#I want him to do it himself but alas his muscles are non existent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

genshinboys · 3 years

Text

Going out on a date with Genshin boys - Kazuha

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Kazuha x gn reader

„Hey, Kazu, stop that, will you?” Your hands desperately clutch onto the hem of your kimono, which is now dancing with the wind, fluttering around, and thus jeopardizing the safety of your bottom by flaunting it to the cheerful ronin marching behind you.

„Stop what, Sweetheart?” Ever the innocent Kazuha remains oblivious to the accusations thrown at him.

The wind keeps whirling around and, alas, on this occasion, the garment does blow all the way up, rendering your buttocks as naked as the Moon before the fugitive from Inazuma.

The fucking audacity. Your eyes scream bloody murder when you turn on your heels to throttle the chuckling vagabond to death.

Upon seeing your vengeance-seeking face, your free-spirited lover does seem to fight for breath as he roars with laughter, hands holding onto his belly. His eyes crinkle merrily and if you thought you couldn’t possibly fall harder for him, well, you were stupid. Your brain turns into mush and all you can register is his boyish-like giggle ringing in your ears like a plague of mosquitoes. Your stomach does a flip when he titters for the last time in this high-pitched airy manner that never fails to tug at your heartstrings.

„Sweetheart, what’s all that anger for, hmm? Let me braid your hair so that you can relax a little.” Kazuha approaches, carrying the overflowing with field flowers basket in his hands.

Earlier in the day, he courtly offered for you two to stroll around the lands of Liyue in search of some blossoms.

„I want to make a pretty flower crown so that it can adorn the head of the Queen/King of my heart.” He confessed with a soft smile on his face when questioned about the objective of the outing.

You let out a defeated sigh when he intertwines your hands, and with a roll of your eyes, allow him to drag you in the direction of the nearest Sandbearer tree. Its peachy leaves and long branches perfectly shelter you from the burning rays of the setting Sun. He sits down, resting his back against the trunk and extends his arms to invite you to settle between his thighs. You comply with his wish, and he helps you to position yourself comfortably in his loving embrace.

Kazuha notices that you’re still sulking over his playful advances from earlier so, he places a kiss on the very tip of your ear and teasingly blows the air behind it, which causes your body to tremble like the flowers in his basket. Mischievously, he presses his fingers under your ribs and begins tickling you as though there was no tomorrow.

„No, Kazuha, please stop!” Pleading cries evoke yet another fit of giggles in the fugitive ronin.

„Only when you say that you love me.” He does not yield no matter how much you squirm in his arms.

„I do, I do, I do!” You surrender, yelling loud enough to wake the under-the-table drunk bard of Mondstadt.

Kazuha continues chuckling happily, feather-like kisses brush over your reddened cheeks.

Sitting in the shadow of the tall Sandbearer tree, with your back flush against Kazuha’s warm chest, the ronin meticulously weaves flowers into your strands while reciting his most recent haiku poems. Kazuha’s voice, velvety and smooth, in sing-like manner chants into your ear, eliciting hums of approval from your drowning in ecstasy limp body.

„You’re such a little brat Kazu, you know?” The accusation, barely a whisper, directed at your playful lover is almost lost between the grunts of pleasure caused by the jolts of electricity numbing your mind.

He snickers.

„What am I now, huh?” With colourful flowers gracing your head, Kazuha considers his job done. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, and his fingers start teasingly playing with the strings of your kimono. Your gut clenches in anticipation when you come to a realisation that he’s actually pulling at the strings to undo the knot.

„You aren’t exactly lily-white yourself, Sweetheart.”

The platinum blonde eventually untangles the loop and sneaks his hand underneath the garment to feel you. He purrs like a kitten into your ear, charmed by the softness of your skin. His bandaged hand smoothly circles your abdomen. You whimper weakly once his hot tongue licks your earlobe, and then he grazes over it with his teeth, making you moan out even louder.

„That’s it, Y/N. Sing for me in that needy voice of yours,” Kazuha encourages progressively kissing lover and lover down to your neck. Your kimono falls to your sides and the gusts of wind do but little to cool down your blazing skin. There is this spinning in your head, like a merry-go-round when the ronin starts tormenting your body by swirling your nipples with his fingertips. The sensations spread throughout you. His playful fingers shoot off sparks straight into your groin. He is a tease. Kazuha’s patience knows no bounds, and he can elongate the rhythmic flicks of his fingertips till you beg and cry for him to make you cum. Your hips start bucking forward, looking for non-existent friction, as he gently pinches on your nipples. Blood rushes into the sensitive nerves, the erected buds turn slightly red, and you rut into the air turning Kazuha’s thoughts feral.

He lets his hot breath tickle your ear when he whispers sweetly, „Rest your legs on my thighs, Love. Spread yourself for me and I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

With a racing heart, you place your legs on top of his thighs, knees pressed to his. Cheeks burning in shame when you expose your arousal to grant the ronin’s request.

„Immaculate,” Kazuha praises, one of his hands boldly wanders lower. He starts stroking the flesh, spreading your juices all over you to make sure that it doesn’t hurt in the slightest. The wanton moans and desperate pleas falling from your lips make his erection twitch and he loses his stoic composure, grinding right into your back. Kazuha rolls his hips while both of his hands work their magic as the unbearable tension builds up in your belly. He keeps on moaning, lewdly whispering how good he feels with his cock dry-fucking into you from behind. He palms your wetness, rubbing in a circular motion while rolling his thumb over your nipple. Each time he does so, the aching feeling inside of you becomes too much to bear. Your core tightens and muscles spasm erratically with each stroke of his hand. Shuddering and whimpering, Kazuha is moving rhythmically with your pelvis right behind you. Nearing his climax, your lover’s thrusts turn brutally hard and even faster. He pants heavily, attempting to send you over the brink together with him.

„Kazu, Ahh--,” hard and full waves of pulsating energy still you in the ronin’s tight clutch as he joins you, spilling himself into his trousers with your name on his lips. His forehead is sweaty and strands of hair messily cling to the skin of his face. Kazuha’s hands shake uncontrollably when he places them on top of yours and pulls you into a breath-stealing hug.

„You should know better than not to put on any underwear on a date with me.”

He wanted to be serious, but his eyes tell a different story, and this time both of you laugh out loud heartily.

Other boys:

Albedo

Kaeya

Diluc

Xiao

Zhongli

Childe

Other series:

Thigh job with Genshin boys

#kazuha headcanons #kazuha smut #kazuha scenarios #kazuha x reader #kazuha reader #kazuha x you #kazuha you #kazuha genshin impact #kazuha drabbles #kazuha imagines #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #genshin smut #genshin imagines #genshin drabbles #genshin headcanons

701 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

hii!! i'm in love with your art! is it ok if i request Ribbons with Dimitri? i hope youre doing ok btw uwu

Honestly, my last two weeks were pretty much rock bottom but I am feeling a sense of relief atm since something I’ve been dragging around for years just got resolved. So right now? Doing pretty good actually, thanks, I hope you are healthy and happy as well ♥ Thanks for your request :D

Ribbons - “This hairstyle is so cute for you!... Hm? Oh sorry, the duct tape fabric is muffling your gratitude.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

The point of no return had long passed you by, leaving you behind at this end of the road that was Dimitri’s love. How had you ended up here? Hadn’t there been any other way this could have gone? Those questions bothered you day in, day out, from sunrise to sunset, and then throughout the night as well.

You wished for an explanation, hoped to get answers by reaching deep inside your memories. Still, alas, it was a vain endeavor, as the only thing you could ever think of was that it must have been your own fault. Truly, you had just wanted to be kind and supportive. Your motives were as pure as the water of a running stream, and yet, they had brought you into the worst possible kind of predicament.

Outside the cave you were hidden away in, war raged. People fled, and soldiers died while you were bound to a chair, waiting silently in the darkness until your captor returned. Every time he left, you were scared he wouldn’t come back. And every time he returned, you wished he hadn’t.

There was nothing human about Dimitri anymore. Whatever had eaten away on him - and you wished to know what it was and even more so how to cure it so he might regain the grip on himself - had made him to something akin to a monster. Every day he touched you with his bloodied hands after coming back from the war he was raging against everyone, sullying you in something akin to a love that only a desensitized humanoid like him could feel. Other days, he simply passed out on the bed of straw he had collected in a corner, leaving you to fight your demons and fears until he woke up.

His voice brought shivers down your spine, and the smell of iron caused a nauseous lump in your throat. Every day, you were hoping that his touch would be gentle, that the tender gestures wouldn’t bruise and wrench you apart, and yet, you found yourself disappointed that this wasn’t the case. Whenever you saw an opportunity to flee, you felt his gaze on your back; the gaze of a predator not too shy to break your legs.

And yet, as painful as it was for you, Dimitri found comfort in your presence.

Even if his touch hurt, when he used a cloth to wash you down, making sure you wouldn’t be bloody when he woke up the next day, he’d smile softly, like a happy boy, glad to assist. He’d tell you gruesome tales as if they were read out of books, and though you couldn’t eat a bite with him near, he was patient in feeding you, even if you made the food fall to the ground in anger.

Those mundane things, paired with the eeriness of the candle-lit cave and the constant feeling of losing all your senses to the lack of stimulation you had aside from Dimitri, were the worst thing of all to you. And you were sure, even death couldn’t have been as cruel as Dimitri was, keeping you as his own little secret, hidden away from anyone as well as his own disturbed mind.

Even though time was a concept now that you couldn’t witness it anymore, you were sure it had been a while that you last saw the outside. It was as apparent as the growth of hair on your head. Back when you had been an active soldier, you didn’t like keeping it as long as it was now. It simply wasn’t sustainable, and frankly, a nuisance. But now, it had long started dropping off your shoulders, and you wondered why you even bothered to entertain the thought of cutting it still.

Clearly, that had something to do with Dimitri’s new obsession with making sure you were prepared. Prepared for what? You wondered that yourself. Not even he could brag with great hair befitting a king, but he was still keen on combing through yours.

At first, he had done it with his fingers. Terrible nails, paired with a non-existent sense of being gentle, caused at least as much hair to be ripped out as it fell out naturally from the stress you were experiencing. What followed was more torture with a comb he picked up from some dead farmers, paired with tears and screams and unhappiness for you both. And yet, he always came back to preening, preparing you for something you might not live long enough for to find out if these conditions went on.

“This hairstyle is so cute for you!” Dimitri chuckled, and you could only guess from all the tugging, and less oily hair slapped to your temples that he was holding back a good batch of it. But what could you say? With your mouth gagged with a miserable piece of cloth that you were clenching between your lips for far too long now, you couldn’t have answered to that even if you had wanted to. Right?

You didn’t realize until the moment it was out that you let out the muffled equivalent to an angry shout, entirely the fault of a mood swing at that moment. Your eyes widened as you felt your voice crack and your throat split painfully inside from the unusual loud utterance.

The pulling at your hair that had continued up to this point stopped, fingers halting their work to put every strand over his hand individually. It went quiet enough in the cave to hear the candle flame flickering, but your own heartbeat shut down any other sound that might have closed in on you. You didn’t just feel it jumping in your chest, but also pounding in your ears the same way it would if you were to ride out into battle and just before it was about to start.

That’s how you always felt; it was a constant battle with Dimitri.

“Hm?” Dimitri questioned as if you had asked him something he didn’t catch while he was so busy pulling out your hairs. “Oh, sorry, the fabric is muffling your gratitude.”

