#Used god like powers to gain a single inch of height | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princeanxious · 3 years

Note

Why would you hide the Villain remus and Janus thing in the tags, I'd read the hell outta Hero Virgil turned Villain

you mean this??? shdbic aaa Yeah I want to write it, but i also want to write a lot of things. xD but this is def one of those things i’d love to write a short-ish one-shot about just so I can write it.

can you imagine? Virgil, young and anxious, manifesting powers of the light and dark variety, able to manipulate shadows and summon electricity with such fine precision because he’s spent so long fretting over accidentally hurting someone with it that he refused to even dare try and step into the hero scene until he was 150% certain that he’d trained his powers to disconnect from his emotions so that he’d never have an outburst that could even harmlessly shock or scare someone. He’s so in control over his powers that its to an insane degree just because he wants to make sure he cant hurt anybody on accident.

(complete ramble continued under the cut bc boy howdy this got so long it might as well be its own short one-shot)

And, he’s worked so in depth with his powers because of course he can’t just suppress them!(Suppressing electricity based powers doesn’t get rid of that energy, it just makes that constantly generating energy stay put and build, which makes it even more dangerous when it’s finally released, so suppression is a no go) So of course not only does he work extensively with learning how to control his powers, but also how to healthily use them and expend his energy safely, effectively, and skillfully as he grows into them. Might as well push your limits of learning just how much your power can do if you have to learn how to exist safely around others by controlling it, right?

So, by default, by the time Virgil is both old enough and confident enough in his powers to consentingly apply for registry to the worlds heroes association, he’s both insanely skilled with his powers, and also insanely talented(the equivalent to a child prodigy, not that many people in charge of the worlds hero association believe that, though.). The people who had been interviewing him believed the same, thinking him to be just another super teenager boasting about his skills when they couldn’t even sense his power, thinking that what little power Virgil did have was not even worth bothering to report anything substantial about the interview. That he’d oughta go try the villain’s headquarters, because at least they take in wandering powerless for henchmen all the time.

Virgil, feeling pissed but not quite enraged yet, because what teenager wouldn’t hate it to be so invalidated and demeaned at being out right dismissed as a threat, let alone considered more of an invalid for not having powers, starts to display his power.

First it’s the main interviewer’s phone that they’d been glancing boredly at, drained suddenly of all power. Then it’s the landline of that specific room, then it’s the lamp, the computer suddenly shuts off with zero warning and nothing of it turns on. The lamp in the corner of the room goes dark, bulb by bulb, and the printer in the room dies. Virgil’s eyes are glowing violet but he hasn’t moved any more than the annoyed twitch of an eyelid. the light’s overhead turn off, leaving the lights in the hallway still on, leaving the remaining light in the room coming from the single window in the room and the open doorway.

He reaches up a hand, and snaps once, and shadows swallow up the light over the hallway and the window, acting as a wall from the inside and out.

Now the only light in the room is his glowing eyes.

The second interviewer is struggling to summon fire from her hands to light the room, but it doesn’t work. The energy she’s using to summon the fire is immediately sapped by Virgil’s force, there isn’t even a spark. The first interviewer can feel Virgil’s power now, it’s bright and burning. It’s like he has a core in the middle of his being like a sun’s core because its storing so much power, and the only reason they can see it now is because Virgil’s using his power. He has so much control that even on a nonphysical level it’s nearly tangible, the way that they can see his shadow powers conceal even the existence of his power, now that they know what their looking at.

In mere seconds, this kid has tipped the world on their head and put the fear of god into them, an undetected yet undeniable threat in the making.

They watch his eyes tilt with his head, and the distinct sound of the entire building powering down is unmistakable, shouts of surprise and confusion due to the failure of the buildings many fail-safes failing to trigger. And then, with another snap, all power is restored to normal in the blink of the eye, all machines and lights are functioning perfectly, not an irregular shadow in sight, and all at once Virgil reads as a normal human teenager, not a whiff of power to be sensed. He looks pretty peeved, though.

“Maybe I will try my luck at the Dark Side then, at least they care about the people that look to be taken in. Let me know if you changed your mind, I’d love to have a do-over. With a different set of interviewers, mind you.” before he walks out of the interview room, off to blow off some steam legally and safely.

Imagine his outrage when a week later he’s served a summons to court, deeming him a “Threat to Society” and “better left in jail until the court can be convinced of his good nature” because he’s an “out of control juvenile gifted with an unprecedented amount of power that he couldn’t possibly control without strict legal supervision and interference and cannot be trusted to continue to exist as a normal citizen until the W.H.A deems it safe.”

Faced with possible lifelong inprisonment and zero control over the rest of his life because an association of supers think that they know better and that he’s some stupid teenager that was set loose on the world with means to only cause catastrophe and devastation, or freedom at the hands of some ambiguously grey moral decisions every once in a while and being treated as a normal human being even if he has to be a henchman to another super for a while?

The decision isn’t a hard one to make.

So imagine his surprise when he’s not only accepted into the Dark Side after being respectfully asked to demonstrate the full extent of his power and his control over it, but instead of becoming a villain’s henchmen, he instead gains the full title of Villain(with another Villain(Janus) stepping in to mentor him and show him the ropes of the rules and everything), and even further: Gets his own henchmen assigned to him.

A pair, Patton and Logan.

Patton has a partial shapeshifting ability, but it only really lets him turn into a big frog man, making him perfect for doing any of the main heavy lifting for the team, and also perfect for protecting Logan when under attack. He’s built like a himbo and is absolutely 100% a himbo, heart of gold, super strong, buff dad bod, the whole sha-bang.

Logan has a power that is one part linked with memory, one part linked with technology. His brain can retain information like a computer databank, and he can get any misfunctioning technology to work if he can get his hands on it or a connection to it. He avoids all the quirks that interfere or damage real databanks and technology(like magnets, water, and short-circuiting) and can semi-directly connect with devices he is familiar with, without having to hold/touch/look at one.

All together, they have the beginnings of a well rounded team: the brawns, the brains, and the leader with plans and the power to make it happen. Even before finding out their reasons for coming to the dark side, Virgil becomes ride or die for them. (And honestly, they’re also pretty ride or die for him too, not even starting with the fact that they’re both like 26-27 and Virgil is an 18 year old anxious mess that had to make the decision over being the bad guy or losing any and all autonomy for the foreseeable future, which is gonna fuck up any kid and young adult’s brain. So, lowkey adopt him as a younger sibling even though he’s the boss of them and just barely taller than them.(Virgil is a tol lanky boi, and while Logan, standing at 5′9″, is but an inch shorter than Virgil at the start, Virgil still has growing room and peaks at about 6′4″ by the time hes 22. Patton at his normal height is like 5′6″, but frog man height is like 8′3″)

Oh, and they definitely make the Worlds Hero Association regret not taking Virgil’s existence kindly, Big Time.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #luka writes #luka write this #janus sanders #supervillain vee au #ask to tag

262 notes · View notes

skelanonymous · 3 years

Text

Killermare/Nightkiller - Soul Mates

Hey! I finished the prompt person who made a request like a month ago! I literally do not want to even look at this anymore. I’ve been picking away at it all month between shifts and breaks and I’m beginning to hate it by virtue of seeing it too much.

The beginning has been edited and now has some nsfw soul-mating and some after effect scenes!

Words: 6.1K

“Are you sure you want this? With me?” Nightmare wouldn’t meet Killer’s eyes. He stood in front of one of his room’s many arched windows, moonlight shimmering over his blackened form. His tentacles had curled in on him, arms crossed, an uncharacteristic sign of vulnerability that Killer had only seen inside of this room.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Killer, too, let his eternally present grin fall. This matter meant too much, and Nightmare’s insecurity fell heavily on him, on them.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I have an idea, but I want to hear the specifics. ‘s important.” Killer crossed his own arms to match, to hold back the urge to touch his moon until he finished his thoughts.

“Soul mating is to share all that you are with another.” Nightmare turned to face out over the darkened wilds his castle oversaw. “It’s to be unified on every level and live as one until we cease to be. I am not afraid of being unified with you myself; I have centuries of existence and a power to shake the multiverse, and while I’m certain that I will be affected by you, as I am even now when we’re separate, I am also sure of my ability to handle it as I have everything else.”

“It’s me you don’t trust to deal.” Killer sighed, frown downturning further. Nightmare whirled around in an instant.

“I trust you with my life Killer.” He hurried across the room to hold his beloved’s face, a concerned eye looking into Killer’s, begging him to understand. “I would not humor this for anyone else, I would not want this with anyone else. To be joined with you is a dream I wish for. But…” His thumbs wiped away the streaks of liquid hate on Killer’s face. “To be joined to me is my namesake. You will know misery on a level you have never known.”

Killer reached up to hold Nightmare’s hands. He smiled with a short laugh.

“I think I’ve known some pretty deep fucking misery Night.” Killer let go to reach out for Nightmare’s jacket, pulling him closer. “I’m not fragile. You worry too much. ‘Sleeping near me might give you nightmares’ and ‘if I lose control during sex, I could hurt you’ and, my favorite, ‘I am the guardian of negativity, I cannot love you back.’ Yet we’re here.” He took a nice deep breath, sinking into the comfort that was Nightmare pressed to his chest. Nightmare’s fingers clutched at his back.

“Not like this Killer, never like this.” Cyan tears welled up, hands vice gripped onto his hoodie. “I am not minimizing your suffering, I have felt it firsthand, but mine is long and continuous. It bores into your soul and lives there. You mention that I have always worried and you have overcome, but yet, I still worry. Negativity is at the root of me.”

His tentacles reached out like more arms. The fear was palpable, flavoring the air and thick on their tongues. Nightmare could never forsake what he was. He could not undo what had been done.

“And to join you with that? I’m afraid of what this could do to you. Will you gain my corruption? Will I lose you like I lost myself for all those years? How much of you must be traded for us to experience this pinnacle of connection?” Night’s words flooded from his mouth, crying bitterly at the thought of turning Killer away, all for his sake. “Every single thing others can have, I must first pay a cost. To just exist without punishment cost my life, my home, my family. And even then, I did not escape punishment, I merely gained the ability to fight back!”

“Nightlight…look at me.” And he listened. Killer tapped his teeth to his.

“Killer…” Nightmare tapped back, kissing him deeply with wet cheeks. The tension of the room could be cut with a knife, Killer could feel it in the line of Night’s back, and he knew how to work that out. When they broke apart, Killer didn’t move back an inch.

“Remember when you confessed?” His voice rough and heavy against Night’s teeth, Killer’s eyes went half lidded. “You looked so shocked, like you couldn’t believe it.”

“I still don’t.” Nightmare’s voice dropped low, shaky but wanting.

“Moon, are you happy, being with me?” Night’s tentacles clutched him tight, Nightmare pressing up tight to him with another kiss, their faces still millimeters apart.

“Of course. Idiot...” His eye glanced wistfully at the bookshelves on the wall, expression serious and hesitant. Killer chuckled softly at the worry. He wiped his god’s tears away.

“Then why couldn’t I be happy joined with you?” Night’s body sparked with magic underneath his fingertips. “If even the god of negativity can be happy with the one he loves, why couldn’t I do the same with a piece of him living in my soul?” Killer licked his teeth, tongue touching his moon’s at this distance, groaning at the catch in Nightmare’s breath.

“You could.”

Killer crushed Night up against him, the smaller hands fisting in the loose blue hoodie in their passion. Kissing Nightmare always got his motor running. His dark tentacles sought out every surface to lavish attention on Killer’s body, three times the stimulation of any other partner and a hell of a lot more interesting.

“Let me have ya then.” His pointer finger slid down the black cheek, catching softly on his jaw, over his sensitive throat, and leaving a hot trail of need down his sternum before halting. Right over Night’s soul. “Mate with me Moon.”

Night reached out slowly for Killer’s soul, always within reach but rarely so bright, tapping the surface with a fond smile. Killer felt the weight of his words resonate across his being.

“Promise I won’t lose you?” Killer grinned widely.

“Promise.” The tenseness dropped from Night’s back, arms slung around Killer’s shoulders with a more confident look.

“Then take me Killer.”

Killer had a slight height advantage, but Night made up for it with vigor. The black fingers pulled at the hoodie, growling when Killer laughed at him for its slow removal.

“My soul’s not inside my ribcage Moonlight. Did ya forget?” He chuckled until Nightmare pulled their faces together again, groaning into Night’s mouth, tasting and teasing the cyan tongue until he felt Night’s fingers loosen. He took the opportunity to run a phalange up from Night’s back to his sternum, tracing a rib. Night broke off to shiver.

“Are you trying to rush?” Nightmare traced the outer edge of the target shaped soul. It snapped into a heart shape for the second go around. “There you are.”

“I just like when ya touch me.” Killer winked, grinding up against Night’s pelvis. Night bucked against the bulge in front of him. He kept rubbing the tiny heart in his hands while Killer nuzzled into his throat to nip and lick at the sensitive vertebrae there. “Fucking delicious. Can’t wait to have ya.” Killer took a deep breath in, lost in the scent of Nightmare.

Night didn’t respond, only kissed the soul in his hands, trying to impart what he couldn’t say. I’m the lucky one. That you want me, it matters more than anything else.

Killer’s mouth licked haphazardly. The warm buzz of emotion from Night seeped into his body, unfurling the little anxieties building in the peripheral of their relationship. Killer put on a grandiose show, playing the part of the cocky bastard to his moon’s calm stoic, but Nightmare very rarely opened up this far. His moon cried less than Killer had fingers on one hand. He spoke seldomly about the past in anything but factual recounts. The fact he’d been so honest, that he could feel that pure emotion through the contact, put him in a drunken euphoria.

“Moooooon, you’re wearing too many clothes.” He pushed the hoodie off Night’s shoulders, caught on his elbows. “Come to the bed.” Killer slid his hands up to hold Night’s hands, soul dropped and returned to its place.

Killer led him towards the bed, but let him go with a sly grin. He stripped off his shirt with a twirl, revealing his ribs with hungry eyes, dropping his shorts in the next moment to persuade his love to do the same.

“Eager, are you?” Nightmare’s voice betrayed nothing, but the slow shrug off of his sweater spoke volumes.

“Already missing that touch of yours.” He gestured to his soul. “I could get off from just that.”

A peace offering, a way to back out, to build to this piece by piece. Night stepped closer to his love leaned back on the bed.

With a determined eye, he skimmed over the bulge of Killer’s cock, meeting Killer’s captivated gaze with ferocity. He only broke it to remove his suffocating shirt.

“Ignoring my needs? What type of mate do you plan to be?” Killer’s eyelights popped into existence while Nightmare seated himself on his lap. “I thought you said you’d never disappoint me…” He almost fell off when Killer sat up to meet him, smashing their teeth together.

Killer dove in, not leaving room for Nightmare to fight back, overwhelming his small lover with how much he could explore with his eyes closed. They were both pantless by the time Nightmare’s senses returned, breathless but alive with energy.

“If you’re feeling needy, we’ll focus on you then.” Nightmare had no ecto formed yet, Killer instead reaching up into his chest for the dark apple soul he’d never been allowed to touch. His hand hesitated before tapping the blackened surface. “Last chance Nightmare.” And when all he got was silence, he took it out and held it up to his face.

Unlike his own soul, the black apple sat calmly in his hand. It had little give, the dark peel a thin barrier to protect it from the outside world, everlasting and unbroken until this very moment.

“Didn’t expect that.” Killer ran his thumbs over the surface, testing the limits of the shell and Night in one swoop. His moon sat unaffected except by a blush.

“I’m sorry it’s not what you expected.” He could read Night’s hesitation in his body language, but not from the soul seated in his hands, its aura as calm on the exterior as its owner. He wanted in. Killer gently bit down on the apple, not wanting to go clean through, but maybe create a little breach. When Night didn’t react, he bit down harder. His ectobody formed instantly, boosting him up on Killer’s lap.

“OooooooH!” He broke the skin, a small cut through the outer barrier. Night hadn’t ripped it away yet, so Killer turned it over until he could work his tongue into the hole.

“KiLLeR.” Night’s thighs tightened on his legs, hips bucking down wantonly while his cyan tongue lolled out of his mouth. Killer kept working and tasting, getting deeper and deeper into the soul. “STARS, Killer, please. Fuck me!”

Tentacles curled up every limb stroking and teasing. They sought out Killer like a moth to the flame, knowing who was pleasing their master, eager to return the favor. Killer appreciated their caress, but focused in on the torrent of emotion pouring into his mouth from the apple. Night’s composure seldom broke outside of the bedroom, and even here, he was not driven to utmost debauchery, often just more openly honest about his desires. Licking directly into his core, Killer could taste how much Night was holding back. He sucked out some of the wet flavor with a slurp.

“God ya want this so bad. Good, me too.” Killer worked two fingers into the break to Night’s wrecked gasps. “My soul can’t fit in here love. Gunna have to make room for me inside ya.”

“I need you inside me, right now.” Night’s tentacles readjusted them quickly for his red cock to slide up and down Night’s already wet folds. “I love you, connect with me, I’ve got so much room for you…” Killer heard the wet squelch of Night stretching himself open with a tentacle in preparation, making his cock twitch in anticipation. He forced his tongue in around the three fingers he’d worked into Night’s soul. His reward was instantaneous.

“AAH!” Night’s knees knocked on his waist, his eye wide and hazy, which Killer took advantage of by pulling Night further onto him and starting to sink into his soaked pussy along with the slicked tentacle still stuffed inside.

“Oh FUCK!” Night’s cyan eye rolled into his skull, trembling apart at the seams. “T-they fit?”

“They sure do.” Killer pulled his soul up to the opening in Night’s. “You ready for the second squeeze?” He flexed his hips making Nightmare scream.

“Stuff me full Killer, hah, please!”

With a gentle push, his soul tapped against the inside of Night’s, the opening worked large enough for the entire thing to fit along it on one side. He watched fascinated. Normal soulmating, you could hold two souls together and they’d combine, no work required but the desire to do so, but he had to try at getting his moon open enough to reach the savory core. They sat against each other for an instant, Killer anxious if he’d gone about it wrong and Night if he could even do this at all, before Killer’s entire soul slid directly inside, combining them in a flash of color.

The red apple hung between them pleasantly. Killer’s eyelights glowed bright as Night’s went deep purple.

“Moon?” The words echoed in his mind, though it felt like he spoke them. He didn’t need to say anything, Night was him and he was Night, but his sudden desire to hear Nightmare overrode logic.

“My darling soul.” Hands rested on his face. Night’s locked eyes with his, faces moving closer, but even an inch felt too far. It was slow deliberate love, that first kiss, the taste of their soulmate for the very first time.

But then Night shifted to get a little closer and the thickness inside him sparked the desire.

That spark quickly caught, burning through both of them with the intensity of sun, each thought echoing between their souls, escalating to a constant hum that drowned out the rest. Night slid forward to take Killer and his own appendage to the hilt. Killer moaned loudly before pulling Night up to his chest with a desperate kiss. He could barely get out any words.

“I love you.” It slurred from his teeth, feeling the tentacle inside of Night curl around his cock to make it stretch out Night wider. “You’ve got my soul inside yours, ya shouldn’t mind if I fill ya with my cum right?” He thrusted experimentally; Night wailed and slid down to meet his hips. His purple blush complimented the wrecked expression, staring into Killer’s eyes like a lifeline, before nodding with a broken moan. “Fuck you’re perfect.”

He started slow. Night winced at the end of the thrusts and Killer wasn’t so far gone as to not notice; to the contrary, he had never been more aware of his moon. The sound of his voice breaking on Killer’s name a symphony, the taste of his love’s tongue a banquet, all his senses awakened at the sight of his gorgeous soulmate. And through the bond, he could feel Night’s agreement.

“Please, please, please!” Oversensitive and at the emotional limit, Killer could feel his peak rapidly approaching, speeding up to slam into Night, clapping their ecto together between lewd pants and groans. He dropped his sweaty head against Night’s shoulder.

“God Night, come for me!” Night’s pussy clamped down tight with his orgasm. Killer rode it to his own finish.

“Fuck!”

He slow thrusted through it, filling up Night with his red magic, sliding against each other with pleasant bonelessness. They fell back onto the bed in their embrace.

“Killer…”Night’s head rested on his chest, one hand rubbing over where he could see Killer’s cum inside himself. Killer felt tears drip onto his ribcage.

“Nightlight?” He cradled Night’s head. He held him tight, Night nuzzling his chest with the rarest of expressions.

“Thank you.” The genuine smile, soft and sweet, hit Killer right in their combined souls, overcome with their combined joy. He had it so bad. They readjusted to separate, sharing soft continuous kisses, settling into the blankets with unmatched contentment.

“We look pretty good together.” He stroked a finger over the red apple, both trembling with a soft sigh. “Can’t get rid of me now. No take-backs.”

“I can think of no better partner for eternity.” And that deep honesty flustered Killer. He hoped he’d get to see more of this side of his beloved moon now that they were one. Being one in all forms had unlocked more of himself than had existed before, parts he would adopt from Night starting to click in as extensions of his soul. Something dark ate at the back of Killer’s mind, but combined like this, it was held at bay effortlessly by Night’s calm thoughts and breathing.

“Let’s get some rest Nightlight. We have the rest of our lives tomorrow.” He pulled up a sheet to cover them, and placed one last kiss on Night’s teeth.

“That we do.” With their combined souls hanging between them, they slipped in restful sleep.

Killer woke up late. Looking around, he realized he’d been moved from Night’s bedroom to the study. He sat up (appropriately though not fully dressed) on the lounge that Nightmare had scooted closer to his desk.

“Good afternoon. How are you feeling?” Killer felt strangely apprehensive before realizing that the feeling wasn’t centered in his body. The immediacy lessoned the longer he thought about it, though the intensity of that wariness kept ratcheting up while he tried to speak.

“Is that you?” The sudden break in relief caused emotional whiplash and a spike of discomfort.

“Yes. My apologies, I wasn’t reigning in my reactions.” The normal calm came back, with a background fluttering of too many emotions to name. “It should be more manageable now.”

“Wow, I must be bothering the fuck outta you.” He laughed at the tinges of worry, indignation, and relief in turn. A glance at his own chest revealed only his own soul. They’d separated when sleeping it appeared.

“Always.”

“Wow, this is what you’re actually feeling?” Each emotion felt so distinct and different, the deep fondness manifesting as a touch to the cheek and a soft smile, the yearning a waltz across a marble floor, remaining a respectable distance but waiting for a moment alone to close the distance. So caught in this tide, he didn’t notice the tentacle resting along his back.

“Yes. I hope you could see through the sarcasm beforehand. But focus for a moment.” The appendage slid up his spine, Killer shivering. “I’m syphoning my power out of you by force, but once I break contact, you will be hit with whatever my corruption has done to you.”

