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night-filled-mountain · 3 years

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Captivity and Escape in Critical Role

So this post has been sitting in my drafts for about half a year. It’s about a persistent theme I noticed throughout campaign 2, which I’m sure others have noticed and written about before, but parallels and recurring themes have always been my Thing, and I couldn’t let it go. And with last week’s episode, and the campaign finale airing tonight, and the dominance of this theme being more glaringly obvious than ever, I thought I’d just give myself a treat and finish up a giant meta post. For old times’ sake.

So, just for the heck of it, here’s an exhaustive exploration of a single through-line of campaign 2 since the very beginning: captivity, and escaping or being freed from it.

Let’s start by taking a quick look at everyone’s backstories, the things that happened to them before the campaign even started, and how they were ultimately resolved.

FJORD: Entered unknowingly and unwillingly into a pact with Uk’otoa, which bound him to perform services he never agreed to in exchange for powers he never asked for. Fjord did not know how he got into this pact or how to get out of it. He makes his escape when he pitches his sword into a lava river and pledges himself to the Wildmother.

JESTER: Spent the majority of her life “locked in her room” (or at least hidden from sight) until the consequences of one of her pranks forcibly liberated her into the wider world. While Jester loves her mother dearly and thinks of her long “captivity” as being for her own protection, its negative effects on her--loneliness, insecurity, a lack of worldly experience and social awareness--were still apparent, and she spends much of the campaign working through them.

BEAU: Her parents had her kidnapped by monks. It could be argued that even before the kidnapping, she was a prisoner to her father’s “over-protective” tendencies and her parents’ expectations when it came to her career, behavior, gender role, etc. But most significantly, she was very much kidnapped by monks, and made her escape from the Cobalt Soul shortly before we met her.

CALEB: Where to start? First he suffered coercion and abuse at the hands of Trent (a form of captivity); then he was made to torture and execute prisoners; then he spent eleven years literally imprisoned in an asylum, and had to kill and steal in order to escape; and four and a half years later, he met Nott when they were both thrown in jail (and had to engineer their own escape once again). Caleb’s ordeals ultimately made him a prisoner of his own guilt and fear, and escaping that prison has been the heart of his storyline.

VETH/NOTT: Besides the aforementioned stint in jail, the catalyst for her entire adventuring career was being captured by goblins along with her family--and then, after engineering the escape of her husband and son, being imprisoned in the wrong body (and subsequently enslaved!). The desire to escape from this second imprisonment was her driving motivation through much of the campaign. With Caleb’s help (and Essek’s, and Jester’s), she ultimately succeeds.

MOLLY: His first memory was of clawing his way out of a grave, which is just about as extreme a form of captivity and escape as you can get. More subtly, he was also a prisoner to the expectations placed on his body--to the life that body once lived, which he could not remember and refused to claim. Arguably (and tragically), his escape from this particular prison is his own death...until Cree resurrects Lucien, Mollymauk fragment and all. Then he presumably becomes a prisoner much like Yasha was, subsumed body and soul by a mind and a will that are not his own. Until last week.

... (incoherent sobbing)

Until last week.

YASHA: She was a prisoner to her clan’s laws and expectations. Her brief attempt to escape this prison through a forbidden marriage ended tragically, and then she was forced to make a second, literal escape (fleeing into the desert)--only to be (presumably) possessed by Obann, imprisoned inside her own mind, and forced to do his bidding until the Storm Lord liberated her once again.

CADUCEUS: When the gang first meet him, he’s literally a prisoner of his own fear (and/or inertia)--though his whole family has left the Blooming Grove, he’s been too afraid or hesitant to brave the corruption of the Savalirwood without companionship, and spent years isolated in the family temple as a result. The Mighty Nein (or rather, Caleb, Nott, Beau, Keg, and Nila) initiate his escape.

***

And that’s just the backstories! Now let’s take a look at each of the places the Mighty Nein have visited since they came together, and the story arcs therein.

***

TROSTENWALD - CARNIVAL ARC: This arc’s entire goal is to free the (future) Mighty Nein and the other carnies from jail or house arrest. (Much later, the M9 come back to pay Gustav’s debt and liberate him as well.) And remember that Beau is especially sympathetic to Toya’s predicament because she, too, was once a young girl held somewhere against her will.

ALFIELD - GNOLL ARC: This arc’s entire goal is to free the citizens of Alfield who have been kidnapped by gnolls to feed to their manticore leader (and to kill off the gnolls and manticore to keep it from happening again).

ZADASH: The Mighty Nein’s first undertaking in Zadash is to kill off the giant spiders in the sewer. In the process, they free a halfling imprisoned in a spiderweb, which leads them to the Gentleman and all his future quests.

Aside from that, their biggest job in Zadash this time around is the High Richter heist--which, yes, is a mercenary/political job that goes terribly wrong, but why does it go terribly wrong? Because Ulog, the M9′s NPC ally at the time, is so furious over his wife being wrongfully imprisoned by the High Richter that he impulsively blows up both her and himself. And arguably the most poignant moment in the heist’s aftermath is Caleb speaking to the next High Richter, Dolan, and ensuring that Ulog’s wife will be freed.

Also, let’s not forget the drow the M9 meet in the sewer. The one they capture, interrogate, and ultimately...let go. Yes, he’s killed shortly afterward and his beacon falls into their hands, but I think it’s very important to remember that the decision they make, when holding a captive terrorist from an “enemy” nation, is to return his stolen artifact to him and let him walk away free.

LABENDA SWAMP/BERLEBEN: The most memorable events during this interlude are: (1.) The M9 literally freeing Kiri from the swamp, where she is stuck in the mud and at the mercy of crocodiles, and (2.) Bowlgate, a.k.a. Caleb and Beau’s tense confrontation over what to do with Calianna, which is once again fueled on Beau’s side by her sympathy for a young woman held against her will. (Caleb proposes that Cali spend the night with the M9, which she did not intend, so they can use spells to determine her truthfulness the next day.)

HUPPERDOOK: This one’s obvious: The M9 fight a deadly automaton to free two gnomes from prison and reunite them with their children (largely to prevent said children from being taken to an orphanage against their will).

GLORY RUN ROAD/SHADYCREEK RUN - IRON SHEPHERDS ARC: ...Even more obvious. The sole goal of the remaining M9 members (and Nila) throughout this arc is to free their friends from slavery. They end up slaughtering all the slavers and freeing several other captives as well.

LUSIDIAN OCEAN - PIRATE ARC: Here’s where things get really interesting. Because this whole arc is also about captivity and freedom, isn’t it?

It’s about whether or not to free a little old captive named Uk’otoa!

I haven’t given nearly enough thought to how this arc fits in with all the others thematically, considering its central lesson is that freeing this particular captive would be a very bad thing. I do think it’s significant that:

(1.) The beginning of this arc, which leaves the whole party feeling so bad and icky, involves them quite inadvertently taking a captive of their own--and one whom they don’t treat very well. (And still don’t, for that matter...poor Marius.)

(2.) Soon after that incident, the M9 are themselves effectively taken captive by Avantika and her crew. This situation doesn’t last nearly as long as many audience members (and quite possibly Matt, and quite possibly the players themselves!) thought it would, because they panic on Darktow, go all Wall of Fire, and free themselves in a huge, climactic, desperate battle. The Mighty Nein do not take well to captivity.

Anyhow, they follow all this up with...

FELDERWIN/XHORHAS - YEZA ARC: ...another very straightforward quest to free a captive. Not only is this arc all about rescuing Yeza from a Xhorhasian dungeon, but after Caleb returns the beacon, after the Bright Queen of Xhorhas offers the Mighty Nein anything they want...all they ask her for is to let them go.

BAZZOXAN & BEYOND - OBANN ARC: ...By now, you know where I’m going with this, right? The entire arc is about freeing Yasha from Obann, who has her imprisoned inside her own body, inside her own mind. There’s a reason That Moment in the cathedral hit so hard, right? “And as you close your eyes, you see yourself breaking the shackles. You see the influence no longer holding any sway over your soul. There's nothing but the storm, vengeance, and hope.”

(Bonus: In the middle of the above arc, we get the HAPPY FUN BALL - RESCUING YUSSA ARC, which, once again, is devoted to freeing a captive.)

KAMORDAH/CYRIOS MOUNTAINS - ISHARNAI ARC: Aimed entirely at freeing Nott from the body in which she was imprisoned. Beau also has a bit of a freedom arc here: confronting the parents who imprisoned her figuratively and literally, turning her back on them (possibly for good), and then confronting a major source of the expectations and superstitions they shackled her with: Isharnai, who is neutralized by Jester’s cupcake.

THE MENAGERIE - CLAY ARC: Aimed entirely at freeing Caduceus’s family, who are imprisoned in perhaps the most literal way possible, being turned to stone. (The M9 also manage to liberate the Stone family while they’re at it.)

RUMBLECUSP - TRAVELER CON: Two great liberations take place here. First, all the residents of the Village of Vo are freed from Vokodo’s influence, their memories restored, their blind devotion dispelled, able once again to choose the course of their own lives. Second, the followers of the Traveler are freed from the deception he’s imposed on them, the cult he’s roped them into. Thanks to the Moonweaver’s interference, they, too, are free to make informed decisions. And I think we can also safely say that Artagan is freed from them, from the false “god” role he managed to box himself into, and he’s happier for it.

EISELCROSS - SOMNOVEM ARC: ...And this is it, folks. This is why I decided to finish this post today. Because I was openly not feeling the Eiselcross arc as an endgame. The hard slog through the elements just wasn’t doing it for me, or the frequent combat, or the increasingly complex lore, or the traditionally heroic quest to save the world from being swallowed by a monstrous city.

...Until last week. Until Lucien’s defeat. And Molly’s oh-so-improbable resurrection.

When I heard all the voices of the Somnovem whispering “Thank you” as their individual souls were freed from the Lovecraftian hivemind...when I heard Jester sobbing that at least Molly’s soul wasn’t “trapped” inside a monstrous Lucien anymore...when Cad’s Divine Intervention succeeded, and Mollymauk Tealeaf opened his eyes--his two plain old natural eyes--unburdened by Lucien and his Somnovem eyes and all of his dark baggage for the first time--I was finally able to embrace this as the ending.

Because it’s not about saving the world. That’s just a bonus. It’s about saving a friend. Freeing a friend. Freeing captives, wherever they find them. Whether from Crown’s Guard, gnolls, and giant spiders, or from royal dungeons; whether from ruthless enemies or from their own families; whether from eldritch abominations or from the forces that chain their own minds.

In the end, the Mighty Nein--and the people whose lives they touch--belong to no one and nothing that they do not choose to belong to. They belong to themselves, to the people they most sincerely love, to the gods and causes they have chosen freely. And that has always, always been my favorite kind of story.

And I can’t wait for tonight.

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

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Artifice | Chapter 10: The Escape

For previous chapters, click here | To Read on A03, Click here

The leather was cool under Beca’s fingertips. It smelled of oil paints, and clove, and the faintest bit of smoke. There was salt and sun all at once. She had carried the bag everywhere with her, strung against her shoulder. There were only ever a few cotton shirts, and pants that were worth well with dirt and blood.

She kept her sketchbook, bound in the equally fine leather, close to her heart. A small section of charcoal was folded into a cloth. It was hard to come by, nearly impossible, but Beca knew the right people. Emily Junk knew the right people. She pulled strings for fine clay and even finer parchment.

They were simple gifts, but intricate. When Beca’s stomach was rolling and the ship rocked steadily against black waves, she would sit and sketch Emily, focused so fully on the maps, the charting, and the stars that they followed. Moonlight would dance across her features in pale magnificence.

She kept the sketchbook, the one that reminded her of the ocean before she met Christian and felt the sting of his open palm against her cheek, at the bottom of the bag, away from Chloe, and Aubrey, and Garrett, and the rest of the prying eyes of the world. It was her solace. It made her sick to her stomach.

Beca peeled the bag open. She didn’t’ care much for folding the clothes that she had strewn across the room in her time at the Beale Estate. They had fit just fine when they were pressed and smelling of fresh linen, they would fit just fine now.

Sadness pricked at the back of her eyes. She thought of betraying her own unspoken rules as an artist and tearing the cleanest page from her sketchbook out. She would scrawl a note in charcoal on the back, dirtying the pads of her fingertips and forgetting herself fully.

Unlike her first night here, she could navigate the hallways that were meant for staff with her eyes closed. Stacie had pressed the lanterns hours before Beca returned from the pub. The wax had hardened and the scent of ash hung stubbornly in the air.

Moonlight flitted through the kitchen. She figured she could slip through the back doors into the warmth of the night without anyone missing her too much. Her throat stung with two mugs of brew she had downed to quell her emotions at the pub. It spurred her on, told her to press forward.

Forget the commission, forget the billionaire that had wronged the seven seas, forget his siren wife with hot copper ringlets, and fair lambskin.

“You’re leaving without saying goodbye.”

The statement had no infliction behind it. Beca felt her heart in her throat and her fingers numb against the strap of her leather bag. She hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t gotten past the threshold of the patio door. She hadn’t estimated how long she stood there, counting the blades of grass, but the voice startled her.

“I have to go,” Beca said.

She turned to face Aubrey Posen. A tin mug with water rested at her side, half consumed. The blonde may have watched her as she watched the world, those cold apple-green eyes. They gave her away as human instead of an animal, focused instead of sure.

A silk robe covered her shoulders, the lavender material rich, and rarely seen by someone of her caliber. The whole estate was like that, fancy vases and sculptures, and iron workings that Beca had seen from the outside, looking in, but never the other way around.

“You’re a coward.”

She scoffed “A coward? No soy un cobarde.”

Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. Someone who didn’t’ shy away from confrontation would have kneeled in front of the woman in the house by now- they would have told her about the band of looters, and pirates that intended on storming her personal palace.

Her face must have softened and given her away. Aubrey quirked an eyebrow, raising the mug to her lips before humming in satisfaction. It made Beca’s skin burn and her heart prickle.

“Leave, then. Making Chloe suffer by contemplating your own actions is doing more harm than good.”

Beca hated to swallow her words twice in one sitting but found herself taking the remaining three steps towards the kitchens island. Aubrey seemed to tense at the movement, dry-mouthed and thick with contempt.

“It’s for the better.”

“For you, or for her?” Aubrey lowered the mug and let out a sigh “Listen, you being here… has been good for Chloe. I thought you would be like them all, the artists. They waltz into the estate with their oils, and charcoals, and parchment, and think that they have the world at their fingertips. Instead of painting her, they use her. And she lets them.”

“I understand your hand over her, Aubrey,” Beca said.

“Hand over who?”

The two women glanced towards the opening to the kitchen. Chloe stood under the archway, her hair caught the moonlight like the rest of the kitchen, but in a deeper, cherry-colored way. She looked sleep-worn and content. That soon shifted against her features as she took in the leather satchel, the swept way Beca stared, and the fingerprints on the glass sliding door.

“You’re going,” She murmured.

The shatter of her words cut deep against Beca’s skin. She felt as if she might bleed there, bite her tongue until she swallowed mouthfuls of red. Her shoulders slumped, her resolve nearly broke. “I don’t have a choice.”

“A choice… Beca you’re here to paint. Have I scorned you that horribly with my antics that you’ve given up the fight?” She scoffed “I’ll ease on the chase. We can start tomorrow>”

She turned and glanced towards the backyard. The moonlit the path beautifully towards the ocean, and the docks, and the fire-filled lights that reflected off the waves. If she searched hard enough, she could see Emily’s ship, its red sails, and drafting architecture.

Aubrey scooped her mug up and was halfway out of the kitchen by the time Beca mustered up the courage to turn back to the woman. She hated the weight of the two of them this close to one another, standing off with nothing but a few inches between them.

“Garrett has wronged a very dangerous group of people,” Beca meant to sound powerful, strong, and sure of herself, but she wasn’t. There was a meekness to her words. “They’re planning to storm this place, to take back what is rightfully theirs.”

Chloe pursed her lips, frowning as she stared at the terracotta tiling. She had her own silk robe wrapped tersely around her, her blue eyes hard and unreadable. “My husband does not speak about his business and I am kind enough not to ask.”

“He’s robbing people, Chloe. Good innocent people.”

“Pirates.” She snapped back “the last I checked they’re the ones that pillage, and murder, and go entirely feral at the sight of a pint of ale. Garrett is doing this world well.”

“They do what they can to survive. I don’t expect you to understand.”

It came out harsher than intended. Chloe snapped her gaze up to the woman with such ferocity that it chilled her to her bones. She steadied her hand against the island, fingers white as they pressed into the countertop. “Excuse me?”

“Rich, and stubborn enough not to go with me if I asked you to.” Beca whispered, this time sure of herself “I know these people, grew up with them, love them. And they are more merciless than many. Yet you would stay to defend your home, your possessions. Your paintings.”

The words felt bitter against Beca’s tongue. As if her saliva had turned to acid. She would never speak out against the lady of a house, much less one that had offered to pay for her services. But Chloe’s world was sheltered, and it was close to crumbling.

“You never asked.” She snarled, taking another step forward, closing the gap between them. Beca could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. “You packed your things and were going to escape into the night.”

Her breath came out in a shudder, it pressed against Chloe’s collarbone, making goosebumps rise against her skin. Blue eyes flicked to her lips, to her jawline, and to her own chest heaving up and down. It would take nearly nothing to push forward and escape the space left between them.

She swallowed the hot taste in her mouth “Would you have gone?”

Chloe met her question with silence. Maybe the words were stuck in her throat, or maybe they had no place where they were to begin with. Beca frowned, fretted, and took a step back. Chloe could have held her there, tethered her to one spot. She had enough power to convince her to stand against Emily and her intent. But nothing was said. The silence dripped heavily between them.

“Give Garrett my apologies.” She said, “I pray he can find an artist to capture your likeness one day.”

Before the tears that were welling up in Chloe’s eyes could escape, Beca had turned, opened the patio door, and began to walk across the moonlit grass. There were clouds in the sky, prominent against the dark backdrop, covering the ball of light enough for her to slip through the trees that turned to swamp and swamp that stretched into an alcove.

Garrett had spared no expense, the jutting cliffs that dropped straight to the docs and choppy waves had a staircase carved into it. Metal for the same lanterns that lined the Beale estate was set up in sporadic intervals. Beca had trusted only her instinct and anger to get her down to the docks.

Emily’s ship sprouted with blue and amber lights. A man grizzled and half-drunk with the swells of the sea stood as Beca approached. He drew his sword with a slick sound of metal upon metal. The tip of the weapon found its home under her chin, close enough to slice the hair from her head.

“State your business.” He purred, lilting his head at his prize.

“Jasper,” Emily’s voice came from the deck of the ship. She leaned over the railing, having shed her leather coat, and her captain’s hat, simple and beautiful in the moonlight. The man never hesitated. “She’s fine. Come up,”

She adjusted the bag on her shoulder, running her finger over the raw spot against her throat. He could have easily sliced through the skin, could have made a meal of her before the night had even begun.

Beca scaled the rope ladder leading to the main deck of the ship. By the time she had reached the top Emily had a grin on her face, nothing short of pride and warmth. There was a subtle rocking beneath her feet that reminded her so fully of home.

“Do my eyes deceive me delicately?”

“They don’t,”

Emily furrowed her brow and lilted the woman’s head up with the curl of her finger, the opposite of the blade with her softness, and tender stare. “You’re sure about this? I can get you off the island.”

“I’ve already turned my back once tonight. No puedo hacerlo de nuevo. I wish to join you.”

The captain withdrew her touch, worry etched into her features, catching every spare light that the night sea had to offer. Her eyes flitted to the last remaining glow in the kitchen of the Beale Manor, entirely visible from the docks. Past the trees, and the hedges, and the swamps, she could have sworn she saw a woman, backed by a lantern, and forlorn with fear.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Bechloe #Fanfiction #Historical au

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fairyoftbz · 3 years

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Bord de mer | k. younghoon

🧇 pairing: bf!younghoon x fem!reader 🧇 word count: 1.8k 🧇 genre: pure fluff, established relationship 🧇 tw: none 🧇 synopsis: after an intense day of working and studying, you decided to spend the evening out with your boyfriend. 🧇 requested: yes! thank u! 🧇 a/n: i’m a big softie for this man, i love him so much 🥺

╰☆☆☆☆╮

"Finally," you whispered, taking off your headphones after listening to a required documentary for your master's degree, stretching the muscles in your neck as you raise your arms above your head. Drinking the remaining of your glass of water down in one, you sighed and rose from your chair, massaging your temples with your fingertips. Usually, you didn't mind sitting at your computer watching a series or entertaining yourself all day but listening to a record on a boring topic was extremely tiring.