Before you could flinch a muscle, you felt his finger dig between the cloth and your cheek, the strain painfully cutting into the corner of your mouth. But before long, the fabric simply pulled loose, falling into your lap soaked with your spit, pulling strings of saliva with it. Without it, you were free to speak your mind and saved from your jaw unable to close or open properly, and yet, there was nothing you could have said right that moment.

Instead, you shivered uncontrollably as Dimtri grabbed you on both sides of your chin, lifting your face to meet his, cheeks briefly rubbing against each other. You hated it! You wanted all of this to stop! And yet...

“Now, tell me again what you thought, my Love.”

... gripping your chin so tightly...

“You can tell me everything. I adore you. Speak to me. Do it. DO IT!”

... you were scared that one of these days, your body would simply snap from this love he swore to you.

[You can find the prompt list here]

94 notes · View notes

rat-father · 3 years

Text

Had to build up some confidence but finally decided to write some scp whump <3 well d-class whump more specifically

for my whumpers who aren't in the scp community : scp 012 for more context

Tagging; @sideblogformindtrash

-- tw;; blood mention / unintentional self harm, blood loss, passing out, lab whump, multiple whumpees, panic, mild implied dissociation / derealisation, implied previous child abuse, temporary whumpee turned caretaker, miscommunication, multiple whumpers / caretakers --

„I said that I was cold, not that I wanted to cuddle.“ Vivek complained.

„Well, this is what my dad would do in the winter when it got really cold. We would sleep in the same bed and share our body heat to keep us warm,“ Sakari said. „And considering the fact that you're hugging me back, I don't think you're against it.“

He huffed, chin resting on top of their head as they hid in the crook of his neck. Their hair was still damp from the shower, smelling mildly of cheap shampoo. „I guess it does help,“ he begrudgingly grumbled.

„See!“

„Doesn't mean I like it! And don't you dare say that I do.“

Sakari's laugh got muffled by the fabric of his shirt. A mix of feelings stormed inside their brain, feeling that everything went by too fast those 3 short days. From the invitation with promise of money, to the pick up in the lone street, the pain of fresh ink burning letters into their skin, and now laying in bed with a murderer. Ultimately, their thoughts kept bringing them back to their dad, sick on the streets with nothing to help. It was stupid accepting such a sketchy thing, 30 days of work for 50k, it was too good to be true. But what other choice did they have?

A hiccuped sob escaped them, accompanied by silent tears.

„I miss him,“ they admitted, more to themselves then the prisoner next to them.

He hummed sympathetically. „Homesickness is something you'll get over.“ He was quiet for a couple seconds, quickly adding. „Maybe 'home' isn't the best word, uh.“

They gave a small smile. „I get what you mean.“

„If they take you for testing, then,“ Vivek inhaled deeply. „You don't have my permission to die.“

„Wasn't planning to, but I'll keep it in mind.“

~-~

Vivek attempted to focus on the words coming from the blabbering prisoner sitting in front of him. He was more interested in whatever he was going on about than the mushy food they expected him to eat. It was better quality then other prisons he'd been to at least, and didn't taste like salted cardboard. He couldn't ignore the other's foot constantly tapping against the ground, leg twitching in sync. He looked like he had to much sugar and caffeine for breakfast, words rolling off his tongue non stop while making wild gestures with his hands. Vivek didn't even know his name, he hadn't bothered introducing himself before starting his rant.

„Were you zoning out just then, Vi?“ 83' chuckled.

83' didn't care to give his name either, but he was distinct enough to recognize even without proper name. Significantly older then everyone else, hair whiter then his skin and surprisingly fluid in his movements. He wondered how his muscles still worked so well. His voice was gentle, albeit croaky.

Vivek glanced at the others, deep in conversation. „Yeah. Don't care for what he's saying.“ He leaned back, reading the numbers on the shirt of the guy in front him. 6499.

83' clapped him on his back. „He is a talkative young man for sure. My son had ADHD. He also used to talk for what felt like hours on end sometimes.“

He nodded along, mind drifting back to Sakari. They certainly enjoyed starting conversations as well. He remembered seeing them talk to minimum 4 different people before the introduction speech.

„You don't have my permission to die.“ His own words echoed in his head, replaying like a broken record. Those words meant nothing beyond the surface, it wouldn't stop them from getting killed in this place. Permission to die was stupid. He might as well pretend to put a spell on them to make then invincible, that would be about as useful.

~-~

Sakari's heart pounded in their chest, deafening the voice attempting to reach their ears. Worry and dread knotted together in their stomach, confusion blanking their mind of rational thought. Their stayed fixated on the paper in front of them, stepping forward without a choice. It was harder to breath. Humidity around them heating their body. They felt awfully aware of their own existence, yet distant from the world. It was one blur, except for the urge to finish the song. That one. That song. The song and dance they played. The one their dad played. Pain seared through them as he hit them, as blood trickled down. Clotted blood running down their arm. Seeping in their fingernails, burning through paper like acid. Acid he spat as he insulted them, cutting deeper inside. Pounding got louder to the beat. It was a joke he was. A small joke. A small note on the page. The face they saw, they closed their eyes. The skulls were nice. The bunnies weren't prevalent. Speedy bunnies running, hitching their breath, invading their lungs. Those unwritten notes, unwritten until end of time. Their legs felt weak under them, fountains of water rolling down them. Written welcoming warmth.

~-~

Vivek held back a sigh hearing the metal door open once more. He sat up in his bed, expecting to see another guard there to take him. He nearly jumped in relief instead seeing Sakari walk in, clutching their lower arm. They meekly smiled at him, sitting down next to him. They curled up on their side as he moved to give them more space. Their feet were inches away from his leg, digging into the hard mattress.

„Are you okay?“ He asked. A stupid question, he thought to himself, the answer was pretty clear.

„Could be better,“ they mumbled, thumb absentmindedly rubbing over their arm.

„What happened? You look like you're about to pass out.“

„Lost a bit of blood is all. Wouldn't be an issue if I had eaten beforehand. But alas.“

„Let me see,“ He didn't wait for them to react, pulling their arm away from their chest. He rolled up their sleeve, inspecting the bloodied bandage wrapped around them. They sat up, wincing at the grip.

„What did they do?“

„Would you believe me if I said I did it to myself?“

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head. „You wouldn't do that.“

„You haven't known me for that long, I very well could be someone to do that,“ Sakari paused. „But you're right, I wouldn't do it. I'm not entirely sure what happened. I do remember waking up in some infirmary, and getting a cookie.“

„A.. Cookie?“

„Yeah! And apple juice. That was good. Turns out you pass out faster from blood loss if you haven't eaten for hours.“ They laughed.

Vivek sat appalled, staring at them with wide eyes. „You nearly died and you just.. Don't care?“

„I'm not dead, am I? After all,“ they leaned forward. „I don't have your permission to. So what's the point in worrying about something that could've happened, but didn't?“

He rolled his eyes. „Alright. Fair point. I guess I'm just worried about you,“ he mumbled quietly.

„You? Worried about me?“

„Shut the fuck up.“

His words cut them deeper then the wound, flinching before they could stop it. They silently climbed out the bed to move up to their own. He called after them, grabbing them by their sleeve to hold them in place.

„What's wrong now? I wasn't being serious!“

Sakari glared at him through the corner of their eye. He groaned.

„I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know you were sensitive.“

He caught a glimpse of their teary eyes as they shook their head. They pulled themselves out his grasp, entering the small bathroom off to the side. He stood in place, baffled by what happened. Reluctantly he jumped back onto the bed, crossing his arms. The shower turned on, steaming water filling the empty silence for the rest of the night.

#whump #multiple whumpees #whumpee turned caretaker #dissociation tw #tw blood #lab whump #captivity whump #tw self harm #scp #scp whump #excuse my bad writing #I've literally never written anything scp related before #and I'm nervous :')#havent been this nervous since my first whump post #Sakari's panic is based on what goes on in my head when I'm panicking #just incoherent thoughts and rambles that mix together in an attempt to distract myself #I was slightly panicking while writing that part #yay for fear of failure and judgement #d-class antics

18 notes · View notes

twc-thoughts-you-didnt-ask-for · 4 years

Text

Mortality - Adam

An anon asked if I would write fics on the detective bringing up the big topic of if the LI would change them so here we are. I am starting off with Adam.

Please let me know if it’s absolute trash and I should quit while I’m ahead, or if you would like to see more. I am not very experienced in the fanfic department...

My detective, Dinah Greene, is people/psychology based and friendly and charming for background info btw. Fic is under the read more :)

“Again.”

If Dinah heard those words one more time from Adam, she felt she would truly snap. Crazed vampires changing her blood for life and making her a target she could take. Adam nonstop beating her no matter what she did, she could not.

“Can I take a break?”

“If this were a real fight, you wouldn’t get to take a bre-” Adam began lecturing, but Dinah interrupted him quickly.

With a sickeningly sweet look in her eyes and an equally sweet, pathetic tone she asked, “Please?”

... He gave in nearly immediately to that.

Dinah collapsed into a heap on the deliciously cold floor of the training room. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as Adam let her take a quick break from their rigorous training. Well, rigorous for her, anyways. Adam couldn’t be less bothered if he tried.

Each muscle ached in protest as she raised her limbs to survey the damage. Everything was still there, though she was sure every part of her body would have scornfully abandoned her for putting them under such abuse.

Studying her skin closely, she began to look for the early signs of bruising. It was a habit she gotten into every time she tried her hand at honing her nearly non-existent fighting skills against the supernatural. It’s not that Adam, or any of her fellow members in Unit Bravo, intended to leave any mark- but it was impossible to avoid given the activity and her frail (well, frail by supernatural standards) body. Luckily, such markings only appeared in places very easy to cover up by her usual attire of a summer dress, covered by a cardigan, and matching tights or leggings.

If she had managed to land a good hit on Adam, any sign of it would have disappeared immediately. He looked as overwhelmingly handsome as always, unbothered as he checked his phone to make sure he did not miss any emergencies (or what he considered an emergency) while she tried to become one with the floor to avoid any more physical activity.

She wondered if the contrast in their states bothered him as much as it did her. Or, rather, if the contrast in their circumstances bothered him. She had no way of knowing if Adam put the same stock into the realities as she had... unless she were brave enough to ask.

She sighed loudly, the volume more than enough for his super hearing to catch, to prompt an inquiry out of him.

But, alas... nothing.

So she sighed even louder and longer this time.

...Nothing.

Are you kidding me?

She put every ounce of drama she could muster into another sigh and this time she saw results.

Not a peep came out of Adam, but a small rare smile tugged against the corners of his mouth. He was getting on her nerves on purpose.

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m but small, girlfriend-shaped puddle on the floor that also happens to be the love of your shockingly long life trying to speak with you.”

Adam chuckled at that, but his focus remained on the phone.

“Oh, truly? I hadn’t noticed by the very pointed sighing coming from that side of the room. And what might the very convincing puddle have to say to me, I wonder? Surely she wouldn’t be trying to charm her way out of training... again.”

Dinah looked towards the ceiling, nervously biting at her lip.

“Have you ever thought about it?”

“Thought about what? Trying to charm my way out of training? You’ll have to be more specific. As I have often reminded you, I cannot know your thoughts if you do not share them with me.”

She turned her head to look in his direction and said with apparent disgust, “That I'm getting older.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, humor still clung to his mouth and voice as he said, “Dinah, need I remind you that I am over 900 years old?”

She swung and missed. It wasn’t direct enough and she hadn’t brought the topic up in a serious matter than would warrant his stern response.

She would try again.

