#they only ever mention it when its to brag of their own strength or mention how mortals should be thankful for such an act | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

590 notes · View notes

fuchsiagrasshopper · 3 years

Text

Saturated

Author’s Note: Here it is, the long awaited one-shot that ended up a mini story in length. This wasn’t a planned idea, just something I went with and this is the result. I know this fandom is starting to shrink due to the show ending, but I hope those of you still here are having fun!

Masterlist

Summary/Pairing: Ivar x Reader In which Ivar thinks he’s found a daughter of the goddess Rán

Wordcount: 9642

Warnings: Language, Angst, Smut NSFW

The night was warm and still when Ivar made his way down to the stretching shore. It was a difficult trek the older he became because he had to wade through the sand that seemed to double his weight and sap his strength. After all that effort, he was reminded why he put himself through such a trial when he came into the blessed solitude. When he was a boy he had found an old fishermen's dock that was no longer used, and it was a quiet place he could go without being bothered. Sometimes he would look out at the water and imagine all the lands that were waiting for him to bring them terror and glory. When he was feeling less ambitious after drinking with his brothers, he would lie back on the creaking boards of the dock and gaze at the stars and wonder if the gods were watching in forethought.

His mother told him it was the sea that would take him from her. Her eyes would grow empty yet full of sadness, and he could only watch without being able to comfort her. Ivar wanted to journey, and he assumed his mother's vision meant that either it was by ship or drowning that he would be taken. When one entered a longboat to go raiding, the chance of a storm crashing down was always a possibility, but it was a risk worth taking for honor and legacy. He loved his mother, more than anyone, but he could not stay in Kattegat forever. His fate was out there waiting, and he needed only to extend his hand to take it.

A sudden movement in the water broke his focus and he looked out over the dock to the rippling surface. His eyes adjusted, and he thought his mind had gone when he recognized the whites of a pair of eyes staring back at him. There was a person in the water, bobbing just to their nose above the surface. At first, Ivar reached forward with his hand. They must have been frozen to the bone in the frigid sea. Kattegat's waters never warmed, even in summer.

When he looked at his hand cast forward, he felt foolish. With his useless legs, he couldn't swim. His upper body strength might support him a moment or two, but then sink and be wrapped under in the weeds before he could take a breath. He withdrew his hand only to find the eyes were no longer where they should have been.

Ivar scooted closer to the edge of the dock, searching the black water for the face he thought he saw. He rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps he hadn't slept well enough, or maybe he had ingested something spoiled during the last meal. He chose to believe his senses were sharp. They had kept him alive this long, and while trying to match his brothers no less. His eyes did another sweep of the shore before he called out, "I know you're there. You should know you cannot hide from a son of Ragnar."

His legs that dangled over the pier were parted, and a figure came straight out from the water to rest its arms on his thighs. Ivar flushed when he saw the figure was womanly. A beautiful and terrifying face, with large silver eyes, peered up at him. He had mistaken you for a woman, but you were something more. The hair that tangled down to your waist dipped into the water, and below was not a pair of legs kicking. Black scales with a pearlescent shimmer. You were one of Rán's creatures, or perhaps a daughter to the goddess herself.

"Ragnarsson," You spoke, and he was struck dumb by your voice. "Few may hear the siren's song calling."

Ivar's eyes shot to your hand as it trailed up his leg. Your nails were long, and there was a transparent webbing between your fingers. What surprised him even more than your strange claws was how gentle your touch was. It was a caress barely felt through his trousers.

"Who are you?"

You smiled. "I am (Y/N)."

"I am Ivar."

"I know you," You replied, and your sweeping hand switched to cupping his cheek. "You have your father's eyes and spirit."

"You know Ragnar Lothbrok?" Ivar asked while leaning into your touch. Your hand was warm despite the brisk waters you waded in.

"I know many faces of your home. I like to watch and learn from your people. Your father was a gazer too, but his eyes were to the horizon. You search the stars and night sky."

When you began to pull away, Ivar grabbed your hand and brought it back to his face. "Do you know my brothers?"

"I have seen them, but my song does not reach their ears. You are unique."

Ivar simpered. He could hear what his brothers could not. While they were off in barns and clearings, playing under the skirts of thralls, he was alone in the quiet of the night with a goddess. The sea had chosen him, though youngest and deformed.

"Why have you sought me out?" He asked, desperate to have his hopes confirmed.

"I wish to talk with you, and learn more of your kind. But we must always meet under darkness, for many of your people would rather hurt me than trust me."

Ivar knew why. Fishermen told tales of beautiful women taking sailors to the water, down to the sea bed of Rán's hall, never again to surface. He did not think you had the malice to do such a thing to him.

"How do I know you'll return? Is this even real?"

He couldn't help the creeping doubt from springing forth, and you flashed him a look of pity before plucking the knife from his belt. That got his attention, and he lurched forward to reach for the thing, but you held no ill intent. Instead, you pulled your hair over your shoulder and cut free a length to give to him. It was softer than any wolf pelt, and he clutched it tight to his chest.

"Giving a lock of hair to another can be one's undoing, so believe that I will return or curse me should I ever be treacherous," You said, and you slid his knife back into place before dragging your hand down his thigh. His cock gave a twitch, and your grin told him you knew. "Farewell Ivar."

You slipped back into the water like a needle through silk, and he was only able to catch a glimpse of your tail before you disappeared into the deep.

ooOOoo

Ivar went back to the dilapidated dock every night, and true to your word you would be there waiting in the water. You only approached once he took his place at the end of the pier, and Ivar would keep his legs apart so you would come rest between them. As you spoke of things unimportant, he would weave his hand with yours, playing with your fingers and the thin membrane of webbing. You would return the affections with little pets of your own, and you always left a kiss to the corner of his mouth before parting.

The lock of hair you had given to him was always with him. He had braided it together into a bracelet that he wore everywhere on his wrist. If his brothers thought anything about it, they never voiced such concerns. Ivar presumed they figured he had found his own thrall to be with, and as distracted as they were with Margrethe, they didn't dig further into his affair. His mother had noticed the thing as well, and always she would give it a long stare. Ivar always anticipated her to ask, but she avoided mentioning it as if it were a matter too delicate to speak of.

Ivar wished he could bring you to meet his family if only to brag to his brothers that you had chosen him. But he knew that could never happen. They would fear that you were a deceiver after his life, and his mother would have you killed to keep him safe. She probably would never let him near water again.

"Ivar," You called, clasping both hands on either side of his face. "Your mind is elsewhere tonight."

"Sorry," He said, looking away momentarily. "I just was thinking what it would be like to live our lives together."

"Come with me to the water," You suggested, and you gave a small tug on his arm that scooted him closer to the edge. He almost let you drag him in before he grew hesitant and pushed back.

"I can't swim like this," He said, scowling at you and then his legs.

"I will keep you safe." Ivar searched your face for any deception, but he only saw your smile. "You don't trust me?"

"I do," He said quickly. "But I…"

You heaved yourself upwards on the dock until it was just the tip of your tail whipping strokes in the water. Ivar caught your bare torso against his chest, and he flushed as your breasts pressed up against him. You were practically sharing the same air, noses brushing together as you steadied yourself in his arms. Your eyes met and you breathed a laugh that eased his previous concerns.

"We won't go far. I just want to show you that your legs aren't the burden you think they are."

You weren't pleading, and Ivar was intrigued by your suggestion. He gave you a short nod, and that was all it took for you to wrap your arms around him and haul him down into the depths. Your strength was surprising, but the admiration was banished from his mind the moment the cold water soaked straight through to his blood. He thrashed his arms, grabbing for purchase at imaginary aids that weren't there. When he tried to let out a shout, he swallowed saltwater. The sea was going to take him, just as his mother feared.

No. You were there, and you had never left. Like a spark to wood, Ivar was enveloped in a new warmth, and he floated to the surface with your arms around him. He took his first breath of air, but his throat was raw and he sputtered and choked. Your lips closed over his while he continued to cough, and it was as if you pulled all of the water out from his lungs. He didn't know if it was a real kiss, but he wore a shy grin as you pulled away.

"Breathe," You instructed. "Breathe, and look up at the stars you love."

Ivar first looked back at the shore and realized you had kept your promise. You had only taken him out far enough so his feet wouldn't brush the sandy floor. He then craned his neck up to the sky and found the familiar sight of his stars. They were the same out in the water as they were on land, a comforting thought for when he would one day sail away from home. The sky would always be there.

"Lie back and let the water hold you," You whispered in his ear from behind.

Ivar didn't know when you had maneuvered around to his back, but he continued to put his faith in you as you guided him down gently into the water. He was lying face up with his body floating across the surface weightless and free. You joined beside him, and together you shared in the silent night, bathed in the moonlight with the motion of the sea carrying your bodies. Ivar forgot for a moment about his broken legs. Drifting there beside you, he felt whole.

"You didn't answer me before," He spoke up, and you watched him with curiosity. "About us living our lives together. Is it possible?"

"There are those of my people who have given up the sea's blessing to live on land. Some may even live among your kind, though I doubt you would recognize them."

"How did they do it?" Ivar was sure even the dumbest farmer in Kattegat would have noticed a child of Rán flopping about.

"When my people choose to live a life as a land dweller, they simply have to go ashore. The blessing of the sea will fade, and in place will be a soft and weak human body, " You explained, and you turned your eyes away from him. "But the sea is vengeful and she hates those who leave her waters. Once the blessing fades, we can never return to her currents, or else we would be reduced to nothing more than foam that settles into tide pools."

If you were to be together you would have to give up everything you knew to be with him. Ivar wanted to ask this of you, but he was afraid of your answer. Being a prince as well as his mother's favored son meant he never had to work for anything. What he wanted he got, and always in plenty. If you refused him, he feared the rejection and what his reaction could be. He wasn't beyond forcing you out from the water onto dry land if it meant keeping you for himself. Better to not ask now. It was too early to demand so much from you.

He heard you shift in the water, and you were at his side again while supporting his back with your strong hands. "You don't want to ask me?"

Ivar shook his head. "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

"I know you will soon, Ivar. It's in your eyes, they darken with hunger."

"What would you say if I did?"

He let out a shiver as you righted him back into your arms, holding him in your embrace that let him know you were in control. "I would say that you could also give up your life to be with me. Right now, I could take you down there, and you would never again have to worry about dragging yourself upon the land."

The idea of never having to crawl again was tantalizing, something he had always wished for, and yet...even if he was with you, he knew he wouldn't forget all that he would leave behind. He wanted to show his people he could lead and conquer better than any man, even without working legs.

"I couldn't," He murmured.

"Then it is good I did not ask, and nor will you ask it of me. We will take comfort in the joy we have now, and forget everything else."

You met his eyes with your own. Silver, just like the treasures that were brought back over from raids. Ivar refused to fluster under your gaze, even though your peering felt like a piercing dagger. He wanted to appear self-assured, and not as some young lad who needed you to hold him. He pulled you close and planted a clumsy but heartfelt kiss. Your lips were cold but your mouth was warm, and he tried to keep up with your feverish pace as you devoured everything from the kiss.

When you clapped your hands on his cheeks, Ivar could feel himself trembling, and he knew it wasn't because of the kiss. Your mouth left him, and he tried to find your lips again. You placed a finger to his mouth to stop him and gave him a shake of your head. "You are like ice. I've kept you here too long."

"Not long enough," He retorted before sneaking another kiss on you.

You laughed while gently prying him back. "You have your father's confidence."

"Good, maybe you can find out what else of his I have." He gave you his best wolfish grin.

"We'll have our time," You promised, and you secured an arm around him before starting to swim back to shore.

The water seemed to grow colder as you glided through it and by the time you made it back to the pier, Ivar couldn't control his shivering. You urged him up onto the dock, and your concern had made you grow quiet. Ivar didn't mind that you fretted over his well-being, but he missed your smile.

"How will you make it back home?" You asked while looking over him to where the edge of the town was barely visible through the treeline. It was a long way off.

"I've travelled further," Ivar excused, though he had his trepidations. His damp clothes were sticking to him, and his hair felt like grass after the thawing in spring. The cold made his muscles tighten, and he wasn't looking forward to pawing at the ground with stiff hands.

"Go now, while you have the moon's light to guide you."

"When can I see you again?" It was becoming more difficult each time he had to leave you, and his thoughts revolved around when you could be together.

"I'll come back until I feel you no longer wish to see me." You reached your hand out to him, and Ivar took it, bringing it to his chest.

"That will never happen."

What he was saying must have been madness. Maybe you were Rán's daughter, and you had him under a spell. If you did, he didn't care. He would gladly stay under your enchantment. It was a warmth all his own, and a happiness he didn't have to share or contend with his brothers over.

"Goodnight my love." You placed your lips once more on his hand before returning to the sea.

Ivar did not watch after you as he usually would. It was a luxury he couldn't afford. The desperation to get inside by a fire drove him to turn towards home, and he struggled through the terrain as fast as his dragging would get him. He only passed by drunks and stragglers that did not give him a second glance upon realizing who he was. Ragnar's youngest son, the cripple. No one important.

He huffed his way up the stairs of the Great Hall, nudging on the doors with his shoulder until they parted. A low fire was burning in the pit, and his mother was asleep on her throne. She was still all done up from the last meal, and he realized she must have waited up for his return. His guilt propelled him forward, and he went towards her instead of his room. Careful not to wake her, he collapsed on the furs at her feet where sleep found him quickly.

Ivar didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he was startled awake by screaming. It took him a moment to realize it was his voice shouting, and he had jack-knifed into a seated position, clutching at his lower right leg. He knew he had broken a bone, and his mother, who was alert at his side, knew it as well. She called for two able-bodied guards to take him back to his room, out of sight of the thralls who had now gathered. None of his brothers were about, and he was relieved to be spared the humiliation. The weakness of his body during moments like this was only for his mother and the healers.

He was placed down onto the fur-covered palette in his room with one of the guards already off to fetch a healer. His mother was already trying to soothe his agony with her words, and as she brushed the hair on his forward she grew a frown.

"You're burning up," She said, feeling his forehead and then his chest. And your clothes are damp."

He swatted softly at her hand, frustrated with her observations but with never enough ire to cause her any harm. "Go away."

"Ivar, where do you go? All of these nights you leave my sight and no one knows anything about it." She plucked at the bracelet of your hair on his wrist before he jerked it out of her reach. "Who is this woman you see?"

"Get out, please," He begged. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and he didn't know if it was from the fever or the pain in his legs.

He was spared any further argument from her when the healer entered with three other thralls to assist. With soft voices, they were able to make her leave, at least until they finished addressing his fracture. Ivar would have felt awful at banishing his mother from his side if he could summon any other thought that wasn't about the hurt he was feeling.

The trek back through Kattegat had proved to be too much, but he didn't regret the night spent with you. In the water under the stars, and in your arms sharing kisses was where he wanted to be. He kept those thoughts in mind as the healer got to work on setting his leg in place, slathering it in a warming salve before wrapping it tightly in bandages.

"My Prince, you will need to stay in bed for the next few days to give the bone time to mend."

He gazed up at the rafters of the ceiling with contempt. How was he supposed to stay put knowing you were out there waiting for him? He couldn’t let the time pass and risk losing you, but he would need help.

"Go and bring me Ubbe," He instructed one of the thralls who shuffled out of the room at his request.

The healer continued to try and force some foul brew down his throat that he cursed her for at every turn of his head. Ivar knew he was notorious for being difficult to treat, but this healer had stuck through the bad times at his side. He admired her tenacity. If the situation was reversed, he would have given up on himself a long time ago.

After he had taken a large enough dose of the revolting stuff, he was left alone. The medicine made his head foggy, and he drifted in and out of consciousness while waiting for Ubbe to arrive. His eldest brother was best suited for the task in mind because he was soft when it came to Ivar's condition. Hvitserk didn't care about his legs either way, and Sigurd made a point to disparage him at every turn so he was definitely out of the running. Ivar guessed they had to all be out to the hunter's cabin. Following the commotion he had caused in the morning, one of them would have heard about it by now if they had been in town. It was nothing new really. He was used to being left behind.

Just as he was about to slip into another fitful bout of sleep, his door was forced open and in came his brother. He looked out of breath from running at least half of the distance back. Poor, gullible Ubbe.

"What happened?"

"The usual," Ivar started to explain as he forced himself to sit up. "Another broken bone."

"Mother says you also have a fever," Ubbe retorted as he took a seat at the end of the palette.

Ivar groaned. He hadn't estimated that his mother would be playing watchdog. "She got to you already?"

"She's worried about you."

"What else is new? She always worries about me," He grunted out as his leg twitched in pain.

"It's not just her this time. We all are concerned. You disappear at late hours and you're always tired. Even Hvitserk has noticed, and haven't you realized that Sigurd no longer says anything to you? For him, that's practically a defeat."

Come to think of it, Ivar couldn't recall the last verbal sparring match he'd shared with his third brother. Had his time with you sapped him of his usual energy?

"I need your help with something."

"Alright," Ubbe agreed with a nod of his head. "What is it?"

"When night falls, I need you to go down to the water. There's an abandoned dock if you follow the shoreline westward. Wait there and call for (Y/N), and tell her what has happened to me."

"Is she the woman who gave you that?" Ubbe asked while indicating to the bracelet on his wrist."

Ivar nodded as he began to twirl the thing around. It meant more to him than an arm ring. It was proof you had chosen him. "She's a daughter of Rán."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see for yourself when you meet her." He smiled something Ubbe couldn't understand.

"Feel better, brother," Ubbe said softly as he made his exit from the room.

Ivar could feel the headiness of the brew still working, as he was pulled into visions of you. Together you danced under the moonlight. He could recall the feeling of working legs even though he'd never had a pair before. You glided with him in his arms, but Ivar could not see if it was feet you stood upon or you had somehow managed to balance on the tip of your tail. The strangeness made him privy to the knowledge it was just a dream, but he allowed himself to be carried away in fantasy regardless.

Sometimes his mother would pop inside to have a check on him. Her long hands caressing his forehead and pushing back his hair made him feel like a boy again. The worry on her face had settled now that he was no longer writhing in pain. They only shared in a handful of words while the healer continued to tend to him. It was their special connection, a bond she did not have with his brothers.

When night came and darkness fell, Ivar sat himself up against the wall and waited for Ubbe to return with word of you. It was the first time in a long line of sneaking away that he didn't escape to go find you. A strange emptiness filled him at the thought, and he rubbed at his eyes to combat the sleep that threatened to take him. He couldn’t miss the update about you because he had fallen asleep.

A thin stream of silver light poked through a cut out in the roof of his room, and he imagined you in the water beneath the stars. He wondered what your reaction would be to learning of his injury. Concern he hoped, and not pity or regret for the night they had shared.

As Ivar's thoughts began to spiral out, he was relieved from further gloom when the door opened. Ubbe had returned, and he had on a perplexed frown that furrowed his brow.

"Well, did you speak with her?" Were the first words out of Ivar's mouth.

Ubbe shut the door behind him before coming further into the room. "I called for (Y/N) and waited on that pier, but no one ever came, Ivar."

He took a moment to juggle that information in his head while Ubbe looked on with worry. You never showed. Had something happened to you? Perhaps you were riddled with guilt about taking him in the water or you had seen Ubbe from a distance but did not approach. That had to be it. His brother was a stranger who did not hear your song as he had.

"I have to go there."

Ivar threw the furs off and started to twist to the side. His broken leg protested the rapid movement, and he grunted through his struggle. Ubbe was already at his side pushing him back. He latched onto his brother's arm and tried to shove him off, but even his upper strength had waned and he ended up flopping back down like a lifeless fish.

"You can't leave this room like that," Ubbe scolded. He took a seat down beside him, preventing him from trying something foolish again. "You'll end up losing that leg entirely."

"What's that matter? I'd be no worse off than I am right down."

Ubbe sighed. "I understand you care about this (Y/N), but I don't believe she would want to see you harm yourself this way."

Ivar knew you wouldn't. That's why he had to see you again and be surrounded by your love. "You could take me there."

"We'd never make it past the throne. Mother has seen fit to have eyes on who comes and leaves your room. I think she is looking for the woman to blame."

"(Y/N) won't come here," Ivar said and he could see the confusion on Ubbe's face, but he didn't elaborate. "I've probably lost her forever now."

"If she truly cares for you, she'll still be there," Ubbe argued, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "When you are well enough, I promise I'll help you back to the dock."

Ivar knew from past experiences that it would take many moons before he'd be fully healed. His eyes closed as angry tears threatened to fall. Why had the gods cursed him with these horrible limbs? The faults of his parents should not have fallen onto him. It was a cruel fate.

When he didn't continue to speak, Ubbe must have assumed he had fallen back asleep. He crept back to the door and exited the room as softly as a mouse scuttles through the kitchen.

