is Eivor, a chicken perched on each knee and one on his shoulder, a pitcher of mead in hand. “I messed up, didn’t I?” He asks, despair lacing his tone as he leans back against one of the fence posts. You glance at Sýnin, sitting on your shoulder —the raven is oddly silent and taking his cue, you stand within earshot, listening and being reminded why you married Eivor Wolfsmal what feels like a lifetime ago.

“I just,” Eivor hiccups, taking another drink, “I didn’t want her to worry.” One of the chickens hops from his knee, clucking, and the other stares at him blankly, head tilting to the side. “Is that so wrong?” He wonders aloud, hanging his head low. “She worries enough about the settlement already without worrying over me,” he sighs. You press your knuckles against your lips, heart twisting.

You always worried for your husband, even if you tried not to show it to keep a veneer of strength —never really knowing if a kiss or embrace could be the last when he marches off across England. “I love her,” he says, staring at the clucking hen sitting on his bent knee. “She’s perfect, you know?” The chicken clucks at him, pecking the threads of a patch on his britches. “I don’t think I really deserve her.” It’s almost a whisper.

There’s a moment’s pause, you almost step forward to say something, but then he speaks to the chicken again. “Have you ever been in love?” He asks, running a hand over his face and through his close-cropped golden beard. The chicken tilts its head to one side, then the other, clucking once. Eivor takes the hen’s answer as a no. “It’s the most wonderful and infuriating feeling, but worth it.” He laughs, brushing his fingers over the chicken’s feathers —Sýnin croaks softly, voicing his displeasure. “By the gods, it’s worth it.”

Eivor empties the pitcher of mead, setting it aside, and reaches to pick up the hen still sitting on his shoulder. “What do I do now?” He asks, holding the bird at eye level, as though if he stares hard enough, he’ll find the answer to his question.

“You could start by putting the poor chicken down,” you remark, fighting to hide a smile.

He startles, turning back to look where you stand, and frees the chicken he’s holding, shooing the other from his knee as he rises, stumbling a little. “How long have you been there?” Eivor asks, brow raised, blue eyes clear but glassy from the drink.

“Long enough,” you tell him. Sýnin croaks his agreement then takes to a starless sky. You both watch as the raven disappears against the backdrop of the night. He reaches out —silent— and takes your hands, unable to lift his gaze to meet yours. “Eivor?” You breathe, stepping closer to him.

Rough thumbs run across your knuckles, and Eivor draws in a deep breath. “Can you forgive me?” He asks, his voice strained and heavy with love and guilt. Rising onto the balls of your feet, you press your lips against his in answer —feeling him smile as he leans into you, hands moving from yours to hold onto your waist. You feel the muscles in his chest tense when you settle your hands there for a moment before sliding them up and over his shoulders, fingers locking together at the nape of his neck.

You draw back from him, thumb stroking over the patch of mottled skin on his neck —half-hidden behind his unbound and messy golden hair. “You’re already forgiven, my love,” you assure him, unable to remain upset, especially with his departure planned for the morning. His lips kink into a wider smile, and he bends down again, stealing another, slower, sweeter kiss. “Now come, chicken whisperer,” you laugh, parting, fingers ghosting along the scar on his cheek and through his beard, “let’s get you to bed.”

The longhouse is quiet. Many have already returned to their beds for the night, while others are slumped over on the tables, snoring. Eivor waits for Sýnin to settle on his perch and for Dwolfg to settle in at the foot of your shared bed before heaving the great doors shut.

When he turns, you have already stripped your daily clothes and replaced the dress with a threadbare linen shift and are sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing over the patchwork of fur pelts and woolen blankets. Tugging off his tunic and boots, Eivor crawls next to you, arms seizing your waist and pulling you into his chest.

Eivor reaches for a blanket, covering the two of you, and he is quick to pull you back to him —committing the feel of your warmth next to him and the sweet lavender and apple scent of your hair tickling his nose to memory. Comforting thoughts to keep him company on cold and lonely nights. You trace the blue-black ink of one of the runes tattooed on his breast before placing a tender kiss there and relaxing into his arms. “I always come home,” he reminds you. “You know that.”

“I do,” you tell him, pressing yourself closer to him, knowing this is the last night you will sleep soundly until Eivor is back and in your arm again, where he belongs. But all the while, you will pray to the gods for safe travels, gentle seas, and your husband’s quick return, as all good wives do.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @pats-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #its been a hot minute since ive written for u mister blondie

146 notes · View notes

thehomothings · 3 years

Text

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

#Cw: talks of death and PTSD #When I say I unknowingly projected onto him #I can't tell if writing this was cathartic or torturous #and I gave myself heart palpitations so this is enough for today #And yes I refer to ant Kite by he/him pronouns because misgendering him on the account of his body being afab is just ignorant #even if I think skrunkly's genderqueer af and actually wouldn't mind she/her #still i wanna push the trans ant kite agenda #So yes this is how I unknowingly picked up Kite as a coping mechanism even if out attitudes towards death are practically opposites #don't mind your grandpa trauma dumping #What I'm saying is get ant Kite therapy before he sinks the world #I love reimagining Kite as a villain and I don't know why #Kite hxh #hxh kite #kite hunter x hunter #kaito hxh #hxh #hunter x hunter #meta analysis #theories #fic rambles #Icarus waffles #Kitkat #gon freccs #Ging freecss

77 notes · View notes

sttngfashion · 3 years

Text

5.26 and 6.1 - Time’s Arrow

Oh my god. Y’all. It’s a new Fashion It So post. In the year of our Picard 2020. Yes.

For literal years, Charlie and I have been like UGH WE NEED TO DO TIME’S ARROW PARTS 1 AND 2 BUT IT’S JUST SUCH A MONSTER.

Well, I’m doing a complete rewatch of the series with my partner and we just got to these two, so IT IS TIME.

We open in a cave in San Francisco, where Data and Picard are checking something out:

Rent for the cave is $6,000 per month

Showing them around is this guy in a Science Outfit:

He’s ready to go night biking

We’ve seen this look before in both Silicon Avatar and Devil’s Due, and it’s functional, yet cute. Basically a windbreaker in jumpsuit form.

They find a couple of items in the cave, including a pocket watch from 1889 and also:

I left my head in San Francisco

IT’S DATA’S HEAD!!! And it’s been there for FIVE HUNDRED YEARS. What could have caused this? And why is Data’s head so absolutely terrifying?

Is that fondant

This head is, in a word, haunting. The 2020 of heads.

Data and Geordi chat in Ten-Forward about what the presence of Data’s head in the cave means. Data says it means he’s mortal; that someday he will die, and that’s comforting. Spoiler alert: that’s not what it means. But it’s a nice conversation.

Also, Guinan is here!!!

Merlot My God!!

Or maybe: Burgundy-lightful!! Or perhaps: De-Crimson-alize Sex Work!! Okay that last one was a stretch but I really think I missed my calling as a nail polish shade namer.

Anyway, she’s here in her classic look of a pizza-sized hat and a flowing gown/coat/top/robe. The collar here is a little too close to a mock turtleneck for my liking and honestly - this is a little staid for our friend Guinan. I want a TEXTURE or a SWEEP or some WIDE RIBBING or some PLEATS. Don’t worry, though...she will get plenty more later.

Then there’s some plot which frankly we DO NOT HAVE TIME to get into but let’s just say: the away team goes to a planet, there’s a temporal disturbance, and Data ends up here:

Huge mood

Where are we? Or should I say WHEN are we??

Well that old-timey font is a good clue...also the horse

Are we in the Old West land of an off-brand Disneyworld? Are we going to ride something called Large Lightning Mesa Train Tracks? What colorful characters will we meet here?

Winner of 1893’s Mustache Medal

This type of ‘stache is called a Fu Manchu, after the character Dr. Fu Manchu. It’s not...a great look? But it is memorable, which is sometimes enough. He’s also wearing a simple black cap, probably made of silk. He’s keeping it cazh.

So where are we?

SAN FRANCISCO, OPEN YOUR GOLDEN GATE / YOU’LL LET NOBODY WAIT / OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR

Yes, it’s San Francisco. And it’s *eyes popping out of head like a cartoon wolf seeing a busty babe* 1893!!!! That temporal disturbance was...disturbing.

So who else do we have hanging out?

Please check out our Vaudeville act, Knit Cap ‘n’ Bowly

These dudes understand those famous Bay Area MICROCLIMATES, amirite? We’ve got a Henley. We’ve got a buttondown. We’ve got a vest. We’ve got a coat. No matter which way the thermometer decides to go, THEY ARE READY. Also loving the pop of forest green on Knit Cap’s knit cap.

We also have a 49er:

No, it’s not Steve Young. I googled “famous 49ers” to complete this joke so if there is a more famous 49er please let me know

It’s a literal 49er. Since it’s 1893, this guy’s been hanging around in town for a while, and he’s also familiar with the layering techniques one must master if one is to conquer the Bay Area’s climate. He also has a kicky Colonel Sanders-type tie. He asks Data for money and gives him a few panhandling tips. He’s chill. We like him. But don’t get too attached if you know what I mean!!!!

Data decides he needs somewhere to stay, so he finds a hotel:

Brian.

Why is this so funny to me. Brian. Why would you name your hotel Brian. Brian!!!! I know it’s a last name but like...Brian. HOTEL BRIAN.

This bellhop’s name is not Brian:

Where’s your hat, bro

He’s giving us a classic bellhop look, complete with too many buttons. He gives Data the very important information that there’s a poker game happening in the back of the hotel, which means: Data is about to be RICH rich.

The poker game includes a few good looks:

Louie Anderson IS Wolverine IN a Lands’ End barn coat

Two plaids? Sir...I salute you

Colonel Sanders Goes to Carnaval

Data, of course, wipes the floor with them so hard that he wins their clothes:

Didn’t get that barn coat tho

Yes, that’s the actual vest and the actual hat of those guys from the previous scene. Oh, I love it. I love Data in a vest over his uniform and I love Data with a feather in his cap. Let’s call it macaroni.

Meanwhile, out on the street, the plot is happening:

Beige: inescapable

This is our first taste of the decadent 1890’s sleeves that appear in this episode, and these aren’t even the best sleeves!! These are an amuse-bouche of sleeves. An armuse-bouche, if you will.

Anyway, these two are aliens disguised as humans who are here to steal the 49er’s life energy.

Pew pew pew

I told you not to get attached!!!

Back on the Enterprise, Guinan is doing mixology:

She would never call it something as stupid as mixology though

She tells Picard that he needs to go check out the temporal disturbance, too, even though captains don’t normally go on away missions, and then she gives him this look:

It’s that serious

When Guinan looks at you like this, you do what she says.

Now this outfit is much better than the earlier one. We have some pleated sleeves, which I didn’t even think was a thing you could DO. We have some sort of functional(?) strap(??) across the front. We even have matching fingerless gloves which always make a look A LOOK. And if Picard wasn’t sure whether he needed to go on this away mission, she then gives him THIS look:

Okay now it’s REALLY serious

Back in 1893, Data is making something:

It’s actually just a really complicated and large music box that plays “I Left My Head in San Francisco”

He’s gotten his hands on some more period-appropriate clothing, including a bow tie and a vest. Since he’s not wearing arm garters and his sleeves appear to be the correct length for his arms, we can conclude that the shirt was custom-made, not ready-made, because Data is now a baller due to his poker earnings.

Then, Data sees this in the paper:

I know her!! From work!!!!

Yes, it’s Guinan. In 1893. In a hat!!!!

We cut to the literary reception, which is honestly not as well-attended as I thought it would be, considering it got a GIANT photo of Guinan on page THREE of the paper, but okay. And who should we spy there but:

You’ll love my secret blend of 11 herbs and spices

No, it’s not Colonel Sanders. (Sorry, I really have Colonel Sanders on the brain because of that Lifetime movie.) It’s Samuel Clements, AKA Mark Twain. I had an English teacher in high school who explained the origin of his pseudonym (it indicates a mark of two fathoms, aka twelve feet, on a steamboat) and for some reason she shouted MAAAARK TWAAAAAIN when she told us that story so now her delivery of that line is in my head until I die I guess.

Anyway, it’s Mark Twain.

He’s wearing his iconic white linen suit with a black bow tie, and he’s also wearing a lot of prosthetics, because the actor playing him (Jerry Hardin, AKA Deep Throat from The X-Files AKA Melora Hardin AKA Jan Levinson-Gould’s dad) (was that too many AKAs) (you get it, right?) didn’t look enough like Mark Twain, I guess? In conclusion: what if eyebrow wigs were a thing?

Twain is having a chit chat with “Madame Guinan,” who is wearing what can only be called a sumptuous gown:

It’s 11:30 and the gown is sumptin’ sumptin’

There are so many ELEMENTS to this look! First of all: the color. Royal purple. Fit for a queen. Appropriate.

Then: those sleeves! These sleeves are known as “leg of mutton sleeves” because they KIND OF look like a leg of mutton. Have you ever seen a leg of mutton? I haven’t. I’ve only seen these sleeves. Plus they have a stripe?? No, I don’t know why, but I LOVE IT.

The cuffs and the cravat bring this from “dress” to “lewk.” Top it all off with this hat and you have a true 1893 mood.

What bird is that feather even from

We get a few good extra looks in this scene as well:

Pink Lady is NOT wearing a corset

Look, sometimes you don’t have enough period-appropriate undergarments for all the background people and that’s fine. But I WILL notice.

Is that Loretta Lynn

I am loving all of this! That purple dress is fantastic, those stripes? I die. Military man has some fun flair on his shoulder, and there is a dude in a beautiful turban back there. Plus, another Black lady in addition to Guinan and That One Ensign Who Is On The Bridge Sometimes.

Data rolls in to the literary event in a different suit with a CRAVAT:

Craving a cravat

Data is like “we serve together on the same starship in the 24th century” and Guinan is like “huh” but then she’s like “okay” which...I’m not sure if I would believe that? But let’s just say it’s fine.

Over in the 24th century, the literal entire bridge crew is checking out the temporal disturbance and I DON’T LIKE THIS AT ALL:

Blue Man Group...on ACID

These beings are like ghosts but also like Dr. Manhattan but also like pure energy.

Then everyone goes through the temporal disturbance AND THE SEASON ENDS.

Fortunately for you, this post will continue...right now.

Okay, so we’re back in San Francisco in 1893. You can tell by the horses:

Also the fruit carts

Samuel Clemens is strolling around with a reporter, telling him that he has a great story for him that involves time travelers and, like, protecting the nation.

Here’s the thing about this episode’s version of Mark Twain: he’s kind of a dick. Was the real Mark Twain kind of a dick? I just feel like Mark Twain should be JAZZED about meeting time travelers and not acting like a fuckin’ time cop* and trying to put the Enterprise crew on blast.

Anyway I love his double-breasted vest.

See my vest

The reporter’s hat is technically period-accurate, but that style is SO associated with the 1930s-1950s that I would have gone with something else. He looks cute though.

Meanwhile, Data is wearing a three-piece suit:

My positronic olfactory synapses are interpreting something as...a fart

I hate brown, but this is fine.

Additionally, the beige baddies from before are back and this time, they’ve got a SNAKE CANE:

Love the snake cane, hate how they suck the life out of people

But we are not here for them, we are here to see our faves in period clothing. Our first look is at Riker, who is dressed as an actual cop, not a time cop like Mark Twain:

The past just had...so many buttons

I guess if you’re a time-traveling white man there are worse disguises than a cop. But WHERE DID HE GET THIS UNIFORM? I choose to believe that he found a cop with a similar large handsome body to his own and beat the shit out of him and stole his clothes. Now we can all enjoy imagining a cop being beat up.

The badge that Riker is wearing is a great historical detail; the SFPD started wearing them in 1886 and are reportedly the first law enforcement agency to have worn the seven-pointed star, which is now a common shape among sheriff’s departments across the United States.

But let’s move on to a better look: Dr. Beverly Crusher:

Curlz MT

Okay, now I have more questions. Beverly obviously wouldn’t beat someone up for their clothes, so where did SHE get HER outfit? And who did her hair? Did she do her OWN hair? Where did she get a curling iron? Does she know how to use a curling iron? Was it one of those ones that’s actually made of iron that you have to heat up in a fireplace?

We will get answers to zero (0) of these questions.

We actually get a much better look at her dress later, so let’s focus on that cloak!!! I love it and I also love her hat. Okay, I guess I had less to say about those than I thought.

Bev and Will, along with the rest of the officers, have somehow procured a room/apartment in some lady’s lodging house. It’s cute!

They gave it 5 stars on AirBnB

This also raises questions. How did they get this room? How many bedrooms does it have? Are they sharing one large bed? If so, who has to sleep crossways at the foot of the bed and why is it Geordi? We will get zero answers to these questions as well, so let’s move on to arguably the hottest costume in this two-parter:

I’ll be in Holodeck 4

Whewwwwwww. He’s giving us a rolled sleeve. He’s giving us a casual tweed vest. The pants? They’re perfect. And he KNOWS how that slouch is working. It’s working VERY well. But the Irish landlady? She’s having NONE OF IT.

Absolutely NO nonsense

She needs the rent, but Picard charms her and she leaves. So I guess that’s how they got the room. Her look is knitwear-forward:

Eileen Fisher does sound like an Irish name

She’s got a shawl AND a cardigan! The cozy factor is OFF THE CHARTS. She also has a brooch, because a touch of fancy is always welcome. I will say that her hair is a little more fashion-forward than I’d expect for a woman of her age and station. This is straight up 1890s hair, and she would probably still be rocking an 1860s look, which isn’t as sweepy and would likely involve more braids. Still, she looks lovely.

Geordi is also here looking dapper:

Make the collar as high as you can. I want to be sliced open by my own collar

You CAN go wrong with a three-piece suit, but it’s difficult to. He can’t wear his visor, so he has some kicky shades which we’ll get a better look at in a sec.

Back at the Hotel Brian (lol), the bellboy (who we learn in this scene is Jack London, inspired to be a writer by Mark Twain [citation needed]) lets Mark Twain into Data’s room and allows him to look around unsupervised. This is very bad hotel management.

Great Scott

Then Data and Guinan show back up, and Mark Twain hides in an armoire.

One short day in the emerald brocade

I think one reason I love Guinan’s looks so much, both in the 24th and the 19th century, is that our color palette is very similar. We’re both winters. Bold jewel tones are the vibe. This one is in a beautiful deep green fabric with what looks like a velvet flocking pattern on it. The collar is also velvet, and I love that sleeve with a flounce on top like there wasn’t already enough fucking fabric on the sleeve so they just added a random piece to be like “yes, bitch. I’m a sleeve.”

Naturally, the hat is also jaunty af:

San Francisco’s hottest milliner is: Madame Guinan

This hat has everything: feathers, netting, a brim, an angle that makes you think it’s going to fall off but it doesn’t. We stan.