“Still worried?” Killer grinned with a tilt of his head, shit eating smile not calming Night in the slightest.

“I didn’t want you to wake up in whatever state this will put you in. There’s a difference from knowing it’s coming to waking up overwhelmed.” Killer rolled his shoulders to ready up, taking a few breaths before nodding confidently.

“Hit me with it Nightlight.”

The instant the words left his mouth, the weight of the corruption fell on his back. He gasped, choking on the weight of the atmosphere, hate spilling out of his eyes. His soul pulsed heavily, weighted and overwhelming, drowning in a pit of self-loathing and anger that he almost couldn’t see through.

He fell off something. His hands scrambled along the floor, colliding with something that Killer clawed at until he was sat up again.

He trembled violently, bones clattering against his leverage. Sounded familiar though. Where had he heard it before? He focused on the sound to anchor himself in the moment, reflecting on it until the answer came to him suddenly. Nightmare’s desk, he’d had sex on enough times to remember the way wood sounded banging against bone.

Nightmare! He’d been with him before this.

Killer heaved in a few gulps of air. If he reached out with his magic, he could feel him, dark and powerful not too far away, and that helped get through the worst of the panic. The calm washed over him like soothing rain. It soaked into his joints until he laid back against the wood, completely still.

Amidst the black came a single bright ping of light. Hope lit in his chest like a lamp, illuminating his eyelights, finally able to see.

Feelings were too overwhelming to speak, but his staticky pupils stared at his moon’s face.

Nightmare forwent his usual propriety, his normally impassive face scrunched up in unease. His cyan pupil took in every movement, any motion or emotion he could see. Every tentacle hovered around him worriedly, barely restrained from touching Killer to sap the feeling away. He felt Night’s palms on his. He gripped them back with a tired grin.

He could see Nightmare trying to speak, but his ears hadn’t caught up to him yet, still roaring with the stress his body had gone through. He tugged on Nightmare’s arms, toppling the king to the ground into him. Pressed against his chest, he felt better already.

Oh look at his cute soulmate. God he loved him.

Night had been knocked down to kneeling over Killer’s collapsed form, sitting in his lap with flushed cyan cheeks, all right in reach of Killer. Night really should know who he was dealing with by now.

Killer kissed him fully, hands trailing to his shoulder joints to get his moon to huff and let him in. It felt incredible, their magic tongues sparking up pure passion between them through the bond. The fog from the shock of Night’s power was clearing, getting further and further away the more he touched his precious mate, measured in the volume of sounds finally reaching him. By the time they broke apart, Killer had his mind back enough to speak.

“I told you. You worry too much.” Killer grinned, eyes closed and amused. He nuzzled Night’s cheeks with his own. “If you think I was handsy before, you won’t be able to handle how much I want ya now.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Nightmare surged up into another kiss. The magical connection pulsed alive in their souls, swept away in the insatiable urge to be closer to each other. So enraptured that they only halted when they heard mumbling to the side.

“I’m not interrupting them Papyrus, they’ll take a break eventually…” Dust didn’t even flinch when their eyes snapped over to him.

“Didn’t take ya as a voyeur Dusty!” Killer laughed. Nightmare stood quickly, but didn’t move to take his place behind his desk.

“I suppose you’re reporting in on your latest assignment in Fellswap.” Night could compartmentalize like a pro, his face blank and unaffected in moments while Dust relayed his findings calmly. Killer had envied Night’s ability to sort away emotions and reject them, choosing to feel them instead of being overcome, but now that he had a direct link behind the facade, he found himself awed at his moon’s composure under enormous influence.

Calmed by the impromptu make out session, Killer searched inside himself for what was new.

The parts of the bond that came from Nightmare felt shiny, not like the pieces that had always been there. He could feel those rotting things from his own past had been broken in, worn to match the rest of him, unlike that which was added. Killer visualized Nightmare’s power like a tiny galaxy living in him. Dark and expansive, powerful and captivating, it crooked a finger at him to indulge in the negative in himself and in others around him. He could pull on it, indulge in the poisonous vapors, become more powerful in an instant.

Tentacles slithered over his arms, lifting him carefully but pulling his back flush against Nightmare’s chest.

“Now where were we?” Night’s voice rumbled through the both of them. Killer stroked each appendage and licked the corner of Nightmare’s mouth.

“Almost to the good part.”

He was level 20. Right hand of the terror of the multiverse. Mated to the god of negativity. He’d killed plenty and taken what he wanted his entire life.

Killer shut the power out of his mind. He’d take it in stride and learn to tame the damn thing. No need to throw away his sanity for more power than he already had, especially not at the cost of his moon.

One stray hand to his pelvis and the thought was gone.

“How do ya deal with the cravings?” Killer’s hand clenched around his knife, breathing through his nose in metered breaths. Blood red magic ran from his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue at the last second.

“I indulge when it is safe to do so.” Night watched cautiously from the door to the training room.

“And when’s that?” Killer curled in on himself.

“Moments like right now.”

He and Horror had been sparring, just like normal, taunting back and forth, when the corruption had reared its ugly head mid-sentence.

“Can’t keep up? Maybe that’s why you couldn’t feed Pap-” Killer instantly ate his own words, teeth cutting clean through his tongue before Horror could do anything in retaliation. He didn’t even block the attack Horror had started. They weren’t fragile, god knows that they had tougher skin than most, but there were lines you did not cross, and Killer had sprinted straight past them without looking back. He hadn’t moved since.

“So you’re feeding off my fuckup? At least that’s something.” His shirt was wet against his sternum, stuck and soaked in the front, sticky and thick on his fingers tearing into the fabric.

Nightmare pulled down, sitting beside him on the floor. Every limb hovered over Killer’s form. Times like this, he almost detested Nightmare’s superior control, unable to see beyond that carefully neutral face and the wall Nightmare could pull between their bond with ease.

“I cannot help my nature. That doesn’t mean I wished for this.” Nightmare folded his hands in his lap, a picture of patience. “He has already forgiven you.”

“He fucking shouldn’t. I knew what the fuck saying that would do.” Killer sneered at the floor. Black dripped down to mix with the crimson staining his clothes. He was such a piece of shit, giving in like this was his first damn rodeo, like he’d never had to exert ANY fucking self control! He fell forward until his face met the floor.

“You’ve only had this power for a few weeks. It takes time.” Killer could feel his tentacles tentatively soothe him at the edges, pokes and pats soft enough to be shaken off should he decide to run. “I’m sorry.”

Killer’s eyelights flicked on at the tiny pulse of sadness. Night could hide a lot, but powerful swings couldn’t be hidden from your soulmate.

He turned over to stare at his moon. His face looked steady as always, but knowing the emotion beneath gave it away. Night met his gaze evenly, but his eye had gotten soft, rounded on the edges. If he looked closely, tension pulled Night’s arms taut, elbows pressed too hard into his lap, tiny tremors in the forearms from pushing his stress to a hidden place most wouldn’t notice. Really seeing it had Killer shuffling up to sit again.

“Moon, I don’t regret anything. I’m mad at myself but not at this.” He sought out Night’s folded hands, grasping them with his dirtied ones. “The only thing directed at you is that you still keep hiding from me.”

“It’s...a lot to handle. You already feel overwhelmed, so I…”

“I get to decide when it’s too much Nightlight. Tell me how ya really feel.” The revulsion from his actions faded away, patiently waiting for Night to let down the wall.

It dropped all at once, a dam cracked open over his psyche, Killer awash in a million emotions, many that didn’t have names but ate at him sharply. Another piece of him soaked it in, eating up all Night’s doubts and self-loathing with glee. Killer flinched.

“It feels weird as fuck to like when you’re upset.” Killer scrunched up his face. “I prefer you smilin’. Or moaning.” He gave Night a saucy wink. His reward, a light peal of laughter, lit his soul up like a glowstick. Night cupped his wet face with a soft smile.

“I’d like that too.” A chaste kiss melted the dark atmosphere away, Killer left besotted in the wave of fondness from his lovely moon. “I will always feed on the negative, but in this, I gain strength from our love too.” He hummed softly at Killer’s enamoured look. “In sickness and health, my soul.”

The kiss was warm, but not drawn out. They were still in the training room after all.

“I guess I should clean up and apologize to Horror. Even if he forgives me, don’t mean I don’t have to apologize.” Killer stretched back. With a swing of his torso, he landed on his feet. Night stood to join him, resisting the urge to take him elsewhere for soft reassurances. “See ya tonight light?” Killer stuck his tongue out.

“It isn’t optional.” Night pulled him forward with a single hand by the collar of his hoodie. “I’d hunt you down if you tried to stay away.” His seductive smile made Killer purr.

“Hunt me down then Moonbeam. I look forward to it.” The pleasant shimmer of emotion under it all warmed his bones as he walked to his room for a change of clothes. Killer caught a glimpse of the hall mirror, taking in his wrecked appearance with little concern. With each day, he owned more and more of this new darkness, and one day soon, he’d have eternity left with Night. He flexed his arms to rest them behind his head.

“Now where is Horror?”

“Take Horror and get the fuck out of here.” Killer swung his blade through an ink stream. It deflected off to the side, narrowly missing Dust, who had Horror up over his shoulder.

“You can’t take Ink and Cross alone idiot.” Dust had started to back towards the exit anyway. He’d save two skins over one any day.

“Don’t need to take ‘em. Boss’s on his way, just gotta run out the clock.” His grin widened as he turned back to his opponents. The liquid hate began to pour from his sockets, dripping onto the floor, starting to puddle into pitch black pools. He slid his knife under the waterfall to coat it in the black sludge. “And I’ve gotten better at taking my time.” When he stepped forward, Cross stepped back.

“What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”

“Not a bit.” Cross’s stance shifted to put his blade between them. He kept readjusting his grip on his weapon, anxiously preparing for whatever new tricks Killer had up his sleeve. “I’m not so easily shaken.” His white eye went gold.

“I don’t think that’ll make that much of a difference.” Killer flipped his knife with ease, taunting his favorite punching bag of the Stars. Internally, he checked his balance to dodge positivity arrows. “Whatcha gunna do? Stare at me?”

Cross swung confidently in a forward dash. Killer jumped out of the way.

“I’ve got positivity on my side.” Killer almost laughed, but a shot of ink missed his face by an inch.

“And a little help!” Ink chuckled, setting himself up around the edges of Cross and Killer’s spar as inconvenient back up. Killer blocked a direct attack, focusing his energy to spread the corruption over to Cross’s blade at point of contact. The gold eyelight flickered until Cross whipped back.

“What the hell did he do to you?” Cross curved the sword to smash into the ground with a grimace. The sludge cracked and crumbled off.

“It’s better than the nothing Dream gave you.” Killer stuck out his tongue, enraging Cross into re-engaging.

Cross hadn’t gotten much better. His stamina had increased, drastically so, but so had Killer’s, that wasn’t making the difference. Cross stepped into the sludge pool, sliding off balance. Killer pounced on the opening. The back up ink stream caught his shoulder. He growled at the shot of pain but poured that feeling into his spark, bouncing back before Cross could even react.

Even the help wasn’t making that much of a difference. Cross just wasn’t messing up as much as usual.

Cross had always left openings in his attacks, and Killer exploited them, which upset Cross, which made him fuck up more, which made him an easier target, ad naseum until he kicked his angry, self loathing ass. Looks like he’d gone and gotten with Dream to get over himself. Well mostly, because he was still fucking up, but each success powered the positivity and that weakened Killer now, even as his own worries ate at him. It was the world’s worst snowball effect. Too absorbed in his own head; he found himself backed into a wall.

“Look who’s cornered now?” Killer hated that smile on Cross. Well, he’d either have to take a scalding or a slice to get out of this. He leaned back to push out of the corner after the swing.

“Try not to get my face. Boss’ll have no eye candy at the castle.”

“Well we can’t have that.” The sight of the tentacle gripping Cross’s knife made him swoon.

“W-what?” Cross’s eyesight dimmed back to white with Night’s touch. “How’d you get here so fast?!” Nightmare tilted his back towards Ink.

“Killer.”

“Yes Boss.” He took off towards the painter like a bolt, powered by the Night’s aura and the dread Cross eeked over the battlefield. He listened to Nightmare’s talk while easily keeping Ink busy.

“The better question, Cross, is why Dream has not come to save you. Are you just not worth saving?” He’d wrapped Cross in his tentacles, the spark of positivity being drowned out by the overwhelming panic, much tastier than normal loathing. “Did you think you could take him alone? Did you doubt that I’d come to defend what’s mine? Or is it...you can’t call him?”

“I can call him!” But no one came.

“Don’t forget who I am. I am not easily deceived.” Night’s satisfied smile drilled into Cross’s mind. “Such a pity. He mates with you but doesn’t tend to your spark. What a waste.” He tightened his hold on Cross, wincing at the tightening pressure. “Killer can call me from any corner of the world if he chooses. He can wield my gift. You were left with nothing but the promise of feeling better, while I raised my mate higher.” Night manipulated Cross to stare at him in the eyes. “Dream truly does not understand his own power, and, by extension, you.” Condescending and conceited in turns, though Killer could feel the pride beneath.

“You and Killer?” He’d barely gotten it out before his eyelights blanked.

“Not your concern.” He’d seeped most of Cross’s strength away before throwing him towards Ink disdainfully. He broke off his fight with Killer to look over at the limp offering. “I suggest you get him out of my sight. I will not spare him a second time.” Night turned away from the crumpled heap, wrecked traitor gone as soon as Ink grabbed him.

“If I said I wanted your body now, would ya hold it against me?” Killer held his arms wide open. Nightmare walked directly into them, not even waiting until Ink had fully portaled, kissing his mate fondly.

“Have I told you that you can be insufferable at times?” Killer laughed so hard he could hardly stand up straight.

“I know I’m your favorite. No need to say anything.” With a hand to guide Night on his chin, Killer angled into another kiss, soaking in the love and affection from his moon as easily as he had his worries and troubles. Nightmare rested easily between his arms, happier than Killer had ever seen and proud beyond measure of HIS soulmate.

“I love you. You are, indeed, my favorite.” He leaned into Killer’s chest. “Now, how about we go home for some preferential treatment?”

“Moon, you just read my mind.” Killer wrapped an arm around Night’s waist, sliding the other hand along his arm until he had Night’s clasped off to the side. A perfect dance pose, Night shaking his head with fake exasperation, straightening to press against him. The portal whirled open somewhere behind them. “Let’s waltz on outta here.” Night laughed.

“Lead the way Killer.”

He grinned and waltzed them right through the portal, to home.

Thank god, it POSTED.

#killermare #nightkiller #story time #soulmate AU

217 notes · View notes

deadlifts-and-derrida · 3 years

Note

If you had the ability to not only grow your size, but also your belly to as big as you wanted to. How big would you be and what would you do with your new size and ability to do so. Would you become a gentle giant and use your size to help people, travel the world, and share your new found ability with others peacefully? Or would you use this ability to become a sort of god and rule the world and it's inhabitants under your power.

I don’t like a big belly on me, so I’d be a 600 lbs bodybuilder with a 36” ab-gnarled waist (I’d say smaller but at that weight and muscularity the abs themselves are gonna be pretty big)

I also would not gain a single inch in height, and would be quite restricted in my mobility as a result. I would not have much in the way of power, you see. I always feel like I need to stress that I am well outside the overlapping part of the muscle growth / macrophilia Venn diagram. I would mostly be an incredible mass of muscle semi-dependant on others to get dressed and feed myself because muscle too big. 5’11” tall, 4’8” wide kind of a thing.

I would use my abilities as kind of a chaotic good god, I guess. I’d enjoy making my favourite bodybuilders grow. Relatively slowly. Andrea Presti gains 5 lbs of muscle a week over the course of a year. I’d enjoy those Instagram updates. I’d help hardgainers without hesitation. I’d help greedy muscle pigs who are already huge without hesitation. And I wouldn’t be above pouring 15, 25, 35 lbs of muscle onto that hunky barista or that sexy guy who lives across the street, just for my own amusement.

24 notes · View notes

nightmaresart · 3 years

Text

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓹𝓮𝓸𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮

That I'd fallen for a lie?

You were never on my side

Fool me once, fool me twice

Are you death or paradise?

Now you'll never see me cry

There's just no time to die

No time to die - Billie Eilish

𝕭𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈 𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Full Name: Lewis Daniel Gallach

Meaning of Name:

The name Lewis is from English origins and its often said that it means "Warrior" or "Gift from God"

The name Daniel is from Hebrew origins and means "God is my judge"

Nickname: Lewy, Daniel, Ghost

Reason of Nickname:

Lewy: Lewy is the nickname that his mother gave to him when he was a young boy and it stuck with him ever since

Daniel: Daniel is a lesser known nickname for Lewis that his mother only used when she was upset, so he doesn't like it when people call him just Daniel

Ghost: Ghost is the nickname that alot of people at Hogwarts gave the young boy due to his pale complexion and his pale eyes. Its a nickname that is always used in a mocking manner as the people who use it don't know the boy personally

Gender identity: Cis-male

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Queer

Age: 17, depends on what I write

Birthday: 11-11

Zodiac sign: Scorpio ♏

Place of birth: Sint Andrews, Scotland

Blood status: Pure Blood

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖊

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

The wand: Willow, Augurey Tail feather core, 11 ⅓ inches

Willow: Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Augurey Tail Feather: Augureys, or Irish phoenixes, were once associated with powerful Dark wands, as their cries were thought to signify an upcoming death. However, they were in reality never a strong Dark core, and were more accurately a powerful core for Divinations. Misunderstood students may find themselves bonded to an augurey wand, although these wands are altogether quite rare.

Patronus: Little Owl

Little Owl - So tiny and yet so observant, these introverted creatures are bound to share this trait with any witch or wizard capable of casting them. Although they don’t mind occasionally rubbing feathers with strangers, they largely prefer marching to the beat of their own drum without the immediate oversight of others. If this is your Patronus, it is likely that you do some of your best work alone and are a firm believer that introverts can go toe to toe with some of the more boisterous members of the animal kingdom.

Magical abilities: Necromancy/Reanimation

Necromancy: The power to utilize magic involving the dead, death-force and/or souls.

Reanimation: Power to reanimate corpses and dead beings.

He can bring creatures and people back, or atleast reanimate their corpses but it takes a toll on his physical health, the older he gets the more powerful and useful this ability of his becomes.

Boggart:

Himself surrounded by dead creatures and people, all clawing at him to bring them back to live

Riddikulus form:

The corpses disapear and it turns into a small ghost dog that jumps around him while barking with a high pitch

Amortentia

What do they smell?

Homemade pies, the comfort of his own room and the cold and open corridors after a storm

What do they smell like?

He smells like old corridors, ink and a crackling campfire with a hint of mint

Mirror of Erised

He sees himself alive and well in the future with his friends still by his side, being able to be himself without getting hurt or having to hide who he is anymore

𝕻𝖍𝖞𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

Eye Colour: Pale Grey

Hair Colour: Pitch Black

Hair Style: He doesn't have a specific hair style, its mostly just what he wakes up with and rolls with, if he slept at all that is.

Weight: 68 kg or 149 lbs

Height: 1,85 m or 6 ft

Type of Body/Build: Ectomorph, Skinny

Skin Tone: Pale Ivory

Distinguishing Marks: His unsettling pale skin paired with his unsettling white/pale eyes

Face claim: Finlay Macmillan

𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

Overall Personality

A reserved and introverted guy who struggles alot with himself. He prefers to stay quiet and just doesn't like to speak when it's not necessary. He seems cold and distant but in reality he is just afraid of what people might think of him. He just doesn't know what to do with both himself and with others.

Briggs myer type: ISTJ

Good traits:

Observant, Gentle, Listener, Creative, Reserved

Bad traits:

Closed off, Wary, Picky, Panicky

𝕬𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖊

Towards people they hate

He doesn't interact with the people he hates at all, he avoids them at all costs and doesn't even spare them a glance when he does walk by them

Towards people they tolerate

Only a simple glance and sometimes even a faint smile with a small wave if they were to wave and smile at the boy first

Towards people they consider friends

He is still a hit wary around his friends and isn't the loudest person you can come across, but he certainly allows them to come close to him and even talks back when they're striking up a conversation with him

𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖘

Family:

Father: Unknown

Mother: Eliana Gallach

Friends:

Orla Atkinson, Lilith Devereux @hphmbetty , Danny Gibson @catohphm Gallen Stagg @cursebreakerfarrier , Logan Rosseto @demon-twins-and-co

S/o:

TBD

Rivals: TBD

𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞

Born to a single mother in Sint Andrews, Scotland, the family was always cast in a bad light due to it not being complete in the old fashioned way. His mother however tried her best to take care of Lewis and worked alot as a result of this, due to this Lewis spend most of his youth alone in the house, reading the old books his mother would bring back and just watching people from his window.

It was pretty difficult for him growing up because his mother told him to stay inside to protect him when she was away, this caused the young boy to gain his pale complexion, barely being outside and in the sun long enough to get a healthy tan.

When he was nine years old he was in the backyard and found a dead mouse, curious about it he picked it up and cradled it in his hands. This managed to bring the mouse back to live which scared the young boy. He screamed and his mother ran outside to see what was going on. From that moment on she made him swear to never pick up a dead animal ever again and he did.

He arrived at Hogwarts at the age of eleven and immediately shut himself out, he wasn't used to soo many people in one place that it made him feel too overwhelmed. This stayed this way until he made his first friend who also happened to be his roommate, Danny Gibson.

This is also when he tries to rediscover his power again and learn more about it without his mother being there to punish him

𝕽𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝕱𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖘

Lewis has an incredible difficult time understanding other people and thus has an extremely difficult time making new friends or new contacts

Lewis looks extremely pale due to him barely going outside during the day

Once he befriends people he is still awkward but he is trying his best

He is extremely fascinated by the dead and often goes out of his way to talk with the hogwarts ghosts

He finds it easier to talk to those who are dead than to those who are alive

He is quite fearful of his own powers and while also wanting to learn more about them, he knows it hurts his body and affects his health

He has a sketchbook filled with detailed portraits of those he finds intriguing

If you want your mc to be added to his friends, or rival list, please just send me a message and it will be done!

#harry potter #hphl #hphl mc #hphl oc #hphl moodboard #hphl profile #harry potter hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #lewis gallach #ravenclaw oc #ravenclaw #second profile!#lets go!

10 notes · View notes

dilutesworry · 4 years

Photo

❛ 𝒉𝒆 takes no time to shake his wings dry again , but for us – a few drops of love are intense pain . wine rouses the heart , wine makes all men lovers – wine , undiluted , dilutes worry .

