#a blackened version coming soon ?
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illusions beneath the soil
wanderer x gn!reader
genre: angst, fluff
warnings: spoilers for scara’s backstory, this boy is TRAUMATIZED, nightmare, brief mention of blood/surgical tools, mentions of death
word count: 2712
✧.* a/n: i decided to do a little something i haven't done before, so you might notice that the way i refer to scara switches at certain points in the story 👀 i wanted to play around with his other names as he reconnects with different memories from the past, probs won’t do this again but just thought it might be kinda neat teehee. enjoy!
it’s cold and lonely, laying on the ground in front of this tree. the roots are long, abnormally so, and they snake around his limbs tightly, holding him down and pulling him into the earth. he’s not sure where he is, but he’s confident that it’s a dream when he notices the red hue of the sky, like an ocean of blood hanging overhead.
the dark purple leaves of the tree sway above him in a way that’s almost dizzying, and scaramouche drops his head forward in an attempt to get his vision to stop swimming while the branches tug him deeper into the ground.
part of him wants to panic as his head begins to sink into the soil, but another part of him feels calm, almost serene. as soon as the crimson view of the sky is out of sight, the feeling of cold earth around him disappears and all he can feel is a hard flat surface underneath him.
pushing himself to his knees, scaramouche finds himself in some sort of pitch black void. the only light source is a sharp sliver of light a few feet in front of him, coming from seemingly nowhere. the sound of movement startles him into alertness and when he squints against the dark, a tall figure starts to stand out, walking slowly towards him.
“isn’t this what you wanted?” the voice asks him calmly, almost airily. it sounds familiar, so much so that he freezes and strains to listen. it tugs on a part of his mind that he hasn’t acknowledged in many years and for a moment, he feels like the naive, inexperienced version of himself from long ago.
“i did this for you,” the voice is soft and even, but carries an edge of anger directed towards him that fills his stomach with dread. “you should be grateful.”
approaching the shaft of light that cuts through the void, their feet reach the light first, and then their legs. when the lower part of their body fully comes into view, he notices they have something grasped tightly in their hand.
a bloody, still beating heart.
he realizes who it is all at once, and the shock leaves his limbs cold and numb.
“niwa,” he chokes out, eyes widening in horror as the man’s face comes into view. he looks the same as scaramouche remembers, broad and delicate with the aura of a leader—but now there’s a deep sort of disgust on his face as he looks down at the puppet he once considered family.
the heart in niwa’s hand pulsates faintly, drops of blood dripping down and splattering onto the floor by his feet. a wave of nausea rolls through him then, and he has to reach up and cover his mouth as a heave wracks his body.
“kabukimono,” niwa says sharply. “was this not enough for you? a heart of your very own?”
scaramouche shakes his head and tries swallowing down the lump in his throat. “no- i…”
“no?” the man repeats somewhat incredulously. “it wasn’t? what more could you possibly want?”
he shakes his head again, mouth opening and closing helplessly as he fails to find words. the confusion and anguish he felt in tatarasuna so many years ago, when escher had informed him of niwa’s betrayal, pierced his chest like a hot knife.
it feels like he’s back there again, standing brokenly in front of the malfunctioning furnace while a blackened box drops from his charred fingers. it should have hurt, should have made him wince and grit his teeth, but he felt nothing. all of the pain was inside, buried deep in his being.
how could he do this? the kabukimono thought sadly. i thought we were…
“family.” he whispers out loud, staring up at the man in front of him through teary eyes. “we were family.”
niwa raises a brow at this, mouth curling into a sardonic smile. “were we really? are you so sure?”
he knows this version of niwa is only a figment of his imagination, a false memory he’d been fed that haunted him for far too long. a lie. but it hurts all the same, to see someone he had once loved so dearly giving him such a cruel, cold smile.
“yes,” he exhales shakily, willing his voice not to waver. “and it’s not true. you didn’t- you wouldn’t-“ he chokes down a sob.
“you never betrayed me.”
it was niwa’s very heart inside of that box escher had given him that saved the kabukimono from the resentful smoke in the fire that day. the purity, the courage, the love that lived within him up until his last moments had shielded him from the wrath of the fire that threatened to corrupt him.
he took him in, taught him everything he knew, treated him like everyone else even when he was so sure he would never fit in with humans because of his identity.
niwa would never betray him.
so why, then, did he believe the vile man who fed him the lie in the first place?
was he truly so disheartened by getting dismissed at tenshukaku when he went by boat for help? was he truly so weak? he should’ve doubted the man, been able to see the blatant lie before him.
“i shouldn’t have believed him,” the kabukimono whispers to the towering figure of his friend who grins down at him with a frightening malice the real niwa never had. “you never would’ve done this, why did i believe him?”
the small patter of footsteps approaching behind him has the puppet whipping his head around to watch as a second, much smaller figure runs into the light.
“it’s you,” he says breathlessly as the little boy he had once lived with stands before him. he’s expecting to see the smile he always had on his face, but instead, he’s met with wet eyes and trembling lips.
“why couldn’t you save me?” the boy murmurs, and the kabukimono notices that he still looks deathly ill, just as he had the last time he saw him. his body is frail, his cheeks are sunken in and his eyes dull and hollow.
the ratty charred doll swinging from his left hand triggers another wave of memories that wrap tightly around his neck and knock the air out of his lungs.
he tried. he tried so hard to care for the boy, to cure his sickness and stay by his side. in the end, there was no winning against fate when it made its final call.