Meanwhile, Picard is setting up a sensor in a hospital while wearing a hat:

I’m bowled over

We haven’t even asked where Picard got these clothes, but I would like to point out that he’s dressed as a lower-class guy, while Riker is a cop, and Geordi looks like a gentleman. Was there even a discussion they all had about how they would disguise themselves? Was Picard like “I just really want to wear a beat-up bowler hat” and since he’s the captain, they extrapolated from there? This episode is NOT CONCERNED about any of this. They all have clothes, end of story.

Bev even has TWO outfits!!

Hello nurse!!!!

I love this look. She still has her unlikely hairstyle happening, which means her nurse’s cap is sitting atop her voluminous hairstyle. (Not very practical, but realistic!) She’s sporting a simple striped dress and a button-on apron. (Look closely and you can see the two buttons holding the apron to the dress.) The fabric underneath might be cotton seersucker, but it’s likely a lightweight cotton or linen twill. You can see how closely her look matches these nurses from a similar time period:

Hello nurses!!!!

Deanna is also in this scene and this episode, but you wouldn’t know it from what she’s given to do. HUGE SHOCKER: TROI NOT GIVEN ENOUGH TO DO IN AN EPISODE. 🙃

She still looks beautiful:

Why aren’t capelets more popular

We never get a really GREAT look at her whole outfit, but I can tell you that it has a capelet, it’s in the red family, and the hat has a lot of business going on. For those reasons: approved. It has a flounce in the back too:

More fabric = more wealth

Sometimes I think about just how much fabric it took to make these old-timey dresses and I’m like...how did anyone get anything done?? It takes me like 4 weeks to finish a pair of leggings and those have like 5 seams and I own a serger. These historical bitches were sewing whole ass dresses in no time at all.

Okay, so Bev is in this hospital and here come some more energy-stealing aliens, disguised as healthcare professionals this time:

I cannot take a medical professional wearing a LIGHT BROWN TOP HAT seriously, sorry

Bev AND this energy-stealing alien have BOTH managed to get their hands on the SAME nurse’s uniform?? I guess in the case of the alien, she is a shape-shifter, so she got her clothes from...that. And her hair.

I hate this light brown top hat. If you’re going to wear a top hat, don’t DISRESPECT IT by making it BROWN, but if you’re going to make it brown, make it a good brown, like chocolate. Stupid energy-stealing aliens.

There’s a skirmish, the energy-stealing aliens disappear, and the real cops show up:

MOUSTACHE

Of course, the cops showing up is bad, because when has a cop showing up ever made a bad situation better? Never. Defund the police, but don’t defund handlebar mustaches. Those can stay.

Fortunately, Data has gotten a ping on that machine he was building before and shows up on a motherfucking HORSE:

Brent just wanted to show off

He’s back in his brown striped suit and red tie. Okay.

Everyone returns to the boarding house to suss out the situation, and we get a look at what Riker is rocking underneath his cop jacket:

Suspend me daddy

You can see very clearly here how the collar is not actually attached to the shirt. This was a thing people in the olden days did so they could wear their shirt for multiple days in a row and just switch out the collar and cuffs so they looked clean. As someone who is wearing the same sweatshirt for the third day in a row, I support this method. (If you’re interested on more info about collars, here is a very enjoyable article about them.)

We are also blessed with a better look at Deanna’s sleeves and bodice:

Black lace cuffs? Decadent!!!

You can also see Geordi’s shades, which suit him really nicely. One thing I’ve been enjoying on this rewatch is just how well LeVar Burton can act without having his eyes visible. He’s great. Let’s just all think about how great LeVar Burton is for a second

And also Bev’s dress:

I legitimately want this dress

I don’t think those buttons are functional. Can you imagine how annoying THAT would be? But I am absolutely in love with this dress. Two paisleys, Beverly???? A goddess. I’m also dying for that brooch with the chain. A+ look all around, great work.

Finally, FINALLY, Guinan meets the rest of the crew:

When you meet someone you won’t actually know for 500 years

She is wearing a hat that looks like a toilet paper cozy. Did your grandma have one of these? They’re so stupid and I love them so much.

Picard and Guinan meet for what is the first time for her, but not the first time for him, and honestly it is...sensual?????

If I got a m’lady from P. Stew I wouldn’t even mind

Patrick and Whoopi truly do some nice work in this ep. But we are here to yell about clothes, so: LOOK AT THIS DRESS ON AN EXTRA:

Gimme dat dress

I just want that dress to wear around my house. I legitimately bought an 18th century costume dress to do just that, so don’t think I won’t literally do this.

OKAY, WE ARE ALMOST TO THE END.

The crew, plus Guinan, go back to the cave where this all started:

Cave Club, the only club that meets in a cave

We get a nice look at the bodice of Guinan’s dress here and guess what: MORE BUTTONS. Buttons on the lapels, and also buttons on the front panel with the pointy top. I wonder if she has multiple front panels for that dress in different colors, like a Swatch watch.

Unbeknownst to them, Mark Twain followed them!! Then there’s a scuffle with the energy-stealing aliens during which a few things happen:

Data’s head flies off

Mark Twain gets sucked into the temporal disturbance

Guinan gets hurt

Picard stays behind to make sure Guinan is okay

So we end up with Mark Twain on the Enterprise, where he sees Worf, and he’s like:

Buh-WHAT

Worf is also confused:

This is...extremely perplexing

We have a few more looks back on the Enterprise, including Regular Guinan:

ShoulderSpreads™: The Bed Spread for Your Shoulders

I love love LOVE this outfit. The color is perfect, the shoulderspreads are perfect, the front draping is perfect. It looks like a velvet housedress from the 1960s except FANCY which is kind of my ideal aesthetic. And it’s red (my fave).

We get a quick glimpse at the barber uniform:

Bitch let me pass, idc if you wrote Huck Finn

This barber does. not. give. a. fuck!!!!

Geordi reattaches Data’s head, the one they already had, which means this whole thing was a ding dang closed loop. The reattachment also kind of diminishes the whole conversation they had earlier about how Data’s head in the cave meant that Data could die someday, because...he didn’t. He still might, but his head is back and he’s fine now.

Meanwhile, Picard is still back in 1893 and they have to go get him, but only one person can come back through the temporal disturbance, so Mark Twain is like “duh I’ll go get him.”

And finally Guinan and Picard can talk about how their friendship spans 500 years!!!!

Hey girl

Hey

YOU’RE WELCOME

*abolish the police

#SEASON 5 #SEASON 6 #TNG #TNG FASHION #STAR TREK #STAR TREK FASHION

276 notes · View notes

lady-z-writes · 3 years

Text

Plaything (Heisenberg x fem!reader) Chapter 2

Summary: Reader works for BSAA and is scoping out the village until you get captured by none other than Heisenberg who doesn’t take well to trespassers. Once he learns of your hatred for your job, he wants the information you have and he doesn’t have to try hard to get it. You find yourself drinking, fireside, with him and can’t help but let him touch you. Angie said he’d needed a plaything and, well, you’re it.

Chapter 1

Smutty chapter 2 below the cut:

He doesn’t let you leave – ‘not yet’ – is what he’s told you, but you’re pretty sure he has no intention of letting you go…which…could be worse?

You think you’ve got a minor concussion, but that surely has nothing to do with your reaction to things, right? He’s…charming, oddly. A little socially awkward at times – with his quick speech once in a while.

As you sit in his makeshift kitchen, you ponder what he’s told you last night: that he was taken – ripped from his family at such a young age. No wonder he’s got a lack of social skills.

He’s currently shirtless despite the overall chill in this part of the factory. You’re wearing your knee-high boots and his shirt from last night, considering your tattered clothes are strewn about somewhere outside by the fire – which he let die. You can remember staring out the wall of windows at the black smoke billowing up into the morning sky; Heisenberg’s heavy gasping behind you.

You probably could have snuck out; he wasn’t sleeping but you maybe could have made a run for it. Though you didn’t want to go anywhere. Maybe it was self-preservation: he could be quick to attack if you tried to leave. Plus, you had no idea how to get out of this place, minus jumping from the roof. Maybe that had been his plan all along: make you feel trapped so you didn’t think to go anywhere.

You can’t help but think about your situation prior to coming here. After all the time dedicated to your career with BSAA, all the dates you turned down because your missions kept you away from home more often than not – you sold your fucking house because you never stayed there – this job has torn away so many dreams of yours. It was nice to…just…be still for a moment, even if it’s in the arms of some lord of this strange place.

Shaking off your thoughts, you focus on the present moment – on the shirtless back you’re staring at as he makes coffee; the muscles moving and beautiful under the scars on his back.

His shirt is soft and well-worn; it smells like him and you’re grateful that it takes away the chill in the air.

“When you…-” you interrupt the silence then sigh, shaking your head, thinking better than asking that question. “Never mind, I’m sorry.”

He raises an eyebrow as he half-turns toward you.

“No, speak. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You nod, reminded that he preferred honesty last night.

“When you were growing up…here…was it just you or were there others?”

“You think we’re really siblings,” he huffs out a laugh. “No, kitten, we’re not. I had…other kids in my similar situation…all killed by that bitch.”

Your stomach drops at the thought of it – of growing up with other kids only to find out the person who claims to be your mother has murdered all of them. For what? For those experiments Heisenberg told you about last night?

“God, I…” you cross your arms over your chest, feeling a chill that comes from within.

“Don’t pity me,” he snaps, then collects himself. “Sorry-” when the coffee beeps, he turns away from you to pour some into those chipped glasses. You’re sure one still has the remnants of last night’s binge. “I just…need someone to understand.”

But how could you? This is way bigger than just you, a little BSAA agent. This is years of mental manipulation, of gaslighting to its fullest extent. This is trauma like you’ve never seen before. He needs help, not a fucktoy.

Of course, you don’t say any of this to him because the anger that has replaced the sadness in his eyes makes your stomach churn and a small bit of arousal to course through you. He must sense this because once he puts your coffee mug down, he brushes his fingers against yours, making a low growl in the back of his throat.

His mouth is almost on yours again when you press a hand to his bare chest. He halts, hums, quirks a brow at your restraint.

“I…could use a shower.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re welcome to join me…”

“Ohh,” he coos at you. “Naughty thing…” his hand cups under your chin. “Follow me.”

You bring your coffee, mostly because you’re still tired. There…wasn’t much sleeping last night.

The bathroom he leads you to isn’t too far from his quarters. There are four shower stalls that are cut out like little cubicles. It’s not as filthy as you’d expected so you’re sure this is where he showers normally. There are towels stacked up on a bench nearby and soaps are piled on shelves near the stalls. You’re going to walk out of here smelling like his soap which is surprisingly comforting to you.

You strip from his shirt, hang it on the hook outside the stall before stepping out of your boots. Heisenberg’s behind you in moments – stripping from his clothes to join you under the warm water.

His hands are roaming all over your body as you wash your hair – the soap trialing over your skin to drip down the drain. Heisenberg doesn’t let you get much further than rinsing your hair out before he’s got you against the wall, mouth on you, facial hair harsh against your skin. Rough hands roam down your body before he shoves a finger inside of you, swirling around, pumping into you just enough to get you mewling.

His hard cock is pressing against you belly and it’s so arousing knowing how needy he is for you. The newness surely has something to do with it. He doesn’t waste much time with foreplay before he spins you around and bends you at the hips. Your forearms press against the tile wall as you get on your tiptoes to help him angle you just right.

He lines up his cock and presses into you harshly – letting out a guttural moan once he bottoms out. The sudden stillness makes you wriggle against him in hopes of getting him to move, but he just grips your hips tighter.

“Uh uh, no. You’re not rushing things like last night. This could take hours and you’re gonna be grateful, kitten.”

You whine as he slowly starts moving in and out of you, the pace tantalizing. The moment you slam your body back against him, he halts completely and makes you count to thirty before continuing on.

“You’re gonna learn,” he grunts in your ear as he pinches your clit between his fingers. His hands grip your neck as you lean back into him. “I want you,” he kisses down your shoulder, “to wash up,” a bite to your back, “before you get to cum.”

“But-”

“No debate,” he snaps, fingers leaving your clit. “Finish up.” The moment you go to follow orders, he pulls your hair, growls, “don’t let my cock slip out.”

This proves difficult but it’s a challenge you’re willing to accept. Thankfully maneuvering in this odd position is distracting. Once Karl watches you washing your legs and front, he slowly thrusts in and out of you. You’re cussing at him and he’s laughing.

“Could you maybe not?” you whimper out.

“You have a job to do. Get it done.”

“You’re distracting.”

“So are you,” he retorts. You hum at him, push back against him to get some deeper stimulation. “That’s a thirty second count,” he reminds you, grabbing your hair, pressing a palm to the wall. “Brat.”

Thirty seconds go by before he allows you to move again – but you’re done washing what you can reach. Once you pass him the soap, he slides out of you and you whine at the loss. A large hand comes to your throat, pressing, forcing you upright as he drips soap down your back. Left hand still at your throat, his right scrubs in the soap. The moan that leaves you is humiliating but, fuck, this feels so good.

You finish washing completely and you’ve never been more eager to rinse off – practically rushing under the water which makes him chuckle. As you’re rinsing, he washes up too and you can’t help but stare at his body.

When towel-drying, you notice he’s under the shower spigot, hand pumping around his cock as he stares at you. Your stomach flips at the attention.

“Now,” you hear his voice barely there over the hum of the shower. “Get on my bed; ass in the air. Wait for me.”

You want to protest, but you know he’s got powers and that probably won’t end well for you. Instead, you slip on your boots and try to find your way back through the maze of hallways to his room.

You hadn’t been alone in a room since you got here. The noises of the factory are pretty alarming and you can’t help but let your mind wander to the zombie-like creature you’d seen on the bridge yesterday.

Shaking off the memory, you seat yourself on his bed, kick off your boots. The sheets are still messy from last night. Letting your naked body settle and relax, you feel a chill of arousal run through you at the thought of Heisenberg’s return.

Footsteps down the hallway startle you; you’re unsure if you should cover up in case it’s someone else or do as you’re told and put your ass in the air for him.

You do the latter because you’re worried about what metal pieces could go flying in this room if you don’t follow orders.

“Mmmm good girl,” he hums as he steps in the room, your ass on display for him.

Seven steps toward the bed and it’s shifting with his weight. Rough hands grip your hips as he positions and shoves his still-hard dick back inside you.

“Fuck, still hard for me?” you tease.

All you earn is a soft grunt. “Lay down.”

You follow orders, mentally preparing for something intense.

Instead, he lays too, pulling you against him in an almost-spooning position. And he just lays there. Impatiently, you start struggling against him but he’s too strong and merely holds you in place without much effort.

“Really?”

He chuckles against your hair as he presses a kiss to the back of your head.

“You’re gonna learn, kitten.” At his words, you whine and try to fight out of his grip. “So damn feisty…” He’s got you tight against him. “I’ve got all night, buttercup, keep moving…” at his tone, you halt. “That’s what I thought. Bad girl. Sixty second count…for now. Go.”

Your punishment. Sixty tantalizing seconds later, you’re sweeping your fingers across his forearm that he’s got draped over your body. His fingers twitch to life, dance across your flesh, meander between your legs.

Your head is thrown back against him as you moan when he relentlessly massages your clit.

“Aw, you like that? I’m not even moving my cock in and out of you and you’re purring just from my fingers? So good for me. So fucking good…”

Still, he refuses to move. You tense your pelvic floor just to see what he’ll do. He breaks for a moment, inadvertently rutting against you at the tension of your muscles around his cock.

“You bitch,” he growls. “240 count.”

“W-what!?” You’re breathless, so overwhelmed with this need he’s instilled.

“You heard me,” is his reply.

As you count, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your clit and the pressure is overwhelming. You’ve never felt this desperate in your life.

His mouth comes down to your neck; gently, careful. “You skipped 84,” he informs you. “Start again.”

Tears prickle in your eyes as you throw your head back, hitting against his chest in frustration.

“Listen. You’re gonna work for this orgasm. You got me?”

Nodding slowly, you begin your count again.

And he starts playing with your clit again around the 190 mark, your body involuntarily bucking against him.

He tuts at you, huffing a laugh out.

“Again, kid? Jesus.”

His hand leaves you momentarily and you feel him stir behind you. Not daring to look, you close your eyes and take a breath now that his fingers are off your clit.

He’s lit a cigar and with a flick the lighter gets tossed across the room.

“Why aren’t you counting?” he says in his next exhale.

You nod, starting at one again while he puffs on his cigar and stirs slightly, shifting his still-hard cock just enough to make you antsy. The hot ashes sting as you continue your count and before you’re done, he’s got his fingers barely grazing your clit again. Soft breaths between numbers, you hold back a moan when he tenses inside of you. He waits, but you keep counting.

He’s clearly trying to break your concentration now that you’ve hit the 200 mark. The open-mouthed kisses against your neck, the sounds he’s making, his hand roaming over your body, the burn mark he leaves from his cigar…

“Two hundred forty,” it’s huffed and breathless, but you manage it.

Heisenberg lets out a laugh against your neck. “Wow. You’re quite determined, huh?”

Without warning, he slips out of you, kneels, pulls your legs toward him so they rest on his shoulders. Cigar in his mouth, he slides his hands underneath your ass and lifts your hips so he can glide his cock back inside you.

Heisenberg groans with his head thrown back as you buck up toward him. The cigar goes toppling down onto your belly, burning where it lands. The sensation makes you seethe at first.

“Leave it,” he demands, watching the pain fade to pleasure as he starts rutting into you.

You’re lost in the ecstasy, totally incapable of any thought other than hoping he lets you cum soon. There’s nothing in this place but him and you, nothing to distract or undermine. He’s all hands, all open-mouthed kisses and tongue trailing across skin. He’s taking you in this time, enjoying your body, not just trying to get off like last night.

Your climax is abrupt, surprising the both of you and leaving you clawing and gasping. As your walls clench around his cock, he moans out a string of words, but your ears are ringing so loud.

You’re barely catching your breath when he pulls your hair, takes the cigar off your skin, ashes it on the ground, inhales.

Smoke billows from out of his nostrils as he says, “ride my cock” and you feel your cunt clench him tighter.

Heisenberg lays back then, focuses on his cigar, really wants you to work for him as you slide down onto his shaft. It’s the first time he’s let you on top and, honestly, you’re focused on getting him off (even though the angle he’s hitting you at is perfect.)

You press your chest to his, kiss at his neck as you raise your hips, pulling him from you – barely the tip inside at this point. With the faintest movements, you shift your hips to tease his tip.

“Ohhh, you little minx. Think you’re cute, just the tip?” he hums a laugh.

