#even through the mask his anger is recognizable

[shotmrmiller]

Submitting to his dominance— part III

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

TW: dubious-con???, light mentions of violence, tied up for a moment, biting, thigh riding, fingering, edging, unprotected p in v, creampie, this is just vulgar idk what to say.

WC: 3k

A/N: this is it. i didn't plan on using the small drabble of jealousy for this but it worked better for me in the end. this is totally self-indulgent gg yall

You’re on a call with a friend, excitedly discussing your upcoming date with Gaz. Telling her how the both of you are still getting to know each other, just dipping your toes in the water— but the chemistry you both felt was natural, and your friend was screaming on the other end of the line, excited for you.

Approaching your front door, you’re giggling at something they said when you turn your doorknob and push. It opens.  Unlocked. You never leave your flat unlocked. After a moment, you let your friend know you’ll call her later and pivot, dialing the police. Just as you’re about to leave, a recognizable voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Get inside, pet.” 

Ghost. 

Resolutely shaking your head, you firmly say, “No. I blocked you for a reason. Stay here as long as you like, I’m going to Johnny’s.”

In a split second, you find yourself yanked back by a forceful hand clutching onto your hair, causing a jolt of pain as a few strands give way. The grip on your hair intensifies, and you're forcefully dragged into your apartment, confined within its walls with a slam of the door. 

“Are you fucking—”, Ghost cuts you off with a rough palm over your mouth. Anger surges through your veins, nostrils flaring,  and you lift your arm to strike him when he uses the hand covering your mouth to slam your head against the wall— not too hard but with just enough strength to remind you of the position you’re in. Who you’re in here with.

“Hands to yourself, girl. You’d be pickin’ a fight you couldn’t even dream of winnin’.”

Maybe he had a suspicion that you’d test him again because he swiftly rotated you and fastened your wrists with zip ties behind you— before turning you around once again to face him.

How fucking dare he. Oh, if looks could kill. 

You give him the most hateful scowl you can muster, and he looks at you for just a second, almost mockingly. He lifts the mask to uncover his mouth and then tries to press his lips to your neck, but that’s not about to happen. You move your head and shoulder to prevent him from getting anywhere near,  when he moves his hand to fist your hair and yanks. You don’t know what made your eyes tear up. If it’s the stinging ache of your scalp or the twinge in your neck from how hard he pulled. It was silly of you to think he wouldn’t just take what he wants— he’s done it so far.

Ghost has the nerve to chuckle as if he didn’t almost break your neck.

“Don’t be dramatic, pet. If I wanted y’dead, you wouldn’t have even seen me coming.” 

Not realizing you spoke aloud, you’re about to purposefully speak your mind when his lips latch onto the delicate skin of your neck, sucking hard, to the point of pain. And he does it again, on the other side. The sting of his hickeys causes you to whimper, and you assume he likes the noise that involuntarily slips out of you because he grinds his clothed erection against your core while sucking a mark on the fluttering vein in your neck. 

Ghost pulls back, fist still in your hair, and rubs his thumb across the throbbing bruises as if admiring his work. “Hey,” and moves his shirt to reveal his neck— showing you a half dozen blotchy marks that his other conquests put there, and with mirth says, “We match.” 

You start thrashing at that, as best you can while being restrained, and the intense fury of why you even blocked him in the first place comes back to the forefront of your mind. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” you scream. You raise your leg to kick him when he readily grabs it, effortlessly lifting you off the floor. He lets your one leg hang over the arm he has sturdily planted on the wall before grabbing the other to do the same— and pins you flat with his hips, bulge pressed firmly against your cunt. Your arms ache with pain as they are ruthlessly pinned behind you against the wall, pulling a hiss of agony from you.

“Now, now,” he taunts, “There’s no need to get pissy over me sleeping with someone else. Y’asked for a fuck, not a boyfriend, lovie.” 

“Yeah,” you grit out, “You’ve made that clear enough, with your little flings Johnny told me about.” 

“Aw, and tha’s got your knickers in a twist, does it?” he grinds his hips, “Would you believe me if I said tha’ you’re the prettiest?”

You snort. “Piss off— and actually piss the fuck off. You can go get your dick wet with someone else.” 

“Why would I wanna do that when I got y’here spread open so willingly f’me?” and grinds his hips again. 

You were about to retort about the ‘willingly’ being questionable when he latches onto your skin again but this time, he sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. Your nails dig into your palms, eyes welling with tears at the sharp pain of the bite. 

“Ah— stop, please stop” and it feels like he bites down even harder before finally relenting. His teeth come off your skin leaving behind a dark, angry purple imprint. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, pet.”

Ghost looks up from the bite to your eyes and notices them glassy with unshed tears— licking off the ones that did spill. He trails soft stubbly kisses from your jawline to the corner of your mouth almost to coax it open. You wish you were a stronger person to resist his allure, but his mystique pulled you into his orbit. His touch ignited the spark in you to a flame, and you cave.

His mouth caresses yours open, your body melting against his. You let out little, breathy moans, and when he sloppily licked into your mouth, you caught his tongue and sucked— pulling the raunchiest, cunt-clenching sound you’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing. You let go of his tongue with a pop.

He moves his hands off the wall to dig into your arse and walks to your couch, putting your back to the cushions as he pulls off your pants. With a firm grip on your hips, he pulls you towards him, making you straddle his muscular thigh while his hands wrap around your waist, reaching for your bound wrists.

“I’ma take this off. I wouldn’t try hittin’ me again.” You feel a snap, the tingle of your blood rushing through the mark left by the zip tie, and shrug— in an attempt to ease some of the aches in your shoulders from being forcefully positioned for so long.

You side-eye the military pocket knife he used to cut the ties, wondering when he took it out— where he even hid it. Ghost leans forward to shrug off his leather jacket, pulls off his shirt while keeping his mask over his mouth, and tosses them to the other side of the sofa. You knew he was fit but seeing just how much made you a tad insecure. The separation of the muscle from the round of his shoulders to the bulge of his bicep, with the vein running along the bicep was mouthwatering. Strong vascular forearms, only one of them with a half sleeve. You can see the muscle striation of his full-looking pecs, his abs clear cut, obliques you could count with your fingers. Ridiculously fit, unlike yourself. Soft tummy, thick meaty thighs, and fleshy hips. He brings you out of your musing with a hard slap to your arse.

“Out of your head and back here w’me, eh?” he says while soothing the sting with his calloused hand. “I can feel how warm your cunt is through my jeans. Go on,” and lifts his hand to rub a thumb over your mound, “ride my thigh.”

The feel of your clit against the rough fabric of his jeans and his thumb rubbing firm circles on it has your pussy growing wet, leaving a damp spot behind on him. One hand grips you to push you through the motions, and you continue to roll your hips— chasing the friction you need. 

The circles he’s drawing turn slippery as the tension of your impending orgasm intensifies. Your legs start to shake as you stroke yourself on the length of his thigh and the steady roll of your clit under his thumb is about to make you break, your walls fluttering when Ghost pulls away— abruptly leaving you at the ledge, and it stings. 

“Y’didn’t think I was gonna just let you come with how bratty you’ve been?” and you let out an angry whine. “Open your mouth,” he orders.

Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth as you do, and he shoves two of his long fingers into it, and curls them over your tongue— and you close your throat to prevent your gag reflex.

“Atta girl, love,” the smirk he gives is so irrationally smug, that you want to bite him. He puts both of his thighs in between your legs to spread you, letting him get a good look at your swollen, dripping cunt.

He pulls his fingers out glossy with your spit to rub them through your folds, then presses one, and then the other. He pushes to half the length of his fingers and curls, pushing directly on the sensitive patch of nerves. Ghost repeatedly presses against it, and the noises you and your cunt start to make are lewd, sloppy. 

Your pleasure starts to rise again, back to where he left you off with every precise drag of his fingers over your patch of nerves, your body feels like it’s radiating heat, your vision starting to go white when again, he leaves you hanging. Right at the fucking edge and you dry sob from how pleasurably painful it is. 

Ghost grabs your neck with a firm, wet grip and pulls your face to his, lips hovering over yours, breath mingling. 

“With me in you or none at all, pet,” and slaps your cheek, leaving behind a sticky residue. 

Quickly divesting himself of his jeans, he picks you up and takes you to the bedroom, where he watches you bounce on your mattress. He’s about to crawl over to you when you put your foot flat against his chest. 

“I’m not fucking you without a condom when you still have the evidence of your promiscuity on you.” 

He grabs that ankle and wraps it around him, lifting its twin to do the same, then places himself between your thighs— resting some of his body weight on you. 

“I never sleep with anyone without protection. You’d be the first in many years,” and you scoff at him. He grabs your jaw, cheeks squishing under his fingers, demanding eye contact. 

“I’m many things but a liar isn’t one of ‘em. You’ve done so well f’me, been so obedient. You’re the only one I want to feel without any barriers. ” 

This reminds you of how much of a bastard he is. Taking wheat and spinning it into gold, just to get what he wants. 

“And how many times has that line worked for you?” whimpering at the feel of his heavy cock rubbing against your wet cunt. 

“You’re the only one I wanna see my cum drip out of, pet. I swear it,” and he starts to push into you. Even being as drenched as you are, your cunt still struggles to take him. He gives one thrust and it reaches halfway before it stops— almost like it’s stuck. Ghost pulls out, cock slippery and creamy with your juices then pushes in again. It’s like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water— he sinks to the hilt.

It burns. It’s an ache and his length feels too large, too much, but hearing this typically silent behemoth of a man mumbling into your ear has you groaning at his depth. 

“Fuck, baby, fuckin’ hell sweetheart—”, the salacious groan in your ear makes you clench your gummy walls around his invasion. He moves slowly, giving a series of unhurried, languid thrusts. 

“I’m gonna make sure this tight cunt fits me and no one else,” and that has you thinking if he said that because of your upcoming date, but then with a soft slap to your cheek, he shifts— bringing himself to his knees. Ghost grabs the back of yours and pushes them to your ears. You’re bent in half, can barely breathe, and then he gives you a knowing smirk— with just one corner of his mouth lifted as the only warning before he pounds into you. 

Viciously.

Unsparingly.

Every thrust of his has the tip of his head firmly pressing into your cervix with an obscene squelch. The deep pinch you feel against your womb brings tears to your eyes. 

He’s merciless with how hard he fucks you, and you can’t do anything other than take it, thoroughly pinned under his body weight. Ghost then lets go of one leg to cover your mouth with his hand before angling his hips upwards— just a tad and the angle is so sharp he has you screaming. He must’ve known exactly what was gonna happen because he’s completely unfazed by how loud you’re being, just presses down on your mouth even harder.

“Keep taking it, pet, I know you can,” he growls out, but it feels like he’s actually rearranging your guts, so deep inside you can feel him in your throat. His rhythm is unrelenting, and the coil that Ghost has kept tightly wound all this time threatens to snap, and you’re sure it’s going to break you.

He hisses as he feels your cunt quivering around his cock, and he definitely knows what’s about to happen because he then slows his hips and cuts through your pleasure with his selfish demand.

“You tell Gaz that this weekend is cancelled and I’ll fuck you against that wall and let you come,” and you’re babbling out your surrender, jerky nods of your head. You’re okay with losing this battle because you’re winning this war unequivocally. 

Ghost pulls out aggressively, pulls you to the edge of the bed to position your ankles at his shoulder, and lifts— walking to the wall, pinning you. He slaps your arse before sliding back in again. 

“M’good girl has earned her reward, hasn’t she?” and with that, he lets spit dribble from his mouth to land on your clit. 

“Lemme see you touch yourself,” and resumes his thrusts, this time pushing directly into your sweet spot, again and again. You rub circles in rhythm with his thrusting, your body starting to seize. 

“Fuck, tha’s it, love, fuck me,” and he moans when the nails of your unoccupied hand dig into his shoulder. “Jesus, yeah, scratch me. Leave a mark— I wanna see you on me tomorrow,” and he starts to piston into you at a punishing pace, and he in combination with your fingers has you careening into one of the most, if not the most, overwhelming orgasm of your life. 

You tense, and with no control, actually scream out your peak. Wave after wave of blindingly brutal pleasure, nothing but a ringing in your ears and your limbs that violently tremble— relieving the ache that has been in between your thighs for weeks, from Ghost’s ruthless edging. 

The choking vice your cunt has on his cock sends him over, groaning out his climax. He’s grinding so deep in you that it just hurts, then thrusts himself into oversensitivity. 

He backpedals, taking you with him in his arms, and falls back onto your bed with a grunt. You’re rubbing the marks your nails left on his shoulders— just an imprint. Good. Then, you shift yourself upwards, straddling his ribcage to touch the lovebites. 

“You didn’t really think I’d leave a trophy for you to take home, did you?” and his dark eyes unblinkingly stare at you. Gazing right back, you say, “I won’t be a part of your collection.” But you’re not sure if you aren’t already, seeing as how it’s his cum dripping out of you and landing on his stomach. 

“But an agreement is an agreement,” and get up to grab your phone. Sending Gaz a quick text, you then turn the screen towards Ghost. 

Can’t see you this weekend, Gaz. Sorry:(

Oh, the belly laugh Ghost lets out at the response Gaz sent makes your face flush.

We talked about this, doll. Our date is next weekend. 

“Now I,” you get up, leaving Ghost lying on your bed with his spend drying on his belly, “am gonna go shower, and you can let yourself out. I asked for a fuck, not a boyfriend.”

As you saunter to your bathroom, you turn your head to end it with, “Seeing as how I won’t be needing you anymore, delete my number.” 

—

By the time you step out of your bathroom squeaky clean, your apartment is as if you didn’t get fucked within an inch of your life. Everything looked in order, bed comforter tucked with hospital corners— empty. Except your phone wasn’t where you left it. You walk over to pick it up and on the screen is a text from Ghost’s number. He unblocked himself and changed the name of his contact to Simon.

If you wanted exclusivity, all you had to do was ask, love. Tell Gaz to fuck off for good, I’ll see you soon.

You quickly run to your bathroom and slam the door closed. Squealing, you dial Gaz’s number. 

“Hello, doll,” his voice is low, as if he was asleep.

“It worked! We did it! We—” and you cut yourself off, “Wait, did I wake you?”

He chuckles and you can hear another deep male voice in the background. 

“OH! Oh. You weren’t sleeping! OK! Sorry! So sorry! I’m hanging up!” and press the end call button. 

To beat the player, you must first learn how to play the game.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @channelsoph @imasimpl0l @hellshire-harlot @mesyakee @leeeenistop @kerst666 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thychuvaluswife

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley smut

[impyssadobsessions]

The rain was pouring down heavily, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you. Gotham being eerily silent as the raging storm drowned any life from the dark city. A man tugged at the red hooded vest he worse, trying to make it cover his head better. Wind was threatening to blow it down. Rain dripped off his arms as he stepped quietly through the soaked ally. He stopped and knelt down at the two bodies laying face down on the ground. Obviously they had tried and failed to mug someone, the water around the knife one of them held was a little too dark in color. He checked their pulse, snorting. Whoever kicked their asses should have done it harder. Eyes masked by a white lens domino mask, caught movement in the distance. Red Hood stood back up, cautiously. He waited a moment. Something told him the figure didn't go far. In fact, they were hiding. Slowly he stepped past the two men on the ground, making sure to step on them once or twice.

He stopped when he was certain he heard a muffled cursed. Green lights reflecting in the puddles of the ally, dark smears on the trash cans. He could barely see the shape of the figure in the reflection of the water. His fist clenched as there was no mistaking the small frame and the bright eyes on the boy's face. This was a kid. Teenager. A badly injured one. Red Hood crouched, though still prepared to move if need be. “Hey, kid. I know yer there. I'm not here to hurt ya.” Watching the reflection, the eyes seemed to narrow in suspicion. They stayed deathly quiet.

Fair. Red Hood didn't have the best reputation, and even if they didn't know who he was.. he was sure the outfit didn't help make him look like a guardian angel either.

“Here, I'm going to take out my first aid. Okay? Grab what you need.” Hood slowly unhook the pocket from his belt that contained the first aid. It wasn't much, but for knife wounds it should be plenty. Luckily it doesn't look like the kid was bleeding to death, but they seemed pretty tired. He tossed the pocket close to the kid's hiding spot, keeping his distance. The pocket disrupted the puddle making it hard to see the kid, but the movement was recognizable. The kid had flinched away from it. Hood blew air from his lips to keep his anger down. Seeing the teen so hurt and skittish boiled his blood, but not keeping himself in control would only make it harder to help the kid. After a silent moment, the kid wasn't moving.. but Hood could see his reflection again. He wasn't slumped over either, but curled into himself. Then.. it hit him. The kid was watching his reflection back. Red Hood raised his hands and slowly stood up. “Just take whatever you need from it, then go to the clinic down the street-” “Don't move.” The voice of the kid was firm, if it didn't sound young Hood might have thought it was a threat. Red Hood waited as a hand reached out for the pouch. It flicked the pouch pocket open, making sure the opening faced away from him when he did so. The caution and wariness of even opening a pocket, made him frown under his mask. Kid was not just some random teen in wrong place wrong time.. He's been fucked over more than once to be paranoid enough to suspect gas trap.

The kid emptied the pocket, before tossing it back Hood's way. The teen aiming it specifically so it didn't disrupt the puddle, but bounced and skidded next to Hood's feet. Watching the teen's reflection, he saw how quick the kid was trying to bandage up his wounds. “Shi-” Red Hood raised a brow under his mask, shifting forward out of instinct to help the kid. “I said don't move.” The voice hissed, almost covering the waver in his voice. Almost. Red Hood could see blue eyes glaring at his direction. He stayed still to please the kid, keeping keen of his own surroundings. The kid stayed frozen for a moment to make certain he kept his word, before going back to wrap his wound. This time, the teen was wrapping himself slowly. His eyes staying on the puddle, until it was time to rip the bandage. “How ya doing now, kid?” Hood asked after a moment of silence. The teen didn't respond. “Look, I don't have time for this. If you don't want to be caught, that's fine. I'm the last person to judge, but if your bleeding, we need to get you to a medic.” Red Hood gritted his teeth. “I'm fine.” Red Hood clicked his teeth, aggravated. “Maybe now-” “Thanks, but I'll take my chances.” Red Hood quickly stood up as the teen had taken one of the ointments that fell out of the pocket and tossed it into the puddle. He shielded his face from the water, then move to run over where the boy was. The boy was gone. He didn't even make a sound. Where could he have-Red Hood stepped out of the street to see if he could catch a trace of him. Nothing. Dammit! Red Hood kicked the trash can, watching it as it rolled over the thugs that were still knocked out cold. He stood fist clenched as the rain poured harder down on him. He had to hope the kid was true to his word. Still for him to disappear like that-wait. Red Hood narrowed his eyes at the ground, as he replayed the scene. His back turned on where the black-hair teen used to be. He glanced back at the spot. The vigilante walked over to tie up the thugs. A gnawing feeling still itching on his back. He took out his grappling hook, and shot up at the rooftop. Out of sight. --- The black-hair teen sighed in relief after waiting twenty minutes. His body popping back into existence. His hand over his gut as he stared at the vigilante's handy work. “That was close.-argh!” The teen hissed as he curled in pain. This wasn't looking good. A knife wound like that should have been healed by now. “Done it now Danny. Tch.” Danny shook his head as he used the wall to push himself back on his feet. He needed to get out of there.. He would fly, but with how long its taking to heal this gash in his side, he doubt that would end well. Ever since entering this city, something weird was going on with his powers. He can only hope its not permanent. Now, which way to get back to base? Danny's blue eyes dimly glowing through the heavy rain. Without anyway to tell, Danny blindly ran right once out of the ally way. He hoped to at least find somewhere dry to stay the night. One good thing going for him. Just one. That's all he was asking. Unaware that he was being watched. Red Hood clicked off the zoom feature on his mask, giving a heavy frown. He knew there must have been something strange about the kid. “A meta too.” Now he absolutely had to track this kid down. At least before Batman and the others, and possibly whoever this kid was avoiding being caught by.