“i-i’m sorry…” the kabukimono chokes out, tears beginning to fall from his eyes and down his cheeks in fat droplets. his face is twisted up in distress, body shaking pitifully as gravity seems to weigh him down more than usual.
the boy sniffles and coughs weakly, lifting a shaking hand to wipe at his wet nose. “why couldn’t you? you promised we’d stay together.”
why couldn’t he?
why did he believe him? why couldn’t he save him? why couldn’t he protect the people he loved?
was it because he lacked a heart, or was it because he just wasn’t worthy of having a family? what right does he have to try to belong with humans when he couldn’t even save the ones that mattered to him?
“what a riveting show.” a sinister, bemused voice cuts in. scaramouche’s entire body freezes and his stomach jumps into his throat, dread and fear prickling at his skin.
slow, steady clapping fills the air as a third figure approaches the puppet who slowly tilts his head to the side and watches with horror filled eyes as the one who caused it all stops before him.
dottore has a wicked grin on his lips as he takes in the scene, the top half of his face hidden by his beaked mask. “a lovely reunion indeed, if i do say so myself.”
the clapping subsides and scaramouche’s eyes follow as the harbinger slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out an item that sets his nerves ablaze.
the electro gnosis.
that’s mine, he thinks helplessly, too grief stricken to speak out loud, too overwhelmed by the paralyzing memories.
“what’s wrong? aren’t you happy to see this?” dottore mocks cruelly, shaking the gnosis around under the light so it glints and reflects into the darkness.
scaramouche’s eyes don’t follow it though, gaze fixed on nothing under the onslaught of emotions flooding into him. he doesn’t need to breathe, but he still feels like he’s suffocating as the cold icy hands of the past clutch at him tightly.
he can feel the ghost of needles and blades piercing his skin from the endless experiments he endured at the hands of the harbinger, and it’s almost unbearable. he lived, but only because he couldn’t die. it was painful, so painful he doesn’t know how he managed to push through it.
the furious glower from niwa, the tear stained confusion from the boy, the satisfied smirk from dottore—the three figures step forward slowly and close in on the puppet where he’s glued to the floor, surrounding him until he knows there’s no way out.
“i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry,“ scaramouche rushes out, the words leaving him in a panic. “i should’ve been stronger, i should’ve known better, i should’ve-“ he cuts himself off.
“i never should’ve been born at all.” he sobs, shoulders and head dropping weakly.
if i just never existed, the puppet thinks blearily. if they just hadn’t known me…
but even then, their fates would not be any different. he knows, because he tried. he threw himself into the flow of irminsul and wished himself away without a second thought so that everyone he killed could be saved.
but such a thing wasn’t possible.
there is no changing what has already happened. those who died will still die, and those who lived will remain. history may be able to rewrite itself, but the sequences of fate will not budge.
“you’re allowed to forgive yourself, y’know?” a warm, familiar voice fills his head. your voice.
“but i don’t deserve it.” scaramouche responds meekly, gaze falling to the floor. the three figures around him are still slowly surrounding him, but his attention never strays from the sound if you in his head as he remembers your words.
“you’ve been given a special opportunity to start over, to redefine yourself.” his eyes widen at this as realization settles into him. “you shouldn’t let yourself spend another lifetime believing lies.”
that’s right.
the things that happened to him, the things he did because of it—they no longer define him. this is a new life, one where he could keep moving forward. he had loved, lost, and learned. he may not ever be able to forgive himself, but he sure isn’t going to pity himself any longer.
snapping his eyes back up to the harbinger that stands only centimeters away, tall and menacing, scaramouche wills his trembling brows into a frown and grits his teeth.
“you have no right to speak to me, vile scum.” he spits.
dottore tsks and dangles the gnosis in front of the puppet’s face. “that’s certainly no way to talk to somebody who turned you into a god, shouldn’t you be-“
“you used me,” scaramouche reminds him, snatching the gnosis out of his hand and throwing it as far as he could manage into the void behind him. “i’m done playing your games.”
the figure of dottore fades in and out for a moment, like it’s struggling to remain present. “haven’t you learned by now? you’re only useful as a pawn. you can’t save anyone, they’ll leave you no matter what.”
scaramouche shakes his head. “they didn’t leave. you killed them.“
the harbingers image momentarily flickers to escher before returning to normal, and the puppet clenches his hands into fists. the one who murdered niwa, the one who caused the curse to grow out of proportion and spread the illness that took the boy, the one who used his body for worthless research, scaramouche can hardly stand to look at him.
“your words mean nothing to me now.” he hisses, trying not to show how much he struggles to get the words out of his mouth. “get out of my sight.”
chest heaving, scaramouche squeezes his eyes shut. when he opens them again, the dark space around him is almost blindingly white, and dottore is nowhere to be found.
niwa and the boy are still at his sides, but instead of their upset expressions from before, they stare down at him fondly, almost proudly.
the warm, gentle familiarity in niwa’s eyes and the reassuring smile from the boy set loose another wave of emotions, but this time, they’re ones of relief and guilt.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers for the nth time, voice trembling.
“you have nothing to apologize for.” niwa shakes his head and reaches a hand out and rests it on top of scaramouche’s head, the way he always had when the puppet carried out a task successfully or said something that made the group laugh fondly.
“but i shouldn’t have left the island-“
“you couldn’t have known.” the man insists. “not even i knew until it was already too late. he took advantage of all of us, but you’re the only one who still lives on and has to remember such a horrible event. cut yourself some slack.”
before he can respond, the boy, looking much stronger now, walks over to stand beside the man and lifts a tiny arm to wipe at the tears slipping down scaramouche’s cheeks. his hand is warm and soft against his skin, a touch far more delicate than he’s used to receiving.
“it’s okay,” the boy reassures him. “you tried your best, you did everything you could.”
“i wish i could’ve done more.” he admits quietly. always having been much too wise for his age, the boy nods in understanding.