You slink down his cock slowly, rutting him deep for a while, listening to his manly growls. He’s putting out the cigar on the wall behind him before he grips your hips and shoves you down harder with every movement.

“Fuck, Karl, I want you to cum…”

He smirks, “Yeah? Want me to paint you like one of my French girls?” he laughs at his own joke. “Or should I fill up this nice cunt?”

You whine. “Whatever you want, Heisenberg.”

“You’re mine, kitten. Don’t forget it.”

Without a second thought, you shift from your knees to a crouch over him, giving you better leverage to bounce on his cock. The unexpected change makes him cuss. The power behind every thrust sends shockwaves through you.

Ears ringing, you hold your breath until you notice a loud clanging around you. When you look around, you see all of the metal in the room is shaking. One glance at Heisenberg beneath you, you realize he’s staring, pupils blown wide, lips parted as he pants. The sounds coming from him are making you even wetter…

Fingers bruising you, he grabs a handful of your ass and forces you to move at his pace. Face smashed against his chest, you hear his moaning and breaths before feeling him shoot his load into you again.

The noise from the metal in the room stops as the pieces shoot in all directions, clanging to the walls. You hadn’t expected to dodge sawblades and gears as you’re getting fucked but here you are.

Heisenberg is a panting, sweaty mess under you. His lips cup around your ear, nibbling a bit as he hums your name – breathy, exhausted.

You don’t want to get off him, don’t want this to end, but the way you two have been going since you met, you know it’s only a matter of time before he’s ready again.

It’s all you’ve done since you arrived, really, and a part of you wonders if this whole plaything is a cover. Does he really want companionship? Or is it a farce?

When you flop down beside him, he keeps a hand gripping at your hip. Protective, maybe, but you take it as controlling. And it’s sort of a comfort to you in this place. Memories of the church and those siblings of his – the monstrous things he’s told you they’d do to you…

You lucked out, so you imagine.

Heisenberg’s eyelids are heavy, his breathing even as you both lay there. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s slept. You’re pretty sure even when you dozed off last night, he’d gone to tinker with something on his desk.

He still hasn’t told you what his plans are for you and it’s starting to make you believe he doesn’t have any. Other than this.

There’s a version of you in this daydream that wants to stay here, with him. You don’t want to feel the way you did before you came here.

“So, what’s life like – where you’re from?” he ghosts a caress over your lower abdomen, watching your body tense from the tickling sensation.

“Empty.”

He blinks over at you, just stares.

“You’re-you’re joking,” he waves it off. “Surely being out of a village like this, you’d have things to fill your time.”

You shrug. “My career’s caused a lot of issues in my personal life. I’ve…missed out on so much.”

“Oh, pity to you,” he rolls his eyes, still not getting up.

It’s probably a defense mechanism, probably a way to keep his mind from going deeper into that hurt. Though his words are harsh, his eyes take you in again, examine you, as if in a new light.

“So, what you’re saying is, this place is a vacation for you.”

“Given the current circumstances,” you look at your bodies draped together, “I’d say yes.”

“Huh,” he laughs. “Mother always said the pretty ones are fucked up.”

You don’t know if you should be flattered or offended.

“This’s been real fun, kitten, but Daddy’s got work to do.” He goes to sit up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, finally lets go of your hip.

“And what should I do?”

He raises a brow. “Oh, you? I’m not letting you out of my sight. You think I trust you in this place by yourself? Probably make some grand escape. And we can’t have that, now can we?”

“You can trust me,” you insist.

He barks out a laugh. “You would say that.”

“Heisenberg, I told you: I want out of BSAA. If that’s something you’re holding against me-”

“You act as if I’ve put much thought into that,” he pulls his pants on, shoves his feet in his boots. “Playthings don’t need a backstory,” he speaks pointedly. “Now get dressed.”

He leaves the room.

He’s so difficult to read. One minute he’s asking about life outside of the village, the next he’s pushing you away.

The only clothes you have are your torn up pants, your boots, and one of his shirts. Tentatively, you get dressed and meander into the hallway.

“Step back,” his voice calls from down the hall.

Your body responds too slow and in seconds, a beast is running at you; its left arm a drill. It’s like your body is in slow motion – barely letting you register what’s happening – until Heisenberg uses his power to pull the metal maniac backward.

Metal pieces go flying everywhere – clearly, he’s broken something.

With the thing on the ground, you don’t know whether to approach Heisenberg or revert deeper into the bedroom.

“Get your ass over here.” Though his words are menacing, his voice is soft, almost exhausted.

Like a frightened animal, you slowly approach him, keeping as much distance between you and the metal thing as possible.

“Do you always break everything you touch?” he hums close to your ear.

You think he must like the look of you in his shirt because he’s thumbing over the material, nipping at the skin on your neck, his facial hair scratching against you in the most arousing way.

“I’m sorry, Karl.”

He groans, almost a laugh punctuating it. “You’re not,” he whispers. “But you will be.”

You should be scared, should be experiencing whiplash from the change in demeanor from two minutes ago in the bedroom. Instead, you’re clinging to his jacket, moaning at the sound of his gloved hand smacking your ass.

The creature moves, but he shifts his hand and the thing stays down as if magnetized to the floor.

You’re completely worked up again, noting his half-hard cock pressing against your hip as you stand in the hall with him.

“Bad kitty,” he whispers beside your ear. “You any good with a screwdriver?”

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x you #smut #fem!reader

45 notes · View notes

insufferablelust · 4 years

Note

I ummm woupd it be okay to ask you to do a mgg x reader smut. Like he ties reader up and fucks her but like sticks his fingers in her mouth to suck on but she is also really bratty and likes to make things hard for him (like at work) and just super dom mgg and really bratty reader. Idk I'm awkward sorry you dont have to write it I just thought maybe a suggestion I mean I really like your working and all

Finally new smut! yay! anyways i combined these two amazing mgg concepts from my queens and then turn them into this, adding my spice into it as well so i hope y’all love this! thank you for the reqs queens!! MASTERLIST OF ALL MY WORKS.

WARNINGS : Dom!Mgg x Sub!Reader, Degradation by name calling, Rough sex, Oral fixation, back seat abandoned building car sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, lots of teasing, and all the good stuff. Plus fluffs!!! Read at your own risk❤️ leave a like and reblog, thanks!

———————

Having an actor as a boyfriend surely has its perks, one being the fact that i always gets to see how Matthew make his own version of art, his visions, as well as his god gifted talent, i must say that it warms my heart to no end, seeing him so passionate about something that he can even do in his sleep.

With perks, comes the not so pleasant ones, one of them is not seeing him for weeks sometimes. His busy schedule has put my relationship through some rocky beginnings, thankfully we made agreements and that’s settled. Of course, i could visit him whenever i want, even if it requires a plane ticket— he’ll provide it (not that you’ll take it.) but today is one of those days when the amount of missing him became greater than to actually wait patiently.

The location where Matthew currently filming, wasn’t that far from our shared house so it shouldn’t be that bad right?.... Wrong. A month into the filming process i felt the neediness present, he comes home every night yet you still miss him. He filmed during the day mostly, coming home late already tired, and then when his director gave him a time off or day or two break, he spent it by rereading scripts or working on directing his small projects.

It’s not that i didn’t understand his schedule, but something about having him so close yet so far away just chipped away any patience i have left in me. Frustrated, i grabbed the car keys and decided to go to where he was filming. I knew that he wouldn’t have a problem with you coming in, but I knew that would definitely have a problem or two about what i’ve been planning.

So you drove for an hour, until you reached the filming set, finding yourself growing expectedly needy and nervous. You texted him saying that you were on your way, the way he answered left you giggling and smiling like a schoolgirl.

“Sure sweetheart, come on over, my lunch break is at 12.15, we can have lunch together. When you got here just knock on trailer 4. Love you.”

Your knocked on his trailer door, anxiously biting your lips at the anticipation, it shouldn’t be such a big deal, you’ve visited his set couple of times before— it’s just.. what you wear and what you have in mind is making you jumpy with adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream. Only wearing one of his button ups, tucked inside the plated skirt that stop around mid-thigh. It’s one of his... kink really to see you in such a mundane outfit yet something about seeing you in his clothing on public nonetheless flick the switch inside Matthew, makes him go feral.

So as soon as he opened the trailer door, and see the sinful cladded clothing, he yanked you inside and furiously carry you to his lap as he sit down on one of the chairs. “Are you fucking crazy?” His tone sent chills down your spine, you know better than this, than to show up while he’s working, in such clothing that drove him mad. The tone in his voice plus the way he gripped your hips should’ve warned you just how mad he is. But you just innocently shrugged, and rolled you eyes, licking your lips before muttering a soft, “last time i check, i’m doing just—“

You were cut off instantly by the grip that’s now strongly held against the skin of your jawline, and the fingers that was penetrating your very lips. The act, sent your blissful sear to your core.

“Shut up, and listen here you insatiable bunny. I have to finish few more scenes, and it shouldn’t take long. I want you to be a good bunny, and behave. I’m giving you a chance to be good here, if you obey what i said, i’ll give you rewards but if i catch you disobeying me whilst i’m gone, believe me you won’t walk let alone sit for a week, pet.”

Matthew’s eyes burned holes through your skull, his fingers shoved deeper making you gag slightly, cheeks running with tears. “Do you understand, or do i have to write it down for needy whores like you hm?” His words are downright cruel yet your panties got more damper and damper. The only thing you can let out is soft whimpers and nods at him, your fingers scratching his arms to let you breathe.

“If you lie, i’ll know. Now be good, i’ll see you in a bit.” He pushed his lips against yours, kissing the tender lips softly before pulling away and then out the door.

Your heart was beating so fast, and your core ached, truly ached and sopping wet. You almost cried out at the frustration, but decided that you can take it, you’ll take it. So you decided to just lay there and tried to get some sleep. You thought the desire should’ve burned down for a bit after you wake up, but if anything it grows stronger and made you needier.

You were so desperate that you half expectedly slip your fingertips past through the waistband of your panties, sighing as you dream about the sensation of being touched by him, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his damn cock. “Please..” You whimpered out to no one in particular, just the surrounding space on his trailer. “Matthew..” You moaned again, this time louder— loud enough that you don’t ever hear him opening the door, your eyes only opened when he slammed it, now standing in front of you, his hands tucked away inside his pants pocket.

“Matthew i—“

“Lay over my lap.” He commanded, the way he said it surely alerted all the nerves inside of you. You drew in a sharp breath, before crawling to where was sat at the edge of the chair, and lay tummy down across his lap, the skirt you wore made it easy for him to slide your panties down and shove them inside your mouth as he palmed your ass, gripping it hard, then before you could even breathe, his palm crashed against your ass cheeks.

“Count, and thank me.”

“One! Thank you Matthew!”

There’s something about her calling his name, begging him to do anything that gets him going every-time. He loves it especially when she’s basked with his scent, his clothes, him just him. Call him simply in love or obsessed, he doesn’t care as long as he’s with her. Being in control helps him relinquish all his stress, but really— it’s her who’s in control, if you want to stop he’ll stop. But he knows, both of them pleased each other and willing to go for miles just to be close and intimate.

“Five! oh! t-thank you.” Her breathing was shallow, her ass was on fire, and her core was dripping wet. This is what he loves about their relationship, the dynamics, and the amount of trusts they have with one another always sparked something inside him and her. God he would die for Y/N.

“Ten! please please!” He smiled, before yanking her hair upwards, bending down— his lips trail kisses from her neck up to her ear as he whispered, “What are you begging for, doll?”

“Touch me! please Matthew!” The way she begged turns him on like no other, yet he knows what she wants, and he’s going to give it to her. Making sure she will learn not to tease him this time.

“You’re so cute, and a mess too. I bet you love it don’t you? being a greedy mess for me?” The condescending tone of his should make her angry, but instead she moaned- she bloody moaned. “uh huh! i’m yours right?”

At that she turns to look at him in the eye, knowing just how frustrated if he sees her eyes, her damn puppy eyes. He knows her trick well enough to give her one more slap before tugging her to stand up shakily, whilst still holding onto her waist so that she won’t fall.

“Here’s what we’re going to do pet, we’re going to your car, and then we’ll wait until we get home. Okay baby?”

“No! no! no please!” Y/N whined as she stomped her foot like a child, the stern line of his jaw clenched as his palm burned and twitch with the need to reminds her to not talk like that to him. Yet he held back, decided to wait until a bit later.

“C’mon brat, fix yourself and let’s go.” And just like that, he walked away packing his things, leaving her wet and ready as tears streamed down her eyes, She’s so damn needy.

Pulling herself up, she fixed her make up as best as she can before gathering her things and catching up to him who’s already situated himself on the driver seat of her car.

If this is the game he wanted to play, then game on, Gubler.

—————

It started when they were about halfway to their house, long enough to make him believe that she’s well behaved. Uh oh, not when your girl is Y/N, she thinks. She parted her legs wide, pulling the palm that has been resting on her thigh for a while now deeper into where he could feel the heat through her panties.

“Y/N.” Matthew warned, his eyes flicking towards her, but instead of pulling back his hands— he gripped her inner thigh tightly instead causing her to whimper in delight from the mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Yes, M- Oh...” She fluttered her eyes shut as she make a dramatic arch of her back, as she felt his knuckles grazed against her puffy clit. Her free palm reached out to palm his cock through the pants he was wearing, earning strings of ‘fucking brat.’ from him which made her giggle.

“Oh, you’re enjoying this hm? Enjoy testing me like this?” Y/N innocently tilted her head, and shrug as if she’s not giving him a hand job right now. “Ah look at you, so cute. Just remember the consequences, petal.”

She giggled like an angel that she is before leaning to his side as her hand unbutton his pants, earning a loud “Don’t you dare.” From him, which she only replied with a lip bite and then took his hard cock out, gently running her fingertips against the veins.

“Oh but look baby! you’re clearly loving it right now.” She bat her eyelashes up at him before leaning down and place her warm mouth around the head of his cock, causing him to press the gas pedal a bit too hard. “You insatiable fucking minx.” He groaned, one hand on the steering wheel and the other one tangled in her hair pushing her down his cock.

Matthew was trying so hard to focus yet he just couldn’t, who’s to blame him? his girl’s warm mouth is around his cock, and the sight of her bending across the damn center console with her ruined panties on his peripheral vision doesn’t sit well with safety. Finding the nearest abandoned property and pulled over, before pulling her head up.

“Dirty whore, get in the back and get on your hands and knees.” He hissed, as he released the grip on her hair, which she obeyed immediately, crawling to the back seat on hands and knees as he waited for him. They’ve done this enough times to know which position allows them to have the best sensation.

The moment he crawled his lanky self to the backseat, her grip on the leather seat tighten— preparing herself for whats to come. She felt the grip on her waist as Matthew yanked up her skirt and then push her panties to the side before pushing his cock right into her dripping wet cunt, both of them moaning loudly, finally feeling the pleasure they’ve been teased out of each other.

Matthew didn’t spare her anytime to adjust to his impressive length as he immediately begins thrusting with a brutal pace, making sure to dug his nails onto her skin— leaving marks and indents.

“You love this don’t you? fucked in the backseat of your own car like a damn cheap whore.” He whispered harshly, causing her to buck against him— which resulted in quick violent slaps against her ass as he pound his cock into her like a maniac.

“Yours— yours Matthew, fuck.” She cried out, feeling the way his cock nudge her spot every time he thrusted inside making her mewls. Matthew yanked her hair back so Y/N’s back flushed against his front, slowing down his pace.

“You wanna cum baby? yeah?” He muttered darkly, his thrusts slowing down but pressing deeper that she could even feel it inside her tummy. Y/N tried to find the words but she just couldn’t, not when his cock is perfectly nudged against her spot so she cried out a loud yes instead and hoped that her boyfriend would give her mercy.

“Cum, go on..” She let out a confused moan, knowing that he usually don’t let her cum this easy, but paying no mind as she came around his cock, and screamed into the leather seat as Matthew released the grip on her hair.

He let her ride out her orgasm, and she was about to thank him and offered him a blowjob because she think she can’t take anymore pounding feeling overly overstimulated— yet that thought drowned as soon as his hips bucks up and continue to thrust her in a much faster and hard pace causing her to let out screams.

“No! n-no ah! Matthew! too much oh too much!”

“Shh, take it. You want to cum right? so you’ll keep on coming, baby go on.” He laughed against her ear as he keeps on thrusting, feeling himself got close. “N-please..”

“Cum again come on.” He hissed as he could feel the way her walls tightened so deliciously, encasing her velvet around his cock. The minute her screams went high pitched and her body violently shake, he knew she just came and that sent him to shoot heavy spurts inside of her, with heavy breathing and whispers, “Shit. You did so good baby, so so good, Y/N..”

—————

They both come down from their high slowly as Matthew pulled out of her, immediately pulling some tissues from her bag and wipe them both gently— trying not to cause any pain. “Shh it’s okay.. come here baby.” He said as he placed her on top of his lap after he cleaned them both.

“Hey.. I love you so much Y/N.” He whispered, fingers playing with her hair as she smiled against his sweaty neck and whisper a soft “I love you, Matthew. sorry for being a brat.” Which earned her a laugh from him,

“I still love you even if you’re being bratty. Just give me more reason to put you back in your place right princess?” He then move his fingertips to stroke her cheeks, feeling the flesh warmed up to his touch, as his thumb pressed against her lips.

She then opened her lips slowly, letting him push his thumb inside to let her suckle on it. Sometimes after a particularly rough sex like this or just generally when she’s trying to calm herself down, he would let her suck on his fingers. His girl surely has an oral fixation, but its also coping mechanism.

As he heard her breathing slow and even, he smiled— knowing she’s asleep. He waited for few more minutes before laying her on the back seat with a blanket covering her that he pulled out from the trunk, pressing one last kiss on her forehead before going back to the driver seat and then drive back home.

The day was perfect, and Matthew wouldn’t trade it with anything else.

———————

Blurb Reqs are open, send in your requests now. ❤️ thank you for supporting.

#insufferableblurb #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds smut #dom!spencer #dom!mgg #mgg smut #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler fluff #mgg fluff #spencer reid smut

611 notes · View notes

holdmyowos · 3 years

Text

Your New Boyfriend (Shigaraki x Reader smut)

Shigaraki x Dom!Reader

Includes: gore, angst, cussing, watching p0rn, masturbation, oral

Author's note: I feel like Shigaraki's naturally a dom, but I like to think that he would be a sub because he really doesn't want to hurt you accidentally with his quirk. Also, I found the song, 'Your New Boyfriend' after writing this so I added bits.

