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theresattrpgforthat · 1 month

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Hello! I have two (separate) genres im interested in recs for, if youve got them (though combined would be fascinating tbh): Horror and farming sim-like ttrpgs. Horror im sure is fairly common, just not in my circles (which are adventure fantasy based); farming sim though seems like it may be rarer? for that id be interested in either solo or with 2+ people

Theme: Horror Games

Hello friend, I’m going to let one of my older posts do some of the heavy lifting, and point you towards the Small Town Farming collection I put up back in 2022.

You are absolutely right that Horror is much easier to recommend, but I’ll also try and put some quick recs for solo-farming type games at the bottom of this post.

1978: The Night They Came Home, by World Champ Game Co.

1978: The Night THEY Came Home is a 1-2 player horror roleplaying game telling the story of a fateful showdown between Survivor (a clever and resilient person caught up in horrifying circumstances) and Slasher (a legendary force of evil). Using a deck of poker cards, dual rule books, varied resources, and shared play space, players will recount the events of a forsaken Halloween, zooming closer into the haunting folklore of a small Midwestern town and its inhabitants, and culminating in a violent battle for survival.

Here is a game for solo gamers and folks who want a more intimate experience. If you’re a fan of Friday the 13th, this is probably in your wheelhouse! 1978 has a win condition, meaning that either the Survivor or the Slasher will come away as the victor, and the fact that this is also a game that depends on a deck of cards means that I think this might also be a good game for folks who also enjoy card games and board games.

Vast Grimm, by Infinite Black.

EACH MISERABLE DAY THAT PASSES, THE UNIVERSE INCHES CLOSER TO ITS INEVITABLE DEMISE.

Vast Grimm is a stand-alone, art-filled, punk-fueled OSR role-playing game about the few humans remaining in a universe being consumed by growing parasitic würms.

Are you a MAnchiNe ravaged by war, pieced together with remnants of bots and the little flesh left of your body? Maybe you're a twisted biochemist shoving needles into your arms in hopes that this next fix will be the one that saves you and what’s left of humanity? Or perhaps you are a soul survivor, like a cockroach, doing whatever is necessary to stay alive even if it means the rest of your Legion must perish.

This is a game about survival, no matter how gruesome things get, humanity must survive.

If you’ve heard of MÖRK BORG and thought it was cool, and if you want the same kind of energy but in a sci-fi future full of mutant animals and horrific parasites, then you might want to check out Vast Grimm. Your characters will have to ration food, energy and ammo in an unending battle against the worms. This game looks to have a large amount of support, from expanded content, to a number of adventures, to an online character generator. For over-the-top violence, plenty of alien goo, and shambling pathetic characters that look like they might fall apart at any moment, try out Vast Grimm.

The Lost Bay, by IKO.

What Is The Lost Bay? The Lost Bay is a Suburban Gothic tabletop RPG se199X. The Lost Bay is also the name of the setting where the game takes place: a coastal suburb inspired by films and media from the 80s and 90s. In it you play as a young person touched by the Weird, an ancient force that gives you supernatural powers. You roam the Bay with your gang, its malls, arcade games shops, skateparks and beaches, and fight the Horror that has awakened.

The Lost Bay is a game for folks who like their horror drenched in 90’s nostalgia. Characters are archetypal, and each one comes with special powers. Using your powers is exciting and effective, but also brings you closer to Scars, horrible truths about the world around you that will irrevocably change your hometown.

The Lost Bay is great for planning heists, rescuing friends, and trying to get out of dodge when the going gets rough. It’s not about fighting your way out, but more about trying to keep you and your loved ones safe. A lot of game designers have had a riot putting together adventures for this game, which you can check out in this game jam. The link above is for the Kickstarter, but in case you see this game after the campaign finishes, you can also check the game out on Itch.

Flyover Country, by Headstone Hills.

Fields of wheat and corn ripple in the wind, hungry eyes peering out between the stalks. Billboards along the road advertise strange and dangerous attractions. Smiles are too wide, manners too polite, secrets buried too deep. The neon light of a diner glows in the distance, but you may never reach its doors. An empty highway stretches out to the horizon, then wraps back in around itself. This is Flyover Country.

Flyover Country is a Midwest road-tripping horror role-playing game for 4-6 players: one gamemaster, or Watcher, and 3-5 players, or Drifters. It is designed to be played in one setting and without prep. It only requires paper, writing utensils, and a tarot deck.

This is a great option for a group where the GM is uneasy about doing a lot of prep. While one person acts as the Watcher, much of the events in this game are simply generated by drawing tarot cards from a deck. Characters will also draw from the Major Arcana to determine what their secret is - and what special ability it has given them. This is a game of hidden information, and grinding your characters down towards a tragic or grisly end.

Gravemire, by Clawhammer Games.

Gravemire is a tabletop roleplaying game about death, growth, horror, and survival, based in an original mechanical framework and set in the churning waters of the Louisiana bayou circa 1894. Players slip into the roles of outsiders arriving in the town of Scarstone, a rural outpost that has been warped by a terrible transformation known as the Convulsion. Once, Scarstone was surrounded by similar towns. The Bayou once had an end. Now, unknowable numbers of horrors seep through the uncharted backwaters, strange magic contorts reality to its whims, and the settlements that called Scarstone their neighbour jut half-ruined from the mire like bones from a wound. Times have changed.

Gravemire is a pretty brutal game, not afraid to kill your character and steal their soul. The town of Scarstone is a trap; your characters wandered in one day through curiosity or the desire for adventure, but leaving the town isn’t nearly as easy. Characters are built using a point-buy system, and as you play you may acquire more skill - but you will also acquire Aversions, which sap your Willpower and inhibit your ability to muster through the worst of what the game can throw at you.

If you want to check out an abbreviated version of the game, you can check out the Kickstarter playkit here.

Under the Autumn Strangely, by Graham Gentz.

"Under the Autumn Strangely" is a storytelling game of pastoral horror priming with anachronistic Americana set in a land that Never Was.

Inspired by "Over the Garden Wall" created by Patrick McHale, players collaboratively create a world uncanny and old. Codify and encourage tonal clash as the Three Roles meld whimsy, autumnal melancholy, and dread.

Take a wrong turn on a dusty road. Follow the sign past the red barn with peeling paint. Doubt your senses.

Get a little lost.

Welcome to the Never Was.

From what I understand about this game, it works best with three players, as there are three roles that the participants are expected to embody. One person plays the Arcadian, who embodies the landscape and setting. One person plays the Traveller, who acts as a “main” character. One person plays the Terror, which grows to dominate the story. Each role can only add to to one role’s suggestions, and can only deny the other’s. If you want to mix your horror with nostalgia and a romanticized vision of the rural USA, you might want to check out Under the Autumn Strangely.

The Facility, by Galen Pejeu.

You awaken, cold and in the dark. Fumbling around by low blue lights in a coffin shaped pod. You pull yourself out of the box, and in the dark see the faces of others. You are all wearing loose fitting white clothing and laceless shoes. Hospital patients?

You peer into the dark, seeing little but hearing the sound of dripping, running water and distant machinery. You gather what you can, knowing that something is hunting you. It will be here soon.

Wait.

Can you remember who you are?

The Facility is a game for any number of players, taking on the role of ordinary people, stripped of their memories and trapped in a hostile and insane labyrinth of machines and interdimensional weirdness.

The Facility places your crew into an unknown place full of machines that want to kill you. It’s great for high-action scenes, and since your characters have lost their memories, I think the struggle to find pieces of who you are (or were) is a great way to zoom in and make the horror personal. The game is Breathless, so expect your character’s gear and/or abilities to slowly wear down over time, and for the staked to get bigger every time you pause to try and re-stock. If you want a science-fiction twist to your horror game, check out The Facility.

You Should Also Check Out...

My Shudders Rec Post

The Curse of the House of Rookwood, by Nerdy Pup Games.

Nature, Town, Farm, Villagers, by CardboardHyperfix.

Weeds in the Waste, by Meghan Cross

The Wandering Tea Garden, by AP.

Green Thumb, by Curious Frog.

The Bonsai Diary, by Sticky Doodler.

Iron Valley, by M.Kirin.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #horror

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quindolyn · 3 years

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hi can i request the maurauders going to see the reader do a musical like heathers or mean girls and they are just confused and turned on bc they didn't expect it to be this dirty (can lead to smut or not). luv you and hope you are taking care of yourself, if not go get something to eat, drink some water, take a nap, or do somthing you enjoy. or dont not trying to be pushy :)

Creature of the Night || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3029 (excluding song lyrics)

A/N: I think I liked how this turned out? I didn’t make it smut but it’s certainly suggestive, I went with Rocky Horror, I know that the musicals mentioned in the request are more modern but I fucking love Rocky Horror and I think it works with the request. When I first read this request I smiled so much because I love live theater, I don’t perform as much as I used to because as I progress with my education I’m focusing more on the stuff I can use to pad my resumes for college and stuff but I still love going to see productions. One of the worst parts of the pandemic for me has been not being able to go see shows, I miss it so much.

Warnings: theatre enthusiast reader, erections, suggestive material, song lyrics, slight teasing, wearing very little clothing in front of an audience, I believe that that is it

Masterlist

500 follower celebration

antici-

The magic of the stage was second to none. Sure, Hogwarts may have had witches and wizards, subjects like Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ghosts that spent their time meandering about the halls but there was always a part of you that looked forward to the summer between your years at Hogwarts. Because no matter how magical Hogwarts was, the theater always made you feel completely and utterly alive.

Every summer since the one after your first year at what all of your muggle friends thought to be a very prestigious boarding school up in Scotland, you’d taken part in your local youth theater’s productions. Your parents both being muggles thought that it would be a great way for you to be able to stay in touch with your muggle origins.

The first year you’d been far too nervous to actually audition for a role, the very thought causing bile to churn in your stomach and threaten to make you sick all over your kitchen floor when your father first pitched the idea. So instead you’d done costumes and it was the most wonderful experience of your life.

Who needed drugs when you had live theater? The hustle and bustle behind the scenes was electrifying but after two summers of costuming, of quick changes in the wings, learning how to use the ancient sewing machines they stored in the depths of the storage rooms, and pulling pieces for the actors to try on you decided that you wanted to try something more.

The moment you had stepped onto the stage it was like you’d come to life and you cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier. You belonged on the stage, with the harsh stage lights on you and pounds of makeup plastered onto your face you could feel the magic thrumming through your veins and it was addicting.

If it was possible, you were even more excited to perform this summer, the previous school year you’d finally gotten together with your long time best friends the Marauders, turning them from friends to your boyfriends.

When your mother had sent word of the production being put on this summer you’d squealed while seated next to James and across from Remus, who had Sirius hanging off of his side. After explaining to them, mostly Sirius and James really, just what live theater was their first reaction was to ask if they could come see you perform.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be cast,” You had explained gently, not wanting to get their hopes up in case you weren’t cast this year.

“Bull shit of course you’re going to be the cast,” Sirius had contested through a mouthful of jam and toast, waving his hand theatrically through the air, watching him that day was not the first time you’d considered how the way he acted often reminded you of an over enthusiastic theatre major.

Remus, the only one with any knowledge on muggle theatre had snorted, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist to pull him closer to his body, “She’s not going to be the cast Pads, she’s going to be casted,” He’d corrected gently, pressing a kiss into his long, dark tresses.

“Whatever,” The smaller boy had grumbled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Which brought you to where you were right now, five minutes to curtain touching up your make up in the mirror of the shared make-up room.

“Hey (L/N),” One of your cast mates called settling into the makeup chair next to you as she plucked a tube of dark red lipstick from the small canary colored makeup bag she had previously abandoned on the counter, “Your boyfriends coming tonight?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they are,” You responded, applying mascara to your lashes.

“Excited to meet them, that photo you showed us,” She smiled, fanning her face with her hand, “Smoking,” She smiled, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

Rolling your eyes you ignored her comment, “It’s five minutes to curtain, you’re just now doing your make-up?” You chuckled, noticing her black face.

“Oh, shove it,” She laughed as you pushed yourself from your chair, traipsing out of the room, giving her the middle finger on your way out.

“Break a leg!” She called after you as the door latched shut.

You weren’t usually this nervous before a performance but knowing that your three boyfriends were sitting out there somewhere in the audience had you pacing back and forth backstage wondering what they were going to think of the whole production.

“Rocky Horror?” Sirius’ confusion evident in his voice as he plopped down in his seat next to Remus, throwing his arm around the werewolf’s shoulders, drumming his fingers on his clothed shoulder hidden behind his knitted cardigan.

“Yeah,” James collapsed into his chair on the other side of Remus, tucking one leg under his body, “No clue what it’s about but I’m sure our angel will be wonderful. Can you guys see her?” He straightened himself up in his seat, craning his neck in attempts to catch a glimpse of you.

Remus being the only one with any ties to the muggle world knew a bit about the show and had to do his very best to suppress a smirk from overtaking his face as he knew exactly what he and your other two boyfriends were getting themselves into.

“Just hush up you two, the show’s gonna start any moment,” He scolded, patting his large, scarred hand on James’ thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Rem,” Sirius whined, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, signaling to his boyfriend that he wanted a kiss.

“My needy baby,” He crooned, leaning in to connect his lips with Sirius’ in a quick liplock before pulling back, allowing Sirius to drop his forehead to smear against his shoulder.

“That’s mean,” Sirius murmured discontentedly.

“Poor baby Pads,” James cooed mockingly.

“Both of you,” Remus hissed as the lights in the theatre dimmed, “The show’s about to start, be good for me and be quiet yeah?”

Their response came in their silence as the crowd started settling down and the music from the orchestra pit began a voice coming from somewhere out of sight as it was played through the speakers,

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand”

Not 20 minutes into the show all three of them were as hard as rocks, James had already made Remus check the playbill for the name of the character you were playing, not being able to remember what you’d told them as all of his concentration was focused on a certain place.

Janet Weiss.

Remus couldn’t remember either, but he was almost certain that’s the name he could make out in the dark theatre, printed next to a picture of your smiling face.

When you’d stripped down to your underwear the boys could barely focus on the plot line of the show, only being able to watch the way your bare skin shone under the harsh light of the spotlights. Watching as sweat glistened on your skin, making you shine as you moved about the stage.

Enchanted by the melodic cadence of your voice they all felt a certain jealousy burning deep in the pits on their stomachs at the thought that there were dozens of other people packed into that theater, all observing you in your vulnerable state of under dress. Only they got to see you like that.

Sirius missed much of the first act glaring at members of the audience who he deemed as looking at you for too long for his liking, but if you were being honest a 4th year smiling at you in the hallway was sometimes too long for his liking.

It wasn’t like any of them had never seen you naked before, in fact they’d all seen you naked more than their fair share of times but something about you on that stage in a white bra with a matching slip was driving them all crazy.

Especially Remus, whose ultimate weakness was seeing you in anything white which was one of the reasons you’d been so excited to invite them in the first place, knowing that they would be horny messes the entire time.

On stage you did your very best not to look out into the audience looking for them, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop a ginormous grin from forming on your face and you couldn’t afford to break character. Not if you wanted the night to go your way.

As the opening notes to “Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, rose from the orchestra pit you had trouble stopping a small smirk from pulling at your lips as you opened them, inhaling deeply before singing the first words of the song,

“I was feeling done in, couldn't win

I'd only ever kissed before”

Despite yourself you caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the audience, quickly taking a glance at Sirius’ face, eyes glazed over in lust, legs shifting uncomfortably with his mouth hanging wide open.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another raven-haired boy’s mouth dropping as you shrugged off of your robe

“I thought there’s no use getting, into heavy petting

It only leads to trouble and, seat wetting

Now all I want to know, is how to go

I've tasted blood and I want more”

It was impossible to miss the way Remus’ jaw clenched as you laid your palm against Rocky’s chest, he was being played by your good friends who’d been working with the same theatre company as you since forever, he was like a brother to you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t lay it on extra thick tonight with your boyfriends in the audience.

Tracing a dainty finger down Rocky’s chest you pushed your body against his singing out the next lyrics of the song,

“I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance”

You turned you and your cast mate so that looking over his shoulder you were able to meet Remus’ eye, sending him a quick wink before focusing back in on Rocky.

“Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me

I wanna be dirty

Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me

Creature of the night”

Pressing your back up against Rocky’s chest you guided his hands with yours to your breasts, squeezing them as you followed the choreography you knew by heart.

You ripped your slip from your body with the help of Rocky leaving you in only your white bra, matching panties and a pair of small heels as you paraded around stage, belting the suggestive lyrics into the theater.

“Then if anything grows, while you pose

I'll oil you up and rub you down (down, down, down)

And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction

You need a friendly hand, oh i need action”

You smirked, thinking about all of the action you’d be on the receiving end of later that night as you sunk to your knees in front of Rocky, your hands grasping his thighs. Deciding to tease them perhaps a little more than necessary as you went through the number, curling your leg around his and pressing your bodies together so that there was no space between your two questionably clothed bodies.

As the number was brought to a close it was impossible for you to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside of you as you continued your way through the show you kept throwing glances at your boyfriends, always finding their eyes already trained on you. More often than not, on some body part other than your face.

If your boyfriends thought that they had a bit of a problem before that song they were in a terrible predicament now.

Remus caught Sirius on multiple occasions trying to move the hand that he was holding to grope at his crotch as he tried to buck up into his boyfriend’s hand. And much to his own dismay, Remus would pull his hand away, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to give his boyfriend a hand job in a crowded theater. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about James touching himself because he would never dream of disobeying him, Remus divided his attention between you on the stage and keeping Sirius in check.

Each of the boys were counting down the seconds until the show came to an end and they could get out of there and relieve some of their tension. As the curtains were pulled closed they all breathed a sigh of relief before they reopened, leaving all three of them bewildered and slightly annoyed, even more so when they noticed everyone around them standing as they applauded the actors.

Remus forced both of them up when you rushed to the front of the stage, curtsying as the crowd went wild, your boyfriends most notably. As you took your bow you blew a kiss to your boyfriends taking note of the uncomfortable way they all stood, trying to adjust their erections to make them less noticeable while simultaneously applauding you.

As you cleared the stage after curtain call you took your time, doddling towards the dressing rooms where you had left the clothes you’d arrived at the theater in along with a special outfit you’d brought for after the show. Usually you were one of the first actors to clear the theater after a show but tonight you took your time. Hanging up your costume with more care than anyone really should treat any garment with and certainly more than what it needed.

You smirked mischievously as you pulled the you’d brought outfit from your bag and shimmied it up your legs before slipping the delicate straps up your shoulders. You glimpsed yourself in the mirror, the red satin of the dress clinging to your curves in an attractive manner, short enough to display miles of legs and low cut enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage and perhaps a sighting of the matching red bra you were wearing beneath it.

Slinging the back of your black heels over the heel of your feet you snatched your purse from the armchair in your dressing room before striding out to go meet your boyfriends in the lobby, where you’d told them to wait for you.

Their heads all turned as they heard the clacking of your heels against the tile of the floor, “Boys,” You greeted as they unabashedly took in your new appearance.

As he most often was, Remus was the first one to collect himself, “Puppy, you were wonderful,” He praised, walking to meet you as you approached him, leaning down to smear a kiss against your cheek, “You did amazing up there, so proud of you,” He threw his arm around your waist as you walked towards Sirius and James.

“We got something for you,” He explained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Jamie give it to her, yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” The smaller boy grinned, remembering the bouquet he held cradled in his arms as he handed it over to you, “Here you go angel.”

“Thank you Jamie,” You said as you took it from him, closing your eyes as you buried your nose in the sweet smelling flora. As you opened your eyes you made eye contact with Sirius, who stood across from you, practically drooling as he took in your appearance without any shame, “They smell wonderful.”

“You okay Si?” You asked, looking up through your eyelashes, batting them innocently.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you did up there to us (Y/N/N),” Remus whispered in your ear, pressing his nose into your temple.

“You guys are the ones who wanted to come,” You lilted, rubbing one of the velvety petals between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

“Could’ve warned us,” James mumbled, his eyes not leaving your thighs as he licked his lips, if it were anyone else you would’ve been uncomfortable but you couldn’t help but feel flattered whenever any of them ogled you.

“And what’s with the dress Pup?” Sirius nodded his head appreciatively towards your dress, obviously admiring the way it hung on your body.

“What, you don’t like it?” You asked with fake hurt in your voice, knowing that he more than liked it, he fucking loved it.

“S’not that,” Remus mumbled, nosing at your jugular, “Just that whole show, got us a little bit worked up. We didn’t expect it to be so sexual Puppy,” He nodded towards James and that’s when you noticed the erection he was still sporting.

“Got us really worked up, can we go home now?” James asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to distract himself from his little problem.

“Jamie,” You whined, smiling wickedly, “I wanted to celebrate, I was thinking we could go eat somewhere, I was thinking maybe Thai food?”

You watched as Sirius ground his teeth, conflicted between needing to get home and not wanting to deny you from what you wanted.

“Having fun teasing us Bunny?” Remus asked you with a sly smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“M’not teasing,” You insisted, turning indignantly to your other boyfriend.

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckled, “Thai sounds great (Y/N), wanna talk with you about the show,” The idea of teasing Sirius and James even longer was very appealing to Remus and he was ready to make the sacrifice of being teased himself, knowing that he’d be able to get back at you later that night.

“But-” James began.

“You wanna argue with me Jamie?” Remus challenged, raising a singular eyebrow.

“No,” He moped, “Of course not.”

“Good,” Remus said, nodding his head approvingly, “We wouldn’t wanna deny our Princess would we?”

James shook his head, eyes pleading, desperately seeking Remus’ approval.

“Pads?” Remus challenged, turning his attention to the other raven haired man.

“What? Oh um, of course not,” He agreed distractedly, dragging his eyes from your form to meet Remus’, his reluctance evident in his voice.

“Good,” Remus said pointedly, his eyes cold, daring Sirius to question him. When he didn’t the werewolf continued, “Let’s get going then, there’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks away yeah?”

As you all hummed your consent you made your way to the exit, “Ten galleons if you can make James cum in his pants at dinner,” Remus whispered in your ear quietly enough so that James and Sirius trailing behind you wouldn’t be able to hear you, you could hear the smirk in his voice as you exited the theatre.

“Deal.” This was going to be fun, you considered that you might have to invite them to come see the show again.