* omg hello , i’m so excited to be here i love mythology in all forms & i simply , am a s-word for it always . i’m cc , cst tz w / feminine pronouns & this is bacchus , who i’ve never written before but am excited to try my hand at ! in a nutshell , he can be described as scarily calm angry guy who’s wine drunk & has a flair for the dramatics . lots more under the cut , but i’m so excited for this so pls ! hit the stupid lil heart to plot or hmu for my discord ! general tw for alcohol .

❛ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 & 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 › 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐒 .

( YOON JEONGHAN, CIS MAN, HE / HIM ╱ well, if it isn’t BACCHUS, who has decided to grace us with HIS presence. I heard the GOD OF WINE & MADNESS has been living amongst the humans for 417 YEARS, and hasn’t aged a day, funny right ? they can be EQUABLE & WILY, you should watch out because they are also known to be INTEMPERATE & AUDACIOUS. HE harnesses the power of MADNESS INDUCTION, and have chosen the path of being AGAINST the humans. ╱ CC, 20, CST )

❛ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 & 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 › 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

he sits by the sea , swallowed in sand with an empty chalice in his hands . his eyes are tired , an irrationally calm ire that rests on impenetrable skin while he watches the sun rise . will he ever tire of the simple things ? there was once beauty in humanity – he’s spent centuries dancing naked in the woods , flowers adorned in his hair sending messages in the breeze ; life hasn’t been the same since last he blinked . oh , he tires , he longs to sink in the sand unforgotten , but accursed with the weight of mankind , he tires – of them .

❛ 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆 › 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 .

✧ * CORE

↠ full name . bacchus / alias baek suhwan ↠ nickname(s) / alias(es) / title(s) . roman god of wine & madness , baek suhwan – in the modern age to mortals ↠ age / dob . immortal / appears twenty - eight ↠ hometown . rome ( if u saw me put greece here first no u didn’t ) ↠ current location . new york city . ↠ stance . against mankind . ↠ abilities . madness induction . ↠ gender . cis gendered man . ↠ pronouns . he / him . ↠ orientation . bisexual , grayromantic . ↠ occupation . ???? billionaire playboy ???? ↠ face claim . yoon jeonghan .

✧ * COUNTENANCE

↠ height . six feet , one inch / 187 cm ↠ build . broad shoulders , though he’s got thinner limbs than the more athletic of his kind . best described as lean , but well toned . ↠ tattoos . a couple hand tattoos , XII on the back of his neck . ↠ piercings . ears . ↠ scars . none . ↠ hair . these days he’s sporting jet black , messy curls that usually fall into his eyes . he’s been known to try different hair colors , but hasn’t been blonde or otherwise in the last century . ↠ eyes . dark , and always seeming to swirl with a mix of emotions – it teems on raw anger and sheer entertainment , but his eyes tend to always just be watching and observing , easily putting most mortals at unease if he wants to . ↠ clothing style . whatever’s on trend – but just , slightly off . in his youth on earth , used to sport bright colors and flashy clothing but in the most recent years ( decades , even , not centuries ) he’s toned it way down to neutrals and dark toned clothing . it’s jarring , since he’s mostly outwardly still the same , he just looks like he’s matured a lot more . ↠ usual expression . just slightly entertained , half a smirk written on his lips while a golden chalice is tipped toward them . always like he’s in on a secret that he’s not supposed to know about , like he’s just on the verge of ruining your life if you choose to approach him in the darkness of the party – he screams danger , but he’s tempting . ↠ speech . slightly off putting , as if when listening you’re unable to discern where he’s really from – because his words sound a little , ancient , a little too powerful . he speaks like he’s the most important person , and like attention and glory are owed to him . awfully crude , but he’s charming enough to get away with his egotistical tendencies and how harshly his words leave his lips . ↠ distinguishing features . an aura that demands attention – whether he’s earned it or not , worn fingertips that are always rough against others’ skin , tilted lips that always spread in a trouble - making grin , clever eyes that don’t seem to match the rest of his demeanor .

✧ * RUMINATIONS

↠ ( + ) positive . equable , wily ↠ ( - ) negative . intemperate , audacious ↠ moral alignment . chaotic evil ↠ likes . wine ( though , won’t complain about other types of alcohol either ) , long parties that last days – even if it’s not as common these days , the silent roar of the sea , the feel of an evenly balanced blade in hand , naked company resting between silk sheets , cliff diving ( won’t explain ) , being awake in a city that never sleeps – roams free barefoot in the streets from time to time , never ending adventures with heroes ; hasn’t found a hero worth following , though . ↠ dislikes . most mankind – they’ve lost his respect far too long ago , death ( of a party , of a favored mortal , of joy ) , disrespect toward him – everyone else is fair game , apparently , most demigods – they’re just annoying , being uncomfortable – therefore often indulges in the finest things in life , most modern music ( old man vibes ) . ↠ quirks . will pull out various , priceless chalices and goblets seemingly out of nowhere – usually accompanied by a rare , expensive bottle of wine ( won’t offer to anyone else , it’s just for him ) , raises his right eyebrow whenever he finds something interesting , carries around an authentic aureus coin at all times and is often seen flipping and weaving it between his fingers . ↠ hobbies . disappearing for multiple years at a time only to reappear as some new version of asshole , letting himself get into fights ( and willingly losing ) just to Feel Something , lounging in a silk robe in his penthouse and complaining to his household staff ( aka lamenting like an old poet ) , creating multiple social media personalities just to see how far he can get away with things if he pretends to be famous for a century or two .

❛ 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅 › 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄 .

trigger warnings : death , war – mentions of blood .

✧ * ASCENSION

* bacchus , roman god of wine & madness . he is not far from his greek counterpart , dionysus , & often has the same stories as him .

he’s born from the thigh of his father – birthed as a demigod while being raised by nymphs in order to be hidden from the wrath of an immortal queen . the first to cultivate grapes & turn them into wine , his first instance with mankind is spent in asia – teaching the mortals their the secrets of wine making . he is the last to ascend to mount olympus , the twelfth to take his seat among them & is inherently , the baby ( which , he lives up to ) .

✧ * 500 YEARS AGO

* the 1500s , bacchus arrives on earth – naked & drunk , awaiting his newest adventure . he loves mankind , despite the atrocities they perform upon each other . a traveling storyteller , he finds his place on a caravan of freaks while roaming in europe . rome isn’t what it used to be , now taken over by men from the north who are just learning about the earth being round – churches & monarchy are rampant , bacchus becomes a bard briefly . he has his way with the men & women of the court , charming them into sin , whispering forbidden stories of godhood into their ears as he brings in a generation of forgotten demigods that won’t amount to much . he falls in love with a mortal prince , watches him die in a baseless fight against the churches & the people . he disappears for a few decades before resurfacing in asia , finding an easy life with the sprawling dynasties . as always , adopts a life as a storyteller – a rambunctious drunk that has a way with words ( & royalty ) , earning him a comfortable life . he ends the era with still much love in his heart for mankind – they’ve been nothing but kind to him , they’ve loved him & cherished him , his anger is nonexistent .

✧ * 400 YEARS AGO

* the 1600s , italy calls him home , bacchus arrives at the same time of the greatest minds mankind has to offer . but as galileo & isaac newton are quick to make discoveries ( that are quite , common knowledge in his opinion ) , he’s the kind instead to be distracted by the pleasures in life . bacchus is the same bacchus as the child who took his first steps just a century earlier . he indulges in the finest wines & women , a sprawling palace built in his name as he lounges about being fed grapes . it’s here he has his first taste in adventure , after boredom settles into his bones . bacchus assimilates into mankind even more than he had previously – he’s quick to fall in love again , but not necessarily with someone – just , even more with mankind . he watches from afar as they grow & form ideas , becoming brighter & stronger than they were ever intended to . bacchus gifts more to mankind than ever , there are records of him all over europe – & to the east , a mysterious benefactor in the ottoman empire that matches his description . he most often brings up stories from this era ( & the 18th century , but , not there yet ) .

✧ * 300 YEARS AGO

* the 1700s , bacchus becomes more warlike than ever . he shows his godhood in both the american & french revolution , bares his teeth in every single major war that starts on earth . bloody & powerful , his stories during this century are a lot more somber . he witnesses horrors & pain that he didn’t know were necessary ( aren’t those usually things reserved for the gods ? he hasn’t experienced life on earth on the bad side , perhaps he would’ve seen more if he had – understood that mankind isn’t too far away from the gods themselves . the titanomachy tends to repeat , after all ) , he gains his first taste of disdain for mankind . even when he’s settled between wars with a crown on his head & a golden spear in hand , he’s starting to see humans forget him . they’ve shifted focus , weapons in hand with blood on their teeth , left his altars empty & forgotten . of course , if he just shifted his own focus back onto the courts ( & the rich ) he’d be better off . but , he spends this century as a disciple of war , for the first time on earth showing the strength of the roman empire .

✧ * 200 YEARS AGO

* the 1800s , bacchus falls back into old patterns – indulges more & more in his domain than ever . this is his worst century on earth – every god ever is aware of bacchus , who’s fallen very deeply into a spiral that’s difficult to get out of . when asked , it takes more than a thousand drinks before they understand what he went through . dozens of favored humans dead in wars , hundreds of children lost in one fell swoop – while the world just moves on , he’s stuck running around the world spreading his gifts & powers . chosen alcohol no matter where he goes , a never ending party left his wake , newborn maenads in his name , bacchus is an eternal mess . he spends very little actual time with sober humans , keeping other gods in his company instead . he almost misses home , almost chooses to return home , but is too stuck in his haze to really remember the way back . is it possible for gods to be drunk ? is it possible for them to absolutely forget their godhood ? well , it is for him .

✧ * 100 YEARS AGO

* the 1900s , his anger is at an all time high , bacchus is all but forgotten . his greek counterpart is far more remembered , he is left behind in the dirt ( though , who’s fault is it really ? over a hundred years as a drunkard , spilling old stories & fading from the forefront of man’s mind , he’s got nobody else but himself to blame ) . for the century , he’s a particularly cruel god – very sly , very cunning , very not great for mankind . a deal broker , he’s quick to help out humans , but always for a price & always an entirely too high one . it doesn’t make much sense , since there’s not much he can grant except momentary invincibility , a quick escape if needed , a personal maenad . he sets a quick record for inducing madness , more than ever in his entire four hundred years on earth – more people go insane than ever under his fingertips & he finds it absolutely entertaining . only toward the end of the cold war does he find it in himself to ... Relax , a little .

✧ * NOW

* �� nowadays , a new visage on hand , he returns to his roots from his favorite place earth has to offer . the first few years of the new century are spent around eastern asia , traveling about once again & teaching mankind new ways to succeed in the wine business . after he’s swindled enough mortals out of their money , he turns to the west & settles in manhattan , new york . a penthouse is purchased underneath the alias “baek suhwan” & he is content to live his days out , lounging about with the people that disgust him the most . he is calm now , though is anger is not forgotten . it’s turned almost – apathetic , a dangerous type of ire to hold , but he’s numbed out to it . most of what he does nowadays is insult everyone around him ( for entertainment ) or be the most dramatic person in the room ( for entertainment ) or cause a ruckus amongst the gods ( for entertainment ) . as for mankind , they’ve really done nothing in the recent centuries to win back his favor , & though he now more leans toward indifferent , he’d still choose to fight against them rather than ever fighting for them .

❛ 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 › 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 .

so like , in theory : everything .

but in specifics i’ll just list some scenarios instead haha cause that’s how i do things cause smol brain .

001 : we always run into each other & i know exactly how to push your buttons so i always do & maybe you like it , or maybe you hate it – i’m still going to be as annoying as possible because technically , i can .

002 : for the greek gods – we’re technically related ( but i’m not greek & i never will be , ew , god ) & i’m technically still a baby god compared to you but i am annoying & i will annoy you but you can’t do anything about it because i’m the baby ):

003 : same as above except you DO do something about it because again : i’m not greek so yeah you beat my ass

004 : one time we accidentally started a small war between mortals & that was kind of messy but now we’re friends , except mankind insists that we’re enemies & we think it’s kind of funny .

005 : oh , yeah , i’m a “mortal” but i’m really not good at hiding it cause i kinda do whatever i want & i get away with it all the time but yeah , dude , i’m “human” – what do you mean why did i put it in quotation marks i’m not a god , dude – no i didn’t wink at you haha

006 : i did you a favor once & now you think you’ve gotta repay me back but like , i’m good – please don’t talk to me ever again , i don’t like you please stop bothering me & being nice to me please stop .

007 : oh , we don’t like each other & we both know it , so yeah we just don’t get along & i will fight you in public except the last time we started a battle it wasn’t cool & we got reprimanded for like 9 decades so let’s Not Do That but yeah , hate u , xx .

#ungodly:intro #alcohol tw #death tw #war tw #blood tw #THIS IS REALLY LONG AND I'M REALLY SORRY AAAAAAA

15 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 20 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 19 here. Part 21 here.

Summary: You wonder where Ren got his teaching license. His education strategies are unorthodox.

Words: 4800

Warnings: snowballing, Commander Ren’s a Nasty Boi (tm)

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hi and welcome to Anna makes herself Sad. I love y'all so much--so happy to hear you enjoy Ren in this fic. I love writing him! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. I'm deeply appreciative of any and all feedback.

(p.s. sorry but snowballing is hot, deal with it)

You pushed open the two curtained French doors and walked into the den, easing them shut behind you. The lamps in the room were out--the only light spilling from a blazing fire at the hearth. A warm orange glow filtered through, an incandescent film, the room transformed into a sunset. Tall shadows stretched across cherry hardwood, now bubbling with a magma aurora, grazing the ivory wallpaper, revealing the tiny golden threads woven through its curling pattern. Gold-trim paintings gleamed at the sides of heavy maroon curtains, their inlaid marble settings flickering with the fire’s breath. Its heat crawled through your toes, up your ankles, inspiring sweat at the backs of your knees.

Or maybe what was making you sweat was at the opposite end of the room--your Commander, Kylo Ren, seated behind a large, chestnut desk, its thick Cabriole legs appearing delicate against the background of his enormous frame. In front of the desk was a single Chesterfield chair, upholstered in a luscious blue velvet. Ren, impassive, met your gaze, focus dipping over your figure before he straightened, directing you to sit with his eyes.

Throat dry, you obliged.

Under the pressure of his presence, even the scratching rustle of your dress as you sat seemed ear-splintering. You focused on the desk--across it was the Bible, open to Samuel. More notations in the margins in that loopy, lovely handwriting. Only one word was identifiable, underlined at the bottom of the page.

Obedience.

Ren’s stare lingered in the silence. You weren’t willing to break it. It was a rush of relief when he finally spoke.

“You’re not happy here.”

You raised a brow, studying the folds in your gloves. “No. I’m not.”

“That needs to change.”

“You’re saying you care about my happiness?” You still refused to meet his eyes.

“No.” He sat forward. “Your willingness. Your compliance.”

“My obedience?” You held back the snark in your voice.

Ren shifted again, thumbing the page in front of him. “It’s not enough to be obedient,” he said. “We strive for acceptance. Understanding. The end result is happiness.” He paused. “Tell me what needs rectifying.”

The words floated like buoys in your mind. He was, in his own bizarre way, asking your opinion--but what you wanted to say was never going to be what he wanted to hear. Finn’s words, distant, echoed: You’d have to get on his good side. Here now was an open opportunity to endear yourself to Ren, to bathe yourself in pliant understanding, to assuage his concerns and, with any hope, use your increased proximity for your own gain. All you needed to do was lie. You glanced at your hands again, tracing the seams of your gloves.

“I’m not sure if anything needs rectifying,” you said. “Some Handmaids are just… defective.”

“Defective.” The word shriveled on his tongue. “Is that how you classify yourself?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t really seem to get this stuff through my head, you know? I don’t think that means there’s anything wrong with the system.”

“You believe that the fault lies within your own shortcomings.”

“I do.” Your tone was even. Cool. And, hopefully, convincing. “There are plenty of Handmaids who don’t do the things I’ve done.” You sighed, as if frustrated with yourself. “You have to leave room for human error. The problem is with me. Gilead… I mean, what else could you do? There’s been a lot of thought put into it as it is.”

Ren sat, considering you, your heart a timpani in your temples, the distant echo of your concussion rapping the edge of your skull. Silent, he snapped to his feet, circling the desk. Then circling you. Every breath drawn into your lungs wilted in the silence of the den, his attention a laser, searing the perimeter of your skin. He stopped--you felt his powerful grip at the back of your chair.

“That’s not what you believe.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t believe you’re defective. Or that Gilead is errorless.”

Clearing your throat, you shrugged again. “How would you know that, sir?”

Ren swooped and pinched your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I’ve told you to use my name.”

His eyes, live coals glittering with the fire’s reflection, disintegrated the oxygen in your chest. Warmth licked a line up your spine to your nape.

“Kylo,” you corrected. You kept your neck straight. “How would you know that?”

He released you. “Because it’s not what I believe.”

“What?”

He returned to the head of the desk, looming over it, palms planted on either side of the Bible. His eyes roamed, searching for something either intangible or invisible, before looking at you.

“You’re not defective,” he said. “It’s precisely because you’re not like the others that I want to know what you think.” His jaw tightened. “I want to know what you want.”

You blinked. “What I…”

“If Gilead was errorless,” he said, “then you would accept your role. You would want for nothing.”

“You want me to want for nothing.”

A pause as he held you, briefly, in silence. “Yes.” His eye twitched. His lips trembled. “I want that.”

Your palate was more arid than a desert. His admission battered your guard. How could it be that both of you could sit, drenched in your desire for the other, each attempting to justify it through your politics? Here you were, pretending that you craved a connection to him only for the benefit of the Resistance. And here he was, using Gilead as an excuse to secure your safety, your happiness.

Perhaps he’d been right. You and Ren were separated by a mirror’s edge--one and the same, both bound by shame and fear. Honesty could be your only respite from this misery. Whether he was ready for it or not.

“I want you, Kylo.” To speak the words into existence, acknowledge their truth with your tongue felt more dangerous than anything you’d done since entering his home. “I want you in ways I can’t have you. To know you in ways I can’t, ever.” An ache throbbed its way to your skin, pulsing raw and red from your belly. “And all of that is Gilead’s fault.”

Ren watched you, chest swelling with air, his shirt buttons straining with each breath, his shoulders crowding. The tendons in his hands tensed like violin strings tightened to the tune of his conflict, the tips of his fingers paling as they scraped the desk. His lips parted, his tongue darting to wet them. He’d caged an animal behind his flesh--an animal that, having heard its name, wanted nothing more now than to ravage you.

“I was right.” His mind pared you, an apple, sinking teeth into your tender core. “You are me.”

“I am,” you breathed. “God forgive me.”

Kylo Ren rose to his full height. “Oh, little bird,” he said, meandering toward you. “Forgiveness isn’t our lesson, tonight.”

Lust grew a thick knot in your throat. The question of whether or not you were going to fuck him didn’t even enter your mind--now that this forbidden longing, the one beyond pure lust had been named, it burst, a storm surge, washing you both in its riptide. So you swallowed.

“And how will any of this engender obedience toward Gilead?” you asked, only half-serious.

He sniffed in amusement. “We’ve said it ourselves. Gilead is flawed.” A large hand encircled your wrist, tugged you from the chair and against his solid frame. “I want you obedient to me.”

“Oh…” If breath were steam, your eyes would’ve fogged. “Fuck.”

Ren leaned forward, hot exhale whispering over your ear, his palms gliding along your sides, snagging the fabric of your dress--you shivered, a familiar burn kindling between your thighs. His teeth grazed the helix of your ear, and a whimper escaped you as you inched closer to him, grasping the lapels of his jacket to remain steady.

“I can’t stop thinking about your body,” he murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about how you taste…”

You nestled into his chest, heat streaming into your face. “How I--”

“Mm.” He nipped your ear. “Since I had your cunt last night, it’s all that’s been on my mind...” Ren pressed his lips to yours in a firm kiss and tore off your bonnet, your hair rolling free. “Take off your clothes, and get on my desk.”

Stilling your lungs, you nodded. It was a process--first your gloves, your shoes, your socks, then your dress, then the slip underneath that, your undergarments--but from the corner of your vision you saw Ren studying you, mesmerized, the entire time. You hadn’t the courage to look at him while you stripped, the reality of your red uniform still chaining your boldness, but when you stepped out of your underwear (hardly sexy enough to be called panties), you met his gaze--and suffocated under the gravity of it.

In Ren’s eyes, you could see nothing but complete and utter worship, as if your body was an altar, and he’d arrived for his blessing--or, maybe, his flagellation. This was a benefit of Gilead, you thought, the starvation for connection so intense that your nakedness had the power to bring Commander Kylo Ren to his figurative knees. And his hunger resonated--your pussy twinged with need.

You only basked in his admiration for a moment before you hoisted yourself onto his desk, the cool wood pimpling the backs of your thighs, and in seconds, a large hand seized your hip, another coiling itself in your hair as Ren pressed his mouth against you, plush lips smothering yours. Whimpering, you scooted forward, pinning your knees together to put pressure on the growing ache between your legs.

He drove his tongue in your mouth, slipping it over yours, the hand on your hip skimming your skin and finding your breasts. The feeling of flesh on flesh drew a moan from his throat, his grip greedy, possessive, kneading your tits while his kiss turned primal. Ren pinched your nipple, rolled it between his fingers, mouth moving to attack your neck, tongue tracing heat as he nipped at the sensitive skin, another shiver rippling through you.

“No--” If he left a hickey, you’d be dead. “Please--”

“Quiet.”

Grunting, he moved lower, licking a long line across your collarbone before lancing you with lust-addled eyes. Holding you in his stare, he teased the tip of his tongue across the tender tissue--and then growled, drawing it up between his teeth and sucking a harsh, dark mark into the skin. You whined, fighting the urge to let your head fall back; instead, you dipped forward, gripping his shoulders, burying your face in the thick waves of his hair. His smell--smoky and wooden and wintry--scrambled your brain. Taking in a long breath through your nose, you held it there, stupefying yourself in his scent.

Ren’s greed grew--he dug his teeth into your clavicle, breaking blood vessels, birthing a network of bruises across your upper torso. Electricity crackled in your veins, hips bucking toward him, clit growing stiffer with his aggression--in response, his hand left your hair, wrenching your thighs apart and smoothing over the soft, exposed flesh.

Your mind spun with how quickly this had escalated--mere moments had passed and now you were naked, on your Commander’s desk, body screaming for him--but the fact that you’d both charged forth, possessed with passion and unashamed, was liberating. Within this tiny prism of space-time, Gilead’s hold had vanquished, its roles banished to irrelevance, the raw nerves of instinct exploding to the surface like cicadas--a hungry, blind swarm.