"He's in your bed, I'm in your Twitch chat"

Your POV:

Your boyfriend had been too late to save you. The world was starting to go blurry. That damn hero had snapped both of your arms. Not a very heroic thing to do. They hung uselessly, blood trickling down all over. There was no way you would ever use them again. You stared up at the sky. A quirkless nobody like you never should have been in the league. The only reason you were was because All for One had saved you from the rubble of your house. You had no one else to turn to. You looked up at the stars. Wasn't it supposed to be daytime? You must be hallucinating. Hawks descended, the moon shining on his beautiful feathers, looking angelic, and scooped you very gently in his arms. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have protected you." He nuzzles your head. You see the tears falling off of his cheeks. Your arms dangle. He takes a few deep shuddering breaths. "No! You can't die on me! Fuck!" Your vision dimmed and you fell limp in his arms.

"If I could change a single thing, I'd make it me and not him."

Shigaraki's POV:

The battle was over, and the League had finally won for once. Hawks had said that there was something I was supposed to see, and it was important. Usually, we never really talked, so it must actually be important. I ran after him, flying ahead of me. He swooped down next to an unmoving mass. "It's Y/N. They didn't make it." My jaw dropped. Y/N? How? They were the only one that didn't ever make fun of me. They were my reason to live. "Leave. Now. I'll take care of this," I harshly said to Hawks, making him flutter away, not wanting to defy me. I delicately raised them with a pinky in the air, putting my ear to their chest. There was a faint noise, but perhaps that was from somewhere else. "This can't be. You aren't dead." I stared at my hand in confusion. My hand was covered in blood. In the dark of the night, I had failed to realize that they must have been severely injured to make Hawks think they were dead. "Kurogiri!" I snapped. He appeared almost immediately. Upon looking at the person's body, he said, "My condolences. They meant a lot to you, right?" I said nothing. "Don't tell me that. They're not dead. Or... are... are they really gone?" My voice ended sounding almost like a whisper, hoping that it was not so. Kurogiri knelt down next to them, and took a pulse. "It's your lucky day, they're not quite dead yet." My heart fluttered. Hawks you dumbass bastard. Didn't even check for a pulse? "...like I said, yet. If they don't get severe medical treatment very soon, they'll bleed out. None of us have the expertise to fix wounds like this. Both of their arms appear to be broken in multiple places, I severely doubt that they'll live and-" I stood up. "Damn it, Kurogiri! Do what you have to to keep them alive. Anything." Kurogiri nodded, and teleported away, leaving me to scream at the sky.

"I thought when I get older, I'd marry her"

"A half Nomu? You're sure it can be done?" I stared up at the giant cylinder of blue liquid that was keeping them alive in it. Their arms had been amputated. The doctor nodded. As secretive as he was, the guy was totally loyal to All for One, and therefore loyal to me."All we have to do is fix the arms using the process we use for making the Nomu. It should work out perfectly." I nod. That would have to do, as it seemed to be the only way of them getting out of this unscathed. "Well, there could be a few side effects, but nothing too major." He said, ruining the moment. "Like what?" I snapped. "Well, there could be some mental side effects, such as body dysphoria. I mean, there is always the chance that it won't work at all, or that perhaps it works too well and the Nomu part takes over the rest of the body." I scratched my neck. The stress had given back my old habits. "But they'll still mentally be themself, right? I don't want them to end up just like another Nomu." He nodded. "Likely. Still, I'm not sure why you are going through such lengths for one of your minor lackeys. Unless you want to program them to be totally loyal to you or something. But the resources alone for a quirk less nobody-" I put my hands around his neck, making sure to not touch him with all my fingers. Program them? That had to be crossing a line. I took a few deep breaths trying to calm down, but it made it worse. It took all my self control to not disintegrate him for saying such a horrible thing about my love but I needed him to save them. I glanced up at their body, seemingly lifeless in the canister. I tightened my grip. "Never. Never ever talk about them like that. Unless you want to die here and now." I released him to let him go do his work.

After getting the call from the doctor that the treatment had worked, and the healing was done, I immediately had Kurogiri teleport me to see. They looked perfectly fine, their arms free of even scars and blemishes that were there earlier. Something still bothered me. "Why aren't they waking up?" The doctor backed away, no doubt fearful of me turning him into dust."They just need a little time. Take them back to the hideout, and they'll be fine." I did just that, sitting by the side of their bed. "I hope someday you'll realize how much I love you. Enough to bring you back from the dead."

"Your new boyfriend's an arsehole"

Your POV:

You woke up. Groggily, you opened your eyes. How could you have woken up? Weren't you supposed to be dead? You moved your arms. Totally unbroken. In fact, they felt strong. Seeing Shigaraki next to you, you said, "How did Hawks get me to the hospital in time? I thought I was a goner." He sneered. "Pfft. That hero saved you? Please. No. Sorry sweetheart, it was me. He thought you were deceased, and left you for dead. The dumbass should have checked for a pulse. Anyway, after your... boyfriend," he sneered. "...thought you were dead, he abandoned the cause, and revealed that he was a fucking secret agent for the heroes." You shook your head. "No way." He got up. "Whatever princess. Just happy you're fine." He left the room, gently shutting the door. Looking around after getting out of bed, only Kurogiri and Shigaraki were at the league's hideout. How could you be alive. Your arms were supposed to be broken. It was obvious that Shigaraki did not want to talk about it, so you went to his second in command. "Kurogiri, how did you guys get me not dead?" That was a dumb way of putting it. His pupilless eyes turned towards you. "I am programmed to not answer that question. Oh, keeping secrets, are we Shigaraki? There was always a way around, and you would find out. "Do you know how?" He nodded his head yes. "Ok then, what did you do yesterday that had to do with me?" That seemed to work. "I took you to the doctor's lab where he fixed you." He was silent for a moment, then added his two cent take on it, something he rarely ever did. "Shigaraki seemed really concerned for you, Y/N. He loves you. He saved your life. You are in his debt. You must repay him." His words sent chills down your spine. Kurogiri never talked like that. He was always monotonous, giving only the requested information. You backed away, creeped out.

"I just think that I deserve A little bit of what I earned"

You sat behind Shigaraki, on the couch behind his gamer chair. The game blared boss battle music. "Do you wish to fight me, mortal?" That was an odd phrase. Must be the end game boss or something. He kept muttering little things under his breath. It was kind of cute. He won the game after two tries. A smile was on his face. You hardly ever saw that. He started a new game when you sneezed. He turned around, startled. "Oh, Y/N. How are you? I didn't know you were there. How long have you been there, exactly?" Since Kurogiri had said Shigaraki was in love with you, that had to be true. Kurogiri always told the truth. Since Hawks had backstabbed the league, you were open for a new boyfriend, right? You surveyed him with new eyes. Even though he wasn't heather most handsome, with his chapped lips, he wasn't that bad either, his hair was fluffy sky blue color, and something about his eyes entranced you. "Hey, what's with that look? Are you okay?" He seemed concerned for your well-being. This relationship could work out. You shook your head as if clearing the thoughts out. "Fine, thanks." He looked away from you, back at the game. You went over the couch, making a few quieter footstep sounds to make him think you were out of the room, and ducked behind the couch, peering out at him. What did he do in his alone time? He glanced around to check that you had left, and popped a different game into the CD drive. This game was very different from what he had been playing before. Instead of his, shooting, taking-over-the-galaxy-type game, the intro screen had girls in bathing suits... and some without. He started the game up, and immediately a very lewd picture of a girl showed up. He played the dumb game for a bit. Really? The second you leave the room he goes to play that kind of game, and fuck with some cartoon girls? That was actually kind of cute. Did you make him that horny? "None of them are as good as Y/N. Fuck."

"When I'm only one click away from insane"

He drummed his fingers on the desk. Slowly, you heard the unzipping of his pants. This was wrong. You shouldn't be listening in on him. But you couldn't help it. He had a crush on you, and the feeling was mutual. He started making little sounds, no doubt masturabting. Too bad he was turned away from you. "Ugh! Yea, mmmm. Just like that you little slut. Take it real good." Now that was too much. You felt your own panties behind drenched at ugly of him saying such dirty words to you. You slowly crept up on him. Somehow, he must have realized that you were there, because in one deft motion he zipped his pants, turned off the monitor with the naked girls, and stepped in front of the screen as if covering it. He turned to face you, a hand against your throat. "Kinky," you said. Realizing who you were, his hand slowly relaxed from the tight grip he had, letting it fall off of you. He stood there for a second, unsure what to do, unsure of how long you were there.

"'Cause she's living the dream"

"Poor Tomura. Did I stop you from cumming? I know what you did for me, and I want to make it up to you." His scarlet eyes widened and you slowly pressed him back into his chair and straddled him, holding his wrists with your strong arms. "Don't deny it. I know you want this." He looked away, unable to look at you in the eyes. "Yea, sure whatever." His words didn't match his actions. You felt him growing against you, straining against the fabric. "Naughty boy, looking at others for pleasure. They aren't even real. They can't make you feel like I can." You gently pressed your lips against his, and he went along with it, moaning softly. You rolled your hips onto his, giving him a little friction. "Fuck," he muttered softly. You grabbed his hair and made the kiss deeper, his rough lips against yours. You stay like that for a while, content with tasting each other. He finally backed off. "Y/N, you don't know how much I craved you, how much I wanted this." "Oh, I haven't even done anything yet." You very slowly unzipped his pants, and he blushed furiously under you. When you were finally done, you revealed his underwear, soaked where his head met the fabric. You got down on your knees and licked him through the fabric, and he shuddered, digging his nails into the soft leather of the chair. You gently stroked the tip, then slid his pants and briefs down to reveal his cock, which twitched when you blew cold air on it. "I want you so badly. Please. Please." You took him into your hands and licked it a few times before shoving his length into your mouth. He became a sobbing mess beneath you, calling your name as you sucked him off. His words became a string of incoherent praises. You knew he was getting close, so you finished him off and he came onto your hand. After a couple of shuddering breaths, he returned to normal, yet his dick was still erect.

"Love isn't quite what I thought it'd be"

"Please, I want to taste you. Let me, please, let me eat you up," he begged. You took off your lower clothing, and he went onto the couch. You slowly descended onto him, and he spent no time waiting. He grabbed your hips, digging some of his broken fingernails in, making sure not to touch you with all his fingers. You let out a squeal of pain, but that did not stop him. He covered you with his mouth, his tongue making lewd sounds. You let out moans as he did it, and soon you were ready to cum. Surprisingly, he took it well and swallowed it all, still licking you as if a puppy, desperately wanting a last bit of milk from its mother. "You're so desperate, babe. Lighten up." You fluffed his hair, but he kept going. His eyes were half lidded. How was he enjoying this so much? "Dirty little bitch, you just love sucking me, don't you?" He just vibrated his lips against you, and shuddered. "You look like you're fucking possessed. Stop it." He just kept licking and sucking until you came another time, and he came with you.

"I've got the key, and he's just the doormat"

You got off of his face and he gasped for breath, clear and whitish liquids coming out of his mouth. "You make a cute ahegao face," you said, taking a pic. He swallowed, wiped off his mouth, and frowned. "Did you just take a picture?" He tried swiping your phone. "Uh, no?" You replied, keeping the phone out of his reach. You laughed, and whispered in his ear. "I'm keeping this for blackmail until I know we'll do this again." You kissed him on the cheek, and he leaned against you in an attempt to take your phone. You clicked the power button, so he'd have to guess your password before he could delete it. He growled, up in your face. "Fine then, let's go right now."

"Cause she moves on pretty bloody quick"

#bnha #bnhaxreader #bnha x reader #bnhasmut #bnha smut #shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n

59 notes · View notes

gripefroot · 3 years

Text

Library

He always knows where to find her.

It’s become a game, after all these years - almost a cat and mouse to keep the blood warm and anticipation high. For there is never a shortage of anticipation in the waiting; not for her, and when she sees his face, not for him, either. Like clockwork, the chime that seems to pause all time between their duties to carve out their love again and again, always reassurance. A pause. A breath. A sigh. Before time starts again.

Sometimes it’s a garden, sometimes a deserted corridor, sometimes a courtyard beneath a starry sky. Sometimes the forest. Sometimes a guest chamber at the palace. Sometimes she’s the cat, pretending to both of them she’s capable of sneaking up on him while he keeps vigil alone. And sometimes it’s simply behind the carved wooden doors of their own chambers, behind those velvet drapes while the Nine Realms spin on around them -

But tonight, it’s the library.

Tonight it’s past midnight, with the city gone dark and slow and quiet, and it grows difficult to stay awake. With the first chill at the onset of autumn, the crackling fire in the great stone hearth is welcome - amongst the ancient tomes and dusty shelves she’s made a bed of furs, a soft place to land within the fire’s glow.

Though it might put her to sleep before he even arrives.

It’s in the rustle of leaves outside the columned windows that he does - quiet as a shadow, as is his way, but her ears are tuned to how the world curls around him. The leaves, then the silence. She knows that silence as well as she knows his smile or his laugh, and so she’s smiling as she stirs beneath the furs, blinking open her eyes to see him beside the hearth, lifting the helm from his head as his eyes glow golder than the flames.

“I am sorry I am late,” his voice rumbles, and his gaze doesn’t leave her face.

“No matter,” she murmurs back. Then a sudden yawn slips through her lips, which she tries to hide with the back of her hand.

“I kept you waiting.” There’s a wry twist of his lips, as he now unbuckles the scabbard at his waist. Into a chair beside his helmet, and though he likely means to keep it from her - there’s a flash of a wince on his handsome, sculpted face, and she swings her legs over the side of the sofa. A quick tug frees the silken, burgundy folds of her dressing gown from beneath her, and she stands.

“Come, husband. Let me help you undress.”

His smile turns grateful - taking him by the hand, she guides him to sit atop the furs, where she can kneel behind him to unlace his golden pauldron at the back of his neck. His head droops as she slides it from his shoulders, setting it carefully upon the stone-flagged floor.

“I would return the offer,” he says softly. “But it seems you are already undressed.”

“Not all the way,” she laughs in return, and clicks her tongue in chiding. “I could not wait bare-skinned in a library where anyone might walk in! That is only for you.”

Beneath his arms are the ties to his cuirass - nimbly she unlaces those as well, practiced after so long. Then, quietly, he says, “No one will disturb us this night, my love.”

“Then we must make the night count.”

The cuirass is put aside, and her lips find the nape of his neck - chainmail cold against her chin, but his skin is warm and husky-scented. He hums at the sensation as she works to free him of the heavy mail, his chest vibrating. The scent of the cold cosmos, of starry nebulas is so recognizable - so him.

Once the chainmail is lifted, she curls around him, sliding into his lap as he smiles fondly down at her. Cheek against his soft, worn leather tunic, she whispers, “What did you see tonight?”

“Everything,” he murmurs back, his lips against her hair. “I saw war and famine and destruction. And I saw love and children and open hearts. I saw worlds die and worlds born. The stars are aging, and I heard the music of their closing.”

The hair that sculpts his jawline is coarse beneath her palm, as she draws his face near to hers - a kiss, his taste sliding musky over her tongue, his arm tightening ‘round her waist. The cold vambrace is hard with only her thin dressing gown to protect her, but it doesn’t hurt - it merely feels like him.

“And,” he says when he pulls away, nuzzling his nose against hers. “I saw you waiting for me.”

She smiles. “I counted on it.” She catches her hand in his, weaving their fingers together where they fit so perfectly; the callouses meeting her soft skin in a thrilling stroke. Then, drawing his hand close, she begins to remove his vambrace, next.

The fire crackles - the only sound apart from the song of leather ties, and his deep, even breathing. Forehead resting against her head, she knows his eyes are closed as she ministers to him.

“The king,” he starts to say, and his voice breaks. “The Allfather joined the stars today, my love.”

Her fingers pause, and the library suddenly seems frigidly cold, as though struck with a winter wind - shivering, she burrows herself deeper into her husband’s arms before sliding the vambrace over his hand. His embrace tightens as he moves to unlace the vambrace behind her back, where she can’t reach.

“And what do you see of us, now?” she asks boldly.

“I see...a cloak of darkness. I see pain.” His eyes open again, and she tilts her chin to peer into the golden depths - how well he sees her, after centuries of watching the universe. And she sees him, too, his grief and sadness lined around his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the downward tilt of his lips. Perhaps he knows more than he says, but her utmost trust in what he chooses to share is unsurpassed. His sight can be a burden, she knows, and in her love she seeks merely to ease it.

Thumb against his bottom lip, urging it to lift. “Then let us enjoy the light while we have it,” she suggests, and when he smiles, it aches - but he kisses her, all the same, large, calloused hands exploring where they already know along her waist and back and neck. He drinks her sighs as greedily as he always has, and against his palm she can feel the steady thumping of his heart.

When she’s growing breathless and his voice is ragged, he tips her back onto the furs. The sight of him standing above the sofa to remove his leather tunic and breeches draws her in like a moth to flame - and she welcomes the burning with open arms, at the exposure of his glinting skin, the heat against her skin. How he fumbles with the ties of her dressing gown, this night, and groans aloud to discover that she had mysteriously forgotten to wear a nightgown beneath it.

“I thought you could not wait bare-skinned,” he kisses into her skin, and her fingers clench around the back of his neck as she gasps.

“And I thought you could see me, husband,” is all she manages to quip in return, but the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest soars through her whole being, much like his kissing. Every breath of his that caresses her every each of body sinks through the skin and muscle and sinew to light her very bones onto fire - liquid gold that courses in her veins, pumping by her heart - her heart is his, and his is hers, and they’ll always be one as they always have before -

“I would rather touch you,” he pants, and kisses the tip of her nose, which she scrunches. “Feel you.” And his thick, corded thighs part hers as his fingers dip below - proving his touch to make her back arch, her eyes squeeze shut - the fur against her naked back scraping so soft and gentle, but he’s gentler.

There are days and nights when passion snaps and cracks faster than a whip - hungry and thirsty and desperate - but tonight is not that. Tonight drinks deep from a cup of wine, heady on the tongue and dizzying.

His fingers emerge glistening as her head spins - he tastes first, and then with a crooked smile offers to her - she catches his hand in hers to lick him clean, holding his golden gaze as she does so and earning a hearty chuckle.

“So sweet,” he purrs. “Always so sweet, my love.”

A curtain seems to fall around them, glittering like stars and trapping them safely within - she’s always safe within his arms, held secure from the ills of the world with his protection and his love. Centuries made good, one after another, since before worlds began - and yet, the awe is always the same when they’re bound as husband and wife and knitting their hearts together tighter and tighter each time.

With a grunt he twists their tangle of limbs so that she can fly - mounted tall on his veined length and eagerly watching the emotion play on his face as he stares up at her. Firelight glowing against his skin, his lips curled into a smile as she takes the lead. Soon his head falls back, eyelids closing slightly though she can see a slit of golden orbs beneath - with her teeth biting almost painfully into her lip, she sighs with him, moving, moving, moving, to hear him murmur her name entwined with words of love.

