#Jam..... I cannot believe you forced my hand
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Dearer than I?
Description: You must choose between betraying your dear friend or your dearest love.
Got bored during my last half hour of work, and that TikTok audio has been stuck in my head, so here's my attempt to purge it from my mind. Enjoy!!!
His hand is outstretched, patient but pleading, his eyes, dark and intense, but somehow still soft as sunlight settling on the ocean floor.
Your arms are wrapped around yourself, tight and desperate, attempting to keep yourself from metaphorically spilling onto the sand, a bloody mess of grief and regret, of anger and loss.
“Please in yakunaj.” His voice is a whisper, breaking at the end, and it feels as if someone has taken a spear and jammed it through your chest.
You want to look away, you’re desperate to, but cannot. His eyes always draw you back, he need not open his mouth to sing, you were ensnared by a single glance, by the kaleidoscope of warm colors weaved within his eyes.
The invisible thread that exists between you and him keeps you pinned in place. “I would be betraying Shuri, she is my friend, I owe her my life.”
“You would betray me, instead?” He asked, voice still soft, as if it would pain him to raise it.
You wished he would yell, scream, rage, do anything, be anything, but this soft broken K’uk’ulkan that stands before you.
You swallow hard, blinking away tears, your lips move but no sound escapes.
The waves crash on the shore, the nightbirds sing, the wind swirls between the two of you, and you take a step forward. Towards him, the man—the god—the mutant—whatever the hell he is, and he takes in a quick breath, chest expanding as you draw closer.
“I love you.” You manage to utter, your heart in a vice grip, the pressure of the choice you must make weighs so heavily upon you, and you wish to collapse, to drown, rather than make it.
“Then take my hand, burn the world with me.” He pleaded, the moonlight bathing him in her soft glow, shining off the gold he adorned himself with.
All his focus is on you, every flicker within his eyes, every rise and fall of his chest, every syllable that passes through those perfectly formed lips, is for you.
“I would be betraying Wakanda, the very country I left my home to protect, the one who embraced me even though I did not bear her blood.” You stressed, praying he would understand, that somehow, he would make the decision for you.
“And you believe Talkon would not do the same? That they would not welcome you with open arms, that my people would not rejoice in the fact that I have found my queen?” His fingers twitched as if he wished to take your hand, to press it to his heart as he often did when making silent promises.
“I didn’t say that—”
The anguish is clear in his low voice as he cuts you off. “You are mine, my queen, you have stolen my heart and held it captive within your chest. I cannot retrieve it without cracking open your ribs and ripping it out, and to do so—to do so would end me. I cannot fathom harming you in reina, do not force my hand, I beg of you.”
Tears slip down your cheeks, your heart pounds against your chest so strongly for a moment you think that perhaps he is right, his heart resides beside your own, for your heart never possessed such strength. “If I could return it to you, I would, K’uk’ulkan I would never wish you pain, never wish to force your hand.”
His tone is angry now, words sharp as the weapons his people favor, but his eyes remain swirling pools of grief. “I do not want it back, it is yours. I want you. I want the woman I love by my side, where I can protect her.”
You’re on the brink of sobbing, of falling to the sand and crying until your tears flow, so heavily you become one with the sea. “I cannot betray them; they are dear to me.”
His fingers curl inwards, slowly, mournfully. “Dearer than I?”
You shake your head, mind a whirlwind of choices, of answers, of guilt and grief, and want.
You want to be with K’uk’ulkan, you want to ease his pain, to smooth out the furrow of his brow, to sit by his side and be his queen. You are both immortal, if Talkon remained hidden, you would rule together for eternity.
“No, no one is dearer than you.” You admit, half-adoringly, half-helplessly.
You are helpless against the torrent that is your affections for him, helpless to the call of his heart to yours. He’s wrong, his heart does not reside within your chest, beside your own, for yours has slipped between the cracks of your ribs and into his own. He carries your heart as you carry his.
“Then I do not under—”
It’s your turn to cut him off. You take his hand, unfurling it, and bringing it to your cheek before you kiss him. Fervently, desperately, wishing to drown in him before your grief chokes you. “No one, there is no one dearer than you.” You assure him, willing your heart to return to your chest, to free him from this torment.
Your heart gives no answer except beating in time with his, two drums of war echoing each other’s call.
He cradles your cheek, his free arm wrapping around your waist, crushing you against him. “In reina, in reina, in reina.” He whispered over and over as he brushed soft, grateful kisses to every inch of your skin. “I love you, only you, I am yours.”
“I am yours, your queen.” You echo, letting him take you under, the world muffled by the sea.
You would not face Shuri, would not return to Wakanda until she was long dead, perhaps then you could seek forgiveness from her grave.
Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @starlady66
#namor x reader#namor x you#k’uk’ulkan#k'uk'ulkan x you#k'uk'ulkan x reader#tenoch huerta namor#mcu namor#meg's writing#ok I feel like this was poetic af and I love that for me#mutant!reader#healer!reader#let's just say I'm always making the reader a healing mutant bc it's easier#unless I had like a request for a different type of reader then obvi I'd follow the request#namor imagine#namor fanfiction#i love when men are in anguish over their love#it's just *chef's kiss*
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Sleepless in New York: Chapter 10 - Darkfall
Series: TRR
Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)
Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.
Masterlist: Sleepless in New York
Chapter Summary: Drake tries to navigate a rough night...
Word Count: 5,300
Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, obsessive-compulsive exercise, sexual fantasy, masturbation)
Chapter theme song:
A/N1: Sorry this took soooo long to get out! As per usual, real life has been exceptionally busy, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like to.
A/N2: This is also my slightly belated submission for World Whiskey Day, hosted by @drake-walker-appreciation, and the prompt that this fits with (more or less) is 'The whiskey burns my throat like her absence burns my soul.'
A/N3: I just realised that this kinda (maybe?) qualifies for the @springfeverpitch event that was on this week (Apologies! There are a lot of events on at the moment!) In any case, this would count as domestic x home run I guess 😅
Chapter 10 - Darkfall
I kick the covers off with an irate growl.
Un-fuckin'-believable...
After the shitshow of a day I've had, I should be running on fumes.
And I am.
Yet for some reason, I’m not able to nod off. Despite the fact that I've been on the go since 6am and have barely gotten any shut-eye the night before.
Because my body’s apparently a sucker for punishment and doesn’t seem to know when to quit. And even though I know I desperately need the recharge, I also know that staying in bed’s gonna achieve nothing 'cept hypertension.
So, swinging my legs out onto the carpet with a tight-set jaw, I reach for my phone.
02:18
I run a heavy hand through my hair.
The hell am I gonna do for the next six hours?
My eyes land almost unwittingly on the ragged shirt-tail peeking over the edge of the trash can.
I rip my gaze away with gritted teeth.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
It’a bad enough that I walked out on Gale without so much as a half-assed explanation. I ain’t gonna compound my dick-like behaviour by showing up at her door in the middle of the night, demanding to pick up where we left off.
Especially not after everything I've already subjected her to today — getting her fired, burning her in front of her friends, pulling her into a fight, dragging her on a forced route march 'cross town, and then literally ripping the shirt off her back. And, if that isn’t bad enough, I topped off her night by dumping the proverbial clutch on her when I should've been taking her for the ride of her life.
I swallow painfully. No. That ship had definitely sailed...
Which means it’s high time to take my own fuckin' advice and get her — and this entire mess of a day — out of my head.
No excuses.
And since the overpriced mini bar had let me down, I’m down to my only alternative — running myself into the ground.
Pushing myself up with a resigned exhale, I trudge over to my duffle. Reaching in, I extract the exercise shorts and t-shirt that always forms part of my go-bag, no matter where I went. Because you never know when you’re gonna need to blow off some steam. And going for a run’s a damn sight healthier than disappearing down the neck of a bottle. Even if the latter’s a helluva lot more convenient.
Throwing the clothes on, along with some socks and my well-worn trainers, I turn back to the bedside table to grab my phone and gun...
...and catch sight of the shirt again.
Motherfucker.
Jamming the phone and the Sig into my pockets — it always pays be prepared then be left holding your dick when shit inevitably hits the fan — I march over to the bin and yank the accursed thing out.
Scrunching it up, I turn on my heel, and stomp out of the room, snatching the keycard up on the way. Wrenching the door open, I let it bang shut behind me as I head down the corridor.
I cannot catch one goddamn break tonight...
Reaching the lifts, I briefly contemplate calling one. But given that I’m already wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, I know I won’t be able to stand the wait, no matter how brief.
So, I divert instead to the fire exit. Pulling the heavy door open, I throw myself into a jog and take the stairs upwards two at a time.
I guess I could've just as easily gone downstairs. But I don’t trust myself not to wind up at Gale's brownstone again if I hit the streets. Which means that the only place I can conceivably go is to the top-floor gym.
Which — all things considered — is probably the better bet anyway. Because going for a jog in the dead of night around the City That Never Sleeps is a risk not worth taking. And even though Central Park’s less than a block away, it’s not actually an option, given that (a) it’s shut overnight, and (b) it isn’t the best lit, and I don’t particularly feel like getting jumped by a knife wielding yahoo, or twisting an ankle on an uneven path.
Plus, I'd have to be a monumental idiot to even think about leaving Chris unattended again. Not that I expect to him go anywhere at this hour — except maybe all the way with Hayley. But I’m not about to make the same mistake twice in one day.
Christ knows I paid for it hard the first time 'round...
I feel my legs start to burn as I continue to climb relentlessly. But knowing that this is exactly what I need if I’m to have any hope of catching some zzz's tonight, I ignore the discomfort and push myself on.
Arriving on the 25th floor, I pause on the landing to catch my breath. But the short burst of exercise has merely thrown me a second wind. I still have a long way to go if I want to waste myself completely.
So, moving over to the stairwell door, I pull it open and step into the gym. Given the lateness of the hour, there's not a soul in sight, and it's just me and the view.
But there’s one thing I need to take care of first.
Locating the changing rooms, I head inside. And before I can think too much on it, or change my mind, I stride over to the dirty towel hamper and chuck the ruined shirt in...
...and dump a few towels on top of it for good measure.
Dead and buried.
Spinning quickly around, I exit the way I'd come, focusing my attention on the row of TechnoGym treadmills that face out onto the distantly twinkling lights of Harlem in the north, and not on how twisted my guts feel all of a sudden.
Picking a machine, I pull my phone and sidearm out of my pockets and place them onto the console so they won’t bang against my thighs as I ran, but still remained within reach in case I need them.
Taking a deep breath, I step resolutely onto the belt and hit go on a program at random.
The pace starts off sedately, barely faster than a speed walk. Reaching up to the console, I tap the speed up impatiently, not wanting to waste time on a warm-up I don’t need and most definitely don’t want.
I’n here to burn rubber.
The motor kicks into a higher gear, but it's not enough. Even though I’m now at a steady jog, my heart rate's barely above resting and I've yet to break a sweat. Not to mention the fact that my mind’s still fixating on the very thing I need to flush out of my system.
Gale, legs spread and head thrown back, moaning my name...
Raising my hand with a growl, I slap the panel again... and again... and again... until the belt is a blur beneath my feet and I'm pelting it like a demented bat outta hell.
The sudden speed forces my body into overdrive. My chest expands, my focus narrows, and my blood begins to pump in earnest, trying to supply my body with oxygen faster than it was being consumed.
I fall into a breakneck rhythm, limbs pumping to the rapid beat of my breath in a desperate effort to stay on the treadmill.
In... In... In... In... Out... Out... Out... Out...
The minutes and the miles tick past on the screen in front of me, but I barely register the stats. I'm too busy chasing oblivion...
...which remains stubbornly out of reach.
Because even as I push myself to the limit and my lungs start to burn and my muscles start to cramp, I can't escape her. She's still there, hazel-green eyes dancing on the edge of my awareness, the honey scent of her hair tickling my senses like smoke on the breeze.
And even as my vision begins to swim and the relentless pace pushes me to the verge of puking, I don't let myself ease up. Because that would be an admission of defeat and I’m not the type to quite that easy.
Not when there’s so much on the line.
Because beyond the fact that I let myself become consumed by a girl I barely know — an unhealthy and unsustainable hang-up that I need to nip in the bud, pronto — my continued preoccupation also ended up endangering Chris' life tonight.
And that’s inexcusable.
Not only is the guy the heir to a fuckin' throne, but he is my best — and arguably only — friend. And I let him down, both personally and professionally, by allowing myself to get distracted, just because a pretty set of legs had walked by.
And while I somehow managed to salvaged my colossal fuck-up, and we all walked away tonight without any casualties, I probably won’t m be able to pull a miracle like that out of my ass every time.
Nor should I expect to.
Especially not during the social season, when Chris is going to be constantly in the spotlight, shaking hands, being interviewed, always in an exposed setting. All it would take is one moment of distraction, one second of lost focus, for someone to pull a gun, to slip through the crowd, for our worlds to come crashing down.
And I’m not gonna let Chris — my brother — down like that.
I can’t.
So, doubling down, I dig deep and continue to pound the vestiges of my frustrations, my failings, and my regret relentlessly into the treadmill, the hard and fast staccato of my feet against the machine echoing around the otherwise empty space.
I have no clue how long I run for. Minutes? Hours? It makes no difference. Every wheeze feels like my last, every exertion a desperate attempt to break free of the purgatory of mistakes I trapped myself in.
And still I push on. Until I hit the proverbial wall and collapse against it, my vision blurry, my limbs shaking, my clothes drenched.
I stand there for what feels like eternity, feet straddling either side of the machine, the belt still whizzing at breakneck speed beneath me while I cling to the console like a life-line, trying to catch my breath.
And eventually my heart-rate slows, the buzzing in my ears clears, and I regain enough coherence to lift a hand and slap the treadmill off.
Pushing myself up to a standing position as the machine whirls to a stop, I wipe the sweat from my eyes and glance at the screen in front of me.
10 miles. 56 minutes.
I scoff wryly. Well, fuck me if that ain’t a new personal best... Who knew that self-pity could be such a potent motivator...?
Exiting the menus, I grab my stuff and move to step off the machine... only to very narrowly avoid face planting into the floor.
Oh, shit...!
Grabbing the console, I shake my head to try and clear the sudden nausea.
Christ, I feel awful...
My eyes land on the water fountain and I lurch towards it like a drunk out of a bar. Because that’s exactly how I feel like — sluggish, light-headed and stumbling around like a newborn calf. Which is no surprise considering I've just run the best part of half a marathon as if the Devil himself had been after me, having consuming nothing but two bottles of beer beforehand.
Apparently I do hate myself.
Managing to make it to the far wall without any incident — just — I lean over the dispenser to inhale the cool stream of water, nearly making myself choke in the process.
But I know I need to rehydrate myself, otherwise I’m gonna be in a world of pain in a few hours' time. So, after overcoming the initial shock to my system, I force myself to loosen up on the pace and start taking longer and slower gulps.
Having finally satisfied my body's cravings, I let go of the dispenser button to run the back of a trembling hand over my water-soaked mouth.
Sweet Jesus, I’m a mess...
I can’t remember the last time I pushed myself this hard on a workout.
But then I've never felt this way before... Like I’m an idiot, like I missed the pass, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out.
And even though the hard run had managed to clear my mind, that latent feeling of... something is still there, writhing just beneath the surface, like an unscratchable itch under my skin.
And maybe it'll never go fully away. But I’m not about to give up without putting in a damn good fight.
Pushing myself up, I turn towards the pool. And even though I haven’t brought any swim trunks with me, my feet are already pulling me towards the siren call of the water.
Because if there’s one thing that’a guaranteed to set me right, it’s a full-body dunk.
Arriving at the side of the pool, I peel my sweat-soaked clothes off, leaving only my boxers on for the sake of modesty in case someone happens to walk in.
Taking a breath, I step out over the edge and plunge straight in.
The sting of salt hits my nose — not the same flavour as the Med, but then no pool’s ever gonna compete with that — as the water envelopes me and I let myself sink below the surface.