-pation

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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this is checkmate.

aka: dr3 tries their hand at the strategist c!dream interpretation. do they succeed? who knows. please be nice i dont have a single idea how chess works ;-;

tws: blood, violence mentions, implied torture, abuse, unhealthy mindsets, mentioned manipulation, dehumanization, suicide, exile arc, prison arc, c!dream critical ? (not really? but he’s like. kinda absolutely an asshole a la strategist!dream (or any c!dream)), dark content, dark imagery

this is checkmate.

he is not gentle. he is not kind. even when he donned the wool of a sheep's skin, he knows that his teeth flashed wicked and sharp from beneath its corpse - he is no fool, and when he pours poison into his words he knows the taste better than anyone else that may hear it.

to say he meant well is a lie. to say that he was kind is a worse one. and he will not pretend to tell the truth, either, not when he has built this façade brick by careful brick (the same hands that had laid down the stones of a house they laced with trinitrotoluene to destroy)- he is not far gone enough to pretend that the red that bleeds from his sword and eyes and mouth is anything other than blood.

it goes like this: a chessboard is an eight by eight grid with sixty-four squares in total, thirty-two black, thirty-two white. there are sixteen pieces on either side. the objective is to checkmate the opposing team - leave its king under attack, and unable to escape.

there is much to say about cruelty. about mercy. when he takes the time to think about it, in hours that blend into seconds or maybe blend into days (it's not like he has a clock that will tell him which) he thinks they look much like the same thing.

was it cruelty or mercy that led to a death trap, blood on blackstone brick, button still stained with the fingerprints of the one that pressed it last? was it cruelty or mercy that led to bows drawn over an oak wood path, half a heart beating to the rhythm of a war's end? was it cruelty or mercy that led to a deal for so-called independence that only shackled them all to a nation that saw too much death in its creation and too much gunpowder in its end? cruelty or mercy, when it was by his hands that it died and brought everything it took with it? was it cruelty or mercy, when he chipped and broke and shattered items and homes and shard by battered shard of a child's trust and love and hope, pulled him by his throat to death's edge and then held him back with the same hand? cruelty or mercy, when he did not let him die?

(he laughs through a mouthful of blood and salt and rotten potatoes, unable to hold himself up and unwilling to try. the pain doesn't dull. he learned that long ago, but it surprises him all the same. he knows the answer to that last question. sometimes, it's better not to.)

chess, more than anything, is a game of strategy.

and he is self-aware, despite it all. he knows that he has no tongue of silver, no heart of gold. there is nothing kind in the curve of the smile on his mask and nothing beautiful in the face it hides underneath - but he has pored over battle plans, knows the art of the fight and the grace of teeth against knuckles and the allure of the scrape of a blade against another just as well as he knows the pulse of his own (still-beating) heart.

charm is not the only way to get what you want.

it does not take fake smiles to lay the foundations of his victory, does not take any softened words to get the information he needs. it takes nothing at all to make them all hate him, because they always would and they always will. it does not sting, because he cannot let it.

he has no part to play but that of the monster he is and he will not pretend that he cannot stop, because he can. he will not act like he is not in control of every step he takes, not when he wears his armor so much he half-thinks it must be stitched to his skin. he does not sleep, because he has no appearances to fake. logstedshire is gone, but there is a prison growing on the horizon and a vault beyond the mountains. his words taste bitter in his own mouth, and it's fine. he no longer needs them to seem sweet.

because - in the end, the point they all forgot and what will always have him moving forward and always leave them wanting - any chessmaster knows that to learn to win, you must first learn to sacrifice.

even a fool knows the necessity of losing a few pawns. a better player may tell you that there is no piece not worth losing, if you know what you're doing.

and dream?

the SMP is a far cry from a chessboard, nowhere near as neat, littered with the scars of fights long past and burdened with history too heavy for it to bear. the sides are not simple, and nothing resembling even. paint it black and white, and it becomes unrecognizable.

still, the principles remain, and dream plays the game that he knows no one else is willing to, takes the mantle of villain left for him and goes where no one else will.

(people are not chess pieces, but play your cards right and they can become something scarily close.)

so he learns the meaning of sacrifice and then teaches them all in turn, says he does not give a fuck because his greatest crime will always be that he gave too many. the ground under logstedshire is littered with caverns from TNT - it's a lesson, though he is not sure for whom. he takes the crown from george's head and looks down the point of a crossbow bolt aimed at his throat by someone that once might have been a brother, wears the hatred that only grows in others' hearts just as he does the armor that he no longer takes off. punz leaves because he told him to and ranboo does not because the server has yet to know. the community house was laid down brick by brick, but its end is nowhere near as quick and nowhere near as kind.

he is no stranger to sentiment. still, with the frayed strings of fate dangling from his hands, threads cut by his own axe one by one, he can fool them all but he will not deceive himself. he can still care. he did care, once.

caring will not get him to his goal.

loyalty will not bring the sparks to burn the bridges that let others pull him back, kindness will not let him take the steps that he needs to move him forwards, attachment will leave him a foot short from the goal he has (lost everything) done everything for and let him fail.

it goes like this: to win a game of chess, you must checkmate your opponent's king. it must be under immediate attack with no means of escape.

so when it all ended and everyone ran through the portal, weapons drawn, to the vault he built?

dream never made himself a way out.

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poptod · 3 years

Text

In the Heart of Atlas (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: He doesn’t fear you––who thought such a simple thing would win your affections?

Notes: this is my first time writing for Rami himself! anyway, this is for the rami week. happy birthday rami!!! this is a bit of a strange story but i hope yall like it anyway. WC: 5.6k

His body twitched slightly before his eyes opened, slow and dry across his grey irises. A deep dehydration had seized his bones, as though his blood was drudging through his veins and muscles, losing water by the second. Still, he sat up, his head a weight upon his shoulders.

To his surprise, he found himself in the middle of an empty parking lot, the highway beside him mostly vacant. He looked around, finding a large but abandoned mall to his right, the lights long shattered and broken. Tension welled in his brow as he tried to piece together just how he got here.

"Most people don't get knocked out after they get ejected from their bodies," said a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scratching his pants on the rough pavement.

"Who are you?" He asked, scanning you.

For the most part, you looked normal. The only thing that stuck out was the massive katana strapped to your back and the darkness swarming around your eyes. He could barely see your face beneath the hood of your black sweatshirt, but that didn't matter all too much to him––there were more pressing, more important questions that required answers.

"Demons and angels call me (Y/N), but people call me the Reaper," you said as you offered him your hand.

He gingerly raised his hand to accept your help, faltering when your sleeve pulled back to reveal prominent bones and veins in the back of your hand. The bones poked out of the skin, glowing a faint white, while your veins remained a simple shade darker than your skin. Looking back up to you, he found no malice in what little expression he could see. With that he accepted your aid, pulling himself to his feet.

"The Reaper?"

"I go by a good many names. In the north alone I am called Gwyn ap Nudd, Cù Sith, the banshee, the Ankou, and more simply... death. Most of the time I have others collect souls, but.. you're an interesting case."

You reached forward, and though he instinctively flinched back, he soon regained control of himself and allowed you to cup his cheek. Even with that allowance, however, there was a decent amount of discomfort within him.

"I'm dead?"

"Not quite yet. That's where the interesting part comes in. Come––let's find a place away from the sun," you said, drifting past him and heading towards the abandoned mall.

Looking upwards, he found a blistering sun. He hadn't felt the heat, and looking back at the black pavement, he realized he hadn't felt that astonishing heat because he was, as you said, dead. No longer in his body. With that realization, he jogged back over to walk at your side.

"I'm a little confused, here. How did I die?" He asked.

"Again, not dead yet. Just out of your body. It's quite interesting, really," you said, opening the creaking door.

He entered gingerly, turning and waiting for you before wandering in any further. When he turned back to scan the building, he found instead a drawing room with a Victorian rug spread out across a hardwood floor, and red velvet couches filled to the brim with pillows and blankets. Paintings from all cultures covered the walls, nailed into place alongside maps of different eras. He hardly noticed his gaping mouth till you passed by and closed his jaw.

"Well... what happened to me?"

"Take a seat, Malek. I need to ask you some questions," you deflected, herding him to sit on one of the chaise lounges.

A clipboard materialized in your hands, a pen following as you sat down opposite of him.

"Now, what's your name?"

"You just said my name."

"And?" You said, quirking your brow.

He let out an exasperated sigh before answering with, "Rami Malek."

"What do you spend most of your time doing?"

"Work, mostly. I'm an actor."

"I'm aware. Most of your alternate reality personas look exactly like you. That usually only happens with actors," you said, scribbling down words with a harsh pressure on your pen. "You are given one million dollars. What do you do with it?"

"Um... I'd put it into my savings, let it collect interest until I die, and then donate it," he said after a moment's contemplation.

"Calculated. Nice. Significant others?"

"Not right now."

"Family members?"

"I've got a twin brother and an older sister. And my parents, of course."

"Are you religious?"

"Yes, sort of. My parents raised me Coptic Orthodox but I don't really interact with it much in my life."

"Is there a heaven and a hell?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He asked.

"Answer the question, Malek."

"I don't think there's a heaven or hell."

"Good choice. Alright," you said, straightening your back after hunching over your clipboard. In a quick flash both the clipboard and pen were gone, and you were back on your feet. "Do you have any questions for me before we try to fix this dilemma?"

"Yes, lots," he chuckled humorlessly, watching you circle over to a liquor cabinet. "How did I die? Or – how did I get 'ejected' from my body?"

"Remember the movie you were just working on?"

"Yeah, James Bond."

"You tried to do your own stunts since your double was missing. You missed the catching net, landed on the ground, and your essence was accidentally absorbed by the earth. The earth decided you would be safer here––in Thailand."

"Thailand?? I have to finish filming. I can't be in Thailand," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Calm down, pretty boy. I'll take you to your body in due time, and from there we can decide how to move next. This is a rare opportunity for you," you said as you poured two glasses of sherry. "People don't usually get to see me. If they do, it's pretty much assured they won't interact with me. You're very lucky. I could also just reap you and get rid of the problem, but you're not supposed to die. Not yet."

"What, do I have something to do on earth yet?"

"Yes," you said, handing him the glass in your left hand. You sat back down, sipping from your own cup.

"Then what happens if people accidentally die?"

"The world goes on. We correct our calculations and figure out the fate of the earth again. It happens very rarely, thank everything. Our I.T. would be in hell if it happened a lot."

"What affect do I have on the world?"

"I'm not really allowed to tell you that," you said, eyeing him.

"Oh, sorry."

"I'm just kidding. I rule this universe. You're going to have a fan at one point who is very suicidal. They meet you on the street, get the will to live again, and their daughter will write a mystery novel that both furthers space-travel technology and surgical technology. Happy?" You took another sip from your cup.

"... I guess."

It was certainly, if anything, an interesting time to find out your entire existence was being protected by the embodiment of death just so a woman you didn't know could further technology just slightly. He didn't feel fantastic about it.

"It's not your only purpose, if you're worried about that," you said, noticing his fallen expression. "You inspire a lot of art and a lot of stories. Everything you do and inspire adds to the color of the world. Humans are one big organism and they can't seem to see that––I hope you, and others, will realize that soon."

"I hope we do as well," he said with a sigh, leaning back into the velvet. "I'm quite sick of people getting angry at each other all the time for useless shit."

"Yes, well..." you swirled the mixture in your cup, "the human condition, and all that."

"Were you ever once human?" He asked quietly.

"No. I am not truly a being. I am what you imagine me to be, a mirage of what you expect from death," you said in a low voice. "I will be here to kill God, and in the end of time I will be all that remains. The representation of all that ever existed, and its' inevitable demise."

"... comforting."

"Isn't it?" You said with a sardonic smile. "Are you ready to see your body yet?"

"I think so," he said. "What kinda state am I in?"

"I don't know. The state of destruction your physical form is in will dictate whether or not I can return you to yourself or take you into the unknown."

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming himself. "Take me to myself."

"Very well," you said as you stood, setting your cup aside and offering him your hand once more. He took it and rose to his feet.

In a single blink, and without warning, he was in a hospital––an American one, or at least one where the signs were all in English, and the nurses were speaking that same language. Fluorescent white light filled the room, mixed with the dreary daylight of a bright but cloudy day. The shades were open to the city outside, but what first caught his eye was the centerpiece of the room––him.

Gauze, linen, and casts covered more than half his body, cradling his leg, chest, head, and both arms. His eyes remained blissfully shut, not even fluttering from the bruises and cleaned scars circling his face.

"You look good," you said, unable to tear your eyes away from the body.

"Wow, thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I'm serious. You fell, like, 35 feet. Not a lot of people survive that, much less still have one of their legs."

"So does that mean I can go back to living?" He asked, sudden excitement filling his words.

"I suppose so. You've been out for a while, though, so be careful when you get back in. Listen to your doctors. Keep safe, and let professionals do stunts," you said.

He chuckled, turning to you before saying, "I thought Death would want me to die, not live."

"It doesn't matter. I will reap all. For now I can let society grow, let lives multiply to greater heights, as in the end you will all join my kingdom. I'm old as the universe. I can wait."

"Your kingdom?"

"Me. I carry the souls of the dead in my memory. They all live within me."

"And that's what happens when we die?"

"When you die, you become one with the universe. I become part of you just as much as you become part of me. Is that a comfort to you?"

"... yes, actually," he said softly, looking back to his body. "I think I'm ready to go back to living now."

"Very well, Malek. Take my hand," you said as you offered your see-through hand.

The moment he touched you, he noticed that he, too, became see through, and he wondered if that had always been happening and he simply hadn't noticed it. He had little time to think about it before you were leading him forward, taking him to the side of his hospital bed. From there you helped him into the bed, lining his soul up with his physical body, and telling him in a soft murmur to close his eyes.

The very next moment he remembered was opening his eyes to blistering hospital lights shining down on him. His memory of you was vague and blurred, but nonetheless present in a way that tested his image of the world, questioning if he was truly living his life.

Doctors, nurses, and friends rushed to his side once they noticed his consciousness, hurriedly asking questions and preparing tests on him. His bruised eye was swollen shut, but the other one could see alright, and it was a blessing to be able to see his mother above him. It took a good deal of time, but he returned to health and was luckily not disabled by the fall.

Years later the incident came to him in a dream, in a perfect clarity that he hadn't ever had as a waking person. He bolted awake, heavy breaths emphasizing the thin sheen of sweat that now covered his chest. You had explained to him the way the world worked––his purpose in life, the inevitability of humans and of the universe, and the beauty in that. The happy ending in that unavoidable death.

Never in any other time had he desired to see you again more than he did at that moment, stuck awake in the middle of a night plagued by rain and thunder. Wide eyes stared straight ahead, to the twisted sheets covering him, to the closet on the other side of his bedroom.

Shaken to his core, he slowly moved to his feet, the cold floor shocking him awake further. As he walked towards the kitchen, he attempted at calming himself with slow breaths. Once there he grabbed a glass of water, chugging the entire glass, and slamming it back down on the counter as though he'd done a shot, which it might as well have been this late at night.

Would it be possible to summon death? he thought hypothetically, before realizing the incredible stupidity of that statement. Who would want to summon death? Also, summoning death would probably involve putting himself in a dangerous situation, which you had specifically advised him against.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, leaning against the counter as he rubbed his face.

"His name is Yeshua, and he can't help you right now."

He jumped, spinning around in his kitchen to find you sitting on the counter across from him.

"Death!"

"People aren't usually that excited to see me, but yes," you said, looking down to scan your fingernails before looking back up at him with a smile.

"How did you know I was thinking about you?"

"You had one of my true forms in your thoughts. I remembered you from a little bit ago. How long has it been again?"

"11... maybe 12 years? I haven't thought all that much about the incident, but... I had a dream tonight. I remembered –"

"I know. You're not supposed to remember me while you're still living, so I had to come back and fix that," you said, jumping off the counter and approaching him with determined resolve.

"Wait, no!" He tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the kitchen island.

"We will meet again, quite shortly, you'll see," you said with a smile, a weak attempt to calm him as you raised your hand to his forehead.

"I don't want to forget you," he pleaded, fingers dug into his palm.

"That's awfully unfair to all the other people whose memory I had to fix. Makes their sacrifice a little silly if I allow you to go and tell the world how it'll all end just because you're pretty."

"I won't tell anyone. They'll think I'm crazy."

"You're a celebrity. Someone is going to believe you."

You pressed your thumb to his forehead, and in that moment he lost all control, leading him to make the first action he could think of, the one thing that might deter your work. He grabbed you by your sweatshirt, balling the material in his fists and pulling you till your chests met. With that he smashed his lips into yours, feeling your hand slip away as you weakened, shocked into stillness.

He wasn't quite sure whether you were actually enjoying yourself or if you were just shellshocked, but he continued to kiss and move against you for a moment before releasing you. When he let go of you and drew away, he watched your unmoving expression, staring at him with parted lips and wide eyes.

"What the fuck was that?"

"... a kiss?" He answered meekly.

"What does it do?"

"You don't know what a kiss is?"

"Malek, I have two trillion different planets that I reap from, all with multiple different societies and beliefs. I'm not going to memorize each of your customs."

"Oh," he said. He would have to devote some time, later on, to let the fact that there were aliens (and a lot of them) truly sink in. "It's a show of affection. It's kind of personal."

"So it is a gift," you said with deep concentration.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"What for?"

"I like you. You're knowledgeable, and kind, and... I think you're pretty," he admitted, almost sheepishly in his low, rough voice.

Flirting with what could essentially be labelled as an eldritch monstrosity was a tad difficult, especially since you were millions of years older than him. From that point of view, he felt more like a child speaking with you, admitting to some silly, meaningless crush.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked, your voice high pitched and coming out in almost a squeak. He nearly gawked at your reaction.

"Of course I do. Do people not tell you that?"

"I don't really talk to consciousnesses much, Malek. And most people don't find my bipedal form very nice to look at," you said quietly, looking down to the floor with fidgeting fingers.

He reached forward, pulling off your sweatshirt's hood, and allowing the warm light of his kitchen to finally show him the whole of your face. The skin around your eyes still retained that mystical darkness, like the ink of space, surrounding the cosmos of your eyes. It was quite clear now that you were not human, which explained the reasoning of hiding the whole of your whole form. 'Bi-pedal,' you called it––you had to fit in with alien worlds as well as his human world, and thus hiding many parts of yourself was required.

Now he would be the first person, the first creature, the first consciousness, the first life, to see your entirety. No one else had thought to flirt with death, but apparently that was how to avoid it. Ironic, considering the earth phrase 'flirting with death'.

You had gone into such a fluster by his words and actions that you stuttered out instructions for him to stay safe, and promptly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He wouldn't see you again for three years, which saddened him greatly, but he made sure to remind himself that ten years for him was the blink of an eye for you. 2 trillion planets with life on them needed your attention.

In 3 years he found himself victim of yet another incident. He had been sitting in a donut shop for a little while, enjoying himself on his phone, before another customer entered and began to make a fuss. The man started yelling and he rose to the occasion, stepping over and attempting to take some of the stress off the poor teenager working on the till. Before he knew what was happening, he had a gun in his face, staring down a dark barrel of metal.

"You move and I'll slit your fucking throat," you said, appearing in a flash with your katana pressed against the stranger's throat. "Your gun's on safety mode. It'll take more than one move for you to kill this guy. Want to take that chance?"

The man faltered, and with that you nodded to the cashier, who quickly dialed up the police.

"Put it down, Michael," you said. The man, apparently Michael, slowly looked to you with wide, horrified eyes.

Rami could almost laugh at the incident, but his heart was far too full of fearful adrenaline for him to smile, much less laugh. It all happened so fast. The little bout was won the moment Michael met your eyes. He set the gun on the floor, turning to you with contempt and raised hands.

You waited until the police arrived for the sake of the cashier, but before anyone could question you, you were off again with Rami on your tail. Disappearing in a puff in front of mortals would do you no well, thus you had to start off with walking––something he could certainly follow. 3 years since he'd last seen you––grey had pervaded his hair more and more, skin more freckled and imperfect. You remained as you always were, even 15 years ago.

"Met anyone interesting lately?" He asked when he caught up with you.

Ideas of what creatures you were meeting, the types of things you got yourself into had been a decent source of inspiration for his daydreams. Such was his interest in what you wouldn't tell him that he wrote a screenplay, directed it, and shown it to the world. People often commented on the creativity of his imagination, but he always believed you to be the true source of actual creativity.

Of course, he hadn't ever actually heard about anything that you did. It was purely what he hypothesized.

"I met creatures that reproduced by stringing together DNA by hand. They are new consciousnesses in the cosmos, only recently earned souls... or what you would call, self-awareness," you said, staring ahead to the empty streets lined with cars.

"That's what gives something a soul? Self-awareness?"

"Not quite that simple, but for the most part, yes."

"How long ago did humans earn souls, then?"

"Longer back than you'd imagine. Remember, it's represented as more than self-awareness. It's societies, too, and ants have societies. I can't quite remember, but it was back when you were living in the trees," you said, taking moments to pause and correctly recall the facts.

He continued to walk alongside you for a moment more, pondering upon that information.

"Anyway. That's enough questions from you. What the hell were you doing?!" You said once you were out of sight from the cops, balling his shirt in your fists and forcing him up against a wall. Rami spluttered.

"What the hell were you doing? Aren't you not supposed to interfere with that kind of shit?" He asked, rattled from the sudden movement, and feeling bruises already building in his back. His skin and muscles had become more prone to injury over the years.

"I can do whatever I want. I don't have to worry about losing my mortal body. You're still tethered to this plane!"

"Who cares if I die? Everyone has to at some point, and helping others seems like a good way to die," he said, trying to ignore the aching in his body.

"Don't you have a wife? Kids? Family or friends? You're really ready to leave that all behind at the drop of a hat?" You scanned him.

"I was helping others," he hissed. "And I don't have a wife. Or kids. I've had more important things on my mind."

You watched him for a little while, trying to gauge his thoughts from his eyes. Eventually you released him, letting him drop to the ground, and watching carefully as he brushed off his clothes.

"Why do you want me alive now if I'm going to die soon anyway?"

"You're not going to die soon –"

"Relative to your sense of time, I'm going to die very soon," he interrupted, satisfied when you had no rebuttal. "Why do this? It's not even helping me. I know I won't really disappear when I die."