“I need to taste every part of you…” His mouth drifted again, pressing kisses across your sternum until he reached your breasts, gazing at them in awe. “You’re beautiful...”

This dunked your brain in desire, left it to swim--you crumbled in his grasp, shuddering with want. Ren flicked your nipple with his tongue, relishing your full-body squeal before sucking it past his lips, a lewd, desperate moan escaping him. Pleasure buzzed over you, and you inched closer, your sex seeking any scraps of his touch it could manage, core throbbing wildly. He laved your peak, his other hand skating over the lips of your pussy, two digits testing you, peeling you apart by millimeters.

“Fuck.” Fingers foraged his mane, seeking purchase while he suckled at your tits. “Fuck, yes…”

Ren snickered, releasing your bud, trailing his mouth lower still, strong hands prying your thighs wide as he littered hot, furious kisses down the roll of your belly, streaks of saliva in his wake. Your blood pulsed with an insistence that dizzied you--or maybe it was the fact that Kylo Ren, your fucking Commander, was growing dangerously close to putting that beautiful fucking mouth on your cunt.

His two digits opened you wide, a third feathersoft on your clit, and you gasped, limbs jerking, nails biting into his scalp. He growled and snatched your wrists, tacking them to the desk, gazing at you from between your legs, a mask of deviancy on his face. It occurred to you then--Ren, not only figuratively, but literally on his knees.

“Is this what you wanted, little bird?” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose, brushing the tip over your folds before his lids fluttered open. “For me to make your pussy cum on my tongue?”

Face hot, you could do nothing but nod.

“Say it.”

You groaned, tucking your chin to your chest. For all of this egregiously illegal intimacy, he hadn’t lost his desire to humiliate you, it seemed. “Please,” you said, “please… um, please make me… um...”

“Go on.”

“But--”

Ren pinched your clit in reprimand, and you squeaked. “Go on.”

“Please…” Embarrassment scalded you, flesh in flames. “Pleasemakemecumonyourtongue.”

The corner of his lip curled in the slightest acknowledgement. “Almost.”

Kylo Ren purred in anticipation and pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, leaving soft, slow kisses there, warmth flooding you as he worked his way toward your wet, pulsing heat. Stuck under his control, you squirmed when his lips grazed your cunt, ghosting your folds, moving to your other thigh, nuzzling it and nipping the skin. Your walls clenched, and you whined, desperate, strained to snapping in your need for him.

“Please,” you gasped, “please make me cum on your tongue--God!”

He huffed. “No need to deify me.” He licked a flat stripe over your slit, and you snuffed a scream. “Desperate little thing.”

With that, Ren placed a deep, vulgar kiss to your pussy, tongue delving into your slit, a trembling groan echoing in his throat when he swallowed your wetness. His eyes, in the pits of perversion, watched you, soaking in your speechless delight while he explored each tiny crevice of your cunt. Bliss built inside of you, blocks of white hot energy, stacking with every second those velvety, full lips massaged your folds. Your mouth fell in an open pant, your hips rocking into his face--his hands moved, sticking your wrists to your hips as he gripped you there.

Your mind attempted to flash to the last time a man had his face in your cunt; the memory was hazy, forgettable. But this--the heat from the fire stoking sweat down your back, your breathless, wanton whimpers, the tickle of Ren’s hair at your thighs and the soft, urgent pressure of his tongue exploring your sex, the waves of pleasure cresting over you as you strained in his grasp--this was, would be, indelible. Resistance and its sacrifices be damned, you could die with this memory being your last, satisfied that you’d had the most beautiful man you’d ever seen place his lips to your pussy.

It was as you thought this that a spear of infatuation pierced your heart, and you gazed at Ren, chest tight with the distant reality that your temporary tryst could never flourish outside of these four walls, that beyond them, Johana was sleeping--or maybe sobbing--beyond them, Poe was dead and the Resistance was waiting. Beyond them, you were his Handmaid, a womb in his service, and your life, infinitely expendable, laid in his hands.

Thankfully, his tongue, expert enough to interrupt your exi-sexual crisis, fluttered over your clit, effectively wiping your brain blank, and you released a whining breath, hips jolting into his face when he drew the stiff nub into his mouth. Your head tipped back, pleasure crashing over you, tiny moans leaving you while he sucked slowly on your clit, engorged and throbbing at his lips.

Your core thumped with a demand to cum--Ren was reining you to a cliff, your desire a wild animal, bucking with abandon and ecstasy. His tongue swirled over your nub, slipping wet circles around it before he groaned and sucked it hard between his teeth. You wailed, calves wrapping around him, tugging him closer, your lungs emptying rapidly.

“Oh, fuck, fuck--”

Biting your lip, you fought yourself, your walls clenching with your impending climax. Ren slicked your folds again, pressing another greedy, rough kiss to your swollen pussy, gathering the cum at your core and gulping it down. Your clit twitched, screamed for him--he soothed it with the hot cavern of his mouth, the beating of his tongue--you almost cracked, hands fisting at your sides.

“That’s right,” he muttered into your flesh. “You know what I want to hear…”

“Kylo...” It left your lips without hesitation. “Yes, fuck, Kylo--”

Ren sucked fast at your clit, so deep in your pussy his nose flattened against you--and you broke, orgasm gushing through you, a geyser, a cascade of ecstasy that left you quaking, your walls spasming at his chin. He swallowed it hungrily, clutching your hips to his head, as if the evidence of your pleasure sustained him, laving at you until you squeaked and jerked from sensitivity.

With a satisfied gasp, he released you, still stroking the sides of your hips, mouth glossy with your juices, watching with tethered emotion while you descended from your high. “As perfect as I thought you’d be.”

The cycle of anxious air in your chest slowed, and you allowed yourself to sigh, internally panicking at the level of tenderness that was trying to settle into your heart like a tired puppy. A tremor crept over you, evidence of the dangerous game your mind wanted to play. You ignored it. How horrific your desire to nurture feelings for this man, this murderer, manipulator, misogynist--how horrific that in this moment, you didn’t care. And how horrific that he’d guided you here, with his soft mouth and terrified eyes and need to hear his name.

Fuck, you hated him. And you wanted all of him, from the bottom of your accursed, wretched soul.

Ren rose, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before cupping your head, pulling you to his lips. Humming, you allowed his tongue--still coated with your cum--in your mouth, the tingling of your post-orgasm skin lapping up the physical comfort. Your legs wound around him again, your palms resting at his chest while he kissed you, his other hand petting your side before pushing your pelvis toward him, the steel urgency of his clothed erection grating your sensitive cunt.

You broke the kiss with a whine. “Kylo--”

His digits gouged your flesh, and he tensed, back swelling. “Needy thing, aren’t you?” He squeezed your ass, shoving you to his body. “We can fix that.”

Ren stepped back, keeping you attached as he moved to his chair and sat, leaving you naked, on his lap, covered cock grinding into your heat. It was automatic--you dropped your hips, seeking friction, and his hands seized your face, your fingers finding his hair. Your mouths met like magnets, your bodies writhing in rhythm, his tongue wrestling with yours as you groaned, smearing your cunt over his slacks.

His kiss was rabid, almost angry, teeth clacking, hands groping your ass, your thighs. The memory of his body from the night before blinked in your brain--you fumbled at his neck as you loosened his tie, pulling the ends apart and tossing it to the side. A moan escaped him, muffled by your mouth while you then worked at the buttons on his shirt, popping them free.

The second his chest was exposed, you scoured it, skin-on-skin sending a clench to your cunt. You mapped his muscles to your memory--the strength of his breast, his firm, powerful abdomen, all of it hot with need--breathless at the sight of his beauty under your palms. Your touch sent a quake through him, and he released you, trapping you in his stare while he grappled with his belt, face flush with relief when his cock sprung free.

It was a combined effort--he fisted his length, angling it at your core, your hands clutching his shoulders as you sank onto him, ribcage still as he split you wide. God, you couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe you were in your Commander’s den, riding him at his desk; you’d ask to be pinched if he hadn’t done it already. You felt shameless, naked but not exposed, only exalted, only desired.

Your fingers burrowed into his shoulders while you throbbed around him, seeking air, and he snarled, setting a brutal pace from the very first thrust. Cries fled you, pushed from your lungs from the force of his hips, and Ren consumed you, sucking at your tits, hands bearing bruises into your ass. His dick stretched you wide, fucked you deep, wracking your body with its punishment--pain ripped through you, pleasure hot in its wake, foaming in your veins, an effervescent euphoria.

“Oh, Kylo…” Now his name spilled from your lips unbidden.

He seethed, muscles rigid for only a moment. “Fuck--”

Ren buried his face in your tits, biting the bouncing flesh, decorating you with desire. His cock pumped into you, summoning another orgasm from the bottom of your brain, and his hand wiggled between your legs, teasing your over-sensitive clit. Squealing, you squirmed on top of him.

“Mm, I want you to cum again,” he muttered. “I want to make you cum over and over…”

“Jesus Christ…” Lava flowed through your bloodstream, scorching you from the inside.

“This is what obedient girls get...” Ren’s voice was ragged, shorn with lust. “Have you learned enough, little bird?”

You smirked. “I don’t think I have.”

With a growl, he stood, holding you on his cock with one arm as the other swept across his desk. The Bible, pens, wooden organizers stacked with paper clattered to the floor--and he slammed you on the open surface, crushing you with his weight and fucking you hard. You wailed, nails scraping his chest--this drove him wilder, and he grunted, tearing into your shoulder with his teeth. The wail became a scream, and you curled around him, cunt clamping his pulsing length as it slammed you, the rest of the world whittling to waste. You and Ren were the only extant beings on the planet, both enthralled by the unspeakable, terrible force between you.

His fingers went to your clit again, toying with it. Ecstasy splashed at your toes, a tsunami at the horizon. “Filthy thing,” he muttered. “You love this.”

“I--I do.” Your words came out strangled through your hiccuping breath. “But y-you knew I’d love it the m-moment you met me…”

“Fuck…” The head of his dick smacked you deep, and you yelped. “That’s right--you were begging for it in your sleep.” His hips moved faster, length plunging into you. “And you’re still not satisfied.”

Satisfaction seemed foreign in the world of Gilead. But that’s not where you were, right now. You were in some other world, a world where getting fucked on a desk by a married man wasn’t the result of months of suppressed emotion.

Well, maybe that particular world didn’t exist.

“Oh--Maybe I’ll n-never be satisfied…”

“We’ll see.”

Ren threw the heft of his frame into you, pounding your pussy, sucking at your neck, his hair brushing your face. His digits rubbed at your sore, swollen clit, pleasure ricocheting through you like lightning, overriding whichever system was pleading for pause. Your face screwed in bliss, and you sobbed, witless, a body broken by the ruthless ramming of his dick. Another breath, another, heat flashed your flesh--you quailed, so fucking close--

“Do it,” he hissed. “Cum.”

A violent orgasm ruptured through your thighs, and you quailed, submitting to it, cunt convulsing, tightening around his cock. Ren choked, cursed, his hair spilling over your throat as his hips stuttered, desk creaking across the floor with the throes of his orgasm. The room itself seemed to shudder, a tremor rumbling in the hardwood until he had finished and collapsed--a spent, sated beast.

You stared into the ceiling, lungs heaving, skin veiled with sweat and sparks. Wood snapped in the background, a shower of light cast over the room as embers sprayed into the hearth. Ren returned to reality, peeling his sticky chest from yours, glancing at himself as he rose and slipped out of you--half naked, painted in pleasure, a shining example of the results of oppression: furious, exhilarated rebellion.

Two large digits dug into your cunt, scooping out the concoction of your cum--you winced, but raised your neck, watching while he guided it into his own mouth, sucking his fingers clean. Heat raced over you, and before you could respond, he tugged you forward, catching your head and pulling you into a deep, slow, kiss. The viscous, salty mix, blended with his spit, spilled into your mouth. It was repulsive, delicious--you moaned, rolling it over your tongue before you passed it back, threading your hands through his hair. Ren sucked in a breath through his nose, swirling it a final time before forcing it over your lips, a demand for your obedience. Grateful, you swished it from your teeth and swallowed.

He pulled away, lips gleaming. Silence settled in the separation of your bodies, each staring into the other, processing the connection. Your chest constricted--shame. Yearning. Despair. His face was wiped clean of emotion, the only hint of his confusion a flicker in the shadows of his eyes. Then Ren broke away, adjusting himself back to decency. Sound returned to your ears. You could move.

“This is insane.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing him, or yourself. After all--you still had to expose him to the Resistance. “We’re going to get killed.”

Ren’s face was stone. He’d moved to buttoning his shirt. “No.”

Deciding you needed to redress, too, you eased off the desk, searching for your clothes. “No?” Underwear first. Socks. “Easy for you to say. Johana knows.” Dress, now. “Why are we doing this?”

“Why?”

You threw your hands in the air. “We can’t be together like this, Kylo.” Where the hell was your bonnet? “And the reason we can’t is by your design.”

He sniffed. “Not mine alone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “Is your design to destroy Gilead?”

A pause--he glimpsed you before pulling his tie from the floor, measuring it under his collar. “No.” With practiced ease, he flipped the fabric around itself. “My design is to perfect it.”

“You can’t perfect what’s inherently broken.” You found your bonnet, started to wrap your hair and tuck it onto your head. Ren was gathering the items from the floor, replacing them on the desk. “What’s your goal, then? To--to what, have me and Johana and a baby? To fill your home with resentment?”

His jaw tensed. He pulled the tie tight, dusting off his jacket. “My goal is to have you,” he said. “And you alone.”

You swallowed, heart clenching. “What?”

“As we agreed.” Ren turned, stalking toward you. “The system is broken. And I will correct it.” He reached out, fingers grazing your chin--you flinched. “Johana is irrelevant. You will belong to me.”

The fire seemed to have incinerated all of the oxygen in the air. You shook your head, imperceptibly. “I don’t want to belong to anybody.”

His gaze passed over you, assessing, before he plucked the Bible from the floor, flipping through it. “Hm.” His eyes met yours. “We’ll see how you feel when our lessons are complete.”

Ren’s hand enveloped the back of your skull as he pressed his lips to the lump at your hairline, igniting a shock of pain. “I trust you can get yourself to bed,” he murmured against your skin. “Goodnight, little bird.”

Tucking the Bible under his arm, he stopped at the fire, shuttering it to its death, then opened the doors to the home. The air of Gilead rushed in, stiff and cold, stealing the warmth from the room, extinguishing the lingering joy in your belly. You stood, listening to Ren’s footsteps down the hall, a statue until the flames in the hearth guttered, drowning you in darkness.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #I Love Snowballing: the TED Talk

165 notes · View notes

silveraccent · 4 years

Text

Designated Drunk || Grace & Cece

TIMING: Evening, Sept 5th PARTIES: @silveraccent & @thebickedwitchoftherest SUMMARY: For once, Cece is the responsible one who’s listening to Grace’s ramblings. Grace lets a few secrets fly, and Cece thinks she may know what’s going on. Trigger Warnings: Death mention.

Grace didn’t drink. She didn’t drink because when she drank, it was harder for her to not let people in. Not metaphorically, but literally. She became an open book, and she hated it when she became that way. Hated the way she couldn’t shut up, the way her jokes became a little less morbid, a little more telling. Though, after the week that she had had, it was inevitable. After the situation with Winston at the morgue, Grace wasn’t sure what to think. It was real, she knew that much, but she wasn’t sure how to make sense of it. It had been awhile since she, Cece, and Regan had gone out for drinks, and with Regan’s sudden absence, Cece had found it important for the two of them to bond without the flying airplanes. Grace couldn’t blame her, as their last attempt had been a bit lost. She sat now in front of Cece, a cider half-gone as she wrapped her hand around it, the condensation rubbing onto the palm of her hand. “It was a good idea,” Grace said as she hiccuped, “that we didn’t go to the same spot.” God she was such a lightweight.

Having a new face around the morgue had taken some getting used to, but luckily Cece was flexible and adapted to change well. Overall, Cece had decided that she liked the newcomer. Even if her personality was more aligned to Regan’s than her own, Grace was a fresh face and Cece had managed to get a few laughs out of her at work. More than she had gotten from Regan, after over 6 months. Cece was two drinks in, watching was fascination as Grace drank hers. She couldn’t get a good read on the kid, but something about the girl screamed lightweight. “I’ve made my way around the team. I know all the good bars.” Cece took a long drink and grinned at the girl, “Listen, I know you’re a lot nicer than me. But tell me that leaving Ricker’s behind wasn’t powerful?? Drinking game, take a drink for every time he told us about Cody’s after school activities today? Talk about blackout drunk.”

“The good bars,” Grace nodded slowly, thumbing the bottom half of her glass and smeared the condensation around, “I like good bars. I don’t usually go to bars.” She looked at Cece. This wasn’t something she normally did, go out drinking, but she could release some of the stressors that had been making it hard to sleep lately, right? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the reanimated corpse lunging at her and Winston and her stomach would churn all night long. Maybe allowing herself to have a few drinks would change that, make it easier to sleep. “I don’t know if I’d be able to survive that.” Grace scrunched her nose and lifted her drink to her lips, taking a hefty sip. The apple bit at the tip of her tongue. “I think… we’d die.” She looked up at Cece with a stoney gaze. “Or do something stupid, because of how drunk we’d be.” She laughed at her words even though they weren’t funny. “Maybe,” Grace continued, “we’d be able to make money.” Her eyes lit up. She knew she wasn’t making sense, it was why she didn’t drink, “do you think we could bet on it? I need new shoes.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell, kid.” Cece laughed sarcastically, the obviousness of Grace’s lack of bar experience being pretty obvious. “Grace, I pride myself on being able to drink people under the table at five feet tall and even I couldn’t survive a drinking game like that.” Cece slapped Grace on the shoulder playfully and tried to imagine in a single day how many shots that would take. Cece wasn’t sure this bar had enough alcohol in stock. A day like that would end with Grace and Cece in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. This Grace, not many drinks in but already tipsy, was absolutely adorable. “Make money, huh?” Cece leaned in, egging the girl on. “Tell me more about this plan of yours. Where is the money coming from? What shoes are you going to buy? Most importantly, should we buy matching crocs?”

“You are really short.” Grace observed, looking Cece over. Despite the fact that they were both settled in their chairs, she could tell that she had at least 3 inches on Cece. “I wouldn’t survive either, but maybe it’d be a fun way to forget about the day.” She looked up at the blonde when her hand came in contact with her shoulder. It seemed like Cece was having a good time, but Grace’s impression was a bit muddled due to the alcohol. Truthfully, the reason she didn’t drink much was because she didn’t like how numb everything felt, despite wanting it to be quiet. “Money would be good, I could afford a new pair of Dr Martens.” She looked at Cece with a grin before taking another sip of her drink. She hadn’t been aware of the AC of the cider before ordering it, but it didn’t seem to matter now. “How many times in a day he would talk about his grandkids,” Grace continued, gaze settled on the napkin dispenser between them, “maybe 50. Whoever loses, pays up.” She furrowed her brows, “I don’t know if Regan would want to though.”

“Thanks for the reminder” Cece scowled at her coworker, but she didn’t hold it very long before smirking. Cece had accepted her fate long ago. She had watched everyone around her get their growth spurts. Cece thought she would just be a late bloomer, but turned out she was actually cursed. The lack of height only fueled her. She gained power from being underestimated by the people around her. “I like your dedication to these new shoes. More than that, I love this obnoxious Ricker’s pool idea you’ve got going. Y’know what Grace? I like you. I think we’re going to get along.” Cece held her glass up and offered it in a cheers to tap against Grace’s, “What Regan doesn’t know won’t kill her. That’s my philosophy.”

“It’s okay, I’m short too.” Grace said it matter-of-factly. She leaned into her drink as she picked it up and pressed the rim of the glass to her lips. It was cool to the touch, her face already feeling warm from the alcohol. She blinked at Cece, “I have to be dedicated to something, right?” She smiled innocently at her before taking another sip, only to be left with less than a quarter of a glass. She set the glass back down onto the table. “I like you too!” She smiled broadly at Cece, “I was worried, because when Regan told me about the coffee, I thought maybe you didn’t care about your job, but you do.” She nodded again, “I like this job.” She looked at Cece and picked up her glass again, clinking it against Cece’s. “She won’t know, just like she won’t find out about what happened at the morgue.” She froze. Shit.

That damn coffee story. For whatever reason, Cece had somehow come out of that story the bad guy for bringing coffee into a morgue. Sure, Regan May have been right in the minuscule and potential risks involved if the coffee were to spill. But she had to understand that Cece never let coffee go to waste. Not to mention, the real victim here still had not received any true justice, her almost full cup of coffee. Wasted. No one there to sip on it’s rich and caffeinated goodness. A true tragedy. Even if Regan ever admitted the two were friends outside of work, Cece would never forget the injustice given to her that day. “I do care about my job, actually. But I think there’s also something to be said for caring about the job a little too much.” Regan was passionate about her work. It was something Cece could admire most of the time. Except for when she was living in her office and throwing away her coffee. “A good work life balance goes a long way. Don’t forget that when you’re learning shit from Regan. She can teach you a lot of things, but that’s not one of them.” Won’t find out what happened at the morgue. That piqued Cece’s curiosity. She wondered if Grace was talking about the incident with the body? But he would Grace be so dead set on keeping something that wasn’t her fault a secret? “Tell me more about what happened at the morgue again. Scouts honor that it stays between the two of us.”

When it came to drinking, Grace was bad at it. As bad as she was with most things physically demanding, like soccer, or mowing the lawn. She couldn’t hold her alcohol and it showed in the way she bowed over her drink, a small grin tucked at her lips. She knew that she was going to either get herself in trouble, or Winston in trouble by even talking about it, but she could at least just say she saw the body, not what actually happened with the body, right? She looked up at Cece again in an effort to gauge whether or not she could actually be trusted. Sincerity rolled off of her as well as curiosity, for what Grace could tell. “It was…. Alive.” She blinked. That wasn’t the right word. “Not alive, but it moved.” She nodded. That description was better. “It moved… at me, and then it crumpled to the floor.” Not totally a lie. It was too bad it hadn’t happened prior to Nell’s truth serum wearing off. “Like… a pile of laundry.” She scrunched her nose and let her hands fall into her lap. “It just…. Fell apart, to pieces.” She picked up her drink and finished the cider off, the memory of that day leaving a foul taste in her mouth.

A dead body that came back to life? This was definitely the most interesting part of Cece’s day by far. “The dead body moved?” Cece questioned Grace. It was important to remember that Grace was definitely drunk. Side note, Grace was an adorable drunk and should definitely not be driving home. That being said, Cece needed more to go on before getting too excited. In her experience, drunk people were usually more honest than sober people. But drunk people also tended to exaggerate more than sober people too. “When you say moved, you mean like normal spasms that corpses have? Or full on limb function?” Knowing what she knew about the status of the body at the end of the exchange, Cece was willing to bed on the latter. Unfortunately, Cece needed to stay sober tonight to make sure that good ol’ Gracy didn’t wander off into the woods and get herself eaten. “So what’s your take on this whole situation? Are you drunk enough to consider that this was supernatural or something?”