#jason todd #dpxdc #dp x dc #fanfic #crossover #danny fenton #danny phantom #red hood #not my best but i just needed to write >w<

[willshipanything-blog]

Rules of the Game- Chapter 8

New chapter is out!

Chapter Index here.

Find this fic on AO3 here.

Usual tags apply, so minors DNI!

Chapter 8- Magic

A recognizable pain resounded through your head as you woke. Remaining on your side but allowing your tired eyes to open, you found yourself in the familiar basement, having been seemingly dropped on the cold floor, two feet beside the mattress in front of you. Well, that explained why your back and shoulders seemed to groan as you stretched out your sore body. 

You turned onto your back, facing the dingy ceiling lit dimly by the dawn’s pale light. The right side of your head roared with a dull pain, reminding you of the previous night’s abuse. You guided a hand to the area, feeling dried blood surrounding a shallow ridge at your temple- you prayed your new wound had no shards of glass embedded in it. You couldn't be sure, but you didn’t think you were concussed. 

“Christ,” you hissed to yourself. Because of the pain, yes, but more in anger. Last night had been going to plan. The Grabber had trusted you, you had been out of the basement cage, it had felt good to bathe and even nicer when he… Not like that had been part of any plan of yours. But still, it meant he hadn’t planned on punishing you.

You were a fool for snooping, and an even bigger one for stupidly dropping those damn bottles. It’s not like they would have even helped you win your freedom- why didn’t you break a window or barge through the door to try and find an escape route instead? You hadn’t even wanted to know his accursed name, and he obviously didn’t want you saying it. 

You hoisted yourself up to a sitting position. The wind was immediately knocked out of you when you eyed the open doorway. He was sitting on the bottom step, almost hidden in the shadows of the dark stairwell, though his pale mask seemed to glow in the darkness. This was a new mask; the devilled horned remained, though there was no expression at all below the nose, no grin or frown, only a smooth surface ending in an exaggeratedly pointed chin. He had obviously been eager and waiting to see you regain consciousness, and as you gasped at the sight of him, he rose from the step and entered the room. 

“Well, it appears my defiant little bird is finally awake.” the muffled voice said from behind the mouthless façade, approaching your sitting form as his foot casually kicked the door closed behind him. His flat tone of voice matched his mask perfectly; you weren’t able to distinguish what emotion he was holding inside of him. What about his eyes? The perpetual hunger you saw in them could be lust for your body, or eagerness to hurt it. You really couldn’t discern which.    

He reached you as you sat there helplessly, waiting for the inevitable kick or punch. Instead, a pair of hands appeared in front of your eyes, ringed fingers reaching out, urging you to take them. Grabbing both of his strong hands, he gripped you and pulled you to a standing position. His thumbs rubbed delicately over the back of your shaking hands and you tilted your head to look upon his blank face.

“It really was an accident. I didn’t mean-” he released one of your hands, it falling limply to your side, and he held a finger to your lips in a silencing gesture. You obeyed. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly before he spoke:

“Enough.” 

The same free hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his warmth in an attempt to pacify him, not knowing what his next move might be. He guided you to turn your face sidewards, looking silently at your most recent injury. Was he happy at what he’d inflicted? Pleased you weren’t too badly hurt and ready to play again? Remorseful for what he’d done? Your brows creased from the pain of your head wound, and from trying to piece together your muddled thoughts. 

“Would you like to see a magic trick?” That was not what you expected. The return to that sinister playful voice indicated he was in a good mood, though the last time he had asked that very same question you had received a blow to the face after saying yes, and you had wound up kidnapped. It was incredibly jarring, the expressionless face not helping to calm your rising anxiety. 

The disquiet of these thoughts must have matched your own expression, as he asked again:

“You don’t want to see a magic trick, Y/N?” He sounded hurt.

“No! I would!” you protested quickly, not wanting to upset him any more than he already might be. 

He gave a familiar tilt of his head, the masked chin jutting out expectantly. He wanted you to say something. If you were a good girl, you’d be more enthusiastic.

“Please, will you show it to me?”

Hand still in yours, he guided you towards the foot of the dingy mattress, where he sat cross-legged, pulling you down to do the same. Facing each other, you were within arm’s length of him; he’d obviously made room for his act. From a back pocket he dramatically produced a length of rope (about 3 feet long) and a small but sharp-looking pair of scissors. The possibilities of what he could do with both of these items did not fill you with any type of confidence. For some unbeknownst reason, medieval images of you being hanged, drawn and quartered reeled through your overwrought brain. You watched the trick intently. Hopefully he might think you’re amazed by his illusion, and not sense the growing worry rising from your stomach.

Your kidnapper’s performance was a simple trick. Rope in hand, he tugged it at either end to show it was one long, unbroken piece. He gathered and folded it in his hands, and seemingly snipped the rope in half with the scissors. Untangling it once more, the rope was magically back to being a complete strand, accompanied by a fanfare of “ta-da!” by the magician. 

If he had thought that this trick would be entertaining, with his dramatic flairs and hand gestures, he was dead wrong. You did not enjoy the sleight of hand. You knew an encore was coming, that there would be some other cruel punishment after you had angered him last night. 

“What, you didn’t like it? Did you see how it was done?” he questioned sarcastically, both of you knowing there would be more to this trick than met the eye. “Hmm, I guess it was pretty boring, huh? Let’s see if we can’t find something more fun to do then, dove.” Here he leaned forward, his palms coming to rest on the mattress in front of your crossed legs. You began to shuffle back uneasily, but a firm grip on your ankle sent shivers up your leg, the hairs on it standing up straight in surrender.

“You think after last night it would be a good decision to upset me, Y/N?” You stopped moving. Looking at him with a woeful glance, you shook your head despondently. 

“Good,” he eyed you up, from the ankle he was still holding, creeping up your pale, bare legs and past your torso, until his eyes reached yours “Take off that shirt for me.”

You had expected punishment in the usual form- was he asking you to do this so he could whip you again with his sadistic belt? This felt different, more like the other things you’d done with him. You didn’t know which was coming, or which you’d prefer. It’s not like you were going to ask what form your abuse would take, so with no real option, you peeled the t-shirt slowly from your body, shivering all the while from both cold and dread.

He edged forward on his knees. “Hold out your hands.” The rope he had used from his magic trick came snaking round from behind him, and he grabbed your wrists roughly and began to bind them together. He yanked each knot tightly, constricting your wrists and eliciting small grunts from your quivering lips. 

“Please- I- I’ll be good, it really was an accident.” A hard tug on the rope tying your hands quieted you as he finished his handiwork and proceeded to place his flat palms on your crimson cheeks.

“Sometimes you need to clip a bird’s wings,” he spoke sincerely, looking into your sorrowful eyes “to stop them from flying away.” You saw the parallel he was making, and a singular tear crept down your cheek, which was gently wiped away by his thumb. 

“You need this punishment, to remind you to be good”. He paused. “Say it, Y/N.”

“I need this punishment,” you echoed forlornly.

“Why do you need it?”

“To remind me to be good- to be a good girl.” The tears fell faster now. It wasn’t fair- you had been good, had just made a stupid mistake. You didn’t deserve this.

“Hey, don’t cry. Remember, there’s pain and pleasure, even for naughty girls like you.” So which was this? The lines between punishment and reward were becoming ever more blurred. 

“Oops, look what we forgot,” he hummed as he twanged one of your bra straps mockingly. Pointing his index finger in the air as if coming up with some clever idea, he picked up the discarded scissors from the earlier trick. He cut both of the straps of your now useless bra and dropped the blade with an echoing clang. Curling his hands around your midriff, he slowly traversed your back with his hands before undoing the clasps and allowing the black lace to fall to the floor. 

Although in theory no different from stripping for him last night, it felt more degrading this time around. Your initial instinct was to raise your bound hands to cover your naked torso, though he pulled them down roughly when you tried this. You shivered as he took a long glance at your helplessness before he gave you another order to obey. He wasn’t asking for anything today, only commanding. 

“Lie on the mattress, hands above your head.” You followed obediently. Once stretched out on the low bed, he walked towards the door and you lifted your head uncomfortably to see what he was doing. He fumbled slightly with the mask, unstrapping it behind his head before removing the blank lower half, placing it near the metal door. He turned back towards you, and you quickly put your head back on the mattress with a gasp, hoping he wasn’t irritated by your peeping. Your injured head complained at the sudden movement, but you weren’t sure you could blame that for the feeling beginning in your stomach. There was so little disparity between your sense of dread and excitement. You convinced yourself that it was the former you were feeling.

His face came into view above you, the same row of shining teeth bared like a ravenous wolf about to pounce. You were the lamb he was to feast on. 

“Hmm,” he pondered aloud “there’s something missing. Or- no, wait- something that needs to be!” He moved from your eye line as you kept your eyes steadfast on the dank ceiling. You felt hands grip your waist, and in one fluid motion, he had slid your underwear completely off. You lay there naked, stock-still apart from your reflexive shivering due to the room’s frigid temperature. Your nipples were hardened pebbles and goosebumps had swarmed your entire body. For a while after he had exposed your naked form, he didn’t touch you, though you were sure his eyes were lingering on every part of you, every contour, each wound, all the bruises peppered on your skin and your most intimate, private parts unveiled in front of him. You heard that distinctive low breathing, and some indeterminate rustling. A quiet murmur crawled from his lips- “Beautiful,” he had hummed. Is he imagining the ways he will use your body, or the ways he’ll mutilate it? Both, you surmised.

A heavy weight was suddenly on you, the pressure hurting your abdomen. Looking down, you saw he had straddled your hips. His thick thighs held your body in place firmly, whilst his muscular calves extended beside your thighs. You felt the protrusion from his trousers, pressing against your stomach. He leant forward, his weight crushing your body, as he brought his face to yours.

“I can’t say you won’t enjoy this, Y/N,” he giggled “but remember, this is supposed to be your punishment, so I won’t be gentle.” His wild eyes flashed their usual hunger, and he pushed your face to one side, his hand forcing your cheek into the mattress. A hot pain suddenly raged in your neck, eliciting a howl from your lips. He was biting you, and you felt blood being drawn. Screaming and writhing from the pain, you instinctively tried to pull your hands down in defense, but he held them tightly above your head. His hand released your cheek and you craned back to see his face towering over you, his mouth crimson. A psychotic smile revealed his teeth, gleaming white but smeared with your blood. He licked his lips. 

“Please-” 

“Shh. You need to be disciplined, naughty thing.” You realized how futile your pleas would be, and resolved to lie still, push through the pain and wait for it to be over. You visibly relaxed and he smiled in approval, releasing your wrists. He would be done with this sadistic foreplay soon, then he would fuck you and it would be over. 

Another assault on your neck began, though more gentle than the first bite. He nibbled and licked hungrily at your neck, leaving little trails of bruises and cuts behind. His hands moved to your body, doling out caresses and scratches in equal measure along your hips, stomach and chest. He seemed to know which ribs hurt the most, pressing them just enough to draw out pained moans from your lips. He was everywhere at once, and you felt your whole body radiating in pain and growing hot simultaneously. His warm mouth lowered more, outlining your clavicle with his tongue, and you found it harder to ignore the sensations your body was being subjected to. You breathed hard through your nose to stop from making any sounds. Not being able to see what was happening meant every relentless touch from his hands and mouth jolted you with new sensations. 

Abruptly, his weight shifted from you and you felt him moving further down your body. Using his knees to shift your legs apart, you concluded he was knelt between your thighs. You inhaled deeply in expectation of him entering you. 

Something softer and smaller prodded at you. Mortified, you realized he was stroking your folds with his fingers, massaging your warmth nimbly. You drew in a sharp, audible breath and tried to clamp your legs closed. He placed his hands on each of your trembling thighs, nails pressing just threateningly enough to stop your wriggling.

“That’s it, dove. Just relax. I think you’ll enjoy this. Be good for me.”

The hand returned, and he began to open your folds deftly. Fingertips brushed your clit and you clamped your mouth closed, stifling an involuntary moan. He began to circle it more quickly, your skin flushing all over from the stirring feeling rising from your cunt. Fingers now brushed over your slit, your betraying wetness allowing your captor to moisten your entrance. Smoothly, you felt more fingers enter you (two or three you thought) and begin to jerk back and forth, splitting and stretching inside of you. Another hand moved back to your clit and resumed its work, rubbing and pinching and massaging. 

You writhed under his touch, your breath hitching in your throat and you let a keening moan escape your lips. Your hands squirmed, the abrasive rope rubbing even more tightly and cutting into your wrists, though you barely registered this pain with the intense feeling surging through you. He wouldn’t relent and you were about to beg for reprieve when your thighs began twitching as if electrified, and your walls constricted around his fingers. You wailed, the most intense sensation you had ever experienced. His hands left you as you rode this sensation, the basement ceiling now appearing to be bathed in blinding white light. 

You discerned a distant voice speaking, and the Grabber purred deliciously: 

“My turn.”

He released his manhood quickly from his trousers and in one thrust forced his whole length into your still wet and needy walls. You screamed again, even with your slickness, his cock was bigger than anything that had been in you before. 

“Fuck, Y/N!” he stammered, holding himself inside of you fully, savoring the tightness. He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, before slamming into you once more. Each time he retreated, your feening hole constricted as if trying to keep him inside. You had barely recovered from your first orgasm, but felt the feeling advancing a second time. He lifted your rear, raising it from the mattress. This new position allowed an even deeper penetration, and he began to jut into you at pace, both of your heaving and moaning deliriously. The nails digging into your soft hips heightened the pleasure of the act further. He pulled out and dropped you, and as you hit the mattress you felt something hot on your stomach; he had spilled his seed purposefully on your body. He elicited a series of stuttered groans as the warm liquid continued to drip onto your torso. In your haze, this barely even registered as something unwanted. 

Having spent himself, he splayed out on the mattress beside you, pulling your hands down. You bent at the elbows, bringing your fists up to your chin. He rolled you to your side, facing him. Your bound hands met his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart steadying after his exertion. Having truly embarrassed yourself, whining and trembling and actually enjoying the perverted whims of your kidnapper, you didn’t know where to look. Luckily, he decided this for you, a finger under your chin pulling your eyes to fix on his.

“Do you remember what you promised me, Y/N?” he whispered as his gold-ringed pinky rubbed your cheek tenderly. The hand moved lazily down past your shoulder and arm, before resting finally in the crook of your waist, rubbing soft, slow circles on your skin.

“Yes- I promised to be good.” 

“And you were so good just now. Absolutely perfect.” You said nothing; he had asked no question so you stayed in your abashed silence.

“Being good also means telling the truth- what did I say about lying?”

Your mind raced. You hadn’t lied. There can’t possibly be more of this game today.

“You’ll always know when I’m lying- but I haven’t-”

“I know, dove. I want to ask you some questions. And I want you to answer honestly.”

“Okay.”

Feeling apprehensive about what he could possibly care to ask, you tried to shift to get more comfortable. Stretching out, your shin collided with his, and he raised his leg to trap both of yours beneath him, his foot curling round your limbs. 

“You’ve done that before, right? Had sex?” You nodded.

“But, have you done it like..that? You looked pretty, um, confused when you came.” he sounded a little hesitant, giving an awkward chuckle at his own question. 

“I haven’t- reacted like that before. Usually, we- me and Jonathan- we make out, and then he puts it in until he’s done. I didn’t know it could feel like that. For me.” 

You astonished yourself with how candid you were being with the man who had just abused you in such a way. Even saying the words, you felt your face darken a few shades of red.

“You were wasted on him, dove. You’ll only do that for me now.” Another silence enveloped you both. 

“Did you enjoy it, Y/N?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer the question. Your lack of response was enough for him (and you) to know the answer. You felt a heavy shame in your chest. 

From the silence, the sound of your stomach growling woke you both from your stupor, and you realized you hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. 

“Hmm, my dove is hungry. I’ll be back soon with some breakfast.” He released your legs from his and rose to leave. As he headed to the doorway, he scooped up the sharp scissors, the remnants of your lace bra, and the mask he had removed earlier. He left quietly. 

As the door clicked shut, you bolted up. Too ashamed to think about what had happened, you instead assessed your current state. You tried to twist out of your restraints, biting at the strong rope too, but only succeeded in chafing them more. Giving up on this, you grabbed your (technically his) boxers and shirt, and trudged to the toilet. After peeing, you used what little toilet paper was left to try and scrub the mess that was your stomach and your own folds, though without water this ended up rubbing uncomfortably. You managed to shuffle into the boxers, though you could only clasp your shirt to your chest for cover. You returned to the mattress and the Grabber reappeared after a short wait.

He approached you on the bed, apparently not forcing you to kneel to eat today. He sat facing you once more, the usual meal on the tray beside you both.

“Um, it’s a little tricky to eat like this.” you said, holding your wrists up to him.

Parched, you reached for the soda bottle with your tied hands, but a quick click of his tongue killed that notion. He held it up to your lips and tilted it slowly, though the cold liquid still spilled a little, dribbling down your chin to your neck and chest. He used the discarded shirt to wipe away the liquid with a light touch.

“You’re right- I’ll help.” This was not what you had in mind, though arguing seemed redundant at this point. He casually yanked the shirt from your grasp, placing it beside him. You dropped your wrists limply between your crossed legs. He fed you slowly from his hand. His fingers deliberately touched your lips, and as you ate he put them in your mouth. You played this little game, sucking his fingertips with each bite. 

After the last bite, you felt you wanted to explain what had happened the previous night. 

“I really didn’t mean to find out your name.”

“I believe you. You know, I would have told you eventually. It’s not like you’re gonna tell anyone, is it?” The cruel statement cut through the tender moment and your eyes welled. He continued regardless:

“But only my mom called me Albert. You can call me Al, alright?” You nodded, secretly feeling like stumbling on this information had benefited you, increased the trust between you, even if it meant the ‘punishment’ you had received. 

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“Yes please.” you replied. His head tilted in that expectant fashion, waiting for a different answer than the one provided.

“Yes please, Al.”

Smiling, he produced his small switchblade and quickly cut your bonds before pocketing it again. Holding your red wrists striped with welts, he kissed both in turn before dropping them, leaving with the empty tray and locking the door. 

There were more differences in the game than ever, Al thought. Yes, he still marked and bruised and bled her. But this time, it was with his hands, his teeth, his dick- no belt or knives in sight during the punishment. That had always been a constant in the game before now. 

From the start, he was almost sure he would have taken her in this way- he wouldn’t waste such an opportunity. Though he never imagined how perfect she would feel around him, or how perfectly he would fit inside her. He wasn’t her first, but he had felt like he was. The first to make her whine like that, to come for him. It hardly seemed a punishment at all, but there’s always time for a round of Naughty Girl later on.

#the black phone #black phone #albert shaw x reader #the grabber x reader #albert shaw #the grabber #the grabber x you #slasher fandom #albert shaw x you

[tendo-64]

Doodle for the occasion because I was wrecked by the end of claus's journey so now so do y'all!