He touches her everywhere he can reach, and when he strokes her breasts it’s the strike of flint against steel - her cry of climax echoing within the library walls and bouncing back - a witness to tomes on the study of love that this, this is what it is. This is what it’s meant to be. More than dusty theories or monotonous commentaries; this is the action and the living and the life.

He’s smiling when she catches her breath again.

“You grow more beautiful each time,” he tells her, his hand cupping her face - releasing a sigh with a shaky laugh, she catches his wrist and twists her head to kiss his palm. “No, ‘tis true, my love,” he adds, one eyebrow quirking high. “I can see it.”

“Flatterer,” she says fondly, and bends over him to kiss his mouth - his laugh and hers caught between their lips and forgotten as the wave of heat courses again.

And so it goes until the first pink tendrils of dawn break through the frosty windows of the library - over and over again, between musing exchanges on this or that, between tender kisses and companionable silences. As he must leave at dawn, she insists that he sit on the edge of the sofa so that she can rub out the tension in his shoulders that comes from the weight of his armor - they have only a few moments more until the end.

“My love,” he says, as she presses her thumbs deep into his muscles. “You might visit Njal today.”

“I saw our son for luncheon only yesterday. Has something changed?”

A pause - and then heavy as the earth, “It will.”

She does not like that tone of voice. She knows it - she knows the foreboding. But she also knows that nothing at all will convince her husband to share more information. And so she merely breathes in, and leans forward to kiss his whiskery cheek from behind.

“I shall see him again, then. If he is not too busy training with the einherjar.”

“Take our daughters with you.”

“And will not join us, husband?” she asks.

“I will. But I will be late.”

“How late?”

Another pause. Still she tries to knead out the knots he carries - but they are more stubborn than she is strong, and so she takes to kissing his shoulder blades, for that comfort, at least.

“I will join you by sunset tomorrow.”

“I shall hold you to that.”

He turns his head, then - his smile, though stilted, is all the assurance she needs. Whatever will come, will come - they have weathered wars and death and pain before, and they will again. Her heart aches for the future, for the unknown, for the questions bubbling inside - no, she has never been able to imagine his burden, and she never will. But in that burden he still seeks her, still loves her, and when he lifts her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, she wishes for magic to pause this parting forever.

“I must go now. But I will return.”

Hope is a golden shroud. She helps him to dress once more, and kisses him farewell - soon early risers will be seeking the library, and so she slips away after he is gone, shadow by shadow, to leave this meeting place.

The next time they meet, it will be in the forest fleeing for their lives, but she doesn’t know it yet.

#heimdall #heimdall x reader #heimdall smut #avengers #marvel

80 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 3 years

Note

Hey, I’m already warning that it’s Angst! So, what would Nico, or even most of Camps and Percy’s family and friends do if Percy die? This after the Giant War and he dies in a quest. What would they do?

I know this is a weird question but I need to know! I’m writing a story about this. But I wanted to know your opinion since your PJO stories inspire me to write!

Well, first of all, I'm very flattered that I spird you to write and I wish you good luck with your writing! <3

Then mh. Generally, I try to avoid death fics, both in reading and writing.

But in this fandom you can find great ways to work around it. So the real question is, where do you want to go with it?

Percy who dies, but due to his heroics in the past earned himself godhood and now his family and friends have to cope with the fact that he is dead and a god.

Percy who dies, but Nico says "fuck this shit", storms the underworld, grabs ghost!Percy's hand and does the second jail break because let's be real Thanatos owes Percy one for saving his life so he'd turn a blind eye and Hades doesn't even dare to speak up because Nico's been annoying him about Percy Jackson's pretty eyes for years now and if he doesn't allow Nico to steal the soul back, he will never hear the end of it.

Percy who dies and just... hangs out in the underworld. It's chill, honestly, he finally gets to bond with Nico who lives down there and they get together that way (I think I literally wrote that fic before. Or a Hades/Persephone/Percy fic. Or both. Unsure).

Percy who dies and becomes a ghost. New Rome is full of ghosts in canon, isn't it? Percy could just decide to hang out with his friends. Still painful, but they adjust to it.

Percy who dies and gets reborn and like 15 years from now, his friends get to meet him again, in a new body and have to cope with that.

Percy who dies and is just... gone.

Sooo, before you can really work on "What would they do?", you have to pick what you do. Where do you want Percy's death to go, because depending on the route taken, the reactions would vary.

Obviously, everyone grieves in their own way. So keep in mind how the characters act in canon. (Which, quite frankly, in the case of Nico really only leaves the "fuck this shit" Orpheus and Eurydice version, considering he tried to bring back Bianca for years and successfully revived Hazel.)

And "What would they do?" also depends on what you want them to do. Because if you stick with canon, most of them would just be sad for a bit and then move on, if canon's anything to go by. Annabeth in HoO never even mentions Luke or her grief for her first big crush slash mentor who had died just a few short months before. I refuse to touch ToA but from what I gather no one attempted to bring back Leo and they were all just kinda sad until he returned on his own. Jason's dead too now and I don't think anyone tried to bring him back either and Piper's already smooching her new love interest from what I've heard. And "camp" as a large entity wouldn't do much; all of them have lost so many siblings in the war and they moved on from it. They'd burn a shrout for Percy and move on from it, though he is our protagonist, in the general picture of a war riddled society with child soldiers who have lost dozens of siblings in the past few short years already, his death is not that much more significant than any of the others.

You can go with the route closest to what is considered "in character" by orienting yourself on the way these characters have been shown in canon to react to character deaths.

Personally, I think Riordan was a coward who vastly downplayed the PTSD, survivor's guilt and grief these characters should have been going through by the time HoO rolled around and I think that you should make the judgment call yourself. You've read the books, you have a feel for how they acted, how they felt, how they reacted. What do you think would be their appropriate reaction?

Sure, you could give me a list of characters you want involved in this and the scenario you want to go with and I can directly answer the question you asked and tell you how I think they'd react. And that can be a good guideline if you are unsure yourself. But at the end of the day, this is your story and it must feel like yours. You have to be the one who, when reading it, is satisfied by the reactions and behind how they acted. And that can easily be derailed by looking to others for guidance. That's not meant to be me declining your answer; if you do want to know what I think specific characters' reactions would be like in a specific scenario, then come back to me with that and I'll offer you my opinion.

It's more meant to be encouragement for you to look into yourself and test your own grasp on the characters and go with whatever reactions you think would be most satisfying; they don't necessarily have to be the most in character. Not just because sometimes, as above mentioned, "in character" can be dissatisfying and deliberately play down emotions a real person would be feeling in certain scenarios (often due to the author's own lack of knowledge about the specific scenario, deliberate ignorance or ratings; it's tough to sell a kids' book series if you genuinely confront the trauma that comes with the reality of being a child soldier), but also because sometimes, being more "out of character" is just... more fun, sometimes things are thought experiments, sometimes you want the extreme reaction because it makes for a better or more entertaining read.

Since this turned, uh, longer than anticipated, to sum it up shortly: Decide what Percy's death is supposed to mean in the larger context of the story and where you want to go with it, then decide which specific characters' reactions you're looking for. In some cases, you can easily compare to how they have reacted to a similar scenario in the past and then see for yourself if you want to stay in line with that reaction, or if you feel like a different reaction would be more appropriate, or just more fun to write/read.

You read the books and, I assume, enough fanfiction to know the characters and find your answer yourself, even if you're unsure about it right now. And if you do want more detailed input, you are free to come back to me with specifics, or message me in private and we can talk certain scenarios or particular characters you're struggling with through and I'll see if I can help you. ;)

#Phoe Giving Advise #Writing Advise #Writing #PJOverse

16 notes · View notes

emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Tamara Fox, Some OC for cuteness Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Crying, so much crying, Love Confessions, Cheesy, God it's so cheesy, Cringe, So sweet so cheesy so angsty that you'll cringe, Tim Drake-centric, some Jason POV tho, A wild X-men appereance, I know they're not the same universe but I'm running out of character and running out of creativity, So yeah X-men characters and vaugly their mansion/orphanage too, Bruce Wayne Bashing, Some things that I don't put down bcs it'll be a spoiler, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV from a cat????, The Clichést Cliché that ever Cliché, Cliche Summary:

They meet again on a rooftop after ten years. They're different now, and things are not the same. It's all too late. Chapter 1 sneakpeek

“Don’t jump.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Tim puts down his cigarette-clutching fingers and drags his eyes to the source of the voice. His gelled-back hair loses its hold and a strand of ear-length bangs falls to his vision.

Sadly, without seeing him and just from the voice, Tim knows exactly who this person is. One of the Bat franchise, and it just had to be the Red Hood variation, fucking great. Out of all time, it has to be tonight. The world is playing a joke on him.

Tim is sitting hunched on the rooftop’s edge, wishing he’d have some peace and quiet for once, and of course one of these pestering bats just has to bug him at the worst time. Yet, it’s actually pretty rare for Red Hood to patrol Gotham lately, and Tim curses up a storm in his mind. Out of all the days, it just has to be fucking tonight.

No, Tim is not having it.

“This man has too much to do tomorrow to jump.” Tim looks away, getting a light from his suit.

One hand lighting another one of his death stick, and the other unbuttoning his suit and loosens his tie. After a puff and two, Tim drags in and keeps the smoke in, letting his nerves uncoil. Seems like it doesn’t work that well when the big bad shadow of a vigilante doesn’t move from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not jumping, go away, I can’t deal with you tonight,” Tim says as he sighs the smoke away to the red polluted sky, thinking the man must be deaf or just not convinced. Maybe the latter, the bats are famous for their tact after all. People say they’re purely human. Seeing Red hood’s physique, maybe this one becomes meta-human at some point.

Tim looks the other way so the vigilante is completely out of his vision, to make a point that he’s not having this conversation. He looks to the city, engulfed by the red sky. It’s bright since this building is at the heart of the city, where the higher caste of Gothamites live and prosper. You can see the border around the bright side of the city where the lights stop dead and darkness begins. The poor side of the city. The gap is ghastly, it’s what makes Gotham what it is.

Tim is not surprised but highly disappointed when he hears shuffling instead, and when he looks at where the tall brick wall of a man, he already sits down next to him. Red Hood keeps a respectable distance though, at least he has that much of a tact.

Red Hood hooks his fingers inside his helmet, does some finger shimmy, and the red shiny mask helmet is off. His face is still covered by a domino mask, his hair looks damp, and his gloved hands rake his jet black hair back. Curls bounce to his forehead, sighing a fog, the only indication that the weather is reaching the end of the year. In turn, Tim felt his cleanly shaved nape chilled.

From inside the leather jacket, the vigilante digs to look for something, and that’s when Tim realized he’s been looking at the cuts on Red Hood’s exposed forearms from the folded sleeves. Very thick and muscled forearms. This guy either lifts all day or a meta-human, not that Tim cares anymore.

“Got a light?” Red says, plush lips smirking.

Tim sighs, guess he has company today. He digs into his suit and throws him his lighter. The masked man inspects it and Tim rolls his eyes. The lighter is a metal one that you flip, and on it engraved ‘From my heart with love, that this one lasts longer, Tam.’

“A sweetheart of yours?” Says the man, the second sentence he speaks, and Tim doesn’t recognize the voice. Deep, gravely, the typical voice of someone that smokes.

Red Hood extends his hand to give back the lighter to Tim instead of throwing it, must’ve thought it’s special.

“Kind of,” Tim says, receiving the lighter.

Red Hood drags in, keeps the smoke in, “Why kind of?” and sighs.

“Never established the relationship.”

“Commitment issues?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow at the man, sitting just as hunched as him. There’s a pillar beside Tim, and he lays his back there, thinking whether or not he should engage in this conversation. Eh, why not right? It’s not like it’s confidential information, and Tim is just so tired of caring about social politics.

“I was too late,” Tim says. It’s not as painful to say now, but lately, Tim has been numb. He’s been numb for years. Tim’s gay, or so he thought. When he began to really love her, she’s gone from him.

“Girl got another guy?” Red Hood teases.

“Girl got dead,” Tim deadpans. The smile dropped from the vigilante’s mouth, and if only he can see his eyes, panic would look funny on the all-powerful Bat. But, no, Tim can see his tell by the tapping hands.

“Ah fuck, sorry.”

Tim chuckles at the spectacle of an awkward vigilante. Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.

“Relax, I’m not too sad about it now, it was years ago.”

It’s hard to predict Red’s expression with that domino mask that takes his cheekbones and half his forehead, but Tim’s pretty sure the twist on that mouth means his opinion of Tim isn’t good. Well, not that Tim cares.

“How did she die?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Tim put the filter on his lips and drags in as deep as he can. Too deep, and Tim coughs hard, once and twice that his vision blurs. Her face comes to vision, the morbidity of her expression tips Tim’s nerves off balance. Tim quickly takes another deep drag, “She was in the Joker’s way.”

At the name, Red Hood snaps his face at Tim. Slowly, languidly, Tim looks back. The vigilante clenched jaw and balled fists look like he’s about to kill somebody. Tim knows that a few years ago Red Hood kidnapped Joker, didn’t kill him, and just vanished before popping up again to have a vendetta against Batman. What a load of drama those bunch.

This also means that Tim knows exactly who this person is. Suddenly the voice registers, the familiar jaw, the soft fucking tone.

He blames it on the nicotine that his heart is calmer than he’d like, his mind still not on overdrive, still plagued with Tam’s face as she died in front of him. He’d breathe smoke instead of oxygen if he could. God he wished he’d breathe smoke from now on. Why does it have to be today? One grace from the universe is that Tim -for some reason- feels amused instead of dread.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody, Red,” Tim says, can’t help the ease and sass in his voice. Tim lays back hunched, crosses his legs. “I thought you let go of your vendetta against the Joker.”

“Where do you hear that bullshit?” Redhood snaps and Tim can’t help but let go another chuckle.

“People talk, words get around,” Tim says.

“Then they’re far off the truth,” Red hisses before dragging in his cig.

“Yet the Joker still roams.”

“Ain’t my call.”

“Is it the big bat daddy calls?”

Red Hood splutters at the name and Tim smirks evilly at the reaction. “Ew, don’t call him that!”

“I can call that higher-than-thou furry hero wannabe anything I want,” Tim spits bitterly, looking out to the city. Sometimes when he’s really lucky, he’ll catch one of the bats twirling in the sky, and now one of ‘em is sitting beside him, but sadly it’s not the most shocking knowledge he has today. “One of these days it’s going to be my turn.”

“What?”

“Dying in the collision of mad men’s evil master plan you refuse to get rid of.”

“Ck, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Sorry then, I don’t mean to insinuate anything. This is me telling you loud and clear that you’re all cowards for not killing these maniacs that kill us like ants when you have the power to stop them.” Tim’s voice is even and chill, it did not raise a tone, but it reduces the bulk of a man beside him to still. “Some of us rooted for you when you caught the Joker, and your reputation gives us high hopes that it’ll be the last of him. Then he showed up again.” Tim feels the lighter in his pocket burn, “Then Tam died.”

Tim pumps his lung full of smokes, keeping it in there so that the clawing gloom will die before it takes roots.

“I almost did kill him, Batman stopped me,” the gravel voice says lowly.

Tim feels himself stiffens, now that’s something he doesn’t know. His eyes scan the hunched vigilante, trying to find any sign of a lie, there’s none.

“Shit,” Tim curses, sighing up smoke and quickly takes a deep drag in. “Fuck Batman.”

For the first time, Tim hears Red chuckle, “Yeah, fuck him.”

“Still your family though, right?” Tim says, earning what he thinks is a glare, who would fucking know with that mask. “Why else would you stay in his line?”

Red Hood looks away, not answering.

“Guess I understand. Proving something to someone.”

Red scoffs, “Would you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah, not your story.”

Tim scoffs at the obvious lie, “Look it up. I have better things to do than telling you my backstory that’s a google search away.”

Tim Drake. Son of the CEOs of Drake Industries. Running smoothly since ever he becomes the COO. Yada yada, young and successful, yada yada, has the reputation to chew out the reporters and a resting bitch face, all that shit. Tim doesn’t have the best bedside manners, but when it comes to business, Tim gets things done, and his business partners know to swallow their pride for a potential too stupid to missed just because Tim has fangs.

“I dunno, you’re pretty mysterious in the eye of the media,” Red says.

“Because they’re nosy pricks and not worth my time when they’re asking me about rumors of my flings.”

“They’re not true?”

“What the fuck are you? Does TMZ sent you?”

“Good point, never mind.”

They let the quiet settle in, and Tim isn’t too bothered by the company so much. The red amber eats to his filter. Tim puts out the light and puts the bud back inside the pack while he gets another one. He looks down at his light, which reminded him of Tam. Damn, she was such a good assistant, she’s also his best friend but a damn better assistant. Tim doesn’t let himself think about it.

He lights another, and puffs.

“Shouldn’t you be patroling?” Tim says before he can stop himself.

“Nah, not here to patrol, just some errands.”

“Don’t mind me. I’m not jumping.”

“No, I know that,” Red says, tone softer that Tim narrows his eyes at him.

“Lonely?” Tim teases, putting the filter in his lips while locking eyes to the pair of white lenses.

Red shrugs, “Just wanna kill time with someone that doesn’t wear one of these,” he says, tapping to his domino mask.

Tim hums imagining himself with his family, “Yeah, me too, I’d take a vigilante franchise over family dinner anytime.”

“Aww,” Red surprisingly coos, making Tim flustered.

“Don’t get it twisted, my family sets a pretty low bar for good company.”

“I can say the same, Timmy.”

Tim flinches, “I didn’t say you can call me Timmy.”

“What about friends then?” Red follows up, ignoring him.

“Joker killed my only best friend. Oh god, stop making that face, everyone I know got someone they know killed by the Joker, or Bane, or.... shit just those freaks.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I don’t care what you feel.”

“I’m wounded,” Red says in that joking ‘boo-hoo’ voice but it was the last thing to snap Tim’s patience completely. He hates this casual conversation as if nothing happened.

“I’m not jumping, and I know you’re not here just to talk to some random civilian. You know who I am, so say what you wanna say and go,” Tim inhales deeply after the low-toned rant, only to be met with another silence.

They stay quiet for a few whiles again. Smoking the tension away. After Tim’s cig burns halfway, his nerves calmed down. Then he realizes that Red is looking at him. Staring.

“What?” Tim says, sighing smoke.

“Would you kill Joker if you could?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Killing someone isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially if you did it before.”

“You underestimate my anger then.”

Red Hood goes still for what Tim is insinuating. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Tim gets it and his new assistant reminds him of a flight in an hour and he needs to be ready in half. Tim puts out his cig and pockets it.

As he stands up, he looks down at Red Hood, really looks at him. It reminded Tim of the time has passed. It’s been so long.