“It wasn’t gassy if that’s what you’re asking,” Grace mumbled against her knuckles as she held her hand to her mouth. She was in deep shit now, revealing what had happened. As long as she didn’t slip and mention the fact that Winston was with her, she should be fine. It’d be possible to just say that the corpse crumpled to the ground rather than admitting it came after them, right? She looked anywhere other than Cece’s eyes, she wouldn’t be able to hold in the truth if she made eye contact, she just knew it. “It got up… off the table, it moved, then it fell.” It felt weird, saying it out loud now. The words felt foreign on her tongue, like they were a lie, but she knew what she saw, she knew what had happened. Winston had been there, too. “Drunk enough to consider this a supernatural phenomenon?” She looked up at Cece finally, but looked at her nose instead. “I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t normal.” She kept her voice low, “honestly a lot of weird shit has been happening since I moved here, I don’t know what to believe, and it’s not like I can ignore it, I’m not exactly--” Grace clamped her mouth shut and let out a forced laugh, “I don’t know what to believe.” God, why couldn’t she just stay sober.

That shit was magic if Cece had ever heard of it. And considering that Cece was a witch, she had definitely heard of it. But who the fuck had any interest in reanimating some stupid dead person inside of a morgue? Whatever they had done, it didn’t seem to work well if the thing just crashed soon after. Cece had a lot of questions, and none of them could be answered by a drunk girl who clearly had no idea what the hell was going on. Poor thing didn’t seem in tune with the supernatural world at all. Which could only mean that she was in for a rude awakening around these parts. “Yeah well, welcome to White Crest. This town is weird as fuck.” Cece stated matter of factly. Cece had spent the last ten years travelling the country with a coven with questionable morals and Cece still thought this town had a few screws loose. “I’ll tell you now kid. If you’re going to stick around, you may want to start lowering your expectations of what normal is.” Cece chuckled. It almost reminded her of how Cece had felt back at fifteen, discovering her own magic for the first time. “Was anyone else with you? What if I told you that we could stop something like that from happening again?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it weird,” Grace mumbled against her knuckles. She didn’t know how to explain what had happened, but it had to be something-- whether or not she wanted to believe it, there was definitely something supernatural going on. She had seen it when Winston blew the decedent to pieces, as well as when the door had fallen apart. There was no other explanation, the town wasn’t just weird. She had been called weird all her life, what she was capable of, it wasn’t normal, and she knew that-- but this? This was out of the ballpark in the world of weird, or normal. She could be confused, but still understand that there was something bigger going on, right? She rubbed the side of her face, the sweetness of the cider beginning to give her a headache. Maybe it was the bridal party in the corner of the room, she couldn’t tell. Elation filled her as the woman opened a gift and she went to take a sip of her empty drink. She looked back towards the bar when Cece asked if anybody else had been there, and without thinking, she spoke, “Yeah, Winston.” Grace’s bit down on her cheek hard. “But they left right before it happened,” she quickly covered up as she turned back to Cece. “Do you think we can get another drink?” She picked up her empty glass and wiggled it in the air with a frown.

“You have a better word for it then?” Cece raised an eyebrow. In the know or not, even someone familiar with the supernatural couldn’t deny that something about the town was off. If a hellmouth was real, the one in this town would have a portal that dropped you directly on Satan’s lap. A widespread, long lasting town curse hadn’t been completely ruled out of Cece’s theories either. Not that Cece was actively trying to find a root of the cause. That certainly wasn’t her business, and not worth the trouble or danger. “Because I’m sticking with weird as fuck until I get a better adjective.” So Winston had been there? Or rather… Winston had not been there? Drunk Grace was a bit loose on the specifics, changing that they had left right before the body had moved. Cece knew Winston well enough on the surface as a coworker. The two had worked together before and both kept the whole werewolf versus lobster debacle to themselves. Clearly, they weren’t ignorant of the supernatural. “You bet we can. I’ll even pay for it.” Cece laughed, raising her hand to wave the bartender over. “Listen I’m not telling you this just because I think you’re one drink away from the deep end and you’ll forget the conversation. But I think I know what happened and I think I know a way to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

She didn’t have a better word for it. Maybe just accepting it as it was what Grace needed to do, because if she didn’t, where would she end up? She shook her head, trying to figure out the word that was at the tip of her tongue, but refused to tumble over. She looked at Cece, “I guess that works, weird as shit.” She hiccuped at Cece’s declaration that she’d buy the next drink. Grace felt guilty, only for a moment, before giving her a firm nod. “I’ll buy the one after that, then!” Grace smiled at her, the mood from the corner of the room sinking its claws into her. The last thing she wanted to do was exhibit their mannerisms, but she couldn’t help but feel slightly cheered up, despite her longing to fall into the pit of despair that surrounded her current circumstances. “Wait, what?” Grace looked from her empty glass back to Cece, eyebrows pulled together in concentration-- concentration that she didn’t exactly have. “What do you mean you know what might have caused a dead body from being dead, to getting up and attacking us--” Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek. She needed to never drink again.

Cece reminded herself to cut Grace off after this drink. Cece always supported a good, safe blackout drunk adventure. But this girl already said that she rarely drank. It was never a smart idea to put Cece in charge of being the responsible one, but even she could see the writing on the wall here. One more drink and Cece needed to get Grace home and hydrated. She’d still feel like shit tomorrow, but at least she wouldn’t end up in the hospital. Or worse, a two day hangover. “So it’s back to us then?” Cece raised her eyebrows in suspicion. Funny how the story kept changing. “And it attacked you this time? It’s like a whole new little fable now.” That didn’t exactly answer the girl’s question. Though given Grace’s current emotional state, Cece wasn’t convinced her coworker would quite comprehend an honest explanation anyways, “You think I’m completely blind to the shit that happens in this town? I didn’t cause the dead body to attack you, but I’m familiar with the spell. It’s magic.” Cece waved her hands around and added in some spirit fingers for dramatic effect.

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” Grace lied as she scrubbed her chin with her hand. The last thing she wanted to do was bring Winston into this, to out them for… what had they called themselves? She couldn’t remember, it had all been a blur. This was like those days in which she had been under the influence of the truth serum, her inability to shut up was a risk, and she knew it. “I can’t remember.” Grace let out a defeated sigh, one that she hoped was convincing enough to sway Cece into thinking that she genuinely had her details mixed up. She had even screwed up with Regan, not having mentioned Winston at first, when they were clearly on the security cameras. The m word made Grace’s skin crawl. “That’s what…” That’s what who said? She couldn’t say Winston, her story was already messed up. Defeated, she shrugged, “sure, if that’s what it was.” She had bargained with the idea that it was something else, anything else, but it was so clearly magic. Her Grandma had told her stories about sorcerers and covens, but nothing that she ever took for truth. Though, with her involvement in tarot readings, of course those things would shroud her stories.

“Clearly, that much has been obvious.” Grace couldn’t decide on what the truth was. Admittedly, Cece wasn’t in the mood to pressure her too much on the issue. There was a reason she was remaining slightly apprehensive. Either she was protecting Winston or hadn’t quite accepted what she had seen yet. Either way, drunk Grace clearly wasn’t going to be any more help. Cece had already gotten the answer she needed anyways. Someone was playing around with necromancy. Bringing corpses back to life for the hell of it. And by the looks of it, they were either just doing it to fuck around or they sucked at actually bringing someone back to life. If that was the case, the problem may have taken care of itself. Bringing someone back from the dead was a dangerous game that needed to be done perfectly. “You’re new to all this. No worries there. I’ve been there too. Stick with me, I’ll help enlighten you to the world of fuckery. It’s a wild ass ride, fair warning. There’s not really any going back once you start.”

Truth be told, Grace had no idea what she was getting herself into when she moved to White Crest. She hadn’t expected to have a reanimated corpse running at her, hands outstretched. She hadn’t expected to see somebody fling the body against a wall without so much as moving a finger. It was all… chaotic, and the expression on Grace’s features showed that. “I’m already living here, so aren’t I kind of in it?” She was taking this all a lot easier than she had expected of herself, mostly because she wasn’t sure what was real and what was dramaticized. She picked up her glass to find it empty. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips as she looked back to Cece. “There’s a lot you can’t explain, but I’m guessing you can?” She looked towards the bar, glad to see it was absent of paper airplanes flying their way. “Did you ever figure out what happened with the planes?” Grace asked absently as she tried to slip off of her chair.

Grace had a point. Not everyone got the luxury of living in White Crest and ignoring the weirdness. Cece didn’t quite grasp the people that lived here their whole lives without recognizing. For the most part, the town seemed normal enough. But once someone got their first glimpse into the weirdness, it felt like a rabbit hole that couldn’t be climbed out of. Unless that person was Regan, who had managed to be permanently stuck head first in the rabbit hole and still refused to accept the inevitable. Honestly, her stubbornness was downright impressive. “I wouldn’t go that far, Grace. I’m not an expert by any means. But I’ve been around the block a few times.” Cece took a practical approach to things. If she could see it, that shit was happening. If she couldn’t see it, that shit might still be happening. The most important thing was keeping an open mind and always keeping calm. She had usually found that she could get herself out of situations even new to her by keeping her cool. “I can at least point you in the right direction.” As far as the paper airplanes went, Cece hadn’t thought about it much. “Not a clue. Never happened to me at that bar before. My only guess is some kind of teleportation or summoning spell.” Cece shrugged, as if a teleportation spell was the most normal thing in the world, “Can’t say why they were targeting us specifically.” Grace started moving, sliding off of her chair and Cece groaned, rolling her eyes and hopping off of the barstool with her, “Where you think you’re going?”

“Around the block a few times, got it.” Grace nodded, making a grab for her empty glass. She picked it up and pressed it to her cheek, allowing for the glass to cool her skin. She didn’t know what was happening, and it seemed as though the more questions she asked, the more answers she got, or… didn’t necessarily get. It was all very confusing, and Grace had had enough thinking about it-- it was a mistake bringing it up to Cece at all. She wondered silently if Cece would tell Regan. The thought made her stomach turn over. The last thing that she needed was for Regan to know that she lied. “A summoning spell?” Grace asked as she leaned against the table, her elbow digging into the wood as she tried to keep from stumbling over. “There are a lot of spells here, huh?” Why wasn’t she more upset by this? Why wasn’t she questioning Cece, asking her how she knew that this was the cause? She wanted to ask, but hadn’t she seen Winston with her own eyes, blowing the door open, blowing the decedent to pieces? She shook her glass in her hand. “I want another drink, remember?” She motioned for the blonde to follow her to the bar. “I need another drink to get through that conversation, because I can tell you’re telling the truth, or you believe you are, and that makes my head hurt.” She wandered towards the bar without realizing that she may have just outed herself for not being so normal, either.

“Way more than I know.” Cece agreed with Grace. The number of spells in the world were probably innumerable. There were countless variations to similar spells, and some spells so specific to a certain situation that it would be almost impossible to ever copy them again. But that was a whole mind blow moment that Cece wasn’t sure Grace’s brain could handle much more of at the moment. At least Grace just believed Cece without some show of proof. Cece had no interest in using a spell at a bar. “Oh right of course. You want another drink.” Cece sighed but followed her, “Alternate idea. And trust me I sense the irony coming from me, but we could not drink anymore and get you home. Continue this conversation in a day or two when you don’t feel like you’re dying.” A hangover was unavoidable, but it could always get worse. “You can tell I’m not lying?” Cece questioned out loud. Did that mean Grace was good at telling if people were lying or that she had some sort of sixth sense. Could she even trust anything that the girl was saying. When Grace got to the bar, Cece waved for the bartender’s attention while Grace’s back was turned. Cut her off Cece mouthed to the bartender, swiping her fingers across her neck in show.

“I don’t feel like I’m dying,” Grace countered back as she looked over her shoulder at Cece. “And weren’t you trying to get Re-- Dr Kavanagh and I to drink with you the last time?” Grace’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t drink often, though.” She paused just before the bar before looking to the bartender who seemed focused on something behind her. Grace cut her gaze back to Cece just in time to see her hand drop to her side. “Oh, you think I'm lush now.” Grace’s voice came out in a whine. “I swear I’m not normally like this, I mean, you saw me--” she folded her arms across her chest and sighed. A shrill laugh from the corner of the bar made Grace wince as a wave of elation washed over her. Grace tried to push it off, but instead, clasped her hands together and gave Cece a broad smile. “One more drink for the road, then I’ll drink no more, besides, I’ve only had two!” She turned back towards the bartender and looked at them with pleading eyes, “One cider. One drink for Cece. She said she’s paying, but I want to pay, because that’s what juniors do.” She grabbed the bartop as she turned and winked at Cece. God, the crowd of bridesmaids was making it hard to be consistent. Normally, Grace had an easier time keeping it from swallowing her whole, but with drinking, it became harder. Though, the headaches were absent, so at least she had alcohol to thank for that.

“I’ll never give up on my attempts to get Regan to drink with me. Someday, Grace. Someday.” Cece stared off into the void, wondering how likely it was that her dreams would ever come true. Not very, most likely. But that wouldn’t stop Cece from trying. “I’m just looking out for future Grace, no judgement here. I’ve had more drunken nights than I could even begin to count.” Cece shrugged, the bartender glancing between the two and Cece shrugging and waving them off. Grace was an adult, if she wanted to keep drinking, Cece wasn’t going to hold her back. At least she’d be there to mostly keep her holding onto reality. “Fine. You pay, I’ll just sit here and look pretty.” Cece leaned against the countertop and watched Grace. Had it really only been two drinks? Damn, this girl was a lightweight. “Regan’s going to kill me if I break her new employee.”

“Future Grace will have to deal with her decisions,” Grace said matter-of-factly. It was like she was a whole new person, albeit it was the alcohol mixing in with whatever else was going on in the bar. She paid the bartender in a 20 dollar bill after telling him to keep the change. She twisted to look at Cece as they waited for their order, “I won’t be broken, I can’t be broken.” She shook her head. She hadn’t experienced any harsh physical traumas, but her mind sure had, and she wasn’t sure if there was much more to break, albeit, this town sure was trying. “Besides, I can take care of myself.” She nodded as if to reinforce this before she grabbed her cider that was placed down in front of her. “I hope you like cider, because I forgot what you ordered before.” She frowned. “It’s good though, not sweet.” She raised it to her lips and let out a satisfied lip smack before she touched Cece’s elbow to motion her back to the table. “So,” Grace said after she set her glass down, “you are nice, I am nice, but does Regan hate me, do you think?”

“You know, I love the attitude honestly.” Cece had to admit that she didn’t have a good argument against Grace putting her problems off on future Grace. How could Cece argue against it when she had made the same exact declarations hundreds of times before this? That would just be disrespectful, hypocritical even. Cece was nothing if not a hypocrite. That being said, she was totally warning Regan that she had tried to put a stop to this. She just knew that she was going to end up falling under the blame for tonight. Sure, pick on the girl always asking for people to grab drinks with her. “I know you can. I never doubted that for a second.” Right now? Cece wasn’t convinced Grace could take care of a stuffed animal, let alone herself. A balloon could probably knock her over. “I’ll drink anything sent my way.” And usually that would have been true if Cece hadn’t realized how big of a lightweight Grace was. Clearly, Cece needed to help the girl build some tolerance so they could have some truly fun nights out. “No, Regan doesn’t hate you. She treats everyone that works for her like that.” It was a funny detour in their regular conversation. Apparently, Grace had some doubts about whether or not her boss approved of her work. “She loves hugs though. Maybe you should try being more affectionate. Make the bond grow a little closer.” Would drunk Grace even remember this conversation? Probably not. But on the off chance that she did and that Grace actually believed her, this would totally pay off eventually.

Grace was glad that the conversation had shifted from what happened at the morgue to… well, whatever this was. It made things easier, made it so Grace didn’t trip over her words, only to spill all of the secrets she’s tucked underneath her tongue. She knows what she looks like, she can see it in Cece’s eyes-- concern drifted off of her, but Grace ignores it, tries to focus on having fun for once, because what had happened, it had hit her hard, and she still wasn’t sure she was okay enough to deal with it sober. While she believed what she saw, it was still a hard pill to swallow. “Hugs?” Grace asked as she looked at Cece over her glass. She lifted it to her lips, the tanginess of the drink coated her tongue. She didn’t think Cece was being genuine, but she didn’t question it. “That doesn’t seem right.” Grace tilted her head to the side, “but I’m glad to know that she doesn’t hate me, I was worried.” She frowned, “she just feels serious all the time, so maybe…” Grace shrugged, “Maybe I’m looking too far into it.” It’d be possible, she almost always was. It didn’t help that she could typically tell how people felt about her right off the bat.

“Bonkers right?” Cece shrugged, playing nonchalant. “She doesn’t seem like the hugging type, I know. Looks can be deceiving.” Cece would give just about anything for Grace to randomly give Regan a hug at work. Cece could picture the look on Regan’s face, the mere thought bringing a smile to her face. “I’ve been trying to get Regan to loosen up since I got there, so if you have any luck you must be some sort of miracle worker.” Regan kept things way too serious, her rule against befriending coworkers a real damper on Cece’s fun. Work was always more bearable when she could have a laugh with her work friends. Hard to do when Regan was so adamantly against the idea of work friends. “My advice? Just keep your head low for a while with Regan. Once she gets used to the new addition to the group she’ll start throwing compliments your way. After that you know you’re on her good side.” Cece downed the rest of her cider in one gulp and slid the empty glass away, “I think it’s almost quitting time. You gonna finish that so we can get you home?” “I don’t think I’ll have any luck,” Grace admitted. Maybe it was the sudden somber tone from the bridal party, the woman crying due to the realization that her life was over. She wondered why she thought that. She looked at Cece, “I’m just Grace.” She smiled at her, maybe a little too sweetly, before picking up her glass and taking another drink. “I don’t mind not getting compliments…” Grace thought for a moment, “but I don’t like not being liked, but at the same time…” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked down at her glass, then at Cece’s, which was entirely gone. She frowned slightly. “I don’t know if I can do that, but,” Grace tried to mimic the way that Cece downed her glass, but cider pooled at the corners of her lips. Grace was forced to pull the glass away and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Oh, that’s a buzz.” Grace nodded to herself as she tipped the glass again, finally emptying the contents. “I did it.” She looked at Cece triumphantly, her worries about Regan, the reanimated corpse, Winston, everything lost with the sweetness of her drink.

#chatzy: cece #para: designated drunk #death tw

13 notes · View notes

elmidol · 4 years

Text

Where the Body Burns - Chapter 3 (NSFW)

Read on AO3

Read Ch. 2

(Banner includes art for fic by @clumsycopy )

[Inspired by Fix Your Attitude by @kylorengarbagedump and Keeping Your Promise by @strongtwiheart ]

Chapter Summary: Your transfer to the Finalizer commences. Socializing with your new squadmates, you are quickly summoned to the Commander's quarters.

Words: 7,100

Chapter Warnings: verbal humiliation; semi-blasphemous thoughts (sort of); breath play; power imbalance; some mind control; forced orgasm; multiple orgasms; boot worship; masturbation (male and female); dubcon; cum eating; inappropriate use of a lightsaber; inappropriate use of the Force

Gretchenfrage

You traversed the endless hallway while in a state of slumber. The path was paved with stars that twinkled, blinking in and out of sight. The captivating effect this reverie possessed contrasted with the stagnant normalcy that had consumed each waking hour since the experience of floating through the heavens. A tug of consciousness threatened to drag you away from this semblance of peace. You felt your lips part, heard the groan that further pulled you into the waking world.

Thunderclaps grew from warbled background noise into a presence that demanded attention. Opening your eyes had done nothing to eliminate the darkness that pervaded the room. Power had been lost hours ago due to the intensity of the storm. The backup generators did nothing for the barracks; that would have been an unnecessary waste of resources—early on in the base’s existence electricity had been squandered to appease the grumbling officers forced to endure the indignation of bathing and dressing without light. In under a month’s time, however, those in command had reached the conclusion that finances would not be spared for a weather machine on such a temperamental rock that housed but a single First Order base. Left to their own devices, the superior officers had instructed the electricians and engineers to reroute the lines to ensure the main systems ran even in the worst storms.

You breathed through pursed lips while lifting a hand to explore the depth of darkness. A shadow was perceivable at a close distance. It was blurred, not a one of your fingers differentiated from the greater portion. A new rumble of thunder rolled and shook the walls. It summoned various noises of acknowledgment from officers as they were, like you, roused from their sleep. It was the howling of the wind that woke a greater portion of First Order personnel. It was only fitting, you decided, that the planet would offer forth a display of its power on the eve before Kylo Ren’s departure. Before your own farewell, you mused with another elongated exhalation.

Four days had transpired since you had been graced with the experience of floating amongst the stars with the Force as your anchor. Time collapsed in on itself, offering you nothing beyond haunting dreams and a yearning to see the godlike being again. He had, intentionally or not, avoided your presence despite your meager endeavors to search for him in the corridors and the hangar bay. Engineers worked alongside technicians to run routine maintenance on the TIE Silencer. Not a word had been spoken regarding the destroyed TIE that you had ejected from.

Turning over so that you laid on your side, you squinted to peer more deeply into the darkness. This abyss that tethered you. How you would miss it, the sensation of gravity tugging at your body after each flight on your TIE. Artificial gravity could never match the real thing. Nor would the stale air of a Star Destroyer hold the same sweet scents experienced on planet. Any planet at that; each had its own aroma.

You slipped your hand underneath your pillow. The feel of crisp plastic bit into the flesh of your finger. A badge without a name. A number to identify you, a reminder of the trade you had made to serve directly under the Commander. What sort of Faustian bargain the transaction had been, you knew not. You threaded the badge between two fingers then pulled until you were able to set it against your sternum. Three of the pilots that had flown in with Commander Kylo Ren had swept in shortly after the TIE Silencer had returned to the hangar bay. It was they that had led you to the barracks to collect yourself. Though you had wondered, you refused to pose the question aloud: had they, too, been graced with such an experience? The idea that any of them had aroused the Commander summoned icy venom into your veins.

That was the flaw in your character, the harbinger of your downfall; you were not so different than the other pilots who believed that they could ascend into some godlike role when they touched the sky. Though you were content to serve, to be secondary, the notion that your coveted position was easily obtainable by others sent a serpent of loathing into your soul. The absence of Kylo Ren since his gift of transcension inspired an inner coiling that had you equally ready to strike any threat to the place he had reserved for you. You did not want to be left feeling like a stupid little girl plagued with hero worship.