Once he was alone, Ivar opened his eyes and took off the bracelet from around his wrist. He held it close to his lips, feeling the silk strands as he kissed the braided band. Maybe you could sense him reaching out. He decided to keep it enclosed in his hand and across his heart. If you were calling out, he would feel you in his sleep.

ooOOoo

In the many days that went by, Ivar became more frustrated with his leg. His broken bone was mending, but not fast enough that he was allowed out of the great hall. The slow progress had him taking out his anger on everyone, and they must have felt as trapped in with him as he was feeling about being locked up.

After a brief appearance to sit down to a meal with their mother, he had not seen his brothers again. This time he could admit he was to blame, and that they made the smart decision to cut and run back to the cabin. He had made the meal as uncomfortable as he could manage out of some need for vengeance. While they were free to run about Kattegat with their thralls, he was stuck in bed with wrinkled healers painting noxious salves on his body. He couldn’t be with you, so he chose to be spiteful.

Even his mother began to show signs of being fed up with him. Her smiles were now close-lipped, and she would linger by the door when she visited to make a hasty exit. He had yelled at her only once, and it had to do with her wanting to leave him just like everyone else. Ivar knew that wasn't true, and the moment she let out an anguished sob he had apologized.

Rather than continue to hurt those around him, he knew what he had to do. His leg was well enough that he could crawl again, and if he secured it tightly in his leather bindings it should protect the bone from any trauma as he moved. He had to get down to the pier himself and find you again. The call from the sea had him more desperate for water than a man dying of thirst. No thrall or guard would dare refuse him, and even his mother would not be able to stop him from going. He was doing this for her as well, even if she wouldn't see it that way. After causing her tears, he wouldn't be the reason for any more of her sorrow.

He needed the light to travel, so he began the trek from his room when the sun had only just begun to kiss the horizon. Much of the activity in the great hall had died down once the last meal had been served, and many of the thralls had already gone off to the barn. His mother was not on her throne. Ivar smirked at his good fortune and made for the doors as fast as he was able. Once he had them nudged shut behind him, he began his descent down the stairs. It was the most difficult part of the journey, guiding his body down feet first so his leg wouldn't bounce on every step down.

By the time he had cleared the treeline, the sun had set further and shadows were popping up in every corner. Ivar was more winded than he would normally be due to being bedridden, and he was mindful that he would have to work on building back the strength he had lost. But none of that mattered now. The dock was in sight. He had made it. He went together well with the solitude of the place, and when he sat perched on the end the creaking boards welcomed him home.

"(Y/N)," Ivar called out while searching for any ripple in the water. The surface remained still as glass, and he frowned while giving your name another shout.

Perhaps it was still too young in the day. He waited for the complete pitch of night to hit while letting his mind run wild with all the things he wanted to tell you about. It would be like a reunion of two lovers, and he couldn't fathom how one could be separated from their woman while gone on raids. Of course, his mother and father detested one another's presence, so it must have come as a balm to be away from one another.

The clouds parted from the moon, and one by one the stars surfaced in the sky. He called for you again, then held his breath to listen for any break in the water. Instead, he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him, and over his shoulder, he saw Ubbe approaching.

"I figured you would try coming back soon," Ubbe said once he stood at his side. "How's the leg?"

"Stiff," He replied tersely. "What do you want?"

Ubbe took an uninvited seat beside him which caused Ivar to shift over. There wasn't nearly enough room at the edge of the dock for both of them, and the wood groaned with the added weight.

"I never told you, but I've been coming back here every night after you sent me to search for (Y/N)."

Ivar frowned. "Why?"

"Because I saw how important it was to you to get that message to her, and I wanted to help. I might not be able to take away your pain, but I will still be your legs where I can."

Ivar looked at his lap as the heat built up in his face. He never knew how to take to his eldest brother's kindness. None of the rest of them had it, but from Bjorn's mouth, it was said that he inherited it from Ragnar.

"She never came back, did she?"

Ubbe shook his head. "She must only come for you."

"I don't think so," Ivar said as he looked out at the water. "It's been too long, and I've missed my chance. I don't think she'll come back."

"If she cares for you as you do her, I'm certain she'll be back."

Ubbe's words floated off him as he gazed down at the black water. He was struck with an irrational idea to force your hand if you were near. Before his brother could react, Ivar threw himself off the dock and into the water. It wasn't deep this close to shore, but it was enough that he began to sink. Ubbe was quick to follow, and Ivar tried in vain to bat away his saving hands. He was so desperate to have you come back that he would risk drowning. What a fool.

"Idiot," Ubbe cursed as he dragged them both up onto the sand. "What were you trying to do?"

Ivar turned his head away as he coughed up water. He felt embarrassed by what he'd just done and angry that it didn't earn him anything more than soaked clothes. "You wouldn't understand."

"I don't understand, and you won't help me to," Ubbe said, and his tone lightened from annoyance to mild irritation. "I need my little brother back. The one who's smarter than me at every turn, and doesn't make me fish him out of the sea."

Ivar started to laugh. It began in a quiet snicker and grew deep from his belly until Ubbe joined him. Neither of them knew what the humor was in the situation, but Ivar felt it was better to give in to the urge. He wanted to forget you weren't there, and giggling like a child with his brother in the sand was a good way to accomplish that.

"Should we head back?"

Ivar gave his leg a tug with his hand. "The bandage has soaked through and is starting to fall off. Guess I'd better have it looked at."

Ubbe crouched down beside him and indicated for him to climb up on his back. "C'mon, it'll be faster."

For once Ivar didn't argue. He couldn’t benefit from another disagreement, and he didn't want to be in wet clothes longer than he had to. Ubbe or Floki were the two he trusted most to support him. Hvitserk had dropped him one time, and he refused to let that happen twice. Sigurd never offered.

Once he was secured up to Ubbe's height, they started back home. He chanced one last look over his shoulder for as long as the water was in sight, clinging to the idea that you would spring up from the depths. The only movement out there came from the wind and the tide.

Neither brother spoke another word, but Ivar suspected Ubbe knew he had taken that last glance. How could he not? He wasn't ready to give up on you or accept the idea that you had abandoned him. Thoughts of you being in harm came to him, and he to banish those away because of the helpless feeling they gave him. You were a daughter of Rán, and the sea couldn't hurt you. Repeating it enough times had to make it true. As they journeyed through the night back to Kattegat, Ivar clung to the hope of seeing you again, and his thoughts warmed him up and dulled the pain until he found rest.

ooOOoo

Time passed by for Ivar and the pain in his legs dulled back into its usual ache. With his bone mended he could return to training with his brothers, and hunting up by the cabin. While his physical injury may have healed, it was not so for the throbbing in his heart. He had gone for sparse visits to the abandoned dock again, with each ending in the same sorrow until he had decided to give up going back. What's more, your bracelet that he had never let out of reach had vanished one day. Perhaps you had never been real, and he had dreamed you up.

What more could the gods take from him? First, it was his legs, then his father, and recently he was drifting from his brothers due to their infatuation with Margrethe. It was his mother he looked to as his constant, but she had grown distracted by visions. It was now common practice for her to disappear to her room after the last meal, when not so long ago she would be the last to leave with a chalice of wine. All of this left Ivar alone, and his thoughts had become unbearable. He needed something to dull the noise, a distraction.

More than anything Ivar longed to keep up with his brothers, and that's when he decided he wanted to fuck a woman. He approached Ubbe with the request to convince Margrethe. She had a pleasant face, and she didn't resemble you. If she had taken three of the other sons of Ragnar, he should be no different. Ubbe appeared torn when he first asked but did agree, and Margrethe was hardly in a position to refuse.

Now that the moment was approaching, and he was being brought over to the cabin by boat, he wondered if he would be the one to refuse. From what he'd always seen, men loved to hump a beautiful woman. It's what led to his parents' affair and marriage. So what was wrong with him that as he grew closer to the destination he felt ill? Ubbe certainly wasn't sharing the sentiment. He wore a dumb grin and was humming an old song to himself.

"You're happy I'm about to lay with your woman?" Ivar asked.

Ubbe laughed. "Margrethe isn't my woman, she's still a thrall. But I am happy because this is a good day for you, brother."

The day is still young, Ivar thought with a bitterness that was ingrained in his bones. Was sex such a powerful thing that it would shift who he became? Other than to have children, Ivar never dwelled on the matter. He'd never had a lover, and the closest he had come to obtain such a relationship was with you.

The boated jilted back and forth as it hit shallow water. Ubbe tied off by a tree before coming to fetch him. He was to be carried by his brother to his first tryst with a woman. Not nearly as humiliating as crawling he supposed, but the difference was negligible.

As they passed through the threshold of the abandoned cabin, Ivar stole a look around the place. It smelt like fire and driftwood, and there was a bed that had been piled thick with furs. The flame burning in the hearth let him know that Margrethe was already there.

Ubbe deposited him down on the bed and turned to get a look at him. "I'll leave now so you can be ready for her. Relax and enjoy yourself."

Ivar swallowed. That was easy for any of his brothers, they all had working parts. A handful of times he had felt his prick twitch and stiffen, but it was never a long event and he had never dared to try to take himself in hand. It was silly, but he was afraid of his cock.

He began to disrobe with haste, not wanting Margrethe to walk in on him without his trousers and his legs exposed. Once he was free of his garments he threw the heavy furs over himself and clutched them at his waist. All he could hear was his heart pounding, and he kept his chin tucked into his chest, straining to listen for the woman in the cabin.

She came to him from behind in light, cautious steps. Perhaps she was nervous, or his trepidations had seeped into the air and spoiled the mood. Ivar resisted the urge to peek until she stood at the side of the bed. When he glanced up he saw that she wore a fisherman's net as a veil. Her features were distorted, but he could make out the subtle difference that alluded to her being anyone other than Margrethe.

"(Y/N)?" He whispered and hoped.

You lifted back the thin mesh from your face, and you put on a dazzling smile. Ivar had never seen a better sight, not the first sacrifice of spring or the storms of Thor could hold a candle up to you. You donned a crisp white gown that was cinched at the waist with a strap of brown leather, and your hair was a wild tangle of waves. He had never seen you without your sodden tresses.

You took your first step to come closer, but you lost your balance and fell onto the bed in his awaiting arms. This was where you belonged.

"Shit," You cursed, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. "I was supposed to be beautiful and graceful, but these legs are too light. If I run fast enough, I'm sure I could soar like a bird."

"You have legs?" Ivar exclaimed while pulling you onto the bed beside him with all of the strength he could summon. "Let me see."

You swung your legs across his lap, careful not to rest any weight on his thighs. He hitched the skirt of your dress up to your thighs, exposing the new flesh. His hands didn't know where to touch first. This must be the work of the gods. In place of your magnificent tail were two gorgeous limbs that he was happy to smooth his hands over. You wiggled your toes, content to observe Ivar as he studied you.

"How is this possible?"

"I told you my people can choose to abandon the sea. Now I'm a soft creature like you," You said while giving his arm a playful squeeze.

He caught your hands before you could pull away and placed a kiss on each of them. They no longer had the webbing or claws, but there was a strength to them that he could feel under your touch. "Where did you go? I tried so many times to find you, and I even sent my brother."

"You had your life up here, and I had mine below," You said as your eyes grew vacant. "When I did return to the surface, I could no longer find you. All of these things left unsaid caused us to miss each other."

"Then why are you here now, like this?"

You reached for his wrist, finding it bare. Ivar knew what you searched for. "You no longer have my precious gift. Did you think I turned treacherous?"

"I misplaced it. I would never have thrown it away, even if I thought you'd left me."

"I know," You said as you ran a hand down his bare chest and over his heart. "You were in more pain than I understood that night. The blue in your eyes."

Ivar tensed. "How did you learn about that?"

"Your mother told me."

"My mother…" Ivar knew his mouth was hanging open in question, and he snapped it shut to regain composure.

"She found your bracelet. It was her voice I could hear beckoning me to the land. She must be a powerful woman to do such a thing."

You didn't have any animosity in your voice, but Ivar couldn't help but feel angry for you. His mother had taken your life from the sea by force. He had considered the heinous deed himself for a time, but he would have never risked your resentment. What if that came to pass now that the unthinkable had happened?

Ivar couldn't keep himself from looking at you now. He wouldn't let you go a second time. "She said the sea will take me. Perhaps you are meant to stop that from happening."

"Or maybe I am the sea," You said, shifting your hips as you hovered over his lap. With a firm shove you had him down flat on the furs, and he nearly lost his air as your thighs squeezed at his waist. "Come to take you myself because I couldn't stand the thought of that Margrethe touching you."

And then Ivar realized...Ubbe had known he was taking him to you. You had been on land long enough to learn to walk and find out about his pathetic setup with the thrall. His face flushed and he turned his head to the side before feeling your fingers grasp his chin. You tilted his face back around, and he saw only tenderness.

"I know the weariness from being alone. My heart has been there as well."

"You'll stay?" Ivar knew he sounded a touch petulant, but he did not want to suffer another morning with you vanishing.

"Until the gods bring you home and the sea turns me to froth, I will remain by your side, Ivar Ragnarsson."

He didn't know who's lips touched first, but when your mouths connected, it was like being awash on the deck of a ship. You were a cool drink of water with the tang of salt, and Ivar threaded his hands through your hair. The more his hold tightened, the more it pulled him in like reeds in a marsh.

You withdrew slowly, and you held his gaze, even when he wanted to look away from the thrill of what you'd just done. With careful hands, you shed the veil from your head, and then the dress, all collecting into one pile on the floor with his garments. You were naked before him. All of your scales were gone in place of smooth flesh and pleasing curves. Ivar knew he was gaping at your breasts, how they rose and fell with each rapid breath you took. As you gave a coy grin, you peeled back one corner of the furs and slithered your way in beside him. You pressed up against his side, and his body went taut as you tangled your legs with his.

"Is this alright?" You asked while your toes brushed up and down his shin.

"Yes," He said as a puff of air escaped him.

It was stifling hot under the covers, and your hand seemed to sear his flesh as you dragged it up to his thigh. Your fingers just teased next to cock before brushing up his abdomen. Ivar shifted, his hand reaching yours to halt your motions.

Your eyes flashed to his, and you smiled with patience. "Tell me what you want."

"I…" He paused, unable to form the words, and he could feel himself losing his nerve. With a tighter grasp, he took control of your hand and brought it back down to his half-hard prick. "I just want you."

"You have me," You murmured back as your hand began to fondle his shaft. He continued to grow in your hand, and Ivar let his eyes roll back at the feeling of you working him. His cock had never been so stiff, and his free hand clutched at the furs as he tried to recognize everything he was feeling. Fluid was beginning to bead out at his tip, and he struggled to push you back.

"S-stop," He sputtered.

You pulled back with a shy expression, and you were breathing just as hard as he was. You enjoyed what you could do to him. "Are you alright?"

Ivar bobbed his head, not sure if he agreed or not with your question. "I was losing control too soon, and I haven't even touched you yet."

"Is that all?" You rolled yourself on top of him, pushing back the furs while the cold air of the room pebbled your nipples. Ivar looked up at you in awe. "Touch me then."

Your slick center was rubbing on the base of his shaft now pressed up against his stomach, and he could feel his hips give a few practiced ruts. He saw the flash of delight in your eyes, and you hummed out a moan that was as long as a horn that bellowed in war.

"I'm still adjusting to this new body," You panted. "I've never felt like this before."

Ivar felt a strong sense of pride for bringing you these new experiences along with him. Even though he lacked the skill, he had a newfound confidence that had him reaching for you. His hands felt rough and clumsy against your untouched skin, squeezing and pawing to see how much pressure to apply and where. Your breasts were soft and pliable while your backside was firm and rounded, and you leaned further into him as he grasped onto your cheeks. You placed a wet kiss in the hollow of his throat that had him moaning. He wondered if you could hear his heart racing.

"Please," He choked. "I need to feel you."

Your hand reached down between your bodies, and you pulled back to watch his face as you clutched his cock. Lining it up with your slippery center, you brought your cunt down to the hilt. Ivar was under no delusions that he would last long or immediately be worthy of infamy in bed like his brothers, but being surrounded by your wet heat, he thought he'd cum right then. As you sat up straight to readjust, he let out a gasp. You did too, only when his eyes cracked open to get a look at you, your eyes were shut and your face was screwed up in pain.

"What's wrong?"

"Is it supposed to hurt like this?" You whimpered, hands grabbing at his chest. It seemed everything about your human body was new.

"For human women, it does the first time." He wrapped his arms around you and spun you down onto the bed with himself still connected between your legs. It would be difficult for him to manage this way long, but it would be better for you this time. "I've got you."

Your eyes were blurry from unshed tears, but he could feel you relax in his arms as he began to set a slow pace. On the first withdrawal of his cock he could see a small amount of blood seep out which he regretted feeling thrilled about. You were his now, and he was yours.

The strength in your legs was unmatched, and as you grew more comfortable you squeezed at his waist with your knees. He knew his end was already in sight from the tightening in his balls and the burning in his gut. You had thrown your head back, hair tousled and mouth open to show your sharp teeth. It was the only telltale sign that you weren't a human, and he bought his lips down on yours to explore the fangs with his tongue. You teased back with little nips, and you gave a harsh tug on his hair that separated him from the sloppy kiss.

"Fuck," He breathed out, and his hips began to lose rhythm. "I can't go much longer."

You ran a hand meant to soothe down his back, but it only spurred him on. His hips snapped at a frenzied pace with his thighs smacking against yours. Nothing could stop him chasing the feeling of his release, and with a few more pumps he felt himself empty deep inside you with a profane groan. All of the strain he'd put on his arms to keep from balancing on his legs gave out, and he collapsed on top of you. Your hot skin stuck to his, and he could feel you twitch beneath him.

"Sorry," He whispered embarrassedly. He rolled off of you and his cock made a wet pop as it slipped out from your folds. "You didn't get to finish."

You rolled onto your side to look at him, still breathing fast and on the precipice of your release. "Forget that. This was about you getting to enjoy me tonight."

Ivar shook his head as he turned into you. "But I want you to enjoy me as well."

His hand dove for your core, chubby fingers fumbling around in your wet pussy that was now a mix of your blood and his cum. This was the first time he had felt a woman's warmth, and he watched your reaction as he felt around your lips and the tiny bud at the top. When he stroked over it with his thumb your legs jerked and you whined. He continued to swirl his digit around the nub while experimenting with varying degrees of pressure. You were now experiencing his love for you, and he could read what you enjoyed most with how expressive you were with your body. He settled into a comfortable pattern, and your hand shot down to join his when he hit a perfect cadence.

"Yes...there," You cried.

Ivar plunged his longest finger into your depths as you began to wither and shake. He could feel your pussy clamp down on him as you came, and he knew he wanted to feel that on his cock next time. Your eyes blinked rapidly as you started to calm, and he withdrew his hand, only to bring it to his mouth for a taste. You watched him in rapt attention.

"A warrior tastes the blood of his enemies in battle, so should he not also taste his lover's in bed?"

You brought your hands back together with his and pulled yourself against his chest. "If the gods willed it, then let it be so."

You laid in silence together, and Ivar felt your little puffs of air even out as you fell asleep. He pulled a fur over the both of you, the fire had long gone low and the night air colder. Indeed the gods must have willed it. Ivar now knew he was favored by the gods above all other sons of Ragnar. You were a daughter of Rán, and you had chosen him. His mother knew it as well, or else she wouldn't have summoned you back into his arms. In his heart, he had already forgiven her for taking the bracelet.

The sea had come to take him, and he had gone willingly into the mouth of the current. It was comfortable there, like a never-ending waterfall over rocks beating him down onto your altar. You opened it up and took him in, and now you were both drenched.

The cabin grew cold and black, and Ivar went to sleep beside you that night with the comfort that the stars still shined overhead, and that when dawn came he would not have to face another day without you.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood

@peachyboneless

@didiintheblog

@soleil-dor

@zuxiezendler

@pieces-by-me

@xbellaxcarolinax

@heavenly1927

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@youbloodymadgenius

@xceafh

@strangunddurm

@shannygoatgruff

@1950schick

@tgrrose

@castielsangelsx

@rose1729

@ladynightshade30

@dangerouspsychicgardenflower

@ritual-unions-gotme

@readsalot73

@lonewolf471

@poisonous00

@alytavzla

@katfett

#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings #history vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar smut #ivar ragnarsson #ivar angst #vikings imagine #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok

403 notes · View notes

yanderesleepybutwriting · 3 years

Text

Pain Without Love [Part Two] || UshiTen x Reader

_____

Pairing: Ushijima x Reader | Tendou x Reader

Summary: Soulmates meant to find each other with a link, bound by pain. Tendou and Ushijima thought they had it easy when they found out they were each other's soulmates. Until they started finding injuries not caused by either of them. It turned out a piece was missing from their puzzle. You.

Notes: Okay, here’s part two. Kinda rushed, so I’m sorry about that. But I love you guys and I hope you’re all doing well.