Opening your office door, you closed your eyes and smiled at the good smell that invaded the apartment. You were happy to know your boyfriend was home, feeling even happier when you didn't have to cook.

Younghoon was quietly bustling about behind the hotplates, a kitchen cloth resting on his shoulder. He was still in his outfit from work, his white shirt nicely tucked into his office pants. You walked up to him, stroking his shoulder blades in a gentle, slow motion, your boyfriend turning towards you with a smile. He kissed your forehead as he maintained to keep an eye on the food that was cooking in the pan, a fond smile on his lips.

"Good evening, baby," you said in a soft voice, kissing his cheek. "Honey, you've finally come out of your cave," he joked, and you let out a chuckle, guiltily biting your bottom lip. "I'm sorry, I had a lot to do, and I didn't see the time going by," you confessed and Younghoon shook his head, putting an arm around your waist to pull you to him. "I was kidding, Y/N, I know you are very busy. Is your project progressing well?" "I sent the third corrected draft to my professor assistant, I have a meeting with him sometime next week," your boyfriend listened and nodded at your words before bringing the wooden spatula to your lips after blowing on it. You opened your mouth and tasted if it was cooked, and you smiled at your boyfriend, approving while chewing on the food.

Younghoon handed you the cutlery and glasses that were in a cupboard out of your reach, and he pulled out two plates to set up the succulent dish he had prepared. You were about to get up to help him, but he was faster than you, setting two plates on the table, a bottle of homemade lemonade tucked under his arm. A succulent scent ran through your nostrils and you sit down in your chair, eager to taste what he had prepared for you.

"There you go, my dear," he smiled at you, placing your plate in front of you.

You thanked him by circling your arms around his neck, prompting him to lower himself so that you could kiss him on the cheek. He smiled at your gesture, quickly pressing his lips to yours before settling down in front of you. Planting his fork on his plate, he watched you out of the corner of his eye, chewing your eyes closed as you savoured the moment, your taste buds kicking in as multiple flavours entered your mouth.

"This is super good, Hoonie," you said as you grabbed his hand, "you did the job of a chef." He beamed at your compliment, taking a bite of meat. "Thank you, darling," he winked at you and you smiled back at him, reaching out to hold your hand. "My little researcher deserves a good meal after all her efforts," you chuckled at the nickname and continued to chew on your bite, losing yourself in your boyfriend's brown orbits.

Younghoon was a man of action. Rather than singing you songs and promising you the moon, even if it was something that he loved doing, he did everything possible to make you happy. If you wanted a pot of ice cream in the middle of the night or some croissants for breakfast, he was ready to go across town for you. He loved doing a lot of things with and for you, though whispering sweet words to you and how much he loves you in your ear remained one of his favourite hobbies. His heart and mind were still occupied with your presence, his happiness increasing as soon as you showed any sign of life.

After this dinner filled with words and tenderness directed to the other, you went to slump on the sofa when Younghoon offered to go out.

"You haven't been outside all day, it will only do you good to see the outside world a little bit," your boyfriend argued as you were giving him soft, pleading eyes, trying to seduce him to not leave your little comfortable cocoon. "But I'm tired," you pouted back, but he didn't want to hear anything. “Come on, let's go,” he punctuated his sentence as he turned on his heels, leaving you no chance to reply. You sighed but got up anyway, following your boyfriend to your bedroom.

Once dressed to go out, Younghoon grabbed your hand and you walked into the garage, the elevator slowly descending into the lower floors. Your boyfriend was leaning against the wall, his head resting against the mirror where you could see your reflection admiring his slender figure. He let out a small, flustered laugh at your intense gaze before taking your arm to pull you to him. You stayed the rest of the descent in his arms, the familiar scent of your laundry making you feel great. It smelled different on him like he had the power to make that scent a source of comfort for you.

The elevator ding stopped your train of thought, Younghoon took your hand and lead you to the car. Once fully seated in the vehicle, he drove off and out of town, gradually approaching the coast. Lowering the passenger window, you could now feel the sea breeze gently caress your face, requiring you to close your eyes at the sweet sensation that invaded your body. Younghoon let his gaze linger over your face, a thin smile decorating his lips as his eyes shifted back and forth between you and the road.

The air smell quickly changed to something fishy and you opened your eyes again when you discovered your destination: the harbour. It was a place where you liked to take a walk during the summer after dinner, to take in the last rays of sunshine and a bit of peace from the city centre. Letting out a sigh as you got out of the car, slamming the door behind you as Younghoon walked to the front of the car, you admired the ocean landscape looming in front of him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, your head coming to rest against his collarbone, feeling him tightening the embrace around you, kissing the corner of your head before rubbing your back.

"Shall we go for a walk?" He grabbed your chin with two fingers, smiling as his eyes turned into two beautiful crescent moons. You nodded and took his hand, forcing him towards the harbour. He laughed and managed somehow to lock the car before walking up to you, circling his arm around your shoulders.

The docks of the harbour were sparsely populated, almost deserted. Parents walking their children in strollers to lull them to sleep, or adults gathering in groups of friends to have a drink or celebrate a raise, hence the sounds of clashing glasses and the disgusting smell of tobacco.

Your stroll was soothing and beautiful, the boats mooring alongside were worth stopping to admire, some yachts making you dream of a life that seemed unreachable. You turned your head towards your boyfriend, who was taking a picture of one of the boats, turning his phone towards you. You gave him your best, natural smile even though you still weren't comfortable in front of the camera, light shivers running through your body as Younghoon looked at the snap with a big smile, happy with his picture of you.

You continued to walk along the docks, watching the boats sway gently in the gentle lapping of the water. The wind had started to blow, but that was not a factor in shortening your ride. Your boyfriend just hugged you closer to him, his hot breath hitting your ear. His embrace was nice, you could almost feel yourself melting into the crook of his arms.

At the corner of a turn, a sweet smell will invaded your nostrils, making you hungry despite the heavy meal you had just eaten. A waffle stand was open, and you enviously watched the pastries bake in the waffle iron. You prevented Younghoon from walking away from you by grasping his hand tightly, his attention immediately turning to what was making your mouth water. You looked at him for a few moments with pleading eyes and he smiled, shaking his head, pulling his wallet out of his inside coat pocket.

"One with chocolate and another with maple syrup, please," you smiled lovingly at him as he placed the order and hugged his arm, thanking him in a whisper.

You grabbed the waffles once they were ready, and hurried to the end of the dock, shoes sinking into the still-warm sand of a beautiful day. Holding the waffles over your head, you dropped into the floor with the same delicacy as an elephant in order to protect your snack from the grains of sand.

Younghoon sat down next to you, rubbing and slapping his hands vigorously to remove any dirt that had clung to them. The waffle was still hot, and the chocolate was melting in your mouth, making you happy and focusing on the present moment with your boyfriend without thinking about your project.

"It's beautiful," you pointed out, looking at the sea stretching out in front of you as far as the eye could see, your heart filled with happiness as the last rays of sun came to illuminate the sky and the saltwater with magnificent orange and pinkish colours, offering a magnificent spectacle to this part of the world.

Younghoon nodded and finished his waffle in three more bites, wiping his fingers with the small paper towel the seller gave you. He shifted closer and sat behind you, a leg on each side of your body as his arms crossed over your stomach.

"You're as gorgeous as this sunset," he whispered into the hollow of your ear, mouth still half-full and you suppressed a chuckle of embarrassment, elbowing him gently as he giggled while being careful not to drop your precious waffle. "Stop your nonsense," you whispered, and he shook his head side to side with a smile, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

Younghoon didn't have time to reply as a great gust of wind blew your hair up and you hurried to finish your waffle before it got sandy. The sea started to stir, waves increasing, the clouds were crossing the sky at a slightly accelerated speed, but that didn't stop you from sitting in the sand in each other's arms, smooching and cuddling you until the sun disappeared from the horizon, leaving you in a darker light to whisper sweet words in your ear.

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raahosh · 3 years

Text

Type: Cassian x reader.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses.

Summary: You had a mission, a mission assigned by your superiors and it was killing the Commander of the Night Court’s army. (Part 1)

Warning: A bit of hot, not smut but yeah you know what I mean and some angst maybe.

Authors note: I’m doing the requests but I finally got to finish this draft. When I’m not doing requests I make a lot of Cassian x reader because, what’s not a secret, he’s my favorite and this is one of the most here since the beginning of this account.

The moon was already up and brighter than ever as night fell, waiting for the Earth to rotate and return the sun, which would only take 6 hours. You had six hours to kill the Night Court's army's general and flee without being noticed. You just had a few days to deliver his head to the King, and the night had been scheduled since the beginning of the month. There's just one problem: you had no idea who this guy was.

Your boss had just told you that this man was in the House's last room, so there was a good chance of you killing the wrong guy. So, without further ado, you left, snatched up your best daggers, poisoned it and dashed to the Night Court.

You were almost invisible, able to enter and exit without anyone seeing or even noticing someone was there. Like a shadow, your steps were quiet. It whisked you away to the room you knew he were, and when you opened the door, you were greeted by a large figure lying backward on a colossal bed. Wings in front of him relaxed as if it were a blanket protecting someone.

You didn't pay attention to details when you first entered the room. First, you lifted your hands, you would use any necessary power in this moment. A wind barrier involved the room, so no one could hear anything outside. You wanted to get out as soon as possible without leaving any witness or time for someone to think.

Your hand lifted the poisoned dagger and the other prepared to use your shadows on your favor, but then you felt something. It started out as just a click, but then your brain couldn't get enough of the word "mate", and it was repeated over and over.

Mate. My mate. Mine. Mate.

Your throat was so constricted that you couldn't even breathe. It was your mate, your mate, that you were supposed to kill. That's when you noticed, you took a step closer and noticed something else, someone you hadn't noticed before because his wings were covering it.

The word "Mate" was almost torturous in your mind, and the girl next to the one who was supposed to be yours, as well as the dagger in your hands, didn't let you forget why you came. And it was then that you realized you had taken far too long to consider, act, or even quit. When someone came up behind you and knocked you down.

You awoke somewhere you didn't recognize, surrounded by four cold iron walls. You were trapped, trapped somewhere no one could hear your screams. Your arms are cuffed, one on either side of your body, and your legs are in the same place. It was unsettling because you wondered what would happen next.

When a large man entered the room, everything changed. His movements were slow and deliberate, bringing him closer to you. This is your mate, the guy you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with because he was your other half, but now... He now plans to murder you, torture you.

He was as cold as a stone, showing no signs of fear or rage. His steps brought him in front of you, where his gaze met yours and then the rest of your body, analyzing you from head to toe, your expressions or even movement being put to the test.

“What are you?” His sound was also devoid of any emotion.

“Someone you wouldn't want to kill if you knew who they were.” You spoke in a whisper hoping he wouldn't hear you. But he did hear something, maybe not what you said but some murmurs, so he took a step forward and stared you in the eyes as if to say, ‘What did you say?’ but you simply raised your head and returned the stare. “Y/N Y/L/N” A slight smile spread over your face, indicating that you were not afraid.

He drew his dagger from his belt, spun the top of it on his finger, and gripped it tightly. “All right, I'm going to ask you this once. Therefore, pay attention.” His voice were as icy as the air that consumed you both. “Who you work for and what were you doing in my room?”

You swallowed dryly before lifting your head once more. That's when you saw him hesitating, as if something inside him had shifted, maybe some sort of uncertainty or even discomfort. And that’s when you saw, you knew the bond clicked for him too. But it came so quickly; he became cold again the next second, his breath the only sign of mental instability. You would pay a lot just to know what went through his mind.

“So it clicked for you too...” A sarcastic chuckle escaped your mouth. “I’m as surprised as you are. You'd be dead right now if it weren't for this damn bond.” You didn't shift your gaze; in fact, you seemed far more menacing.

Then everything was a blur, someone entered the room, and you were tortured like you'd never been before. Your breathing was irregular; in fact, you couldn't breathe at all, but you didn't say anything. You wouldn't, because, if you did, at home, it would be much worse.

They were enraged that you didn't give any type of information, didn’t even say a word and the last thing you recall seeing was the shadowsinger's face, which was even colder than his friend's. You awoke in a bed where you had no idea where you were.

The room was unlike any other you'd ever seen, and you were here. So, you thought you should run, but when you tried to use your powers, it was gone, and when you tried to get up, you felt an excruciating pain invading your body. After that, someone entering.

‘Ok, so, Cassian, the last time I checked she was stable but... Oh, so glad you woke up.” The woman didn’t smile, not that she was actually glad. You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to let you alone.

So the guy you'd come to know as Cassian approached you and sat on a small bench next to your bed. He seemed to be less enraged or cold now, but... Worry? Was it concern that you detected in his expression?

“So, who actually are you?” He said sighing, like he has done so much this morning.

“Why do you want to know?” You raised your brow.

“God, can you be easier? You’re my mate, that is the only reason I didn’t let Rhys and Azriel kill you. So, you tell me who are you and why you wanted to kill me or I’m not going to be nice the next time.” He was still looking tired, but his speech was firmer this time.

“You, more than anyone, know that I can’t. I would never risk my family’s life’

He tried not to show emotion but the bond screamed something you didn’t understand.

“All right, I'm going to be more serious than I have ever been in my life, and you are going to listen to me. You will shake your head at the end telling me you understood.” His expression had changed significantly. He rested his hands on the edge of the bed and gave you a menacing stare that made you shiver and nod. “You are going to tell me who you work for or I am going to figure out myself and it will be worse. I don’t care if you are my mate, because this time I am not going to be good with you.”

She swallowed dry when her eyes finally met his, a little bit of scare on her glance but not too much to make her actually betray her country. Y/N trained her entire life to be at the position she’s at, being the spy and assassin master of her Court. Her head was harder than a stone, she trained it to be because she knew what a daemati is.

“Listen, we’re not going anywhere with it. I’m not going to tell you.” her tone was a bit lower than before, not with afraid but respect.

“You won’t make it easy, will you?” Cassian didn’t lower his head, the only sign of exhaustion was his concerned sigh. She believed that he trained as much as her, if not more, to hide his feelings and do his job with any interruption.

Y/N didn’t respond, instead she looked through the window in the other side of the room. In her Court things aren’t like that, there isn’t any color or happiness, even though they learned to be like that and even found ways to have fun. The small amount of time she spent there showed her how they really care for people and The Night Court wasn’t the horror people make it be.

“Ok, you’re not going anywhere anyway.” He stood up.

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian #acotar #acotar x reader #bat boys #illyrian

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kippykasey · 3 years

Text

Grace - Chapter 5: Hydra

Pairing: Howard Stark x F!Reader , Bucky x Reader [Eventually]

Word Count: 3522

Series Summary: A young nurse is recruited by Dr. Abraham Erskine to join the SSR to assist on Project Rebirth. Following her work with the SSR she is drafted into the US Army Nurse Corps in the war against the Nazis...and HYDRA.

Chapter Warnings: violence, torture, bad things because Hydra

Author's Note: Surprise?! I wasn't even expecting to get this done but I literally just finished and thought, eh why not. So here it is! Also I hate hurting my characters so this was a bit eh to write but I hope all is well!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the gifs they are either found on google or under the gif tag provided by tumblr. Any language other than English was translated using Google Translator, and translations will be posted in bolden italics after. I am not a nurse or in the medical field although I may do some research medical treatment written may not be correct.

Grace Masterlist | Snowdrop Masterlist | Masterlist

Pain. A throbbing, harsh pain echoed through my head from the temple. The throbbing beat opposite that of my heart. The second thing I noticed was how cold and damp it was. After battling with my body to force open my eyes I squint through the dimly lit room. A deep voice spoke in another language… German it was German but my head hurt too much for me to understand it. Seconds passed before I realized that I was sitting on the ground in a cell. The door opened and two men walked in flanked by four additional soldiers than the one that had been watching me.

“Ah Fräulein (L/n) glad you have finally woken up.” Miss.

“Who are you?” I cursed how weak my voice sounded at that moment. Though the man didn’t seem to find me a threat of escape as he spoke. “Johann Schmidt. You see we have a common acquaintance… or, well, had.” The grin he wore made my stomach drop and he didn’t need to verbally admit it for me to realize this is the man behind Abraham’s death.

I raised my head in defiance and although it made the pounding in my head worsen I pushed myself from the ground and stood within the cell. “You’re after the serum.”

“Ah, clever girl. You were Abraham’s assistant when he made the serum.” The second, much shorter man spoke. “Fault in your plans. I don’t know how to make the serum.” Schmidt smiled at me and it took all my self control not to shiver from his intense look. “I was hoping you would say that,” His eyes turned off me to the soldiers. “Bring sie zum Stuhl. Probiere es an ihr aus. Vielleicht wird ein kleiner Elektroschock Ihr Gedächtnis auffrischen.” Take her to the chair. Try it out on her. Perhaps a bit of electroshock will refresh your memory. As Schmidt talked his head also turned towards the shorter man.

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I moved back against the wall. Three soldiers stepped towards the cell. One man opened the cell door before the other two stepped inside to detain me. I managed to elbow one in the face in my struggle but it was useless. The two soldiers dragged me from the cell, out of the room into a brighter lit hall. We were in some kind of warehouse. My eyes zeroed in on a chair that looked right out of a nightmare. Stronger hands forced me into the hard chair and held me down while I was struggling against someone’s attempts to strap me in. My struggling did nothing but get me a slap to the face. The strength of the slap disoriented me long enough for them to strap me in.

The shorter man who followed us now stood next to my head. I could see the reflection of myself in his glasses. “This is only going to hurt a lot, try to hold still.” He instructs lowering two plates down around my face. It was only a few short moments before the electricity forced its way into my head. I had no control over my body as it thrashed in the confines of the chair. An agonizing scream of pain carrying throughout the building went ignored.

That wasn’t my first time in the chair but it was the only time I had passed out in the chair. Spent 30 minutes in the chair 3 times a day, sometimes longer. After a week I had to start muttering things to myself in my cell so I didn’t forget who I was. The Nazi soldiers gave me the bare minimum to survive as far as water and nutrients goes. I cracked halfway through October. I gave the short scientist, Armin Zola, the list of what I would need before I was taken back to my cell after yet another time in the cell. I was given parchment and a pencil to write things down with but it kept coming in flashes.

Nights were the worst. Mouth dry from lack of water, eyes trained on an iron grate in the ceiling. I realized two weeks into my daily chair visits that I had forgotten my brother’s name. When I noticed it caused me to cry to sleep that night. So whenever I could I would mutter to myself facts I could remember starting with my name, rank, and where I was from. The list of facts got shorter every day. Somedays I remembered more than others. There were times all I could bring myself to do was hum Amazing Grace to myself to deal with the pain.

The first time I was in the lab I tried to escape. I was left with just one guard and I thought I could take him. I smashed a beaker using a shard like a knife. I ended up knocked unconscious, my hand bleeding from the self inflicted cuts caused by the makeshift weapon. From then on I was chained to the lab table and three soldiers kept watch. I wasn’t given anything to test the serum on. So I never tested unless I thought it would work because I used myself as a test subject.

I was unconscious for two days once from a failed serum. Others cause excruciating pain. Days came and went and I lost count of days but I knew it was still October. Yet a month was close to passing as November began to be discussed amongst soldiers around me. Pressure was placed on me to recreate the serum. Each day if I didn’t recreate the serum I was sent to the chair for the torturous electroshock. That is how I figured out I had been successful in a recreation. The serum, when tested, did nothing but make me drop to the lab floor in pain. I wasn’t even given time to recollect myself before being dragged off to the chair. I lasted longer in the chair than usual. I heard the instruction to increase the power. I don’t remember what happened after that.