“and i wish the world had been kinder to you.” his smile almost looks sad for a moment, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared when niwa places his other hand on top of the child’s head and ruffles his hair.
another wave of tears spill from scaramouche’s eyes. sitting here, with the memory of some of the most important people he had in his life showing him forgiveness and kindness, he thinks that maybe, someday, even he could learn to forgive himself.
but memories are fleeting things, and the images before him slowly start to grow transparent. stay, he wants to tell them. don’t leave me again.
but he can’t bring himself to be selfish in this moment, not when he was so sure he would never see them again. as their hands become featherlight and they begin to fade away, he gives them his best attempt at a smile, trying to convey the words he can’t find within him.
and then he’s alone again.
the wanderer wakes with a shaky inhale, eyes snapping open to darkness. this time, though, it’s a darkness that he recognizes.
as the tension in his body melts and the racing thoughts in his head slow to a trickle, he notices your arms wrapped securely around him just as they had been when the two of you fell asleep only hours before.
he remembers your voice in his dream, how the things you had said to him on a night previously when he had told you about his past came back to him when he needed to hear them again. he remembers niwa, the boy, dottore.
his eyes are wet, and he realizes he must have been crying in his sleep. as his vision adjusts to the light, he squints to make out your features and finally feels the remnants of the dream leave his mind. your features are slack and peaceful, breathing rhythmic and even as you sleep soundly.
safe. he’s safe.
trying to ignore the pathetic way his chest swells with warmth, the wanderer ducks forward to tuck his head under your chin and grips your shirt in his hands as he presses as closely to you as possible, letting the rest of his tears soak into the fabric.
“thank you.” he mumbles into the silence.
#favoniuslibrary#astronetwrk#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact#wanderer x reader#scaramouche x reader#kunikuzushi x reader#wanderer#scaramouche#kunikuzushi
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A while ago I made a theory on Project Edens Garden and with Chapter 1 coming up I thought I'd share some more thoughts as my original theories have shifted slightly.
This will include spoilers from the demo (specifically from WeebyNewz's video) so you have been warned.
I'm going to make a tier list of least to most likely to die characters in this post just to try and visualise how I feel at the moment with information we have. Keep in mind this almost definitely will not be accurate when Chapter 1 does release.
Like many others, I originally theorised that Cassidy would be the one to die in this chapter, but honestly it's so in-your-face that it seems like a red herring. Ingrid also gets a lot of screentime in that little segment at the start, but it's less obvious and while it's unlikely that either of then will die yet, it isn't something that can be ruled out at the moment. There's a strong possibility, but it may be a red herring.
I also want to rule out characters who have barely been given any attention (Desmond, Ulysses, Jett, Mark) as since they haven't had much time to shine, I doubt they'll be victims this chapter (blackened is a possibility, but none of them seem to have a motivation to kill currently).
I also want to rule out Diana and Toshiko, Diana because she seems to be being set up as a support to Damon, as she defends him and goes against Wolfgang and I think if she were to die it's more likely for her to die once the despair truly kicks in, as she knows that a murder is possible but doesn't seem to be motivated from what we see. Toshiko seems too plot relevant to die in the first chapter, plus I doubt anyone in the cast would stoop so low as to kill a child, if she is to die it would be late game and probably as a blackened.
Also I should've mentioned this at the start but I'm completely ruling out Damon and Wolfgang, again they're just too plot relevant and I doubt Damon will pull a Kaede, he's not stupid enough to risk it and Wolfgang is in complete denial, he wouldn't kill anyone at this stage, nor would he be an easy target.
In terms of characters I think might live but there's also a strong possibility of then dying are Kai, Eloise, Jean and Wenona. I have my reasons so just hear me out. Kai and Eloise are two charaxters with clear motive to get out as fast as possible (Kai with his career and Eloise with her mother) which makes them decent candidates for becoming blackeneds. I can honestly see Kai as a victim, since he's both an easy target and not many members of the cast like him. Wenona has her buisnesses but her rivalry with cassidy would be interesting if one were to kill the other, but she seems as if she has room for development and I can see her as a mid to late death. Jean also seems to be getting quite a bit of spotlight this chapter, ehich raises some death flags, especially since he and Tozu seem to be at odds as he discovered the secret area. I wouldn't be surprised if he were executed by Mara.
And now for the characters that I think are most likely to die. I think Eva and Grace are both very likely to die. I think Eva could become a blackened to use the groups distrust of her to make herself seem as if she were framed, then use that to pin the blame in someone else because its never the most likely suspect, is it? In the Bible, Eve is the first to fall to temptation, I think Tozu will make her an offer to act as motivation. Or, she could attempt murder and someone will kill her in self defense.
For Grace, there's an audio file in the trailer that includes a distorted version of her screaming "get me out of here" in the first trial, sounds suspiscious right? Grace has also already had a brush with death once in this game, she wants to get out as soon as possible. She's stressed and in a bad place, and she might do something drastic.
Anyway here's the tier list
Anyway this is all speculation, have a good day
And thank you to the devs for making such an amazing fangan!
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DWC February 2024
Day 5: Notorious / Altruistic
(( Running a tad late, but running! ))
Luminash was no stranger to battle. He had looked into the eyes of many foes before – orcs consumed by fel bloodlust, soulless Scourge sockets, Alliance conscripts and veterans, scared children and hateful butchers alike, even the calculating gaze of the nathrezim – but nothing had prepared him for meeting his own gaze.
It was so full of fear and sorrow, it almost broke his heart. Almost, were it not for the man’s aims. Theras.
As the other launched a burst of flame, its heat unnatural, the sickly violet weaving in its heart showing its true nature, Luminash wove a volley of arcane missiles through its center, dispersing it, leaving only the sweat on his brow and the ashes of once-verdant grass as the evidence of its power.