"Yes, you will. Gods, I shouldn't have told you about anything," you sighed, rubbing your face tiredly. "You misunderstand the concept of death. You, as you are, will not survive. You will disappear. I will carry your memories, but I will not be you. You will not be inside me, your memories will. I'm like a library, not some sort of vacation resort. Are you getting this?"

The blank look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"There is no heaven or hell and I am not a substitute for their nonexistence! When you die, that's it. You're gone. Forever."

"I became a soul on earth. What about that?"

"Because you weren't fully dead, just separated from your body, like astral projecting. You either return to your body or you really die within a year. And if you try to astral project for that long, even if you do return to your body, you'll lose more and more control of it because you can't remember what it's like to have a physical form. It’s complicated, just – just stop getting in dangerous situations!" You practically yelled, clasping his head in your hands and talking quite loudly right in his face.

"There are a lot of technicalities to death," he said, putting his hands over yours and gently leading them down.

"There are a lot of technicalities to life. Why would I be any different?"

"I know, I just – I guess I don't know. Death, I... is it.. you're the only... consciousness I've ever.. loved," he admitted with a broken voice, unsure of his every word.

Your eyes widened, and you almost stumbled backwards with your own surprise. He kept you from doing so by keeping his grip on your hands.

"You want to know if you can stay with me," you said in an instant, soft realization.

He nodded.

"I don't understand," you murmured, suddenly shy. "I've tried to erase your memory so many times. Why do I keep failing?"

"You said none of your other victims ever spoke with you. I remember you because you're unforgettable, Death. I couldn't let go of you."

No one had ever thought of wooing you. You'd met creatures who tried to seduce you, yes, or to pay you off, but never romantically seek after. This would be the first time in your 14 billion years of being alive that someone did this––spoke sweet words and used your name without fear. Without shame. As though you were something to be honored.

Living things fought you so valiantly, and you loved them for that. Their desire to stay alive, to continue existing even when existing was more painful than simply facing you, to thrive in environments you yourself would've given up in. People were terrified of you. They hated you. Rightfully so––you were an easy scapegoat, something to pin blame on, like the actions of Kings weren't what actually killed them, but were the fault of the one who had to clean up the mess of souls left in an army's wake.

People also romanticized you. Thought of you as something to beat. Something to find beauty in, bliss in that nonexistence. People who hated being alive, who found their worlds too dull, or their minds too plagued with thoughts they couldn't help. It was not a true love––it was a desire to escape what they believed to be an inescapable life.

But people did not honor you. You were not a thing to give gifts to. You were not some sort of god of death––you were death. The essence of it. The misery and grief left in the wake of a taken friend.

Tears welled in your eyes, burning a bright white that trailed down your face like melted silver. The streaks were clear against the shadowed skin of your eyes. Instantly Rami thought he had done something wrong, said something to upset you, but he had no chance to apologize before you disappeared in a puff of smoke. In your wake you had left two tiny little puddles of silver teardrops on the pavement, reflecting sunlight like a mirror.

Years later, when he died, he expected to see you. He crawled out of his body, leaving behind the prolonged ringing of the heart monitor, and drifting away from his family. Long had he expected this, awaited this almost eagerly. But when he died, he was met by a man named Jynq, who went on a long spiel about death and the true meaning of the universe.

"Where is Death?" He asked once Jynq gave him a moment to speak.

"I am Death," he said with a confused frown.

"No, you're one of it's workers. I want to see the real Death," Rami stated firmly.

Jynq's expression fell into seriousness, the polite exterior of a worker making way for his true personality.

"It's on the other side of the universe right now. Several planets have been having a war for a while now, and the deathcount has kept them there for many years now," Jynq answered truthfully.

"Can you take me to them?"

"How do you remember Death?" He rebutted instead.

"They spoke to me. On several occassions. They tried to wipe my memory but it didn't work," he explained.

"You spoke to Death on several occasions?" Jynq asked, his mouth falling open.

"... yes?"

"Alright. I'll take you to it, but the journey will take a while. I hope your soul is resilient," the reaper said.

"Doesn't it take a year for a soul outside the body to die out?"

"Hm. You really did talk to it. But yes," he offered his hand, which Rami took, and they began to ascend towards the heavens, "it takes a year for the average soul to die. This journey will take several years. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?"

"Yes."

There was no spaceship in which to find a home, nor any set spot for rest or food. Neither he nor Jynq required any food or water, and certainly not any sleep, so the method of travel was a long, straight line towards the edge of the universe, unbreaking and unmoving.

Cosmos passed him by, and he became a part of them, leaving behind parts of his essence in the form of star dust that trailed after him. The further and faster he travelled, the more of himself he left behind, till he became a translucent outline of who he used to be. Jynq remained the same, just as you did. He couldn't calculate just how much time had passed, but as more of it did, he got a sense that he was experiencing time at a much faster rate than he imagined. Still, he remained oblivious to how much time was left in the journey.

At times he would go through solar systems, beside stars with planets that certainly carried life. Worlds made of diamonds, suns bigger than the whole of his home solar system, clusters of stardust reforming into young stars. Each of these worlds was one you had met––one you had left your mark on, no matter how young or old.

Life on earth didn't seem quite real when he reached the warring planets. There was so much going on in the universe––things humans would never know about. Worlds full of people that would never be found.

Jynq stopped Rami on the moon of a green planet, keeping him there while he went to go find you. He took the opportunity to sit, to rest after years of drifting through space, and to wonder which thought of his many collected thoughts he should first tell you.

"How in all the fucking WORLDS alive do you keep managing to endanger yourself, even after you die?!" You screamed, appearing in front of him in a millisecond and grasping his face tight again. "Are you insane or something?! Like clinically insane??"

"You've clearly never met someone who's in love with you," he chuckled, taking your hands and, again, gently pulling them away from their tight clutch on his face.

"Ohh, Malek," you said, anger falling away to the aching sorrow in your tone. "Look at you. You're so thin... does it hurt?"

"I feel weak, but I also feel light. I am okay," he assured you. "I left a trail of myself all across the universe. I've given myself back to the stars. Now I want to give what remains of me to you, but I had to talk to you again. Just once more."

"You speak like you’re old," you said with a weak laugh.

"I am old."

"How old do humans live to be?"

"The oldest was around 120 years, I think."

"Oh. Well, then I guess you're a little old. Not to me though," you said, flipping his sheer hands and taking them in yours.

"I'm old enough that I have accepted my own fate. I'm ready for you, Death," he said, his smile only visible in the bits of glittering stardust that made up the frame of his face.

Your smile fell.

"No," you said.

"... no?"

"No. I'm not going to do it," you stated.

"Can you do that? Like, legally?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Who's going to stop me? I'm Death."

"Good point."

"I just wish I could heal you," you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek only to have your thumb fall through his face.

"I don't mind it," he said softly.

"Hmm," you said, taking a moment to think critically. "I think I know how to help you."

You found him a home in the heart of a star––Atlas, a part of the Pleiades that shone bright beside its' sister, Pleione. The intense pressure was lost on both of you as you entered, making your way to the heart, where the elements of matter and life were formed in overbearing heat. As was the nature of space, the center of Atlas was dead silent, leaving you and Rami in a white, detail-less expanse.

Slowly, over the years, parts of his body returned to him, building off the star-lit frame of his soul. As you suspected, the workers of the dead and afterlife were extremely dissatisfied with you, but could do nothing. You were older than all of them, and you decided you could allow yourself this one indulgence––this one moment of straying from the rules that Gods had so often broken.

They allowed you this one comfort: a home in the heart of Atlas, in the arms of a man who had given himself to the world, and then to the universe. The one Death who had taken so much from the universe, who would eventually take everything in the universe, wrapped in the embrace of the one who had given every part of himself to the world he lived in.

#rami malek x reader #rami malek #rami malek x male reader #rami malek x female reader #rami40

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 51 - Eye of a Hurricane

Title: Irreverent Pt. 51 - Eye of a Hurricane

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Trigger Warning: Torture, Canon Typical Violence

A/N: I’m posting Chapters 51 and 52 at the same time. Make sure you read them in order. And if you haven’t read 50 (posted yesterday) definitely read that first.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's a sluggishly slow progression towards consciousness as you battle a heavy head and dazed mind, both serving only to deter coherent thought. Your awareness is comprised only of sensation – a cold and dark room, hard chair, your mouth was dry. As you attempt to move, you come to realize that your wrists are bound behind your back and your ankles are tied to the legs of a chair, while the same rough material was corded around your torso, keeping you tied and upright in the chair. What should have been a terrifying realization, was dulled by the presence of some drug you'd been injected with. It would account for all of the symptoms you're experiencing, especially how your mouth felt like it could compete with the Sahara for driest places known to man.

Your mind reels, attempting to piece together how you had come to be in your current predicament. You'd been awaiting Easter at your agreed upon spot for your check-in. You'd stood with your back to the wall, aware of your surroundings. It had been a complete ambush, a gun from nowhere pressed to the side of your head, three large men, all armed, as they forced you into an alley way. They'd been able to get the jump on you as you were severely outnumbered. The last thing you can recall with any degree of clarity is the sharp sting of a needle, pressed to the side of your neck. It would explain quite a bit about how you're feeling at the moment.

Blinking slowly, carefully, you allow your sensitive eyes to adjust to the dim yellow lighting of the room. Keeping your head tilted downwards still, you take in the concrete grey flooring and walls. You focus on taking in as much as you can without alerting your captors to the fact that you're awake. That would immediately tip the scales in their favor.

There is a stale smell lingering in the room, as though from a lack of use. Dust is collecting in the crevices. It's not cared for. Likely a spare room or basement. There are no windows as far as you're able to tell. Behind you, there is a clock that ticks, the sound of it echoing loudly in the quiet of the room.

How long had you been there?

Cautiously lifting your head, you appraise the room you're in. There, in front of you about three feet away, is a table with what looked like various weapons on it. From your position, you can make out knives, a baseball bat, what appears to be a taser, and what could be a fire poker.

You had to get out.

Your bindings have no give, you quickly learn. You couldn't wriggle out of them if you tried.

If you move quickly, you could inch your way towards the table. You might be able to bend down and grab one of the knives with your mouth and use it – somehow – to cut the rope or at least loosen it enough to be able to escape. After you've accomplished that, you'd have to get out of wherever you were being held.

Figuring out why you'd been taken in the first place would have to wait.

You clench, tensing your body and using the leverage of your feet pressed to the floor to jump up and forward in the chair, attempting to drag it forward with you, in the direction of the table. It moves about an inch or two.

With a frustrated sigh, you tense once more, preparing to repeat the action. Just as the balls of your feet have pressed into the ground, there's a clicking sound from behind you and you can hear the door opening. You freeze in place. You should've known they were watching.

Heavy footsteps reverberate against the concrete flooring while you refuse to turn around. Let them come and face you themselves.

"Good, you're awake." The deep voice carries with it a shot of dread that you hadn't quite felt yet since you'd awoken. It cuts through the dullness of feeling and thought, jumpstarting the dormant panic into full gear.

A large man with dark hair and crystal light eyes stands before you, blocking your pathway towards the table you had been inching your way towards. He's dressed casually in dark clothing, there's a scar running down his neck. In his hands is a gun, held almost casually, as though it were merely an afterthought. As though he's quite confident in his ability to over power you without it.

You watch apprehensively, body tensed up, as he leans one hip against the table, perching on it lightly. His cold, steely eyes pore into you, running over your body and taking in your state. His gaze feels predatory as it runs over you in the worst of ways, causing a chill to run down your spine. He watches you as though you're prey and he's a hunter – the kind that collects trophies to hang up above the mantle. He lingers on your eyes, and you can tell he's checking to see if you're still drugged or if you were fully capable now.

You remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first, the two of you locked in and staring at one another. You don't know why you're here, why they took you. You surely don't recognize him. Behind him, you can see a dark glass pane that you hadn't noticed before, beyond which you assume his partners wait, watching both you and him.

"I am going to ask you questions," he says evenly, breaking the silence once more, his eyes boring into yours. "Every time you don't answer or you lie to me, you will regret it. Am I clear?" His voice, low and dark, matches the tone of the room. It's not exactly threatening, more clinical in a way. It's like he's playing a part, doing a job. Like you're his last patient of the day and he's eager to get home early and catch the game. You want to say his heart isn't quite in it, but that wasn't right either. It's more so that he has better things to do than waste his time with you, and yet here is.

You don't acknowledge or answer his question asking if you'd understood, and you can tell he doesn't like to be ignored. His brow furrows ever so slightly, nostrils flaring as he mutters low under his breath, turning and placing the gun on the table behind him. He sets it down and then turns back towards you and you can see he'd grabbed something from the table. Brass knuckles by the looks of it, as he slides them on, flexing his large muscular hands as he does. It's meant to intimidate you, scare you. It does its job.

You take a deep breath, still watching him quietly as you mentally reassure yourself that it would all be alright. That Clyde would of course be looking for you. He'd know you were missing when you hadn't been there waiting for him. He would find you and rescue you from whatever this was. Until then, you had only one job: survival. They wouldn't break you.

He strides forward until he's right up against you, his knees brushing against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, feel the coarse denim of his jeans against your bare knees. The dress that you'd been wearing undercover is bunched up underneath your thighs.

You look up at him defiantly as he stands before you in silence, as though still waiting for you to speak. You wouldn't. You needed to know how much they knew first. He asks for your name first and you provide him with the fake name on the ID in your bag. That earns you a quick, sharp jab to the side that has you keeling over and grunting in pain as the hard metal ridges of the brass knuckles connects with your ribcage. You try to absorb the hit, try to remember everything you've learned from sparring with both Derek and Clyde. Try to stifle your pained groan.

You take a breath and look back at him, ignoring the bruised and burning pain in your side. If you're not mistaken, there's a chance he just cracked a rib.

They know who you are.

The realization causes your panicked brain to go into overdrive as you sift through who could possibly want to use you to get to any information. What they would do with it.

He asks next about Project Atlantis. He asks who else has access to the list. Who else is on the list. How to gain access to it.

Every lie you tell, every time you stay silent, he rewards you with another hit. Another part of your body bruised and broken as he goes through a litany of questions, marking you up as he goes. The tears slip unwanted. The cries come out despite any attempt to not give him the satisfaction.

Where the hell was Clyde?!

Each time, you force yourself to look back at him. To let him know that he hasn't beat you. To let him know that it wouldn't be so easy. To challenge him to do worse.

He does.

Your body becomes a work of art, painted with the red of your blood, the deep purple bruising of your skin. The colors meld and blend together with the salt of your tears.

It hurts to breathe. He's bruised a couple of ribs and shallow breaths are all you can manage through the excruciating pain of drawing a single breath in properly. If he doesn't stop soon, you'll start to hyperventilate. You can't do that. You can't let him win that way. You blink through the tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn't stop those if you tried. It hurts. It all hurts too much.

There is no escape from the constant barrage of questions and from the assault that follows. In the back of your mind there lingers a silent, crying hope that Clyde is out there looking for you but that is it. Otherwise it's all you can do to remain present and conscious to resist simply giving him what he wants in exchange for a respite.

After a certain point, the pain wasn't even really pain anymore. It was as though your body knew, that in order to survive, it had to shield you from feeling the full thrust of all that he had inflicted on you. It knew that if you were to stand a chance, you had to not feel it. The numbness settles in through a haze as your mind goes cloudy once more. You're barely meeting his eyes anymore, try as you might. Your body strains and struggles to stay aware. In the brief moments of respite that he offers you, as he changes from the brass knuckles to the poker, you can't even bring it in yourself to fear what's coming next.

Your mind flits to Aaron. The last time you'd seen him, as you kissed him goodbye and walked out to the waiting cab. He wouldn't know to worry. He'd think you were busy with work. He'd think that you'd return his calls soon enough. He'd think you were alright.

Thinking of him and Jack is the only thing that has you even trying to lift your head once more. Keeps you coming back each time. Keeps you looking your captor in the eye.

You had to make it through. You had to keep bouncing back. You had to endure and persist.

For them.

For him.

Not again.

They can't go through that again.

It's that thought that has you lifting your head, meeting those stony grey eyes once more.

*------------*

Emily would want the Birkins.

That was the first coherent thought that came to mind when you'd become conscious once more. He'd stopped once you'd become unresponsive.

Thoughts of escaping had long since abandoned you. It would be pointless. You were entirely unmatched. Even if you could defeat them, you'd first have to stand, and you're not entirely sure that's a feat you're capable of any longer. Keeping your eyes open was far too difficult a task on its own.

Your mind behaves oddly. Thoughts fleetingly temporary and confused as you contend with the notion that you might not escape. That you might die here.

Aaron would have to pick an outfit for the funeral. He'd have to go to your closet and pick out something to wear for you to be buried in.

Jack would need a new suit.

The bike – that should go to John.

The house was Aaron's.

The rest was Jack's.

There was no one else.

Would he get a body? Or would he bury an empty coffin with your name on the headstone?

If he knew what you were thinking – how you were thinking – he'd be furious.

You're next woken with a jolt as two pairs of uncaring and callous hands work together to lift you up. You thrash and scream, your voice horrifically hoarse as you feel them place you down on the table you'd noticed off to the side earlier. Thick, rough, leather restraints bind you down and hold you to the table.

You can't move. Try as you might, you can't get out.

He asks you again, giving you a final chance. Your stomach coils in fear and panic as tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks anew.

You beg them to not do this. You beg them to let you go. I have a son, please. I have son! Please let me go. Please don’t –

You know what's coming next.

His frosty, pale eyes are the last thing you see before a coarse rag covers your face. You prepare yourself. Remind yourself that you won't die. Not like this.

You'll be alright. You'll be alright. You'll be al –

The first onslaught of harsh, cold water beating down on your head has the force of a current rippling through your veins.

You can't breathe.

There's a warbled scream that shouts out and it takes you far too long to realize it was your own.

Your heart is beating faster than ever as the unrelenting assault continues. Blood pounding in your head as you thrash about as much as possible.

Frigid water fills your nose, your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

Your fingers claw at the table, catching splinters of wood in the nailbed.

Your head feels full as though it's floating in the ocean during a storm.

Gasping and screaming when you could manage it, lungs drowning underneath the punishing weight as it rained down upon you, your body fighting against the riptide.

It went on and it went on.

Unrelenting.

Neverending.

Right at the precipice – when your screams were silent, your limbs motionless, the cruel waves kept drowning you underneath the tide – right as you became certain of one thing and one thing only: this was the end. Just as you arrived at that conclusion – it all went away. Dissipated into thin air.

You were floating into a fog, light as could be.

The dulcet tones of singing children at Jack's spring recital, as he waves at you from the stage.

The team at Karaoke night, drunk as can be, singing out of sync.

The rooftop in Ibiza, legs dangling as you sat between John and Julian, a bottle passed between the three of you.

Ricky picking you up at midnight, watching the sun rise over the sea with the boys huddled around you.

Aaron in the kitchen, his beautiful voice humming along to the music.

Aaron on the plane next to you, his hand held tightly in yours.

Aaron peacefully asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling, the richness of his warmth enveloping you entirely.

His face was the last thing you saw.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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aliypop · 2 years

Text

The Bee’s Knee’s (Prt3)

Wordcount : 1,532

Warning: Usual violence

A/N: @herosneednotapply, Alright part 3!

"Aye, you!" a voice shouted out, it was four am, and the club had just closed, no one in sight but The Punisher and, "Yeah you!" Carlo spat, knife in hand as he slashed a bit. "Look, I don't want no..."

BANG!

"Trouble..." Frank laughed, looking at his shoulder, the kid was a terrible shot definitely, but for the course of the case, he had to keep him alive. He had to admit the kid was good with his hands, a few bruises, and a few swollen lumps for Curtis to tease him about, but in the end, Carlo was the one with his face in the concrete. "You lay a finger on my girl and..." Carlo spat out blood,

"You'll what..." Frank pulled him by his hair.

"I'll kill you..." he coughed, as Frank banged his head against the light pole, "Yeah, right..."

"Matt told me about your little adventure tonight." Addie chuckled, tightening her robe as Yonah laughed, "Yeah, it was great being someone I wasn't..." she swooned at the touch from her gloved hand, "Or was it great being who you wanted to be?" she questioned, Addie had seen women who were just like her, some of them had worked at her club,

Yonah had the confidence. She didn't know how to execute it. "You could say that, but I need a favor..." she mumbled as Addie helped her remove her shoes, "Hmmm..."

"You think you could teach me the art of what ya do..." she asked, a bit shy about it, "Of course, I can doll," she pinched her cheeks, "We'll start you off with fan dancing... no, no... the shimmy mmm..."

"How about anything quick to learn..." she blurted out as Addie turned to face her, "Why the hurry, honey..."

"Well... I lied and told Frank, who doesn't know it's me, that I worked at your place and..."

"You need to cover the lie." she smirked, "Or to impress him." she teased as Yonah gulped,

"What, no, don't be serious." she chuckled, "Speaking of which, I should get going..."

"What was that about Ez..." Mike growled. Ezra rolled her eyes as she cleaned the cut off his face, "Well, if you must know..." she chuckled, "It's the art of seduction. When it's good, I'll grab em and kill him." she shrugged, "Stop movin you're making this worse." her hands dabbing at the blood, for a Priest he was into some shady stuff but for a socialite so was she. "You made eyes at him, and you only make eyes to the women you wanna kiss backward..." Mike wasn't jealous. Well, maybe a little, but sometimes he forgot that Ezra was Ezra, and she'd do anything to get a job done. "When Fisk has a gun to your back, you'd flirt with whoever he wants you to," she grumbled, stitching up his scar, placing a bandage over it.

"Does it look bad?" he asked,

"It's your face... it always looks bad." she joked.

The door creaked open as Yonah held onto a kitchen knife, throwing it in the direction of "Frank, are you okay..." shocked as he ducked, "Yeah, rough night out, you've got an arm on ya." he chuckled, holding onto his bloodied shoulder, "Got a sewing kit?" she asked as he stared at her,

She'd only been there for a day, and yet she cared enough to patch him up. "Top shelf..." he sat down, "I cooked dinner, but..." she tried to reach for the kit, a laugh leaving from Frank as he admired the persistent demeanor of her short stature. Arms around her waist, he placed her on his shoulder, wincing in pain as she blushed,

"Oh uh, thanks..."

