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guilty-pleasures21 · 4 months

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Tell me you don't want me

Hey guys! I mentioned before that I had an incomplete Dara fic I was thinking of posting. Well, @astarisms messaged me today letting me know that she was interested in reading it, so thank yu for the encouragement! 😘

Warnings: descriptions of sex including blowjob (f receiving), fingering (f receiving) and penetration (p in v).

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X let her hands run over the layers of colourful fabrics as she strolled through the marketplace. It had been a while since she’d seen people, racing through the desert for her life as she had been the past few days, and she was glad to see not the entire world had been affected by the life-changing revelation that had shattered hers. Her mind drifted back to the first time she’d met her grumpy companion, the harsh set of his brows, the tight clench of his jaw. But he’d kept her safe, brash and arrogant though he was, and no one had ever thought her valuable enough to do that before. She picked up a necklace, studying the way the meticulously cut crystals glittered under the sunlight, and she felt her stomach flip as she wondered again what Daevabad would be like.

Dara had said that it was wonderful, an empire beyond compare, his emerald eyes overcome with passion every time he talked about it. But it had been much, much too long since he’d stepped foot in the mystical city, and she had to wonder if perhaps it had fallen victim to the claws of time, just like any other empire anywhere else in the world. She set the jewels back down, then slipped past another stall, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead as she snuck a few pieces of clothing off of the stand.

She’d heard other stories too, about the djinn and their awesome powers, these ones from the elderly women who would entrance children with their tales of magical creatures whilst sitting together and doing the laundry. Wicked things, the women would warn the young ones while scrubbing the dust off their clothes, but powerful ones too. Best to stay clear of them and pray you never do anything to catch their notice. X bundled up her stolen goods beneath her oversized robes - the ones Dara had given her after the scratches and tears she’d accumulated from the relentless ifrit - and let her mind drift back to the sombre Daeva. He was strong and powerful, and she already felt so inadequate and lacking next to him, how would she possibly hold her ground in an entire city filled with them?

She stumbled then, as someone bumped into her from behind, but kept her head down, hoping the stranger would just dismiss her and continue on their way. But, as with everything in her wretched life, what happened was the exact opposite. The man grabbed her wrist and dragged her into an alley, spinning her around to face him once they were alone. X looked at him in surprise, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest as he pinned her against the wall.

“I don’t know which hole you crawled out of, girl,” the older man told her, bending over her to trap her beneath him, “but the penalty for theft in our city is having your hands chopped off.” X gulped at the threat, wincing as the smell of liquor permeated her nose, even through the shawl Dara had insisted she cover her face with. The man grinned as he looked down at her, his eyes roving over the curves of her body that were barely muffled beneath the large robes Dara had so graciously bestowed upon her, and she felt herself go sick at the look on his face.

“Of course,” he continued, leaning closer to sneer in her face, “I’m sure we can find a reason to make an exception just this once.” He laughed as X struggled against him, trying to break free of his grasp. Unfortunately, even as drunk as he was, he was still much larger and much heavier than her, her small form no match for his round frame. Her shawl fell away as she continued to squirm against him, and the man’s cracked lips stretched into a lecherous grin.

“Oh, we can most definitely make an exception, my dear,” he decided, moving one hand to her face to brush his finger down the side of her cheek. “What a shame it would be, after all, to let such pretty hands go to waste.”

“Get away from her.” Her heart stopped as she heard the familiar voice coming from behind the man, his tone laced with danger and warning. X glanced over her attacker’s shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Dara, his jaw clenched tight as he took in the scene before him. He stepped closer to the man, and X noticed the sparks of red and orange beginning to flicker amongst the emerald green of his irises.

“Mind your own business, son,” the man dismissed him, returning his attention to X. “I’m trying to teach this thief a lesson.”

“I said leave her alone,” Dara repeated, louder this time. He stepped forward and grabbed the back of the man’s tunic, then pulled him aside, shoving him to the ground and away from X. He moved towards her, his movements light, graceful, but then stopped an inch away from her, his fingers twitching by his side as he restrained himself from touching her. “Are you all right?”

She snapped her jaw shut, still unused to his inhuman strength, and nodded, the adrenaline continuing its hasty dash throughout her veins. She pushed herself off the wall and reached for his wrist, meaning to pull him away from the stranger before anyone saw them, but then the man started speaking again.

“You!” He wobbled around, struggling to push himself back to his feet, his senses still dampened by the alcohol in his system, and raised a finger at Dara. “How dare you, insolent cur! I’ll have your head for this! You don’t know who you’re messing with, you-” Before she could so much as blink, Dara had whirled around and grabbed the man’s hand, bending his wrist at an awkward angle so that he yelped in pain.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” Dara corrected him softly. X felt the air begin to heat up around them as his body started trembling with rage. “How dare you lay your fingers on her.”

He tugged the man closer to him, and the man shrieked with pain, his skin beginning to burn beneath Dara’s rapidly heating palm. Dara smirked. “But don’t worry: I’m sure no one will be missing these hands.”

He flicked his wrist and X winced as she heard the sickening crunch of the man’s bone cracking. Dara released him, letting him drop to the ground, all the while screaming with pain as he clutched at his wrist.

“Dara.” X shuffled over to him and tugged on the back of his robes, trying to catch his attention while he continued glaring down at the man. “We need to get out of here.” But he refused to move, barely hearing her through the haze of anger clouding his thoughts. The man started rolling around on the ground now, trying desperately to put out the flames that had begun to crawl all over him, engulfing him in their painful embrace.

“Dara!” X exclaimed, rushing to stand in front of him. She grabbed his face in her hands and tilted it down towards hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Stop! Look at me! I’m fine! I’m okay.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek, her skin catching on the short hairs scattered along his jaw, and he relaxed, the fire receding with his anger. X twisted around, checking that the stranger was still alive, still unburnt - mostly - then she grabbed Dara’s hand, twining their fingers together tightly before dragging him through the crowd.

Night had fallen by the time they'd returned to camp, the darkness settling over them while they'd munched down the usual dinner Dara had conjured up for them. She slid her gaze over to him now, the silence around them growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. Well, for her, anyway.

“So,” she began finally, trying to figure out how best to start the conversation, “are we going to talk about what happened today?” The Afshin refused to respond, his gaze remaining fixed on the fire between them, his jaw tightening as he contemplated the question. His eyes flashed and the fire grew, the flames reaching hungrily for the night sky, as if it would devour it whole. She flinched at the sudden rise in heat, taken aback by the intensity of his anger.

“Dara!” She rushed to his side and reached a hand to his cheek, forcing him to face her. “Hey. Breathe. It’s over. It’s done with. I’m fine.” His eyes remained fiery and his jaw stayed clenched, but slowly, the flames began to recede, the air around them cooling back to a reasonable temperature. She stroked his cheek, her thumb brushing along the rough stubble dotting his jaw.

“Men like him are a dime a dozen,” she sighed, her eyes glazing over as she recalled a memory; or years of memories, perhaps, of being a woman in a man’s world. “He’s not worth your attention.” Her gaze returned to him and he felt the heat rising within him again, an unrelenting pressure that crawled over his skin and threatened to suffocate him.

“It’s not about him,” he growled, his voice coming out much heavier than he’d expected it to. He didn’t want to continue. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to put it into words, because that made it real and if it was real- “It’s you.”

The world stopped moving. Or at least, it felt like it had. All she could think about was the intensity of his emerald gaze and the helplessness in his voice and the lack of distance between her lips and his. He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers, tilting her face up to his. He lifted a hand to her cheek, his touch leaving a blazing trail along her skin wherever it landed.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he murmured, his voice so low she could feel it vibrating along her bones. She lowered her eyelids, revelling in the sensation of his calloused thumb languidly tracing its way across her parted lips. “Tell me I mean nothing to you. Tell me you despise the feeling of my skin on yours.”

She shivered, her breathing shallow, her heart racing. She swallowed as he continued trailing his fingers down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, his hand finally coming to a rest on her waist. Then she reached up again, placing a gentle hand on the side of his face as she gazed up at him.

“I don’t want you,” she replied softly, emphasising the word. She didn’t. ‘Want’ meant something you desired that was out of your reach; something you’d survived without and could continue to do so. No. She needed him. Needed to know that he’d been waiting for her, just as she had for him. Needed to wake up every morning and know that he was there, ready to take on the world with her. Needed their souls to be so well entangled that nothing could ever tear them apart. She glided her hand lower, down the sharp lines of his jaw to his broad chest.

“‘Nothing’ doesn’t even begin to describe what you mean to me,” she continued, her eyes roving over him, drinking him in like he was a river in the middle of the desert. His own eyes darkened, his pupils growing in size as he caught on to her meaning; to the way she’d twisted his loathsome words into such tender declarations of her feelings for him. Her hand continued its path, her fingers trembling as they landed on the hard muscles of his abdomen. “I despise how long I’ve been waiting to feel your skin on mine.”

"X," he breathed, her name a plea, a prayer, on his lips. He reached his arm around her waist and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers. And god, it felt good, the taste of him in her mouth - like the first drop of rain at the end of a dry season. He kissed her hard, devouring her with the fervour of a starved man, his large form pushing her down onto the carpet as he licked her up hungrily. She let out a little squeak against his mouth as he cupped her breast in his hand and he growled at the sound, his senses clouded by the desperation to taste every inch of her. He pulled his lips away from hers, sucking in a breath before he began brushing his mouth and tongue along her jaw, down her neck and across her collarbone. She let out a contented sigh, her fingers burying themselves in his hair as her hips raised to meet his, her body begging him for more. He groaned and moved back up to press kisses along the side of her neck, his arm reaching around her waist to arch her back off the ground so he could grind his hips into hers. She let out a gasp and wrapped herself around him, her legs curling around his waist as her arms came around his broad shoulders.

"X," he whispered before nipping on her earlobe teasingly. Another gasp. And he chuckled in response this time - actually chuckled - the sound a deep rumbling that stroked her very bones. He repeated her name again, his lips moving across her cheek to land back on her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers once more as he ran his hand all over her body, stroking and squeezing every part of her he could grab hold of.

"Dara," she squeaked, so delightfully helpless to his touch. He grinned against her lips, then began making his way down her body, his fingers tugging on the collar of her robes to expose more of her smooth skin to him. He pressed soft kisses along her abdomen, then slid his hands up her waist, pulling up the cloth so he could finally get a taste of her bare skin. Her legs twitched as he kissed his way up her torso, his body rubbing her centre teasingly as he moved up over her. Finally, he sat up, taking a moment to appraise her now that he'd gotten her top off entirely. By God, she was beautiful - her golden skin, her perfectly rounded breasts, the soft curves of her hips and waist. He couldn't believe that this was what she'd been hiding underneath the oversized desert robes she'd been wearing the entire time. He licked his lips as he ran his hand down her torso, eager to take her in his mouth, to familiarise himself with every inch of her beautiful body. But there were still too many layers in between them. He pulled off his own clothes, disrobing himself entirely, and it was her turn to become awestruck now. He smiled again as he lowered himself back on top of her, delighted by the longing look in her eyes, then he began kissing her again.

"By the most almighty, how are you so soft, delam?" (... my heart?) he groaned, pressing himself into her so that he could feel all of her against all of him. She let out a choked gasp as she felt his large bulk rubbing against her centre, the sensation so unfamiliar but so satisfying.

"Dara," she began softly, her hands running all over the hard muscles of his shoulders and back as he pressed his lips to her neck, "can you … My trousers, janam." (... my life.) He let out a low moan at the term of endearment and pulled back to do as she'd asked, sliding her trousers and underwear off of her. He let out a shaky exhale at the sight of her completely bare before him now, and she bit her lip against a pleased smile.

"By God, janam," he breathed as he pushed her ankles back, spreading her legs apart to settle himself in between them. "How are you so wet for me already?"

He stared at her dripping centre, transfixed, then ran his finger up along her length, his touch featherlight. A whimper fell from her lips as her entire body shuddered in response and he growled, gripping onto her thighs to pull her closer to his mouth. He closed his lips around her, then sucked on her folds slowly, his tongue licking up her centre to taste her. She let out a choked gasp, barely managing to get his name out of her mouth as her legs twitched in his grasp.

"D-Dara!" she cried out, a strange, pulsing sensation beginning to press against her walls as he groaned against her.

"God have mercy! You taste so good, jaaneman," (... my soul.) he praised her, his tongue sweeping along her in agonisingly slow strokes. He pulled her folds into his mouth again and traced her entrance with his tongue before he sucked on her, drinking in the taste of her. She writhed and squirmed against him, her body getting aroused by his constant stimulation. But he held her down easily, his powerful arms keeping her legs firmly against his shoulders as he continued licking and sucking on her, his movements getting faster and harder as he felt her approaching her edge. Finally, with a surprised yelp, she came, her body shivering and shaking against his mouth. He looked up at her when she'd finished, his eyes dark and wicked as he kept his lips pressed against her, the movements of his tongue gentler now as he cleaned her up carefully. He pulled back when he was satisfied, giving her centre a last appreciative kiss before he returned to his position above her, his nose nuzzling her neck as he curled an arm around her waist.

"Was that okay, janam?" he asked her softly, moving his hand to her side to caress her curves. "Did you like that?"

He pressed a kiss to her collarbone before she could respond, his hand drifting to one of her breasts as his mouth made its way down to the other. He rubbed his thumb along one nipple and kissed the other, his hands and mouth so gentle against her skin.

"Dara," she pleaded, her body stretching itself out as she felt herself begin to get aroused again. He moaned, realising it too, and squeezed her breast in his hand, pulling the other into his mouth and sucking on her hungrily. Her back arched off the ground in response, then fell back down again when he released her. He grinned and continued squeezing and stroking her breast as he licked his way up to her throat, his nose brushing against her skin as he trailed his lips up to her mouth. He kissed her again, more relaxed this time, content now to take his time tasting her. His arms came around her body, pulling her against him as his mouth continued moving against hers, the both of them pressed together so tightly, it would have been impossible to have slipped even a sheet of paper between them. She moaned as she kissed him back, her fingers desperate to explore every inch of his muscled form, her fingernails dragging along his skin as she clutched him close to her. Never had she felt such desire, such urgency, to be so intimately close to someone, to have them know every single part of her and to know them in turn. He pulled back to take a breath, his emerald eyes boring into hers as he panted heavily, his broad chest heaving up and down. He was so beautiful, with his fiery gaze and his strong features and his chiselled form, and her heart stuttered as he looked down at her with an expression she was sure reflected her own.

“What do you … What do you want from me, jaaneman?” he asked her, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. “Anything you will have of me, I will give it to you. Take all that you want from me, delam.” He pressed his lips to hers again, his tongue sweeping around her mouth in broad, lazy strokes as he rolled his hips against hers. She moaned at the sensation, her eyes fluttering shut as her brain turned numb with arousal. But then he pulled back, his eyes as dark as the night sky as he gazed down at her adoringly.

“I …” she whispered, doing her best to try to form a coherent thought. “I want … I want you, Dara. All of you. All mine.” She reached her hands up, curling her fingers around his shoulders and pulling him back down to her so she could taste him again. He was warm, spicy and slightly smoky, like fire on her tongue. He curled his fingers around her breast again, the movements of his hips becoming more frenzied as he rubbed himself against her, then he sat up, forcing a whine of protest out of her mouth. He chuckled as she pawed at his chest desperately, delighting in how badly she wanted him, but remained seated, their bodies too painfully apart.

“I'm … I'm going to,” he breathed, his eyes tracking the movements of his fingers as his hand drifted down her torso. He stopped when he landed on her centre and pressed his thumb against her sensitive nerves, forcing her body to buck and writhe against him as it begged him for more. He sucked in a breath, entranced by the beautiful movement, then swallowed hard. “Tell me if it hurts. I'll … I'll be gentle, delam. I'll …” He slid two of his fingers into her, slow, careful, but not enough to stop her brows from furrowing with discomfort. By the Almighty, she was tight - so small and so sensitive, completely untouched by anyone before him. He curled his fingers cautiously, stroking her walls as if he was beckoning her, and she relaxed slightly at the sensation.

“Dara, what …” She raised her hips and twisted her legs, shifting herself to more comfortably accommodate him. Then she let out a sigh of satisfaction. “Dara, don't stop … Please? J-Janam …” But he had to stop. He had to stop so he could replace his fingers with the other part of him - the part that was so painfully hard for her, twitching at the very thought of being enclosed within her warm and wet walls. He removed his fingers and she let out another whine, then stopped as he began tracing his tip along her folds.

She knew a little about what happened between a man and a woman - sparse knowledge she'd picked up from the brothels she'd been tossed around before she'd stolen enough money to run away and look after herself. She'd never experienced it personally, having been kept locked away in the kitchens most of the time, but she didn't know a woman could draw so much pleasure from it. She waited quietly as Dara prepped himself, her stomach buzzing with nerves and her nipples tingling with excitement. She gasped as he pressed his tip to her entrance, slowly easing himself into her. She shifted and wriggled her hips, unused to having someone inside of her like this, but it wasn't an entirely unwelcome feeling.

“By all that is Holy, janam, you feel … so good,” Dara breathed, finally having eased himself inside of her. She took him so well, so nicely, her tight walls throbbing around him eagerly. He let out another curse as he gazed down at her, lying there so prettily with his length nestled inside of her. Then he started moving.

She winced and yelped with discomfort as he began slapping his hips against hers, so he slowed down, his muscles clenching with the effort it took him to restrain himself. He moved in and out of her, gentle, tender, swirling his hips around so every ridge and vein brushed up against her entirely. It was too much, but not enough, and she felt her stomach tighten again as the sticky liquid began dripping out of her. She whined and whimpered while he lifted her legs, looping them over his shoulders and bending over her, the intensity of his movements increasing as he did so.

“Ah! Dara,” she moaned, her hips bucking against his even as she clenched her fists with unease. He was just so big, filling her up and stretching her out in a way so unfamiliar to her body. She looked up at him, his eyes wild as he gazed down at her, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he became more and more dishevelled. He licked his lips at the sight of her, completely aroused by the helpless way she wriggled and writhed beneath him, and she squeaked in response.

“Janam, jaaneman,” he murmured, reaching a hand up to her face to brush his fingers along her cheek. She moaned his name again as she twined her fingers with his, her breasts bouncing up and down as he thrust himself in and out of her. Then she came again, her walls clenching and grabbing at him, squeezing him so deliciously, until he couldn't take it any longer and spilled his seed inside of her. They stayed there for a while longer, both of them trying to catch their breaths when it was over. Then he pulled himself out of her and settled down by her side.

“Dara,” she mumbled drowsiness as he held her against him. ‘I love you,’ she wanted to say. But she couldn't say that - not when they'd only just met a fortnight ago! How could you possibly fall in love with someone in such a short amount of time? She pressed a kiss to his collarbone instead, her eyes fluttering shut as she snuggled against his chest, content to drift off in his arms.

She was small and soft against him, the warmth of her skin matching his own as she fell asleep in his arms. He hadn't expected her to feel so good, to taste so sweet. And he'd had far too much time to spend considering those things. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the sweet perfume of the oil she'd run through her curls, and for once in his long existence, he fell into a dreamless slumber.

She was still in his arms when he awoke the next morning, her soft body curled around his, their limbs tangled together beneath the robes he'd pulled over them after they'd finished. She'd fallen asleep first, thoroughly exhausted by all the events of the day before, and he'd taken advantage of the fact to admire her sleeping form, just as he was doing now, his eyes roving across her curly hair, her dark eyelashes, her plump lips. By God, she was beautiful.

He cuddled her against him, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her nose, her cheek, his lips curling into a smile when her eyebrows furrowed, annoyed by the sudden interruption to her slumber. But then he brushed his lips against hers, and all the irritation fell from her face, the creases in her brow smoothing out as she kissed him back lazily, still drowsy from sleep.

She opened her eyes fully to look up at him, grinning when her gaze focused on his features. Then she reached her hand up to cup his cheek, pulling his mouth back to hers so she could kiss him deeper. He ran his hand along her back, stroking her gently as their tongues wound around one another's, both their movements slow and appreciative. She pulled away eventually, pushing herself up to a seat on top of him, the sunlight illuminating her exposed skin so tantalisingly. He sucked in a breath at the sight, utterly transfixed by her delectable curves and she let out a soft giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his face. By God, she was perfect.

He ran his hands up her sides as she leaned over him, his fingers moving to trace the outlines of her delicious breasts. He felt a groan rumble out of his chest as she bit her lip at the sensation, her head tilting back to lengthen her slender neck, the skin littered with tiny scratches where his fangs had grazed her last night. She was his, and he'd made the fact explicitly clear, he thought to himself smugly, admiring the cuts and bruises dotting her skin. He'd claimed her, marked her as his own, and now anyone who tried to touch her would see the cuts and bruises scattered across her skin and know that she was his and his alone. He squeezed her breasts, prompting a moan out of her, then moved his hands to her back, tugging her lower so that her breast pooled in his mouth, giving him the chance to lick and suck on her.

"Dara," she whispered, the sticky liquid starting to leak out of her already, her centre throbbing against his abdomen as he ate her up hungrily. He growled at the helplessness in her voice and flipped them over, pinning her against the ground beneath him. Her eyes widened, her lips parting with surprise at his sudden change in demeanour, but then his mouth was on hers again, his warm skin sliding against her own as he held her tightly against him.

"Delam," he murmured, his lips moving to her jaw as he slid his hand down her abdomen to her centre. "Janam, jaaneman."

He brushed his fingers along her centre, stroking and teasing her before slipping his fingers inside of her and curling them against her walls, beckoning her gently. She gasped, her back arching off the ground as her hips moved in tandem with his fingers, her body responding to him of its own accord. She glided her hands up his back, gripping onto his large shoulders tightly as he continued stimulating her, his fingers moving harder and faster as his teeth and tongue grazed her neck and shoulder. It wasn't long before her body was shuddering beneath him, her hips bucking wildly as she came for him, her walls clenching his fingers tight. He muttered a curse against her neck, refusing to get off of her until she's finished, until she was lying flat against the ground again, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to catch her breath. He pulled back slightly, wrapping his hand around her waist and dragging his fingernails along her lower back as he tugged on her skin with his teeth.

"Kharabetam, dilam," he told her softly, his lips moving against her collarbone as his hand moved to cup her rear. (I am ruined for you, my heart.) "Divoonatam, janam. Mmm, my love, my life, the one for whom I was created." (I am crazy for you, my life.) A whimper fell from her lips at the declaration and he pulled back when she shifted uncomfortably beneath him, finding an uncertain expression on her face.

"Dara," she began hesitantly, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand. She brushed her thumb along the stubble on his jaw, avoiding his gaze as she considered her response. "You can't mean that." He frowned.

"I do," he replied immediately, the words firm, resolute. He brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, his fingers trailing down her neck and chest. "I was made for you, delam. Just you. Only you." His voice softened to a whisper, that glazed look entering his eyes once again as he squeezed her breast in his hand, and she pushed it aside for the moment, her concerns about what would happen to them once they'd reached Daevabad. Because for now, all that mattered was that he was hers, and she was his, the two of them tangled up together as if nothing would ever come between them.

#darayavahoush e afshin #dara #city of brass #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

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freshlybakedspiderbread · 8 months

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hi! im gonna say seiga or miko for the ask game!

seiga was just done over here but she's about to come up soon :P ! so that toyosatomimi...

General opinion/How much I care about them: i love miko... 🎧 i mentioned before about coming to love the td crew as a whole over a long time of reading doujins featuring them and Miko is obviously a big part of that too. she and her crew are such a fun addition to gensokyo's worldbuilding and Miko herself is amazing. zun's historical rpf version of prince shotoku who became a hot girl wizard and wants to take over the world and is super charismatic about it? that's unmatched.

...that said, kind of a tangent here, her premise and deliberately kinda nationalistic motifs are only fun in touhou because she's contrasted with a bunch of similarly ambitious reglious leaders and their own groups, and that you know none of them would ever actually ever 'succeed'. They'll probably always be competition and waning in powers, but that consistent conflict is sort of its own kind of peace since gensokyo can always accomodate them.