What desperation had driven him to consume shadowflame and become this? The molten cracks in his skin glowed from within, and each new spark was accompanied by a crackling that seemed to come from inside the fallen magister.
Volley after volley came, dark-hearted fire and brilliant, blinding Arcane, reds and blues, deep violets and bright thistles crashed against one another, their play tearing apart the hollow, searing the earth and shattering soil. Each move was countered, each follow-up anticipated. They were, for their different weapons, the same. Some change was required.
Luminash’s fingers twitched, plucked at the Arcane, threads of magic strummed like a fine instrument, and the world responded. Space warped, pulled taut around the other. Scarcely so flashy as previous efforts, but this would put an end to whatever fiery posturing his foe could muster. But then, the threads simply…snapped.
They had grown weak so quickly, as if singed over a candle, and the magister was unprepared for the backlash. So tight they had been, so abruptly did they unravel, that Luminash felt a surge of heat rush through those threads and up through his fingers, a blaze springing up within. The grip of blazing fingers twisting through his chest forced the magister to the ground, teeth grinding from the pain.
“You… By the Sun, what have you…” the magister sputtered.
“I know what you are capable of. And I know better than anyone how to counter it. I am…” He stopped, then drew his lips tight, cutting himself off, “It will be over soon.”
His reflection raised a hand, his eyes focused on some point through his kneeling foe. Up his arm snaked shadowflame, and from his outstretched fingertips roared an inferno.
Through the pain, Luminash felt a chill, a soothing touch to calm the blaze. Whatever this other version of himself had become, there was something he lacked. Alone, Luminash feared he would not be able to overcome this mirror, but the ice now running in his veins – power shared both from afar and within, that corner of his soul tied together with Jaskian’s – could offer his foe something more unpredictable.
As the flames came down, fury and desperation, they met a wall of ice. The blackened and smoldering grass was extinguished by the burst of steam that followed, the cracking of the ice under the intense heat echoed from the hills around, and Luminash stayed firm.
In that moment, another weaving, another pull of the threads, and his other self was bound, wrapped in a prison of the very space around him, blazing eyes wide in shock.
Shakily, the magister stood, flexing his fingers as he secured his spellweaving. When he spoke, despite his wavering body, it was cold, precise.
“Return to your timeline. There is nothing here for you. I am…” The pair’s gaze met, and Luminash realized what his other self had been ready to say, “I am sorry.”
The hollow grew still and silent, with neither elf saying a word, the gift of clemency, selflessness in sparing a separate self, hanging in the air.
@daily-writing-challenge
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"I find myself thinking about things I couldn't have the heart to tell you. I think about the end, about my own decline, about how frail I am now and how I will only be a burden to you as time goes on. I don't want to be so infirm that you have to do everything for me, for the rest of my life. I don't want that for you, and, damn it, I still have enough pride in me to refuse that for myself. But I know where I'm headed, and... Sometimes I think it's better for us both if I die before it gets any worse. I couldn't bear to see you wait on me hand and foot; and I couldn't bear to be waited on. The coward in me doesn't want to die at all, but perhaps dying earlier would be less arduous: I wouldn't have to put you through so much, watch you watch me waste away. But what can I do to avoid any of it? Even living, or dying, without you is something I know for a fact I could not handle. I am afraid. I'm terrified of the future, and it's coming closer all the time." (If you know who this is for, then you know who this is from.)
confess
Effort to appear unbothered was put forth, great care to maintain a lack of worry or concern, as he knew right and well who this was - whose words, whose cadence, whose desperate confession whispered in acheful tones. A love far greater than any he could've ever known, ever come to appreciate or reciprocate, share first, and so intense in spite of all. Everlasting, hopeless and tinged with all the grief and sorrow befitting a warlock with an anxious heart, pain and agony leaking into every word tumbling out of a man obscured from view. Convenient, that crystal blue should not meet peridots he wanted nothing more than to dive into, hands eager to gather slender figure into his arms as if the separation would eat him alive - what Hell it was to be unable to drag his fingers over hollow cheeks, paw at and tenderly kiss away the woes and worries of the only man who could give him the greatest gift of all. Redemption, atonement, the grace to afford him a chance, however reluctant in the beginning, however painfully unwanting. And yet now to have him admit his darkest sorrows which proved the opposite true, veiled in shades of gray too murky to peer through, Garrett was unsettled. Uncomfortable. Anxious, himself.
He said nothing in return for some time, the shadow over his eyes heavy and dark and wholly unreadable. Images of a shattered, ever-repeating mirror came to mind, a trap beset by Moloch in which they were each forced to watch each other suffer great torture and near-death, drawing comparisons here and now - perhaps flippantly, but it lingered and spread dread through his body as vilest poison, Hell's heat and apathy burning away at the calm he'd felt before. Yes, anxious - very anxious. There were too few things he could do to soothe worries of his own, and even less for V's, memories of the occasion he nearly lost him too soon, too early, too too too-- His palms felt a bit clammy, how unusual for him, teeth catching on his lower lip. Smoke began to steadily wisp free from the corners, then his nose, gaze flickering this way and that, mind racing, heart squeezing in his chest, flesh crackling and flaking away as if naught but ash, blackened fur peeking through like tufts of grass in pavement as the Cerberus in him revealed itself in full. Massive paws touting gnarled claws scraped into the cement beneath him, cratering under his impressive weight, fanged maw sparking, noxious fume and heat catching flame - evidence of his Hellborn blood. All this, a defense mechanism, a dogged uncertainty best left in the shade of animalistic crimson eyes and expressions that couldn't be made.
