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azrielhours · 14 days

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Hey rags! I was thinking about the fact that Azriel isn’t unhappy but he is lonely, i would love to read something written by you were Azriel is just extremely happy when he finds his mate and they’re both laying naked on bed and he is just thinking about how lonely he was and he didn’t even notice until now. Maybe he kept having lovers to try and fill that loneliness inside him but it didn’t work, it’s just with his mate he feels loved

Love Letter

wc: 500

Laying with Azriel was one of the best parts of being with him.

Sex aside, passion and loud loving, explicit testimonies—

The quiet peace of being with him was unparalleled. You sighed, snuggling closer, breathing him in deeply. Relishing his naked glory pressing heat into your skin. Pressing safety onto it. In it, as you so often felt strumming down the bond.

He stroked your back. This was routine after lovemaking, and it was just as good as the erotic high.

You open your body to him, your heart, and now the bond.

A sensation of bittersweetness flowing through it had you cracking an eye open.

He continued to stroke your back, gazing absently, still at the ceiling.

The feeling persisted. A tang of ancient ache hummed through your chest cavity.

You frowned. “Az?”

He looked down at you.

“You okay?”

His brows rose slightly. “Yes, my love. Why?”

You bit your lip. The feeling had halted, but whatever had prompted it…

“I—uh, could feel—” This was new, the transmission of soul, and yet—“Um, the bond, baby,” you finished quietly. “Is… everything okay?” Had you done something wrong?

“Oh,” he breathed. He searched your eyes as you waited apprehensively. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was just, uh—” he broke your gaze, seeking courage beyond the vulnerability in your eyes that threatened his resolve greater than even an open mating bond did his honesty.

A deep breath. “I was just… remembering,” he spoke softly. Swallowing. “How it felt before all this. Before I got to have you.”

Oh. “How did it feel?”

Azriel met your gaze again. “I’d been so lost. Just… existing. Waiting.” Seeking. He didn’t want to think about how he sought it with his whole being—a mate. How he drained himself onto females, old and new lovers, strangers, chasing physical intimacy like empty promises, trying to fill the soul-deep void. Failing over and over. He took another steadying breath. “I’ve always known I craved a mate, but having you now, I guess I—just never truly understood how alone I’d been.” Save for now, with the abundance of you filling him, utterly overflowing. Waking him up.

Your heart broke. He felt that too, resuming stroking your back, pulling you tighter. Reassuring you in the wake of his confession.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He huffed a laugh. “What for?”

You shrugged. “For… I don’t know. Taking this long to find you.”

He laughed again, kissing you. “Finding you in the end is worth all of it.”

Your throat closed with emotion. Another silently conveyed love letter sent to his sternum. He wrapped his other arm around you. You buried your face in his neck, knowing no words would sufficiently convey what your heart was already whispering to his. I love you. I’m here to stay. I would take all the pain away if I could. You’re mine and I am yours. Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.

His heart sang in answer, filling you with such ferocious love it soothed any pain on his behalf. He exhaled, this time in contentment, declaring again, “You’re worth it all, my love.”

#azriel x reader #azriel

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spideybatsy · 11 months

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A+B | Chapter Eight

Summary: GN!reader is falling in love with Bruce Wayne, even if they won’t admit it. Everything takes a turn for the worse when Bruce’s biggest secret comes to light.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader

WC: 2.9K

Warnings: being held hostage, mentions of mental and physical abuse (not described), blood, implied smut

Notes: Can be read as any batsy you’d like, I personally picture Bale bc I’m a slut for him <3

Masterlist

Bruce’s goodbyes took longer than expected and he ends up coming into the hallway to find Alfred already snooping around. Alfred’s relief at seeing Bruce is short-lived because he quickly starts searching again.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce has never seen him so concerned and is immediately on high alert.

The older man says my name while opening a corridor door. “They started coughing while on the telephone. A man said something and then the line went dead.”

Bruce’s heart plummets into his stomach and he quickly joins the search. Together, they go through every room in the hallway before something stops Alfred in his tracks. He calls Bruce over, who collapses at the scene.

There, folded neatly on the floor, are both our jackets. Lying on top is the necklace he’d just gifted me, the clasp broken as if it had been ripped off my neck.

It was well into the early hours of the morning that Alfred rushed down to the Batcave, demanding Bruce turn on the news. He tuned in at just the right time.

“Some viewers may find this footage disturbing, caution is advised,” the presenter said.

His already broken heart shatters as he spots my figure in the bottom corner of the video, rocking back and forth. Seemingly without any reason, I let out a blood-curdling scream. The camera angle changes to a close-up of my face. Fresh tears stream down my already tear-stained cheeks, and my entire body is shaking as my eyes dart around the room. My hand rubs at my nose, my fingernails are cracked with dried blood staining my fingers.

My eyes catch on something, and I start chanting one word over and over. Scarecrow. I begin violently screaming, trying to scramble further into the corner when the video cuts off.

“The man who calls himself Scarecrow sent this to Gotham Police with a typed letter demanding the presence of Bruce Wayne and Batman.” The presenter appears back on the screen. “Upon seeing both, he’ll return his hostage.”

When I wake up, I’m horrified to find the masked man standing over me.

“Don’t be scared,” his voice doesn’t sound as warped as it did before. “The toxin should be out of your system by now.”

“W-What do you want?” my voice is scratchy from all the screaming.

I flinch as he snaps his fingers, another man runs into the room and puts a tray in front of me. He’s gone before I can note any of his features.

“Eat up,” the masked man says.

I look down at the tray. It’s full of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“I-I’m not hungry.” I start wiggling away from the tray.

The man sighs, leaning down and taking a strawberry.

“They’re not going to hurt you.” He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger before lifting his mask to take a bite. I try to get a better look at his face, but he only exposes his mouth before pulling it back down. He then squats, so he’s closer to my eye level.

He points the half-eaten berry at me, and it takes me a moment to realise he’s holding it out for me to eat. He must see the hesitation on my face because he places it back on the tray and holds another one out to me.

“If you eat this, we’ll talk.” His words bring back memories of Bruce, who always wanted me to eat up before having a hard conversation.

Poor Bruce, he must be so worried. He’s always held himself responsible for my safety and now that I’m missing, I know he’s beating himself up. Maybe if I talk to this Scarecrow, he’ll reveal personal information that Bruce can use to catch him after he brings me home.

I shakily reach out and take the strawberry, nibbling at the tip. Scarecrow waits patiently while I eat, it takes about 15 minutes to finish. He doesn’t reach for another berry, so I take it as a sign to start talking.

“What do you want from me?” I cough as soon as I finish, and panic starts swelling through me. Did he put more of that stuff in the food?

“You’re coughing because your throat is in a horrid condition.” I find it unnerving that he can so easily read me. “And I don’t want anything from you, I’m merely testing a theory.”

He hands me another strawberry but I’m not sure I can stomach it, so I just hold it in my hand.

“What theory?”

“A few months ago, one of my subordinates overheard a very stranger conversation between you and the Batman.” I rarely talk to suited-up Bruce in public. “Now he claims that The Prince of Gotham and Batman are the same person.”

I do what comes to me naturally and play it off. “A bit far-fetched, don’t you think?”

Jonathan seems entertained at my response. “That’s what I thought, too. Then, a few months pass and suddenly you’re attached to Mr Wayne’s side. Which made me think maybe there was some truth to this preposterous claim.”

“Why take me then?”

“It’s quite simple, really. I have you here, torture you a little and demand both Batsy and Bruce show up to get you. If they both come, I’ll know the theory is false. If there’s only one…”

I can’t stop the way my heart starts ramming against my ribcage. They can’t both show up. Scarecrow has him cornered.

“Batman doesn’t like rich people, what makes you think he’ll come for me?”

“You’re not rich.” Although I can’t see his face, I know he’s smirking. “Otherwise, you’d be a psychologist by now.”

How long has this man been spying on me? Invading my privacy? Perhaps it’s true what they say, you’re never truly safe.

He stands back up and heads for the door. With his hand resting on the handle, he looks back at me.

“They have four hours, then we’ll have to pump you with more toxin to take another video.”

“Don’t do that, please. I’m begging.”

He ignores my pleas and walks out, locking the door behind him.

I don’t know how long I sit in the room. It could’ve been 10 minutes, could’ve been 10 hours. At one point I swear smoke is bleeding from the vents but when I look back, there’s nothing. The overhead lights flicker and for a while, I’m in complete darkness. My eyes adjust just in time for the room to illuminate again.

The dehydration gets to me and by the time the door opens again, my head is pounding. Someone hisses my name and then the masked man enters.

“You have a visitor.” He gestures behind him, and two goons drag in a slumped figure.

He’s so covered in blood that I don’t recognise him at first, but as soon as they throw him face-first into the concrete, I’m crawling over.

“Bruce,” I struggle to get him on his back. “Bruce, can you hear me?”

The door slams shut, leaving us alone. His right eye is swollen to the point of closure and a combination of fresh and dried blood paints his face. Still, his lips tilt up when he looks at me.

My tears are immediate, sliding down my cheeks and onto Bruce. My hands shake as I reach and wipe them from his face. His hand reaches up and slowly takes mine, intertwining our fingers.

“Are you okay?” His voice is rougher than usual.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I squeeze his hand.

His smile is a light in the darkness.

I slip my hand out of his grasp and he groans as I pull him up to lay his head on my lap. He shifts, then seemingly finds a comfortable position as he sighs and relaxes.

“How long have I been here?” I bring my hands to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

“12 hours,” he diverts his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

I use my grip on his hair to tilt his head back. His eyes are glassy, full of unshed tears.

“You came as soon as you could,” I whisper. “That’s all that matters.”

He nods but I know he doesn’t believe me. It’ll take a long time for him to admit this isn’t his fault. Even longer to forgive himself.

We stay like that until I drift off, feeling safe now that Bruce is with me. I don’t know what we’ll do next. If Bruce will break us out or if we wait for the police to come. But he’s here and I know he’ll protect me. No matter the cost.

I awake to the sounds of gunfire, immediately thrashing against my restraints.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” It’s only after this sentence is repeated a few times that I finally calm down.

The gunfire seems to be coming from outside, but the room is in complete darkness. Strong arms are wrapped around my waist and I’m sitting in Bruce’s lap, his head resting on my shoulder.

“What’s happening?” I find Bruce’s hand in the dark and entwine our fingers.

“We’re being rescued,” his voice vibrates through my back.

“By the police?”

“I don’t think so.” He squeezes me tighter against him.

I open my mouth to respond when I’m blinded by the light. I blink a few times and as my eyes adjust, I see the silhouette of a caped crusader in the doorway. It’s Batman.

I find myself sinking further into Bruce’s grip, confusion spreading through my veins. If that’s Bruce, who is holding me? Or more likely, if Bruce is holding me, who is that?

“It’s okay,” Bruce whispers into my ear. He starts to stand up, bringing me with him. “I promise.”

He goes to set me on my feet, but my legs give way. I stumble forward and Batman catches me before Bruce has the chance to.

“I’ve got you,” his voice isn’t as deep as Bruce’s. I look up at his eyes, shocked to find them blue. They’re not as deep as Dr Crane’s, which is strangely relieving.

Bruce limps over, “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Can you walk?” The imposter Batman asks.

“I-I don’t think so,” I admit, wincing as soon as I put any weight on my right leg.

“Is anything broken?” Bruce asks, looking at ‘Batman’.

Batsy’s eyes scan over my body, his eyes squinted in concentration.

“No,” he says. “It seems like the toxin has loosened their muscles. Everything should be back to normal after a few days.”

“Thank you.” Bruce lets out a breath of relief.

He wraps his arms around me and with a grunt, cradles me to his chest.

“Bruce,” Batman places his hand on his shoulder. “You’re injured.”

“I can do it.”

“You’re hurt.” I place my hand on his other shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Please, let Batman,” I look sceptically at the man, “take me.”

I can see the hesitance on Bruce’s face, his eyes are glassy when he finally nods. The masked vigilante quickly takes me into his arms, holding me bridal style.

“I’ll be back in a second to get you,” he says to Bruce.

“Okay,” Bruce leans over and kisses my forehead. “Be careful.”

“Of course,” Batman speaks with sincerity.

He turns around and heads for the door, only stopping when Bruce yells across the room.

“Remember, there are cameras.”

Batman mutters an ‘of course’ under his breath and I felt a jolt run through me. Almost as if he had jumped and hit the earth again.

The stranger runs out of the room and down the hallway. I can’t help the tears that run down my face, anxiety for Bruce curling through me. He’s always been such a stubborn man, which has caused so many issues. He must be in so much pain to suddenly accept the help of this stranger.

“Bruce is okay.” The stranger says, “he’s just worried about you.”

“How do you know?” My voice is muffled as I push my face further into his chest, failing to hide my tears.

“I just do.”

I know he’s left the building when I feel the wind whipping at my hair. I lean away from him and take a deep breath, grateful for the fresh air. The stranger smoothly sits me on the grass before looking back at the building.

“I’ll be right back.” Before I can say anything, he’s gone.

Taking a moment, I look around. The sun is high in the sky, making me think it’s around midday. Based on what Bruce told me, I guess that I’ve been in that room for about 36 hours.

The grass is green and soft under my fingertips, and I run my hands through it, grounding myself. I’m sitting on a hill, overlooking the city of Gotham. My eyebrows furrow when I notice the barbed wire fence, trapping me with the building. Turning, I catch sight of the Arkham Asylum sign.

What on earth am I doing here? Does Dr Crane know that a criminal is keeping hostages in his asylum?

Questions are still running through my head when Batman walks outside, supporting a limping Bruce. I struggle to stand up and by the time I’ve got my footing, they’re right in front of me.