It took me nearly half a day to recover, then as soon as I had I was back working in the lab. Suddenly I was pulled away from my work and escorted quickly back to my cell. “Neue Soldaten wurden gefangen genommen.” New soldiers have been captured. I pressed myself up against the bars for a chance, a glimpse at the soldiers being brought in.

It was silent as the Nazi Hydra soldiers dealt with the new poisoners. Suddenly two soldiers appeared with smiles on their faces. “Komm Mädchen. Zola und Schmidt wollen dich sehen.” Come girl. Zola and Schmidt want to see you. The soldiers yanked me up and practically dragged me to the room where the chair was. My body trembled involuntarily at the sight of the chair. It wasn’t me going in the chair, given someone was strapped in but given the uniform he was American. “Ah, here iz our lovely nurse. You’ve been asking for a test subject. Here you go.” Schmidt waved at the man strapped into the chair. The man lifted his head just barely and my heart went out to him. As soon as the hands left my arms I moved to the soldier in the chair. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“S’rg’nt Jam’s Barn’s,” His voice wasn’t clear but it was clear enough for me to understand what he said. The nurse turned to Zola and Schmidt. “I wasn’t done recreating the serum when you had me pulled from the lab. I will need time to work and he needs time to rest or the serum will kill him.” I tried to give him whatever comfort I could in those brief moments before we were pulled apart. His head rose just slightly and I caught a glimpse of stormy blue eyes as he was dragged out of the room.

I never got to return to my cell that night. As my eyes zoned in on the blue chemical mixture in front of me I felt a haze cloud my mind, it wasn’t abnormal to experience but I also felt like I was losing myself when it happened. Following my own written instructions I was able to continue my work. The only other thing I forced my mind to remember were two things.

I am First Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps. Soldier boy is Sergeant James Barnes.

The words became a mantra in the blank canvas my mind was currently in as I blindly worked by instructions of my very own that I don’t even remember writing. My body moved on auto pilot as I was taken to a crude looking examination room. In the center was soldier boy Sergeant James Barnes strapped to the table. As my mind raced to catch up with me, flashes of memories clouded my mind from when Steve Rogers got the serum, the explosion that followed, Dr. Erskine being shot. My body tensed at a passing memory of being in the chair passed through being replaced by the pain I felt giving myself the serum.

A hand pressed firmly in between my shoulder blades pushing me forward. I stumbled to the table catching myself with a hand on his arm. Wasn’t he wearing an army jacket before? My eyes landed on the serum filled syringe in my hands reminding me of what I was about to do. “First lieutenant (Y/n) (F/n) of the US Army Nurse Corps.. You are Sergeant James Barnes.. I’m sorry for what I am about to do. You’ll be okay. I’ve used it on myself. It will hurt.” My voice sounded so… robotic and monotone as I spoke to him. My hands pushing up his sleeve.

My hands worked from memory and out of second nature my mouth moved and the hymn fell from my lips. The melody of the song was the only comfort I could offer as I injected the poor man with the serum that would change his life forever. His eyes looked up at mine until the pain of the serum changing his body caused them to shut tightly. The leather restraints holding him in began to rip as he pulled against them. Discarding the empty syringe I tried to soothe him more but the second my hand touched his head I was shot with a sedative.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Steve Rogers has dressed up performing on stage like a dancing monkey to sell war bonds since he was given the serum. His first time on foreign grounds and he was performing for soldiers he should have been fighting alongside of. All to be booed off the stage by disgruntled men who just wanted to see a pretty dame.

Steve finally looked away from the rain but not quite at Peggy, “At least he’s got me doing this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.” Blue eyes finally met the face of Agent Carter. “And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know.” Her wording might have been a bit rude but the point got across. There was a moment of silence between the two but Steve had this look to him. “What?” Peggy inquired.

The man was drawing in the rain when a familiar face popped up. “Hello, Steve.” Peggy Carter approached him from behind, making him turn from his drawing to greet her, “Hi.” She mimed his ‘hi’ back before laying her jacket down to sit on while Steve asked, “What are you doing here?” Peggy looked at Rogers and let out a small sigh, “Officially, I’m not here at all. That was quite a performance.”

Rogers looked away disappointed that she had caught the horrible show that happened earlier. “Yeah. I uh, I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I’m used to are usually more, uh, twelve.” Steve explained looking out at the drenched ground and falling rain. “I understand you’re ‘America’s New Hope’.” Peggy states watching him. “Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit.” Steve comments like a robot. “Is that Senator Brandt I hear?”

“You know for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted and I’m wearing tights.” Steve kept looking down at his journal then squinting out through the rain. A horn alarmed behind them as a medical vehicle slid to a stop in the mud. Medics ran from the infirmary tent to help unloaded soldiers on gurneys. “They look like they’ve been through hell.” Peggy turned back towards Rogers. “These men more than most.” Steve looked up at Peggy knowing she had more details. “Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men were there to back up an already injured fleet, they went up against him and less than 75 returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th and 34th.” Steve slowly turned his head feeling bad for the men who were lost but his attention snapped to Peggy at the mention of the divisions involved as she finished, “The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” The confirmation had him darting out into the rain, Peggy following holding her jacket over her head for coverage from the rain. The two ran all the way to the tent Colonel Phillips was sitting in signing condolence letters. “Colonel Phillips.” Steve called for the man’s attention as he approached. “Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?” The colonel responded looking up at the pair now standing in front of him. “I need the casualty list from Azzano.” The tone he used was definitely fitting for the role he plays on stage. Phillips however did not appreciate it. “You don’t get to give me orders, son.”

“I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.” Rogers responded un phased. Phillips pointed his pen at Peggy, “You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy.” Steve was insistent though and again requested the information he wanted, “Please tell me if he’s alive, sir. B-A-R..” “I can spell.” Phillips cut him off before muttering, “First Stark and now this.” He stood from the table and paged through the letters he just finished signing. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today that I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry. To the both of you.” Phillips looks from Rogers to Peggy and the woman knew he was referring to her friend from the 34th.”

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?” Rogers was something else, optimistic maybe. “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The look of disbelief that Steve sent the colonel as he spoke might have been the first red flag for Peggy Carter. “But if you know where they are, why not at least..” Phillips once again cut the man off, “They’re 30 miles behind the lines through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe.” Phillips was eyeing the spot on the map as he talked about it, even pointing the place out directly. “We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”

The colonels' dig at Roger’s lack of status didn’t seem to phase the man but it did fuel the plan he was formulating in his head while staring at the map, memorizing it. “I think I understand just fine.”

“Well, then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got someplace to be in 30 minutes.” The colonel walked past him giving Rogers a very clear view of the map marking out exactly where he needed to go, and where he was. “Yes, sir. I do.” Perhaps the time staring at the map was the second red flag that Peggy noticed. As her eyes flickered between him and the map as he left the tent it all clicked into place and she hurried after the taller man.

“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” Peg asked as she entered the tent used as the changing room. “If that’s what it takes.” Steve answered not looking up from where he was struggling with boots. “You heard the Colonel. Your friend, and mine, are most likely dead.”

“You don’t know that.” Steve disagreed as he continued to get ready. “Even so, he’s devising a strategy. If he detects..” Steve cut her off as he put on a brown leather jacket, “By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” He snatched up his bag and shield and headed for the exit. “Steve!” Peggy called following him to the vehicle he tossed his things into. The rain had stopped leaving the sun to rapidly evaporate the water leaving puffs of smoke in the air. Steve looked at the brunette in front of him. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you got to let me go.” Steve turned to get into the jeep and started the engine before Peggy was at the side. “I can do more than that.” She told him.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Peggy hadn’t lied. She got them a method of transport much faster than the jeep. Howard Stark sat in the pilot seat flying a plane with the slight chance his fiancée may still be alive. Stark was devastated when he first found out that the 34th was attacked and that only doubled when the attack at Azzano took out the 107th as well.

“The Hydra camp is in Krausberg, tucked between these two mountain ranges.” Peggy infomed Rogers as she pointed to the map she was holding. “It’s a factory of some kind.” She gave him as much information as she could. “We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep.” Howard called over his shoulder.

“Just get me as close as you can.” Steve called back up to the pilot. He looked back over at the woman in front of him. “You know.. You two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land.” He was worried about her getting into trouble for him but she looked at him just as worried. “And you won’t?” Steve dismissed her worries, turning his head. “Where I’m going, if anyone yells at me, I can just shoot them.” There was a small click of a loaded gun.

“They will undoubtedly shoot back.” Peggy surmised. Steve turned to the shield he had been using on stage giving it a knock, “Well let's hope it’s good for something.” Steve turned back to her just as Howard called back, “Agent Carter? If we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue.” Howard was teasing the agent, the smile on his face hidden from those being him. Peggy shifted in her seat choosing to ignore him and keep conversation going with Rogers. “Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen. He’s mad enough to brave this airspace. We’re lucky to have him.”

Steve however was still not fully over the comment Stark made. “So, are you two… do you…” There was an awkward pause as Steve thought of the proper way to ask if they were seeing each other by reusing Stark’s words, “..Fondue?” Stark tried not to laugh from the pilot’s seat as Peggy simply shook her head and handed him a device. “This is your transponder. Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.” Steve took a moment to look at the device now in his hand before calling up to Howard, “Are you sure this thing works?”

“It’s been tested more than you, pal.” Howard defended seconds before gunfire hit the side of the plane. The plane shook as bullets pelted the sides, shaking the aircraft from the force. Steve stood grabbing his shield and heading towards the door. That he opened. “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!” Peggy ordered yelling over the wind rushing into the plane. “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” Steve ordered back over the noise of the wind, gunfire, and the pinging of bullets on the plane.

“You can’t give me orders!” Peggy disagreed.

“The hell I can’t! I’m a Captain!” Steve looked over at her, giving her a smile that made her weak in the knees. He grabbed the goggles from his helmet, lowered them over his eyes and launched himself out of the plane. Peggy watched him fall towards the ground before the red fabric of his parachute was visible in the night sky from the flying bullets. Howard turned back as instructed by the Captain. Now all they could do was wait.

#grace #howard x reader #bucky x reader #catfa #bucky barnes #steve rogers #peggy carter #howard stark #female reader

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merctrovert · 3 years

Text

Ragnvindr || Chapter 6

This is not your destruction. This is your birth. It hurts to become, but there is no other way.

The plan was simple.

The first step was to disguise as Fatui and infiltrate the base at the dead of night and hopefully, not get caught.

"There'll be no complications." Diluc had said, but you still couldn't help the worry as you followed the two men, your fingers tugging at the itchy, Fatui uniform Diluc had given you and Kaeya.

"If you say so." Kaeya tied back his hair, forcing it under a hat just like you had done as you followed Diluc, sneaking from tree to tree until the base was in sight.

It was a run-down shack, not worth a second glance to passerbys, but upon closer inspection, it was actually the entrance to a Fatui base.

Only a small lit lantern illuminated it's surroundings and you kept close as Diluc walked up to the half deteriorated building, eyes glancing around beneath his Fatui mask.

Kaeya's eyes met your own and you nodded, understanding just what he was trying to get across. There were no guards or anyone nearby.

A small stone fell, hitting your foot and you bent down, looking around. There was a cold breeze against your face as you did so, but when you stood back up, it was gone.

You repeated the action, grabbing the rock and looking around at where the strange draft in the sill night could have come from until your eyes landed on the thin cracks in the rocks beside the shack.

Pressing a hand against them, you felt the cold draft run through the crack and turned to the others, waving them over.

In silent understanding, Diluc took out his claymore before striking the wall of rock.

Kaeya and you both watched as the rock crumbled, giving way to a small mine shaft that had been covered with those rocks. A way in.

The draft grew stronger, the fire in Diluc's hand wavering violently as you trekked deeper inside, hands blindly following the route of the mine shaft until you heard voices and a hand overcame your mouth.

Kaeya's cold gloves pressed against your face, pulling you to the side, pressing you and him against the wall as the orange glow of fire and silhouettes came into view.

When the hushed voices had passed, he let you go and you stumbled out from the tiny crevice, eyes cautiously peering in the direction they had went.

"Follow them."

You nodded, letting Diluc lead as you followed the two unsuspecting guards, listening in on their trivial conversations of dinner and parties.

It grew lighter as you all followed them until Diluc held up a hand; you walking into it and nearly stumbling had Diluc's hand not come over your waist, a sharp firey look sent your way.

"We're here." He mouthed and Kaeya sheathed his sword, adjusting the mask on his face.

The second step of the plan was to figure out where to go next, once we were inside. Diluc had mentioned the Fatui dabbled in researching in lab work and the map showed an extra room; a room he suspected would have something in it relating to the Abyssal power wrapped around your arm. The only issue was, it was in the dead centre of the base.

The three of you walked out of the gap, shortly behind the two guards that had just left.

Your body felt stiff as you walked through the Fatui who had gathered, wandering here and there through the web of passages you had emerged into.

Kaeya and Diluc however seemed to fit just in, with Kaeya imitating the Fatui as though it were engraved in his bones and Diluc leading them on with confidence you could hardly turn away from.

Once you had reached the centre of the room, Diluc tilted his head and you broke away from the three, wandering between bodies hoping to hear something about a laboratory or something to do with the Abyss Order.

Kaeya caught your eye and sent you a small nod as he did the same, lingering by conversations with a drink he had picked up, acting as though he were meant to be there.

"Are you one of the new recruits?"

A voice spoke and you turned, spinning on your heels facing a masked stranger who stood over you, a cup in his hand.

You sent a silent prayer to the archons, glad you had a mask to hide the stupefied, terrified look on your face. But your lips still parted then closed, unsure of how to answer.

"Yes." You blurted when he bent down suspiciously, walking around you. Even though his face was covered, you still shivered, feeling his eyes assessing you.

Hearing you answer, he pulled away, smiling. "Good! I was just wondering where the new recruits were. See, I need someone to do a job for me."

"A-A job?"

The Fatui's arm slung around your shoulder and you suppressed an urge to shove the man away, simply forcing your muscles to relax under his touch.

As the man went on about killing machines and various other Fatui names that slipped your mind, your eyes travelled over the sea of bobbing heads, hoping to glimpse a familiar frame but the masks and hats made it impossible to seek out help.

"So what do you say?"

The arm slung around your shoulder tightened, pulling your attention towards the man who smiled at you, though now it was more like a sneer.

"S-Sounds good! But I have something to do..."

"Something to do? What else would you have to do that's much more important than this?"

You bit your lip, wincing as his body pressed against your injured arm. The Fatui seemed to notice, glancing down at your arm tucked away behind your back.

"You have a strange scent on you... Are you sure you're a Fatui recruit?"

As his suspicious eyes broke through your facade, you opened your lips, ready to retort, but your mind had gone into shutdown, fear running through your veins like fire. The dagger the man's hand hovered over glistened under the light of the lanterns in the room and you tried to pull away, but his arm wouldn't budge.

Before he could do anything, however, something slid over your waist, promptly tugging your body away from the Fatui's and next to a firm body. Your eyes raised, the body still tense in fear but when you recognised the dark red curls peeking out from under the hat, you audibly let out a relieved exhale, legs weak as you leant against Diluc for support.

"My apologies." His voice was silken, no sign of hesitation of fear wavered his words. Even his stature was one of confidence as he spoke and you stood up a little straighter. Still, his hand didn't let you go, fingers gripping your side firmly as if you were to suddenly disappear."Unfortunately, this recruit is not free."

"No?" The Fatui eyed Diluc suspiciously before his gaze fell down to the hand wrapped around your waist.

"We've been told to check up on the... the..." Diluc leant forwards, speaking hushed into his ears.

The Fatui man hummed, eyes lifting to Diluc's. Then he nodded, tapping his chin. "Yes, yes. Well, if that's the case, that cannot be helped."

"What's happening?" You tugged at Diluc sleeve as the man left, Diluc preparing to follow.

He bent down, lips coming close to your ear as he whispered, "Play along."

The loud clearing of a throat snapped his head back up and Diluc smiled easily, adjusting his hat.

"I am surprised they sent recruits on that mission." The man spoke as you both followed him down a dark passageway, the distant noise of mechanical humming growing louder.

"They thought it would be better for Fatui to become stronger quicker. Though due to her carelessness, her Delusion broke. Such is why we need to fix it quickly."

You sent Diluc a look, but his eyes were focused on the man in front of you.

"Fix it?" The man tutted, waving about a key. "No, no, fixing it won't do. You can only get a new one completely. Turn right at the last lantern and you should reach the laboratory. Although be careful not to touch anything."

Diluc nodded, pushing your body along as you tried to keep up with his long strides. With a harsh turn to the right, only then did he pull away from you, taking off his mask to press fingers to his creased brows.

"Are you okay?"

You nodded, letting out an exhale that did nothing to ease the tension in your chest.

"I knew I shouldn't have brought you here. It's too dangerous." As he muttered in the dimmed passage, you pushed your way through a heavy iron door, eyes widening at the room inside.

"Diluc... shut up for a second and look at this."

He stopped muttering, looking up at what you saw, his own lips parting.

"What is this?"

"I have no idea."

In front of you was a deconstructed ruin guard, tubes attached to its eye with dark purple liquid running through them. Purple chains, marked just like the way your arm was, were wrapped around pieces of its body.

You ran over to a desk, rifling through papers upon papers covered in inky scribbles that were barely coherent as you tried to find something for the power wrapped around your arm. Diluc was still frozen as he looked at the experiment in the centre of the cold lab.

Running over to the other side, you spotted rows and rows of various liquids, some fizzing and glowing with a fiesty manner.

"What are they doing with a ruin guard?"

"I don't know..." You muttered, cutting your fingers on paper as you flicked through notebooks. The magic on your arm seemed to tighten and suddenly, a burning pain shot through your body and you let out a yelp, clutching your arm.

Diluc looked at you, eyes wide, his hand wrapped around one of the tubes.

"It seems to be the same Abyssal magic they're using."

"Then we can find a way to get rid of this thing somewhere, right?"

A loud bang ran out through the room and you nearly fell to the floor, had you not seen the familiar dark blue hair. Kaeya's cap fell down, his face one of clear panic as he shut the iron door, locking it, his hair tumbling down from its ponytail in the hurry.

"What are you doing?" Hissed Diluc and you ran over, dropping the papers in your hand.

"Uh, two slight problems. I may or may not have found something very important."

Kaeya dropped a roll of yellowed paper, letting it unravel across the floor. It was another map, but there were various red marks scribbled all over the sheet of paper.

"I don't understand. What is this?"

"It's a map and each of these points that have been marked is where the Abyss and Fatui plan to attack."

You frowned, eyes jumping from each red cross on the map. "But I don't- that's everywhere. Mondstadt, Liyue- every major city has been marked."

"Because it's a war."

Diluc stood up, hands clenched in tight fists. His voice was eerily calm as he stared down at the map in front of him. "It's a war they're going to begin. The Abyss and the Fatui."

"Shit." Kaeya ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "That's everywhere."

"The fall of Teyvat. Of course, that's what they want." Diluc slammed his fist on a desk, his jaw tight.

"Kaeya..." You looked up at the man, the thudding in the distance growing louder. "You said there were two problems. What is the second?"

"Well, you see, getting this map was... well, I may or may not have angered a couple Fatui..."

"A couple of Fatui are fine. We can get rid of them." Diluc held up his blazing claymore, turning to his brother with a dark look on his face.

"...A couple Fatui mages." Kaeya winced.

The iron door slammed open, Kaeya barely jumping out of the way as cloaked men rushed into the laboratory room, followed by the man that had led Diluc and you to the room.

"I thought you said a couple, Kaeya."

He simply let out a pained chuckle as you all watched dark purple chains emerge from the ground, purple flames emerging from the hands of the mages.

A sudden pang hit your heart and your eyes widened as you fell over, clutching your chest. Your mind raced, memories flashing before your eyes as your fingers clutched into the ground, your nails pressing into your own palms, leaving behind bloody crescents.

Those chains, that purple fire.

A certain rainy day came to mind as you watched the mages prepare to strike and your eyes met Diluc's who's eyes were equally as wide and filled with a fear you had not seen since that day.

His own mind was one of chaos, his heart rushing in his chest, grappling for a way out of the reality you now faced.

He watched as the purple chains rushed forwards to attack, purple flames burning the room but his body couldn’t move.