"Don't mention it." he winked,

"And a one and a two, and a one-two-three! " Addie counted, watching Yonah rehearse with the other women. She was growing a bit more confident, but then again, she did just come back from winning a lawsuit, her first one since she'd been there. "Give 'em the ole you can't have me, Yonah," Addie said, trying to spark something in her. "She's not doing it right..." Elektra groaned, "I'm trying my best..." Yonah sighed,

"Maybe it's the clothes..."

"Th-The clothes...What's wrong with them..." Yonah asked, "They're too constricting," Addie sighed, taking her to the dressing room. "I think I like this piece here..." it was a dark pink, with feather plumes and a few glitzy skimpy tassels, but it spoke to her, "You sure, " Yonah only nodded. The sun had begun to set as the dancers raced to their places for one last rehearsal for the week.

"Five... Six ... Seven Eight!"

"Where you going..." Curtis asked as Frank rolled his eyes. It was a slower night, no Mahoney giving orders or criminals begging to see lawyers they couldn't afford, just a night of drinking black coffee and going, "Out for a case..." he mentioned, "Found a few leads..." he shrugged it off as Curtis laughed,

"Hope you find yourself a woman out there..." he nudged him, "Who do ya think patched me up," Frank smirked, walking out. Sure he wasn't lying that he was going out for a case but be damned if Frank told Curtis he was going to the Whoopi spot to look at some topless showgirls cause one of them flirted with him at a bar, two illegal sounding things in the book. First, he had to pick up Matt, who begged him to go, which was odd seeing that he couldn't well.

See.

"You good ..." Addie asked, as Yonah giggled, "It's uh all happening so fast... I don't know." she smiled, "Well, you got a bouquet..." Addie smiled,

"From who..."

"Take a wild guess..."

"Why's he here..." Yonah asked, her fingers twitching as she got nervous, "Don't worry about him. You got millions of men and women out there who paid to see the girls and you." she comforted her, showing her around to the curtain,

"Matt's here!" Yonah grinned as Addie cursed under her breath, turning red until she looked over, "Franks here too."

"That's fine."

Matt's eyes hadn't lost focus on Addie. He could pick up on her scent, the vibration of every dance move, of every dancer, but one, "Red..." Frank tapped him until his eyes locked with hers, she was graceful, confident, and a storm of seductive, throwing her glove at him, he caught it tucking it into his pocket, Matt only chuckled, hearing his heart race. "Don't look now, but I think she's comin your way," Matt commented, hearing the click of her heels, "So what are you callin yourself tonight..." Frank asked, sure he'd been in his apartment with the same woman who was now sitting in his lap waiting for her que of music,

But the fact he'd been falling in admiration with a facade of the ever so shy supple woman when she was bold, courageous, and loud. "Depends whaddya wanna call me..." she asked, as the spotlight shone on her, men and women groaning that she picked him and not anyone else in the room.

I want to be loved by you, just you,

And nobody else but you,

I want to be loved by you, alone!

Boop-boop-a-doop!

Yonah giggled as she leaned in, sure she'd never do this but, that was the fun of this, for the week Yonah had been rehearsing to be someone she wasn't, flirty, a vixen, and-

"You got ya hands on my girl..." Carlo walked over, her fingerings balling into a fist as both Matt and Frank were on edge to do anything to protect her, "I ain'tcha girl..."

THWACK!

"Where's that right hook been..." Frank mumbled, "It's been hiding a bit..." she laughed, "Oh duck!" two of Carlo's goons came down from their seats to pitch a fight. It was a rough house in there. Uppercuts, jabs, knives, and even chairs became weapons. Matt handed his group of bandits, as did Yonah, who impressed Frank by fighting in such a scantily clad outfit and heels.

"Matt, check on Addie and the girls..."

"Got it!"

"On ya left, Frank!" doing the high kick from her set that she didn't get to finish, Carlo was dangerous, but the team-up between those two was even worse.

"Angel, are you okay..." Matt asked as Addie shook her wrist, "Just fine, Matt, but are you okay." she asked, touching his face, a few scars that he already knew existed on his face. "Sweetheart, I'm fine, just uh get the girls safe and."

BANG!

"Who the hell's shootin in my club... see If I opened in Harlem, Luke Cage would've..." she cooled down, storming out the dressing room, her eyes on Sparrow, Fisk's new girl.

"Run..." Mike whispered as he locked eyes with his brother, he'd been in deep for this, and he knew it. Lying on the ground was Yonah, who had a bullet lodge in her thigh,

More food for the press to eat at her about,

"Look at me..." Frank held her, blood on his hands, which was a typical patrol night for him.

"I...I'm trying..." she laughed, "Hard... no-not to," she cuddled into his chest, her eyes closed shut.

#matt murdock #frank castle #oc x frank castle #poc oc x canon #oc x canon fanfic #nmcu fanfic #nmcu #1920's au

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lykaokrios · 3 years

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Jealous - Thane Krios x F!Shepard

My first posted Thane fanfic 💚 I’ve written fanfics for quite a few fandoms before, but never ended up posting any of my Mass Effect stuff anywhere before, here’s my first :)

Paring: Thane Krios x F!Shepard

Word Count: 2,242

Description: "Jealous over a magazine. They didn’t even know if they’d live until the end of this cycle, and he was upset over a magazine."

Warnings: None

My AO3

“Siha?” Thane calls out questioningly as he steps into her quarters.

“Come in, I’m over here,” Shepard shouts back from the other side of the room.

“I’m not interrupting anything I hope?” He asks as he walks further into the room, leaning against her desk when he spots her on the sofa.

“No, I’m just planning,” she replies looking up from her datapad to give him a tired smile. “When you promise fifteen people you’ll do twenty different things, the log book gets a bit messy if you don’t prioritize.”

“I see,” he nods giving her a smile back. “Don’t overreach Siha, you want to help everyone but you also must help yourself.”

“I know, I know,” she waves dismissively at him. “But things like figuring out why Grunt wants to tear a hole in my ship is pretty important. Finding data for some guy named Ish, not so much.”

“Just remember to relax sometimes,” he adds as he looks at her model ship collection over the desk.

“I do,” she responds looking back down at her datapad. “I have some down time.”

“Is that right?” He questions, his eyes drifting to the cover of a magazine laying beside her terminal. 'Sexiest Drell Men of 2185'.

Her response evades him as he wrestles with the feeling of unease in his stomach looking at the cover. Not a feeling he’s used to feeling. If he’d ever felt it at all. A mixture of aggravation, discontent, and unease all rolled up into one.

Reaching over he flips over the magazine while trying to calm himself. His eyes glossing over the back. 'Want to meet one of our models? Write into Fornax today to win!'

His fingers grip the edge of the desk, as he tries to will the annoying thoughts from his head. Lifting up the magazine, he holds it tightly in his hand before dropping it to the floor. “I… have something I must attend to,” he states before backing out of her quarters and all but running to the elevator, hearing her voice call his name after him.

Shepard could have nearly any man in the galaxy. An angel sent by Arashu to this destructive plane of existence they were sorting through. A rare light of hope in a galaxy he’d long seen dark.

It had been easy to fall for her. How could he not? Devoting her life to impossible cause after impossible cause all to save a galaxy that seemed to tear her down at every turn. Her small acts of kindness on their missions, defending those who couldn’t defend themselves. Throwing herself across the battlefield like it’s an art only she truly understood. Elegant, graceful, deadly.

And their solo talks on the ship, hours debating philosophy, trading battle tactics, enthusing over guns and books alike. That genuine smile she beamed at him, telling him she believed in him, that he was more than the life he’d destined himself to. The worry in her eyes and tenderness of her touch when he’d taken a bad hit on the battlefield. The pure kindness she showed him and the overwhelming affection in the simplest touches.

After what seemed like ages, the elevator doors finally opened to the third floor. Thane quickly exits it, heading toward his quarters, before changing his mind and turning into the men’s restroom instead. Glancing around the room to ensure he was alone, he approaches the sink to look at his reflection in the mirror.

His looks. Not something he’d ever put any thought into. Not even something he’d paid much attention to. Unlatching his jacket, he lets it fall to the floor before unzipping his top. He grimaces as he turns himself various directions. The last ten years had snuck up on him faster than he wanted to admit. He was nearly 40, and his career hadn’t exactly been kind to his body. His scales littered with scars shown under the intense bathroom light.

He sighs as he meets his gaze in the mirror and zips up his top. Jealous over a magazine. They didn’t even know if they’d live until the end of this cycle, and he was upset over a magazine. Over his age. Over his scars. Over his mortality. Over not being the young, healthy, and unscarred Drell on the cover of Shepard’s Fornax magazine. The person that could stay at her side indefinitely, not trying to outrun an invisible clock ticking closer to the end each day.

Snatching his jacket off the floor, he slips it back on before flinging the bathroom door open and storming into Life Support.

As the doors slide shut behind him, he looks up surprised to see Shepard sitting in her seat at his table. Her hands in her lap, a concerned expression across her face.

Taking a deep breath, his mind races to come up with an excuse as he slips into his seat in front of her.

They sit in silence as he grows nervous under her intense gaze, an awkward cough from him finally prompting her to talk.

“It was a joke, from Kasumi,” she says quietly, her cheeks reddening.

“What?”

Sighing, Shepard pulls the magazine out from under the table and slaps it onto the desk. Flipping to the title page, she turns it toward Thane.

Glancing at her then down at the magazine, he’s met with a bright pink piece of paper stuck to the page, “Happened to see this on Omega and thought you might enjoy this for when lover boy is too busy with his mediations, happy reading Shep.”

His mouth opens to speak, before snapping shut. His frills lifting in embarrassment as he avoids her gaze. “Oh,” he simply replies after a few moments.

“I didn’t think to hide it,” she explains sheepishly. “She’d left it there for me, and I just read the note then tossed it back on the desk to deal with it later.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide it,” he replies. “It shouldn’t bother me.”

“Well… if it was the other way around I’d be bothered,” she admits with a shrug.

“Siha I-" he begins before his shoulders slump and he stares down at the table in defeat.

Standing up from her seat, Shepard goes around the table to Thane, pulling his chair out further from the table and sitting on his lap. Her arms wrap around his waist, her legs across and over his lap, and her head on his shoulder tucked into his neck.

His body immediately relaxes into hers, and he rests his head on hers as her lips brush against his neck and frills.

“I haven’t read the thing, but if you’re in it I’m jealous, and if you aren’t I’m offended,” she says softly after a few minutes, prompting a dry laugh from Thane.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because if you’re not there’s been an egregious error, but if you are, I don’t exactly like sharing Krios,” she teases, her fingers brushing across his exposed chest.

“Very clearly not an error Siha,” he adds, humming slightly at her touch.

“Very much so an error,” she insists. “The blind could see that body with the way your leathers hug it.”

“Is that so?”

“Hell yeah it’s so, I about got shot the first time I put you on a mission team. You were ahead of me ducked behind a crate, your muscles on your arms and shoulders tense while you were shooting, your pants way too damn tight on your ass. Then you flipped around facing me, leaning to the side to continue shooting as your jacket fell away from your chest, your pants strained against your whole lower body, and you caught my eye and smiled. About got myself killed again, because I was distracted by you.”

“Then one day you just show up with these piercings,” she continues. “Like ‘oh yeah I already had it pierced’ and ask me if I think they suit you.”

“I was unaware you were struggling Siha,” he chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Not your fault that you’re incredibly attractive,” she adds with a shrug. “Though thankfully that battlefield gawking has gone down to a minimum now that I get to personally help remove that armor afterwards.”

“Not as tempting now that you have it?”

“Oh still as tempting, I just know the view later will be better,” she presses several light kisses along his frills, causing a shiver to go up his spine.

“You’re making it very difficult to not just lay you across this table now,” he mutters as she laughs softly against him.

The sound of the room’s door sliding open tears him from his thoughts, and he looks down quickly to Shepard in his lap. While they hadn’t exactly spoke of hiding their relationship, they tended to pull away from one another when they were interrupted.

She gives him a quick shrug and doesn’t move from her position in his lap as they wait for the person to come in.

“Need something?” Thane finally calls out to the silence of the open door.

“I’m just looking for the Commander,” Jacob’s voice responds back. “She wasn’t in her quarters, so I was seeing if she’s just making her rounds. You seen her?”

“What do you need Jacob?” Shepard replies, still not bothering to remove herself from her position on Thane’s lap.

“Commander?” Jacob questions, finally stepping into the room looking around, his eyes widening when he spots her.

“What do you need?” She repeats, turning slightly to meet his gaze.

“I- well you had said you’d let me know when we’d be able to check out that distress signal I talked to you about,” he answers, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Shit, yeah, sorry about that,” she lifts her arm as her omni-tool appears, and types into it quickly. “We’re near Tuchanka so we’re stopping there first to get Grunt checked out and rescue Mordin’s student. From there we’ll stop in the the Citadel to pick up supplies on our way to the distress signal. Did something change with the situation that we need to get there quicker?”

“No, that’s fine,” Jacob responds. “So what’s… going on Commander?”

“Hm?” she asks looking back over to him.

“You just cuddling the squad in your down time?”

Sighing, Shepard drops her feet down to the floor and turns on Thane’s lap to face Jacob, “Really Jacob?”

“I’m just surprised. Trusting a well known assassin to watch your back is already pushing it, to trust him to this extent… unnecessarily risky,” he comments crossing his arms.

Pulling herself up from Thane’s lap, Shepard crosses the room to stand in front of Jacob, her own arms crossing as she stares him down, “We have a group of dangerous people that are the best at what they do, all on a ship owned by an organization seen as incredibly dangerous by most of the galaxy, fighting impossible odds, against dangerous enemies, into a mission none of us may come back from. I don’t see how who I’m dating is a notable risk or of your concern Mr. Taylor. And if you actually took some time to get to know Thane, maybe you wouldn’t have such harsh criticism of him on our ship.”

“I- apologize commander,” Jacob responds immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Thank you for answering my question, I will be in the armory if you need me ma’am,” he finishes before backing out of the room quickly.

As the doors slide shut, Shepard’s tense muscles relax once again when she turns to look at Thane, “Sorry about that.”

“His views of me aren’t your fault,” he says simply. “You’re too kind.”

“I suppose I could have yelled a bit,” she muses, sitting on the table in front of him.

Laughing, he stands up to get in front of her, “I meant to myself, not Mr. Taylor.”

“We’ve all had to kill,” she responds dismissively. “Judging you because you’re trained as an assassin instead of a soldier that got sick of the Alliance is ridiculous. And if it’s over you being a drell, I don’t have time for racist bullshit on my ship. You also earned my trust a lot quicker.”

“So, you said we’re dating,” he says, changing the subject as he steps closer to her, placing his hands on the table beside her legs. “What does that make me to you?”

“I, well, I assumed we were,” Shepard responds hesitantly, her cheeks reddening. “I figured that was what the whole confession thing was.”

Thane chuckles, leaning in closer to her, “I didn’t disagree with you, I just want to know what I am to you.”

“My boyfriend?” she mutters carefully.

“Works for me,” he answers, bumping his hand against her leg. She wordlessly spreads them so he can press himself against the table. Her legs wrap around him as he tilts her head up to his.

“Oh does it?” she asks, her pulse quickening under his fingertips on her neck.

A smirk spreads across his face as her already dilating eyes meet his, and he leans in to feather kisses along her jaw until he reaches her mouth. “Is it still too early to admit how I actually feel?” He asks, his breath ghosting over her lips.

“No,” she whispers, leaning in closer to him.

“I love you Siha,” he whispers back before capturing her lips with his own.

---

My AO3

#thane #thane krios #mass effect #shepard #female shepard #commander shepard #mass effect 2 #me2 #fanfic #fanfiction #thane x shepard #thane krios x shepard #shrios #femshep

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theficplug · 4 years

Text

l Next Lifetime l Erik Killmonger l

previous chapters: l part 1 l

erik kilmonger x reader

warnings: none, but the usual 18+ for the eventual smut and a possible tw for grief but i promise it gets better and its a romcomsynopsis: reader grieves Erik until she doesn’t (i’m trying not give too much away). I really want to make it a series that i actually keep up with (sorry Girls Trip readers) because I have up to part 4 written. alright thats all i hope yall vibe with it.

l part 2 l

“Yeah I do, I think that like if we want. We can come back as someone else or like maybe when we love someone really strongly and we have like soul ties we can come back to them in another life. But that’s just me. We could just be hitting the cha cha slide next to Father J.C.” Iridia explains and Tika shakes her head while laughing at her.

“Personally, I don’t think so. I believe once our life Earthside is done we return to the cosmos to be a part of the stars that light up the night sky on our loved ones darkest nights. But why are we talking about this on your birthday? We are very much alive with much to celebrate miss thang. I’m ready to go!” Tika says to you as she grabs the car keys.

“So I met someone while I was at the store and he invited all of us to a party at the Roller Rink but I gotta let you know it’s like crazy how eerily similar he looks to Erik.” you say to them and they both give each other a look before looking back at you.

“OH! Don’t give me that look! I know y’all probably think I’m losing it, but you know what they say everybody got a doppelganger somewhere. Anyways, I know it’s not exactly on our itinerary but I wanna go if y’all are down?” you ask them and they give a worried look before nodding and agreeing.

“Hell yeah we’re in. I haven’t been to a skating rink since like 10th, maybe 11th grade? This should be fun to see if I got it or if I’m gonna buss my ass.” Tika says laughing.

The rest of the day was pretty easy breezy but you could not get over seeing him. Who’s possibly not him? In front of you. Happy and laughing and present.

You tried to shake off the thoughts and feelings during brunch with your girls and for the rest of the day enjoying the street festival and winning a giant stuffed giraffe. Between the 3 of you, you won enough stuffed animals to fill the entire backseat of your car and eventually left the festival with a caricature drawing of the 3 of you.

Before you knew it, it was 6:40 and you and your girls were back at the beach house getting ready for the party.

You searched around your suitcase for the outfits that Iridia had packed for you and settled on.

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror and fluffed your fro a little before re-applying your lip gloss.

“GIRL, YOU LOOK SO GOOD. What is going on? You tryna get chose?” Tika asks standing in the doorway as she smiles at you with her ipod in one hand and a freeze-able daiquiri pouch in the other.

You laugh as Tika glides around the room shaking her hips to the beat and doing a little roll as she saunters over to you to help you clasp your shirt in the back.

It’s safe to say that you haven’t been exactly up to your fashionably self for the past few months but Iri giving you options with the different pieces of clothing that she bought you had you feeling like yourself again.

“Damn, I’m good.” Iri says while giving you a twirl and takes selfies with you and Tika.

You purse your lips and give your best smize towards her phone as she snaps a photo of you and for a moment things feel like they used to.

“Just wanted to feel cute for once. I love this top and girl it got my titties SIT-TING.” you reply giggling and childishly nudging your girls before asking if they’re ready to go.

You put the address into the gps and you were off on your way.You tried turning up the radio to drown out how loud your thoughts were going and in a million different directions.

About 20 minutes later. You look out the window once arriving at the skating rink to see cars already filling the entire parking lot and you could see people laughing while holding onto each other as they skated their way inside.

The music is already blaring and you could definitely tell that “Daka”’s friend is a party planner. The venue had some sort of projector or something set up so that the entire room seemed like it changed “worlds” with each song. There were multiple food stations, and a live DJ playing everything from 90s R&B to New Orleans bounce music and everything in between.

You and your girls quickly grabbed a pair of skates and looked around for N’Jadaka and sure enough within a few minutes he was grooving his way over to you this time dressed in a slightly opened printed shirt and light washed jeans.

He skated around you with a big ass smile on his face. His golds were gleaming under the lights as it bounced off of the diamonds engrained in it. “YOU MADE IT! How y’all doing?” he asks your girls and they stand there gasping with their mouths wide open.

“I mean he could be his goddamn identical twin. You were not lying! The only thing he’s missing are the scars and his dreads. God damn.” Tika was the first to speak before Iri introduced herself.

“Hey, Happy Birthday, I’m Iri. This is Tika’s rude self and you already met our boo.” Iri says pulling him in for a quick hug.

“ I’m sorry, excuse us, you just look exactly like somebody we knew. Happy Birthday! It was his birthday too. It’s wild how people really do be having doppelgangers. Alright, so I’m gonna go try not to break my damn leg. Knowing I gotta go to work on Monday. Come on.” Tika says taking Iri by the hand and making her way onto the rink with her to give you and him some time alone.

You shift your weight trying to keep yourself steady as you sway to music , knowing that he’s eyeing you up and down.

“Man must’ve been a hell of a person. I’m glad you came though. I didn’t think Orleans was gonna do all of this.” he says laughing and you can’t control the butterflies feelings like they were fluttering around your stomach. That’s his laugh.

“He was. To me at least, he was. Of course, I mean I haven’t been to a roller rink in forever and I really needed some time to just know what it’s like to be carefree again.” you admit and he nods along listening to your words.

He decided to save his comment on “he was” for later. Hoping that there would be a later for the two of you and opted for taking your hand in his and leading you onto the rink .

“Well, in that case. Show me what you got and forget about everything else for a minute.” he offers and you accept his offer and shakily make your way onto the rink like bambi trying to walk for the first time.

“Okay, so I’ll admit. I don’t actually know how to skate. I don’t why I thought this was a good idea.” you manage to stand for all of 10 seconds before tripping over onto him and he turns towards the DJ talking into the mic and signals for him to slow the music down.

“I got you.” he says and “Always Be My Baby” starts to play softly in the background as the “world” changes to a starry night.

You look up at him for a moment and nod before leaning into him. As you rest your head on his shoulder he begins to skate you left to right gently swaying you to the beat of the song as his hand rests respectfully on the small of your back almost instinctively. It took everything in you not to start tearing up again.

This was your song . He always promised that you’d be a part of him no matter what happens in life. You were always going to be his baby.

All the couples were paired off and you looked around at Iri holding onto Tika and smiled knowing that they’ve never acknowledged their feelings for each other but it was clear as day to anyone else.

He swayed you and held you against him while his thumb stroked your back gently and you closed your eyes trying to soak up your time with him.

You don’t know how it happened or if this was one long drawn out delusion or what exactly was going on in the moment, but all you knew was that you were able to feel the warmth of your E in your arms again and his scent evading all of your senses.