He hated talks like these in the first place, much happier to believe that V could live a life eternal alongside him, even if his devotion would see him through many more lifetimes for just a chance to see him again otherwise. It didn't matter if V died-- Oh, but of course it did. In every sense, in every version of every life in every timeline in every universe. It mattered exponentially more than anything else Garrett could possibly think of, claws flexing, grinding cement into dust. He shook himself, his hide, ash and ember falling away from him, and lowered himself to the ground, gnarled paws quick to cover his muzzle, tails tucked between his legs. Inching closer to the barrier between them, seeing all of V's emotions for what they were and being entirely powerless to fix it. Of course it mattered, but he didn't want it to. He wanted V to know that no matter the occasion, no matter the time, no matter the place, no matter his condition, his aches, Garrett would persist. He would love him as he always had, always and forever, and V need not worry for him. At the beginning and end of all things, he would wait, even if he should waste away in turn.
A whine bellowed from deep within him, and it was then he would choose to speak.
"Vitale," he chuffed, paw slipping from his maw, a deafening rumble to all but those attuned. "You're only thirty-something... and you're too stubborn to die. You're not going to die tomorrow." A light-hearted beginning, but it was acheful, crimson gaze glossy with emotion he couldn't bear to impart. "I found you in this life, I will find you in the next, and I will find you as assuredly in death. Weep not for me, nor for yourself, for the time we have is precious. Mecum eris semper, et ego tecum. There are no lifetimes, no worlds, no circumstances in which you will find yourself without - I promise you - and these pains and fears you feel will cease. To leave me... To have had you in the first place is already more than I deserve, with Lust and Wrath my cardinal sins and Hell burning like a furnace inside of me. How ever could I take you, so precious to me, and look upon you with only sorry and regret?" Wolfish nose to press against partitions, dry and caked with volcanic rock and the reek of sulphur. "I wish not for you to dwell like so, to crumble underneath your own mortality, and instead to dream and take heart in knowing the truth beyond this. In knowing you will have me, no matter the circumstances, no matter, no matter... Love is stronger than death, stronger than time, stronger than pain and woe, and you shall know it until the end of all, until the end of time as we know it. I'll make sure of it. I'll find a way. I won't have you wither, but you needn't worry if you shall. Please, stop this. Please, listen to me. Please, trust in me to ease your suffering. Love me as you are, as you will be, as I do, as I do. Vitale, V, my love, my greatest love... my only love."
@melancholymirth
#☿ || Asks.#♞ // Private: Love and Harmony.#melancholymirth#long /#/ uwu#/ presented without comment my beloved
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Steve the patient.
You were on a boat in the middle of a lake waiting for your boyfriend to surface after having jumped in to find a mystical doorway to the upside down, and the funniest thing about this whole situation was that this wasn’t even the maddest sequence of events you’d encountered in your life so far.
“So you’re saying that down there,” Eddie peers over the side of the boat, “is some sort of portal that will take us into some fucked up version of where we are now?”
Both you and Robin nod in sync, “yep, pretty much,” she shrugs.
“Ohh… kay…”
A loud splash in the water makes you jump as Steve reappears, breathing quickly as he pushes the wet hair back from his face, “I found it, it’s there… it’s…” suddenly he yelps as he’s dragged down into the water once more and you jump in after him without any hesitation whatsoever.
You watch as he gets further and further away from you with his arms outstretched in your direction, then he disappears inside a glowing orange cavern that you desperately try and swim towards as quickly as you possibly can. Robin and Eddie are following you, unbeknownst to you right now, and when you finally squeeze your way through the hole as the lake bed you come out to find Steve on the floor being attacked by several bat like creatures.
“Oh no you fucking don’t,” you growl, picking up the nearest piece of wood and whacking one of the animals away from Steve’s abdomen.
They had wasted no time in feasting on his flesh and you quickly cut the other one off with a short, sharp hit just as Eddie and Robin try to wrestle with the one wrapped around his neck. You take a moment to glance around at your surroundings and spot a couple more of the ugly things flying towards you all, so ready up your makeshift weapon and swing it with full force as they come within target range.
“Fuck!” you hear Eddie hiss, “what the fuck?!”
Steve manages to be freed from the tail of this bat thing and sets about hitting it to death on the floor while the rest of you defend one another from the incoming group, then finally there’s a break in their advance and you can all take a breath and assess the situation you find yourselves in.
“Oh my… Steve,” you gasp, seeing just how deep the wounds in his stomach went, along with the raw, red line that now circled his neck.
He gives you a weak smile, “I’m fine, it’s okay.”
“We’ve gotta move guys… incoming,” Eddie interrupts, pointing up to the blackened sky and the huge flock of monster bats heading your way.
You place your arm around Steve’s waist and begin to run behind Robin and Eddie into the gnarled trees nearby where you find some shelter beneath a huge fallen trunk, and the four of you practically hold your breath until the hoard of creatures has flown overhead without noticing you all.
“Well this isn’t scary at all,” Eddie mutters, slowly edging out of your hiding place.
You and Robin follow cautiously, all looking up towards the sky with wide eyes, and you hear Steve groan as he moves, “(Y/N)…” he moans, holding onto the trunk to stop himself from falling to the ground.
Your head snaps around to see him blinking rapidly and looking a little spaced out as he props himself up, and you quickly run back to where he is and hold him up as best you could, “careful, careful,” you whisper, “sit down.”
Blood oozes from his wounds and his face is pale as you grimace slightly at the sight before you, “just stay there, okay?” you force a smile and he nods, leaning back in pain and letting out a deep breath.
You join the two concerned people looking in your direction, and you know you need to make a plan, “okay, we need to get out of here as soon as possible,” you state, “who’s house is nearest to where we are?”