[Part One]

_____

“Y/N?”

What started off as a small whisper of your name began echoing louder and louder until it was almost impossible for you to ignore. You groaned ever so slightly, eyes squinting in an attempt to block out the lights clouding your vision, and making it even harder for you to get your eyes open. You heard slight shuffling coming from in front of you before the brightness was gone.

“You can open them now,” a deep voice uttered. You obeyed, cracking them open only to see Ushijima standing in front of you, his body shielding you from the light of the street lamps in front of your apartment complex. How long were you asleep? You could have sworn you had only shut them for a second.

“Sleeping beauty has risen,” Tendou hummed leaning in and unbuckling your seatbelt for you. As he leaned over, fingers gently brushing against your thigh, you caught a brief scent of his cologne. The smell definitely suited him, but before you could take in any more, he pulled away, both of your eyes briefly meeting before he was outside the car, offering you a hand to help you back out onto the sidewalk.

“I could’ve done that myself you know. I just have a concussion. It’s not like I’m completely helpless or something,” You huffed, ignoring his hand and getting out of the car on your own.

“Hmm, looks like someone isn’t a morning person.”

You ignored his comment, turning to close the car door behind you.

“I don’t know why you’re talking. You hate mornings too. It was hell getting you up for early morning practice back in high school and that hasn’t changed a bit now.” Ushijima spoke up.

At the mention of high school, suddenly your ears perked up a bit. “Exactly how long have you guys known each other?”

“Since our first year of high school. We were on the volleyball team together. Although we didn’t talk much, we definitely knew of each other.”

“Mmm, you must’ve been pretty popular.”

“Nah.” Tendou waved off, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning down slightly to be closer to your level. “We were just killer at volleyball,” he smirked.

“Well, as much as I’d like to sit here and listen to you brag about how amazing you are. I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to head in.” Making your way over to the doors of your building. You turned around once you had reached the top of the steps and offered a bow to both of them. “Thank you for the ride, and I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“You don’t have to thank us. It was no trouble. Plus, whether you agree with it or not, you are our soulmate, and it made us feel better knowing you got home safe.” Ushijima explained.

“Uhh..right.”

The reminder of your whole soulmate situation left you with an awkward… almost uncomfortable feeling settling in on you. You had almost forgotten about it entirely. God, why did they have to keep bringing it up?

“Well. Goodbye, and thanks anyway.”

As much as they wanted to, they didn’t stop you from going inside. You did need your rest. They just wished they could’ve had more time with you. The time they shared seemed to pass by too fast for either of their likings.

Then again. Maybe using ‘goodbye’ wasn’t the best choice of words on your end. After all, now they knew where you lived. So this definitely wasn’t the end. Your relationship with them was only just beginning.

You woke up the next morning with a bunch of texts from everyone wondering how you were doing, and if you were okay. You told them you were fine and would be back in the game by tomorrow. Even as you sent the text, the doctor’s words were floating around in your head.

‘No volleyball for at least a few days.’

But after a good night’s rest, you were already starting to feel better. Your headache had already decreased tremendously, so what would be the point in waiting around and doing nothing. Especially when your team needed you. Today, you would get more rest, but tomorrow morning you would be up and ready to get back in the game.

---

“Hey, Waka! My arms are stinging like crazy, I didn’t know you planned on practicing today. You should have told me I could have helped if you needed it.” Tendou offered as Ushijima walked through the front door in his workout clothes.

Ushijima looked over at his partner confused. “I didn’t. I just went out for a jog. I thought you were practicing in order to make up for missing last Saturday’s practice.”

Both of them knew what this meant, but neither of them wanted to admit it. You wouldn’t. No, you couldn’t have… right?

“Fuck!” Tendou shouted, frustration and anger clear as he stood up from his spot on the couch “I knew we shouldn’t have listened to them.” He was already reaching for his coat before Ushijima grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going over there!”

“Not yet.”

“What the hell do you mean not yet?” Tendou questioned. He couldn’t understand why Ushijima wasn’t as pissed off about this as he was. You were supposed to be resting, in bed. They even planned to drop off some extra pain medication at the front desk of your building so you wouldn’t have to leave if you ran out. Little did they know, you never had any intentions of staying in, in the first place. Tendou felt stupid having ever believed you would take anyone’s advice and Ushijima felt the same way.

“Take some time to calm down. I’m going to shower and we can head over as soon as I’m out. You’ll scare her if you approach her angrily, and she has a hard enough time trusting us as is.”

Tendou huffed in response, body slumping as he released a long frustrated breath. Ushijima was right. For now, he would continue to play nice.

“...Fine. Hurry up and shower. You have ten minutes before I leave without you.”

---

You don’t know what it was, practice started off just fine, but the longer you continued, the more exhausted your body felt. Your stamina was unusually low when compared to your normal days, which was frustrating enough on its own, without the help of your other symptoms. The fast-paced workout that was normally a breeze was now an almost impossible task to complete. Despite your struggles, you pushed through with all your strength until your coach called it a day.

“You know, you had us all worried there for a bit, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I thought for sure that hit would’ve taken you out for at least a week.”

“Yeah, no one can take a hit to the head like you,” Your teammates joked.

“Gee, thanks. At least I got that going for me.” You laughed,

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re feeling better,” Manami, your team’s setter, spoke up, “But you should start heading home and get some more rest. We’ll cover clean up from here.”

“Thanks, Manami. I appreciate it.”

After finishing up your goodbyes you started heading towards the train station so you could go home and start studying for next week’s exams. You didn’t want to, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice. Bad grades mean your school won’t allow you to play volleyball, and you couldn’t bear to let your team down like that.

The thought of you being stuck back at home head stuffed between the pages of a workbook was already enough to give you a headache. But the slight pain in your head was nothing compared to the two headaches currently waiting for you outside of your apartment.

518 notes · View notes

thepiratearcinhamlet · 3 years

Text

Dead Apple Explanation:

Part Six: Dazai & the Antidote; also Soukoku

---------

WARNING. If you do NOT want spoilers, then please do not keep reading. :)

Now, I know there was some definite confusion about the whole pill/apple/knife/stabby/death/ thing, so here goes:

The pill was an antidote for the poison that was inside the apple, and subsequently on the knife that had been sheathed inside the apple. The pill wasn't dissolvable - it needed to be cracked open, much like a cyanide pill. Dazai secreted the pill in his mouth before he went to Draconia, knowing he would need it later. In order to defeat Draconia and return separated abilities to users who were still alive, Dazai's ability needed to create a singularity. Except the only way for Shibusawa to take possession of an ability stone was to kill the user. However, the gem is harvested as you are /dying/. It doesn't wait for you to be completely dead, pulse gone, etc. etc. Shibusawa stabbed Dazai with the poisoned knife, but Dazai couldn't take the antidote just yet, or his ability would return to him. The knife was not long enough to reach his heart, and not even in the right spot. The poison would kill Dazai before the knife would. Dazai passed out, and was sucked into the dead apple that eventually transformed into a Dragon of Chaos.

Note: The novel says that he dies, and also refers to his corpse, but the novel ALSO likes to use devious language to confuse the reader, (i.e. the bar scene, where it makes the readers think it was a suicide pill, not an antidote.) It is POSSIBLE, that the pill was some form of antidote, and Chuuya's Corruption punch acted as a defibrillator, but that would give Chuuya only six minutes max from the minute Dazai was stabbed to agree to Ango's terms, arrive at Draconia, kill the Dragon, and hit Dazai, (otherwise the brain incurs extreme damage or is unrevivable.) It's more plausible to assume Dazai was simply dying and in an almost comatose state. Anyways.

When Chuuya activated Corruption to defeat the dragon and find Dazai, he clearly knew what to do - smack Dazai gently enough NOT to kill him, but firmly enough to crack the pill in his mouth, so the antidote would activate, Dazai would revive, and Chuuya's Corruption could be shut off. If you ask me, Dazai had been forming a potential plan for this ever since he discovered "apple suicide". He had one of Fyodor's apples and knives, and had created an antidote, and Chuuya knew what to do. Dazai probably knew that one day he would confront Shibusawa, and it was good to have an antidote - and in case he couldn't administer it himself, Chuuya could do it for him. Chuuya probably thought he was nuts back then, but Soukoku's trust runs deep - Chuuya remembered. (P.S. After writing this, I saw an interview with the authors/creators of Dead Apple, and it was confirmed that Chuuya knew Dazai's motives/plans.)

Which brings up what I mentioned earlier about the Port Mafia knowing more about Shibusawa than anyone, including the Agency and Special Division. Near the climax of Dead Apple, Mori comments that this must all be part of Dazai's calculations. Chuuya knows exactly what to do to save Dazai. Akutagawa knew how to regain his ability, (i.e. destroying the ability stone.) And Mori knew enough of Dazai's plan to authorize Chuuya to answer Ango's summons to Special Division. (He mentions this at the end of Dead Apple, when he says Dazai was the star of the show, but Chuuya gets life-long bragging rights and the peace of the city.)

At the end of the last episode of S2, Dazai and Hirotsu discuss what happened and what is to come. Dazai mentions "the demon" who has returned, meaning Fyodor. He also mentions how he thinks an alliance might be necessary between Atsushi and Akutagawa, and even mentions how powerful he and Chuuya were back in his Port Mafia days. As evidenced in the Prologue, Hirotsu was gathering his own information about Shibusawa, per Mori's orders. It's very likely that Dazai and Hirotsu discussed Shibusawa, since he was connected with Fyodor, and exchanged information and possible plans, and that is why the Port Mafia was in the know and the Agency and Special Division were not.

SO YEAH. Hopefully that clears up the whole antidote/dying thing, as well as the Port Mafia being so much in the know.

A couple more notes on Chuuya and Dazai:

It's worth mentioning that even in his Corruption state, which he usually cannot control, Chuuya was able to remember Dazai, (he screams his name as he dives into the exploding Dragon,) and hit him /just perfectly/. Corruption punches create black holes and destroy pretty much anything. Yet, somehow, Chuuya was able to control Corruption to hit Dazai but not kill him. When Chuuya told Ango he needed to save Dazai to smack him, he meant that literally. *cue more feels*

Also, remember how I said earlier that not everyone's ability was affected by Shibusawa's? Fyodor, Dazai, and Chuuya appear to be the exceptions who can resist or are immune. Dazai's ability is, in his words, "an anti-ability", and therefore could cancel out Shibusawa's effects. Fyodor's ability was so much a part of himself, that the ability could not separate itself from his individuality. Chuuya's ability is ALSO a huge part of himself, but its core comes from Arahabaki, which can resist Shibusawa. When Chuuya collapses, Dazai tells him to stay put, because Shibusawa isn't dead, and Chuuya is in no condition to fight his own ability, and Dazai isn't up for it either. Chuuya wasn't immune, but could resist - his loss of strength after Corruption would cause his resistance to wane, but with Dazai touching him, For The Tainted Sorrow would be nullified, therefore cancelling out Shibusawa's ability on BOTH of them. The animation reflects this, causing a very light glow to emanate from Dazai, enveloping Chuuya as well, as the mist swirls around them. *even more feels*

178 notes · View notes

meimi-haneoka · 3 years

Text

Akiho Shinomoto - a manifesto of love

Despite becoming one of my favorite characters in the whole Cardcaptor Sakura franchise (and I would’ve never expected to love a new character this much), I realized I’ve never spent a long post for her, like the ones I did for SyaoSaku or for Tomoyo and Syaoran long time ago.

And there’s a lot to say, because Akiho Shinomoto is actually the first character who has introduced the concepts of evil and child abuse in Cardcaptor Sakura.

Something that wasn’t even remotely conceivable until (almost) 5 years ago.

Often considered boring and weak from the CCS fandom, Akiho actually harbors an immense strength inside of her, which goes mostly unnoticed to everyone, in-story friends included. Let’s see why.

Sentenced to death, for lack of magical powers

Once upon a time, a baby girl was born in a clan of powerful magicians, the most ancient of Europe. Clan members seemed happy and curious about the new entry to the family. They had great expectations about what magic she would develop, as everyone else in that family. At the ripe old age of 1 year and a half / 2 years, the baby girl was expected to show some signs of magic, but she had none. But hey, maybe she would become powerful later, let's pat her head and wait patiently. At that time, the Clan still showed some kind of "attention" for her.

But by the time the girl was around 6/7 years old, no fragment of magic appeared in her. Unacceptable. She's the daughter of two top rank magicians, in a clan of magic prodigies. Yet, she showed none of those gifts. They kept comparing her with some boy, living in a far away country, part of another famous magical clan. The girl suddenly held no more interest for her Clan. They actually started seeing her as a stain on their Clan's pride. Suddenly, the focus was all on how they could surpass the other rival clan. The girl was left all alone. A magicless member of the family is a member who doesn't even deserve being talked to. An interrogatory, at most. Who cares if the little girl wants to socialize, if she wants to play, if she's the only young person in that Clan, already without her parents who died so early on? The only thing this girl was good at was reading books, so all that's she's allowed to do. Not even playing with stuffed animals. For some reason, she's allowed to keep only ONE plushie, which is basically everything to her. But books and dolls can't fill that sinkhole she's already feeling at such young age.

Obsessed with this "anomaly", when she was about 2 years old, the Clan had the baby girl examined by a member of a Magic Association in England, known to be the den of shady magicians. A 8/9 year old bored magic genius, named “Yuna D.”, was her examiner. The boy said "She's like a blank book". The girl grew up, and the situation was still the same. The disapproving stares of her relatives cut the little girl’s heart like a sharp knife. They called her “worthless”, “useless”. They even doubted she could really be the daughter of her powerful parents. So what should they have done? Let the little girl live her life like any other regular human being, or taking literally the words of a BORED, EMOTIONALLY UNDEVELOPED CHILD who literally spat out the first thing that came to his mind?

Although the choice should’ve come easily for any normal human being with a functioning brain, they actually went in the other direction, greedy for power. And so, they decided to treat the girl like a tool, using her to store all kinds of magic for them to use. If she couldn’t be of any help to her clan with her capabilities, they would give her a purpose.

On some kind of altar, halfway between a lab rat and the sacrificing ritual of a sect, the most ancient Magicians of Europe together with the Magic Association performed a dangerous magic on her, which afterwards would take its toll even on the casters: they turned her into a magical artifact, capable of engraving in herself all the magical books she would encounter, transforming her de facto into a book herself. As if this wasn’t horrifying enough, this spell will progressively try to crush her soul and conscience, until it gets destroyed completely. So when the artifact will reach its limit, it will be the death of her, as a human being. Only a shell of her will remain. And judging by what was said later on in the story, they actually hope for her to lose her consciousness completely, so they can make use of her more easily.

Afterwards, they burned the book they took the ritual from, so the procedure would remain in their knowledge only. Greedy till the very last drop.

Once their perfect magical tool was achieved, turning a little girl into some sort of artifact, both the Clan and their accomplices couldn't stop bragging about it. The only positive words Akiho has ever received in her life by her people were after she was turned into a tool.

With a newly found purpose for that stain on their clan’s pride, they sent her away into the world to collect all the magic books she could find and write their powers into her, even though she was still just a child. For reasons still unknown, Yuna D., the boy who involuntarily caused this horrible ritual to happen and basically condemned her to death, offers himself to accompany her. The very first decision he took in his own life. That decision will change forever the course of their life, for both of them.

Rising from the ashes, towards a future of hope

Rehashing Akiho’s past is important to understand her personality and behavior fully. CLAMP, in the Clear Card manga, have portrayed the story of her past in a very peculiar way: it starts as any other fairytale, with light tones and cute designs. But as the story progresses, and the horror ensues, the tone of the tale changes, and so the drawing style too. It becomes serious, and “realistic” (ad opposed to the initial cutesy style). What started as a possible generic fairytale, turned into a real nightmare.

On top of being deprived of the love of her parents ever since she was born, because apparently they died right after, Akiho spent her early childhood in complete solitude. Those magicians who were supposed to be her remaining family were too absorbed into their own greed for power, to consider the needs of a baby girl. Not to mention that they had some kind of disgust for her, for being magicless. She was denied attention, cuddles, conversations, play activities, toys. She was denied love and care. All basic things that contribute to shape the personality and psychology of a person. Akiho grew up with the conviction that she wasn’t worth any of that, because no one gave it to her. One of the complaints I have seen the most about her in the fandom, is how she’s always so apologetic, to the point of becoming obnoxious. If you think about it, one of the most prominent characteristics of her personality is how she continuously apologizes to people, thanks them for any smallest thing, and is always, constantly seeking validation.

But if you stop for a second to think about her past, you’ll realize with dismay that those are none other than symptoms of the abuse she suffered in the past. She was called “good for nothing” and “useless” by her clan and the Magic Association, and those words carved themselves into her heart, forever scarring it. Akiho grew up believing that she was really worthless and good for nothing just because she couldn’t meet the expectations of her clan, and it’s apparent when we see her considering herself “extremely clumsy”, even though we have afterwards seen that she’s perfectly capable of cooking, sewing, even playing sports. She only needs the dedication of someone who would teach her that.

With a disastrous psychological situation like this, one would naturally wonder how this girl didn’t commit anything extreme yet. Completely alone in the world, deemed useless. Unloved.

Books, books were her first lifeline. The fictional, magical, wonderful worlds depicted in those stories saved her sanity, making her dream about a better life, about friendship, about love. They taught her everything. They gave her the hope that those things existed out there, and maybe one day she would be blessed with them too. The fantastical characters kept her company when no one was there for her (yet). And she loves them viscerally for that, to the point of seeing herself mending damaged books in the future, as a possible occupation. Just like they mended her lacerated heart.

The second lifeline was her meeting with Kaito. Uncharacteristically to him, Kaito showed immediately a kind and interested behavior towards her. This was so shocking, so incredible that Akiho’s first reaction to his introduction was to run away. No one ever addressed her with the intention of having a conversation. No one was ever interested in what she was reading. Even just by this you can get a glimpse of how miserable her life had been till then. Full of psychological issues himself, thanks to the human connection Kaito gradually turned his attentions towards Akiho from contrieved mannerism, to genuine and sincere gestures. Akiho can feel that affection, even if her self-criticism always pushes her to believe that she’s nothing more than “job” to him. It’s something small, but what she’s experiencing with Kaito is her everything, and more than she’s ever had.

The third lifeline is Momo: Akiho doesn’t know, nor remotely imagines she’s actually a living magical creature. But she has been her constant presence ever since she was born. Her connection to her is special, and you can see it in their daily (one-sided, for now) interactions. Akiho talks to Momo, she greets her when she comes back home, she constantly carries her around, she thinks about giving her a little dress as a present. Momo is Akiho’s strength. The love this girl pours into what she believes is just a stuffed animal is incredible. It goes to show Akiho’s immense capacity to love something/someone without expecting anything in return, but actually just enjoying the simple presence and courage they give to her. If you think about it, it’s the very opposite of what she experienced with the only human interactions she’s ever had before Kaito came into the picture. Her aptitude to selfless love is also remarked between the lines in chapter 49, when Akiho is telling Sakura about her relationship with Kaito. Despite all the ugliness she went through, she’s still able to find in herself the strength to overcome all of it, and change her life for the better.

This certainly hasn’t been an easy or quick process, because in the flashbacks of her journey with Kaito we always see her with a pensive/serious look. It must have been extremely hard to start trusting others, when she had no one she could count on in her own home.

Akiho’s capacity to love and rise from the ashes of her terrible past has been so contagious, that it has started to affect Kaito too. As Momo said in chapter 51, once you’re given the reason to change, no person can ever stay the same. This must have been true for Kaito, but certainly for Akiho too.

I’m absolutely positive that Akiho (and possibly, Kaito too) will be the symbol for one of the most important, beautiful messages in the whole Clear Card Arc: even if your life isn’t perfect, even if your past scarred you in multiple ways, there’s always hope. Hope to turn over a new leaf and change yourself for the better too, in the process. Overcome everything that had you stuck in pain and grief. Achieve what you always wished for.

#Card Captor Sakura #cardcaptor sakura #clamp #ccsakura #akiho shinomoto #sakura cardcaptor #ccs #clear card arc #clear card

174 notes · View notes

kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 11

Silent scream

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"

My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.

So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.

A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.

Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.

However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.

As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.

"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.

...

Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.

My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.

Hang on a second-

Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.

He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.

They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.

...

My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.

Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.

They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.

Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.

My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.

Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.

I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.

"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.

I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.

The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.

"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.

"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.

"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.

"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.

"The very same." The general smirked.

"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.

"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.

"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.

"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.

"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"

"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.

"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."

"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.

...

That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.

"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.

But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.

"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.

213 notes · View notes

aceofspadegrass · 3 years

Text

Pancake Day, but Better

Characters: Niragi Suguru, Dori Sakurada, Last Boss, Cabot, Aguni Morizono, Chishiya Shuntaro, Hatter

Genre: Crack Part 2, now with pancakes.