“Bruce,” I make toddler-like grabby hands at him, and he instantly hobbles to my side, taking me into his arms.

“Forgive me.”

Before I have time to ask what he’s talking about, lights start flashing behind me. It’s far enough away that I know it must come from behind the fence.

“What are they doing here?” I murmur, pressing my nose into the crook of his shoulder and neck, closing my eyes.

His hand rubs soothing circles on my back, “we need to make the idea of Bruce and Batman being the same person impossible.”

I hum into his neck; I understand why they’re here, but I still don’t want to look at them.

“The police are going to show up any second,” Bruce whispers in my ear. Like clockwork, I can hear sirens in the distance. “Are you okay to talk to them?”

I nod into his neck, refusing to open my eyes. “Just don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

It’s night by the time we get back to the manor. After the police arrived, they ushered us past the press and straight to the hospital. I had to almost beg for Bruce to be checked, as his stubbornness reared its head again. Once we’d been cleared, we were taken back to the station for statements. While it had been painful to relive, Bruce was by my side the entire time. His hand never left mine.

Batman had vanished into the night the second the police arrived, having had whispered something into Bruce’s ear.

We are approaching the steps to the house when the door opens, and Alfred basically flies out. Before I could get out a word, he pulled me into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” his tone is one I’d never heard before.

I wrap my arm around him and squeeze him tight, my other hand still holding Bruce’s.

Alfred ushered us inside, where a man is sitting on the couch. He stands up and walks over, shaking hands with Bruce.

“I’m so glad to see you’re okay,” he says, turning to me.

“Thank you,” I can’t help but move closer to Bruce, causing him to wrap his arm around my waist.

“A, this is Clark.” Bruce gestures to the man, “Our stand in Batman.”

I can’t help the blush that runs from my neck to my cheeks.

“O-Of course, it’s lovely to meet you.” I reach out and shake his hand. “Sorry, I’m very tired.”

I can feel Bruce’s eyes piercing my skin, his hand squeezing my waist.

“It’s okay,” Clark smiles. “I better head back to Metropolis, I just wanted to check you were both okay.”

Bruce grabs his shoulder. “I owe you one.”

Clark smiles, “No, you don’t.”

I trace Bruce’s scars with my fingertip, amazed at their number. You’d never expect a billionaire to have a bruise, never mind various welts of scar tissue. He shivers as I run over a sensitive spot, nudging his face further into the crook of my neck.

“What are you doing?” his voice is muffled, but I still hear him clearly.

“Memorising you,” I whisper.

He pulls his head back and leans his cheek against my own. “Why?”

“Why not?” I run my finger over his sensitive spot again, amazed when the skin twitches. There’s something incredible about having such a massive effect on such a gorgeous man.

“You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you?” I can feel his frown and confirm it as he pulls back to look me in the eyes. The blanket around his waist shifts, revealing the top of his backside.

“Not without you,” I admit. “But I do feel like we’ve earned a holiday.”

I slide my hand down his back and to the curve of his ass, which is scarless and soft. He shifts in my grasp, and I feel him start to harden against my thigh.

“Maybe you’re right,” he sighs, ghosting his lips over mine. “You pick a time, I’ll pick the place.”

“Where do you have in mind?” He skates his hand down my side, resting it on my hip.

“Somewhere hot,” all at once he pushes me onto my back and slots his hips between my thighs. He’s leaning on his elbows to avoid crushing me, but his body is pressed firmly against mine. “Somewhere that doesn’t require many clothes.”

I’m giggling when he finally kisses me, taking my breath away.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bale!bruce wayne x reader #bale!bruce wayne #gn!reader #bruce Wayne x gn!reader #bale!bruce Wayne x gn!reader #batman #batman begins #the batman #BatFam #batboys

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cloudlessly-light · 7 days

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The darkest parts of me (4/5)

A/N: Trigger warning for this chapter, a part of this is Hotchniss being very toxic towards each other (they’re serial killers so I think that might be a little expected), BUT I want to give a warning for that, and that part starts after *-* so jump to the next part if you don’t want to read that part!

Title: The darkest parts of me (4/5) Summary: They find each other in a dark world where they do twisted things. The only way things could have become more dangerous, is if they were together. Funny how life turns out.

Unsub!Hotchniss AU. Word count: 3k Rating: Explicit Warnings (for most or all chapters): smut, descriptions of violence, descriptions of murder, gore (nothing too explicit), mentions of weapons

It had come as a surprise for them, both of them sated after another night of killing and then as they watched the morning news the next day, a sketch that looked eerily like them was shown. Serial killer couple, victims found in multiple states was written in big letters above the sketch and Emily had almost dropped her coffee on the floor.

“How do they know?” She asked just as the anchor kept talking, and Aaron froze to the spot.

“A witness who encountered the couple in question in Georgetown has stepped forward…”

“The woman, the prostitute.” Emily concluded before he could say anything. “You said we didn’t have to worry about her.”

“I was wrong.” He turns to look at her just as she scoffed. “They never talk, she must have been brought in for something else.”

“What do we do now?” She asked, her eyes wide as she watched him figure out a plan. After a couple of seconds of silence he took her hand, the warmth of it so familiar to her by now.

“We lay low, we go somewhere we haven’t been. And if things calm down then we can figure out a new way-”

“They’re after us now Aaron.” She interrupts him. “We can’t just take a break and then go back to what we’re used to.”

He knows she’s right and he squeezes her hand tighter.

“We’ll go to California like we planned, and then we’ll figure it out from there. But we might have to leave the country.” He searches her face for a reaction, for her to refuse but it doesn’t come. And he realizes that she’s already started over twice before, she could easily do it again.

“Okay.” She says, her hand holding onto his for a moment. “But first we’re driving to California, I have a friend there who might be able to help.”

“Who?” His eyebrow furrows as she reaches for her phone.

“He helped me when I moved from Ireland, he’ll help me again.” She wrote the number on her phone on a piece of paper to be used when they got new burner phones. “His name is Clyde Easter.”

For some reason the thought of another man knowing her secrets sent a spark of jealousy through him.

“Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

“There wasn’t any need to. Just like we want out privacy for our… activities, he needs privacy too.” She catches the darkness of his eyes, feels his hand hold hers even tighter and she smiles. “Don’t be jealous honey.”

“I’m not.” He lies and she chuckles slightly as she straddles his lap on the couch.

“You are, and it’s hot.” She kisses him, kisses him until his hands are banding over her lower back to pull her further into him. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” He promises.

It was strange, they had gotten a lead, they knew they were looking for a couple that traveled through the country. They even had a sketch that had been circulated to the press. They were closing in, and then the murders stopped. Dave rubbed his forehead, they hadn’t had another lead in months, he was pretty sure that they didn’t even have a new victim, nothing turning up anywhere even after letting police departments know what to look for.

“They must have seen the press conference, must have seen the police sketch and decided to lay low.” Jason says as he sips his coffee across from him.

“They’re smart, but killers like these, they’re addicted to it. It shouldn’t be long until they either of them break.”

“Maybe they’re using each other to get their urges under control.” His words causes Dave to look up from his own coffee mug. “Maybe the fact that they can go as long as they can without killing, is because they have each other.”

Dave knew that he was right.

*-*

They don’t fight often, but when they do, it’s like everything between them. It’s intense, loud and explosive. It’s dangerous.

He’s not sure what set them off this time, probably something dumb, probably the fact that they hadn’t killed in months. It made him irritable, it made her push his buttons in ways she usually wouldn’t, just to get a rise out of him. And it worked.

“I swear Emily, if you don’t shut up I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Her tone is icy, her smirk condescending as she interrupts him. “You’ll what Aaron? You’ll hit me? Be like your dad?”

It has the desired effect and he pushes her hard against the wall, the sound of her body colliding with it sending a satisfying shiver down his spine. His fingers dig into the back of her shoulders as he keeps her against the wall, his eyes locked on hers and he sees the familiar glint of pleasure in her dark orbs.

“You never know when to stop.” His words are hissed against her face and when she tries to squirm out of his hold he only grabs her harder, makes sure to leave bruises on her skin. “You think you’re in charge, but we both know that in the end you’ll be on your knees, begging for me. You’re not the one in charge here.”

She uses her strength to push him away, rage quickly flowing her veins. She had crossed the line first by bringing up his father, she knew that, but that didn’t stop her from feeling anger like fire inside of her at his words. He stumbles back, momentarily surprised by her strength and she smirks at the angered look on his face.

“You think you can control me?” She pushes him again, but this time he barely budges. “You’d be nothing without me.” Her words make something close to a growl rumble in his throat and she feels anger and arousal at the sound. He tries to grab her again, but she’s faster than him and she takes her gun from the table beside them.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” He chuckles, not afraid of her even when she points the gun at him. It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last. He takes a couple of steps forward, stands close enough for the barrel of the gun to press against his chest where she keeps it steady, a look of calmness coming over her as she grips the gun tighter.

“Don’t think I won’t do it.” She whispers and he laughs again, cold and close to manic and it reminds her of every time he would strangle a man to death. Like he reads her mind, his hand wraps around her throat, his hold tight enough for her to go lightheaded.

“I know you want to, I can see it, how badly you want to.” He takes in the view of his hand around her throat, catches the way she smirks as his grip loosens for her to draw a short breath. And then he pushes her back against the wall again, his hand still around her airway and his other hand digging out his knife from the pocket of his jeans.

“You want to kill me?” She juts her chin out, the barrel of the gun still pressed against his chest as her finger hovers over the trigger. The feeling of cold steel against her stomach makes her gasp, and when he presses even closer to her, she can feel him, hard and thick inside his jeans.

“I could do it, you know.” His words are quiet and cold and she knows that he’s right. That the only reason why he doesn’t is because he loves her. She loves him too, in whatever twisted way they had found love in the darkness of their world. He grabs her throat so tight her eyesight goes blurry and she feels the tip of his knife cut into her skin, nicking it and she moans at the sting.

“So do it.” She challenges, forcing words out through his hold and he relents just slightly.

“Maybe next time I will.” He throws the knife to the floor and then takes the gun from her and places it back on the table. She stays still, watches him through narrowed eyes as he takes in the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest heaves slightly from deep breaths.

“Don’t think this mean I’m still not mad at you.” She grabs his shirt and pulls him against her.

“Oh I’m counting on it.” He smirks before catching her lips in a kiss. There’s nothing romantic about it, tongues fighting for dominance and hands tearing at clothes, ribbing fabric and skin until they’re both naked.

She bites his chest, her teeth leaving an angry red mark in their wake as she kneels before him. Her hand is too harsh when she grabs his cock, and when he hisses she smirks up at him in satisfaction. He doesn’t seem bothered, his fingers easily gripping her dark hair and angles her head back. When he pushes his cock between her parted lips he groans at the smooth, wet heat of her mouth.

“Told you, you’d be on my knees for me.” He taunts her and when she grunts his hold on her hair only tightens as he thrusts his hips against her face. “Look who was right.”

She almost bites down on his shaft in retaliation, lets her teeth graze his skin in warning and he lets up.

“I swear the next time I’m pulling the trigger.” She rasps, her voice thick with arousal before she takes him back in her mouth, her lips tight around him as she sucks.

He wants to reply, but her tongue is doing something wicked against his skin, and he can’t seem to form a whole sentence together. Instead he settles for thrusting harder, making sure to poke at the back of her throat until she chokes and her eyes fill with tears.

When she feels him pull her up to stand, she’s so wound up she can feel her slick on her thighs. His thumb gently brushes a couple of tears away from her cheek and she licks her bottom lip.

“You’re so pretty like this.” He whispers and then claims her lips in a kiss and swallows up her moan as his fingers find their way between her legs.

“Fuck me, Aaron.” She gasps at the stretch of his fingers, still nowhere near the stretch of him and he bites down on her neck.

“I love how wet you get for me, how much the thought of killing me gets you off.” He mumbles against her neck as he moves her back through the house they’re renting in California. When she falls back against the bed he’s quick to join her, his heated eyes locked on hers as he hovers above her. “You love the thought of killing me almost as much as killing other men, don’t you.”

“Yes.” She digs her nails into his skin, makes sure to break skin for making her wait and he grunts in pained pleasure. “Just like I know you want to feel me gasp for breath as you strangle me, I can see it on you every time your hand wraps around my throat.”

When he finally pushes inside of her it’s hard and fast, his hips pressing against hers for only a moment before he starts to move.

“You’re right, sweet thing.” He pants, his hips thrusting hard and deep, a pace that’s close to violent and she meets him with every thrust. “I dream of it.”

“I know.” She grunts at the feel of him, huge and rough as he fucks the anger out of them both. Her legs tighten around his hips, one hand moves down between them to toy with her clit and when she tightens around him only a few minutes later she feels him smile into her neck.

“That’s it, come for me.” He licks a stripe up her neck, tastes the vibration of her moan as her back arches underneath him.

She comes with a scream that she doesn’t even try to keep down, her body spasming as her mind goes deliciously numb from pleasure. He doesn’t stop, even when she lays back limply against the bed. Instead he replaces her hand with his own over her clit, relishes the whimper that escapes her at the overstimulation.

“Again.” He tells her and she knows what he’s doing. That he’s proving his ownership on her by showing her that no one else would get her like this, just like she would dig her nails and teeth into his skin to claim him. He already had scars, thin, barely noticeable lines from where she had drawn blood in the past on his ribs and back, and every time she saw them she felt satisfaction.

She comes again, her body always so responsive to him and when she gasps for breath he flips her around and pulls her hips up. His hand is hot against her skin when he spanks her, and she whines at the slight sting, back arching for more. He spanks her three more times before pushing back inside of her again and she’s quick to move back against him, meeting each of his thrusts.