I hit the bottom and the echoey silence settles like a blanket around me, soothing my senses, taming my pulse.
I've always loved the water. Even before I could walk, I'd make a butt-shuffling beeline towards the end of the beach where the waves crashed onto the shore, unveiling a treasure trove of crabs, seashells and shiny rocks.
Of course, Mom'd been terrified that I'd get swept out to sea, or drown. So, to appease her fear, Dad had started taking me to swim lessons — first at the local therapy pool, but graduating quickly to the higher classes in the lap pool as I learnt to float, hold my breath, and leap off the diving board, all by the age of three.
From there my obsession only grew. I joined the school swim team, the water polo team, and even got certified as a lifeguard over the course of one summer. In short, I spent almost as much time in the water as out of it.
And then Chris introduced me to sailing.
At first I couldn't see the appeal of drifting around the Med on a sofa-sized boat when you could be swimming in it. But I've never been able to say 'no' to my best friend, so when he insisted I join him for a spin around the marina in his new Wayfarer one evening, I'd begrudgingly said yes. And had become instantly hooked. The speed, the technical precision, the feeling of flying over the water — it was all addictive.
Jack Sparrow'd had it right when he'd said that a ship is not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. Because even though those things are integral to the make-up of any craft, what a ship — or yacht, or catamaran, or any other vessel — really is, is freedom.
And for a restless 14 year-old, there was nothing more attractive than ditching the world to hang out with your buddy in the middle of the ocean, free of worries or adult supervision, just enjoying the endless view while you fished and talked about nothing in particular.
Of course, being teenagers, we were bound to get ourselves into deep water — quite literally. Which is how we ended up deciding that it'd be a great idea to take out a much larger sloop one evening... only to end up paying for that mistake when a storm decided to roll in out of the blue, catching us off guard and capsizing our craft.
And while that particular misadventure had ended up turning Chris off sailing once and for all, it had made me even more determined to get back out onto the water and obtain my ICC license. Which I did, the following summer.
And even though I no longer have Chris to share my maritime adventures with, my love of sailing — and of being out on the water — never diminished.
Because the sea is — and always has been — my personal haven.
Feeling my lungs start to itch from the lack of oxygen, I reluctantly open my eyes and kick back up to the surface.
But I don't feel like returning to dry land just yet.
So, drawing a quick breath, I stretch myself out and dip into an easy freestyle. Half-a-dozen strokes and I reach the edge of the pool. Diving down, I flip myself around to kick off the wall, resurfacing into a backstroke.
I repeat the pattern for about ten laps, enjoying the rare sense of peace that comes with gliding weightlessly through the water, strokes moving effortlessly in time with my breath.
Eventually, though, I’m forced to call it quits as my body finally runs out of steam and my rhythm starts to falter.
Grabbing onto the edge of the pool, I pause to catch my breath, arms and shoulders tingling from the exertion...
...and I suddenly realise that I'm starving.
Which, all things considered, is hardly surprising. The last time I had anything to eat was at that Midtown stake-house at dinner-time, which was over eight hours ago. And since then I've probably burnt through 800 calories' worth of pure stress, not to mention all the physical exertion I've put myself through. So, my blood sugar levels are shot.
Pulling myself out of the water, I pad over to the other side of the pool to collect my gear.
I briefly contemplate having a shower, but quickly ditch the idea on the basis that (a) I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me, and (b) I can’t trust myself not to go rooting for the ruined shirt that I ditched in the changing rooms earlier.
So, brushing off the worst of the water, I head straight for the lifts.
I’m not expecting to cross paths with anyone at whatever time in the morning it is. And if I do... well, they can suck it up. It's not like I’m walkin' around buck-ass naked.
Arriving back on our booked-out floor, I make my way to my room. Fishing the keycard out of the pocket of my shorts, I let myself in and flick the door closed behind me.
Dropping my exercise kit by my duffle, I locate the 24-hour room service menu and do a quick scan of the options.
A couple of items jump out at me, but knowing that I'll probably have breakfast with the guys in a few hours' time, I don’t want to have anything too heavy.
But then my eyes land on the cheeseburger, and before I can think twice about it, I've reached for the hotel phone and I'm putting the order through.
And even though I tell myself that it's because I never got to finish the one back at the dive bar two nights ago, I know that I'm lying to myself...
...so, I add a bottle of whiskey to the order for good measure.
Because I don’t want to blow up all my hard work by falling back into the same emotional sink hole that I only very narrowly managed to drag myself out of just now. So, I need something to distract myself.
Hanging up, I quickly sort my sweaty clothes out and stow them in the duffle before making my way into the bathroom to have another shower.
Once done, I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt (not bothering with socks or underwear) and flick the wall-mounted TV on to find something to pass the time with while I wait for the food to show up.
Not seeing any movies or series that particularly interest me, I eventually settle on a rerun of an old Pats game...
...but I find my mind wandering.
And it doesn't take long for my treacherous sub-conscious to dig up the very images that have been stalking me all night.
Gale, up in my face out on the club balcony, testing my limits and my sanity with that sassy smile of hers...
Gale, head thrown back and ass pressed up against me as we move to the techno-beat on the crowded dance-floor...
Gale, legs wrapped around me as her nails rake over my skin, fighting to get my shirt off as my tongue invades her mouth...
I groan despite myself, shifting uncontrollably on top of the covers...
...and realise that I've already lost the battle.
Shit.
My eyes land ruefully on the tell-tale tent pole straining the front of my pants.
I huff out a tight exhale.
If there'd been one thing I wanted to avoid tonight, it’s this...
Because I know that as soon as I dip a toe in that particular Rubicon, I’m screwed. And not in a good way.
Because when you've been continuously pushed to the edge, only to be yanked back each and every time from the precipice of release, a plain ol' wank just isn’t gonna do it.
Sure, jacking one out relieved the immediacy of the pent up need. But it’s never gonna hold a candle to the real thing. In part because it’s over in minutes and in part because cumming into your own hand feels about as satisfying as throwing yourself a one-man pity party.
Because sex is a team sport. And trying to run a solo play — when you know what the real thing feels like — is always gonna fall short of expectations. Because when you’re on your own, there’s no one to share the thrill with. To kiss, to tease, to fuck to the limit before letting go so you can finally implode into each other.
Which is why I'd tried my damnedest to exhaust myself so I wouldn't find myself in this situation. At least not until we were back in Cordonia, and I could avail myself of some options...
...'cept now I don’t have a choice.
Not unless I want to greet the bell hop with a raging hard-on...
Because unfortunately for me, my dick has apparently decided that it'd had enough of being baited, and is now gonna bend me over the barrel to get what it wants.
Regardless of the fact that it’s gonna be a massive let-down for both of us.
So, even as I try to shift my focus back to the Pats game — and sideline my ever-growing erection — all I manage to achieve is an even more persistent itch in my pants.
Because despite my resistance, we both know that thanks to the missed opportunity with Gale, chances are good that I’m not gonna find anything resembling decent satisfaction until after the Masquerade Ball.
As even though we'll be arriving back to a Palace teeming with all manner of women — from maids to staff to nobles — that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be casting a net. In fact, just the opposite. I’m not the type to shit where I eat (it causes too much unnecessary mess) and I learnt my lesson about fucking aristos the hard way.
Which means that unless I’m planning to shell out for a call girl — hell'd have to freeze over first — a self-administered hand-job is gonna have to tide me over until there’s a big enough gap in my schedule that I can get away from the Palace for a couple of hours and find some stress relief.
I heave a low breath. Fuck my fuckin' life...
But knowing that I've backed myself into a corner, I reach resignedly for my belt. Unhooking the buckle, I fling it to the side to expose the top button of my jeans. Snapping the fastening open with one hand, I yank the zip down with the other.
The denim falls away and my dick springs free of its confines, its rigid length snapping to attention like an overeager hound that has just caught a scent.
And even though this particular outing isn’t gonna end in the long, hard run we both know we need, that doesn't stop the damn thing from drooling like a mutt in anticipation.
Setting my jaw, I shove my jeans down over my hips, half-heartedly wishing I had some lube or something to try and improve this runaway train-wreck as I reach south...
...and groan out loud as my hand wraps around the warm shaft.
Goddamn...
I’m apparently more deprived than I realised. Though, I guess that shouldn't come as a massive surprise. Especially after the near constant edging that Gale subjected me to tonight, combined with the fact that it's been a good two weeks since the last time I managed to eke out time for a fuck. And that had been mediocre at best.
As if to emphasise the point, my dick bucks against palm, and it's clear that I have a lot of mitigating to do.
Sliding my fist firmly down, then back up again, I set about stoking up a rhythm. And even though it's nothing different to what I've done hundreds of times before, something about the familiar friction sparks an instant fire in my veins.
Maybe it's 'cause I’m exhausted... Maybe it's 'cause my mind’s a mess... Maybe it's 'cause I've gone cold turkey for too long...
But whatever it is, it’s sending me into a tailspin.
I feel my head tip back against the headboard with a low moan as I'm pulled rapidly under by the throes of my self-gratification.
And as my eyes shudder closed in the face of the rising tension, I give myself up to the darkest depths of my desire...
...and in a blink of an eye, I’m back in that cramped apartment, gazing up at Gale from between her legs, the imminence of her climax written on her face, the slickness of her arousal coating my mouth and tongue.
I groan into her as she grips my hair, urging me on with her increasingly desperate pleas, her body quivering above me as she careers towards the edge...
...and I’m suddenly possessed by an all-consuming urge to have her.
Shooting to my feet, with her legs still wrapped around my shoulders, I send her sprawling back over the top of the kitchen counter.
Because I know that we don’t have much time, and if I’m gonna make this happen, we need to do it hard and fast.
And I’m not gonna let myself disappoint her again.
Grabbing her by the waist, I yank her towards me. Her hazel-green eyes widen in shock as her ass dips over the edge of the counter. But my grip on her is unshakeable and she's not going anywhere.
Not yet anyway.
Not until I've fucked her six ways 'til Sunday, and even then I probably won’t let her leave.
Because this girl sets me on fire like nobody else, and I need her to burn with me.
Bending down to give her decadent folds one more self-indulgent lick, I steady her with one hand while I rip my belt and jeans open with the other, not able to take my eyes off her as she writhed before me.
"Drake...!"
The sound of my name slipping off her lips like a fervent prayer unleashes something feral inside of me. Something I didn't even know existed in the dark recesses of my soul. Something that instantly swallows whatever vestiges of rational thought I have left, leaving only one, single-minded purpose:
To make her mine.
And in some corner of my brain I know I should be terrified. Of this rabid hunger that she's unwittingly awakened within me. Of the fact that I can’t control it... and don’t want to.
But I'm already past the point of no return. And I can’t give a rat's ass.
Because the only thing I care about is fulfilling that unspoken obsecration of hers until she’s ruined for all other men.
Shoving my jeans and boxers down with a growl, I grab her hips and ram myself into her in one, brutal motion.
Her wet heat engulfs me, taking me fully, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as I revel in the sheer euphoria of her, her deep-throated cry of agreement rising up around me.
Christ, she feels amazing!
And if the mere act of being inside her doesn’t already feel like pure rapture, she then decides to up the ante even further.
"Fuck me, Drake," she demands, arching her lower back forward.
A guttural sound rattles my throat as she rolls her hips against me, cranking up the torsion as she pulls me in even deeper.
And I could've lost it then and there.
But somehow — whether through sheer force of will, or by the grace of God — I manage to tamp down the rapidly rising swell in order to heed her command.
Because this isn’t about me. This is about her. And I’m gonna make damn sure that she gets what she wants before I let myself cum inside her.
Even if it kills me.
Opening my eyes, I meet her hazel-green gaze with an affirmative smirk. "Yes, ma'am."
She wraps her legs around me expectantly...
...and I slam us together roughly, loudly, unapologetically.
She gasps beneath me, hands flying to the edge of the counter to grip it like an anchor in a storm, her entire body reverberating with the impact of our collisions.
But I don't stop. I can't. I pound into her like a man possessed... because I am. All semblance of logic, of reason, of God-given sense has evaporated and I devolve into the basest version of myself, one that is driven purely by lust and instinct.
And even though I know I won't be able to hold out, that I'll cave in the face of her rhapsodic screams and the almost painful pressure she’s putting on my dick, I'm powerless to pull the e-brake. If anything, it makes me rev the throttle even harder.
Because she just feels too damn good, and I've been at her mercy from the start.
Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. And in those lust-blown, hazel-green depths, I see more than just need... more than just passion.
I see complete faith.
And it undoes me.
I explode into her with a ragged, animalistic cry, my body jerking with the force of my deliverance.
"Holy... fuck!"
The long-coveted wave of release crashes over me, wiping away my thoughts and my vision, and I'd be convinced that I passed out were it not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears and the thundering of my heart.
A few more pumps, a shuddered breath as the last swell rises, and I’m left drained, floating.
I stay there, motionless, revelling in that all-too brief moment of calm before the chaos of the world spins back up around me.
Sweet Jesus, that w—
Her warm lips brush against my sweat-streaked forehead, her honey-camomile scent drifting over me like a drunken haze...
I move to lean into her. "Harp—"
...but she's already gone.
The story continues in Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day
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Sleepless in New York only
@bebepac
Picture Credits
Insomnia - Dawn - New York - Run - Swim - Drake - Pool
#drake walker#sleepless in new york#world whiskey day#drake walker appreciation#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#drake x mc#harper gale#the royal romance#trr au fanfic
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The Observatory North Park, San Diego, 12/9/23
Though we were in a different city the setup for this show was very similar to last night in LA: large, ornate theater with a barricade keeping people back from the stage. But this was no impediment to the band torching through a stellar set.
Amanda calls me Tom the Critic because after shows I have a tendency to skip over the OMYGOD THAT WAS AWESOME part and pick nits over minor issues. It’s a character flaw; I’m working on it.
After this show I took Amanda’s face in my hand, looked her in the eye, and said, “Amanda, you know I love you, but I am about to tell you something that you probably thought you’d never hear me say.”
“Oh god,” she replied, bracing for the worst. “What is it?”
I leaned in close and whispered, “Perfect show. No notes.”
“AWWWW!” she said as she melted into my arms for a big hug.
And it really was a truly stupendous show, but even so it came close to being overshadowed by the after party.
Amanda’s sister Alyson (of forced wedding / gross cake fame) was in town for a hematology conference, and her “book doula” Jamy Ian Swiss lives in San Diego, so they were both there.
I convinced them - and Amanda’s brilliant long-time sound guy Dave - to join us for drinks at Part Time Lover, a nearby combination bar and vinyl record store. As we headed out I snuck up behind Amanda and said, “I think I just convinced your sister to come out drinking.” She said, “Yeah, that tracks.”
The place was jammed with a boisterous young crowd when we arrived, but we closed the place down and there hardly was anyone left by 2am.
I got to learn about Alyson’s efforts to cure cancer with targeted drugs and Dave’s work training the next generation of sound engineers. That was lovely, but Jamy stole the show. Or rather, put one on.
Knowing him primarily from his work with Amanda on her book, I thought the magic was a bit of a side hustle. When I asked, “Are you any good?” his look said, ‘I will tolerate that because you are buying me drinks,’ but his mouth said, “I am much better than good.” And then he pulled out a deck of cards and proved it.
I had never actually seen close magic up close, like literally standing next to the magician. Let me tell you, it is quite an experience. You know it’s a trick, you know he’s doing something, but you cannot see anything, which makes you start questioning your sanity. He really is much better than good.
After we closed the bar Dave and Alyson bailed but Jamy soldiered on and we went to an all-night diner where the spirited (pardon the pun) conversation continued until we finally parted ways around 4am. This was one for the annals.
Annotated Set List:
Good Day
Sex Changes
Gravity
Backstabber
My Alcoholic Friends
Shores of California
Delilah (featuring Veronica Swift)
Welcome to the Internet (Bo Burnham cover)
Another lengthy intro before launching into a set of new songs, although this didn’t feel like the angsty delay tactic of the previous night but just bringing the audience up to speed on what was about to happen.