Anyway, review time, as well as screens and whatnot if you want to see the major differences without playing through 26 hours yourself lol (massive wall of text incoming). Or you can just enjoy (or not enjoy because it's sad) the angsty doodle. (I'll be drawing more and will post the doodles and this one on their own too)

(Warning for the record that I will be discussing the darkest elements of this game, which means I will be discussing suicide--more so because this romhack addresses it slightly more than the base game did as it subtly acknowledges Claus was the one who died in the original near the end.)

Claus's Journey was really fun. For anyone who hasn't seen my older posts, it's a romhack in which Claus is the protagonist and Lucas is the Masked Man (AKA the Mother 3 Swap AU, but playable). It changes dialogue in addition to sprites to accommodate for the differences in personality. Claus also has narration and isn't a silent protag so you get to see his thoughts on things.

To summarize the main differences: Claus in this version was going to still fight the Drago, until Lucas asks to come with and gets called a crybaby, which angers him and he decides to go kill it himself (knocking out Claus to keep him from following), as he's tired of everyone treating him like he's weak and helpless. Obviously, he never comes home.

MOTHER 3 is an interesting game because it sets Claus up as the typical RPG protagonist, and then kills him off in the first chapter and has his less-typical brother fill his shoes as the hero instead. In a regular game, Claus would've come home from the Drago somehow having survived and everyone would've praised him for being "stronger than we thought" or whatever, but instead he gets kidnapped and brainwashed into becoming a(n anti-) villain. He's the game's antithesis--where Lucas is patience, forgiveness, optimism, and fights only to protect his family, Claus is impulsivity, holds grudges, is unable to move past his trauma, and fought for vengeance to give himself peace of mind from his pain. The Masked Man then goes onto be the ironic representation of the dark path he was headed down: anger and violence for the sake of it, long since having forgotten his original motivations (of course, he was brainwashed against his will, but it's still worth mentioning that parallels can be drawn to those who repress their memories and lash out as a result of trauma, albeit very exaggerated)

So, if you flip that on its head, the whole thing changes. Now Claus is, pretty much a typical RPG protag. His arc is about "recklessness" instead of being a crybaby, where he has to learn to be more thoughtful and tactful.

And Lucas becomes an elaboration of a theme MOTHER 3 implies but never really went in depth with for Claus: the dangers of not taking trauma seriously or expecting someone to just "move past it." He keeps getting called a crybaby, and he snaps. But at the same time, him becoming the Masked Man feels even more disturbing to me because, instead of it feeling like a Claus who's been corrupted, had his negative traits amplified and his positive ones removed, it's not recognizable as something Lucas is at all. It's a massive stark contrast (was for Claus too, but I think Lucas even more so)

I definitely prefer the original dynamic in the original game, as it's more unique and is a big part of the game's identity, but this dynamic is interesting too, if mostly for Lucas and Claus only in the context of it being "what if Claus had a slightly more normal childhood"

At the end, at the ending monologue, Claus has something more to say. The player expresses concern for him and Claus gives his thoughts on Lucas's death: he says that he understands why Lucas did what he did, but then seems to acknowledge his own canonical fate as he's quick to reassure us that he's looking forward to his future and doesn't want to leave his family behind--that he thinks things will be okay and he's happy to be here.

That honestly hit me harder than anything else--it's so sweet hearing Claus of all characters tell us he'll never leave this world behind and he has hope in his future. But it also hurts when you realize that this ending is a blessing and a curse. Claus is happy and will continue living his life, but it came at the expense of Lucas's happy ending. If Claus knew this was a scenario where his brother suffered his own fate instead, he'd have never wanted it that way. Moreover, it's heartbreaking to see Lucas--the character who's known for being someone who can push through hardship no matter what, who can lose everything and still have the strength to go on, who can say he loves life and heals from everything he's been put through... die. It feels so wrong and disturbing--much more so than Claus's death in the original because Lucas had a happy ending, and this hack takes from him.

Claus's Journey is something one might play because they wanted to see an ending where Claus heals from his trauma and lives. But then you realize it's not really a better ending when Lucas had to take his place. It is nice seeing Claus talk about his faith in his future, but in many ways it feels worse that Lucas won't.

I think I'll go with Claus Lives AU instead if I want to see Claus live gdjgjd

But in all seriousness, I enjoyed the romhack. I recommend it, even if some of the new dialogue doesn't mesh with the original writing style perfectly, and some lines feel slightly forced, it can be overlooked.

Anyway, review out of the way, here's some screenshots.

(I regretfully didn't screenshot anything from ch1 because I wasn't posting about my playthrough back then, so I'm going to use screens from a YouTube playthrough by GreenieBoi just for chapter 1)

And here's Claus telling Flint about Lucas:

After this, changes are minor until timeskip.

I didn't screenshot most of Claus's narration, but here's some other noteworthy screens:

I made a post for Tanetane Island already, so I won't share those here

Bro called the duck toilet dumb >:(

Porky says this after Claus tells him the Masked Man is Lucas:

If Claus tries to fight Lucas:

I recorded Lucas's death and last words since there's too much to screen.

Claus monologue that hit hard

And I think that's it! This took a while to write, and probably took a while to read, but thanks for reading!

#tw: sui mention #mother 3 #mother 3 spoilers #mother 3 swap #claus's journey #tw: mild gore

[soaps-hoe-141]

Alright I know it has been a bit cause I'm sick but here is a preview for the next part of Drowning In The Depths. Posting a preview of the next Back Together right after this as well

--------

Another question came to mind then, "Soap I've gotta be honest, you don't exactly look like a medic. You seem more like the guy Cerberus would alert to every time you're around. Explosions and fire and all that."

His smile reappeared on his face in an instant as he answered, "That's cause I am.” When he glanced up at you he caught your confusion so he explained, “Price sent me to learn all this stuff. He said I kept getting hurt or some shite, it was kind of funny actually there a few times. Said if I was the one that needed it all the time I should be able to fix myself up because apparently that’s just efficient or something. Which is pure mince.” You nodded at that, as he pulled out a roll of fresh bandages and started to wrap your thigh. "Besides no one else really knew any medical stuff back then so having someone who knows the basics at least is a good idea."

Another quiet nod and he taped off the bandage on your thigh, waiting till you pulled your jeans back up before he went to work on your arm. "Since you asked me a question I think I should get one myself." What’s the worst that could happen? Questions were harmless, you didn’t have to answer if you didn’t want to. Your quick nod was the only encouragement he needed to keep going, "So, what's up between you and the Captain? You two know each other or something?" Well that was a less than ideal question he could ask. Questions in fact were not harmless it seemed, and he more than expected an answer if the look he was giving you right now was anything to go by.

Shifting in the chair you leaned away from Soap trying to think of a viable answer before finally giving him a shrug not daring to meet his eye, “No one knows me Soap. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I’m just your average guy with a dog that you see walking down the street and then you forget. Nothing about me is memorable, nothing about me is meant to be recognizable. That’s the point.” He eyed you carefully, obviously your explanation wasn’t doing it for him. He knew you were avoiding answering the question. You couldn’t lie to him. Fuck, come up with something, say something, anything, “What about you and Ghost? What’s up with you two?” Now that shut him up. For a moment anyway.

Soap’s words clammed up in less than a second while he thought about how to answer that question. You watched as he leaned over your extended forearm wrapping the bandages around your wound, “He’s my friend and you’re avoiding my question Speck.” He smirked up at you through his long, dark lashes, “Why is he so pissed off at you?” Oh that’s what he’s talking about? Well shit you thought he’d figured out that John and you were doing the same thing that he and Ghost were.

Anger you could explain. Anger was easy for you, “Probably because I’ve been thwarting all of you for eight months and you couldn’t even figure out who I was, why I was doing it, or even how I was doing it. I showed all of you up with just me and a dog and a guy trying to kill me.” Soap pressed the tape on the end of the bandage at your forearm and narrowed his gaze at you with a good natured smirk on his face.

He moved up to your bicep and shook his head, “Oh now that’s jobby.” He pressed against the wound there to draw out another shift in the chair from you, “You didnae thwart us, you were taking their families ye bawbag.” You gave him a shrug as you looked down where he was wrapping your arm. You’d gotten the conversation away from you and John at least, but it still made you uncomfortable to talk about the people you’d hurt.

The look of nonchalance, the look that could have rivaled a corpse’s, spread over your face at the memory. The mask you put on to hide the feelings that raged beneath. “It doesn’t matter how I did it, Soap, it just matters that I did it. Me and a dog did what you and the rest of your squad couldn’t.” Soap scoffed at that as he slapped the tape onto the last bandage and you kept pushing his buttons with your words, “You and the rest of those guys never would have even gotten us if Cerb and I hadn’t just been put through an explosion.” The Scot sat back in his chair, mouth open in disbelief at what you were saying even with a smile on his face, “And don’t forget the fact that I was being chased by more than just yall.”

Soap crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, “What ye think yer better than us then?” You gave a shrug with a smug look coming over your face in place of the nonchalance, “Oh now that’s just- No yer not, we could take ye even on yer best day. We are literally the best out there. That’s what we do,” Soap threw his used gloves into the trash as he stood back up, moving to put the bag back in its place as well.

You stood up and smirked, “Correction, you’re the best the United Kingdom has to offer. Not many to choose from there I’m afraid.” You saw the laugh shake his shoulders as he bent over, disbelief obvious in his gaze when he glanced back at you, “It’s a bet then Soap.” A dark brow raised at you in question, watching as he stood back up from where he was sliding the bag back under the bed. “Cerb and I win, you buy me a bottle of the good stuff, you guys win and I’ll admit the UK is better than the US.” You fixed a smug smirk to your face then, “We’ll wipe the floor with your asses. Easy as pie. Anything you want to do, we’ll win.”

A step towards you, crowding your personal space as you continued to smile down at him, “Yer on then. Tomorrow 13:00. Sound good ta you?” You tilted your head to one side, glancing above his head before tilting your head to the other side as if you were contemplating his challenge. Finally you gave him an answering nod, “Good then. Go get some sleep. I don’t want ye complaining tomorrow when ye lose.” Backing up slowly from him towards the door he added before you left, “Meet at the mess in the morning. I’ll let the guys know what we’re doing.” A quick nod and finally you were out the door, free to go back to your bunkhouse. Thank God.

#soap cod #call of duty #soap #modern warfare #ghost #ghost cod #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #konig cod #kyle garrick #konig #captain price #price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price x reader #john price x oc #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #captain price x male reader #captain price x oc

[ladyluscinia]

Oh God, I saw the take about Izzy supposed ly maliciously going after Ed was healing, and I agree it's ridiculous. For one, a clever, manipulative Izzy would have been holding the weeping Ed in his arms, saying it's all right, it's okay, Izzy will always be here for him. And without Stede we'll be back to normal and everything will be right again. Just leave it all to Izzy. But Izzy has the emotional intelligence of a tomato and the manipulative skill of a cucumber so all he can do is try to keep Ed comfortable and the crew out of the loop. He doesn't try to hurt Ed when he was healing out of cruelty! If anything, striking while Ed was at his weakest would be cruelty. First Izzy prioritizes getting through Ed's crisis unscathed. And he lashes out after it becomes clear, even recovered, Ed is considering giving up on being a pirate completely. Does no one realize saying 'let's not be pirates' in front of your first mate, proffesional pirate who did not sign up for this shit, is immensely insensitive to how this massive lifestyle change will impact him?

I think I've seen at least 3 egregiously bad versions of it. I guess the really anti-Izzy people are having trouble reconciling that Edward is alone with Izzy multiple times before Lucius is sent in, and he seems relatively unbothered???

Yes, absolutely, Izzy is in crisis mode during the blanket fort era, but that's at least a recognizable Edward crisis. Something he knows Edward will get through if he just makes sure they have time. But I really cannot emphasize enough that Izzy does not see Edward on that deck as "healing" and he's not wrong. Edward is just trying out a new kind of self-destructive behavior (destroying his identity, good and bad) instead of his previous (depression) or outwardly-destructive option (anger). But it's a kind that Izzy doesn't know how to mitigate.

I don't know if Izzy believes Edward is serious about giving up piracy, but I don't think it matters. They both have historically run on the "never let them see you weak" system, and you can't put that genie back in a bottle. He wants to do a talent show tomorrow. After that, everyone on the ship will be people who have seen Blackbeard host a talent show. If he goes back to "normal" in a week or a month... it still happened. In Izzy's mind, fear-tinged respect is the ONLY thing keeping them successful, and in reality it is certainly helping. Whether Edward changes his mind later or not is irrelevant if he gets in enough public displays of "the new Ed" to destroy that foundation.

My read when I first watched Izzy lash out in the cabin was that he was resigning again. Basically: "You are acting like someone I don't recognize right now, making decisions that will ruin any chance for either of us to recover from this, and I'm not interested in watching it happen!" He waited for Edward to get better like usual and everything just got exponentially worse instead. And then Edward, of course, snaps and reveals that the mask is a mask, and Izzy has to recalibrate.

Not that he gets much of a chance to before Edward does his own reflecting and decides this identity isn't making things better either, so he's going to go hard in the opposite, angrier direction.

#our flag means death #ask #anon #izzy hands ofmd #blackbeard ofmd #ofmd 1x10 #ladyluscinia

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

My Own Miracle

(AU: One of my favorite artists “Citizen Soldier” came out with this song recently and I am obsessed! Feels like such a villain origin theme that I couldn’t ignore the creative juices flowing as I listened to it! Highly recommend you all check them out!)

Every person who had attempted to stop your advances were now lying face down on the ground, surrounded by rubble of buildings and various broken possessions. Fire sourcing from exposed electrical components had practically burnt everything recognizable to a crisp until nearly nothing but ash was left. For the first time you’d had allowed your quirk to run rampage without care. No longer did you hold back the raging emotions that had been pounding through your veins like drugs. “That’s where you belong,” you smirked while purposefully stepping upon the picture of three smiling faces, “at my feet.”

It’s what they deserved.

Years of living under the same roof as those monsters in human skin had finally come back to bite them.

And now you were moments away from freedom.

One of the fallen managed to move their hand until it weakly took hold of your ankle. Anger, and a brief appearance of old fear, flitted through your gaze before they fell victim to your quirk again. Their cries for mercy filled the air but they fell on your deafened ears as they writhed in agony. Deep within your chest rose a new feeling of accomplishment, almost glee, when they finally stilled after nearly a minute.

“(Villain/n)!”

The corners of your mouth tilted upwards at a familiar voice that called your name as if from the end of a long tunnel. How long has it been since you’d heard his voice? At least a decade. Or was it more? Thrills slipped down your spine when catching sight of a figure in what used to be the porch doorway. Of course he would be here before the authorities. He was a hero. Even when amongst the underground you’d kept up on his climb up the ladder of society. Way back during UA days it was all he could ever talk about.

Hero training.

Hero studies.

Hero this…

Hero that…

“Why?”

A scoff rose up your throat, rolling your eyes. “What a cliché question. It’s as if you’ve stepped out of an old comic book.” Of course they didn’t recognize the current you. After all, you’ve also been hard at work training yourself physically and mentally for today. Nothing was going to stand in the way of you achieving your goal. Not even them. “Can’t you turn the other cheek just for today? It is my birthday, so it’s the least you can do for me.”

He moved away from the window once seeing that you weren’t going to attack outright, checking over the pair who looked more at home with pieces of charcoal at an art supply store than actual living beings. “Good, they’re still alive.”

Your bottom lip extended in a pout. “Of course they are. I was only getting started.” The tip of your tongue darted out to moisten your smirking lips when walking over to a soon-to-be-corpse and earned a pain filled hoarse cry when the heel of your shoe came down on their back. “Can’t let the fun end so soon.”

Of course your words would earn his anger, it was to be expected since this was the path you’d chosen, so his sudden attack failed to impress you. The twist of your body caused him to collide with the wall instead. Back and forth you effortlessly dodged his attacks; though he’d physically grown it didn’t seem like his patterns had changed.

This will be almost too easy.

Katsuki Bakugo

“What the hell?! Why aren’t any of my blows landing?!”

Bored, you sighed while dodging yet another one of his seemingly endless explosion shots. “Isn’t it obvious? You can’t touch me.”

Garnet red eyes narrowed from the mask’s shadow. “Like hell I can’t! You’re nothing but a stupid villain who is throwing a fit—gah!”

You’d moved too fast for him to react, completely and utterly bypassing his defenses, to send him flying backwards with a solid kick to his throat. “A fit? That’s ironic since you’re the one who used to throw tantrums worthy of a two-year-old at the drop of a hat.” The shadow that had fallen over your eyes darkened when he reappeared after a few seconds from the neighboring room’s rubble. Humorless laughter rose up your throat when hearing him swear for several seconds; classic for him. “Have you ever been told that you talk too much?” Venom seeped into every word that passed through your lips while locking near ice cold eyes with his own. “Guess you never learned when to shut up.”

They filled with confusion. “Eh? And what would you know about any of that? You don’t know shit.”

Once again, you moved too fast for him to track, but instead of your foot the length of his throat was met with your fingers that took tight hold of his jugular. Anyone with your body build wouldn’t hope to be capable of overpowering someone else…let alone a hero of his caliber. They weren’t you. You’ve devoted nearly every waking moment of perfecting speed, precision, and power. That’s how you were capable of defeating the heroes before him; those idiots who had been bottom feeders to have unluckily crossed your path.

It was only after defeating the one known as Ingenium that you knew your peak speed had been found.

Explosion after explosion caused your skin to blister, costume to burn away to ash, his kicks landing heavy blows upon your body, but they were hardly felt as you remained steadfast. Saliva was beginning to dribble down his strong jawline as his blazing gaze searched for any sort of opening. He was taller than you, built differently than you, facts you no longer could ignore when one particular sparking kick caused pain to flare within your side. Eventually he could free himself. Unless you did something to prevent it.

The sound of a bone breaking pierced the air, closely followed by his muffled scream that was cutoff courtesy of your hand tightening its hold around his throat.

“Shut up already. You’re hurting my ears, Bakugo.”

It had been unintentional, calling him by his last name as others had, but it was the tone of voice you used when saying it that earned his silence.

Izuku Midoriya

Recognition filled his emerald gaze when you felt his body grow slack after it recovered from your blow. Disgust filled you when moisture gathered within the corners of his eyes. “Still a crybaby, aren’t you, Mirodirya? And you’re supposed to be the next ‘All Might’?” Skepticism filled your voice as you held him up despite the now useless leg trailed across the ground when you shoved him face first against the opposite wall where a small crater formed. “Pathetic.”

He fell like a broken marionette once you released him, earning choked gasps and hoarse sounds as he attempted to shift into a position so that your gazes could meet.

Part of you was amused he could move at all really. That kick had taken away more voices than your elbow-knee combo had broken bones. Combine the pain from both blows, no matter who the receiver was, it would render them immobile or unconscious by now. Then again it would be best not to underestimate the current him. Especially after all the rumors you’ve heard about him.

A pain filled exclamation fell from his lips as you settled yourself upon his core, swinging one leg over the other in a fashion that meant you weren’t going anywhere for the time being and you were in no hurry to depart. Your hand lashed out, burying itself within his curly forest hair and used it to lift his head so that he was staring up at you instead of the ceiling while the other tore open his costume until the underlying muscled torso was exposed. “Poor little baby Deku,” you cooed while trailing sharpened razor blades down his skin to draw crimson blood and earn suppressed noises, “all the pain you’re feeling and oxygen deprivation would have made anyone fall into unconsciousness by now. But not you. Of course you wouldn’t.” Mock sympathy filled your features when his eyes grew wide in response to your razor tipped fingers embedding themselves into his flesh. “It’d be best if you took a nap right now. You don’t need to see what happens next. They need to pay for what they’ve done to me.”