He makes her come three more times, dragging pleasure from her until it’s more painful than pleasurable and when he comes it’s with a strangled groan, his hands tight on her hips and head thrown back as he lets the power of his release wash over him. She’s trembling underneath him, exhaustion and pleasure making her muscles ache and when he lays down beside her, she just barely has enough energy to turn her head to look at him.

“We need to find someone soon.” She says and he nods, knowing that if they didn’t they’d only end up fighting again.

“I know baby, soon, I promise.”

*-*

The next time they kill, it wasn’t supposed to happen. They were keeping a low profile, they had ever since the news broke about them. It had been easier than Aaron had thought, they had rented a house in the middle of nowhere in California, Clyde Easter had shown up with new ID’s and passports, given them instructions to stay put until things had calmed.

It had been close to three months now and just like he had predicted, the news stopped reporting about them, the magazines that had been littered with the police sketch of them were gone. Sometimes it felt like it had been a bad dream, but he knew that they had to continue to be careful.

But Emily was restless, she wasn’t able to stay in one place for too long. That’s why they had gone for a drive, to get away from the house, and then they stopped at a tiny diner on the way back. It almost felt like normal until Aaron noticed a man looking at them, and he immediately knew that they had been caught.

“We have to go.” He mutters as he motions for the bill calmly.

“Why?” She stays just as calm, but her eyes are zeroed in on him, her back to the man that’s still watching them.

“There’s a man at the bar, I think he recognizes us.” Aaron smiles his thanks to the waitress and pulls out enough bills to cover the tab.

“Go to the bathroom and I’ll go to the car.” She rolls her eyes when he arches an eyebrow at her. “He’s more likely to follow me if I’m alone than us together or just you.”

“Fine.” He agrees, because he knows that she’s right. He stands up and she follows and then he goes towards the back where the bathrooms were but he could see the man in his peripheral, watching them closely.

Emily walks slowly out the door towards the car. She feels someone watching her and catches the man in the bar’s eyes but she keeps walking. Her ears are trained on any sound as she steps outside. It’s dark out, for that she was thankful and like she expected, she hears the door to the diner open after only a few seconds.

“Excuse me?”

She turns to the sound of a male voice and comes face to face with the man in the bar.

“Yes?” She smiles sweetly at him.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He walks closer, his phone in hand and she’s sure he’s already called 911, can hear the faint mumbling of a voice coming from the speaker..

“No, I don’t think so. I’m just visiting some family out here.” She backs up, continues further into the shadows and away from the lights of the diner. He follows her, but stays a few feet away.

“Is that so?” He asks and looks around quickly. “And the man you’re with?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” She talks quietly, makes sure that the 911 operator doesn’t hear her. The man stares at her for a few seconds, like he’s sizing her up and then he takes another step closer to her.

“The police are on their way, you might as well drop the-”

His sentence is cut short by Aaron coming up behind him, easily snapping his neck and his body falls to the ground. Emily smashes the phone quickly and opens the trunk to the car and Aaron places the body in the back.

“We have to go, the police are on their way.” She says, voice slightly laced with panic at being so close to getting caught.

“We need to leave, get away from here.”

With that, Aaron drives towards their rented house, feeling adrenaline rushing through his veins.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss smut #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x emily #aaron x emily #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss smut

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teecupangel · 6 months

Note

So I had this idea of Connor meeting adéwale who gets a sense of deja vu but can’t pinpoint from whereand the two of them teaming up to find the son of adewale’s friend and Connor’s father both not realizing that they are looking for the same person until they have a run in with haytham and adewale having a lot of things of Connor suddenly make sense with the reveal

So this would be a bit hard considering Shay killed Adéwalé while Ratonhnhaké:ton was just a kid but we can fudge it a bit. They did talk a bit after Shay struck him down so we can make this a case of “he almost died but he didn’t”.

Let’s say one of Adéwalé’s crewmembers survived and found him, dragging him out of danger and helping him survive.

During that time, Adéwalé dreams of Edward Kenway, of the past they shared, the letters they sent to one another…

When he wakes up, months have passed and he was still too weak that he could barely walk.

He had been transported to Port-au-Prince and being taken care of by his son, Babatunde Josèphe. His son tells him to rest and that they’re trying to get in contact with the Colonial Assassins but with no luck. Messengers either return empty handed, talking about the danger and the heightened Templar presence, or they do not return at all.

The Templars had the colonies under their control and it was becoming too dangerous to try and infiltrate the colonies while Shay Cormac, the Assassin Hunter, is on the hunt.

Adéwalé can’t do anything but try to heal his weak body, his mind dwelling deeper and deeper into the darkness the more news they hear about what had happened to the Assassins in the colonies.

The Assassins Adéwalé knew.

By the time he was strong enough, the damage had been done and the Brotherhood were too busy in France and Britain. Their letters asking Achilles if he needed help only being met with silence.

But Adéwalé knew he needed to go back there.

No.

He needed to see Haytham Kenway.

And kill him.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

Haytham Kenway had destroyed what the Kenway stand for, what Edward had worked so hard to create.

As Edward’s friend…

As his only remaining friend…

It was Adéwalé’s duty to destroy the last remaining Kenway before more damage could be done.

His son tells him he was projecting his guilt and anger to someone else.

His grandson did not understand why he was leaving.

Adéwalé was part of the past and he was dragging Haytham Kenway with him if it was the last thing he would do.

So he returns to the colonies and meets up with Achilles.

That’s when he meets up with the young man learning under Achilles.

Ratonhnhaké:ton.

There was something about him that reminded Adéwalé of Edward Kenway…

So he took Ratonhnhaké:ton under his wings as well and Achilles didn’t say anything. Ratonhnhaké:ton never told Adéwalé about his father by name because Achilles had told him months before Adéwalé had returned that he should keep it a secret.

Being known as Haytham Kenway’s son would only put him in danger.

So Ratonhnhaké:ton kept quiet.

And they formed a bond with Adéwalé assisting him.

Where Achilles pushed for caution, Adéwalé supported any way he can.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was free, like Edward. It would only serve to push him away if they try to chain him down.

The best way to support Ratonhnhaké:ton was to help him.

And then…

That faithful winter day…

In an abandoned church…

Ratonhnhaké:ton and Adéwalé come face to face with the man they were both searching for.

#and this is where shit goes down #dun dun dun #haytham could easily break their bond #… or so he thinks #you know what would hurt haytham?#if adéwalé says that ratonhnhaké:ton is more of edward’s kin that he would ever be #like haytham wouldn’t react to it #but internally?#dude has one of the biggest daddy issues in the franchise #both as the daddy and as the son XD #assassin's creed #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor kenway #haytham kenway #adewale #i'm not tagging shay since he only appear in the beginning #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot

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rainroses45 · 9 months

Note

HELLO!!! its me🌝 could you write a ff on miguel o’hara where reader gets hurt during a mission and doesn’t report in and miguel just goes crazy cause even though they’re not dating he still cares? LOTS AND LOTS OF ANGST POR FAVOR🫶

All I wanted was you

description: You don’t report back after a mission, and it’s sparking something deep inside Miguel (Miguel O’hara c fem. reader)

a/n: OMG THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST THANK YOU SO MUCH i hope you enjoy this as much as i have enjoyed writing it 🩷 (NOT EDITED)

song inspiration: All I wanted was you by Paramore

Warnings: LOTS AND LOTS ANGST, mentions of blood and injuries

The beating of his heart transformed into a horror of ticking sounds. The faster it went the more anxious thoughts he got. Why haven’t you reported back yet?

It was suppose to be a simple mission. He wouldn’t have sent you alone if it wasn’t. He wouldn’t have even sent you out at all.

“Maybe you should take some deep breaths and page her again?” Lyla recommended, once again appearing on Miguel’s shoulder for the forty time this hour.

“I’ve tried that already,” he sighed, “it just cuts to static.”

“Are you sure you are doing it right?” Lyla peered over to see, only to shunned off by a furious Miguel.

“You think I don’t know how to work THE FUCKING WATCH?!?” He yelled out as he threw the device across the room, not bothering if or if it didn’t shattered into millions of pieces.

“Not when you’re blinded by your emotions, isn’t that why you made me in the first place you furry face troglodyte?!” She contradicted him, “to help you when you are in this kind of state.”

Miguel rolled his eyes groaning at the AI, not bothering to respond back. He continued his intense search for you, looking at all of your locations last notified in before the signal went out.

————————

You laid back against the wall clutching your stomach as you took deep breathes. Even as you applied pressure to the wound, heavy amounts of red covered your hands and suit leaving you bare to the crisp air.

The mission was suppose to be easy, a simple get in and get out type of formation. You hadn’t realized something was wrong when entering the danger zone, and that was the first warning sign. Your spidy senses were blocked out in this universe, leaving you too vulnerable to serval attacks.

“No! No! No!” You whispered yelled as the sound of innocent civilians screams echoing through the alleyway. You tried to push yourself off the wall, balancing the weight of your body on your wobbly feet.

“Y/n- Y/n are- Y/n are you- are you there?!” A muffled voice asked - you knew it was his, and you so desperately wanted to answer back with a screaming “YES” but it was no use. If you answered now you would lead more danger onto the others. You had to do this by yourself.

You shot a web on your wound, using it as a makeshift band-aid before grabbing a rock and smashing the watch into pieces.

“Sorry Miguel, but I can’t afford another loss.”

——————-

“PINCHE BASURA DE MIERDA!” The keyboard was crushed under his firm grasp. The little letter keys scattered to the floor as Miguel’s knuckles turned white. You had destroyed it.

He was so close - so close to finding your location and you crushed it like a piece of glass.

“Lyla,” he grunted out as he retracted his claws from the destroyed technology. The clock taunting him back with a flick of the hand.

“Lyla!” He bellowed seeing as the AI didn’t appear to his answers. “Lyla I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING GOOD IF YOU DON’T SHOW UP I WILL DISCONNECT YOU!” He let out a shaky breath. The situation reminded him too much of Gabriella, and he just couldn’t let it go down like that again. He just couldn’t.

“What do you want?” She appeared on his shoulder, face turned away from his trembling gaze.

“I need you to call for back up.” His mask already covered his face, yet she could still see the way his eyes turned bloody under the pressure of you not reporting back.

He never admitted out loud that he loved you. He didn’t need to. Everywhere you went, he followed behind you like a lost puppy. Every thing you wanted, he made sure to give it to you in a matter of seconds. It was the love sick stares when you weren’t watching that attracted the attention of other’s curiosity. The only thing holding him back from expressing his love out loud, was the fear of uncertainty, and it was eating him from the inside right now.

“Why don’t you assemble a team right now?” She questioned, hoping she wasn’t thinking what he was thinking. It would be a suicide mission if he went alone without back up.

“I don’t have time for that.” He typed in the coordinates of your last location. “She doesn’t have time for that.” He whispered before running through the portal.

———————————

You didn’t know how long you had been standing there. Bodies laid on the floor like flowers swaying in a forgotten meadow. The adrenaline once keeping you standing now left you on the ground with nothing.

You tried your best. You gave everything you had, yet it wasn’t good enough. Hundreds of lives were taken under a matter of seconds. You couldn’t tell where your blood trail started nor who it stained.

“Y/n!” Goosebumps erupted from your body, covering the skin that wasn’t pouring out your blood. He shouldn’t have come.

“Y/n!” He called out once more swinging to reach you; his mask disappearing. His shaking hands grabbed your shoulders, ignoring the corpses around him, and only focusing on the tears pouring out of your puffy eyes.

“Gracias a Dios que estás bien,” he pulled you into his chest letting you hear his fast beating heart.

“Are y okay? What hap- happened? Did you-“ His voice came in and out, leaving you with a confused face and a pounding headache.

“Lyla!” He called out to her, asking when was back up coming. His eyes never left your face. It wasn’t until a sticky wet feeling tainted his skin that he noticed the wound.

“Fuck! Okay, okay Y/n, sweetheart I need you to keep your eyes open.” He laid you down on the ground gently, pulling apart your suit to see the gash. You let out a painful scream as he applied pressure onto your injury.

“I’m sorry.” His hands began to tremble, making him yell out in frustration. Now was not the time to start panicking.

“Miguel,” you whispered out, placing a hand on his when he didn’t turn your way. “Miguel it’s okay.” You stated, he shook his head scrunching his eyes trying to clear his blurry eyes.

“No it’s not Y/n, you aren’t going to die on me. You can’t.” He cried out as you looked at him sadly. “You can’t give up that easily y/n! YOU CANT DO THAT TO ME!” He screamed applying more pressure, causing you even more pain.

“Miguel you need to let go!” You mumbled out, your conscious fading in and out of the conversation.

“I can’t Y/n! I fucking can’t!” The sound of sirens filled the air. Even as you laid splattered in blood, your hair tangled up and face filled with bruises, he still thought you looked beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your grasp on his hand loosened as your eyes closed for the very last time.

“NO!” Quickly, he began to do chest compressions, the crushing sounds of your ribs gave him no indication of stopping. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He did not care. He needed you. He couldn’t live without you. All he ever wanted, all he ever needed was dead and he couldn’t cope with that.

Maybe if he had revealed he loved you before it wouldn’t have hurt this much, maybe if he never had fallen for you he wouldn’t have felt anything.

But in the end, all he was always going to loose you.

#angst tag #anon <3 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider man 2099 #spider man across the spider verse #major character death #sad ending #i’m crying #request #miguel spiderverse #i tried #anon request

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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

Text

Gale Seeking Godhood Part V Path 2 & 3

Good morning! It may be a slow writing day, I did wake up early to get this out at the very least. This is Part V/5 of Gale seeking Godhood and this is the next chapter to take Path's 2 & 3

Gale's POV

“Tara, look at what you’ve done," Gale looked down at his tattered robe, his skin raw from where she swiped. "Ruined this perfectly good robe.” Gale said through gritted teeth. "My mother got me this, I'll have you know."