A ship I love: hey guess what im not done talking about seiga because its seimiko time. just like seiyoshi i also have a really specific headcanon backstory in mind for them which i cant really get into all of it right now, but to try and sum up: Even if Miko knew Seiga's desires were only self-serving, she admired/respected/idolised/loved Seiga who appeared before her to answer all of Miko's greatest desires, and at some point decide it wasnt enough to just learn how to not die from her, but to also become a beautiful hermit who challenges the fate the world bestows them.

And it mustve been unexpected for Seiga to meet someone who managed to see her for everything she is (which includes defiling corpses and generally making an enemy of heaven every day), and not only not really care but also Gets Her.

thaaaaat all being said, in present day Miko knows Seiga has a Reputation and gets up to Antics that doesn't exactly paint hermits in the greatest light, so she's like always bouncing between two ends of a meter where she's begging her dear teacher to reign things in, or she's trying to explain to others why digging up corpses is actually not as bad as it looks 😰🥰

A non-romantic relationship that I love: it doesnt come up in my head often but her shared parenting of Kokoro along with Byakuren and Mamizou is both sweet and extremely funny. Miko taking it upon herself as a matter of pride to guide the menreiki thanks to her role in their creation is really good, and its also really funny that despite that connection she still basically has to compete with others over her, and she probably loses to the tanuki more often than not??

also does 'ex-romantic' count because i absolutely adhere to belief that in her and okina's former lives, they absolutely were a thing, bonded over a shared love of art and beauty, created a whole bunch of noh masks together... But then Miko started caring about all that a whole lot less when a certain hermit hailing from China entered the picture, and the rest was history 😌

The NOTP: call me miss no fun but it might be miko/byakuren. i do actually really love the rivalry between miko and byakuren, the back and forths, the varying hypocrisy, the thematic parallels, and the ways they do manage to work together for a common cause! I just. have yet to see a way to turn it romantic that works for me.

also on that note if you're gonna do miko/saki (which will always just be for jokes to me and never anything i sincerely consider), saki has to be the one putting a saddle on miko 🤠

My biggest headcanon about them: everything above was kinda it 😆 maybe more will come to my mind in the future...

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: she'd be in the seiga backstory fic too since their first meeting is kinda vital to both characters. but as for another idea... Adventure Game type story where to earn points with the people, she susses out some random people's desires and goes to find the most quick and expedient way to fulfill them n_n

Something that makes me think of them: one time in pokemon xy i thought of naming an espurr after her because i knew meowstic kinda reminded me of her 🐱

#the next one of these i do is likely the last!#toyosatomimi no miko #touhoupawject

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patchworkpuzzle · 2 years

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Hi Patchy😊. I have come from reading your fics on AO3. Love the wolf Bakugou🥺 one. I would like to humbly request a potion of your choosing for the boomiest of all booms if you are so inclined. Thank you😌.

Hello traveler, I am quite humbled you have journeyed from a different land entirely to come see me and take from my wares; it certainly makes this peddler feel special. And I am assuming that is why you are here. Someone has created those feelings in you, just as you have created them within their heart.

I am also assuming they are unable to properly tell those feelings to you. That words, especially those of such tenderness, are not an area of strength they have achieved. Which is why I bestow to you a touch of eloquence; this ruby liquid will help even the toughest of tongues become loose and say what is on their minds.

Perhaps, your object of affection, may find use in it?

The dragon-born kingdom was one of high esteem, of luxury, grandiose, and overall wealth. You always found yourself blessed to not only live in such a kingdom, where hungry and poverty never seemed to be, but to born well enough to be allowed in the royal court.

Even more blessed to be one of the few young maidens to be personally chosen by the Queen to be a lady in waiting. Such a title was to guarantee anyone who donned it to live a life of splendor, with little worries or regrets, and to marry whoever their heart desired; not to be forced into one for advantage.

The Gods smiled upon you, that is what your family always told you. And though were undoubtedly blessed, favoured you think beyond your station, there was some flaws to your character that always made you stand out in court within this kingdom. Made you be viewed as odd by most of the lords and ladies you were to be acquainted with. For the dragon born prided themselves on their brash and almost brutish nature, to always be the voice in every room to command respect and awe. You were timid, quite in a way that was not usually found upon in these lands.

The Queen, however, found your nature to be charming. Granted she did know that a lady such as yourself would not be seen as worthy as those who were able to command attention; but she saw potential in you. For you did have a voice, though small, it was eloquent and did not falter; you opinions, and often rejections, always managed to be heard clearly and would surprise everyone.

You were smart, knowledgeable, and able to command in ways never done before. That is why the Queen chose you when you first entered court; and why now she seemed so involved when it finally came time for you to find a husband. It was to no surprise to you that she would engage herself with such a task - having you marry the most suitable person would ensure strong and powerful pairing that would stay loyal to her. But it caused you great inner pain every time you rejected suitor after suitor she sent your way, for your heart belonged to the one person you knew she would struggle to grant you.

Her son, the crown prince Katuski Bakugou.

Volatile and rude, brash and conceited to a fault, you knew him to be for that was usually how he acted towards many in court; especially to those that tried to gain his favour for marriage. But you knew him to be other things. You knew him to be curious, courteous, and almost charming in a strange way. That is why you always felt blessed, for you were able to see him in these states, and so often too for being a lady in waiting always allowed you plenty of opportunities to engage with him.

You heart always fluttered when you remembered the first grand ball you attended once you entered court. How nervous you were, how ill in place you felt amongst everyone else - from the way you dressed to the way you acted seemed to cause heads to tilt in confusion. You remembered how closely you stood by the farthest wall, away from all the dancing people, away from any more possible embarrassment. That was when he showed up, his air of confidence wash over you like a high tide.

You remembered him asking you what you were doing, curious as to way someone so new in court was not flaunting themselves around like everyone else. You remembered how close he leaned into you, to hear you speak, it made your heart flutter at the proximity. It stopped altogether when you saw his smirk, his chuckle over your comment was almost too much for you to bear.

Now, you’ve grown almost accustomed to it. You heart still fluttered in his presence, but you grew comfortable around him. With every ball and party thrown you would find him next to you, against the further wall that could be found, talking. It was only a matter of time before your heart belonged to him.

And his to yours.

You knew deep within your soul that he adore you. Bakugou was never one to go out of his way for anyone unless they were special; and with you his small acts of adoration were apparent. Perhaps not to everyone else, but the small flowers and gifts of jewelry from an anonymous sender made it clear who it was from.

You had made it clear with action and words that you wanted nothing more in this world than him. But Bakugou had yet to do the same. Though you both knew that your love and union would be accepted, if through some time, he still rejected your declaration of love.

Not with words, no, he never uttered a single one.

And though everyone is court thought it meant he did not love you as loved him, you knew differently. You knew that speaking of feelings was never a strength of his, and when confronted with other’s feelings - those that were strong - he simply would lack words to say.

After that moment your determination grew blazing as you did whatever you could to get him to confess something, anything, that would allude to what he felt about you. To the point where you had to entrust services on a strange peddler to give you a potion that would loosen his tongue so he may finally say what was on his mind.

To get him to take it would lead to be cunning, to slip it into his wine at the next celebration the kingdom would hold. You were willing to wait that long, for you knew your patience would be rewarded.

When the time came you stood silently against a familiar wall watching the crowd, but more importantly keeping an eye on the prince. You had asked and old and trusted maid, one you had bonded with as she took care of you over the years, to slip the potion into his wine when the dancing began. Thus he would be able to slip away and not be followed when it magic took its hold.

Bakugou escaped to a balcony, trying his best to act as nonchalant as possible as he tried to get to away from everyone; for he knew something was wrong, that his tongue was unable to hold back any sort of comment his mind spoke of. It took one gracious ‘thank you’ to a servant to know something was wrong, as he spoke without knowing.

“What did you do?” he asked you, knowing that the footstep he heard on the marble was you, his voice not holding the anger you were expecting “What curse did you inflict on me?”

“Not a curse, a potion” You corrected, your voice as tentative as your steps towards him “It will wear off shortly. The peddler assured me of that.”

“What does it do?”

“It…” You sighed, hands coming together to wring in worry “It causes you to speak on every thought you have, on every feeling, in any give moment.”

“And why would you do this to me?” Bakugou asked, his anger only showing with how tightly he gripped the railing before him.

“Because how else am I suppose to know why you rejected me?” You responded, your own hands turning into fists; almost as if mimicking him.

“I did not reject you.” He gritted, shoulders going ridged.

“Saying nothing while I confessed my heart and soul to you is a rejection. Do you not care for me at all?”

“I think it is quite obvious my intentions are for you.”

“Then tell me, do you want me?” Your demanded, your voice booming louder than had ever before.

“Of course I do!” He responded in kind, a snarl on his face as he finally turned to you.

“Then say it!. Say you want me! Say you love me! Say you will stay with me until we grow old, please!” Your vision was starting blur as tears started to form but you refused to let your eyes wander away from his.

“I do love you. Seeing you every day and knowing you’re mine is the only thing that keeps me going.” You saw his shoulders go slack as his cool hands went to cup your face, the rough pads of his thumbs were gently wiping your shed tears away.

“I promise you that I love you with my whole heart. In this life until the next, I am yours as you are mine.”

It makes me smile to see the toughest of shells break and allow what they have hidden so long in the darkness into the light. Please enjoy his new skill as much as you can. Though I will advise to not have him be near anyone else for another day or two. I would hate for his loose lips to ruin relationships, both new and old.

Do you want to take a chance on a failing traveler's potion?

#i do hope this what you were looking for #dearest of travelers #for this man is not one i feel I write well #so hopefully this works #🧩.patchy's event #🧩.patchy the failing potion peddler #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble

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cillspropertea · 2 years

Text

Flipped

Chapter 4: Dawn

The reader is Aberama Gold’s eldest daughter, Esmeralda Gold in this fic.

Warnings: tense situations, violence, torture, pain, panicky situations, blood.

This fic might have dark themes which may irritate or offend some readers. But if you've seen Peaky Blinders and are familiar with Thomas Shelby, you'll be okay. The story, plot, character histories and back stories might not be relevant to the original "Peaky Blinders". Warnings will change per chapter. This is my first fic. Hope you all like it. English is not my first language.

Thankyou so much for reading and liking my story. Do not hesitate to engage, comment or repost.

Update: every 2-3 days

Synopsis: Your father’s one mistake shall alter your life’s direction forever.

Word count: 2,672 words

Esmeralda Gold

Just as expected, as soon as you, Da and Bonnie crossed the boundary to your territory, the people wordlessly started to escort you all to your Grandmother, Thagarni Malaiah’s house. Thagarni meant ‘queen’ in Romani, but was used by your people to give respect to the elders of the clan. The more area you crossed the more people started to join the crowd. When you reached your Grandmother’s house she was already outside, cutting fire wood with an axe. “Thagarni!” one of the men came forward from behind you, “We come here to ask for your help and guidance!” he shouted in Romani. Malaiah scoffed and kept on cutting the wood. “What help can I give you? I am nothing but a lowly servant of the Gods.” She said, feigning indifference.

‘Oh she is enjoying this, she is enjoying this a lot!’ you thought, silently, as your Father had ordered. “These people, your kin, have committed crimes, which have brought down the Gold clan’s honor, not only that but the nature of it may very well effect our coming generations too.” The man continued and the others agreed in chants. “We want to stop this right here, before this goes on to corrupt our future. We want a Jury, led by you, to solve this matter!” the crowd with the man screamed their agreement. “We have not committed any crime!” Your Fathers voice had enough boom in his voice to silent all of them, “Stop accusing us of something that you have no proof of!” your Granny cut him off “Oh! Really Aberama dear? Then have all of these people gone mad? Or are they high on opium?” she cocked her head. Da looked down.

Going a few paces back, she washed her hands and continued, “I do know about you going to make a deal with the Shelbys, those Peaky fucking Blinders” she spat on the ground, as if just taking their name brought a bad taste to her mouth. “Even though the elders of the clan forbade it.” She smiled with raised eyebrows making Da audibly gulp. “I apologize for that, for…. Not listening to the elders. But surely this isn’t as big a crime to call for a jury now is it?” Da reasoned. “By the grace of the Almighty and the respect and power these people have bestowed upon me…” She came towards you until she was almost nose to nose, her smile brought bad memories to you and in that moment you knew you were fucked, “I’ll be the judge of that”.

----------------

You were taken to the building the clan used as a court house. Police was almost never involved in disputes and cases when it involved clans. They made their own rules and punishments. Leaders like Malaiah, made sure that these rules were implemented. You were seated in a dimly lit, separate room. It had two chairs and a wooden table with a mirror console, which had definitely seen good days. The lower half of the mirror was missing, ‘They must have banged someone’s head on it’ you thought fearfully.

Da and Bonnie were taken inside where the Jury was called. Five leaders of the clans were appointed, led by Thagarni Malaiah herself, to judge this matter. The place got pretty crowded. Who doesn’t like a good show!? and by choosing your Grandmother as the leader of the Jury, the people had insured that.

You rubbed your hands agitatedly. Several hours had passed. You’d started pacing the room now. ‘ It must be dark outside…What is happening in there? What’s taking them so long’ your mind was going crazy with worry, which truly shot up when your sisters were brought in the same room. Elizabeth and Lilly, white as a sheet, crying when they were pushed roughly inside. They came rushing to you when they saw you. You took them in your arms to console them. “What is happening Emmy? What happened to you? Is everything okay? Are we going to die?” their questions startled you. You held them both by their shoulders “No, nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let them bring any harm to you both. Do you hear me? I won’t let them!” You said looking into their eyes with as much confidence as you could. But in truth, you were as scared as them.

A few moments later, your grandmother strode in, ordering the men with her, to take your sisters out of the room. They screamed and sobbed trying to get a hold of you. Lilly’s hand only able to reach Da’s scarf in your neck which she took with her while being forced out of the room. “Wait! Where are you taking them?” the men did not acknowledge your concern at all and forcibly pushed you back in the room. Malaiah stood still waiting for the door to close and the men to be out of earshot. You rushed towards her, “Malaiah, my sisters have nothing to do with this!” you pleaded “Just please let them go!” “And you do?” she cocked her head. “I did not say that” you knew how manipulative and cunning your Grandmother could be to make the other person say what she wanted to hear. Da use to joke in her absence how she would have made a perfect lawyer if she’d gotten the education for it.

“Then what are you saying Miss Esmeralda Gold? I am here to take your statement.” You frowned, “On what?” she walked gracefully towards you and flicked of an invisible thread from your coat. “Just a simple yes or no would do girl.” She looked into your eyes. “Is everything your Father saying in there true?" you thought for a moment ‘Could it be that simple? Of course it is! Da must have confessed to the mistake he made making that wager. He would get punished for being a fool but it won’t be that severe I hope’ You sighed “Yes it is.” Malaiah raised her eyebrows in response, “So you’re confessing to it?” your heartbeat stopped. “Confessing to what?” “Tch tch tch such a shame! My own granddaughter…” she came closer to whisper in your ears. “But by the way, I always knew you’d be a slut when you’d grow up. It’s not your fault you see…. It’s the half Lee blood in you from your slutty mother’s side!” you pushed her away with force you never knew you had in you. She almost fell down before catching herself, she was angry now. “I haven’t confessed to anything! I haven’t done anything!” you sobbed. “It’s okay love.” She scoffed light-heartedly “No confession needed. I’ve seen the proof to pass the Judgment already” she steadied herself, brushing the skirts of her dress. “What do you mean?” you were so confused.

Nothing was making sense to you. Still baffled you did not even notice her charging towards you. She smacked you hard enough, across your face, to make your ears ring. You stopped yourself from hitting the floor by getting a hold of the console. She grabbed your face, her nails digging into your skin and folded your arms behind you painfully. “Looks like your lover missed a mark!” She snickered in the mirror. Blood drained from your face as you looked at your own reflection in the mirror. A big purple bite mark graced the left side of your neck.

-----

They had all turned against you. Each and every one of them. When you were dragged in the courtroom, hands once again tied in the front like a criminal, the people you passed, mocked you, called you names and even spat at you. Your eyes searched for your father, your brother, anyone, who could save you, who could protect you from the humiliation you were being punished with. The anger and hatred you saw in the eyes of the crowd brought tears to your eyes.

“Silence!” the court went eerily quiet at your grandmother’s voice. She sat down and said in a loud clear voice. “The girl is accused of fornication.” You stared at her, dumbfounded. “She not only had a pre-marital affair with a member of another clan but also planned to elope with him. When this poor man…” she pointed towards Aberama, “found out how his daughter had done the indecent with one of the Shelby’s, like any other respectable father, he was infuriated and concerned about his reputation, his other two daughters future and most of all, the prestige of our clan.” Your mouth hung open as you tried to breath.

“He went to the Shelbys to offer them a deal, that they could have anything they asked for, if only Thomas Shelby would leave his daughter alone.” You looked at Da but he did not look at you. Looking down to his feet, tears dropped from his nose as his eyes were hidden behind his hat. “No!” you shouted but Thagarni Malaiah continued ignoring you completely. “Not only did the guilty refuse to come back with his father and brother but also got them beaten up and held captive for a night, by her lover and his family of goons as she shamelessly warmed his bed. ”

“Just please listen to me!”

“The mark on the girl’s neck is the proof of her indecency. So I hereby with the agreement of the leaders of the clans find Esmeralda Gold guilty of fornication, committing actions which have not only damaged the honor and dignity of our clan but have harmed the sentiments of our people as well.” The crowd roared in agreement. “Why isn’t anyone listening to me!?” You screamed so loud your lungs burnt. Tears spilled down from your eyes “This is not true. I had not even seen the Shelbys before!” Malaiah stopped talking.

“So are you saying that your father is lying girl? His men who were in the custody of the Shelbys with them are lying too? Because your father is the one who’s stated all of these facts to us.” Your heart stopped. You started to run towards Da but the men holding the rope tied to your hands made sure you could not take more than a couple of steps in his direction. “Why are you doing this Da? Why are you not telling them about the wager?” Da flinched at your words but did not look at you. You looked for Bonnie but could not find him anywhere. You turned towards the jury, knowing how you had to say something as it was either now or never, “He put a wager on me! He placed a bet on me which he lost! I wasn’t eloping with anyone, they took me from our house!” you turned towards the crowd, “Surely someone must have seen them take me! Anyone? Lily and Elizabeth were with me when they took me you can ask them…” the veins in your neck were popping out as you pleaded for your life. “Please I’m begging you all. You people are accusing an innocent person who did not commit any crime!” “Shut up you dirty whore! And take the danm punishment you deserve!” someone from the crowd screamed making the crowd roar and laugh. ‘They are laughing at me. They are all laughing at me! At my innocence, at my truth’ your head spun.

Malaiah sighed loudly cleaning her nails by rubbing them on her dress near her chest, “Are you done?” you gaped at her. She banged her palms at the table in front of her loud enough to startle you and half of the crowd into silence “You think we are fools child!? Us? The elders?” her voice rang throughout the hall. “The two ‘witnesses’ you named just now are underage, therefore there testimony doesn’t count. Plus who knows how you’ve manipulated their young minds to your pleasing.” You could not believe this. It was as if she was determined to punish you, they all were. “And this story of ‘the wager’ you are talking about sounds utterly bizarre and ridiculously made up. The daughters of our clan are truly precious and sacred to us. No man in his right mind can ever place a bet on his daughter! And what was the wager for? What was Aberama supposed to win instead of loosing you?” you did not know the details about it. “I… I don’t…” she cut you off.

“Therefore me and the jury have decided to sentence the guilty to… death by stoning.” Your knees buckled as you fell on the floor. Aberama ran to the Judges table but the guards did not let him through to them. “The punishment is too severe! I will make sure this never happens again! Please elders! Show some mercy! Give my daughter another chance…” He knelt on the floor with palms together in front of him. The elder man representing the Codona clan spoke up “We too thought so, but Aberama dear…” Malaiah cut him off, “I suggested it. Your daughter has tried to start a movement of liberation and independence among or females, which directly goes against our traditions and customs! If we don’t stop this right now, who knows what new ideas this case shall sprout in the minds of the daughters of our clans! We have to make an example out of her, out of this case, to cease and destroy any like-minded thinking in our young females!” Aberama was helped on his feet by a man next to him.

“The punishment shall commence at dawn tomorrow. All the leaders and the men are obliged to take part in it!” there was cheering in your Grandmothers name, mocking on yours, but you did not hear anything or feel anything. A thick sheen of numbness had coated your body as you gave up and simply waited for the dawn of the next day and your undeniable end.

-----

‘It’ll be fine. You’ll get through this. Soon the sun shall shine. Soon the birds shall sing. Soon the darkness will be gone. And you’ll be with me again.’ Esmeralda kept on repeating these words as one rock after the other hit her already drained and bloodied body. Her head hung low as her form was tied to a tree. Blood dripped from her skull to her nose and through her mouth as well. She’d screamed at the beginning, not at the crowd, who God knew why were so danm angry at her, not at Malaiah, who had accomplished some unknown mission of her life but at Da and Bonnie who had claimed to be her family, her protectors and had failed at everything these words meant.

“I pity you Aberama Gold. For not being man enough for your daughter!” those were her last words to her father who cried and tried to hug her one last time. She had nudged her shoulder and walked away before he could do so, with her head held high towards her final destination. She had denied to meet anyone when after the case a customary meeting with the family was offered to her too. She was done with the world. Done with all of the artificialness of it. She was ready for her end.

The end was near she could feel it. The pain was unbearable at first, making her scream in agony. The stones felt like giant bullets being fired toward her body. But now she could feel cool, numbing spots all over her form, as if some parts of her body had already given up. Her breathing became hitched as she struggled to take in air when suddenly ten wagons full of armed men, wearing peaked caps, and a car leading them stopped behind the crowd. The men fired guns in the air dispersing the crowd sideways and creating a safety barrier for the man and woman getting off the car. The woman announced in a voice clear and loud as water from a running stream, “We’ll take it from here!”

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peakyxtommy #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #aberama gold #bonnie gold

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cherrysha · 3 years

Text

A Promise of Greatness

This is a collab with my virtual wife @ramwrites who has the ability to dream up these crazy incredible AU’s. Her fic can be found here , and while I encourage everyone to read her amazing work first, these don’t have to be read in order for the plots to make sense.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Religious Symbolism, Religious Institutions, Branding, God!Franklin, Female Reader, Slightly Yandere Franklin

He comes to you in the form of a dream. The forge is barely lit besides the glow of the furnace, that looks eerily like your own, and the flames that encircle the peripherals of the room. The comfort of it is almost enough to ward off the terror you feel at being surrounded by fire, almost swallowed whole by it, the heat being an all too familiar feeling on your sweaty skin. A man, a giant hulking form of a man, cloaked in shadow and almost opaque, smiths in front of you. His thick arm, almost abnormally large and only made to appear larger with the vast shadows enshrouding him, repeatedly swings a hammer and casts up dazzling sparks with every downward stroke. You can only see his back, but his voice is loud and clear when he speaks to you.

“Perfect creations require perfect materials.” There’s silence as he casts a deafening blow to the brightly heated metal on the iron below him. You can’t quite find your voice, its lost to you as your mouth opens to form words. When the sound of metal hitting metal has stopped reverberating around you, he speaks again.

“Even something as simple as chains” he pauses to release a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he stares at the metal in front of him. “Is only the strongest when crafted from the strongest.” his muscles flex as he brings the hammer back above his head before pounding at the dimly lit metal in a flurry. When your eyes cast downwards to what was once an unrecognizable lump, in its place lay delicate chains, cooled enough that they no longer glow, the likes of which you’d never seen. The gasp that leaves you is silent, your voice still lost to you, as you admire the work of the smith. Its intricate, a golden hue with delicate details that should not have been possible with the way that the man had been swinging the giant hammer in his hand. “Go to the temple and find the materials.” He finally turns his face towards you, but you still cannot see any of his features.

“If you can impress me, then maybe I can bestow these gifts upon you.”