Those green eyes of his swam out of focus but cleared at your words.

“Oh, that’s right, you and the rest of the Heroes Course were too preoccupied with playing your games to even realize what was going on with those around you.” The curl of your lip rose as with a flick droplets of red splattered across the concrete when the pair of burnt figures made noises, the razors at your fingertips that had been buried within his flesh shining brightly as you sheathed them. “Those are dipped in a special powder concoction. Won’t kill you but it will knock you out long enough for me to get things settled here and disappear.” Your hand that had been buried within his hair patted his cheek as the drug took hold and caused his eyes to roll upwards. “I’d say sweet dreams but that’ll be impossible.”

With a snap of your neck, you focused upon the pair who were attempting to crawl towards a section of wall that would lead down to the busy street who had no idea of what was occurring just feet above their heads. Only when sure that the drug had taken full effect did you stand. The time had come.

Fumikage Tokoyami

“Tell me…”

You froze in mid step. A sigh slipped up your throat, when a glance back revealed him to be fighting unconsciousness. Maybe a little nudge needed to be given for him to finally give up.

His hand outstretched towards you. “…what happened…”

“Easy, Fumikage, you’re bleeding internally from those cuts,” Dark Shadow warned, “if you move or talk too much you’ll—”

“Why would you care?”

Their eyes widened at your icy tone.

Disgust filled you when he attempted to talk. “The way you all fake how much you try to sympathize with people like me is sickening. We know you don’t really care, it’s not like you even knew of our existence to begin with.” A swift kick to your intended victims caused them to fly across the nearby destroyed room to fall into heaps. “You want to know so bad? Fine, I’ll indulge you, but don’t expect me to change what has already been put into motion.” Smoke began to fill the air as your anger manifested within tongues of flame that licked your skin, causing flickering shadows to appear through the space as you walked to bend over the largest of the figures. Your razors reappeared with a flick of your wrist, each blade still sticky with the hero’s blood. “This one was never satisfied with whatever I did; grades, money brought in through small jobs, my athletic performances, nothing was up to their standard. I was an obedient child, wanting to gain their pride and approval, so why did I constantly come home to beatings?” The figure groaned lowly in pain as you lifted them up by what was left of their clothing, slamming them against the wall with enough force that more blood decorated the wall like decorative paper. “Belts or palm of of their hands would be acceptable but when you break a child’s bones on a daily basis from beatings with other objects someone should have raised questions.”

The expression of horror on his face was almost too much when you spared a glance in his direction. It was beautiful. A work of art.

“Yet no one did. Students and teachers were aware of me coming to UA with casts and splints on nearly every week but not a single one spoke up on my behalf.” A sickening grin lifted your lips. “Even when I became covered in cigarette burns and reeked of rotting food they still didn’t do anything. Did you know that this person even went so far as to stop me from eating anything off the table?”

Dark Shadow, who rarely if ever showed emotion, radiated with something akin to beast-like rage as you went on to explain how you’d been forced to dumpster dive since a young age. The way he wavered between protecting Tsukiyomi and listening to your words… Another breathtaking visage that should be displayed like art.

Your attention shifted to the other figure who was whimpering. “That one over there? Well, let’s just say their drug addiction was more important than the health of their own child. Colds or small sicknesses lasted near twice the average length because our household couldn’t afford the medicine I needed; not that either of them really cared. The times I took myself to the hospital were too many to count and I’d always had to escape before those doctors had a chance to get my real name.”

Shoto Todoroki

Crystalline ice appeared along the flames threatening to spread, causing their progress to halt altogether. The electrical fires had been unplanned so it was no loss to your cause. It was a bit annoying though. Especially when you noticed the protective barrier between you and those people who had been your targets. “Even after everything I’ve said, you’re still trying to save them.” Now your anger was beginning to grow beyond what should be possible when spotting his duo eyes watching carefully as you attempted to move past the ice only for it to farther enclose around the burnt pair. Rage burst forth from your being in a sweltering wave of flame composed blades whistling shrilly through the air before they buried themselves within anything they came into contact with; walls, furniture, ceiling. “Stop interfering!”

“What they did was wrong, (Y/n), but I cannot ignore that your ambition to hurt others.” He growled while rising to balance on one leg. The once proud costume donning his figure was now rendered to rags as he wobbled while fixing you with a look you couldn’t identify. Never have you seen such emotion within one’s gaze or expression as he attempted to limp closer to you.

It frightened you.

“Stay back!” You roared as the blades appeared from across your body that took flight, leaving blazing crimson trails in the air, until they made contact with his hastily procured shield of ice. “No one was there when I needed them! Every single one of them turned a blind eye or deaf ear when I was begging for help!” The blades grew bigger in size until they sliced right through to bury themselves within his flesh, earning shouts of pain and more splatters of blood. “All of you ignorant self absorbed people are alike! You ignore the pain of others so long as you can go about your day!” More crimson painted the scene with each sweep of your arms. “Always wearing those blinders of yours so as not to get distracted or sidetracked!” Near transparent ice became tinted pink as blood took the place of rain, threatening to paint everything in red until you were left exhausted and teetering on shaky legs.

“I never knew…”

A tendon in your jaw grew tight. “Of course you wouldn’t.” The shadow of your hair fell to obscure the upper half of your face. “I was just waiting for someone to rescue me when I should’ve been relying on my own strength. When I realized that no one was going to help me, I decided to take things into my own hands.”

“I’m sorry…”

Your head snapped upwards, eyes wide as they locked on his lidded ones when something brushed your cheek. He had somehow managed to cross the room, leaving a trail of red, his being radiating with pain and determination, the brush of his fingers against your skin so gentle that for a moment you didn’t believe it had happened as he teetered. “What?”

Regret and guilt filled his gaze before they slid closed. “…I suspected…saw…but couldn’t…sorry…should’ve done…something…”

By reflex your arms caught him as he fell into unconsciousness.

His words fell over you like a weighted blanket. He’d seen you back at UA? How? You were in different courses and he was apart of the Heroes Course. The only times you’d ever cross paths was in the cafeteria or hallways? The blades of fire evaporated into smoke as sirens pierced your eardrums.

Now was your opportune time to take revenge.

No one was here to intervene.

It would be so easy.

So why were you hesitating?

Eijiro Kirishima

How you found yourself dressing his wounds back at your sanctuary was beyond believable. Somehow, for some reason, leaving him to bleed out or for the authorities to discover left a bitter taste on your tongue. Gauze soaked in counteractive drugs to the concoction you’d made and antibiotic cream to prevent infection covered his being almost completely. The span of his chest and sheer power built within each chiseled muscle spoke of dedication that you could sympathize with; memory reminded you of how hard he would work to keep up with the rest of his classmates. Admirable. Finished, you made to begin clearing away the leftover mess when one of his large hands took hold of your wrist.

His eyes were straining to stay open, their ruby irises glazed and unfocused, but locked on your general direction. “W-wait,” he croaked, “don’t go…”

“I’m just cleaning up,” you soothed by adjusting so that your fingers could give his a squeeze, “go back to sleep.” What had come over you? Why were you suddenly so gentle with him? He was a hero who had tried to stop you from exacting revenge! You should be livid!

A sigh slipped between his lips as your other hand rose to brush some stray red hair from his face with near feather-like touches. “I’m sorry…(Y/n)…I should’ve…” His breath caught as droplets of clear liquid splattered across the bandages covering his chest as your head hung lowly. “…don’t…don’t cry…I’m gonna be okay…thanks to you…” With difficulty, he rose upwards upon a bent arm while the other drew you close to his being in a half embrace so that his breath wafted past the shell of your ear. “I used to see you all the time hiding in the library,” he whispered, “something told me to go talk to you but I was too much of a coward. I should’ve manned up and said something to someone or gotten over myself to at least say ‘hi’. You didn’t deserve any of what they did to you,” a tremor wracked his being as your hand fell to rest against the place where his heart was beating, “and it’s my fault that you became this—”

The brief sealing of your lips against his cutoff his words, earning a surprised grunt that turned into a weak protest as your other hand administered a small dose of morphine along with sedative, causing his eyes to roll and fall back to the cot you’d placed him in. “It wasn’t your fault. You were the one person who said what I needed and wanted to hear…” A quiver appeared in your lip when seeing him fight against the drugs but with a coax of your fingers over his eyelids they heavily fell closed and every muscle within his body fell slack. “What I’ve become is solely result of my choices. There’s no going back for me now.” One last tear slipped down your cheek while standing, swiping a small bag of personal belongings that lay nearby and pulling the hood of your coat up high enough to conceal your face. One last glance was spared to the now sleeping hero who seemed to be reaching for you. You’d called the authorities to leave a tip of where he was, meaning that this place could no longer be considered your home. It was time to find a new place. Was this going to be the last time you saw him? It would be fitting after the crimes you’ve committed, what you deserved. And still the heart in your chest ached while committing the visage of him to memory as the soft pitter-patter of rain sounded as the door opened with a twist of your hand. “Sayonara.”

And you disappeared into the growing fog of night as flickering lights appeared in the distance.

#bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo #fumikage tokoyami #shoto torodoki #eijiro kirishima #villain!reader #song inspired #listen to the song while you read it #Youtube

[samuraiko]

Ooh more vignettes? Thanks for doing them!

How about: Orym finds/is with the person responsible for Will’s death and can’t do shit about it in that moment

Or if that’s too specific, how about the number #532 👀

Prompt #532 (gargoyle) didn't really spark anything, but your other request, well...

"So Close Yet So Far"

"All dressed in black-stained leather armor wearing dark gray clothing, dark cloth masks over their heads, showing no recognizable features. Similar in build, I could not tell the gender of the attackers, but they were all extremely skilled and incredibly fast."

Oshad Breshio's words echoed over and over in Orym's head as he sat in their barracks room at the Seat of Disdain in Bassuras. The rest of the Hells were talking about Treshi, about Ratanish, about what their next move should be, but Orym's thoughts were elsewhere.

"It was three-three attackers, dressed in black and gray, masks, cloaks."

Roe Estani's words also rang through his mind, recounting the night of the attack on the Lumas twins.

"I see a woman and behind her, there's so many people, and they step out from behind her, more and more and more."

Imogen's voice, remembered from within Hondir's hideout.

And that woman... with grey hair to one side... a red cloak... intense, powerful eyes...

Orym's eyes were drawn toward the closed door of their room.

Otohan Thull... the leader of the Paragon's Call.

His hands were imperceptibly trembling as he threaded his fingers together, clasped together so tightly that they began to turn white from the pressure.

She's here... in Bassuras... maybe even in this fortress right now...

His lips pulled back from his teeth in the faintest of snarls as he stared at the door.

Was she the one... did she send the Grey Assassins...

Orym's entire body tensed, poised to rise from his seat on his cot.

Is she the one who took Will away from me?

A hand on his arm suddenly pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned, eyes wide, to see Ashton looking at him in concern, while Imogen, Chetney, and the others continue to plot and plan and squabble amongst themselves.

"You okay?" Ashton lowered his voice and leaned slightly closer. "Because I know that look... that's rage right there. No... rage isn't the right word." He frowned and thought for a moment, then murmured, "No, it's... wrath." Ashton glanced down and his eyes widened slightly. Orym followed his glance and realized that his fingers had turned completely white. He slowly relaxed his hands and flexed his fingers.

"Listen, Orym... I'm not gonna ask right now because there's too many ears. But... if you need to talk to someone... someone who understands wrath... I'm here. Okay?"

Very slowly, Orym nodded, but he didn't trust himself to speak.

"And also... when it comes time for that wrath... I'm right there with you."

Orym's eyes lifted to meet Ashton's, and an unspoken agreement was made. He and Ashton quietly clasped hands, just as he had clasped hands with Breshio, and just as he had then, he vowed anew to see this through to the end.

Breshio brings the Anger... Ashton, the rage... and yes... I will bring wrath.

#critical role #campaign 3 #bells hells #orym of the air ashari #ashton greymoore #fanfiction #writing #so close yet so far

[meanwhileinquarantine]

Part 3 AU Firefighter!Kakashi/Photographer!Iruka

The confrontation

3. 

“Iruka, someone is here to see you.”

“Mm? Who is it?”

“Don’t know. Tall. Silver hair. So handsome you should procure a wedding ring right this instant and don’t let him get away.”

“Anko, please. Stop trying to pair me with every man in Konoha.” But just as Iruka moved a little to see between two stacks of paperwork, he whistled to himself “Oh, damn. Maybe just this time you are completely right.”

“Thank you” she said, clapping his back. “Good luck” 

“Why?” but Anko didn’t answer, just left him there, trying to put some semblance of order on his desk while she approached the handsome stranger and signaled over her shoulder at Iruka. 

It was in the exact moment when the stranger was just next to Iruka when he noticed it: he was the firefighter. The one in his latest photoreport, the one his boss congratulated him on and maybe has given him a shot at the next International Photography Awards.

“Hi! My name is…”

“Can you take it down?” the stranger didn’t even let him finish before talking over him. Iruka didn’t even have time to offer him a seat and therefore the grave voice of the firefighter traveled over the whole office. Iruka saw Izumo pretending to talk about some investigation article over on Kotetsu’s desk, which was nearer to Iruka’s than his own desk. “The photography. I want it erased, can you do it?”

“Eehm… I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that” Iruka said, patiently “It has already been published, and it belongs to the editorial. I have no more power over it than you.”

“But you shoot it”

“Yes”

“You had no right”

“Beg your pardon?”

“There are these rights, no? The self-image ones… I didn’t say you could take that photo. So you have to take it down.”

By then, most of his co-workers had given up on their work and were enjoying the show. Iruka felt cold sweat run down his back, trying to explain to this handsome but infuriating man how image rights didn’t work that way.

“You were in a public event, in the middle of the action. It is the same situation as if you were in a manifestation or a live show: these kinds of events are of journalist interest, so we can use that image purely for information ends. Your photo was part of a major investigation on the causes and consequences of the orphanage’s fire. I was not aiming just at you. But you were one of the main protagonists of the day: look at it as being a representative of the whole group of firefighters in the incident. Also, you weren’t the only one photographed that day.”

“But my photo was on the cover page.” In that moment Iruka swore the tone of the man was more of a pleading tone than anger.

“Yes, well… you are really…” handsome “...photogenic.”

“But it is my face! There! For everyone to see!”

“Why does it bother you so much?” Iruka had patience, God only knows it, but right then the firefighter was on thin ice “Others would be happy to have all that protagonism!”

“Oh, good!” the stranger threw his hands in the air “Thank you very much, just what I needed: a jump to fame. You know being a Hollywood star is my secret dream.”

“People don't even recognize you!” Sorting through all the papers on his desk, Iruka fished a slightly creased magazine from somewhere and put it in front of the stranger’s face. “You have half of your face hidden by the oxygen mask and one eye still covered by your helmet. The only recognizable thing is your silver hair and I’m sorry to inform you that there are a lot more people in Konoha with silver hair. Not exclusive to you, sir.”

“This is ridiculous. Right now…”

“Is there a problem here?” interrupting the argument, Tsunade had appeared just behind the stranger, making him jump in alarm having not heard her approaching. “Excuse me, but if there is a problem with something on the last issue of our magazine you can talk with me.”

“Yes, here is the problem. This man here shot a photograph of…”

“Iruka here” Tsunade made sure to pronounce Iruka's name clearly: she may be a strict boss, but she stands up for anyone in the magazine like family “was following orders from me and up until now hasn’t broken any laws. Maybe we can move this conversation to my office.”

“Fine” throwing a venomous stare over his shoulder, the firefighter started walking behind Tsunade. Iruka felt his cheeks warm up: at that point he wasn’t sure if it was of embarrassment or anger.

< Prev / Next >

#fic writing #fanfic #kakashi x iruka #kakairu #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #au #naruto

[purpurapoena]

‘you and I… we’re not so different.’ ♥ - @chirirenge​

     If not for the fact that she was convinced this one demon was somehow mad, she might doubt her own sanity, her own hearing and everything else that filtered his voice to her mind. He could not possibly know the demon slayer enough to form an opinion about her person. Unlike the Insect Hashira, who knew him more than she knew a few of her colleagues. Years of information gathering driven by her own obsession and fueled by her anger had been enough for her devise a plan to finally end him and achieve her revenge. A suicidal one, but a plan nonetheless.

     How could he dare to compare himself, a DEMON, to her? Loathing burned in her veins, the bitter flavour in her mouth almost resembled the taste of poison, like the one she got herself intoxicated with every day. “You are a manipulative bastard, a liar, a phony and a  m u r d e r e r. We are nothing alike.” Then, it hit her. Harder than anything had in a long time, hurting more than the first time she swallowed the purple liquid that turned her poisonous. Shinobu was every one of those words, the same she used to describe her most hated enemy. If so, how could she not hate herself as fervently? The answer, of couse, was that she did hate herself. The Insect Hashira was a person who wore a mask everyday, telling herself she was doing nothing but honoring her sister. But, she didn’t want them to see the real Shinobu. Mean & sadistic towards those she deemed unworthy. Monsters. Either demons or humans. Angry, resentful. A LIAR that woudn’t mind manipulating if needed. Someone who faked happiness and empathy. It might not be a part of her she was PROUD of, but it was a necessary one.

     To see herself, even if a fraction, in him was worse than any physical torture one could inflict her. It exposed the worst in her, the truly rotten parts. And she wondered if he actually knew the effects his words would have on her. Did he really see through her so easily the moment she dropped her mask? Were they actually so similar he would also see in Shinobu a recognizable part of himself?

#chirirenge #rp #answered #v;there are things we have to do

[yourlunarspice]

My Mature Fics Masterlist

This list only contains fics rated M for Mature Audiences.

General | Teen & Up | Explicit | Unrated

My favorite fics will be in bold while my beta reader's favorite fics will be italicized.

Songbird | 8,448 words, 4/4 Chapters Main Character(s): Hizashi Yamada, Shouta Aizawa, Nezu, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Neito Monoma

On their first day attending UA High School, Hizashi and Shouta discover they are too smart for their own good.

Smile | 522 words, 1/1 Chapters Original Work Main Character(s): Original Female Character

The smile stretches wide across her face like a mask.

Into The Shadows | 991 words, 1/1 Chapters Original Work Main Character(s): Original Character Now with music

Hunger leads to feeding. Ravenously.

Heaven And Earth Between Us | 31,763 words, 6/6 Chapters Main Character(s): Katsuki Bakugou, Hitoshi Shinsou, All For One mentioned

There is a short time when the Sun and Moon share the same sky. When the people below feel a strange sadness as dusk falls and moonlight replaces sunshine. When night turns crimson gold to silvery gray.

No one can explain it, and yet it is a universal sensation. A sort of wistfulness for something not quite recognizable.

However, there are two who know the reason for this melancholic feeling.

They are the reason behind it.

Silence | 1,648 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 25 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Hizashi Yamada, Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, Himiko Toga

Adrenaline roared through his veins, temporarily easing his massive headache. Hizashi felt around his mouth, hoping that his gut instinct wasn't true.

Unfortunately, it was.