Mister God
By way of introduction to the next song Amanda said that the friend who was the first person she sent it to when it was finished was in the audience.
“A really dear friend of mine is in the audience tonight … his name is Jamy Ian Swiss and he’s a man of many talents, among them: he’s an incredible professional magician. But he also helped me write a book called “The Art of Asking,” which was kind of a magic trick itself. Over the course of working on this book together he got to know me very very very well.”
And I thought, ‘Oh yeah I need to party with this guy.’
Houdini
Believe it or not, as Amanda was telling the background story of the next song, there was another medical emergency that necessitated bringing up the house lights, same as the previous night in LA. Once again the staff was on it and the band and the crowd were very respectful.
Afterwards Brian said, “It is actually really amazingly rad to have venue after venue’s staff come up to us after shows and go, ‘Your crowd is really awesome; they’re really good people!’”
Whakenewha
Amsterdam (Jacques Brel cover)
Another Christmas
Boyfriend in a Coma
The Runner
The Nail (Amanda on synthesizer)
Coin-Operated Boy
“We don’t take for granted that we’ve been a band for 23 years now and without a record out since fucking 2008 and like a thousand people still came to see us play. That does not necessarily have to happen when you’re a band. And so we want to thank every single one of you for just like loving us and believing in us.”
Merch commercial
Astronaut (A Brief History of Nearly Nothing) (Amanda Palmer cover)
War Pigs (Black Sabbath cover)
—
Girl Anachronism
Photo Gallery:
The scene of the crime.
Ready to Rock! (photo by Deanna Aliano)
The Dresden Dolls!
Delilah
Amanda is WAY up on the balcony for Amsterdam
The many faces of Brian Viglione
Merry Christmas motherfuckers
Technicolor Dolls
Beautiful shot of Brian by Deanna Aliano
Big finish!
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OKAY WOO CHAPTER 22 RUNDOWN LETS GO
(another VERY VERY long thought dump, apologies in advance for how much i talk in this one😭)
LOHA GAVE US THE DOCUMENTS⁉️
as someone on the blood path rather than shadow i am so STRESSED
LITTLE AMALIA
abel being part of the family🥹
she’s gotta stop throwing us into the void like this
this music is beautiful though
so uhhhh loha just asked ro to give herself back to the power…… please do not do this to me i will not emotionally recover
“you will shed this mortal shell and lose the identity you gained as rowan burke. you will be forever separated from your friends. you will lose the man you love.” yup ok i’m already crying
ro is not dying. i am too attached to the humanity that she has grown AND THINK ABOUT ABEL. HE CANNOT LOSE SOMEONE ELSE HE LOVES YOU CRUEL PEOPLE
this isn’t my purpose. i will find another way.
how the hell did abel’s family get their hands on an amulet that just so happens to be endowed with the power of spirits
THE SUDDEN MUSIC CHANGE JUMPSCARED ME😭
ghost rowan :( my baby :(
yet again, why am i so overwhelmed before the intro sequence even plays
i had to get my emotional support hot water bottle (we are READY)
ghost rowan has me cryin i feel sorry for her :(
THE WAY SHE SPEAKS ABOUT ABEL got me giggling through my tears
oh PISS OFF GERTRUDE
god damn you really like to make my life difficult, i know i want to keep rowan’s humanity but making the choice between reuniting with human rowan or just staying as she is took me SO LONG (i chose to merge with human rowan, but i’ll definitely play the other ending too after tomorrow!)
i am frightened
YOU’RE SHOWING ME ANNIE AT A TIME LIKE THIS?
this music is beautiful too !!!! you guys outdid yourself
“promise me you’ll try to be happy” i hope you can hear me sobbing
“you close your eyes and remember all the things you love […] you think about abel” BDJWJSJXHDH I AM SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM
HER EYES!! THEY’RE NORMAL !!!!
“Affection, fondness, late nights, early mornings. Anger, sorrow, petty squabbles, explosive fights. The pain of losing, the joy of living. Everything that makes Sadie, you remember and you feel.” this kinda shit gets me EVERY TIME i love gentle reminders of what makes us human (i’m just a very emotional person ok)
oh god does this mean we don’t have powers anymore? i am so scared of her dying PLEASE SHE CANNOT DIE
well then.
MATTHIAS GET OUT OF HERE YOU GERIATRIC WORM
the lore docs coming in useful with an extra scene💪
WE SAW HUMAN REDFIELD?? why is he kinda..
oh matthias you dirty little actor, oscar winning performance you dickhead
“Over your long life, you've learned that men are as predictable as the tides. Eager to believe they're special and different, even when they're nothing more than ordinary.” ilw said man hating rights! matthias dissing men as if he isn’t a man himself ????
YOUNG CORA??????? she is beautiful
GHOST REDFIELD ORIGIN REVEAL AND THE THEME MUSIC KICKS IN?? CHILLS.
OH MY GOD THIS IS SO COOL I AM GRINNING FROM EAR TO EAR
LUIS?????? LITERALLY THE LAST PERSON I EXPECTED TO TURN UP
NOT THE DADDY CONVERSATION????
luis i love you
everything he says is pure comedy gold
HE FLIPPED HIM OFF? this is amazing
HELL YEAH MATTHIAS GET ANCHORED YOU OLD AGE PENSIONER
this music is EPIC
“rowan?” “yeah?” “go get the bastard” HELL YEAH
i seriously cannot get over this music it is insane i’m literally just sitting here jamming to it i’m too hyped to focus
NOT LINCOLN HITTING RATTY MATTY WITH “you think mom would’ve wanted this?” EMOTIONALLY MANIPULATE THE BASTARD HELL YEAH
“It's a good thing she's not alive to see the kind of person you've become. It would've broken her heart.” holy shit man, linky you’re gonna make me cry and then who’s gonna win this fight?
“I will not kill Matthias McQuoid. I pass his judgment over to the Power, to the force he used and abused for centuries.” ok i am in tears i am just very emotional that this whole thing is ending
THE MATTHIAS CG - YOUR TALENT BLOWS ME AWAY EVERY TIME
update: upon catching up on the discord i am so glad i didn’t choose the shadow route because i am cryin a whole lot and i just know that if i played it in my own game with my own mc and her abel romance i would actually be SOBBING
OKAY!! i won’t keep you any longer, but wow the music this chapter was incredible, especially the final fight music SOMEONE INJECT THAT SONG INTO MY VEINS BECAUSE WOW i can’t express just how much i loved it, definitely perfect for that fight
-abel simp anon 💓💓💓💓
this is soooo late, i'm so sorry dear 😅 But EVERYONE should read this and enjoy dear abel simp anon's ch 22 reaction post 🙏
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Whumptober prompt #6
No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE
Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall
Perhaps there was just one other time Ashara witnessed Altrethir in such a mood. It was many years ago, during a stressful period of his life that she thought would be his breaking point. He’d come storming out of his quarters now, fists balled and arms swinging with each step and his cloak billowing behind him. His sheer height coupled with his dreadful Sith aura would make anyone intimidated.
And that aura was potent. Altrethir always kept his emotions reserved, yet now everything was on full display.
Ashara took the concerned approach. “What’s happened?”
“A’lea,” Altrethir growled. “They have her.”
Hit with shock, she couldn’t initially find the words to say. A’lea—his daughter of only eight years old—had been kidnapped?
“I received a ransom holo of all things,” he said, maintaining his speedy gait. “The Empire truly believes they may abduct my daughter and force me to pay in credits. Had they possessed any number of cells in their empty minds,” he jammed the button to the door, “perhaps they could’ve come up with a better plan.”
Ashara pursed her lips. His voice had grown significantly loud, dropping its otherwise softer and monotone pitch. “You’re sure it’s the Empire?”
“Yes,” he said, taking a small breath to calm himself. “The holo showed bounty hunters, but the setting itself was Imperial. They’ve hired these wretched fools for this job.”
The two found themselves on the bridge of the Torr-Rol, Altrethir’s warship that he took when he left the Eternal Alliance. The ship was used now for his Inquisitors as a sort of hub. It served as a nice sort of base for the time being, until they could secure an area of operations planet-side.
Altrethir punched in coordinates and announced over the comms that the ship would be jumping to lightspeed. “This is a means to lure me into a trap, I know. I’ve thought this through,” he continued. He leaned over the control panel, his lekku falling in front of him as his head hung lower. “I will not resist tearing out each of their hearts and forcing them down their throats. I’ve choked the life from many a foe before—and as satisfying as it is, I feel a primal urge swelling within me for physical violence. No Force tricks.”
“I ask that you heed caution,” Ashara warned. “Your anger is justified, but I can tell rage is clouding your better judgement. We must do what is strategically sound—.”
“This is strategically sound,” Altrethir snapped, whipping around and pounding a fist against the dashboard. “And I am nothing short of a god in comparison to bounty hunter lackeys.”
“Pride? Really? You’re not invincible.”
“How has death not yet reached me then? My powers are either so grand that death has evaded me my whole life, or fate has a sick sense of humor. Perhaps both. I have survived slavery, the trials of acolytes in Korriban, trials of becoming a Revanite. I’ve been possessed by ghosts and bested some of the strongest Darths of our era. Valkorian resided in my mind for months while he considered me to be a vessel for his own power.”
Ashara’s expression grew stern, nostrils flared and lips curled into a frown. “You don’t need to recap all of your achievements to me. I was there for all but the first two. And I’ll still be here for the ones yet to come. But if we’re going to help A’lea—and believe me, I want nothing more than to make those bastards bleed—we need you to clear your head. This isn’t you, Alt.” She put a hand on his shoulder, “Let's call Theron and let him know what’s going on. He’s still on Coruscant, right? We’ll have him pick up Lucien from the temple and bring him home for the day, make sure they’re both safe.”
Altrethir avoided eye-contact. His complexion was still darkened but his eyes eventually softened. He took a big sigh. “You’re right, I apologize. We’ll do that, yes.”
“Don’t apologize. Just promise you won’t go into blind rage when we find those guys.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Then go meditate in your room after the call.”
Altrethir raised a brow. “I don’t need a time-out.”
“Fine. Theron’s gonna tell you to do the same thing, though. Would you listen then?”
He huffed in amusement. “Unlikely.”
#whumptober2022#no.6#ransom video#swtor#star wars: the old republic#fic#fanfic#Sith Inquisitor#Ashara Zavros#Original Character
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Chalk! Did you watch the trailers for GMMTV 2023 - 🧋
No, not yet, what happ -
...
...
...
OH MY GOD.
JIMMY.
JIMMY and SEA.
JIMMY and SEA and AOF.
Jimmy set up like rough trade (for GMMTV values of rough trade), and prickly Sea having his barriers worn down by some charming asshole he can't resist, and a soupçon of delicious misunderstanding and angst to complement the sweetness that this pairing already has shown the receipts for, and their freckles oh my god, did everyone notice the freckles on both of them in the beach scenes? The freckles are killing me already.
LAST TWILIGHT WHEN?
(Please, gods of bl, having laid this before me, do not allow it to be fucked up in the ways it's so easy to do with a disability storyline. Please. Also surely this one will not get stuck in development hell, not with Aof involved + the proven ability of Jimmy and Sea to pull advertising dollars hand over fist, right? RIGHT?)
OK, so.
:adds at least one thing to the list of things to watch next year ALREADY:
Wait.
:adds another thing to the list of things to definitely watch next year:
Because if any single one of the 15 properties that Neo Trai seems to be attached to actually makes it out next year, PLEASE gods of bl, let it be that incendiary toxic clusterfuck of a messy mess that Only Friends looks like it's going to be. I kind of want to inject this one straight into my veins. I can't tell you what joy it would bring me to watch this kind of fuckery for weeks on end, not to mention the way it's going to pull out yet another facet of Neo's acting, and getting to watch him and Force together would be jam. Killing another bird with this same stone, this would give me a chance to see ForceBook in something other than Enchanté, which I've been wanting to do, because bts footage from that show led me to believe that I actually might like Book, it was only Theo who was like nails on a chalkboard (the only good thing Theo ever did for me was make his dom, played by Jimmy, fly over from France to officially turn his brat over to Akk). And I do not think A Boss and A Babe is going to be the one that's going to do it for me. Meanwhile, I've literally never seen Khao or First in anything yet, so I have no dog in the fight on that front. But is ... is that Chang from Bad Buddy being pathetic at Neo? Mark, is that you? (Come to think if it, didn't I also see you in the background of Last Twilight?) Last but not least, Boston? What are you, kid, some kind of knockoff Theerapanyakul?
And. And!!
:adds one more thing to the list of things to definitely watch next year:
MILK PANSA, MY BELOVED. Starring in straight-up identity porn, one of my favorite tropes. If you think I'm not going to be all over 23.5, it's like you never met me. First of all, lol, OK, I will suspend my disbelief - this show's official baloneyum can be that MILK PANSA could possibly be overlooked like this. Anyway. I have no doubt that Milk and Love will continue to have fantastic chemistry, I just hope the script will do them justice. Love was fantastic as Pa in Bad Buddy proper. But please, gods of gl, on this outing, can we NOT have any kind of horrible whiny "I'm so faaaat" storylines like the one that absolutely shut me out of Magic of Zero 10 minutes into Zero Photography. Please.
Some other thoughts:
I. OK, I'm going to be honest and say that while Dangerous Romance looks like the kind of delightful hot mess of a relationship that I quite enjoy, AND it will be nice to see this guy Chimon people talk about, AND I definitely want to see Perth again, because I really did love what he did with Ae in Love By Chance, I also rolled my eyes at the school setting - I know, I know - and also, I cannot absolutely guarantee that somewhere in the back of my brain I wouldn't be halfway watching this as a couple of AU Waikorn expies. OK, that last bit might be a feature, not a bug. Altogether, anyway, I feel like this one is most likely to be the one that I intend to wait and marathon once it's completely aired but then can't actually wait for, so I end up watching week-by-week. It may depend on what kind of hype shows up on my dash and what else I'm already busy watching at the time.
I've never seen the original Our Skyy, so I have no emotional attachment to this second one, so my biggest reaction is that this looks like a premise that easily could go wrong, so fingers crossed that doesn't happen, and ALSO I'm kind of vaguely amused at the way GMMTV seems to be using this as the jingling keys to draw everyone's attention away from the fact that other than this, they appear to be completely hetereosexualizing Ohm and Nanon this year. Also are ... are they actually Pat and Pran in this? Are we sure? Because I suspect that's going to get everyone excited, but I would kind of have to laugh if they turn out to be Tess and Tun, and monkey paw gives us the Tess and Tun backstory.
I'd feel better about Hidden Agenda if they hadn't put the guitar right there in the trailer - come on guys, we know it's going to happen but there's no need to rub our faces in it - and although this looks nicely messy with bonus disaster bisexuals, I don't have enough existing investment in anyone here to automatically follow them to it. If and when this happens, it will likely be a marathon watch at some point when it's completed airing and I'm at loose ends.
I can almost but not quite figure out what Double Savage is about, and between Ohm's and Perth's acting I'd probably watch this if I had all the time in the world, but I don't even have enough time to watch all the queer content I want to watch, so I fear this one will fall by the wayside for me. Maybe a marathon once it's all aired and I have a week off? Same goes for Midnight Museum - I like the aesthetique, but again, I already have a list like my arm of things to watch, and some of it is stuff that I would need to watch before I have any emotional investment in Gun, who I've literally never seen in anything yet, other than his cameo in Vice Versa. Wednesday Club and The Jungle both seem to be going for a kind of edgy vibe that I'm not feeling right now - sorry guys, you've got include some messy toxic gays (see: Only Friends) to pull me from this angle, I think.
#gmmtv 2023#jimmy jitaraphol#sea tawinin#jimmysea#last twilight#neo trai#only friends#milk pansa#love pattranite#milklove#23.5#chimon wachirawit#perth tanapon#dangerous romance#ohm pawat
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[Lost in Pure Silence]
[From the pov of Dark Choco]
I've had enough. I'm not just some toy to push to the floor and step on.. I don't care about what he says at this point, I just force myself onto my knees, grabbing my sword to help push myself up. It's a pain that I know will be temporary, having to get to the one beyond the haze.