Because the delusions those Fatui used were just like his fathers.

wc: 2.3K

I'm so sorry for the slow updates this week!! Been trying to get through some work,, being in college is so tiring TT. I hope you are all well though.

And although I thought I wouldn't get Zhongli, I actually got him!!! I dreamt of pulling for Yanfei and so, on a whim, I saved up 10 wishes with what scarce primogems I had and I pulled and I got Zhongli! It wasn't even on pity!!

Maybe listening to Rex Incognito for a week on repeat did help LOL.

I hope you all got who you wanted!! I still want Yanfei :< I got everyone on the banner but Yanfei :')

All support is appreciated <3

Love you all! Be taking care ~ merc.

makeshift tag list: @fishyfish-y

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toplinetommy · 4 years

Text

Remember Us This Way - Brock Boeser

Synopsis: The anxiety of getting married can only be calmed by one person: your soon-to-be-husband, Brock

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, claustrophobia

Words: 2.5k

“y/n, you know you can’t go see him! It’s bad luck!” your sister and maid of honor scolds you.

“Well, Ella, right now all I can think about is how the only person on the planet that can slow down my breathing is Brock, and not some stupid, made-up tradition!” You cry. Nothing had gone wrong per-say, you just felt like you were stuck in this bridal suite with too many people talking to you all at the same time.

You take a deep breath, knowing nothing is going to get better if you suddenly pull a Bridzella on the group of people surrounding you.

“I just want to hear his voice, okay? Can you please call him?”

Somewhere on the other side of the house is your soon-to-be husband who’s sipping some expensive alcohol and laughing with his buddies. He’s sitting on the window ledge, careful not to crease his grey dress pants, the top few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt undone, and the rest of his three piece suit is laying out on the couch in the middle of the room. The small bluetooth speaker that’s playing music suddenly cuts out, and the sound is replaced by his ringtone. He sets his whiskey glass down on the ledge, walking over to answer his phone.

Brock pulls his phone to his ear, immediately pulling it back from his ear in shock.

“Ella, please start over and this time slowly and calmly.” Brock chuckles, a hint of nerves laced in this tone.”

“Can you please come talk to y/n? She’s kind of starting to feel claustrophobic and says you’re the only one that can help.” She rushes out, sighing at the end.

Brock nods his head as he listens, “yeah, I’ll be right over. Tell her I love her.” He hangs up the phone, sliding it into his pocket before telling the guys he’ll be right back.

Brock doesn’t think he’s ever walked so fast and with such long strides in his life as walks to his soon to be wife’s bridal suite. His large first heavily knocks on the wooden door in front of him, a light smile on his lips thinking of what you look like on the other side.

Ella opens the door, just enough for her to peak her head through, “One second.” The door is shut just as quickly as it was open and Brock wipes his clammy palms on his pants. Not even a moment later, the door swings back open and Ella leads Brock into the room.

“Okay, no funny funny business, mister. You’re here just to calm her down and that’s it. If it were my way, I wouldn’t even let you in.”

Brock follows Ella to the entryway of the bedroom, stopping him short and going in herself. Seconds later he hears your shaking voice and your hand reach out around the wall for him.

“Hey, I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He assures softly, grabbing your manicured hand and squeezing it.

“Is everyone still out there?” You sheepishly ask, a small hiccup coming out as you ask the question.

Brock knows what you’re asking of him so he turns his head to the room asking everyone to give them some space for a few minutes.

“Everyone’s gone, it’s just you and me baby. Just like it always is.” He affirmed, “You and me against the world.”

A light chuckle leaves your lips, “You and me against the world.” You repeat the small mantra the both of you had adapted fairly early into your relationship.

“Ella said you were getting anxious? What’s up?” Brock inquired.

You can visualize his lips forming a tight line and his eyebrows raising as he asks you how you feel. “There was just a lot going on and I needed a break. I’m not nervous or anything really, I’m just really overwhelmed. I don’t want to mess anything up.” You answered, letting out an uneven, heavy breath.

“Oh, baby, you couldn’t possibly mess anything up. I’ve been waiting for this day ever since I knew you were my person.” He affirms. “I remember that night in Minnesota like it was my draft day.”

You smile, looking back to the memory of the night two and a half years ago when Brock had told you he was going to marry you someday.

----

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” You laugh, pushing a sweaty Brock off of you. He had just spent the past ten minutes up on the stage with the band that was playing tonight, singing alongside them to the oldies they were playing. Being one that didn’t favor attention too much, you let him have his fun with all of his hometown friends.

The off-season had just begun and the two of you were in his hometown, spending time with his friends before you headed back out to Vancouver. He had lost a bet to Shane, which led him to spending so much time up on the stage singing to songs he barely knew in front of strangers.

“Yeah, I may be, but you love me.” he sing-songs, putting emphasis on love.

You giggle as he sits down next to you to take a breather. The sun had set hours ago at this point, the only light coming from the dim bar lights and the street lamps shining outside. After everyone's calmed down from chirping your boyfriend, they all start making excuses to head out, the two of you electing to stay a little while longer.

Another hour or so passes and you can’t really remember when the music had stopped and when the once-crowded bar had become so empty. Brock comes back with the last round of drinks as the bartender lets them know it’s last call. Instead of sitting back down in the stool next to you, he opts to stand behind you.

Wrapping his arms around your neck, he rests his chin on your head, “You know, no matter what happens to us, I’ll always remember us this way. Two people insanely in love with another that won’t let anything get in the way. Like, it’s just you and me versus the world. It’ll always be like that.”

As he speaks, your heart feels like it’s about to burst in your chest and you have to stop taking small sips from your pint glass. The man behind you rarely used his words to show his love towards you and always insisted on showing it to you.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, you know. I promise.” He whispers, almost too quiet to hear. If he had said this not even 45 minutes earlier in the loud dive bar, you wouldn’t have even heard him, that’s how quiet he spoke.

“Yeah?” you ask, turning your head back to look back at him, a cheesy grin across your cheeks. His cheeks have a pink tint to them, the alcohol and heat of the bar getting to him, and his hair is a little messed up from playing with it throughout the night. “I like that idea.”

---

A lone tear escapes your eye and you pull your hand away from Brock’s to wipe it away. As you thought back to that memory, you hadn’t even noticed your breathing had become even.

Once your eyes dry back up, you grasp Brock’s hand once again. “I love you so much, even if you’re getting your pants wrinkled right now because I know how you’re sitting” You laugh, lightening the mood.

He laughs along with you, straightening out his legs against the floor, “I’ll get my mom to iron them when I get back to my room. I promise.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I’m sorry if I worried you at all when Ella called you earlier. I just knew talking to you would calm me down.”

“No worries, at all, y/n.” He reassures. The two of you sit in silence for a few more moments, Brock’s thumb rubbing over your hand in a calming manner.

“I love you, and I’ll see you in a little bit, okay? I’m gonna go now so you can get ready and have some fun with everyone before you’re a married woman.”

An hour or two later, you’re completely ready to walk down the aisle to meet Brock. The finishing touches on your hair and makeup had been complete about 30 minutes ago, the last of the time being spent taking photos with your bridesmaids and family.

You stand in front of the mirror, Ella handing you your flowers so you can get the full look at yourself. “You look gorgeous, y/n. Brock is going to lose it.”

Not too much longer later, you’re standing at the end of the pathway that leads to the garden your ceremony is being held in. Your dad tells you how happy he is for probably the fiftieth time that day alone, as the music starts for you to make your way down through the crowd towards Brock.

As you walk down the grassy, flower covered aisle, everything around you fades and the way he looks at you lights a fire in your soul. You can see him tense up before his best man gives him a handkerchief. He grabs the piece of cloth, wiping at the tears that are welling up in his eyes. Your smile widens as you see his emotions get the best of him, your own eyes starting to fill with tears.

What feels like hours, but was only seconds, later, your dad is giving you a hug and kiss before you step next to Brock, grabbing his outstretched hands. His thumbs brush over your hands, and he mouths a ‘you look beautiful’ to you as you both turn to the officiant.

The officiant runs through the ceremony before it’s time for you to say your vows to one another. “Brock, where do I even begin.” You sigh with a laugh. “You are the absolute love of my life to put it bluntly. If someone would've told me five years ago this is where I would be, I think I would’ve laughed. I mean, I’m literally standing in front of the real-world version of Prince Charming,” you laugh, knowing he hated being called that by anyone, including you. He lets out a little snort, tilting his head back at the nickname.

“I remember our first summer away from one another and how much I cried the week before and after you left. You went back home to train and see your family and I had dumbly taken a full semester’s worth of credits at school. It felt like my heart was taken back to Minnesota while my body was stuck in Vancouver. I thought you going away for road trips had prepared me for that, but boy was I wrong.” You laugh, the tears starting to flow from your eyes. Brock let go of your hand going to wipe them away, smiling fully at you.

“The biggest thing I learned that summer was that I would do everything in my power to always be fully with you when you were around. I promise to never to never come up short of fully loving you and to fully give you my heart and be the best partner I can be for the rest of our lives. I’ve loved you with all of my heart for awhile now, and I promise to never stop loving you with my whole being.” By the time you were done with your speech, the handkerchief Brock had once had is back in his hands as he wipes his own tears away from his cheeks.

Ella hands you the wedding band, which you take gracefully once you wipe the tears from your eyes. “I love you, and I promise to always remember us like this, completely and 100% in love with one another, even when you leave a pile of your shoes in the entryway even though I always tell you how big of a pet peeve of mine that is.” You concluded, sliding the thick, steel wedding band onto Brock’s left ring finger with shaky hands.

Brock takes a deep breath before starting, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, “I’m no poet, I think we all know that,” Brock starts, getting a chuckle from both you and the crowd around you. “But what I do know is that I love you and that I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Through the years of wins and losses, being by your side every night and every morning has shown me what true love really is, which is being there through thick and thin and for being my home away from home, and I thank you for that.”

He lets go of your hand for a brief second to fish in his inner-suit-pocket for your wedding band before starting again, “My whole life, all I’ve known is hockey and and life on the lake, then you came along and changed my perspective on a lot of things and taught me so much. Now, all I know is that you’re where I wanna go, and there’s a part of me that’s you and it’ll never die. When I look at you the whole world fades, and I am so thankful to have love like this with you. I am forever grateful for the life you've given me over the past few years and I can’t wait to continue to grow alongside you. Like I’ve been saying since that night in the bar by ourselves a few years ago, it’s just you and me, baby, forever. I promise to always remember us this way. When times get tough, I’ll always remember the good and the love between us, and I promise to never forget what brought us here today.”

Once his vows come to a close, there’s not a dry eye in the house. Brock, one never being one to fully express his emotions with words has small tears flowing down his cheeks, and you couldn't believe he was standing in front of you at your wedding. He grabs your shaking hands and slides the wedding band onto your finger where it meets the engagement ring. You whisper another quick ‘I love you’ before the officiant continues on with the ceremony.

“I now present to you, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Brock Boeser!” The officiant exclaims as the crowd begins to cheer, “you may now kiss your bride.”

Before the officiant is even done speaking, Brock has your face in his hands and is pulling your face to his. The kiss is full of passion and feelings and feels like one you've only been waiting your whole life to experience. You pull away slightly, only to look into his pale blue eyes, a wide smile covering your face before he leans back in to give you another quick kiss.

Pulling apart Brock grabs your hand and leads you down the aisle away from the altar. As the cheering around you continues, the both of you join in, Brock lifting your clasped hands in the air.

#brock boeser imagine #nhl imagine #brock boeser x reader #alex writes #brock boeser #Vancuver Canucks #nhl one shot #fluff

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drethanramslay · 4 years

Text

Rock Bottom

Pairing: Mona X MC (Alexis Jennings)

Masterlist

Word count: 1.8 K (I really tried🤧)

Warnings: None, there is swearing, also there is a crossover 👀

Author's note: I'm taking part in @rodappreciationweek and this is my entry for day 3 (mona)

The hosts of RoDaw @client-327 @brightpinkpeppercorn and @choicesarehard are donating $5 usd to the Lebanese red cross, up to $500 for every piece of Mona content today! Please consider making/posting something for Mona today if you haven't already❤️

I'm also taking part in @wackydrabbles so you will find the prompt in bold

Forgive me if I make any mistakes

"Prisoners move back to your respective cells." The loudspeaker blared, cutting sharply through the air, giving Mona a cold splash of reality.

Until that godforsaken announcement, Mona had been sitting on the steps, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the cool breeze threading through her hair. The sun rays poured over her and she enjoyed the warmth emanating from them. She could smell the ocean and with her eyes closed, she could almost imagine standing on the shores of Santa Monica, the sound of the waves washing over her.

But there is only so much imagination one can use to forget that she was in jail.

To her darn luck, she had been transferred to Trask Island, a maximum security prison off the coast of Florida. It was one of those dreary prison where you were completely cut off from the world.

No call, no letters, no communication.

Whatever fucked up environment they created here, that was her world and Mona hated every second of it.

It was also called the 'rock' because one, it was on a island and two, it would drown all your hopes and wishes of a future, just like how a rock sinks in water.

No one has ever escaped Trask Island and no one ever will. The words of the warden echoed through her head making her scoff.

It's cute that he thinks I will be sticking around in this shit hole.

Mona was super determined to get the fuck out of here even though there were moments when she was completely and utterly lost.

She hated the orange tracksuits she had to wear. She hated the way these spiteful men dictated her life and tried to break her spirit. She hated being stuck in a tiny cell.

She longed to feel the adrenaline rush in her veins when she raced.

She longed to feel her hands gripping her steering wheel, as she drove at speeds defying gravity.

But most of all she longed for Alexis... The girl she left behind.

Mona found it ironic. After her ex ratted her to the police she swore that she would never let anyone have that power over her. That she would never wear her heart on her sleeve again. She built this impenetrable fortress around herself so that no one could enter and know the real her.

But Alexis managed to do that by just smiling at her.

The way their hands fit perfectly into each other's... The way that all her worries would go away when Alex was in her arms... The way that they both pushed each other, looked out for each other and challenged each other...

Mona had never witnessed such a feeling of companionship and she couldn't help but fall for her.

I love you Mona... Those words haunted her but at the same time motivated her to keep going through the motions of the day.

Her fantasies were abruptly interrupted by the guard kicking her combat boots. "Up and going, or do you want a month in solitary?"

And the thing she hated the most about this prison are the guards. I mean it was normal to hate them but this was some next level shit. She absolutely abhorred them to such a extent that she wanted to strangle them with her bare hands.

The number of times she was thrown into solitary was not even funny. And all of them were for the dumbest of the dumbest reasons.

Hell she was thrown in the hole for a fight she wasn't even part of.

All men are the same... Power hungry and drunk on greed. That's why girls are better.

So not wanting to risk living in the darkness for a month, she bit her tongue and got up before joining the other cellmates.

"What a dick." Eris Huang, an expert demolition muttered under her breath, so low that only Mona could hear it, causing her to snort.

In the six months she was here, she was low-key glad that she met Eris. They two met when Mona was moved into Eris' cell. Both were strong willed, hard headed and sarcastic woman so it wasn't really surprising that they became fast friends.

"Tell me about it. One of these days he is gonna piss me off so bad that I will end up castrating him with a blunt knife."

"Oof. I will hold him down and break his legs." Eris offered causing Mona to smirk. I like this girl.

"Anyways, I have a shift at the library so meet you later." Eris spoke.

"Get me another notebook if possible."

"What are you writing? A love letter?" Eris teased which made Mona roll her eyes but she wasn't very far off from the truth.

"A lady never tells." Mona answered causing Eris to chuckle as she took a left to go to the basement.

Mona reached her cell and she felt the the cell gate close behind her with a loud clang, which resonated in her ribcage.

Sure, hanging out in the yard and working in the workshop was a welcome distraction but staying in her small cell for more than 17 hours would make a girl lonely.

So, in all these hours of loneliness, sadness and hopelessness Mona found some sort of solace in writing about her dreams, list of things she was going to do once she was out, her aspirations... But most importantly, how much she missed Alex and how she wished to be by her side.

So settling into the corner of her bunk, she opened the notebook with tattered pages so that she could write.

Dear Alex, I know I told you to not let me imprison you but that's not applicable to me because you are always on my mind. It's hard to forget you. I miss you so much....

Do you know what day it is today? It's the fifth... Or I assume so because there is no calendar here. We aren't told what date, month, year it is. It's just days which sinks into the lonely nights and the cycle continues.

It's been six months since I last saw you... And I guess it just hit me hard.

It's just cruel how little time we had together.

I still remember that night. How happy we were in that cute little prom of yours. I still remember how heartbroken you were when I betrayed you.

But you didn't let it break you.

I still remember the way you took down those bastards. I still remember how fucking proud I felt on that moment. I still remember how I took a bullet for you and the shock that coloured your face.

And I know the thoughts which ran at your head in that moment. "Someone actually cares enough for me to take a bullet for me."

I'm here to tell you that yes, I took a bullet for you and I would do it a thousand times over just to prove that I love you and I care about you. I'm here to tell you that you are worth it and you deserve all the love in the world.

I wish I could hold you in my arms and tell you all of this but... Life loves fucking with me and you got caught as collateral.

It's just... Hard some days. Sure I have made friends with some other criminals and tried to make this fuckery my new normal but I'm only human. I'm few moments away from sinking to rock bottom, as shocking as that may sound.

You always perceived me as an aloof, careless and a strong badass but that changed when I met you.

Sure I was always strong but you make me stronger. You and me... We both are like two knives sharpening each other. Pushing each other to reach new heights of awesomeness.

But, I also want to worry for you. I want to appreciate you. I want to wake up next to you and I want to love you.

I often wish how we would have met if I had not gone down the wrong path. Would we have met at some pub? Or in some Ivy League college? Or some frat party?

People often say that you shouldn't waste time thinking about the things that could have been but when you are in a prison with nothing but time, that's all you seem to do.

So yeah, you are the only thing preventing me from going insane.

I think that's enough emotional bullshit for today and I'm low-key relieved that you aren't reading these letters, of me talking like a sap.

But one thing is for sure- I love you.

Yours, Mona.

She heard the electric buzzer and the door of her cell opened. Eris walked in with an impassive face with a guard standing at the entrance. He shut the cell gate and walked away.

Mona's eyes narrowed as she sat up straight. Wait a minute-

She waited for the guard to be far away before she spoke up. "You have a plan."

Eris turned the light off of the cell and plopped on to the bed opposite Mona's.

"Smartie. Always knew I did a good job of recruiting you."

"But how? Do you remember the last time you failed and ended up in the hole for a month and a half?!"

"Yes I do remember but this is foolproof. We have outside help."

"... I'm listening."

"Do you speak thief?" She asked which made Mona scoff in disbelief.

"Obviously. I have stolen cars and kidnapped people. Obviously I'm no amateur."

Eris proceeded to explain how her friends Rye and some other chick had come up with a plan. She listened with complete attention and only stopped her to ask valid questions.

"So... Are you in?"

Mona tried weighing the pros and cons. It's sounded a tad bit unrealistic and far fetched. There were a couple of loose ends which made her hesitate.

Eris noticed that and grasped her hand. "See Mona, no escape plan is perfect. This is a rough draft and we will work out the kinks. But remember, the three crucial things an escape plan needs is- Luck, faith and determination. We don't know about what lady luck has in store but, we sure can have faith and determination."

"I know that you hate it here and I know the punishment of escaping is harsh but what's wrong in trying? We are already suffering as it is, what's a little more? And I see that fire in your eyes, M."

"The fire to break free and the fire to go back to your girl."

Mona looked up and the momentary joy of getting to see Alexis soon. Adrenaline courses through her veins, causing her heart to beat faster.

Eris leaned forward, her voice intense. "So tell me- Would you like to blow this joint or rot in here for the next five years wishing you could have atleast tried?"

Mona's eyes met hers and a smirk formed in her face. Reaching forward she shook Eris's hands, sealing the deal. "What the hell. This is without doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."

Don't worry Alexis, I'm coming home.