“No, but you must be aware that time will continue ticking and me moving along with it. I know I am. I’ll be decrepit some day and considering my very unique blood situation, I’d be lucky if I get to live anything resembling a long li-”

Dinah stopped mid-sentence as the phone dropped from his hands at that, but lightening quick reflexes caught it before it could hit the ground. He really couldn’t afford to break anymore of his or her stuff.

The silence between them was deafening.

“I’m not discussing this.” he stated.

With a groan of pain, Dinah got off the floor to approach him and gingerly place a hand on his forearm.

“Adam, please, some day we will have to discuss this. Why not now?”

His arm tensed under Dinah’s touch, but it was a good sign that he did not pull away. She didn’t know what she would do if he had pulled away from her- protecting himself by denying what was there.

“You are young and healthy. I am doing everything I can to protect you and teach you to protect yourself, the team as a whole is doing their utmost for your safety, and you doubt it? The chances of you... The chances of extreme harm coming to you are not zero, but not likely either. We wouldn’t allow it.”

She could not help but notice how desperately he danced around the word “dying”.

“Adam, it’s not about ‘allowing’ it. I know you think things happen only as you approve them, but that’s not how it is. How many gambles do you think it will take before I’m all out of chips? Hell, my number was moments away from being up when we fought Mur-”

She regretted it the moment she nearly murmured Dr. Murphy’s name. Adam’s eyes closed and his jaw tensed, as it does when he was reminded of Dinah’s state that day. Cradled in his arms, her blood rapidly leaving her, her hand raised to him tell him he’s handsome... She had nightmares of Murphy, but she could not deny that so did he.

“Dinah, please.” he pleaded quietly.

She wrapped her arms around him, a silent apology.

After a while like that he sighed, pulling only his arms out of her embrace, placing both his hands on the sides of her face, and angled her to look at him. Her dark eyes met his icy ones and they stayed like that for a long time. Eye contact from day one had always felt like their own personal eternity.

“I have thought about your inconvenient mortality, Dinah, I’ll admit it. But it is not a topic I wish to linger on for any amount of time. The realities of what you are, what I am, what we face, does not allude me and-”

His phone, as it often does, pings to interrupt the moment.

After checking it, he announces that it is her mother and that he must go.

Placing a very tender kiss to her forehead he says, “I’ll send Mason to come finish your training.”

As his hand touches the handle of the door, Dinah boldly asks: “Would you do it?”

He freezes, stiffness coming back to his shoulders. She didn’t specify what “it” was as he usually would ask of her. He seemingly understood exactly what she meant.

“Would you turn me?” she followed up, unnecessarily but quietly.

He did not look her way as he responded with a defeated tone.

“Dinah, I am incapable of denying you anything if you ask it of me. If you decided you wanted it, if it were the right thing to do-”

“An answer, please.” Dinah interrupted.

“Yes.”

And with that he walked out the door.

#the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #the wayhaven chronicles detective #twc adam #twc detective #twc fanfic #the wayhaven chronicles fanfic

95 notes · View notes

jacks-wylan · 4 years

Text

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3.

“Are you sure that whatever you are hunting is here?” Jaskier sniffs, and Geralt hears some ruffling behind his back. He does not turn to see what he's doing, already knowing that even without looking at him. “Damn... these... tits... they are so fucking bulky... they are as annoying as they are flawless.”

Geralt snorts. “They are.” he says, without thinking. Then winces, and curses mentally.

“What did you say?”

Only then, Geralt turns and looks at Jaskier, seated elegantly on Roach with crossed legs – how can he sit like that on a horse, it's beyond his comprehension – , coat tight around him and a confused expression on his face. Good. He hasn't heard him. “I said that you have to shut. Your. Mouth. I'm hunting.”

“We're hunting for the last...” Jaskier counts with his long fingers, tapping against his lips at every number he thinks, dramatically. “Five hours, I daresay. If this basilisk was really here, it would have already come out of his hiding to, I don't know, turn us into statues? Bite us into our next lives? It would have done something, something!”

“It will eat you if you just don't shut up!”

That's one of the many reasons Geralt doesn't want Jaskier to come to his hunts. He has no self preservation, as always, and one of these times he'll get surely killed. And most importantly, Jaskier distracts him; he does it with his witty words, with his loud chatters, with his inebriating scent, with his... new... curves, with his eyes that keep looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for Geralt to surrender, to give in.

The little shit knows that Geralt is weak, and he's so, so close to crack.

“Yeah, sure. If only this fathomable basilisk really existed.” he yawns, and stretches his arms, “If only it existed, I would have made a perfect song for it. But alas, I have to disappoint my admirers. Oh, how I loathe to disappoint them.”

“It doesn't matter. You can't perform it anyway.”

If Geralt couldn't see it, he could have clearly heard Jaskier's flinch, and felt the wave of sadness coming off him. Shit. That was a low blow, after all they don't know for how long he has to still be undercover, unable to sing and dance, unable to do the things that keeps him alive without the risk to jeopardize his safety. They still don't know where to find a mage – even less the same witch that turned him into a boy when he was just a teenager – and the wait, and the uselessness is making Jaskier sad, unhappy. Geralt hates the thought of him unhappy.

“Right. Too bad. I would really have made a beautiful song.”

Geralt sighs, and– well, if he just drops his guard for less than a minute, enough to make Jaskier smile again, nothing bad would happen, right? After all, it really seems that Geralt chooses the wrong moment to go hunting the monster of his contract. “I will find a mage as soon as possible, Jaskier.” he says, walking slowly towards him, “Everything will go back to normal.”

And there it is, his smile. Every time he does that, his lids slightly flutter, before closing his eyes while his lips stretch wide open. Almost non–existent wrinkles appear right above his round cheekbones, and Geralt feels like he's walking on water, like he's been the best man alive to have this just for him – but he's not his, not his.

But then, Jaskier talks. And like every time Jaskier starts to blab – being for embarrassment, for stupidity or the Gods just know what – blood starts to boil in Geralt's vein. “Not too soon, my dear witcher. I still have to gift my virginity to a very lucky man, then I can say to have experienced really everything in life!”

Geralt feels his face twists, “You do not have to.”

“Yeah, I don't have to.” Jaskier cocks his head, looking at him through long lashes, “But I want to. Modestly, all the women I made love with, they tested this, this grand pleasure, a pleasure that I, sadly, cannot compare to mine, considering I never experienced it before, but it seems so, Gods, so rip–roaring. Now I have this opportunity, and I don't want to give that up!” he sighs, and, horrifyingly, he sounds so dreamy. “The man that will give me such immense pleasure is waiting for me, out there.” then, Jaskier looks straight into his eyes, “I just have to find him.”

“That's bullshit.” Geralt says, through gritted teeth, “You will just, just throw yourself into the arms of the first man willing to bed you.”

And is that an unbearable thought, after all. He feels his blood run cold through his veins, his skin prickles and his muscles tense just thinking of Jaskier being touched, being manhandled, being violated by a stranger, an unworthy man. It's always been painful thinking that, even when he was a boy, but now... now, fuck, it's his first time.

Geralt would never forgive himself – even if it's not his fucking business, nor his fucking fault – if the experience Jaskier so much wants turns out to be disappointed. Or worse, painful.

“If that man won't let himself be found, I will have to settle with what I get.” Jaskier shrugs, and leans to caress Roach's mane. She neighs softly, and Jaskier smiles, content. “I can't wait forever, even if would like to.”

Geralt lowers his eyes, cursing mentally. He knows what Jaskier wants, and he wants it from him. Geralt is not so stupid, he can clearly catch the hints Jaskier is throwing at him – but he can't surrender to him, he can't. He can't stain him, and destroy him as he did with everything – everyone – else. Does that mean that Geralt has to see – hear, fuck – him being fucked by some stranger? A stranger man who'll never be worthy enough – as will never Geralt, after all?

Yes. Yes, fucking Gods, yes.

“Uh, Geralt?” Jaskier's voice seems hesitant. Geralt raises his eyes, hoping he doesn't resemble like a deer caught by a lightening, he doesn't want Jaskier to see the turmoil he's feeling inside himself. But Jaskier is just looking at him with a frown, and with a raised hand. Slowly, he gestures him to come closer, and, of course, Geralt does that without much of a thought. “Come here, you have...” he trails off, while Geralt finds himself right in front of him, still seated someway on Roach.

Jaskier licks the palm of his hand, and Geralt has to remember how to breath again. Fuck, how can he be like this, so sensual doing the most stupid things! Then, he puts the same hand on his cheeks, rubbing whatever is staining his face. He has a very concentrated expression on, and his tongue – Gods, his tongue – is peeping out his lips absentmindedly, his attention all towards the action he's doing. While his palm is rubbing with force against his stubble, Geralt just enjoys his vicinity, the sweet and slightly salty scent of his sweat, the rosy colour of his lips so upclose.

Jaskier raises his eyes, and locks them into his. They're close, too damn much close for Geralt's liking – actually, Geralt likes that very much, but he cannot let him see that, they have to remain platonic, totally platonic – and Jaskier smiles, almost victoriously, “I don't know why or how you had dirt on your face, Geralt, but thanks to me you're all shiny again.”

“Hm.” he grunts, and he tries to get away from him. He really tries, but it's just... hard.

Then, behind his back, some twigs crack. Jaskier widens his blue eyes, looking beyond his shoulder, and gasps. Geralt curses, and thankfully he didn't sheathe his sword before dropping his guard, so he just turns around in a swift movement and pierces through the body of the monster that was running towards them.

Except, when Geralt looks at the dead carcass at his feet, what he killed is definitely not a monster.

“Sorry, I overreacted.” says Jaskier, sheepishly. Glaring at him, Geralt sees that he's fidgeting with his fingers, and he's fighting not to smile. “Guess we have something to eat, tonight, if we're going to spend the night here.”

Geralt blinks at the dead body of the boar he killed, utterly annoyed.

“You know what I think? I think this basilisk really doesn't exist. Back at the village, they probably thought that this poor boar was a... was a giant bird. Or whatever a basilisk is, actually.”

“There are traces everywhere, Jaskier. There is a basilisk here.”

“Well,” he sniffs, dramatically, as if Geralt offended him as he contradicted him. “Can you see it? Can you feel it or, I don't know, smell him with your super duper witchery powers?” Geralt doesn't respond, and Jaskier struts, proud of himself. “See. Now, how about we go back to town? The very cute waiter is waiting for me.”

Geralt narrows his eyes, and glares at him again. So, this is a war. Geralt won't lose: he never did, and will never do, especially against this weak, smug, beautiful human. “We'll stay here, all night, if needed.” he smirks, and Jaskier snorts, “We have dinner, after all.”

#here we go again #how many times do i have to post my fic before it will appear in the tags?#we will never know #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #fem!jaskier #non binary!jaskier #mine:fyccina #writings

36 notes · View notes

daredevile · 4 years

Text

A Second Here Another Gone

Summary: Blinded by the sweet raptures of a new relationship, Bucky lowers his guard around you - unaware of the real reason you found him.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of blood, bit of violence and one swear word

A/N: Hey! I know it’s been over two months since I posted something and I’m sorry! I was working on so many oneshots and never finished one until now. But, I promise I will try to update somewhat regularly from now on! Anyway, this one’s for Ayesha’s [ @browngirlmagic ] writing challenge and my prompt was ‘Echo’. Please reblog if you like it! :)

An angry crimson. A so-called scarlet elixir of the living trickles from its hearth beneath as if screaming a symbol of horror and impending doom. It surrenders with grace and elegance - a droplet of fresh blood tainting pristine white floors, smearing the Parthenon of life and death with an intensity of wrath and violence and -

"Hey." The sombre tone in his voice draws you into his weary stature. It looks worse than he'd assured over the phone. Raging clusters of purple and blue spread across his arms, broken lip, black eye, his jaw cast a scarlet tint. Not to mention the slight limp he'd tried masking from your stares.