In this moment he was smiling and content and at peace, not being shipped back to you with claw marks in his chest and bruises all over him. He was here with even slow breaths and enjoying himself.

You knew that he felt it too because as the song ended you opened your eyes to find him looking down at you with this look of confusion and adulation on his face.

You run your fingers over his cheek and clear your throat and recoil your hand back by your side.

“I think your friends are calling for you.” you say to him playfully as the men and one woman around your age skate over to him and around the two of you, asking you a bunch of questions at once.

E- N’Jadaka let’s go of you to turn to them and introduce them to you .

“This is Orleans big head ass, Khalil , Pen, Lina, and Big Mike.” he says and they say hey and ask you if you are from around the area and you talk back and forth.

The conversation between you and his little group was so easygoing. It didn’t feel forced or awkward as he stood beaming from you to them.

“I've been there once or twice. I really liked the Hottentot Saartjie/ Sarah Baartman piece about the dehumanization and caricaturization of black women, especially darker skin women, then and now. It was both interesting and heartbreaking. It’s the reason why I do what I do now. I create safe spaces for black girls and women of all ages. It’s my greatest accomplishment and something I’m most proud of.” you answer Mike’s question about the new black art exhibit downtown.

Mike looks at you and shakes his head in wonder and amusement.

“Daka, with all due respect bruh. I gotta ask her to marry me. Or you need to let me know what aisle that was you met her because I’mma swing by your parents' store tonight. I think we might be out of bread or something.” Big Mike says before complimenting you on your outfit and Lina joined in by asking if you’d like to check out a new record store with her on Tuesday.

Next thing you knew your girls skated next to you to see what was going on. Tika introduced herself to the group and Iridia followed through.

“Hey I heard something about a record store because I could use some new ones. I think our neighbors are tired of me playing Otis Redding every night for the last few weeks. Keep asking me if I had a breakup every time I see her. Bless her nosey heart , Mrs. Pepper.” Iridia says talking animatedly and as gesticulatively as she always does and his small group of friends as everyone does seems completely enamored by her.

“Of course, yeah, why don’t you come too? And Mrs. Pepper just doesn't know good music but I may be biased because Cigarettes and Coffee is my favourite song. Hold that thought. My mouth is dry as hell from all that skating around, be right back-” Lina says before skating away for refreshments and the rest of the group talks amongst each other.

Other friends of N’Jadaka come up at random times to hug him, get photos, or say happy birthday.

“You want some?” Lina asks Erik as she returns to the group with a cupcake in her hand as she peeled the wrapper off and offered Erik a piece of the chocolate dessert. She reached out her hand towards his mouth and you looked from her to him and then at the cupcake which looked like it had walnuts in it. You push the piece away from his mouth and she looks at you puzzled.

“What’s up with you?” he asks looking confused

“Chocolate walnut cupcake.” you say simply not realizing that you were supposed to have just met him this morning .

“I- I mean just a lucky guess you know most people have nut allergies and shit.” you try to cover your tracks and he let out a sigh before laughing and nodding.

“You right too. Damn I was gon be out here looking like Will Smith when he ate that shellfish in Hitch for the rest of the function. I’m allergic to nuts. Good looking out ma.” he says and you nod at him before telling him to go skate with his friends you’d meet up later.

As you part ways your friends have about 3000 questions each. Iri believing that that definitely has to be Erik and Tika believing that you both had lost your natural born ass minds.

You all settle on how wild it is that he looked like Erik and left it there. You enjoyed the rest of your night swag surfing with a room full of new friends and your old forever friends and just fully enjoying your birthday.

“WE LIKE TO PAARTTAAYYY. AYYYYEEE AYYYYYEEE.” you sung out loud at the top of your lungs with everyone else and Beyonce.

Somehow you end up twerking on Lina and having a good laugh as the drinks flow through your system.

You glance over at N’Jadaka being circled by some of his guests and he breaks the circle to grab your hand and lead you to the middle of it with him.

“MY BIRTHDAY TWIN!” he shouts over the music to his guests and you shake your head telling him that he doesn’t really have to share his spotlight with you.

“Ain’t no problem.” he responds and you watch as everybody starts to skate a circle around you and Erik and y’all both laugh and pose for pictures while people sing Happy Birthday the Stevie Wonder version.

His friends and yours all took turns to skate up to pin money on you both.

You cheer and clap along to the music as you sing Happy Birthday to him and he sings it back to you.

Before you know it you're both smiling at each other and getting swept up into a soft gentle kiss that feels like electricity is pulsing between the two of you.

As you close your eyes you can get a glimpse of kissing him before he left for Wakanda. The way he pressed his forehead against yours , the way your hands rested against his beating heart, and the way that his soft plumps felt against yours.

You knew that he felt it too because when you broke the kiss with a tug of his bottom lip he was staring down at you once again with a puzzled expression.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just-” you explain before exiting the circle and making your way out of the skating rink.

You quickly take off the shows and put your regular shoes back on as you stand outside for a moment to get some fresh air and gather yourself.

"Why is this happening? How is this happening? People don't just get to come back. This is insane. This is insane."

It didn’t take long at all before Erik was smoothly grooving his way out of the door not once spilling his drink.

“You know ma, I’mma lot of things. But I know for sure stupid ain’t one of them.” he says swaying his shoulders to the music before he stops and stands in front of you.

“You know something, don’t you? How do we really know each other?” he asks slowly

“I don’t. We met in Aloha Oakland for the first time. I feel so connected to you and believe that we have chemistry because you remind me of my ex. He passed away nearly a year ago and I didnt wanna tell you that right off the bat because the shit’s weird. “Hey, sorry I passed out , you cute but you remind me of my dead ex. So yeah, have a good day”.” you explain and he nods deciding once again to not press the issue.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Grief is never an easy thing to go through. I feel I experienced so much of that so early I didn't know anything else besides death. I was told that my birth parents were both murdered. But my parents taught me through all that rot and decay of the heart something beautiful can still grow. They taught me how to live. That there is more to life is more than just surviving day to day out of spite and anger." He speaks slowly like he's really pondering the words that he wants to say before continuing.

"It's kinda my fault. I feel like I was a lil too forward with all of this. My friends and the way that they party can be overwhelming. I'd like to make it up to you if you up for it. Just me and you. Maybe like a coffee or something quieter than this. I want to get to know you. Even though I know it's gonna sound corny as hell, I can't help feeling like I already do. You passing out by them discount cakes wasn't an accident at all, I think it was fate." he says and you look up at him before nodding.

“I think so too.”

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger smut #black panther imagine #black panther fic #Erik killmonger x Reader

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youngerdrgrey · 3 years

Text

a choice for the choiceless // a Batwoman, post-2x15 fic

about: Post 2x15, the ladies of the Bat Team try to help their friend, who seems almost resentful to be alive. How do you help someone when they’re in a place like this? + read on ao3

Notes: there was a lot in 2x15 (“Armed and Dangerous”), and this is partially me processing my own feelings, as well as everyone else’s. Spoilers below for that episode, as it picks up close after. Features the whole of our Bat Team; some Hamilfox and hints of Wildmoore feels here as well

Content Warnings: brief talk of suicidal ideology, hopelessness, and systemic violence against Black people

Luke stares out the window at The Hold Up. His shoulders cave inwards, and his neck strains to make up for the fact that he hasn’t totally turned towards the light. He watches it though. Tracks the people on the street while Sophie crosses back over to him with their coffees.

It’s been three days since Luke woke up from his coma. Sophie hasn’t spent a lot of time with him since then. Mostly, she talks with Jacob about what a new version of the Crows would require. She texts with Mary and Ryan, who swear that Luke will be back to his old self any day now. But Sophie wants to see for herself how he’s doing.

She sets his hot cup in front of him. The steam slips from the top of it. He glances over and nods his thanks in her direction.

Sophie starts light. “I’ve been meaning to congratulate you. You and Ryan really had me going when I ‘introduced’ you that day.” They’d pretended not to know each other, which gave Ryan a chance to poke fun at Luke. “I should’ve known you were joking. You don’t seem like a sweet drinks kind of guy.”

Luke picks up his cup. “I’m not.”

“Not the talkative kind of guy either?” she asks. Luke sighs into the top of his cup. Sophie offers a smile. “Hey, totally fine. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Probably about as good as you,” he says. His nostrils flare before he swipes under his nose. “Kate’s gone. Your mom won’t talk to you. The Crows are completely dismantled. In a few short months, you’ve essentially lost everything that you’ve spent your whole life working towards. How are you, Soph?”

On edge, with that list.

Sophie shifts back in her seat to get away from the cold facade that’s taken over Luke. She sips her own drink to buy a moment to process. He doesn’t mean to be blunt. He’s deflecting rather than talking about himself, but if Sophie can say the right thing, then maybe her words can help him out too.

“I’m… managing. I would much rather see all of this as a chance to start over.” At least that’s how she’s trying to see things. “Jacob’s getting clean. Ryan and I aren’t constantly fighting. She actually sat next to me on the couch yesterday without comment, so…. There's good stuff happening too. It’s not just a loss.”

Luke meets her eyes for a moment, but the warmth and curiosity that’s normally there is gone. Snuffed out. He takes another swig of his coffee, then sets the empty cup back onto the table.

“Glad to hear it,” he deadpans. “I’ll see you at the office.”

He pushes his chair back, and Sophie can’t find the words to tell him to stop. He walks off without another look at her. Sophie grabs her phone from her bag and calls Ryan.

Ryan speaks immediately. “Hey, how is he?”

Sophie sighs. “He’s still off.”

A walk sign beeps on Ryan’s end of the call. She says, “He came back from the dead. It can take a lot out of someone.”

“You bounced back pretty quick.” If Sophie remembers correctly, Ryan was back on the streets immediately. Sophie mourned Kate, and Ryan as Batwoman tore through the streets to try and take down the False Face Society. She didn’t shut down like this.

“I don’t think we can compare these. I said my goodbyes on that island, but Luke experienced one of the worst fears that we could have. Not to mention the constant think pieces and hashtags and infographics with him at the center. Give him some time. He’ll be fine.”

Luke has been a trending topic since the day of his shooting. Maybe he does only need time. Maybe he’ll snap out of it. But when Alice kidnapped Sophie nearly a year ago, Sophie would wake up from nightmares of being on that beam again. Nightmares where Batwoman didn’t swoop in, or the bomb went off, or Alice simply killed her. Sophie doesn’t have those nightmares much anymore. But sometimes, when she’s really stressed, or feeling extra alone, she can feel the winds whipping around her still.

Sophie clears her throat and clutches her phone a little tighter to her face. “Just keep an eye on him, okay?”

“I’m walking into the Tower right now. We’ve got him. Don’t worry.”

“Says the girl who cried in my arms last week.”

Ryan inhales sharply. “We’re not talking about that.”

Sure thing. They can just gloss over the fact that Ryan sank into Sophie’s arms like it was natural, or that they’d spent nearly ten minutes like that, just holding on and hoping that he would be okay. They’re still holding, even if they won’t admit it.

“Talk to him, Ryan. See if he talks back.”

“I will.”

Ryan puts off having a heart to heart with Luke for a few days. He’s clearly not in the mood. Every time she even tries to talk to him, he shuts her down like it’s her first week in the Bat Team all over again. So, she waits until he’s busy and tries to meet him where he’s at — beating the shit out of the punching bag in the Batcave.

The lights are barely on, so the Cave’s half in shadow. From the moment the elevator descends, all Ryan hears is the thick thud of the punching bag. The quick, hard hits of his bare fists. Luke hops from foot to foot in his fighting stance.

Ryan keeps her voice playful. “Try picking on someone your own size.” She sets him up with that. He’s got quite a few inches on her. He’d called her pocket size a few months back when she tried to show how threatening she could be outside of the suit.

But this version of Luke doesn’t even look at her. His whole body’s glistening with sweat at this point, and he grunts out, “I’m good,” before launching into a quick combo on the bag.

Ryan breezes down the catwalk to get to the training area. Closer now, he looks smaller than he used to. Like he’s not eating and instead spends all his time putting on tank tops and joggers and hiding out from the people who care about him.

She pops into her own fighting stance a few steps out of the danger zone.

“Well, I’m really good. I don’t mean to brag, but I am teaching multiple martial arts classes.”

He does a spin kick that sends the bag moving a lot further than it used to. How much time has he been spending down here? What’s he preparing for?

Luke steadies the bag. “I don’t want to fight you, Ryan.”

She takes the pause in his practice to grab the other side of the bag.

“Don’t worry, I can go easy on you. Since you’re still healing and all.” She offers him a teasing smile. His cue to joke back. It might’ve taken them a while to get there, but Ryan and Luke normally play like siblings. She’s never had a brother before him. She doesn’t want to fight either.

He sighs. “Desert rose healed me all up. It’s like it—” He readjusts the wraps on his hands. Finally, he meets her eyes, and the rage in them contradicts how forcibly still his voice sounds. “It’s like it never happened.”

Ryan says, “That’s a good thing, right? You don’t have to worry about scars come summertime.”

Luke jerks his head to the side to tell her to move. Ryan reluctantly lets the bag go, and he gets back to punching. His breath comes out short, but the way he’s hitting feels emotional. Sporadic and pained.

She takes a shaky breath. “Okay, not a good thing. You seem angry. I get anger. You said yourself that I charge into fights that I know I can’t win, and maybe that’s what I’m doing with you.” She has to talk louder over his increased punching speed. “If you want to fight, then we’ll fight. If you want to scream, then we can scream. But this silent brooding thing isn’t you, Luke.”

His head whips around to face her. The bag nearly hits him back as he scoffs at her. “You’ve known me less than a year. You have no idea who I am. Or what I want.”

She reaches her hands out to him. “Then tell me,” she pleads. “Because I want my friend back.”

The fire in his eyes gives way to something hollow. Something aching. He gulps. “Well, you got him.”

“Don’t sound so sad about it,” she says. His jaw twitches, and his nostrils flare. “Wait…. Are you sad about being back?”

Luke starts unwrapping his hands. “I’m fine, Ryan.”

She crosses over to get directly in his face. “But are you happy? Are you upset? Are you—”

“I’m fine!” he yells. His voice echoes through the Batcave, and Ryan flinches. He takes a second to drop his eyes before storming straight for the elevator. He calls over his shoulder. “You can tell Sophie that too.”

Ryan waits until he’s inside the elevator to reply. “What about Mary? You want me to lie to her too?”

Luke’s face crumbles. Then he steadies it back to stone. “Tell her whatever you want. I can’t stop you.” He flips the switch to leave.

Ryan screams because she knows he’ll hear it. Throws her weight behind a punch that sends the bag rattling on its chain.

“See,” Sophie holds her glass up for Ryan to refill, “I told you.” She frowns as she says it, which does make her normal righteousness less pronounced. The fact that she’s curled into herself on Ryan and Mary’s couch also helps lessen the blow.

Ryan dumps the last of their shared wine bottle into Sophie’s glass before plopping the bottle onto the coffee table. She settles back into her half of the couch.

Mary speaks up from her seat in the comfy chair. “What else can we do? If he’s not talking to any of us, or a therapist, then how are we supposed to get Luke back?”

Sophie shrugs.

Ryan suggests, “We could reach out to Stephanie. Maybe a nerd date will help Luke feel better.”

Mary says, “Just because you started dating Imani immediately after—”

Ryan cuts in, “I didn’t date her immediately after—”

Mary gets louder. “Yeah, you kind of did. Angelique left on the 3:15 train out of Gotham, and Imani came in at 3:30.” She rubs the tense spot between her eyebrows. “No judgment, but maybe that’s not the answer.”

Ryan glances to Sophie for a little support, but the ex-Crow finds her wine real interesting around then. Ryan should defend herself. She dated Imani to get out of her head. Angelique was her first love, but she and Ang weren’t meant to be each other’s only relationship. Waiting around wouldn’t have changed the fact that Ang was starting a new life. Ryan had to start one too.

She shifts on the couch, so her knees can tuck under her body better. Her leg bumps into Sophie’s, and neither of them make a move to shift away. Sophie stares down at their point of contact.

“Maybe he just needs to know we’re here for him. We keep showing up, and eventually, he’ll have to talk to us.”

Ryan nods. “In that case, you’re up, Mary.”

Mary sighs into her wine. “No pressure, right?”

Mary and Luke don’t hang out a ton in the real world. Usually, they’re in the Batcave when they spend time together. Or he helps her at the clinic. So, she figures that she shouldn’t exactly rock the boat too far.

Luke sits down on one of the exam chairs in the clinic. The whole space is empty, with the closed sign on the front door. He shrugs out of his jacket. She tries not to look as nervous as she feels.

“Thanks for coming down.” She wrings her hands before stopping herself and planting them firmly against her sides. “I wanted to see how the desert rose in your blood compares to mine, or Ryan’s. So, uh, it shouldn’t take too long to do the draw.”

Luke nods. “Sure thing.” He rolls the sleeve of his left arm up. “I’m all yours.”

“Right.” She chuckles, but it’s a breathless kind. The kind that she needs to clear her throat to cover.

The tray’s already prepped beside him with the needle and test tubes. She rolls her own chair to stop beside him. It’s honestly the closest they’ve been since he’s gotten out of the hospital. He probably doesn’t even remember her being there. Or what she said about needing him just before he came back. That’s probably too intense of a topic to start with.

She ties a band on his arm to make his veins pop. She wouldn’t need it normally. Luke’s got great veins. Great skin in general. Softer than she’d expect for a guy who spends all his time in the same suit. She actually hasn’t seem him in casual clothes that often, come to think of it. Does he own casual clothes?

Luke chuckles. “You’re thinking pretty hard there. First time?”

Mary springs for the needle. “Ha ha. I just… started thinking about… my dad. Because of veins! And Snakebite. He’s, um… doing better?”

He smiles at her, like actually gives a short glimpse of connection. “That’s really good to hear.”

Mary runs with it. “Yeah, and he’s talking about his feelings. And Alice even warned me that somebody might try to hurt me. It’s weird, and I don’t want Alice as my family, but it’s also nice to not feel super alone….” She pricks him then. His face scrunches for a second, and she watches the vial fill up rather than watching his face. “It’s why I’m so grateful to you and Ryan and Sophie. You’ve been my family through all of this. I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Luke’s left arm twitches, but it doesn’t feel like a blood thing. More like he wants to reach out with it. She keeps her eyes low and unlatches the first vial. Grabs the second and lets that one fill too.

Luke says, “I guess it’s different for me. I have my mom, but…. Did you know she calls me every single day for check-ins?” He sounds tired but amused. “She sent me an Amazon link for a bulletproof vest yesterday. Never mind the fact that I run Wayne Tech and have literally made a better one in my sleep.” His jaw trembles. “But I get it. She almost lost me in the same exact way that we lost my dad. I-I almost did that to her.”

Mary scrambles to say, “You didn’t do anything.”

“I would have. If… if the choice were up to me, I would not have come back.” He turns to face Mary again. “A-and I love my mom. And I love our team. But I am so tired of being a part of a world like this.”

Her heart crumbles in her chest. The vial nearly overflows, and she has to grab the third one. Her hands shake as she goes for it. Her voice shakes too. “You sound kind of… schmuicidal when you say stuff like that.”

“I’m not going to kill myself,” he says. He sounds sure of that.

“But you want to die?” she asks.

“I don’t want….” He sighs and rephrases. “I just want to be somewhere else sometimes. And this whole thing has made anywhere else seem better. I mean, I was in a coma, Mary, and they were photoshopping a gun into my hand. Why would I want to be here?”

She stops the blood drawing to hold his hand. “I’m here. And Batwoman is here.”

He balls his fist beneath her grip. “And no one’s checking to see if me or Ryan are a part of the team. I’ve spent my whole life doing things the right way, and I am exhausted.”

Mary lifts her other hand to open his fist. She turns his hand so they can be palm to palm, so she can thread her fingers through his and let him feel where she’s at too. Because she might be exhausted for different reasons, but she’s tired too.

“I think it’s okay to be exhausted. And to want a break. But you can’t let all of this break you. And if it feels like it is, then I’d really like to help hold you together.” She smiles at him, and he glances away to blink some of the tears out of his eyes. She lifts her voice to add on, “Preferably with the help of a licensed psychological professional.”

“You’re not licensed, and you save lives.” He squeezes the hand in hers. “You saved me.”

Mary nods. “True, but an actual therapist could help you talk through this stuff without you feeling like you’re going to be judged, or a burden — which you’re not.” She practically scoots out of her seat to be closer to him. Her knees knock into the side of his chair, and she would totally feel ridiculous if not for the fact that he angles his body towards her too. “God, Luke, I am so glad that you’re talking to me. I want to know how you feel and what you’re going through. But I also know that a therapist can put this in a perspective that I can’t. So please consider talking to one?”

He holds her stare for a moment. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Next time you want to talk, you just take me to dinner instead of taking my blood.”

Mary laughs, and Luke laughs too. “Deal.”

Luke’s in the bathroom when Mary texts the girl group chat.

Mary to 🦇 LADIES DO IT BATTER GC 🦇 He sounds better. We’re getting dinner and hopefully he’s getting a therapist.

Sophie to 🦇 LADIES DO IT BATTER GC 🦇 Great job, Mary.

Ryan to 🦇 LADIES DO IT BATTER GC 🦇 That’s my girl! Or Luke’s girl? 👀

Sophie to 🦇 LADIES DO IT BATTER GC 🦇 Ryan, they’re just getting dinner

Ryan to 🦇 LADIES DO IT BATTER GC 🦇 For now ;)

Mary leaves them on read and stuffs her phone back into her purse. Luke comes back out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a paper towel. “Ready to go?”

Mary nods. “Yeah, we’ll find our way back.” It’s the only choice they have.

a/n: The hopelessness that Luke feels in this episode and the near constant mix of emotions feel so true to my experiences over the last few years. one thing that they have gotten very right are different aspects of these Black experiences. There’s a lot to work through, and I’ve found that therapy and leaning on friends has been real helpful. Hope that Luke gets that too. Hope that you all have that as well.

Let me know how you’re feeling, re: this, or this season. Talk to me, Gotham. I’ll talk back.