You’ve never been pious. Have never felt the urge to know of any gods, old or new. The forge is where true strength lay. Your hands, the weight of a sturdy hammer striking hot metal and creating something fresh to this world. No god could give you faith or power like a burning furnace and the knowledge of creating your own. So why where you here?

The temple stands barren in front of you, dirt and debris cluttering the grand staircase that lay one step ahead. Some of the old gods had been cast aside for more than a millennium now, only the oldest people in the village truly believing in the power that they once held. They were too old to manage the upkeep of the decrepit building, and too strict in their ways to entice nonbelievers to their ancient religion. With a cautious step forward, you make your way to the foreboding doors, thinking over your decision and pondering if opening this crypt was even truly worth it. It could be nothing more than your own mind that created the dream, but the fire had felt all too real, the voice which was urging every movement forward booming inside the confines of your mind. You came here to improve. To be the best, no, to become the greatest, and that urge had lit a fire under you. By the time you make it to the top of the stairs any second thoughts have already fizzled away into the background. Even if this was a lost cause, it didn’t hurt to look for yourself.

The interior is dark, and you curse as you fumble for a nearby torch hanging from a sconce, applauding your preparedness as you paw at the pocket of your breeches for the flint and wool you had stashed earlier. With little effort you deftly light it and the room is revealed before you. The only remnants of the dark residing in murky shadows lingering in the confines of corners. Its small, much smaller than you had anticipated from your view of the outside, with what looked to be a pit in the center, a small alter behind it, and massive columns flanking either side. Slowly, you make your way forward, revealing the pit to be nothing more than a rather steep staircase that gracefully twisted down into the darkness below. You curse, not quite expecting this and not quite willing to venture into the darkness that awaited you. There couldn’t be any animals lurking within the sealed temple, at least none that were big enough to do you any harm. And you weren’t the type to believe in the monsters of old, so there was no reason to fear what hid in the dark. Reluctantly you trudge on, making your way down the steep set of stairs.

This temple had been abandoned since before you were alive, there weren’t any indicators on the outside of which god this one belonged to either. It was grand, but not as imposing as the other temples you had seen around the country, and definitely not as ornamented either. What lay ahead, down into the silent abyss was a mystery to you, a mystery to most of the population.

As minutes tick by, the narrow passage opens into a space that seems almost unnaturally dark. Your torch only illuminates about 2 feet ahead before the shadows consume the flickering light. Looking around, your eyes fall upon a trough of what appears to be filled with fluid. It doesn’t take much thought to realize that it can't be water, and after a quick smell to assess that it was, in fact, oil you touch your torch to it, gasping as flames quickly consume the entirety of the room. The trough extends the entire perimeter of the massive hall, revealing that it’s at least triple the length of the room above, and easily double its width. The walls are seemingly made of obsidian, reflecting the flames in front of it and refracting the light throughout the hall.

Multiple forges flicker to life as the flames finally breach their hulls.

“No fuckin’ way.” Is all you can muster to say at the sight before you.

The system of lighting the forges is an intricate one, the cost of integrating it in the depths of an ancient temple is almost overwhelming to think about. With a shaky breath, you take your first steps into the expansive room.

Days pass almost endlessly as you tirelessly raid the storage room for supplies. The dream, the premonition, his words, rattle around in your skull.

“Perfect materials... perfect...” you mumble to yourself, lifting the heavy crates in search of something befitting his vision. If this were his temple, then wouldn’t all the materials in the storeroom be perfect? Would any of the old worshippers even dare to keep imperfect materials?

Your muscles ache, eyes burning from lack of sleep as the exhaustion settles deep down in your bones. Now that you weren’t swinging a hammer you could finally feel the days of little to no rest catching up to you.

“Maybe copper?” you whisper “No..no.. s’too soft.” Your hand comes to your face to thoughtfully rub at the soot there, and it forces a shudder to wrack through your frame, as if the sudden touch startles you. You'd searched the temple for days trying to find some type of clue, only discovering that the glyphs on the walls and in the decaying books were unintelligible, a language lost to time and forgotten to most commonfolk. On the bright side you had found a room that appeared to be an area for rest, a small cot made from maple and easily stuffed with fresh hay. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t rest in this place, an urge to fulfill the wishes of the god an infectious itch in the back of your mind that drove you from slumber.

There were only a few options left that you could think of. With a defeated sigh, you take one last glance around the storage room before heading up into the main chamber.

It’s as dark and decrepit as you remember. Your feet echo in the emptiness of the room, a sound that only serves to unnerve you further. The wood upon the hearth of the alter is easily lit with your torch, old twigs being set alight with such little effort its surprising. With a groan you drop to your knees, head rolling back to clear the tension from your body as you try to gather your thoughts.

“uhm…” you start, still unsure if this would work. “I’m kind of… at a loss here? Could you maybe elaborate on the materials I need?” seconds tick by, the flame in the center of the alter flickering in the quiet of the room. “I don’t know much about this religion… do you require offerings?” you'd never prayed before, and even now the thought of speaking to anybody but yourself in the dimly lit room felt like madness. Were you going mad? Cooped up in a dusty abandoned building and hammering away at metal until your brain felt foggy around the edges… that didn’t seem like something a sane person would do.

Unclasping your hands, you get up from your spot, dusting off your breeches as if the action would make them any less grimy than they already were, before muttering to yourself. “Stupid idea” with a huff you leave the temple entirely, eyes adjusting to the brightness outside. You needed a shower. Something heavier on your stomach than the measly bread you had packed, something to quench the thirst that had crept over you as the days passed with no progress.

By the time you’ve cleaned yourself up and head into town, the tavern is as busy as usual. Even through the noise and the gaggle of people cluttering the building, you still find William there, in his usual spot at the bar. His back is to you, griping to some other man about god knows what, but as soon as you make to sit next to him his attention shifts to you.

“Ah! And where have you been?” a broad hand claps you over the shoulder before he pulls you in for an awkward side hug. “Thought I was gunna have to drink away my sorrows by myself” you chuckle, eyes finally straying from his as you order two more pints. One for you and one for him, hopefully he’d drink enough to hear you out. William was the only alchemist in the area, and your only source of knowledge besides your own mentor on the properties of metal. With his help, maybe your week’s long search could finally come to an end. It’d be a tough sell though; William wasn't fond of the temple or anything to do with it either. Many nights you'd heard his drunken griping over how ‘the atrocious thing should be ripped down already’. After a few drinks you finally find the courage to ask him.

“You know I’m not the religious type, y/n. ‘Specially considerin’ what those old coots say about the gods” he goes to take a swig of his mead before deciding against it in favor of berating you more “War? Murder?” he scoffs, sending you a withering look over his mug “You'd have to be crazy to believe that stuff really happened.” You sit, watching his throat bob as he gulps down the last dregs of his drink. “Thought you were the same way too.” He says under his breath, staring at the rim of the mug “Musta been starin’ at the fire in your forge too long”

“I have not!” You laugh, trying hard to be offended. His words might’ve held a sliver of truth, and that alone unnerved you more than it hurt your feelings.

With a nudge to his shoulder you sigh, taking a swig of your own ale and lingering there for a moment to process his words.

“I’m not asking you to believe, I don’t even know if I-“you stop yourself, hand coming up to massage your temples. “Look. There’s a giant forge in the temple. An endless supply of metal, and all I’m asking- hey!” your interrupted as he starts to shake his head. “All I’m asking is that you come take a look yourself. Tell me if they’re still worth crafting with.”

William leans back, stretching his neck as he does so, as if the conversation is slowly building stress in his weary muscles “Everyone knows to stay away from places like that… you know what they say…”

“Thought you said you didn’t believe in that type a stuff?” you counter, a sly smile playing on your lips.

With a dry chuckle he answers, “Yeah... guess you got a point.”

The giddiness in your voice is electric, your eyes lighting up at the small concession he’s willing to admit. It’s just enough for you to finally get your way. You clap him on the back “So that means you’ll check it out?”

“Yeah... yeah... you know you’re playin’ with fire, right?” an infectious smile is plastered to his face, but his eyes are serious. He’s right, you know that better than he may imagine, but you hold firm.

“Guess that’s why I so damn good at my job, huh?”

The walk back to the temple feels too long. Maybe its William’s incessant whining, his feet dragging to even leave his comfortable spot at the tavern. When you finally make it to the bottom the stairs outside of the temple, the building looks more ominous than it has in the past. It stands tall, pillars dully gleaming in the moonlight, and you take your first step with more hesitation than you had upon first entering the building.

When you enter the main hall, the torches you had lit before flicker and are snuffed out by a wind that doesn’t seem to belong. It might be the dark of the night, or William’s paranoia rubbing off on you, but the instant darkness gives you pause, goosebumps crawling up your arms and neck as an eerie feeling washes over you. William groans in protest, the noise is enough to snap you out of it. “I’m not goin’ any further until you relight that torch y/n”

“I am I am just give me a second.” You gripe “big fuckin’ scaredy cat”

“If my attitude is botherin’ ya please! Feel free to find another bastard that’ll walk into this hellhole with ya”

The flint takes longer than it should to ignite the torch you’ve pulled from a nearby sconce, fingers shakily scratching the material together quicker and quicker until, with a hushed curse, it finally catches again, albeit weaker than it was before. Upon further thought, there was nothing supernatural about the way the torches had snuffed out. it’d been years since the old things had been used. Maybe it was time to cover it in oil again. For someone who didn’t believe in the old gods, William’s superstitions were enough to cause you to lose all logic. The thought alone irritated you.

“C’mon” you grumble, and he follows with a whispered “You owe me a pint after this shit”, as if you hadn’t spent the last few hours draining your pockets for his sake.

The stairs groan underneath the combined weight of both set of feet, a difference that is not lost to you as you check your memory to see if you remember if they sounded as dilapidated as they do now. Its eerie in the calm darkness, just William’s labored breath and the constant creaking of the wooden staircase.

As you make your way deeper, the lack of light only serves to send a chill up your spine. You’d left the furnaces on, the forge burning brightly, certain that you'd be back in time to throw more fuel onto the fires. If anything, the troughs of oil surrounding the room should have left the furnaces lit, albeit dimmed in the absence of fuel in the form of coal.

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out?” its as if he can sense your unease, looking back at your face and down the stairs again.

“You practically lived down here!”

“Shutup… s’your fear that’s rubbing off on me” which isn’t necessarily a lie, but your true fear could be unfounded. The furnace may have gone out by itself in the few hours that you'd been gone. There was no reason to rile him up further, to make him leave before he helped you.

He only grumbles in response.

It’s no surprise when you reach the bottom of the stairs, relight the trough of oil and find nothing sinister, but the suspense has done a great job of stirring your irritation towards the man still grumbling by your side. He sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair as he complains about the smell of oil, as if the massive underground forge before him is not worth any of his praise. You scoff, muttering for him to follow you to the storeroom before you lose any more of your patience.

You leave William there as you properly relight the largest furnace set at the very end of the expansive forge, shoveling extra coal onto the fire until you’re sure it won’t go out any time soon. Idly, you wait, watching the flames engulf the extra fuel as you ponder the size of the forge in front of you. Its gigantic, accompanied by the largest crucible you’ve ever seen, more akin to a bathtub full of molten metal than anything else. The first few days, you'd only filled it with enough iron ore to satisfy your needs. It didn’t take long before you realized that it was made to be full at all times, and by only filling it to suit your needs, you were compromising the integrity of the entire crucible. Now, there was enough molten iron ore and carbon bubbling inside to equip an army.

With a sigh, you watch the metal slowly heat back up, although it had never fully cooled in your short absence. The crucible was far too insulated to allow all of the heat to escape.

“What materials are you even looking for?” William asks as you meet him back in the storeroom.

Telling him about the dream would only lead to his quick departure from the temple, so instead you tell him half of the truth “I’m trying to recreate something ancient I think.” His eyebrows raise at the waver in your voice, “It’s a chain with ornamental engravings. What it looks like doesn’t matter, all I know is that I need a metal that looks like gold and is as strong as steel. I’ve been trying to recreate it with just steel, but the color isn’t right.”

Your eyes dart from his face and down to the crates full of raw ore. If William didn’t know, then you were surely out of luck.

William rolls his neck, hands on his hips as he takes a moment to think it over. “Well,” he begins “you think maybe it’s how you treat the steel after you're done forming it?”

“I don’t know…” is all you manage to say before he’s speaking again.

“I mean, different acids can cause some metals to change color.” He picks up a box of iron ore with a grunt, “you find anything besides ore in this place?”

“Not in this room, but I can look around the smithy and check.” You wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that the metal in your dream was not merely coated in a thin veneer of color, that gold radiated throughout the metal, but his idea had been an option you hadn’t yet explored, and there was no harm in trying.

“Well, I’ll fill the rest of the crucible and you can go look”

On the first day of discovering the temple, you had immediately been drawn to the largest furnace within the room, so you hadn’t spent much time at the other workstations in the smithy. Now that you were searching for something, anything you were hit with the realization that they had even less tools than the larger station on which you worked. Their irons smaller, their workstations made from ancient wood, and less variety of their tools. In comparison, the larger furnace had an ornate granite workstation with tools ranging from far too large for any ordinary human to feasibly work with, to smaller than you'd ever seen. There were containers of salt, of sand, and powdered carbon ash. Any material a smith could ever want was hidden somewhere on the large table, and yet there was none of the acid that William had requested.

After a few minutes, William’s voice pulls you out of your search, a worried tone as he calls your name.

“What did you put in here?” he mutters, the crate forgotten by his side as he stares at the molten metal within the crucible.

“Just the standard stuff to make steel. Iron ore and carbon.” it’s a stupid question, you’d just told him what you'd been using only minutes ago, and if it weren’t for the stupefied look on his face, you would have thought he was merely belittling you. Your eyes widen in shock as you finally follow his gaze and look at the molten steel. The metal is roiling, bubbling, and cresting over the sides of the crucible with enough force to splat onto the ground in front. You’d never seen a reaction so violent, even in your years as an apprentice. “William,” you whisper, dread raising the hairs on the back on of your neck, “What did you do?”

Tension mounts in the air as the boiling metal shows no signs of calming, spluttering against the sides of the crucible violently as time ticks by.

“I just, added more ore.” Before you can think better of it, you quickly bend down to the box at his side, combing through the raw materials for an answer. You don’t notice as William walks closer to the crucible, eyes fixated as the orange glow casts eery shadows on his skin. You don’t notice, too lost in theories. Maybe this iron ore was different, more reactive in some way, more likely to change its hue when melted down and cast. You don’t notice until William is close enough to the crucible to step on the darkened metal that had splashed and cooled onto the floor. Maybe its curiosity that moves him, maybe it’s the roar of the furnace, the heat that draws him in like a flame, but before you have a chance to speak his name, to properly stand and reach out to pull him back, a hand is shooting from the molten chaos before him and dragging him in. William’s face contorts in agony as pained screams echo around the room. It feels like hours, the way William howls until his head is pulled under the molten metal. The smell of burnt flesh causes bile to rise into your throat as the entity uses the inertia to rise higher out of the vat, liquid metal dripping in rivulets off his chest as he rises.

You have no voice again, numb to everything as you watch the scene unfold. Just like in your dream, your mouth moves but no sound comes out. The horror of it stills you, but the fear of knowing is what binds you, what dries out your tongue and turns you to stone. You’d done no research, hadn’t read a single tablet within the temple, and yet you knew this god by name. Of his fury and his cruel nature. Of triumphant soldiers wearing metal smithed in his forge. You knew of Franklin’s past, and what this new future entailed.

Moments pass, your eyes glued to him, and with little splendor, his voice booms throughout the hall “I was under the wrong impression, y/n. I thought you'd be smarter than bringing an outsider into my temple.”

The fire casts wicked shadows across his features as he stares back at you, paying no mind to the man still roiling in pain in the metal beneath him, desperately clawing at Franklin’s legs in a meaningless search for relief. It’s no use, his nails leave no mark of his fear, if anything, it only serves to further annoy the god.

“You had asked me if I demanded an offering, do you remember?”

You nod your head weakly, too overcome with shock to give more of a response.

With no hesitancy Franklin’s knee rises, before slamming back down on William’s back, further drowning him within the crucible. His body quickly sinks into it, and Franklin speaks again

“This. This is the only offering I will accept.”

Tears don’t get a chance to drop from your grimy face as the blazing heat dries your cheeks. His gaze turns away from you and you use that moment to properly breathe as you stare at the molten iron, bright flashes of flame consuming the last shreds of your friend’s clothing.

The god methodically steps from the crucible and picks up the shovel in front on the furnace. You quietly watch as drops of molten ore splatter from him and onto the floor. He quickly tosses in more coal for the flames before dropping it in favor of the bellow, stoking the fire hotter and hotter. He’s a flurry of motion as you stand motionless, knees locked tightly, and your body doesn’t register the spike in temperature as you start to shake from the cold you feel. Sweat beads down your back, only stopping once the cotton of your breeches absorbs and wicks away the moisture.

He’s uncaring of your presence, of your fear, too focused on the task at hand. Minutes tick by as the flames grow hotter and higher.

Dropping the bellow, he speaks again “You must render out the impurities to truly have materials worthy of crafting with.” He grabs the ladle, every movement showcasing the anger that his voice did little to hide. “To cut away the fat, the excess vitriol of the human form until only the soul is left.” He pours the metal into a cast set in the floor and patiently waits for it to cool to an orange color before exchanging the ladle for a set of tongs.

The god calmly walks around your stupefied figure, toward the large iron behind you. He waits for the metal to further cool before calling to you. His voice is met with only more fear from you. Your limbs feel like lead, the dread finally sliding down your spine and settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. He calls again, less patient as the metal becomes too cold for his liking.

“Come. Show me that my faith in you was not a mistake.” Your breathing returns, but you’re only spurred into movement once his heated gaze is fixed upon you. On shaky legs you make your way to him, a yelp leaving your dry throat as he grabs you by the arm. Franklin forces you in front of him, body close enough to the congealed metal to feel the heat radiating through the rough linen of your blouse. You can sense his movement behind you as he drops the tongs, the clanging loud enough to be heard over the roar of the furnace. His hand finds your waist, the other picking up a hammer far too large for your own hand and sliding it into your limp palm. You know he means for you to grasp it, his larger hand squeezing yours painfully in an effort to force the compliance into you.

“Hold it, before I give you a reason to be frightened.” His anger isn’t concealed anymore as the growl of his voice echoes in the barrel of his chest and into your back.

You do so, and quickly his hand envelopes yours and begins to swing, your body being stretched to accommodate for the height difference and shaken with each powerful downswing. The stench of charred meat still lingers heavy in your nose, combined with the sharp movements of the giant behind you, you're snapped out of your reverie with a cry.

“Now is no time to lose your passion, y/n. this is what you wanted, what you willed, is it not?” there are no signs of exertion in his voice, no waver as the hammer clangs against the solid lump of metal, the remnants of William, in front of you. Franklin’s voice is sturdy, true conviction hiding in the grunted words chooses to grace you with. You shift onto the tips of your toes to relieve the burning stretch that your body feels. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.

Franklin stops, hammer still raised high in the air as he leans his face close to your ear. “That’s horrible form, y/n. you should know better.”

“I- I can't”

“Can't what?” his grip on your waist tightens as he waits for an answer. It feels as if he could snap you in half at a moment’s notice, and that thought is jarring enough to pull another pained cry from you.

“Your reach is too far”

The smirk is evident in his voice when he responds again

“Are you saying that my help is a hinderance to you?”

“N-no that’s not- “Franklin steps away, watching in amusement as the hammer still grasped tightly in your hand falls with a clatter to the ground, the tool overwhelmingly too heavy for you to hold yourself.

“Then show me.” He’s silent as he moves in front of the iron, eyes watching you as if studying a riddle he already knows the answer to.

“Wha-?”

“Show. Me.” He repeats. “Craft the item I revealed to you.”

Dully your mind buzzes to find the item he’s speaking of before you finally remember.

The metal has cooled by now, but before you can tend to it, your legs shakily make their way to the selection of tools lining the wall. The silence persists as you grab a smaller hammer, Franklin’s laugh at the pathetic size of the tool is audible and the lump in your throat only seems to widen.

Next, you grab the tongs before returning to the cooled metal and picking it up.

The furnace burns hotter than ever as you heat the lump inside.

“Deeper”

“Huh?”

“Place it deeper within the forge. It needs to be hotter.”

You follow his directions. Too scared of what he’d do if you defied him again. Once you deem it hot enough, you make your way back to the iron, back to Franklin’s intense gaze as he watches you work.

The sound of your blows to the metal are nothing like his, and slowly the rhythmic movement becomes comforting. If it weren’t for his domineering presence you might’ve likely forgotten that there was another entity in the forge with you.

You stop to grab multiple different tools, shaping and bending the metal to your whims, the pressure of performing well driving your movements to be more precise than usual.

The chain you produce is the best you’ve ever created. It glimmers under the light of the fire with a golden glow that pure iron should not have. You can't lie, but the clap that resounds throughout the chamber forces you back into the present, into the mess you’ve made yourself as the god commends you on your effort.

The heat that radiates from him rivals that of the forge as his body presses against your back once again. Your arms are limp at your sides, still clutching your tools as the hot puff of his breath ghosts the back of your neck. Slowly, his hands trace the sides of your neck, ghosting down before giving your shoulders a squeeze. Your eyes close at the sensation, muscles jumping at the unnatural warmth of his touch. The meat under his palms aches as the rough skin of his hands digs into you. Slowly, Franklin leans down until his chin is resting on your shoulder, his hands finally moving to pick up the chain in front of you. Your sigh of relief is audible, and you feel the curve of his lips as his smile presses against your cheek.

“Well,” he whispers, fingers ghosting over the links of the chain, “the craftsmanship is good, but you’ve paid no attention to detail.” He tuts, the sound a little too close for comfort. “Where is the design that I revealed to you? This is just a chain.” Franklin huffs, and you can’t help but notice the feel of it against your skin. Moist with the lingering scent of smoke, as if he himself is made of the elements hidden away in the storeroom.

He rises back to his normal height and takes a step back, your chain in hand as he speaks to you. “This is the real test. Do you believe your craftsmanship to be resilient enough to withstand the strength of a god?” There’s a wretched smirk on his face as you shake your head ‘no’. As fear once again slides into the pit of your stomach and makes its home there. You recognize the hidden challenge behind his words. The promise of punishment if your chain does not hold up to his immense strength. Franklin wraps the bulky chain around his knuckles before giving a firm tug, the slack of the chain audibly cracking through the air as its pulled taut. He holds for what feels like an eternity, but the chain doesn’t warp.

With a tut of his lips, he lets go, allowing the chain to fall back onto the surface of the iron.

His free hand moves to cup the bottom of your chin, directing your gaze up to meet his own “You must have more faith in your work.”

You do nothing but stare back at his scarred face, finally shaking the haze of fear to properly look at him. He’s handsome, with a wide jaw and dark hair. Thin scars web across his features, metal hoops stretch his ears and adorn the length of them. The golden hue almost mistakable for gold itself. Before you can process much more of him, he speaks again “It’s your turn to watch, little one.” He lets go of you, a smirk on his face as you slowly move away from the iron, away from him.

He works much quicker than any smith you’ve ever met, albeit he’s the only smith you’ve met who can touch molten steel. His hands effortlessly pull and pinch at the orange glob until something forms. Then, with your own hammer, he strikes his creation gently, as if coaxing it into the shape it was meant to be all along. When he finally motions you forward again, the sight in front of you is almost unbelievable. The metal is more intricate than you remember from the dream, elegant vines loop through the chain you’ve created and form two circlets of metal. It shines in the low light, almost unnaturally so, and you can't seem to take your eyes off it.

“It’s- “you don’t get to finish as Franklin grabs at you, a squeal leaving your parted lips as your bent forward, face pressed against the warm iron as he uses one hand to force both of your arms behind your back. Your legs kick uselessly as he deftly takes the length of chain in hand and tightens the circlets around your wrists. Your cries fall on deaf ears as he easily picks you up again and drops you onto the floor near his workbench, quickly wrapping the chain around a leg of the marble table before giving it one last tug. Its over so quickly, and yet you can't help it as tears streak across the dirty skin of your face. Franklin offers you no pity, only sparing a quick glance in your direction before busying himself again.