1.9k words

Prompt: Can you do like a sequel for that dori and niragi crack,cause i want to see dori in pancake day and introducing himself to chishiya,last boss(and catbot)aguni,and hatter. And i have an urge that maybe hatter would like him because how he dresses himself how hatter likes it to be,also chishiya would just go up to niragi and say" Wow, he's actually even more better then you niragi. Maybe he's smarter then you too" As he walks away leaving a a angry niragi - @a-simp-20

(Counts as a Part 2 to this)

*Rubs hands together* Heck yeah, more gentle chaos. Time to gently bully this giraffe lizard man again.

Now with the added addition of pancakes! Fun times for all!

Despite the laws of the Borderlands and the highly likely chance that nobody knows the actual date that passes by, people still managed to produce what someone offhandedly referred to as the 'Borderlands Holy Day'.

Now, what pray tell was the Borderlands Holy Day? Was it a religion?

Despite the fact that it had 'Holy' in its name, no. It wasn't a religion. Although if someone tried hard enough it could become almost like a cult. Wouldn't be the first time.

So what was it?

Well, obviously.....

It was Pancake Friday. The greatest day of the century. The premise was simple enough: Every Friday everyone gets a pancake. A single pancake. Want more? Well, you better bet and compete for other people's pancakes. The only thing more exhilarating to the members of the Beach than winning games and living another day to party and do fuck-all was Pancake Day.

So, of course, when Friday rolled around, people weren't thinking of anything except the spoils of little bets and competitions over the week, thick fluffy pancakes topped with whatever they pleased and whatever the Beach had in stock at the time. Even Niragi was thinking about pancakes, because what's better than bragging about how many pancakes you got that week?

Nothing, that's what.

Pancake Day was great.

Niragi walks down the corridor with the strut of a man that knew he was feared, and he heads to the dining area where the pancakes would inevitably be given out. People were already there, a few making last minute bets in an attempt to win just a little extra amount for the day. Niragi found it almost amusing. Such a pitiful sight. Niragi himself had already gained a total of four whole pancakes, two of which he won off of some idiot who just thought he was really pretty.

" There's a lot of people here. It must be really important, right?" A smooth voice pipes up from just a little behind him, and Niragi is reminded quite forcefully that he didn't come here alone.

" Of course it's important, it's Pancake Day! Haven't you ever heard of it?" Niragi spat, Sakurada merely shrugging and walking away to talk to other members of the Beach. Niragi scoffs and storms away. At least he didn't have to think about the other him anymore, no matter how neat he looked.

He ends up finding Last Boss standing in the corner by himself, watching everyone else with a self made distance, leaning against his katana. His cat was chilling right besides his foot, apparently having her snack before the pancakes came out and making quiet eating noises. Niragi made sure not to accidentally step on her, which wasn't that hard to do. Niragi stares at Last Boss almost expectantly, waiting for even the slightest hint of a greeting, but all the other man does is stare ahead, lost in his own thought.

So, like a completely normal person would do to a guy ignoring the other, Niragi starts poking Last Boss in the side with his sniper rifle.

" Hey. Hey. Hey. You awake?"

Last Boss just continues to ignore him, and Niragi's pokes get a little harder the more he gets ignored. " Hey! Why are you ignoring me! Come on!"

Last Boss finally looks in his direction, and Niragi grins in victory, Last Boss just staring at him blankly. " Fucking finally, you were ignoring me."

Last Boss just continues to remain silent, but Niragi didn't care, instead putting his rifle back to balance on his shoulder as he looks out among the people still puttering about. Niragi could barely make out that Sakurada guy, who was talking to some random nobodies, Niragi scoffing to himself. He points him out to Last Boss, whose gaze follows the direction of Niragi's slender finger.

" See that one? Yeah, that one busted into my room and kept spraying me with water, the nerve of that guy."

Last Boss mutters something under his breath, Niragi not picking it up properly. He glances at Last Boss suspiciously, Last Boss just continuing to stare off at Sakurada without any sign of emotion on his tattooed face. Niragi groans, and he looks back in the direction of Sakurada, only to see that somehow the bastard has disappeared. Niragi frowns and looks around from where he stood to see whether he could see him again, but no dice.

The area was getting more and more full the longer Niragi tried looking, to the point that he gave up even trying. At some point Last Boss' cat had finished her snack, and he could feel Cabot rubbing her body across his legs as well just for the hell of it. He looks down at the feline, Cabot just doing her own thing like she usually did.

" Hey you little fuck. What's up." Niragi mutters down at the cat, Cabot just continuing on her little rub spree before going over to Last Boss and meowing loudly until Last Boss bent down and picked her up, Cabot resting happily with her butt in the crook of Last Boss' arm and her head and front paws draped over his shoulder.

Niragi rolls his eyes at the sight, and finally the time had come, Hatter walking in with the utmost grace, people cheering him like they do every time they see the man, with Aguni not that far behind. Niragi and Last Boss head towards the little stage Hatter insisted needed to be built for Pancake Day, standing in position as Aguni joins them, Hatter going up to the Pancake Podium.

" Greetings everyone! Today is the glorious and absolutely magnificent Pancake Day! I hope all of you have worked hard to acquire your pancakes!" Hatter shouts with arms outstretched like a bird's, people cheering and whooping excitedly. " I, for one, have a total of five whole pancakes, as throughout the week I have worked hard to get them from my loyal and beautiful members, and that one person who sadly perished in a game and bequeathed their pancakes to me for many months to come! May their soul be at rest, the courage of them~" Hatter announces, the crowd going wild.

" Now, may the pancakes commence!"

People scattered to tables near immediately, and the kitchen doors open as the designated chefs come out with the freshly made pancakes on carts. Niragi and Last Boss end up following Aguni and the rest of the executives plus Hatter to what was apparently the special table, used only by them.

Niragi grins as he leans back in his chair. At least Sakurada would stay away for now-

" Oh, there you are!"

Speak of the devil. Niragi shuts his eyes in annoyance as his clone comes over. Several pairs of eyes shoot to him, and despite his eyes being closed, Niragi could still feel the smug and interested smile Chishiya was giving off.

" Oh? And who are you, you splendid looking being?" Hatter's voice rings out. " Your outfit is immaculate, but I have never seen you before. No, wait...... I have seen you! Except less fancier. And usually with a hat. Who is sitting right there."

Niragi wanted to shoot this man so bad.

"My name is Sakurada Dori, it is very nice to meet you." Sakurada greets them.

Niragi finally bothers to open his eyes as Hatter stands up, and apparently does a quick check over of Sakurada, nodding to himself. " Yes, you are absolutely stunning. I love what you've done!"

" Are you the one that made Niragi take off his hat?" Aguni asks, low and stoic as always. Niragi rolls his eyes at that. He didn't intend to get rid of his hat, Sakurada just kind of yeeted it outside his window without even asking. The nerve of this guy.

Sakurada quickly nods. " I will get him another hat eventually, as I promised, but only as long as he shoots his gun responsibly!"

" Is that so...." Aguni mutters, and just kind of nods like a sort of proud dad.

Hatter grins even wider, and claps Sakurada across the back. " Now that's some courage! Hey, what say you, would you like one of Niragi's pancakes? As a sign of strength!"

" What?!" Niragi shouts, and he stands up, slamming the table. Aguni watches him quietly, as does Last Boss, the latter just staring more than a tired gaze like Aguni was sporting at the moment. " You can't do that!"

" But I can! I'm the leader after all, I can say what I want, and what I want is practically law here, Niragi. Remember who your boss is." Hatter smiles at Niragi in that sort of way that Niragi hated, but a firm tap on his arm by Aguni made him relent, Niragi angrily muttering to himself as he sat back down.

" Ah, thank you very much, but I don't need to take his-"

" Nonsense, you deserve it! Besides, Niragi already gets... how many?"

" Well I had four, but apparently not anymore."

" Three is plenty for you! Anyways, so that means you get two pancakes, you funky little ball of glory!" Hatter states.

" Are you sure? Is that alright with you Niragi?" Sakurada looks to the man, Niragi just grumbling some more.

" Don't worry about him, he'll get over it." Chishiya mentions, and Niragi quickly glares at him, Chishiya casually looking back with that damn smug ass smile on his lips.

" Fucking undercooked egg white." Niragi mutters under his breath, Chishiya just continuing to smirk.

Still, the pancakes arrive to their table, Hatter inviting Sakurada to sit with them for the day so he could talk about fashion, mainly about what kinds of hats the other liked, Sakurada easily falling into conversation with him. Niragi just drowns his now three pancakes in maple sauce, grumbling under his breath.

Last Boss was watching Niragi just nearby, eating his single pancake as Cabot got to treat herself to two whole cat-specified pancakes like she deserved, and goes to whisper to his cat, Cabot flicking her tail a little at whatever Last Boss muttered.

" You have a very nice cat there! It must be enjoying everything since it appears to be very well cared for and happy." Sakurada mentions at one point, Last Boss staring at Sakurada silently. Sakurada just politely smiles back, and Last Boss just slowly blinks, then nods.

" Thank.... you." Last Boss says, and Cabot looks up finally, and bumps her body against Last Boss, the man quietly petting her as Sakurada watches with a happy expression at how sweet the sight was. Sakurada makes small clicking nosies in an attempt to beckon the cat over to him, Cabot meowing and wandering over curiously, sniffing at Sakurada's fingers before letting herself get pet by the man softly. " She seems to like me already!" Sakurada says happily, Last Boss slowly nodding.

" That's good. She likes being pet gently." Last Boss mutters, and even Hatter tried to get in on the cat patting session.

" Hey Niragi." Chishiya's voice catches Niragi's attention, and he looks up at him, already despising of what he was about to spew out from his lips. The limestone fox man just smiles at him, pancakes already gone from his plate.

" The fuck do you want now."

" Your clone is actually way better than you. Perhaps even smarter than whatever half brain you have up there." Chishiya remarks, and with that he stands up and walks away from the table, immediately sliding himself into a group of people leaving and disappearing from his sight.

" YOU LITTLE FUC-" He whips out his gun, ready to chase Chishiya down and kill him like he always wanted to.

Water gets immediately sprayed on his face the second he stands up again, Niragi sputtering. " No. Bad Niragi."

34 notes · View notes

aclosetfan · 3 years

Text

I’m still mad about Bunny from an earlier post so here’s some headcanons for an au affectionately titled “what could have happen if CN didn’t nuke the one ppg with an intellectual disability”

Long post! Look under the cut!

Bunny has Down Syndrome!

The Professor is a little...tifted when he finds out his children made another child, but Professor is a man full of love, so he takes it in stride. He’s never mad at Bunny, but the triplets have a very long and thorough talking to.

Bunny is an adjustment, but so were the triplets. Professor adjusts well to the change. He doesn’t like his lil honey bun (cause ofc he has embarrassing nicknames for her too) to go out and fight. He doesn’t want her getting too overstimulated and would rather leave the bigger villains to the girls. He can’t stop Bunny from running to help when her sisters call though!

Bunny is no damsel in distress!

But for the most part, Bunny does her part for the team by helping the professor in the lab! She’s a little uncoordinated when she gets excited, but so is the Professor, so it’s a match made in heaven. She has her own lab gear and happily hands over tools and chemicals (w/supervision!) at the Professor’s request. She also very good at reminding the professor when it’s time for a break. Bunny doesn’t let him miss snack or bedtime.

She also makes sure his experiment have a touch of cutesy because Bunny loves her a bit of sparkle and frills!

Having a sister with an obvious disability is difficult for the girls in their own ways. But Bunny really teaches the girls a lot!

For Blossom, she has a hard time puzzling how Bunny was going to live a fulfilling life in an unforgiving world. Since Blossom strives for control over things she doesn’t understand, it takes her a little bit (and a few lectures from the professor) to realize that Bunny will find her own place and that she doesn’t have to be so anxious. Bunny will be fine. She’ll be okay. She’s not so fragile. (But Blossom still has bouts of extreme worry that her little sister won’t ever be accepted) Like I said though, Blossom strives for control and tries to help the Professor keep Bun well structured and safely entertained, but Bunny’s has an independent mind of her own and teaches Blossom that while structure is good, everyone deserves a little fun!

For Buttercup it’s a giant lesson in calm and patience, which if you follow the show, is generally the lesson Buttercup needs to learn. But Bunny isn’t Bubbles or another kid on the playground, she’s special in a different way and even though she has super powers too and can get a little rough—because Bunny often forgets her own strength—Buttercup has to often be remind that she needs to be gentle. It takes a little bit for Buttercup to realize that Bunny doesn’t get things right away and what Buttercup thinks is funny can be hurtful to her. But Buttercup does learn and she’s extremely protective of her baby sister. She finds games and sports that they both enjoy, and every once in while Buttercup will buckle down and play the princess that Bunny has to save. Fr Bunny and Buttercup never give up on each other.

Bubbles is immediately the best with Bunny. It’s not so much her disability that Bubbles has an issue with, it’s more like the family displacement. Bunny gets a lot of the extra attention Bubbles has been use to. Bunny and her like a lot of the same things—dolls, coloring books, things that glitter and sparkle, bright colors, stuffed animals etc. They’re both very much into everything girly. And that means Bubbles really has to learn to share. Her stuff, her sisters, her professor—everything. Sometimes she gets a little jealous, but after an incident with Octi (where the beloved stuffed animal was ripped in two and crudely taped back together by her little sister in apology), Bubbles eventually realizes that Bunny looks up to her as a strong, tough older sister and that’s A-Ok w/ Bubs. And I know it’s cliche but I think Bubs would give Bunny Octi—not forever mind you—they share.

School’s interesting! Bunny goes to preschool with them and gets her own special teacher. But kids can be cruel and the bullies of the preschool (which is, yeah, Mitch and his group) do what they do. The sisters learn early on how to deal with insensitivity and it’s not easy (especially for BC/Blossom), but with the help of Ms. Keane, the Professor, and Bunny herself, the preschool learns that Bunny’s just a little girl who likes to play too!

I mentioned this one in a previous post, but I think Mr. Green should be her parateacher instead of the girls substitute. That way his character can stay in the show and they can have the “don’t judge a book by its cover” episode. But now it can wrap back into the episode of Bunny’s first day of school to really hit the point home! Mr Green can explain that Bunny was “different” but the girls loved her anyway, so “hey give me a chance to, I promise I won’t let you down!” (The intensity of the episode would be heightened because the girls would be extra protective of Bun) (Bunny absolutely adores Mr. Green and Ms. Keane appreciates the help!)

Bunny teaches them how to stim!! Whether it’s flappin around or playing with slime the sisters like doing it together (and tbh they’re fun stress relievers that the triplets carry into adult life)!

Also, now that I think about, I don’t feel like Bunny would get over stimulated often, but it takes her a bit to calm down when she does. Bubbles is the best at calming her down when she gets too excited, but when she’s angry, it’d be BC. I think that’s because Buttercup’s marked as an aggressive kid and, like I mentioned earlier, her and Bunny’s relationship would be filled with “learning to be calm” lessons.

Bunny has sensory issues! Nbd we all do, but Bunny doesn’t like her ears being touched so sometimes it’s hard to brush her hair. She loves Blossom’s hair though and Blossom can usually convince her that if she wants long pretty hair she needs to wash and brush her own. Blossom and the Professor are the only ones allowed to touch her hair!

Sensory wise, Bunny only likes soft cotton clothing. Everything else is too ichy. She also only wears dresses because they’re both pretty and light. good thing t-shirt dresses exist!

Purple! Bunnies! Purple! Bunnies! She has a niche and my baby fills it!

Hard ‘T’s are hard for Bunny. They round into ‘D’s instead. So Buttercup becomes Buddercup except Buddercup can sometimes be too much too, so Bunny more often then not calls her sister Buddy and that’s how Buttercup eventually earns the nickname Bud.

If you h/c the girls with fingers, the Utonium’s learn sign language, which helps when Bunny become too over stimulated or has bouts of being non verbal! Buttercup has the hardest time, Blossom catches on the quickest, Bubbles and Bunny keep making up their own signs, and Professor’s just trying to teach them all!

Can’t stay in preschool forever! Kids grow up! Sucks though :/ because the girls don’t stay in the same class. But don’t worry the triplets make sure they always eat lunch with their sister! And two weeks into middle school they realize that their baby sister doesn’t need them much anyways. She’s the queen of the SPED room. She’s so helpful, kind, and popular that she’s socially doing better then her sisters 😂😂

Bunny really gets into gymnastics! She wants to be in the special olympics, but she has super powers and the Professor has to explain that having super powers is a bit like cheating. She throws a tantrum and Bubbles, with all her crafty genius, saves the day by making fake medals and trophies. The Utoniums though are still very involved in the special olympics and other like activities . It makes them all happy and Bunny gets to hand out the medals! (Helps that she’s a superhero 😏😉 always getting that special treatment)

Guys, my gal? She’s a huge flirt! If you’re like ew no, that’s morally wrong, you need to re-evaluate what YOU know about Down Syndrome! Yes developmentally she’s a little slower, but Bunny’s still a teenager—a growing young women—and very much human, so romantic idealtions are very normal. And that applies to all our friends irl too. It just depends on a persons mental capacity! Admittedly, the Professor was a little uncomfortable at first too because there’s consent and power imbalances to think about, but the people of similar age that Bunny interacts with on the daily are people just like her—like minded individuals with puppy crushes. You can’t deny a person their humanity, so when one of the boys in her SPED class gets the courage to ask her on a date the Professor buckles down and calls the boy’s mom.

Their date is a at a park, properly chaperoned by their parents. They swing and have a good time. They end it with a hug! It’s very exciting and Bunny doesn’t stop bragging about it. Two days later she’s broken up with her new BF for the next brave soul. (Truly everything stays completely innocent don’t worry. I can understand anyone’s concern—Bunny isn’t a sexual being she’s just a romantic. Also there’s ALWAYS a chaperone)

Her family still worries though. Blossom because she always worries about Bunny and the things Bunny could be missing out on. The Professor for much the same reason + she’s his little girl. Bubbles because her LITTLE sister keeps getting more dates then her. And Buttercup doesn’t worry much, but she is annoyed because if the Professor isn’t available, she’s the one who ALWAYS has to chaperone.

Why buttercup? Don’t let her fool you. She actually volunteers. She’d chaperone any of her sisters’ dates if Blossom and Bubbles would let her. Ain’t no gross boy touching her sisters.

Tbh bunny flirts with boys most of the time to embarrass and get a rise out of her sisters. She’s a lil shit sometimes. (It’s the spice in her)

Bunny also makes sure to keep her sisters IN CHECK. If she thinks they’re being too judgmental or mean to the “bad guys,” she makes sure they remember how they were mean to HER.

Most of the main villains though don’t know her. Mojo tried something once and ended up being carted back to Townsville Correctional Facility in a gurney. Bunny has an aversion to violence after the “you’re being bad” incident, so she isn’t one to fight/protect herself (protecting her sisters is another story tho lol she’d kill for them), but her sisters are fiercely protective. Incredibly protective. So protective that when the other main villains saw Mojo carted into jail they went 😬😬😬 and stayed away.

She meets Princess though! She likes Princess for all her glittery dress-up shit. Idk how yet, but I think she’d be a good catalyst for Princess’s redemption arc (along with Robin, who yes is also Bunny’s best friend). She thinks Princess’s hair is pretty and really let’s be honest Princess goes soft because she likes the positive attention. In Princess’s defense, she was never insensitive to Bunny’s disability. She’s a ppg and a ppg is what Princess wants to be. Sure, she’s petty, but goodness gracious, Blossom, she’s well versed in etiquette and that’s just uncouth.

And she meets the boys because she’s a flirt remember? Boomer’s name is her favorite but she never gets the “-er” part out. Just likes the way BOOM sounds. Her sisters have to remind her to use her inside voice, but Boomer’s a good sport about his ear drums being blown out and usually yells right on back. She thinks they’re cute! Like Princess, Bunny makes the boys feel liked and needed and helps them along their redemption arc! But they’re hesitant to be around her because they saw MoJo and....😬😬😬 (hell would freeze over before the girls let them near her anyway) (their fear is also why they aren’t completely insensitive shits towards Bunny—Mitch is a human so he got away from a beating, but someone like Butch?? Nah, BC’s always actively looking for a reason to decimate him)

Bun’s fave villain though is Fuzzy. He’s like a giant fuzzy pink teddy bear!

Bunny’s essentially made out of the exact same stuff as Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice. So what if she’s a smidge bit different. Everyone loves her just the same!