#Batwoman #Luke fox #Mary Hamilton #hamilfox #batwoman fic #Ryan wilder #Sophie Moore #bat team #bat team of color #mine #Batwoman: s2 #Batwoman: 215

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thewokewordsmith · 4 years

Photo

Zuko and Katara are refugees and war orphans who have been trained by the White Lotus since childhood to hone their bending skills to assassinate the Fire Navy’s highest ranking members.

I originally made this gifset for Zutara month but a lot of people in the notes were asking for a fanfic and I finally got around to writing it. It’s a one shot for now but I might eventually turn it into a multi chapter fic. Anyway please enjoy.

If you summed up my life until this point it would be. Travel light. Move quick. Create distance. It’s a way of life when your an assassin. Nothing left behind. Nothing to tie you to the scene of the crime. Leave no trace of your ever having been there. Leave no trace of your existence. Make it quick. Make it clean. Flee the scene.

That’s what they used to sing to us when we were little. They made a game out of the killing. Turned it into a song. A nursery rhyme so that our young minds could grasp the concept of killing. I don’t feel bad for being an assassin. I’m doing what needs to be done to end the war. Some say it’s hopeless to still fight after the Avatar was killed by Fire Lord Ozai’s daughter Azula, but I say fighting is better than giving up. People always think things are impossible until someone does the impossible. When it comes to ending this war I don’t believe in can’t. There’s just can’t right now. We can’t defeat Ozai right now, but we will.

Working at night has always been to my advantage, but my partner Zuko has never let it be to his disadvantage. His firebending is as deadly at night as it is during the daytime, and if ever it wasn't his dao swords more than make up for the discrepancy. The White Lotus masters pick our partners by watching the way all of us played together as children. To us it seemed like a regular playtime innocent enough, but there's nothing innocent about being one of the White Lotus' orphans, and it was really a test; a compatibility test to see what assassin we paired best with. Not only did they see how well we played together but they also watched how we fought with each other.

Zuko and I have always had our share of fights but we always resolved them. We don't let things fester we knock down, drag out, and make up. I guess that's one of the reasons the masters put us together. I don't know all of the reasons why the two of us were paired and I've never felt the need to ask. Zuko and I just work. We are both opposites and equals an unmovable object and an unstoppable force.

“We should be reaching Whaletail island in about fifteen minutes.” Zuko calls out.

“Who’s the mark?” I ask.

“Lieutenant Shimizu.”

I don’t need to study the photo of Lieutenant Shimizu I’ve got his face memorized already. I always remember their face even if I don’t remember their names. I don’t like calling the marks by their name. The killing is easier if I only think of them as marks.

“Five more minutes.”

I flex the veins in my fingers and my arms preparing myself to bloodbend as Zuko slips his Blue Spirit mask over his face. Our sky bison, Appa, dips low over the water. The members of the white lotus told us that Appa once belonged to the Avatar and I don’t doubt it because who else beside an airbender would have a sky bison? Some people say the Avatar isn’t dead. I’ve heard rumors that he’s in hiding and just waiting for the right moment to come back and save the world. I can’t waste my time with rumors and what ifs. I want a life beyond killing, running, and hiding. The only way to do that is to end this war, and I will by any means necessary.

The lieutenant’s ship comes upon us quickly. Bile rises up in my throat forcing me to clamp my lips shut tight and fight against the hot sick feeling but I hold back the urge to wretch. I always get an intense sick feeling before a kill. For a moment my skin is clammy but I whisk the sweat away with my bending to prevent chills. I’ve got to be totally focused. Zuko and I have planned this down to every last detail, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the killing.

“We can't fly in directly to the outpost we'll have to find somewhere to land Appa and then make our way from there.”

“How many are stationed at the outpost?”

“Less than ten.” Zuko replies. “It's strictly no take downs unless anyone sees us then we have no choice but to take them out.”

“I know the drill besides they never see us coming. That's what makes us assassins.”

I remember my first kill and the shocked look on the mark's face as my ice crystal pierced his heart. It slipped into him so easily, and even though the mark didn't know me he looked so betrayed. His eyes stayed on me until he fell to the floor. There wasn't any blood it all seemed too neat to be a killing. Murder was supposed to be messy and hard but my first time had been neither of those things.

“Is he really dead, Zuko?”

“Come on Katara we don’t have time.”

“But he-.”

“Come on! Make it quick. Make it clean. Leave the scene.” Zuko reminded me as he pulled me out of the room by the sleeve of my cloak, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the man lying in the floor. He was dead. I really did it. I killed someone.

We were out of the building before anyone even noticed that the general was dead and I couldn't believe how easy it was. Surely they won’t be all easy I thought. They weren't. There has been more than one mark that's put up a good fight. I've got the scars to prove it but the outcome is always the same. They die and Zuko and I live on to kill again and again; enough to amass a body count. I've seen the look of death on so many people's faces but I never can forget my first. To this day that surprise look of betrayal haunts me.

“We can land over there.” Zuko points to a small island a few yards away and I guide Appa towards it. We leap off the back of Appa before he touches down to the ground.

“We're going to have to sail our way over.”

“I'm on it.” I bend out a piece of ice big enough and thick enough to carry Zuko and I over to the Fire Navy's communication outpost. The floating block of ice cuts through the water like a knife through flesh. When we get close enough to the out post I create a wave big enough to lift us up to the tower. For a moment it's like the two of us are flying, and how I wish that we could. I wish that the two of us could fly away from this all, but as it stands there is no running away there's only fighting and surviving in a world that's ruled by fire.

The outpost is made of metal that is old and rusted from years upon years of being left to bare the brunt of the assault from it's natural enemy the salty sea water, and surely it creeks and groans but as we climb the stairs to the top floor there is no sound. Zuko and I spent years mastering Gōsutomōshon. Ghost motion. The art of moving without being heard.

The guards are just starting up their rounds, and as we reach the top floor we stay out of their line of sight and they remain oblivious to our presence. We wait until they head in the opposite direction before making our way through the open door that will lead us to Lieutenant Shimizu. There is no one in the corridors no sounds save for the sea.

In the moments before a kill I become a different person. I wash away all traces of my off duty self and wholly become an assassin. Ice water pumps through my veins and I know longer know mercy or pity. You cannot bargain your way out of the fate at hand; not when my own hands are already stained with too much blood to turn back now.

“This is it. The lieutenant's room.” Zuko informs me.

“Not for long.”

I force the door open with a surge of water that pushes the solid metal door back on it's hinges. It alerts the lieutenant and before we can even step into his room he's bending at us. It doesn't do him any good. Zuko deflects his fire blast until I step into the room behind him to end things.

“Wh-who are you?” The lieutenant ask.

“The last thing you'll ever see.” Zuko answers.

I hate it when they talk. I don't want to know what they sound like I just want them dead. “Shatter!” I cry out and clap my hands together.

Zuko jumps on the spot. “Damn it, Katara you’re supposed to warn me before you do that!” Zuko snaps as the body lands directly in front of him with a loud thud of dead weight.

“Me saying shatter was your warning. Besides it's the quickest and most humane way I know to kill someone.”

“Humane? Freezing all of someone’s blood vessels and then shattering them into a million pieces is about a brutal death as you can get.”

“I’m sure they feel a lot less pain this way as opposed to boiling their blood.”

Zuko sucks on his teeth. “Whatever. Let’s get out of here.”

We leave the same way we came in. By the time the other soldiers discover their lieutenant's body we'll be long gone. As Appa flies us back to our camp we are silent. I've never asked Zuko what he's thinking about after a kill and he's never asked me. There is no need to; we are both thinking about the same thing. A life where we are not killers. We are thinking about a time when all of this bloody effort will pay off and we'll see the end of the war. It has to end someday. It has to. The hope that the war will one day end is the only thing that gives me the strength to keep killing. Above all else I believe that we will win; I just pray to Yue that we win this war before Zuko and I lose the war between good and evil that is being waged within us.

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #avatar the last airbender #zutara month #assassins #fanfiction #the woke wordsmith

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

Text

all’s fire in love & war

pairing: hardcase / reader

word count: 1911

summary: hardcase hatches a plan to win your affection that doesn’t quite go off without a hitch. you’re infuriated at his eagerness to endanger himself but also quite sentimental when the burn marks in the terrain simulation arena look suspiciously like a heart.

a/n: i’ve fallen in love with hardcase, all there is to it. idk whether him, dogma, or tup were at point rain but they were now. (this is also somewhat inspired by this art by @panthermouth )

read it on ao3

“hardcase! you were only supposed to detonate the droids, not the whole karking simulation arena!” fives was, quite understandably, furious. this was the third time in five days hardcase has pulled a stunt like this, which was far more often than normal. hardcase was giggling like a child that had eaten too many sweets, thoroughly enjoying the blazing inferno before him. the sprinklers went off like clockwork and it was honestly so strange to think that hardcase was actually considered an adult.

you were a civvie medic assigned to the 501st, and your time was divided between the resolute and the front lines. the clones seemed to worship the ground you walked on, which you attributed to the way you fought at point rain. it could also have a lot to do with the way you’d give contraband (read: candies) after their visits and the soft voice you’d use with shinies experiencing their first med bay trip.

his smile was the first thing you noticed about hardcase. its boyish charm and hints of trouble lurking beneath it working like a magnet pulling your affections to him. it was hard to find peace and quiet when he was around, but since you hated silence, it was great to hear his voice after a long day elbow-deep in blood and bacta.

you groaned as the sirens went off, not even bothering to throw your blacks on before slipping on your boots and going to assess the damage. you were in night clothes that didn’t keep much else covered besides the necessities, but you weren’t one to shy away when it came to your body. your state of dress was inconsequential to you at the moment because there was something happening that may need your presence.

the day of a medic was never over.

your feet were pounding on the durasteel floor of the resolute, partly hoping that you were woken needlessly for the sake of the men but also that you weren’t roused from a particularly pleasant dream for no valid reason.

another boom shook the ground slightly and you did not like the way the alarms seemed to get louder in protest to the second shock.

your entrance to the terrain simulation arena was loud and heavy from the near-spring you’ve been in since you left your bunks, your breaths being heavy and a smidge labored.

“what’s wrong, vod- holy kriff, we need a medic! medic!” you recognized the voice in seconds. the fact you could taste the explosion in the air did nothing to soothe the nerves that had built up at the arc trooper’s tone. there was no time for jitters or worrying, you had a job to do.

your feet carried you to fives’s side, quickly reassuring him with a hand in his shoulder. “i’m here, fives! what happened?”

“this pile of bantha fodder decided to go overboard and now he’s-”

“it doesn’t matter if i went ‘overboard’ on this,” hardcase did finger quotes around the accusational word with a sith-may-care grin, “it’s working! this was, uh, just a minor setback.” that is, if being impaled with droid metal could be considered minor anything.

fives could have killed him right then but somehow was able to grip his last remaining bit of self-restraint tight enough. the restraint didn’t weaken the desire to strangle his vod’ika but it sure kept him from acting on it. ‘we’re literally right next to a medic, if i killed him now she’d probably be quick enough to bring him back-’ the tirade was cut off with a groan from hardcase, the man slightly moving within the grips of five’s arms.

you had no idea what kind of plan (that fives was in on by the sound of his frustration) the brothers had concocted. the only thing you were focusing on was the embedded piece of shrapnel in hardcase’s side that was bleeding a bit too much for your liking. the fool didn’t even bother to have full armor on when dealing with his precious explosives and was seeming to have no issue whatsoever with being impaled by some sort of twisted metal far too mangled to identify.

the fire from the explosions were smoldering as you and fives lifted hardcase between you both, making a mad dash to the medbay. hardcase was determined to not be carried and so his legs would occasionally try to carry a bit of his weight; the pain was white-hot and with every step he attempted to make he tripped over his own feet. through the pain, he was still adamant that his injuries were a minor setback.

what was new information, however, was the tinge of fear in your eyes as you and fives gently laid him in a bed, fives being grilled with questions while you and kix both got to work. it filled him with guilt he didn’t have the hindsight to consider if things went sideways in his plan (which they did).

hardcase only intended on your presence being a precautionary one at most. he knew you’d be one of the first to respond to an incident almost anywhere in the ship and even though part of him didn’t like taking advantage of your caring nature, he made sure to act on his plan somewhere he knew you’d be the first to reach. there wasn’t a part of his plan that accounted for him actually being injured, let alone the frantic tone so unfamiliar to him as you shouted things to kix.

in the eyes of the 501st (and the 212th) you had no fear. back during the second attack on geonosis, you took up arms alongside them despite the multitude of regs clearly stating that civilian medics were prohibited from participating in combat. a member of the 501st had used his dying breath to give you his dc-15s and the moment his hand lost its grip on yours, you figuratively told the regs to kiss your shebs in the form of shooting every droid and bug in your way.

you were enraged but calculated while kicking ass (it still got hardcase a bit hot under his blacks when thinking about it), and when the battle ended you were immediately back into the medbay as if you never left your medical duties. there was no evidence that you had previously been fighting alongside the rest of them with the ease you slipped back into your duties, your voice returning to the soothing firmness of someone that cared about the men under their care.

this was also the day hardcase fell head over shebs for you, your desire to go above and beyond for clones of all the people in the galaxy standing out to the heavy gunner. it was in the way you’d happily listen to him ramble on about whatever his mind thought of next and actually contribute to what would normally be a one-sided conversation, even among his closest vod’e. you cared about who he was as an individual far beyond just his physical health and he ached to show you how much that meant to him.

safe to say, what was going to be a well-humored display of affection turning into an emergency trip to you and kix was not part of his plan. what’s worse is that he had become the reason your voice had lost its calming cadence, your words rushed and sounded like you were teetering on the edge of losing it.

why were you so worried about little ol’ him?

he wanted to ponder the implications more but he was knocked out, either by an anaesthetic shot or blood loss, he was too far gone to know which.

--------

kix has had the idea bouncing in his head for a while, but tonight’s events solidified his thoughts into one fact: hardcase was a kriffing idiot.

when fives told kix about the “plan” his vod’ika had cooked up to get the attention of his fellow medic, it took several deep breaths and the promise of alderaanian wine in his bunk to keep from doing something rash. only an idiot (which hardcase was established to be) would be blind to the extra care you held for the di’kut.

you’d always be sure to stash his favorite flavor of medbay candies away for when he came in for one thing or another (usually it was just to lighten the mood of less-crowded shifts) and listen to the word vomit that never ceased to come from his mouth even through sleep. kix isn’t the only one who’s noticed the lingering physical contact when it was completely unnecessary but it grated on him more than most, seeing as he was subjected to its naivety more than most.

the fact that hardcase thought he’d need a heart-shaped explosion to get your attention truly attested to his stupidity.

he was just glad that hardcase didn’t need time in a bacta for all the trouble this was. the largest piece lodged into his abdomen and -thank the maker- missed his organs. but even bacta couldn’t keep it from getting a pretty gnarly scar, something he knew wouldn’t bother his vod a bit. knowing hardcase, he’d boast about the thing to anyone who’d listen.

kix had sedated him not long after he was brought in. fives had been dismissed after kix had heard enough of the ridiculous plan that had landed hardcase in medical, and the privacy left kix with the perfect opportunity for a conversation with his fellow medic.

“y’alright, y/n?” he started off easy, knowing that your worry was bound to make you more sensitive than normal.

your breath was shaky as you exhaled, leaning against the bed hardcase occupied. “would it be bad if i said no?”

“not in my eyes, baar'ur’ika. i know you care about him an awful lot.” a playful smile graced his features, hoping to ease the tension he could sense radiating off you. it worked a little, your shoulders slumping out of the tense posture they carried minutes earlier.

“i do care about him, and that’s what makes it all worse! we’re fighting a war here, death is as common as a blaster!” you took a deep breath, trying to fight the way your voice gets weaker but failing. “ i don’t know if i could survive losing him, kix.”

kix continued to apply bacta to the smaller cuts hardcase sustained before continuing. “the fact we’re in war should encourage you to show him what you feel. us clones never know when we’ll die, and our last thoughts are always on the things that made us happy, that made this damned war worth fighting. i know for a fact that if hardcase died tomorrow, his last thoughts will be of you.”

yeah his words were meant to be encouraging, but they were a painful reminder all the same. maybe it was time to let yourself have a sliver of happiness within the death and sorrow that permeated the entire gar. you may not completely believe you deserve the happiness he would bring you, but hardcase surely deserves whatever happiness you could give him.

you didn’t know what to say in reply so you continued your work in silence. once the sedation wore off, hardcase would be free to leave. until then, you could stay beside him and wonder how the kriff you were going to explain your feelings to the idiot that won your affections with no effort.

#hardcase x reader #hardcase #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #star wars #clone wars #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper imagines #jj writes #arc trooper fives #medic kix #hardcase is precious #hardcase imagine #kix is literally the best #hardcase is an idiot but we love him for it #blue striped man is darling

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feverwritingandtextposts · 4 years

Note

Your Rengoku fic was soo soooooo good?! I was blushing and smiling so much!! Is it okay to request Sanemi being nervous to ask reader on a date too in modern AU? He asks Kanae for advice and reader misunderstood his intentions and thought she never had a chance with him. He does eventually ask the home economics teacher after some encouragement from Kanae 🤭 cute, slightly angsty miscommunication! Sanemi is too cute hehe. If not I understand, thank you!

I loved your request lmao! I was caught up for a few days wondering what would be the best way to write it. I hope you like it! Tell me if you do, also still tell me if you don’t LOL.

If you like my work, please support me on ko-fi!

This was also posted on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21781480

————————————————————————————

Miscommunication

Not for the first time, you were thankful of how large Himejima was.

He blocked out everything, the light, the doorway, Shinazugawa’s glare…

Peering cautiously past Himejima’s bulk, you met the sharp eyes of the Math teacher. You flickered your gaze back to the table immediately, trying to desperately act as if you never noticed him staring.

In your defence, you never thought he’d get this angry over it. You only ate one of his strawberry daifuku, and that was only because he’d been complaining about having to eat them at all! A generous student’s mother had given him an entire bag full of them; you didn’t think he’d miss one.

Slowly, you lean back in your chair slinking fully into Himejima’s shadow and out of Shinazugawa’s line of sight. You had to stretch out your hands awkwardly to mark papers at this angle, but its worth it to stop feeling that burning glare on your skin.

From over the other side of the room, you could hear Shinazugawa’s chair scrape as he moved, and all of a sudden, you felt that piercing gaze on you again.

Did he re-position himself… Just to glare at you?

You were so fucked.

—

“You should try a peace offering,” came Tomioka’s mild suggestion. At your silence, he tries again. “It worked for me,” he says, half shrugging.

You remember a specific instance where Tomioka had tried this very method to stop Shinazugawa’s angry tirade during a particularly tense teacher’s meeting (hereby referred to by traumatised witnesses as ‘The Incident’). The two of them had ended up in an all out brawl, the bear shaped cupcake Tomioka had offered ending up half squished under his sneakers, with the other half smeared all over Shinazugawa’s tight tailored trousers.

Probably sensing what you were thinking of, Tomioka opened his mouth again, perhaps to defend his suggestion before he was smoothly cut off by Kanae.

“He’s got a point!” she says, clapping her hands together in excitement. “After all, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! You should make him something.”

You frown at her.

She goes on, pointedly ignoring your deep frown of disapproval. “How about ohagi? I’m sure you know how to make some, you’re the Home Economics teacher after all.”

You frown even harder. “Kanae-san, he’ll kill me.”

She smiles, and there’s something mysterious that twinkles behind her eyes that scares you. “He won’t if it tastes nice.”

—

Perhaps for better or worse, you take up their suggestions. You don’t have any better ideas anyway.

You spent a lonely afternoon working on your sweets in the empty Home Economics classroom, crafting your ohagi. You’d never admit it, but you took Kanae’s words seriously. If you were sure of anything, it was your cooking skills. You could’ve been a chef if you weren’t so intent on teaching rowdy children the finer art of home cooked cuisine.

If Shinazugawa didn’t like your ohagi your heart might never survive the insult.

At Kanae’s encouragement the next day, you began your long walk to find Shinazugawa, with all the heavy countenance of a soldier off to war.

You find him brisk walking through the third year’s corridor, probably on his way back to the staff room for lunch. He looked as hard to approach as ever, face set in stony contemplation, arm raised to prop his file up on his shoulder, biceps bulging through his tight shirt.

Hesitantly, you call after him, the nicely wrapped bag of ohagi clutched tightly in your clammy hands. To your surprise, he stops immediately, head swinging to you so fast he might have gotten whiplash.

“What?” he asks, eyes wide and intense, burning right through you. Uncomfortable by the full force of his attention, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and you break eye contact. Lowering your gaze, you are instead greeted by a full view of his scarred pectorals, courtesy of the ever open shirt. You raise your gaze back to his face immediately, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Um,” you begin, holding out the packet of food, feeling for all intents and purposes like a blushing schoolgirl talking to her crush. Thank god all of the students had already left for the cafeteria. “This is for you.”

He takes it, eyes widening as he examines the treats through the see-through plastic packaging. He’s unusually quiet. “Sorry for eating your daifuku,"you grind out, and his eyes snap back to you.

His face twists, eyebrow cocked. "You ate my daifuku?” he asks, confusion laced in his voice.

“You didn’t realise?” you ask, incredulous.

Shinazugawa scowls in response. “Why would I care if you ate it? You can have the entire bag if you want.”

“Then, why are you angry with me?"

At that, Shinazugawa splutters, and you watch as his cheeks tinge with colour.

"I’m not mad at you,” he snaps, eyebrows furrowed angrily at you.

Pursing your lips, you decide to let that one go. Shinazugawa continues to glare at you for a moment longer, before blurting out a harsh “whatever,” and stalking off.

You stand in the empty hallway, dumbfounded. He didn’t even thank you for the food! But then again, he did say he wasn’t angry at you so… You’ll still consider this a win.

Shinazugawa doesn’t speak another word to you for the rest of the day, but the heated glares stop as well so you won’t complain.

—

The next morning has you breathing easier. No longer did you feel Shinazugawa’s fevered gaze trained on your back. No longer did you risk catching his eye in a crowd, far too intense for a mere glance. No longer did he force himself into the seat in front of you at lunch and glare at you instead of eating his food.

It was actually feeling far too peaceful for you. Like a fire doused with water, the sudden change in Shinazugawa’s attitude left you feeling surprisingly dour.

You barely even see him anymore, a startling change from when he seemed to be everywhere you looked. If you didn’t know better, yo’d think he was avoiding you.