With a hand rubbed through his hair, he walks over to the wall of tools, eyes roaming until he finds exactly what he’s looking for.

Quickly, he picks it up. “Do you know what this is?” he asks quietly, dark eyes drifting over to you. You nod dumbly, too scared of the object in his hand to do anything other than deny it. “don’t pretend. I know you’ve seen it.”

You nod, eyes focused on the brand as he inspects it further. His fingers ghost over the tips of each spindly leg, smoothing over the number in the middle, before flexing around the shaft of the handle.

It looks as though it was crafted from pure gold, but you know better. The metal was too sturdy to be gold. Your hunch is only proved correct once franklin holds it over the fire, the metal of it heating until its almost white from the flame. If it were gold, it would have melted in the extreme temperature.

Franklin’s mouth pulls down into a frown as he removes it from the heat, eyes coming to analyze the brand one last time.

“I’m not going to lie and say that this will be painless, but if you stay still, I’ll do it quickly.” It takes a moment before the cogs in your brain truly grasp what he means, but he’s already crossed the room in that time.

“No.” it’s a quiet plead, but he hears you all the same “No, no please don’t!” a shriek travels up your chest as he only comes closer.

“Quiet” franklin whispers. One of his large hands comes to brush hair away from your face, a noise of discontent leaving him as you harshly jerk away from his touch.

“You don’t know, so I will enlighten you. This is a gift I only bestow upon a high Priestess.” He coos, thumb ghosting over your cheek before reluctantly pulling away.

You close your eyes to avoid watching, but as the metal touches your skin you can't help but to open them again. Pain overwhelms your senses, it travels from your arm to your neck, all the way down your spine and into your toes. You can't breathe, can't think as your hoarse voice echoes around the empty temple.

You lose consciousness for only seconds before Franklin has a rough hand around your jaw, his huge body bent so his face is nearly inches from yours.

“You should take pride in your work. You’ve been chosen for a reason.”

His mouth covers your own, swallowing the shallow pants your lungs produce before your vision darkens, body going limp as he finally lets you succumb to the pain. Willingly, you give in to the darkness that creeps around the edges of your vision as the fire inside of you dies.

#franklin bordeau #franklin bordeau x reader #HunterXHunter #phantom troupe #Hunter X Hunter #hxh #franklin hxh

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bukojuiice · 3 years

Text

merry go round of life.

ೃ pairing: (magical prince! shoto todoroki x fem! reader)

ೃ tags: howl’s moving castle au! studio ghibli au!

ೃ warnings: slight angst, mention of endeavor and war.

ೃ part 1/2 of the howl’s moving castle au.

ೃ word count: 3,807 words

ೃ my nav → my mha writing masterlist → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ as the tags and the au suggests, this fic is pretty much the premise of howl’s moving castle except shoto is a magical prince. i’m super excited to complete the rest of this studio ghibli au series and i hope you enjoy reading! ♡

ೃ please do reblog if you enjoyed!! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!) ♡

“Find me in the future!”

The voice of a young woman who he didn’t recognize. Amongst the shooting stars and the demons falling from the night sky.

Tonight was the night.

The grassy plains and the meadows that were surrounding the warm cottage that he called home. The loving home that he, his mother, and his siblings lived in. The home that kept him away from the real world.

Things will never be the same ever again.

This was going to be easy right? All he needed to do was trade his heart for the demon’s power and he’d see his father again right?

He’d finally see the real world. The magical world that he always yearned for.

Being confined in a cottage all his life did leave much to be desired. He couldn’t just run around the lush fields with his older siblings and learn magic through spell books all his life, can he? There were things out there that he had to discover.

Now that his mother had passed, his siblings vanished into thin air, and a letter sent by his father, the tyrant king of the Kingdom of Ingary, detailing that he must learn magic on his twelfth year, in order to secure a position of royalty and rule the land with him.

This intimidating man he had never met all his life, except seeing him on newspapers and in history books, would suddenly write a letter to him out of the blue- it must be urgent right? Maybe, this was his calling? Maybe the passing of his mother is the reason the king, his father, contacted him in the first place? Did the most powerful man in the entire continent know about his whereabouts all along?

Was he living a lie all this time?

Shoto needed answers. The king’s invitation and this letter was his only clue.

But, before that, he needed to learn magic and sorcery first.

He was going to turn 12 in a few month’s time, how is he going to do this? He can’t just snap his fingers and manifest magic on the spot, right?

“A m-meteor shower? I-in a few months?” The handsome young boy with half-and-half colored hair and the prettiest heterochromatic eyes, whispered to himself in disbelief. “Take your chance and meet a fire and ice demon who will give you their magic.” He continues to read along the lines of the tabloid, grabbing a worn notebook on the table next to him, and writing down every piece of information that entailed the phenomenon that was about to come. “It doesn’t say when though.” He continues to whisper to himself, his shoulders dropping in defeat as if he had just hit a slump.

The only hope that he was holding on to right now was his luck guiding him on that fated day.

And it did guide him. At a cost.

The fire and ice demon who were to give him his magical quirks, weren’t all that he had seemed.

In exchange for his humanity, he was to become the most powerful and the only wizard prince in the entire world.

Several years have passed.

The once lost boy, who is now a famed prince, was in search for something again.

The effect of the demon taking his heart had made him soulless. Lifeless.

Clinging on to material things and fake temporary pleasures in life were the only things keeping him going.

The once newly crowned prince had wanted to escape his hellish kingdom, in search for peace and solace, a feeling that he did not experience while living in such a wide and empty space and with an estranged father who knew nothing but war.

His skills of wizardry grew stronger and stronger, expanding to more than just fire and ice; the magic that Calcifer, the demon whom he had made a contract with, bestowed upon him all those years ago. He had collected enough knowledge and learned enough encantations to get him out of this castle, and travel the world by his own blissful means.

Calcifer, the oh so powerful yet surprisingly comical demon helped him with his plans.

And what better way of an escape than with a magical moving castle?

This led to Shoto and Calcifer coming to another agreement that the demon would power the castle as long as Shoto would find someone in this world that would break the contract between them.

The prince and the demon were able to escape the confines of the castle scotch-free, however, it was not long until King Enji realized that the heir and the next in line to the throne, disappeared without a trace. Immediately warranting a search party consisting of his most elite soldiers. This prompted Shoto to adopt different identities and aliases, changing his appearance in every other kingdom he visited and lived in so he wouldn’t be recognized. Along his journey, he took in a sweet orphaned young girl, named Eri who became his assistant and apprentice.

The king was growing impatient. It had been a few years and his men have not found a trace as to where the prince might have gone.

He was running out of options.

He wanted Shoto to excel. To be powerful. He never ever planned to see him or even bothered to send a letter telling him that he was the son of the most powerful king in the land, if the boy did not have anything special about him.

The magical genes passed on to the younger Todoroki by his sorceress mother. That’s all that he wanted. Use him. Use him for his power. Make him a prince, raise him, and then throw him away if he was of no use anymore. His son’s magical prowess was all he needed for his quest to conquer the entire world.

The only option he had left was to choose violence.

The king called up his war council and declared war on the neighboring kingdom.

If nothing was going to bring Shoto back, then conflict will.

With the entire continent falling into shambles, kingdoms fighting each other left and right, the peace and the freedom Shoto Todoroki had always wanted to achieve had become short-lived.

He knew he was the reason why a conflict had arisen in the first place, yet, he couldn’t help but fight his father’s forces behind the scenes, and continue to run away, still seeking for permanent liberty. For a permanent home.

He found his home.

In a simple girl working in her family’s hat shop.

And finally, Shoto had something to live for and to fight for.

“Calcifer!”

“Shoto’s heart! It’s MINE!”

“Please! Let go!” You struggle to fight your way through the igniting fire coming from Calcifer and the ember that was about to consume the Witch of the Waste. Her old and wrinkled hands clutching on Shoto’s heart as if her life depended on it.

The remains of the moving castle continue to crumble, as the only power that was keeping it alive which came from Calcifer had become unstable as the Witch of the Waste was holding Shoto’s heart.

“Put it back now! Please!” You try to fight back your tears, still trying your best to remain kind to the old witch yet she did not budge.

“It’s hot! It’s hot!” She continues to ignore your pleas, reacting to the delicate burning material that was on her hands instead. The grip that she had on Shoto’s heart had grown tighter and tighter and you had to do something to stop her.

Time was ticking.

You look around the rubble and the debris, weighing out your options when a bucket of water had appeared in front of you. It was as if telling you that this was the only decision left to make.

You take a deep breath and throw the bucket of water at the Witch of the Waste which also resulted in Calcifer, the demon who has manifested into a form of a destructive inferno for thousands of years, had been put out just like a regular old fire.

Like it was nothing.

There was a short moment of silence.

Eri was clinging on to you, looking for reassurance your face, yet you could not give her that. You hold her tight to try and help cheer her up just a little bit, while Heen, the old service dog given to Shoto as a gift, had his paws on your feet, as he did not know what was going to happen either.

The castle that was still moving with its last remaining energy, grinds to a halt.

Is this it?

“(Y/N)!” You hear Eri call out. You open your eyes and see her hands trying to reach out to you. But, before you could reach her, the remaining part of the castle that all of you were standing on, split into half due to the lack of non-existent energy powering it.

You feel yourself falling.

Heen, the dog, jumps to you before the latter remains of the castle subsequently falls down the cliffs of the Waste. You brace for impact until… you feel light. As if you’ve landed more comfortably than you thought.

You raise your head to take in your surroundings, aside from the few dirt and rubble sprinkled on your hair and on your dress, you were safe. Heen was safe too although the debris that was left of the castle was not salvageable anymore and there were no means to get out of this place with the few materials left.

It looked like there was no way out of here.

Tears swell in your eyes. All these frustrations and all this pain you had to endure because you wanted to save Shoto, was all for naught. Was there still a chance to save him at this point? Or rather, did you even ever have the slightest chance of saving him since the beginning?

Heen quickly trots all the way to where you were. However, you ignore him and continue to stare off into space, thinking about the careless decision you had just made and if what you did was even the right thing.

He barks softly, trying to get your attention, but you barely move a muscle. Even more tears forming in your eyes.

“Heen.. what h-have I done?” Your voice shakes, still trying to process everything that had just happened. “I poured water on C-calcifer… What if I killed Shoto too!?” You bent forward, kneeling down on the rubble around you. Drops of water began to pour out from your eyes, tears streaming down from your cheeks.

Hopelessness and Uselessness.

These were the only emotions you were feeling right now.

You continue to break down in your sorrow. The thought of doing everything in your power to help Shoto but knowing that nothing was enough aches in your heart.

He doesn’t deserve all this pain and anguish.

All you wanted to do was to help him.

Why was fate doing this to you? To you both?

All hope was lost until a glimmering light reflected on the remains of one of the magical doors still connected to the Castle.

Heen continues to bark at you until you turn your head to him and then notice the light glimmering from your ring. The ring with magical properties that Shoto had given to you, to keep you safe and to help you when things go awry.

“It’s moving?” You wipe your tears and stare bewilderingly at the ring that was vibrating on your finger. “Is Shoto still alive!? Can you lead me to him?” You ask softly, slowly regaining your hope and your confidence that maybe you can still save him.

You stand up from the ground, running to the corner of the cliff. The ring continues to guide you, it’s light reflecting on a door that was hidden behind the debris of an iron sheet that was once a part of the castle.

You push it down with all your might, Heen trying his best to help you. The metal sheet falls down with a loud “thud” and the blue energy emanating from the ring continues to glow brighter and brighter, the light pointing to the direction of the door.

You turn the knob, the ring trembles even harder. You slowly pull the door open and a sudden rush of wind blew across your face. The inside was dark and empty. There was nothing of interest here.

But, why did the ring want you to go inside?

You hold your hand to your chest, letting the ring guide your way through the darkness. You stretch your hand out to the pitch black of nothingness, and it ripples at your touch.

It was a portal.

Of course it was a portal. What else would it be? You thought to yourself.

You take a deep breath and with Heen following close behind you, you take a step into the darkness. Praying that this portal takes you to where you need to be.

You were keeping count of the passage of time. It’s been several minutes of you just walking in darkness. But, even if you turned back, was there even a place to return to? You continue to hold on to the little hope you have left. The ring still doing it’s best to guide you to where it was telling you to go as you continue to explore the endless cave of darkness around you.

The ring starts to quiver again, as if it had caught a signal or had detected something. You walk faster, following where the ring was leading you until you catch site of a speck of blue light. Walking even faster, you arrive at the inside of a dimly lit cottage.

It was old and simple. For some reason, it felt like you’ve seen this place before.

There was a table at the center, with papers and books sprawled about, a bookshelf next to it, a worn bed at the side, and a hearth near the edge of the room.

You approach the table to examine the papers that were placed upon there when the ring suddenly stopped shaking on your finger. Heen was barking at you again, so that you would turn your attention to him and see him scratching the door that led to the outside.

“Heen?” You mumble, looking out the window. You approach the door he was trying to open without taking your eyes off the windowpane that reflected a gloomy and plain image of the night sky outside.

You leave the cottage and suddenly, it dawned on you that this was the cottage that Shoto had lived in when he was a child.

This is the same beautiful place he had taken you a few days prior. Yet, there was a sort of melancholy feeling to it. It felt lonely, barren, and there were no colorful array of flowers in the meadows. It felt like a major downgrade to the wonderful place he had shown you. Was it not true? Were the beautiful flowers and the serene view just an illusion? Was this the reality of the place he had lived in most of his life instead?

Before you could even fully process your surroundings, an array of shooting stars began to fall from the sky. It was burning blue and bright, it was ethereal but at the same time, terrifying. These were demons and magical entities from an otherworldly universe. Seeking to make contracts with human beings who wanted to learn more about magic.

“This is the time where Shoto met Calcifer.” You whisper to yourself, still looking up the bright night sky, taking in the beauty and the wistfulness of this particular event and what happened to Shoto because of it.

You look out into the pools of water surrounding the cottage, the shooting stars falling down into the ground from afar. A shrieking yet soothing sound echoed around the area every time a star fell.

You look up to see an unusual shooting star, shining brighter than the others. You continue to look on in awe until you feel the the ring on your hand quivering again, slowly disintegrating.

You were preoccupied with the ring suddenly disappearing that you had not noticed the big and bright star had already fallen down the ground near you, closer than the others did. The rays of the star reflecting brighter and more scintillating than the others. It was drawing you in, like that of a beautiful phantasm.

You notice someone from afar approaching the star that had fallen.

A young striking boy with half white and half red hair, his eyes shining bright different colored hues and his presence, even from afar, was so comforting to you.

This is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. The man you want to save, the one who made you feel like yourself again, the one who loved you for who you are even though you transformed into an 80 year old grandma with a back problem. He has loved you in your darkest times. He has loved you for who you are.

Will you be there to love him back? Just like he had loved you?

You continue to watch the boy go around the star, examining it ever so curiously. From there, you feel the emotions that Shoto was feeling at the moment.

You could sense the loneliness and the feeling of isolation that Shoto Todoroki has felt all his life.

“That’s Shoto...” You whisper once again, continuing to watch him from where you were standing.

More and more shooting stars fly through the night sky, and you instinctively knew that something was going to happen.

You run down the stairs and sprint your way towards Shoto, ignoring the stars falling down into the ponds, taking forms of dancing wisps, then changing into running pigmy as if they were trying to reach Shoto.

Shooting stars begin to fall around you, barely missing you yet you continued to run with no care in the world. Saving Shoto was the only thing going on in your head at the moment and nothing will stop you from doing so. Something in the grass had pulled on your heel, causing you to fall and flail on the ground. The half and half prince was a small pond away from you yet a dark oozing liquid was taking a hold of you from below, preventing you from doing so.

Before it fully took a hold of both your feet, You quickly stand up from the ground, stomping your feet then backing away quickly. Another shooting star falls down from the sky, and you watch as it swiftly falls into Shoto’s hands.

The sound of the fallen star shrieks and tingles your ears, and you had no choice but to watch in agony as the little Shoto begins to move his lips, talking to the demon known as Calcifer. He had a small smile on his face as he continued to speak. There was so much hope and innocence in his eyes, he was so excited to receive his magical abilities, blissfully unaware that he was about to make a deal that would be the cost of his humanity and his heart.

All he wanted was to see family and go to places he’s always dreamed of.

Was that too much to ask for?

Shoto slowly but surely, brings the demon into his mouth. There was slight hesitance but he gobbled it up then swallowed it. He felt a tinging pain as he clutches both of his hands to his chest, then coughing up Calcifer who had now become his heart.

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped.

You continue to look on but before you could try and run to him again...

Your ring shatters.

A black hole appears from below your feet, slowly sucking you in. You try to move but your body doesn’t want to. Keeping you still, your legs swinging, as if you were in a body of water. All the color around you begins to fade to black, and so does Shoto and Calcifer.

You turn to look at them once more, hoping they would hear you. Reaching your hand out to them.

“Shoto! Calcifer!” In a last minute attempt to get them to notice you, You shout with all your might, tears welling up in your eyes again.

The boy and the demon turn to you with doe eyes, catching your voice yet barely recognizing who you were and why you were there. The young Shoto continues to look at you, still wondering who you were, cupping Calcifer in his hands.

“It’s me (Y/N)! I know how to help you now!” Shoto and Calcifer ceaselessly fade away, as you are consumed by the darkness.

“Find me in the future!”

Mundane life and a mundane everyday routine.

Sew some hats, manage the store, hop on the bus, visit your popular sister in the bakery she works in and then head on home.

This was your life.

Did you want it to change? Yes. But, did you have the will and the magical powers to do so? No.

“It’s your life (Y/N). Do something for yourself for once will you?”

The words of your sister will haunt you for the rest of the day. Well, She is right. But, this was your life. It was dull and uneventful. If this was your fate so be it. There was no point in trying to make it interesting at this point right?

You walk back on your usual route to the station, however, you had to rendezvous to another way to the station due to a road block. Guess life wasn’t being kind to your today isn’t it?

You pass by two soldier guards in an alley to the station. They looked bored and had nothing better to do and you had no intention of mingling with them, even if your sister told you to try and talk to more people.

“What a pretty girl. Want us to take you for some tea?” One of the guards attempt to flirt with you, trying to block your way. The other guard snickers at his friend’s tease.

“No. Please leave me alone.” You deadpan. Glaring at them and trying to let them know that they were crossing the line.

“Oh you see. Ya scared her!” said the other guard, nudging his friend.

“I think she’s even cuter when she’s scared.” The guard replied, hitting his friend on the shoulder.

You were about to run to the other direction when you hear a crisp and handsome voice from behind you, and a reassuring hand on your arm.

“There you are sweetheart. Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.”

To be continued.

211 notes · View notes

goodfish-bowl · 3 years

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@floralflowerpower here’s the fic you asked for, took me a bit but I think it turned out pretty well!

based on this post and this headcanon

Summary: Danny had to admit, he’d never thought something like this would happen. Usually, the roles were reversed, and he’d be the one bursting in through warehouse doors, guns blazing, ready to kick some ghost butt. Never thought he’d be the one dangling precariously close to a large vat of somewhat familiar bubbling ectoplasm, while the stereotypical villain paced near the lever that would drop him to his doom. That made him the damsel in distress, a concerning idea.

Words: 3530

Danny had to admit, he’d never thought something like this would happen. Usually, the roles were reversed, and he’d be the one bursting in through warehouse doors, guns blazing, ready to kick some ghost butt. Never thought he’d be the one dangling precariously close to a large vat of somewhat familiar bubbling ectoplasm, while the stereotypical villain paced near the lever that would drop him to his doom. That made him the damsel in distress, a concerning idea.

Normally, this wouldn’t be concerning, but he couldn’t phase through the chain that was wrapped around him enough times he resembled a cocoon rather than a hostage. It must’ve come from the Ghost Zone, with the light glow emitting from the mental links and the lack of burning pain associated with anti-ghost coatings and ectoranium. At least he bought local. He liked the energy coming off of the surprisingly large container of ectoplasm, radiating a glow and mist that bathed everything he saw in green, even less than the idea of being chained upside-down over said vat. He didn’t want to find out why.

Who was this loser anyway? The ghost lawyer? He’d never seen, heard, nor smelled this ghost in his entire half-life. His navy suit contrasted awfully with his green skin, violet eyes, and mint-green hair, and those red shoes definitely didn’t match any of it. What a lame villain, couldn’t even dress himself properly.

“Hey! Looser!” Danny called out, and the lawyer ghost perked up.

“Splendid! You’re awake! It would’ve been anticlimactic if you stayed unconscious,” the ghost remarked.

“Should’ve stayed unconscious, it would’ve kept me from having to witness your crime against fashion. Who are you and how’d I get here? Last I checked you didn’t ask me if I wanted to hang out?” Danny quipped.

“I am Wright, a ghost of due process and order, and your darling Valerie Gray has thwarted me for the last time! I boyfriend-napped you to draw her here! Your doom will serve as her punishment,” Wright exclaimed, like a looser.

Danny just stared at the ghost for a minute as his head attempted to wrap around what was going on, and hanging upside down, wrapped in chains, didn’t help.

“’Boyfriend-napped? Seriously? That’s not even a word, and Val and I stopped dating, like, a year ago!” Danny pointed out.

“Irrelevant,” Wright huffed, ”You still hold her affections, and your death will cause her the same grief she caused me.”

Danny scoffed, “What’d she do to you anyways? She shoots at all the ghosts, you’re not special.”

“I wasn’t aware that you knew about her… nightly activities,” Wright stated, and Danny gave him a look.

“Ok, let me get this straight, who am I to you?” Danny asked, confused. Most ghosts were aware that Valerie was the Red Huntress, and Wright had yet to make a remark about having “captured Phantom”.

“Daniel Fenton, the son of the infamous ghosthunters Madeline and Jack Fenton of Amity Park, and the former sweetheart of Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress,” Wright announced.

“Right, ok. What do you know about Phantom?”

“I hold great admiration for the protector of Amity Park! He goes through the process of capturing ghosts with efficiency and never acts without just cause! He’s a powerful ghost worthy of the titles bestowed upon him! He valiantly defends both his haunt and the people who live there, both human and ghost! Truly a pillar of order and process!” Wright gushed and Danny fought the urge to roll his eyes, ”What does this have to do with you, however?”

Danny frowned, fighting off the reflex to claim Amity wasn’t his haunt, but his home. The praise was appreciated, but he really didn’t understand why this ghost held him so high. He was more surprised by the fact that this ghost didn’t know that Phantom and Fenton were the same damn person and that he had just kidnapped someone he held in such high regard.

“What do you mean by ‘order and process’?” Danny asked, just to get a proper definition as to what this poorly dressed lawyer was on.

“He properly maintains a level of organization and protection in Amity Park, protecting the order and in every single fight plays out how it’s supposed to be. A trespasser with malicious intentions shows up, Phantom arrives shortly, they banter and fight, Phantom emerges victorious, and the trespasser is removed from the premises, thus process. Does that make sense to your feeble human mind?” Wright chastised, explaining himself carefully.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Well, aren’t you a ghost ‘trespassing’ in Amity Park? Doesn’t that mean Phantom will he show up to save m, tossing you back into the Zone?” Danny bluffed.

“But we’re not in Amity Park, I may have boyfriend-napped–“

“Please never say that word again.”

“-you from there, but that’s not where we currently are. Red Huntress operates out of Elmertown, and I would never infringe upon Phantom’s haunt!”

Huh, Danny supposed that made sense to a point, he never really dealt with ghosts in Elmertown, since they were usually just low-level specters that usually didn’t mean any harm. If Val was operating out of here, then it made sense that there would be so few ghosts, and also that the ghosts that were afraid or ‘admired’ him like Wright would stick to Elmertown rather than Amity.

“And Val doesn’t follow your version of ‘order and process’?”

“NO! She shows up, never lets me get through my proper monologue or cause the necessary level of chaos, and then threatens my afterlife, completely uncivilized! What an improper lady! Always shooting first, never asking questions!” Wright exasperated.