"Thanks for coming so fast. Would've driven myself but..." He motions to the cast around his right arm, a light pink dusting over his cheeks. A nurse approaches him with a sympathetic expression, repeating a list of instructions and medication requirements for a quick recovery. Though you know Bucky's not following a word she's saying - she must've realised it too - giving you a moment for any questions before returning to her station.

The conversation in the car is non-existent, only a couple of instinctive glances towards the rear-view mirror to gauge each other's emotions. Soft tunes twirl in the background, Bucky lowers the volume with a grunt as his muscles sting with the movement. A sigh escapes from his lips, he angles himself towards your concentrated form but, you refuse to meet his gaze.

"Y'know it's not as bad as it looks. Should've seen the other guy." He says with a constrained laugh. An honest attempt to relieve the tensed wind and the crease between your eyebrows, alas, it fails its purpose. He sinks back into the cushioned seat, lingering his eyes over the neon streaks of passing vehicles.

The road seems never-ending, both sides merely converging at a distant imaginary point ahead. The traffic dissolves and scatters into several busy paths as Bucky directs you through far too many left and right turns before arriving at a rather calm and vacant neighbourhood.

Once the engines lull back into a soft purr, you open the passenger door and gently grasp his arms as he lifts himself from the seat. He releases a breath in relief, thankful your silence is replaced by concern. The two flights of stairs is another journey on its own, exchanging mumbles of apologies and groans, even the close proximity of him curves past your thoughts.

Bucky stumbles into his apartment, careful to avoid the loose floorboard right at the entrance - pushing a horrible reminder to the back of his mind - and you follow his footing. A chuckle from him pulls your attention, determined he's capable on his own, he leans away from your hold, mentioning something about taking a shower before retreating into the furthest room.

His house is spotless, every single object kept in a place for swift and efficient access. Somehow he'd made a rather confined area appear more spacious. You notice how foreign and hostile he maintained his home - a supposed personal bubble. His belongings danced around the hazy line between bare essentials and other items. Almost as if he was caught in the process of moving in or ready to move out within a matter of minutes.

A sharp buzz from your phone stops you from observing the rest of the apartment. Without sparing a glimpse at the caller, you swipe the green button. An instant thrust of shouting greets you, attacking your senses with great vigour. And it's patience, you've learned, an offensive strategy to appease the monster into a human you could better tolerate.

"I need time." It's not forceful, however, lacking a timbre of the usual intensity your words uphold. The shouting continues, each syllable seething with fury, demanding more answers while your fist clenches at the vulgar threats he hurls from the other end.

"I need more time."

There's dead silence on both ends. And for a second, you believe that he's accepted the command. As fast as it'd ignited, the little spark of surprise disintegrates when his deep laughter is all that's pounding in your ears.

"You're here!" Bucky says, grinning as he spots you in the balcony, "Thought you left me alone."

His sudden appearance turns your blood cold and you can feel the precise second your heart trips over a beat, shoving the phone back into your pocket. His smile drops, immediately regretting how he entered as soon as he saw the pained expression written all over your features. He sighs when your eyes witness the red wounds and scars - some more jarring than others - scattered across his body.

"Look, I know this isn't a good impression. I don't want you to see me like this, trust me, I wouldn't have called if I had - " A pause. Hesitant as he swallows back the words. "Anyone else."

"I'm sorry, Bucky. This is all just... difficult." He nods, fumbling with the loose bandage tied to his other arm. A smile tugs on your lips at his frustration, you grab the free end and wrap it securely around the wound.

"Could you maybe stay? I mean... if you want to." He struggles to suppress a grin when you look up at his eyes. It's hope that lingers behind them.

"Of course."

But the side where you slept is cold and empty when he wakes up.

---

O N E W E E K E A R L I E R

The restaurant was crowded, located right at the heart of the city, overlooking several busy streets that seemed to sink under all the hustle and bustle. The world appeared an innocent umber through the dark hue of your sunglasses, shielding yourself from unwanted enemies. Or so you thought.

Time. Time was precious and no amount of glancing at your watch appeared to have quickened the circular orbit of the dials. But this time, you were unsure - caught between the dichotomous chasm of want and need - a feeling that unsettled you to the core.

"Hope you don't mind, darling." A deep voice came from behind, the drinks spilt over the glasses as he slammed his hand on the table. The elderly couple sitting to your left flinched at his abrupt action. A fake smile was enough to have satisfied them, he returned to face your blank expression.

"So tell me, does it usually take this long or are you fucking him?" It was almost a growl that promptly simmered to a smirk when a waitress passed by, unaware of the evil she'd encountered.

"He'll figure it out, I'm being careful." You said, oblivious to the scorching hot liquid piercing your taste buds. Any shard of fun and pleasure that had emerged from his features earlier crumbled at that very second, he leaned closer and you saw the strain on his face when his jaw clenched. Rumlow was not one to adjust and compensate. You learned that the hard way.

"Listen l/n, I saved you from Volkov 'cause you'd be useful someday. And now you owe me. Gave you a week to do the job, it's been two and I still got nothing. And you know I don't like waiting. Get me the information and finish him or should I remind you what's at stake here."

His voice was dangerously low as if cautious of people overhearing but, you knew it would take mere seconds for the scene to resemble a massacre. Yet, he was right. Your past record highlighted the speed and efficiency of completing assignments - just one hit then delivered to the client and you walked away richer. No hesitation. Unfortunately, this time it was Bucky who had a price on his head and had obtained confidential information.

A folder was thrown at your direction, containing photographs of innocents at different viewpoints through what was unmistakably sniper scopes. Rumlow mimicked the sound of a gun cocking before standing up. He bent down to whisper in your ear, laughing while he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek and walked into the sea of people. His last words were all that you breathed.

Barnes or your family.

---

Bucky sidesteps the soldier-like stance of a grumpy looking man, clearing his throat to alleviate the embarrassment of breaking under his penetrating stare. He didn't know what the guy's problem was, Bucky ignores the annoyed tsk that's clearly targetted at him. On any other occasion, a meaningless interaction with strangers would've flown over his head. But, today he's confused. Scared, even.

Less than two weeks ago, he'd encountered and been drawn to an enigma. Strong yet intricately pieced together. Delicate yet resilient. He just couldn't figure it out. After all, he thought everything became normal once he'd spoken and apologised last night. Expecting to be woken up by sunshine and ruffled sheets from a good sleep and you sleeping soundly, but you were gone without a word - and he just doesn't understand.

And now, here he is, shuffling through busy routes to follow a briskly walking figure who's intrigued him for half an hour. They seem to have no destination, simply taking sharp turns and descending into valleys of crowds and streetside markets. In a hurry, Bucky thinks. He picks up his pace, there seem to be fewer people in this area. It's darker and easily hidden between the lanes of houses.

He turns the corner and realises there are no other paths. A dead-end. The figure spins around, eyes flitting around the narrow path. He panics and begins to retreat, but the all-too-familiar cock of the gun stills his movements. Nothing. No moment in his entire life scared him more than the person standing a few steps away -

It's you.

He freezes when your finger curls around the trigger and the innocence in your eyes dissolve. Every single instinct in his body is telling him to run. But he can't. He wants to know more, to know why. And he realises you're thinking the same when your hand begins to tremble.

"Whose orders?"

It's a tone he's never heard before. Cold and detached. A machine programmed to do one's bidding with no second thoughts. He raises both hands, swallowing the agonising feeling latching onto his throat as your grip tightens.

"Don't lie to me, Barnes. Who ordered you to kill me?"

There's no choice. His heart is clawing the insides of his chest, waiting to be free. A whisper is all it takes to conquer your feelings.

"Volkov."

Bucky knows the moment his name is released into the strangling air between you, the gun falters. He sees the rapid and minute shift of your eyes, composing all the information together until -

Your voice staggers, pleading almost. "They have my family, Bucky. He'll kill them if you don't tell me where Volkov is. Rumlow - "

Bucky stops listening. Rumlow, a name he'd left behind, buried within the depths of conscience along with Hydra. He understands your assignment, a simple extract and kill. What Volkov had promised in exchange for your life - Steve's whereabouts - seemed too good to be true, maybe a possible reality in a utopian world. But, this is his life and it's not paradise. He takes a few steps until his hands hover over your gun, angling it towards his heart.

"Then save them."

He whispers the location and you try to zone out, lose control so you don't hear his words. It's too late, two snipers emerge from buildings on command, both taking positions on either side of where you're standing. The chill that runs down Bucky's spine doesn't go unnoticed as he spots the red skull badge on their sleeves. Rumlow knew you wouldn't kill him.

Bucky nudges your chin with the tips of his fingers, reaching into his jacket, he slips his gun into your hands. No words are spoken but you know what has to be done.

Taking a much-needed breath, you pull the trigger at him, not witnessing the wine coloured liquid spreading across his chest instead, taking cover before shooting one of the snipers lurking near a thin pillar. The other one begins firing near the car you are ducking behind. You sprint into his blind spot and kill him with a shot to his head.

Without wasting another second, you spot Bucky clutching his chest in pain. It takes a frozen second for you to dial 911, shaking with dread before Rumlow sends any more of his men and the chances of Bucky surviving vanish. A concerned voice replies to your incohesive string of words, you're barely making sense, the nurse ends the call ensuring 'they're on the way'. Bucky grabs your hand amongst the turmoil, light-headed and pale from the blood seeping through his clothes.

"This isn't goodbye."

And you run.

---

E I G H T M O N T H S L A T E R

Even after weeks of desperately searching for him, he was nowhere to be found. You'd gone back to the hospital, the nurse gave you a distressed glance, saying he hadn't mentioned anywhere in particular. That he was gone once discharged.

You didn't give up though - he'd sacrificed himself for your family in a sheer heartbeat. Bucky was the wind to your storm - a second here another gone. He was mysterious beneath the layers of kindness and affection, tender yet deep like the lyrics of a love song - words you've yet to discover, only hoping you weren't wrong.

A few of your old confidantes were able to carry out under-the-ground operations in exchange for Bucky's location: Edinburgh.

Under the chilly winter winds, you walk along the snow-freckled pavement. Sitting at a dark wooden bench inspecting calming patterns of skate lines etched across the river's icy surface, puffs of crisp air revealing themselves as you sigh.

"I was right."

His voice beckons a long-awaited smile on your face. Sharp blue eyes gazing at a few younger skaters wobbling while they glide along. You begin to stammer out an apology, but he shakes his head, still not meeting your eyes.

"You had no choice."

"Did you find him?" You ask eagerly as he takes a seat next to you.

"Pulled a few strings with some old contacts." Bucky turns to face you, a genuine smile he hadn't felt in ages tugs his lips. He takes your gloved hand in his, entangling his fingers with yours with a dazed look washing over his features.

"He's here."

#ayesha1kwritingchallenge #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky angst #bucky fluff #winter soldier #marvel #mcu

66 notes · View notes

vorstigon · 5 years

Text

A small fic inspired by @donitkitt ‘s incredible Aftermath AU (thank yaa), because omg am I speechless. I adore it so much, a true treasure for both angst and fluff, ahhh.

TW: a bit of graphic imagery, a bit of swearing, torture flashback and a depressed turtle boi. Also, sorry for any stupid mistakes. Alas, English isn't my first language, and tenses can be pain in the ass.