What brought forth the jealousy was that their badges possessed names to accompany the numbers. The alternative of them having offered less than you was that they had gained more—earned Kylo Ren’s respect and regained their names meanwhile you had practically been reduced to tears at the idea of being left to float away in space, abandoned by the Commander after he had forced you to eject from the TIE. It was not that you wanted fame, it was your desire for your existence to have meaning at all.

From the bunk above there was a creak of the mattress as its occupant stretched their limbs upon awakening. Envy ebbed as memory of this specific individual’s face became a mental focus. Grete Velantyn could well be the embodiment of humankind’s capability to live among heavenly beings without noticing the difference between them. It was not a purposeful ignorance, nor one that appeared to insult Commander Kylo Ren. The other pilots in your new squadron refused to contradict Grete when they spoke of the Commander as though Kylo Ren were simply a man. Each of the rest did not mimic the behavior. With the limited interactions you had shared with your fellow squadron members, you had learned that Grete had been assigned to Commander Kylo Ren for the longest. It might well be that they had become disenchanted after a period, or else this had been their natural disposition. The appeal that this would have for Kylo Ren was quite obvious to you; it was not dissimilar to your behavior other than Grete had not challenged the Commander’s authority in the same manner that you had.

Grete appearing had been the catalyst for the transition wherein Kylo Ren had transformed from a mere god into a hybrid that now contained demonic and even devilish attributes. The words “This is how insignificant you are” were a haunting that plagued each waking hour. As your new squadmate failed to tremble in adoration at the knowledge that they flew alongside such a powerful being, you started to wonder if what the Commander sought was not to kill you and turn you into spacedust but instead drain your very soul, corrupt you into the shell of what you had and may have been.

The cool plastic of the badge suddenly possessed quite a bite. You jerked your fingers away from it as you were plagued by an acidic burning in the pit of your stomach. “Grete?” The whisper drew reactions from more than their intended recipient. Shifting bodies, squeaking mattresses. Another roll of thunder that shook the walls—a pathetic power in the face of the Force and those who could wield it. Your squadmate dangled one leg over the side of the bunk. This was followed by a second, those dark shapes little more visible to you than your own hand had been. Their limbs were long, which complemented their long torso. Grete rose to a height that was a mere inch less than Kylo Ren’s own size. Despite this and how uncomfortable it must have been for them to contort their body to better fit on the bottom bunk with you, Grete nestled you between their legs. Their toes stroked the sides of your hips. A gentle caress so unlike how the Force had felt when it had clasped your body as you floated in space.

Their muscles were less defined than those of the Commander, a fact that struck you as you bent your body to allow yourself a proper chance at catching a glimpse of their expression in this abyss that swallowed you bit by bit. To be on this planet had been to be home. Now it was hell. It was the absence of the heavens that you had been permitted to touch by that merciless god, that benevolent devil. You traced the contours that you could make out. Grete was delicate, beguiling. How many had been lulled into a false sense of security by those soft features that offered gentle smiles as Grete fired their weapon. This you had witnessed on the shooting range. It paled in comparison to flying. Awestruck more by your companion than the notion of firing a blaster, you had stood there and openly stared.

Now Grete ensured that their face was near enough to yours that you could whisper. Voice not carrying, you at long last confessed what had transpired between yourself and the Commander in the TIEs, although you omitted the more tantalizing ending wherein you had made him cum. To speak of his arousal would have cheapened the experience. This was your secret. Along with describing the chase, you questioned what the other pilots of your new squadron had given up to gain their positions.

“Some earned their names back. Others never lost them.” You were under the impression that Grete belonged to the latter group. “We earned our places in different ways.” The cryptic answer successfully eliminated some of your fears while worsening others. The idea that Kylo Ren had ever touched another of these pilots rankled on your nerves. Grete touched two fingers to your lips. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“He just feels untouchable behind that mask.” Offering up nothing at all would have warranted more questions from them. The words earned a chuckle. How badly you wanted to chip away at the godlike being’s armor to better understand his power. He had an unfair advantage of having glimpsed your face while his was hidden behind the barrier of his helmet.

The companionable silence that crawled through the room was furthered by the thunder growing more distant. You sat with Grete on the bottom bunk and listened to the subsiding storm.

The Star Destroyer in the planet’s atmosphere was visible when one stood in the hangar bay and gazed upwards. A transport had arrived for those being transferred, you among them. Grete and the other members of Commander Kylo Ren’s squadron climbed into their personal TIE fighters to return to their posts on the Finalizer. The Silencer was not absent from the hangar bay when you arrived with your bag of personnel effects in tow. You searched for its pilot to no avail. A call for boarding on the transport rang throughout the area. If you were to miss it, you would forfeit the new position that had been given to you. Not to mention all other punishments that would be meted out. You climbed into the shuttle whilst shoving away thoughts of those you were leaving behind. Faces of previous squadmates flashed before your mind’s eye faster than you could bat them away. You shook your head and closed your eyes, waiting for the transport shuttle to carry you to your new post.

Where a planet could offer storms, the enormity of a Star Destroyer permitted a cacophony of other sounds as personnel haphazardly darted about in attempts to fulfill their duty. Shrieks of metal and droids offered interruptions to the pounding of ships and stomps of stormtroopers. The stale air contained a taste that everyone else appeared immune to. You, however, wrinkled your nose in distaste. It was more potent than the oxygen you were fed while in a TIE. Another contrast was the increased number of TIE/sf models. There were more pilots here than you had seen in quite a number of months. Stars, had it been over a year? The likelihood grounded you as you walked along the floor of the ship.

Grete had met you at the transport along with two stormtroopers that carried your bag. While you had been given a new ID badge, you had not been assigned all necessary clearance cylinders that would permit you access to the areas on the Star Destroyer where your presence would periodically be required. TIE pilots were given quarters assigned close by their respective squadron commanders. They were shared quarters, a practice meant to instill kinship and better understanding of behavior amongst squad members. Commander Kylo Ren’s personal squadron had three separate quarters divided amongst them. This was due in part to there existing, you were learning, a need for various skillsets depending on the mission in question. Grete was one of two other pilots that had flown with all three groupings. They, along with the other such pilot, would be your roommates. This privilege did not escape your notice.

The stroking of your ego held the potential of quickening the arrival of your downfall. You swallowed down your pride as best you could and walked behind the stormtrooper escorts while Grete kept pace next to you. Your other roommate was a pilot that you had yet to meet; it was this that helped to sober you. First impressions went far when one was in a relationship that teetered between camaraderie and rivalry. There had been glares thrown your way from pilots that had not been wearing their helmets. You imagined still more had acted identically without your explicit knowledge.

One of the first locations that you found yourself was in medbay to confirm that your files had been successfully transferred. A physical was scheduled for the following day, standard procedure before a mission at a new post. Along with this you were offered several new flight suits, these carried by one of the stormtroopers. You were outfitted in a uniform to be worn around the Finalizer when not in flight. It complemented your helmet however did not provide the same protection of the other suits; if you ejected while wearing only this, you would perish. The stormtrooper offered to carry the helmet you wore along with the other two that were in his possession, however you waved him away.

The clearance cylinders were fitted onto your uniform after being properly programmed. Throughout this all, only once was your given name used; that had been in medbay on your health file. All others referred to you by your number or the title of your position. It had thus stunned you to see the script on the file despite the normalcy of it. Your fingers had traced each letter with care in a sort of farewell.

Doors parted to permit you entrance as you were given a chance to walk lead as a means of ensuring all was in proper working order. The two stormtroopers then increased their speed to fulfill their task of carrying their loads to the squadron quarters. It was standard procedure for stormtroopers to be given temporary clearance that assisted with such assignments; they were on a timetable and would be punished if they did not check in with their superior on schedule for their next task. They were absent when you and Grete arrived. Your gaze swept along the length of the main room of the quarters. A single refresher was to be shared amongst the three of you while there were closet-sized rooms that housed your respective beds. A three-seater leather couch was in the center of the main room while two cabinets and a bookshelf took up portions of the walls that did not contain the nearly room-length window.

Captivated by the vista of stars, you headed for the transparisteel and touched your gloved hands to its surface. It struck you what this new position meant. The heavens were your home, and you were housed in the durasteel walls of the Star Destroyer that fought to contain the might of the one you were meant to serve.

One of the closet-sized doors was drawn aside. You jerked your gaze in its direction to meet for the first time your second roommate, your other squad member. The man was three inches shorter than Grete yet with a greater width, his muscles bulkier than theirs. He set an arm on the doorframe whilst scowling. “Take off your helmet.” A wisp of red-blonde hair dangled in the center of his forehead as steel-gray eyes bore into your masked visage. You were grateful for the barrier, offering a verbal refusal to take it off. Impressions be damned, there would be no getting into this man’s good graces. “You think you’re better than the others, don’t you? Assigned here immediately.” A derisive snort. “The Commander summoned you. I would not keep him waiting.” His lips crawled into a cruelly gleeful grin.

Grete touched your shoulder to steer you towards the door. You had not yet been shown which of the nearby entrances in the sector would lead you to Kylo Ren’s quarters. In contrast with the sadistic smile of your shared roommate, Grete offered you one that was more genuine and accepting. Neither of you spoke a word until after the door to your quarters resealed.

“Why was there so much animosity there?” You did not mind being disliked, however you did believe that you deserved an explanation for the extent of those feelings.

Grete gave a light laugh. “I was wondering when you would learn. There was an opening in the squadron, that is why you are here. The previous pilot, our old roommate, he was turned into spacedust on the last mission. He was also Lacien’s cousin.” The pieces clicked into place. Kylo Ren’s decisions were wrapped in layers of inhuman cruelty.

Stepping to the side, Grete extended an arm and gestured to the door that would lead you to your Commander. You thanked them then marched forward. Paused at the surface, that simple barrier. The helmet that you wore would give you an advantage within just as it had with Lacien. You placed your identification badge before the scanner. This, along with one of the clearance cylinders, caused the door to part. You stepped into Commander Kylo Ren’s quarters, leaving behind Grete, who you could hear return to your shared quarters.

The walls within these quarters were darker, or else it was a trick of the lighting—perhaps the lack thereof. Its size was comparable to the shared quarters in which Grete and Lacien were likely having a discussion or else ignoring one another. Within there stretched a long counter on the interior wall; above the counter were cabinets with transparisteel covers to allow one to see the contents. You glimpsed several texts that had withered appearances marking their age. Before you could look at the other books or identify what was in the jars and containers within those cupboards, movement in the corner of your vision summoned your attention away.

You instantly became enraptured by the sight of Darth Vader’s broken, melted helmet resting on a pedestal to the Commander’s right. It was placed mere feet away from the bed. All of these were on the opposite side of the room, behind a chair that faced you. “You summoned me, Commander,” you stated. The visor of his helmet lifted a fraction as the use of his title rather than his name.

“You foolishly believe that wearing a mask is what makes one hold more power.” The amusement dripping from his modified voice cut like razors on skin. His boot steps echoed off the walls, transformed into loud stomps that reverberated in your chest and clutched at your heart much like a vise. Commander Kylo Ren lifted his hands to the helmet that had concealed his face from your view for as long as you had known of his existence. The hiss of its release mirrored the air being siphoned from your lungs in anticipation.

He walked with his back to you and as such the first sight you were graced with was the locks of his hair. They appeared feather soft with tufts of curls that were impossibly well kempt for having been in that helmet. It was a testament to his otherworldliness. Kylo Ren relinquished his hold on the mask, which succumbed to the influence of the ship’s artificial gravity and hit the floor with enough force that it was a wonder a dent failed to form.

“Undress for me but leave your boots and helmet on.” The even, dispassionate tone of his words washed over you. It ensnared your mind, beguiled your senses, enraptured your sense of self. The world distorted in bursts of static. Popping, crawling tendrils of darkness inching around the periphery of your vision. Hands touched the front of your uniform, the one that offered less protection when compared with the flight suits worn while in TIEs. This was but an undergarment for you. The heels of those hands pressed underneath your breasts, swiping outwards as they paused in their work to divest you of clothing. Your legs shifted outwards as though of their own accord. It was the correct thing for them to do.

The tendrils assumed white sparks that blurred the sight of Kylo Ren’s soft hair. A tingling at the base of your spine crawled. Water dripped through your spine, sliding down inch by inch; this foreign sensation sending a pulse into your muscles. A buzz traversed your jawline until your lips parted. The hands returned, their heels on your ribs and fingers pointed downwards. Drawing nearer until they met at the fold of your uniform top, which was further parted, opened, exposing your bra and stomach. A fluttering of sensation, of the ability to touch—it was your hands at work. Dark tendrils moving in reverse, they traced the circumference of your eyes behind your helmet. Toyed with the window to your soul despite the covering that should have protected you from this power. Shirtsleeves rolled off of your shoulders and down the lengths of your arms.

The fog in your mind lifted enough for an awareness to spark wherein you registered that your arms drew backwards. Hands unhooked the bra. It joined the shirt on the floor. Another bite of consciousness that licked like a whip. Commander Kylo Ren stepped in the direction of the large leather chair. You tilted back your head, exposing your throat. Black hair fluttered. It framed the equally sharp and soft features of the face that seemed to be carved from stone. The statue of a god immortalized for his beauty. The rigidness of the flesh loosened in unison with the tendrils that puppeteered your mind and focus slipping down towards your hands to resume their previous motions. Kylo Ren’s jaw was in motion, his lips soft. His aquiline nose sparked more recognition that you were no longer quite so thoughtless. Your mind was yours to rule whereas your body remained but a plaything.

There was a spattering of freckles on his face, which he pointed in your direction and allowed his dark eyes—sirens that beckoned you to come drown in their depths—to crawl up and down your body in scrutiny. Kylo Ren unwound the cowl from his shoulders. He deposited this atop the helmet he had previously abandoned averting his gaze. Your hands rolled the material of your pants downwards, thumbs hooking into the sides of your panties and dragging them with. You lowered down into an awkward crouch that permitted you the opportunity to work the clothing around your boots. Stripped down to that footwear and the helmet, you rose; control over your limbs had not been returned, and you wondered if it would ever be.

Commander Kylo Ren held his left hand perpendicular to his chest with its back facing you. He pinched the tip of the glove with the other hand and began to tug. The leather dragged away to reveal soft flesh. The palm of his right hand was pointed your way, allowing you to see the calluses that were proof of his training and commitment to battle. Leather gloves were tossed in the opposite direction of the other discarded articles of his uniform. His lightsaber remained attached to the belt as that, too, was removed. The outer robes and under armour were shed with slow precision. His frame shrank but a fraction of what you believed it would. You briefly considered that you should have known better given that you had seen the size of his cock, a portion of his toned thigh and a glimpse of his abdomen. Layer by layer he rid himself of the clothing that, in truth, concealed his might. He, like you, rolled his pants over his boots. It took little time at all, as though this was not the first time that he had concealed the soles of his feet while baring all else.

His naked body exuded power while your helmet offered you nothing to combat the sudden feeling of inadequacy. The muscles in his arms contracted as he reached towards you. Your limbs were splayed, your feet leaving the ground. Invisible bindings tethered your feet together the next moment, grabbing at your ankles. Your wrists, on the other hand, were used to fully stretch your arms out. Kylo Ren tilted his head to the side to marvel at his handiwork. Seating himself on the chair, he spread his legs and wrapped his right hand around his cock.

“You are nothing. Your helmet offers a meager shield that hides nothing.” His tongue peeked out, the very tip it tracing from one corner of his mouth to the other then disappearing behind a cruel smirk. He crooked his fingers, hooking them a fraction. Your own right hand was freed from its previous restraint to instead be puppeteered by a new string of Force. You were made to cup yourself. Heel of your hand on your pubis. Three fingers bending and sliding along your slit. They tipped into those folds, parting your labia and dragging along your clit before shifting in retreat. A jolt of pleasure coursed through your veins. “I could kill you and it would mean nothing.” Commander Kylo Ren bent his fingers further and you felt a presence on your tongue. The helmet, as he had said, was a nominal shield when you faced him. The girth of the intruding force within your mouth pinned your tongue down before also sliding back towards your throat. It expanded. A second tendril of power, this one pinching your nostrils. You began to panic as your helmet’s sensors informed you of decreased oxygen levels.

He was not a god but the devil himself and you were but his plaything. His control of your hand resumed. Another stroke to your clit, a second jolt of arousal that was intensified with the lack of oxygen in your lungs. Your body screamed with the heat that burned within. A warmth pooled between your legs. Kylo Ren gave his cock a single upwards stroke, the thick head bobbing. He tilted back his head. Stared down his nose at you whilst twisting his wrist enough that a third threat to your air supply gripped your throat. Your mind screamed at your limbs to flail, but your body was not yours to control. A deep groan issued from his lips and a fire ignited in his eyes. It seared your flesh, the strength of his desire.

His cock throbbed in his hand, hardening, becoming more erect. Kylo Ren relented a fraction by releasing the clamp on your nose. The first inhalation felt more akin to a blow. It expanded constricted airways unpleasantly, burning and scraping. Two fingers jerked along your clit before dipping into the wetness that slipped out of you. Your vaginal walls clamped around nothing, gripping more tightly when the clamp returned. Commander Kylo Ren moved his hand upwards along his shaft, palming the head, smearing precum. Though he did not move a muscle in the extended arm or its hand, which had been controlling your actions, you were jerked forward in the air and made to crumple to the ground mere inches from his booted foot. He lowered the arm, setting it on the armrest of the chair while twisting two fingers.

Lying on your back, you spread your legs and ground your pussy against the toe of his boot. Its unyielding leather grew slick with your juices. The grips on your throat, nose, and tongue lessen without fully disappearing. You managed a weak, nearly muted, whimper. There were tears spilling down your cheeks already from the lack of oxygen. Flashes of red. Dark shadows in the corners of your vision that had nothing to do with mind control. With the next twist of his fingers, Kylo Ren manipulated your hips for a second time. You arched your back and pressed your hand against your pubis. Rocked back and forth. Your lips parting, folds opened by that leather. He lifted the front of his foot so that the sole of his boot made contact. You felt a sharp pain when he stepped down. A scream was cut short as again he robbed your ability to breathe. He shook his foot, which sent vibrations through your lower anatomy.

Flesh smacking into flesh echoed off the walls of the sparsely furnished quarters. The readout on your helmet shouted for attention. Your erratic pulse and respirations were elements you were plenty aware of already. Consciousness wavered. Merciful air graced your burning lungs simultaneous to a second jerk of his booted toes. You swiveled your hips then wrapped your legs around his. Used this as leverage to tug yourself nearer. Or, Kylo Ren manipulated you into doing so. Your hands both became busy with your chest. Nipples hardened at the lightest brush of your thumbs. You felt your body reacting more to the pleasure as you were granted a prolonged period of breathing freely. The ridges of his boot’s sole caught along your clit, dragging the nub.

“Ah!” The gasp was one you miserably failed to suppress. Yet you were rewarded for it with an echo in Kylo Ren’s voice, his groan washing along your body and electrifying your veins. You clenched your vaginal walls, eyed his thick cock and decided, plaything or not, you wanted him to use you. Your body undulated against the boot. Eyes glued to his large hand when it once more cupped the head of his erection, rubbing, stroking down the entire length of the shaft. You could remember how it had felt in your mouth. Heavy on your tongue. You swallowed thickly, your abused throat protesting and burning. Coughing, you gagged as still more pleasure was thrust upon you. The Force circled your clit in the opposite direction of his boot’s movements.

Commander Kylo Ren used his middle finger to trace along a prominent vein on the underside of his cock. “You want to cum, don’t you, you filthy thing?” Maxilla and mandible audibly worked against one another. To refrain from begging would demand all available strength. You did not wish to appear weak or to have him deny you pleasure if you did cave. He chuckled in response to your obstinance. The Force returned for another pass, dissecting into twin trails that spiraled, hooking together and drawing apart in waves. You bucked your hips again in time with his foot pressing down, shaking side to side.

Your walls spasmed, clenching and unclenching as your first orgasm was pulled from your body. It grew stronger the moment Kylo Ren twitched his fingers. Breathing was a foreign concept as your nostrils were pinched, tongue downpressed, and throat constricted. You nearly blacked out. Your body trembled, jerking, forced to ride the toe of his boot as Commander Kylo Ren scooped it underneath you, lifting your ass off the ground. Control was returned. It was unexpected and resulted in you growing limp. Kylo Ren kicked your thigh, albeit not enough to leave a long lasting bruise; this one would be light, if at all visible. You lay there gasping for air, the readouts returning to safer levels.

“Clean it without fully removing your helmet.” He graced you with an opportunity to futilelessly reject his command. You squandered this chance, discovering within yourself a mounting excitement. Additional weight seemed to toy with your limbs. This was, you well knew, an effect of the oxygen deprivation you had endured. You rolled onto your side, onto your knees, and crawled forwards. Lifted just one hand to readjust the helmet. With your mouth exposed, you brought the lower half of your face to his boot and flattened your tongue against its cum covered leather. Your body thrummed with delight at the mingled flavors. You clenched upon hearing the sounds of his masturbation resuming. Maker, you wanted to watch him fuck into his own hand.

Instead you puckered your lips prior to noisily slurping the mess you had made. A slap. His hand more forceful on his erection. He mimicked the noises of your mouth, wet and obscene, except where you were drawing the cum into your mouth, he was spitting to help lubricate his cock. There was a shuffling of clothing. You felt a coolness, a cylindrical object with wires and protrusions, skim along the cheek of your ass. The lightsaber hilt parted you, opening your pussy without entering you. Drool dribbled onto the boot, undoing much of the cleaning that had already been accomplished. Again did you run your tongue along the boot’s surface to clean it. Tongue dragging in both your own saliva and your cum, you swallowed repeatedly and savored the tang of his boot. Your shoulders tensed at the sensation of the lightsaber’s crossguard nudging your rear, threatening to penetrate you.

A sudden forward thrust had you straightening, both of your hands on his knees and back rigid. You could not rise to your feet, else you would have. The intrusion was not exactly painful, however there had been no pleasure—not for you. With your helmet sliding back into place over your mouth, Kylo Ren failed to witness your snarl as he locked gazes with your visor. His hand worked his cock, bouncing up and down, smearing his own spit along its full length inch by inch. The lightsaber hilt wobbled, the portion that had started to enter you sliding away. It drifted down then forwards. Caressing your clit. Twisting and running its rigid and loose wires alike along your folds. He could kill you right there if he wanted. With the Force. With his lightsaber. You had not thought to ask him what you would have to offer in return for the generous gift of a release.