“Sorry, but that’s Val’s order and process. Guns blazing and ready to kick some ghost butt.”

Valerie burst in through the doors, with perfect theatric timing, her ecto-rifle poised and aimed at Wright.

“Danny!” she exclaimed, immediately focusing on him before shifting her rage towards the ghost in the room.

Oh boy, did she look pissed. Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever pushed her to the point Wright currently had. Her suit blazed with scarlet energy, read to fire at the drop of a hat, bright enough Danny could see it over the green haze of the pool of ectoplasm beneath him.

“Finally! It took you long enough. I left a note and everything,” Wright complained, unmoved by her anger.

“Let Danny go, or I blast a hole straight through you this time, Wright,” Valerie snarled.

Wright sneered, ”You shoot me, and I drop the boy-toy into a vat of concentrated ectoplasm. There’s not even enough distance for you to swoop in and save him before he’s at least partially submerged.”

Valerie looked over to Danny, and he almost smiled in greeting, but he managed to stop himself as a particular detail resurfaced. Fenton didn’t know Valerie was the Red Huntress, that was knowledge only Phantom was privy to. Damn it. Valerie’s eyes were wide in fear under her visor, and her grip tightened on her rifle considerably. Danny couldn’t make a joke or anything, and he was forced to fill his expression with unfamiliarity and panic, like a proper actor. He met her eyes anyways, cool and calm, before gritting his teeth. He trusted Valerie, she would save him, but he also knew her well enough to know she hated playing along. Valerie hadn’t realized that the Red Huntress wasn’t supposed to know Danny Fenton either, so perhaps it evened out in its own way.

“Dragging a bystander into a personal fight is just like a ghost,” she spat the word, “What is it you want?”

Wright began with a flourish of his arms, “For everything to play out in the proper order of course! For an order to be restored to your haphazard violence! We are going to go through all of the proper motions of this encounter and the winner will always be the hero! We just have to figure out who’s who.”

“I’m not letting you monologue while Da-… while an innocent is hanging over… whatever that is!” Valerie protested.

“I never expected such an aggressive and weak-minded being such as you to understand the importance of doing things the right way! That’s why I needed a hostage.” Wright huffed. “Also, It’s concentrated ectoplasm. like the name implies its densely packed ectoplasm, a powerful source of energy for both ghosts and most of your human anti-ghost technology, but burns through humans faster than hydrochloric acid,” Wright explained, and Danny couldn’t help but pale in response.

Oh… that was bad, and no wonder he recognized it, he’d seen it in small amounts around the lab. Danny also didn’t want to see how he, a half-ghost currently human, would react to it. Valerie also apparently didn’t want to find out, more than she wanted to blast a hole through Wright apparently. Her shoulders began trembling and she grit her teeth, glancing rapidly between where Danny was dangling and where Wright waited patiently for her to make her decision. Danny took a deep breath and called out to her, snapping her out of her internal conflict.

“Don’t worry about me, Red Huntress! I’ll just hang out right here! I’m not going anywhere!”

Valerie sent Danny a look, exasperated and melancholic, most likely due to the pun, before setting her gaze on Wright, who had a large grin on his face displaying way too many teeth.

“Fine,” she spat, “let’s get this over with.”

“Wonderful!” Wright clapped his hands, “As you can see, Red Huntress, I have captured Danny Fenton! And unless you defeat me in the next three minutes, he will get dropped to his doom!”

“Wait, there’s a timer?” Danny asked, and Wright ignored his interruption, hitting a button next to the lever, probably starting the timer.

“Now meet your maker, Red Huntress!”

Wright vaulted over the bars of the platform he was standing on, directly at Valerie. She met him halfway with a crimson blast, energy meeting the sole of his atrocious red shoes in a form of deflection, launching him into the air where he remained suspended. He launched several violet ectoblasts while Valerie charged up her gun again, taking to the air as her hoverboard formed beneath her feet. They began a combination of hand-to-hand strikes and blasts midair, often speeding out of Danny’s view as he craned his neck to witness the fight. There was too much blood in his head for him to focus properly, but there was something off about the way Wright fought.

One, two, three, five ecto blasts, then he switched to close combat, striking 7 times with his fists and ending in a kick to gain some distance before firing ectoblasts again. It was in order…

“Red! He’s fighting in a pattern! Five blasts, seven punches, one kick!” Danny called out.

They careened back in front of him, and Val nodded in confirmation. Wright ended with a kick and floated back into the air.

“I’ve seen you figured me out! But it will not allow you to defeat me!”

Wright fired off his blasts, and Valerie easily countered them, now knowing what to expect. Wright came in close again, attempting to rush her. His fist connected to her forearms 6 times, each blocked easily and efficiently by Valerie’s suit, doing practically no damage. She had positioned herself right near the chain that held Danny above ‘his doom’. Wright had one more hit left, but rather than take it he backed off, just as the timer beeped.

“It seems it’s time for us to end this charade, Red Huntress.” Wright declared and broke the pattern early and fired a clean and precise ectoblast behind Valerie.

The chain went slack, and Danny plummeted. Valerie grasped it in desperation shouting something he couldn’t hear, but it was too late, the upper half of his body dunked below the surface.

It was like getting dunked into freezing water, at least before he became immune to the cold. It sent shivers and rose goosebumps along every single point of contact, he saw nothing but green. It felt like the submerged half of his body had fallen asleep, pins and needles piercing his skin, but never actually hurting him. Danny thrashed despite this, desperate to get out the concoction meant to kill him, not realizing he wasn’t in pain as panic swept away any other rational thought.

(page break)

“Danny!” Valerie shouted, grasping desperately for the chain.

It skid in her grip, a yard too late and Danny slipped halfway below the surface. His whole body thrashed sending ripples across the surface but making no sound. She screamed, her voice filling the empty void of Danny’s soundlessness. It was already too late, some part of her mind spoke, but she refused to acknowledge it. As fast she physically could, she tied the chain to the closest bar and launched herself on her hoverboard. She snapped the chain Danny was hanging from with ease and a grief-filled ectoblast, and took Danny down to the ground, careful not to touch the green sludge the covered the upper half of his torso.

Valerie’s hoverboard collapsed back into her suit, and then they met eyes, something that her mind could barely register. Even more than that, she wasn’t looking at the face that had plummeted into the vat. Phantom’s eyes stared back wide, bright green and covered in ectoplasm, stared back on her, while the bottom half remained clothed in jeans and battered red converse. Her mind short-circuited, and she was pretty sure her suit as well from the beating it had just taken.

Danny… Phantom… whoever the hell she was staring at seemed to finally realize that he was out, let out a cough, rolling over onto his stomach to purge the concentrated ectoplasm from his lung, and heaved a deep breath of air he couldn’t possibly need once they were clear. He rolled back over and sat up, shifting in the chains, trying to get out of them.

Valerie saw red, and snatched the chains, pulling Phantom’s face close to hers, a snarl on her face. Phantom’s eyes widened and he yelped at the sudden tug.

“Is this what you do?! You teamed up with Wright of all ghosts to get to me?!” Valerie cried.

Phantom’s eyes widened, confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about! I was kidnapped!” He yelped.

“Don’t lie to me Phantom!”

Phantom froze, looking like a dear caught in headlights. He frantically tried to glance himself over, writhing in place, still unable to move his arms since he was still chained up. Valerie had no intention of unchaining him now. He caught sight of his jumpsuit and shook some of his soaked hair into his face, catching its color.

“Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘Oh’?!”

“Just learned what happens when I get drenched in concentrated ectoplasm.” His tone was even and quiet and only served to infuriate her further.

“Answer me, Phantom!”

“I didn’t lie!” He shouted right back, “He really did kidnap me!”

“Then where is Danny?! He’s still missing. Does Wright still have him?” She demanded.

Phantom shifted around in the chains again, and Valerie unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. He grunted by was focused on the chains now. Phantom’s eyes flared ice blue, overtaking their normal toxic green, and the chains froze solid. With enough strain, the metal links shattered and clattered uselessly to the floor. He stretched his arms and glanced them over.

There was a line, clear and definable, where the ectoplasm hadn’t touched him. Under the green substance, was Phantom, jumpsuit and all, but Valerie was fixated on the borderline, as was Phantom, where the jumpsuit transitioned into Danny’s iconic red and white shirt. There were no gloves on his hands, and the jumpsuit ceased existing halfway down his arms, and the skin underneath the goo was the same color as Phantom’s face, but the dry areas were the same pale as Danny’s skin.

“I’m right here, Valerie,” Phantom said, looking straight through her.

Valerie scoffed, “I see you here, Phantom, but where’s Danny Fenton?”

“I’m Danny Fenton.”

Of all the things Phantom could’ve said, that wasn’t the answer she wanted. For the second time that night, her mind reeled to a halt.

"You can’t be Danny, you’re a ghost,” Valerie justified.

“And people can die? I just happen to be caught in the middle.” Phantom said, making no sense.

“You died? Danny’s dead?” Her voice came out quietly, almost a whimper.

“I’m more like half-dead.” He had the nerve to laugh. “A bit of both ghost and human mixed together, I can be either-or.”

“What was the name of the flour baby we raised together?” She pressed, looking for a piece of information Danny would know, but Phantom shouldn’t.

“We… we didn’t name it, did we? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one of the requirements Mr. Lancer gave us.” Phantom responded with a weak chuckle.

Valerie looked at him, really looked at him. Phantom and Fenton didn’t really look that different, in fact, they were surprisingly similar to the point it was eerie. He had always looked freakily familiar, and now she knew why. They had the same facial structure, hairstyle, and even the awful senses of humor lined up. The only difference was that Phantom was a ghost, and Danny was human.

“How can you be half-dead?” Valerie asked.

“Turns out the portal is really dark on the inside, that is until you turn it on from the inside.”

It took Valerie a minute, but then she understood. She fully understood. Her helmet and visor retracted, revealing her watering eyes. Danny was Phantom, and Phantom was Danny. He wasn’t being overshadowed, overshadowing didn’t look like this, not half-covered in ectoplasm like he was. Danny didn’t make eye contact, choosing instead to collect a bit of it onto his finger, watching intently as his skin sizzled, glowing white and the edges and spreading like a chemical reaction until it reached the edge of the ectoplasm. The skin became discolored, and a bit of white-silver glove appeared, manifesting all on its own underneath the goop. Then he had the nerve to lick it off.

Valerie scrunched up her face in disgust while Phantom seemed to contemplate the taste, still focusing on his finger. The darker skin tone and glove seemed to dissolve away on their own back into pale skin once the ectoplasm was gone. Danny really was Phantom.

Valerie threw herself onto the ground and punched him as hard as she could in her given state, her suit protecting her from the concentrated ectoplasm on his body that could possibly burn her if Wright was to be trusted.

“Ouch!” Danny complained, rubbing his arm where she’d hit, the ectoplasm spreading to his hand forming the glove again.

“I dated you!” Valerie protested, “I dated you, and then broke up with you!”

Danny’s gaze shifted around, confused and sheepish. “Y-yeah?”

“I broke up with you to focus on hunting you!”

“Yeah?”

“And you knew this entire damn time!”

“Uhhhhhh… yeah.” He admitted, looking down awkwardly and attempting to wipe his hand off on his jeans, but only succeeded in spreading the ectoplasm around. The patch of denim transformed into black rubber.

“You ruined my life!”

“I’ve told you a thousand times! It was an accident!” Danny protested, wiping his hand on the ground again in an attempt to get more off but finally looking back up at her.

Valerie stared at him for a moment, before devolving into a fit of giggles, getting to her feet from where she had seated herself on the floor. Danny looked up at her, even more confused than before.

“You really need to wash that stuff off, or are you going to lick yourself clean?” Valerie teased.

Danny huffed indignantly, climbed to his own feet, and a white ring blossomed around his waist. Valerie watched in awe as what parts were still Fenton transformed into equally an equally familiar jumpsuit and set of silver boots. The ectoplasm that still coated him slowly vanished, absorbed into his ghostly form. The ghostly halo around him grew in intensity, glowing brighter than before. His feet lifted from the floor and he began to float, eyes also growing in intensity. Danny gave a large smile, literally beaming bright enough to light up a good portion of the warehouse all on his own.

“Thanks, Val,” Danny said.

“For what exactly?” she asked.

“Well, you didn’t shoot me when I told you I was Danny Fenton, you saved me from witnessing Wright's awful sense of fashion any longer, and finally for Elmertown,” Danny counted off on his fingers.

"Elmertown?”

Danny put his hands on his hips matter-of-factly, ”Even if I don’t agree with your methods, you’ve been protecting Elmertown from ghosts. So, thank you,” Danny confessed.

He landed on the ground in front of her, boots barely making as sound and bright enough she was nearly blinded by it. He gave her a large, goofy smile, one that she was much more used to seeing on Fenton’s face than Phantom’s, but it only reinforced the idea that they were the same person.

Valerie smiled right back.

#Danny Phantom #fanfic #ao3 #some grayghost #its light though #goodfish writes #dp headcanons #floral's fault #its cute though #I like writing ridiculous characters light Wright #post was broken had to fix it

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nostalgiaruinedme · 3 years

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Hey I love your fics and writing style and well since I've been meaning to start writing fics I wanted to ask you if you have some advice you'd give.

Ohhh advice? Sure, I can do that! I shall bestow all of my knowledge upon you now, but you gotta look below the cut. Shhhh, it's a secret~

Okay really I just knew this was going to be a really long post and didn't want to clog up everyone's dash lol. ONTO WRITING ADVICE

I kind of live by these rules in writing:

1. Know the rules before you break them 2. ANYTHING can be inspiration 3. Remember the doll 4. Use your resources 5. Don’t hold yourself back 6. Practice 7. Enjoy yourself!!

1. Know the rules before you break them

Pay attention in English class (or whichever class for the language you're writing in) and learn the grammar!! I don't always have perfect grammar in my fics and sometimes I consciously choose to ignore grammar rules to make it more impactful, but you HAVE to know the rules before you break them. Study those grammar lessons! Learn how to use the fun punctuation, like semi colons and em dashes and en dashes and all that good stuff. I know they're scary, but they're a lot of fun too.

ALSO PLEASE USE PARAGRAPH BREAKS IM BEGGING that's like, a HUGE problem I see with a lot of new writers. Paragraph breaks are not optional!! Change 'em when the main topic of the paragraph switches or when a new character is speaking. Overdoing it with paragraph breaks is better than underdoing it, I promise.

2. ANYTHING can be inspiration

Have you ever played Story Cubes?

If you haven’t, it’s essentially this game where you roll the cubes, they each land on a different image, and you gotta tell a story that uses all of those pictures. Some are literally just a question mark or a speech bubble and that’s what you have to use. Me and my siblings used to play the game a lot. And you know what? Some of those stories are the most creative ones we’ve ever come up with. When I say anything can be inspiration for a story or a character, I mean ANYTHING!

I based my Donnie design off of the vintage globes and journals I have in my bedroom.

My little sister threw a pillow at me and it inspired a funny scene I wanted to write in another fic

I designed two OCs off of Mars and Pluto and an ENTIRE 40,000 word fanfiction based off of a space documentary I watched

My NaNoWriMo story last year was based off of the concept of shadows and how cool I thought it’d be if they could talk

Me and my friend made an entire dystopian original story commenting on our world today. It was first inspired by a crack self insert Death Note RP we had at 13 years old. Not kidding.

Literally anything can be inspiration. Challenge your mind!! The best ideas come out of completely ordinary and unexpected opportunities, in my experience. You don’t need one of those super detailed and crazy expensive prompt books (though they are fun) to write a great story. Use music, use a color, use the sky, use your favorite food, use anything! Just find inspiration!

3. Remember the Doll

Remember Mulan?

We never got to see the Huns destroy the village and we didn’t get to see them kill anyone there either. But by showing that doll there, the animators took an entire battle full of death and destruction and summed it all up in one, heartbreaking moment. You don’t need to spend ten pages writing about how horrifying the bad guy was and listing everything he did from start to finish, nor do you need to write an analysis on why she’s bad. All you need to do is show one or two very meaningful ways they impacted the world... and you can do that with something as simple as a doll lying on the ground in a burning village.

Because the doll is there; the little girl is not.

There’s a quote that sums this up really well, and I have it written on the dry erase board by my desk.

“You don't write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying in the road.” - Richard Price

And adding onto that, try to write more about what’s there, not what isn’t. Mulan didn’t say ANYTHING about the girl in that scene, but by showing what was there, it told us a story about what wasn’t. Focus on what is in the scene and it will tell your reader about what isn’t.

I do think writing a balance is good though, so I try and keep it around a 3/1 ratio of what is there vs what isn’t. Remember this is art though, not math; you can change the formula as you please just to make it feel right. It all depends on the scene and what you want.

4. Use Your Resources

You know how, in the artist community, there’s this sort of stigma around using references? And some artists have to make posts reminding others that there’s nothing wrong with using references and you even should use them?

It’s the same concept in writing!

There is NOTHING wrong with looking to other writers’ work or keep a thesaurus constantly open or bookmarking a reference page of other words to use than “said”. Nothing wrong with it at all! When I write, I always have two tabs open: my writing document and thesaurus.com. I have a folder on my computer bookmarks of ways to describe a smile and a body language dictionary. Before I write fanfic, I watch a “best moments of *character*” compilation video on Youtube to remind myself of how they speak. I watch fight scenes from The 100 or Avatar or Marvel while I write my own battles!

There are SO MANY resources out there for you to reference. Use them! And if you need some to start with, shoot me an ask. I have a ton.

5. Don’t Hold Yourself Back

One of the scariest parts of writing is the thought of “what will people think?” Creative writing is EXTREMELY personal, and you’re going to find a lot of you inside your work, including the thoughts you didn’t want anyone to know about.

People will discover how often you think about love. People will discover how dark your mind can get. People will discover the morals you hold that even you didn’t know about. They’ll discover that the person you swore you’ve moved on from is still on your mind. They’ll discover that the pain you swore you got over still hurts you.

“you can tell the deepest truths with the lies of fiction” - Isabel Allende

This thought scared me a lot, and still does. I’ve let go of and forgotten about so many story ideas because they were just a little too personal. I could write it and not publish it, but what if someone still sees? Writing, like all art, comes right from the heart and reveals a lot about a person. That paranoia of being known kept me from writing so much.

But I promise you, your most powerful stories are going to be the most personal ones.

I wrote Hated Resemblance based on my thoughts about myself, and I wrote Dagger From the Mirror based on thoughts about myself too. A lot of it is dark, most is painful, and all of it is scary to show the world. But I wrote it anyways and it’s created something pretty amazing.

Hell, even now I’m wondering if I should post that lil anecdote, but I think it’s the best way to make this part of my point stronger. See? Writing about things that affect you is the best way to make them impactful, even for something as simple as advice.

And even if you want to write about light and happy stories- you’re still going to have to get personal.

This all got pretty deep but my point is this: Don’t hold yourself back. Write what you feel you need to and it don’t worry about what anyone will think. Don’t hide that one sentence because you’re scared who will read it because you’re scared to be known so deeply. Add it in even when it’s scary.

That’s something I’m still learning how to do, and it’s a slow process that has taken years... but it’s worth it, I promise.

“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” - Natalie Goldberg

6. Practice

I started writing in 1st grade. I’ve written regularly since then, and this is my word count every month this year:

Most of that is fanfiction. Some are just random thoughts, some are really thought out posts or answers to your questions, and some are made up of original stories. That total words written number is since November.

You don’t have to write this much every month, I promise, I just don’t really have any other hobbies lol. My point is that practice is really really really important. Write a paragraph or even just a sentence every day. You’re gonna improve so quickly, I promise.

“Write every day. Writing is a muscle that gets stronger with use.” - Abbi Glines

But take breaks too!!! Don’t overwork yourself. Burn out is a real thing and you shouldn’t force yourself to write just because you’re scared you don’t write enough! Write at a pace that’s comfortable for you. There will always be writers out there who write more than you and even more writers who write less than you. That’s okay. Everyone has a pace they’re comfortable with, and you just gotta find yours. As long as you’re writing consistently, the numbers don’t matter too much. 50 words a day or 5000 are both good!

7. Enjoy Yourself!!

You’re here to have fun!

No matter what you’re writing (angst, romance, fix-it, AUs, hurt/comfort, fluff, ANYTHING), remember that fic writing is supposed to be fun!! You’re not getting paid to do this. On one hand, that sucks, but on the other hand it gives you the amazing opportunity to write literally whatever you want! Find projects you’re enthusiastic about, meet other writers, do collabs, make playlists for your story, create over powered OCs for the hell of it, ignore plot holes and write without regard to canon, or write the most realistic and in-depth canon-compliant book ever. Create the most self indulgent story you can think of!

Have fun. This is your story and you get to write the rules. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Oh yeah, and one more thing. Be proud of yourself. You can get all of the comments and feedback in the world, but if you’re not proud of what you wrote, it’s gonna be hard to look back on it with joy. Be proud no matter how many reads it gets—you made it!

“I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper.” - Steve Martin

#can you tell I like writing quotes #I have a whole pinterest board full of them #asks #writing advice #writblr #fanfiction #meg rambles

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silksandcravats · 3 years

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Viscount!Kylo Cheat sheet

Hi there! The purpose of this page is to:

Address story gaps and background that doesn’t make it into the pieces

Provide a very basic historical summary to make sure readers who don’t normally read stuff like this aren’t left in the dark

If you have any questions (plot or historical) that are not answered on here feel free to send them in! I will do my best to answer and add it to the list!

Historical bits:

*note* the viscount!kylo universe will 110% contain intentional and unintentional historical accuracies, so hopefully you’re not here for the history, but here’s the stuff that comes up in viscount!kylo au.

Terms to know:

The ton - An abbreviation of french “le bon ton”, not a typo for town lol. The very top of London’s high society largely consists of the nobility (those with titles from Duke to Baron) and their families. Very rich, very very very stiff society rules.

High in the instep - a wordy way of calling someone arrogant

Season - The social season ran from around February to the end of the summer, members of the ton all gather in London for activities like balls, picnics, promenades, teas, etc. etc. The main purpose of these events is matchmaking. Most young women have their first season at age 17, though some mamas allow their daughters to delay their debut a year. Seasons were very competitive and the mothers of debutants, in particular, took it very seriously. Ideally, young women marry in their first season, a second season is understandable, a third season is questionable, if you make it to season 4 or 5 you’re in trouble and everyone knows it.

Rake - a regency era fuckboy.

Debutant - Women who are “out” in society/taking part in seasons/looking for a husband.

Dowager - A widowed woman with a title.

WTF is a viscount?? - A member of the nobility. Technically, in line for the throne but mainly just a rich person with a title. Titles are passed down from firstborn male to firstborn male, second sons are backups, if no sons are had title goes on to closest male relative. Titles can’t get passed down to women, women can only get titles through marriage. The hierarchy of titles is as follows:

King (wife queen)

Prince (princess(?))

Duke (wife duchess)

Marquess (wife Marqueiness)

Earl (wife countess)

Viscount (wife viscountess)

Baron (wife baroness)

Dowry - A (usually grossly high) amount of money gifted to new grooms by the brides family, intended to cover taking care of wife throughout the marriage so the woman is not a financial burden. (no I’m not kidding😩).

Compromised - Okay so purity culture is in full swing in this fic because it’s the 1810s and sexism. But it’s not enough to be a virgin, women can’t: kiss men, be with men unchaperoned, talk to men too much, etc. etc. otherwise she will be “compromised”, take a massive social hit, and nobody will marry her. The only thing that can save a woman’s honour is if the man who compromises her marries her. (Why? idk).

Viscount!Kylo AU plotline Q & As.

What’s our backstory?

Reader is the only child of a dead baron so our situation is PRECARIOUS AF. Barons are already pretty low on the social ladder and because our dad is dead (idc how he died feel free to insert your own theories), the title of baron has passed out of the family to some distant cousin. Our mother, the dowager barronness is left with whatever small fortune the dead baron left her with so we’re not rolling in it. It is super important that we marry well not only so that we are financially stable but also so that our mother is provided for as she ages.