“Nothing to say?” Tim asks, he has an underlying tone of ‘last chance.’

“Thanks for the light.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breaths slowly. What did he expect? “You caught me at a bad time but it’s good to meet you again, Jason.”

When Tim walks away, his elbow is grabbed and he’s spun to face Jason in all his bulk. Looming over him with his height.

“You know who I am?” Red says with a threat in his voice that makes Tim wants to laugh.

“Are you really that surprised? Or did you forget me when you fucking died?” Tim smiles bitterly.

Moments passed, eyes on each other, chest to chest. The last time he sees Jason, Tim was staring at these white lenses too, and Jason was still as tall as him. At this close, Tim sees tiny tears that heal pale than the rest of his tan skin, bulked up body looming over him that used to be similar to his. For anyone, Tim had two best friends, Robin and Jason Wayne-Todd, he had known the two are the same. Seems like Jason doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter now. Everything said and done. Too late.

“Say your goodbyes now,” Tim says, because why else would his childhood friend pops back again after a decade of not saying anything after he returned to life. Tim doesn’t realize it’ll hurt this bad though. Missing Tam doesn’t hurt this bad.

Perhaps it was because the scar never healed right, but he still thinks of Jason like a big chunk of him that’s been torn away forcefully, even now.

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally says, low and guilty, as he should be, but it irks Tim to no end.

“I lost you, and when you’re back you didn’t tell me,” Tim says, his voice cracks and he curses it to hell. Red Hood’s been around for years, and Jason never came to Tim to say he’s alive. “If you have nothing else to say, let go of me.”

“I didn’t know that you knew.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you know I was Robin... Did you know... everyone?”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Yes.” Gloved hands still on his elbow, and white lenses not letting him go. The non-challant face he wears slips off as if oil just slicked between the mask and his skin. His heart picks up a beat. There are layers between their skin, Jason’s thick gloves and Tim’s three-piece suit, but it feels warmer. Burning.

“Damn,” Jason curses under his breath.

It’s just a little thing, but Jason’s silence following that is a nother prick to Tim’s skin.

“Is that all?” Tim dismissed, pulling his arm away, but Jason only holds tighter.

“I didn’t know, okay?” Jason pushes, “And you’re a civilian, you’re not supposed to know Jason Todd is back to the land of the living.”

“A civilian,” Tim mutters under his breath. That’s all he is to Jason? All this time. His chest hurts, Tim knows this is because of Jason’s words instead of anything else. “Get away from me.”

“I’ll see you again,” Jason says before letting go.

Before Tim can say don’t bother, the man puts on his red helmet and grapples away. For a moment Tim can see the shadow of red yellow green flying away.

#jaytim #jaytim fanfic #jaytim fanfiction #tim drake fanfiction #jason todd fanfiction #Tim drake fanfic #Jason todd fanfic #Back on that dc angst train baby #emocel's

42 notes · View notes

everlastingdreams · 3 years

Text

Weeping Monk x Reader : Playing With Fire chapter 7

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.

Chapter Summary: The Monk arrives in Mirstone to confront you about what he has found out about the fey camp in the North.

Notes: Starting to build the tension I guess.. also I didn’t find a fitting gif so take this one because pretty.

Warnings: Lowkey Slut-shaming. Which will get worse in some chapters, be warned.

Word count: 2365 words in this chapter.

Chapter: 7/ 30+ something (buckle up, it’s a wild ride.)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You had wrapped a warm scarf around your neck to hide the bruises that had formed from Draegan's grip on your throat. The last thing you wanted was the stares from the other villagers. You waited until dark before you started to copy the maps you had 'borrowed' from the bag. You were drawing the last details of the maps when you heard the door of your home creak, alerting you to the fact that somebody had entered your small home. Damnit, you hadn't locked your front door. You discreetly moved the maps under some books before turning around to see who it was. And when you did your heart dropped. The Weeping Monk was standing in the doorway. Why was he here ? You nor your brother were expecting a visit from Father Carden today and they never came this late in the evening. Your brother would not have left otherwise. The thought crossed your mind that maybe he had told Father Carden about you trying to help a fey anyway. You stood up from your chair but showed no intention to move closer to him. "Is Father Carden gracing us with another visit ?" You asked in a obviously fake polite voice. The corner of his mouth turned up but it was gone in a flash as he shook his head. He was staring at you now, his eyes following you as you walked around the place. You could feel that he was choosing his next words cautiously and calculated. "No. I came alone." He stated after a moment of silence. You straightened your back, taking on a defensive stance "Have you come to kill me after all then ?" He started to walk around the place as if he was studying you "No." You hated to admit that it was unnerving "Then why have you come ?" He folded his hands behind his back, now facing you "I've been told your brother has recently acquired a map." Damn. The one who sold your brother the map had not kept their mouth shut about it to the Monk. You kept your composure, perhaps he assumed your brother was keeping it to get more coin "I'm afraid my brother is not here. He's..working." You hated to call it for what it was. Hunting fey. "I'm aware." He quirked a brow. Damn.. he had indeed come for you after all. He stepped closer towards you and you stood your ground "A map that held the location of a fey camp that is now deserted." "I don't see how I can help you with that. My brother is the one who you should be asking about that." You tried to avoid the topic of the map completely. "Those who help the fey will meet the same fate " He stared you down. You felt a chill go down your spine. He knew. He knew you were warning them. He had hinted to it in the forest but you had hoped he was just trying to unnerve you. There was no question now that he believed you had taken the map and warned the fey in the North, why else would he have come here to talk to you alone about it ? You did try to save the fey boy from him and he must have connected the dots pretty quickly after that. "I'm aware." You parroted his own words. Then he took two steps closer, and in response you grabbed a pan that was on the table, willing to hit him if he got any closer. His eyes fell on the pan in your hands before they locked on your face. He smirked and let out a scoff "Tell me the locations of the fey camps. I know the Huntsman has acquired the information. I know you have seen it when I was here with Father. Don't lie to me." He sounded irritated. "And cost me my brother's payment from Father Carden ? Forget it." It was a plausible excuse, you actually could not care less about the payment. Besides, you had already warned those camps. The new maps where laying under the stack of books on the table. You hoped he wouldn't think that you would hide them in a similar spot again. He was anything but pleased with the answer, the tension between you and him was palpable "You intend to warn them, don't you ?" His voice was lower then it had been moments ago. It was not a question. It was a statement. You tried to stay calm, but it was starting to tick you off how the Monk seemed adamant to keep bothering you. Didn't he have other things to keep himself occupied ? You were still the sister of the Huntsman, and as long as you didn't confess to warning the fey to Father Carden he had no solid proof to give to Carden. It could be anyone in this village, even one of your brother's men. You spoke through gritted teeth "You can't make me tell you anything, Monk. This is the Huntsman's village, all I have to do is tell one of his men that you are trying to undermine my brother's work."

He was glaring at you now, he knew you were right and it aggravated him tremendously. He was on thin ice coming here without the permission of the Huntsman or Father Carden. The Monk knew he would have to intimidate you into telling him "Do you think you can outrun me and reach one of them then ?" Your grip on the pan tightened at his question. He took two steps around the table in your direction. You backed away to stay out of his reach "Stay away from me, you bastard !" You held up the pan, ready to strike if he came within your reach. He stopped and scoffed at the sight "I could kill you, y/n. I should kill you. If you had not been the Huntsman's sister I would have killed you the moment you attacked me in the forest. Are you truly willing to die to protect the fey ?" Was this it ? Was he really going to kill you in your own home ? You gave a short nod, you had lost your patience with this arrogant bastard "I am. I will die knowing that I protected the innocent from you ! From the torture they would face by your paladin bastards !" Even though he was far more skilled then you, you were not going down without a fight. You launched at him with the pan and almost caught him off-guard. He thought you were bluffing, he had not expected that you would be brave enough to fight him. He ducked just in time so it hit his shoulder hard instead of his face, he turned to the side as he grabbed your wrists. He disarmed you and the sound of steel alerted you that he had drawn his sword. He grabbed hold of you as you tried to escape from his grasp, turning you so your back was against his chest, he held the sword to your throat. "You confess then ?" He spoke lowly, you could feel his breath on the side of your face. "I guess we both secretly help the fey." You struggled against him but he kept you in a firm grasp. He knew you would remind him of the fact that he spared the boy. You elbowed him in the ribs, and he let out a pained groan. His grip faltered momentarily but he pulled you against his chest again, and pressed the sword against your throat now. Making sure you couldn't do that again, not giving you the room to move your elbow anymore. Not giving you room to move at all. This was not supposed to go this way, he had wanted to give you a warning “Don't force me to kill you, y/n.” What ? Was that not why he had come here in the first place ? You stopped struggling for a moment “Why have you come here, Monk ?” He moved his sword so it was no longer pressing directly against your skin “Stop warning the fey. It will not end well for you. Father will not be as forgiving as I am.” “I don't seek forgiveness for saving lives.” You let out an insulted scoff. The Monk had no good counter answer for that. He could say that he was saving their souls by killing them, but your words from the forest still haunted him. Remembering how you had told him he was damning his own soul that way. When he took a deep breath out of frustration he became aware just how closely he was holding you against him. He had done this with other people before but somehow it felt different now. He resisted the urge to step away from you. The close proximity to you was making him nervous, it felt too...intimate.

The sudden silence between you made you uneasy, he was holding you so close that you had felt his chest rise and fall as he had taken a deep breath. And then.. silence. As if both of you were unaware of how close you were standing against each other before he had done that. In that moment it was as if something shifted in the atmosphere between you, he was no longer holding you as firmly as he had been. After another second that felt much longer he spoke again, you noticed that he sounded calmer now. He sounded different, persuasive even. “Be smart, y/n. Don't be brave.” He tried to sound convincing, knowing that the latter would certainly cost you your life one day. The Monk remained still as he contemplated his next action, then he slowly moved his sword away from your throat. “You would spare my life if I stopped ?” It confused you, there was no way Father Carden would agree to this. “Father nor the Huntsman are aware of what you have done. If you stop, I will overlook this. This never happened, just like you and the boy were never in the forest that night.” You frowned at that before understanding what was going on. You had leverage on him, and now he had leverage on you. He would keep his mouth shut about you having warned the fey and you wouldn't rat him out for letting the boy go. It had never been your intention to rat on him for that, but it seemed he did not trust you for that matter. “Alright... I'll stop.” You said calmly, lying through your teeth to the Monk. If he believed you had stopped it would buy you enough time to bring the new information to the fey.

Another moment passed by before he let go off your arm and released you from his grip. You immediately turned around and took a couple of steps away from him. Being so close to him felt strange. He watched as you stepped away from him the moment he had let go of you, he hoped the warning was clear. But he had a feeling you weren't going to be so easily convinced. You had a stubborness that matched his own. His expression hardened again “If you lied to me-” “You'll kill me. Got it.” You snapped at him, you hated how he was bossing you around like this. How he had the arrogance to just waltz in here. The he suddenly looked past you and you turned to see what had caught his attention.

Brogan had entered your home as well "Ah, what do we have here ? I thought I heard another voice in here." This was not looking well for you, if he told your brother about the Weeping Monk being in your home it would further push him to believe that you were indeed working with the Monk... among other things. The Monk looked at Brogan, a brow raised as the man stepped further inside your home. "Thought you'd have better taste, little bird. And a man of the cloth at that ?" Brogan tsked. It sounded terribly demeaning. Like he was scolding a toddler. The Monk narrowed his eyes when he heard the comment, not understanding what Brogan was insinuating "What ?" "We were just talking." You firmly stated. Brogan scoffed "Just talking, eh ? With him ? He doesn't look like the talking type to me." If it had been unclear to the Monk what Brogan was insinuating, it was clear now. You saw the Monk shift his balance, looking uncomfortable being there all of a sudden. Oh great. Had you known that, you would have tried something similar to scare him out of your house. "Believe what you wish, Brogan. The truth is that we were talking. As you stated yourself, didn't you say you heard another voice as you tried to eavesdrop on me again ?" You refused to let Brogan bully you in your own damn home. He had a tendency to be this demeaning to you and get into your business. Most likely to rat you out to your brother. Brogan's expression hardened, not pleased with the way you defended yourself "I am-" You interupted him "Leaving. As is the Monk. Get OUT of my home ! Both of you !" The anger was boiling inside of you, it would help to make it clear that neither of them were welcome there. The Monk looked at you, he seemed almost startled at your sudden outburst of rage. And so did Brogan. Your patience had run out. The Monk scoffed and shook his head as he headed towards the door. Brogan tried to get his attention by glaring at him, the Monk walked into Brogan's shoulder as he passed him by. "Damn paladin dog.." Brogan uttered once the Monk left. Then he turned to you and you glared at him. He chuckled, a sound that send a chill through you, before he also left your home. You drew a deep breath, scolding yourself for forgetting to lock the door.

Taglist:

@itsjustjenna @ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @mixedchicaq @boredoomfm @soccmoss @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @tanyaherondale @lancelotapricot @captainbucky-yt @thesneakylittleminx @crystallizedtime

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

#the weeping monk #weeping monk #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #Cursed Netflix #cursed lancelot #cursed fic #weeping monk/reader #lancelot/reader #weeping monk x oc #weeping monk/you

82 notes · View notes

oddone95 · 4 years

Text

The Cycle of Hatred in Naruto fandom.

Ok, so I just wanted to write a little post on why this fandom (Naruto fandom that is) needs to chill and stop hating on each other so much. But first, let’s get clear in our minds that “Naruto” is a business franchise, and the goal of any business venture is to earn 💰. Earn money by evoking emotions in you. Now that this is clear, let’s move on. This will be a short (not rant) but rather advise to the various “camps” in this community.

1. To the remaining NaruSaku bunch:

Yes, I get it, you’re disappointed with the ending. Yes, you wanted Naruto with Sakura and apparently you cannot see how in the world NaruHina even happened. But if you took your bias out for a bit, you would see that pairing Naruto with Hinata was THE ONLY positive outcome for Naruto romance-wise. Or did you really want Naruto to end up with a “prize” that never even ONCE expressed her desire to be with him romantically in any way, shape or form. And don’t bring up the fake confession because this is all that is. FAKE. To save the love of her life from sinking into darkness. And how can you go around Hinata’s heartfelt confession during the Pein arc? So, please STOP insulting Hinata and her fans - let people enjoy the canon pairings that were planned from the beginning of serialisation of the project.

2. To the very vocal SNS community:

I’ll just keep it simple. If Masashi Kishimoto wanted this manga to be shonen-ai or yaoi, he would’ve acted on it. Editor or not, Kishi stands behind his story. He always has. And please don’t bring the supposed “homophobia” into this. Homophobia is a very serious rl issue that affects millions of people worldwide and you’re NOT helping the cause by insulting and hating on people enjoying the het canon pairings of Narutoverse. You do realize that your rants about it only trigger more hate towards yourselves and the cycle of hatred goes on. So we all end up bashing real living breathing humans “for the sake” of inked characters.. Let it sink in.

3. To the die hard SasuKarin minority:

Bruh.. There’s so much I’d like to bring up here but I’ll stick to basics. Firstly, your claim to be Sasuke fans is ridiculous because you seem to view him as a mindless, powerless beta male that was harassed by a woman SO HARD that he decided to give it to her.. really?! Is that who you think he is? Because that’s what you all seem to claim by saying that “Sakura chased after him”. You take that line from Gaiden and take it completely out of context. Do you know ANYTHING about Sasuke? Anything at all? If there’s anything manga taught us about his character is that Sasuke Uchiha acts as he pleases. He did so when he first left the village, he did so when he killed Orochimaru, he did so when he fought with Naruto, he did so when he willingly gave up his old worldview, and he did so when he married his wife. And you bring up “rape” into the matter. Seriously?! Do I need to bring up the sweaty t-shirts, licking somebody all over and ravaging them in their sleep? Do I? Thankfully, Karin redeemed herself by worrying about Sasuke’s wife well-being enough to deliver her baby and by thinking about HER happiness in Sasuke Shinden. She clearly cares about the Uchiha family wellbeing more than you do. She moved on!! So should you.

4. To NaruHina and SasuSaku respectively:

There is NO popularity contest. Man, I can’t believe we’ve got to this. There is absolutely NO popularity contest between Sakura and Hinata, neither there is for their romances. They’re different, just as the girls are different, and the boys are different. There is no such thing as a cookies cutter perfect romance. They’re written differently and I’m thankful to Kishimoto for that. I wouldn’t want every couples way to the altar copy-pasted. SS is angstier and more complicated. Their history is different. Yes. NH has been more subtle during the Shippuden but both pairings came together as was planned and we should feel proud and victorious that our ships made it to canon. But that’s too boring I guess. I guess tearing each other down is the new sport. So please tell me: what has Sakura ever done to Hinata except for being a good friend?! Same goes for Hinata. Can you put away your hate for Sakura/Hinata for one minute to appreciate the fact that the girls are ACTUALLY HAPPY! The way it was planned from the beginning. They’ve both suffered, ached and spilled tears for the men they love SO MUCH. And now they’re happy! Can’t we celebrate that?! This brings me to my next and final point.

5. To Sakura haters:

I’ll keep it brief. I honestly really truthfully DO NOT get WHY you hate on her so much.I REALLY DON’T.

5.1. For those of you who hate her for getting in the way of your ship, please see above. You really must either not have read the manga, or fanfiction.net is your source of truth. Hating her for being paired with Sasuke is same as hating Kishimoto for making Naruto a jinchuuriki because both canon facts were pre-planned by the author.

5.2. If you hate her for being mean to Naruto, then I suggest reading the manga past chapter 3 because this misconception gets debunked really quickly. You should stop refusing to accept the fact that Sakura really cares about Naruto as a friend and a precious teammate.

5.3. If you hate her for being “useless”, I don’t even know what to tell you because.. you know.. you don’t know the content of the manga called “Naruto” so why don’t you put away your bias for a minute and try to see what I see? All you have to do is clear your mind of all misconceptions and just read the manga with, you know, open mind?! To see how many lives she saved, how much of strength she has considering her humble beginnings, and how much valued she is in the village.

To the rest of Naruto fandom that gets swayed in every direction influenced by reviewers on social media, extremist shippers or even have trouble realizing that characters are fictional and nothing really happens to them unless it’s written into the canon verse by the author, I have one advice to you: please don’t let anyone’s opinions affect your judgement. YouTube reviewers are PAID to provoke and trigger you. They earn money by imposing THEIR ideas and theories onto YOU. Some of them bring their own life experiences into the discussion which only causes you to self-insert.

Naruto is an awesome manga! It deals with such important issues and carries such a positive message! Please, STOP ruining it by pointless wars that only fuel more hate!