A rough, metal muzzle was fitted snugly over the lower half of his face.

Dreams vs. Nightmares | 846 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 24 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Hanta Sero

"Hey!" he shouted as he stepped out of the sunlight. "Hands where I can see 'em!"

He could hear something dripping deeper in the alley, but the visor on his helmet was tinted, making it seem almost pitch-black.

Cautiously removing the helmet, Hanta inched forward until he saw what had happened.

He froze.

Don't Worry | 2,579 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 21 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Part 1 of Broken Candycane Main Character(s): Shoto Todoroki, Endeavor, Touya Todoroki, Hanta Sero

Endeavor had been in one of his moods for a while now. It had been so long that his siblings had gotten hurt as well.

Then again, that was par for the course with Endeavor.

It wasn't their fault that Endeavor had a rotten day at work, or that one of his sidekicks irritated him, or any of the seemingly trivial things that angered their father.

But they all knew that Endeavor didn't see it like that.

Imprisoned By Déjà Vu | 2,094 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 20 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Part 2 of Kacchan needs therapy Part 5 of Denki needs therapy Main Character(s): Katsuki Bakugou, Shouta Aizawa, Original Male Character

In his head, Katsuki knew that he should be yelling at them, stomping up to his room, and avoiding everyone.

But his mind was numb.

His body wouldn't cooperate.

More tears trickled down his cheeks, but he didn't even have the strength to sniffle.

He could only stare at his classmates surrounding him.

A Selfless Idiot | 2,265 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 17 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Shouta Aizawa, All Might, Katsuki Bakugou, Izuku Midoriya

Katsuki heard Deku's footsteps behind him, which made him grit his teeth. He knew he had to tolerate him, but it still felt like they were back in elementary school and he was chasing after him, no matter how many times Katsuki pushed him away.

The footsteps grew closer, and Katsuki balled his hand into a fist to keep from lashing out.

As much as he hated it, they had to at least work beside each other - because there was no way he was going to work with shitty Deku - which meant no attacking him.

To his great disappointment.

There was a heavy blow to the back of his head, and the world went dark before Katsuki had the chance to feel the asphalt against his face.

Inevitable Tragedy | 2,042 words, 3/3 Chapters Part 16 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, Shouta Aizawa, Original Male Character(s)

The lights of the city looked so small from Hitoshi's vantage point.

He threw the end of his scarf out, mirroring Aizawa's, and both leapt through the air again.

He was grateful that the underground hero had taken him on as an intern, but anxiety bubbled throughout his body, keeping him on edge.

It was his first time chasing villains with his mentor.

This Is Why | 1,504 words, 7/7 Chapters Part 15 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Shoto Todoroki

I don't normally journal my thoughts, but Hanta thought it might help me. I hope it does.

Today, my father tried to contact me again.

I mention him continuing to train me once, and now he won't let it go.

I've started having the nightmares again. The ones where he's burning me alive and I can't do a damn thing about it.

I haven't told anyone about it, but I think some people have an idea that I haven't been sleeping well. Midoriya said I looked even more tired than Shinsou.

Desperate Times And Desperate Measures | 717 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 14 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Tamaki Amajiki, Mirio Togata, Eri

"AH!"

A sudden pain deep in his chest brought him back to consciousness.

"Mirio...?" he gasped.

Something was wrong.

Tamaki wasn't sure how he knew... but he just did.

Breaking The Unbreakable | 1,736 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 13 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Eijiro Kirishima, Daruma Ujiko, Shouta Aizawa, Nomu, Tomura Shigaraki

Eijiro groaned as he drifted into consciousness, the room bright around him.

Had he forgotten to turn the lights off before going to sleep again?

He tried to rock into a sitting position but found that he couldn't move his body. "The hell...?" he slurred, sleep making his tongue feel fuzzy.

Or, maybe that wasn't because of sleep.

Maybe it was because of the IV.

"It's all my fault" | 2,138 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 12 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Ochako Uraraka, Toru Hagakure, Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido, Shouta Aizawa, Power Loader

Without warning, Sero marched up to Denki and punched him in the jaw.

The rest of their friends exploded, some attempting to restrain Sero, and others helping Denki to his feet.

Denki could only gape at his friend. "What the hell, man? What was that for?"

"This entire fuck-up of a midnight hangout was your idea, Kaminari! Now, we're stuck in here while the villains are outside, just waiting for us to come out so they can ambush us again. We're fucked!" He glared at Denki as he shrugged Uraraka's and Hagakure's hands off him. "'What could go wrong?' you asked after suggesting this whole damned trip."

Denki swallowed the lump in his throat.

"We should have never listened to you." Sero spat.

A Spark Of Hope | 1,347 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 11 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Kyoka Jiro, Denki Kaminari, Original Male Character(s) A sequel to Toxic Love

The first thing that Kyoka noticed when she woke up was that her head was killing her.

She groaned and attempted to bring a hand to her head to assess the damage, but her limbs wouldn't respond correctly.

Prying her eyes open, she was met with absolute darkness.

Her Favorite Time Of Day | 1,749 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 10 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Himiko Toga, Tomura Shigaraki, Ambiguous Character(s)

Himiko giggled as she skipped down the hall toward the special room. She heard Tomura's annoyed sigh from behind her, but she didn't care.

It was her favorite time of day!

Shaky Business | 1,256 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 7 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Shouta Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Original Male Character, Oboro Shirakumo (mentioned)

As the group approached the ornate door at the end of the hallway, one of the guards sped up slightly so that he could hold the door open for Shouta.

He nodded a 'thanks' before entering Adachi's office.

The man was seated in his chair behind a polished wooden desk. He looked up and caught Shouta off guard with a bright smile. "Ah! You must be Shirakumo, right?"

Adachi extended a hand, which Shouta hesitantly gripped and shook. "That's right, sir. Oboro Shirakumo."

The Other Side Of The Hall | 1,164 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 4 of Denki needs therapy Part 6 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Part 1 of Kacchan needs therapy Main Character(s): Katsuki Bakugou, Denki Kaminari, Mr. Compress, Shouta Aizawa

Dammit, how the fuck did I get kidnapped, again?!

Katsuki wasn't sure where he was or how long he'd been here, but he was certain of one thing: Kaminari was here with him.

Lilac Insomniac | 2,336 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 4 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, Eijiro Kirishima, Shouta Aizawa, Eri

It took him a second to remember what had happened, but when he did, he cringed.

He'd been climbing up the scarf without a mat underneath him. He'd lost his grip and...

As if on cue, Hitoshi felt dampness making his hair sticky. He reached up a hand, startled when it came back bloody.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

An Honest Mistake | 710 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 1 of Lunar's Whumptober of Suffering (2022) Main Character(s): Tamaki Amajiki, Eijiro Kirishima, Fat Gum

"Yeah, our Suneater's got some serious talent. His mental game needs work, but he's as strong as a Pro! Right?"

Tamaki wanted to curl in on himself as the crowd around them erupted. The sound alone was enough to make him want to hide in his cape.

He almost did, then he heard Fat Gum's shout.

"He's got a gun! Down!"

Into The Snake Den | 3,392 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 1 of Pit Of Vipers Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, All For One, Tomura Shigaraki, Shouta Aizawa Inspired by art

Viper has lived his entire life with Father.

Father saved him.

Father cares for him.

Father loves him.

He owes Father.

He owes him everything.

"How does it feel?" | 1,410 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 3 of Denki needs therapy Main Character(s): Denki Kaminari, Mr. Compress

He moaned, low and pitiful.

Why weren't the heroes here?

Why weren't his friends here?

They had to be on their way... right?

My Moonbeam | 1,544 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 13 of Shinkami Month 2022 Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, Denki Kaminari

For the most part, Hitoshi's patrols were unremarkable.

That's not to say that they were boring. There was always some illicit activity that kept him alert through all hours of the night.

But usually, they were just that: illicit activity. Drug deals and drunk fights.

The Scars That You Left | 2,702 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 7 of Shinkami Month 2022 Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, Denki Kaminari

As long as he can remember, he's had his scars.

Although, technically, they weren't his scars, per se.

They couldn't be. His scars might be small, but they were noticeable, marring his face, mocking him every time he passed a mirror and dared to look in.

These scars were beautiful, running over his body like branching ferns, across his limbs and torso.

No, they couldn't be his scars.

He didn't deserve anything as beautiful as that.

Tidal Wave | 6,277 words, 3/3 Chapters Part 2 of Dysphoria in Rubies, Gold, Lilac, and Emerald Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, Denki Kaminari, Shouta Aizawa, Eri, Hizashi Yamada, Katsuki Bakugou Now with art

When a Ripple Effect goes unchecked, it can lead to disastrous consequences.

Quirk Accident | 5,665 words, 3/3 Chapters Part 1 of Dysphoria in Rubies, Gold, Lilac, and Emerald Inspired by art

Denki's Quirk goes out of control. But there's something much more sinister and destructive hiding underneath the surface.

"Don't make me" | 653 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 29 of The Merry Whump of May Part 2 of Denki needs therapy Main Character(s): Denki Kaminari, Mr. Compress

When Denki regained consciousness an indeterminable amount of time later, he was feeling much more alert.

Unfortunately, this had the side effect of letting him feel his impaled hand with disturbing clarity.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" | 1,639 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 27 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Oboro Shirakumo, Shouta Aizawa, Kurogiri, Tomura Shigaraki

Workstudies were hard.

That was the only thing circling through Oboro's head as he fell down onto his mattress at the end of the day.

"Please" | 1,173 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 23 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Eijiro Kirishima, Shie Hassaikai, Kai Chisaki, Shin Nemoto

When Eijiro debuted as Red Riot, he had shown off his Quirk at its maximum: Red Riot Unbreakable. The publicity from the fight had made his mind spin.

But, as all seasoned Pros knew - as Eijiro was about to discover - publicity had the tendency to backlash.

"Are you cold?" | 744 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 21 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Shoto Todoroki, Original Female Character Now with a sequel: "Are you happy to see me?"

As a 'present' for his seventeenth birthday, Endeavor gifted his son with a wife.

"Let's go back inside" | 1,154 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 17 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido, Katsuki Bakugou, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Kyoka Jiro, Dabi, Toru Hagakure

The light above them flickered, humming faintly.

Hanta watched his classmates wake up one by one.

"When did you get so brave?" | 1,407 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 15 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Katsuki Bakugou, Neito Monoma

Katsuki growled at nothing in particular, straining once again to free himself.

He'd awoken to a dark room, strapped down to a metal bed. Normally he'd just explode his way out, but his asswipe captor had tied his hands to his thighs, ensuring that if he tried to use his Quirk, he'd just end up burning himself in the process.

How the fuck did I even get here?!

"Trust me, you don't wanna do that" | 821 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 14 of The Merry Whump of May Part 1 of Denki needs therapy Main Character(s): Denki Kaminari, Mr. Compress

The world drifted in and out of focus as Denki's head lolled. His eyes were blinking weird, one at a time and too heavy. it was too hard to try to keep them open, but Denki knew that he should keep them open.

He wasn't sure why though.

"Relax" | 1,220 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 7 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Hitoshi Shinsou, Mashirao Ojiro

Hitoshi set his jaw tightly as he walked up to the stage after his name was called.

He was finally done with high school. He's graduated from UA's General Studies at the top of his class.

It all felt fake. Like they were patting him on the back and telling him 'good job' for taking a step, while everyone else around him, everyone with blessed Quirks, flew through the air, leagues ahead of him.

Condescending assholes.

"Shoulders back, eyes on me" | 1,404 words, 1/1 Chapters Part 4 of The Merry Whump of May Main Character(s): Hizashi Yamada, Shouta Aizawa, Original Male Character

Hizashi leaned back on their couch, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "Okay, the next movie is better than that one, I promise."

"Sequels are rarely worth watching," Shouta grumbled, but turned his attention to the opening credits of their third movie. "And any movie after that just deteriorates in quality."

Those Damn Flowers | 32,459 words, 24/24 Chapters Main Character(s): Shouta Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Chiyo Shuzenji, Tsuyu Asui, Hitoshi Shinsou, Oboro Shirakumo, Nemuri Kayama

Shouta Aizawa is content with his life. He teaches, patrols, spends Saturdays with his best friend, then does it all over again.

This all comes crashing down when he coughs up a petal.

Who Is In Control? | 6,925 words, 7/? Chapters Main Character(s): Carlos de Vil, Jay, Evie, Mal, Cruella de Vil, Dude

Inspired by the song of the same title by Halsey. Carlos chose good with the rest of the Core Four. So everything should be fine, right? Well, not according to the voices that Carlos starts hearing. The whispers in his ears and the shadows flickering in his vision have Carlos questioning: Who is in control?

#my writing #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #masterlist #rated m #ao3 link #ao3fic #read on ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3

[oh-no-a-whovian]

Despite my claws (love me) Part 3

18+

Summary: Missy Moreno is missing right after fighting a notorious villain. Marcus will do whatever it takes to save his little girl. Even working with that villain to find her.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x villain-reader

Warnings: Swears, violence, injury, weapons, Mentions of abuse and trauma. Brutal murder. If there’s others let me know

Word count: 5916

Masterlist PT1 PT2 PT4

The sun light streams through cracks in the curtains and you feel nauseous as the train starts to creak and move along the rail. A small cloud of dust plumes into the air as you drop Marcus onto the bed and he leans up on his elbows, finally conscious enough to move. You can feel his eyes on you as you stand frozen in front of him, looking around the space and feeling the sway of the train. It really is the same. Maybe more dust but nothing has moved. You’re willing to bet your old outfits are still in the wardrobe. It’s like you never left and it makes you want to burn it all down.

“You weren’t planning on telling me that he’s your father, were you?” you can hear him but you just can’t react, can’t move, you feel paralysed in place. You really never wanted to be here ever again. Last time you were on the train you barely had a mind of your own. He allowed you a little freedom but ultimately, he treated you like every other person he’d taken. He’d treated you like a slave. “[Y/N]” Marcus calls, pulling you from the whirlpool of your thoughts as he grabs a hold your hand. “Are you okay?” he asks when you finally look into his eyes.

“Do I seem ok to you?” you tell him honestly with a sneer curving your lips. “I thought it seemed pretty obvious that I didn’t want to be anywhere near this fucking train, Marcus. Now let’s kill everyone and get this over with.”

“No! No killing”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” You snap, climbing on top of him, pinning his wrists above is head with one hand and wrapping the other around his throat as he struggles, keeping your face mere inches from his. “The people on this train will not hesitate to shoot you in the face or stab you in the gut”

“[Y/N]” he warns, fighting against you.

“Are you really gonna risk your daughter for your morals, Moreno? You can either grow a pair or stay out of my way.”

“They were normal people once, you said that. Maybe we can save them…” he pleads beneath you, no longer struggling against your vice like grip.

“I. do not. care. Now, have the sedatives worn off enough for us to try to figure out where Missy is?” you ask as you sit up on his hips, releasing your grip. He nods without a word, his eyes following your hand as you check the fake scar and the edges of the mask. “Last time I was on the train the prison car was in the middle but it’s moved every few months.” You consider aloud as you climb off Marcus’ lap. “Unfortunately there won’t be a map of the layout… If we ask where the prison car is we’ll immediately be caught, locked up and brain washed. I don’t need that again.”

“But if we take too long, it could be too late” he points out.

“Yeah, we definitely don’t want to take our time. We should…” a knock on the sliding wooden door interrupts you and you glance at Marcus on the bed with worry. “What do you want?” you snap, sliding the door open with force, the emotional mask you wear sliding back into place, your lip curling in anger.

“Your father wishes for you and your friend to join him for dinner” the man at the door says. His face is devoid of emotion, not even a glimmer showing in his grey eyes. He doesn’t even look around the space in front of him, just stares as if there’s a wall right in front of him.

“I’d rather not” you reply, making to slide the door shut. He grips your wrist with bruising force, his silver eyes finally focusing on yours.

“It wasn’t optional, Sekhmet”

“Fine” you tell him, ripping your arm from his grip and sneering at his use of your dead name. You’re not that person anymore. Haven’t been for years. “How long?”

“An hour” you nod and watch as his eyes glass over again, hating that you probably looked the same once. No soul behind your eyes.

You close the door when he finally walks away and press your back to the deep coloured wood. Marcus is silent as he stands from the dusty plush surface of the bed and you can feel his eyes on you as you keep yours cast to the floor.

“We don’t have time for dinner, [Y/N]” Marcus says as he moves less than a metre from you.

“We don’t know where Missy is on this train and if he’s pretending to be an actual parent then he’s not hurting her. We have time, just not much.” You sigh, looking past him to the window. The particle filled beams of light flicker in and out, then vanish. The light that replaces them is an eerie mix of green and blue with violent flashes of purple. The sounds of clashing stones cracks through the air to match the violet blooms. “We’re not on earth anymore”

Marcus’s brown eyes glance between you and the window, confusion furrowing his brows. There isn’t a sound to indicate that the train has breached the fabric of reality, no sign, just one second you’re on earth and the next you’re on some unknown planet you can’t even breathe on. Marcus pulls open the ashy curtains, freezing at the sight sitting just outside the train.

Colours swirl around a circle of nothing and around you asteroids glowing with vibrant lines of violet smash into each other making the bursts of purple you’d seen through the cracks in the curtain. The ground around the train’s tracks is cracked, reduced to rubble with magma oozing out from the lines.

“What happened here?” Marcus asks in quiet horror as the train passes what looks to be the remnants of an ancient temple, the statues barely recognizable and the stone walls crumbling. “Was it the- the black hole?”

“Mmm, no. Apparently a planet would orbit a black hole just like they would a sun. So I’ve heard anyway” you tell him, watching the scene outside with awe. “Was probably a war or over population… they probably just over used the planet.” You shrug, glancing away from the aftermath of an apocalypse. “This isn’t the time to mourn their loss, Marcus.” you whisper gently as you place your hand on his shoulder, your fingers sliding subtly under the sleeve of his vest. You love how warm he is, you’d never tell him though. You doubt it would be accepted.

“You’re right” he sighs, looking at you, an unreadable look in his warm chocolate eyes. “We should go to dinner… with your evil father”

“Just, remember you’re meant to be a villain doppelganger of Marcus Moreno. You can act how you usually do but like you really hate it and yourself.”

“Right” he replies, looking at you with concern.

“You can either make up a name or use your normal one and ‘refuse’ to tell your real name.” you tell him as you check the fake scar once more, comforting yourself with the warmth of his cheek. Any excuse to keep touching him right? “Depends on your improv skills”

“I have a question…” he says, watching as you remove the blades from your back, continuing when you don’t say anything. “They keep calling you Sekhmet…”

“Your question?” you pause, the blades still in your hand and your chest feeling tight.

“Do you want me to just pretend I knew or that I’m not hearing it… You seem really tense when you hear it…”

“Just don’t use it, ok?” you ask him as you drop your swords onto the bed and another cloud of dust flies into the air making you sneeze and growl. “Fucking… ugh let’s just go.”

“You know where the car is?” he asks, following you as you stomp from the room.

“Uh, yeah. The only car he moves is the prison car. Maybe we’ll be lucky and the prison car will be between us and that arsehole hmmm?” you muse. “Hey you!” you call out when you finally spot one of the poor brainwashed bastards in the isle. “Get someone to clean my room” you’re not sure if you’ll find Missy tonight, might as well have a clean place to sleep right?

“Of course, Sekhmet. Your father has asked that we do as you ask” the woman smiles, her eyes just as empty as the man’s from earlier. Even her hair is dull and lifeless, hanging from a ponytail.