Our eyes make contact, and I can see the fear and distress in them. Distressed about this situation.. I can't take seeing him looking like this. This looming feeling of eyes upon me doesn't help the situation, the air heavy with judgement. Were there more entities than I thought, watching this scenario like a play?.. or was it just the entity itself that hung so lifelessly?
The pain drew out the rot, having to harshly wipe away the black fluid from my face. Whipped already saw enough, but I will get him out of here, and keep him safe.
But I heard the cracks again, this time with the ripping of fabric, I turned around to catch the source.
The corpse, the strings had pulled him to his feet...
his face was on the floor but there was no jam, only a void and the mask that hid the void, his limbs were white with gold details.
He stood as if he narrowly avoided death with severe wounds, with the strings straightening his posture, but it didn't fix how limp his limbs and neck were.
"Do you ever wish to have a peaceful life?"
Hearing him utter those words, it makes me grit my teeth. Of course I wish to have a peaceful life, but with my owed duties, I don't have that chance.
"Yes, but why would you even offer?"
I snap back, only to get laughed at.
"I can give you such a thing, rid you of the very thing that causes violence, chaos.. I can give you the peaceful life you want."
I've known better than to trust this being, after all, he grinded his heels into my back, but a part of me also believes him. A part that longs for normality with the one I'm here for. My head begins to hurt, staring into the black pit that was once his face.
"What would you even rid me of? What would be so simple as to finally give me peace?"
"Then let it be a short answer, Dark Choco.. It's your voice."
His arm limply extends out, the hand fixed in a position as to say 'come, join me.'.. But I refuse. Who would want to give up a part of their identity just to get some peace that may be ruined at some point? What is worth losing a part of yourself!?
"You want me to trade my voice for a peaceful life? My voice, something that can be used for the greater good?-"
"-Or for the greater evil, have you not heard how damaging voices are? How their words can drive people beyond madness and into turmoil so great they cannot withstand it?"
His neck finally snapped itself back into place, staring at me with that void of a face, I swore I saw the childhood memories of me inside it.
"Whipped Cream knew how it felt to live in a horrid world of suffering, we agreed that we would silence ourselves for peace."
"After all, that's what I am, The Silence."
The Silence.. now it finally clicked. The being I was facing, this CORPSE.. it was no corpse at all, but a god, lurking in wait. Almond was right to think it was a trap, and I was a careless insect who flew right into it. This god would not claim me, though, and the idea that Whipped Cream would willingly be silenced when he struggled to speak from his own anxiety?.. if jam could boil, mine would.
"Was he given the choice to even allow this to happen!? Is that WHY HIS LEGS WERE STREWN ON THE FLOOR!?"
My temperament was getting the better of me, and despite not seeing the god's eyes, I could tell he was growing impatient.. the feeling of fear suddenly overtaking me, instead of anger... I felt like my legs had a mind of their own, backing away for me, but not fast enough. The strings seemed to twirl him around in an eerily graceful fashion, once again getting distracted enough that the cold hard collision against floor was the only thing I noticed, my back planted flat as I was in.. somewhere new.
"Now, let me ask you again, do you want a peaceful life? or would you rather suffer with chaos and violence?"
This place was distorted and quiet, with a strong scent of jam, my gut tells me to remain quiet, but I saw him, my beloved Whipped, distressed and trying to reach me.
I slide on my back a little before pushing myself up, trying to back up towards Whipped.. He needed me, it's been over a year and a half.. our reunion just had to be in the worst of places. Though, the glimmer of something caught my eye as I looked back, and I could see the panic in Whipped's face as he held his fists in the air..
They weren't fists, he was holding ONTO something, and the cackle of that haunting voice only made everything worse. It was becoming too much, even for me.. and I could feel the tears run as red ran down his front, the thing he was holding cutting into his neck..
I simply ran for him then and there. It was all so sudden, but I just clung onto him as the entity behind me seemed to go quiet. I could feel the jam running against my armor, tearing off the damp trench coat to act as a wrap around the other's neck. I could see his panic, unable to speak but trying to tell me something through his pink eyes. I felt.. horrible. I felt like I failed him..
"Don't you see? Voices are so violent, they cause a stir, which becomes an uproar.. Just... I.. I didn't mean it.."
I could tell that his doughmanity was showing.. he's just like me, a cookie turned into a monster, but I can't forgive him.
That's when I felt the strings pull me out with Whipped in my arms, the door to the pocket dimension right behind me and the entity staring away from us.
"Good day, ■■■■ ■■■■■■."
As he mutters those words, I just hold Whipped close, saying no goodbyes as I kick open the door to the outside, preferring the rain on my body rather than letting him get wet... the rain doesn't hide my tears as I pull Whipped up completely into my arms, using the coat fabric to block my staining emotions as my head rested on his smaller shoulder.
"Thank god.. I have you again.. I'm so glad I have you again.."
#cookie run au#cookie run eldritch au#cookie run#eldritch!dark choco#story arc#eldritch!whipped cream#lost in pure silence arc
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Red Alert - Chapter One
ACT I - RED DAWN
Chapter One: Red Alert
The Pentagon
Day One
“God damn it… Jesus Christ, god damn it!”
Captain Pullman shot out of his chair, racing over to the duty officer. He was staring down, his eyes wide and his face pale, shaking his head in numb disbelief.
“Captain Slater, what is it?”
“I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it!”
“Captain Slater!”
Slater punched his desk.
“My wife packed PB&J again!”
Pullman deflated as Slater hurled the sandwich to the side in bitter disgust.
It was early morning in Washington - the sun had barely risen over the horizon, and Slater and Pullman had been given the second watch of the day. In this day of computer consoles and advanced radar, that generally meant staring at a screen waiting for any sinister red dots to appear on their little green maps of America. As duty officer, Slater was technically in command - it was his job to call out the moment something appeared.
“Helpful hint, Slater; maybe don’t start calling out for God’s mercy over a sandwich while you’re the duty officer,” grunted Pullman. “Christ, man, I thought red paratroopers were dropping on Fifth Avenue.”
“I hate peanut butter! She knows I hate peanut butter!” Slater shook his head. “But nooo, it’s good for me - maybe if I rashed up and died she’d get the point. Hell of a way to start the day.”
“She knows, does she?” Pullman raised his eyebrow. “You actually tell her that?”
“No, but… I figure she’d work it out, you know?” grunted Slater. “It’s a spread, not a rocket science. I swear, I just… sweet Jesus.”
“Hey, you’ll get over it, man.”
“Sweet Jesus, sweet mother of Mary, oh god…”
“Oh, what is it now, Slater?” demanded Pullman. “She forget to pack you any poptarts? You are such a drama…”
“Pullman.”
Slater turned on his chair, looking Pullman directly in the eye. Behind him, Pullman could make out blinking lights on his screen, just beyond the American coastline, red in colour.
“Get General Carville,” said Slater. “Now.”
-------
Beale Air Force Base, California
Day One
“...this is Beale, we’re receiving you CENTCOM, go ahead.”
…
“Yes sir, we are picking up multiple contacts incoming - confidence is high. Looks like conventional air forces, possibly escorting naval transports but we cannot confirm at this time. More than three hundred contacts and growing on the west coast. CENTCOM, is this an exercise?”
…
“Roger that, this is not an exercise…”
-------
The Pentagon
Day One
“...Beale and Clear are both picking up Soviet aerial activity, sir. We can’t raise Cape Cod.”
General Ben Carville grimaced, moustache twitching, as he did up his top button, marching out of his office as he did so. One arm was already in his service jacket as he began to grapple with his tie.
“You wanna tell me how in Sam Hell they got this close?” he demanded.
“No idea, sir.” Colonel Fraser shook his head as he followed Carville through the halls of the Pentagon. “Navy’s as stumped as we are - where we can raise them, anyway.”
“They’re scrambling our comms?”
“Likely,” the Colonel replied. “We can’t raise Pearl or San Diego. All our bases on the southern border are dark. Either they’ve jammed us or…”
“...or the Ruskies are already on top of us.” Carville gritted his teeth as he pulled on his jacket. “Belt.”
Fraser handed the general his belt.
“We’ve constructed as much of the situation as we can on the Big Board,” said Fraser. “It’s… not a good look sir.”
They emerged into the command centre - a dark, wide room lit by the cool blue and green glows of computer screens, all in the shadow of the Big Board, a world map that showed strategic movements as soon as they were reported. Carville wrinkled his nose as he looked up at the situation.
The Southwest was completely dark - it was as if all activity, Allied or Soviet, had been scrubbed from Texas to Arizona, and as far north as southern Kansas and Colorado. At every other angle, save from the north, red arrows were approaching the coast, most of which seemed to come from random points in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Some lights were already blinking, indicating possible attack - Cape Cod, San Diego and Anchorage for now, but Carville was certain this was only the beginning.
“Submarines,” he said.
“Big enough to transport an entire army?” Fraser said incredulously.
Carville shot him a dirty look.
“You got any better ideas, Colonel?” he demanded.
“I… no sir.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Carville shook his head.
“Has the President been informed?” he asked.
“We were waiting on you, sir,” said Fraser.
“Well then get me the damn phone,” snapped Carville.
-------
Somewhere south of the Rio Grande
Day One
“Comrade Colonel, the beacon is ready!”
Colonel Demichev looked up at the device standing in the desert. To him, it almost resembled a cattle prod sticking out of an American sink plug and ringed with batwings - a strange, twenty foot modern art project sitting incongruously amongst the shrubbery. Yet, so the Psychic Corps claimed, this was a weapon of enormous potential, and other constructs just like it were already hard at work all along the border.
He was sceptical, but orders were orders. If Moscow wanted him to babysit the PsiCorps while they played games in the Mexican desert, then that was simply what he had to do.
“Well comrade,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see if your master Yuri’s toy works.”
The woman standing next to him glared through icy blue-green eyes. She wore a gunmetal silver jumpsuit with black gloves and boots; the bob that framed her freckled face was only somewhat lighter in its silver colour. This, so Demichev was informed, was Afina, one of Yuri’s most talented acolytes. As if a clown could have acolytes, he thought.
“Connect it to Moscow immediately,” she ordered.
“You heard her,” Demichev said lazily, waving off his engineers.
He took a drag of his cigarette.
This may be a total waste of his time - but at least it took him off the front.
-------
The White House
Day One
President Micheal Dugan struggled to form words.
“I… can you repeat that, Ben?”
“Soviet invasion confirmed,” Carville replied simply. “The Reds are hittin’ us just about everywhere.”
Dugan blinked.
To say this wasn’t what he had expected when elected to office was an understatement. He had come into office hoping to champion a number of infrastructure reforms, a few progressive civil rights bills here and there; effectively he was to be an inoffensive president for an inoffensive time. Hell, he’d even put continued peace with the Soviets on his platform! Surely they wouldn't be attacking, right? Romanov was, well, a communist, but he’d never seemed…
He gulped and pulled himself together.
“Keep an eye on the situation for now, General,” he said. “Beef up our defenses where you need to. I’ll call Romanov and see what’s going on; this could be a rogue general.”
“Mhm,” Carville grunted doubtfully. “I’ll be on the line.”
Dugan put the general on hold and shifted his eyes over to the red telephone on the other side of his desk. His hand shaking slightly, he picked it up - there was no dial, as this was a direct hotline. All he needed to do was press the connect button and he was on his way through.
It seemed to take longer than it needed to, but eventually there was a click.
“Mr. President!”
“Premier Romanov, uh, we have a situation over here.” Dugan wiped his brow. “I, uh… your forces are moving uncomfortably close to our borders…”
He grimaced as he heard Romanov chuckle.
“I am quite aware of that, Mr. President,” he replied. “Impressive, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, uh, you… well, you’re throwing everything you have at us, Alex!” exclaimed Dugan. “What the hell happened to detente? We’re supposed to be Allies, you maniac!”
“Allies?” Romanov spat. “You listen very carefully to me, Mr. President. I am not your pet. I am not some dancing monkey you can parade around for political points! We Romanovs have a legacy to consider!”
“I…” Dugan scowled. “I don’t give a wooden nickel about your legacy! Call your forces off!”
There was no response - Dugan could hear a light snicker, as if Romanov was enjoying a private joke. The President took a deep breath.
He hadn’t wanted this - but now it seemed he had no choice.
“You know we’ll retaliate…” he said, a warning tone in his voice.
“No, Mr. President,” Romanov replied. “I don’t believe you will.”
Dugan shook his head, disconnecting the line and grabbing the regular phone once more. He took Carville off hold.
“Sir?”
“We’re hitting them, General,” Dugan said, reaching into his desk for his card. “My authorization code is as follows…”
-------
EC-135 ‘Looking Glass’ Aircraft, Undisclosed Location
Day One
“General!”
The communications officer held up the phone for the commanding officer, who immediately raced down the plane to pick up.
“This is Alice.”
“Looking Glass, this is CENTCOM, you are cleared for a full scale assault on the Soviet Union, authorisation code is as follows…”
-------
KGB Headquarters, Moscow
Day One
“...Echo… Niner… Seven. Confirmed! Send confirmation to all silos, over.”
The signals intelligence officers, deep underneath KGB headquarters, perked up at the transmission. Their commanding officer immediately climbed to his feet.
“The Beacon is receiving, patch it through to the Premier’s office!” he ordered.
-------
The Kremlin
Day One
Romanov watched with baited breath as Yuri picked up the telephone.
The Premier had waited for this day for longer than he cared to admit, and he had dressed for the occasion. He was in his full white dress uniform, his cap sitting on his desk, trying to pull off an air of total confidence - and yet, he was worried. This was the moment of truth - if Yuri’s plan worked, nothing would stop the Red Army. But if it didn’t… well, it didn’t bear thinking of.
He strained his ears to listen to the phone, but there were so many voices coming through that it all seemed to melt together. On the other side, connected through a complex series of communications arrays from Moscow to Mexico, was a line that now connected Yuri to every single missile silo in the US arsenal.
With his free hand, Yuri massaged his temple, his eyes widening. They seemed almost to glow.
-------
Classified Nuclear Launch Facility, Near Kansas City, MO
Day One
“...code is in, we are preparing for….”
Lieutenant Boyd froze. Behind him, his partner, Lieutenant Fonda was finishing the process of preparing his missile for launch, pausing to wipe the sweat from his forehead before grabbing his key.
“Boyd, we’ve gotta open the silo doors,” he said. “C’mon.”
Boyd, still holding the phone, slowly turned around, reaching for his holster.
“C’mon, man, get over here!” exclaimed Fonda. “Why are you still on the horn? They calling it off or something?”
Fonda’s eyes widened as Boyd drew his pistol, clicking the safety off as he pointed it at his head.
“The hell are you doing?” demanded Fonda. “This… we’ve gotta open the doors, man! We got six missiles in this compound, the backblast… this is suicide!”
Boyd narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to his partner. His finger began to tighten around the trigger.
“Boyd… Jesus, Boyd, no!”
About thirty seconds later, all across the central United States, missiles roared to life, only to find their flights to the USSR cut short by their own silo doors. Although their warheads were not set up, it was little comfort to the launch staff, nearly all of whom were erased in one fell swoop by the blackblasts.
-------
The Kremlin
Day One
“CENTCOM, this is Alice, we’ve just had a massive failure! Our missiles have failed, I repeat, our missiles have failed… I don’t know what to tell you, Ben, they’re all gone…”
Yuri slowly put down the phone, gently letting it click into place in the receiver before he turned to the window. Before him stretched Red Square - most of the people moving to and fro outside had no idea that their country was now at war. They would be informed, soon - especially now that early victories were all but certain.
Romanov wiped his brow with a handkerchief, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Is it over?” he asked warily.
Yuri shook his head.
“No,” he replied.
He turned his head, regarding Romanov with his wide, empty stare.
“It has only just begun.”