Hope you liked it 😊

Mona x MC Taglist : @kamilahsayeet2063 @kaitlynliaofanxx @vampiregirlsblog @made-me-deep-blue

Permanent Tag list: @trappedinfandoms @oofchoices @agent-breakdance @rookie-ramsey @dailydoseofchoices @colossalpainintheass @siaramsey @raleigheffingcarrera @kaavyaethanramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @ac27dj @ramseysno1rookie @justanotherrookie @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst @checkurwindow @chasingrobbie @junggoku @bellcat2010 @choicesstan1 @mvalentine @crazynutella @hatescapsicum @dr-ramseys-rookie @lilypills @vampireblissblog @decadentwinnerjudgedream @choicesficwriterscreations @nooruleman @anonymously-cool @sanvivrma

Wacky Drabblers: @ao719 @axwalker @bbrandy2002 @bebepac @bitchloveskcbaseball @blackcatkita @bobasheebaby @burnsoslow @dcbbw @debramcg1106 @doriansapprentice @emceesynonymroll @everythingchoices @flutistbyday2020 @jessiembruno @katedrakeohd @kingliam-rys @liamrysandme @sophie-and-shizuku @loveellamae @lucy-268 @mrschoicesobsessed @no-one-u-know @pedudley @queenrileyrose @ravenpuff02 @romanticatheart-posts @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty @starrystarrytrouble @storyofmychoices @texaskitten30 @txemrn @utterlyinevitable @walkerswhiskeygirl

#anushka writes #mona x mc #mona #rod mona #mona rod #ride or die #ride or die: a bad boy romance #rodappreaciationweek #rodaw #rod appreciation week #eris huang #eris thm #the heist: monaco #choices stories we play #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry

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gwoongi · 4 years

Text

(abandoned) i don’t want it at all

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: sugar baby au, sugar-babies-scamming-the-same-daddy-au rating: mature themes words: 2.3k warnings: sugar babies a/n: i would have liked 2 finish this one and maybe i will one day but for now here is the incomplete first draft that makes me laugh still

His dorm for first year had been a prison-cell-box with a broken window and bunk beds, the stale smell of farts from his roommate who insisted on top-bunk and made his evenings and early mornings absolute hell- but hey, he’s getting a fancy degree at the end, so it’s worth it, right? Jeongguk’s not sure if it’s worth it anymore.

(1)

Jeongguk was broke.

It was his own fault - that’s the price you pay for enrolling in University, studying something he probably doesn’t actually need but loves. It’s all fine and dandy studying Music until he realises that famous musicians don’t become famous because they got a degree. Ask any musician how they made it big and they’ll reply with good luck and hard work, not some fancy degree that means nothing unless you’ve got the talent to be successful. Well shit, now it’s in perspective, Jeongguk’s spending all this money on a degree that’s probably not going to make a difference when the time comes.

Now he has a part-time job at a random pizza takeaway that makes no money because Dominoes opened up across the street a few weeks ago, and he’s barely making enough to buy him more than two packets of instant noodles at a time. His dorm for first year had been a prison-cell-box with a broken window and bunk beds, the stale smell of farts from his roommate who insisted on top-bunk and made his evenings and early mornings absolute hell- but hey, he’s getting a fancy degree at the end, so it’s worth it, right? Jeongguk’s not sure if it’s worth it anymore.

This evening, the library is fairly quiet. Across the stacks are small candles inside black lanterns, a Harry Potter-esque vibe filling the room as the clock rolls into ten. Jeongguk loves when the school year ends, because for the past week, it’s only been the sad and broke music kids doing exams, meaning the library is virtually empty now that everybody else has finished up. Jeongguk’s last exam was yesterday. Huffing out a sigh that turns one of the only other heads in the library in his direction, he stretches his arms up over his head and arches his head backwards.

“Where’re you going over summer?”

Yoongi is another sad and broke music student, a third-going-fourth year who met Jeongguk in the music society during Jeongguk’s first weekend at University. Leaning his chair back on two legs, he throws a paper ball into the air and catches it, not even looking at Jeongguk as he talks to him.

Jeongguk shrugs in reply, tapping his nails against his laptop. “Dunno. Home, I guess.”

“Any plans?” Yoongi asks. “Wanna go to Lollapalooza?”

“Can’t afford it,” Jeongguk sighs, as Yoongi forces out a, “me neither” in between a chortled laugh. “And I don’t know. Probably going to have to get another job.”

“Good,” replies Yoongi, yawning loudly. “You can’t keep working at that shithole. I’m your only friend, and even I go to Dominoes instead of where you work.” As an afterthought, he looks at Jeongguk with a small frown, “sorry.”

Shaking his head in reply, Jeongguk slumps in his chair and sighs once again. Yoongi’s just suddenly put it all into perspective for him; Yoongi’s his only friend, he works a job that barely puts a meal onto his plate, and it’s not going to get any easier.

The ball in Yoongi’s hand begins to bounce again and Jeongguk glances over at the student librarian, who buries her head into the crook of her elbow and sleeps her way through her night-shift. It’s only Jeongguk, Yoongi and four others in the library right now; none of them are reading, none of them are doing anything particularly productive. Two students are tucked into an alcove pouring wine quite openly into small glasses with a board of chess unfolded out on the table, the others on computers, wishing the night away. Jeongguk just doesn’t want to go back to his dorm, to where his roommate and his loaded to the brim stomach of Chinese food and unhealthy diets is waiting for him.

“You planning on staying here all night again?” questions Yoongi. He probs his feet up onto the partitioner under the table, accidentally kicking Jeongguk’s ankle in the process. “Sorry,” he adds.

“Yep,” Jeongguk replies, popping the ‘p’. “I’d literally rather sleep on the boys changing room floors than go back to my dorm.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That’s disgusting, don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m being deadass,” Jeongguk insists, his eyes blown wide. “Want to swap dorms for the night? Ten dollars and you’ll be dry heaving in the hallway before midnight.”

“I’ll pass. Either way, you know my apartment is always open for you,” Yoongi reminds him. “You’ve got a key. Come by once you’ve finished whatever it is you’re doing. My wifi’s out.”

Another sigh. Jeongguk’s not defeated his boredom yet, the twitch in his fingers to do something still there. If he goes to Yoongi’s apartment now, he’ll just annoy him with the need to do something energetic, and Jeongguk knows best that Yoongi values his quiet time on an evening.

“Okay. Well, I’ll stay here for a little bit, and come by when I’m done,” Jeongguk says, stifling a yawn that would otherwise expose the fact that he’s absolutely knackered. “I won’t make a sound.”

“You will, you always do, I just pretend not to notice because I love you.” Yoongi says I love you with a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out with a fake gag that Jeongguk knows just proves how much he cares. Yoongi’s good like that, the more subtle type of loving older brother that Jeongguk’s been deprived of all his life. “Don’t stay out too late.”

“Won’t.”

Yoongi picks himself up and irons the aches out of his shoulders. “Cool. Stay safe and smart, Guk.”

“I can’t do both,” he sighs sadly, and Yoongi collects his bag and affectionately throws the paper ball at Jeongguk’s head. It bounces off and lands near one of the bookshelves. Neither picks it up, and Yoongi leaves the library. It dawns on Jeongguk three minutes after Yoongi leaves him that he’s actually really fucking lonely. Add that to the big long list of things Jeongguk is this year: friendless, broke, sad and lonely. God, he needs a hobby.

He also needs money. Very badly. After opening his phone and banking app and realising that he’s so close to slipping into the red, Jeongguk refrains from spending what he has left on something fried and takeaway and opens Google. One click, a few types: How to make money fast. Google will know what to do.

Jeongguk scrolls. Take online surveys and get paid NOW! No. Review apps and earn money! Not enough phone memory to download an app to review it, he scrolls down. Lonely AND Horny? Get yourself a Sugar Daddy TODAY! Oh? He’s listening.

The blog that opens up as he clicks the link is somebody’s personal blog, the title in a gross and thick font that Jeongguk almost can’t read. They talk a while about why you shouldn’t become a sugar-baby, but Jeongguk remembers that one time Tana Mongeau did a storytime on how she had a Daddy and got a lot of money, and Jeongguk’s got assets. He’s smart, has abs on a good day, and his dick isn’t half bad looking. That’s what Yooa had said to him, anyway. Finally, there’s a hyperlink to Seeking Arrangements, and Jeongguk feels kind of overwhelmed.

At least once in their lives, everybody’s thought about being a Sugar Baby. Jeongguk definitely has, all the damn time when he’s sitting around at work doing nothing because they’re about as busy as one can expect for a pizza place with two stars and a rival Dominoes parallel from the front. He’s even read about experiences, where people meet their daddies or mommies on the streets or through apps- and there was even that one crazy story about somebody’s Principal becoming their sugar Daddy, or something, he can’t quite remember. Regardless, Jeongguk’s entertained this thought before.

He looks down at himself. If he really tried his best, he could be kind of good at it. Without sounding conceited, Jeongguk’s good looking. What lets him down at school is the fact that he always dresses lazily and ignores people, rejects requests to go out and then complains to Yoongi about not having friends who hang out with him. All he needs is to fix his appearance, upload his best photographs, and he could secure the bag quite easily.

Jeongguk fills in the boxes and makes an account. petkoo is what he decides to name himself, and he picks his best selfie off Instagram as an icon. He leans back, as if a look from far away will change the way it looks. It’ll do. Luckily for him, he’s into men and women, and it just so happens that American men are both the dumbest and easiest to please. Suddenly, he’s excited, his leg bouncing under the table until he hits his knee and stops. The student librarian raises her head quickly, afraid that a member of staff’s come in to supervise. They haven’t, and so she drops her head again. Ten fifty three, ish. Jeongguk blinks sleepily.

All that’s left to do is get his account verified, and life will be forever changed.

(He hopes).

(2)

Yoongi’s apartment is off campus, about fifteen minutes away if he’s walking. It’s small, but significantly bigger than Jeongguk’s dorm on campus, and decorated with whites and creams, big and open windows letting in golden light, when the time’s right. It’s the type of apartment you saw online, on Tumblr posts or in movies, looking like a perfect backdrop - sometimes, Jeongguk can’t believe that Yoongi lives here, and wakes up every morning to the view of the city below his window, power lines like train tracks connecting houses, dangling fairy-lights on the trelacing of his across-the-street-neighbour’s rooftop.

That being said, Jeongguk technically lives here, too. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s actually stepped foot in his dorm at the same time as his roommate; he only goes in there to collect things one at a time. Today, for example, he had dropped by to empty out his small and pathetic wardrobe and put it inside one suitcase, wheeling it right up to Yoongi’s front door with a bright smile that Yoongi couldn’t say no to. His couch in the living room was Jeongguk’s comfortable bed when it wasn’t cold and when it was, Yoongi would huff and offer an invite into his bed, because he loves Jeongguk like he’s his baby brother, and it would suck if he died from pneumonia, or something. He said that to Jeongguk once. Jeongguk smiled for ten minutes afterwards.

Harry Potter plays on TV, the fourth movie because it’s Jeongguk’s favourite and Yoongi’s a sick man who can’t say no. It’s around five, and Jeongguk’s literally been holed up in Yoongi’s apartment the entire day. The most sunlight that he got was when he walked out of Yoongi’s house to take the trash out, and even then, the bin was in the shadows and the sun never touched his skin once. He can see the sunlight through the window, which technically counts. Yoongi cringes and takes away a plate from the coffee table.

“You’re allowed to stay at my place, as long as you clean up after yourself,” he says with a huff. His nose upturns with a scrunch, “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“By choice!” Jeongguk adds, pulling a thread out from his sock. “They’re too much hard work.”

“You’re just fucking lazy,” Yoongi points out. He dumps the plate in the sink and comes back to Jeongguk. “You know that, don’t you?”

There’s a silence. Then a sigh, “Yeah.”

Jeongguk loves staying at Yoongi’s place, especially when Yoongi is feeling particularly soft and lets Jeongguk do whatever he wants, given he’s not going to get Yoongi a noise complaint in the morning. The movie continues to play undisturbed, the sight of Beauxbatons’ carriage swooping over towards the runway leaving Jeongguk with an open-mouthed smile on his face and Yoongi folds his arms, burying himself further into the sofa. On the coffee table, Yoongi’s laid out some snacks, both his phone and Jeongguk’s laying down flat because it’s supposed to keep Jeongguk distraction free, even though he’s the type of friend to never be on his phone around his friends unless he absolutely needs to be.

Another huff is in Yoongi’s mouth, begging to be huffed out. Over on the coffee table, Jeongguk’s phone lights up with his lock screen of Sansa Stark blurred out by a notification, the ringer on loud. Attention is pulled from Dumbledore to the light, Jeongguk’s brows lifting with interest but his eyes immediately back on the TV.

“Yoongi,” he calls out, and Yoongi glances over, “can you see who it’s from?” Could be his Mom, it could be important.

The huff is released. “Come into my house and boss me around…” Yoongi mutters under his breath and reaches for Jeongguk’s phone, pressing the home button to read the notification. He’s silent for a long moment, and Jeongguk’s so enthralled in the movie that he doesn’t notice, not until Yoongi looks at Jeongguk with a confused and funny look, his top lip curled to his nostrils as he blurts: “Why the hell are Seeking Arrangements telling you you’re profile’s ready?”

Jeongguk looks away so fast from the television that Yoongi’s almost frightened. His eyes are wide and twinkling, “They’ve finished it?”

“What the fuck.”

“Gimme!” Jeongguk splutters, his hand diving towards his phone urgently. “Bro...it’s been like, five days.”

Yoongi is bewildered. “Why do you have an account? What-why-when…?”

“I don’t know, I need money and I thought it would be funny,” Jeongguk shrugs. His thumb moves quickly across his phone screen. “I can’t believe they’re done. I’m gonna be rich, Yoongi.”

“Do you know how sketchy half the people on that site are?” Yoongi questions. “Plus they’re all old and perverted men.”

“Rich men.”

“Rich, old and perverted,” Yoongi nods. “Guk, I know I said you needed another job...but this doesn’t qualify. I’d rather you flip paper thin pizzas.”

#me posting all my abandoned wips for attention and something to do #bts #bangtan #jungkook #jeongguk #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #sugar baby au #bts imagine #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jjk #gwoongi #abandoned

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richincolor · 4 years

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Last week someone asked if I knew of any good lists of memoirs and coming-of-age novels. We do have a list of memoirs, but that was created four years ago and several more have been published since then that we’d recommend. I couldn’t recall or find a list like she was describing for coming-of-age books either, so the librarian in me felt the need to make one. Here’s an updated collection of memoirs along with a few coming-of-age novels. If you know of others written by BIPOC authors that you would recommend, please share the titles.

Memoirs

All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-Manifesto by George M. Johnson Farrar, Straus and Giroux (Byr)

In a series of personal essays, prominent journalist and LGBTQIA+ activist George M. Johnson explores his childhood, adolescence, and college years in New Jersey and Virginia. From the memories of getting his teeth kicked out by bullies at age five, to flea marketing with his loving grandmother, to his first sexual relationships, this young-adult memoir weaves together the trials and triumphs faced by Black queer boys.

Both a primer for teens eager to be allies as well as a reassuring testimony for young queer men of color, All Boys Aren’t Blue covers topics such as gender identity, toxic masculinity, brotherhood, family, structural marginalization, consent, and Black joy. Johnson’s emotionally frank style of writing will appeal directly to young adults.

Almost American Girl: An Illustrated Memoir by Robin Ha Balzer & Bray/Harperteen

For as long as she can remember, it’s been Robin and her mom against the world. Growing up as the only child of a single mother in Seoul, Korea, wasn’t always easy, but it has bonded them fiercely together.

So when a vacation to visit friends in Huntsville, Alabama, unexpectedly becomes a permanent relocation–following her mother’s announcement that she’s getting married–Robin is devastated.

Overnight, her life changes. She is dropped into a new school where she doesn’t understand the language and struggles to keep up. She is completely cut off from her friends in Seoul and has no access to her beloved comics. At home, she doesn’t fit in with her new stepfamily, and worst of all, she is furious with the one person she is closest to–her mother.

Then one day Robin’s mother enrolls her in a local comic drawing class, which opens the window to a future Robin could never have imagined.

Banned Book Club by Kim Hyun Sook, Ryan Estrada, Hyung-Ju Ko (Illustrator) Iron Circus Comics [Crystal’s Review] [Q&A with Authors – in a Comic]

When Kim Hyun Sook started college in 1983 she was ready for her world to open up. After acing her exams and sort-of convincing her traditional mother that it was a good idea for a woman to go to college, she looked forward to soaking up the ideas of Western Literature far from the drudgery she was promised at her family’s restaurant. But literature class would prove to be just the start of a massive turning point, still focused on reading but with life-or-death stakes she never could have imagined.

This was during South Korea’s Fifth Republic, a military regime that entrenched its power through censorship, torture, and the murder of protestors. In this charged political climate, with Molotov cocktails flying and fellow students disappearing for hours and returning with bruises, Hyun Sook sought refuge in the comfort of books. When the handsome young editor of the school newspaper invited her to his reading group, she expected to pop into the cafeteria to talk about Moby Dick, Hamlet, and The Scarlet Letter. Instead she found herself hiding in a basement as the youngest member of an underground banned book club. And as Hyun Sook soon discovered, in a totalitarian regime, the delights of discovering great works of illicit literature are quickly overshadowed by fear and violence as the walls close in.

It’s Trevor Noah: Born a Crime Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah Delacorte Press

Trevor Noah, the funny guy who hosts The Daily Show on Comedy Central, shares his remarkable story of growing up in South Africa with a black South African mother and a white European father at a time when it was against the law for a mixed-race child to exist. But he did exist–and from the beginning, the often-misbehaved Trevor used his keen smarts and humor to navigate a harsh life under a racist government. This fascinating memoir blends drama, comedy, and tragedy to depict the day-to-day trials that turned a boy into a young man. In a country where racism barred blacks from social, educational, and economic opportunity, Trevor surmounted staggering obstacles and created a promising future for himself, thanks to his mom’s unwavering love and indomitable will.

Infinite Hope: A Black Artist’s Journey from WWII to Peace by Ashley Bryan Atheneum Books

In May of 1942, at the age of eighteen, Ashley Bryan was drafted to fight in World War II. For the next three years, he would face the horrors of war as a black soldier in a segregated army.

He endured the terrible lies white officers told about the black soldiers to isolate them from anyone who showed kindness–including each other. He received worse treatment than even Nazi POWs. He was assigned the grimmest, most horrific tasks, like burying fallen soldiers…but was told to remove the black soldiers first because the media didn’t want them in their newsreels. And he waited and wanted so desperately to go home, watching every white soldier get safe passage back to the United States before black soldiers were even a thought.

For the next forty years, Ashley would keep his time in the war a secret. But now, he tells his story. The story of the kind people who supported him. The story of the bright moments that guided him through the dark. And the story of his passion for art that would save him time and time again.

Ordinary Hazards: A Memoir by Nikki Grimes Wordsong

In her own voice, acclaimed author and poet Nikki Grimes explores the truth of a harrowing childhood in a compelling and moving memoir in verse. Growing up with a mother suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and a mostly absent father, Nikki Grimes found herself terrorized by babysitters, shunted from foster family to foster family, and preyed upon by those she trusted. At the age of six, she poured her pain onto a piece of paper late one night – and discovered the magic and impact of writing. For many years, Nikki’s notebooks were her most enduing companions. In this accessible and inspiring memoir that will resonate with young readers and adults alike, Nikki shows how the power of those words helped her conquer the hazards – ordinary and extraordinary – of her life.

They Called Us Enemy by George Takei, Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott, Harmony Becker (Illustrator)Top Shelf Productions

They Called Us Enemy is Takei’s firsthand account of those years behind barbed wire, the joys and terrors of growing up under legalized racism, his mother’s hard choices, his father’s faith in democracy, and the way those experiences planted the seeds for his astonishing future. What does it mean to be American? Who gets to decide? When the world is against you, what can one person do? To answer these questions, George Takei joins co-writers Justin Eisinger & Steven Scott and artist Harmony Becker for the journey of a lifetime.

Coming-of-Age

Clap When You Land by Ellizabeth Acevedo Quill Tree Books [Crystal’s Review]

Camino Rios lives for the summers when her father visits her in the Dominican Republic. But this time, on the day when his plane is supposed to land, Camino arrives at the airport to see crowds of crying people…

In New York City, Yahaira Rios is called to the principal’s office, where her mother is waiting to tell her that her father, her hero, has died in a plane crash.