#headcanons #ppg Bunny #I’d die for this girl #she deserves love #and the next story I write I’m putting her in it #if someone thinks I need to amend of change anything lemme know!!#no intention here to be insensitive!#I wrote this in a daze so sorry if it isn’t coherent

102 notes · View notes

twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years

Text

The Princess Bride: The Characters, Part 2: The Sicilian Crowd, the Villains, and Conclusion

When we are first introduced to Inigo, he’s not exactly a glowing example of heroism. A former alcoholic, Inigo is a Master Swordsman, working as a mercenary, he is one of the trio who first kidnaps Buttercup (under Humperdinck’s orders). He’s fine with the abduction itself, but shows a few of his true colors when he objects to murdering her, already proving himself a little more decent than Vizzini, the leader of the band.

A little later, during the duel with Westley, much is revealed about Inigo, more in fact than you ever learn about the backstories of either Westley or Buttercup: the story of his father’s murder and his own desire for revenge, so strong that it has encouraged him to dedicate his life to mastering the art of fencing. The duel, exciting enough from an action and comedy standpoint, also clues the audience in on a few other key details: Inigo isn’t really all that bad of a guy, just a man on a Roaring Rampage of Revenge, again demonstrating the same duality (just reversed) that Westley does.

Despite not having as much screen time and focus as Buttercup and Westley, Inigo is the Breakout Character of The Princess Bride, a Determinator, the Lancer of the film. As I mentioned, he’s also the character we receive the most information about, learning that he is a man of honor, good hearted, and loyal through his interactions with other characters, notably Westley and Fezzik. Thanks to his sympathetic backstory and one-track mind, he’s understandable to the audience: we know everything about him and why he is doing everything. He’s totally transparent in the best way, he makes sense, and the audience roots for him. They care about him, even when he’s initially introduced as a more villainous character (albeit one with truly hilarious lines). The audience arguably has a stronger attachment to him than they do to Westley and Buttercup, which is very unusual, especially when Inigo disappears for a while after Westley defeats him in battle.

In a way, Inigo would seem to have the qualities very necessary to carry a film: tragic backstory, sympathetic motivation, understandable actions rooted in very clear character traits, and indeed, a lot of elements that put him in the Hero camp. And yet, like Buttercup and Westley, while some things fit him into this mold, others don’t.

Although he doesn’t have a connection to Humperdinck (aside from him being a distant employer), he does have a very strong tie to the main villains of the story in Count Rugen.

Rugen is, of course, the six-fingered man who murdered Inigo’s father so many years ago, and scarred Inigo himself. It is he that Inigo is out to get throughout the entire film (and his entire life), a much stronger tie to an individual character in a personal way than Westley’s nemesis: Humperdinck. Rugen is much more of an arch-nemesis, representing a very personal loss to Inigo, something that cuts much deeper, even, than true love. While Westley never seems particularly worried about himself or Buttercup because he just knows that True Love will keep them together, Inigo reacts very strongly to Rugen and his own emotional journey, traits more typically associated with a protagonist than a cool confidence in how everything will turn out.

As a direct result to this personal stake in the story, Inigo, being at full strength and in full health, is the one who is given the final climactic battle at the end of the movie.

Where Westley has a rather anticlimactic confrontation with Humperdinck, Inigo gets a huge duel with Rugen, the climax centerpiece, the scene most memorable and most quoted in the entire film, ending in Inigo actually achieving his goal: getting revenge. Afterwards, he even muses that after having gotten his revenge, now he no longer knows what to do with his life, with the film implying that he will become the next Dread Pirate Roberts in Westley’s place.

Unlike Westley, and even unlike Buttercup, Inigo has an arc, pursuing what he wants actively, achieving it, and moving on. He makes choices that have huge consequences in the plot: pursuing revenge, leaving Vizzini, finding Westley and bringing him to Miracle Max. In a way, a huge part of the story is Inigo’s, just as much as it is Buttercup and Westley’s.

Westley has the Heroic qualities, Buttercup has most of the focus (and her title in the movie’s name), and Inigo has the dramatic arc and climactic battle. On their own, no one character manages to pull off the full requirements for being a fantasy protagonist, or even a protagonist at all, but together, they manage to make one complete protagonist between them. While the story of The Princess Bride, in plot beats and story elements, seems very much like your very traditional fairy-tale story, in terms of protagonist, the execution is actually very complex. By taking the traits of a protagonist and dividing them equally between three characters with varying levels of screen-time and activism within a story (not always at the same time), the story manages to get the audience’s interest invested in not one, but three characters equally, weaving the major threads for each of their stories in amongst each other to keep it all tied together. And in the end, both the characters and the audience (even the Grandson!) feel closure and satisfaction.

But Inigo, Westley and Buttercup aren’t the only characters in the film. Every story needs their supporting cast, and none are quite as supportive as Fezzik.

Fezzik is a Gentle Giant. He’s big and strong, for sure, but he’s also very kind, the Big Guy with a heart of gold who, while not exactly being a pushover, isn’t out to hurt anybody who doesn’t deserve it. He’s the Brute of Vizzini’s Beauty, Brains, and Brawn trio, and manages to subvert the Dumb Muscle stereotype. He’s not terribly clever, but he does have a wit and intelligence to him that isn’t typical of most fairy-tale giants.

He and Inigo are borderline inseparable, and much like Inigo, Fezzik is somewhat okay with kidnapping Buttercup for money, but he’s considerably less approving of killing her. Like Inigo, he is a man of honor, preferring to fight Westley in a ‘sportsmanlike’ way instead of clubbing him over the head with a rock like Vizzini first suggests. He’s a good, loyal friend, rescuing Inigo from the palace guards, sobering him up, and then accompanying him throughout the rest of the story in finding and reviving Westley and then storming the castle.

Unlike Inigo, Westley and Buttercup, Fezzik has no stake in this story. He has no goal to achieve here, no personal mission. After Vizzini, his ‘boss’, is killed, there’s nothing keeping Fezzik in the story except his own will, like the Chewbacca to Inigo’s Han Solo. He’s here because of his loyalty and concern for his friends. He just wants to help, and help he does, turning his back on his mercenary ways pretty easily and without any real convincing. He’s along for the ride, a supporting character that manages to be more than just ‘the comic relief’. (In a way, one of the smartest things The Princess Bride did in terms of its characters was to make everyone funny, so no one is relegated to ‘just’ the comic relief.)

With that said, Fezzik still remains an active character in the story, helping with the storming of the castle and providing the Muscle (and the heart!) for the mission, and providing the escape by finding Humperdinck’s four white horses in his stable.

Starting out as a Minion with an F in Evil, Fezzik ends The Princess Bride as one of its most memorable and loved heroes, a kindly figure of support who’s anything but minor.

Which is more than we can say for the deceased leader of the trio of kidnappers: Vizzini.

Vizzini is the smartest of the trio sent to abduct Buttercup, but despite his bragging, he demonstrates hints that he’s not half as smart as he thinks he is. The brains to Inigo’s beauty and Fezzik’s brawn, Vizzini is merely a Big Bad Wannabe, the final obstacle for Westley’s initial reunion with Buttercup, a Disk One Final Boss before the plot kicks off with portraying Humperdinck as the real villain. However, while the film points out that Fezzik and Inigo fight Westley with honor, and he leaves them respectful of their talents (defeating them in the process), Westley shows no such respect for Vizzini’s ‘talents’, and simply Out-Gambits him, despite Vizzini’s Poisoned Chalice Switcheroo. In the end, Vizzini is Too Clever by Half, and is the only one of the Sicilian Crowd to be killed, most likely due to his arrogance.

Despite his death being one of the most memorable scenes in the entire film, Vizzini doesn’t receive much screen time, or even narrative weight, in comparison to the true villains of the movie. After all, Vizzini is only a hired stooge, a pawn in Humperdinck’s evil plan.

Humperdinck, as far as fairy-tale villains go, isn’t terribly impressive. He’s no great dragon or emperor, or evil wizard. He’s just a prince, a man with a lot of power who’s used to getting his own way. He does plenty of rotten things along the way (torture Westley and kill him, order Buttercup’s kidnapping, attempt to kill her) but in the end, his goal isn’t world-domination, or wealth, or anything like that: he’s just after an excuse to go to war with the neighboring country. He’s not after Buttercup for her beauty, like many other fairy-tale villains before him, he’s just after her to use as a political figure, aiming to kill her after their wedding night and pin it on Guilder.

Arguably, this makes him worse.

There’s no great, over-the-top explanation for his villany. He’s not cartoonish or after traditional fairy-tale things, he’s actually after something that we’d see in the real world. He is the true Big Bad, the Chessmaster, The Evil Prince obsessed with war, who, ironically, happens to be a Dirty Coward.

Oddly enough, throughout the film, although Humperdinck is presented as the Archenemy of Westley, there’s no real personal connection between them. This isn’t like Beauty and the Beast, where both men are vying (in their own way) for Buttercup’s affection. Humperdinck honestly couldn’t care less about Buttercup, viewing her as a tool to get what he really wants. In the end, he rushes through a marriage ceremony in order to murder Buttercup after the wedding, again, nothing personal, just business. His only connection to Westley is happening to choose the wrong girl to murder.

As such, as opposed to Count Rugen’s thematically resonant demise, Humperdinck is actually allowed to live, and go free at the end of the story, which seems to be a big-time rule-breaker in terms of fairy-tale storytelling. The Grandson himself expresses irritation and disbelief at this fact, after all, villains should be punished, not sternly talked-down by a paralyzed hero.

Yet, that’s what happens. Considering that the most Humperdinck managed to do was temporarily kill Westley, he gets very little ‘revenge’ in return. Like I said in the Story article:

Westley couldn’t care less about Humperdinck other than the fact that he’s getting in the way of his and Buttercup’s storybook love. Humperdinck is an obstacle to his true goal and drive, and he’s not worth the killing. Once he’s out of the way and Westley and Buttercup are reunited, Humperdinck ceases to matter to Westley. If the story had been from Miracle Max’s point of view, Humperdinck would have died or at least, have something more horrible happen to him, but since Humperdinck never really succeeded in doing much of anything throughout the story, he’s actually so pathetic that he’s not worth Westley’s time.

So, yeah, Humperdinck is left to live with his cowardice because his death wouldn’t have provided the characters anything except maybe catharsis, and honestly, that’s not really a good enough reason to off your villain

He’s such a coward, he doesn’t even have a chance to take part in a climatic duel. He’s so unimpressive as a fantasy villain that he even strips the audience of their chance to see another sword fight, without diminishing his hatefulness and narrative weight as a villain.

Thankfully, the audience does get their climactic battle: thanks to Count Rugen.

Rugen is Inigo’s archenemy, rather than Westley’s, and unlike the rivalry between the main protagonist and antagonist, Rugen’s relationship with Inigo is very personal indeed. Rugen, the six-fingered man that Inigo wants to hunt down and kill so badly, is the man who killed Inigo’s father, and left him scarred as a little boy. Rugen is the Dragon, a Soft-Spoken Sadist who serves as Humperdinck’s Right Hand Man and Torture Technician. He is the inventor of the torture machine that ends up taking Westley’s life, and throughout the film, serves as co-conspirator to Humperdinck.

He’s pretty rotten, and just like Humperdinck, proves himself to be a Dirty Coward too.

However, while Westley let Humperdinck live with that knowledge, Inigo offers Rugen no such mercy.

The final duel between Inigo and Rugen is one of the show-stopping setpieces of the film, paying off a considerable amount of buildup foreshadowed with much of Inigo’s dialogue and character. Like I said in the ‘Story’ article:

On the other hand, Inigo’s villain, Count Rugen, is killed, for a very simple reason: that’s the logical end to fulfill Inigo’s story.

In order for Inigo to feel fulfilled and gain satisfaction, to lay his father’s spirit to rest, Rugen has to die, knowing why he’s dying, and who it is who killed him. In a sense, the antagonists fit the ‘antagonist’ bill much the same way the protagonists do: by splitting the roles, from Humperdinck having the main plot being responsible for most of the obstacles, where Rugen fills in for the emotional punch instead.

There are other characters too, of course: Miracle Max and his wife Valerie, offering a comedic look at a few other residents of Florin, The Albino, Rugen’s assistant, The Impressive Clergyman, and even Yellin, the captain of the guard, but for the most part, these characters (aside from Miracle Max and Valerie being responsible for resurrecting Westley) serve as comedic filler, without much actual narrative weight.

As fairy-tale archetypes with surprising amounts of dimension, the characters of The Princess Bride all do their jobs with ease, falling into natural roles in an organic fashion, despite the unconventional structuring of the characters’ parts to play.

The beauty of all of these characters is that none of them are in the slightest bit realistic. These are very clearly ‘fairy-tale’ characters, who don’t think about things in the way that we do, and yet, the audience still relates to them, is entertained by them, is concerned for them. Even though characters don’t act in terribly realistic ways, they are motivated by things that we understand: love, revenge, etc. The audience feels and understands their emotions, and therefore understands where characters are coming from, even if the actions taken by the characters are primarily ‘fantasy based’, superhuman, incredibly skilled and heroic or villainous in the context of the story that the Grandfather is reading to the Grandson.

The Princess Bride’s characters are not portrayed as ‘people’, instead being played as simple characters typical of traditional ‘fairy-tale’ stories. Each character, whether hero or villain, behaves almost as though they know what part they inhabit, playing the ‘fairy-tale’ aspect straight, with a comedic edge to the archetypes found in a book, a familiar-feeling, simple, but emotional story that people have loved and laughed with for decades.

The characters of The Princess Bride serve their purpose incredibly well: making the audience care about what happens to them. Every role is memorable, unique, distinct, with plenty of quotes and character tics to be referenced and replicated decades later. They perfectly match the film they belong to: a fantasy classic that has finally been Vindicated by History, gaining it’s rightful place among fantasy greats.

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the ask box is always open! I hope to see you all in the next article.

34 notes · View notes

atmilliways · 3 years

Text

On the 2nd day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 14 - Kissing under the mistletoe (or office party shenanigans)

Charles gets roped into the role of Santa Clause at the holiday office party.

Charles/Pickles

The dreaded Dethklok Inc. office Christmas party was coming up—dreaded not by the band or most of the employees, who typically had a blast, but by the CFO who had to arrange and organize everything before and after, up to and including the inevitable handful of resulting funeral arrangements.

Charles was looking forward to it even less than usual, because the band had thrown an absolute shitfit to get him to agree to play Santa this year. He didn’t know why they wanted him to do this. The party didn’t even normally have a Santa. His first thought was that it was Toki’s idea, but on second thought Toki tended to lack the charisma to get the rest of the guys to throw in with him on niche interests like that.

But fine. Whatever. He’d agreed to do it once, and next year he could simply point to whatever came of it this year as an argument against repeating the experience.

He kept telling himself that right up until donning the red and white Santa suit, the iconic hat, and the fake beard. (The damn thing was so big that practically all he could see of his own face in the mirror were his eyes. At least they were letting him keep his glasses.) Then he took his seat in a throne-like chair that had been special ordered for the occasion, specially decorated with carvings of presents, the most unsettling depictions of Christmas elves that he’d ever seen, and skulls with real candles balanced on them, lit and already beginning to dribble red and black wax . . . and immediately felt that somewhere in life he must have made a grave, grave mistake to have ended up here.

The band took the stage in the center of the hall, half the room away from where Charles sat, and went into a jumbled “Merry Christmas, go fuck yourselves!” sort of speech. He mostly tuned it out until—

“And hey, errybody,” Pickles slurred into his mic, “don’t ferget ta sit on Santa’s lap and tell ‘im what you want fer Christmas!”

That had not been part of the discussion, let alone the agreement, but at this point what was he going to do about it? Besides hope that grown men and women hired for their professional abilities would have no interest in sitting on the lap of the man who signed their paychecks.

“You can’t have a pony,” Charles said flatly. “There isn’t space for one in the employee barracks, and even if there were it would be both impractical and unsanitary.”

The Klokateer perched on his lap, crushing the feeling out of his legs, tittered and took another sip of his holiday punch through a straw poked up under his mask. “Oo-kay Mr. Grinchy-claus, no pony for me then. Aren’tcha going to say ‘ho ho ho, Merry Christmas’?”

“Ho ho ho. Now go away.”

Laughing drunkenly, the man lurched up and made his way off the Santa podium to get a refill of punch. The next Klokateer in line had an Online Division pin on one shoulder and a spiked eggnog in her hand. Charles braced himself for yet another request for fewer blocks on searching for porn using company computers.

“Hey look, it’sch Schanty Clausche!”

Charles grimaced behind his beard. “Hello, Murderface.”

The first of the boys to visit him, Murderface seemed to be in unusually high spirits. His ass landed on Charles’ knees like a ton of bricks. “Wow,” he crooned with exaggerated delight, “Schanta really does know all the namesch of the good little boysch and girlsch!”

“Very funny. Would you mind telling me whose idea this was?”

The bassist shook his head. “Hey man, I’m not here to narc on my bandmatesch, I’m here to tell Schanta what I want for Chrischtmasch. ”

“Alright. Fine. What would you like for Christmas.”

Murderface looked around furtively, then leaned in and whispered, “A dischguische kit.”

“A . . . disguise kit.”

“Yeah! I’m tired of being mobbed whenever I go out in public, scho I need it. For camouflasche. ”

Charles couldn’t remember a single incident of a fan mob forming for just Murderface; it only ever seemed to happen when one or more of the other band members were with him, though there were probably a few people who did wander up and ask for an autograph. There had been one unfortunately memorable band meeting a few months ago where Murderface had bragged about someone wanting to touch his penis for good luck, pleased at the recognition but at the same time calling said fan an ‘incredibly fucking gay regular jackoff.’

“I’ll, ah, make sure that’s added to the list,” Charles assured him, and breathed a sigh of relief when Murderface nodded in satisfaction and stood to leave.

“Hey, knock knock.”

Charles sighed from the depths of his soul at this second Dethklok visitation. “Who’s there.”

“Nathan Explosion,” said Nathan Explosion, dropping unceremoniously onto his lap.

Luckily, the beard hid Charles’ wince at the impact. He was probably going to have a lot of weird leg bruises tomorrow. “Nathan Explosion who.”

“Nathan Explosion, here to tell you you’re the party ho ho ho! ” Nathan broke into riotous laughter and clapped Charles good-naturedly on the back, causing him to accidentally inhale a mouthful of fake beard.

After a moment to catch his breath, Charles nodded along. “Very amusing. What would you, ah, like for Christmas, Nathan?”

“I need new pants.”

Well, that was unexpectedly straightforward. “New pants. You got it.”

“One hundred pairs. Exactly one hundred.”

“Okay.”

“Just, uh. A couple inches bigger in the waist. For the holiday weight that I am definitely going to lose in January.”

He couldn’t feel his legs; this was not the time to point out that Nathan wouldn’t have time to wear all one hundred pairs of new pants between December 25th and the start of January, nor that January as a deadline for such a drastic fitness undertaking was probably an unrealistic deadline.

“That’s fine, Nathan. One hundred pairs of pants. I’ll make sure, the, ah, elves get the message.” Maybe he would throw in some math flash cards while he was at it.

Toki weighed less than the first two, but was unfortunately so excited that he landed on Charles’ lap hard . Definitely, definitely going to have bruises.

“God Jul, Charles —I means Santa!” the guitarist chirped, bright-eyed and swaying slightly. Charles fervently hoped he wasn’t about to throw up; he didn’t even think being covered in vomit would do much to get him out of this holiday circle of hell. “Merries Christmas!!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Toki. What do you, ah, want to ask Santa for this year?”

He didn’t have a watch, but he estimated that Toki’s list, plus miscellaneous excited chatter, took at least half an hour and mentioned many things he knew for a fact that Toki already owned.

“Eeuyghh, looks, it ams everys-ones favorites butler,” Skwisgaar said, then folded himself gracefully into a sitting position. After an hour or two of being sat on like this and having plenty to compare it to, Charles wondered if the man was eating enough.

This was in spite of the fact that Skwisgaar was toting around a small plate loaded with various cheeses, fruit, and greasy finger sausages skewered on toothpicks. Party food. To Charles, who hadn’t realized that this gig would take so long and therefore hadn’t eaten in advance, it smelled wonderful.

The Swede must have noticed him eyeing it, or perhaps heard the growl of his stomach over the noise of the surrounding party somehow, because he smirked and held it out in offering. “Pickle says for you to haves this. Gots to keep yous strengths up, you knows.”

Pickles, Charles noted as he balanced the plate off to one side on one of the less obvious and candle-less Christmas skulls. He also pulled one of the sausages free of its toothpick and reached under the beard to jam it in his mouth. Still warm.

“Thank you, Skwisgaar,” he said once he’d finished chewing. “Now, what can I get for you? Ah, as Santa. Ho ho.”

“Everyones know it ams three ‘ho’s, dildo.” Skwisgaar steepled his fingers. “But I woulds like five ins mine room to enjoy ons the Christmas morning. You know the kinds I likes?”

Charles didn’t know what he’d expected. “It’s my job to know, so . . . yes.”

“Greats.” The guitarist patted him on the shoulder of his Santa suit. “Glads that ams sorted outs. Keeps up that good works, yous.”