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Burn For Me - Chapter 22a
*Warning Adult Content*
Head Elder Cedrick Heath
Cedrick was seated at his desk, a mountain of papers around him but he sat with his hands in a ball and had them resting against his mouth as he stared, unseeing across the room.
'Something wasn't right.'
The moment he stood his personal cell-phone rung in his pocket, he answered.
"Yes?"
"It was a trap," the voice said.... Cyrus.
"What do you mean it was a trap? What happened?" the Head Elder growled.
At his mood suddenly darkening, Cadence came out of the shadowy corner and stood by his side.
He looked over to her as the man explained the situation.
"Our group was ambushed, Connor and Constance were hurt and Teagan was taken. It seems that someone told them that we were coming or..." Cyrus's voice trailed and Cedrick narrowed his eyes, down at the wall.
"What?" he demanded through clenched teeth.
"That you threw them in the lion's den. What was your plan? To see if they were strong enough to take on a whole hoard of Hunters?" Cyrus exclaimed.
Mr. Heath's body began to shake at the audacity of this wolf.
"You dare accuse me of betrayal?" Cedrick yelled into the phone.
His hands were tightening on the device so hard he head it crack.
Cyrus growled on the other end.
"What do you expect me to believe? They were ordered to this compound by you. Who else am I to think did it?"
"I would never betray my people," he snarled.
"I don't know how they knew we were coming but I'm going to find out."
Cedrick hung up the phone and jammed it into this pocket.
His eyes found Cadence staring up at him with her intelligent eyes.
"It seems we have a traitor in our midst."
Her eyes hardened at her Elder's words and he smiled.
"Bring me Greg, my darling. He was my informant, after all."
********
"You think you can trick me and get away with it?" the Head Elder asked, as Greg stood before him, his head down.
He was breathing hard and the sound of his heart beating at a rapid pace filled Cedrick's ears.
"No, Sir," he whimpered out.
"My team is wounded because of your treachery. Why were you disloyal to me?" he demanded.
"I didn't mean to, Sir. They said if I didn't give them Teagan back, they would kill my family. My mate just had our second child," the traitor looked up to the Elder now with tears in his eyes and a look of fear on his face.
'Good he should be scared.'
"You could have just told me you imbecilic. We are Elders. We do not cower to rabid dog, such as the Hunters."
"I know, Sir," he cried.
"Please spare me. I did it for my family."
This made the blood boil in the Elders veins, it was the first in a long time that Cedrick felt such anger.
He rushed Greg and grabbed his face with his claws, digging them into his skin.
The man screamed.
"So it's alright for you to sacrifice the lives of innocent young wolves... No, my young wolves, for your own? When all you had to do was tell me what happened and I could have protected your family. I do not see what is so special about your boy," he threw the man to the floor.
"We have captured-kin out there suffering and you decided that it is better to lie to me and send comrades to their death," the Elder growled.
Greg tried to crawl away.
"A wolf I cannot trust, is no wolf of mine," his voice was made of steel.
"Go to your precious family and leave my territory. You are all but Rogue, to this community now," the Head Elders order was enough to make the man's body stiffen with every word.
"No," he screamed, he could not be rogue.
It was impossible to live like that.
He would never survive, let alone his family.
With only desperation on his mind Greg jumped to his feet force his wolf out, ignoring how the beast whined within him for him to stop and charged the Elder.
Greg's claws extended towards the Elder wolf and he took a swipe, clawing his nails down the side of the older wolfs neck.
Cadence ran out to help the Elder but was too late as the claws made contact with his flesh and an acidic hiss sounded as the skin started to burn away around the claw marks in the Elders neck.
Cedrick hissed but pushed the pain away and gave the crazed wolf a hard glare.
His hand shot out and clamed around Greg's neck.
Then everything stopped.
The room was filled with a sudden silence and everyone stood without breathing it seemed.
"You made a big mistake," he snarled at him, his teeth lengthened as a surge of power swirled around the two of them.
Greg could barely breath in the whirlwind of his Elders aura.
"I would have let you live and try to make a life for you and your family somewhere else. But you prove to me that you have no loyalties, you are nothing more than a rabid dog just like your Hunters," Cedrick hissed.
"Farewell," and with that, the room shook with the amount of power the Elder was using on the man and his body convulsed in his hands.
The man's eyes began to roll back as his body began to age right before his eyes.
The life was being drug from his body. No, it was being forced to live his whole lifetime in a matter of seconds.
And soon the thirty year old was no more than a pile of dust and bones scattering from the Elder's hand on to the carpet.
Staggering back Cedrick heaved with exhaustion and sagged into his desk and down to the floor.
"Cedrick," a rich sweet voice filled his ears and he smiled.
"My sweet Cadence," he whispered.
"Don't strain yourself like that," she demanded.
He shook his head at her bravado.
"This is nothing," he said, struggling to his feet and cupped her beautiful face.
"It had been such a long time since I've use this ability, it drains me easily."
Her worried golden brown eyes touched something in his weary soul and he pulled her to him, relishing in the feel of her body against his.
The rush of tingles running all though his being.
"Please, you know what that power does to you. You have to let me protect you," she exclaimed into his chest all the while holding him to her for dear life.
"I am your shield," she whispered.
"It matters not. I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, Cadence."
He was fighting for air still.
"Well if you keep using it you won't have a life to spend."
He smiled at her angry words.
"I will try not to but I can't make any promises. Now I need you to call Caleb," he sighed pulling her closer.
"He has a family to help and I have a couple of young wolves to tend to."
She looked up into his wise icy gray eyes and nodded.
"As you wish, my love."
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🖊 + Miranda. the old miranda. in nightshade m o d e
WOW JAM, THAT’S A LOW BLOW, but a n y w a y
For those of you who don’t know, Miranda was the product of my goblin brain when I was in 7th grade
At the time, I was obsessed with Star Trek and also had no sense of how to not write a character that was NOT a Mary Sue
She was absolutely a vague self-insert, but like, way ~cooler~ read here: I was a lonely lil kid who was thirsty for validation after my parents went thru a bad divorce
Years later, I have forgiven myself to an extent for my bad writing bc I was learning!!! And the creation of Miranda was a fundamental step in me becoming more comfortable with my own writing
I’ve actually begun reworking her bc she has potential to actually be a compelling character and one of these days I might actually write a properly good fan fic with her
But that isn’t what this post is about so a n y w a y… from here on out I’m going to referring to Miranda as “RTM” (“rotten tomato Miranda”…. because the original incarnation of her warrants my past self being pelted with decaying produce a la medieval style)
RTM, aka “M*randa K*rk,” aka “very beautiful and perfect person,” was my made-up daughter of good ol’ Captain Kirk from the original series
For those of you who are wondering, she was tall, had beautiful auburn/reddish brown/chestnut hair and blue eyes, and was hEcKiN jAcKeD
alright she wasn’t THAT jacked but she was definitely a Stronk woman
RTM was good…. at everything
Things she was good at include, but are not limited to:
Archery
Knife throwing
Combat in general
At one point I included the fact that she was also a horseback rider (???) and had tamed a reckless colt on a bet
Which technically also makes her good at being a stereotypical horse movie heroine
Garnering the sympathy of: her father who was actively repping 3 brain cell culture the ENTIRE fic, McCoy, Scotty, even Spock
They ALL FELT BAD FOR HER at some point
Being an overall Terrible representation of a trauma victim
Being beautiful
Just…. being annoyingly cliche and a M a r y S u e
RTM had an annoying cat named Nyla, who could….. talk
Which brings me to my next point
RTM was part of a terrible, absolutely horrible original creation of mine called the Nightshade program
For some reason, 13 year old me decided “yo what if Starfleet did genetic experiments on literal students and trained them to basically activate kill mode” and that was the entire premise of this fictional program
I am not even joking here folks, that was an actual thing I decided was cool
Insofar as the “kill mode” went, it somehow involved these members of this group basically slapping on some edgy makeup and then proceeding to beat the crap out of anyone who was threatening their crewmates
RTM actually DID beat the crap out of a few people during the climax of the 10 chapter story I wrote
The accompanying action scene was just as terrible as she was badly written
Also RTM was modified with cat DNA for some inexplicable reason
Nyla was too, she had a fraction of Miranda’s DNA and that’s why she could talk
I know please stop judging me I was very dumb when I was 13
RTM had an annoying trio of friends – her two best friends Araya and Julia, and a very whiny boyfriend named Ryan
All three of them were intended to be my vague interpretations of my friends at the time, which I immensely regret
For some reason I wrote RTM to have an annoying overbearing mother, which is yet aNOTHER THING I REGRET HAVING DONE WITH HER CHARACTER
Idk, there isn’t a lot else to say, only that she was a massive pile of cringe and soon after bringing my vision for her to fruition I moved onto writing Fruits Basket fan fiction
Do with that information what you will
There was also a bad sequel that I wrote at some point but mercifully did not finish that will n e v e r see the light of day so don’t ask
But yeah that’s her I guess
#text post#long post#answering my mail#Jam..... I cannot believe you forced my hand#made me expose myself on the i n t e r n e t#and what's even worse is that there's SO MUCH MORE#but I've already sealed my own fate by posting this much#Beth squeaks
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Comms
Title: Comms
Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Teen reader
Word Count: 2.6k
Rating: PG
Warning: Cursing, mention of wounds, blood, scared Mando.
Description: In an unexpected raid, Din finds himself unable to find his foundlings and searches for them.
Request: Hey! I love your stories and thought that I would submit a request myself. So this is about Din having a teen foundling/adopted child. They’ve known each other for a little over a year now and even if they don’t show it a lot they’ve grown attached to each other. So this particular story would be about the foundling nearly dying and Din being a scared Dad (I hope you get what I’m going for. Kind of a fluff/Angst story with comforting afterwards😅)
A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to write, I've been travelling and my computer has been messing up so I have not had time to write at all. Anyways, here it is! I hope it's to your liking. It took me awhile for inspiration to hit but I am pretty happy with how it ended up. Enjoy!
....
“Okay kid, what do we do when we get in trouble?”
“Call for help and signal our location.”
Call for help and signal your location. That was all you were supposed to do, the one rule Din gave for you before he took you along with him anywhere outside of the safety of the Razor Crest. He considered himself lucky that you rarely wandered off without letting Din know where you were going, and that you always seemed to be able to handle most dangerous situations on your own. Maybe it was because you fretted to be too much of a bother for Din, seeing as he took you in almost a year ago when he could have easily left you. Din didn’t see it that way, if he was honest. You were valuable to the group, taking care of Grogu and the ship when Din could not, and he believed it his duty to protect all on the ship. Only once or twice did you call for him, and he was quick to come to your aid.
He did not think that today would be the day where his timing risked your life.
The Mandalorian found himself aiding a local trading village with a raider issue in exchange for information about a bounty he’d been pursuing. He’d led a group of men over to what they’d suspected to be the raider’s hideout and set up for an ambush. The Entrance of the cave’s dunes felt barren, and only after the mens’ legs grew sore from crouching and backs ached from huddling in the dark was it that Din began to suspect something was wrong. The quiet environment was abnormal behavior to the raiders he’d encountered before, no doubt this specific group would be any different.
“They’ll see you!”
Startling the men surrounding him, Din shot into the air and stalked the vicinity. The dunes’ walls stretched for meters long as he kept his piece raised, occasionally scanning weak spots for life forms or any piece of equipment. He paused, frowning a moment when his scanner detected nothing.
That was the first sign that things weren’t going as planned that day.
“...hiss…”
“...m..do... v.llage... here…”
There was the second.
Din raised his arm to speak into his comms.
“Y/N?” Nothing but static came back from the comms. Din fidgeted and smacked it a couple times before grunting in frustration.
Damn, comms were jammed.
Wait, they were jammed.
And in a moment of a horrible realization, Din was quick to grab the men and make their way back to the village. When they arrived they found the village in chaos- buildings were burning, villagers running, and materials and pieces and bodies strewn across the ground. For a moment, Din froze in fear and worried that you were on the ground as well, your comms still ringing static and Grogu taken from you, lost to the raiders, or worse, the Empire.
Din quickly made his way throughout the village, barely rounding the first corner when a group of raiders assaulted him. He threw punches at the first raider, using their momentum to kick them hard into another. After several dodges and shots from his blaster, most of them were dead aside from one that laid on the ground and clutched his blasted leg.
Din marched over and pressed his blaster against the wound. “Where are the hostages being held?”
As it turned out, the raiders had no plan of keeping hostages. When Din finally tracked the building where captives were supposedly held, he was unable to remain collected when he found that you and Grogu were nowhere to be found. Instead, he stood before raiders responsible for the attack, their blasters disturbingly put away as they argued amongst one another. Din didn’t bother listening, he looked around but saw no sign of his foundlings.
“Wrong door.” He said simply before taking out his blaster and shooting the raiders.
Pocketing his piece Din ran out of the stronghold and went outside, calling for you and Grogu. He thought about the worst possible scenarios that could have happened to you two as he took out the raiders pillaging the village, until all but one remained, the leader. He found him in the main courtyard of the village, his face hidden though his body seethed with labored breaths. He stood there for several moments before Din heard one last labored breath before the leader’s legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the ground with a sickening crack of skull on stone. Hm? Din didn’t know what to make of this, and further stalked over, hand on blaster, examining the body. Upon closer look a blaster wound to the stomach was made more visible. So, someone got to the leader before Din could. That leaves the question… who?
A quick look around the area pointed out a trail of blood.
The Mandalorian followed this trail without any real reason behind it.
He found the remainder of the villagers at some point along the way. Sullen masses of faces mixed together, mourning the loss of their villages and lost ones but kept busy with treating the wounded. Women sat in huddles cooking with what food was salvaged and children sat quiet. One stood out apart from the rest in Din’s eyes, a large male leaning over a group of medics. Din recognized him as Cyrukee, the villager’s chief, who noticed the lone bounty hunter from the corner of his eye and stood up. In his arms was the most beautiful thing Din had seen all day, Grogu. The baby gurgled in joy as he walked up to the chief.
“There you are.” Din didn’t realize that he was holding his breath when he sighed in relief, taking Grogu into his arms.
“Sir.” Cryukee barely got a word out before Din turned to him.
“I’m looking for a youngling- my kid. Have you seen them?”
“Sir, please.”
“They’re this tall,” Din rears a hand near to your height, “they were with this little green baby. Your husband, he took them to the school. Where is he?” The Mandalorian made a full turn around to look for the red robed headman who was last responsible for your care. He reached for his comms and tried to reach you again. His voice rang back at him, and in a terrible moment of realization he realized that that was your comms.
“Where are they?”
“Sir, let me explain.” Cyrukee wore an exasperated expression and looked as though he was about to speak before one of the medics from the group he was with requested to speak with him. He spared a glance at Din as though he struggled whether or not to say something. And then, Din followed his arm towards the medics he was just with. Din didn’t know what to make of it, not able to recognize any of them. The Mandalorian took one last look at the chief, whose grave expression gave him reason to worry, and slowly walked towards the group of medics. He buzzed through the comms, trying to pinpoint your location. As he got closer he heard medics speak in soothing voices and their patient hyperventilating. Had it not been his own voice coming from the center of the personnel he would have moved on, instead he could not find the will to move. Grogu looked at him expectantly.
One medic in particular took notice of the beskar-armored man. He and some others quickly got up and pushed Din away before he could force his way through the medics to take a look at you.
“Hey, wait-wait-please.” Din grunted at the force and staggered several steps back. He took a moment to collect himself and Grogu sneezed in his arms. Dust must have gotten into his nose during the scuffle. “Please, my ward- my kid. That’s my kid.”
“Just a moment,” one of the bloodied nurses kept her hands on Din’s chestplate longer than he would have liked. He didn’t push her away though.
“I need to see my kid.” Din looked her in the eye, hoping that she could see his desperation through his helmet.
His kid. When Din looks back on this he would think about how he’s never referred to Y/N as his own before. He would have liked to think he said that so the nurses allowed him to pass easier. But deep down, he knew it was because of how much he cared for them.