The thought made you a little bit sad.

You didn’t mean to create a rift with him. You just wanted to be friends! Maybe. Even you didn’t know what you wanted. You wanted to get along with your colleague, you wanted it to be more than just long looks from the other side of the room, more than just wordless glares. You wanted to know just what his problem with you was.

The more you thought about it, the angrier you got.

Stupid Shinazugawa, with his stupid hair, and his stupid handsome face, and perfect abs and-

Whatever. It’s not like you cared anyway.

That’s exactly what you tell a very bored Tomioka at lunch that day, as he chews dismally through a mouthful of rice.

“Hm,” is all he says to your ranting, and continues shoveling rice into his face. Rengoku also ignores your griping, likely not even hearing you over his own exclamations of “Delicious!” as he steadily makes his way through his fifth bowl of ramen. You guys were the only ones at the teacher’s table with Uzui holed up in the infirmary nursing burnt fingers from his latest explosion attempt, Himejima spending the lunch hour counseling (reprimanding) some of the problem kids, and the rest scattered somewhere or another.

You wished that Kanae were here to vent to. No sooner did you think that did the lady herself walk into the cafeteria, deep in conversation with a pensive looking Shinazugawa. Walking towards the table, Kanae catches your eye and sends a quick smile your way, never once stopping whatever it was she was telling the Math teacher. You hear Shinazugawa click his tongue in annoyance at her as they drew close. Spotting you and Tomioka, he gives the latter a particularly withering glare, and glances away quickly when you meet his eye. Not breaking stride, he stalks past the teacher’s table, to sit in-between a surprised Genya and an absolutely horror struck Zenitsu.

Inwardly, you offer the boy your condolences.

Kanae gives you a knowing smile as she takes her seat beside you, leisurely unpacking her homemade bento.

“So how did it go?” she asks finally, offering you a piece of her tamagoyaki.

“Terrible,” you reply grumpily, accepting the egg and immediately shoving it in your mouth. “He hates me even more now.”

Kanae hums thoughtfully in reply. “I don’t think he hates you.”

You deadpan her a look. “He hasn’t said a word to me all day. He won’t even look at me.” At that Kanae snickers, trying and failing to hide her smile behind her chopsticks. You raise an eyebrow at her questioningly.

“You seem surprisingly upset at that! After all that you’ve complained about being looked at too much before,” she says in-between bouts of tinkling laughter.

You can’t help the immediate flush at her words. “I wasn’t being looked at! I was being glared at!”

“Uh huh,” she agrees teasingly, pretty pink eyes alight with amusement. Feeling the heat creep up your neck at the implication, you turn away from her with a huff.

Your reaction just served to amuse her more, and she pats your back consolingly. After her laughter dies down, she speaks again, voice gentle. “If you want him to speak to you, why don’t you try talking to him first?”

You fight the childish need to pout. “No way. He can hate me if he wants, I don’t care.”

Behind your back, Kanae and Tomioka share a tired look.

Your dismal mood carried on throughout the day, even inciting the concern of some of your more perceptive students (mainly Tanjiro). You sigh as you set your stack of collected homework on your desk, drained from your own whirlwind of emotions the last few days. You’ll tackle it tomorrow.

You’re so wrapped up in yourself that it takes you a while to notice that you’re the last person left in the staff room. With a single glance to the dark skies outside, you rummage through your bag and desk for your umbrella.

You can’t find it, probably having left it to dry out on your balcony the night before. Silently ruing your own forgetfulness, you resolved to just make a dash for it with your windbreaker as a makeshift cover. Luckily it was late enough that most if not all of the students were already home and wouldn’t bear witness to their teacher fighting the rain.

Pulling open the door, you step out and knock promptly into something hard in the darkened hallway. Before you can draw back with a shriek, the something speaks. “You’re still here?” the voice asks, and you peer through the dim lighting to see Shinazugawa staring down at you.

“Yeah I had some.. Stuff to do,” you mumble, taking a step back from him. “Why are you still here?”

Shinazugawa’s eyes, no less intense than before, searches you for a second before he glances away again. “Its raining. Do you have an umbrella?” he says finally, choosing apparently, to completely gloss over your question.

You shake your head in response, wondering why he was suddenly talking to you. He cocked his head sharply, a universal sign for follow me. Turning, he ambles down the hallway calling out a casual, “you can share mine,” as he goes.

Your pride begged you to protest, but the larger, traitorous part of you willed yourself to go along with it, following him down the dim empty hallways to the school entrance. You say nothing on your way down, the strange awkward tension of the situation settling into your bones and keeping you from looking at him. Ever so often you feel his burning gaze settle on you, but he glances away just as quickly.

As it turns out, Shinazugawa’s umbrella wasn’t that big. It wasn’t tiny, but it certainly wasn’t big enough for the two of you to share without one of you getting wet. The man himself shoots you a pointed look and you take it as a hint not to mention that.

Pressed against his arm, you tried desperately not to think about how your fingertips brushed against his as you two walked, squeezed awkwardly under the umbrella.

The sun would have barely gone down at this time, but it was so dark out it might as well have been night. It was also ridiculously cold out, a fact that you only realised now that you had a warm body tucked against you. As the rain came down heavier, you felt a shiver rack through you, and you involuntarily press yourself into the warmth of Shinazugawa’s arm.

You feel him stiffen, and realising that, you try to move away, getting your shoulder immediately soaked through with rain. Shinazugawa clicks his tongue in annoyance, wrapping his arm around you and drawing you in close. “You’re gonna get wet, idiot,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind his words. Instead, all the world’s heat seemed to be concentrated in his arm, wrapped tightly around you, comfortably warm.

Your face was burning. Utterly gobsmacked by the situation, you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word, hell, you couldn’t even look at him right now. The rain was thankfully loud enough to drown out the beating of your own heart as you two made your way down to the station, half cuddled into his side. You were pretty sure his arm was getting wet from how it was shielding you from the rain, but Shinazugawa didn’t say a word, so you didn’t either.

The station was as busy as ever, filled with bedraggled people running for their trains. Shinazugawa dropped his arm from you the minute you two were under the station’s shelter. Wordlessly, he began folding the umbrella. Somehow you felt that if you spoke now, it would break the strange tension that has followed you two since leaving the school. And for some reason, you didn’t want that to happen. So you stand, watching as he folds his umbrella, slowly, and he stands, feeling your eyes on him, close enough for him to smell the shampoo off your hair.

Shinazugawa breaks the silence first.

“Wanna get something to eat?” he asks, tossing his bag over his shoulder and giving you a great view of his rolling biceps.

“What?” you reply, intelligently.

“Eat. Let’s go eat,” he says, beckoning you to follow him as he makes his way over to one of the small hole in the wall eateries that line the inside of the station. Not wanting to turn down this rare show of friendliness, and even less wanting to part from him, you follow along.

The two of you squeeze into the tiny plastic benches of a damp smelling Mcdonalds. Seated in front of you, the chairs were close enough that your knees bumped against Shinazugawa’s, but that wasn’t what you were focused on. Shinazugawa was smiling.

He looked like he was trying to hide it too, propping his elbow up on the backrest and resting his hand oh so causally against his mouth. You never thought he’d like Mcdonalds this much.

“What do you wanna get?” Shinazugawa asked, “I’m buying.”

“Uhh,” you scan the menu quickly, before telling him your order. You were more than a little flustered with the sudden 180 in your relationship with this man. He went from angry, to ignoring you, to walking with you in the rain, to now treating you to food? He felt like a hurricane and you can’t catch up.

Distantly, you thought about what Kanae said about “talking”.

Shinazugawa sets down the tray of greasy fries and burgers with a clack, startling you out of your reverie. He motions for you to take one, still looking far too pleased about being stuffed into a plastic seat with damp clothes and a tray full of fried food. He’s got a lovely, pleasant smile on, and its a jarring difference from his usual irritable glowers and sinister smirks. It makes him look gentle.

You help yourself to the food, and spurred on by Shinazugawa’s content expression, you decided to bite the bullet. “So, why did you come back to the staff room?”

The effect is instantaneous. Shinazugawa chokes on his burger, nearly upsetting his soda as he tries to wash it down. You stare, unsure weather to laugh or be genuinely concerned. His face is red now, and you’re not sure if its because of the choking, or whatever possibly embarrassing thing he’s about to say.

“I came back because Kochou told me you were probably still around,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowing as if daring you to contest what he says.

Confused, you point at yourself. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you don’t have an umbrella, idiot.”

“How did you know I didn’t have an umbrella?”

“Because it always sticks out at the end of your tiny ass bag, and I didn’t see it there toda-” Shinazugawa cuts himself off, eyes widening in the realisation that he had maybe said too much.

“Wow, you’re really perceptive Shinazugawa-san,” you say, somewhat awestruck. Shingazugawa flushes an even darker red, the colour of his burning cheeks vibrant against his pale hair. You can’t help but smile at the display. “Thank you,” you say honestly, “you’re a really nice person. I can’t imagine anyone else coming all the way back to the office just to help their colleague.”

Shinazugawa gawks at you, the embarrassment on his face shifting to something nearing incredulity. “You-” he begins, voice halting as if he’s trying to reign in his emotions. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

You draw back, offended. And just when you thought you guys were finally getting along. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you’re an idiot,” Shinazugawa says, his voice growing louder with agitation with every word. “You think I’d go all the way back there for just anybody? You think I’m just trying to be nice?”

You leant back as far as you could in the tiny seat, very confused about Shinazugawa’s mounting anger, and very uncomfortable about the stares the two of you were getting. “Uh… Weren’t you…?”

“No!” he snarls, slapping a hand to his forehead.

“Oh. Uh, then why-”

“I LIKE YOU, YOU IDIOT,” Shinazugawa snaps, slamming his hand down on the table, with a resounding smack.

Ok now, everyone was staring.

Oh my god.

Shinazugawa hides his face in his hand, either from embarrassment, exasperation, or a mixture of both. Hesitantly, you reach towards him to pat his arm for comfort. He grabs your hand, lightning fast, before you could touch him, and the sudden warmth of his touch makes you jump. “You thought I hated you? Why? What the fuck did I do wrong? Kanae was all like ’maybe you’re being too intense’ so I tried to stop looking at you so much, but then you looked sad anyway so fuck Kanae’s advice and-” You reach out and set a hand over his mouth, effectively stopping him to the disappointed murmurs from the gossip hungry Mcdonalds customers, cuing in onto your drama.

In any case, you didn’t think your heart could take any more of these sudden revelations. You were sure your face was just as red as his, or even more so. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice wavering. “I totally didn’t realise. Guess I really am an idiot huh?”

Shinazugawa’s eyes widened. Peeling your hand gently away from his mouth, he shook his head ferociously. “No, you’re not. Don’t- You’re not an idiot. You’re just too fucking dense about this kind of stuff.” His grip on your hand tightened to a comforting squeeze. “But I like that about you anyway.”

“Wha- you do?”

“Yeah. I like a lot of things about you.”

“Really?”

“You’re a really fucking good cook too.”

You blush even harder at that, unable to stop the smug smile on your face. You knew no one could resist your ohagi! Shinazugawa gives an endeared, lopsided smile at your expression.

“Make that for me again sometime.”

“Oh, sure!” you say, smiling back at him. To your surprise, he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t make them if you, ya know, don’t wanna or something,” he says softly, and you catch what he means for once.

“Hey! I don’t make ohagi for just anybody you know!”

—

Shinazugawa continues to hold your hand as the two of you leave the Mcdonalds, and you let him, the two of you blushing and smiling like misbehaving teenagers.

Behind you, someone wolf whistles at the two of you, and someone else cheers, probably having sat through the entire of the two of your very vocal confession scene.

At that Sanemi whips around, teeth bared and ready to fight whichever poor soul it was. Urgently, you tug on his hand, hoping to prevent a McMassacre. Surprisingly, he allows you to lead him out obediently, but he still keeps turning back to shoot the other customers death glares as he goes.

You sigh to yourself, unable to stop the amused smile creeping up on your face. Just what did you get yourself into?

#sanemi x reader #kny imagines #kny #Kimetsu no Yaiba #shinaguzawa sanemi #sanemi #kochou kanae #i headcanon that sanemi gets as red as genya does when he's embarassed #no one can convince me otherwise

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itsme-autumn · 4 years

Text

Artists Make The Best Lovers

Author: @itsme-autumn Pairing: William “Ironhead” Miller x Reader Warnings: swearing, smut Prompt: using Will as your nude model

“Will, I have to, it’s for my class.” You huff. He’s overreacting.

“I don’t like it.”

You lay your head on the kitchen table, exasperated. “And What? You think I’m excited to stare at some random’s guy junk for a few hours? It is what it is. It’s art. It’s completely professional.”

Will’s jaw ticks. "You have no say in who? They just pair you with some perv?”

You perk your head up as an idea pops into your head. Will probably won’t like it much better. “No, actually. I can pick my model if I want. If I’m...” You look him up and down and bite your bottom lip. “...inspired.”

Will looks at you confused for about three seconds and then deadpans.

“No.”

“Come onnnn.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“No way, Y/N.”

You sigh. “Okay. I guess I’ll give Enrico a call, I should ask him exactly how much charcoal I’ll need to bring...”

You go to grab your phone but Will snatches it before you can. You see his upper lip bulge out as his tongue moves across his teeth. He’s glaring at you while you try to keep your poker face.

You wait a beat then shoot him a winning grin. “It’ll be fine, babe. Maybe even fun!” You get up and go to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Up to you how you want to prepare your...area...but this will be seen by my entire class and potentially the other art classes, so you might want to trim a bit.”

You have to run to dodge Will’s hands from trying to grab you, barely making your escape out of the room.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Will has faced terrorists and open fire. Roadside bombs and plane crashes. He’s been shot. Almost died on more than one occasion and has had to survive in the wilderness for days on end.

And he’s never felt more uncomfortable than he is right now. Lying on his own couch. Naked.

Or he’s about to be naked anyway. Is it too late to call Enrico?

You’re busying yourself getting your supplies together. Setting out your charcoal, blenders, erasers. You adjust the lighting again for the third time.

You’re more nervous than you thought you’d be.

When you feel like there isn’t possibly anything else you need to do, you clear your throat, unsure how to get things started. “Okay..a-are you ready?”

Will slowly stands up and nods, hooking his fingers into his boxer briefs. You blush, and then blush harder at the fact that you’re blushing. What is wrong with me? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before! Get it together, Y/N.

For some reason, seeing him this way is effecting you differently. Maybe because it’s in a non-sexual setting–purely observational. And anyone with eyes can observe how handsome Will is. Every part of him. It’s unnerving.

“Y/N?”

You realize that Will’s been talking to you, but you’ve been–understandably–distracted. “Hmm?”

Will smirks. “So...how do you want me?”

“Oh. Uh..just standing there, but tilt your head to the left a little and shift your right foot....” You can tell you’ve lost him by the way he’s looking at you. Laughing, you walk up to him to position him the way you need.

You slowly trail your fingers down his arm–feeling his muscles, his fine hair, his veins–before placing it where you want. You do the same with the other arm. You kneel down in front of him, taking both hands around one knee and bending it just slightly to the side, then running your hands down his toned calf until you reach his foot and turn it. Since the other leg is fine where it is, you stand back up, sneaking in a quick kiss on his stomach on your way. You notice Will’s breathing has increased, but he hasn’t moved an inch from where you’ve placed him. You take his face in your hands and tilt it slightly, your fingers brushing through his beard. You reach up and fix a stray hair.

When you put your arms back down to your sides, the room is heavy with silence.

Your nerves makes sense now. You’re not just nervous, you’re...intimidated. Here Will is in front of you. In all his glory.

His sweet, fine as hell, glory.

Your Will.

“You are so...beautiful, Will.” You breath out.

Will’s lips pull up slightly. “In general? Or are you referencing my dick specifically?”

You narrow your eyes, annoyed that he ruined the mood, is so pleased with himself, and that that was really funny. You reach forward and flick him just above his–apparently–most beautiful feature. He flinches so hard he almost falls over

“Jesus Christ, Y/N–”

“Stay still, babe.” You say sweetly as you return to your stool and begin your sketch.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It requires a lot of charcoal to draw Will.

You find yourself learning new features, finding new scars, memorizing every line of muscle. You’ve gotten lost in him.

Will has gotten lost in you as well. He’s never seen you more focused, so immersed in something. You have charcoal smudges on your face and your hair fell out of its properly placed bun ages ago. Will can’t think of a time when you were more beautiful than you are right now.

You put the nub of charcoal down and slide your stool back, taking a look at your work. “Okay. Done.” You let out a deep breath.

Will turns his neck, rolling it around to stretch. He walks over to you, peering around the easel. “Can I?” You hesitate, but nod. He looks at the sketch thoughtfully.

Will’s eyebrows go up slightly. “Babe.”

“...yeah?”

Oh no. Does he hate it? Did I smudge the penis and now it looks weird?

"You’re amazing, you know that?” His voice is low and soft, you feel as if you’ve been caressed with the sweet sound alone.

Will pulls you in for a kiss. It’s lazy and slow, as if he has all the time in the world. His hands move down your body, tracing fingertips down your arms, then back up again until he just ghosts over your breasts. You feel his erection on your thigh. You take in your hand, softly pumping it a few times before Will breaks the kiss.

“Your lack of clothing at this point really isn’t fair, love.” Will growls out. He slips your shirt over your head, then bends down, kissing your stomach before peeling your leggings off as well. Will picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall behind you. You put your hands around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, smearing charcoal on his skin. His fingers graze beneath the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side.

The sounds of your ragged breaths echo in Will’s ear. Your soft moans hot against his skin, your lips graze against his shoulder, your desperate whimpers–they’re enough send him over the edge, his hands gently caress your inner thigh. “You are so fucking beautiful, Y/N.”

His deep voice and hot breath tingling against your ear, the combination making you tremble while creating an undeniable ache you knew you couldn’t contain any longer.

“Please, Will...” You plead breathlessly, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

A little whimper escapes as you feel Will move his hips, slowly easing his cock into you. Your body, needy and aching, slowly starts to grind against him urging him into you further. Completely taken in the moment you briefly open your eyes gazing down into Will’s.

You stay lost in each other, moaning in pleasure as he drives into you, your body melting against Will’s. The concept of time leaves you, just about all concepts and thoughts leave you except for Will.

Will around you.

Will in front of you.

Will inside of you.

You’re never intimidated when you’re together like this. The two of you fit together like the cliche puzzle pieces from romance novels and love songs.

His teeth are just grazing your neck as he pumps in and out of you, increasing his pace, anchoring you to the wall. You and him are all pants and little moans as you go higher and higher together. A tear escapes down your cheek, not from sadness but from the pure and raw emotion that you are giving each other.

Will sees the tear and wipes it away with his thumb, his eyes questioning if you’re okay. You answer by pulling him in for a searing kiss. He moves his thumb between you, pressing it to your clit. You cry out into his mouth and he presses harder and starts moving it side to side in the way that gets you every time.

Will’s movements become more erratic. “You close, baby?” He strains out.

You’re so close that you’re having trouble forming words. You just whimper and move your hips against Will’s cock inside of you and thumb against you, welcoming your climax.

When it hits, you cling to Will, the pleasure almost too much to bare. Will’s release follows close behind and you feel his warmth start to coat your inner thighs. You both stay still for a few minutes, needing to hold on to come down for your respective highs.

When Will finally sets you on the ground, your legs are weak in the best way. You hear Will chuckle behind you. Turning to ask what’s so funny, you see a large group of charcoal smudges where your back was just pressed.

“Do you think charcoal comes off of walls?” But Will’s face says that he doesn’t give a shit if it does or doesn’t.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Y/N: This smut wasn’t kind of hard to write for some reason?? I don’t know if I got the tone right that I was going for. Let me know what you think!

Will Tag List: @calirindo @leapingoveroblivion @curly-minnie @melissataggart87 @mrsjaxtellerfan @kitkat-589 @soldierfirstclasszeldafair @captainfreecandyvan @lokilvrr @posiemax

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cypher-of-the-night · 4 years

Text

Biography: Yuuichi Kuroi

“Between going to hell for killing leeches, or to heaven at the cost of innocent lives... I’d rather stay a sinful man for the rest of my life.”

Full name: Kuroi, Yuuichi

Kanji: 黒佑一

Age: 19

Meaning: Yuuichi - To help one; Kuroi - Black, Dark

Nickname(s):

Sensei (by Yui),

Yuuichi Jiang (Alias)

Yòu-Yī Jiang (Chinese Name)

Age: 19 (Looks around early 20′s)

Birthday: April 1st

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Ethnicity: Chinese/Japanese

Nationality: Japanese

Hobbies: Hunting, Practicing Martial Arts

Favorite Food: Cream Stew

Dislikes: Days-Off, Vampires, and Ignorance

Race: Vampire, Human (Formerly)

Gender: Male

Height: 178 cm (5’10")

Weight: 67 kg (147 lbs)

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Blue

Blood Type: O

Occupation: High School Teacher-in-Training, Vampire Hunter

Relatives:

Ying-Yue Jiang (ancestral foremother)

Naoki Enjo (Distant Relative)

Hisoka Kuroi (First-Cousin, Arranged fiancée)

Tsurara Kuroi (Parental Grandmother)

Favorite Food: Cream Stew

Hobbies: Hunting, Practicing Martial Arts

Seiyuu: Satoshi Hino (Ao from Hakkenden (Talking /Singing)

English Voice: Greg Cote (Eita Izumi from Just Because) (Talking)

Personality:

To the public eye, Yuuichi is a cool, collected young genius. At the age of 13, He graduates from college and is mentioned to be friendless, as he distances himself from others ever since childhood; Only having his cousin as his only other companion growing up. As he was always quiet, people found Yuuichi intimidating as he would be the only one brave enough to stare down and talk back at the Sakamaki’s, the Mukami’s, and even the Tsukinami’s; Something not even the Principal could do. Yuuichi is also observant and strict, even catching Ayato cheating but never calls him out on it; This leads to him and Ayato having a rather antagonistic relationship.