Then he got up and wandered away, leaving Charles to realize that he hadn’t had a chance to ask him who was behind this whole Santa idea.

Charles finished the plate of food before Pickles made an appearance. He also realized that he could persuade his increasingly inebriated employees to bring him more food, and also drinks, by threatening them with cleanup duty after the party. (He was not in a generous mood; the ones that tried to weasel out of it at first would get cleanup duty regardless of whether they eventually caved or not.) There was no way to escape the alcohol content in the drinks—even when he asked for water it came spiked with vodka or peppermint schnapps, because everyone wanted to see the company’s CFO hammered.

At least they knew better than to roofie him, because Charles would have them killed.

He saw Pickles coming from a mile away. Maybe it was because Charles knew that once all of Dethklok had a chance to visit with “Santa Clause” he would be allowed to escape this torment; maybe it was because he really wanted to know if Pickles was, indeed, the mastermind behind this whole thing; and maybe it was just a tiny bit because he was annoyed the drummer had forgotten to wander over earlier.

But being annoyed at any of the guys was a nonstarter. Putting up with their antics was just part of the job.

“Heeeeeeeeeeey,” Pickles greeted him as he swayed his way over and plopped onto Charles’ lap. Unlike everyone else who had visited Santa this evening, he didn’t stick to perching closer to Charles’ knees but scooted in as close as he could until they were practically nose to nose. Mingled notes of every kind of booze available at the party wafted the short distance from the drummer’s mouth (and shirt, and hands, and dreads), until all Charles could smell was Pickles. “Lookin’ hot in that suit, dood. Is the temp in here okay? Gettin’ a little warm in there?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Charles said, trying not to be too aware that Pickles seemed incapable of sitting still and his ass was rubbing against . . . things. “Ah. Merry Christmas.”

Pickles snickered. “Did Nat’en make that ho joke?”

No one could see for the beard that Charles’ lips twitched toward a smile at that. “Yes, he did.”

“‘M glad yer not a ho, Charlie,” Pickles slurred affectionately. “A'least, not no much'a one. That’d be a bummer.”

“Ah . . . okay.” He didn’t know what to make of that, or the continuing subtle lap dance, so he said, “What would you like for Christmas this year, Pickles?”

“Weeeeell. . . .” Grinning, Pickles waggles his double-pierced eyebrows. It seems like he’s trying to be suggestive, but Charles has no idea what that’s supposed to suggest. The drummer leaned even closer, lips brushing against Charles’ ear as he murmurs, “I kinda already got my present right in front’a me, chief. Just gotta unwrap it.”

All of this was sending shivers and goosebumps down Charles’ spine under the (admittedly warm) Santa suit, but for heaven’s sake, it was just Pickles. When wasted, which he was more often than not, man oscillated between being a destructive drunk and clingy one. Apparently tonight it was . . . very much so the latter. Not a good time to ask about the Santa plot, really.

He had dealt with this before, just not with Pickles literally draped over and inconspicuously grinding on him. Come on, Offdensen, pull it together . Do not get a boner at the holiday office party. No matter how long it’s been!

“Well, ah, sounds like you’re all taken care of then,” Charles hazarded. “All that’s left to do is, ah, enjoy the party. Why don’t you go do that.”

Pickles chuckled, a low, sultry sound that just made the situation even more difficult. “Workin’ on it dood, I’m workin’ on it.” He shifted thoughtfully again, then bit his lip through a grin. “And it feels like we’re gettin’ there, huh chief?”

“I. Ah, what?” At least the big fake beard was concealing his blush better than he’d been able to contain his body’s mounting interest in the increasingly distracting ass squirming around on top of him. This is a public place , he wanted to protest, but didn’t want to risk pointing out something that might be completely unintentional. After all, it was Pickles , who did this sort of thing fairly regularly.

But the next murmured words out of Pickles’ mouth stopped every single one of Charles’ thoughts in their tracks.

“Fuck, even in this stupid suit yer sexy. How d’you do that?” A brief nip, teeth closing and tugging on Charles’ earlobe before releasing with a soft wet pop .

Nothing but overwhelmed static on the other side of that ear; the quiet gasp was completely involuntary.

“C’mon Charlie,” Pickles all but whined, “you don’t have to do this anymore. Jest call it a night and meet me in the bathroom or somethin’, okie?”

The amazing thing, Charles thought distantly, was that from a distance, it wouldn’t look like anything was happening. Just a grown man, swaying drunk off his ass, sitting on Santa’s lap to whisper what he wanted for Christmas. Regular office holiday party shenanigans for a laugh. But under the surface, Charles was starting to feel like a shaken champagne bottle.

“You, ah,” he managed. “You do realize that you, ah, seem to be prepositioning me for, ah. Sex?”

Pickles leaned into him with a laugh. “Like I said, dood, that’s what I’m tryin’ ta do. Fer like, fuckin’ forever. For a smart guy you can be pretty stupid, y’know that?”

“Ah.” Charles shifted awkwardly and nearly choked when Pickles very pointedly pushed into it at the exact right moment. “There’s . . . a chance I’ve been told that before,” he hedged, already vowing to himself that he would never admit how many times. This isn’t something he ever would have looked for, but mistaking Pickles hitting on him for god only knew how long for just being an affectionate drunk? That was pretty fucking funny if you thought about it, and he'd consumed just enough alcohol so far to really give it some very serious thought.

And . . . his job was to keep everyone in the band happy.

“So, ah. There are several bathrooms off this hall. . . . Which one did you have in mind?”

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #chuckles #12 days of dethmas

24 notes · View notes

yourcoffindoor · 4 years

Text

Bulletproof Heart Pt.2

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Prompt: Request from Anon- “ could you write one where the reader is a rock singer and they and mcr are on warped tour together, and they both lowkey like each other but think they’re both out of each other’s league, and find out that they’re both secretly into nerdy stuff + maybe getting together?

TW: Mentions of an abusive relationship.

AN: The plot thickens. Sorry for the delay in uploading <3

Enjoyyyy <3

That night after everyone had stumbled back to the bus in a tipsy stupor, you couldn't shake the thought of your encounter with Gerard from your brain. And what's more, you hated yourself for it. For awhile you tossed and turned, hoping the unwelcome feelings you had would fade to nothing so that you could fall asleep at last.

But your curiosity got the better of you, and there was only would person who could give you the answers you were looking for.

"Hey Gavin, are you still conscious?" you whispered from your bunk. You heard the rustle of sheets moving in response.

"Hmmm?" a low and sleepy sound of acknowledgement answered.

"I'm just wondering...what do you know about Gerard Way?"

As soon as the words left your lips, Gavin's curtains swung open with superhuman force.

"Y/N are you in love with Gerard Way?!" Gavin's voice was no longer tired, having morphed into a sharp and excited whisper. In addition to being the band's social butterfly, he always knew the gossip about everyone within a 20 mile radius.

"Christ, really Gavin? We only spoke for like fifteen minutes."

"So it was like a love at first sight situation?"

"You are so annoying, I swear to god."

"Do you want info or not?" he threatened.

You sighed. "Fine, yes I do."

Gavin cleared his throat as if preparing for a presentation. "OK, so everyone has something good to say about him, seems like a really genuine guy. I've heard he was in a long term relationship for ages, but its been broken off for awhile now. "

"Hmm," you murmured, trying to sound indifferent, "yeah he seems like a sweet guy."

"Yeah and every girl with a pulse seems to be after him. You got some competition out there." he teased. "But seriously, if you're interested you should go for it. You deserve to be happy, Y/N. It's been three years since...you know who."

Gavin didn't say his name, but he had said enough to bring on a wave of sad memories. "Thanks. I'm uh, feeling pretty tired, so... I'm just gonna get some sleep."

"G'night." Gavin said softly, as if aware he had brought out long buried and very unwelcome feelings.

You rolled over in your bunk, pulling your blankets up over your head, unwilling to dwell on the memories that had been drudged up by only a few words. Three years ago. That's when you finally had the strength to break it off with Alex.

You were a different person when you met him. It was your first relationship, and you were naive and forgiving, unable to see the dozens of red flags that should have made you run away from it all.

You had answered an ad that he had posted asking for potential band members for a punk band he was forming. It had been your dream to pursue music, and you responded right away, hoping you'd hit it off. You weren't expecting Alex to be so damn attractive, and when your audition was successful, it was only a matter of time before a relationship began to develop between you.

He was older than you, more experienced, and eager to take you under his wing where he could have the most control. You mistook his over-protectiveness as a sign of love, and he slowly cut you off from people outside of the band, leaving you isolated and dependent on him.

Eventually he would get angry if he saw you speak to any other man. He took your phone regularly so that he could look through it, questioning you about anything he didn't like. The fights you had were loud and ugly, your voices rising and crashing like cantankerous bursts of thunder. Eventually, they became violent.

You were stuck in a cycle of affection and fear, held there as if caught in a tide that would never bring you back to shores of sanity. But you did eventually find the strength to get out when your friend reached out to you, offering you a place to stay. You packed your bags that night and didn't look back.

Your band was not just a career for you, it was a symbol of healing, proof that you were able to overcome it all and strike out on your own. You rolled over in your bunk, and pushed the unwanted memories aside, reminding yourself of the promise you had made to be the best damn band on Warped tour. Nothing was going to change that now.

x x x

Your first performance went by in a haze of adrenaline and sweat. The crowd was young and eager to see what you had to offer, and you were all to happy to give them something they'd remember for a long long time.

There were several people in the crowd who were fans already, proudly wearing your band's shirts and mouthing along to all of the lyrics. Others were slowly converted, headbanging enthusiastically by the end of your set. When the band's final song was met with deafening hoots and cheers, you'd felt like you'd accomplished your mission.

"We fucking killed it!" Gavin declared as he slumped in the nearest chair, exhausted.

"The crowd was good, huh?" you beamed as you wiped the sweat from your face, still breathless from your onstage antics. "Let's hope they're all like this."

"Can't get any worse than our first show ever, remember?" Liz laughed as she recalled the groups early days. "Never had so much beer pelted at me in my life."

People milled about as you and your band mates caught your breath. A few musicians from other bands popped in to say hi and let you know that they enjoyed your performance.

"Hey you actually made it!" Gavin jumped up from his chair as he noticed a new face entering the backstage area. "Guys did you meet Frank last night? From My Chemical Romance?" A man with wide hazel eyes gave a quick wave from the the entryway.

"This guy was goin on and on about how you guys were the best new band on warped tour. Had to see if he was just full of shit."

"He always starts bragging when he's drunk." you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm glad he did. You guys put on a pretty kick-ass show. Plus Gerard really wanted to check it out."

Your heartbeat, which had only just settled from jumping around on stage, began to speed up again.

"Gerard?"you asked softly, caught off guard by the mention of his name. You didn't see the familiar black haired boy near frank. You only saw Gavin attempting to give you a discreet wink, which you returned with a harsh glare.

"Yeah actually we were all there. Mikey and Ray had to run to another show. Don't know where Gee disappeared to though," Frank craned his head, looking around at the hustle and bustle that was happening permanently everywhere on Warped tour. "Ah, there he is. Gerard!"

You saw Gerard, surrounded by a small circle of fans, each holding something they wanted him to sign. You felt a strange pang when you noticed they were all pretty girls, and Gavin's words from last night came back to haunt you. You got some competition out there. You struggled to identify just what emotion was suddenly eating away at you--were you really jealous? Or was it the realization that even if you decided to make a move, it was probably hopeless?

Gerard nodded at Frank. "Be there in a sec!" he shouted, continuing to sign autographs until he had gotten through everyone.

Frank spoke with your band mates, but you were too distracted by the knowledge that Gerard had watched you perform to be sociable. You were anxious as to what his opinion would be, but tried to push it out of your thoughts.

You watched nervously as Gerard spoke to Frank and Gavin, noticing that he would glance over at you every so often. When your eyes finally met he gave you a nod and a warm smile. You gave yourself an internal pep talk to try and stay calm. You can just be friends, you don't need to do anything except be friendly. For the love of god, act normal.

Eventually he made his way over to you,offering another soft and lopsided smile,but his time it almost seemed as if he was shy. "Great show. From one lead singer to another, your band has a fucking killer sound."

You thanked him, grinning like an idiot while cautionary alarm bells went off in your head.

"I might be a bit biased though, because of the shirt your wearing."

You looked down, having forgotten what you threw on that morning. It was one of your favorite shirts, a short sleeved tee with the X-Men symbol emblazoned on the front. You'd had it for years, as evidenced by the smattering of small holes peeking through the bottom edge. Oh no, you thought, he likes comics too?

"You're a fan?" you asked coolly, a stark contrast to the giddy panic that was building up inside you.

"Yes! I actually wanted to make comics before My Chem was a thing." He spoke animatedly, his round hazel eyes widening even further. "But life had other plans. Not that I'm complaining."

That familiar heat rose in your cheeks. This conversation was dangerous, and you were trying desperately to fight the feeling that this man was something close to perfect.

The world around the two of you became an insignificant blur as you both discussed comics at length, and you hung on every word, taking turns revealing how you first discovered them and sharing your favorites. He even recommended a few titles that you had never heard of. His demeanor was passionate and lively, entirely different from the sullen boy you met the night before.

"I uh, I'm actually working on a comic at the moment," he began, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, suddenly bashful, "If you're interested you should stop by the bus sometime--"

Gerard's eyes focused on something just behind you, and you felt a sudden tap on your shoulder. You turned and felt your stomach drop to a sickening low. There, standing next to the drunk who was hitting on you last night, was your ex-boyfriend Alex.

"What are the odds!" he smiled at you, blank looking smug beside him. You found yourself at a loss for words.

"What...what are you doing here?"

He scoffed. "Ouch Y/N, is that anyway to say hello? I'm here for the same reason you are." He turned his attention to Gerard. "I'm Alex. Y/N and I used to have a band together back in the day. Well, a bit more than that actually." He smirked at you, instantly transforming any butterflies you had felt while talking to Gerard into pure revulsion.

This was your worst case scenario, and it was one you had never even considered to be possible. Seeing his face again made you freeze up, and you were at a loss for words. You looked up at Gerard through your eyelashes, wondering if the dark and overwhelming swirl of emotion inside you was showing on your face. His brows were furrowed ever so slightly as if he could sense that something wasn't quite right.

"Nice to meet you," he replied curtly before turning his attention back to you. I'll uh, let you catch up. I'll just be over there with Frank...if you need anything."

You merely nodded, too caught up in your feelings to respond properly. "I'll catch you later then."

Alex saw this opportunity as a chance to reach for an embrace, but you stepped back and out of reach.

"Just what the hell are you doing?"

"What are you implying? I'm just dropping in to say hello before Midnite Heist performs later. I'm their new drummer after all. I can't even do that?"

"No," you said, struggling to maintain a low voice, "You can't. I told you I never wanted to see you again. We may be on the same tour, but that doesn't mean you can approach me. Don't try it again."

He laughed, clearly embarrassed to be spoken too like that in front of his band mate. "If you're trying to get with that Way guy, don't bother. You're punching way above your weight with that one."

You took a moment to steel yourself, and decided to walk away rather than let thing turn into a scene. Before you turned to leave, you offered one final warning.

"I haven't forgotten what you did to me. Speak to me again and you'll regret it."

You walked off, hearing mocking 'Ooooh's from Alex and Brent as you left. You saw heads turning in your direction as you stormed away towards the bus, including Gerard's, but you couldn't be bothered by that now- not when you were struggling to keep it together.

Fuck Fuck Fuck your internal monologue looped on a bitter repeat. This was going to be the longest tour of your life.

#gerard way fanfic #gerard way x reader #gerard way imagine #mcr fanfiction

117 notes · View notes

deoovat · 4 years

Note

Do you have any Knuxadow headcannons?

Ψ(｀▽´)Ψ🔥ohhhh BABY DO I EVERRR🔥

okok imma chill. This is a long as list but its only like 15% of my headcanons but WE DONT NEED TO BE HERE ALL DAY SO HERE.

->Shadow at first thinks Knuckles fuckin stinks. Not like in a sense of having body odor or what have you, but he thinks Knuckles stinks because his chaos energy is so inactive and dormant that it smells and feels sour.Knuckles has spent the long years of his life surrounded by the Master Emerald. Knuckles has more chaos energy in his body than Shadow and Sonic combined. But the echidna never uses it, so all it does is continue piling and piling and piling and it makes his nose itch.

->All that unused sour energy reeks to Shadow (who is the only person who can actually scent it because he’s basically made up of it) so when he first instigates the echidna into fighting him, in a way, the hedgehog wants to help him. Forcing him to use all that power on someone who can actually take it.

->Shadow is really attracted by the fact that Knuckles can absolutely over-power him but doesn’t brag about it. He enjoys fighting him way too much. It sends him on an adrenaline high he can’t get anywhere else. However, he doesn't like the fact the Guardian hides his actual strength because he’s afraid of hurting or killing someone. It’s an understandable fear but still, it irks him.

->Shadow is the only one that knows Knuckles is a l o t fucking stronger than he lets on.

->Shadow is also the only one who knows Knuckles true age has been lost to time.

->Knuckles has a strange way of comforting people but he never hesitated to remind Shadow that he’s just as much a part of this world as anyone else is, regardless of how he got there.

-> There’s a reason Knuckles doesn’t hug people. Its because when he does if he doesn’t check his own strength he could quite literally break someone's ribs. Shadow knows this alllll too well. The first time Knuckles hugged him, forgetting to have any restraint from just how relieved he was to see him he accidentally broke 2 of Shadows ribs. Knuckles was horrified but Shadow found the entire situation hilarious. Even if they did heal within a week or two with the help of him and the Master Emerald.

-> There’s something genuinely disturbing about the fact that the first time the echidna pulled a genuine full-body laugh from his boyfriend is when he accidentally broke his ribs. Needless to say, Knuckles thinks Shadow has a weird sense of humor.

-> SONIC IS ABSOLUTELY TO BLAME FOR THEM BEING TOGETHER AND HE’S SO SMUG ABOUT IT. Sonic has deemed himself a matchmaker and no one is safe. He’s to damn proud of himself too, that he’s the one who nudged the two together in his own sneaky way.

->Knuckles has been teaching Shadow words and phrases in one of the languages of his tribe. Shadows the only person Knuckles trusts enough to share this with. It’s a very touchy subject and dear and close to his heart. He doesn’t have anyone to share his unfortunately dead culture with and was prepared to take it to the grave with him (whenever he actually fuckin dies).

->Shadow loves spicy food but Knuckles can’t handle it. Like at all. Spice fucks him up. So does sweets, which Shadow also loves. Knuckles prefers foods like spinach puffs and soups. HE FUCKIN LOVES BREAD THO. GET HIM BREAD AND HE’S THE HAPPIEST GUY ALIVE.

-> He’ll never admit it, but the tough guy, Knuckles, likes when Shadow is protective. Like really likes it. Not at first, because Knuckles can fight his own damn battles but after being together for a long time, Knuckles can say now he finds it damn cute.

-> Sometimes when the echidna is seriously stressed or frustrated his eyes will start tearing and he doesn’t even know it half the time. Shadow hates seeing Knuckles cry. It makes him feel like someone just threw a brick at his stomach. But Shadow has learned not to panic or point it out to him, but just slowly calm him down and wipe the tears away before Knuckles notices they’re falling.

-> Shadow is most definitely a top and Knuckles is most definitely a bottom, but they like to switch from time to time depending on their mood. It doesn’t truly matter to them who’s in what position in a sense. Knuckles just enjoys being taken care of for once in his life and Shadow enjoys being trusted enough to take care of the person he loves, especially when they’re at their most vulnerable.

-> Shadow often bites Knuckles for no fucking reason at all and Knuckles is exasperated every time. They could just be laying in the grass together and Shadow would chomp on his shoulder out of nowhere, cueing Knuckles going ‘gotdammit, again?! Knock it off!’ But he doesn’t really complain. Mostly because it usually means the hedgehog is in a good mood and is being playful. Plus his snickering sometimes sounds to close to a giggle and Knuckles finds that absolutely adorable.

-> There is absolutely no end to the colorful vocabulary Shadow knows and uses to embarrass his boyfriend. If he calls Knuckles beautiful so much that the word drys up, no need to worry! He has at least 21 other synonyms memorized just to make his boyfriend turn beet fucking red. He reeds to many books. 60% of it is gross romance. Did I mention that Shadows a bookworm?

-> Shadows a bookworm. Noone knows but Knuckles, Rouge and Omega. Shadow doesn’t know how to function in a relationship when they first get together so you know what he does? He reads a bunch of romance novels to get an idea. Not even the good ones. It was the worst decision of his fucking life. Knuckles still laughs at him about it till this day.

-> Also, he loves Knuckles eyes. It’s his favorite part of him (next comes his toothy grins) To him, they’re the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. He can stare at them for hours. Knuckles would punch him for it though.

god there's so much more BUT IMMA END IT THERE because this rabbit hole is honest to god, bottomless.