“I understand but please let me explain. Sir, Sir!” Din retreated in defeat on his second attempt to get past her and the other nurses. She stared into his eyes and patted his shoulders, Din didn’t know whether she was trying to comfort him or control his movements. “They’re traumatized enough right now, and you moving around in that armor of yours will only make it worse.”
“What happened to them?”
“They had an encounter with Jetwal,” Din’s blood boiled at the recognition of the raider’s leader who’d died before him. “according to the children, your child was leading them to the outskirts when he found them. They killed him, he was threatening the children, and they shot him. Now, listen to me. They did get injured. Several blaster wounds to their limbs and upper torso- sir, listen please I cannot allow you to go to them just yet- they’re still panicking right now but I assure you their wounds are being treated right now. They’ll be fine, but disrupting our work will only inhibit us from treating them properly.”
She watched his gaze linger to the sound of your crying. “How much longer until I can see them?”
Din was not pleased to find that he was only allowed to see you when the nurse came for him herself. Reluctantly he walked a little farther away from the medics when asked to give them more space, and sat down with Grogu bouncing on his knee next to a young Twi’lek running their hands over their lekku to soothe themselves. Between glancing at the medics to keeping Grogu entertained, Din didn’t realize how much time had elapsed before noticing the nurse had come to his side to collect him.
She took a seat next to him. “They’re hurt very badly, but with time their injuries will heal. All they need to do is rest. You can see them now.”
Grogu giggled and played with the nurse’s finger that was threateningly wiggling on his little tummy. “Can you take him for a moment?”
Din stood up and gave Grogu a pat on his little head and rubbed his large ears out of habit. Something you used to do to calm the little green alien down after a terrible meltdown. Even under his helmet Din smiled at the alien before dredging towards you. You laid on a pile of fabrics that functioned as a makeshift cot, but you looked like you had a pile of fabrics on you with the amount of bandages that wrapped your body. You didn’t notice Din approaching you as you stared straight into the sky. Din wondered what you were thinking. What could you be thinking? From his knowledge, this was your first time dealing with major injuries from blasters. It must have made this whole ordeal so much more frightening to you.
Maybe Din was too light on his feet, recoiling instantly when you jolted at his touch and groaned in pain.
“It’s me, it’s me.” His voice was soothing, even more than normal which surprised him.
A sort of wheeze escaped your lips and you coughed. “Mando.”
“Hey kid.”
“I tried calling for you.” A gasp. “They jammed the frequencies.”
“Your message barely came through, kid. But it made us realize what was going on. We got here before more damage could be done because of you.”
Your form relaxed. “Good, good. Grogu?”
“With a nurse.”
“The one with the sweet voice.”
“Yeah.”
“I liked her voice-” A cough. “Sounds like my mom’s. She was nice. She helped calm me down.” At this point Din had stared at you long enough to realize how puffy your eyes were from crying. He didn’t stop himself from reaching over to brush your H/C hair out of your face. You leaned into his touch.
“I’m pretty fucked up, huh?”
Your eyes were already locked onto his when he met your gaze. A tick passed, and Din’s eyes fell to the wounds you were referring to. He shook his head. “No, kid. That’s not what you are.”
“Feels like it.” Din scowled at your words.
“There are too many fucked up people in the galaxy, kid. You´re not one of them.” You look at him with a raised brow. “Y/N, you barely have any combat experience yet you took on Jetwal? What were you thinking?”
And you said something that surprised him.
“I was thinking of you.”
And Din couldn’t find any words. He cleared his throat and you continued, “We were alone and I had no idea when you’d come, I was scared something had happened to you because I couldn’t get a hold of you through the comms and that guy was coming at us and-” You inhaled sharply, wincing at what Din assumed was a jab in one of your wounds but he didn’t know how to help. You calmed a moment later, closing your eyes and furling your brows together. “I thought about what you would have done if you were there. You always looked like you knew what to do.”
To say that Din was proud of you would have been an understatement, he was beaming wonders underneath his helmet but realized that you couldn’t see through the beskar.
“I thought I’d lost you both.” Din admitted. “But I’m very proud of you. You saved lives, Y/N. That’s no easy feat for someone of your age.”
You grinned at him and laughed. “Did you do something like this when you were my age?”
“Yes, but I didn’t end up as fucked up as you did.”
“Hey!” Din laughed and raised his forearm to block your playful hits.
A moment of silence falls between the two of you before you look at Din again. “Do you know how long we’ll be here for?”
“With your injuries, no clue. I’ll talk to the medics and Cyrukee to see what is to be done.”
“Okay.” You nodded, your fingers twitching involuntarily. Din’s hands find their way to your hair again. “Mando, I’m tired.”
“Rest. I’ll be here with you.” He watches you half-heartedly nod at his words and doze off in a matter of seconds. The injuries have taken a toll on your body, Din suspects, and he pulls a sheet over you. He sits with you, watching villagers talk amongst themselves, speaks with those who come by to thank him for his help, and accepts Grogu from the nurse when she comes over, thanking her for all she’d done for you. She told him that a thank you was not owed to her, and that if you were to need anything she was only a call away.
And when he was finally left alone, Mandalorian took one look to take account for his two foundlings. They slept soundly and with luck, heads full of dreams. Most importantly, they were safe in his care once again.
Din realized he’d been holding in a breath, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
.....
Taglist:
@kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek
#din djarin x teen!reader#din dijarin fanfiction#din djarin x y/n#din djarin is a dad#din djarin imagine#din djarin x reader#din djarin#grogu#mandalorian and grogu#star wars x y/n#star wars requests#star wars x you#star wars x reader#star wars reader insert#star wars fanfiction
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Hey, do you have any tips to deal with depression? recently I've just been feeling awful, and I just want to give up
HEADS UP, SKAGDUMP, AND GRAB SOME WATER, BECAUSE YOUR MIND IS GOING TO DO DO ONE HELL OF A F*CKING WORKOUT. CALISTHENICS!!!!
I'M GOING TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, STRAIGHT UP REAL DOG STYLE: SOMETIMES YOUR BUDDY TORGUE GETS DOWN IN THE DUMPS. MOST DAYS I FEEL LIKE BRAOWWWCHICKITABAOWWW-WOWWWWWW, BUT OTHER DAYS I FEEL LIKE MIDDLY-MIDDLY-MROW. IT IS A LEGITIMATE ISSUE!!!
BUT THE REAL TOUGH SH*T IS THAT YOU'RE GOING TO FEEL REAL F*CKING SAD SOMETIMES. THAT'S JUST GOING TO BE THE DEAL. YOU CAN'T STOP FEELING SAD ANYMORE THAN YOU CAN STOP THE WEATHER, AVOID TAXES, OR KEEP YOUR NITROGLYCERIN-BASED TOASTER FROM BLOWING UP EVERY TIME YOU JUST WANT A FEW F*CKING G*DDAMN EGGS.
TORGUE TRUTH NUKE #1: DEPRESSION IS SOMETIMES ABOUT GETTING THROUGH IT INSTEAD OF KICKING ITS ASS
WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!!?!?!??!?!?
IT'S TRUE. WHEN YOUR LEG IS BROKEN, YOU DON'T DO JUMPING JACKS TO MAKE IT LESS BROKEN. WHEN YOUR TOAST GETS F*CKED UP, YOU DON'T KEEP JAMMING IT IN THE TOASTER. AND WHEN YOU'RE DEPRESSED, YOU JUST NEED TO FIND WAYS TO KEEP GOING UNTIL YOU'RE THROUGH IT.
DON'T FOCUS ON TRYING TO "FIX" YOUR DEPRESSION. FOCUS ON FINDING THE THINGS THAT BRING YOU COMFORT.
TALK WITH FRIENDS
DO THE THINGS THAT BRING YOU COMFORT
PUNCH A BEAR
YELL AT CLOUDS
BE EVERY SINGER IN THE BAND WHILE ALSO PLAYING AIR GUITAR
SQUAT THRUSTS
BUY A NEW TOASTER
THE POINT IS, KEEP DOING THINGS. YOUR BRAIN IS GOING TO WANT TO GRAB YOU AND PULL YOU BACK INTO THE DARK WITH IT. YOU FIGHT IT WITH ALL YOUR GLORIOUS RIPPLING PECS!!!! IF YOU'RE WRITING TO ME FROM ONE OF THOSE PLANETS THAT STILL HAS A SUN AND BREATHABLE AIR, MAKE A POINT TO SIT OUT IN THE SUNLIGHT FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES A DAY. YOU CAN USE THIS TIMER TO HELP YOU MAKE IT THROUGH.
youtube
LET UNCLE TORGUE BE CRYSTAL F*CKING CLEAR: I AM NOT TELLING YOU TO "NOT BE DEPRESSED". F*CK THAT NOISE. YOU CANNOT HELP BEING DEPRESSED. THAT SH*T IS GOING TO HAPPEN. WHAT I AM TELLING YOU IS THAT DEPRESSION IS ABOUT KEEPING YOUR HEAD ABOVE WATER UNTIL YOU FIND LAND. SO MAKE IT A POINT TO DO SMALL SELF-CARE SH*T. YOU DON'T NEED TO GO OUT TO YOUR FRIENDS AND FORCE SOME FAKE-ASS SMILE. BUT WATCH YOUR ASS AND DON'T SHUT OFF THE THINGS THAT CAN HELP YOU FEEL BETTER.
TORGUE TRUTH NUKE #2: YOUR BRAIN IS A LYING ASSH*LE
F*CK YOU, ANONYMOUS'S BRAIN, AND STOP BEING A D*CK TO MY BEST FRIEND BEFORE I'VE EVEN MET THEM. I WILL F*CK YOUR SHIT UP.
LISTEN, ANONYMOUS PERSON. AND I WANT YOU TO LISTEN WITH EVERY MUSCLE IN YOUR BODY: WHEN YOU'RE DEPRESSED, YOUR BRAIN IS GOING TO SAY REAL MEAN-ASS SH*T LIKE "YOU'RE WORTHLESS" AND "NOBODY LIKES EXPLOSIONS" AND "MAYBE LASERS ARE COOL". YOU CAN'T STOP EVERY THOUGHT, BUT YOU KEEP IN MIND THAT YOUR BRAIN IS BLOWING SH*T WAY THE HELL OUT OF PROPORTION AND THAT THERE WILL COME A DAY WHEN YOU REALIZE IT'S FULL OF SH*T AND THAT LASERS SUCK RAKK ASS.
DON'T YOU EVER BELIEVE LIES LIKE "YOU'D BE BETTER OFF GONE" OR "YOU AREN'T GOING TO GET BETTER". WHO YOU ARE RIGHT NOW IS SOMEONE THAT HAS GOT THROUGH EVERY SINGLE CHALLENGE PREVIOUSLY, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. AND YOU'RE STILL F*CKING STANDING.
DON'T EVER FORGET BRUCE WILLIS FROM THAT ONE MOVIE, WHEN HE WAS BEAT TO SH*T AND HAD GLASS IN HIS FEET AND HAD BEEN BEATEN THE F*CK UP, AND HE STILL GOT UP AND SAVED THE ENTIRE G*DDAMN DAY. F*CK, RUGRATS GO WILD WAS SUCH A G*DDAMN GOOD FILM!!
THE POINT IS, SH*T THAT DOESN'T KILL YOU, ONLY MAKES YOU MORE BADASS.
SO NOW IT'S TIME FOR
TORGUE TRUTH NUKE #3: YOUR FRIENDS WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS SH*T
YOU DID REAL GOOD TALKING TO YOUR BEST FRIEND MR. TORGUE. KEEP DOING SH*T LIKE THAT. TELL YOUR FRIENDS WHAT'S GOING ON. TELL THEM WHEN YOU WANT COMPANY. LIKE I SAID, YOUR BRAIN IS A LYING F*CK, AND IT'S GOING TO TELL YOU THAT YOU'RE A BURDEN TO YOUR FRIENDS.
F*CK.
THAT.
NOISE.
YOU ARE NOT A BURDEN. THIS SH*T'S WHAT FRIENDS ARE F*CKING FOR. I PROMISE YOU, HAND TO PECS, THEY WOULD RATHER BE THERE FOR YOU ON THIS THAN NOT BE ABLE TO HELP A FRIEND IN NEED. LOOK AT IT THIS WAY: YOU'RE SO F*CKING AWESOME THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO BE THERE FOR YOUR FRIENDS, RIGHT? SO MAKE SURE YOUR FRIENDS GET THE CHANCE TO DO THE SAME!!!
I TYPED IN "FRIEND EXPLOSION" INTO THE GIF SEARCH AND GOT THIS WATEMELON. IT'S RELEVANT NOW!
THAT WATERMELON WAS A D*CK ANYWAY
AND LET ME END THIS BY SAYING THIS LAST
TORGUE TRUTH NUKE #4: I AM PROUD OF YOU
REAL TALK. YOU REACHED OUT. YOU PUSHED BACK AGAINST DEPRESSION. YOU TOLD IT YOU WEREN'T GOING TO PUT UP WITH ITS SH*T.
DEPRESSION IS A LONG F*CKING FIGHT AND YOU WON THIS ROUND. F**********************CK YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHH!
GIVE YOURSELF A HIGH G*DDAMN FIVE. YOU F*CKING EARNED IT.
AND PEOPLE ARE CHEERING YOU AS YOU SOLO THIS ASSH*LE. THEY WANT TO SEE YOU SUPLEX THAT SH*T.
NOW IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, THE TOASTER THING WAS A VERY RECENT EXAMPLE, AND MY KITCHEN HAS BEEN ON FIRE THE ENTIRE TIME I'VE BEEN TYPING THIS. I GOTTA GET THE F*CK OUT OF HERE
TORGUE. OUT.
#EXPLOSIONS#BADASS#BADASSITUDE#DEPRESSION#KICKING DEPRESSION IN THE D*CK#PUNCHING DEPRESSION IN THE D*CK#GENERALLY JUST F*CKING UP DEPRESSION'S SH*T#TOAST
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Ahh I cannot believe your writing anniversary is here! Happy anniversary and congrats, booboo 💖
For the ficlets, may I request a himbo!Bakugou with the prompt “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Aaand of course, I gotta end it with I love you I love you I love you and I know this event is gonna be so dope.
Rest, my sweet angel princess!! I have no idea how to write himbo!Bakugou but I tried my best lol. Please accept gymbo!Bakugou.
Just Can’t Weight | Bakugou/Reader
Prompt: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Word Count: 830 words
Tags/Warnings: gym AU, slight praise kink, mostly SFW
Notes: Thank you @bobawithpomegranate for beta reading!!
You mostly went to the gym for the hot blonde who functioned as the gym’s saltiest, angriest, most foul-tempered personal trainer.
Katsuki Bakugou had the face of an angel, and the musculature of a Greco-Roman god, with the petty ire to match it. You dared not hire him yourself, willing to part with neither your money nor your dignity, but that did not stop you from watching him constantly as he hovered angrily over his clients, adding weights to their racks with relish even as they sobbed for mercy, jamming the buttons on their treadmills up to speeds with the potential to launch them into orbit.
He was literally fucking terrifying, but so insanely hot that he never seemed to have a shortage of clients. Every morning there was someone, usually of the female persuasion, hanging off his biceps, letting out breathy little complaints of “Katsuki!” and bending over to pick up their water bottles in the most improbably flexible of ways.
Bakugou seemed immune to their charms, even the prettiest ones. He refused to move close to correct their forms in the manner that they were obviously angling for, instead shoving them about with a flat hand on their back, and he added on grueling numbers of reps and sets any time he was subjected to comments of a salacious nature. You never even bothered to attempt to draw his attention, content to watch him appreciatively from the safety of your own treadmill across the gym.
That was until the morning when things finally came to a head.
Bakugou was finishing up with a client across the gym, a fact you were very aware of because you had not unglued your eyeballs from him for the last fifty-four and a half minutes, eyes hungrily tracing his lean form as he guided the client through a set of very impressive stretches.