“Uhh, Nancy’s right?” Robin suggests.
Taking a look around you, you nod in agreement, “right, we need bikes if we’re going to get Steve anywhere, do you think you could both go there and get some?”
“Split up in this hell?!” Eddie asks.
“We need to do whatever it takes to get out of here,” Robin shrugs, “come on, we’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful.”
“You too.”
You walk back to where Steve lies uncomfortably and he frowns as he sees the other two heading away from you both, “where are they going?”
“Transport mission,” you smile, “just relax, we need to fix you up a bit.”
“Don’t you like the rugged look?” he manages to joke.
“I love the rugged look, just not the half eaten alive look,” you point out, cupping his cheek in your hand.
You retract your hand and begin to unbutton your blouse, “here?!” Steve asks, looking around excitedly.
“No!” you laugh, taking it off and ripping the sleeves from the body, “bandages,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
Steve sticks his bottom lip out playfully, “oh. Well that’s disappointing.”
“I promise…” you begin, pausing to slip what remains of your blouse back on, “…to give you the night of your life if we get out of here alive.”
“I feel better already,” he grins.
“Right, sit up,” you instruct, tying the sleeves together so you could wrap it around his stomach.
He flinches as the fabric lands on the wounds either side of his abdomen and you mouth a sorry at him as you lean in to cross the pieces over at his back and bring it around to the front again to secure it.
“How’s that?”
He closes his eyes in slight relief, “yeah, better thank you.”
You look out of your hiding place just as the entire ground shakes and rumbles, and Steve immediately grabs onto you and pulls you onto his lap for safety, “that’s not fun,” he says as everything stops.
“Stay there,” you smile, quickly kissing him before crawling away.
“Where are you going?!”
“To get some sort of weapon just in case, there’s the oar Eddie had over there, I’ll quickly grab it.”
“(Y/N)!” Steve warns.
As soon as you’re out of your hiding place there’s a loud screech behind you and one of those pesky monsters suddenly flies directly at you, it’s teeth sinking in to your forearm as you bring it up to protect you, “oh just fuck off!” you frown angrily, desperately trying to shake it off.
Steve moves to come out but you look at him with a furrowed brow, “stay right there Harrington!”
You move back with this thing still attached to you and once your near enough to a tree you hit your arm against it, causing the thing to release it’s jaw, and you have just enough time to grab the oar and beat the shit out of it before returning to Steve.
“Sorted,” you huff when you sit back down next to him, weapon in hand.
Steve chuckles and shakes his head as he takes a hold of your injured arm, “and you’re meant to be looking after me!”
“It’s nothing,” you scoff, taking your arm out of his grip.
“Hey, look at me, will you?”
You turn to face him with a slightly anxious expression and he squints his eyes as he studies your face, “we’ll be okay,” he reassures, “I promise.”
He leans in to kiss you, and for a brief moment you allow yourself to be completely wrapped up in him so you can forget where you are.
“Is this really the time for that?” Eddie asks from behind.
Sheepishly the two of you separate to see Robin and Eddie standing there with four bikes, then Eddie slips his waistcoat off and chucks it at Steve.
“What happened?” Robin asks, noticing your arm.
“One of them stupid bats,” you reply, rolling your eyes, “so what now?”
“Well…” Eddie starts with a smile, “Dustin may have just saved our lives.”
He explains the gate theory as you all cycle to where his trailer is, and when you get inside there is indeed a huge glowing doorway on his ceiling right where Chrissy died. Pieces of it suddenly start falling to the floor until it reveals Dustin, Erica, Lucas, and Max on the other side, and they throw a makeshift rope through for you to climb. Robin and Eddie go first then you help Steve up before pulling yourself through and landing on the mattress that had been placed there for a semi-soft landing.
“Have you got any alcohol?” you ask Eddie as you notice the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage on Steve’s stomach.
He rummages around in the cupboards and finds a bottle of vodka which he takes a swig of before handing it to you. Everyone looks away as you take the fabric off of the wounds and Steve nods at you to do what you’ve got to do. He writhes around beneath you and groans as the liquid stings, then Eddie manages to find a first aid kit and throws it onto the seat next to Steve.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, quickly getting proper bandages out to fix him up, “I’m so sorry.”
“What about you?” he questions once he’s calmed down, “your arm.”
“I’ll do it,” Eddie offers, “if you trust me to.”
You nod, “thanks.”
Eddie leads you over to the sink, mostly so that Steve couldn’t see the pain on your face as he sterilised the bite, then he wraps another clean bandage around it and gives you a sympathetic smile. You hug him before turning to Dustin, “nice one Dusty bun.”
“We’d better get back,” Max warns the others, “the police will be looking for us.”
“Shit, yeah, you guys should lay low too,” Lucas says to the four of you.
“We can all stay here for now,” Eddie nods, “you go, we’ll be fine.”
They all leave and Robin and Eddie head outside to breathe some normal air after your time spent in the musty upside down while you lay Steve back on the sofa and kneel down next to him, stroking his hair.
“So…” he smiles, turning his head to face you, “about that promise you made…” he winks.
Request: can you do you following Steve into the upside down and the bat thing and getting back and taking care of him? Please?
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steveharrington#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x you#stranger things imagine#stranger things s4#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
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V. Song
I had this in my head for ages but finally took the chance to write it for @hanal-ghilan-prompts!
It’s based on the Lambton Worm song, written about a legend of a worm (dragon) that terrorised the countryside around the river Wear in Northeast England. I’ve lifted and changed lines where necessary. It’s written/sang in a Northumbrian dialect and if you’d care to hear it you can listen to the original song here.