“Spacedust.” His term for you rolled off his tongue more passionately than ever he had spoken it while masked. Your heart stuttered in your chest. Sweat crawled along the back of your neck and limbs. “Let me see you touch your cunt for me.” Lightsaber handle settled on your stomach. It shoved you backwards, urging you to lay down before Kylo Ren used the Force to part your legs. You spread them even more widely without requiring any prompting. His pupils dilated. Hand increased its firm grip on his cock.

You slid your fingers into yourself easily with how wet you were. Knew that he was watching them disappear into you. Scissoring motions exposed more of your pussy to him. Kylo Ren’s nose twitched, scrunching slightly as a snarl began to form. It was hunger being painted across his face. Pinky and thumb held apart your outer lips, index and finger finger parting your folds, and you shallowly fucked your middle finger into yourself. It was nothing, hardly a tease. Commander Kylo Ren moved both of his feet, shoving them under your ass. You rested your legs on his thighs, feet on the armrests of his chair. The lightsaber ran upwards. Down. Up once more, lifting off of your flesh and turning. Its crossguards would not penetrate you if the blade was activated—which occurred the very second that hovered above your throat. The sound of it ignited caused your digits to slip, three of them shoving inside of your cunt, which readily clenched around them.

“Do you think such mundane actions are enough? Lying there. Lazy. Commonplace.” Every syllable cut through the fibers of your spirit. Invisible teeth sinking into your flesh and tearing you apart. Ripping muscle and sinew. You eyed the red blade, which began its descent. It paused. Deactivated. “I will fuck you with the blade if you don’t show me what your tight little cunt can do.”

Your eyes were as wide as saucers behind the helmet. Instead of three fingers, you curled four towards one another and worked them into yourself. Kylo Ren cocked his head to the side, his hand giving a single, dispassionate stroke. The head of his cock bobbed, precum beading. You bit down on your bottom lip whilst raising your other hand for the lightsaber. The Commander did not punish you for your boldness. He instead kept track of his weapon, of how you withdrew your fingers to position the crossguard, warm from recent use, at your entrance. Your walls tugged at the metal, welcoming it, wanting more simultaneous to protesting its unyielding coldness. You rocked into the handle, letting the wires tease your sensitive clit. The next jerk of his hand was followed by a second, a third. His throbbing hardness pulsating as he observed you pleasure yourself on his weapon.

“Do you think you could take it into you?”

You shuddered at the idea of working that thick handle into your cunt. “It’s so big.” Too big, your mind supplied while another part of your brain suggested that you could take it.

Kylo Ren’s smirk grew in size. He bounced his dick, and you imagined how it would feel slapping against your pussy. This caused your body to clench around the crossguard in unison with growing wetter, hotter. He summoned you forward with two fingers of his free hand. You withdrew the lightsaber from your cunt though you did not let go of it. Your legs slid off of his. You shakily stood long enough to climb onto his lap. Kylo Ren grabbed hold of your waist with one hand, all the while he pleasured himself, and had you sit so that your cunt brushed with each and every stroke. His knuckles skimmed your folds and clit.

“Are you a coward, Spacedust?” He was a tempter. Rejecting the very notion with an emphatic shake of your head, you were rewarded with another stroke. “You feel wet enough.” His other hand rounded you, settling on your lower back. “Lay back.” Another lesson in trust, in obeying his every command. You refused to fail this test. Reclining, you found yourself embraced by his power. It was a bed of comfort that could not be seen. Perhaps a coffin if you were not careful. “I want to see the tip inside of your tight pussy.” You settled the lightsaber hilt between your legs, aware of how its side was pressed to his cock as well. His shuddering breath was confirmation that he could feel those ridges on his sensitive flesh. A low growl all you required to know that he watched you try to obey him.

One hand spread open your folds, the other manipulating the hilt. It was thick, uncomfortable. Sliding and scraping both. Just the tip, you reminded yourself. It opened you widely and you paused, hoping it was enough. Kylo Ren fucked up into his hand, his thrust jarring you, forcing you to take still more of the lightsaber into your cunt while his knuckles toyed with your clit. He murmured for you to keep it inside of you as he repeated the motion. You trembled, bottom lip quivering. It was not entirely painful, however it was awkward. Uncomfortable. Kylo Ren jerked his cock, slapping it against your filled cunt. Another jolt of pleasure electrified your senses. Your body clenched the weapon, slickening it with the juices of your arousal. He slammed his cock against your pussy again. Once more. The sound echoing in the room. You moaned in delight, wanting him to hear how good he was making you feel. Wanting him to be pleased with your obedience.

A devilish side of you wanted Lacien to hear your moans, for him to realize that you could make Commander Kylo Ren cum. For that irritating man to acknowledge that you were the one to make this—was he a god or a devil?—powerful creature tremble with such pleasure.

As though he could read your mind, Kylo Ren chuckled. Your walls tightened around the lightsaber hilt, cunt beginning to pulse with the threat of a second orgasm. “You would do anything to please me, wouldn’t you?” Your mind worked through his question. “Ah.” Harsh, acknowledging the fight that remained. “I will break you, mold you into what you are meant to be.” His hand quickened its pace, stroking his cock and your clit in quick succession.

You cried out as you came again, this release, like the last, growing in intensity as your breath was stolen. Not by merely the Force either. Kylo Ren’s free hand lunged for your throat and squeezed. His fingers dug into the flesh of your neck. There would be lasting marks here. A bruise the shape of his hand. You rolled your hips forward, inadvertently taking in more of the lightsaber as you sought out his touch. The Commander slapped his cock against your pussy, released himself, tore the lightsaber out of your cunt. If he had not been choking you already, you would have held your breath while waiting for him to enter you. You were left disappointed in unison with receiving a different form of satisfaction. Hot ropes of cum streaked along your lower stomach and cunt in spurts.

A second later you were almost literally discarded. The Force abandoned you. All that kept your head from slamming painfully against the ground was the helmet that you had been ordered to keep on. Despite this meager protection, you felt your neck protest the impact. The sensation of relief that you had felt as a result of your orgasm was gone.

“What the—”

“Still your tongue.” Kylo Ren pinched together his fingers, creating a similar action in your mouth with the Force. Your tongue stilled, unnaturally kept in place. It was impossible to not remember the officer who had endured oral mutilation by the crossguard which presently pressed under the chin of your helmet. The Commander made a wide sweeping gesture that trailed along the expanse of the window. He removed the Force, however you remained silent, obedient. Ever aware that the lightsaber could be ignited on a whim. That your life was ephemeral while he himself, the devilish god that he was, was eternal. “I have offered all of this to you. It is time you pay me for my generosity.”

What did man—what did you—have to offer a god in return for the heavens?

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fanfic #wherethebodyburns

11 notes · View notes

khoicesbyk · 4 years

Text

The Good Captain.

Author’s Note: This is my version of what book 2 of Distant Shores should be like. Y’know the book 2 that we readers of Distant Shores rightfully deserved! One more thing: in this fanfic, the MC’s last name has been changed to Bennett but; in the game it’s Carter. I decided to change it from Carter to Bennett; because Bennett sounds better to me. Also; her original occupation has been changed as well.

***Rated: Mature 18+. Contains sexual content, nudity, some violence and strong language.

***Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters.

***Characters: Captain Edward Mortemer (LI), Kyra Bennett (MC), Robert Finnegan (Main Antagonist), Charlie, Ginny, Jonas, Maggie, Samuel, Octavia, Henry, Axton, Adelia, Kendrick and Oliver Cochrane (Side Characters)

***Disclaimer: All character names (except MC) and some dialogues belong to Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 2,830 words.

Chapter 1: The Return: Part 1.

Ten weeks…

That’s how long it had been.

Ten long weeks since…Kyra Bennett was sent back to her own time.

Ten weeks since…she had felt ocean spray hit her face or felt the sea breeze in her hair.

Ten weeks since…she heard the pirate songs and tales.

Ten weeks since…she was taken from the most lovable band of pirate misfits.

Ten weeks since…she had the adventure of her or anyone’s life or lifetime for that matter.

It had been ten weeks since…she was ripped away from the arms of HER Captain. A GOOD Captain. A FIERCE Captain. A Captain who’s name is known across the seas…

Captain Edward Mortemer.

She missed the crew so much. But; she missed him most of all.

She often thought of him and the adventure they had together. The stolen looks and smiles they gave one another. And she DEFINITELY thinks about; the kisses and the one incredible night of raw passion, that they shared. She thinks about the night he captured her heart.

“I’m yours, Kyra…Until the end of time…”

“Now…I want the future we saw together. The adventure. The laughter.”

“Aye, especially the family.”

“Then I’ll savor every moment of this night. And I’ll wait for you.”

“Fate brought us together once. And I don’t believe this is where our story ends.”

“No. I told you, Kyra…you’ve taught me how to dream.”

His words…his promises…have played back in her head every day since; she was sent back to her time. Especially when she’s alone.

He was HER captain.

And the sex? Who knew an 18th century pirate could fuck like him? That was stuck in her head as well. The way he touched her, the way kissed her, the way he pleased her and especially what he said to her.

“I’ve thought of all the ways I could have you. All the ways I could take you.”

“I’ve been dying to taste you.”

Every time she thought back to those two statements; she couldn’t help but miss him all over again. And at night, when she sometimes lays awake; that’s when she finds herself wanting him. Needing him. Desperately craving him. There have been times where she’s waken up in a cold sweat, with her heart thundering in her chest because; she dreamt that she felt him.

She could still hear his voice in her ear. She could still feel his fingers on her skin. And; she could especially still taste his lips on hers. She wanted him. She deserved him. She craved him. She needed him. She was his as much as he was hers.

But he’s gone. He’s back in the past. And she; along with her heart and feelings are in the present. It wasn’t fair. When she closed the portal; she’d hoped that she would’ve been able to stay. Especially after seeing what was supposed to be her future with him. In her heart and in her soul; she wanted to stay with him and his crazy, lovable crew.

Why couldn’t she stay with him?

That was a question that lingered on her heart.

Ten weeks…

It has been that long since she last seen him.

Her captain. Her Edward.

This sexy beast was everything she wanted in a man.

He was fierce, protective, FIERCELY loyal, sorta funny (although she didn’t always laugh at his brand of “comedy”), commanding yet fair minded, smart, adaptive to changing situations, strong (in EVERY sense and definition of the word), snarky (whether he knew it or not; is another story) but mostly; he was drop dead gorgeous.

She never could understand why, he didn’t have a wife. All the single maidens in his home the island of Tiburon, swooned whenever he walked by.

So why didn’t he choose one of them?

Because once again; Edward was drop dead gorgeous! And for a black man in those days; that was a helluva gift.

He had to be 6’3ish although she was never quite sure (they didn’t exactly measure height in those days). He was blessed with the chiseled physique of a Greek God. His 18th century British tinged baritone, always managed to turn her into a puddle. His brown eyes were intense and always smoldering. Hell, there were times where she could’ve sworn; she was being undressed, by those very beautiful eyes of his. He has a devilishly charming smile and smirk that always stopped her cold in her tracks.

He’s also an excellent marksman and even better swordsman.

His hair was in long, beautifully flowing dreadlocks, that he always kept pulled back. And Lord knows; the man‘s got a cannon between his legs! If she had to guesstimate what his actual size was, she’d guess he had to be 8 1/2-9 inches from base to tip. And as she discovered; he knew what to do with it. His hands, like his arms and his back were strong.

That is Captain Edward Mortemer. She has so many memories of him; and that misfit crew of his. They became something of a family to her.

She will never forget the sword fight that she got into with Edward. Even though she lost; she had impressed him with how adept she was. That; and well she was a bit distracted. It was also the first time she’d ever seen him with his shirt off.

She will never forget; choosing to man the cannons with Jonas and Ginny (Ginny Girl as she was affectionately called). Learning sails with Kendrick or how to tie proper knots with Maggie. Fighting and defeating the backstabbing mutineers Octavia and Samuel (although his role in the mutiny came as a shock to everyone) on The Poseidon’s Revenge. Plundering her very first ship. Meeting the twins Adelia and Axton (Ada and Ax as they like to be called); and recruiting them to join the crew. There’s also learning how to properly shoot a pistol with Charlie. She didn’t really have that many memories with Henry; outside of his not so tasty cooking.

She’ll never forget; throwing wine in the face of Admiral Cochrane after telling him off. She even has the memory of learning that the mysterious Oliver (whom she met the night, the navy invaded Tiburon) is not only Lieutenant Oliver but he’s Admiral Cochrane’s son (not that she cared to know that tidbit of information). Then; there’s dancing with Edward at the Governor’s Ball and sneaking into the governor’s bedroom with Charlie.

Then; there’s her favorite memory of them all. Touching the pirate medallion and seeing the future; she thought she was supposed to have with Edward.

And what a glorious future it was! They had gotten married and settled down on Tiburon. Where she became pregnant with and gave birth to their son. She remembers standing on the hill and watching the sunset over the ocean. She remembers Edward coming up behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and watching the sunset with her.

In that moment she was happy. That was supposed to be her absolute paradise. Her dream come true. She would have the man she fell in love with, and all would be right with the world.

But unfortunately; that happiness, that absolute paradise, that dream…would never come true. Because not only she see her dream come true but; she also saw her nightmarish reality. She was returned to future and Edward was nothing more than a lonely legend. And it became an all too painful reality; once they finally reached the center of Queen Magdalena’s temple.

All because; of what the inscription on the stone at the base of the portal told.

My heart is empty…

Time and space rent asunder…

The ancient artifact…

From my hand was plundered…

Return the compass…

And the fabric will be mended…

Peace restored…

All wounds rescinded…

The golden compass had to be returned to its rightful place; in order for time to be restored and the portal to be closed.

She knew what she had to do but that doesn’t mean she liked it; or even wanted to do it at all for that matter. But as she soon found out; sometimes life forces your hand.

A great battle soon ensued between The Captain and The Admiral. The two enemies locked horns and swords with each other.

Edward would eventually get the upper hand by; using his sword to pluck the golden compass out of The Admirals grasp. But it didn’t take the old bastard long to regain the upper hand once again.

For you see, in order to get to the heart of the temple; Kyra and Edward had to go through a series of booby traps.

Because what’s an ancient, very creepy and seemingly haunted temple without a few booby traps?

They able to dodge an axe that swung out of the ceiling. As well as the floor suddenly crumbling beneath their feet. But they weren’t able to dodge poisoned flying darts. Or at least Edward wasn’t able to dodge them. In an attempt to shield her from danger, his jacket was pierced by a dart. And what he thought was nothing but a scratch; turned out to be something much, much worse. He was slowly being poisoned and didn’t realize it, until he collapsed before they entered the heart of the temple.

She couldn’t let him die. She had to save him. And the only way to do that, was by restoring the compass to its rightful place. And so she did; she put the compass back where it belonged. And by doing so; she briefly gained the amazing power to reverse time itself. She used her power to get rid of the old bastard once and for all, reverse Edward’s wound and buy herself a few more hours in the past with Edward.

And once that was all done; she was sent back to the future. Back to the modern world and her modern life. Back to her job as a historian; at Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington D.C.

She was tasked with researching for a new exhibit opening up about the golden age of piracy. And booyyy did she ever do her research! When she first started; she wanted to research and learn about, who the greatest black pirates was during the golden age. And all she could find was, the two conflicting legends of Black Caesar.

That was until one day when she got to work; there was a mysterious box just sitting on her desk. It contained an array of pirate artifacts. Including maps, letters, a diary of some sort, a few medallions, various coins, a sword and a compass. A golden compass.

“Well; what the hell am I supposed to do with all of this?!”, she thought to herself.

She had no idea that what was about to happen to her; would change her life forever.

After she came back from lunch one afternoon; and began writing her notes again, she noticed a strange glow coming from the inside the box with the pirate artifacts. When she opened the box she saw that; it was the compass that was glowing.

“Ooooooooooooookaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy…what the hell? Why is this thing glowing?”, she asked herself.

As she reached for the compass; she saw a face. A very handsome face. The face she saw was his.

“Kyra…I’m waiting for you…come find me…”, he said.

She initially backed away from the glow but; her curiosity won out in the end. She had to know who that handsome stranger was. She had to know what he meant. And so, she gathered up her courage and grabbed the compass. Little did she know that the compass; would be her key to the adventure of her life.

What was weeks in the past; wound being maybe a day in the future, when she got back.

Because she returned to where she was sitting at her desk. The box was still there. And when she looked in the box; everything was there. Even the compass. Only this time it wasn’t glowing. It had gone back to being just a regular compass. Time had truly gone back to the way it was. The only difference was her.

She had the memories of her adventure, of the crew and especially of him.

A few days later; she put her memories to paper. And the exhibit on the greatest black pirate of them all was born. It was an exhibit all about Captain Edward Mortemer and his crew. How they sailed the sea. How they outmatched and outmaneuvered The British Royal Navy. It turned him and the crew from criminals to heroes. It told the story of their trials and tribulations. And at the center was the golden compass and the sword.

She had the exhibit explain how precious they were to him; and the legends that followed his name and adventures. And she couldn’t have been prouder. The exhibit even brought her some form of closure. Or so she thought.

One night while Kyra was in her office working late on another project; there was this terrible glass break.

“What the hell was that?!”, she exclaimed.

When she got to the floor of the exhibit; she couldn’t believe who it was she saw standing there, with the compass in his hand.

It was Robert. He was alive and staring her down.

“Hello Miss Bennett! It’s nice to see you again!”, he said to her with a sinister tone in his voice.

“No fucking way! It’s impossible! You’re supposed to be dead! I watched the Admiral kill you!”, she said. She couldn’t believe what was happening.

”No he did. He indeed killed me. For a second anyway. You see, I would’ve stayed dead; if he hadn’t have shoved me through the portal, before you closed it that is. And as the inscription read: all wounds rescinded. Annnd here I am!”, he replied with a wicked grin.

“This is not happening!”, she told him.

“Ohhh…but is my dear girl! And now that I have the two items that I needed; my crew and I will be off!”, he said with glee in his eyes.

“Crew?! What crew?!“, she asked.

“Ohh…why them of course!”, he replied before gesturing for her to look behind her.

When she turned around; fear instantly gripped her heart and soul. Behind her; a crew of dangerous looking individuals seemingly melted out of the shadows. A crew of 8 men and 4 women stood at the ready.

“Miss Bennett…allow me to introduce my new crew!”, he says to her.

“But! You’re not a captain anymore.”, she replies.

“I am now!”, he replies in a tone that’s both sinister and gleeful.

“Wait! You’re actually going back?!”, she asks.

“Of course I am! Can’t unlock Poseidon’s tomb if I’m here, can I?”, he replies.

“What the hell are you rambling about?!”, she replied clearly confused.

“If you think that Queen Magdalena, was the only source of power in the seas; you clearly haven’t done your research.”, he told her.

“You’re still rambling!”, she replies.

“Here. Let me offer you a free history lesson. You know of Atlantis right?”, he asked.

“Yes, I know about the legends of Atlantis.”, she answered.

“Clearly you don’t girl! Because they’re not legends! They’re true!”, he tells her.

“Atlantis is the tale of Plato. And although he was a great philosopher; he was out of his mind! Atlantis is NOT real! It’s just a legend!”, she answers.

“Perhaps you’d like a demonstration; ohhh Pearson…”, he commands one of the pirates, “Miss Bennett…meet my first mate.”

Pearson, opens his hand to reveal a stone of some sort.

“What the hell is that?!”, she asks.

“This is a fragment of a key. A key to the greatest treasure of the seas”, he says to her.

“Meaning…”, she responds.

“Meaning…I’m about to go back to visit 7 sea lords. And take their key fragments.”, he tells her.

“The 7 lords of the seas is a myth! Robert you’re chasing ghosts!”, she says.

“No, I’m chasing greatness girl!”, he snapped at her, clearly agitated.

Part 2 coming soon! @txemrn @choicesficwriterscreations

#choices #choices fanfiction #choices tna #fanfic #khoicesbyk #pixelberry #choices stories you play #distant shores #captain edward #edward mortemer

5 notes · View notes

stevecanmakeanythingnerdy · 4 years

Text

Battle #8

Gary Numan and the Tubeway Army : Replicas ( Side Two)

Vs.

Mötley Crüe : Shout At The Devil ( Side One )

Gary Numan and the Tubeway Army : Replicas ( Side Two)

Tubeway Army were a London-based new wave and electronic band led by lead singer Gary Numan. They were the first band of the electronic era to have a synthesiser-based number-one hit, with their single "Are 'Friends' Electric?" and its parent album Replicas both topping the UK charts in mid-1979. After its release, Numan (real name Gary Webb) opted to drop the Tubeway Army name and release music under his own name as he was the sole songwriter, producer and public face of the band, but he retained the musicians from Tubeway Army as his backing band. Numan is considered a pioneer of electronic music, with his signature sound consisting of heavy synthesiser hooks fed through guitar effects pedals. He is also known for his distinctive voice and androgynous "android" persona. He practically invented the genre. Tubeway Army was relatively short lived, only putting out 2 albums, this being the second. But an important one as it helped shape and define the sound Gary Numan would develop the rest of his career around. To say he is an innovator is an understatement...oh and he’s also a pilot. For real! This album cannot be undersold for its amazing influence on a plethora of artists such as Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson and Basement Jaxx. A game changer for sure. The flip side begins with a real influential tune called “You Are In My Vision”. It’s mega catchy as only an album using NO guitars could be. And it should be applauded at how unconventional that move was at the height of the “big rock” era. I firmly believe that the most innovative time for music history was in the mid 70s to early 80s. You had rock, punk, new wave, power pop, avant-garde movements and even disco (as much as I hate it). Music was SO CREATIVE and Numan pioneered the synthesizer movement by really spotlighting it on this album. And he discovered the dang thing in the studio toying around!! You can totally get the robotic vibe Numan was trying to convey. One Mono TONE (#seewhatididthere) the whole time. I love it! The title track “Replicas” follows and is slow and syndicated and syncopated. Triumphant riffage and with no guitars that’s saying something! I do think that a lot of these tunes were probably originally written on a guitar and then translated to keys. A great example of this is the next track, “It Must Have Been Years”. Those are some seriously ballsy hard rockin’ metal riffs if I’ve ever heard them. “When The Machines Rock” is just instrumental bliss/madness. You get the sense of a precursor to his later smash hit, “Cars” and you can practically see the progression. Now, here’s ANOTHER Numan innovation; two back to back instrumentals!! “I Nearly Married A Human” has, not only an awesome sounding title, but some dreamlike structures and meandering, winding keyboards. The only drawback is that, either by design, by limitations of the Day or unfamiliarity (possibly all of the above), the recording production values were not up to task with his vision. The keys peaked several times and it detracts from some of the awesomeness. Like new wave (and goth) or not, Gary Numan really deserves every last bit of the cult following he has earned.