Separated by distance–and Papi’s secrets–the two girls are forced to face a new reality in which their father is dead and their lives are forever altered.

And then, when it seems like they’ve lost everything of their father, they learn of each other.

Darius the Great is Not Okay by Adib Khorram Penguin Books [Interview with Adib Khorram]

Darius Kellner speaks better Klingon than Farsi, and he knows more about Hobbit social cues than Persian ones. He’s a Fractional Persian–half, his mom’s side–and his first-ever trip to Iran is about to change his life.

Darius has never really fit in at home, and he’s sure things are going to be the same in Iran. His clinical depression doesn’t exactly help matters, and trying to explain his medication to his grandparents only makes things harder. Then Darius meets Sohrab, the boy next door, and everything changes. Soon, they’re spending their days together, playing soccer, eating faludeh, and talking for hours on a secret rooftop overlooking the city’s skyline. Sohrab calls him Darioush–the original Persian version of his name–and Darius has never felt more like himself than he does now that he’s Darioush to Sohrab.

Forward Me Back to You by Mitali Perkins Farrar, Straus and Giroux (Byr)

Katina King is the reigning teen jujitsu champion of Northern California, but she’s having trouble fighting off the secrets in her past.

Robin Thornton was adopted from an orphanage in India and is reluctant to take on his future. If he can’t find his roots, how can he possibly plan ahead?

Robin and Kat meet in the most unlikely of places–a summer service trip to Kolkata to work with survivors of human trafficking. As bonds build between the travelmates, Robin and Kat discover that justice and healing are tangled, like the pain of their pasts and the hope for their futures. You can’t rewind life; sometimes you just have to push play.

In turns heart wrenching, beautiful, and buoyant, Mitali Perkins’s Forward Me Back to You focuses its lens on the ripple effects of violence–across borders and generations–and how small acts of heroism can break the cycle.

Hearts Unbroken by Cynthia Leitich Smith Candlewick Press

When Louise Wolfe’s first real boyfriend mocks and disrespects Native people in front of her, she breaks things off and dumps him over e-mail. It’s her senior year, anyway, and she’d rather spend her time with her family and friends and working on the school newspaper. The editors pair her up with Joey Kairouz, the ambitious new photojournalist, and in no time the paper’s staff find themselves with a major story to cover: the school musical director’s inclusive approach to casting The Wizard of Oz has been provoking backlash in their mostly white, middle-class Kansas town. From the newly formed Parents Against Revisionist Theater to anonymous threats, long-held prejudices are being laid bare and hostilities are spreading against teachers, parents, and students — especially the cast members at the center of the controversy, including Lou’s little brother, who’s playing the Tin Man. As tensions mount at school, so does a romance between Lou and Joey — but as she’s learned, “dating while Native” can be difficult. In trying to protect her own heart, will Lou break Joey’s?

Loveboat, Taipei by Abigail Hing Wen Harperteen [Jessica’s Review]

And just like that, Ever Wong’s summer takes an unexpected turn. Gone is Chien Tan, the strict educational program in Taiwan that Ever was expecting. In its place, she finds Loveboat: a summer-long free-for-all where hookups abound, adults turn a blind eye, snake-blood sake flows abundantly, and the nightlife runs nonstop.

But not every student is quite what they seem:

Ever is working toward becoming a doctor but nurses a secret passion for dance.

Rick Woo is the Yale-bound child prodigy bane of Ever’s existence whose perfection hides a secret.

Boy-crazy, fashion-obsessed Sophie Ha turns out to have more to her than meets the eye.

And under sexy Xavier Yeh’s shell is buried a shameful truth he’ll never admit.

When these students’ lives collide, it’s guaranteed to be a summer Ever will never forget.

Parachutes by Kelly Yang Katherine Tegen Books

They’re called parachutes: teenagers dropped off to live in private homes and study in the United States while their wealthy parents remain in Asia. Claire Wang never thought she’d be one of them, until her parents pluck her from her privileged life in Shanghai and enroll her at a high school in California.

Suddenly she finds herself living in a stranger’s house, with no one to tell her what to do for the first time in her life. She soon embraces her newfound freedom, especially when the hottest and most eligible parachute, Jay, asks her out.

Dani De La Cruz, Claire’s new host sister, couldn’t be less thrilled that her mom rented out a room to Claire. An academic and debate team star, Dani is determined to earn her way into Yale, even if it means competing with privileged kids who are buying their way to the top. But Dani’s game plan veers unexpectedly off course when her debate coach starts working with her privately.

As they steer their own distinct paths, Dani and Claire keep crashing into one another, setting a course that will change their lives forever.

Yes No Maybe So by Aisha Saeed & Becky Albertalli Balzer & Bray/Harperteen [Group Discussion]

YES

Jamie Goldberg is cool with volunteering for his local state senate candidate–as long as he’s behind the scenes. When it comes to speaking to strangers (or, let’s face it, speaking at all to almost anyone) Jamie’s a choke artist. There’s no way he’d ever knock on doors to ask people for their votes…until he meets Maya.

Maya Rehman’s having the worst Ramadan ever. Her best friend is too busy to hang out, her summer trip is canceled, and now her parents are separating. Why her mother thinks the solution to her problems is political canvassing–with some awkward dude she hardly knows–is beyond her.

MAYBE SO

Going door to door isn’t exactly glamorous, but maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. After all, the polls are getting closer–and so are Maya and Jamie. Mastering local activism is one thing. Navigating the cross-cultural crush of the century is another thing entirely.

#memoir #Coming of age #YALit

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crqstalite · 3 years

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after adamant.

ugly little fic that i wrote in the middle of the night a while ago and shared with a friend. post-adamant about my inquisitor trying to rationalize their losses at the fortress and in the fade. nothing’s capitalized, so if that annoys you, this isn’t the little fic for you.

chose not to use warnings? im not quite sure what to use here, so tread lightly.

dragon age inquisition.

she stays strong, after adamant it’s all everyone needs. she sees to the few wardens that had been at the keep, had offered inquisition aid. they thank her thousands of times over, as uneasy as they are.

their senior warden, alistair, won’t meet her eyes. deep brown orbs looking anywhere but at her, even with a smile on his face. he thanks her, quietly. bandages wrapped around his side, muttering that he’d need to get a letter out to the hero of ferelden — tabris.

she leaves him, offering to let leliana find her. to let leliana send the message and get it back to him as soon as possible. he agrees, numbly is when she swings a leg over the elk in the morning, sun peaking over the rise in the distance.

she knows that look that settles in his dark brown eyes, that look that cries it should’ve been me. but she’s sure he knows what he must do now, to lead the wardens properly against corypheus. she thanks him.

he doesn’t say it, but he does respond that hawke’s sacrifice would not be vain. that shatters a part of her, seals her lips all the way back to skyhold. thankfully, marzeyna is lucky enough no one else is in a talkative mood. but they will be, with questions, with reactions, maybe with thinly veiled anger.

she’s not sure if she’s lucky or simply being lied to when varric seems more despondent than furious with her. he simply responds there are letters to write, to bethany, to other friends she’d made in kirkwall. they’d been close. she bites her lip hard enough to draw iron laced blood to keep from crying.

he hugs her.

though he’s not mentioned, marzeyna doesn’t make the request to send a letter to the mage anders. though he will be left in the dark, surely varric would know how close they’d been. the way hawke spoke of him, with a wistful tone laced with uneasiness, she doesn’t want to look into his eyes and tell him she was the reason reyna hawke would not be coming home.

she makes her rounds. to cassandra, to blackwall, to dorian. then to the others who learning of it secondhand, to leliana, who’d been hurt over justinia. to sera, to bull, to vivienne, to solas, who was fascinated about her journey into the fade.

she doesn’t indulge him. any other day, she might’ve, but not today.

marzeyna has to put on a brave face when she’s nearly hit with what she assumes to be a lyrium kit when she visits cullen. to think she’d thought she’d get any miniscule amount of comfort from anyone after her return, she would’ve thought, just maybe, that it would be him. but no, her nerves are shot and she’s terrified and can’t think straight. she hasn’t slept since before adamant, doesn’t even want to think about dreaming in the fade. and yet, she’s able to give cullen the strength he needs to go on.

she wavers. her tiny form struggles to make it back to the war room after the moon has long risen in the sky. working, bent over the war table. they’d head out for the exalted plains in the morning. switch out her ground forces, get to work.

get her mind off the blonde woman that haunted her thoughts these days. piercing storm cloud eyes with dexterity over daggers that she’d never seen before. a determination to save mages from the templars that burned white hot within her, flames licking everyone she met.

her voice never wavering when she’d accepted her fate. a strong nod when she drew her daggers for the last time.

she shoves the knife meant for josephine’s diplomatic mission into the table deeper than she’d intended, grinding it into the table with a groan. her fire red hair falls into her face, her once tight ponytail loosening into a lump of curls at the base of her neck.

magic crackles at her fingertips, papers flying off the desk and fluttering to the floor. lelianna’s secrets, cassandra and solas’ requests, josephine’s agreements, cullen’s reports.

yanking off her gloves in front of the fire in her quarters, she grits her teeth when she can’t yank a swollen finger out of it’s respective sleeve. eyebrows knitting together in frustration, fire climbing her thoughts.

why hadn’t she been quicker? why hadn’t she forced them ahead with magic? she could’ve done something, done anything different. could’ve fade stepped them past the bastard. but no, she hadn’t done any of those things. she’d knowingly sent hawke to her death, not fought alongside her and alistair, but sent her away so she and alistair could get away.

the glove comes off, pain reverberating through her hand in waves. she kicks off her boots, the pair thumping away somewhere in the darkness.

she should be the one in the fade. running for her life, terrified in the darkness of the spiders she saw racing towards her. reliving nightmare after nightmare.

marzeyna was a mage. she could’ve handled it longer before she went mad. reyna was not, she was a young woman from kirkwall. a rogue no less. so stupid, marzeyna should’ve been the one to stay behind. from what little she understood of the tensions between varric and cassandra, hawke could’ve been the inquisitor. hell she probably was supposed to be. or alistair’s love, tabris.

both were older, wiser than she was. with only twenty five years on her, she wonders if some God with a sick sense of humor had decided it should be her. things had only gone wrong when she appeared in haven, half alive and delirious. justinia had died, the mage/templar conflict in the hinterlands that she couldn’t solve, alexius.

then they lost haven. and so many people. the smell of wood burning around her and screams of people being cut down by red templars. her advisors asking for orders, her mind spiraling in a thousand different directions.

she wonders if cullen saw the terrified look in her eyes when he’d spoken to her. saw her fumbling for answers, saw the little girl that had been given too much power, much too soon. had second thoughts about her being the so called herald of andraste. had wondered why he put his faith in her.

marzeyna lavellan. she was a mage. and a dalish elf. two of the most marginalized statuses you could have in thedas, and so many people still looked up to her. asked her what to do, trusted her not to lead them astray.

hawke had trusted her. marzeyna had promised her she’d get her out alive, had promised she’d get her back to bethany. to anders. that they could do this.

she yanks a box, some sort of box, maybe empty off the desk and throws it, chucks it into the wall just off the windows. it crashes, shattering into splinters of oak. then something else holding an ink quill, lighter, easier to throw. that too shatters, ceramic maybe. it’s satisfying almost, anger and regret and everything in between flooding her emotions like a tidal wave. they drown her, choking her when she screams like a caged animal, chucking another small box into the wall. raw magic dances at her fingertips and lights her ablaze, body glowing a gentle white as hot tears slide down her face in rivers.

justinia. maybe. she’s needed her and there was nothing she could do. she failed her.

every single person in haven believed in her. they needed her when corphyeus arrived with his forces.

hawke had believed in her. smiled at her. told her jokes. at first skeptical, as any non andrastian would be. but quickly had become her friend. her first real one that wasn’t asking her what was next all the time. someone she could go to when her advisors were too much that day.

her hands clench into fists in her hair, sobs heavy and heaving as she slides to the floor in a heap against one of the walls. now hawke was gone, and it was all her fault. just like it’d been before. another person who’d gotten killed because of her.

she’d tried to justify her decision. the wardens would need someone to lead them through this possible blight. tabris would need him when she got back with her research into the fake calling.

nothing answers when she thinks about hawke. she can’t justify her death. she was a good person, supported mages to a fault. didn’t seem the type to kick puppies. was friendly to everyone, had a sister, had a friend in varric.

then, why isn’t marzeyna dead?

she has nothing. clan lavellan maybe, but they’d surely replaced her by now, it wasn’t as if she was coming back now. it wasn’t like they were clambering to see her again. she’s a mage, she’s already being persecuted anyway. and it wasn’t as if what she’d started with cullen couldn’t be forgiven. it wasn’t anything serious, he could meet someone else.

sure, she was young. younger than most in the inquisition. but others still had most of their lives ahead of them. she had nothing. no future beyond what lie inside of skyhold.

hugging her knees, the pants legs begin to wet with the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. the anchor was the only thing that made her important, that kept people from actually wanting to get her killed. people put their lives on the line for her. and she couldn’t even return the favor.

her nails dig into her biceps, curling in on her herself as a draft whips into the room. a shiver after the fire chases it away.

then why is she still here? she’s nothing, no one.

and right now, she doesn’t want to be anyone. she doesn’t go to bed that night, reading reports until she can’t. staving off sleep to keep from drifting into the fade against her will. eyes blurring and burning when she dresses herself in the morning, she avoids varric’s gaze following her down the corridor to the war room. josephine follows, rattling off things she doesn’t understand. nobles. treaties. alliances.

lelianna and cullen join them a few minutes later. if they notice her hands shaking, they don’t say anything. a glimmer of concern in cullen’s eyes, josephine outright with the words on her lips, gently biting them back.

she should be dead, she chants when they arrive in the plains, i don’t even have a right to be alive. she should be here, and yet i handed the situation to her like the scared child i am.

it’s the beginning of many restless nights.

#marzeyna lavellan #oc #original character

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alienheartattack · 4 years

Text

In the Spider’s Web (NSFW)

Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in. After literal years of feeling uninspired by ship stuff (the manga is so far beyond shipping at this point that I now ship Mikasa with years of therapy), I went through my drafts and found a few attempts at the prequel to Things That Go Bump in the Night. To catch you up: modern AU, Levi is a vampire, Mikasa has been hunting him since he murdered Eren, then boners occur. And this time, thanks to the Comic Sans trick, I was able to bang out just under 5000 words of Rivamika vampire/hunter fun.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve written smut or even prose in general (I’ve been writing exclusively for stage and screen for the last 3 years) so I’m feeling kinda self-conscious that I may have lost my fanfic mojo or whatever. I usually don’t press for feedback but I would really love some this time around if you have the time. I hope you enjoy the story!

CW: death, gory injuries, getting drunk on blood, and straight up fuckin’.

Mikasa has to stifle a wild howl of laughter when she finally picks the lock on the blacked-out skylight atop the vampire's lair. This is it, she thinks, the culmination of her hard work to kill the man — No, not the man, the monster — who killed her brother. A flash of memory quickly stifles her silent celebration: the now-familiar sight of the shell that used to be Eren. The seemingly fathomless well of her sorrow threatens to overflow as she remembers the details she has tried so hard to forget: his golden skin turned to ash; his dimmed green eyes wide with surprise, staring infinitely into the void. Mikasa takes a few long, deep breaths, sucking in lungfuls of chilly October air until the image fades from her mind and she can devote herself entirely to her task.

The vampire's name is Levi, and even the most debased and inhuman Kindred speak of him in awed tones. Through her work with the Hunter Corps, Mikasa has learned of his legend: that he can puncture a mortal's throat and have the poor sack of meat half-drained before they realize they’ve been bitten. That he is faster, stronger, more cunning, and more ruthless than any of his kind. That he will not hesitate to display his physical and mental superiority to anyone, be they human, Kindred, or Hunter.

Tonight, Mikasa plans to drive a stake through the heart of the legend. She has followed him for over a year, tracking his movements and shadowing him as he prowled the streets of the City, hunting for prey. She has tried to kill him twice before, and twice he has held her off — but not hurt or killed her. Mikasa finds it peculiar that she has not yet met her fate at the end of his fangs, but has never considered why. The motivations of a monster are of no interest to her.

It has taken her far too long, by her estimation, to come up with this plan. She will hide on his roof at night while he finds his next meal, then wait for sunrise and sneak into his lair to kill him while he sleeps. She prefers to dispatch her quarries in a fair fight, pitting her impressive speed and skill against supernatural ability, but with Levi, her need for revenge outweighs her honorable convictions.

Mikasa watches the first rays of dawn creep over the horizon, chasing away the cerulean darkness with streaks of crimson. She takes the bloody sky as a good omen. According to her watch, it is 6:37 AM, just a few minutes before sunrise. Levi should be at his most vulnerable after falling into his daily slumber.

Time to go, she thinks, steeling herself for her mission.

She smiles a rictus grin as she slowly opens the skylight, careful not to let its hinges creak. Holding her breath, she climbs inside the building, finding a series of metal rungs to guide her down fifty feet into Levi's lair, and closes the skylight behind her. Her boot-clad toes seek soft contact with the next rung as she climbs down silently, languorously, like a stalking cat. Every few moments she stops to listen for his movements, to look down and see whether he is lying in wait for her. She hears nothing and sees nothing, so she continues.

The room below serves as some sort of ceremonial dining hall, with a long wooden table stretching across most of the room. Ornately carved wooden chairs sit around it, with the largest and most intricate chair at the far end: Levi's seat, undoubtedly. The table is set for a banquet with a multitude of plates, wine glasses, and silverware at each seat; empty silver candlesticks and candelabras run down the length of the highly polished oak. The hall is lit with hundreds of flickering candles in sconces and chandeliers, providing a dramatic backdrop to the priceless works of art contained within: painted portraits in gilt frames, marble sculptures, antiquities on pedestals and in glass cases. It is a museum of opulence, of corruption. Mikasa's stomach turns as she surveys the scene, imagining the countless people who gave their blood and their lives for Levi to amass a collection to rival the world's greatest museums.

And then, while she is deep in thought and dangling ten feet above the heavy wooden table, one of the metal rungs comes loose from its moorings — and Mikasa falls.

She has the forethought not to yelp in surprise as she pitches away from the wall, but cannot help herself from crying out as she lands on her side on top of the table, ceramic plates and crystal goblets shattering beneath her weight. Mikasa lies there, the wind knocked out of her, unable to take a breath from pain and shock. After a few moments, she regains her senses and groans as she registers a new pain; no, two of them, a dull ache in her ribs and a sharpness in her thigh. She feels around her thigh with shaking hands until agony surges through her and she finds the source of the pain: one of the silver candlesticks has pierced clean through her leg, its heavy base embedded in her hamstring muscles and its fluted tip sticking out through her toned quadriceps.

"Noooo," she moans. Even if Levi is not there, he will return any moment to see her served to him on his dining room table, bleeding and ready to be devoured. Mikasa attempts to sit up but finds that the slightest motion hurts so much that her vision starts to go white around the edges and hot tears stream down her cheeks. Even breathing hurts, sending stabbing pains through her side as she tries to catch her breath.

"So that's what you've been scheming, little fly," comes Levi's disembodied voice, slithering out from the room’s flickering dimness. Mikasa tries to summon the last of her strength to move, to do anything but lie there and suffer, but she can only raise herself a few inches before she lets out a tortured, feral scream, a wild animal cornered at last.

"Surely your feeble human brain can still form words. You're badly injured, but you're not dead yet," he says in a sharp, mocking tone, materializing seemingly from thin air next to her. "Emphasis on 'yet.'"

Mikasa takes in a shaky breath, rage and agony coursing through her in equal measure. "Fuck… you… Levi," she spits.

"For the record, that's not a sufficient apology for smashing my property and getting your blood all over my table." He goes to speak but pauses when he registers the scent of her blood, meaty and potent and alive, more delicious than anything he's ever smelled before.