You were so focused, in fact, that you were not giving much attention to your bent-over row form.
Something that Bakugou, as he was shoving his charge out the door, apparently noticed.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, turning back inside the gym.
You realized with some alarm that he was growing larger in your field of vision—stalking towards you, handsome face twisted in a scowl. A quick glance behind you revealed that the source of his ire was you, as there was no one else currently in the weights corner.
You panicked. What did he mean, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Had he noticed you watching him?
Fuck, fuck.
“Uh, working out?” you asked, trying for a casual tone.
“Working out a way to be fucking hospitalized, more like,” Bakugou spat.
You stared at him blankly. Was he threatening to put you in the hospital just for looking at him?
Before you could stutter out some kind of rejoinder, Bakugou was already in your space. You caught the scent of some spicy, clean kind of body wash before your attention was wholly and completely captured by a pair of hot hands on you. Bakugou pressed the small of your back down, hard, the other pressing up just under your sternum, dangerously close to the edge of your bra.
You froze, staring up at him wide-eyed.
“This is the sloppiest fucking form I have ever seen,” he said, sounding disgusted. “Your back needs to be straight, not hunched over like you’re a thousand fucking years old.”
You blinked, having trouble thinking past the feel of his hands on you. They were still there, holding you in place, burning through your shirt like twin fires through a dry forest. He never touched his clients like this. What was he doing?
“I, uh—”
“You, uh are gonna fucking listen to me. Now pull the weights up into your chest,” he demanded.
You did as he instructed, mind numb.
Bakugou made an impatient noise as you did so. The next thing you knew, he was draping himself over your back, a hot line of muscle all along your spine, his calloused hands grasping the weights behind your own hands. He forced them down, and pulled them back up again, so close to your sides that his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts.
“Pull up into your chest, not your friggin’ neck,” he growled into your ear.
You nodded, swallowing hard. Bakugou lingered a moment, still pressed to your back as you did it again. You were hardly breathing, not daring to do anything but what he had shown you.
“Good girl,” he said, when you’d finally done it to his satisfaction. Then, “Next time you want my attention, try asking for it instead of acting like a fucking idiot.”
Then he was moving off of you, stalking out of the gym in a whirlwind of blonde hair and sleek muscle, smugness rolling off of him in thick waves.
“Wait—” you called after him, “I wasn’t trying to—! I didn’t—!”
But Bakugou wasn’t listening. He was already gone.
Garbage Fest event masterlist in pinned post!
#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha x reader#bakugou katsuki#bnha#garbage fest 2021#garbage fest fics
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okokokokok. so.
i have this au where a bunch of the dssmp members are gods - and dream is teh god of dream's, ironically enough
but it's the kind of gods where if you aren't worshipped, you start to vanish, because obviously if people dont worship you you arent needed to the people, right?
and so dream is this relatively small god who not many people know about- he's got maybe three temples left compared to techno's 50+, and he's rarely giving any offerings. he's frail and weak and not doing well.
parts of him start to fade. the end of his nose, his fingertips, the edges of his ears and toes. sometimes, an entire hand will fade until someone puts some kind of offering on a flame to him. he has to hide those days, so that nobody will see his translucent flesh and panicked breaths when he cannot move his fingers or when things fall through his hands.
he's been surviving almost entirely off of offerings that are directed towards all gods.
and the other gods - techno, god of blood and war, tommy, god of destruction and mischief, quackity, god of gambling and alchohol, sapnap, god of flame, so on and so forth - start to notice.
i hope you don’t mind me writing something for this WBDJFSDJ,,, god aus are SO fun and i couldn’t resist, especially with such an amazing description - don’t mind me brainrotting over this forever, fantasy aus and god aus are my JAM
warnings: dying, alcohol + violence mentioned, temporary character death (angst with a happy ending!)
"Nobody has time for dreams anymore," Quackity tells him blandly one day, eyes swirling whiskey and derisive pity, "they live in the real world now, Dream."
Dream has to bristle at that, body lining with abrasive tension. "You don't know what you're talking about," he replies, voice cool, "mortals always dream, and always will. It's part of who they are."
Quackity rolls his eyes. "Get with the times. Mortals dream, but their dreams are set in what reality can offer them." With Dream's sharp eyes still on him, he lets a poker chip roll over his fingers, twirling once, before disappearing into his pockets with a razor toothed smile. "They want to dream of winning big, Dream. They're not spending hours dreaming of fantasies."
"That's- not true." It's hard to deny, but, temper peaking, Dream steps forwards, making sure he gets in Quackity's space, and it's good to see the younger god backing off a little, eyes wary, because despite everything, Dream is still a force to be reckoned with. "People sleep. And people have to dream. And as long as there are families who still pass on my name, then-"
Quackity's hand shoots out, viper fast. He locks his fingers around Dream's wrist, and smiles pitilessly when his fingers close in on themselves, Dream's wrist little more than smoke. Staring in horror, Dream barely hears the other's next words.
"Better start reminding people," Quackity tells him casually, "or you'll end up like this a lot more than you want."
And then he's gone in a swirl of rattling poker chips and the smell of liquor, leaving Dream lurching forwards, breath hitching, skin clammy--
.
"You're not lookin' so good," Techno notes a week later, unease settling into the indifferent edges of his voice, "rough week on offerings?"
Rough decade, Dream thinks bitterly, but keeps his eyes trained ahead, stifling a snarl of jumpy irritation when Techno sits down next to him. He doesn't like other gods being around his temples anymore - they're so sparse nowadays that he much prefers to be alone in them - but as far as other gods go, Techno isn't so bad. "Something like that."
"Rumours are going round." Techno, after a few moments of companionable silence, speaks up. "'Bout you and divinity. They say you're runnin' low on offerings."
Dream's jaw clenches hard enough to break teeth. "They," he says, "you mean Quackity."
Techno grunts an affirmative. "Others are beginning to believe him," he replies, "you're not exactly saying anything contrary."
"Nothing to say." With an effort, Dream keeps his voice neutral. "I mean, people are going to find out eventually."
"...It's true, then."
Glancing over to his sort-of-friend, sort-of-rival, Dream watches the emotions flicker over Techno's face, all of them lightning-fast and impossible to decipher. "Mmn," he agrees, "but... it's a temporary thing."
Techno doesn't look convinced, but doesn't refuse his words. Instead, he lets Dream shuffle closer to him, and doesn't move back or complain when Dream rests his head against his shoulder. "Your head is still as big as ever," is all he says noncommittally, "I don't see that changin' any time soon."
Dream snorts, eyes watering, chest heaving, bustling relief, because this is normal, and Techno has faith he'll survive.
He wishes he had Techno's faith.
.
Two years later, Dream is lying inside his last surviving temple, eyes closed, wisps of smoke and children's dreams, when someone enters with a flame.
His energy - what's left of it - is drawn to it instantly, eyes flickering open for the first time in months to float towards it, divinity reigniting itself with a splutter and a spark. For the first time in days, he breathes - energy rushing into his lungs and veins and bringing him very much to solidity.
And to his surprise, when he looks down, the person pushing his candle into his temple is not a person at all, but a cat, eyes big and knowing.
All Dream can do is stare, for the longest time. The cat blinks at him, before continuing its mission to paw the candle into the temple, careful not to touch the flame. By the time Dream is coherent enough to speak, the candle is in the centre of the room, and the cat has brought friends - six other cats, all of them pawing round about his feet and ankles and legs as he sits crosslegged next to his candle, absolutely lost for words.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice croaky and hoarse, “I don’t understand.”
“Animals dream too, you know,” a voice says softly from the entrance, “and they want to pay tribute to their god. It’s about time that they do.”
Dream glances up, and his eyes widen.
“Niki.”
She smiles at him, a cat in her arms and two twining around her feet. “Hello, Dream. I’m glad you woke up.”
And though he’s weak and translucent, though he’s frail, defensive about his own weakness, bit by bit he and Niki dust the temple. They light little torches that the cats lounge around in, some of them sleeping - dreaming, Dream thinks in wonder - some of them awake, watching dotingly. With each torch that is lit, Dream feels a little of his strength come back in bursts.
A long, long time ago, he had been the strongest god of all, living off dreams mortals gave him freely. He’s not that god anymore - he may never be again, in a world where broken dreams lie shattered at ungrateful mortals’ feet.
But one cat slides into his lap, falling asleep, and if Dream taps into her mind, he can see her dreams - soft edged, bubbly, of being pet and being warm, and he decides to fulfil that dream, gently running his hands along the cat’s fur.
“Her name is Patches,” Niki tells him, sitting next to him after a long day of hard work cleaning the temple with him, “I think she likes you.”
Tapping into Patches’ dreams, Dream can see her dreams have changed again. The indistinct hands petting her become two tanned hands, faintly freckled, faintly transparent. His own smiling face, mask and all, forms above her in the dream, and in the real world, Dream can feel the smile forming on his own face.
“I think she does too,” he agrees, and holds her closer.
He’s not the god he used to be. People with dreams are few and far between now - the naive, the foolish, the children, those with nothing left.
But Patches purrs in her sleep, and as Niki lights a candle for her, Dream thinks maybe this is more than enough.
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Whumptober 7th:
"My Spidey Sense is Tingling"
[Prompts: Helplessness | Numbness | Blindness]
(tw: panic attack, knife, phobia, blindfolded, restrained, locked up, darkness)
Continued from this.
Context (if you don't/haven't read the first one): This Whumpee has an extreme phobia of the dark.
.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Whumpee froze. Their heart leapt up into their throat. The key ring sat uselessly in their shaking hands. The fourth wrong one they tried still jammed in the lock.
Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut, not turning away from the front door.
The room was dark. So dark already. They couldn't bear to look at the shadows and lines of the house, trying to guess which pit of darkness Whumper was tucked into, watching from afar.
Luckily, they didn't have to play the guessing game. Footsteps brushed up behind them. A hand ripped their shoulder back, spinning them roughly and shoving them against the door. Their head snapped to the left as Whumper backhanded them.
"I said, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Whumpee's mind scrambled as they held their cheek. They craned their face away, tucking their chin into their shoulder. They couldn't see Whumper's features in the darkness, but their voice dripped with anger. "I....I was...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Whumper twisted their fist into Whumpee's hair, forcing them to look up at them. "Did you really steal my keys? I cannot believe you would do something so incredibly stupid. You've been doing so well, where did this shit come from?" Whumper twisted their hair tighter to enunciate their points.
Whumpee stared wildly up at them, trying to find their eyes in the silhouetted shadow. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Please don't - just...just let me go back to my room. I'll be good. I'll be so good."
Whumper pulled them away, then shoved them back against the wall. Their head cracked against the wood with a thud.
"I-"
"Shut up."
Their teeth clicked shut.
Whumper let go and grabbed the keys, ripping them from the lock next to Whumpee's hip. They hurtled them across the room. Whumpee flinched as they clanked against the wall and clattered to the floor.
They stood still. Very very still, staring at the ground.
Whumper paced slowly back and forth in front of them, taking deep breaths in time with their steps. Eight steps breathing in. Four steps holding. Four steps breathing out. Whumpee listened to them prowl in the darkness, their figure hardly a blur of shadow.
But...Everything was shadows. They peeled themselves off of the wall, slithering and dancing around the room, pulling at Whumpee's skin. Beckoning them to fall into the void.
Whumpee set their jaw. Don't freak out.
Their eyes rested on the only source of light - the windows. Soft grey moonlight streamed in, leaving patterns of tree-branches on the floor.
Finally, Whumper stopped their pacing, sighing softly.
"I'm very angry with you," they murmured. "You know that?" Danger radiated off of their inky form, contrasting the soft voice.
Whumpee's voice quivered, hardly a whisper, "...yes."
Whumper stepped up to them. Whumpee squinted into the shadows, and flinched as they felt a warm hand cup their cheek. Their skin crawled under the touch.
"I'm going to have to punish you for this. Do you understand?"
Tears burned the back of Whumpee's throat as Whumper's thumb rub smoothly up and down their cheekbone. "Y-yes."
Whumper sighed softly. "Good. Don't move."
Whumpee obeyed, holding perfectly still as Whumper pulled back and walked across the room. Whumpee trembled in the darkness.
They stared at the pool of light by the window. Their lifeline. The shadows couldn't swallow them as long as they could latch onto that puddle of light. It ricocheted and outlined everything in the room, giving each individual void a shape. It was better. Even if the shadows sprang to life, prowling around them, it was better than the sucking blackness.
Anything was better than that.
Whumper's calm voice interrupted their thoughts from across the room. "There's three doors you would have had to get through to get this far, but it's pitch black down there. Did you turn on the lights or go in the dark?" They could hear Whumper rummaging through a closet, sliding unknown items on and off shelves. Their ears twitched, trying to guess what each sound came from.
"I...um. The dark." They hadn't wanted to take any chances. They forced themselves to crawl down the hallways, up the stairs, feel for every doorknob and padlock. They had squeezed their eyes shut against the darkness, forcing themselves not to think about the void swirling beneath them. Think only about the keys. About the floor. About the texture of the wood paneling on their fingers. Move quickly. Don't stop and it won't consume you.
Whumper's footsteps started back toward them. "I thought so. Such a brave little thing you're becoming." Whumper's movement stopped. "Let's fix that." The unmistakeable click of a light-switch snapped across the room a moment before it was filled with blinding, warm light.
Whumpee squinted against it, but their entire being sighed in relief at the light. Even with Whumper in the room, this light was all warmth and safety. They sagged against the door, drinking it all in.
Whumper tossed something at their feet. It was the silk mask.
No...
They looked to Whumper, eyes pleading.
"Put it on."
Whumpee stared at it, eyes flickering periodically back up to Whumper. "P-please no. Anything else."
"I said. Put. It. On."
"But..I-"
"NOW."
Whumpee flinched back, dropping to their knees, and snatching the mask. They stared up at Whumper, eyes pleading. They stared back, eyes hard, giving no indication that this was a bluff. They had only used the mask once before, surely they wouldn't...
They would.
Whumpee had tried to escape. Of course they would.
Bile rose in the back of Whumpee's throat as they slowly lifted the mask with shaking fingers. They didn't realize they had started crying. Three drops plunked down onto the silk.
They glanced once more at Whumper, their eyes begging for mercy when their voice wouldn't come.
"Go on," they prompted gently. Their eyes...they weren't angry anymore. The blackness was drained away, replaced with hunger and a tinge of amusement.
Was that...better?
No. It was worse. Definitely worse.
Whumpee clutched the slick, cool fabric, feeling the soft padding and elastic. A strangled sob raked up their throat as the brought mask up to their face. Trembling fingers fitted the elastic around the head, resting on top of their ears.
They smoothed the mask down over their eyes. The moonlight sucked away. The warm light disappeared.
Blackness.
Just cold, unrelenting blackness. Back to tear them apart.
Whumpee sobbed into the mask, clutching their hands together in their lap, head bowed. The ground shook underneath them with each sob. Like it would crumble away and send them spiraling down.
Whumpee flinched hard as a hand pressed against the top of their head. Whumper's fingers smoothed over the mask, ensuring it was placed properly. Whumpee hadn't heard them approach. They must have removed their shoes. Sadistic bastard.
They couldn't bring themselves to be angry. This was their fault. They had gone willingly into the darkness and expected it to let them go again.
Stupid. So stupid. They drew in lungful after lungful of the charcoal air. It twisted inside their lungs, alive somehow.
"Stand up."
Whumpee jolted forward, away from the voice. They had assumed Whumper was standing in front of them. But no. Of course not. Of course they would keep Whumpee guessing.
Whumpee whimpered. Not again.
They clutched the ground for support as the ground rocked back and forth, threatening to throw them off. They felt like they were standing on the edge of a cliff, the slightest breeze ready to send them plummeting to the rocky depths below.
"Stand."
Whumpee sniffled, pushing themselves up off the ground until they teetered to their feet. The inky blackness sucked and pulled at their flesh. They wrapped their arms around themself, pulling the pieces tight together so none could be lost in the void.