We are now 20 years old, which is getting up there for a debutant, and we are in our third season so we gotta be smart. However, we for obvious reasons, don’t want to marry an insufferable asshole or a gross old man. (Kylo Ren is an insufferable asshole.)

So Kylo’s just a viscount?

Yes, so technically Kylo’s title isn’t super impressive, however! Wealth and popularity (two things kylo inherited a lot of) are not necessarily synonymous with rank. Also Kylo’s super hot so obviously still plenty powerful and desirable

What’s Kylo’s backstory/Leia’s deal?

Leia Organa is the daughter of a long-standing dukedom. (For story purposes she was born an Organa she’s not adopted she was never a Skywalker). Her family line is well established, well respect and incredibly wealthy so there was never any need for her to marry for position, because of this she was encouraged to marry for love. She takes this to the extreme and falls in love with Han Solo who is a totally not acceptable match. However, they are totally in love and the Duke and the Duchess Organa really want the best for their daughter so using their connections and a dash of dishonesty the Organas are able to find an old forgotten Viscount line and bestow it upon Han. Han is a total charmer so it works and everyone loves him. He takes on the last name Ren in order to fit into the role and it technically becomes Leia’s last name too when she marries him and becomes Viscountess but Leia kinda resents it because that’s not who Han really is and she likes Organa because it was her given surname and it connects her back to her dukedom.

Han dies at some point shortly before our story takes place because it’s the early 1800s and people died young all the time and I needed Kylo to already hold his family’s title for plot purposes.

Why don’t we know what sex is?

Because it is considered unproper for unmarried young ladies of the ton to know such things. Most women just get a super vague ��talk” the night before their wedding.

Were Han and Leia bad parents?

NO! I know a lot of fics write them as bad parents for plot purposes and it’s debatably canon, but I couldn’t bear it, I just love them too much. Viscount!Kylo’s just an angsty cocky shit because it’s who he is. 🤠

Is this story inspired by Bridgerton?

YES! I’ve stolen bits and pieces from almost every book at this point, but I was primarily inspired by the second book, The Viscount Who Loved Me, (Anthony’s story), it’s enemies to lovers and I adore it with all of my heart.

#i wasn’t sure if i should tag the taglist in this but ultimately decided against it #viscount!kylo #viscount!kylo extras

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 3 years

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Of Gods and Men - Ch 2

Title: Of Gods and Men

Fandom: Supernatural / Vikings

Pairing: Destiel and Sabriel

Rating: Lemon

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, smut, angst, still some fluff

Summary: A Vikings inspired Destiel fic.

Dean, Barbarian King of the lands, must make a crucial decision in the survival of his people. Leave the one and only land and life they have ever known, leave their home, or make the possibly dangerous journey across the seas to a potentially better life. Who knows what will await him across the waters, hope, future, maybe even destiny.

AO3 Link

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter two

When he finally returned to Nazareth he was immediately greeted by Sam. He ran up to meet him as he halted his horse, Gabriel trailing not far behind him.

“Brother, how was your journey?” Sam asked, taking the horse's reins from Dean, wrapping his free around him in a tight embrace.

“Insightful. For how long was I gone?”

“Not but three days.” Dean knew it had been a few, the Gods always kept him for more then one day when he made his way for a visit. “Did you meet the Gods?!”

Dean nodded, smiling at his brother's excitement.

They began walking through the town, Sam passing Dean's horse off to a waiting stable hand. “What did they show you!? What is our future, Brother?!”

Dean stopped walking and turned to Sam, cupping his cheeks with both hands, “Calm, Sammy, for I know not yet. The Gods were very good to me upon my visit, they showed me many things in my vision and gifted me greatly as well. Before I make any final decisions I must visit the Seer, for even though the Gods were willing and gracious, I still have many questions."

"Will you go now?"

"Yes, there are far too many questions left unanswered to wait any longer," Dean patted his cheek and touched their foreheads together, "I will have your answer before we dine tomorrow, then I shall tell everyone what decision has been made."

Sam nodded against his head then they parted. He stood and watched as Dean began walking towards the cliff that hung over the sea below, and the small shack that made its home atop it. His brother had always been a wise man, he only hoped he would do what he knew he had to and make the right decision for their people.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It took Dean no time to walk to the damp and darkened house perched precariously at the top of the cliff.

The sea below crashed against the cliffside, forcing droplets of water up and over the top, splashing Dean as he reached the entrance to the small, scraggly shack and walked in. He pulled back the furs that covered the entrance and slowly made his way inside. It was dark, damp, and smelled of the sea water that seeped through the cracks of the shack with every crashing wave coming from below.

As he walked through he ducked low, bones and trinkets hung low off the ceilings. Gifts to the Seer from the people of the village, a thanks for the wise words surely given to many in times of great distress. He would have to bring one the next time he came.

With a few small steps he turned the only corner in the shack and entered another small room, a figure sat perched on a pile of furs in the center.

"Dean," the figure spoke without even opening her eyes, "you have many questions, I can feel them consuming your soul. Come, sit with me and I shall give you the answers you seek."

He did as requested of him and sat across from the Seer. A hand was extended to him, a gesture he anticipated from his many times here in his past. He took the offered hand and laid a kiss upon the inside of the Seers wrist.

"Pamela," he let her hand go and she returned it to her lap, "I do have many questions, for I went to visit the Gods and they gave me much to consider."

"So they told me."

"Then you must already know the answers I seek. I-"

"Dean," she held up a single hand to stop him, "you know I do not work for free, not even for the Barbarian King.”

"Whatever you want, speak it and I shall get it for you, right now."

She took a deep breath, wringing her hands in her lap as if itching for the item she sought. "I want to see it."

"What do you wish to see?"

"You know of what I speak."

He looked up to her still calm face, eyes remaining closed, he could not read her intentions. Why this? Why did she wish to see his gift from the Gods? What could it possibly do for her?

He hesitated on the thought a moment longer before deciding his curiosity was stronger than any other thought, so he quickly rolled up his sleeve, revealing the handprint.

"May I?" She held a hand out once more, waiting patiently.

"You may."

She hurried to close the gap, laying her hand over the new mark. She gasped as soon as she made contact with his newly raised skin and tossed her head back. Dean noticed it did not hurt, not even in the slightest, and that only made him all the more curious.

She brought her head back down to be eye level with Dean, though still entranced by the mark, he could tell. Then when she was finished and thoroughly satisfied, she kept her hand there a moment longer and finally opened her eyes. They were white, pure white, no colour at all. They had always been that way for as long as Dean could remember, even when he would come there with his father as a child. It frightened him at first, until one day he asked what had happened. His father scolded him for asking the wise woman such a thing but she quelled his curiosity regardless, answering, "Got to close to the Gods, pushed too far and saw more than any mere mortal should see." And now looking into those eyes only brought him hope.

"This gift," she spoke slowly, bringing him back from his thoughts and memories, "it is a powerful gift, you should be honoured to have it bestowed upon you."

"What does it mean?" He asked, eyeing her hand still rested over the mark, noticing that her hand didn't quite fit it. It was far too small.

"You have been touched by true love, Barbarian King." She removed her hand from it slowly, sitting back in her pile of furs.

"The love of the Gods?"

“You, Barbarian King, have always been touched by the love of the Gods, but that is not the love that left this mark here. No,” she paused, taking a deep breath and reaching towards the mark again, though not touching this time, “this is the mark left by a soul deeply connected to you. A profound bond is shared between you and the one whose hand marked your skin in such a way, the strongest of bonds I have ever come to witness in my many years. This is deep love, Dean.”

“Whose hand belongs to this mark?”

Pamela went silent again, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “The Gods do not tell me everything I wish to know, Dean, and there are some things they wish for you to discover on your own.”

He nodded, then thought back to what they had shown him in the temple. “In my vision, there was a man. A dark haired man with piercing blue eyes as captivating as the sea,” he leaned in closer to her, “he spoke to me.”

“He spoke to you?! In your vision?!”

“Yes, he told me to come to him.”

She closed her eyes again, then shook her head with a sigh, “The Gods are being secretive this day.” Dean rubbed a tired hand down his face, he had hoped for more answers but apparently the Gods were done with questions. “Though, they do speak one word about this vision.”

“What?!” His head flew back up with sparks of hope renewed in his eyes. “What is the word they speak?!”

“Destiny.”

“Destiny?” The hope died out once again and Dean was left with confusion, “What do they mean by that?”

“I believe your destiny lies in the lands across the sea. You came here looking for a path to follow, and the Gods have given you all you need to make the right decision.”

“But I do not wish to bring my people across the sea, a perilous journey for many, if only for the reason that my destiny awaits me there.'' Pamela could tell by the tone of his voice that he was begging for more answers, but she would give him no more, and neither would the Gods. “I wish to bring them to a brighter future, a new life, new hope. Nazareth holds none of that for them any longer. If I do not find a way, they will die along with these lands. I will not force them to follow me across the seas only to discover my own destiny, they need more than that.”

“Perhaps their destiny lies with yours.”

He opened his mouth to protest further, to beg for more answers, but as he thought about it there was a possibility she was right. The vision flooded his mind once more and not only was Dean happy, but around him was full fields and healthy livestock. Perhaps both Dean’s own destiny and better hope could be found in the same place, on the same path.

“The Gods will not steer you wrong, Dean. Trust them. It may not be an easy path, but then again it may be as easy as floating atop the crystal clear waters, still as the skies on a stormless day. But no matter what it may turn out to be, the Gods have shown you this vision for a reason. Follow their guidance, for the Gods love you, Dean, more than any man I've ever come to meet. Trust them.”

“Thank you, Pamela, great Seer of Nazareth.” She held out her hand again for Dean to take, and he placed one last kiss on the inside of her wrist before getting up and leaving.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean spent the rest of his day thinking on all that had been shared with him, and by the time he walked into the dinning hall to join his brother and their friends, he had his answer.

Sam’s eyes met his the second he walked through the doors to the hall, and he knew his brother had been waiting patiently all day for the answers to his own questions. He wasn't at all surprised when his brother rose from his place at the head table and hurried to meet him halfway, grabbing Dean by both shoulders.

“Brother, have you your answers?!”

Dean laughed, turning Sam and wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they walked back to the table, “I spoke to the Seer and I have made my decision.”

Sam's eyes went wide and Dean could see excitement in them, but also perhaps a little fear. “What is it?”

Dean turned and smacked both hands on his brother's arms, giving him a mischievous smirk then turning to address their friends in the hall. “My dear friends!” Everyone stopped eating and talking, turning their undivided attention on their king. “I have news for you all. I know that our lands have become infertile, unable to bear the seeds that we sow, and now we are close to starving. These lands will not provide for us any longer, and I fear that it could be the end of our people here in Nazareth.”

He heard Sam take a deep breath beside him, clearly worried for the fate of their people, for whatever Dean decided, even if Sam did not agree with it, he would stand at his brother's side no matter what the cost.

“I have spoken with the Gods,” he continued, “and they have shown me a vision of a better life across the sea. And I have seen the Seer, and she has assured me that my, nay, our destinies lay in wait for us in those bountiful lands. And so, I make my decision. We make ready to sail for those lands, who will join me in this quest for future and destiny?! Who will sail the seas with their King and make better our lives for our children?!”

“I sail with you, Brother!” Dean knew Sam would be the first to join him.

“And I!” Gabe shouted, coming to stand by Sam's side. Dean was also not surprised that Gabriel would follow after Sam.

And from there, the rest of the hall fell in. Everyone standing, cheering, and saying their ayes.

Dean was sure in the loyalty of not only his people, but his friends, his family. But still it brought a wide smile to his face to see it. “Friends!” He shouted, still beaming with the excitement of their new future so close before them. “Ready the long boats and make good this time with your wives, for we set sail for the new lands in two days' time! Our destinies await us!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there is chapter two, more to come XD If anyone wants to be tagged just let me know <3

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fanficimagery · 5 years

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Imagine being someone who developed powers when you were just a mere child. The government rounded up every child/teenager who showed inhuman abilities under the guise they were going to help them, but the reality was much darker. Director Fury took you in when he realized your capabilities and couldn't let the government put you down. Instead, he hands you over to a group of individuals who can protect you- the Avengers.

Gen Fic X Reader

Sitting in the tallest Tower in New York, you pull your hoodie closed and hug yourself when the stares become too much. Keeping your head down, you let Director Fury talk to the group he claimed would be able to keep you safe- the Avengers.

"So let me get this straight," Tony Stark says, pouring himself a drink. "The government wants her dead. Her. A kid?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Natasha Romanoff asks.

"Lets just say Miss Y/L/N is a valuable asset." You cringe at his words, hugging yourself tighter. "She is of no harm to you so long as you don't touch her. She doesn't like to be touched." Fury pointedly admits. "The program Y/N was in is top secret. So secret that it was above even my clearance level until they wanted my opinion on something."

Clint Barton huffs. "She's just a kid though."

"I don't like this," Steve Rogers admits, expression tight with concealed anger.

"Neither did I," Fury says, "hence the reason for me springing her loose and dropping her off here. They're already searching for her, so I trust I can count on you all to keep her safe until I figure out my next move?"

"Of course," Pepper Potts tells him. "Y/N is more than welcomed here."

"Good." Director Fury nudges your knee with his own, you having become fascinated with your green clinical pants as they talked about you as if you weren't even in the room. "I'll be back for you as soon as I can. You're safe here."

You hesitantly meet his gaze and when you see nothing but complete honestly you nod. The corner of Fury's lips twitch, but he quickly masks it and stands, leaving with a dramatic twirl of his long coat.

Fury's exit prompts a lingering silence and it's only broken once you gather enough courage to look up and meet everyone's gaze. Everyone seems to be watching you with caution, but it's the pretty strawberry blonde, Miss Potts, that approaches you.

"Welcome to the Tower, Y/N. I'm terribly sorry about the ordeal you've been through, but if you follow me I can take you to your new room and get you settled in."

"T-Thank you," you stammer quietly. "All of you," you then say, glancing quickly around at everyone. "This means a lot to me." Your first words since you've set foot in the tower seem to put most of them at ease and it seems like they're all breathing a little easier.

"Hey, kid?" Tony then says. "Do you even know who we are? Did Fury tell you what we do?"

"Yeah. He m-made me read your files." Several people cringe and you immediately feel like you crossed an invisible line you hadn’t realized was there. "Don't worry. I won't say a w-word and I'll try to stay out of your way as much as p-possible."

"Aw, kid, no," Clint Barton frowns. "We didn't mean to make you feel bad. We just needed to know you knew about our abilities. Just in case."

"What he means is just in case the Hulk makes an appearance," Doctor Banner says, sheepishly fiddling with his glasses. "Things tend to get.. smashed when he comes out."

"Oh."

"Well now that that's out of the way," Pepper muses, "we can go now and get you some clothes made for kids your age." You hesitantly smile, but when Pepper reaches for you she immediately stalls and apologizes.

"It's f-fine," you tell her. "As long as it's not skin and skin, you can touch."

"Oh." Pepper cautiously reaches out and places her hand in the middle of your clothed covered back to guide you, and you flash her a small smile. She returns it, sighing in relief. "Well okay then."

A week in and you're completely gobsmacked with your new rooms and clothing Pepper Potts had bestowed upon you. The CEO of Stark Industries had even gone out of the way to purchase you cotton, elbow length gloves to make you feel more comfortable and you adored her for it.

The Avengers and those associated with them took Fury's words to heart and were careful about not touching skin when you wore a short sleeve shirt or a tank top with your gloves, but they never ceased being curious about why the government wanted you dead. Fury had told you to be careful with what you said, so you never said anything other than that you were an asset who didn't want to do their bidding.

Their personal gym proved to be useful and you found yourself visiting there more often than not. Running on the treadmills was one of your favorite things to do when you felt cooped up and taking a swing at the punching bags was a close second.

One day, however, things take a turn.

Punching one of the bags in the gym, you flinch when you feel a twinge in your left wrist. Hissing, you immediately stop and then startle when a voice says, "You need more tape."

A hand touches your bare bicep and you pull away with a gasp. When you turn around you see Bucky Barnes standing there, wide eyed and sheepish with his hands held up. Steve Rogers is at his side, frowning.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says. "I forget people are afraid of the metal."

When his words sink in, your gaze darts to his metal hand and.. and you realize you didn't see anything. Your own eyes subtly widen and you step forward in awe, feeling immensely guilty at his saddened expression. "No. I didn't- I-I'm sorry. I-" You reach out, stopping before you can touch him. "Can I?" You ask, then gesturing to his metal arm. "I didn't flinch because of that."

Bucky frowns and lowers his hands. "You didn't?"

"No." He hesitantly holds his hand out and you cautiously take his metal hand in your own, tears filling your eyes as you trail your fingertips over him. Sniffling, you let him go and wipe at your eyes.

"Y/N?" Steve says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah.” Then laughing wetly, you say, "I don't mean to freak you guys out. It's just- well I haven't touched anyone since I was ten. It's.. nice." Suddenly feeling overwhelmed and idiotic under their pitying stares, you make an excuse to leave and flee the gym.

Later that night you're invited to movie night and go. And since you were in a tank top and pajama pants when Clint stopped by to drag you upstairs if need be, you merely pull on a pair of gloves before leaving for the communal floor. You take a seat on one of the available love seats and are momentarily shocked when Bucky asks to sit next to you. Usually everyone let you sit by yourself, but not tonight.

Just as snacks are being passed around, you feel Bucky nudge your knee with his own. Glancing at him, he shrugs his metal shoulder and grins, and when you realize what he's doing you smile at him. Taking off your gloves, much to everyone's surprise, you hesitantly scoot as close as you can to Bucky and practically hug his metal arm. You lay your cheek against his shoulder, snuggling in for the movie.

Tony gapes, Natasha grins, and Steve smothers his laughter by shoving popcorn in his mouth. The others stare briefly before just going with it and all seems to be forgotten for the time being.

After it seemed that you were more than comfortable to cuddle Bucky's arm, people made it a point to always seat Bucky to your right so his metal arm was right next to you. Tony was the only one who thought it was weird, but it gave you a sense of relief to be able to touch someone without being thrown into one of their memories.

But of course, secrets never remain a secret for long.

With Steve and Natasha away on a mission, Bucky found his way to your apartment. You had let him in and the two of you were going to start watching movies from a list he'd been compiling. And with how comfortable you and Bucky had become around each other, it's no shock that a mistake was made.

Bucky holds out two glasses of soda for you to take and you immediately reach for them without even realizing you don't have your gloves on. Your finger tips brush Bucky's flesh hand and your thrown into a memory of his. The memory is hazy around the edges and Bucky with shorter, cropped and styled hair can be seen panting heavily against a wall. His blue uniform is one from a different time and you watch as he leaves the safety of his hiding spot to engage in a fight. He uses Captain America's shield to deflect bullets being shot at him and then he's falling out the side of the train car. Steve jumps in to save him, but Bucky can't quite reach and then you watch in horror as he's falling, falling, falling..

You pull back from Bucky with a shout, soda splattering your feet and his. Bucky reaches for you as you bump into the couch, but you pull away, hugging yourself tightly and crying.

"Y/N? Shit. I'm sorry. I forgot-"

"You fell. You fell and Steve had to watch and oh my god. Oh my god, Bucky, you fell."

"What?"

Your babbling immediately ceases and when you glance up at Bucky you see he's gone pale. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to see," you tell him. He still seems tense and you gulp down a sob. "It's why I don't like skin on skin contact. I see things I'm not supposed to."

Bucky takes a moment and then he seems to lose the tension in his frame. "So you see things? That's why the government wants you dead?"

Tersely nodding, you then gesture to the sofas in the lounge. "Can you stay so I can explain? I'll understand if you want to leave. It's just.. Fury cautioned me about who I tell this to."

"Yeah, kid, I'll stay. Just let me pick this up."

As Bucky cleans up the mess you'd made by dropping the glasses of soda, you take a seat on the sofa. Then picking up your feet, you bend your knees and hug your legs as you wait for Bucky to take a seat of his own. When's he's seated across from you, you finally explain what's going on. "Several years ago, there was this world wide phenomena where kids between the ages of five and seventeen suddenly inherited powers. Some kids died, others survived the event, and some weren't even affected."

"But you were?"

"I was. It happened on the night of my tenth birthday and the next day I was being picked up by the government and bused to a secret camp where they tested each and every one of us before separating us into factions- green, blue, gold, red, and orange. Reds and orange were considered lethal and to be killed on sight."

Bucky frowns. "When you first got here, you were wearing a green uniform."

You nod. "I was, but I wasn't supposed to be a green," you quietly admit. "When I realized what the doctor was going to do after he realized what my color was, there was a brief struggle before I got my hand around his wrist. It was like he froze and then I told him that I was safe. That I was green and he was going to change my status from orange to green. So he did. And I got away with it until Director Fury showed up and we were given new tests, and they figured out I was lying."

"What do the colors even mean?" He then wonders.

"Greens were the safest people, the ones whose ability was super intelligence. Blue had telekinesis and gold had electrokinesis. But reds usually became volatile what with their pyrokinesis. However, oranges such as myself, were considered the most dangerous."

"Why?"

"Because oranges can control the mind." Bucky tenses and you hug your legs tighter. You know his history with HYDRA and you figured he'd be the most uncomfortable with what you could do. "When my powers first manifested, I was laying in bed next to my mother. I told her to not worry about me, that everything would be okay and I touched her the exact moment my powers kicked in. The following morning my mother didn't even know who I was and called the government to pick me up because powered children had been all over the news for a couple months by then and she was scared."

"You told your mother not to worry.. and she woke up with no memory of a child to worry about. You erased yourself from her memory?"

"I did. I don't even know how I did it, but I did. There were rumors that oranges could do so much more with their powers, but the government had all oranges and reds killed so it's not like anyone knows for sure."

"Jesus Christ," Bucky mutters. Smoothing his flesh hand over his face, he then asks, "How did the government get away with rounding all of you up? How do they explain killing children?"

You shrug. "They were a secret organization with the backing of the President. Families were bribed with money to forget their children and if they couldn't be bribed then they were blackmailed. The phenomena never happened again after that one year, but there are still so many kids in captivity. I'm not sure what the purpose of them keeping us was for since all we did was practically work in a sweatshop."

"Kid, you have to tell someone."

"I just did. And Fury knows as well," you say. "And besides, what's anyone doing to do? They're being backed by the President, Bucky. Most of the world already forgot about us."

"Jesus," he swears again.

The two of you lapse into silence and then you tell him, "You can't say anything. I was most scared of you to find out because of your history, but I still don't want the others to know. Not yet."

He doesn't acknowledge anything you've just said, but he does seem to light up with a realization. "Wait.. if you erased yourself from someone's memory, is it possible you can erase words from a person's mind?"

"I- it's possible?" You admit with some confusion. "But like I said, I have no training. There's no one to train me, so I wouldn't know what the hell I'm doing."

"I have words in my mind- triggers," he says. "If someone comes a long and recites them in a specific order, it triggers the Winter Soldier programming," he says. "I need them removed, but so far we've found no one. But you-"

"Bucky," you say, quietly. "I'm not sure it's possible."

"But there is a chance."

He looks so happy that you can't bear to refuse him. "If we were to try, I'd see everything," you say."

His expression falters. "Would it hurt?"

"You wouldn't even feel me."

"Then I want you to try."

He scoots forward in his seat and your eyes widen. "Not now! I need to meditate.. or something. Fury showed me some things, but then I was dropped here."

"Fine. Next week?"

"I- uh, sure."

Bucky seems upbeat for the rest of the night and you know you're going to have a long week of mediating and figuring out your powers so you don't accidentally screw your friend over.

When the day comes, you and Bucky wait until everyone has gone to bed. He makes his way to your apartment in the early hours and puts his complete trust with you.

As you sit on the floor across from one another, you hesitantly reach up to cradle his face in your bare hands. When you stop just shy of actually touching him, he smiles and grabs your hands to place on his face. Your eyes flicker orange and Bucky closes his eyes.