#knuxadow #my knuxadow headcanons #Knuckles the Echidna #shadow the hedgehog #I HAVE SO SO SO SO SO SOOOOOO MANYYYY #U DONT UNHDERHSHDJNKCEKCJMKVCFV LR #asks

104 notes · View notes

hqprotectionsquad · 4 years

Text

𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒚 - 𝒊𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒛𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆

⤷ 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒊𝒕. ⤷ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒊'𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒚 ⤷ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

words: 3311

tw: brief mentions of partying and alcohol

“You’ll never find your soulmate, loser. I don’t even know why you keep trying,” one of the girls in your class smirks above you as she says this. She approaches you at your desk, furnished with permanent marker stains that you’ve attempted to wipe away. There’s no point. You’re seen just as dirty as your now gray desk. Two other girls flank her sides and knock a few things to the floor.

You don’t say a word because if you say something, they will immediately be twisted. Nothing hurts more than sitting through dozens of monthly soulmate ceremonies in school. Why do they need to celebrate when someone finds their other half when it’s expected in society anyways? What’s there to brag about? You can’t lie when there’s a nudging squeeze in your heart when you see all of the pairs forming a horizontal line on the school stage, reciting the poem you can say with your eyes shut and brain asleep. Sitting in the audience while everyone finds their true love burns a fire in your soul.

Your eyes trace imaginary lines into your uniform and you wait until you can hear their laughter drifting away. Your fingers reach for your belongings because this isn’t a fiction story where your soulmate will brush your knuckles as he reaches for your pencil case and you meet eyes. This isn’t a romance novel. This is the way your life goes, even if you’re the only one in your class that apparently hasn’t seen your soulmate.

Many people meet theirs in their childhood, or a popular way to meet their soulmates is when they’re first enemies and gradually become lovers. What’s the probability that you might fall in love in a cliché way that would make you want to roll your eyes otherwise? You’re only in high school. It shouldn’t matter because you’ll eventually meet your soulmate.

You’re now in college. Still, you’ve never taken part in a soulmate ceremony, but now, the university you attend holds these ceremonies in private instead of major assemblies in front of the entire student body. Part of you is very thankful for not having the want to gouge your eyes out every time someone bragged that they’ve been on stage to commemorate finding their soulmate. Another part of you is confused because how else will you find out who does or doesn’t have a soulmate? Many people are very private about their personal lives and won’t let you know until you maintain a very strong relationship with them.

You, on the other hand, have no problem playing with the fates of time and love. At this point, you’ve almost lost all strength in your wishes of having a soulmate. Your roommate, Hitoka, will tell you on their way out everyday, “You never know who you’ll meet!” Yet, nearly every day is as boring as the last.

“I’m going to start seeing people,” you break the silence as you and your roommate are up one night while working on homework. You sink into your respective beds, hunching over your laptops and miscellaneous papers that won’t mean anything in four years.

“Like how?” Hitoka uses her knuckle to brush a hair out of her face, taking a moment to cast you a confused glance. Just as quick as she looks at you, she’s back to her own work.

“Well, I don’t know. Dates, probably sex. I don’t know if it’ll lead to a soulmate but I’ve almost given up on trying to find one. It’s like the universe hates me or something.” You sigh, placing your pencil to the side. “At this point, it’s not even something I’m actively seeking.”

“You should keep trying,” she tells you while she taps her head with the eraser of her pencil. “I met my soulmate a few years ago, but I didn’t know she was my soulmate until last year.”

“How did you know you clicked?” The homework is off to the side now. Talking about soulmates is much more interesting. You can always finish it in the morning. “Everyone always says that they meet their soulmates, they throw huge parties, but they never reveal how they knew they were the one.”

That is the most frustrating thing about this societal match up system. Even your parents told you that when you meet the right person, you would know. Back then, you found it so endearing, but as you grew older and wiser, you can see it’s just a way to make sure nobody cheats their way into a relationship that isn’t meant for them.

For a brief moment, you think she’ll brush it off to the side and tell you it’s something you figure out on your own. “Well, I joined the volleyball club as a manager because she was actually recruiting people and I was the only person who was up to it. I was so scared because she’s so pretty and so intriguing, and I’m just me.” The grin on her face stretches as she reminisces. It almost erupts a green flame in your stomach, but you push down any harmful feelings. “I was really shy, and I saw some really tall guys who looked super scary. And now, I’m standing in front of the door because I’m too scared to go inside. I eventually made it inside, but that’s just when we met. Last year, when she was paying a visit to the high school, I was pushed into her and I think it was just magic. I swear we were glowing, and she told me she was glowing.” Hitoka scratches her head. “The funny thing is, when we asked the volleyball team if they saw the light, they said they didn’t even notice I got pushed into her.”

“That’s...that’s amazing.”

Thus begins your search for your soulmate. Something about what your roommate said that day, you can’t pin it down, but something so wonderful brews within your heart. A new fire has come to the light in your soul and you’re ready for the mission.

You try to brush against other people when passing by them. Take friends’ hands if they aren’t uncomfortable with touching. Drop your books and give the helper a hug for doing something they didn’t have to do, and they fall into your half purposeful, half by accident trap.

Nothing you do makes anything feel right. In fact, it feels like the harder you try, the further you’re straying from your soulmate.

“Maybe you’re just looking at everything in the wrong approach,” your roommate says nonchalantly, just putting in her two cents while you both wind down for the night. She’s brushing her hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror on the left side of the room. On the right side of the room, you sit at your desk, looking into the mirror sitting next to your lamp. Wouldn’t it be easy to pinpoint the reason why you haven’t met your soulmate yet? With each passing second, the resolve seems farther away, as if it is purposely running away from you. “Have you tried sex yet?”

You bite your lip. You’ve forgotten that you told her you’d do something like that, but you never followed up on your solutions. “Um, no.” Would it be too embarrassing to tell a potential hook up to be careful because you haven’t tried it yet?

“Go to the next party and I’m sure you’ll find someone. Even if they’re not the one, you’ll have a fun night. Maybe you just can’t think about things, you know? They can’t really come if you’re forcing it.” Hitoka nods to affirm you, and then without another word, she rests her head on her pillow and turns on her side.

You nod to nobody and slide under the covers with unease settling in between your bones. This feeling is as physical as it is mental; your bones tighten with your lungs squeezing. Nothing you shouldn’t be not used to, though. Ever since you recommended temporary relationships as a temporary solution, pangs attack your gut like nobody’s business. What is your body trying to warn you? Or maybe it is a sign to look for what is to come?

Whatever it is, you take it along with you to a party that an acquaintance invited you to. No frat parties for you, but club events usually have free food and drinks, and nobody is trying to take advantage of you for a ratio. It’s off-campus and you hail down a cab to take you to the location.

“Holy God,” you mutter, stepping out of the car, one foot at a time after paying your fee. Slamming the door, the driver almost immediately takes off, your arm seconds close to being detached from your body. “This can’t be a house.” It’s a towering complex of some sorts, three stories above the ground. No wonder it’s off-campus housing. It looks like it’s someone’s parent’s house with its carefully trimmed lawn and pristine windows that, you’re sure, some kid was privileged and invited friends to live with them.

“Coming in?” A girl beckons, waving you out of your rose-colored fog. “This is for the debate and engineering clubs, a joint party of some sorts.” Right, clubs that you have no membership in, but luckily, nobody really cares about that.

You follow her into the house and it is as stunning as the outside. Vaulted ceilings greet you in the foyer and you’re certain the rooms can never be counted in full. The furniture looks perfect despite students hanging from each bit of it, slurping mixed alcohol and scarfing down snacks from the convenience store.

“Is there any particular reason for celebration?” You ask, but when you shift your head from focusing back on the girl, she’s long gone. The rest of the party is a blur. You don’t drink too much and you’re basically sober by the end of the occasion, and you wish you weren’t, to be frank. As toxic as your mentality is, you just want a reason to get out of your head for a night. Now, the real problem is trying to get home. The taxi driver earlier demanded two times the price of a usual drive, just because it was slightly out of his range, and presently, you flip through your bills, or rather, your lack of many.

“Hey, do you need help?” A boy with spiky hair approaches you. “You look a little lost and we’re about to finish for the night.”

The weight in your chest sinks even lower. With no friends here, you have no one to hitch a ride from and no one to call at this late hour. You thread your fingers through your hair without a word.

“Hey, don’t cry. Do you need a place to stay or something? Campus is kind of far from here, I wouldn’t mind opening my doors if you need.”

Your eyes widen and your heart freezes in the mix of blood and plasma. “Uh,” you’re basically speechless and your mouth moves up and down. “I don’t know if that’s safe.”

His hands raise to the shoulders of his hoodie, shaking his fingers. “I wouldn’t do anything like that. I don’t really take girls to my place, but I promise if you just need a place to crash, you can come. But of course, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just thought you’d want to postpone the ride until later, they upcharge even more in the middle of the night.”

Spiky hair boy makes a point. “Okay, thank you. What’s your name?” You ask as he leads and heads out of the house. What kind of dude does this? Is he some kind of simp, willing to do anything for a girl? Whoever he is, his face does not match his subservient personality.

“My name is Hajime.”

“I’m Y/N.” You keep your words to a minimum, just as a preventative measure. What if he sells your information on the internet, or plans on spreading rumors about you and all he needs is your first name? Your mind keeps swirling with the possibilities that he takes your hand in his.

“You look really pale. Are you okay? My apartment is only two blocks away. You just have to stick it out until then.” Hajime loops his arm under your shoulder to keep you balanced. Maybe he’s just a nice boy. Hasn’t his mom ever told him that nice boys finish last? He won’t ever get a soulmate if he’s this nice to you.

When you make it to the apartment, a new surge of energy rushes through your veins. “It’s two in the morning, you shouldn’t be this excited,” you mutter to yourself. To him, you ask, “You have a clean apartment. Is it just you here?”

“Yeah. I just like my area neat.” It shows, from the frugal amount of items in the garbage can to the lack of specks on his wooden desk next to the bed. “I can give you some clothes and a toothbrush, but besides that, I don’t really have any other stuff to share.”

“Thank you,” your voice trails off when you sit on the edge of his bed, which is neatly made with navy blue sheets that are pulled up to only two pillows. This is a simple man’s apartment, one that is evidently made for one person. Hajime is fetching the things he said he would, and your hands are folded into each other. Your fingers crunch against the opposite knuckles. Something is off about him and you can’t tell what.

With a hint of a smile, he hands off the clothing and the packaged toothbrush. “I just found whatever would fit you.” You take them, your brows gnawing at the center of your forehead. His own clothes lay in your hands and you can’t stop looking at them. His shirt and his pair of sweats are in your hands and somehow, your fingers won’t stop shaking. “What’s wrong?”

“I, I don’t know. I’m sorry, let me just change and get out of your way. The quicker I go to bed, the quicker I’ll get out of your hair.” His really beautiful hair, you think off-handedly. “That door over there is the bathroom, right?” You stand and you tilt your head back a little to get a better look of his face. He’s a serious looking guy and you wouldn’t want to cross paths with him on the street or even a classroom.

“Right.”

But even now, barely knowing him, you know he has a record of being a supportive person. You can tell. He’s probably the type to place a 500 yen bill into a person’s charity bucket and the type to be kind to everyone, no matter who they are. What kind of connection are you really feeling here?

You rush towards the door, fumble with the knob, and finally, you’re into his small rectangle of a bathroom. Your back presses against the door and your eyes shut as air comes in and out of your nose. “Oh my God.” Heat flows in your body and especially to your cheeks, as you see in the mirror. Is he experiencing the same emotions you are?

No. It can’t be possible and you refute any ideas that come to your head. This is silly! You’re just sleep deprived and you’re not thinking straight. You splash some water onto your face and stare into your reflection. These dark circles underneath your puffy eyes are a sign that you shouldn’t be thinking so hard. First, you brush your teeth with the toothbrush and some toothpaste you found in his cabinet. Then, you slip out of your damp clothing. You glide into his shirt that reaches to your thighs and his sweatpants that have extra fabric that pool at your ankles. You don’t need to intentionally sniff into the material to have his scent ingrained in your head.

“All good in there, (Y/N)?”

You come face to face with him after opening the door. “Yep, all good. Thanks for lending me your clothes and the toothbrush.” You slip past him, allowing yourself space. “Is it cool if I just put my stuff in this corner?”

He nods and then he bites his lip. “Take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” You couldn’t believe that the one time you actually get into a man’s bed, it’s not for a date or sex. The two things you wanted to do to mess around are thrown out the window. Would it be too early to rule them out?

It is too early to rule them out. You just met him, though he is a very kind person. It’s your tired brain trying to run faster than it can. You slip under the covers, it’s the same scent as before. It’s a mix of husky man and detergent, something you’d never really understand outside of a man’s apartment. Your head sinks into the pillow and you shut your eyes.

After ten minutes, you shift positions, fluff the pillow, count sheep. Nothing. You sit up, squinting your eyes to see Iwaizumi’s bare back hiding behind a sheet while he sleeps on the floor. He’s illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the one window in the apartment. Even though you’ve taken his source of comfort, he is taking it in stride.

“Are you awake?”

Iwaizumi hums in return.

“Thank you.”

“For what exactly?”

“For being you. I know we just met, but it feels like I’ve known you for a long time.”

Disregarding what you said, Iwaizumi sits up and stares at you. “Do you have a soulmate?”

“No. You?”

“No. Maybe we’re each other’s.”

All you can hear is your breathing and his in this quiet apartment. It’s quiet enough to hear yourself gulp. “I think we are.” How else can you explain how you’ve been feeling? Is this what Hitoka meant when you’d know? “How do we know for sure?” You’ve hardly been shy all of your life, yet now when you meet someone who could be your soulmate, you’re crawling into your skin.

“We can let this be our one night. If we don’t feel a connection, then I guess we aren’t soulmates.” Hajime says this all while biting down on his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to look at you, but he forces himself to make eye contact.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” There’s no going back anymore.

Hajime tosses his sheet off of his legs and sits on the edge of the bed, dangerously close to you. He takes one of your hands into his and studies the way your eyes look up and down, from either looking at all parts of him or just not wanting to look into his. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper and after releasing one breath, your hands nestle along the dips connecting his neck to his shoulders and you kiss him. Your lips are on his and you’re lacing your fingers through his hair, taking him all in, taking this whole experience in. Your hands fit perfectly in his, your lips press against his in the perfect mold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if when you hug him, it’ll feel like the world melts away. Honestly, even though you told Hitoka you’d be fine with messing around, maybe you were just waiting for the right person. He doesn’t have to be perfect right now, but he will be the one who throws out all of the lists of traits you wanted in a soulmate. He will end up being the one item on your list.

And here he is in front of you, clutching onto your body like his life depended on it and basking in the presence of an almighty moon.

tag-list: @clowninfortodoroki

82 notes · View notes

risingsouls · 3 years

Text

Conversations: 8

[Finally had an idea for another one. Cheesy and cliche at the end but you know what, I’m weak for them, alright. All I can say is it’s about damn time.]

Vegeta touched down just outside the area the Gerudo set aside in the middle of the desert for their festival. When Nabooru had extended the invitation to him and promised plenty of sparring, food, and drink, the chosen location confused him as he figured they had plenty of room to hold it in their community’s square. However, once he took flight, he understood; he could see the flames of a sizable bonfire stretching toward the stars from his home miles away.

The scent of food wafted on the light breeze toward him and made his stomach rumble. He could hear music, chatter, and laughter coming from the flame-illuminated figures milling and dancing around the area, as well as the distinct sounds of battle in the distance. Ki flared in a multicolored spectrum against the black sky, clashing together with planet-quaking force.

He had doubted Nabooru’s description of their festival, assuming she exaggerated or supplied him with a palatable description to lure him there. Yet another knee-jerk expectation due to his past dealings with others, even though she had yet to lead him astray in such an underhanded manner just to get him to attend some function or another.

No sooner had he stepped into the halo of firelight was he accosted by three Gerudo in their upper teens if not barely out of them. The triplets. Nabooru had mentioned them and he had spotted them once or twice at her tournament helping out with this or that. Though children when they migrated to Earth, she said they had been the best in the tribe with a bow, and their deadly accuracy followed into their ki training.

"I told you he'd come," one of them bragged, hands on her hips. "I bet he wanted to see how strong the rest of us are since only Nabooru, Valis, and Avira got to enter the Warrior Games."

"Or he really does have a thing for Nabooru," the middle one chimed in, ogling him with that slack smile and gleam in her eyes of a hopeless romantic. "Everyone can see they--"

Vegeta felt his cheeks burn, and a growl rumbled in his throat, impatience beginning to get the better of him. "How about the two of you stop blathering on like he's not standing right there?" The third shot her sisters a glare, obviously noticing the Saiyan's agitation. "Sorry about them."

"At least one of you isn't hopeless," he said, folding his arms. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood. What do you want? Make it quick before that changes."

"We were hoping you would spar with us," the third answered. Vadya, maybe. That or Nadya or Zadya. This was the first time he had met them for more than a passing moment; he was surprised he remembered their names even if he couldn't attach them to the proper Gerudo. "As the eldest, I was thinking I could go first but--"

"No way, Vadya! I beat you earlier fair and square! I'm going first!"

The fire in the two sisters' eyes when they squared off to face each other, their obstinate expressions, Vadya opening her mouth to prepare another retort...Vegeta could see the annoying route this conversation was headed. He was not about to listen to a trio of Gerudo siblings bicker over who got the honor of fighting him first.

"All three of you. At once." Three pairs of yellow eyes snapped to him, mild surprise etched in their expression. "Nabooru says you fight best together. I don't need you wasting my time three times over."

They exchanged glances and slow smiles lit their features one by one. The first pumped her fists in the air and whooped, feet leaving the sand to levitate a foot above it. "I knew you were cool! Vadya, Nadya, let's go!" The other two joined their sister. "Catch us if you can!"

The prince watched them take off into the night, a triad of white-pink auras darting toward a space between the other battling Gerudo. He waited a few seconds more before speeding off after them.

--------

Nabooru returned to the festival with a grin on her painted lips, basking in her victory over Avira, whom she left to lick her wounds before she, too, would rejoin the festivities. No sooner had Valis read off the last name of the Gerudo who had fallen when Hyrule ambushed them, the Soldier's Bane had challenged her to a spar, wasting no time. Nabooru was simply grateful this and other requests were made for the betterment of their skills rather than to unseat her as leader of the Gerudo and question her ability to lead them. She could enjoy them far better without the weight of either hers or her fellow Gerudo's impending death hanging over her. And Avira's own skill and growth always impressed the former leader...she just typically kept it to herself to keep it from going to the other's head.

Aveil found her and shoved a drink in her hand. "Welcome back. That was longer than expected."

"I fought on her level longer than usual. You know, let her think she had me beat a few times, enjoyed the work out." She took a sip of the citrus cocktail, it's strength hidden behind the sweet flavor and sunny coloration. "She wasn't quite as mad about me toying with her. Had she been drinking while Valis recited?"

Aveil snorted. "Couldn't say. I was nodding off."

"Disrespectful."

"I spent all day setting this up. You do that and try to stay awake while someone reads a bunch of names.” Aveil took a generous gulp of her own drinks. “Some of us didn’t spend the better part of the day cavorting with our boyfriend.”

Nabooru rolled her eyes. Her former second in command had always teased her about her arrangement with the Saiyan prince since their sparring began. While it used to be once in a while, she had dug her heels in on the insistence on their relationship status. “I was training with Vegeta who isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Mm, you know I won’t argue with you. The guy lived with you and you didn’t even make a move. Have you even kissed him? Held his hand? Touched knees sitting next to him?”

“Ever think that I don’t want to do any of those things?”

“No, because you’re the one that lies to herself. Everyone knows you at least want to sleep with him. And you should just do it because it will do you both a world of good.”

Nabooru drained her drink and circled around Aveil for another. She snatched it off the table and took a sip. If she knew Aveil was going to grill her all night, she would have chugged down several drinks instead of sparring with Avira. “Okay, say you were right about me. Whose to say he wants to sleep with me?”

“Seriously?” Aveil laughed and bent over double. When she stood again, she wiped fake tears from her eyes. “I can maybe believe that you don’t but I’ve never seen anyone check you out as much as he does. I can’t count how many times I’ve caught him staring at your chest.”

“That’s because they’re at eye level for him and...you know what? I’m done with this conversation,” huffed Nabooru, considering challenging Aveil to a spar just to get some semblance of revenge. She turned her attention to the distance, pinpointing Vegeta’s energy among the triplets’. “He would take on all three of them.”

“They bombarded him as soon as he got here. I’m surprised he agreed since they’re not you. Guess they wanted a chance before he spotted you and you both disappeared somewhere.” Aveil grinned in the face of Nabooru’s withering glance. The three energies in question lowered to near nothing before heading back toward the festival.