It wasn't working.
"Good," Whumpee flinched again as fingertips trailed down their arm. Whumper's voice murmured from beside them now. They had to have taken off their shoes. "Hands behind your back."
Whumpee squeezed their arms tighter across their chest.
Didn't Whumper know that if they left their chest exposed, the blackness would flood deeper into their lungs? Didn't they know the shadows in the darkness would pull at their fingers until they crashed down into the void?
Stupid. So stupid. It's just dark. No one else has these fucking thoughts.
"What's the problem, darling?" Whumper's voice was in front of them now. Whumpee squeezed themselves tighter.
"I'm...”
“You’re what?”
Whumpee chewed on their lip. No point in lying. Maybe if they tell the truth, Whumper will go easier on them. “Scared. I'm scared."
"Of the dark?"
"...yes,"
Whumper chuckled, closer now. Inches from their face. "Aw, don't be." Whumpee felt Whumper's cheek brush against theirs. Their breath brushed warm across Whumpee's ear as they whispered, "I'm scarier."
Whumpee's breath hitched as they choked back another sob.
Whumper's fingers trailed across theirs. "Come on. Hands behind your back."
Whumpee shuddered, slowly releasing their grip.
"That's better," Whumper's voice slid around behind them.
They gripped Whumpee's wrists, yanking them the rest of the way back. Whumpee teetered and tripped at the movement, but found their footing again as Whumper wrapped something tight around their wrists. Rope? A...scarf? Something. Something long and soft.
Soft like the mask that burned against their eyes. Soft like Whumper's touches.
Whumpee whined and Whumper jerked the rope. Their fingers started tingling almost immediately. The bones in their wrists ground in and bruised against each other.
They squirmed away from the pulling. "That's-ow! That's too tight!"
Whumper jerked the rope again, making a final knot. "Deal with it," they spat. The ends flopped against their fingertips. Definitely a rope, just a soft one. "Be thankful I'm tying your hands so you can't make me more angry. You don't want to find out what I'd do to you if you tried to take that off."
Whumpee shivered as Whumper's hands left theirs.
They balanced on their tiptoes, squirming against the cold sucking void. They tipped their head this way and that, trying to hear where Whumper went. Everything was silent. Only the muted scratching of tree branches whittled into their ears.
Where did they go!?
Whumpee's breaths quickened the longer they stood. Whumper didn't touch them. Didn't make a sound. They could be anywhere.
Whumpee whimpered, biting their lip to keep from sobbing. "W-Whumper?"
No response. Maybe they had gon-
Whumpee screamed as they were shoved to the side. The thick blackness whipped around them as they hurtled through the inky void. Whumpee curled their legs up, sure they would never stop falling. They crashed against the carpet, shoulder screaming in pain.
The void spun and tilted, caressing them. Whumpee curled up, pressing their face into the carpet. The mask itched and burned against their skull. They didn't dare try to rub it off against the floor, even as their cheek burned and begged them to try.
"Give me your elbow." Whumper's voice was stern, looming above them.
Whumpee squirmed, not sure how. Their wrists were already aching. Their fingers tingly.
Whumper sighed, and gripped their upper arm tight, yanking against their aching shoulder to drag them over the ground. Whumpee cried out as the carpet burned against their skin, but Whumper didn't relent. They drug them a few feet further and dropped them. Whumper yanked their arm out as far as it would go. The other arm followed, leaving both hands peeking out from behind their back, one pinned down under them, one exposed. Whumpee wanted to twitch away, but they didn't dare.
Whumper grunted lightly, and something cool and hard brushed between the inside of their elbow and their waist
"Don't go anywhere." Moments later, Whumpee heard the front door open. Shut again.
"Wait, where are you going!?" No response. "Don't leave me like this. Please don't go!"
Whumper was already gone.
Whumpee yanked against the thing at their arm Some column - wooden? - rested there, heavy. They tried to wriggle their elbow up and over it, but if it had a top, they couldn't reach. They could hardly move besides trying to roll away from it. They tugged and twisted, but it stayed planted. Firm. Bruising their inner arm and side the more they struggled.
Was that...a...table? Whatever it was, it pinned them there, fully exposed to the cold, sucking air.
Whumpee's breaths came impossibly faster.
Don't hyperventilate. Stay calm. They tried to slow their breaths. Their chest heaved with the effort, taking in lungful after lungful of thick blackness. Feeling it twist into their blood.
Their wrists burned and beat against each other as they struggled. The darkness ate into their bones. Whumpee sobbed against the mask. They needed it off.
So badly.
So fucking badly.
They pulled and pulled, but the column of wood wouldn't move.
The door opened. Whumpee gasped, craning their head up. It snapped shut again.
Whumpee flinched as something tumbled agains the wall on the other side of the room. They twisted their head, trying to hear what Whumper was doing over there.
Whumpee screamed and jerked away as Whumper's fingertips brushed across their neck.
So much closer than they’d thought. It was maddening not knowing where they were.
Maybe they hadn’t even gone outside. Maybe Whumper had just pulled up a chair and watched them writhe and gasp for a while.
Their stomach rolled.
Whumper chuckled. "So jumpy."
Whumpee panted against them. "Please, Whumper. Take it off."
Whumper laughed again. Whumpee squirmed as they felt Whumper straddle their hips, pinning them down more yet. Their shoulder twisted more as their body pressed down on their arm. "Now why would I do that?"
The void sucked at their skin as they trembled. "Please, I learned the lesson. I - just. Please. I can't do anymore."
Whumper chuckled. "We haven't even started your punishment yet. You aren't tapping out now."
"Haven't..." Whumpee's mind spun. "P-please. Please no. Let me go back. I'll be so good. Please just take it off."
Whumpee flinched hard as something cold pressed against their twisted arm. "No, I don't think I will."
Whumpee squirmed against the cold. "Wha-what is that?"
They could hear Whumper smile. Sharp, hot pain ripped up to their burning shoulder. Whumpee screamed, writhing against the floor. A trickle of hot blood rolled down their arm.
A knife. Just a knife.
'Just' a knife, my ass.
Whumpee panted, their eyes flashing back and forth. "No no no, please!"
Whumper chuckled. "You didn't answer my question before." The tip of the knife trailed up their heaving chest. "What were you doing when I found you."
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't-" They screamed as the knife sunk in again, this time slicing their collarbone.
Without their sight, everything seemed sharper. More intense. They sucked in lungfulls of darkness as the knife withdrew.
"Let me ask again. What were you doing?"
Whumpee sputtered, trying desperately to writhe into a position where they could see the knife.
Of course they couldn't. No matter how they moved. There was nothing but the void.
"You know what- Hnng" Their side exploded with pain as Whumper shoved the blade in. It scraped their hipbone, sending twitching vibrations down their leg. Whumpee panted against it. "Please - aahg, Whumper please stop!"
"What were you doing?"
They panted, mind scrambling for the words. The knife twisted deeper.
"What were you doing?"
Whumpee sputtered, spitting out the answer. "I was trying to leave. Escape. I-I was trying to open the door." They whimpered and flinched back as the hot, wet blade pressed against their cheek.
Whumper hummed. "Good. Now are you going to try that again?"
The knife pressed harder, barely splitting the skin. "No! No I won't try it again. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good!"
The knife pulled back.
"Good."
Whumper's weight rolled forward. The knife pressed against their wrist.
"No-!"
It sliced down, splitting the rope and slicing the back of Whumpee's hand. They cried out, yanking their cut hand instinctively to their chest. They wriggle d their other arm free, clutching the gash. Their hands were almost completely numb, but the pain still slicked red-hot through their veins.
They flinched and tugged away as Whumper's hands wrapped around their wrists. They pinned them to the ground on either side of their head.
"Say it again."
Darkness slithered up their arms, licking up the blood. "Say w-what?"
Whumper gripped their wrists tighter. "Say you'll never try to run again." Their breath brushed across Whumpee's face, suffocating them.
"I won't leave. I won't ever try to escape. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Let me take it off now. I won't ever run again." Their voice shook.
"Good."
Whumper released their wrists. Whumpee didn't dare reach for the mask, no matter how much it suffocated them. They forced their arms to lay uselessly on the carpet by their head.
"Now ask me nicely."
Just do it. Whumpee's lip quivered. "Please. Take it off."
"Much better."
Whumper slid the mask up. They squinted their eyes, expecting blinding fluorescents. Instead, they saw vague outlines in grey moonlight. Almost completely dark. But better. Infinitely better.
"It's...Whumper?"
"Hmm?"
"It's...it's still dark."
Whumper chuckled. "Yes. I wasn't going to leave you in the darkness alone." Whumper's hand cupped their cheek. "I was right there with you the whole time."
Whumpee trembled against the touch. Was that...better? Worse?
"Let's get you back to bed. It's late."
Whumpee's heart leaped. Their room was never dark. No void could touch them there. They never should have left. "Okay."
Whumper stood and helped Whumpee to their feet, clutching them close when Whumpee slipped, legs buckling after putting weight on their hip. Whumper held them close and didn't let them fall.
Together they walked back. Through the darkness. Down the hallway. Down the stairs. Through another hallway. Into Whumpee's room. Light flooded into the hallway as Whumper opened the door. Their little nightlight glowing against the darkness.
Whumper flicked on the light switch to their room that rested outside on the hallway wall, then stepped inside, pulling Whumpee along.
Whumpee took in a deep, full breath of light. Whumper steered them to sit down on their bed, then...walked to the nightlight.
Whumper plucked it from the wall.
"Wait-no. No please. Please leave it!"
Whumper turned back to them. "No, you've lost light privileges for a few days."
Whumpee blinked up at them. "A-a few days!? I said I'm sorry. Please. Please believe me, I'm so sorry. I won’t try to run!”
Whumper stepped up to them, tipping their chin up with a knuckle. "I believe you…but I don't think you do. Not yet, anyway.” Their thumb brushed across while lips. “Next time an apology escapes these lips, you'll mean it."
Whumpee shivered against the touch. They didn’t dare try to deny it…every inch of them still wanted to crawl towards the door. Their eyes flicked to their barred window. At least the moon would -
Their eyes widened. The window. No....
"Oh, you noticed?" Whumper turned toward it too. "Flex-seal. No light can get in. I’ll add more layers in the morning just in case."
Whumpee started to panic. They stood up, clutching at Whumper's shirt. "No! Please. Please. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I won't ever do it again. Don't leave me like this!"
Whumper batted their hands away and stepped back towards the door.
"I'll give you some time to think about it."
“Please! No no, you already punished me, I’ll be good!”
Whumper laughed loudly, pushing them gently away from them. “You thought that was your punishment? That's adorable.” They opened the door. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
They stepped out. Whumpee lunged forward, yanking and twisting at the door handle, but it was already locked.
Their forehead thudded against the door as they started to sob again. "Please....Whumper don't. Please don’t. Don’t leave me. Don’t turn-“
The light flicked off.
Nothing. Pure, suffocating nothingness.
Darkness swirled into their blood.
Whumpee choked on the cold air as they crumpled to the ground.
.
[My Whumptober Masterlist]
(tags: @prisonerwhump, @whumpawink, @mabledonut, @heathenwhump, @jadeocean46910, @distinctlywhumpthing)
#yeah#hate it#not sure why#ah well#whumptober#whumptober 2021#my writing#scared of the dark#phobia#fear#panic attack#knife#cutting#blindfolded#restrained#solitary confinement#escape attempt
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~~~~~~new kids on the bridge~~~~~~
requested by @android-boyfriends thank you so much for the request and your support!
data x fem!reader
summary: even with his emotion chip deactivated, data knew of the effects physical touch has on anxiety. his knowledge came just in the knick of time as you endeavored on your first away mission.
get it....? like new kids on the block???? im hysterical.
——————————————————————————
it had been years since you’ve been in a room void of electricity and, as any unfamiliarity would do, was unsettling to say the least. even with data, the indestructible two-ton android, your first away mission wasn’t a walk in the park. every step you took, you took it lightly, doing all you could to keep silent. see, counselor troi, commander riker and commander data strut around the reality of their situation with dexterity, while you paced back and forth inside your own anxious mind, assuming the worst and, most terribly, everyone knew it.
the only light came from the four dim flashlights that each of you held and the blinking leds on data’s and riker’s tricorders. out of all the away missions you could’ve been assigned in your life, you hoped this was the worst of all the ones you’ll encounter in the future. the place smelled of romulan ale and split guts, the floor was a metal you’d never seen before on the enterpise, or anywhere else for that matter, and you were surrounded by the left over rubble and debris of a foiled ship, however that event occurred.
“commander,” even data’s voice startled you. “there seems to be a trail of what is blood here, green in color. i cannot quite tell whether the origins are romulan or vulcan. it has aged considerably.” you followed deanna and commander riker like a tail on a cat, letting riker be the leader. on the floor beside you, there was indeed a trail of copper based green blood, whether it was romulan or vulcan you weren’t sure. the trail soon cut off at a pair of doors, once automatic, and now jammed beyond repair. the only way to get in was with force, an easy task for data, as he pried the doors open like a knife through cake. it seemed that you were the only one startled by dramatic, loud noise it caused. you tried to keep you breathing steady, as steady as you could be, but their deeply focused expression that any good away team should have made you the only one remotely readable.
from behind you, unsure of the exact direction, a familiar metal creak sounded, loudly. you all stood stock still, examining your surroundings and on the lookout for threats. the creaking continued, then again and again, before finally taking a less than soft landing. it was large metal piller that had fallen, part of the ship, and with it, a very few select floorboards from the level above fell with it, just when you thought the startling was over. the first pillar to fall, you reacted surprisingly normally, a simple gasp and your hand clasped over your mouth. however, as the ceiling fell through, your hand flew toward the nearest object- data’s hand. you were so alarmed and embarrassed at what you’d just done that you forgot his chip was currently deactivated, and you had, quite literally, no reason to believe he would be mad at you. to your relief, neither commander riker nor counselor troi noticed your action. you stared each other dead in the eyes for a brief moment before he looked down at your clasped hands with a curious face.
“intriguing...” all of a sudden, his fingers began vaguely outlining your own. he squeezed your hand, not too hard, but just enough for you to feel it, before placing your hand in his palm, as though he was holding a bird, and bringing it closer to his eye level. with his other hand he positioned yours on top of his and ever so gently pushed your fingers flat against it. “i was unaware that your hands contrasted so much to mine. although i have the proportions memorized of everyone i meet, your touch is much of a different feeling. it really is... a matter of perspective.” your eyes were blown wide. “no one has ever held my hand in the way you have, ensign. thank you for the experience.” so much for keeping it a secret. you almost wished he had his chip activated so he could share in your embarrassment. both counselor troi and commander riker reacted positively, but in very different ways. as riker would, he silently smirked, his face saying everything he didn’t. the counselor on the other hand was giddy and endeared by your interaction. you knew you couldn’t hide anything from either of them- the psychic and the lover boy.
data was right, however. your hands were tiny in comparison. in fact, although you didn’t know the numbers, they were probably tiny in comparison to anyone. you’d ask him for the answer later. “commander,” data spoke as if nothing had happened, still holding your hand. “my tricorder is picking up a temporal wave distortion above us. i believe we could access it easier though the ceiling that has, ever so conveniently, opened up for us.” commander riker nodded, still smirking.
“whatever you say, data.” he nodded back and began heading toward the debris to find an entrance point- while still holding your hand. he dragged you along with him like a leash he was unwilling to let go. you stared at him the entire time, trusting him not to let you trip on anything. finally, he realized what he had been doing. “would you like me to release your hand, ensign?” he questioned, his head tilted as he loosened his grip a small bit. you smiled and looked to your feet. “not unless you need to, commander.” he squeezed it tighter, even tighter than the first time. “understood, ensign.”
A/N: i hope this was good! im sorry it was so short. thank you for suggesting it, however. it was very fun to write :)
#data#lieutenant commander data#data x reader#star trek data#star trek: the next generation#data x reader fluff#fluff#data fluff#star trek#tng#tng deanna#tng riker
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