Now. Going back to my first point about the money. Anime production studios have a huuuge interest in you staying glued to the screens. They’ll do anything to provoke you to talk about whatever happens on screen. They will bring their own bias into the mix, and fuel this madness even more. For the anime only fans I will say that you’re doing a huge disservice to yourself and to the work of art that “Naruto” is by only watching anime. It adds another layer of interpretation thus confusing you even more. Please, read the manga! It’s so worth it!

#Naruto #rant #cycle of hatred #stop #spread the word

77 notes · View notes

justnerdthings · 3 years

Text

Never Again Ch. 6

F!OC x Raiden/Shang Tsung

The bond.

Raiden rubbed his face as he sat in the garden, on the same bench he’d sat with Helena only a few days ago. The monks who had perished only hours ago had been respectively taken care of. The ones who had been reanimated had been destroyed so they would not reanimate again. He should have seen this coming. He should have known Helena would come back for her crystal ball. Of course she would. Now she had it. And what was worse:

He held Kronika’s crown in both his hands. It’d been broken in half. Now it was useless. Now he couldn’t fix this. Without the crown he couldn’t control Kronika’s hour glass. What happened from here on... happened.

“Lord Raiden,” Liu called as he stepped up to the thunder god. Kung Lao and Fujin followed. Raiden’s glowing eyes looked up at the three. He dreaded this moment. They were going to ask questions. Questions he’d rather not answer. He tossed Kronika’s broken crown to the ground.

“We need to be careful going forward,” Raiden warned.

Liu looked down to the crown. He knew the gravity of the situation all too well. “She told me that you would not hurt her,” Liu said, his eyes shifting back to Raiden.

Raiden’s jaw hardened. That question… He didn’t deny the statement. He simply shook his head.

“Lord Raiden.” Liu expected something more--an explanation.

“He can’t,” Fujin answered in his brother’s stead. Liu looked over to him with knotted brows. “We can’t hurt the ones we—”

“Fujin,” Raiden warned.

But Fujin wouldn’t have it. Liu and Lao both needed to know what they were up against. The situation had gone from bad to worse now that Helena had her ball. “We can’t hurt the ones we fall in love with.”

“What?” Lao looked to a disapproving Raiden. He was glaring daggers at his brother. “What does he mean?” Lao asked.

Fujin could feel the anger his brother seethed in. He might have felt the same way had their places been switched. “Helena is—”

“She is my lover,” Raiden broke him off. If it was going to be known, he’d be the one to say it.

“Lover?” Lao stepped forward, dumbfounded. “She is your lover?!”

Raiden nodded and sucked in a breath.

“Why?” Lao pressed.

“She was not like this when I met her… When I…” His jaw clenched. Raiden still remembered his sweet Helena. The best version of her. She was so kind and humble. “When I gave my vow to her.”

“Vow?” Lao was in disbelief. He looked to Liu, who looked just as disturbed.

“She is your wife?” Liu asked carefully.

Raiden nodded. That day had been the best of his entire existence. When they shared their vows, they committed themselves to one another forever. For the first time, he’d truly felt whole.

“Well… Get a divorce!” Lao shouted. “Then take her out! It’s that easy!”

Raiden glared to Lao. The idea of Helena being killed made his blood boil. But the look he gave Lao sent a chill through the shaolin. Fujin stepped between them, breaking Raiden’s line of sight. “It is not that easy,” he corrected, looking to Lao and Liu.

“Why not?” Liu asked, again careful with his tone.

Fujin took a deep breath as if he was about to admit some secret. He looked back to his brother with a frown. “Gods mate for life.”

Liu and Lao both stared at Fujin. They’d both never heard of such a thing. They’d heard of some gods having taken mortal lovers before, even having children--demi-gods of the likes of Rain. But to be told that gods took a mate for life...

“Our emotions are far greater than yours. We can refuse them, but doing so can cause more harm than good. Gods without compassion--without love can not protect the lives they are responsible for,” Fujin explained. “Not completely.”

“I tried it once,” Raiden admitted. He stared at Kronika’s broken crown. “When I tried to fix the timeline the first time, I decided to refuse my emotions… Earthrealm did not thrive as it does now.”

“But why can’t you—” Lao was cut off.

“The elder gods designed us this way. There is nothing that can be done,” Raiden told them.

“It’s almost a cruel joke,” Fujin sighed. “We may fall in love, but we must choose wisely, because we will never feel that way towards another. Gods who fall in love with other gods generally live in peace until the end of time… But a god who falls for a mortal… The elders gods do not enjoy us making a new race of beings. Half-gods. They threaten the balance of the realms and Mortal Kombat. But a mortal can, and will eventually die. A god who falls for a mortal will never love again after they perish.”

“Though it doesn’t mean they can not try,” Raiden sighed, reminded of a certain Edenian god. “Argus managed an affair, but he never seemed to love that poor woman. Delia remained his wife.”

“What happens if you hurt her?” Liu asked.

“I can not,�� Raiden said.

Liu’s brows knotted.

“No one knows,” Fujin told them. “No god has ever been able to go through with it. Only a handful have even taken vows.”

“What if someone else kills her?” Liu asked.

Fujin’s jaw hardened. Liu didn’t like the look of it. “Those who have tried to harm a god’s mate, even if their mate is also a god, have perished by the god themselves.”

“But, Lord Raiden wouldn’t kill us,” Lao said.

Fujin looked at him with a stern frown. Raiden was staring at his hands as sparks danced over them. He clenched his hands into fists. He did not want to admit what he would be forced to do if either of them tried to harm Helena.

Liu dragged in a deep breath. “We will not harm her.” He looked to Lao. “We can not harm her,” he told his brother. Liu then looked back to Raiden. “You said she wasn’t like this when you met her, Lord Raiden. What happened?”

“I neglected her needs,” He said. Raiden would admit to that. It was a mistake he knew he’d made. “I focused more on Mortal Kombat than her. She grew jealous. She let it corrupt her. I should have spent more time with her.”

“You can not keep blaming yourself for that,” Fujin broke in. “She knew how important the tournament was. That is why she joined and agreed to fight for Earthrealm.”

“She fought in a tournament?” Lao asked.

Raiden nodded. “I asked her to. I thought she would be able to beat Shang Tsung. Sorcerer against Sorceress.”

“What happened? Did she win?”

“No. Shang Tsung defeated her. She conceded before he could kill her.”

“Wait,” Lao stepped closer. He looked to Fujin. “You said those who tried to kill a god’s mate were killed by that god. How could she fight without Lord Raiden killing Shang?”

“Or did you try?” Liu added.

Raiden shook his head.

“You’re aware that we can not interfere in Mortal Kombat. It still remains true even when our mates enter Mortal Kombat,” Fujin explained.

“So let's kill her in a tournament,” Lao reasoned, which earned him another death glare from Raiden.

Liu grabbed Lao and pulled him back. “Stop talking,” he warned his brother.

“No one is going to kill her,” Fujin told them with a firm tone. “We just need to convince her that there is no need for her hostility.”

Lao scoffed and made to say something, but Liu elbowed him in the ribs, shutting him up. “How do we do that?” Liu asked.

“She threw the tournament to have me to herself for four-hundred years,” Raiden told them. “All she wants is me.”

“She what?” Liu’s brows knotted.

“Earthrealm could have won that tournament if she hadn’t conspired against it.”

“What are you talking about?” Lao asked.

Raiden and Fujin stared at each other. “Lao, it may be best if you didn’t know,” Fujin said carefully.

Lao looked to Fujin, a strange sense of dread filled him. "What? Of course I should know. What did she do?"

“She killed your ancestor,” Raiden admitted. Fujin sighed as his brother spoke the truth.

Lao’s eyes grew as he stared at Raiden. What did he just say? Helena had killed the Great Kung Lao? No. He shook his head. “No. Goro killed him—”

“Helena poisoned him before the tournament.” Raiden looked down at the ground. "He was weakened enough for Goro to win."

Lao’s teeth clenched at the news. His whole life he had been led to believe it was Goro who had killed his ancestor. Now he was being told Raiden’s mate had done it? Lao’s heart pounded as his rage built.

“Lao, calm down—” Fujin was cut off.

“SHE KILLED HIM!?” Lao shouted to both gods. “HER?!” He was seething. Liu grabbed him and held him back as he moved for Raiden. “YOUR WIFE?!” He tried to jerk out of Liu’s hands.

“Yes,” Raiden sighed and looked up to watch Lao give Raiden his own deadly glare.

“AND SHE IS STILL ALIVE?!”

“Kung Lao, please…” Fujin tried to diffuse his anger.

“THAT BITCH SHOULD BE BURNING IN NETHERREALM!” Lao shouted.

The look that came to Raiden’s face was unlike any Lao had seen before, but he was absolutely livid. Even staring into the glowing eyes of certain death didn't phase him in his rage. Raiden stood from the bench and Fujin stepped between them again. “Raiden! No!”

“YOU SHOULD BOTH BE BURNING IN NETHERREALM!” Lao added as Liu began pulling him away.

Raiden seethed. He was battling himself. If Fujin hadn't been there, he wasn’t sure if Lao would still have been breathing. “Calm down,” Fujin told him. Raiden’s eyes shifted to his brother and he took a deep breath. “He’s not going to harm her. I'll make sure of it,” Fujin said. “Please…” Raiden looked away to watch Liu fight Lao back inside the temple. Raiden growled under his breath and stepped away. Thunder boomed overhead. The sparks covering his clenched fists grew. He needed to cool off. “I just don’t get it. How could he just let her live? After what she did?” Lao had calmed down, but was still itching for a fight.

“I can not explain the bond,” Fujin said calmly. “I have not felt it. I’ve only seen it.”

“But what she did—”

“Is inexcusable. I agree.”

“How could she do that?”

Fujin sighed. “The bond works both ways. Unfortunately it’s not all rainbows and kittens.” He rubbed his forehead. “You saw how Raiden responded to you threatening Helena.”

“He’s never behaved that way towards us,” Liu mused. “At least not without Shinnok’s amulet corrupting him.”

“Exactly.” Fujin dropped his hand from his head. “If he believes you are going to take her away from him--to kill her--not even I can save you.”

Liu’s jaw hardened as he stared at Lao. Lao sighed heavily in his defeat.

“What about her? What happens if we are able to save her?” Liu asked.

Fujin brows knotted as he looked over to him.

“She is corrupted by jealousy, is she not?” Liu questioned.

“Yes… Though I suspect that isn’t the only thing.”

Lao scoffed a laugh. “Oh, great. What else is there?”

“Betrayal,” Fujin answered. “For her crimes, Raiden locked her away in an ancient tomb--an underground series of catacombs. The only life in them were rats and bugs. Their life forces are too small to draw strength from, but just enough to keep her alive--only barely.” He sighed and shifted his weight. “She has been down there, alone, for four hundred years. As far as I know, Raiden never visited her—”

“I did,” Raiden’s voice interrupted as he slid open the door to the room. He eyed Lao, who had shifted away from him out of caution. Raiden lifted a hand defensively. “I apologise to you, Kung Lao. I was… not in my right mind.”

Lao’s jaw hardened, but he nodded his acceptance.

“I did visit her. Not nearly as often as I should have… could have. It ate away at me knowing that she only hung to life by a thread, and it was because of me. I hurt her. I betrayed her trust.” He sighed. “Yet she never lost her love for me. And I never lost my love for her, even after she betrayed my trust.”

“The bond?” Liu asked.

Raiden nodded. “It is indescribable, Liu Kang. Before I decided to give her my vows, I never imagined just how empty I truly was. Having her fills a void that I hadn’t realised was part of me… The idea of her being taken away—” His fists clenched as he fought the overwhelming dread that tried to take hold of him. Sparks danced over his arms. “--It is akin to a threat of my very existence.”

“Brother—” Fujin’s concern was cut off.

“My words do not do these emotions justice,” Raiden told them, willing himself to calm down. “I do not want to think of what I will do to you three if you decide to take her from me.”

“We won't,” Fujin said. Fujin never had any intention of killing Helena. She was his sister through Raiden. She was family. He looked to Liu and Lao. “We will find a way to bring her back to you, brother.” Fujin turned to look back to Raiden. “The real Helena.”

Raiden’s jaw stiffened. He was touched by their efforts. He bowed his head to them.

"What about her ball?" Lao asked. He looked to Fujin. "You said you'd explain that to me."

Fujin nodded. "It's a source of great power."

"My power," Raiden broke in. “I gave it to her when I gave her my vows."

"Like a wedding gift?" Lao asked.

Raiden nodded. "It allows her to draw energy from me wherever she may be."

"Can you stop it?" Liu asked.

"To an extent… but no. I designed it so she could use it at will. Simply put, that crystal ball is a piece of myself."

"Just how much power can she draw from it?" Liu asked.

"There is a reason we didn't want her to get a hold of it," Fujin answered. "Without it she is a great sorceress… With it, she is nearly unstoppable."

"She was holding back when we fought," Liu thought aloud. "She was toying with me."

Raiden nodded. "You will find her to be quite playful. Much like a cat with a mouse. Make no mistake. She is dangerous."

"And working with Shang Tsung. Talk about hell hath no fury..." Lao added, rubbing his injured shoulder.

Raiden’s face flinched. He knew of it, of course, but hearing it still hurt. How could his love team up with his enemy? Why would she do this?

“Perhaps we should seek help?” Liu asked. “Someone who knows how to handle upset women?”

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 11 #Raiden #Lord Raiden #x oc #oc x #raiden x oc #oc x raiden #fanfic #mortal kombat fanfiction #fic #fanfictions #shang tsung #oc x shang tsung #shang tsung x oc #never again

8 notes · View notes

cherriesink · 3 years

Text

Yamagami Tokuichi - Murmurs

Murmurs are snippets of character reflection earned by increasing Explore Points during Exploration. They usually include 6-7 monologues about other characters and 3-4 monologues about things important to the specific character.

These lines are taken straight from the English translation of the game, so fair warning of bad grammar.

About Yatsufusa “Yatsufusa... is like a son to me. I can’t help myself whenever I see his hopeless eyes.

...But I don’t blame him. Because it takes time to accept the fact you’e suddenly become a vampire that can only drink blood. Even I haven’t fully accepted it myself. Why are we alive... and how long do we have to endure this... What’s the point of all this anyway? Nobody can keep up if those thoughts cross their mind.

But he is a C-Class- unlike an unranked vampire like me. He’s surrounded by good people too. He can live a good life if he wishes to.

Wait, “life”? ...Are we livin’ a “life” when we never die? We don’t have a clue how long vampires last... Argh, there’s no way I can teach him somethin’ because even I don’t know what vampires are exactly. I’m so unreliable...”

About Kurusu “I became a vampire the same time as Kurusu. I was a major and he was a private first-class. I was a bigwig when I was a human who didn’t even know Kurusu existed...! Then, I was bitten by a vampire and became unranked in the vampire ladder. And Kurusu, who was just a private first-class is now an A-Class vampire- the strongest in Japan...

In the military, you can climb up the ladder by working your butt off. But an unranked vampire stays unranked no matter what...

Why?! Why did this happen to me?! I was just an honest guy... Where did I miss my step and let a private-first class surpass me...?

Life can change in the blink of an eye. It would’ve been me and not Kurusu ranking in A-Class if I would’ve walked a little more to the right. You really can’t guess what life brings you.”

About Maeda “Maeda is worse than a vampire when it comes to being disdainful! You know how people call each other evil? Well, he’s the master of evil! He’s always been like that. Cause he doesn’t have any friends. He always looks down on others. That’s just how he is.

It’s the worst when you go against him in kendo... He doesn’t care about samurai spirit and kicks. He was boastin’ that he’s a master of Taisha, but he’s outta his mind if he thinks his moves are so elegant, belongin’ to a classical martial arts school! Call it “Maeda” school if you must. He provokes you and threatens you, playin’ with your mental state. He attacks once the opponent loses it. It still gives me the chills when I remember his fightin’ strategy.

He’s now leading Code Zero, but nothin’ has changed about him. I feel bad for the vampires that he taunts and then kills. Poor them... they underestimate him ‘cause he appears human. But that’s a bad idea ‘cause he’s not.”

About Takeuchi “Why does Takeuchi wanna his inventions on me every single time?! Invent all he wants. But why does he always have to use them on me?

He’s not scary ‘cause he’s a vampire. He’s simply a monster. He’s intelligent, and my hats are off to his inventions. But he lacks heart. I don’t think there are any vampires out there like him. I doubt that anything has changed from when he was a human.

I hate the skunk ball the most out of his inventions. Only vampires understand how bad it smells. The smell even gets to the eyes. What’s even worse is that our clothes absorb the smell and won’t come off for a week. Yes! It’s effective in battle ‘cause we all have the deodorize mask and it stops the enemy for a second. In a way, it’s the best weapon. But I can’t stand the lingering smell after we take off the mask! Make a soap that gets rid of the smell if you’re gonna invent somethin’ like the skunk ball, Takeuchi!”

About Suwa “Suwa mocked me from the first time we met. He might look like an innocent kid, but... I can never win against him in arguements either. I secretly call him “Mini Maeda.” He said he was already alive before the Edo period. But I can’t believe that he managed to survive that long with his personality. I mean he said hunting vampires is his hobby... What kind of hobby is that? I guess he holds some knd of a grudge against vampires because he grins when he kills them. Talk about horror stories, right?

Yet, he likes watchin’ plays, so I don’t get that guy at all. If he still has humanness left inside him where he enjoys watchin’ plays, then why can’t he share that with me? Total mystery I tell you.

Oh... and another thing I hate about Suwa is how he likes to quote kabuki. It stops our meeting ‘cause it doesn’t make sense at all, so we gotta ask what he means.

So, to sum it all up.. evil ones will always be evil, no matter how long they live for.”

About Defrott “Defrott is a mysterious guy. Apparently, he became a vampire during the Hundred Years’ War... But you don’t see underaged vampires that often. Because they’ll burn themselves before figuring things out. And I heard western vampires kill underaged ones. So- it’s tougher for them to survive.

It’s even tough for an ordinary vampire to survive. Yet, he appears to be a child and made it through the Hundred Years’ War. So... he must be really smart. I’m sure he’s mighty since he’s an S-Class... But I bet he has to be pretty wise if he was goin’ against another S-Class ‘cause he’s pretty petite.

Although... he’ll vanish me before I can even realize it since I’m unranked.

Defrott... is a French name. But the Hundred Years’ War took place where things were complicated between England and France, so he must be pretty complicated too. I wonder where he was born.”

About Tenman-ya “I feel relaxed at Tenman-ya. So, maybe I’m suited to work as their manager instead of Code Zero. I bet they rarely have dangerous jobs, so I’m seriously thinkin’ if I should work for them and leave the military...

Only, they deal with vampires far more than Code Zero does. It’s a problem ‘cause the eyes of vampires ranking above me freaks me out... it’s really terrifying.