First Struggles.

Flash.

A horrific view in front of him.

Flash.

Someone is screaming.

Flash.

Is it Donnie?

Flash.

Watch. Watch. See them!

Flash.

He saw a figure he loathed. He gave it a sharp, penetrating stare of pure hate.

Flash.

His surroundings were becoming a blur.

Flash.

He couldn't see them. Everything was dark.

Flash.

Leonardo woke up hyperventilating, his body was shaking uncontrollably. If he could, he would have hissed, forced himself to take control over his own body. He knew he couldn't.

Once the first flash had been subsumed by his eyes, he wasn't in control.

He wondered if he ever would.

Saying stop to the ifs might be a good start. There's no need for those ifs any longer.

The trembling dark green shape – his right hand, he presumed – managed to detach itself from the thigh, slowly shaking its way towards the scratched plastron, aiming to land on his aching heart. Just breath.

But was there really a reason to breath? He managed to hit the rock bottom. He failed the team as a leader, but most notably, he failed his own little brothers. That what irony is, right? Years of balancing being both: a good leader and older brother and failing both simultaneously.

His brothers.

Leo's right palm squeezed the left side of his chest, slightly brushing the heartache away. A deep breath was taken, he took control over his body.

Standing up was another challenge – his body felt sore. Shouldn't come as an eye-opener, he remarked to himself darkly, pun intended; there was a lot of throwing up yesterday. The image of Donatello's right arm – the lack of it, rather – has nearly caused him to stumble. That cracked bone, mess of muscle tissue, vigorously bleeding arteries… Blood. So much blood.

He shook his head.

Huh, as if shaking would help his mind stop projecting the disturbing imagery. The anguished sounds Donnie made once pain became unbearable; they fulfilled the silence after solid "No" had been spilled to Bishop's face. Raph's angry voice, swearing and trying to protect the younger brother, despite the cuts all over his body and a bleeding eye. Mikey's impulsive shaking and shrieks of terror and cries, as Donnie's blood touched his face. Mikey's eyes couldn't move away from the horror unfolding in front of him, no matter how hard Leo tried to make the youngest look at him – anywhere, really. And Leo failed even at this seemingly doable task. He failed all of them.

He blamed himself for finding his brother's injuries "disturbing", too. That's a way too simple word for it. Those so-called injuries will stay with them forever. And it was all his fault. The least he can do is to help them.

He has to breathe.

With a muffled grunt, Leonardo shook his head again and headed towards the door. The blue mask was hanging loosely on his neck, his body was gearless. The door slowly opened, revealing a small crack of the completely dark room. A cat-like, focused and sharp blue eye showed itself. Leo cursed, as the lair's main light appeared to be way too bright for his peculiar eye. Besides, everything has become a blur to him anyway. He closed both of his eyes, trying to focus on other senses. He found out that his senses were no good either, but he will work on it, sharpen them like the only intact blade he had been left with. Surprisingly, this blade has managed to survive through everything.

At first, he directed his senses on the nearest open space – their living room. Gladly, his memory was more precise than his eyesight. Leo erased the image, focusing only on his hearing. He could hear the static emitting from TV, also managing to pick up the sound of plates slightly drifting like layers as they contacted with each other. Someone was in the kitchen, cooking as it sounded. This calmed Leo down to a certain point, creating a familiar, soothing and cosy feeling of the past… Yes, their rather peaceful past before… Before. And Leo would be damned if he would have allowed himself to forget any little detail of what had happened to them. He would not fall for this illusion. Though curiosity was still a strong feeling, Leo wanted to check who was in the kitchen.

And since he was definitely safe for now, he could try to figure this out on his own.

The first one to check was Mikey. Leo silently opened the door, warm relief spread over his body as he felt the youngest laying on the bed. Sadly, there's also been a feeling of anxiety radiating from Mikey's sleeping, slightly trembling form. Leo would have woken him up, but as long as his brother wasn't haunted by the intolerable nightmares and actually gets some sleep… He would leave him be and be ready in case his assistance would be needed. Besides, Klunk has always been the best emotional support for Mikey, and now she sensed the itching feeling of being needed more than ever. The orange cat stretched and squished itself over Mikey's plastron, purring loudly, calming him down.

Leo mimicked his earlier movements, silently exciting the room.

He then directed his attention on the med-bay nearby Don's room, as Donatello for sure would have been there. Out of commission, growled Leo darkly in his head. Once they had managed to break free, meeting with the rescue team, Donnie couldn't handle the pain any longer and passed out. He hasn't woken up ever since. Leo suspected that to happen since they were rescued about three days ago? Was it three already? Or more? It felt like yesterday, everything was way too vivid.

Leonardo could barely see the shape of his pale brother lying on the medical bed. His legs and left hand had been strapped to it, Leo could barely remember holding unconscious Donnie down, as April and Splinter were trying to fix… What still could be fixed. They were trying to ease the pain and stop any chance of potentially lethal infection which might come with such a major injury.

Leo signed with relief, sensing steadiness in Donnie's breathing. He shut the door behind himself, slightly smiling and feeling less nauseous.

Moving his snoot slightly, he sniffed intensely, slowly making his way towards the kitchen. A very familiar smell enwrapped him with its strong concentration, though he could only pick up eggs and ham mostly, knowing Raph, cheese would be present as well. Being in such vulnerable state Leo wanted to smell everything. Every single ingredient, the amount of pepper and salt added, and be able to predict location of his brother by the sound he makes. Before walking in, Leo would say that Raph was standing nearby the coffee machine, it was next to the oven so that he could see everything that's going on with the omelette. Raph really didn't like being teased by Mikey if the omelette was even a bit over-fried. His own fault; shouldn't have taunted Mike all the time about getting slightly burned up food.

Memories. Leo wanted to fuse with them, instead of picturing them as an image of what he and his dear brothers used to be. He was starting to hate those goddamn overwhelming memories. If they were to recover, he should not allow himself to melt within their melancholic peacefulness. There was nothing peaceful about what had happened to them.

Once he stepped into the kitchen, he loudly tsk'ed, annoyed with himself as his damn senses were apparently non-existent. Raph wasn't standing near the coffee machine. Not a big deal, he would have normally said, but now, with this disability – a reminder of his failure – this mistake made him as angry as he was at Bishop. Twisted fucker. Leonardo cannot afford to stay as weak as he had been, in his memory. Such a failure deserves to go blind, and this will be and stay as a reminder. From now on, he must train harder, way harder than he ever did.

"N' good mornin' to ya as well, brother," said Raph, his words were soft. Leo could have sworn that his usually smug brother has smiled as wide as ever once he saw him. Leo waved in return. "Wanna have breakfast now?" continued Raph, noticing tension radiating from his older brother, but didn't react on it.

"Let's wait for Mikey." quietly replied Leo, placing a comforting hand on Raph's shoulder, receiving a nod from the latter.

In all honesty, he wasn't up to another session of puking today. Yesterday has gotten that nasty privilege already. But he was certainly up for some training. Of course, if "some" meant 'the state of mere consciousness'. With that, he left Raph alone, Leo's eyes flashed with confidence and determination, as he tightly clenched his fists, heading towards the dojo.

#Aftermath AU #tmnt au #Donitkitt #tmnt 2003 #Leonardo #Raphael #Donatello #Michelangelo #character study #my writing

128 notes · View notes

ambivalentangst · 6 years

Text

Protect Your Own

Here with a thing I've had the idea for for awhile now, some (more) darker exploration of the bond between Lance and Blue. As for the requests in my box right now, I'm hoping to get those out this weekend. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

tw: emotional/mental abuse and trauma with non-graphic descriptions of violence

Lance was scared. That was simply a state of being amongst the stars he’d once so desperately wanted to see for himself. He was fighting for his life every day, placing himself in harm’s way for a war he hadn’t even known existed for the overwhelming majority of his life. This fear, however, was not something had expected. It had crept up on him with the lithe grace of a predator ready to strike, until there were teeth sunk hard and fast into the back of his neck and he was choking on his own blood. Of course it would, because Lance had come to fear the lions. His lion.

Blue had chosen her paladin with caution. Her boy, her precious cub was someone she chose with deliberate care. He loved the ocean and the rain, the water that nourished them both. He was so kind and good and loving, but she knew he had potential as more. Her paladin could blossom into a warrior no less impressive then the lion he fought with, and she delicately let herself nestle deep within his mind with a bond that was indestructible. Blue had chosen wisely, she was sure. This new paladin was fit for their purpose.

It wasn’t that he thought Blue would hurt him outright, because she wouldn’t. Blue loved him so much and her fierce and icy torrent of devotion was never too far, throbbing insistently in the back of his mind. It was nothing as obvious and simple as that, that someday they would pounce and Lance would be suffocated as their power seized the very breath from his lungs. He’d first noticed it in their battles, or rather the aftermath. Lance was not idle, not when it mattered and there was work to be done. He fought tooth and nail to be where he was, but he also wasn’t too proud to say he needed a break. Yet, when they all sat down and began to discuss their next course of action, Lance somehow found a sinuous trickle of verve slowly coming back to him, that had him raising a hand in favor of finding another distress signal to answer. He sat in his room after that next battle, staring at his purpled hand with two of his fingers taped together from where they’d gotten crushed. He’d declined the use of the pods. He just couldn’t stand to be in there another second, with both Hunk and Keith watching from their places locked away behind the glass of the pods.

Why had his own hand betrayed him, had him advocating for something they weren’t ready for? It didn’t sit well with him but then there was a low purr in the back of his head that had him smiling fondly and going to Blue’s hangar to clean her up after the battle. Everyone would be fine, it didn’t matter. They always knew it would be dangerous, after all.

Blue was willing to give everything to her paladin to win. To defeat the sort of evil Voltron had been created to defeat. She breathed life and energy back into him when he was low on both, because she cared. She only wanted her paladin to be his best, and to make the universe the best it could be. Blue would never hurt her greatest treasure, her cub.

Of course, there came attacks. When they infiltrated ships there was not always just robots they had to take apart, in lethal beams of light that illuminated enemy territory for a scarce few moments before hitting their marks. They were against an empire rooted within their people, and there was always at least a few soldiers offering themselves up to fight for the sake of its rule. They tried to stun, rather than kill. From what Voltron could discern, most Galra had no real idea of what was so wrong with their beloved emperor and what he’d created. Recently though, they’d stopped caring so much.

Keith blade would make a deadly arc before it sliced open the victim beneath him with a spray of red against the nearby wall. Shiro’s hand left the sizzling, acrid smell of burnt flesh in the air when he drew it out of his victims, and he cleaned it later with a mere rag in the castle’s kitchen. Lance knew that was wrong. He did, he was fully aware that his friends were not meant to be murderers. They should not enjoy the kill, so why did he see that cruel, feral gleam in Pidge’s eye as she hacked her opponent to bits in deft stabs of her bayard? He was far from innocent too, because Lance couldn’t explain it.

Staring down at a man he’d already incapacitated with a warning shot, he would tell himself to walk away. He knew very well that his work was done, but suddenly there was a roar that screamed righteousness and then his blaster was hot under his hands and there was blood on the floor. It left Lance shaking, hunched over the toilet to empty the contents of his stomach, because he just couldn't find it within him to be properly horrified. Why was that morality slipping away? He hated it, but Blue was always waiting where he turned, whispering validation of their crimes. Their kills were wicked, they couldn’t be reasoned with. Voltron was good and the Galra were bad so the herd had to be culled. It was the only way, she promised as Lance felt guilt so vast within him he could feel nothing else at all, and his stomach ached so badly he couldn’t sleep.