Tara looked at him, her eyes slits and she yawned. “Oh, please. On the brink of Godhood, burning every bridge you have and you’re worried about your robe? You’re a grown man, Mr. Dekarios - soon to be God, apparently. Surely you can use the Weave to mend it.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.” He shot back at her and fingered the ripped fabric. Although he chided her about it, the robe wasn’t the source of his upset and irritation at all.

After all this time, you had come here to spy on him, breeching the crevices of his mind. It was such an invasion of privacy and trust and Gale fumed. As far as Gale knew you could have been dead. You hadn’t sent so much as a polite letter so imagine his shock when you arrived to strip him of his dignity.

Didn’t you know he was on the brink of something remarkable? Something extraordinary? How could you not see that? How could you not see what this meant for him - for both of you?

He paced in the study, rubbing his thumb against his lips. “Did you put them up to this?” Gale pointed a finger at her as he accused her. He scowled. Tara said nothing and licked her paw unbothered. “Tara.”

“Does it matter? Even if I had, you refuse to see reason. Your short sightedness is shamefull. ” She let out a long and weary sigh, “I suppose this is goodbye, then, Mr. Dekarios.”

“Wait - what?” Gale snapped his head, eyeing her. Surely she didn’t mean to leave. Hadn’t that been hypothetical? She would return even if she left. He knew she would, she always did - after any histrionic showing, Tara always returned. Although something sickly festered in his chest, a nagging sensation that perhaps this time she would not.

“I told you already and so I’ll say it once more since your hubris seems to be blocking your ability to hear. If you are hellbent on pursuing Godhood, I will not be here to see it.”

“You can’t mean that.” Gale said, his voice suddenly faltering in confidence. You he understood, but Tara?

“Oh, I do Mr. Dekarios. I very much mean it. If you are willing to throw everything away for - Power? Vanity? The Gale I knew was foolish and stubborn, not malicious. And yet here you stand, willing to give up those who despite everything, have tried to help you.”

“You’ll be back.” Gale said, disbelieving his own words. Tara let out a low whine - a mournful sound - before sauntering out to the patio and taking flight. “She’ll be back.” Gale repeated, as if saying it again might make it true.

***

The days passed slowly. Gale found himself talking to imaginary versions of Tara to fill the emptiness. He was consumed with night terrors, with the fear that this will have been for nought. They’ll see, he thought, they must understand. They’re just angry.

For so long Gale had wanted this - to live among the Gods. You had encouraged him - or rather, had not dissuaded him - until he had already begun his search for the crown. This is why it was so difficult for Gale to fathom your distaste, your utter disregard of what he wanted - what he deserved. You had encouraged him to learn more, to not overshare with Mystra his intentions. Despite telling him you valued Gale as he was, he couldn’t believe that. How could he when Godhood was within his grasp? How could you prefer him as he was?

From the moment Mystra brought him to the Astral Planes to lift the intricate and forbidden veils, he had felt a sense of tranquility and yearning he hadn’t thought possible. He dreamed of living among the stars, apart from this world that callously turned its back on him time and time again.

Yes, he was mortal but he shouldn’t have been. He deserved more.

***

He came to Gale on a dark, sunless morning. The waters lapped violently against the dock, the impending storm close on the horizon as Gale brooded, gazing out the picture window.

The night prior Gale had made a massive breakthrough in the cipher of the texts - he needed one more phrase, one final phrase, and at last he could ascend. He was so close to his goal he could nearly taste it. Once he ascended, he knew you would see reason - that you would join him to spend eternity together. You deserved the world along with him and Gale had every intention of sharing that with you. He knew he was remarkably persuasive and was confident your emotions will have cooled enough to join him.

“A once prodigal Wizard clutching at the tethers of Godhood…A tale as old as time itself.” The dark chuckle flooded the room and Gale sat upright, startled. He knew that voice. Gale turned greeted by the glowing, demonic eyes of someone he was intimately aquatinted with.

Raphael.

Gale felt a burst of panic bubble within him and did his best to compose himself. “Ah, Raphael,” he said in a tighter voice than he intended, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, what a shame, I expect you to be more clever than this. After all, you’re knocking on Godhood’s door - you must know why I am paying you a visit.” A fiendish smile etched Raphael’s expression and he leaned against the doorframe. Gale knew what Raphael came for.

“I regret to inform you that what you’re looking for isn’t here.” A smug grin curled across Gale’s lips. “You think I’d be foolish enough to keep the stones here? Or in one place, for the matter, until I was prepared to ascend?”

Raphael’s look darkened, his mouth souring. “My, my. There are only so many places a mortal can hide things as powerful as the Nether Stones. I’m sure they will not be difficult to find,” he hissed, stepping forward towards Gale, “So Gale Dekarios, do you think this is a journey to your salvation or to your death? Imagine, this horrible journey could all be over if you see reason,” Raphael snapped his fingers, conjuring an illusion of Gale and you happily languishing in bed on a cool winter’s day, limbs entwined and cheeks red. Gale felt his body respond to the image and flicked his hand as if to push the image away. But Devil’s Magic was not the same as the Weave.

“I said it before and I will again -“ Gale’s face was dark, menacing, “Handing the crown over to you would be like handing gunpowder to a lava worm. I will not do it. I’d sooner die before I saw it make its way into the hands of a devil.“

Raphael’s coy laughter defiled him. “Oh, I have a feeling you’ll change your mind,” he said as he dispersed the image around them, holding his crooked elbow with his hand as he thoughtfully stroked his chin. “You really do think so highly of yourself. One might say you’re a paragon of luck, both defeating the Elder Brain, the tadpole, recovering the Crown of Karsus - tasting Godhood. Within your clutches, the power of the Crown - ancient and full of wonder.”

Raphael began to circle Gale, his clawed fingers running along Gale’s shoulders. Gale shrugged him off, disgusted by his smarmy touch. "I have craved it myself, even since the archwizard Karsus created it, long centuries ago, and brought doom to the empire of Netheril. That was the great age of humanity," Rapheal said, almost forlorn, "and Netheril's flying cities were the apex of civilization," He paused dramatically to conjure the image of the crumbling city with a flourish. Gale watched in abject horror.

"I was there the day it all fell apart. Entire cities plummeted from the sky, like angels with broken wings. The screams - oh the screams - hundreds of thousands of people watching in horror as the ground came up to meet them." Raphael's black laugh made him dizzy, "It was not a happy meeting. And Karsus was responsible - not driven by malice, but by ambition. He forged a crown imbedded with all the powers of magic, a crown that would make any who wear it a God. Men cannot contain so much power. The crown destroyed its creator, and his empire fell with him. Karsus' Folly the bards and scholars called it. I call it hope. The hope of creating a better world and unchecked hubris. I knew then the folly of mortals could be the triumph of devils."

"I am not Karsus." Gale spat, "I will not fail."

Raphael's cool, slow laugh seemed to taunt him. "In many ways I owe your lover a debt of gratitude. You've both done me a favor. It is thanks to them that you, the Wizard of Waterdeep, have recovered the pieces of Karsus’ power. Without them, you would not have survived the appetites of the tadpole, it would have feasted on your brilliant mind and your talent would have been snuffed out forever.” Raphael grinned, his tongue flicking out like a snake, “Mere survival was not enough for you, though. Saving your world from the Gods and Monsters that threatened it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. Your lover encouraged you to ignore every sensible instinct, to ignore the lesson of Karsus’ Folly and to reach for the heavens. They were the spark that rekindled your hubris and set you on this course that will make celestial quake. Now tell me, would you like me to spare you the sordid details or would you like me to paint the whole picture?”

Gale felt his chest clench. What was he getting at? Raphael picked up on Gale’s discomfort, feeding on it like a succubus. “Let’s imagine you unlock the final phrase in that Netherese Tome you’ve been pouring over - will you take the Weave from Mystra or become a God of your own making?” Gale gnashed his teeth and remained silent. “A God of your own making, then," Raphael mused before continuing, “the God of Ambition.” Gale felt his stomach sink and tried desperately to shield his mind from Raphael poking around, but he began to wonder if he was in his mind at all.

“What?” Gale’s words stumbled from his lips.

Raphael rose a brow, “Surely this is not news to you, Gale Dekarios. Ambition is as much a part of the fabric of your being as your talents with magic. Don’t be coy. You know, I longed for the crown to satisfy my own ambitions… I’m rather furious it continues to elude me. But, I have assessed the situation and pondered every variable, plotted every possible course and I have come to realize this is for the best.”

Gale froze. “What are you saying exactly?” If Raphael truly intended to give up his quest for the crown Gale had one question. Why?

Raphael’s demonic chuckle cloaked Gale, wrapping him in dark tentacles that slithered into his mind. “Now, what fun would it be if I spoiled the surprise?”

“Spit it out, Raphael.” Gale sneered.

“Tsk, tsk, such impatience - continue to overreach your limits, and you will see soon enough for yourself.” Raphael teased, stepping back towards the opening of Gale’s study. “Ambition,” Raphael cackled as he dissolved into a red sulfurous cloud as his final words suffocated Gale: “Such a delicious sin for mortal kind to indulge in. Such a dreadful weapon for an immortal to wield. See you soon.”

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 brainrot #gale #god gale #gale x tav #baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #baldur’s gate 3

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whumped-by-glitter · 15 days

Text

Day 7: Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / “Is that blood?!”

*for those of you that are following along and had to skip day 5: Whumpee was had a sonic based power awaken due to fear and stress. They were also turned into some kind of living art project by one extremely creepy whumper.

⚠️ CW: Hand Injury, Blood, Emotional Whump/Angst, Creepy Whumper (Mentioned)

Day 6 Here <

Leader was pacing in his office. He often did that these days. It had been 2 weeks since Whumpee went missing, and just under a week since Youngest ran off. Honestly, Leader was shocked that he hadn’t worn a path in the floor yet.

He heaved a sigh; he’d been doing a lot of that too. The failed mission where Whumpee went missing was all his fault. Why did he even bring them along on that? Now Youngest had run off. His team was dropping like flies, and it seemed like not only was he powerless to stop it, but he was also the cause. He slammed his fist into the cement wall out of frustration.

There came a gentle knock at the door, his second in command, Jace, barged in without waiting for an answer.

“Sir, we got another package this morning,” Jace said grimly, handing Leader yet another brown envelope, hands shaking.

Leader drew a deep breath in before taking it. It matched the first one that they had received. He paused before opening it, “has there been any progress tracing the first one?” he asked hopefully.

Jace shook his head sadly, “whoever sent it knew what they were doing.”

Leader barely acknowledged the reply, it was not the answer he had hoped to hear. He steeled himself and began to tear open the envelope.

He could tell Jace was holding his breath same as him as he slowly, reluctantly, began to pull out the contents. Both men were afraid of what the envelope held.

The first thing Leader pulled out was a sheet of paper. Upon inspection it read:

‘My Dearest Team:

You are cordially invited to the art exhibition “Falling Angel” featuring the art of the talented Mr. Whumper. The exhibit will be open to invitees for a private viewing on Sunday April 14, 2024. It will then be open to the public April 15-17, 2024. There will be live demonstrations and refreshments served throughout the event.

The location and map are included in this packet, along with tickets for each of you good for the private viewing tomorrow.

We understand that it is short notice, but we do hope you can make it. After all this exhibition couldn’t have been possible without Leader and your team. We sincerely thank you for your contribution to this truly magical event.

~ Whumper’

Leader’s mouth went dry, and his head swam as he numbly dumped the tickets on the table, along with a map with an address. “I guess that proves my theory right,” he muttered, completely gutted. “there’s enough tickets to include Youngest, they’re not together.”

Jace picked up the letter that Leader had laid face down, so he too could read it. He didn’t know what to make of it. This Whumper person seemed completely unhinged. Then something made him realize something. He quick grabbed Leader’s chair and hopped on their computer. Sure enough….

“Hey, Leader, come look at this.”

A quick google search revealed that Whumper was a convicted murderer and was recently let out of prison on good behavior.

“FUCK!” a fist slammed the desk, denting it.

“It’s not your fault Leader, you couldn’t have known,” Jace tried to comfort him best he could.

“You know good and fucking well it is! You even told me not to take him!”

Jace gently wiped a tear from Leader’s face, “well get them back, both of them.”

“Just go tell Caretaker to be in my office ready to leave by 5 am, same as you, rest of the team stays, we need people to stay to look out for Youngest. I also refuse to risk losing anyone else.” Leader hardened his face and ordered sternly, pulling away from Jace.

Jace turned and left without another word, at a complete loss for what else to say.

Once he was certain he was alone again, Leader broke. The end of the letter just served to further twist the knife of guilt that was already firmly imbedded in his chest.

He turned back to the wall he had punched earlier, and just unloaded. He let loose punch after punch. Soon he started to leave the white wall decorated with bloody fist marks, but Leader could not stop. He kept going, in a desperate attempt to numb the internal anguish.

‘thud’

Blow after blow landed on the wall, until Leader could feel bone shattering. He turned and sunk against the wall, fists dripping blood. He had hoped the pain would clear his head, but it only served to make it so that there was pain in his hands and his mind. They had to get Whumpee back tomorrow, they just had to.

---

An hour or so later there was another knock on his office door.

“Go away,” Leader ordered. He noticed he sounded drunk, despite being more sober than he’d ever been.

“I’m coming in, sir.” Caretaker replied, ignoring their commander.