You grab Marcus’ arm as he reaches out, stopping him from asking the brainwashed woman where his daughter is. She steps past you both, Marcus barely registering as an obstacle in her mind as she makes her way through the corridor.

“She’s not gonna tell you shit, Marcus.” You growl “pay attention!” you smack the side of his head “the second our cover is blown we have to get off this train or kill everyone trying to take it over. Asking questions is cover blowing, got it? We need to find the prison car ourselves”

“I just want my little girl back.”

“I know… but you need to listen to me, Marcus.” You say, continuing down the corridor. “The next car should be the private dining room. I’m gonna try to see into the next two cars. If there is only two cars ahead then the prison car is somewhere along the other end of the train” you whisper.

A shiver runs down your spine as you reach the dining car door, your body freezing with your hand raised to the door. You keep getting waves of horror and chills of fear. Your hands shaking and heart beating way too fast. You don’t want to show weakness. Need not to show weakness. You know Marcus would never take advantage of you, never try to hurt you, he’s too good. But your father will and you can’t let him. This place really did fuck you up.

Glancing at Marcus you force yourself to knock, swallowing the fear in your chest.

Another woman, lighter skinned this time, slides open the door an eerily serene smile on her lips as she leads you both to the table. Your father isn’t in the room yet so you breathe a little easier as you take a seat at the mahogany table. You fix your eyes on the door leading to the front of the train, hoping to get a glimpse of the next car when your father comes through. If the next car is his room then the prison car isn’t up this end and you’ll have to make your way to the other.

The woman places a glass of amber liquid in front of you as the door opens revealing your father. You peek at the space behind him, seeing his bedroom and further through the controls for the train. You were really hoping the prison car was up this end.

“Sekhmet! So good of you and your friend to join me for dinner” your father says grinning as he sits at the head of the table.

“Didn’t exactly feel like a choice” you mumble, rolling your eyes and sipping at the drink in front of you.

“Now, now, daughter. You haven’t seen me in five years and I haven’t seen you in much longer.” He points out, smiling at the brainwashed woman as she places plates of food in front of each of you. “Is it too much to ask that I get to spend some time with my little girl?”

“Oooh! It’s almost like you care!” you say, your lips curving into a mix between a sarcastic smile and a sneer.

“You’ll show me respect, Sekhmet. You know what happened last time you got too mouthy” your breath hitches and you shy away, looking down to Marcus’ hand when it moves onto your thigh. He’s glaring at your father, the fake scar making him look even more threatening. “What’s your name boy?” your father asks Marcus once he’s satisfied that he’s curbed your attitude.

“I don’t have one. You can call me Marcus, I tried to steal his life, may as well take his name on the way out” the man beside you says to your father, a sinister smirk on his lips. You’d be lying if you said ‘bad’ didn’t look good on him. He seems to be an ok actor at least.

“Hmmm… and what reason have you two decided to leave that world?”

“Given that we were in three different fights with like fifteen different people just today. I figured it was time for a change in scenery” you tell him, keeping your eyes on the plate of food in front of you. “He was unconscious so I got our shit together and got out.” You say as you jab your fork into a piece of the food, popping it into your mouth. “One of my contacts said that your train had been spotted circling the city”

“Interesting” your father says, his eyes shifting between you and Marcus as he places pieces of food in his mouth. “What did you think of the view?” he asks, nodding toward the window you can all see. Outside pieces of glowing debris float and collide outside the moving train’s window.

“Didn’t think much of it.” You admitted, you thought it was morbidly beautiful but you’ve seen so many places. It’s just one more to add to list.

“Did you recognise it? We passed a temple a while ago.” You pause, confusion marking your features as you glance between the monster you call your father and the ruined world outside.

“Why would I?” you shake your head, watching out the window to see if maybe you do.

“This place was one of your favourites when you were a kid. They were the first lot to make that lion head statue for you.” he tells you, waving over the brainwashed woman for more to drink. You stare out the window dumbfounded. How? “They worshipped you like a god.” He muses.

“What happened to them?” Marcus asks, looking out the window as a particularly large chunk of asteroid collides into the shielding around the train.

“No idea. I suspect they tore their world apart after their ‘god’ hadn’t returned in a long time. Not the first time I’ve seen religious turmoil destroy a planet.” He replies callously, sipping at what you assume is konjac, his favourite.

A heavy silence fills the room as you stare into space. You don’t know what you feel. Horror? Sadness? Fear? Guilt? Rage? Everything? You are definitely holding yourself still though, the urge to end your father at the forefront of all thoughts and feelings. You know you can’t, not yet anyway. If you do all his minions will go berserk. You’d prefer to do it on a planet with a breathable atmosphere. So you can jump if need be.

You can feel your father studying you, hear his fingers topping on the wooden table. He’s probably looking for weakness, for a moment to call in the troops and lock you and Marcus away. It would definitely fast track finding the girl but fuck any plans for escape.

“I need to prep the next dimensional phase. You know where your room is.” Your father says dismissively as he gets up, gesturing for his little slave to lead you and Marcus from the room. You hadn’t even noticed the weapons strapped to the small of her back till now. This place is fogging your mind and you fucking hate it.

~~~~~

You watch Marcus with interest, fighting what you know is a bad decision. You didn’t say a word the whole way back to your old room, how could you? The place you loved most is gone, the one man you’ve started feeling things for is your enemy and is in the most dangerous place you could think of and you’re pretty sure your father has already started his mind game, manipulative bullshit. You need a distraction but you know you shouldn’t try that. You want to lash out.

You keep your back pressed against the door and breathe slowly. You can feel Marcus’ eyes on you but you keep yours closed. You’re pretty sure if you open your eyes right now you’ll jump his bones.

“So… are you immortal?” Marcus asks. You finally look up at him with raised eyebrows.

“What no?” you smile, amused by his question, breathing as the urge fades. You step over to the bed, examining the fresh green silk sheets and the smell of fresh linen in the air.

“Well your father just implied that the goddess from Egyptian mythology was you…” he says as he props himself by your wardrobe with his arms crossed.

“I was” you admit. “But although I do age slower, it wasn’t cause of that.”

“How then?”

“Know how I mentioned that we could be gone for centuries for earth?” you start, posing yourself on the now dust free bed, continuing when he nods. “Well it goes the other way too. We could end up surrounded by dinosaurs next phase jump. Has something to do with quantum entanglement or something. Or maybe how if you put a mirror light years away then looked through it, it theoretically would show the earth millions of years ago.” You propose as you lay on your back, your knees in the air and spread so you can see Marcus between your thighs. It’s a pretty good view. “It’s sciency stuff.”

“Does that mean there could be two versions of the train at one time?” he frowns, looking to the ground.

“Mmm probably… though they’d have to keep a certain distance or risk blowing up…” you pause, seeing worry on his features once again. “If you’re thinking that there’s a chance that this train from a different time point has her that isn’t possible.”

“How do you know that?”

“The space he’d have to keep between the trains is like… two states wide. Any closer and reality tries to correct them, forcing them together like hyper magnets” you tell him, rubbing your temples to remember the things your father had taught you before he stole your free will and mind. “The resulting destruction from the explosion would be devastating throughout time.”

You sigh as you look out the window to the vibrant colours of space, seeing the ruins of a once beautiful planet in a different light. You’d shown them a picture of a lion from earth during a stop there and for some reason they made statues, altars and places of worship in your name. Sure you’d done a few nice things but was that really worthy of worship? Their goddess of healing. You became something else to the people of Egypt. A goddess to be feared. You earned the title they gave you many time over since.

“This is all your fault” you hear Marcus say and you glare at him raising from your spot on the bed.

“I’m sorry?” you challenge, daring him to say that again.

“This. Is. All. Your. Fault.” He sneers, meeting you toe to toe with anger in his eyes. “If you weren’t doing awful things, my daughter wouldn’t have been grabbed!” you leap onto your feet and press your hand to his chest and force him to the wall, pinning him with your body and getting right in his face.

“Need I remind you, that I am trying to help you! You would never have had a chance without me!” you shout, baring your sharp teeth. “I’m on a train that I never wanted to see again. My own father tortured me on this fucking train!” you take a deep breath to calm yourself, keeping him pinned but lowering your voice as he looks down ashamed of his outburst. “I wasn’t even doing anything. I had no plans. I think the most ‘evil’ thing I had going on was a few stolen paintings in my warehouse and renting out space to a known drug dealer….” You sigh, loosening your force but not moving away. “If I did have something planned, I would have been a lot more upset about the children showing up instead of you…” you admit. You know he wouldn’t care about a revelation like that, you know you’re a monster in his eyes. How could you not be? You don’t exactly have much of a moral compass.

You move to step away and give him space but it seems he has other plans. He grabs your arm, pulling you back toward him and pressing his lips to yours like you had done earlier when you made the deal with him. He wraps an arm around your waist and threads his other hand’s fingers in your hair, kissing you with bruising passion. You move your hands up his body as you kiss him back with fierce aggression. Gently you curve one hand on his jaw and the other around his throat, squeezing a little as you nibble on his bottom lip.

You gaze into his lust filled eyes as he pulls away for air, panting like he’s starved of it. You could spend eternity in this moment, even in the worst place in all of reality, you’d stay. His dishevelled hair, soft lips, the warmth of his skin and the gentle tug of his fingers in your hair. If you could have Marcus Moreno for eternity, you would.

~~~~~~~

“How long does it take?” you hear Marcus ask as you glare at the clothes you used to wear, glancing to see him staring out the window to the ashy desert that now surrounds the travelling train. He’s lying naked on the bed, propped against the wall with his arms behind his head, just a silk sheet covering him from you.

“Uuh, depends.” You reply, grabbing the only outfit you’d ever liked from that point in your life and shoving it into your bag.

“On what?”

“Destination mostly. Whether or not there’s a version of the train already there. But apparently there’s a few other reasons that I didn’t get to learn…” you tell him as you pull a shirt on.

“Do you know how to… direct the train back to earth in our time?”

“Somewhat… after a few attempts sure. But I’m not sure we’ll get a few attempts…” you watch as a sand storm forms in the distance, the grey ashes swirling into the air promising violence.

“Why?”

“Just… I need you to trust me and if I say jump, you’ll grab your daughter and jump. Okay?” you can see hesitation in his eyes but he nods. Gently you lift his hand and press your lips to his palm, silently thanking him for not arguing. Getting up with a sigh you grab his clothes, vest and swords and put them next to him. “Get dressed, we’ll start making our way down the train soon. They’re gonna be suspicious…” you huff as you pull on your harness, your gun already in the holster, and pull on your jacket to conceal it.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Well… half of two plans…” you shrug. “We can sneak along the outside and try to figure out where the car is from the windows. Not my favourite. Or! We can move along the inside saying we’re looking for a drink then wing it if the prison car is past the kitchen…” you smile, knowing both plans are fucking awful.

“So we’re just gonna wing it then?” Marcus asks, an unimpressed look on his face as he fastens his vest and puts the Katanas in their sheaths on his back.

“Pretty much. We need to take our things and us being out of the room is suspicious as is… I don’t see this ending in anything but a fight. We just need the fight to be after we find your daughter.” You tell him as you pull on the harness with your two khopesh blades attached. “If we die tonight, it’s your fault.” You grin before stepping over to the door and sliding it open to peek along the hallway.

“We’re not gonna die”

“mmmhmmm” you roll your eyes, gesturing for him to grab the bags and follow. You can’t help your pessimism, it was hard enough getting off this damn train the first time.

You slide open the door to the next car silently, gesturing for Marcus to be quiet. On the right of the hallway is a familiar door leading to a room filled with bunk beds. One of four cars where your bastard father keeps his slaves. On the left a door with a window leading to the ash desert outside, the wind and sand swirling violently.

You creep through the car, then the next, hoping that the neither door to the bunks will open to reveal you two dressed for war sneaking through. Marcus remains quiet behind you, seeming to trust that you know what you’re doing.

The next car is the mess hall and you pause as you peek in. there’s a few of the brainwashed sitting at the long tables, people of different races all staring blankly at the walls as they slowly move the food into their moves. You’d never under estimate them though. They may be slow when doing menial tasks but they’re fast as lightning when it comes to drawing a gun on you. They’re almost as fast as you when it comes to melee too. It’s the main reason you want the fight to be later. So you can jump from the train and avoid them, whether your father is still in control or not.

“How are we getting through?” Marcus whispers in your ear, his body pretty much squished to yours to see the room. His body curving around yours and his hand holding your hip for stability.

“I don’t know… they may be practically zombies right now but... they still know when something is off in their peripheries.” You whisper, flinching slightly when one of them rises, moving into the next car. You assume it’s the kitchen, going by the strong food smell that floats through when the carriage door slides open. “Keep the bags low and as close to the tables as possible. Act normal.”

You rise from your position, standing tall as you slide the door open. A couple of the brainwashed stand at the sight of you, glaring at the intrusion. Their eyes shine a little brighter at the trespass, almost like they have actual thoughts. You know they don’t.

“What reason are you here, Sekhmet?” one that you recognise asks as he glares between you and the man behind you. Probably eyeing the blades on both your backs.

“Father is getting the train ready to take us to our destination, I’m just getting a drink before. You know how that world is, Cole” you tell him, putting your arms up passively. “Could be days before we find water…”

“Sounds like a you problem”

“And when exactly did my father give you free will to make an opinion?” the other mindless look at Cole, ready to jump him. Clearly they’ve been made stricter since you left, they weren’t so ready to jump you when you were showing signs of free will. Cole stutters, his eyes wide as one of the others grabs him. You can’t seem to help the sadistic grin that spread on your lips as he’s dragged past you toward front of the train. You know he’s probably not free, his brainwashing was probably only just wearing off. Everyone would know if he was truly free.

“What was that?” Marcus hisses as you step into the next car.

“A distraction” you tell him, watching the two men doing dishes with their backs to you as you pass through the kitchen.

“If he was free he could have helped us”

“Even if he was totally free he wouldn’t have wanted to. He’d have attacked us instead.”

“How do you know?” he argues, not taking no for an answer as he follows you into the next car. Another garrison car. The prison has to be soon, you’re sure you’re running out of train cars.

“I just do” you snap, freezing as a door slides open at the noise. The woman eyes you both from the door way, silently waiting. “Father said we could get some water from storage” you tell her, praying your lie will sell but moving your hand to the blade on your thigh anyway. You don’t know what allowances he’s made for you. Or if he actually made any at all. Without a word she moves back into the room filled with bunk beds and shuts the door and you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Releasing your hold on the bone grip of your blade you glance back at Marcus, trying to say ‘shut the fuck up’ but with your face.

“Let’s keep going” you whisper.

It’s almost peaceful, the sound of the train moving and the gentle snores from the sleeping people in the carriages. It’s a shame that it’s also horrible.

The next train car is another garrison and you move through it swiftly, keeping your ears focused on sounds within the room but taking note of the door to the outside. There’s three more cars, just three and you’re pretty sure none of them have exits. Missy must be in one.

You slide open the next door and you’re greeted with an almost empty sitting room. A plush blue carpet and ugly green couches and a holographic screen floating in the middle. Standing to attention by the opposite door is a buff woman, glaring at you as you take in the ugly ass room. You don’t remember it being so damn ugly.

“We need to get into storage. My father said I could take some water and I was told it’s in there.” You tell the strong woman, gesturing toward door behind her.

“You’re not allowed past.”

“My father said I could” you insist.

“You’re not allowed past” you glance between the woman and Marcus incredulously. ‘This bitch’ you glare, trying to decide what to do. You know Marcus will hate it but…

“Fuck it” you sigh, ripping your blade from its sheath, slicing it toward the woman’s throat. A strong arm blocks against your assault and a fist collides with your nose with a crunch. “Shit” you hiss, stumbling back as you clutch at your bleeding face.

“[Y/N]!” Marcus shouts as the woman shoves him aside to get to you. You’re not sure if his shout was worried or pissed as the woman shoves you violently, launching you back into a glass cabernet. Throwing punches into your gut and smashing her fist into the back of the cupboard, barely missing your head. You grimace at the crunch, that would have been your face again if you hadn’t dodged her fierce fist.

A small trail of blood trickles from your nose, filling your mouth with the familiar metallic tang and you spit it out as you move away from the woman. You flip you blade as the woman struggles, her fist stuck in the cracked remains. She growls at the hole keeping her hand in place then looks at you with rage in her eyes. A rare sign of emotions from the brainwashed zombies.

With bared teeth she rips her hand from the wood, tearing the flesh of her wrist and hand as the splintered wood fights the force. She doesn’t scream or cry out as her blood pours down her fingers, she just sneers, glancing at something over your left shoulder to the door she was guarding.

Marcus steps up to your right, his fists raised ready to fight the buff bitch.

“Why do you carry around swords, if you’re not willing to use them on people!” you hiss, keeping your eyes on your prey.

“They’re for monsters!” he yells, dodging as the guard makes the first move, trying to land punches on both of you. Even with her bloodied hand she flails, growling as she shoves past you. You couldn’t see it coming, couldn’t know that she had a gun sitting in a holster by the door. She rips the gun from its holster stuck to the side of the little table by her guard post, aiming it at Marcus.

You hear the bullet fire and feel your body move, the bullet ripping into your side as you shove Marcus out of the way. “Fucking bitch!” you scream and you throw your knife with deadly precision as she aims her gun again, the blade imbedding itself into her skull. She stumbles, her eyes going wide and her mouth dropping open, the gun falling loose in her hand. With one hand clasped to your side you step up the woman, you don’t know how she’s still standing with a blade lodged in her brain. You wrap your fingers around the hilt of your blade and try to pull it from the woman’s head, frowning when she moves with it, gurgling on the verge of death. With a sickening sound the blade pulls free,

Marcus is staring in horror as you turn to him, the woman finally falling to the ground. You can feel the blood oozing from your side and you wince as you move your hand to see. You wipe your blade off on your thigh and gesture for Marcus to move.

“Let’s get this over with Marcus” you breathe, moving to the next door despite your body’s protest. “Leave the bags here, we won’t be able to get out from the end. It’ll be sealed tight.”

Grunting you pull open the next door, ignoring the shelves of stuff and passing around the edge of the room. The next car has to be the prison car. On your way around the sides of the train car to reach the other door a label catches your eyes and you let Marcus pass as you pause to look at the bucket like container filled with weird little capsule like things. The label says they’re filled with water but they look like fucking tide pods and you shiver at the memory of that internet sensation. You grab the handle and take it. You’d be damned if you end up stuck out there without water.

“[Y/N]! The door is locked tight” Marcus calls out as you round the corner.

“Yeah it’s got a DNA lock” you cough, moving him to get to the receptacle. Grimacing, you place your blood coated hand upon the lock. A small buzz sounds from the lock as it clicks open. Moaning in pain you press your hand back to the hole in your side, hissing at the sheer pain. It will heal, it always does. Leaning against the wall you let Marcus open the door and go in, breathing slowly as the train jostles you.

“And here I hoped you might have actually been coming around.”

You freeze, your wide eyes looking to Marcus in the next car. His eyes meet yours as he holds his daughter, finally reunited. You breathe slowly, wincing in pain as you turn toward your father’s voice. Your eyes lock on the barrel of a gun. Shit

A/N: part three is here! Been try to make things a little less specific like features of Y/N and the meal. Curious to know what people pictured as their (plate of food) hopefully no one here is colour blind cause idk how to make this for colour blind people, sorry ⬇️. like and reblog to share the love!