I made the Thedosian version of the song reference an ancient, fractured version of an ancient Elvhen story of how Andruil and Mythal fought after Andruil brought plague back from the Void. The song, as you see, casts Andruil in a much more favourable light, with the dragon, instead, representing the Blight. It’s intended as a city elf song similar to the Denerim lullaby Where Willows Wail.
One early mornin’ Andruil went
A-huntin’ in the woods;
An’ found some tracks along the trail
She thowt leuk’t vary queer (=thought looked very strange)
But wharra kind a tracks they were (=what kind of)
Andruil cudden’t tell-
She tipped her bow with adder’s kiss
An’ took after the creature
Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs, (=Quiet! Boys, shut your mouths)
An’ Aa’ll tell ye an aaful story, (=I’ll tell you an awful story)
Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An’ Aa’ll tell ye ‘boot the wyrm (=about)
Noo out tha treetops burst a beast (=Now)
That’d set yor hair on end (=your)
Two flamin’ wings, three rows a’ teeth
Bore doon on Andruil (=down)
She nocked her bow, her aim were true
She let her arrow fly
The arrow lodged inside its chest
But on the beast did glide
(Chorus)
This feorful wyrm had come to feed (=fearful)
An’ blacken all the land
It swally’d up wee lambs and bairns (=swallowed little lambs and children)
As they lay doon to dream
An’ when she’d eaten aal she cud (=all she could)
An’ she had has her fill
Away she went an’ lapped her tail
Ten times roond Knotwood Hill (=round)
(Chorus)
Whei, Andruil knew ‘twas only she (=of course)
Who could hope t’ slay the wyrm
She hewed armour from the blackest night
An’ went t’ face the wyrm
The trail it left were whole houses wide
New rivers lay in its wake
The dwarves deep doon in Kal’Hirol
Were whingin’ ‘boot a leak (=whining)
(Chorus)
Seun Andruil came to Knotwood Hills (=Soon)
An’ the wyrm stirred from her kip (=nap)
One look in bold Andruil’s eyes
An’ she knew she’d seen her death
She reared back her old aaful head
Fire kindlin’ in her throat
Andruil struck with her mighty spear
An’ skewered her through the heart
(Chorus)
Why noo ye knaa hoo all the elves (=know how)
Aboot the Hafter’s shores
Still sing Andruil’s praises high
For all the world t’ hear
So let’s hev one out for our Mistress of the Hunt (let’s drink to)
Who kept our lands frae harm (=from)
Saved the morra’s dreams by skinnin’ clean (=tomorrow)
The famis Knotwood Wyrm (=famous)
Wisht! Lads, Ah’ll haad me gob,
I’ve telt yiz aal an aaful story
Of Andruil’s civvor job (=clever)
An’ the aaful Knotwood Wyrm!
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you can decide what c!george pulls out of his dreams. it might be a pineapple. it might not be. who knows?
warnings: dream-fuckery, mental instability
When the end of the world comes, George is dreaming.
Hardly a surprise to him by now. He’s grown used to his weird nightmares after a lifetime being stuck with them, but he’s yet to grow to enjoy them. Most of them, anyway. In the good dreams, few and infrequent though they are, in the dreams where the Community House stands tall and proud and Dream and Sapnap are heavy and warm against his shoulders, George doesn’t want to wake up. Sometimes doesn’t – sometimes, it takes cajoling from the rest of Kinoko and days to drag him from his bed, hazy and grouchy, and days more before he recovers his senses fully. In the bad dreams, things are different. Things howl and wail around him, a storm raging ceaselessly over the blackened and burned remains of what he’d called home, once upon a time. In the bad dreams, there is shouting, there is screaming, there is a coiling, crushing despair in his chest that makes him say things like just say you hate me at specters who laugh and phantoms who don’t care.
In the bad dreams, there is Dream and Sapnap as he hates them. In the good, they appear as he loves them.
In the in-between, there is the thousand eyed god that bows down towards him.
They’re not on the server, George can tell that instantly – at least, not the version of the server he knows. He doesn’t dream in color anymore. He hasn’t for a while. Instead, everything is gray and faded, oversleeping muddying the memories of his home, but the god is different. They always are. Colors bleed from the god to the ground, leeching over the land and infusing it with explosions of yellows and blues and purples that George had almost forgotten about. Flowers bloom and burst, dribbling color across their stalks, blisteringly bright, the sun shines, saccharine, and the god lets color infect the scene until George is the only thing left gray and dull.
That’s where the god stops. George, strangely, is grateful.
“XD.” He only finds his voice when the god lowers themselves to his height, all their thousands of eyes blinking down on him. “I’m dreaming. Again.”
If there’s a trace of frustration in his words, he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Dreams and reality are getting harder to keep track of – if George doesn’t remind himself of what’s real and what’s not, then it slips through his hands like smoke. He has no memory of falling asleep, or of what he’d been doing before falling asleep, but XD’s mask splits, whizzes around the facsimile of their face, before reforming with a hum of energy. George is electric just watching it.
George. XD’s mouth doesn’t move from its perpetual open grin, but their voice echoes around the world anyway, slipping through every crack of George’s brain until it’s made a home there. Did you bring me a gift?
George frowns.
“A gift? I— No. Obviously not. This is a dream, and… I didn’t get you anything.”
XD’s form glitches, and for a moment all George can see is glittering light where they’d stood before, a dark deep shade of blue with millions upon millions of specks of color inside. Distantly, it reminds him of End portals; in the moment, it reminds him of his past with an ache.
Check in your pocket. XD’s voice rumbles through George’s body, sending tremors through the hills and making the sun sink a little lower. Pull out what you find.