“I told you to fuck off, didn’t you hear me, you have your orders for the morning.”

It was no use, Caretaker barged in anyway. “I don’t care what you told me; I deserve to know what’s going on,” They noticed Leader was not at their desk before their eyes fell on the wall behind leader. “What the hell?! Is that Blood?!” they exclaimed, rushing over to Leader. “What happened?” Panic was evident in their voice.

“Nothing, it’s fine, get some rest,” Leader gave a halfhearted shooing motion.

Caretaker’s concern increased when they saw the state of Leader’s knuckles. They immediately set to healing them. “What were you thinking? We’re about to attempt a rescue and you what, bust up your knuckles? How did you plan on fighting like this?” Caretaker lectured.

Leader had no answer for their questions. He wasn’t thinking, he was just in pain, pain from wounds that Caretaker couldn’t heal. Nothing would heal them but their two teammates’ safe return.

Once his knuckles were fixed as best as caretaker could, they were not a miracle worker after all, they turned back to wanting filled in on Whumpee. “What is going on? Jace said we have a location on Whumpee?”

Leader nodded and waved to his desk where the contents of the package were still scattered.

Caretaker followed the gesture. They picked up the letter and read it. Tears welled up in their eyes. “hell, this is almost certainly a trap,” they said, barely above a whisper, voice cracking.

Leader nodded, “that’s why It’ll just be Jace, you, and me tomorrow. I don’t even want to take you, but I have a feeling your healing is going to be essential. I cannot lose anyone else,” He sounded resigned, broken. His face looked so weary.

Caretaker came and slid down the bloodied wall next to Leader. the two friends sat in comfortable silence. Each realized sleep was going to be an impossibility that night.

Event Prompts Here

My Event Masterlist Here

@whumperofworlds, @3-2-whump, @whumpsandbumps, @pigeonwhumps

#tw blood #tw creepy whumper #tw emotional whump #wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 7 #bloodied knuckles #wounded #“is that blood?”

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gyllenhaalstories · 1 year

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WORKS LIKE A CHARM — JERRY BRINSON

summary: there’s nothing like a lazy evening with jerry, nothing like it.

warnings: i tried to keep the story in the 1960s setting but there is probably a bunch of anachronisms, alcohol, smut (hickeys, masturbation, handjob, blowjob, thigh riding, cockwarming) 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2060

gifs credits: me @gyllenhaalstories / divider credit: @/firefly-graphics

notes: this one goes in the nsfw tumblr text posts that live in my mind rent free category. there is no spoiler of significance for the movie wildlife, you’re good to read even if you’re just here for the dilf vibes! thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

You tapped your pen on your pouting lips, wrinkles forming on your forehead.

Jerry moved slowly, as to not disturb you. He paid so little attention to the radio to the point he did not notice that whatever sports game he was listening to had ended and music was filling the silence.

You did not know what he was focusing on, you could not see him that well from your position anyway. With your head resting comfortably on his thigh and your head titled in direction of the newspaper you were holding in your hands, you could only see the maze of words in front of you.

Jerry brought you newspapers on his way back from work. He was not interested by the content of them, but he knew you liked the word puzzles in them. He got them from free, the young boy that distributed the newspapers always left one at the store on accident, but he would buy them for you anyway. He could not put a price on that bright smile of yours when you completed one of those games.

More taps on your lips, more humming of concentration. “Do you think they can make mistakes in those games? They’re new and all, maybe someone needs to call and inform them the puzzles are flawed — nevermind.”

“Y’got it?” Jerry mumbled before taking a sip of beer from the bottle that he rested on his other thigh.

“Yeah.” You chuckled softly and circled the letters of the newly found word.

“Gotta be patient, sweetheart. You know you always finish them.”

You moved your head so you could tilt it back and look up at Jerry. Your eyes met with a small, playful but sincere grin. You squinted and tried to fake annoyance, but when he reached to stroke your cheek, your expression softened.

Jerry was not a man of many words, he kept most of them to himself at least.

You were learning to search his face to find an answer like you searched your puzzles. The answer you found in his eyes made you smirk. He was not looking back at you, his eyes were staring at other parts of your body.

At this angle, your neck was exposed and taunted him. It looked perfect, he wanted to wrap his hand around it in a gentle yet possessive manner and feel a breath getting caught in your throat. Further down, the hem of your shirt teased him. The fabric was old, worn out and he could see there was nothing underneath it to cover your skin. The soft curve of your breasts sent a wave of arousal through his body.

You chose to let him be. He was a man of few words, indeed. But if he wanted to see more than a peek of skin under your clothes, he would need to use his words.

He set his now empty bottle of beer on the table next to the couch. The back of his hand caressed your skin, simultaneously spreading goosebumps over both yours and his body.

You circled a word, crossed it off the list.

He shifted in his seat, rested his free hand next to the zipper of his pants.

You moved slightly along with him, Jerry started to palm at his growing bulge.

His eyes were undressing you. There was something about a peaceful and quiet moment with you that made him comfortable. He could relax his tense shoulders, let out a deep and content sigh. There was also something about you — your cute frown when you were struggling with a part of the puzzle, how you just looked so beautiful and irresistible. It worked like a charm for him. It made everything else disappear until there was only you and him that mattered in the world at that very moment.

You tried to progress in your work, but it was useless. Jerry was squirming on the couch and made it hard for you to simply lay down and pretend you did not need to touch him as much as he needed to touch you too.

You folded the newspaper in half, squeezed your pen in the middle of it and tossed the items on the coffee table.

Meanwhile, Jerry undid the zipper of his pants and freed his cock from his underwear.

You sat up next to him, turning towards him. You kissed him, softly at first.

He wrapped his hand around his length and moaned against your lips when he stroked himself slowly.

You pulled away from the kiss, a thin strand of spit linked your lips together.

“I —” Jerry spoke, thumb stroking over the tip of his cock when you interrupted him with another kiss. “I want you.”

You pressed your forehead against his and nodded ever so lightly, ready to give him whatever he needed. Your body was impossibly closer to his, it was uncomfortable, but you did not even mind.

When your hand reached down, Jerry locked yours immobile on his thigh. He looked at you while he stroked his cock faster, tighter. He twisted his fist around his hard-on.The more your jaw was dropping, the faster he was stroking himself and filling the silence with small grunts.

The grunts echoed in your mind, empty at the exception of the thought of needing him so badly. You wanted to whine, to let him know you did not like that lesson of patience.

He brought his hand up to your mouth, you spit on it, and before he could let one drop go to waste, he continued to jerk himself off while he watched you, watching him.

You wiggled your hand that was forced down by his own, his grip surprisingly firm and stubborn. You sighed and busied yourself with his neck when he gave you access to it, dropping his head back when your lips dragged around the skin over his Adam’s apple.

When you began sucking on a small spot of his neck, he let out a few whispered curse words from the feeling. His chest rose and fell faster and faster. The more hickeys you left on his skin, the closer he was getting. No biting the inside of his cheek, no closing his eyes to focus on the feeling of your mouth rather than his cock throbbing in his hand — nothing would help slowing down the imminent release.

You moved your hand again, only now earning the permission to touch him. You wasted no time and replaced his hand, slick with spit and precum, by yours. You stroked him slow, then you were reaching down to his balls and back up to his sensitive tip.

Jerry needed you more than words could say and this slow pace he usually loved was making him grow frustrated. He placed his hand on top of yours, wrapping yours so he could set the rhythm he needed. “Yeah.”

“Feels good?” You murmured, cheek pressed against his own while you both looked down to his crotch surrounded by the beige clothed thighs you loved so much.

He groaned in response. “Feels too damn good.”

You noticed how the muscles of his thighs clenched and how the steady strokes of your hands together became more erratic. It was now or never.

“What are ya doing? Goddamn.” Jerry moaned even louder when you replaced both of your hands with your mouth, now leaning down in front of him to suck him off. He moved a hand on top of your head and bopped your head up, and down and up and...

Your mouth was filled with him. You closed your eyes and moaned, the vibrations made his hips jerk up and thrust further into your mouth. You gagged and fought the urge to pull back, you would not let any drop go to waste either.

Jerry kept you in place for a few more seconds, until he could not handle the overwhelming feeling of your tongue swiping over his slit to lick him clean. “That’s my good girl.”

You sat up again, he swiped his thumb over your lips and pushed it in your open mouth so you could clean it up. You swallowed all of him and erased the distance between the two of you to kiss him deeply.

The kiss worked like a charm, it was like he read your mind. He helped you move on the couch so one knee rested between his open legs and the second was on the other side.

You lowered yourself, lower and lower and...

He raised his leg to press it against your covered core. Jerry’s hands squeezed your face, another kiss. They dropped to your neck, wrapping his hands around it until they dropped down to grope your breasts and pinch your nipples between his fingers — another kiss.

You started to ride his thigh, slow and hesitant at first. You could feel the fabric against your folds, it was wet from your own arousal.

Just like he did with your hand when you were jerking him off, Jerry was in charge of the pace. His grip on your hips was firm, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Back and forth, he made you hump his thigh to his heart’s content.

And cock too — you looked down between your bodies to notice how it started twitching. You needed him inside you so bad, it was like you craved the familiar stretch of his cock.

Again, just like he did earlier, he was not going to let you have what you wanted so easily. He wanted to make you wait, he wanted to keep you needy and desperate. He meant no harm at all, he simply adored the look of your face where all that you could express was your desire and pleasure.

Eyes closed, alternating between biting your lips or pressing them together before you failed to silence another moan. He loved it, and you enjoyed the rough friction of his pants and your pyjama bottoms as you kept riding.

Jerry looked up at you with big, dark eyes. He could feel it on his own skin, your wetness pooling under you and on his thigh. More, more, more, that was all he was thinking about — that and the soft, higher-pitched tone of your voice when you started to beg.

It felt good, then better, then even better, but it was not enough. But you did not want to stop humping his thigh. But you wanted him buried deep inside you. But you had to fight with this dilemma of wanting to stop to sink down on his cock instead or giving in and staying in this exact position.

Jerry made the decision for you. “Not gonna get off me until you cum, sweetheart.” His nails, although short, left marks into your skin. He admired your reactions, studying them to catch the first signs of your orgasm.

And they came. A single tear fell from the corner of your eye, a breath got stuck in your throat and interrupted another series of pretty pleases.

Jerry helped you ride out your orgasm, only slowing down when you were too sensitive to handle one more harsh, wet drag of your swollen clit against his pants. He wiped the tear off your cheek and gave your lips a loving peck.

Your legs were on fire, and the fact Jerry helped you straddle both of his legs was not helping. Mind foggy, empty, it took some time for it to be your turn of reading his mind. Your eyes widened in surprise, waves of pain and pleasure battled through your core when you felt him press the tip of his cock to your leaking entrance. Finally.

“Told ya, all you needed was a little patience.” Finally. Only, Jerry had no interest in moving. He wanted to enjoy the feeling of you, the relaxing and the clenching of your walls while you adjusted to his length as you fully calmed down from your high.

His mind was like a puzzle, near impossible to put two pieces together. It bothered you, you wanted to know him like the back of your hand. But at that very moment, all that mattered was how the rest of the world seemed to have vanished. The puzzles could wait, whether they were metaphorical or in the newspapers.

#jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jerry brinson #jerry brinson smut #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal x you

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thevikingwoman · 2 months

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another letter reached Meryta before she sets out for the Rak'tika Greatwood

Fandom: FFXIV | Words: 786 | Read on Ao3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | during A Little Faith | romance Rating: Teen. Letters, longing

LETTERS AND LONGING, PART 3

The next letter finds her at the Imperative. They’re looking for remnants of the Church of the First Light, but before she starts looking in earnest, the post moogle bounces into her view.

“I came all the way from Fort Jobb, Kupo! You better be grateful.”

She ensures it she is, and sends it off with her thanks and a plea to wait and rest at least a little, to give her a chance to write back. The moogle hums and agrees, scuttling off to rest in the shade. It’s not been long since she sent her last letters, but when she opens it, it’s clear Tansui has received his already. The moogles – or Feo Ul – must be working overtime. Perhaps it helps to be king.

Tansui congratulates her on her win, and she’s not sure what to make of that. She fights and she wins and it’s what everyone expects. It feels different in his words, however, his expectations more like support, and less like a duty. Like he seems equally proud and concerned for her, between his teasing words. Or perhaps that he wants her to win for herself, and not because anyone else expects her to. He sounds relieved too, and it feels good to know he’s concerned.

Tansui tells news from the Confederacy, a long story about a hapless captain unwilling to let go of his cargo when met with mostly newer recruits. Until one of them had put an arrow between the man’s feet, perhaps backed up by Tansui’s scowl. His letter downplays his own role, and she can feel how proud he is of the people he trains. It had turned out that the captain had spent his very last gil on his cargo, and in a vain hope of maximizing his profits had all but forgotten about the ruby tithe. The ship’s hold had been filled with Hingan furniture bound for Eorzea, and now the Confederacy is the proud owner of gleaming red-lacquered garden benches.

She imagines it, pretty benches in the sand. Mayhap they will pass them on to Doma in a trade, but truly she does not know if the Domans need them any more than the Confederacy.

She chuckles at the story, as she sits on the stairs as she reads. Thancred passes by, a curious look on his face, but he doesn’t ask. She should help with the search, but mostly the letter makes her want to go to him again. With his letters, she knows that he did not tire of her visits, that he wants her. The thought makes her happy, warmth coursing through her. He says as much too, that he misses her, that he wants to hold her, kiss her, touch her.

She looks at the aetheryte, the sparks of aether currents humming about it. It would be so easy, to throw herself into the lifestream, to see him. To feel his hands on her.