He’d looked his kills in the face so many times, seeing the innate panic in their eyes as they told him in cracked, gravelly voices that they only wished to be spared, for mercy. So many mislead soldiers already immobilized, so they could not even attempt to fight back against Lance. How could each and every one be a monster? Lance was sick with the savagery of it all, but then he was lulled into a calm by the sound of oceans rhythmically crashing against their shores. The oceans washed everything away, until Lance no longer could find it within himself to care.

Blue hated when her paladin was in distress. He was doing so well, hunting down the prey he had to. He was cleansing the universe, one ugly runt at a time. Lions did that. If a cub was born to another, if it was too sickly, too other, the pride would see it killed. Lance was doing no more than that. Her cub was the stronger one, and so he thrived. It was not so horrible to enjoy seeing a wrong righted, and if she had anything to do with that enjoyment it wasn’t a bad thing. Above all, she was the lioness. She made the world go round, and nothing happened that she did not want. It wasn’t safe to think of the Galra, the empire’s Galra, as friends. She plucked that feeling from his mind the minute she saw it, to keep her cub safe. To keep all that she fought to protect safe. She did it because she loved him.

Lance really and truly realized it was wrong when he stared a Galra in the face, his back to a child behind him. He pulled the trigger, and a burning blast of light came from his gun, burning a hole through the Galra’s calf. He collapsed with an agonized shout, and again Lance felt his bayard burn under his palms, ready to end it. The enemy’s weapon was out of his reach, and Lance gave it a kick for good measure. The soldier stared at him in fear, pure unadulterated terror that Lance somehow could ignore because there was a growling at his mind, an edge that that terrified him but he didn’t have the will to ignore. What Lance wasn’t expecting was for that soldier to plead with him.

“Paladin, please, I have a family. I want to go home to them. I’ll do whatever it takes.” Lance heard the child behind him whimper. Lance knew he didn’t want to shoot. Whoever was in front of him didn’t deserve it, not truly. He was only a foot soldier with no say in what the empire did. His hand shook painfully from the effort to let his gun fall, but it seemed as though every muscle in his hand was locked in position and he had no more success than if he’d tried to bend stone. Lance tried. Any spec of rebellion would’ve released the hold, but it held on with such iron authority he couldn’t even make a dent in it. To even twist his wrist or make his pinky twitch would’ve been enough. Alas, all Lance could do was to stay put while being struck with a vision of yellow eyes. It was a gaze so wise and ancient he could not possibly fathom it, goading him along in nudges of frigid paws and a low purr. Lance shook his head, shaking with effort. The beast was stronger. Lance’s finger pushed back on the trigger and tears so cold they burned fell and froze on Lance’s cheeks.

Blue was growing frustrated with her cub. Why did he not kill them? He needed to wrap what jaws he had around their necks so they could be crushed and maimed and devoured without even bothering to spit the bones back out. He was feeling merciful, but Blue knew better. She knew what the creature in front of him deserved. She stood over her paladin, overpowered him in a manner similar to a mother keeping her child safe from a task he could not handle. She pushed and pushed until she felt his mind ease and break under the strain of her prowess, and then her work was done.

Lance ran far away from Blue that night. He curled up in a corner of the castle he’d never even been in before, wrapped in blankets and layers that he desperately needed to thaw the core of him. He felt as though there were icy claws puncturing holes into his heart, freezing it over under its touch. Every breath felt as though it was wrenched from his lips, a porcelain cloud of air coaxed forth despite the fact that Lance should’ve been sweating bullets. He shook, and even knowing he was safe he envisioned his fingertips encased in frost. It was just so cold, and he couldn’t get warm again.

Lance began to avoid Blue. He’d do anything to keep away from her, from how she loved him so much it hurt. He wouldn’t do infiltration missions. He couldn’t stand to see the look on his teammates face, his own face as he slaughtered countless soldiers that were mindlessly pressed into their work. He was terrified. He had to break the bond, he had to keep everyone safe. The lions meant well, they did, but they were warriors, defenders. They were not human, but they had jurisdiction over them Lance hadn’t previously known. That sparked fear, instinctive and primitive within him, because he had never wanted to be slave to something so wild. He had never wanted any of this. He frantically made attempt to hide his fears, absolutely petrified to think that Blue would find out and would stop him. It wasn’t enough.

Blue didn’t understand why her paladin was pulling away, hastily putting walls up that she couldn’t see over. What was he hiding? It simply didn’t make sense. Regardless, she would not stand for it. There was to be nothing to hide between lion and paladin. She clawed incessantly at the walls, claws and teeth on the barrier that at first, held strong. However, Blue did not relent. She was above the menial tasks of sleeping and rest, times to clear the mind. Her cub was not. He wore himself out, pinched his skin and guzzled energy drinks and kept himself moving so he wouldn’t fall asleep. He endeavored to stop her from getting in but he was only human, and as he collapsed on the floor during training with the red paladin the walls he so diligently maintained might as well have been paper for all their effectiveness. Blue broke through.

Lance woke in his bed. He felt so much better than he had in such a long time. Time that was spent doing everything to keep his mind safe. The thought woke him up, manically slamming up the same guards he’d erected before. This time, however, there was a tail in the door. Lance doubled over, a short sob shattering the silence of his room.

Blue was wounded, immeasurably so when she found out. She wailed through the bond with her sisters, that her paladin feared her. Feared all of them. He wanted to sever the bond, but that only made Blue latch on tighter. No, he couldn’t. She was his and he was hers, her paladin. Nothing would ever change that, not even her cub himself.

As a result she was already listening, attention rapt, when he woke. Of course she first checked him over for harm. He was so foolish, so stupid for resisting. She’d gotten in anyways, why had he gone out of his way to do something that might get him hurt? It didn’t make sense, but she didn’t tell him that. When he tried to block her advances again, there was another wave of hurt. Why was he doing that? Why didn’t he trust her? There was no choice but to speak with him, and so she seeped into him. She took the body of her paladin, her vessel. She walked him to her hangar, despite how he panicked and thrashed in his own mind. He wanted out, but she murmured sweet nothings to him in reply. She assured him that all was well. He understood that, physically at least, she would never hurt him. It was okay. Her cub whimpered.

She finally relinquished her hold, and immediately he scrambled back, trying to exit. She stopped that quickly. It would do no good. She could reach him anywhere, just as a lion of Voltron should be able. He at least stopped fighting her there, his body gone pliant despite the trembling that racked his svelte form.

“Blue, please,” he pleaded with her. “This is wrong. Please, just let me do what I want. I won’t leave Voltron, but these people don’t deserve to die. Voltron doesn’t always come first. It’s not as simple as black and white. I’m begging you, let me go.” Blue merely shook her head. Her poor, ignorant paladin. There were shades of grey, but this fight did not have any. She wondered why he had wanted to break the bond, and Lance lifted his head to respond. Blue didn’t relay to him that he could see his chin quivering as he raised it in defiance.

“You’re scaring me, Blue. Controlling me. It shouldn’t work like that. I can’t work like that. If that doesn’t stop, I have no choice.” Again, Blue was upset, but she couldn’t stop. Not until he’d kill. Not until he would make things right. Lance shouted, his voice tremulous and frail in the space of the room while his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“I won’t! I won’t kill them, and I won’t always fight. There are limits, Blue. I’m not like you. I’m human.” Blue felt a stab of alarm, but then she understood. Her sisters’ paladins were able to submit, however unwittingly, to become pawns. Hers would not, and that was okay. He could be kept safe until he gave in too. The bond between lion and paladin was unbreakable and her cub would not change that. Blue sent herself forward, into his body. He screamed, though it was silent. She had complete and utter sovereignty. When paladins were unruly, a lion’s sense of justice could tame them. His lips were sealed, his limbs given to her, and slowly Blue corralled him into what would become his cage, a place for pets who wouldn’t be obedient. She pushed him back until the gears and mechanics she’d inhabited for so long were not the only body she possessed. All his talent and skill at her disposal, ready to fight the mission he’d begun to deviate from. That was alright. They’d fix it in time, and Lance could come back to himself when Blue saw that he was ready. All would be well then. For now, while Lance sobbed from inside his own head, Blue straightened up and arranged his lips into a smile.

She knew she’d chosen wisely. This paladin could not resist her. Hers never could, and that was just as it should be.

#langst #lance #voltron: legendary defender #blue and lance #blue paladin lance #trigger warning #I kinda have a sequel in mind for this if anyone wants it #so let me know if you do #ambivalentlangst

264 notes · View notes

autistic-council-spectre · 6 years

Note

writing prompts: gimme 53 for desabrudas, 75 for kryterius, and 40 for whoever u want :3c

5 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 6 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #171: “... Where Angels Fear to Tread”

May, 1978

God.

What a cover!

I don’t even want to talk about it at all because of how great it is.

So lets move right along.

Last time: Ultron gave Hank Pym (Ant-Man, Giant Man, Goliath, and Yellowjacket) amnesia to trick him into turning his wife into a robot wife for Ultron because Ultron is a screeching manifestation of the Oedipus complex. He was foiled when the half-alive robot wife betrayed him by using ants to summon the Avengers.

For a while, the inert robot wife Jocasta was left in Hank Pym’s living room until the Wasp made him get rid of her because a robot with her face is creepy. While she was being transported to the lab at Avengers Mansion, Jocasta reactivated and started rampaging her way free, fending off all resistance with ludicrous ease.

Iron Man and Captain America, having resolved their differences by actually talking them out (wish they’d remember this solution more often) stop the other Avengers from attacking Jocasta, wishing to follow her back to Ultron.

And that’s where we are.

Them following her back to Ultron.

Except in the break between issues they’ve managed to lose her. Despite Iron Man tracking her signature.

Well done, Avengers.

In fairness, they run into some obstacles.

Like a horde of horny women lusting for blue fur.

The weird, inexplicable story arc of Beast soothing the pain of feeling useless and overlooked with lots of casual sex returns to bite him in the butt. Non-literally, probably.

Beast has to be rescued from the situation by a disapproving Thor who snags him out of the crowd and flies off with him.

Thor: “Thy wenching is ill-timed, Hank McCoy!”

Beast: “Alas, the price of fame and sex appeal!”

And Scarlet Witch is distracted by someone trying to hire her for modeling work since buxom is in these days. The distraction comes from trying to politely decline. And thankfully Vision rescues her from the awkwardness.

Meanwhile, Mrs Pike, the woman who was trying to get a superhero to become a supermodel, (which isn’t a terrible idea. They both have super in the title) realizes she left a customer waiting in the changing booth.

But when she’s fetching this Carol Danvers more clothes, there’s a sudden flash of light from the dressing room and when Mrs Pike looks, her customer has disappeared, leaving her clothes behind!

Although if she looked up, she’d see Ms Marvel flying out of the shop.

Meanwhile back at the Avengers, they discover that Jocasta OH YEAH’d through several brick walls with only a wino as witness.

Scarlet Witch: “Sir, did you see a... um... a woman robot pass by?”

Helpful citizen: “Huh? Oh... yeah! Da robot lady! Shure! She took off wit’ a penguin! Ha, ha! *Hic*”

The Avengers dismiss this as the ramblings of a drunkard but we, the audience, get to see that Jocasta was picked up by a nun named Sister Eucalypta who was sent by Ultron to pick her up.

When and how does Ultron have nuns on the payroll?

Questions for later.

Back at the Avengers again, Iron Man deduces that a car stopped and left in a hurry so maybe someone picked up Jocasta.

But here comes trouble, per Beast.

Ms. Marvel!