Swimming in the memories of Bucky Barnes, you struggle to find the memories of his captivity. Watching what he went through and all the electroshock therapy to condition his brain to certain words breaks your heart, and you take glee in grasping onto those memories and watching as they fade. You make sure to leave everything else in tact so he knows he was brainwashed to commit the crimes he did, but you completely erase the the words longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, and freight car every time they were mentioned in Russian along with every memory of the shocks to his mind.

It feels like you've been swimming in Bucky's mind for hours since you had to find every memory of when he woken from his cryo tank or when the words were said to him, like that one time he was held in captivity by the US government as he had warned you about, but you get it done. And when you finally open your eyes and settle your hands in your lap, Bucky's smile is from ear to ear.

That is until your eyes roll into the back of your head and you pass out.

When you eventually woke up from fixing Bucky, it was to find that you were in the medical wing. Apparently Bucky had freaked out and called for help, but he kept your secret and only told them that he had found you unconscious. The medical staff hadn't thought anything of Bucky's explanation, but the Avengers were suspicious. Thankfully, Bucky stuck to his story.

It was Tony who made the insinuation that something romantically was going on between you and your new friend, but when you were visibly upset and crying and defended Bucky as the older brother you never had, apologies were made and Pepper banned Tony from your room.

All you had needed was rest and food to get back on your feet, and when you felt better you got back into the groove of mediation and figuring your powers out.

Bucky seemed much more confident in himself that it started freaking people out, but Steve was just happy to have his friend back. Then when it seemed like things were going great, HYDRA made a surprise visit.

Everyone is congregated on the common floor for a family dinner and you are only waiting on Pepper. When half an hour passes, Tony gets frustrated and calls out for JARVIS to see where Pepper is at. Only.. JARVIS never answers.

Almost immediately everyone is on alert. Natasha and Clint pull out guns and knives from their hiding spots while Tony immediately starts tapping away on a small tablet.

"What's going on?" You ask, stepping around the table and coming next to Bucky and Steve.

"Nothing good," Steve says. "If JARVIS is down, someone is planning an attack."

"Goddammit," Tony grumbles. "Who the hell hacked my AI?!"

The elevator dings and everyone is on their feet and moving towards the center of the room. As they round the corner, there are several men in business suits marching onto the floor and using Pepper as a shield with a blade to her throat.

Tony immediately deploys gauntlets on just his arms, but the douche bag holding Pepper tuts at him, digging the blade harder into her throat. Weapons are raised all around and Bucky takes a protective stance in front of you.

"We're here for our asset," one of them says, his accent obviously Russian. "He comes with us and your CEO remains unharmed."

"Like hell," Steve mumbles, he taking a step in front of Bucky.

One of the Russians grins and starts citing the words all the Avengers feared. "Longing. Rusted."

Steve freezes. "No. Don't!"

Clint and Natasha raise their guns higher, but the enemies merely threaten Pepper's safety even more. Tony starts cursing, trying to be louder than the Russian words being said, but it's no use.

"Homecoming. One. Freight car."

Everyone goes quiet.

"Soldat?"

Natasha and Clint immediately swivel on the heel of their feet, aiming their weapons on Bucky now. But instead of the stoic Winter Soldier everyone was expecting, all they have is a chuckling Bucky Barnes. "That's Sarge to you, pal." The Russians lose their smug, victorious expressions and when you stealthily take Bucky's flesh hand into your own bare hand you mentally ask him, “want me to help?” Bucky glances down at you, ignoring everyone's baffled expressions and nods once. "If you're ready to show 'em what you're made of, have at it, kid."

Eyes blazing orange, you smile up at Bucky before darting your gaze to the Russians. Pepper's eyes widen, but for the time being you ignore it. Instead you concentrate on taking hold of the bad guys’ conscious minds all at once. "Drop your weapons." Weapons immediately drop and Pepper doesn't waste the moment. She drives her elbow into the face of the guy holding her and she lunges for Tony who readily puts himself in front of her. "Get down on your knees and put your hands in the air."

As the Russians all drop to their knees with their hands in the air, the Avengers and Pepper all stare at you in shock.

"What do I do with them?" You ask the room at large, keeping your concentration mostly on the bad guys.

"Y/N?"

"Not now, punk," Bucky says, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "There are more pressing matters at hand. All you need to know is that Y/N is one of the good ones. I'm proof of that."

"What?" Steve stares incredulously at Bucky, then at you. "You’re the reason the words didn’t work? How?"

"Stevie," Bucky chuckles. "Not now. What's the kid supposed to do with the bad guys."

Natasha steps forward, holstering her weapon. "If you can make it so it's easier to tie these guys up, I'd really appreciate it."

Concentrating on the men once more, you say one word. "Sleep." As the men fall unconscious, Clint whistles appreciatively before joining Natasha in tying them all up. "They'll wake up in a couple of hours," you say, eyes flickering back to their normal color.

After everything is said and done, Bucky leads you to the couches and gestures for to sit. You do and he takes a seat on the arm rest next to you, daring anyone to say anything negative.

The others approach cautiously.

"Buck?" Steve wonders. "Care to fill us in on what's going on?"

Under all the stares, you pick up your feet and bend your knees so you could hug your legs and make yourself as small as possible. "Not my story to tell, punk."

Every gaze lands on you and you sigh. "Way to throw me under the bus, loser." Bucky chuckles and ruffles your hair, and you swat at him with your bare hand. Everyone sees how freely you are touching now and once settled down you tell them. Everything.

When you're finished, everyone seems livid but are keeping a lid on their anger.

"But you can control it now. Right?" Clint asks. After Bucky, Clint was the other person you were worried about hating you.

"Mostly." You shrug. "I had to give myself a crash course. What I did earlier with those men? That was new, but the anger at them hurting Pepper made me hone it some. Before I had to touch someone to get them to do what I wanted. It's why I was grateful for all the gloves Pepper got me."

"You touch Bucky now though," Natasha says. "Without the gloves."

"If I concentrate, I can block it out," you say while letting the back of your hand touch the flesh of Bucky's arm. "I only got comfortable without the gloves around Bucky because I saw a lot when I erased the conditioning words. If I slip, Bucky says it's okay." Bucky smiles down at you and when you look back out to everyone else, your own smile falters. "I'll continue to wear the gloves until I completely have a lid on it. I don't want you guys to be nervous around me."

The room falls silent and your heart sinks. You'd spent a couple of months with these people and you were good with them, but now.. now not so much.

Just when the tension really feels suffocating, Steve stands and makes his way towards you. Without hesitation, he holds his hand out as if waiting to shake yours. Bucky nudges you and you reach forward, concentrating on not slipping into Steve's mind when the two of you grasp hands.

"It's okay," he says.

Your bottom lip wobbles and you momentarily lose control, your eyes flickering orange. Steve grins and you wipe at your eyes with your other hand. You're pretty sure your voice will crack if you attempt to talk, so you do the only thing you can think of. You push your thought into Steve's mind. Thank you.

Steve chuckles. "No problem, kid."

As Steve steps aside, Pepper is next. She completely bypasses a handshake and reaches down to hug you, and you cry as you return her embrace, ignoring the flashes of her memories that quickly pop up.

"You're too young to know what's going on up here," Tony says, tapping his temple when Pepper steps away. "I'll keep my distance for now, but welcome to the team. You are going to join the team. Right?"

"A secret organization within the government is trying to kill me, Mr. Stark. I'll be stuck in this tower for quite some time that you might as well start calling me Rapunzel."

Bruce quietly groans. "Please don't encourage his nicknames."

You chuckle wetly, nodding when Bruce smiles at you while keeping his distance. Then glancing at Natasha and Clint, you smile sadly. "I don't expect the two of you to be comfortable with me, so I'll be sure to wear gloves around you." Natasha nods and Clint sheepishly smiles. "It's okay, Barton. I figured you and Bucky were going to be the ones most wary of me. It's no biggie."

"It's just-"

"No explanations. I understand."

He opens his mouth to retort, but Natasha elbows him. "Shut up, Clint. She knows. Walk away on good terms and go call Fury so he can send a team to pick up the HYDRA men."

Everyone is suddenly moving and finding something to do, but Bucky stays by your side. When they're a good distance away, he nudges you again. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say. "I think I'm going to be just fine."

Inspired by The Darkest Minds. I fell in love with that movie!

#fanficimagery #marvel gen fic x reader #marvel gen fic #marvel gen fic imagine #marvel imagine #gen fic imagine #nick fury #bucky barnes #steve rogers #tony stark #pepper potts #natasha romanoff #clint barton #bruce banner #marvel #imagine

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bigsnzstanacct · 4 years

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D/ream Da/ddy SnzFic D*mien 1

I wrote a DD sneeze fic. I wanted to do a date each with all the dads and I may yet get to it but idk, I feel like I’d have to replay the game to get the style down again.Anyway!

Fyi His name is Cary… because that’s as close to “character” as I could get with a real name. Actually he uses a first initial. P. Cary. (The P is for player.) (Maybe the name is why he has daddy issues?) (dream daddy issues *eyebrows*).

Also Amanda is the Player Character’s daughter. That’s probably the only info you need if you don’t watch the show.

— Damien 1

I awkwardly fidget with my clothes. That’s what you do right, before you walk into your weirdly hot neighbor’s giant Gothic house? Right? Before you talk to your neighbor who walks around every day in a cape and waistcoat, and yells at Dead, Bath, and Beyond employees for insufficiently Victorian clothing, and could probably out vampire Brad Pitt in that Brad-Pitt-is-a-Sexy-Vampire movie… before you walk into his house, you fidget, right? That’s definitely normal. I’m sure it’s normal. Positive. Even if you are well-dressed, even if for whatever reason you put on your navy suit, even combed your hair into something approaching presentable, and if you happen to have worn the tight suit pants that show off the results of your squats well, that didn’t make things weird, right? Just one Dad visiting another Dad’s house, no ulterior motives here, no matter how single and attractive the Dads are—or at least one of the Dads are, and—

And all of a sudden there’s a crash of thunder, which came out of nowhere I swear, and then he door is open and there he is…

“Oh, hello, Cary. Delighted to have you.”

It’s an imposing sight. Damien standing there, in front of his big, scary, weirdly beautiful house, tall, lithe, pale, right on the edge of gaunt. Tall black doorframe towering over him, that waistcoat accentuating his tight, grab-able waist, the cape emphasizing his broad shoulders… the hard ridge of his jaw, the cascade of his hair. And those eyes. Purple eyes. That must be color contacts, right?

“Uh, Cary?”

OH THAT’S RIGHT I HAVE TO TALK.

“H-hey Damien! I, uh, thanks for… is there always a clap of thunder when you open the door?”

My dumb mouth.

“Usually.” Damien responds. I almost say something but then… I see the twinkle in his eyes.

“You’re… messing with me!” I exclaim, exasperated.

“Of course I am, didn’t you read the weather forecast? There’s supposed to be sporadic storms all day today. Lucky you came in before…”

And then it’s as if the whole sky opened up, because there’s a downpour out of nowhere and I have to sprint up the stairs and into this house before I get drenched. “H-heh, missed it by an inch, huh?”

I take in the house. It’s large, imposing… yes, creepy for sure but… also… really impressive. Full of oil paintings that ought to be full on Scooby-Doo terrifying, but… nope. They’re weirdly inviting, below the thin veneer of terror they inspire. Sort of like Damien himself.

“Might I interest you in a tour of the premises?” Damien asks, shocking me out of my reverie. Amanda told me I had to talk, and here I am, in Damien’s house, staring and not talking. Great job, Cary. I nod, apparently under the desire to convince Damien that I’m mute. Luckily, he loves talking about his house, and fills the silence much better than I could. I like that in a man. Good at talking. Definitely on my top ten qualities. “I’d love to show you…” Damien says, “well… a bit of a surprise, but. You’ll just have to stay for tea, until the rain clears up, I simply must show you… well, first, my bedroom. Not um,” he pinks up. The blush looks good on his pale skin. Can he hide anything from people? “Not to be… forward in any… it’s just, the best painting’s there. And I thought you might want to see. It’s an authentic 19th century painting, based on a scene from Tennyson, one of his dialogues, and it seemed like you liked the other paintings. Nothing more, of course.”

I’m pretty sure he’s walking a little faster now, and I bet if I wasn’t behind him I’d see that adorable blush again. Too bad the cape blocks the view of his ass… Geez, I have sex on the brain. I need to get laid. Or maybe it’s just spending time with all these guys… how is it that every single dad on this block is hot? And most of them are single! It’s almost like somebody planned it.

Damien shows me the painting, which, yes, I love it. And somewhere between the painting, and the library, and the fanfiction—don’t lie to me Damien, I know a slashfic when I see one—and the butterflies and the tea… I start having fun. I start having a lot of fun actually. I finally regain the use of my mouth, so I can actually talk, and once I’m talking we’re having a great conversation! The whole Victorian thing isn’t Damien’s whole personality or anything, it’s just something he really likes. And there’s something really charming about having a hobby he’s so passionate about. I wish I had any hobbies I was passionate about, besides of course the niceties of lawncare. And puns. I am passionate about puns. I’m a Dad, after all.

“…and it’s finally cleared up so… I can show you the last thing!” Damien says, excitedly. “If you’d like? I haven’t taken up too much of your time? I of course have the greatest deference for the leisure time of my houseguests, I wouldn’t want you to think I’m expecting you to bestow your entire afternoon upon me.”

“Oh, Damien, I’d love to bestow my afternoon on you.” Why does that sound vaguely dirty? “Lead the way!”

And so lead the way he does, walking me out into… oh no.

Well, not just oh no. It is beautiful. It’s gorgeous, it’s a whole garden of what seems like every single kind of flower in the world, it’s absolutely incredible. It’s just my allergies, and more than my allergies it’s…

“Oh no, you don’t like it. I… usually this is the part they like best, but… we can go back in if you…”

“No, no!” I interrupt, my voice blessedly free of the taint of allergic urge… for the moment. “No, we don’t need to go back in, I really like it here this is… this is incredible, Damien! I was just…” I rub at my nose quickly, hoping against hope that it won’t betray me again but… my nose always betrays me. My nose is my nemesis. Or at least the nemesis of me looking cool. Or sounding like a human, instead of—what did ‘Manda call me?—a fifty-foot-tall moose monster slash air cannon with a side of a large lion-type animal purring, weirdly?—Oh. Damien’s staring. I’m doing that not-talking thing again. “I was just taking a moment to take it all in, that’s all.” I say, all in a rush. For a second doubt flickered in his eyes, but Damien seemed to buy my explanation for the moment so all’s clear on the western front. For now.

Things go surprisingly well. Damien’s telling me what all the different flowers mean, and how the Victorians used flowers to express the feelings they were too awkward to express with words, and honestly that sounds pretty excellent to me. I manage to pull out that knowledge of flowers I gained once from watching a history channel special while half asleep, which seems to impress Damien (3AM History Channel to the rescue once again!). And Damien’s telling me all about how he put together a bouquet to express “I feel slight regret at having mistaken you for a human being when you are in fact a rotting skunk carcass in a suit and an Edwardian monocle,” when I felt…

IT.

Oh no. Oh no. IT was coming. I felt it. It was already too late. I felt it taking me over, rooting itself in my toes, radiating out from the tips of my nostrils to send a shiver down my spine, taking control of every ounce of strength in my body, stretching my mouth like loading a cannon, shutting my eyes as I shook my head, faintly protesting against the all-consuming power taking hold of me. It was coming. It was inevitable. It was unstoppable.

I was about to Dad Sneeze.

I remembered the day it came over me. I had been on guard for it. I had been vigilant. I had declared: I wasn’t going to fall prey. I might not be a cool dad. I could embrace the finer details of tree-pruning. I could expertly attempt to fix sinks, call the plumber, and have the whole thing fixed before Amanda or her mom got home. I loved Dad puns. But I was not going to be a Dad Sneeze Dad. No way. No how. It wasn’t going to get me…

I was on a date with Amanda’s mom when it struck. I was’t event trying to be a Dad then! I was being a Cool Guy Who Happened To Be Married And Have A Kid. I was going to get laid that night. (I still did. *wink*) I was just getting into the precise details of the color my steak should be on the inside when an urge came over me like none I’d ever felt before, and urge that was utterly beyond my control. Before I even knew what was happening, my face was exploding with a sound that terrified even me, let alone how the roar terrified half of the patrons of the very swanky restaurant I was treating my wife to (that I also, purely incidentally, happened to have a coupon for.) I was worried in the aftermath that a) I no longer had a face because I’d blown it off in the sneeze, or b) we’d be kicked out of Chez Frenchtaliano Surf and Turf. (A) wasn’t the case, but (B) was a near thing.

My Dad Sneezes had gotten worse since then.

But there was nothing to do, and as long as I’d managed to forestall it, among all these flowers? It was going to be a Dad Sneeze for the ages. I hitched, I gasped, I wheezed. I caught Damien’s terrified expression through shutterclicks as my eyes fluttered, and my head tipped back, and the feeling reached it’s apex and…

“HHHAARRRRRRRRRSSCCHHHHHHHOOOPPPPPFFFAAAGRRLLL!!!”

A ridiculous, thunderous, earth-shaking, category 9 Dad Sneeze exploded from my face.

My eyes stayed closed a moment after the sneeze, as I enjoyed the wash of euphoria that came over me after every monstrous sneeze, the momentary afterglow before I had to face the crowd I’d terrified. I sheepishly opened my eyes, half-afraid I’d blown down half Damien’s garden to find…

Damien’s eyes closing, his eyebrows going up, up, up, mouth falling open, the architecture of his nostrils flaring and twitching towards a…

“WWWWHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAASSCCHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

Have you ever thought about what a vampire would sound like if it roared? That’s what Damien sneezing sounds like. Not a match for my own, it would probably only terrify three, four mallgoers on the outside (my record is roughly twenty-three; it had come on suddenly and I was in the middle of frantic Christmas Week Unprepared Single Dad Shopping), but a true Dad Sneeze nonetheless. I have to give the man his respect.

“Well! Excuse me!” Damien exclaims, giggling a bit. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just… did you know the Victorians were the first to identify the phenomenon of ‘sympathetic sneezing’?”

I can’t help but smile. There’s nothing to make you feel like you didn’t ruin a date neighborly hangout in a lovely Victorian garden with your galumphing sinuses than an equally (well, not quite equally) calamitous nasal eruption immediately following.

“Nice sneeze.” I say, raising my hand for a high five.

“Nice sneeze,” Damien responds, aiming for the elbow with flawless technique. Did the Victorians high-five? “Shall we… adjourn to the indoors, or…”

He seems almost hesitant to go inside, and to be honest so am I. As long as he’s cool with putting up with my…

“I mean, as long as you’re cool with putting up with my…” I say, miming the Sneeze of Doom I’d just unleashed.

“As long as you won’t mind my echoing call. We shall resound through the garden together! Now, have I explained to about the white crocus?”

“N-nuhh… you h-have… h-haveehhhhh… ehhHHH… EEEEHHHHTTTRRRRUUUSSSSCCCCHHHHHKKKKKKBBBBP!”

“WWWHHHHHEEEEYYYYYYYSSSHHHHHAAAAAAAA!!”

#snz story #snz fanfic #male allergies #(dream) dad sneezes

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mrs-dragneel-stark-solo · 4 years

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Unforseen Chasm (part 16)

Part 16 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together. Word Count: 2537 Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93 what was first a simple “what if” moment turned into a two year writing session and I’ve never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Loki’s plan was… complex. Convoluted. But it would work. It had to work.

Before he left, you pulled him into the bedroom (a cold, small room that had a bed in it, and that’s all) that you two had made in the bunker/work area.

You shook your head, tears already streaming down your face.

“Loki, I don’t want to do this. I hurt her. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. If we let those things in...” you started, choking on your own sobs. Anger took you over and you began again, “If we let those things in, they’re going to attack people I love. People I work with. People I don’t want to hurt. I stabbed her, Loki. She didn’t deserve that. I don’t want to do this anymore,” you sobbed.

Loki drew you into a comforting embrace, holding you tight as he soothed you.

“I know, darling.”

“Everything… Everything Thanos said was a lie. You know that, don’t you? That it was all a manipulation?” you asked, desperation in your voice.

“Of course I know that!” he hissed. “But does it matter? Does any of that matter? You and I both know the stakes if we lose. It will be far worse than some scrapes and bruises for your friends. They’ll kill all of them, including us.”

“Is there nothing we can do to stop them?”

“I’m afraid not, my love,” he said, sorrow in his voice. “You know how badly he will punish us if we do not do as he asks.”

Your heart shattered in your chest at his words. You knew this, you always knew it. That’s the only reason you could do what you did today.

Loki saw your pain and kissed your head as he put his hand on the nape of your neck. “Go… see her. I will tend to this.”

You peered up at him with stormy eyes. “Are you sure? I could help you here. I could--”

“Go. Don’t lose your family for him,” he instructed, referring to Thanos.

With a firm nod, you kissed him and then left quickly. Meanwhile, Loki and Barton worked on getting the eye for the Iridium for the portal to let the Chitauri in.

All seemed to be going according to plan.

Loki had retrieved the eye. Tony and Steve had arrested Loki. This resulted in all the “superheroes” of the world uniting. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, and Thor Odinson -- all together on one helicarrier. With Loki, trapped in a cage.

This should’ve worried you, but you knew this was the whole point, to get Loki alone, keep the attention on him, so they wouldn’t notice when Barton and the rest showed up to bring out the monster.

Barton and the rest of the crew got on a jet, finding the helicarrier, and successfully got the Hulk released onboard. However, Barton had apparently been compromised, as he didn’t rejoin Loki back on the jet.

Which meant Loki would be at Stark Tower soon enough.

Funny coincidence, you were already there.

You stepped inside the lab. It was so familiar to you it hurt. This same lab where you’d been before countless times to watch Shannon work, to help on some projects, to fuck with Tony just to fuck with him.

And of course, Shannon was working away, diligently. She had the noise cancelling headphones on you’d given her three Christmases ago, since she just had to have music on when she worked.

You were sure Tony probably told her to stay on the lowest level of the tower. He probably told her to turn on every alarm. He probably told her to arm every door.

Did she do any of it? No. She didn’t. This tower was just as exposed as it always was.

You were careful to tiptoe up to her, the last thing you wanted to do was startle her. Just as you approached her though, the scars of your wounds from yesterday were an angry red, violent purple. Reminders of your cowardice. A reminder that you didn’t have the power to confront Thanos, to tell him to fuck off.

But how could you? If you defied him, Loki would pay the price. Shannon would be killed. Thor would be killed. Everyone you loved -- killed. You had to obey him.

And that’s all you needed to tell Shannon. She would believe you right? You two had known each other forever and she would have to know you didn’t do this on purpose.

Just as you went to speak though, Jarvis’s voice came over the speaker in the room, a light blinking on the workbench, alerting Shannon of the call.

“Yes, Jarvis?” she asked.

“Mr. Stark is on the phone for you. He says it’s urgent.”

“Thank you, Jarvis. Put him on.”

Half a second later, Tony’s voice filled the room. “Shan, where are you?” he demanded.

“In the lab, why?”

“Leave, now. Y/N is there.”

Your blood ran cold as you stood behind her, perfectly still.

“What?” she asked.

“Y/N. She’s at the tower. Get somewhere safe. I’m on my way. Loki might be there too. He has the Tesseract. He’s going to come there. I don’t know what he’s doing with it but I don’t want you anywhere near it. Okay? So get out of the tower. Now.”

“Tony, I’m not just going to leave,” she started to protest and a faint smile touched your lips.

“Please, for the love of God do not argue with me. Not right now. Okay? We’ve got two total nutcases on our hands, headed for our house. Y/N is in the tower, but Jarvis can’t pinpoint where. So leave before she finds you.”

Shannon turned to leave, still talking to Tony. “Okay, okay I wil--”

But her eyes caught yours as you stood there in front of her. Her eyes went wide as she stumbled back into the workbench, gasping. Her hand accidentally hit the hangup button on the phone call.

“Shannon, wait!” you begged, holding your hands up in defense.