His lips.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, his beard scratching across her chest…

Minfilia bounces up the ramp to her left, a white blur of motion. Meryta shakes her head. As much as she wants to, she can’t leave now. Not even a day’s rest here, and who knows if a trip will be an hour or a week on the First. Maybe soon, when they’ve met with Y’shtola, she can find time. Or mayhap when they’ve delt with the next Lightwarden.

She shudders at the thought. She’ll keep going, no matter how terrified she is, for the sake of those she can save, but right now her mind turns to Tansui first. His smirk and the challenge in his eyes. The affectionate words in his letters, and the appreciation in his hands.Curiously, she finds determination in thinking of him, a promise to see him again, her battles done. There’s a hunger to not only win for herself, or the scions, or everyone else; but so that she can go to him, victorious. She’ll never give up and flee a battle, that is not her nature, but this kind of longing is new.

Across the courtyard, Urianger braces himself against a heavy door. It’s probably stuck from disuse. He seems to have the task well in hand, as it swings open, and he disappears into the darkness.

She should write tonight, at least. She wonders what he’d think if she put her desires, her yearning, on paper, but she’s not sure she can find her words as easily with pen in hand as in her mind. He surely wouldn’t mind, his boldness always evident. She blushes, want running through as she think of his touch again, and tucks the letters into her clothing.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfic #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy 14 fanfic #wol x tansui #tansui wol #one more letter ah #getting confident #not quite admitting to herself how much he means #but we're getting there #meryta khatin #this is it !#for now #writing about meryta #viking writes #first published 2/25/2024 #ffxiv tansui

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animepopheart · 1 year

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I want to put this out there for others who may be dealing with this firm or with something similar in hopes of helping you.

Tumblr removed one of my posts on @beneaththetangles and gave us a strike (three and you're out!) because a DMCA firm claimed we stole it...

The post that I wrote..featuring photos I took...posted on a website I own...based on an interview I conducted with a personal friend.

The firm's name is DMCA Piracy Prevention Inc. They're located out of Canada, apparently. The "copyright holder" is Michael Hecl, though through searches, I've seen other names used in other claims.

Here’s a portion of the letter Tumblr sent when the claim went through:

DMCA Piracy Prevention Inc. might be a scam or it might be a very poorly run company. Responses I’ve seen by them online indicate either could be true The company never reached out to me before submitting the claim and did not respond to repeated email requests I sent before I finally submitted a counter-claim to Tumblr.

Speaking of Tumblr, I don’t expect much to come out of my counter-claim. This site has denied me on four (!) previous occasions where I had received permission to post artwork but was reported as not having permission to do, even though I provided proof of my claim and followed all of Tumblr’s directions in doing so.

Just a reminder, I’m sure the people working at Tumblr are wonderful, but the firm is not on your side. They don’t support you, even though their marketing makes it seem as if they do. They are no better than Twitter, even though they’ve taken aim at that company as of late. In fact, Tumblr is similar to that platform when it comes to the issues they have, but with hypocrisy on top of it all (Look we’re selling a blue verification sticker haha we’re so clever! BUT PAY US FOR IT.).

I’ll repost this at some point with follow-up let you know how it resolves. DMCA Piracy Prevention has ten days to “initiate legal action directly against you for the alleged infringement” (way to scare off all the small artists and writers out there, yeesh!).

If you have similar problems with this company, feel free to reach out to me. I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

#tumblr #dmca #copyright #signal boost #blogging

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supermarine-silvally · 2 months

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relationship asks: 40 to 50 for Portada?? emphasis on 48 bc potential Law interaction 👀👀 I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been down lovely :(( sending good vibes your way and there’s no way you can dodge them <33 -🍂

Aww thank you so much Alvita!!! I appreciate it a lot!! <33

40) What's a secret one would never tell the other?

Well, they know each other’s MAJOR secret (i.e. their parentage) and Yara also told Ace about what really went down on Phestris Island with Cipher Pol (when she acquired her Devil Fruit) so I feel like the secrets that they end up keeping from each other are really petty. Like, “I accidentally broke your favourite mug but you assumed Thatch did it and I never bothered to correct you because I didn’t want you to be mad at me”

41) If they had to spend a month apart, how would they fare?

They probably spent at least a month or more apart during Ace’s Blackbeard hunt (before the battle on Banaro Island and its, shall we say, “aftermath”) and while neither of them was happy to be apart from the other that long, they managed to cope alright. They had a piece of each other’s vivre card (Ace had folded his into the shape of a heart before he gave it to her) and could see that the other was doing well through that, and they wrote letters back and forth the whole time. Ace sent Yara a bunch of goodies from his travels, too. Mostly stuff he stole for her.

42) If someone else assumes they are romantic partners, how do they react?

I’m assuming this is before they’re officially together, back in the pining stage lol but Yara handles it with a shrug and a “he’s not my boyfriend, actually” (which Ace has to pretend doesn’t sting nearly as bad as it does). She gets a bit flustered, but is overall pretty good at keeping her racing heart under control (or at least not letting it show on the outside). Ace gets a lot more noticeably flustered. If he’s alone, he probably wouldn’t bother to correct the person (like if a merchant assumed he was shopping for a girlfriend) but if Yara’s there he’ll more vigorously deny it because he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable— for awhile he just couldn’t fathom the concept of her actually liking him back (poor boy thinks he’s unlovable)

43) If someone else assumes they are blood relatives, how do they react?

They’d think it’s more funny than anything. They look nothing alike. It’d probably become an inside joke about how they wouldn’t wish that fate (being the child of [Ace’s father] or Mihawk) on anyone.

44) If they had to squeeze together in a cramped space, what would happen?

Poor Ace lmao he’s trying his best not to think dirty thoughts (especially before they’re together). If they’re together at that point, though, he might take the opportunity to make a suggestive comment. Depending on the situation, he might even get his wish lol

45) If one of them was in trouble, what would the other do?

Well, Marineford lol — there’s a reason their otp tag is “I’d burn the world for you”— Ace in a more literal sense because of his Devil Fruit, but there’s no lengths Yara wouldn’t go to in order to protect the light of her life.

46) If they could each have one wish related to the other, what would it be?

Yara wishes Ace would be able to fully realize and accept just how loved he really is so he can start to love himself and understand that his life has worth, his existence isn’t a crime, and he deserved to be born.

Ace wishes that Yara and Mihawk would repair their broken relationship and by extension that Yara would accept and embrace who she is. He wants her to find that sense of belonging that she has been searching for her entire life.

47) If they had to solve a complex puzzle together, how would it go?

Yara solves it. Ace watches with his chin resting on her shoulder making unhelpful suggestions and getting shushed in return lol

48) If they swapped bodies, how would they handle it?

It’s too bad Ace and Law never met in canon cuz they’re both gunning for the competition of One Piece’s Most Traumatized, Mentally Unwell Man lmao (Law would probably win on the virtue of Ace at least having Luffy as a surviving family member whereas poor Law lost pretty much everyone, including Corazon ofc) but let’s just say they get hit with Law’s Room powers and that’s how it happens (for the sake of this question I’m also assuming they get full access to each other’s Devil Fruit powers lol)

Ace and Yara know each other’s bodies pretty well so it wouldn’t be completely traumatic for them. Ace is mostly amused by it and spends most of his time playing around with walking through walls and sticking his hand into solid objects. Yara also takes Ace’s powers out for a test drive— she’s always wanted to know just how powerful he really is, so she definitely goes to stand over by the ocean and lets out a few “HIKEN!!!!”s, just for the hell of it. They’re both relieved when they go back to normal, though.

49) If one of them wanted to split up, how would the other react?

If it was earlier in their relationship and they came to the realization that they worked better as friends, they would be able to go back to that state without too much grief. If it came after they’d been together awhile, though, neither of them would take it well at all lol if Ace initiated it, Yara would become petty and angry and vengeful and tbh would probably never speak to him again. If it was Yara splitting up with Ace, then he would get extremely depressed. It would make him hate himself infinitely more than he already does— just another confirmation that he doesn’t deserve to be alive.

50) If they had to write their future selves a note, what would it say?

“Dear future Ace and Yara,

Wherever you are, we hope that you’re happy together and that you both found the peace you have been searching for. We hope that you’re able to fully accept the love that the other person has to offer, and that everything turns out okay in the end. Sometimes it’s hard to see that either of us really will have a future, considering everything we’ve been through, but we hope it exists, and that you found it in good health and spirits. That’s a lot of hope, but times have been dark lately and hope is all we have that we’ll come out the other side alright. But maybe, as long as we have no regrets about the way we chose to live our lives, then that’s all we can ask for, even if one or neither of us makes it out alive.

Here’s to the future, and to hope.

Present Ace and Yara.”

ask game here!

One Piece nakama: @auxiliarydetective @daughter-of-melpomene @xoteajays

#oc: bravada yara #my ocs #asked and answered #ship: portada #otp: i'd burn the world for you #chats with alvita #thank you so much honestly these asks really have been cheering me up #portada always does the trick lol #answering some of these questions really makes me think about how badly ace needs therapy lmao #he is both the sweetest goofball and the most depressed man on the planet and i love him for it #him and law really should have a trauma-off lol

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fairybinie · 2 years

Text

COPYCCINO — intro: pretty people 😽

synopsis: soobin has been talking to who he thought was his unrequited crush on messages, only to find out through a visit to their coffee shop that it was in fact not them. not only does he meet the real y/n, he runs into their friend yeonjun, an ex friend of his who he has some unresolved issues with. as soobin and the real y/n are getting to know each other, yeonjun and soobin are working through their misunderstandings, as well as trying to figure out who the catfish was.

taglist: @iyeonjuni @soobnny @wooluvrz @yyx2 @odxrilove @ifwtyun @luvrbin @iuwon @moondust-zia @jakekgs @soobintoyou @ijhyo @cherr-y-eji @hyukaas @peachy-yabbay @ameliesaysshoo @sunlightwoo @enhacolor @jjunbug @multi4lifer

send an ask to be apart of the taglist!

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a/n: added min (yeonjun’s ex) in here too even though they’re not in the friend group but i didn’t know where else to put them so 😭 again for simplicity everyone’s the same age also i just realized soobin and sieun’s users are so similar I DIDNT MEAN FOR THAT PLS IGNORE IT it doesn’t mean anything 👍🏻

*these texts are not canon to the actual story they’re just kind of a lil special something to introduce you to the group and how their dynamic is! something to have before the actual story begins <3 they’re also all separate conversations in case it wasn’t noticeable LMAO

- soobin: goes on bike rides in his free time. loves talking to yun. has been friends with beomgyu since freshman year of college. they’re really close and often bicker with each other which soobin secretly enjoys. met sieun at orientation and added her to the friend group. met yun through an anonymous letter at his dorm and has been talking to them through messages but he hasn’t met them. he’s seen pictures, but hasn’t bumped into real y/n yet. very naive. has suspicions that yun is fake but doesn’t want to believe it.

- beomgyu: walks around campus when he’s bored. enjoys deez nuts jokes. loves to tease soobin for how whipped he is for yun. loves to bicker with soobin but actually really respects him for the person he is but will never admit it. met sieun when she joined the friend group and loves to tussle with her too but actually sees her as a sister he’s never had. a bit slow, often needs information broken down for him to understand.

- sieun: desperately job searching all the time so she can make some money. enjoys hating on beomgyu’s deez nuts jokes. loves to lurk on people’s accounts. thinks soobin’s liking towards yun is amusing but is there for him when he needs love advice. quarrels with beomgyu over almost everything but actually just wants him to get through life well. can see things for how they actually are, the only one who is most sus over yun.

- min: catfishing as yun to talk to soobin. used to date yeonjun back in high school but dumped him because they liked soobin. confessed to soobin but he rejected them, yet it still left some misunderstandings between yeonjun and soobin to the point where they ended their friendship. salty that soobin rejected them so they sent him a letter impersonating as his secret admirer and talk to him as yun but use y/n’s pictures because they think soobin won’t notice. literally just obsessed with soobin.

please do not translate, modify or repost on other platforms.

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skyward-floored · 2 years

Text

Whumptober day 20 — Prisoner Exchange

The awaited continuation to day 14!

I asked you guys a few weeks ago if Link’s dad from the 4sword manga had any sort of first name, (because calling him “Four’s dad” got old reeeal quick) and someone mentioned that Leon was one somebody used.

Unfortunately I can’t find the post where this was said, so I’m not sure exactly who’s idea the name was 😅 But just know that it wasn’t mine. Okay? Okay.

Anyways I love Link’s dad from the manga. By the way.

Warnings: injury, arrow wound, mistreatment/suggested mistreatment of a character, and some blood

Day 14

Ao3 link

————————————————————

Four had been gone for a week when they got the note.

The Links were frantic at that point, the princess as well, and a wide search for Four had been sent out across the kingdom, beginning at his grandfather’s forge. Apparently he’d never even made it there, and in surveying the area, Twilight had found his bag and sword lying discarded a little ways off the road.

Along with a few drops of blood.

The captain of the Hyrulean knight, Leon, and Four’s father apparently, had doubled the efforts to locate his son with the discovery, but there had been no leads until the note showed up. Twilight had been back at the castle, worriedly pouring over maps with Time, Dot, and Four’s father when a breathless Wind had crashed in, followed closely by the rest of the heroes.

“We found this at the outside gate!” Wind gasped, waving around a piece of paper, “it was tied... tied to Four’s... Four’s bandana, right... right at the door, it had blood on it, and... and we—“

“We think it’s a ransom note,” Warriors cut in, putting a calming hand on Wind’s arm. “But none of us can read it.”

Leon’s face went grim as Wind handed him the paper, and he quickly read it over, face only growing more tense as he went. Once he finished he handed it to the princess, then sank down into his chair.