The triplets veered off toward another group of Gerudo that included Zana she noted with some humor and Vegeta landed in front of the pair of them. Aveil greeted him with a waggle of her fingers. “Hey, Vegeta. We were just talking about you.” She patted Nabooru’s shoulder with her free hand and winked. “I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

Nabooru watched her leave, glad she spared them both any more of her perverted goading. “How was your spar with the triplets?” Grabbing a bottle of liquor, she poured it into the glass and handed it over, knowing the sweet cocktails wouldn’t suit his tastes. “I’m a little disappointed they couldn’t even get you to break a sweat.”

“It was a decent warm up.” He took the drink from her and used the moment to observe the change in her clothing choice. Like the others, she swapped out the Earth style of clothing she typically donned for her people’s traditional wear. The same outfit she wore to her tournament only this time fully adorned with the jewelry he noticed she had paired with it on the mannequin in her closet. Overly showy, but he could not deny the regal effect the outfit offered her. He had opted on the simple dark blue outfit he had also worn at her tournament, but he idly wondered if he should have gone with his armor instead. “Who got you to break one? Avira?”

“Only because I wanted it to last longer than a few minutes.” She headed toward the outskirts of the boundary the rest of the Gerudo had set around the bonfire at the center, knowing Vegeta would follow. Selecting a spot still within range of the fire’s heat, she sat down, one knee bent toward the sky.

He took a seat next to her. "I guess we're both guilty of toying with our opponents tonight." For good reason; he wanted to see what his opponents could do rather than thrash them immediately as he could have. He watched as a group of Gerudo struck up a dance of sorts. Another pair sparred without ki or weapons. He found Aveil chatting with the triplets as Zana checked their injuries, minor as they were. "Is there a special reason for all this?"

"Hm?" She had zoned out in the silence, a sideways glance locked on the male beside her. The sharp angles and lines that formed his face, the calm that worked its way into his constant resting scowl. The way the fire’s light and shadow played over it. The musculature of his bare arms and toned legs, still apparent in his usual skin tight pants. Damn Aveil putting thoughts in her head…

"You mean the festival?" Nabooru chuckled. "Guess it depends who you ask at this point. We try to hold this one at least once a year to honor those that fell back on Hyrule and celebrate their lives. Someone more religious like Valis would tell you it was also to honor our goddesses. Then Aveil would tell you it's just an excuse to drink, dance, and fight." She conveniently left off the additional answer her former second would give; her mind was already out to betray her.

"If all your festivals are this way, the fighting already makes them better than what Earthlings define as a party, a real reason for it or not." He lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. "From what I remember, what few celebrations we were still allowed when I was a child were similar. Nappa said they were toned down because Frieza found them barbaric, so they compromised with the ones the bastard didn't completely outlaw."

"Sounds like Frieza didn't know how to have fun. But I'm sure he had decided everything Saiyans did was barbaric. At least from what you've told me." She leaned back on one arm. "Hyrule was about the same. They didn't like that we worshipped differently, that our entire culture was different than theirs. They probably feared our potential influence, especially on their women, but they couldn't do much about it besides hiss and bemoan our sinful and 'backwards' ways."

Vegeta grunted. "You wouldn't be wrong. He didn't even like Saiyans letting their tails loose." He remembered the teachings from his childhood, the warnings to always keep it tucked tightly around one's waist. They framed it as protecting the typically sensitive appendage from opponents, since if pulled or squeezed hard enough, it could paralyze a soldier. A fair enough explanation. But by the time his tutors taught him this particularly strange rule of decorum, only fools didn't train their tails to not be a weakness for them. His mother had been the one to tell him the truth of the matter before a visit from Frieza to the palace. He remembered her warnings about being on his best behavior and making doubly sure his tail remained around his waist. The young prince had belligerently asked her why, the effort of maintaining it in one place and the mental discipline it took at that age an annoyance, astutely pointing out that he wouldn't be fighting and his tail posed no threat to him. She had responded bluntly: it offended our overlord to see them freed. He preferred them tucked away and passing for a fuzzy belt.

He relayed this story to Nabooru. "Of course, I had to test her warning. While my father, Nappa, and Frieza were discussing the most recent successes and failures of the army, I used my tail to grab a fruit from the bowl on the table and ate it." He chuckled. "Frieza stopped mid sentence and cleared his throat, nodding toward me. The disgusted look on his face was priceless and worth the lecture afterward.”

“Who knew little baby Vegeta was such a rebel,” said Nabooru, laughing.

The hint of a smirk curled his lips. “It was reckless. Frieza killed for less and he didn’t discriminate based on age. But it sounded so ridiculous to me I had to know for sure.”

“Either way, I like it. Sounds like something I would have done as a kid. Maybe even now.” She stretched her other leg out to join the other. “That’s the first time you’ve really talked about your mother, though. Do you remember her?”

“Bits and pieces of memories like that one.” He swirled the alcohol in his glass. "She served as a general in the army with Nappa before she married my father. From what I understand, she maintained those duties while serving as queen. Demanded it because she refused to be just a figurehead, according to Nappa. She even refused my father's proposal unless he bested her in combat. I remember watching her fight on a few occasions--spectacularly I might add--and she oversaw a few of my training sessions when she could. She taught me about our history and legends, and the beginnings of war strategy."

"She sounds incredible," Nabooru mused, silently wishing she could have met her. She sounded like the kind of woman and warrior she would respect and look up to, followed by the juvenile, guilty wish that her mother had been similar. A consideration she despised herself for now more than ever.

“You’ve never talked about your mother, either. Or your father.”

Nabooru could feel Vegeta watching her, but she avoided his gaze to hide her remorse, her sadness. Her thumb traced patterns in the condensation of her glass. “I never knew my father. All I know is he was a merchant, possibly from another country. I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t so proud of my mother for a long time for mostly petty reasons,” she said at last. “She was the tribe’s master seamstress and incredibly talented in her craft. Lanu was actually her apprentice. She raised me the first few years of my life until I was old enough to begin my training and education. She was still a part of my life, but my people took a more ‘it takes a village’ approach to child rearing. For too long, I wished that some other Gerudo was my mother, a warrior like I wanted to be. She could fight, of course, combat training was required of all Gerudo, but she had chosen a different path when she was allowed. It didn’t help that we didn’t see eye to eye on my decisions in life: the dangers of being a warrior in our army, the stress of joining the Elite, my decisions concerning having children of my own. It wasn’t until the last few years before we left Hyrule that I really started trying to fix our relationship.”

Efforts that no longer mattered outside of a temporary alleviation of regret when she dwelled on her mother and her fate for too long. “The last time I saw her was during the attack. We had been forced back into the fortress, the labyrinthine nature of it all that bought us time. She was actually the one to come up with the idea that saved us.” Nabooru nodded to the other Gerudo. Laughing. Dancing. Sparring. Happy, or so she hoped. “She volunteered to lead a group of mostly elder Gerudo toward the enemies encroaching on the room we had holed up in. I tried to argue, but she and a few others pointed out that a smaller group would have a better chance at escaping to the desert, and if anyone should survive, it should be the younger women. They would stage a final assault to give us a chance to escape out the room’s other exit since the Hylians knew the last of us had hidden away together. While a risk, it banked on their perceived victory blinding them to the rest of us escaping. It worked.”

At the cost of her mother and many great Gerudo women, all of which she knew personally in some regard or another. She bit her lip hard and swallowed to keep her tears at bay as their faces surged to the forefront of her memory. For years she wondered how many of their attackers they took down with them before succumbing to their overwhelming numbers. What her mother’s last moments looked like, her last thoughts. Had her daughter made her as proud as Nabooru was of her and a courage she didn’t know the seamstress possessed?

Vegeta allowed the silence between them to stretch onward, both to respect the woman’s old wounds and to consider if he had anything verbal or otherwise to offer her. He struggled to process and maintain his own grief, and simply witnessing others’ despair if not directly caused by him was a new avenue for him entirely. Hers at least felt familiar, relatable to him.

“That’s something the two of you share,” he said at last. Her questioning gaze met his, one eyebrow lifted. “You both are passionate about your people and would sacrifice everything to keep them alive. Perhaps you’re not as different from her as you thought.”

The fact that Vegeta spoke at all surprised her. She had shared the tale with him because he asked and perhaps to simply verbalize it for the first time since it happened and her own benefit. The response was insightful over sympathy she didn’t want from him, one she could appreciate and a consideration that did make her feel better and coaxed the easy smile back to her painted lips.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Her smile widened to a cheeky grin. “Who knew you could be so thoughtful. Guess you are a really good listener.”

“Oh, shut up. I was pointing out the obvious,” he groused, though he could not deny the warmth in his chest upon seeing her face light up once more, the fire in her eyes and her smile returning. A novelty of emotion for him, but he reveled in the pride of the fact that he revived them.

He finished his liquor in a single gulp and rose to his feet. “Let’s go. I was promised fighting, and a single spar isn’t going to cut it.” He tossed the glass in the air and blasted it, the dust sparkling in the firelight on its descent to the sand. “Or did you think you were off the hook because we already trained together today?”

Nabooru followed his lead and dusted the sand from the seat of her pants. “I was just waiting for you to ask me like a proper gentleman.” Another swig of her own drink emptied the glass, and she disposed of it in similar fashion. “Lead the way, your highness.”

With a roll of his eyes, Vegeta took to the sky once more and flew away from the festivities. He chose a spot far enough away from the bonfire and revelers as well as the other fights to allow them plenty of space. He descended and landed, Nabooru touching down feet from him. “Are you ready? Or do I need to wait for you to warm up or something?”

“I just need to do one thing.” Once more, she was at a loss on who or what to blame for her actions. Alcohol. Aveil. The Saiyan standing before her. The urge had hit her before they took to the sky with more potency, more determination, than before as a mere passing thought. Out here they had privacy, something she assumed he would appreciate (and that she might, too, if the gesture took a wrong turn). A risk she had considered, and one she finally decided she was ready to take. Waiting for him to make the first move had become too agonizing, so against her nature.

Nabooru rested a hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder, noting only a habitual tense of muscles over a full drawing back from her touch. Bolstered by the lack of spurning and the notion she had come too far not to see it through, she dipped down and pressed her lips to his, her hand on his shoulder gliding to the back of his neck. It was hard, near painful, to hold back once the connection was made. To maintain the slight space between their bodies and keep her fingers from threading into his hair. To not let her passion consume her and convince her to deepen the kiss beyond one meant to test the boundaries and risk pushing him away rather than drawing him closer.

Such care in mind, she pulled away after a few moments, her reluctance displayed in how her lips lingered a breath away from his, biting her lower lip. Through half-lidded eyes, she observed his face, heart racing in her chest in an anxiety she hadn’t felt in decades. However, the corner of her mouth twitched up in a slight smirk at the sight of his reddened cheeks and hooded eyes, the expression caught between surprise and desire.

Just as she shifted to straighten back up, Vegeta growled and his expression flashed to a frustrated glower. Gloved hand shot out and seized the oversized ruby resting against her chest, and he yanked her back down to his level, crashing their lips back together. He cupped her face with one hand while the other gripped her hip, felt her arms drape over his shoulders and her hands cling to his shoulder blades. He greedily relished her taste, the sweetness of her drink that still clung to her lips and her natural flavor. Her warmth. The delighted moan that caught in her throat when he forced their bodies closer.

He had never cared much for kissing. A formality at best or a natural occupation for the lips during sex. But when they were forced to separate, to breathe, he found for the first time (as far as he could remember) he hadn’t wanted that one to end.

If her mind hadn’t clouded over in bliss and muddled her thoughts, she would have come up with a clever quip about their height difference or a teasing remark about how desperately he pulled her back to him or an inquiry about how long he had been waiting to do that. But all she could focus on in that moment was his touch at her hip and how his thumb traced the boundary between flesh and fabric. How he tasted and the delightful tingle left behind on her lips from the force of the kiss. The places where their bodies connected. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her shifted hand and the feel of the hard muscle beneath. Maybe she shouldn’t have put this off so long…

Finally, Nabooru stepped back, fingers trailing over his arms for that last bit of contact. “I think I’m ready now.”

Vegeta shifted into a fighting stance, a smirk on his lips. “Very well. Come at me, then.”

#// vegeta ♅#:: nabooru ☀#tadaaaaaaaaaaaa #god it's about damn time #idec that it's cheesy

5 notes · View notes

onemistresstorulethemall · 4 years

Text

Another kind of game

I read a post about the boys reacting to MC proposing a threesome and Levi's bit got me inspired. For simplicity the other girl will be "your friend" but remember that it's fiction and you can imagine anyone, even Megan Fox in the place of the other woman, there's nothing stopping you. P.s. this oneshot has girl on girl action. So, if you're not into that, I suggest you don't read this one.

After you got back to your realm, everyone was all over you, wanting to find out all of the juicy details about your one year visit to hell. Most were shocked that you came back in one piece, others were relieved to hear they have a chance of not being forever tortured, but one particular reaction was the light that sparked the flame.

Your friend became quite interested in the demons you lived with, particularly one, Leviathan. He sounded great from your description, but after seeing the pictures of him on your phone, she was sold. So, she asked if she could have a taste for the night. Being the generous person you are, you agreed.

It was a Friday night and you arranged with Leviathan that you were going to summon him. You briefly mentioned that one of your friends will be there too.

"She wants to stop being a normie and while I don't think that's possible, if anyone can make a miracle like that happen, then that's you."

You also casually stated that there's a game you'd like to try out but it's only fun with three players. He agreed.

Thanks to Solomon, you now knew how to summon demons. So, both you and your friend got ready and stood on either side of the summoning circle. It was a bit hard mastering the design as you had to write in Hebrew, but with a bit of practice, you managed to do it. (Yes I read the lesser key of Solomon in 9th grade and I'm showing off, sorry not sorry) But before you even got to doing that, there were other preparations you needed to do. Both you and your friend were dressed up in magical girl outfits. The costumes consisted of over the elbow gloves, deep v-neck tops with a decorative bow in the middle, mini skirts and lacy see-through thigh high socks. Both of your hairstyles were half up and half down, you sporting two pigtails on the side of your head, while your friend had a ponytail. The hairstyles looked cute, but they also worked as handles. Your make up was soft and glittery with just gloss on your lips.

After the incantation was said, Leviathan appeared in the middle of the circle. He was dressed in the clothes you picked for him when he asked you to dress him up as a normie for a concert.

In a matter of seconds he began to blush and stutter, covering half of his face with the back of his hand.

"W-why are y-you dressed like t-that?"

"It's for the game, silly."

Previously, you were both on your knees, but then you started crawling towards him on all fours and your friend followed.

You stood next to his right leg, while your friend took the left. Gently, your hands stroked his legs.

"Please let us make you feel good...", she finally spoke.

"Come on, Levi. Let us treat you properly. You deserve this more than anyone.", your hands wandered upwards on his thigh.

"Why would you want to do this with someone like me?", he blurred out.

"Someone like you? Like what? Unbearably hot?", your friend giggled while her hand stroked his crotch area.

While he was too flustered to say anything more, you took your shot and undid his belt while your friend unzipped his pants.

"Fuck. You weren't lying, he's huge.", you friend smirked when she was able to see Levi's member.

"Wait, you told her about...?"

"About how good you fucked me? How big your cock is? Hell yeah, I told her.", your reply came quick.

With his boxers down, his cock stood in all its glory in front of your faces.

"Mmm, Captain, I see somebody already hoisted the sail.", your friend licked her lips.

Not a moment passed and your lips met hers as both of your mouths licked the sides of Levi's member.

"You can grab us by the hair if you want to. We didn't doll ourselves up for nothing.", you winked before going back to working him with your mouth.

Eventually, you ended up taking him into your mouth. Levi was far too shy to actually grab ahold of your pigtails, so your friend did it instead, guiding you by your hair up and down roughly, making you gag. Saliva was dripping down onto the floor and on your chest.

"Come on, Captain. We need you to give us some of your strength. We're too weak to defeat the monster. We need your cum.", your friend played to his kink, using the plot of one of the hentais you told her he likes.

Finally, she let go of your head as you gasped for air. You switched places, you being the one holding her ponytail, pushing her head down, forcing her to take all of Levi's cock into her throat.

"Please, Captain. Look at us... We're pathetic. How could we ever defeat the monster without your help?", you begged as precum and saliva glistened around your mouth.

Levi put his hand over yours and pulled your friend away from his member. It seemed like your little role-play worked and it hit something inside Leviathan, which made him switch the way he acted.

"Well then, why don't you two lay down on the bed for me, huh?", he smirked.

"Yes, Captain", you said almost in unison.

Quickly, you both got up from the floor and made your way to the bed like the good girls that you were. The skirts you were wearing didn't leave much to the imagination. Your underwear was very much visible and you chose it especially for the occasion. Yours was pastel pink and hers was pastel purple, both frilly and sheer. It was sure to drive Levi insane.

After he stepped out of the clothes which laid around his ankles, he got rid of his top and sat on the edge of the bed, between you two.

Without wasting a moment, both of you began to kiss him. You attacked his neck exactly where his sweet spot was, while your friend placed kisses along his collarbone. Moaning softly, he cupped your cheek as well as hers while you two were having your way with him. His cock was rock hard and twitching.

"Enough is enough, girls. You want my power? Work for it then. I can't fuck you if you're not ready for my cock. So will you be good girls and stretch each other out for me? After all, you want to defeat the monster, right?", he licked his lips after the last question.

He got up from the bed, grabbed a chair and sat himself in a spot where he could enjoy the show best. Your panties ended up on the floor and your tops were lifted up to reveal your breasts, but the rest of the outfit stayed on. You didn't want to ruin the immersion, after all. As you and your friend teased, edged and fingered each other, he sat there and stroked himself, snapping pictures from time to time. He couldn't afford to not immortalize the moment. Two hot women in magical girl costumes wanted to get fucked by him? At the same time? Somebody pinch him cause it sure as hell is too good to be real.

"Please, Captain!", you cried, "We're ready!"

"Face down, ass up. Let me decide that for myself.", he ordered you around.

You both obeyed and put your leaking holes on display for him. Soon enough, his fingers came in contact to your sensitive spots, making you arch your backs and moan. After he was satisfied by your cries and pleads for his cock, he was kind enough to slip a finger inside each of you, then adding another and another, while moving them at an agonizingly slow speed. So slow that you rocked yourselves onto his fingers to speed up the process.

"Alright, girls. Fun's over. Make room for me on the bed."

Although both of you were trembling, you complied and made room for him to lay down.

"Come on, y/n, hop on my face, will you?", he then turned his gaze to your friend, "And will you be a good girl and ride my cock for me? I'll fill you up full of my strength if you behave.", his smile didn't match the filth that came out of his mouth.

Your friend eagerly sat on top of him, easing his cock into her, while he moaned softly against your clit.

Levi seemed so hungry while he sucked onto your clit, holding his hands on your asscheeks, spreading them open for better access to your leaking folds. His nails dug into your skin and it helped build up the pleasure inside you. On the other side, your friend rode his cock as if her life depended on it, rolling her hips and picking up the pace while using one of hands to massage her swollen nub. As both of you were getting heated up, you started kissing to muffle your moans so you wouldn't get complains from your neighbors.

Levi made you reach your limit at the same time that your friend reached hers. The two of you came while french kissing. Her walls clenched around Leviathan's cock, making him linger over the edge of his own release.

He stopped working you with his tongue and ordered you two to get on your knees.

"I'm about to give you my strength, so make sure to not waste a single drop.", he stroked his cock while you two sat there with open mouths and tongues sticking out.

Soon after, his thick load was all over your faces, into your mouths and on your breasts. You played with it, sloppily kissing each other, transferring his cum from one mouth to the other. But you did as he ordered, not wasting a single drop. You even licked what ended up on the floor.

The Avatar of Envy couldn't be more proud, seeing you clean the cum off of the floor. His cum.

You all fell asleep cuddling each other after a much needed shower. He, obviously, liked your normie friend. According to him, she wasn't all that bad.

Next morning, after breakfast and a morning quickie, you sent him back to the Devildom.

During dinner, as he was searching for a picture of a new game he bought to brag to his friends, he stumbled upon some of the pics he took the night before. Immediately, he started blushing and gripped his phone a little too tight.

"What are you looking at? Is it something naughty?~", Asmodeus cooed from behind him.

Before he had the chance to react, he'd already seen it.

"Is that y/n!?", both indignation and pride could be read in his tone, "Wait, so you're telling me you didn't only get to bang y/n, but her friend too?"

Mammon choked on his food.

"He did what!?"

#obey me! shall we date?#one master to rule them all #shall we date #obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me mammon #shall we date asmodeus #shall we date leviathan #mammon obey me #shall we date mammon #leviathan obey me #obey me leviathan #leviathan #smutty #the smuttier the better #smut #filthy

112 notes · View notes