(But not the coolest one)

From her weird Marvel powers she sometimes gets precognitive flashes and she got one that told her that the Avengers are headed into danger and could use her help. Plus, she owes the Avengers a favor.

Beast warns Iron Man that she’s tricksy because he had an unfriendly meeting with her in Ms. Marvel #16, wherein Beast called her a Captain Marvel groupie and had a misunderstanding fight after she broke down their front door.

But Iron Man accepts the help. And honestly they could use it. They’re heading off to fight Ultron. No sense in turning down more muscle.

And then Wasp and Yellowjacket show up in a silly looking flying contraption that Tony Stark built out of spare parts on a whim.

But since they’re possibly trying to catch up with a car and not all of them can fly, it will come in handy.

Wasp and Ms Marvel even get to share an exchange.

Wasp: “It’s nice to have another girl in the group!”

Ms Marvel: “Hmm! I’m afraid I quit being a ‘girl’ quite a while back, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway!”

Also, I did make fun of Iron Man for losing Jocasta when he’s supposedly tracking her but it turns out he’s still tracking her. Its mostly directional so its not helpful for local searching but now that Jocasta got carred away, they can just follow the signal.

But while they fly, Ms Marvel contemplates some things. Mostly that she really should be working on the women’s magazine she runs for J Jonah Jameson and is probably going to get fired but can’t ignore the precognition about the danger the Avengers are headed into.

And specifically, Scarlet Witch is headed towards some nightmare horror that Ms Marvel dares not tell her about. Because Ms Marvel? Oh Carol.

There’s more misgivings from other people though. Because transit in Avengers means and should always means people talking about their feelings and doubts.

Wasp worries that if Ultron is nearly unbeatable acting on his own, they’re well and truly fucked if he’s fighting alongside Jocasta.

Hank just hopes that he can bring himself to hurt a thing that looks like Wasp. Which. Goddamn future events.

And Wonder Man is still riding the insecurity and fear of death train so decides to ask how Ms Marvel can throw herself into a fight that isn’t even hers with such gusto. Does she like danger?

Wonder Man: “I -- I mean -- I know what we’re in for --”

Ms Marvel: “So do I, Wonder Man -- and I’m scared to death! I suppose I simply figure out what I’d do if I had no fear -- and then try to do it anyway! I presume every warrior does the same!”

Its like they say, real courage is acting despite fear. Or something.

Iron Man cuts off further character beats. Because it seems like they’ve arrived where Jocasta has been spirited away to.

Which is... a convent?

Weird. While we, the audience, know that Ultron has nuns on the payroll for some reason the Avengers are just confused.

But might as well look so they ring the doorbell and its answered by Sister Eucalypta.

Beast explains the situation in Latin, I guess to show off, and Sister Eucalypta agrees to let them inside although she’s certain they won’t find any fugitives here.

This is also their last lead because the signal Iron Man was tracking suddenly stopped.

Oh and Thor feels uncomfortable in a convent. Its like being in a competitor’s house if the competitor went around loudly shouting you don’t exist.

Scarlet Witch: “You seem a bit uncomfortable, Thor!”

Thor: “Aye, Wanda, verily! This house of Christian worship hath no regard for the Asgardian god of thunder!”

Scarlet Witch: “Should it?”

Thor: “Nay, milday! E’en my father, mighty Odin, who is called all-powerful, doth lay no claim to supreme divinity... and yet, t’would seem that many mark my very existence as an affront to this edifice!”

We don’t often get indications how an actual factual god like Thor would fit into the world as we know it. And apparently a lot of people resent his existence. So that’s a thing.

Also a thing is that the All-Father Odin doesn’t lay claim to supreme divinity. But why would he? Even the Aesir have gods above them.

While I’m sure that Wanda is very interested in this conversation that she started and is actively listening, her scarlet sense is also tingling. It feels like they’re being watched.

But her suspicions prickled too late because there’s a flash of light and then both Sister Eucalypta and Scarlet Witch are missing!

Iron Man laments that Ultron seemed to have led them into a trap by planning on them tracking Jocasta.

Captain America is still in his super-supportive super-soldier mode so tells him that he played the hand he was dealt and not to sweat it.

This wouldn’t be out of character if Cap hadn’t been so angry at Iron Man just an issue ago. So it still comes off as somewhat forced. Not that he doesn’t believe it but more that he’s intentionally trying to not be negative.

But they hear Ultron noises behind door number 1 and when they check its Ultron.

And... this room is not really ideal for a big robot brawl. Its too small. The Avengers are all crowded in the entrance.

Wonder Man decides that since he’s trying to be more courageous that he should be up at the front but he’s shoved into the corner and Cap won’t move out of the way for him.

Yellowjacket asks Ultron what he’s up to and what happened to Scarlet Witch and the nun.

Ultron tells him he wants the same things he always wants. Since he is Oedipal robot he wants to kill Hank Pym and he wants his wife. And after that he wants to take over the world. That’s the robot part of the Oedipal robot.

And here’s a fun fact: he thought his plan to steal Jan was foiled when Iron Man stopped him from transferring her soul into Jocasta. But apparently the incomplete transfer still left a residual imprint of Jan’s ‘living essence’ in Jocasta’s circuitry, hence why Ultron was able to activate her from afar.

So he already has Yellowjacket’s wife. So now Jan is superfluous and can be killed along with the rest. But its cool. Some part of her will live on. In the form of a robot wife programmed into loving and worshiping Ultron.

But the first to die will be.... YELLOWJACKET

ENCEPHALO-BEEEEEEEEEEAM!

And it does not work!

Bio-physicist Hank Pym finally did some bio-physics and used bio-chemistry to create an immunization to the Encephalo-beam! One of Ultron’s win buttons is off the table!

Holy crap, the Avengers prepared for a fight in advance! Things are looking up!

But since Ms Marvel hasn’t been immunized, she offers to go find where Scarlet Witch disappeared to. She might very well be the key to victory.

So while she goes off, the Avengers charge forward in the tiny room to attack Ultron.

Ultron has completely changed his tune though, now claiming that he wanted to kill the Avengers in lopsided combat instead of just Encephalo-beaming them. Clearly. I mean, his adamantium body is beyond their ability to damage so he’ll just take his time murdering them with his in-built weaponry.

But when he blasts away most of the charging Avengers, Wonder Man sneaks over and starts punching Ultron in the face.

This is conquering his fear and is a victory even though punching Ultron in the face doesn’t really accomplish anything in either the long run or all but the shortest of short runs.

I can’t believe that the Avengers didn’t have any anti-Ultron contingencies planned. Oh my god. Did they really put all of their eggs in the Scarlet Witch basket?

Devices that temporarily short him out, goo based restraint, anything that attacks him without attacking his invincible exterior! Please, try to think of anything! 90% of Ultron fights are just the Avengers punching a wall that shoots back at them!

Anyway, lets catch up with Scarlet Witch.

And hey! The cover was not entirely or even mostly symbolic!

It actually represented Ultron’s ultimate anti-Scarlet Witch plan.

He tossed her into a mirror room that was constantly shifting around and full of illusionary furniture. Because if she can’t get her bearings, she can’t use her powers.

And when she tries to walk around the room to explore by touch, she falls through an illusion of floor which drops her into a whirlpool that spins her around and eventually spits her into a mirror chamber.

“After long moments the Scarlet Witch painfully stirs to find herself in another prismic prison... or perhaps, somehow, the same one. She dares not move. She knows now that she can trust nothing here. Perception is a mockery of reality... and treachery lurks behind every gleaming plane.”

I’m in awe. At how stupid and amazing this is.

A mirror maze as an anti-Scarlet Witch contingency. And it works!

So anyway, back at the fight. Apparently punching Ultron in the face repeatedly isn’t useless because Wonder Man has been keeping him distracted doing just that.

Perhaps because after every punch, Ultron takes the time to promise swift and terrible vengeance instead of doing anything.

And Wonder Man is managing his crippling fear of death by just not thinking about what he’s doing and just doing it.

The Avengers attempt to dogpile him after Wonder Man punched him into a wall and all hit him together, much like the end of Age of Ultron.

Unlike Age of Ultron, Ultron has equipped himself with another bullshit win button. This is clearly a much more satisfying outcome than the heroes pulling together and beating him.

And his win button was that at anytime he wanted, he could just capture all of the Avengers in a force field.

Yeah.

Meanwhile, guest star Ms Marvel!

Remember how she had a premonition of what was going to happen to Scarlet Witch? Well, she had seventh-sense images of her being driven to the brink of madness in a maze of unreality.

So she just has to find one of those.

And then a nun tries to snipe her.

Rude.

So Ms Marvel punches her head off.

Hopefully she was certain beforehand that Sister Eucalypta was a robot. Because Sister Eucalypta was a robot. Ultron built a robot nun. Ultron built a robot nun!

He sure went all in on this convent trap.

Anyway, Ms Marvel figures that if Sister Eucalypta was guarding this area then it must be for a reason. And she sees water leaking from under a door...

Meanwhile, back at the Avengers. After activating the win button, Ultron decides that he can kill the Avengers later. He’s really ping-ponging all over the place with his desire to kill them.

But now its time for him to wake up his bride so she can see him for the first time.

So, hey. Remember how I said that the cover copy from last issue “The Return of the Bride of Ultron” sounded Hammer Horror-y?

Because yeah. A bride of a monster wakes up and sees him for the first time and reacts in disgust?

Yeah. That fits right in.

Jocasta was programmed to love Ultron. And she does. But...

Jocasta: “It is wrong, my love! Though I desire with all my being to be one with you... I would first slay us both! I love you... and yet, I know what you are! I must end your evil despite my desires!”

Ultron is peeved. How could jamming the soul of a woman who hates him into a robot body go so poorly? Unless... Jan’s human emotions have infected Jocasta, says Ultron, a robot that neverrrrrr feels any human emotions like hate, fear, or envy.

Or maybe that’s why he’s so angry at Hank Pym. He hates that he has these emotions? I’m not sure how to read it.

Also, this is clearly Hank Pym’s fault specifically. Because Ultron is at least consistent.

Oh but the time for that brewing tantrum is over and done.

Because Ms Marvel has returned with Scarlet Witch. And the thing about sticking Scarlet Witch into a mirror hell is that it just makes her angrier if she ever gets out.

So she uses her probability altering powers to affect Ultron’s molecular rearranger, make it malfunction and starts tearing him apart from the inside.

A rift forms in his invincible carapace from which his vital energies start leaking.

Perhaps ironically, Ultron calls out for his mother to save him. Presumably said Wasp mother is flicking him off with both hands off-panel.

Although its less that the energies are leaking and more being vacuumed out. The force field that held the Avengers collapsed when Scarlet Witch started attacking Ultron and Thor is using Mjolnir to hoover out Ultron’s energies.

And with the entirety of the lifeforce of that pissbaby robot absorbed into Mjolnir, Thor shoots it into space where it explodes.

Good teamwork, Thor!

This is really just a good accomplishment for everyone!

Ms Marvel repaid her debt to the Avengers. Wonder Man is starting to feel like a real Avenger. And a foolishly optimistic Hank Pym declares that “at last... the biggest, darkest blot on my career has been eradicated! Forever!”

Except this.

While everyone is celebrating their respective character beats, Jocasta vanished into thin air right before Beast’s eyes. And so did Cap...??

Thor: “‘Tis ended, Wanda! All is well now!”

-Jocasta and Cap vanishing happens-

Scarlet Witch: “You were wrong, Thor, it never ends... and each trial is harder than the last!”

Why can’t we have nice thiiiiiiings!