“You were correct. Link’s been kidnapped,” he said stiffly, and several dismayed murmurs went up as Dot scanned the letter. “By what’s left of Jago’s gang.”

“Who are they?” Sky asked worriedly, and Four’s father rubbed his forehead.

“A band of lowlifes. They mostly make raids and steal things from people who can’t defend themselves,” he said with a frown. “We have their leader imprisoned right now, and a large portion of their men as well. We’d captured them shortly before Link left... and they have quite a grudge against him.”

“So they, what, captured Four and want money for him?” Legend asked, and Leon shook his head.

“No. They want all their men in exchange for Link,” the knight growled, his hand clenching. “They’re demanding a prisoner exchange. Jago and every single bandit we have in exchange for Link.”

Twilight looked over at Four’s father in disbelief.

“That isn’t even remotely a fair deal,” he spoke up, “I mean, we’d do anything to get Four back, but how can they demand all that?”

“Because they know we have no choice,” Time said quietly, expression similar to Leon’s. “We have no clue where they are, no clue where Four is. And they don’t have as much to lose here. They have the upper hand in this situation, and therefore can demand whatever they want.”

“Does it say what they’ll do if we don’t comply?” Warriors asked, but there was something in his voice that made it sound like he already knew the answer.

Leon closed his eyes and rested his arms on his knees.

“They’ll kill him.”

The room went uncomfortably silent.

Twilight sank into his own chair, stomach clenching unpleasantly. He’d thought the uncertainty of not knowing what had happened to Four was bad, but this was worse in many many ways.

What if it was all a bluff, and the smithy was already dead?

After several long moments, Dot cleared her throat, and everyone’s heads turned towards the red haired princess as she stood and brushed off her dress.

“We’ll release Jago and his men in exchange for Link,” Dot said firmly, and if you weren’t paying attention you could almost ignore the tremble in her voice. “We can always go after them again. Link...”

She swallowed, and Four’s father put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Link is not so easily replaced,” she said quietly. “We’ll meet their terms.”

(...)

The date in the letter wasn’t until the next day, so they spent the time preparing for what would happen once they arrived at the spot. The note gave a very specific time and location for the exchange, and stated only a couple men would be allowed to accompany the prisoners for the deal, citing the prevention of any funny business.

It also went on to say that if they exceeded the number, were late at all, or in any other way went against the instructions, Four would be killed.

Twilight’s teeth were starting to hurt from how often he found himself gritting them.

Leon chose the group to handle the exchange, and along with a few knights of his own, he chose Time, Warriors and Twilight to accompany them.

The rest of the Links would stay nearby, but not too close so as to break the agreement. Dot insisted on going along, though Leon banned her from the actual exchange, so she contented herself with waiting with the other Links. None of them wanted to wait out Four’s rescue, her included, and Twilight couldn’t help but be intensely glad he’d been chosen to go along.

He’d probably have just snuck along as Wolfie if he hadn’t.

The next day dawned, bright sunshine not exactly fitting the mood of their group. They gathered the prisoners and tensely made their way towards the chosen spot, mostly silent but for the occasional check of direction. The forest path was tricky to follow, but Twilight could make it out well enough, so he stayed at the front with Leon while the others loosely surrounded the six or so men they were releasing.

Twilight felt his palms begin to sweat as they finally entered the clearing where the bandits said they’d be, and sure enough, a clump of people (more then their group had been allowed to bring, Twilight noted with some anger) stood waiting for them on the opposite side.

There was no sign of Four.

One man wearing patched leather armor grinned as they came into view, and crossed his arms, a glint in his eyes.

“Well well, seems like our message was received,” he said in a voice loud enough to carry across the clearing. “Looks like you’ve got everyone. And the boss too! What a nice surprise.”

“Hey, boss! See the castle dungeon treated you well!” a different bandit called, and Jago grinned.

“Glad to be out of that hole, that’s for sure,” Jago chuckled, and the bandits parroted his laughter. “Nice work you all.”

Twilight growled, and Leon shoved Jago forwards.

“Well, enough chitchat. Send ‘em over,” the bandit’s apparent temporary ringleader said, waving an arm impatiently. “Let’s get this show on the road eh?”

“We’re not doing anything further until we have proof Link is alive,” Leon said coldly.

The bandits looked at each other, and the ringleader nodded, motioning with his arms. Two men pulled back, and a couple moments later reemerged from the trees, Twilight’s heart falling straight into his stomach as he watched.

Four was dragged out between the thieves, bandana gone and bloodied hair falling into his eyes. His outer tunic was missing, the shirt underneath ripped and stained, and he looked much smaller than usual between the two men who were holding him.

Twilight couldn’t tell if he was even conscious or not.

Warriors stiffened from next to him, and Four’s father’s hands clenched into fists, the only outward indicator that he was affected by the sight of his son in such rough shape.

“Steady,” Time murmured, and Twilight bit back his growl.

“We have met your terms,” Leon said in a cold voice, “and have brought you your men. Now release the hero.”

“Send one man forward to get him,” the bandit called, crossing his arms. “I don’t trust any of you not to try anything.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Warriors muttered.

Twilight quickly moved forwards and got Leon’s attention, the older man looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll go,” he said, and Four’s father met his gaze. Something in the knight’s eyes turned vulnerable for a moment, and Leon raised a hand to give Twilight’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Be careful,” he warned, his voice a bit tight. “Bring him back.”

Twilight nodded.

Leon returned it, and the rancher walked forwards with the group of prisoners beside him. The two bandits dragged Four out to the center of the clearing as well, and Twilight nodded at them, his skin crawling as he stepped aside to let the formerly imprisoned bandits free. The moment their men were back on their side, the two bandits holding Four dropped him, and immediately met their fellows, clapping them on the back and jeering a bit.

Twilight caught Four as he fell, and the smithy whimpered as he pulled him into his arms.

“It’s alright smithy, it’s alright,” Twilight murmured under his breath, watching the bandits pull back with their men. “We got you.”

Four was utterly limp in his arms, and Twilight pulled him close, cautious of unknown injuries. He carefully tilted his head up, taking in his black eye and dried blood on his lip, and couldn’t help the distressed noise that left his throat.

“T-Twi,” Four whispered, and the rancher brushed a gentle hand through his hair. “They...”

Twilight’s fingers caught in Four’s hair, dried blood flaking off in his hand, and he felt anger rise sickeningly in his throat. But he pushed it down, and stood up, the smithy’s head lolling on his shoulder.

“You can rest now Four, it’s okay,” he assured gently, and began to walk back to the others.

Four’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“N-no, it’s...” the smithy croaked, desperation leaking into his faint voice. “...trap.”

Twilight felt a weight slam into his arm.

Pain shot up his shoulder and he cried out, nearly dropping Four as he stumbled to his knees. Another arrow whipped past his ear, and he dragged off his shield, holding it over Four even though it hurt.

“This was not the deal!” Twilight heard Warriors shout, and he saw him along with the other men pull their weapons out.

“It’s your own fault for believing us, you think we’d let an opportunity like this go?” Jago sneered, then laughed as he was handed a sword. He pointed it forwards, zeroing in on where Twilight was kneeled. “Kill the Hero, then the rest.”

Twilight gritted his teeth as the bandits surged forwards, and ignoring the agony of the arrow in his arm, drew his sword and got back to his feet. He set Four on the ground before standing, and the smithy gasped as a sword suddenly hit against Twilight’s shield.

Twilight whipped around and met the bandit’s sword when it next went for Four’s head, and let out a snarl in spite of himself.

“Don’t you dare,” he spat, and forced the man’s sword back.

The bandit leered at him, and they exchanged blows for a few moments, Twilight easily forcing him back with his powerful swings. A few other bandits tried to get the drop on him, but Twilight forced them back as well, anger against the men who’d held Four spurring him.

The first man who’d attacked him seemed to realize he was outmatched pretty quickly, and drew back a bit, before abruptly lurching forwards and grabbing at the arrow still lodged in Twilight’s arm.

“I do dare, actually,” he grinned, and wrenched it to the side.

Pure agony ran up Twilight’s arm and he was pretty sure he screamed, the feel of the arrowhead ripping under and through skin driving him to his knees.

He distantly heard the man laugh, and a boot kicked him onto his back, a pained grunt escaping him without his permission.

Twilight forced his eyes open against the pain, and felt a thin thread of panic lodge in his throat as the bandit raised his sword up to finish him off. His eyes widened as he scrambled for something to defend himself with, but he couldn’t even move his arm without his vision darkening at the edges.

And then the bandit’s eyes suddenly rolled back in his head, and he collapsed backwards onto the ground.

The rancher blinked in surprise, then felt relief warm his chest at the sight before him. Four stood behind where the bandit had been on shaking legs, Twilight’s sword in hand and a cold look in his eyes. He’d hit the man in the head with the hilt, and looked down at him with a glare.

“Been waiting to do that,” he rasped.

Twilight smiled and shakily got to his feet, ignoring the agony in his arm. “Nice job smithy,” he said, and Four cracked a smile even as his legs abruptly gave out on him.

Twilight quickly went to his side and caught him, blocking another arrow with his shield. Four let out a quiet groan, and Twilight clutched him as best as he could with one working arm.

“Link!”

Four and Twilight both looked up at the shout, and saw Four’s father finally make his way towards them, several fallen bandits in his wake. Even despite their higher numbers, the gang was nothing against several Hyrulean knights as well as Time and Warriors, and they were rapidly being driven back.

Leon finally reached Twilight’s side, and he got to his knees, gently turning Four’s head towards him. The smithy gave him a faint smile, and Leon pulled him into a hug, the smithy weakly squeezing him back.

Twilight smiled a little at the display, though it faded a bit when Four fell unconscious moments later. He stood and dodged another arrow, and glanced around to see if anyone needed assistance.

He shouldn’t have worried. Jago shouted a retreat in the distance mere moments later, and Twilight felt a bracing arm suddenly land on his good shoulder. He hadn’t realized he was listing to the side until Time placed it there, and he slumped a bit, feeling drained.

“How is he?” Time asked as Leon got to his feet, holding his son steadily in his arms.

“Not good. But nothing too life threatening,” the knight said, his voice thick with equal relief and worry. “Let’s get him home and patch him up.”

Time nodded, then looked at Twilight’s arm, wincing in sympathy as they began to move.

“That looks bad,” Warriors said as he joined their sides, sheathing his weapon. “What’d you do, try to pull it out yourself?”

Twilight rolled his eyes, and flinched when Warriors put a careful hand by the arrow, hissing in sympathy as he looked it over.

“It got grabbed. And I had other things on my mind,” he replied quietly, looking over at Four. Warriors followed his gaze, and his eyebrows pinched in that way Twilight knew they always did when he was worried.

“We’ll get him fixed up,” Time said in a quiet voice. “He’ll be okay.”

Looking at the smithy, pale and limp in his father’s arms, Twilight worriedly tried to convince himself of the fact.

He’ll be okay.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu four #lu twilight #lu time #lu warriors #lu dot #whumptober2022 #day 20 #prisoner exchange #writing from the floor #wanted to finish it up more but I ran out of time #might write a conclusion to this maybe we’ll see

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booksandchainmail · 7 months

Text

Pale 11.2 extra

I just want you to know I’ve been trying to be my best self and do good in the world and if there’s something that ends up keeping me from coming back to you guys I hope you know that at least.

this bit is incredibly sad to me. "If I died, I died doing the right thing" is actually a pretty good ending, but coming from a kid it's just bleak

All the not listening you did and the ignoring me and everything? I forgive you for that and I think I understand

I wonder how this will feel going on? I imagine that even if Avery is glossing over this a bit for her parents to not feel guilty, she must have done some final sour searching to reach this point. It must be weird to come to terms with everyone in your life, be prepared to not leave regrets behind, and then get to keep on going with the clean slate

Sheridan, you had my back when it counted and I can’t tell you what it means to me, or how it changed the idea of what family is in my head. You get so down on yourself but you’re so so so much better and cooler than you think you are.

oh... that;s really sweet

A beautiful woman once told me I was on the cusp of losing my connection to humanity.

lol at specifying beautiful

no comments on the rest of Avery's letter to Ms. Hardy because I'm tearing up

If I can escape the chaos do you want to hang? We can hang out with Sir and chat art orrrr We could hang out and you can take your shirt off and I can draw you orrrrrrr We could hang out and we both take our shirts off and we can pretend we’re confused about who is supposed to be painting who before finding something else to do

smooth

I told Lucy and Avery and a woman called Miss to pass on a password for a gallery I sent you. You’re my designated replacement if anything happens and that gallery has the big rundown. Yep, you thought you were getting to know me? That was all the tip of the iceberg, buddy.

I'm picturing Jeremy opening this, reading it, and realizing that a girl who was a pretty new friend in his life had no outside contact closer than him

On that note? I’m writing this under the assumption that they’re there. Avery Kelly and Lucy Ellingson. No other end result is okay in my books.

oh Verona

Care and Feeding of Lucy Ellingson and Avery Kelly: I liked the headline but because I wrote it I gotta let you know the feeding part: Lucy gets into stuff like pepperoni sticks and sour foods and things that make you go WOAH (except garlic and onions apparently) and it’s all intense and crap but when you get down to it I think she likes sweet and savory stuff most. Avery is a vegetarian and she can eat next to anything you could call food, now, but I think what matters is that it comes from a place of care. She likes fruity flavors and mellow stuff. If Lucy’s down and out and needs nourishment to get back in the game then a chance to have a savory home cooked meal or a sweet treat she can spend a bit enjoying would do it for her. For Avery, just the fact that you notice she’s down and out is important and then you can hand her a sports drink or something and she’ll be up for more.

aww, funny and cute that she's leaning into this bit, deeply touching that she knows this about them

[Tash is] about three years older than us she’s super cool enough I wouldn’t blame you for getting a crush on her. 😉

... yeah that's fair! Don't know how Jeremy would feel about the eyes, but I love that it's not a factor for Verona

If you bring me back as a composite echo and someone wants to take me as a familiar to help clarify me further then I’m down.

what the hell. I mean a good backup plan! But a hell of a lot of pressure to drop casually at the end of this letter

If not or if that’s weird then don’t sweat it. Thanks for being a friend.

or don't resurrect me if you don't want! wild.