“Wha-- What are you doing here? How did you get in?” she stammered.

“Shannon, you never locked this place down. I’m not surprised to be honest because you nev--”

Her eyes began to change color and you backed up.

“Wait! Wait! Don’t! I’m here to apologize! Please!”

“Apologize or distract me while your boyfriend sneaks in?” she asked, making her way around the table.

“No, I’m here to apologize. Shannon, please, give me five minutes. I can explain everything,” you tried.

“No. You snuck in here. Why? You could’ve called.”

“Would you have really picked up the call?” you challenged.

“It’s still better than showing up behind me like a creep.”

You bobbed your head side to side. “That’s fair,” you granted. “But please, hear me out.”

Shannon wanted to help you. She thought she did. But now that you were standing here again, clad in an all black outfit, green and gold accenting your boots and robe, showing who your real alliance was with… Well, she wasn’t so sure Tony was wrong. Maybe you’re past help. The wild in your face, the edginess in your form… maybe you were lost. Maybe she had lost you to him.

“Why? So you can stab me a few more times? Or are you just trying to get Loki in here?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

“Shan, please,” you begged as you stepped forward, your hands raised. You wanted to calm her down, to make her listen to you for five minutes, but every step you took was sending her closer to the edge.

“No! I won’t listen to your lies!” she shouted as she backed up farther from you, the flashbacks of you chaining her to a chair reverberating in her mind. The sting of the knife you plunged deep into her flesh and muscle still very vivid.

You tried to close the gap and that’s all it took.

Shannon’s fear of you went into overdrive as she slammed a button on the table and a suit came flying out of the cabinet next to her, enveloping her.

“Spare suit?” you noticed, appreciative.

“Tony likes to keep one on hand, you know, in case any enemies come in and try to kill me,” she informed with a slight shrug.

“I am not your enemy, Shannon,” you swore as you stepped towards her.

“Stop there. One more inch and I’ll open fire,” she warned, deadly serious.

Just then, JARVIS’s voice came over the intercom. “Ms. Shannon, I don’t mean to alarm you but it would appear that Loki is on the roof with Dr. Erik Selvig.”

With that, Shannon looked at you for a brief second before rocketing out of the lab.

With a low growl, you followed as best you could. You used the energy you’d picked up from Asgard as well as the power Thanos had bestowed upon you to fly up to the roof.

“JARVIS, inform Tony that I’ve found Loki on the tower roof with the Tesseract,” she told the Al as she got closer to Loki. As soon as Shannon landed on the roof, she told Loki to back away from the Tesseract. “Move away from it!” she ordered, sounding confident in her orders as she held one of the arms of his suits up.

Loki’s tortured eyes peered up at her. “You must be the famous Shannon,” he cooed. “Hiding behind your boyfriend’s technology are we? I was told you had great power all on your own.”

“Yeah, but I hear someone already scares you shitless with lightning. Thought I would make this more fun,” she said as you landed on the rooftop with them.

“You’re outnumbered,” Loki commented, holding his arms out as if to taunt her.

“But not outgunned.” Then she opened fire on him, blasting him away from the Tesseract and off the roof where he went tumbling until he hit the balcony ten floors below.

“Loki!” you screamed, your throat burning from the volume. You ran to the edge of the roof, seeing he had fallen and landed, but he was still moving, trying to get up. You turned to her and narrowed your eyes. “You’ll pay for that.”

You launched at her, slamming into the suit and all, going over the edge with her.

“Are you crazy?!” she shouted from beneath the mask.

“Depends on who you ask,” you said before trying to rip off the mask of the suit. But Shannon used the repulsors to send the two of you back into the building, breaking a window to get onto the floor, landing a few floors below the balcony level.

“This is insane. Stop this, Y/N,” she demanded.

“Take off the suit and fight me. One on one,” you ordered, your voice quivering with anger.

“I’m not going to fight you! I want you to end all of this and I can help you!”

“Take off the suit!” you screamed so loud your face grew red and the veins in your neck bulged.

She sighed and obliged, the suit slowly disassembling off of her. The suit stayed on autopilot if needed. “There. Are you happy? Now what? You have no power. You can only conjure illusions,” she stated as if all hope were lost for you.

A dark smirk came over your face as you raised both hands and held them in the air. Without warning, you used your birth power of bio-kinetic energy to charge some of the kitchen knives that were on the counter and propelled them at her. Using her own mutation, she conjured a small streak of lightning to deflect them.

“Pick up a new trick?” she asked, cocking her head.

“One or two,” you remarked as you stood at the ready.

“Oh yeah? Well so have I.” She looked at you and you could see her eyes begin to turn red compared to the white they turn when she brings in a storm. Red beams of electric light came out of her eyes, close enough to scrape your cheek. “Now I won’t repeat myself, stop it at once Y/N,” her voice boomed in the room but you were shocked to see she had new mutations. Who knew what else she might have acquired in your year gone.

In a heaving breath, you replied, “I… can’t.”

“Then I’ll end it myself,” she remarked as she shot the red electrified light at you once more but instead of dodging, you used the powers that had long been suppressed on your time on Earth.

You put your hands up and captured the energy, something she didn’t realize you were doing at first, but once she did, she stopped her actions altogether. You kept your hands up, letting the power hit your palms before squeezing them together, pushing the power back into yourself.

You took a deep breath and looked at her, releasing her own energy back on her, but in your dark form. The dark purple energy radiated to her at speeds she couldn’t comprehend and it knocked her on her ass. She leaned up and looked at you with perplexed and worried eyes.

“I think you’ve forgotten,” you began, standing over her, you leaned down in her face, “I’m a god.”

Shannon’s eyes narrowed as she frowned before she swept her leg out and kicked your feet out from under you. She jumped up, landing on her feet, with her standing over you as you tried to recover from the blow.

“And I think you forgot that I’ve fought gods… and won.” She smirked letting her eyes be clouded a milky red. “In the year that you were gone, so much changed me. I’d been training with the X-men and the Avengers, there’s so much more to my powers than just this!” She spread her arms out and an array of colors began to filter out each one stronger than the last. To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had no idea that she’d begun to make her powers stronger rather than get rid of them.

You tried your best to absorb the oncoming attack, but it was starting to become too much. You released the energy you had gained back at her. Throwing everything you had into one shot. It actually somewhat worked, pushing her back and off her footing.

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” you mocked as the two of you circled each other. “That you spent most of your life trying to understand and use these powers and you still have no idea what they can do? But I--” You held up your hand, lighting it in the purple energy “--I was only away for one year and I can already beat your ass.” With a small scream you threw the energy at her but she dodged it. In a split second she was next to you, her hand on your arm and your heart raced.

“Always a quick mouth, huh, darling, Y/N, just never quick on your feet.” She seemed to have moved with heightened speed.

Her touching you was the last thing you wanted. It was something you’d tried to desperately avoid.

Unforseen Chasm Tag list-

@reigningqueenofwords @oldfreakything @weclassygirl @adefectivedetective

@dontbetooobvious

Tag list-

@cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @winchester-writes @winchesterenthusiast @georgialouisea @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @sammysbuttcheek @bran2015 @misz-adrii @sandlee44 @womanxofletters @natsuccs @childishhoebinoo @depressed-moose-78 @expecteddifferent @girl-next-door-writes @fanaticfanfiction @dakotapaigelove @sassy-spn-knight-of-hell

#unforseen chasm #unforeseen chasm #loki x reader #tony stark #tony stark x ofc #tony stark fic #loki laufeyson #loki fic #Dr. Erik Selvig #thanos

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iamnotbrianmay · 5 years

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(English is not my native language so umm sorry for any occurring mistakes? > <)

*shuffles awkwardly* Hi dear I come bearing writing prompts? *nervous laughter* I swear initially they were meant to be short descriptions BUT EVERYTHING GOT TOTALLY OUT OF HAND BY THE END. MY GOD THEY’RE SO DAMN LONG NOW. YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS IF YOU DON’T WANT TO (you could take all of them, some of them, one of them or NONE OF THEM ok? Totally fine!) so please don’t feel pressured? :) And you’re welcome to put your own spin on the prompts, pass them onto other writers if they’re interested or to collab with someone else! :D

But seriously though you can also just treat them as littles “stories” from me (aka. your humble little anon fan) to you, intended for your amusement instead of writing requests alright? Sorry to bombard you so suddenly with all this LOL. BTW you’ll see mostly they’re Brian’s POV because that’s just how my brain is wired lol it’s been like that since day 1 I CAN’T HELP IT.

BTW the “His Majesty, KING!” series by chateauofmyheart (I think she’s most known for the Queen + Rare Words series and her Tumblr blog is chateauofmymind) is THE fic that completely changed my perspective on gender swap themes. After reading that I was fascinated by how good it can be in the hands of brilliant writers. Hence all you’re reading right now ahahahaha it’s like a floodgate been opened LOL.

Alright? Here we go with the first one - Modern day!AU, Poly!Fem!Queen(King) with supernatural elements? (I’m still gonna use male names and pronouns here to avoid confusion but at the same time it’s also because of I wanna see what female names you’d bestow upon them! Surprise me then? :D) Brian always has a connection with the “spiritual side” since he was a kid, sometimes he sees auras, energies, spirits and even on very rare occasions, deities. But it’s not as glamour as it sounds and he has learned the hard way to keep this solely to himself since no one will believe him. And to pretend to be “normal” is very important since not everything he sees is harmless, he has to find ways to avoid being haunted by evil beings, but it doesn’t always work; More often than not his health or mood is affected or he’s chased and stalked and has terrible nightmares hence the insomnia. By the time he got to college, though things still got really bad every once in a while but it felt like he has finally beginning to have situations under some semblance of control. Strangely, all these seemed to largely improved right after he became friends with Roger, Freddie and John, BUT inconveniently started pining after them real quick. His usual tactics were to keep his distance from the people around him but this time he’s drawn to them, feeling oddly alone when they’re not together; How sad is that? Falling in love for the first time in his life yet knowing there’s just no way it’s gonna end happily, but they don’t need to know that it’s fine he’s used to being the outcast. Although his first meetings with each of them does feel a little unusual? They sure are a weird bunch for example, who would own so many of candles? And why so many talismans as well? (Very beautiful though all seems to be handmade perhaps they’re just into DIY stuffs and craftsmanship?) Also the look they gave him? Gleam in their eyes akin to excitement and awe, almost predatory in a sense? Not to mention all those cryptic sentences and meaningful glances shared between the three. It sounds crazy but sometimes they gave off such strong “witchy” vibes as if they’re actual witches like the ones in the movies or something (NOT the Harry Potter kind but more like, The Craft? But in a good way?), that being said Brian does have this distinct feeling that they’re in on some kind of secret which he’s not a part of and it makes him feel a bit sad and left out, but he hides his feelings well(me: or so he thinks haha we’re all familiar with this trope yeah? MOVING ON LOL). These three are lovely together, but Brian’s afraid of screwing things up so he kept his mouth shut and just took whatever he can get. Plot twist LOL one night after a horrible near-death incident (caused by a horrendous curse aimed directly at him and much later on he learned that somehow it was powerful enough to break through the “protection ring” which Roger, Freddie and John had cast around him, WTH?!), he’s eventually saved by the other three and now he really wants some answers and perhaps the truth. It turns out that they’re all actual witches with different abilities and incredible powers including the oblivious Brian, Roger, Freddie and John had known this their entire life and all had proper training except for Brian who isn’t from a witchcraft family. Basically the other three have being protecting and guarding him ever since they’ve met (even though he doesn’t know a damn thing about his own gifts, they were very adamant that he belongs to them and their own “coven”). The four of them actually formed one of the most powerful witch coven ever and the curse was cast by another malicious one that’s jealous and afraid of how powerful they’re going to be once Brian realizes his own gifts, so they tried to get rid of him first. Cue a happy Poly!Fem!OT4 ending and a love confession + getting together yeah? :D And they all work on helping Brian to develop and harness his own powers. Love youuuu. (BTW I’m “obsessed” with Gothic aesthetics and vibes. This seems to be the perfect universe for this type of element to shine right? :D Literally everything ranging from character styles to witchcraft tools could be incorporate with it but I don’t think I did a good job in describing. Orz)

And off to the second prompt now! Shall we? :) Modern day!AU, Poly!Fem!Queen(King)? (Or no gender swap is fine too! Again I’m still using male names and pronouns here same reasons as above), It’s around 20:00 when Brian exited his plane. This past one month period of astronomy conference had been an opportunity of a life time and literally one of his biggest dreams. It’s a huge honor for him to be able to participate but after being away from his three lovers for so long, he does miss them terribly; The schedule of the conference is quite hectic and irregular with very little down time though the four of them do try to facetime or skype each other as often as they can, it still is nothing like being with each other in person, not to mention they’re all busy and more often than not had to resort to just texting in their group chat. His heart now flutters happily thinking about home and them. Just as when he’s about to call for a taxi someone’s hand came up around his waist – it’s John! And apparently John had arranged in advance for some people to come and take care of Brian’s luggage, Him however, remains firmly tucked by Brian’s side. Though they’re both not too keen on PDA Brian finds the urge to kiss him incredibly strong right now. John seems to be the same considering the heat in his eyes and if his smirk is anything to go by - “Wanna go for a ride? Our new car’s pretty neat.” “The one that Roger picked?” “Yeah.” “He agreed that you can drive it?” “Well he’s going to have to since the car keys’ being nicked.” “Oh my god John you stole Roger’s car keys?!” “It’s OUR car so technically it’s not stealing.” TBH John’s expression right now is kinda turning him on okay calm down deep breath they’re still in public god damn it. John proceed to guided Brian towards their ride and it is indeed a beautiful car. While John drove Brian asked Roger and Freddie’s whereabouts and got a mysterious smile and a vague “you’ll see” instead. It’s getting quite late and there’s not much traffic on the road so John might be speeding up a bit to enjoy the thrill. Normally Brian would fret over this but now he’s just happy, content and relaxed after coming home and reuniting with his lovers. He even let out an excited little shout and rolled down the window a bit to enjoy the night breeze when John sped up, which John beamed at him. “This isn’t our way home?” “We��re not going home yet.” “And are you gonna tell me where we’re heading?” “You’ll see.” Again with that cryptic-John-smile. They continue to drive up and deep into the mountains and eventually stoping at a lovely camping site with an elegant looking villa, John explained that they’ve booked this whole area exclusively for the next couple of days; They’ve missed him and all wanted to spend some alone time with each other. The weather is nice so it’s a clear starry night sky above and there’s a small bonfire crackling along with Roger and Freddie’s laughter, who are currently sitting beside it. Brian leaned over to John, planting a chaste kiss on his lips and whispered his thanks but apparently John had something else in mind. As soon as Brian began to pull back John shot out his hands and tugged on Brian’s hair just the way he knows how he likes it, that forced a surprised whimper out of Brian’s mouth and John took the opportunity to practically devour him with hungry kisses and tongue. Things heat up fast and Brian’s soft moans quickly became louder as John wasted no time opening up his shirt, caressing all over his chest and pinching his nipples. Brian let out a high-pitched yelp as John bit on his earlobe suddenly and at the same time dipped his hand into his underwear. Then Freddie showed up knocking disapprovingly on the car door window: “Tsk tsk starting without us already? That’s rude darling!.” Hearing this John let go of Brian’s lips, beamed at Freddie and opened the car door but didn’t retrieve his hand. Brian, now flushed and disheveled, looked up and gave Freddie a sheepish smile but abruptly let out another whimper as John started moving his fingers. He bit his lips in embarrassment, trying to contain his noise but quickly released them as John growled, demanding to hear his voice. Seeing this Freddie smirked and quickly bent down, grabbing Brian’s face and pulling him into another round of passionate and possessive kisses, full of teeth and tongue. “Oi! Stealing my car now John?! Wanker.” Roger appeared scowling but John just laughed and so does Freddie, letting go of Brian’s lips. Brian blinked a few times, willing his now distracted brain to focus on locating Roger and wordlessly held out his hands, beckoning him closer. Roger moved nearer and hummed his appreciation at the current sight on display, taking hold of both of Brian’s wrists with one hand, ran his other one over Brian’s exposed chest and suddenly pinched his nipple perfectly in time with John, who’s fingers just did something amazing inside Brian’s underwear. Brian moaned loudly and arched his back, feeling his orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast but soon let out a confused whimper when he felt John retrieving his touches. Roger laughed, nuzzled behind his ears and growled, “Only if you beg prettily enough.” Then he tugged him up and gestured towards the villa. “Let’s go and make good use of that giant bed.” Freddie nodded, agreeing with Roger, eyes drinking in the sight in front of him and licked his lips. “I’ll put out the bonfire then. Don’t start anything fun without me!” He kissed Brian once more, heatedly and full of promises of more to come, bit his lips playfully and quickly head towards the fire. “I was gonna make him come once before we go inside but your idea is quite tempting.” John smirked at Roger. “Will you do as Roger says love? Beg prettily for us? Should we allow you to come at all?” “Pleasepleaseplease.” Brian could only whimper, already feeling the familiar heavenly float that could only come from being cared for by his lovers. “Good boy. We’re gonna take such good care of you now, you can let go.” Roger began running his hand through Brian’s hair alongside with John, waiting for Freddie to return. Cue a steamy, sexy and loving Poly!Fem!(or not fem)OT4 night yeah? And there may or may not be a huge jacuzzi in the villa that they all made good use of. <3333

Okay now prompt number 3 is the standard type that one usually gets in their askbox if a writer is open for requests - Your take on in the Poly!Queen universe how would Freddie persuaded/convinced/forced?(XD) Brian to play harp for Love of My Life (and why Brian specifically? Besides all the rational reasons for him to be that person, you might be able to come up with something that’s outside the box? :D) and how the whole “Brian eventually constructed the song from piano onto acoustic guitar for live performances” business came about? Do you ever wonder why it’s not Freddie on the piano playing and singing like what he’s done with other songs? Or why not Brian on the piano while Freddie sings like the beginning of their live performances for Save Me? (AGAIN besides all the rational reasons behind it I’m still interested in your take. :P Have you read that Brian’s interview in which he says he thinks Freddie sees him as his own personal Jimi Hendrix and basically said that they’re gonna do this together? And those early year interviews regarding their album A Night at the Opera in which Freddie said he’s gonna make Brian play the harp until his hands drop off LOL and how Freddie describe the harp as the big thingy that angels play? Yeah Freddie we know that Brian’s your angel and SOUL BROTHER ahhhh I’m making myself emotional now QQ)

Ready for prompt number 4? Last one for now haha I think my brain is drying up lol. It just shows how amazing writers are! I salute you! You are wonderful. <333 Poly!Queen? Hot Space!Era (AUish)?, starting with them having a really rough time in the studio and it had been going on for quite a while (Prenter’s presence and words definitely didn’t help. It only gets worse and for some reason Brian has this feeling that he’s been singled out as target) and a particularly nasty fight broke out one day and even more unfortunate is that the fight got personal. And of course it has something to do with the infamous diss track: Back Chat (the fandom seems to think this song is aimed at Brian? though we will never know the truth ummm), Brian left the studio in the end (bitterly he denies the voices in his head calling him a coward for running away. He just wanted some fresh air, and maybe some alcohol in a bar that his bandmates do not frequent so he wouldn’t be found). Somehow, a band that’s also on the rise of fame managed to track him down while he was trying to numb himself quickly by getting plastered. They then offered a pretty sweet deal of him leaving Queen (“Since they don’t seem to love you anymore.” One of them murmured softly to him and hearing this is like been stabbed through the heart.) and joining them instead, not just as the song writer and lead guitarist but also as the lead vocalist of the band, basically saying that he could have everything; Strangely, it turns out that they actually had some “inside information” regarding of what’s been going on in Queen and had been following for a while, all of them keen on taking Brian’s side. Through the drunken fog in his brain his heart sank. Queen has already established the reputation of being a tight unit especially after their success, generally people respect their close bond with each other so there hasn’t been any “headhunting” propositions for a VERY long time; The fact of it appearing again now out of all times only brought out senses of dread, thoughts immediately heading to a dark place in which all the worst-case scenarios resides: is this actually his bandmates asking him to leave through a third party? Are they so fed up with him that they couldn’t even stand to break the news in person? Is this them breaking up with him? He’s suddenly so cold and dizzy that he started swaying unsteadily, the band then quickly offered to bring him back to their own brand-new recording studio for a tour and maybe some rest. Feeling drunk and resigned Brian just watched silently with half lidded eyes as they maneuvered him out of his seat. As they were about to usher him out of the bar suddenly all motion stopped as the band abruptly came face to face with Roger (eyes narrowed and fists balled, obviously fuming), Freddie (seemingly nonchalant with raised eyebrow but his coiled muscles as if ready for a fight totally says otherwise) and John (his face somehow even more unreadable than usual, eyes glinting ominously). Sensing the atmosphere shift, those who were around Brian all collectively took a step back and for some unknown reason, a few guilty looks appeared on some of their faces. Brian started swaying again without the support and Freddie quickly appeared besides Brian, wrapping tightly around him and helped carrying his weight. However, still feeling angry and devasted Brian tried to wriggle out of his embrace but found himself drunk and too slow and did not have the strength at to pry open Freddie’s “iron grip” at all (yeah how could he forget that Freddie is in fact a damn good athlete and a boxer, John also joined him in the gym these days these two often had great fun together). Sensing Brian’s struggle Freddie only wordlessly tightens his hold; Brian eventually gave up trying to get free after a few attempts instead just bit his lips (nervous habit kicking in now) and looked away, unwilling to face his three bandmates and lovers. “Where the hell do you think you’re taking OUR guitarist to?” Roger snarled, also coming up besides Freddie to help supporting Brian. After a quick check up on him, he frowned when he found that Brian’s skin is cold and clammy. “It’s great that you guys want to look out for OUR Brimi, but we’ll take it from here now.” There’s a storm brewing behind Freddie’s eyes, dismissal clear in his voice. Yet in the same time he’s very mindful of the drunk Brian now stiffly resides in his and Roger’s arms, careful to not cause him anymore physical discomfort. “It seems that a certain rat has been feeding you all kinds of information on us? Things that he’s not supposed to pry and definitely not supposed to blab about?” With a dark edge to his voice, John stepped forward, staring down at the few guilty faces in front of him, smiling cold and sharp. “Well he’s not around anymore, make of that what you will.” Slowly Brian blinked up at John through his drunken haze in surprise, it has to be Prenter that they’re talking about, right? But how— “Let’s get back to the hotel, Bri’s not feeling so well.” Roger grunted, tugging the other three out of the bar impatiently, his hold on Brian is steadfast and unwavering. “Come on guys, get in the car.” “Please come back with us Brimi? We know that you’re still hurting but I promise you, we’re gonna get through this together, alright?” Well now that’s just unfair, Freddie’s bringing out his nickname now in that soft tone AND looking at him like he’s something precious, really not fair at all. Brian could only nod, not trusting his voice yet but Freddie beamed brightly at him. “I’m sorry, baby. We’ll all have a long talk and fill you in on the details of Prenter after you get some rest okay?.” Now that’s just cheating. They’re in the car now and John’s petting his hair oh so gently, expertly lulling him to sleep. Cue the OT4!boys have a long hard talk about EVERYTHING and their relationship that involves lots of shouting, bitching, bickering, crying, apologizing and making up! HAPPY ENDINGS HELL YEAH and the other three explained how the whole Prenter thing came to light and with evidence, they fired him immediately. Also John may or may not have “convinced” (“I’d say threatened is more like it.” Roger snickered.) the other band’s manager to give up the location of the bar that they had sooo enthusiastically called him from, exclaiming Brian May’s about to quit Queen and join them and that they were trying to bring him back to the studio now.

I hope these brightened your day? Maybe if I’m lucky enough they could inspire you a bit? Perhaps they could be accepted as your writing prompts? :P Anyway I love you! Have a beautiful day and life hon. <333

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Gosh thank you so much for submitting this anon! I really like them and I feel like we could add a lot to them if you wanted to speak to me about your ideas, so shoot me a private dm, yeah?

Also, you have a surprise coming for you in the next few days so stay vigilant of that!

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