@love93sstuff @superawesomegeek @whore-of-many-hot-men @sara-alonso @farfromjustordinary @i-d-k-any-more

#marcus moreno x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno #we can be heroes

[nonbinary-ghost]

A Conversation Between Vessel and Wyrm

So, I know I’ve never posted my writing here before but this scene has been playing in my head for days and I just need to share it. The premise is based on @chipper-smol ‘s shitlordAU where Ghost somehow goes back it time to when they and the Pure Vessel were kids, and decide to absolutely torment their Father in between finding a way to kill the Radiance. It’s such a fantastic AU rife with opportunities for both humor and angst. Anyone who reads this should totally check out chipper’s work!

(This turned out longer than expected: ~2700 words, so the rest is under the Keep Reading tab)

Ghost leaned back and tilted their head to the side, observing their painting with a critical eye. The corridor in which they worked was dark, but the barest glow of the occasional lumifly that flitted about the palace halls provided just enough light for Ghost to be able to make out the dark lines of ink they had scrawled across the white wall. They nodded to themself in approval. The painting, while quite sloppy, could at least be recognized as the Pale King with monstrously exaggerated teeth and a grotesque tongue. They rubbed their chin thoughtfully, unwittingly getting some of the black ink on their mask, as they pondered if there was something more they could add to the painting to make it even less flattering.

Their current prank was one outside of Ghost’s typical inclinations. Until the Queen had begun to teach Ghost to write, they never held much interest for anything to do with a brush and ink. They had found Sheo’s art beautiful or interesting certainly, and they marveled at the skill with which the retired nailmaster could wield a brush – but such things never appealed to Ghost. There had been so much they needed to do at the time that learning about art seemed unnecessary. But now that they were learning to write, Ghost realized that art could be used to communicate just as much as words, and the motions of painting were somewhat easier for them than the neat script they were attempting to master. Sheo hadn’t lied when he said the strokes of a brush were not unlike the strokes of a nail, and Ghost had found they enjoyed the act of creating something that others could see and understand.

This particular painting was not their best, but it wasn’t intended to be. It was intended to stir up the Knights and bother the Pale King, to prove yet again that Ghost could think and feel – and to illustrate how they felt about the King.

Ghost didn’t notice the approaching bug until the shadow eclipsed the faint lumifly light they were using to paint by. Ghost froze as the shadow slipped over them. Their shoulders tensed as they prepared for the cold hand of a Kingsmould to grip the collar of their cloak, or a loud scolding from Dryya. When neither came, Ghost dared a hesitant glance over their shoulder. Shock rang through them like a stag-bell when they found not a Kingsmould, nor one of the Five Knights behind them.

It was the Pale King.

Ghost went ridged, half prepared to bolt and debating if doing so was worth the effort. Their painting was meant to be discovered after all, and it would never have been any question by whose hands the crude caricature had been created. But the King’s gaze focused not on the guilty Vessel standing before him. Rather, he appeared to be studying Ghost’s painting, his secondary hands clasped behind his back and while his primary ones rested in the wide sleeves of his robe. The Pale King’s unusually calm demeanor unnerved Ghost and they slowly turned to face the Wyrm, their hand almost instinctively reaching for the reassuring hilt of a nail that was no longer there.

“A remarkable likeness.” When not raised in anger the Pale King’s voice was almost as melodious as the White Lady’s. Ghost cocked their head enough to glance between their painting and the King in disbelief. The painting, while recognizable as the King by the crown-like horns, was by no means a “remarkable likeness” to the actual subject. Ghost had deliberately made the painting as messy and obnoxious as possible. Perhaps sensing Ghost’s disbelief, the King unclasped a secondary hand from behind his back and raised it toward the painting.

“I imagine that this is how you must see me,” he murmured. “I cannot truthfully say it is all that far from accurate.”

Before Ghost could process the meaning of the King’s words, the Pale Wyrm finally turned his gaze on them. The weight of that unwavering attention felt like a heavy pressure against Ghost’s shell and they found themself tensing, feeling as if the Pale King was staring right into them. It was unusual for the King to actually look at Ghost without some other distraction dividing his attention – distractions Ghost typically crafted – and they weren’t certain they liked the scrutiny of the King’s abrupt interest in them. Despite the fact that Ghost now stood taller than the King, they felt suddenly small.

“Vessel-“ he began, but stopped before the word fully left his mouth. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Ghost. If I may have a word with you somewhere more comfortable?”

So startled by the Pale King’s use of their name and the phrasing of the request as a question rather than an order, Ghost found themself nodding yes without really considering the consequences. They followed the Wyrm with their thoughts swimming. This was not the kind of response they had come to expect from the King – anger, yes, shouting, almost certainly. But this calm, quiet passivity left Ghost uneasy and they struggled not to fiddle with the hem of their cloak as they walked behind the King, following him down corridor after corridor. As they walked, Ghost began to notice that the pale white light that the king always seemed to give off was much fainter than they remembered. Perhaps the Wyrm was suppressing the glow to avoid disturbing any sleeping bugs whose rooms they passed.

With a final turn the two of them entered a veranda that overlooked a vast garden glowing bright with thousands of lumiflies – no doubt one of the Queen’s creations, though Ghost didn’t recall ever coming to this particular garden with their mother. The King gracefully lifted himself up to sit upon the short wall that separated the tiled veranda from the garden, his wings flaring slightly to aid his balance. Ghost stared, uncertain of what to do. They were fine with breaking formalities for the sake of rebellion, but at the moment the King was adhering to no formalities for Ghost to go against. It made them feel strangely directionless. They fidgeted. They didn’t like this feeling. The King lifted a secondary hand to gesture to the space beside him, keeping his primary hands nestled in the sleeves of his robes.

“Would you care to sit with me?”

Ghost rocked forward to oblige but halted before even taking a step, instead crossing their arms over their chest and staring at the Pale King expectantly. While they could not fathom what all of this was about, they could clearly sense there was something specific the King wanted to say. Ghost waited and the King sighed, turning his head to look out over the garden.

“It has come to my attention that you have begun spending some time with the Pure Vessel.”

Ghost didn’t move. So what if they had? Pure was not some hollow thing, no matter how much they pretended to be in order to appease their Father. Ghost knew the Knights went to great lengths to keep the two siblings away from each other, but that didn’t mean Ghost didn’t seek Pure out from time to time. When they were alone, Pure sometimes even relaxed a little, and showed sparks of interest in the language of hand-signs Ghost was crafting with the Queen. Their meetings were few and far between, as Pure’s life was strictly regimented and Pure would never go against something they were told to do, but their meetings had been occurring with more frequency after the sparing match Ghost had instigated.

“This cannot be permitted.”

Indignation sparked through Ghost and they clenched their hands against their folded arms. The Pale King let out a long breath and turned on the wall to face them, his expression unreadable.

“I must admit, was wrong about you.”

Ghost stared, their anger faltering somewhat. Making their hands into fists, Ghost held them up in front of their chest with their thumbs pointed toward themself. With a quick twist of their right fist, Ghost pointed their right thumb upwards. The motion meant “how” – in what way was the King wrong about them. Ghost wasn’t sure if the King knew any of the signs they used with their Mother, but it was what they had. The King at least continued as if he understood the motion.

“You were never hollow – only a fool would watch your mayhem and attempt to claim otherwise. For a time, I have ridiculed myself for allowing you to remain here with the Pure Vessel. I believed you should have been removed.”

The King’s gaze had shifted down to stare at his primary hands resting in his lap. Ghost could see, now, that they were stained a dark black that stood out starkly against his silver robes. A black so deep and bottomless it looked like it would leech the light out of the room around it. A black so similar to the void of which Ghost was made … Ghost went cold as they suddenly comprehended what the Pale King was implying – that they should have been killed. Discarded into the abyss. The King shifted and Ghost dropped into a defensive stance as their whole body trembled with sudden fear, once again reaching for the hilt of a nail that was no longer there. But the King only lifted his head to meet Ghost’s eyes.

“It was wrong of me to believe that.” He paused only long enough to take a deep breath before continuing. “You are a sentient being, very full of life and will, with a personality all your own. To believe that I have any right to take that from you is a crime against everything I have built Hollownest around. And to see the way my Root adores you … how could I ever take you away from her?”

The raw honesty in the Pale King’s voice made Ghost hesitantly stand from the half crouch they’d fallen into. He…cared? He cared that Ghost could feel? Enough so for it to stay his hand in killing them, when he’d never hesitated with all of their lost kin in the abyss far below? Why? Was it because he knew without a doubt that Ghost was not hollow, and could not delude himself into thinking otherwise as he had with the others? Or was it because the Queen had taken a liking to Ghost and going against her wishes would cause strife between them? Ghost almost didn’t hear the King’s next words, but at the mention of Pure their attention was quickly pulled back to the Pale King.

“But the Pure Vessel is a different matter. It has a purpose – one whose success or failure will determine the fate of every bug in Hollownest.” The tentative hope spurred by the King’s acknowledgment of Ghost’s sentience vanished as the King continued to speak, and unease began to worm its way through Ghost’s chest. “You are not hollow, of this there is no doubt, but the Pure Vessel must remain as such if it is to succeed. The more you are around it, the more likely it is to begin to feel. If it sees the leniency with which you are treated, it may begin to develop a will of its own, and all of the sacrifices made to protect this kingdom will have been for naught. You must stay away from the Pure Vessel to preserve that hollowness for which it was created.”

Rage thundered through Ghost at the King’s words and they sharply signed “You are wrong”. Pure had never been hollow. The King’s plan had already failed, doomed from the very beginning, and Ghost refused to let their sibling go through that suffering again. That was the whole reason they were here – to stop the radiance before their sibling was sacrificed, before Hollownest fell to ruin. The King blinked at the venom in Ghost’s movements as their hands flittered through the signs for disgust, for being too late, for refusal. They were too angry to keep the motions smooth and they shook as that fiery emotion pounded through them. Even if the King could not understand all of the motions, the message was clear: They refused to stay away from Pure.

The Pale King’s brow pinched in anger and his wings flared slightly.

“There is no other way to keep Hollownest safe,” he rumbled, his voice tight with controlled anger, but Ghost shook their head. The King’s hands clenched into fists. “We have tried everything else. Without something to contain the Radiance and Her infection, Hollownest will fall and every bug in the Kingdom will be corrupted. I cannot doom the entirety of my people to an existence of mindless misery for the sake of any one bug. If you continue to interfere with the Pure Vessel, you will condemn everyone in Hollownest to a living death. Surely you must understand this! I know you are not blind – you have been outside of the palace, you have almost certainly seen those the Radiance has already corrupted.”

The Pale King had no idea just how much suffering Ghost had seen at the hands of the Radiance’s infection. The memory of Pure’s eyes filled with the yellow light of the Radiance swam up and Ghost recoiled as they remembered the wretched agony in their sibling’s motions as they turned their nail on themself, trying to cut the infection away. No. The King could not possibly understand just how much Ghost knew about the pain the spreading infection caused. They shook their head, feeling oddly ill as they clenched their trembling hands into fists at their sides in their sign for “I’m done speaking to you”. They turned sharply and moved to leave the veranda.  

“If there was any other way, I swear to you I would take it,” the Pale King whispered to Ghost’s back, his voice soft with some kind of emotion. Regret? “But I cannot See any other path that will slow the Infection’s spread.”

Ghost straightened, spinning to meet the King’s gaze with a furious glare. Of course he could not know of any other way. He was looking at this problem from a completely different angle than Ghost. He was trying to find a way to slow the infection, to contain it, while simultaneously trapping and starving the Radiance in a Vessel of Void. He could See no way to remove the infection at its source. Ghost realized that while the Pale King had a measure of Foresight, his Sight must be limited to the scope of the knowledge he already possessed. He did not know of the Seer, of the Dreamnail, of Godseeker. He could not fight the Radiance directly, not without a way to enter Dream and face the enraged Goddess, and so he was attempting to defeat her in this roundabout manner. Did he know his doomed plan would ultimately fail, but believe it to be the only way to buy his people time?

“You are wrong,” Ghost signed, pointing at the king and lifting their thumb and pinky in a gesture under their chin. They then closed their fist and pointed their thumb to the side before using both hands to imitate the sides of a path: “There is another way.”

The King’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I do not understand.”

Ghost opened and closed their fists at their sides in frustration. Even if the King could understand their signs, Ghost did not have the gestures for the ideas they would need in order to convey their plan to the Pale King. Their anger cooled somewhat, shifting to a steady burn in the pit of their being rather than the all-consuming fury that had raged through them not moments before, and they realized that if they could find a way to explain their plan to the King, he might help them find the Seer. If he knew there was another way, would he help them do it?

“I don’t have the words to explain,” Ghost signed by drawing a finger over their throat. They held up their index fingers a little ways apart, then made an ‘L’ with their right hand, pressing their thumb into their raised left palm and twisting their right hand so the ‘L’ was upside down: “I will tell you later.”

They did not wait for the king to respond before turning and storming out of the veranda, their mind ablaze.

The Pale King could not See that there was another way.

So Ghost would make him See.

#hollow knight #Ghost hk #Pale King HK #my writing #this ended up more serious than intended but it was sooooo much fun to write

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Begin Again | Thranduil

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

Genre: Fluffy new beginnings

Warnings: ---

Words: ~2k

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page 💕 Also, I’m big dummy and lost the original request, so I couldn’t remember what all you wanted in this one-shot. So requester, whoever you are, I’m so sorry! And if you’d like another part to expand on your full request, please let me know!

  It’s strange.

  You’re whole life, you’ve always heard about how horrible it is for an elf to lose the one they love. It’s been described as feeling as though you’ve been ripped into two pieces, forced to live on without your second half. You’ve heard it feels like tiny needles stabbing into your heart until you can’t feel anything but a stifling anguish that seeps into your bones, poisoning your body from within until you eventually fade away.

  Yet you feel none of that. You feel nothing at all, like a soul wandering aimlessly for the rest of eternity, cursed with never finding a purpose or reason to stick around. But being forced to endure, none-the-less. You can sail, as an elf that’s your right, and perhaps you would find peace, wrapped in the warm embrace of Valinor as you forget all your fears and pain.

  But you don’t want to be happy, because being happy means you forget, and you're not ready to forget your beloved yet.

  The forest floor beneath you is damp from the rain that blessed Eryn Galen a few days ago. The mud sinks in between your toes as you nearly melt into the soft ground. The forest around you is lush and green, wrapping you in its warm embrace that allows for a moment of respite from your thoughts.

  The forest is empty, only the gentle sway of the trees and emerald leaves falling to the ground your company. You stare up at the sky that peaks through the canopy of leaves, the stars are out tonight and they burn brighter than you’ve ever seen them. And you wished to climb to the tops of the trees if only to feel the soft glow of moonlight on your skin.

  But that would be a foolish thing to do, a whimsy only a child would fulfill. So you simply stand in the clearing, selfishly hoarding the only spot you’ve discovered that the sky is visible.

  You thought yourself alone, something you covet more often than not. 

  And yet.

  “Forgive me, I did not realize this spot was currently occupied,” a baritone voice sounds behind you.

  Your heart pounds against your chest, the owner of the voice easily recognizable through your deep daydreams. Whirling around quicker than you’ve ever moved, you see King Thranduil standing at the edge of the clearing. He’s lacking the usual extravagant attire he usually dons, instead opting for a slightly more casual outfit. But he still wears clothes that could’ve been woven from silver and gold, the cloth glittering in the dim light.

  “My king,” you say, immediately bowing your head down in respect, thoroughly inspecting your dirtied feet. “I will take my leave.”

  “There is no need, it was I who interrupted you,” he moves further into the clearing and closer to you. His movements are smooth like a cat, his icy blue eyes lazily focusing on you.

  “Yet you are the king,” you reply, voice hardly above a whisper.

  King Thranduil is an intimidating figure, anyone within five feet of him would agree. Not in the way that lady Galadriel of Lothlorien is - her power so great you can’t help but feel suffocated, yet it is her kind smile that soothes even the most skittish. Lord Elrond carries himself with a warm presence, like a father he is kind and caring, but stern as well.

  No, King Thranduil carries a sense of tragedy with him that can’t be masked by his cold eyes or looming figure. He is the shining example of how horrible things could get for an elf when their other half passes. So far gone is he, they whisper, that not even his son can pull him from his melancholy.

  “Then as king, I order you to stay. It would be nice to have some company,” he responds, leaving no room for argument. So you nod your head in agreeance, but keep your head lowered, tracing every speck of mud covering your toes.

  “Would you not even look at your monarch?” he asks, but his voice isn’t laced with anger or malice and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think there’s a hint of humor in it.

  “I apologize, My King,” you say, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes meet his and for a second, you jolt, a sensation filling your body, something you haven’t felt in years.

  “I have never seen you before. How have I never seen you?” he questions, thick brows furrowing in frustration and confusion, but his eyes remain locked on you, as do yours.

  “Y/N, My King. I just arrived here a few moons ago from the Lorien,” you respond. He says nothing for a few moments, keeping his intense gaze locked on you. And for a brief second, you swear that he could read each and every thought that passes your brain, that’s he seen every memory you have.

  “Well then, allow me to formally welcome you to Eryn Galen, Lady Y/N. Tell me how have you found my kingdom, thus far?” he asks, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture as he welcomes you.

  “It is very beautiful, My King. The trees are so tall and the leaves so green,” you say, glancing up towards the sky, enraptured by the emerald canopy above you.

  “Do they not have trees this tall in the Lorien? I was under the impression their forest was quite beautiful,” he replies, sharp eyes locked on you.

  “They do but not quite like here. Do not misunderstand me, the Lorien possesses great beauty, the mallorn tree is magnificent to look upon, but Eryn Galen offers a different beauty. I find myself in great need of change these days, it would seem.”

  “Perhaps one day you could humor me and tell me of what would need to warrant such a drastic change?” You turn to look at him, meeting his steely gaze, and he raises a single eyebrow at you. However before you can open your mouth to speak, he turns and leaves. Leaving you behind in the small clearing, and for a moment, your heart starts fluttering in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

  And you turn back around, watching the leaves dance through the sky, free from the confining grasp of the branches. A small smile rests on your face, losing yourself in daydreams you never thought you’d see again.

  “Lady Y/N, how lovely of you to join me,” King Thranduil's voice is crisp and clear, perfectly projecting across the large room. He sits languidly at a chair, carved from wood with delicate engraving dancing on the tops of them. A glass of wine in one hand and the other slung over the top of his chair, he is the picture of ease.

  “It is my pleasure to join you, My King,” you reply, lowering your gaze to the floor once he meets yours. With slow and tentative steps, you move towards the open space to his right, where a glass of wine already poured. Your heart is racing, sweat building up in the palms of your hands as you open and close them. What feels like a lifetime later, you reach the chair, a guard so still he could’ve been a statue, pulling it out for you as you sit in it. 

  “Thank you,” you quietly say as the guard pushes your chair forward.

  “Please, leave us” Thranduil’s voice is commanding and firm, not allowing any room for questions he does not wish to answer. Silently and quickly, every guard in the room filters out. And as their light footsteps disappear, you and Thranduil are left in the room...alone.

  A small burst of courage surges through you, your gaze leaving the fine china it was tracing over and over again to meet his gaze. His eyes are just as icy blue as you remember, but somehow they seem softer than they had been in the forest. Or perhaps the light is playing tricks on you.

  Everyone knows that elves only truly love once.