"Your blood," he repeats, softer this time. "Oh, god." He groans under his breath, suddenly feeling weak in the knees as a potent hunger unfurls in his belly. Levi's expression starts to shift: his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack, exposing the tips of his fangs. His pupils dilate, inky black overtaking the otherworldly silver hue of his irises. He approaches her slowly, seemingly floating towards her, his eyes locked on her impaled thigh.

"Kill me," she grunts. "Just get it over with."

"No," Levi says, his voice hushed, almost reverent. "I don't want to kill you like this." He reaches one pale hand toward Mikasa and she attempts to roll away from him, crying out wordlessly at the waves of torment wracking her broken body. But he does not touch her: instead, his finger finds a spatter of her blood on the wooden tabletop and wipes it away, placing his finger between his parted lips.

The sensation that hits him is so unexpected and overwhelming that it nearly brings him to his knees. He almost comes in his pants just from anticipation; the fraction of a second it takes for his finger to enter his mouth feels like ten lifetimes, and he groans in ecstasy as he finally tastes her, all iron and heat. Mikasa's blood sings on his tongue, burning down his throat like the finest whiskey, filling his belly like a sumptuous meal and paradoxically making him even more ravenous for her. He is surprised to find that he does not want to drain her dry; he wants to savor her, coaxing a few drops of blood from her at a time, enrapturing her with the power of his fanged kisses.

Once the intense sensation fades enough that he can think somewhat clearly again, Levi realizes that Mikasa has been watching him the entire time. He meets her gaze, hoping he doesn't look as wild-eyed and utterly undone as he feels. If she notices, then he cannot tell, her face still distorted into a tortured grimace.

"Don't toy with me," Mikasa grinds out from between clenched teeth. Her breath hisses shallowly in and out of her mouth, occasionally punctuated by low moans.

"I'm not," Levi replies coolly. "I want to heal you, and I want you to come back and try to kill me in a fair fight. This..." he motions vaguely towards her curled body, "this isn't fun for me."

Mikasa lets out a guffaw despite herself, then howls as pain radiates through her broken ribs. "Fun? You find this fun?"

"I do," he says. He smiles wide, letting his razor-sharp fangs peek out from between his lips. "Your pathetic attempts to kill me have been fairly humorous, but the irony of you ending up in a bloody heap on my dining table, of all places, is too satisfying to put into words." Levi sucks in a shaky breath, inhaling more of her blood's heady perfume, then leans close to her, his mouth inches from her ear. "I should eat you up," he all but purrs. "But I won't."

With that, he disappears, leaving Mikasa alone in the great hall. She drags her arms, covered in her protective leather jacket, across the tabletop to sweep the shattered plates and glasses onto the floor, sending silverware clattering against the hardwood. She then feels around the tabletop for any other blood she has spilled, wiping it off with her hands before he can drink any more of it. Even if he swears he will not kill her, she does not trust him, especially if he becomes intoxicated on the heady, rich blood of a Hunter.

He reappears a few minutes later, bearing a lacquered wooden tray. On it rests a delicate bone china teapot and two matching teacups and saucers, each painted with a pattern of vines and red roses. The roses look almost obscene to Mikasa, plump and splayed open, ready to be plucked.

"You're bringing me tea?" she sneers as Levi pours a measure of steaming amber brew into each cup. "That's really going to help get this candlestick out of my leg."

"No, but this will," Levi says, raising his wrist to his mouth and slashing it open against his fangs. He positions his hand over the tray as his blood washes over his alabaster skin and into one of the cups, darkening the tea until it looks like wine. He then licks his wrist clean, sealing the gash. Within seconds, his wrist is pale and pristine once more.

Mikasa goggles with disbelief at Levi, who places the cup of blood-tea near her hand. "You want me to drink your blood?"

"Are you just going to state the obvious over and over?" he snaps, earning himself a murderous glare.

"Pardon me for being a bit perplexed at my current situation. I don't usually make a habit of taking tea with the monster I'm trying to kill." Mikasa wrinkles her nose at him, thankful that she’s found one expression of contempt that doesn’t make her entire body ache.

Levi picks up his cup of tea, lifting it by the rim with his slim fingertips, and takes a sip. "Perhaps you should."

"Don't humor me."

"Look. I'm offering you a gift, in exchange for a promise."

"Then it's not a gift," Mikasa grumbles. Levi slams his teacup against the saucer but doesn’t spill a drop. The rattle of china on china echoes throughout the hall.

"Will you shut up? You’re really making me regret not killing you." Mikasa lets out an angry sigh. As much as she doesn’t want to make a deal with Levi, she can see no other way off the table without further injuring or killing herself in the process.

"Fine! Tell me your terms!" she grinds out.

Levi takes a long, slow drink from his cup before he answers. "You drink the tea and walk out of here healed and whole. In exchange, we call a truce. From now until the next sunrise, I don't try to kill you, and you don't try to kill me."

Mikasa considers his proposition, trying to find some flaw or catch. "Why should I believe that you'll honor this agreement?"

"Because if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now," he says, his voice low and raspy, seductive yet poisonous. Levi puts down his teacup and reaches over to her, placing the pad of his index finger on her pulse point just beneath her ear. He feels her heart fluttering, the pulse of her blood through her veins, then traces his finger down the path of her jugular. Mikasa's breath quickens beneath his hand. His caress blazes a path of heat down her neck, into her breasts and belly, and lower.

"Or I can toss you out into the night to defend yourself. I can think of a few Kindred who'd love to get their hands on you." Suddenly he removes his finger from her skin and uses it to push the wine-dark teacup toward her. His gaze bores into her, evoking the same peculiar heated sensation as his touch. "Drink."

She doesn't want his help, doesn't want his blood flowing through her body. She’s read that drinking a vampire’s blood causes a bond between them, albeit an ephemeral one, and she does not want to test this theory for herself. In this moment everything feels too intimate and too perverse to her, the vampire who drained her brother dry offering her tea and sympathy instead of a swift death. But the pain in her body grows with each breath, and she knows that she cannot leave here under her own power. At best she will have months of recovery, at worst she will be permanently unable to continue her hunt. Mikasa reaches out a bloody hand toward the porcelain teacup, but before she can grasp its delicate handle, Levi stops her, capturing her wrist in his grasp.

"You're not touching eighteenth-century bone china with your hands caked in—" he swallows thickly— "filth."

"I can't exactly wash my hands—" Mikasa says, but is cut off by Levi running his tongue over her hand, licking her skin clean. He sucks on each of her fingers in turn, rubbing his lips over her fingertips, lapping at the semi-congealed blood pooled in the hollow of her palm. He lets out a ragged sigh and braces himself against the table with one hand as his cock grows hard again and his knees tremble at the taste of her.

Mikasa is transfixed by the sight before her, Levi's eyelids fluttering closed as he lavishes attention on her skin. She has been this close to him before but has never noticed the length of his eyelashes, the soft pout of his lips, or the raw male power emanating from him. She has been nearly nose to nose with him in a fight, but now, lying battered and bleeding in his lair, she has never felt more wetness or more warmth between her legs.

"God, you're delicious," he moans, licking the last of the blood away, and Mikasa has to fight herself not to mimic the low, rough sound. Her chest rises and falls heavily as she contemplates the tainted cup of tea before her, wisps of white steam swirling above deep garnet.

"I have to avenge Eren," she tells him, her tone steady and resolute, yet mournful. "No amount of kindness from you will change that."

"I know." Silence stretches out between them for a few moments. Levi looks as though he wants to tell her something, conflicting emotions warring on his face until he lets out an annoyed grunt and decides to speak.

"You should know that I did him a kindness as well. He was wanted by forces much more monstrous and evil than even me. The Strigoi," he says in a hushed voice, seemingly too afraid to speak the name of the vampire elders’ council at full volume. "A quick death was the best I could do for him. That is all I can say on the matter."

Mikasa stares at him, her eyes shining, then gives him a small nod. "Thank you," she whispers, then reaches for the china teacup. Her eyes do not leave his as she lifts its delicate rim to her lips and drinks the entire thing in one swallow.

She can feel the potency of the drink as soon as it hits her tongue, the grassiness of tea leaves mixed with the smoke and steel taste of his blood. It swirls around her mouth and warms her, trickling down her throat and into her stomach. Without realizing she is moving, she lifts her other hand to his mouth, smearing blood across his lips until he grasps her wrist with both hands and hungrily laps at her crimson-stained skin.

Her breath quickens as she feels his blood doing its work, suffusing itself into her cells, making her insides roil as bruised organs repair themselves, fractured bones knit together. Mikasa reaches for the candlestick in her leg, wincing as she wraps her fingers around one end and prepares to yank it out.

"No!" Levi cries. "Not yet. You’ll bleed out and I... I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself." His voice is husky, thick with what Mikasa realizes is barely-contained desire. He runs his tongue across her thumb, capturing one last droplet of blood lodged in the corner of the nail, then lets her hand go.

If he wasn’t dead, he’d be blushing, Mikasa thinks, a similar flush blooming across her cheeks.

"Can you help me, then? I think you know your blood better than I do," she says with a knowing smile. Levi returns the smile and nods, climbing up on the table and kneeling beside her. He rests his palms against each side of her calf and runs his hands up her leg, stopping near the wound on her thigh. Mikasa shivers beneath his touch; the contact sends bolts of arousal throughout her body, overriding the last few threads of lingering pain. The only sound in the room is her labored breathing becoming more regular as her ribs heal, then the sound of fabric tearing as Levi rips her pant leg off from around her injury, leaving most of her leg bare.

"What are you—?" she blurts.

"I need to seal the wound," Levi interrupts, his tone brusque. "It’s easier this way." He waits a few moments, watching intently as the ragged flesh and muscle starts to join together. When it is sufficiently closed for him, he pushes Mikasa’s knee to her chest and grasps the base of the candlestick protruding from the underside of her thigh. He then yanks the candlestick out, sending it flying across the room, and attaches his lips around the open wound, drinking the residual blood and licking at her skin. Deep muffled moans escape from between her flesh and his mouth. When he is finished he gingerly puts her leg down and does the same to the other side of the wound, burying his face in her thigh. He uses one hand to steady himself and the other to rub his painfully hard cock through his pants, hoping to relieve some of the tension there. Mikasa writhes beneath him, though whether it is in pain or pleasure he cannot tell until he looks up from the now-healed wound to see her gazing down at him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth set in a pouty O.

In response Levi leaps on top of her faster than the human eye can discern, pressing her against the tabletop with his heavy, muscled body. Although he is shorter than her, a fact she never hesitates to point out, every inch of his body is toned and taut and imbued with superhuman strength, giving him the presence of a man twice his size. Mikasa gasps with the dueling emotions of fear and arousal when she feels him atop her, unsure of his intentions.

"You promised," she says softly, surprised that she feels wounded at the thought of his betrayal.

"I did," he answers in a low, breathy tone, then lowers his mouth to hers and takes her mouth in a fierce kiss. Mikasa immediately responds, her arms crushing him to her, her hips arching up to meet the rigid bulge in his pants, her tongue flicking against his as she opens her mouth to him. Levi presses himself against Mikasa, grinding his cock against the now-damp juncture of her thighs. She moans wordlessly as his zipper grazes her clit, marveling how she can feel such a thing through layers of fabric. Levi seems to share her thoughts, momentarily pulling away from her so he can unbutton his shirt and pants. Mikasa does the same, undoing the zipper of her jacket before Levi presses his hands to hers, stopping her.

"Let me," he rasps, his voice rough with need. He finishes undressing, throwing his crisp white shirt to the floor, kicking off his shoes, pushing down the waistband of his trousers. Mikasa mentally notes with a smirk that he does not wear any underwear and that his noted penchant for cleanliness seems to have disappeared under the influence of potent blood and sensuality. When he is finally naked, his muscled frame looking like sharply chiseled marble in the candlelight, his cock swollen and thick and ready for her, he pulls her up to a seated position and slips off her leather jacket, pushing his hands down her arms until it drops off of her body and falls to the table. The jacket hangs there for a moment and then drops to the floor. Her shirt soon follows, his fingers undoing each button with agonizing deliberation, tracing each inch of exposed flesh with his hands and lips; then her bra, which he flings in some random direction. He doesn’t know where; instead he is gazing deep into her eyes, seeing his hunger reflected in her dilated pupils and parted lips. His movements are soft and sure, dragging out the process of undressing her until they are both trembling and frenzied, ready to pounce on each other with barely-controlled lust.

He is the first to move, grasping her by the hips and yanking her pants and underwear off in one fluid motion and pressing his mouth to her pussy, inhaling the scent of her before finally, blissfully tasting her.

"Fuck!" Mikasa moans as Levi drags his tongue in leisurely circles around her clit, each circuit coaxing more noises out of her, breathy little gasps and sighs that only serve to drive Levi wild. His cock throbs in response and he groans, aching to be buried deep inside her. Mikasa rests on her elbows and watches him, looking down the flat plane of her belly at the top of his head as he licks and sucks at her most tender flesh. She flexes her hips and opens herself even wider to his touch; he responds by gripping and massaging her inner thighs as he devours her, the taste of her sex as intoxicating as that of her blood. He is firm and confident against her most sensitive parts, each motion pushing her closer and closer to an explosive peak. Within minutes she is shrieking and thrashing beneath him, orgasm tearing through her body with a force that only Levi possesses.

Before Mikasa can fully come back down to earth, he reaches his hands beneath her body and flips her over, depositing her on her hands and knees, sending silverware skittering, plates and glasses crashing to the floor. He barely registers the wanton destruction, focused only on the needs of his body, the desperate desire to plunge himself into her. Mikasa pushes her ass against the stiff length of his cock, silently begging him to ravish her, to give her pleasure by mercilessly taking his. Levi chooses not to indulge her just yet, grasping his shaft and rubbing his head against her folds a few times before he can no longer take it. He growls as she takes him inside her, her cunt hot and tight and slick with shameless need.

"Yessss," she hisses, overwhelmed with the delicious sensation of herself stretching around his cock, feeling herself adjust to his thickness. Levi tries to savor the moment but cannot resist the frantic urge to slam his cock into her over and over again, her ass slapping against his hips with each frenzied stroke. Mikasa starts to keen, her pussy clenching around his cock, sending electric currents of pleasure through both of them with every motion.

Levi loops one arm around her waist and pulls her upright against him, molding her back to his chest as he still maintains his furious rhythm inside of her. Mikasa leans against him, arching her back to give him access to her bared neck. His features briefly take on a look of disbelief at her actions, but the look in her eyes says Come, taste me.

"So fucking hot," he cries. He grips her tighter around her waist, using his grasp as leverage to fuck her harder. His free hand finds her clit, teasing it with his fingertips until she twitches and shudders against him, primed for another orgasm. Levi increases the tempo of his thrusts and swipes at her clit roughly, building a furious rhythm that will soon leave her limp and exhausted, if her frantic moans are any indication. His ministrations increase in speed, building to a fever pitch as he feels his orgasm start to build in his thighs and his balls. Mikasa’s eyes clench shut in concentration; an iridescent sheen of sweat appears on her forehead and neck, and blazing spots of color burn in her cheeks. Just before he comes, just as Mikasa’s cunt starts to flutter around him, he sinks his fangs into her neck and takes a long drink, the familiar but still somehow unexpected taste of her blood pushing him headlong into an orgasm that feels as though he is the one being drained. In that moment there is no Levi and no Mikasa, only two beings of pure pleasure, screaming their release as one.

Mikasa is the first to regain her senses, collapsing forward onto the table, sending another plate and glass to the floor as she catches herself on unsteady arms. Levi’s cock slides out of her pussy, glistening with her wetness. She makes a disappointed noise, feeling keenly the loss of him inside of her, a sensation of emptiness without his cock filling her. She lies on her stomach atop the table and lets out a long, sated sigh.

"Holy shit," she rasps, her voice hoarse and her throat dry from her heavy breaths and screams. She looks over her shoulder at Levi, her hair damp and matted to her forehead in dark tendrils, her countenance disheveled and gleaming. If he still breathed, the sight of her would take his breath away.

"Yeah," he murmurs in agreement, reaching out one hand to stroke her lightly sweating back, his mind utterly blank. Physically he remains pristine, not even a hair out of place; mentally, emotionally, he feels as confused as he does satisfied, as though he has been broken apart and rearranged in a foreign configuration. In due time he will register the magnitude of this encounter, will rage and seethe at the destruction they’ve both wrought in his lair, will scrutinize what the hell he just did with the woman who’s been trying to kill him, but for now all he wants to do is gather her in his arms and take her to his bed. He does so, moving with such speed that Mikasa barely registers what has happened until Levi is propping her up against a mountain of pillows, her skin glowing against his crimson silk sheets. He settles himself next to her, his body curling around hers as she does the same to him. Mikasa reaches over and brushes a strand of dark hair out of his face, then presses her lips to his gently, almost chastely.

"What just happened kind of makes me wish I’d asked for a longer truce,” he says after a few minutes of intimate silence.

Mikasa giggles softly, then sighs. "Me too." Neither of them suggests one, though, because that is not the way of the world. He is a vampire and she is a Hunter. They fight on opposite sides of an eternal war; they are not supposed to be lovers and bedfellows. After tonight they must return to their roles and forget about the passion between them and how they gave in to it, although they both know that they never will.

"You do know I'm going to try to kill you tomorrow night, right?" she asks him.

"I know," he replies, his lips curving into a wry smile before he can think to hide it. "I'm looking forward to it."

#rivamika #levi ackerman #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #alienheartattack writes #i swear to god if tumblr gives me another error when i try to post this i will burn this website to the ground and salt the earth

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theashemarie · 4 years

Text

Sparks in the Sky | Pearlina

Written for Frost Bytes Zine! Please go support the full zine, as a lot of people worked very hard on it! I’m very honored to be apart of it!

This is a collab with @katiemonz! Her piece is reblogged below, and we ask that you share the version with both pieces!

[Crossposted on ao3.]

Outside, snow falls like silent starlight. Pearl watches it from her spot in the kitchen, shivering in her thin leggings and t-shirt. Soon, she’ll have to shrug into a hoodie and socks, but for now she’s enjoying the cold, enjoying watching the flecks of snow as they land against the window and melt. The city beyond is dark, quiet in the pitch of the blackout, and white, the only electric light from cars as they glide along the roads slowly.

The blackout wasn’t expected but also isn’t a surprise. The Great Zapfish doesn’t like blizzards and the snowfall and ice are so dramatic that they drag the electrical lines down, so there’s always at least one every winter. The blackouts aren’t usually this close to the holidays though, but Pearl’s been living in this city her whole life so nothing surprises her anymore.

“How long do you think it’ll last?” Marina is bundled up on the couch, covered in blankets and dressed in her thickest flannel pajamas. She and the cold don’t get along because she’s used to the perpetual tropics of the domes in Octo Valley—something that Pearl can’t fathom, being a child of the surface and its seasons—so this time of year she’s usually nothing more than a ball of fleece, flannel, sweaters, fake fur, hoodies, boots, scarves, and her beloved fuzzy socks. Pearl can see a pair of them now, red and green, poking out from the bottom of her favorite blanket.

“Probably all night. The roads ain’t safe so they can’t get crews out to fix it.” Pearl glances back to see Marina worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, staring down at her lap. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We have the ceramic heater.”

They do—one of the perks of living in their so-old-it-might-as-well-be-vintage apartment. Almost all the other buildings in downtown use solely electric heating because it’s more efficient, but this building is the oldest one that Pearl’s family owns, the one that probably should be at the top of the renovation shortlist—and it has undergone some reno: they have electric heating in the floors of the bathrooms and their bedroom and wall-mounted air conditioners—but living here is a compromise. The truth is that Pearl wanted to be in one of those newer buildings, with all the metal and glass, the hard tile floors, the central heating and cooling, but Marina wanted vintage; Marina wanted warmth; Marina wanted a place that wasn’t blindingly white. Marina is someone who, after years spent in a world of metal and militaristic order, wanted natural materials and the raw, methodical chaos of brick.

Marina loves wood floors that are so old they feel soft. And Pearl loves Marina. So, they live here, on the top floor of one of the oldest buildings in downtown with wood floors and exposed brick and a balcony with wrought iron railings. There are drafts and the faucets used to leak, but it’s packed to the gills with personality and love. Downtown is Pearl’s half of the compromise: she wanted to be here, in the middle of everything, close to the studio and the square and Starfish Mainstage and The Reef, and Marina, despite favoring the quiet of the suburbs, loves Pearl, so they’ve found their small, warm home here.