I got lucky because home was the place I could come back to to unload the small things, instead. This was pretty close to perfect. Except I haven’t come home to unload this time, if you’re reading the letter.

yeah tearing up again

Zed has agreed he’ll fill you in if someone needs to. He knows most of the story and it’s easier for him to answer your questions than for me to explain everything here. Imagining you going through my stuff and uncovering it all with a terrible look on your face is making this too hard to write.

Interesting to me that Lucy is the only on who leaves information for her mom to take action, I guess because neither Verona or Avery feel that their parents are particularly useful

As a last ditch effort if the cops fail and Avery and Verona are gone you can contact a man I listed on the sheet. His name is Samaniego and he organizes people who hunt monsters like one of the ones I’m about to fight.

damn that's a nuclear option. But I suppose if all the girls are dead there's no point in playing fair or easy

I don’t want this to end without there being justice. If I was capable of accepting any other answer then I think this might be the point I gave up. I could let Edith win, I could choose the option where I didn’t risk me dying and you having to find this letter. I can’t. I can’t let the people who would do that get what they want and take any more power or get any more influence.

Lucy... I love how much her principles come through in this. Avery may be the soft heart in the group and Lucy all business in her letter, but peel back the focus and drive and you get this moral determination

This can’t end without justice of some sort.

#booksandchainmail reads pale #pale #wildbow #otherverse

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blorbologist · 1 year

Text

We'll be friends forever, and I don't care if you know it

[A/N: So this popped into my head like 40 minutes before New Years EST, and I couldn’t get it done in those 40 minutes, so like ~100 minutes later HERE IT IS FOR THE CENTRAL TIME NEW YEARS AND ANYONE ELSE. IM SO GAY FOR THE THEM.]

[No beta we die like Laudna, I wanted this out For the Moment.]

They take a break in Whitestone.

Not because it’s done.

Ruidus is still a terrible rabid-red pupil in the sky. Delilah is still carried with them, though it’s unclear who knows and who doesn’t. Whitestone is just… a good place to stop running. To breathe. To know other people can take up the burden and not die for the crushing weight of it.

It’s not done, not really, not for… sweet gods, not for as far ahead as Imogen dares think.

But it’s all later, and now, for now, they’re breathing, still breathing, and the timing is perfect for it.

Others have gathered in Whitestone - either due to everything (everything they did, everything they couldn’t do, everything they need to do) or because it’s the end of the year.

There’s some great celebration, bold and brassy, the formal tunes having given way to dancing jigs that are almost familiar even across the sea. Dancing, so much dancing - even from here there joy rings like bells in her head, the stumbles of crushed toes and embarrassed fumbles and blushing glances.

It was hard to focus, on the whole cacophony of it - kids screamin’, friends laughing, was that a bear?! - but she did catch glimpses of the other Hells. Ashton had checked in on her and Laudna - fine, fine, thanks, no we’re fine, Ashton c’mon that’s… no, have fun, we’re fine, thankyou. They pivoted to swatting Fearne’s hand when she reached for a teenage couple’s stuffed bear, looked the other way when she swiped his. Orym, on her shoulders, using the rare height advantage to search for Dorian - Dorian, oh Dorian! - in the crowd, speaking into his Sending stone. Letters periodically sent her a mental flash of something he thought worrying about all the drunken delinquency and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Imogen thought she saw Chetney’s cap vanish in the direction of the de Rolos and hoped dearly she had seen wrong.

Laudna dipped into the crowds to grab some of the tasty fairground food that tugged at Imogen’s nose. She hadn’t even mentioned that - Laudna just… did it, and came back chattering excitedly that it was Pike - oh, you remember Pike? - manning a little booth and swatting away at least three other gnomes trying to swipe at the last of her wares. Their fingers are a dreadful mess of sugar - powdered and rocky - and rich spices and flakes of pastry. Imogen wants to lick them off, but that’d just be damn rude.

When they’d found crowds and chatter, Imogen had feared the festival would be around the Sun Tree. It made sense - apparently the thing had a religious leaning, on top of the symbolic ties it held for the town.

She’d read up on the history of the thing, see, after Laudna started getting… hm. Twiggy? Like that. It was the least she could do. The tree still unsettled her, though - each time she saw it all she could do was trace each bough and try to find where Laudna had been. Where her ‘pa and ‘ma had been.

No - no. It all circles that big clocktower, lit up by those fancy electric lights and magelamps both.

“That wasn’t there when I was growing up,” Laudna says. Which really isn’t all that helpful, ‘cause they had learned as much when they were here when - the first time. But Imogen wouldn’t ever tell her that. Not ever. Laudna is nothing but helpful, and the comment helps draw Imogen’s eyes where they should be.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, and it is. The gold and yellow flatter it, with sprinkler-wands causing some of the statues on its corners to almost be animated. Hells, maybe they are. Or maybe not - seems unlike mister Lord de Rolo to want anything messing with his little monument. As she watches, a giant arrow ticks closer. “And huge, too - I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clock big like this.”

They’re a ways off, because - you know. Actually, she doesn’t want to go into it. Not tonight. Not with yesterday, or what tomorrow might bring.

Imogen finds herself smiling. “We - see - we didn’t ever really do much to bring in the new year. Almost every clock in town was a little off, right -”

“Oh, I know!” Laudna exclaims. “And so everyone gathers to see things off at someone’s house, or a big local shindig, and it’s - oh, it would be a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“So many loud, obnoxious people,” Pâté adds, both loudly and obnoxiously. He’s absolutely disgusting with crumbs and sticky taffy. “My kinda crowd, though.”

Imogen scratches under his chin and ignores the way his ribbed wings flap. “I mostly just went to bed early, to be honest. No point being out and drinkin’ with all-” she gestures at her head, careful not to touch her hair. Sticky fingers, it wouldn’t end well.

“So you’ve never had a good ol’ new years bash?” A trick of the light and those empty sockets squint at her in disapproval. “No good ol’ party?”

“Nope - no, never.”

Never.

Laudna’s hum shouldn’t be that surprised. They never did anything like this when they traveled together, just the two of them. Partially ‘cause they avoided most towns, and without any timekeeping on their person they just woke up to the new year, or walked into it whenever they next found a safe trading post. Second year it passed without them even realizing, really, not ‘til days later.

For now, she can close her eyes and pretend they’re right up in there, mingling, playing the last of the games before the family booths pack up for the night. If she listens hard enough she can, she really can.

(She almost wants to risk the migraine, for it, the metal tang between her teeth. Jostling with Ashton over some game. Cheating at others with Fearne when Orym’s not looking. Getting dragged by Laudna to something that caught her eye. Offering half a sweet. Sharing it. Sharing. Yeah.)

Even without looking, she can feel Pâté scuttle through the air, one heave of a flap at a time, to hover nearer. Leering, probably, as well as he can. “Not even a good ol’ new years smooch?”

“Pâté!” The swish of air as Laudna plucks him from the air to hold him tight to her chest.

“That sounds like a no.” A beat. “Can I be your first? Pretty please?”

Imogen snorts, the sound turning into a laugh. A whole thing, complete in all its joys and parts of her, buckling into her insides and beading at her eyes and - oh, because - it’s just - oh, golly.

“I don’t - think so, Pâté,” Imogen wheezes, when she can. She has to use her elbow to get her kerchief up to her eyes, given the icky fingers. “I really don’t think so.”

She can see through the silly tears, now, and the clockhand has inched ever closer to midnight. The activity below has shifted - from fairground excitement to chatter as shops board up so the last minutes of the year can be enjoyed with those most beloved, not business.

She also sees Laudna.

I mean, not like that’s out of the ordinary. They were in eachother’s pockets for two years.

But sees her sheepish. Sees her worrying her lip. Sees her knocking her knees together. Sees her alien - alienated? Sees her petting her hair, combing it, scratching it -

Imogen reaches out to catch her wrist. Makes a face. “Ah, sorry, Laud-”

Laudna’s free hand waves her off. “It’s fine! I’m sticky too, see?” She splays out her fingers - in the manmade glow of the streetlights, they gleam sweet.

“Well, your hair - it’s gonna be a mess, darlin’.”

The smile creases spilled ink eyes. Like Laudna’d tried to write a letter, with them, and knocked into the well with her enthusiasm. Or scribbled word after word after word ‘til they overlapped and became a beautiful black blur. There’s so much meaning to them, and Imogen can’t read a stitch of it. “Thank you, though.”

Imogen draws the hand down, away, so it won’t be tempted to peck at anything. She moves a finger - the syrup resists her tug, so she just keeps it there, on the bony wrist. “You’re welcome.”

“I haven’t really enjoyed something like this before either,” Laudna says. “I mean - I’m sure I did with my parents, when I was a little girl. Whitestone wasn’t quite the tits, then,”- Imogen laughs at just how absurd that sounds comin’ from her -“but it was still nice. But then, you know. Got older, you spend new years with your friends, and…”

“They weren’t friends, Laudna.” They’ve been over this. Imogen took time to scour the crowds, earlier, for anyone remotely like that Andy kid she’d seen in - then.

(Is it a good thing, she doesn’t? He was still a kid - did he really deserve a fate like that?)

(Maybe.)

“I know.” That long face of hers juts towards a halfling on a faun and a genasi carrying a gnome; it’s something out of a bad joke. “But we’re not over there with our friends, right now, are we?”

“I’m your friend, ain’t I?”

Imogen smiles. “Yes, Pâté, you are.”

He snuggles into Laudna’s lap. “Gooddie. Y’see, I thought, for a bit there - there was some tension, right, like -”

“Pâté?” The whole raven skull tips up to peer at Laudna. “Why don’t you go get everyone else? So we can go all out, all together?”

It points to the clockface. “Not sure I’ll have enough time, but I’ll try!”

He flutters off.

“Laudna, do you think that was a good idea?”

A head tilt - her hand twitches, tempted to play with her hair. Imogen laces her fingers with it to keep it here. It feels mighty queer, clinging in places. Mighty right in others. “I’m not sure what you -”

There’s a shriek.

Laudna giggles, light and perfect. “Oops. Maybe he’ll think to go invisible?”

She has little faith in that. Even less desire to go after him, to get near the crowds again, to leave this sticky handhold, so she just offers a distressed hum.

“He’s not gonna make it in time,” says Imogen as the clockhand takes another step. It does look like an arrow, she realizes.

“Percy - it just sounds so much like Pâté, Imogen! - said there’s supposed to be a big, big show, when it strikes midnight.” Laudna’s free hand sweeps out, grandiose, branching.

(Imogen is fairly certain she’s not on nickname basis with Lord de Rolo, but, well, maybe it’s a Whitestone trauma thing.)

“Really?”

“Mmmhm! The whole story of Vox Machina, and how they saved Whitestone, and then the world? I’m a little foggy on that part.”

Imogen doesn’t want to see it.

She doesn’t care a whit for the big, big adventures of these big, big heroes, and their big, big castles, and their big, big names.

She’s a whole lot more enthralled by how Laudna wants. How she wants, the excitement making her beam, every lightsource around competing to find themselves in her eyes. The grin so broad it might tear at her cheeks - it has, before - and her hand -

Her hand, tight but not, sticky but soft, gross but only for the parts of the experience that aren’t Laudna.

She was dead, some weeks ago.

She could be dead, tomorrow.

They could be dead, tomorrow.

Imogen glances up. Ruidus, unblinking, a slice of moon watching with its half-lidded eye. Smug, maybe. Suspicious of their plans. Or maybe it’s tired. Imogen certainly feels tired.

It’s everything in her to squeeze. Every tendon and rib and that ball lightning in the pit of her stomach. Her thumb brushes the ring - cool gold, colder rubies. Two snakes. “Hey, Laud?”

“Yes?”

Imogen breathes.

The lights are going out - darkness marching to the tower, presumably so only the lamps there will underline the story about to play out on its great face.

Imogen breathes.

The dark reaches them and it’s homey, here, away form the party, with Laudna. She can’t see, not a lick, really, but she doesn’t need to. Doesn’t, really, to know everything she wants with everything in her is right here.

Imogen does not breathe. It’s stuck, there, in-between, because she should say somethin’-

“Imogen, dear,” says Laudna. “Can I-”

The clocktower tolls the death of the year. The birth of the next. Laudna does not look to the music of gears, the start of that spectacle.

She can’t be sure. Can’t know what she’s asking (she could, but that would be - no). Laudna wants to see the show, she does, and this would be - she wouldn’t. It’s reckless, stupid, it’s a bad idea, best idea -

“Happy new year,” Imogen hums, and it’s taming a twister to keep the ascent slow, to just kiss her gently -

- and Laudna kisses her back, chapped and covered in sugar and jam and perfect, and she’s swept up in it.

Imogen really, intends to pull back. So they can see the clockwork story.

They miss it.

(They hear Chetney screeching that there’s an invisible flying rat around his head, and oh, shitballs-)

#critical role #critical role fanfic #cr fanfic #laudna #imogen temult #imodna #imogen x laudna #happy new years yall im GAY #this is a mess but YOLO #pate de rolo #campaign 3 #Bell's Hells #my writing

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