  Your mouth is dry, nerves suddenly overtaking you. What are you supposed to say; to do? You’ve never spent much time in the presence of royalty, often preferring to stay in the shadows, content with a simple life. Yet fate seems to have other plans for you. Or is this just simply Thranduil, and the gods have nothing to do with his intentions - whatever they may be?

  “Do not be so nervous. Please, drink. The food will be ready momentarily,” Thranduil says, motioning towards you with a wine goblet in hand. You nod, still silent as ever.

  With a shaky, damp hand, you reach towards your wine goblet, grasping the cold metal in your warm hands. Taking a deep breath, you pick it up, bringing it towards your lips. The wine is smooth as it pours down your throat, cool and soothing to the dessert inside your mouth. It’s slightly sweet, not at all holding the bitter aftertaste the wine of Man possesses.

  You set the glass down, turning your attention to Thranduil. He watches you with sharp eyes, an expectant look on his face.

  “It is very good, Your Grace,” you mutter, and in exchange for speaking so quietly, you manage to keep your voice steady.

  “Excellent.”

  You smile, and it’s all nerves and anxiety, closely resembling a grimace rather than a beaming grin. Your heart is fierce against your chest, and you fear in that moment he will hear it. But if he does, he doesn’t comment on it.

  “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, might I enquire as to why you’ve called me here?” Your voice is louder this time, but there’s a slight waver towards the end, betraying everything you feel.

  He’s silent for a moment as if he’s gathering his thoughts, figuring out a way to deliver whatever is running in his mind. You nearly crack, the apology for overstepping your boundaries on the tip of your tongue when he finally speaks.

  "Am I not allowed to simply get to know my subjects?" Thranduil asks, a sly smirk resting on his lips. He brings the goblet of wine to his lips, slowly sipping it. He lowers it slightly so that it rests just below his chin. 

"Of course, but I suppose I'm just curious as to why you've invited me to a private meal with you. Am I correct to assume you don't do this with every one of your subjects?" you say, your eyes wide like a doe, with hands in your lap. Your fingers intertwine with each other, a way to distract you from the anxiety in you. 

  Thranduil continues to watch you, an unreadable expression in his ocean eyes. He inhales deeply, leaning farther back into his chair. After a few moments of silence, he opens his mouth. 

  “I find myself wanting to get to know you better. I find you intriguing.” Your mind turns blank, all sense and reason leaving it. For a moment you don’t believe you’ve heard him correctly, not grasping that a king would be so curious about you.

  “I do not understand, what about me is so interesting? We’ve only met once, hardly having a full conversation,” you say. Your voice is firmer than before, drowning with disbelief.

  “Then it would seem you’ve made an impression.”

  You open your mouth, and then promptly close it, not sure how to proceed. Your heart is fluttering, though due to anxiety. Not this is something… different, a type of nervousness, but not due to fear. A light feeling that also leaves you light with giddiness and not weighed down by dread.

  But it can’t be.

  Elves only love once. Yet the mantra you’ve repeated over and over again seems to be losing its weight, the words no longer feeling as true as before.

  “Would it be alright, if I were to get to know you better, My Lady?” he asks, his voice softer than before, his fair face still neutral, yet less austere than it had been the first time you met.

  Elves only love once.

  And yet.

  “I would like that very much, Your Grace.” Your smile widens, less unsure than before, your eyes shining like starlight. The prospect of something new is exciting yet also terrifying at the same time. You should run and hide, fiercely guarding your already fragile heart like a dragon watches over its treasure hoard.

 Elves only love once. And yet.

  You push aside those fears, in favor of welcoming a chance at a new beginning.

  And yet.

o0o0o

Tags: 

@lunatichaotiche​ | @aearonnin​ | @emiliessketches​ | @vibratingbones​ | @moony-artnstuff​ | @ranhanabi777​ | @kenobiguacamole​ | @ceinelee​ | @thranduil​ | @samnblack​ | @abbiesthings​ | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit​ | @keijibum​ | @lifestylesleep​ | @lilith15000 | 

#thranduil imagine #the hobbit imagine #thranduil #the hobbit #lord of the rings #thranduil x reader #the hobbit one shot #mirkwood elves #mirkwood imagine

[mardereads19]

Elriel Month 🌸🦇

Day 3:

Azriel followed the carriage silently, winnowing from tree to tree, his shadows informing him Elain was in position and ready. He didn’t feel comfortable in letting her do this, but he also trusted her to do her part well. She was more than capable, more than prepared. He had trained her, after all.

Well, he hadn’t been the only one. Elain had revealed to him that she had been training in secret for a while with Nuala and Cerridwen. They’d done a good job. He made a mental note to give them a bonus come Calanmai.

Also to reprimand them for keeping secrets while being his spies.

The sun had already set and there was no moon tonight, giving Azriel the perfect cover from the males Elain had to distract and dupe into giving away what they knew.

“If these males are being controlled by Koschei, will it even make sense to kidnap them?” Feyre had asked on their meeting in Rhys’s study this afternoon. Azriel had been quietly observing and listening to the plans his High Lord had been piecing together. “At least, when Briallyn had control over Eris’s males—”

“And me,” Cassian had supplied from where he stood next to his mate, his arms crossed over his chest and face contemplative. Az had noted the way Nesta’s jaw clenched and her eyes shined silver for a second. The need to kill. The drive to eradicate the threat against her mate. Az had looked away.

Feyre had nodded. She’d looked tired, an expression that’d been mirrored in Rhys. The baby kept us awake all night. He wouldn’t stop crying, Rhys had told him earlier, but there had been light in his eyes, a quiet happiness even as he’d yawned.

Az had not seen his brother yawn in a while.

“And Cassian,” Feyre had added, a spark of anger in her eyes, “they would not talk.”

Az had agreed, “When we brought them to the Hewn City, they hadn’t given anything away.”

There’d been a silence for a moment. They had all, save for Nesta, witnessed Azriel’s administrations to the males of Autumn. No torture had gotten them to open their mouths, to reveal who had sent them after the mask. Feyre had pointed out how wrong it was to do that to them when they were not themselves.

Nesta had sat up straighter in her chair in the study before saying, “But what if they are being partially controlled?”

Rhys had raised his eyebrows.

Nesta had stood, Cassian reaching for her hand. Nesta let their fingers intertwine. It had brought a small pang of envy into Az’s heart. He’d pushed it away. “Bellius,” she said with disgust, “that male from the Blood Rite. He constantly mocked us, tried to rile us up. Sometimes I wonder if he gave too much away.”

Rhys had frowned. “Perhaps he wasn’t being controlled. He was only in on the plan.”

“He was being controlled,” Nesta insisted. Her gaze had been unfocused, as if lost in the memories. Cassian’s wings shifted. “He had that glassy look in his eyes that were on the Autumn Court males. I noticed it from the first time I met him. I thought he had been drunk at first.” She had blinked and, as if remembering where she was, had turned to Cass. He had pulled her closer to him, his eyes reassuring her.

Amren’s lips had twisted upwards in what might have been a smile before she turned to Rhys. “So there is a possibility that Koschei only partially controls these Fae, especially if they are far away from where he is located now. His grasp on them through his power may be less strong, perhaps allowing them the freedom to speak, like that male from the Blood Rite. What would you plan now?”

“I’m still not sure about this,” Feyre had contributed. “The Crown may not work the same way Koschei’s powers could. He could still have full influence over them.”

“Koschei is a death god,” Rhys had said, “I don’t think his power excels in controlling others more than it does in killing them. The crown’s whole purpose is to control living beings and, if it has that limit, then I’m willing to bet Koschei does, too.”

“I wouldn’t place a bet on a thought, Rhys.” It had been clear Feyre was worried. Her fingers had kept tapping on the table. Az wondered if it came as a result of being a mother, that worrying. That caring for the well-being of others. “If we brought them here, could you guarantee they’ll break?”

“I don’t think Azriel could get them to sing for us.” Rhys inhaled. His eyes roamed the map of the continent, focusing on the coast of the human territory. “If Bellius spoke to rile Nesta and her friends up, then only their own arrogant boasting will get them to talk. They have to feel like they are giving the information out of their own free will. That they’d be gaining something by it, even if it’s admiration or applause.”

Azriel had tilted his head, analyzing what Rhys was implying. “There is no one in this room that can convince those men to speak.” Feyre and Rhys were recognizable to all the Fae. Cassian and Az were Illyrian, which would raise suspicions. There was no reason for an Illyrian be on the mortal lands of the continent. And Amren and Nesta had as much chance of charming those Fae as Bryaxis had of calming people.

Mor would have been their best choice, but she was on the Fae side of the continent, too far away to reach in time for tonight.

Rhys had met Az’s gaze. There was a shine on them that often told Azriel that Rhys had an idea. Something in his gut had told him he wouldn’t like it. “No. No one in this room can do it. But I know who.”

“Stop your games and just spill it, boy. I don’t have time for this.” Amren had said, narrowing her eyes at Rhys.

Cassian had rolled his eyes, “What could possibly be more vital than this right now?”

“I have a date with Varian to taste different types of meat and I’m starving. If I stay here any longer, I might eat yours.”

Cassian had barked a laugh. “I wanna see you try, tiny ancient one.”

Azriel had kept his focus on Rhys. Waiting. Fear making his heart beat faster. He knew what was coming.

Finally, Rhys had asked, “How has Elain’s training gone?”

And now, Azriel was following the carriage to where she would be waiting for the Fae. Where she would pretend to be a victim of a robbery. A female riding a wagon on her own in the lonely road when a thief took advantage of the solitude to steal the resources she was on her way to sell in the market and make a coin. Az was to stay in the shadows. He was only allowed to be here in the case the Fae males wanted to take another type of advantage out of her.

Azriel fisted his hands. He had half a mind to destroy the males now and claim a freak accident had killed them rather than find out what they’d intend with her.

He stopped a second, telling his breathing to calm, waiting for his rage to subside. He couldn’t make decisions when his mind was violent, he needed a clear head.

He kept moving only because the carriage did, but he still wanted to spill blood.

A noise caught his attention. There, just beyond the curve of the road, was Elain kneeling on the floor crying as she held a few pieces of the wagon’s wood. Azriel fought the impulse to winnow to her, to console her, to hold her. Tell her everything was alright. That he was with her and no one would hurt her.

She’s pretending. Her cries aren’t real. She knows I’m here.

But it was difficult. His wings twitched, his shadows scattered towards her, but still hid from view. They were ready to strike at his command. Anyone who got near her.

Stand down, he said to them.

The carriage had gotten close enough to to see Elain on the road, see the mess of the wagon, and notice the horse that led it missing.

“Ho!” The rider called to his own horses while pulling on the reins. They stopped next to the wagon’s destruction. Pieces of wood lay around it and Elain. Rhys had taken care of that.

“Cover your face,” he had told Elain before sending a wave of his power to the empty wagon. Elain had covered her face, but noticed it hadn’t been necessary. Azriel had secured a dome of his own power around her. Wood struck a blue wall and jumped off harmlessly. Rhys had narrowed his eyes at him, “Disperse the wood, Azriel. Otherwise it will be weird indeed that the wood landed all around except for that clear demarcation of a dome.”

Azriel looked down. Right, there was a clear difference between where his power had encircled Elain and where it hadn’t.

She had sucked on her lower lip to hide her smile. Azriel felt hot in the face, but he didn’t care that he had made a foolish mistake to protect her. She met his gaze and he saw a promise there that he tucked away before his scent gave away the direction his mind had gone off to.

Elain turned to Rhys, her pale pink dress looking white in the dusk light. Rhys had estimated the Fae would take this road and would be here in half an hour. It was an isolated enough road, one Fae loved to use to stay hidden inside the mortal lands. It was surrounded by forest on both sides, the smell of pine was strong here, but it was a scent Azriel liked. The wagon was brought here by both males in their winnowing.

“Was it really necessary to destroy the wagon like that? Wouldn’t it have sufficed to simply break a wheel?” Elain had asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Rhys studied the mess in the road, his brow furrowed in thought. “A thief would have no need to go to all that trouble.”

“Perhaps not,” he had answered throwing her a wink, “but it just contributes to your woeful story. Make sure to cry extra loud.”

Elain had shaken with laughter and Azriel had taken a step closer to her impulsively. He wanted to lay a hand on her waist, to feel her laugh reverberate through him.

Now, he watched her shake in sobs instead. One of the males from inside the carriage stepped down and walked closer to her. He was dressed in cheap armor, dirty from use, and his brown hair was tied at his nape. The male surveyed the wagon, the destruction and lack of a horse, and finally glanced at Elain. His eyes roamed her body, but Azriel couldn’t tell if the glassy look in his eyes were from the control the male was under or for a different drive.

Azriel felt that hunger for violence stir inside him and fought with everything he could to keep still.

Stand down, Azriel repeated to the shadows when he noticed how they were risking exposure by getting closer to Elain. Hesitantly, they skittered back into the dark.

“What happened here, dear?” The male asked, though his voice didn’t drip kindness.

Elain put on a good show, sobbing and wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her simple dress. She had to look the part of a Fae in hiding, so the dress was akin to the human clothes this area donned, her hair was arranged over her ears, and the glow of her High Fae beauty had been glamoured to an acceptable degree.

“Good, Sir.” She stood and curtsied. “I was riding on the way to the market—” a sob “—when a thief came by.” Tears flowed down Elain’s cheeks so effortlessly Azriel wondered if she was hurt. Did she twist her ankle again while he was away? Perhaps with one of the wood planks he himself had dispersed.

Not real tears, one of his shadows assured him.

He didn’t relax.

“When were you attacked?”

“This afternoon.” She sniffed. “I’ve been here hours, seeing as how hidden this road is. I have no way of getting home.” Elain covered her face in her hands. “I live too far away, and I have an injury in my right leg that makes walking for long periods unbearable.” She wiped away her tears. “I stayed here hoping someone might come around and help me get to a place where I could sleep the night and hopefully rent a horse during the week.”

“Did the thief not take your coin?” The male sounded skeptical.

She nodded, “They did, of course, but I could work for a few days and make the money. I just need a ride.” Elain fidgeted with her dress, successfully looking devastated and scared.

The male gazed back at the carriage and the others, considering his options. Azriel held his breath as the male regarded Elain once more. His face revealed he felt superior, a male who knew he had control of the situation. Exactly what they needed him to think. He also looked like he wanted to impress this lovely female he happened to rescue.

He inclined his head to the side, a smile spreading over his face. “Alright, sweet face. We can take you.”

After a few teary grateful expressions from Elain, the male opened the door of the carriage for her with all the satisfaction of a savior. She climbed the first step, pretending a limp, and as she did so, she glanced over her shoulder.

To the male, she was looking back to the destroyed wagon and up to the trees in sadness. But her gaze met Azriel’s. She had know exactly where he was. He hoped she could read in his eyes what he wanted to tell her.

You’re not alone. I’m right behind you. You’re doing great, lovely fawn. You’re doing great.

Her head dipped in the smallest of nods and then she was inside and the male was closing the door behind him.

Azriel clenched his jaw.

Now the real work begun.

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #elriel #elain #azriel #spy elain #spy elriel #elain archeron #elriel endgame #elriel oneshot #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #my writing

[scary-lasagna]

!Yan Zalgo, !Yan EJ, !Yan Toby and !Yan Hoodie finding out their S.O. fell in love with the !Yan's closest friend so they had a secret relationship with them?

Yan!Zalgo 

Haha, no

Someone will be dead by the end of the night, and it won’t be him.

He will go about his day as usual, and you know that he knew from the glares he sent your way.

His trusted servant and his beloved mate will stand side by side in front of him, and the king will contemplate who to kill first.

Which had betrayed his god-like trust the most? Who instigated this entire event? Was his s/o even in love with them, or were they only using them to escape?

It didn’t matter because you both were lying. The servent was claiming everything Zalgo saw was false, which was the worst mistake possible. And his s/o didn’t say a word, which only made you look more guilty.

But he did not like to be spoken against, and the servant's body was split in half. 

“Someone clean this trash up while I talk to my bewedded.” 

The talk was not nice to say the least, and you were placed in barbed shackles for however long his mercy decided to return.

On his second round for the night to make sure you weren’t sleeping with the dusting maid, you made the mistake of calling him a “Possessive and cruel bastard with a sword up his ass.” 

You are now in a leg cast, and to be fair you’re lucky you didn’t get your femur broken sooner.

Yan!Eyeless Jack

“Everything is going to okay.” Jack rested by your feet on a knee, running a soothing hand along your thigh. The brisk ropes dug into your skin with each slight movement. “Look at me,” Jack smiled reassuringly, and took off his mask to reveal his jagged teeth and dripping hellspawn he calls eyesockets. “It’ll be alright, so stop crying or I’ll break a finger again.” 

Jack paused in thought, with his mask off you could make out the stiffening of his jaw and furrowed brows. He was never nice, all of his reassuring bullshit was to torment you until he made his decision.

“I’ll mangle him so much that he won’t even look human anymore.” Jack chuckled and stood, “Not that he ever was human.”

You didn’t want to visualize what would happen to your favorite monochrome clown that brought you joy while Jack was away, but you know you’ll never hear his upbeat laugh again.

That morning you woke up, feeling a little lighter. While shuffling to the table in your macabre chains, you saw a well-presented organ in the middle of the table, accompanied by various candies and sweets with Laughing Jack’s striped calling.

“You are what you eat darling.”

Yan!Toby

His sweet and trustworthy s/o would never do this to him. No! It’s not possible.

There were a lot of people that Toby was aware of, especially if his co-workers stopped by his house on off days for lunch together.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll make sure he suffers for every second that he has manipulated you.” 

You’re an angel in his eyes, and it wouldn’t matter if you slapped him in the face with it (excluding that he wouldn’t feel it anyway), he’d never believe that you could betray him, there’s always an excuse for his darling.

You begged Toby on your hands and knees not to hurt BEN, but Toby only quietly calmed you down and held you in his arms, reassuring you that it’s for the best. 

You never heard back from BEN, and you don’t think you ever will, alive or not.

You weren’t punished for your behavior, but Toby was much more clingy and kept trying to reassure you along the road to ‘recovery’.

Irony is cruel.

Yan!Hoodie

“I can’t believe you’d betray my trust like that.” You’ve resorted back to zip ties and tracking anklets. You weren’t trapped yet, he let you freely roam with your hands bound as he scolded you. 

“I have nightmares of you trying to escape.” Hoodie hisses through his angered sigh, “Someone found you, killed you, and then left your beautiful flesh scattered in some dark alley.”

He combed his fingers through his dirty blonde hair and fisted the locks, silently telling himself to calm down, “We can’t have that happening, can we?”

You shook your head, and allowed him to approach you without trying to dive between his legs again. He smiled softly and brushed your hair back, his other hand dug around in his pocket and pulled out a small laminated photo. 

“If this happens again, you’ll be the one begging for your life.” 

The photo was shoved into your balled fists, and you were left to wallow in your own devices. 

Tim was beyond recognizable except for the flannel that you used to bury your tears into on empty nights, and the same flannel that you stole and hid for a few days to keep your sanity when Hoodie had to stay home from work. 

You kind of regret giving it back, because now all that is left of Tim is in your memory. 

You were too afraid to ask if he’s dead or alive, because if he still has a pulse he wouldn’t have one long after you mention his name to his supposed best friend.

#zalgo #eyeless jack #toby #hoodie #creepypasta #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta headcanon #marble hornets #kind of #yandere