And I heard that even the ones you should avoid go there too. If I leave the army, I won’t be able to use any of Takeuchi’s weapons. So, when I consider that... I mean, I’m just an old fart that’s slightly stronger than a normal person. Just thinkin’ about being surrounded by vampires gives me the chills...! In the end, Zero is the safest place because Kurusu is there.

I heard Shinnosuke’s grandfather passed away when he was just a child... He must’ve sacrificed a lot of things.”

About Family “I wonder what Tomiko is doing right now... She originally came to our house as a servant. I was 14. It was love at first sight. My father found out my feelings for her, and fired Tomiko. I left my house to be with her and I went to her house.

But I was rejected by her parents... Because we weren’t socially equal... Who know how many times I begged for their approval. I didn’t care if my family disowned me.

I went to her house everyday... But I realized that I never asked how she felt about me after persuading both of our parents... I remember my body shaking when I asked her to marry me.

I promised her that I’ll love her for the rest of her life... but... I’m sorry, love... I’m sorry I became a vampire... I can’t be by your side anymore.

But I will keep my promise. I’ll always watch over you. Until... your very last moments.”

About the Past “I wasn’t good at kendo, judo, or jukendo... So I worked my butt off. I studied military strategies so that I can become a general one day. Takenaka Hanbei and Kuroda Kanbei were my idols because they won battles solely with their brains...

But the secret order given to me by the Empire was espionage of Britain’s special unit. I had no clue where to look into at first. But soon after, I found that I was gettin’ myself into an atrocious matter...

Nobody would’ve guessed that it was a vampire research. Vampires lost their homes- as modernization took place during the Industrial Revolution. And the British Empire asked for cooperation in exchange for providing them a place to live. Now that I think of it, that was the template of Code Zero...

And I ended up gettin’ bitten, becoming a vampire myself... Nothing went according to plan for me.”

About the Change “Nothin’ interests me since becoming a vampire. Code Zero does pay us... but I told them to send all the money to Tomiko.

I can live as long as I drink blood, so it’s not like I have any hobby. I don’t go watch plays like Suwa. And it’s not like we can go out to eat or grab somethin’ to drink. It’s pointless to dress up. I mean, where do we have that we can go to lookin’ fancy, right?

So, that’s probably why vampires need a hobby or else we’ll die of boredom. I only cared of Tomiko’s happiness and nothin’ else. So, I don’t have a clue how to kill time...

Oh yeah, an ambassador taught me chess back when I was in Britain. Maybe I can be the strongest chess player if I keep playin’ it for 100 years. Kurusu... is my only choice I guess. I doubt he’s any good though.”

#mars red #yamagami tokuichi #it's really sad how much he misses his wife :(

9 notes · View notes

lena-in-a-red-dress · 4 years

Note

The Supergirl Team calls you in despair. You’ve 2/3 episodes to save this season and leave a cliffhanger to the next season. You can do any ship, cut any actor, unlimited budget. What do you do?

My first call is to Brenda Strong, clearly. Lillian caustically provides Lena a reality check by not so subtly reminding her how Lex is an asshole and can't be trusted. She reveals she retained her pre-crisis memories, and remembers more than Lex deigned to tell her.

Lena is unimpressed, and dryly remarks, "And now you finally get to see everything Lex should have been. You must be thrilled."

"Yes, I do," Lillian affirms. "But a victory without sacrifice isn't victory. It's a handout."

Luthors don't accept handouts.

Lena stares at her mother, confused and wary. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Lex didn't earn it."

None of this was earned through toil. Lex chanced onto an opportunity and manipulated it to his utmost ability. Once upon a time, she might have been proud of his aptitude for machinations, Lillian admits, but she finds herself disillusioned with him.

"Not only does intended matricide sour the relationship somewhat," Lillian elaborates, "but more and more lately I've come to realize that while Lex indeed had incredible potential, I allowed that potential to blind me to yours."

Lex didn't earn his success, but Lena did. In just a few short years, Lena embodied the Luthor spirit unlike any Luthor had since the first generation-- since the generation that worked for their first million, their first merger, the first everything. She battled prejudice and attacks and failures, and though there may have been times she may have wavered, she always persisted.

"So why," her mother asks, "are you giving up now?"

Finally, Lena gives voice to her helplessness. How her friends have forsaken her and how in this world, she feels nineteen again, like she can do nothing without Lex.

"How can I," Lena asks, "when he crafted this very reality?"

"He has always crafted your reality, Lena. Your entire life has revolved around him, been shaped and warped by him. But what I've come to realize is that this world isn't his. It never was. All along, it was yours."

And so begins the tentative yet deepening relationship between Lena and her mother, as they conspire against Lex. They know he's up to something, but don't know what. In the end, they decide it doesn't matter what it was-- they would simply need to neutralize him.

Permanently.

----

On the other side of things, the superfriends start to realize that their goal of taking down Lex from the outside isn't working. They learn Brainy is compromised, and find themselves without a significant resource they had counted on. So they focus on mitigating the fallout of his use of the DEO.

Alex and Jonn find their way to helping aliens recover after DEO raids. Sometimes its just property damage, sometimes its arrests. They commiserate with the victims, promising that Lex won't be in power for much longer.

"It doesn't matter who is in power," the victims reply. It will only be someone just as cruel, or even indifferent. The DEO has always been this way, and it will always be this way.

When one alien mentions a specific raid, Alex realizes it was one that occurred under her tenure as Director. That as an agent and director she contributed to the abuse of aliens rights, liberties, and persons.

Later, she confesses to Kara that she always thought she was doing good at the DEO. But all along she'd really only been doing good for Kara.

"I will always be there for you, you know that right?" she asks, and Kara nods. "But I think, for the next little while, I need to focus on doing good for everyone else."

----

Meanwhile, at CatCo, Nia finds herself in a quandary. One day, Will asks her to grab him a coffee. Taken aback, Nia doesnt have time to respond before Will is off on his way. Unsure of what else to do, she uncomfortably obliges, choosing to believe it was a one off.

It isn't.

Again and again with increasing frequency, Will asks her to do things like grab coffee, make copies, etc. Soon she finds herself stuck in a cycle of doing what she's told and is too nervous to call him out after so long.

It takes Kara noticing and offering to speak to William about it before Nia bucks up the courage to do it herself.

"No," she says, the next time Will opens his mouth in her direction. "I will not get your coffee, or make your copies, or pull your copy edits. I am a reporter, just like you. Maybe a little less experienced, sure, but the only way I'm going to get experienced is by doing my own work and not the work of your assistant."

Will stares at her, and then flushes. "Nia, I am so sorry, I thought you were the office assistant. I had no idea."

This time it's Nia's turn to stare. "What? But-- I have over a dozen by-lines."

"Really?"

"I've been at every pitch meeting!"

Grimacing, Will meets her gaze. "I thought you were there to take notes. Honestly, I thought you and Kara were tight because she came from the assistant pool."

Nia scowls. "You also could have just asked me."

"And I should have. I truly am sorry, I've just been so wrapped up in--" He catches himself abruptly, then swiftly changes the subject. "Let me make it up to you. I have an interview with Lenny Maddow in twenty minutes. Would you like to sit in?"

Sit in with a Nobel-winner who isn't Lex Luthor?

"Uh, YEAH."

Nia recoups more of her pride when she asks some insightful questions that gets their guest to open up to an insane degree, and Will recognizes her talent as a reporter. He even tells her as much.

"I don't know how I ever mistook you for anything else."

He starts lending her more advice and opportunity-- before long he's the kind of mentor Kara used to be, but lost the time for. And after Will decides he can trust her he brings her in on his secret project investigating the Luthors.

Namely, Lena.

"She's the weak link. If she goes down, the rest will follow like dominos."

---

"I know we're kind of not on Team Lena right now," Nia remarks to the others at the tower later, "but the kind of things he thinks she's responsible for doesn't sound like Lena. In any reality."

J'onn and Alex both look at Kara. "It might be time to set aside our wounds for a moment," J'onn observes. "I don't need to be a fifth dimensional imp to deduce that a downfall for Lena would not be a good thing."

"Lex would be left unchecked," Alex chimes in.

Kara doesn't need convincing. She goes to Lena immediately, and squares off against Lena's chill reception with concern.

"I came to warn you."

"Let me guess... Lex can't be trusted."

With a grimace, Kara equivocates. "Yes, but I'm not the only one who thinks so. William Dey is digging into the Luthors, and for whatever reason, he's decided your the fulcrum to the entire operation."

"The reporter, William Dey?"

Kara shares what she knows of William's vendetta-- the best friend who died, the suspicions that Lex was involved. To her surprise, Lena huffs a mirthless laugh.

"He said he was going to be better."

"You... say that like you don't believe him."

"Of course I don't believe him. But I wanted to."

Lena knows better than to leave LuthorCorp. But she does pledge her help.

"This doesn't make us friends," Lena clarifies. "But whatever Lex is planning, he'll burn the world to the ground to get it."

Kara nods solemnly. "I understand."

---

The Superfriends now have their in. It's Lena who finally pieces together that Lex is after Leviathan. It's Lillian who pales at the mention, and after much toothpulling reveals that what no one ever told Lena is that her mother didn't just die-- she was murdered.

"Your home was broken into shortly after you were removed. The investigators only found one item of interest, hidden behind a piece of loosened baseboard. A cipher, on a folded piece of paper. Even Lionel only managed to translate two words. One was Leviathan."

The other, Lena soon discovers, was Acrata.

---

Altogether, the superfriends and Will and Lena all manage to erode Lex's stranglehold on the new reality. Lex doesn't make it easy, but a combination of J'onn and Alex earning more of the public trust, Supergirl resisting Lex at every turn, Will and Nia tag-teaming Andrea's connection to Leviathan, Lena beats Lex to the Leviathan sanctum.

By a matter of minutes, sure, but the fact she finds her way there on her own when Lex has to be led by Gamemnae is a true victory, and a practical embodiment of Lillian's earlier words.

Lena's victory is compounded when Lex's eyes flash with irritation: he doesn't expect to see her there.

"Heya, sis. I didn't realize we had a meeting."

"We don't," Lena tells her brother, even her eyes lock on the woman beside him.

The woman steps towards Lena, her lips curling into a pleased smile.

"We do," the woman confirms. It's clear she doesn't include Lex.

Before he can do more than sputter, she continues. "I was wondering how long it would take you to find us."

Lena holds her gaze. "The medallion."

Gamemnae nods. "Ever since it was found, we knew it would only be a matter of time."

There's only one question Lena intends to ask.

"Who was my mother?"

And so she learns that her mother was part of Leviathan-- that she had grown lonely, and sought comfort in the arms of mortals. It had only meant to be temporary, but when the unthinkable happened, and she found herself pregnant, she chose to remain in the mortal world with her daughter.

What Gamemnae doesn't explain, but Lena senses instinctively, is that her mother had sought to protect Lena from Leviathan. To keep her human, keep her alive. That somehow, despite being an agent of destruction, Lena's birth had prompted her mother to leave Leviathan behind, and to be better than she was.

Gamemnae's pitch is enticing-- the ability to bring humanity together through disaster, to call upon their communal instincts by reducing their numbers, reset the world so that the planet and its population have a chance to survive for eons to come.

She offers power and influence, and a long life-- millenia to engage with and observe the discoveries still far in the future.

It's almost enough for Lena to say yes.

Almost.

It is enough for Lena to accept the medallion, the only true memory Lena has of her mother. Gamemnae summons it from the ether, and Lena takes it in her fingers, cradling it like the precious artifact it is.

When she closes her hand around it, Lena blinks and finds herself in a place of utter darkness. But despite the emptiness, she isn't afraid.

"Lena."

"Mom."

The woman who appears before her is familiar in a way that touches deep in Lena's soul. Tears fill Lena's eyes as she drinks in the sight of her mother, committing her to memory.

"I forgot what you looked like," Lena confesses with a breathless laugh. "When I generated an avatar of you, I had to base it on my own image."

The embrace her mother wraps her in is unbidden and unexpected. It steals Lena's breath and floods her with warm. Her tears spill over as she clutches her mother tight.

"I've missed you."

"And I you, my darling," her mother murmurs. "You have grown to be everything I ever wanted for you."

A bolt of shame travels down Lena's spine, and she pulls away.

"You mean embroiled in the most hated family in history?"

"I mean that you are strong, and powerful, and brilliant. Your compassion and empathy are a force powerful than you know."

Lena looks away. How can she explain how close she had come to lose the soul her mother had loved so dearly. Non Nocere burns like a hot poker of shame, digging deep in her belly and twisting sharply.

But her mother cups her cheeks, tilting her gaze up to meet hers once more.

"We all make mistakes, my love. What matters most is what you do to correct them."

Before Lena can say anything more, her mother kisses her on the head, and offers a smile as warm as the sun.

"Everyone you have ever loved is carried inside you. They speak to you every day. When times are uncertain, listen to your heart. They will never lead you astray."

Lena blinks back to the Leviathan sanctum to find Lex pelting Gamemnae with outrage and accusations.

"We had an agreement! You and I had a partnership!"

"And now that it has brought me your sister, I am no longer in need of it."

"You forget that I watched Rama Khan in our previous reality-- I know Leviathan's style. My baby sister isn't the type you would want to recruit."

"You don't comprehend what Leviathan is," Gamemnae only smiles sweetly, unfazed by Lex's posturing. "We are born and chosen both. That is what Lena is. And you, Alexander Luthor, are neither."

"Buh--"

With a wave of Gamemnae's hand, Lex disappears, transported.... somewhere. Lena can barely think to consider his welfare before Gamemnae turns her powerful gaze towards her once more.

"Welcome home, Lena."

---

In the end, Lena doesn't accept. The power offered her is tempting, but she's wise enough to know that a deal so sweet could never come without strings. Whether it be her humanity, her soul, or something else entirely, she would lose something dear. Something precious.

"Come now, Lena," Gamemnae cautions. "I know how ingelligent you are. You know that you won't be allowed to leave alive should you decline."

Her mother's voice echoes in Lena's ears: listen to your heart. She does, and she hears them all-- her people. Her loved. Her lost.

Her mother.

Jack.

Even Kara.

It's Kara that makes her pause, nearly has her agreeing. She knows the prospect of Kara's future, a life of longevity that would see her watching all her family die, for generations to come. If Lena could share those centuries with her, surely they could eventually find forgiveness and trust once more.

But Kara wouldn't want her to. Not like this.

So instead of taking Gamemnae's hand, Lena snatches her by the wrist and closes her hand around the medallion. This time Gamemnae appears in the void with her, where Lena's mother waits again.

"I need your help," Lena says. "All of you."

One by one, they materialize. All of the voices who have guided her appear from the shadows, their features kind and ready. Lena pushes Gamemnae towards them.

"Make our guest comfortable. She'll be staying with you for the foreseeable future."

Jack is the one who steadies Gamemnae. When he blinks, his eyes open to pitch darkness. So do the eyes of those around him, wraiths all. Even Lena's mother.

Lena hesitates only long enough to give her mother one last look.

"I love you."

Her mother nods. "I never doubted for a second. Go," she urges, "and live."

Lena returns to the Leviathan sanctum alone. She shatters the medallion to ensure no one else would use it, and sweeps the pieces up to liquidate against any attempts to reconstruct it.

Leviathan is done, without a single drop of blood shed.

Back at LuthorCorp, Lex is nowhere to be found. After a perfunctory search, control falls to Lena. Though she'll have to wait a mandated period of time before she can rebrand back to L-Corp, things are already feeling normal.

At least, right up until the moment Lena finally visits the Tower for the first time.

"Lena!" Kara calls in delight. During their time working together, things between them have repaired enough for her to wrap Lena in a brief hug and usher her further into the space.

"Come to beg us to back to the DEO?" Alex taunts. "I gotta warn you, I've gotten used to being my own boss."

"Actually," Lena says, "I'm disbanding the DEO."

There's a beat of silence, and then the entire room erupts into chaos. Questions fly at her from every direction, and she endures them quietly until she finally lifts a hand for quiet.

"It's time. The DEO has never been entirely above board, and if we're going to make strides in accepting aliens into Earth society, we have to start with nixing the extrajudicial arrests and imprisonment."

Lena looks at Kara, who has been suspiciously silent. Kara meets her gaze in apprehension.

"What does that mean for Supergirl?'

Lena offers her a smile that refreshes her soul.

"Well, it would be foolish to claim she isn't still needed, and that heroes don't do a lot of good. So I've already talked with the mayor about implementing a municipal licensing program for vigilante heroes. If successful, you'd basically be doing the exact same thing, with just a little more oversight, and a little less smash and grab."

Nia beams. "That sounds so cool!"

"And," Lena adds, sliding her gaze towards Alex and J'onn, "the program is going to need leadership that's familiar with both heroes and bureaucracy."

J'onn nods his readiness and agreement, but to everyone's surprise, Alex hesitates.

"It sounds like a great idea, Lena, really," Alex obfuscates, "but I think I still have more work to do on this side of things. As you say, the DEO has a lot to make up for."

Kara hugs her sister tight. "I'm so proud of you," she whispers.

"Wait, wait, wait..." Nia says, pumping the brakes ever so slightly. "Does this mean we don't get to be the Superfriends anymore?"

But Lena has an answer for that too.

"As the pilot heroes of this new program, I'm sure all of you will continue to work closely together, and I'm sure the legislation will include provisions for teams as well as individual. Which means that as National City's first and premier superhero league, the only thing you're missing is a sponsor." Which is to say, Lena intends to sponsor them.

"From my personal accounts," Lena is sure to specify, "and with tech either commercially available or engineered in my personal lab. LuthorCorp will won't be anywhere near it, and I will be operating as anonymously as possible... though given our history, I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard a guess for people to figure out."

When the team leaves for celebratory drinks, Kara and Lena linger. The air hangs thick and heavy between them, until Lena finally speaks.

"You once asked for bygones--"

"I did," Kara confirms. "And as much as I would love to return the favor--"

"We have a lot to talk about."

Kara nods, and Lena takes a deep breath. "All I ask," she continues, "is that you accept the good with the flaws. And that I only ever wanted to do good."

That much, Kara agrees without hesitation.

"I never thought anything else."

She loops her arm through Lena's, and together they walk towards the lift. As it rises to collect them, Kara rocks back on her heels.

"A lot of changes are coming our way," she remarks.

Lena hums an agreement, but misses the glance Kara gives her as they step into the lift before issuing one last pardon.

"There's no one else I'd rather face them with."

The elevator gate closes on the image of them gazing at each other, eyes locked and smiles brimming with the possibility of something new.

#supercorp #yall freaking asked for it #this took me one day #and one single brain #imagine if i had a full team fleshing this out with me #wall of text #sorry the inbox/mobile app doesnt allow for read mores #tell me what you think #edited to add read more

474 notes · View notes