However, Yuuichi’s cool front is actually a mask, revealing himself to be passionate, but broken young man, desperately looking for love, affection, acceptance, and acknowledgment. Having grown up in a family of Vampire Hunters, Yuuichi has learned to kill vampires since he was young; While he was exceptional in this field, Yuuichi always had to live up to high expectations and was forced to distance himself from others to protect them from getting involved with his life as a Vampire hunter. He cares dearly about innocent people, but felt he must put them at a distance to keep them safe from harm. Always feeling that he must carry the burden on his own, Yuuichi bottles up his emotions in order to continue his role as a protector to innocent humans. He also has a soft spot for children, especially orphans, as he himself is an orphan.

While it was never reciprocated, Yuuichi did hold romantic feelings for his cousin, Hisoka, ever since they were children; Even before their arranged engagement. However, while he has tried to win her heart, it was apparent that She never loved him anymore than a brother. This is due to growing up believing he was a mistake by their grandmother, as he was born as an illegitimate child to the Kuroi family, and that Hisoka was the first person that has treated him as if his existence wasn’t a mistake and that he felt validated by her. This is also why he was not the family heir, despite being the oldest. He also developed a self-hatred and a case of PTSD from having to undergo harsh training as a Vampire hunter, losing his family members, to the abusive treatment from his grandmother.

Due to the way he grew up in the organization and his own hatred towards vampires, Yuuichi feels no remorse in killing the blood-sucking creatures and strongly believes that they are beasts in human form that deserve nothing more than to be extinct. While he genuinely feels that way, it only adds in his self-hatred and disgust for allowing himself become a vampire just to survive when he would rather die. As a vampire hunter, he also knows tactics to torture someone and do what ever means necessary to get the job done; Even it meant resorting to manipulation.

While appearing rational, Yuuichi also holds a sadistic side from the influence of being a vampire and would have the tendencies to succumb to vamperic urges along with his own desires; Depending on which route he’s in, He can either succumb to insanity, forcibly take what he wants as a desperate attempt to find his own happiness, and die as a tragic man, or He can be taught that he can love and be loved healthily, that he must pick up the broken pieces in order to find happiness, and to live as the avenging survivor.

Strengths:

Highly intelligent, respectful to elders, goal-oriented, protective, observant, a realist, serious, mysterious, cool, calm, fast-learner, outspoken when needed to, Caring to children, does show gratitude, strong-willed, kind, athletic, knowledgeable, passionate, experienced, and faithful.

Flaws: Secretly sadistic (from Vampiric urges), cold, stoic, vengeful, stubborn, persistent, easily lonely, hot-tempered, hostile, emotionally scarred, secretive, mentally scarred, self-hatred, has a hard time trusting people, hard, mentally unstable, anxious, paranoid, can’t cook, fearful of losing loved ones, socially awkward, shy, secretly masochistic (heavily embarrassed of this fact about himself) and secretly soft-hearted (can’t show it due to his upbringing as a hunter).

Skills: Shooting with guns (specifically pistols), Fluent in different languages (Chinese, Japanese, English), her intelligence (has even gotten a higher score than Reiji on tests), has high patience, high stamina, a fast runner, enhanced sense of smell, slightly stronger than normal humans, good listening skills, reading people and their emotions, skilled at playing on the flute, singing, has good flexibility, is Ambidextrous (both left-handed and right-handed), charisma, negotiation and interrogation skills, pain endurance, has slow but steady healing, a quick thinker, surprisingly observant, excellent swordsmanship, and an expert martial artist.

History:

Born as an illegitimate child to the Kuroi family, Yuuichi has always been deemed as a “mistake” all of his life by his own grandmother, Tsurara Kuroi. At a young age, His father was disappeared after being reported as MIA during a mission while his mother was kidnapped by a vampire. He was placed under the care of his aunt and uncle for a short time, meeting his first-cousin, Hisoka Kuroi; Falling in love with her and her innocence, Yuuichi swore to protect her and to work hard to become her husband when they are older. Such a thing even became the reason why he would eventually become a exceptional vampire hunter as he grew older.

When he was placed under Tsurara’s care, Yuuichi was immediately taken to start the harsh vampire-hunter training for Kuroi family members; The training sessions caused him to experience horrors and force him to kill in order to save himself, resulting nightmares and eventual numbness in order to get through every training session. Becoming a professional at the age of 8, Yuuichi’s first mission was to kill the same vampire that kidnapped his mother; But once he did and comes across his mother, who was imprisoned the entire time and showed signs of abuse and bite marks, She tearfully begs him to kill her so that she doesn’t turn into a vampire, fearing she would end up hurting others the way her captive has hurt her. Heartbroken that their reunion would end up as it did, Yuuichi complies before telling his mother he loved her, in which his mother replies that she (along with his father) will always love him. From having to kill his own mother as well, this lead to the start of his burning hatred for vampires, vowing to eradicate every single one of them so that humans won’t have to suffer the same way his mother did.

After hearing about the deaths of his aunt and uncle, the memories of his father’s disappearance, and the kidnapping and death of his mother comes back to haunt him and fuel the burning hatred of vampires more; Whether or not Hisoka herself survived or not, Yuuichi will still remain guilty for not being able to be there to protect her or her innocence as he swore to.

If Hisoka did survive, whichi is Hisoka’s Route: Due to the fear of almost losing her, Yuuichi becomes heavily emotionally invested in her to a point he gets jealous of anyone that Hisoka interacts with, especially Yui Komori, who he envied and hated for being the one that helped Hisoka open up when she needed someone the most. Yuuichi would do anything for Hisoka just to make her happy and to win her love, in a similar way Richter loves Cordelia; However, when a mission to rescue Yui was changed to killing her, Yuuichi was the first to take the task to do so. Due to Hisoka’s love and devotion to Ruki Mukami, Yuuichi’s mentality breaks, becoming insane and unpredictable, and resorts to making his happiness happen by force (the happiness being promised by Tsurara herself if Yuuichi kills Yui successfully). This ends up failing and leads to his death by Hisoka’s hands.

If Hisoka didn’t survive, which is Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi becomes the only Kuroi member left in the new generation, making him the only other candidate to become heir to the Kuroi family. But Tsurara does not allow it as she still labels him a ‘mistake’, despite his adroit skills as a hunter. From this, Yuuichi comes to the belief that Tsurara had something to do with the death of the rest of his family members, especially after learning about the wiping out of the clan from his mother’s side. As such, He has decided to investigate deeper into the mystery, which lead to taking on the task to assassinate Yui Komori, only to use her to figure out a lead to Tsurara’s crimes that ended up massacring the rest of his family.

Sometime in between the Haunted Dark Bridal Saga and the MORE BLOOD Saga, Yuuichi was almost near death from a mission he was sent to by Tsurara, only to be saved by and turned by Richter on a certain condition:

Hisoka Route: Richter agrees to make Yuuichi strong enough to kill the Mukami’s, especially Ruki Mukami, who was working with Karlheinz, the Vampire King, but in exchange, Yuuichi will help him dethrone Karlheinz and kill the Sakamaki’s. Due to Yuuichi’s mentality breaking from Hisoka loving Ruki, He agrees to help Richter overthrow Karlheinz and kill the vampires. This is also because they share a mutual understanding of loving a woman that loves someone else, and will do anything just to make them happy/their own, to a point not having them in their arms makes them lose their own sanity.

Naoki Route: Richter agrees to help provide Yuuichi the information he needs to prove Tsurara was guilty, if Yuuichi agrees to keep Yui safe from the Sakamaki’s and the Mukami’s. While Yuuichi didn’t understand why Richter would give him this opportunity, seeing that they both have a common enemy in Tsurara, Yuuichi accepts this despite his own hatred for vampires as long as it would be beneficial to what he is looking for in order to get evidence of Tsurara’s crimes. He eventually does kidnap Yui, using Naoki as a distraction, but while he had her in his custody, they do eventually fall in love and Yuuichi realizes his own inhumane actions and decides to learn to love himself, as well as to move forward with his life.

Eventually, He goes undercover in the guise of a Teacher-in-Training at Ryoutei Academy.

(SPOILERS)

In Naoki’s route, in the DARK FATE Saga, It is revealed that Yuuichi is also a bloodline member of the Chinese clan of human vampire hunters with the first-blood blood in their veins, due to their foremother ancestor, Ying-Yue Jiang; Ying-Yue was the original host of a first-blood’s heart (whom was also her lover in her former life as a human), and was a human before turning into a vampire after she gave birth to a human son that carried the blood of a First-blood, Asher. Due to herself staying hidden for many centuries to hide from Karlheinz under her first-blood lover’s instructions, Ying-Yue was given the nickname “Lilith”, who was known to be the first wife of Adam but leaves him after she refuses to become subservient to him (in a similar sense where Ying-Yue refuses to let herself become experimented as an Eve to Karlheinz’s plan); However, their secret was revealed when one of their clan’s members was kidnapped by a vampire who found out about the truth of their blood. That kidnapped member was Yuuichi’s mother herself. And after the Clan was targeted and massacred, Yuuichi became one of the two only clan members left alive; The other revealing to be Naoki Enjo, the current host of Asher’s heart. The one that plotted the massacre of the clan was Tsurara herself; However, due to Karlheinz’s decision to kill off the entire family of Hisoka, including Hisoka herself, to allow one member from the Jiang clan escape from the massacre, this lead to Tsurara to hold a grudge as she had plans to use Hisoka as her perfect successor as Head of the VH Organization.

It is also revealed that, the real reason Tsurara called Yuuichi a mistake, is because she became aware of the first-blood blood in his veins, and deemed him as one with filthy blood; This is the reason why she refused to make him heir to the family, as all of his abilities were only enhanced from the blood of a first-blood, and that she only sent him on the mission where he was almost killed is to ensure that he does get killed and never returns. In Hisoka’s Route in the DARK FATE saga, where Yuuichi has already been killed, Tsurara explains that she was responsible in organizing the massacre of the Jiang clan and that she did arrange killing of Yuuichi in order to give Hisoka the push she needed to attempt rising up against her, and turn her into the perfect successor after Hisoka herself realizes the truth of her existence and the reason for the death of her family was all because she existed.

Once everything comes to light, in Naoki’s Route in the DARK FATE saga, Asher reveals to Yuuichi that his father was the one informed the clan about the kidnapping as a warning and took Naoki to the orphanage, but as a result from receiving word he gave warning of the VH Organization hunters coming to massacre them, Tsurara had him, one of her own sons, executed for “betraying the organization”.

Trivia:

• Yuuichi is unable to cook; Legend tells he tried to cook something himself, but he ends up burning everything he cooks into flames. Even cereal. Even in

Hisoka’s Route

in the

MORE BLOOD

saga, It is mentioned that Yuuichi himself almost burned down the organization from trying to cook; The one of the very few things he can do is brew coffee.

• While only describes as his hobbies, Yuuichi actually hunts and practices Martial arts as said hobbies is mainly because it helps him keep his figure and to ensure he does not slack off from lack of training.

This is why He doesn’t like day off’s, as he feels uncomfortable doing nothing and that he would rather much do something than doing nothing.

• In his own Manservant ending in the MORE BLOOD saga with Yui, He ends up becoming just like Richter and becomes a submissive slave to Yui, who would end up inheriting dominant, sadistic traits from Cordelia; He even ends up killing Richter to ensure Yui remains his, in fear that Richter will take her away from him.

In the DARK FATE route of Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi confronts Richter as he tries to make a move on Yui in the delusion that she’s Cordelia and denies being like him; This is ironic, considering the fact that he is very much like him in Hisoka’s Route, as his own mentality breaks and would do whatever means necessary to keep Hisoka at his side, even if it meant killing those in his way.

• He inherited his blue eyes from his father, while his mother holds the same pink eyes as Naoki; It is implied that the bloodline family members of the Jiang clan have the same colored eyes, but the reason why Yuuichi has blue eyes is because the Kuroi family genes has been known to be arguably stronger.

• Yuuichi was originally made to be a character for Hisoka Kuroi’s universe; However, regretting such great potential to go to waste, Yuki (The creator of this blog and @star-crossedfidelity) brought him back for Naoki Enjo’s story in an alternative universe and gives him a happy ending where he is the love interest of Yui Komori.

• Yuuichi’s real name is Yòu-Yī Jiang (Jiang Yòu-Yī; 江佑一), which respectively mean “To protect all” and “River”.

• Upon his appearance in the MORE BLOOD Saga in Naoki’s route,

• By the DARK FATE saga in Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi is revealed to be spiritually-Endowed Human-First Blood Hybrid; This is due to Ying-Yue Jiang, his foremother and Asher’s lover, became the first carrier of the first-blood’s heart before she had sexual intercourse with another human in an arranged marriage, which lead to conceiving a human child that would later start a family line of human with first-blood ancestry from Ying-Yue carrying Asher’s heart before the child was conceived; Thus, Yuuichi is a human with first-blood ancestry.

Asher reveals that because the child was born from two humans, despite his blood running through its veins, they can not possess magic, transform, or summon familiars like a first-blood; Instead, because of his blood, The child was stronger, quicker, and healed faster than an average human, along with inheriting the ability to sense vampires and invisible familiars. This is why the clan were phenomenal vampire hunters as, while they can’t see them, they can sense their presence, using those abilities to their advantages.

Asher also reveals that Yuuichi’s enhanced abilities were due to the blood that ran through the family bloodline for generations, and if Yuuichi was the host for his heart, Asher admits that Yuuichi would’ve unlock even more power due to his upbringing as a vampire hunter.

• Due to never having a normal childhood or having a chance to relax, Yuuichi has no knowledge or recollection on what’s it’s like to be a child; For example, He has never been to an amusement park, nor has he ever been to a festival before.

• While he is good with swordsmanship, He prefers to use guns instead; The reason for this is because, when he went on his first mission, He used a sword; Which meant he had to kill his own mother with the sword, and began to use guns after that. In Hisoka’s Route, It is confirmed that Yuuichi would only use swords if he is being sent on a more difficult mission.

• Yuuichi uses the alias “Yuuichi Jiang”, a mixture of his Japanese name and his mother’s maiden name; However, in Naoki’s Route in the MORE BLOOD saga, this is how Asher began to suspect Yuuichi as another living survivor of the massacre, due to his Chinese decent, his own enhanced abilities, and his familiar scent of those from the Jiang clan.

• In Hisoka’s Route, Yuuichi is in love with Hisoka, and not Yui, who he bitterly hated and envied; However, in Naoki’s Route, Yuuichi becomes Yui’s keeper by the MORE BLOOD Saga and they end up falling in love. ~

Credits: Character sheet image, art provided by @seven-re.

#yuuichi kuroi #Yuuyui #diabolik lovers oc

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nekron21 · 4 years

Text

You All Meet in a Tavern

The sun shone through the window as I rubbed at my eyes. Getiing up, I stretched and felt my left shoulder twinge in pain. That old Owlbear injury was flaring up again, but that was nothing that a trip to the local healer couldn't fix. As I stood, I felt Vuavi's arm grab at my wrist. "Stay. It's not as warm without you." she pulled me back to the bed and I chuckled a bit. As I got close enough, I gave her a kiss to let her know I still loved her Orc beauty. "I've got to open up, love. I'll be back tonight." As I slid out from her grip, I pulled the covers back over her. As she lay there, I tried to remember exactly when I fell in love with the brutal orc barbarian. It was either the time she had decapitated that cult leader while she was on fire or when she ripped off the Owlbear's arm that attacked me. Either way, I was glad for the thirty three years we've had together.

Pulling on my boots and lacing up my shirt, I ventured downstairs to the bar area. It had been twenty five years since I decided to settle down, leave behind the adventuring life. I remember back when our party first met here, nothing more than a group of idiots and get-rich-quick schemers. As I pulled the chairs off the tops of the tables, I recalled my old friends. Aekian, the elf rogue had gone on to the coastal cities. The news I heard was either he was a respected merchant or a feared pirate. Knowing Aekian, it was probably both. Oridani, the tiefling wizard had become a member of the Mages Guild. She's currently teaching students about the arcane arts at the Willow Creek Institute. Kiazin Greatwarrior, the minotaur fighter went off to seek a new purpose after avenging his family's murder. Not sure what happened to him. Anwyn, the halfling Cleric of Helm went on to become a member of the royal knights. And as for myself and Vuavi, we had a few more adventures before we finally settled down in the town of Stagpass. As I finished setting everything up, I went to the kitchens and began the prep work for the meals most travelers would want. After that was finished, I walked back out to the bar and waited for patrons to arrive. As the day passed, people ventured in and out, eating and enjoying themselves. Vuavi left about an hour or so after opening to go hunting, and at around noon both her and Kiroki walked in with a decent haul. "Hey papa!" Kiroki came over and gave me a quick peck on the check while holding a giant boar over her shoulder. "Managed to kill this one all by myself." "Impressive. Your mother still wins, though." Vuavi smiled while dragging three stags, two boars and an Elk in her giant net. As they both passed to the kitchen, Vuavi and I shared a brief kiss and Lanlin groaned from the kitchen. Why we hired that gnome I'm still not sure. Besides the fact he can cook just about anything. Around one or so in the afternoon, an elvish lady walked in, wearing very ornate looking robes. A book held in her hand and the tip of a wand poking out from her right sleeve gave her away. A wizard, no doubt about it. She approached the bar and held up her hand. "Excuse me, I'm wondering if you have any bookstores or magic shops around." "Well, we tend to do mining and hunting in the town, but the general store might have some items you'd be interested in. Although the next town over should have a magic shop. Head north for a while and you should reach it." "Thank you. I'm trying to reach the capitol so I can get an apprenticeship with the court wizard." As she spoke, the doors swung open and a dwarf male in full plate walked in. A warhammer on his back and a simple hand axe at his side, as he walked up to the bar, taking a seat next to the elf. "Thunderbrew. In a pint, if you please." As I went to pour him a drink, I scanned his armor quickly. No holy symbol, no military order of any kind, no mercenary guild sigil. A free agent with full plate and a decent weapon. Fighter, definitely. As I slid the drink to him, he nodded in thanks and chugged a good portion of it. "Any monsters around here that need killing?" "Well, there's been an Owlbear or two that's been extremely hostile off in the Crystal Forest. But that's a good distance from here." "Would you want any help?" the elf turned to him, and held out her hand. "Daedove, aspiring arch-mage." The dwarf looked at her and waited for a moment before shaking her hand. "Kharmun, dwarf master of battle." As the two began to chat, the door swung open again to show a seven foot tall female red dragonborn. As she walked over to one of the tables, she placed a giant greatsword on the table and pulled out a small bundle of fabrics. As she opened it up to reveal a small meal, she held something in her hand before giving a prayer. As she ate, I gave her a once over. Weapon, plate armor, holy symbol, and a decent amount of devotion. Possibly a cleric, but the damage on her armor and the scar on her face gave me the impression of a paladin. And then, it dawned on me. An elf wizard, a dwarf fighter, and a dragonborn paladin/cleric. All in the same tavern... Good gods above, it was happening to me now. I'm the tavern owner that the group of brave adventurers all first meet. Just like that old geezer when our group met. As I pondered this, the door swung open to reveal a black furred tabaxi with brown leather armor. A rapier and dagger on his hips along with the light footsteps he made gave him away immediately. This one was definitely a rogue, and they came to the bar. "I was wondering if you had any odd-jobs. Sell-sword type work." "Over on the listing board." I pointed him to the large board with several pieces of parchment over it, and he wandered over. At which point, the dragonborn got up and walked to where he was stood. As the two of them began talking, the dwarf and elf looked over at them. "Think we should ask them to join us with the Owlbear thing?" "Eh. Don't see much need for it." "Well, safety in numbers." The elf fiddled with her ears before seeing the other pair walk over. The tabaxi held out his hand. "Greetings. I am Sweet Rain, and this is Faepora. I am skilled in the ways of stealth, and she is a paladin of Tempus." "Daedove, wizard. And this is Kharmun, a fighter." The four of them exchanged greetings and shook hands. I smiled at what was happening, when a new face walked in. A tiefling with red skin, a mace at her side, and chainmail underneath a white tunic. A sigil of a waterfall plunging into a still pool sat near her left shoulder, which nailed her. The dragonborn was definitely a paladin, because THAT was a cleric. She saw the rag-tag group and wandered over. "Excuse me, but are you all looking for some additional help? I know healing spells." She thrust her hand out to them. "Zalia, cleric of Eldath. Hi." Good gods above, this one was awkward. As the group introduced themselves, the door swung open again to show a loxodon wearing simple leather gauntlets, a simple green tunic over his chest and a greataxe on his back walked to the bar. "Looking for work. Killing monsters, that sort of thing." Lack of armor, large weapon, simple thinking. Yep, barbarian. I pointed over to the group that was gathered, and the gentleman walked over to them. "Drintov. You guys killing things?" As the rest of them began to introduce themselves, a roar came from outside. As the new group of adventurers went outside, I reached under the bar and grabbed Bloodbringer, my old greatsword. Her blade still sharp after all these years, it glimmered in the light of the tavern. Outside, the group was engaged with several large orc-looking creatures. Large horns and black skin gave them away, Tanarukks. As the new adventurers began to fight, a few of them went down. The wizard and the rogue were looking in a bad state, and the cleric was being backed into a corner. "Demon filth!" I shouted out in orcish, and raised my sword. "Come face a true fight." As I swung my blade, I let out a single word in celestial, and Bloodbringer flowed with green flames. As they charged, I sliced through them. They might have had some resistance to fire, but I found a way to overcome that years ago. One by one, they all fell until none remained. Dispelling the flames, I put Bloodbringer onto my shoulder and helped up the wizard. The rest of the group began to rifle through the belongings of the orc-spawn and grabbed what looked of interest. "Who are you, exactly?" The elven mage looked at me with questioning eyes. "Hasaf Grun, Eldritch Knight." "Wait, as in Hasaf of the Dragon Knights?!" At this, even the others turned to look at me. They walked over to me, a newfound look of wonder in their eyes. "You lot destroyed a cult that was going to release a horde of demons!" the dwarf shouted. "Your group managed to rob a corrupt merchant completely blind in an hour and exposed him for murder!" the tabaxi chimed in.

"You guys obliterated a vampire den, and destroyed a necromancer creating undead Illithids." the teifling looked at me in awe. "Can I just ask, how did you all become friends in the first place?" the loxodon spoke up, and the rest of them muttered words of agreement, looking to me for an answer. I simply smiled, stood a little taller, and pointed behind me. "We all just happened to met in that tavern years ago."

#Dungeons and Dragons #you all meet in a tavern #d&d

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