And they have their ceramic heater, connected to the gas, and their gas stove and their gas water heater, so things could be worse. Way worse. Which reminds her...

“Reena... Listen, I won’t lie. Power’s out, snow’s coming down. It’s gonna get cold. You know what that means,” Pearl says, one eyebrow rising like a question mark.

Marina looks up at her, thoughtful, and then grins. She throws off her blanket and springs to her feet. “I’ll get the marshmallows!”

+++

They make s’mores on the stove after igniting the gas with a lighter, hold metal skewers out over the small flame, and toast their marshmallows as well as they can. Eventually, Pearl gets too cold to hide it and her teeth begin to chatter, which makes Marina point her toward their room with a stern glance. Pearl grumbles away, and she begrudgingly pulls on her biggest, pinkest hoodie, a bobble hat, and a pair of Marina’s socks. They’re too big so they crawl up her legs to her knees.

Carefully, she moves the velvet bag from the waistband of her leggings to the large front pocket of her hoodie, feeling to make sure the ring is still there. It’ll be much more secure there.

When Pearl returns, Marina is waist deep in a bottom cupboard, searching for candles. “Enough flashlights,” she says when Pearl comes up behind her and puts a hand on her back. The s’mores are sitting on a plate, chocolate oozing. “We need some warm light.”

They pick out giant three-wick candles—cranberry and fleece scented—and light them. Marina’s face, cast in a golden light, looks beautiful as she sets the candles down around their small, sweet feast. Behind them, the Squidmas tree, merry in its dressing, tinsel, and ornaments, sits dark, with a multitude of colorful presents—half wrapped by Marina’s careful, precise hands and the other half stuffed into bags messily by Pearl—lying underneath, expectantly, with all the patience of freshly fallen snow.

Of course, the most important present, the one Pearl’s been hiding since the Final Fest, is deep within the pocket of her hoodie. The only way to keep the small gold circlet hidden was to keep it on her person at all times, even when she slept and showered. She doesn’t have the traditional box because that would give her away, and instead she keeps the ring tucked away in a small, velvet drawstring bag.

Five months of hiding, of waiting, of panicking and Pearl is almost at the finish line. Squidmas morning, when it’s just the two of them, the presents, and mugs of sugary hot cocoa, she’s going to do it. She’s going to take that knee and pop that question.

Or so she tells herself.

“Pearlie,” Marina says, drawing Pearl out of her intense second-guessing. “They’re gonna get cold!”

Pearl grins at her, trying to look convincing and not like she’s beating herself up for taking so long. Five months —

She bites into her s’more, crunching the graham cracker in half with her teeth. Chocolate oozes out and she has to dart and lean over the counter to keep it from dripping on her shirt. Marina laughs at her.

Once they’re done eating, Marina pads toward the window, worrying her lip again. The snow is still coming down in small, individual crystals that paint the sky in great flurries of white. Luckily, the moon is bright tonight, so they can see the city clearly, and the stars are vivid—

Wait.

“Pearl...” Marina says, realizing at the same time. “The stars ...”

With all the light pollution gone, the stars are singing clearly from between the clouds. Marina’s hands come up to cover her mouth, and Pearl stares at her, at those long, precise fingers, and she feels something shift inside her, sending up a small blizzard of confusion in her stomach. This is...

“Reena...” Pearl says, suddenly alive with a fever that warms her through. She feels her face heat up as a plan forms. “We have to stay here in the living room tonight... The ceramic heater will keep us warm. I have— I have an idea! Don’t move!”

“Wh— Pearlie... What ?”

Pearl darts across the room, slipping in her socks, and cranks the knob on the heater up, sees the coils turn color as the gas kicks on and the small flame inside ignites. Then, she spins around, snatches Marina’s favorite blanket off the couch, and scurries to their room, digs around in their closet, and grabs as many blankets as she can carry. She dumps these on the ground right in front of the balcony doors, and makes one more mad dash, this time for the bathroom, where she grabs three large, fluffy towels.

When she returns, Marina is standing near the blanket pile, staring at it pensively, and she sends Pearl a confused, worried look. Pearl waves her off and drops to her knees. The floor is frigid this close to the old, single-paned doors, and she quickly stuffs the towels near the bottom, trying to block the cold from seeping in through the small crack. Then, she gathers up the blankets again and organizes them into a haphazard pile, creating a soft pallet on their old, worn, wood floor.

“C’mon.” Pearl holds her hands out and Marina carefully places her fingers into Pearl’s warm palms. Pearl guides her down, sets her right in the middle of the pile, grabs two more blankets, and drapes them over her. Marina chuckles and pulls them tighter around herself.

“I’ll be right back,” Pearl says, holding her hands out like Marina’s liable to disappear. It’s just that this moment feels suddenly special, feels like she needs to make it count, because it’s never this quiet and dark in the city and it’s the holidays and Pearl actually feels like this all means something, like this little bubble of warmth that they’re creating needs to be enjoyed completely and what better way to do that than in a pile of blankets, staring up at the stars?

Pearl scoops up the candles—dangerously, one in the crook of her elbow—and deposits them carefully around the small nest and crawls close to Marina, who opens up the blankets to let her in.

They stare up, up, up through the wide glass of the balcony doors, at the panorama of the sky, and watch the stars. The candles flicker around them, like small facsimiles for the distant sparks painted on the horizon. Marina raises one arm and points out constellations, using the old human names like Gemini, Orion, Hydra, but Pearl is far too fascinated with the light reflecting in Marina’s eyes.

“I haven’t seen the stars since Mt. Nantai,” Marina says into the quiet, whispering it against the glass as she leans close to see, breath appearing in a small burst of white on its surface. “Since I popped my head out of Octo Valley and climbed out.”

Pearl, taken back for a second, back to when Marina had short hair and Pearl was aching for a best friend, answers a bit belatedly: “We’ve visited Mt. Nantai since then.”

Marina looks back at her, cheeks painted with a light blush. “I wasn’t exactly looking at the stars then. I had more important things to look at.”

The look she gives Pearl is so full of tenderness that it strikes Pearl right in the chest. “Oh ,” she breathes. “S-same.”

Usually, she doesn’t get flustered like this, but something about the blackout, how close they’re sitting, the sight of the stars, the distinct shape of the engagement ring digging into her palm, where she’s clutching it inside her pocket, is making her soft. Her chest feels like it’s gearing up for a timpani solo.

This is it , she realizes as Marina smiles softly at her and focuses back on the stars. Forget Squidmas morning. This is it, back to where they started—just them, the stars, and nature. Of course, back then, Pearl never imagined that she’d fall in love with anyone , let alone Marina, and it took a few years to get here, but she’s not about to look this cosmic realignment in the face and say no.

“Reena...” she says, pulling her hand free. The velvet bag is there, and she can feel the ring through it. She removes it with shaking fingers. Outside, the snow continues to fall, covering the balcony and the furniture they forgot to pull inside.

Pearl shakes the ring into her palm. “Marina... It’s early, but I have a present for you.”

Marina turns. Pearl holds the ring up, stomach dropping open like a snowflake in freefall.

Marina’s eyes land on the ring. Pearl smiles with as much confidence as she can muster.

Marina’s face lights up like the stars in the night’s sky.

#pearlina #splatoon #splatoon 2 #off the hook #splatoon fic #ashe writes #ashe talks #long post #i'm gonna reblog the one with katie's art once she adds it!#so please don't reblog this one until she does!#also long time no see tumblr #i'm still alive!#it just sucks posting writing over here

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magpie-scribbles · 4 years

Text

Gasoline (Rappa x OC Hoshi)

Chapter 1: Little Trouble

Rating: M (Whole story rated E)

Warnings: Drinking, stripping, violence, unsolicited attention

Word Count: 2.7k

Wowwie! It’s the first chapter of Rappa and Hoshi’s Origin!

Once again his scheduled fights had been a let down; squirming little pricks begging for their lives, for him to not beat them into a pulp. If they couldn’t dish it out or take it they should fuck off. The past few weeks had been like this…maybe the past few months, uppity little shits trying to show off their quirks and their power. Doesn’t do you much good when you’re gargling on your own blood and begging your opponent for mercy. His knuckles didn’t even hurt after that last fight, and they had dragged the guy outta the ring, cause he couldn’t even stand up after the beating he took.

It wasn’t much of a rush when your opponents sucked…So after a lousy couple of fights and a less than ideal payout, he sticks to his usual routine.

He’s pretty certain the door’s on it last legs as he shoves it open; maybe because of him, but it wasn’t like he was the only restless and riled up person that came to this seedy little club. Hell he probably wasn’t the shadiest or the rudest either; though he had started a few fights here, some had been better than his matches.

The bouncer that does jack shit, nods at him in greeting; guy probably didn’t get paid enough to take care of half the riffraff that dragged their troubles here. Most the time Rappa just watched as he hauled piss drunk sobs out, or waited until a fight ended with someone unconscious; the loser getting kicked to the curb. The only time he had ever really seen the man do anything was when someone got too handsy with the dancers or threatened one of the bartenders.

It wasn’t like Rappa was complaining, this place was a little slice of heaven in it’s own rough way. Besides the beer was cheap and wasn’t too watered down; and it was nice to see some ass and tits after a night of beating the snot out of people.

A drink girl passes him on his way to a seat and he orders a pitcher, she looked him up and down for a moment as if trying to decide if she should give him one to himself before walking off agreeably. There was no way one pitcher was going to put him on his ass, especially since he downed a few burgers and nearly a whole bag of fries before he got here.

He doesn’t have a usual spot, he’s not the kind of guy that would waste time marking his territory in a place like this, where ever has a decent view is good enough for him.

He should be grossed out by the tackiness of the chair or the grittiness of the floor as the legs scrape as he pulls it back, but hell if he was; slumping into the seat and propping up his feet on the table, completely relaxed and content.

One girl is working the stage, circling the pole with practiced ease, almost looking bored, another was giving another very overzealous patron a lap-dance. A light tap on his shoulder and he turns his head; drink tray, with a very full pitcher angled towards him. The pitcher almost looks like a normal sized mug of beer in his hand, the drink girl doesn’t even wait for him to respond, just walks off; at least she didn’t tell him to get his feet off the table.

Taking a swig he watched the show on the small poorly lit stage; he wonders if others could see it, the raw energy below the barely there clothing as the woman worked the pole. True he was a man and thought with his dick but he could also appreciate the power behind it, if anything the power was just as sexy.

As he nurses his drink bickering piqued his interest and another patron was trying haggling the price of a lap-dance from one of the other dancers and he snorted when she pressed her foot too harshly against his nuts; daring him to try further bargaining.The man quickly paid up; too bad he was hoping for a scrap; Rappa doubted the squirrelly little businessman could have taken her.

He drains the rest of his drink, not even a buzz running through his system yet, he stared down at the foam at the bottom of the pitcher wondering if they watered it down, usually he at least felt a little relaxed. He looked around for the drink girl; the place had gotten busier, he gazes at the flickering clock on the wall they still hadn’t fixed the stupid thing. 9:12pm…at least he thought it was a 2 on the end. The business men were crawling out of their holes or away from their boring family lives, general riff raff and scum, looking for a place to get smashed. And Rappa could only hope this meant some action, this place usually saw some good tumbles after 9 and fuck where was the drink girl?

Growling he knew his seat was going to be taken if he got up to go to the bar, but maybe that meant someone would fight him for it and if that didn’t get his blood pumping. Hauling himself up and rolling his shoulders, he didn’t bother pushing his seat in.

The place is already crowded enough that he needs to physically push his way to the bar, not that it’s hard, but he just wants a fucking drink. One guy is loudly boasting, standing right in his path and paying no attention to the behemoth seeking to get passed him. So Rappa does what he always does and lays a large hand on the mans back and shoves. There’s a scramble and some concerned gasps as the man is catapulted over a nearby table, but no one dares reprimand the beast that shoved him, especially not after they saw his sheer size.

Finally he wades through the sea of other patrons to the bar, the music is getting louder and he’s glad to at least find a seat at the bar, even if the backless chair looks comically small under him. He slams the pitcher on the counter, loud enough that it could be heard over the sound of the environment.

“What’s a guy have to do to get a fuckin’ drink around here?” he rumbles.

It’s almost too quick for his eyes to catch but then there’s a small head of pink hair popping up from behind the bar. Bright eyes staring him down. He had never seen her here before.

“It’s called waiting your turn!” she quips, grabbing one of the drafts and pulling into a regular sized pint.

For a moment he wonders why she’s still kneeling and then he realizes she’s just a tiny little thing…and she’s telling him off. He’s caught off guard for a moment, most people are intimidated by him immediately but she’s…oh, well now she’s ignoring him.

Slinging the drink down the bar towards another patron, another calls out their order and she rolls her eyes. She turns to face him, still nonplussed by his size.

“Ok, what’cha want big guy?”

He grins and goes to say something when he hears a wolf whistle.

“Look at you, you little thing!”

She’s already bristling as she looks over her shoulder for the offender.

“Surprised they don’t have workin’ the pole up there; well why don’t you come over and sit on daddy’s lap and work somethin’ else.”

Rappa looks over, a skeevy man with slick back hair is eyeing her up and patting his thigh.

The little pink haired bartender looks back over to him, and fuck if she was directing that feral smile at him he might be a bit cautious about bite behind those teeth.

“Excuse me for a moment.” she says sweetly and bats her eyes.

She moves achingly slow towards the cat-caller, swaying her hips side to side, and, well he’d be lying to say he wasn’t watching the curve of her pretty little ass as she sauntered.

Casually she leans on the counter, back curved enticingly and chest out as she gazes at the sleazebag that had been talking to her. Slowly she reaches out and grabs his tie, fingers gently pulling on the material. He lets himself be pulled.

“Well look at you, what a good little girl.” he growls at her, or tries to.

Rappa is very curious at this point, wondering if she’d just go with the flow and get some extra cash from the guy by taking him out back but then…

“You don’t look like a daddy.” she tilts her head, and if Rappa had a drink at the moment he’d be doing a spit take because she’s full on sucker punching the guy square in the face. The only thing keeping the man from falling backwards out of his seat her iron grip on his tie. And then she tugs him back, slamming his head into the counter before finally releasing him.

The man whines pitifully hands coming up, getting ready to catch any blood, when he finally decides to sit up.

“And ya sure don’t sound like a daddy.” she huffs, rubbing her knuckles on the back of a drink cloth. The guy is still refusing to look up at her, but he whimpers when she leans down, hand going under the bar, reaching for something Rappa can’t see. “And I ain’t a good girl.” the hand below the bar, pops up and she’s placing one of those little overly sweet, dyed cherries on his head.

She stands back up and smiles.

“That one’s on the house!” she says in a sing song voice.

She practically skips back over to him, mood seemingly unsoured.

“Now, let’s try this again.” she leaned her elbows on the counter in front of him and rests her chin on steepled fingers. “What can I get for ya big guy.”

The smile she gives him is genuine and he can’t help but smile back and release a bellowing laugh, nudging the empty pitcher towards her.

“A refill.” he settles on his forearms, now that the commotion has settled, or at least it appeared so for now. The little bartender picks up the pitcher; where it looked comically small in his hands, it looks comically big in hers.

“You drink all this yourself?” she looks into the bottom like it might hold a clue. “Wowwza! You can pack it!”

She seems almost excited about that, and he can’t help but find her more and more amusing. He eyes down the bar, the man she had punched is still nursing his wound, bloodied napkin pressed to his nose. Rappa sneers when the man caught his eye.

“Whatcha havin’?” she grabs his attention as she moves over to the drafts.

“Triple IPA.”

Immediately she recoils, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue.

“That stuff’s so bitter!” still she turning to pull more of the deep amber liquid into the pitcher.

“It’s gotta good alcohol content.” he replies smartly.

“So do Martini’s and Pimm’s!” she shoots back.

“I ain’t drinkin’ pussy drinks.” he drums his figures against the bar, maybe that would get a rise out of her, he was interested to see more of her reactions.

“I Ani’T DrinKIn’ PuSsy DrINks.” she mocks, slamming the pitcher back down on the counter dangerously close to one of his hands, some of the beer sloshing over the side and onto his fingers. “At least they don’t taste like piss.”

He grabs the refill and takes a long swig, watching as she pops and few cherries into her mouth…and a few green olives…

“And how would you know what piss tastes like?” he arches his eyebrows after as satisfying swallow and foul smirk pulls at his lips. He wonders if she’ll punch him.

She observes the lemon wedge in her hand for a moment before biting into it.

“And why would I tell you? Maybe it’s a dirty secret.” she says around the wedge as she continues to suck on the sour fruit.

He nearly spits out his next gulp of beer.

“Sakuretsu!” someone calls from behind him, and he watches as the drink girl pushes her way through the crowd, looking rather annoyed. “Stop. eating. all. the. GARNISH!”

The small bartender, no, Sakuretsu sags dramatically and throws the lemon away. That’s a mouth full of a name for something so small. She starts removing empty glasses from the other woman’s tray and putting new ones on.

“So, Sakuretsu-” he begins when the drink girl walks off with her orders.

“Ugh, no.” she whines and he cocks his head. “Hoshi, my name is Hoshi.” she says something else under her breath but he can’t make it out.

“Well, Hoshi, you won’t tell me why ya know what piss tastes like, will ya tell me why I haven’t see ya here before?” he’s already halfway done with his pitcher and he’s finally starting to feel the buzzing through his body.

“I got some friends, pulled some strings.” she’s not shy in her answer and he has a feeling her friends probably aren’t good people. “Guess you can’t exactly go around nicking people’s wallets for all your chump change. So a real bonafide job is the way ta’ go, it’s a lot less fun though.” so she was a little pickpocket.

“Awfully honest.” he rumbles leaning closer. She works fast, seemingly already good at the job she had just gotten.

“No point in lyin’, it’s beatin’ around the bush! ‘Sides you don’t seem like the type to be an undercover boy.” she waves him off almost boredly, and then suddenly she’s in front of him smiling. “I bet’cha you’re one of them underground fighters!”

He can smell the citrus from the lemon she had been eating, and fuck she’s a cute little thing; with the alcohol thrumming through him he can definitely feel his dick twitch.

“And you’d be right.” he rumbles, leaning a little closer wondering if he’d scare her off.

“You probably knock the snot outta them!” she says excitedly, fuck the fact that she seems into it definitely has him even more interested.

He has to pull away to to clear his head, which he completely ruins by finishing off the rest of his beer; dammnit and he needs another, especially if this little bartender was going to keep toying with him, he wonders if she even knows what she’s doing. Pushing the pitcher back he taps plastic with a blunt nail, his eyes hooded, the lopsided smirk pulling at his lips dangerously close to something he might wear in the bedroom. She doesn’t seem to notice his primal look.

“Wow, you’re a fuckin’ BEAST!” she grabs the pitcher in awe. He’d definitely like to hear those words again.

She turns to fill it up again and he takes the chance to dig the heel of his hand roughly against his dick. Fuck… true he’s gotten hard from the girls here before but that was the strippers; maybe getting another drink wasn’t a smart idea, but Rappa wasn’t a smart man.

She gives him the refill but it’s hard to pay attention to beer because she’s crooking her pretty painted finger at him and he leans in. She glances around quickly before pulling a card out of her top.

“Took that sleazebag’s card.” she looks very happy with herself. “And!” she flicks it. “I’ll pay off your tab with it if ya get me into watch one of the fights for free.”

He still had enough brain power to consider her deal. True the entry fees went to pay the fighters, but his prize money was going directly into the pitcher in front of him. It honestly wasn’t much of a decision at this point with a good portion of his blood running straight to his dick rather than his brain and the rest singing with alcohol.

“Deal.”

“Yes! bloodbath! “ she pumps her fist and grins at him. “This is gonna be fun!”

#sakuretsu hoshi #hoshi #oc hoshi #Rappa x Hoshi #hoshi sakuretsu #kendo rappa #rappa kendou #rappa #rappa x oc #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines #boku hero oc #mha #mha oc #my hero academia #my hero Academia oc #kendou rappa x oc #magpie scribbles

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