Mötley Crüe : Shout At The Devil ( Side One )

Well, well, well! What an epic battle this is turning out to be! A legendary glam/metal band meets a legendary new wave band, both from the 80s and both still very relevant to this day. This is their second album and the one they toured in support of with Ozzy Osbourne in 1983. I think it should be fairly obvious that this band was on the fast track to success. Let’s back up a bit though...Mötley Crüe is an American heavy metal band formed in Los Angeles, California, in 1981. The group was founded by bassist Nikki Sixx, drummer Tommy Lee, lead guitarist Mick Mars and lead singer Vince Neil. Collectively, Mötley Crüe has sold over 100 million albums worldwide. And perhaps more impressively, other than the periods of February 1992 to September 1996 and of March 1999 to September 2004, the lineup of Neil, Sixx, Lee, and Mars remained the same. Recently reformed in 2018, they still tour today. So this, their second album, Shout at the Devil, was released in September 1983. The album represented the band's mainstream breakthrough and would eventually be certified 4x platinum. The album generated controversy for its title track and album imagery, both of which invoked Satanism. They then gained the attention of heavy metal legend Ozzy Osbourne and found themselves as the opening act for Osbourne on his Bark at the Moon Tour. The band members were well known for their backstage antics, outrageous clothing, extreme high-heeled boots, heavily applied make-up, and seemingly endless abuse of alcohol and drugs as well. In short, a PR nightmare (which, don’t fool yourself, was 100% planned and used in the labels favor). So what about that aforementioned first track? “In The Beginning/Shout At The Devil” really just an intro that leads into the title track. It’s so cheesy I don’t know how anyone could think this was a serious nod to satanism, but hey...it was the 80s. Those high-hats over that iconic riff though, you KNOW something good is coming. Such a solid nugget of gold for beginners! Maybe they were in a league with Satan after all...? Either way, a classic metal song for the ages! “Looks That Kill” is another hit off the album with a hilarious video. I’m talking ninja cosplay (seriously look it up you tubers). Staccato guitar Romantics and heroic radio friendly riffs. Aces, baby. “Bastard” is a faster Tommy Lee driven tune and with the obvious chip on the shoulder to get the PMRC’s goat (for devilish sacrifice of course...#seewhatididthere). “God Bless The Children of the Beast” is almost...how do I say this...Eagles - like (??!?). Very haunting but still metal all the same. Harmonics and one of the reason they were so set apart from their L.A. glam brethren. Longevity and loyalty to the music. Also this jam is more of an intro to “Helter Skelter” with it’s brick heavy riffage and classic metal architecture. Technically it’s not their debut, but it really was to most of the record buying public, and let me tell you, it’s held up to the test of time. A classic for sure. I forgive them trying to push the envelope of controversy, because that was the label and the industry at that time, but it’s certainly carved them out a niche they have been able to capitalize on. You don’t have to conVINCE Neil (#seewhatididthere) they had a hit!! There is a reason you know these names some nearly 40 years later. Umlaut-core baby! Also, if you haven’t seen it yet, check out the semi- documentary “Dirt” on Netflix. Great stuff.

Well, it looks like Gary and his Tubeway Army replicated their formula for awesome new wave genius. They burned 147 calories over 22 minutes and 5 songs. That is an average of 29.40 calories burned per song and 6.68 calories burned per minute. The Numan crew earned 12 out of 15 possible stars. The Mötley-est of Crüe not only shouted at the Devil, but also blazed through 5 songs in 16 minutes and burned 108 calories in the process. Their Hell-acious (#seewhatididthere) actions burned 21.60 calories per song and resulted in 6.75 calories burned per minute. The boys earned 11 out of 15 possible stars. Mötley or notley, this Crüe is here to stay and live to fight on!

Mötley Crüe : “Shout At The Devil”

(Includes the proper lead in) https://youtu.be/jC0kHsTtzCA

#Randomrecordworkoutseasonseven

#Randomrecordworkout

#randomrecordworkout #randomrecordworkoutseason7 #80s music #80s #vinyl #records #80's music #new wave #gary numan #motley crue #working out

7 notes · View notes

officialworldofmistren · 4 years

Text

Magic in Mistren (Part 3)

Last part of the magic system explanation.

The Universe

The Universe is an entity all its own.

It seems that it is indifferent to the goings-on within it, although powerful spell casters (ones only a few steps behind gods in terms of power) can borrow a measure of power from it temporarily.

Spells cast with the power of the universe are permanent, as the universe itself now considers the changes to be part of the natural order. Examples include changing the appearance or even species of an individual (even a someone blessed by a god could not discern their original form because the universe itself considers their new form to be the true form), creating a landmark such as a mountain or lake, or lengthening someone’s life span.

Granting Power

Powerful entities can give power to weaker ones.

Clerics and Paladins are given magical powers by their gods as rewards for their service and faith.

Warlocks are given magic by beings lesser than gods, but still of considerable power, such as Demon Lords, Fey Nobility, Angelic Lords, and the like, in exchange for their service to said powerful entity.

Unlike normal spellcasters, who must study and master each spell before being able to use it, Clerics, Paladins, and Warlocks are given the knowledge of how to cast their spells directly from their patron. Although, they still have limits on how many spells they can cast per day. Their limits are no more than an average person.

Realms of the Immortals

The homes of the immortals are imbued with a magic of their own, and any of the natives of those realms have a distinct, indescribable feel to their magic that separates them from other beings.

Anyone able to detect and identify magic can easily tell if a spell was cast by a fey, demon, angel, Eldritch being, or celestial. (Dannick being the one type of immortal with no magical signature.)

And if a mortal spends too much time inside one of the realms of these immortals, then their souls and bodies are gradually changed by the realm itself. Their magic will now register as being that of one of the realm’s natives.

The types of altered mortals include:

Fey-Touched: When a mortal spends too much time in the Fey Realms, they become a “Fey-Touched.” Their magic registers as being fey in origin, they’re resistant to charms, and they have learned to read, write, speak, and understand Sylvan (the language of fey) perfectly without ever studying a single sentence.

In addition, they gain at least one physical change as well, such as sprouting butterfly or dragonfly wings (which are indeed capable of flight), pupils becoming slits, a pattern appearing on their skin, growing antlers, or their skin, hair, or eyes changing color. Generally, a change in appearance that makes them look fey-like.

Additional note: Elves were humans who spent many generations inside the Fey Realms. A Fey-Touched human, however, is not an elf. Fey-Touched means that an individual personally spent time inside the Fey Realms. Elves spent so many generations inside the Fey Realms that they were permanently changed into a new species. In addition, elves cannot be Fey-Touched.

Neither can gnomes, whose entire species were trapped in the Fey Realms. (Thus, there are no gnomes without a touch of the fey realms in their blood.)

Half-fey, half-elves, and half-gnomes cannot be Fey-Touched.

Demon-Blessed: Spending time in the Demon Realm turns a mortal “Demon-Blessed.” Their magic registers as demonic, they’re resistant to either fire and heat or cold and ice (depending on what part of the realm they stayed in), they can cast either fire or ice spells more easily and with more power, and they learn at least one Demonic language.

They gain a physical feature that makes them appear more demonic. Such as sprouting bat-like wings (capable of flight), growing horns or a devil tail, gaining claws or fangs, their pupils turning either slitted or goat-like, or their skin, hair, or eyes changing color.

Half-demons cannot become Demon-Blessed.

Angel-Marked: Rarely does a mortal ever even see the Angelic Realms, let alone spend enough time there to become Angel-Marked. When it does occur, the mortal’s magic registers as angelic, they’re resistant to damage caused by light magic and cannot be blinded by magical light, and they learn to speak Enochian (language of the angels).

They gain a new physical feature, which can only be one of the following: Bird wings (capable of flight), an increase in height (up to ten inches), or their skin, hair, or eyes changing to a metallic color (such as gold or bronze). Eyes may also change to the color of a gem. If the eyes change to the color of a gemstone, then upon closer inspection the eyes have a pattern like the faceting of a precious gem.

Half-angels cannot become Angel-Marked.

Eldritch-Cursed: It’s even more rare for a mortal to become Eldritch-Cursed than Angel-Marked, and it is truly a curse. The mortal’s magic register’s as Eldritch, they’re resistant to damage from psychic spells and attacks, and they have learned to understand the alien language of the horrors from the other dimension.

The mortal’s form changes in a disturbing way. Such as growing an extra body part that moves on its own (which may not even be of the same species as the rest of the body), gaining a pattern of scars that induce madness in anyone who stares for too long, or something equally (or exponentially more) horrible.

In addition, the mortal’s sanity is no longer intact. The depth of the insanity can range anywhere from severe alcoholism to being haunted by visions of the Far Realm.

Last note: Being Fey-Touched, Demon-Blessed, Angel-Marked, or Eldritch-Cursed can be “cured” with a very strong purification spell.

A purification spell will not change an elf into a human, though.

#Magic System #modern fantasy #mistren #lore #mistren lore #fantasy #magic

8 notes · View notes

7-wonders · 5 years

Text

As Above, So Below Ch. 14

Summary: Your average, mundane life as a college student is flipped upside down when the man you thought you knew as your next-door neighbor turns out to be the God of the dead. When Michael lures you down to Hell, everything that you thought you knew about the world is proven wrong.

Word Count: 2800

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! We’re getting to the climax of this story, slowly but surely (sorry this is posted so late it’s been a hectic week). Feedback is always appreciated, and if you liked this chapter please reblog or leave me a comment!

There’s truly nothing like successfully descending to Hell and back to boost your ego. You only manage to get a couple of hours of sleep before the excitement of knocking out the rest of the Wonders forces you up. Madison’s obviously not pleased to see you out so soon after she sent you to rest, but you’ve assured her that you’re fine and more than ready to get this over with. Surprisingly, it’s your uncle that is the last to enter the large library. He’s dressed impeccably, wearing an ascot fastened with a brooch like he’s going to a fancy dinner instead of administering a test. The dark eyeliner that he’s so fond of lines his eyes, making the already-startling color pop more.

“Warlocks always take so long to get ready.” Madison scoffs, rolling her eyes while appraising John Henry’s outfit. “At least you clean up well, unlike some of the others I know.”

John looks extremely shocked, and you’re sure that you look the same. Madison actually complimenting one of the dreaded warlocks? Surely this must be the first sign that the apocalypse is here.

“Maybe I can give you some tips, my Lady.” John mocks, smirking while Madison glares at him.

“I have thousands of years worth of fashion under my designer belt but thanks.” She snips, hands on her hips to prove her assertiveness. “(Y/N), let’s start the final three tests now that we’re all here.”

“What’s the first test?”

“Transmutation.” Your lips twitch at the first image that pops into your mind.

“Transforming into a mutant? I thought I was doing witchcraft, not joining the X-Men.” You can’t help but to laugh at your own joke, the hilarity only increased by the exasperated look on Madison’s face.

“I don’t know what an ‘X-Men’ is, and I don’t really care to find out. Think of transmutation like teleporting.” Madison directs you to stand over by the wall as she and John Henry converse quietly.

Your uncle holds his hands up, conjuring two items in thin air: a knife and a brick. Furrowing your eyebrows, you look between the two to see if you can discern what each weapon is going to be used for. They both stare back at you stoically, and you rub your palms against your jeans when you realize that they’re suddenly sweaty with nerves.

“Um, what are those for?” You ask.

“Motivation.” John Henry responds.

Before you can further question him, he flings his hand towards you, the brick flying in your direction. Your eyes widen and you let out a squeak of fear. Apparently practice does help to hone skills, since you barely have to think about the spot on top of the staircase before you feel a tugging sensation right above your navel. You land at your designated spot, knees buckling slightly from the impact. The brick smashes into the space against the wall that your head occupied mere milliseconds before. You smile widely when they turn to look at you, but your sassy sentence dies in your mouth when John repeats the action with his other hand.

A knife is a lot more deadly than a brick, and the deadly precision with which John throws it makes it impossible for you to slip up. It’s also flying towards you much quicker than the previous object, giving you absolutely no time to actually think about where you want to go. All you think is that you want across the room, disappearing right as the point of the knife is an inch away from your chest. This time, you reappear behind both Madison and John. Tapping their shoulders, you jokingly pout when they turn around.

“Uncle, I thought you loved me! How could you attempt to kill me?” You say dramatically, placing a hand over your heart.

“I assure you, I only threw those at you because I knew that you were more than capable of dodging them.”

“Are you ready for the next Wonder, (Y/N). I can always throw some fire at you if you want to really make sure that you have transmutation down.” Madison says.

“Madison, was that a joke?” Madison’s M.O. has always been sarcasm, not straight-up jokes.

“You tell anybody about this and I will throw fire at you.” She threatens, but there’s a twinkle in her eye that lets you know she’s only kidding. “Your second-to-last task will be divination, which is using your supernatural abilities to obtain knowledge of any kind.”

“There are multiple ways to divine knowledge, but we figured that scrying would be the best option.” John Henry steps in.

“What’s scrying?” You ask.

“Scrying is using a reflective surface to gain the desired knowledge. For this exercise, we’ll just be using the mirror.” He gestures towards the floor-length mirror that stands in the corner, ornate gold carvings surrounding the surface. “Hecate, if you would be so kind as to tell (Y/N) the item that she will be finding today.”

“Do you remember the silver flowers you wore in your hair the night of the Underworld’s ball?” She waits for you to nod before continuing. “I’ve hidden those somewhere in this building. Using the mirror, I’d like you to tell me the exact location of these flowers.”

You step in front of the mirror, Madison and John Henry moving to the sides so as not to impede your vision. Taking a deep breath to clear your mind, you imagine the flowers that adorned your hair what feels like a lifetime ago. How dainty they are, the cool silver as you brushed a hand through your hair, how carefully Desa threaded them in for you. Then, you let the tendrils of your magic reach through the mirror. You stare intensely through the surface, watching as it wavers like a lake when a rock gets tossed through the water. Instead of the hiding spot of the flowers, though, the mirror darkens along with the edges of your vision. It feels like your eyes are being drawn into the scene even though you’re not moving at all. All you can see is what’s slowly being revealed in front of you.

A blood-red sky hangs above the scene, smoke rising from the ground and blurring everything that you can see. Your heart pounds when the smoke clears enough for you to see the same throne made of bones that terrorized your last nightmare in the Underworld. Ravens continue to circle above it, calling to each other in a language you can’t understand. You’re not really sure you want to understand it, not with the way these birds are glaring at everything that moves. Even worse, the cracked white face and coal-black eyes that make up Michael’s demonic alter ego are prevalent as he lounges on the throne, looking entirely uninterested at what’s going on around him.

It’s like you’re watching a TV show, but you’re the main character. Another you is forced to your knees on the cracked marble floor, the throne rising up ahead. Red blooms on the white fabric that covers your abdomen, the spot growing larger with every passing second. When you cough, blood spills out of your mouth and dribbles down your chin. Satan stands proudly behind Michael’s throne, pulling himself to his full height since there’s no roof to stop him.

“Do it.” Satan growls. His voice reverberates throughout the room, almost like there’s speakers hanging in multiple spots on the walls.

“Michael, please don’t.” The other you pleads, hands pressing against the wound in order to try and stop the bleeding.

“This is your destiny, my son. Kill the girl.” Michael stares at you for a long moment, but the look in his eyes is impossible to figure out with the lack of color.

Invisible demons are chattering from all around you, yelling and snarling in what you think is Latin. The noises reach a crescendo when Michael stands, producing a blade from inside his cloak. The you on the ground shakes the closer he gets, tears welling up in your eyes from fright. His hand tangles in your hair, and you let out a yell when he yanks you up towards him. Smirking, he curls his lip in disgust when you start audibly crying.

“P-please Michael.” You whimper, gripping his arm tightly. “I love you.”

Michael’s silent for a long moment, and you almost start to think you’ve gotten through to him. His fingers twirl the knife around, a telltale sign that he’s thinking about something. His smirk, however, widens into a feral grin.

“What a pity.” He tuts.

With one swift motion, he turns you so that your back is against your chest. It’s a presentation, you realize, a way to show his father that he’s fulfilling these ‘grand’ plans.

“Don’t do this!” You cry.

“Power in your name, Father, and may you rise from the void!” With that, Michael takes the knife and slices your neck open.

A single, wet gasp escapes your mouth as blood gushes out of the cut. Your heart tries to send more blood to the wound in an attempt to clot it, but that only makes you lose blood faster. It coats the front of the once-white sundress that you were wearing, and you’re horrified to watch yourself die.

“Ave Satanas!” Michael calls out as lightning flashes across the sky and thunder booms. Once he’s sure that you’re completely dead, he tosses your body to the ground like a discarded napkin.

You’re pulled back abruptly, the suddenness of the bright lights making you squint your eyes in pain. There’s a high-pitched screaming echoing through the room, and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s yours. The arms wrapped around you pull you to the ground, holding you tightly in an attempt to sedate you.

“(Y/N)! What happened?” A low voice, that you recognize as John Henry’s, says in your ear.

“Holy shit, you’re bleeding out of your eyes.” Madison notes from where she’s crouched in front of you. When you glance at yourself in the mirror, you see that she’s right. Red streaks down your face, coating your eyelashing in a thick mascara of blood.

“I...it was like that nightmare that I had in the Underworld, the one where Michael was sitting on a throne of bones and eating my heart while Satan stood behind him? Only this time, I watched him kill me. He slit my throat.”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up.” Madison looks at John, who stands and leaves the room to presumably grab a cloth.

“Why did that happen?” You stare at Madison with wide eyes. How did a simple task spiral into something like this?

“Some people, when attempting scrying, have...I don’t want to say visions, because what you saw is not going to happen. They can see possible futures.” Madison explains gently, taking the wet cloth from John and muttering her thanks.

“So I saw the future?” Holy shit, maybe I am an X-Man, you think to yourself.

“A possible future. There’s a million different things that factor into the probability of a future, creating an endless amount of futures. This doesn’t mean that Michael is going to kill you and start the end of the world, but it’s always been a possibility.” She takes great care in not hurting you when she wipes the blood off of your face, especially when she gets close to your eyes.

“Michael wouldn’t kill me though, right? Even...even if his father corrupted him?”

“Michael wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. Satan would literally have to possess him and carry it out through him in order for Michael to even think about that.” The vision that is still seared into your head is pretty jarring, but the knowledge that Michael was overjoyed to see you just hours ago reassures you that Madison’s right.

“I don’t want to try divination again. I’d rather fail the Seven Wonders than have to look in that mirror for information.”

“You passed.”

“What?” You and John Henry both say at the same time, looking up at Madison in confusion.

“Divination is divining knowledge through supernatural means. You had a vision about the end of the world through looking into a mirror, thus divining the knowledge.”

“Well, definitely never going to use a mirror again if I have to divine something.” You say after a long pause. Madison and John both laugh at your response.

“That’s perfectly okay. Never has any magical being gotten visions from looking at rocks to find knowledge.” John explains.

“If I have it my way, I won’t be doing any divining.” You joke, hugging your knees to your chest. Madison waves her hand, making the now-bloody cloth disappear.

“(Y/N), I know that this was very traumatic for you, so if you would like to suspend testing to rest, we can. But, you do only have one more Wonder to complete.” Madison stands, pulling you to your feet as well.

“What’s the last one?” You ask.

“Vitalum Vitalus.”

“The gift of resurgence.” John Henry fills in when he notices your confusion. “This Wonder involves perfectly balancing the scales between life and death to bring something back to life.”

“Not even Michael can successfully complete this. Seeing as how the prophecy stated that you will be the bridge between the living and the dead, I believe that this will be your most powerful gift.” Madison says.

“Oh God, please don’t do anything fucked up like kill my uncle and make me bring him back.” You roll your eyes.

“Now where would you ever get an idea like that?”

“Hmm, maybe from the fact that you’d love nothing more than to kill a warlock.” You chuckle when Madison smirks, acknowledging defeat.

“Well, we’ll have to find something here that’s dead.”

“It’s a school for warlocks, we keep animals here specifically for this reason.” John Henry interjects, huffing at Madison’s antics before walking out of the room.

You’re anxious, wanting to get this last test over with so you can either reunite with Michael in the Underworld or go back to your home and cry about everything you’ve lost. Sure, you may still have magic, but what use are these gifts if you can’t use them to help save the world? It doesn’t take long for John to return to the room, but by then you’re already up and pacing. He sets the shoebox in his hands down on the table, beckoning you towards him. When you peek into the box, you can’t help but to gasp.

A small rabbit lies dead, nestled on a bed of tissue paper. When you tentatively reach out to touch it, you can feel that it’s still warm.

“Did you kill it?” You ask, an image flashing through your mind of your uncle strangling the helpless creature. John blanches at your expression, awkwardly clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact.

“Bring it back to life.”

Cupping your hands under the rabbit’s body, you shudder as you lift it out of the box. Its body is limp, rigor mortis not yet setting in. Closing your eyes, you focus on the warmth you still feel emanating from the corpse. You imagine the rabbit hopping around, twitching its little nose and suckling from a water bottle in the cute way that all rabbits do. You’re not sure how you know what to do, but something from deep inside you tells you to take a deep breath in before letting it out slowly.

Nothing happens at first. You keep your eyes closed, still focusing on sheer will to bring the rabbit back to life. When you feel the shifting of fur in your palms, you finally open your eyes. The rabbit’s still laying still in your hands, and it takes a moment for you to notice the faint movement as it breathes. Your face lights up when its ears twitch, and you let out a disbelieving laugh when it sits up and stares at you. You don’t know how to react to this situation, so you gently place the rabbit back in the box before looking up at the two who have proctored your tests.

John Henry’s in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Madison just looks extremely pleased, ‘I told you so’ written all over her face. You’re kind of in disbelief yourself, at the moment. Honestly, for everything that completing the Seven Wonders was hyped up to be, it’s more than a little underwhelming now that you’ve actually completed them. You were expecting fireworks to go off and for your hands to start glowing. Nothing’s changed, you don’t feel any different, yet the mere knowledge that you hold this amount of magical abilities somehow changes everything.

Tag List: @nana15774 @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw@sebastianshoe@pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58@dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @dolceandchalamet @everything-is-awesomesauce @langdonslove@ccodyfern@consultingsnowqueen @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon@sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @hplotrfan @omg-hellgirl@gallxntdean@storminmytwistedmind @venusxxlangdon@langdonsdemon@kahhlo @americanhorrorstudies@antichristwrites@xxxmaterialistic @forgetting5sos@sadsadiesworld @michaelsapostle @izuniias

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon imagine #american horror story #american horror story imagine #American horror story apocalypse #ahs imagine #AHS #ahs apocalypse #hades and persephone au #Michael Langdon au

195 notes · View notes