Two-Gun Kid vanished too. So is it something targeting Avengers? But Jocasta wasn’t one, not really. Is this the mysterious Korvac’s mysterious plan? Someone else? I mean, obviously I know but lets build mystery anyway.

So as an Ultron story?

I think its good. It nicely builds on the two-parter that introduced Jocasta. Jocasta herself continues on from someone that perhaps subconsciously summoned the Avengers to aid Jan to someone that consciously rejects Ultron as too evil to live even as she’s programmed to love him.

Both sides learned from the previous story. Hank Pym by immunizing the Avengers against the Encephalo-Beam, Ultron by getting Scarlet Witch out of the way.

Scarlet Witch got to finish the job defeating Ultron that got interrupted by Cap last time. With an assist by Thor. But the important thing is that she totally saved their bacon. She became one of the Avengers’ big guns during Englehart’s run and its nice that it keeps being a thing that is true.

And Wonder Man got to take a step forward in his own arc about insecurity and fear of death. And he got to go a full battle without losing his new outfit. Win!

We also possibly get some insight into why Ultron is so angry. He is possibly angry about how angry he always is. Which sure is something.

I make a lot of noise about how all Ultron fights tend to be the same pointless punching of a metal dude. And yeah, I really wish the Avengers would try to think up some Ultron contingencies even if they didn’t all work.

But if an Ultron story has a different conclusion then at least that’s something. Ultron is a puzzle boss. You can’t beat him by punching him so how do you beat him? By uploading a logical paradox into his brain, by threatening his robot wife, by having Scarlet Witch use probability altering to crack him open from inside out.

And you have to admit, a convent with a robot nun and a mind-destroying maze of unreality is unique. It stands out from the usual industrial settings and hidden bases where Ultron likes to lurk and scheme.

So a good Ultron story. And not just because Scarlet Witch got to Do A Thing.

I haven’t advertised in a while but maybe follow @essential-avengers? I also accept questions and feedback.

#Avengers #Ultron #Scarlet Witch #Ms Marvel #Carol Danvers #Jocasta #a good day for the superheroines #Thor #Captain America #Iron Man #the Vision #Beast #the Wasp #Yellowjacket #Wonder Man #Essential Avengers #Essential marvel liveblogging #korvac saga

9 notes · View notes

dadvans · 7 years

Text

TOP FIVE THINGS MASTERPOST (1/3)

so for the remaining Top Five ask meme posts, i’ve decided to consolidate into a series of three huge posts instead of destroying people’s dashes with replies. for a series of fun, ridiculous headcanons, follow the readmore!

Playboy Nikiforov will cheat on Yuuri with the entire Russian Hockey team, and Yuuri will come crying to him and eat katsudon piroshky in his bed and Yurio will be allowed to brush the bangs out of his eyes as they lay facing each other, knees knocking together. “You can stay as long as you want,” Yurio would say. (Except Victor is incredibly devoted to Yuuri, and the Russian hockey team only has eyes for Yuuri anyway.)

Victor dies from a Terrible Disease. In his last conscious moments, he grabs Yurio by the hand. “Take care of Yuuri,” he says. “He’s always loved you.” “I will,” Yurio responds, unplugging the life support.

“Yurio, the way you landed that quintuple axel jump after only two weeks of practicing, despite it being physically improbable makes me super hot,” Yuuri says, pushing him against the rough edge of the lockers. “Please, take me now, take me now and wrap your well-toned and physically superior legs around me.”

Victor Nikiforov decides to make a deal with an angel to see a reality where he’s never been born, where Yurio and Katsudon got together instead, and he sees how happy Katsudon is to be constantly challenged and sexually satisfied by Yurio he completely fades from existence.

Yuuri showing up at his hotel room at three in the morning. His eyes are red. His smile is shy, but real. “Yuri,” he says, and the way that Yuuri says his name, his real name, is so open and meaningful. “You’ve always been—I’ve always—“ Yuuri in his mind has said, but never finished. Yuri’s never let it get past that. It hurts too much.

Victor gets up before sunrise, even on days off, and is constantly trying to get Yuuri to adjust. Yuuri hasn’t slept in to a number in double digits since leaving Hasetsu. He misses sleep so much.

Victor doesn’t like chocolate. What kind of serial killer is he that he doesn’t like chocolate? What kind of animal murderer? There has to be something wrong with him. You don’t just not like chocolate, Victor.

Victor hums along with songs he doesn’t even know, often trying to find the harmony (Yuuri assumes. Victor is also pretty tone deaf). Yuuri will try to change the song or station, but Victor just changes with it until Yuuri forces them to sit in silence.

The fifth time that Victor goes out and buys new dishes instead of washing the ones in the sink. The third time that Victor uses the pile of dirty laundry as an excuse to go buy more designer underwear than actually do a load.

The time that Victor gets drunk and refuses to go anywhere without wearing his skates, including bed

Yuuri’s best position is reverse cowgirl, where Victor gets a face full of ass, gets to hold his cheeks while Yuuri grinds down on his dick with these tantalizing, syrup slow roll of the hips. Sometimes Yuuri will look at him over his shoulder, biting the side of his hand as he slides down slick and needy right to the base of him, as if he can barely help himself, and the look on his face is where Victor both begins and ends.

Sometimes Yuuri can’t even look at Victor, especially when Victor is going down on him. He’s got one hand in Victor’s hair, pulling tight, and the other over his own face. His mouth says, “oh,” says, “oh, oh, oh, Victor, oh,” like the noise is pulled out of him and wrapped taut around Victor’s wrist.

When Yuuri loses his shame. “Please,” he asks Victor, “please, please, oh, deeper, please.”

Yuuri lets Victor tie him up sometimes and blind fold him to just lose all sensation. He lives for Victor’s touches, and lack thereof. But also the way that Victor teases him slowly like that lets all of Yuuri’s anxiety leak out of him in the best way. “I love the noises you make like this,” Victor admits, when he drags a hand down Yuuri’s torso after an hour, touching wherever Yuuri expects it least. The noises Yuuri makes when he least expects Victor’s hands on him are the best surprises Victor likes inflicting on him.

He loves public sex, especially after a few drinks. He wants Victor to fuck him in an alley, wants the grime of a dumpster on his shirt front and cheek and fists, wants to get his knees muddy in a public park as he crawls over Victor behind some well manicured bushes.

Here's one for you dad - top 5 favorite AUs? (this feels so general, and honestly in my years of fic it would be too hard for me to rec just five specific AUs, so i’m going to go with general AU tropes)

superheroes / identity porn

afterlife-based AUs (heaven, hell, reaper, etc.)

inception AUs — particularly for the world building, and atmosphere. i always love an author’s personal take on dream-building, dream-sharing, and the community that exists within this universe.

fake marriage/fake dating. oh my god. i’m always a slut for any variation of this stupid fucking trope. the miscommunication!! the tension!! it’s always too much! (m and i literally went and saw “southside with you,” a movie about barack and michelle obama’s first date, and halfway through it she turned to me and was like “I HOPE THEY GET TOGETHER” and if that isn’t the most accurate description of how these stupid fics make me feel, idk)

anything original. i think of the way etothepii and kixboxer write AUs set in very specific worlds that still reflect a similar storyline to the canon material, and translate it. anything that does that to me is a+++. i could literally read the same story 100 times if it’s written well.

OH SHIT NUMBER SIX AND ABO!!! PLANET MEN HAVE BABIES!!! GOD I’M A SLUT FOR THIS U G H OH OH OH AND SINGLE DADS. SINGLE DAD MEET CUTES. END ME.

yurio gets drunk after he doesn’t even place at the the nebelhorn trophy. yuuri gets silver to victor’s gold, which is at least understandable, but it was JJ who beat out yurio for bronze, and so he gets drunk, because he’s trying to be less openly angry these days, but he isn’t very good at it. yuuri holds his hair back in the bathroom and keeps him from hitting his head on the toilet and rubs soothing circles into his back, and tells him stories about being drunk in college and drunk as a young adult that yurio won’t remember in the morning. yurio lets him, leans into the comfortable curve of yuuri between dry heaves, muscles aching. yuuri won’t let him sleep alone, and yurio is furious about it, the rebellious part of him wanting to DIE rather than be coddled by some second-rate skater who just so happened to beat him to the podium. “i hate you,” yurio tells him, as yuuri holds him upright, chest against his back. it’s his body that gives him away, curling into every touch, every way yuuri tries to soothe him and keep him from puking on himself in his sleep. “you’re too good for me. i don’t deserve you. just let me die.”

the yuri’s angels instagram compiles a series of picture yuri plisetsky wearing the same scarf over the course of a month, similar to one of those OK! Magazine “WOW I REALLY LOVE MY ________” features they use for celebrities. it’s the 200USD roberto cavalli scarf yuuri got him for his sixteenth birthday. he’s always got his nose buried in it, or is sleeping with it as a pillow at the rink.

yuuri gets silver at pyeongchang, but he deserves the gold that yurio wins. yurio tells him this, ashamed to wear the gold afterwards. “you,” he says, “you did—you were—“ and that’s probably as much of a confession as he’ll ever give anyone for a very long time.

yuuri retires after he collapses pre-worlds with a busted achilles. yurio cries at the hospital and brings him non-hospital food and tells him he guesses yuuri must be happy, because he doesn’t have to maintain a weight anymore, he can eat anything he wants. he must have been dying to get out of competition at this point, yurio says, because he’s getting old and he hasn’t beaten yurio once this year, and— yurio tries too hard coming to terms with his retirement in the quiet, sterile hospital room, incapable of looking yuuri in the eye once. yuuri thanks him for the secret bag of takeout, says he can’t wait to see yurio take worlds again. yurio tells him it won’t be the same if he’s not there, and rushes out of the room as fast as possible.

mari gives birth to a baby with a thick thatch of dark hair and big, sleepy eyes. victor is technically the father through artificial insemination, but the katsuki genes came out more dominant. they’re all crowded at mari’s bedside, who is doped up on the good drugs with yuuri’s arms around her and victor snotting into his shirt sleeve. “she’s beautiful, she’s perfect,” victor cries, won’t stop crying. yurio has her in his arms across the room from them, breath coming too quick holding something so delicate. “yeah,” he says, “she looks just like yuuri.”

he makes yuuri dress as victor, just because yuuri in victor’s warm up tracksuit is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. he even lets yuuri wear his medals and relishes the cool weight of them in between his shoulder blades as yuuri fucks him into the floor.

okay, just kidding, the hottest thing in the world to victor is yuuri katsuki in a suit, and buying a new suit and having him pretend to be an anonymous salaryman on the subway is victor’s most erotic fantasies numbered one through nineteen. so while they don’t celebrate halloween in japan, really, victor coerces him one year when they’re back in kyushu to maybe get a new suit and maybe, sort of, kind of pretend to not know who victor is and act like he’s coming home after a week at the office, so victor can blow him in the subway bathroom. his knees smell like piss after, and yuuri’s new suit gets stained with spunk on the jacket, but it’s definitely worth it.

sexy pikachu.

hot cop. (i bet anything that Victor makes Yuuri pretend to pull him over, and then the real cops show up, ala Happy Endings, with Yuuri running away in short-shorts and a flashlight that was definitely lubed up to stick in his or Victor’s ass).

he makes yuuri dress like titus in this scene from unbreakable kimmy schmidt. “seduce me with all you have when i come home,” he says, handing yuuri a bucket of corn to shuck.

#yuri on ice #headcanons #yuuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #yuri plisetsky #victuuri #five things #replies

168 notes · View notes