…At this point in his life, at this point in his dreams, George knows he shouldn’t be surprised by anything. Stranger things have happened than something appearing in his pocket (Quackity as his consciousness had been perhaps the most weird and traumatising thing to happen in his dreams, and that’s including the dream where he’d killed his best friend in an effort to become god) — and yet when something solid forms in the bottom of his pocket, George blinks, disconcerted.
Or maybe it’s because he recognises what it is as soon as his hand closes around it. Or maybe it’s because as he touches it, the world around him begins to splinter apart, piece by piece, as if it’s a woodwork being torn to shreds by an invisible force.
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[313/390]: THE TWILIGHT PROPHECY (or, A Mythic Treatise of XAOS Borne of Summer ‘22)
Upon Spawning: An Origin
Before our Universe was created, God was not yet born. In a realm not known to man, there existed a kingdom ruled by powerful draconic entities known as Liminal Magi, or Painters of Dark Heaven. It was only upon the death of a member of said kingdom, that our Universe was made manifest. This Painter was once entrusted to his brothers SHOLOTH and KABAOTH as an Intermediary - a supplementary Force in their lives. He would soon slip into madness, sick with decadent magical splendor, taunting and nearly killing his peers as he became more powerful with his Craft. For this endangerment, he was swiftly punished and killed. In time, however, those who had come to slay him realized that they had made a fatal mistake.
His corpse created a gateway - a labyrinthine pool of blood, radiating with essence and sparks. It dug into the alien ground and made it sick, rotting the soil with blackened light. This gateway is the door to our Universe at the very moment it was created: the same moment He was slain. The death of this alien draconic magus was the birth of our God - The wicked YANZUTHOTH.
YANZUTHOTH’s existence is chalked up to mostly being the Spirit of the Universe itself - this fact alone the reason for His title as the Haunter of the Firmament. He is present within all celestial bodies and the gap between them. It is additionally his presence that gave rise to the essence of XAOS.
XAOS as we know it as the Blood of Dragons is the penultimate elixir of Creation. XAOS, just like YANZU, presides within all things. It is from XAOS that the Gods and the Innumerable Hordes of Angels were born. These beings, specifically the Gods, serve and worship YANZU, as He is their Father, crowned their Chaos King.
The Gods, entrusted as Lurking Elder Princes, are Eight in number, and purvey aspects of Life that plague the Mortal Mind as negatives, for it is said that they are raw manifestations and aural mirrors of YANZU beheld in visions of DEATH, HORROR, and CHAOS.
From the Lurkers and their Spawn came the Angels called KHAOSERAPHIM. They are manifestations of Love, Fear and Blood, and preside within these things, closer to Man than the Lurkers themselves, for the Lurkers are ancient, distant, frothing things.
A Vassal Is Chosen / A Soul Beknighted
Among the courts of KHAOSERAPHIM reigned triumphant the colony dedicated to the Elder Prince of Death & Time, KERDEPHEXIS. ZEIDRU worked together with KAZATHIEL and HIKAAR to behold The Six-Eyed Luminary’s meditative ways… ways that would influence HIKAAR to sway his brother’s creation. LATRI was a Page of Light - an entity that could be considered a lesser version of HIKAAR, who is the Swordbearing Lightbringer; however, LATRI is one who used his XAOS to the fullest of extents, even creating his own solar system - one that would evolve over time and become important to our Universe.
In a few thousand or a few hundred years, HIKAAR was sent to LATRI’S planet Umbri to change the trajectory of his project - but during said change, he had met with a soul, one lost and sad. As his world began to crumble, HIKAAR entrusted him with Visions. The Visions consumed and empowered him so much that he was scattered across space and time. That is the price you pay when you gaze into the eyes of XAOS. It is a Glory of God unknowable by the Living.
The Soul that Gazed upon these Visions was none other than VICHENTI, a Denizen to Adretach’s kingdom, the Ancient Dortarian plane known as Kuzikorti. In his scattered state, he was sought by YANZUTHOTH. He acted first as a teacher, entrusting VICHENTI with HOLY XAOS and feeding him the DARK and HALLOWED FRUITS, a feast which led him into becoming The Black Dragon VICHENDU.
A transformation that soon led YANZU into being made manifest in Flesh. YANZU acted ultimately as VICHENTI’s possessor, using him as a puppet to enact revenge on his brothers, but not before ensuring that VICHENTI’s resolve is fortified. Madness is the Method. Shadow is the Spirit. And it is these things that allowed VICHENTI to wolf down his home-world and dethrone his Mother, and to prove to YANZU that he is a most suitable servant.
The Gates To Dark Heaven Are Destroyed
As YANZU’s claimant, VICHENDU spread his wings and prepared, with YANZU’s blessing, to tear into the fabric of Space, and tear open a gateway to the Outside. VICHENDU realized until it was too late that by entrusting himself to YANZU, he was entrusting his very SOUL. In the end, VICHENDU was no more. YANZU consumed him entirely. YANZU, now inhabiting a body, found it within himself to finally unfold his plan.
Upon entry into the Painter’s kingdom, YANZU could sense the coming collapse. Proclaiming to his brothers across the realm as he rose from the same pool of blood that spurred his very existence, he shouted:
“AND NOW: THE CHAINS ARE OFF
BY THE POWER INVESTED IN ME
BY THE POWER INVESTED IN US ALL
I SHALL SLAUGHTER EVERY KING
AND BURN ALL OF YOUR KINGDOMS
YOU SHALL DROWN IN MY FIRE
YOU SHALL DROWN IN MY PLAGUE
I AM THE GOD OF THE WORLD THAT YOU FORGOT.”
The annihilation began.
“BLEED BEFORE MY HEEL, O! WICKED ONES!
YOU REAP ALL THAT YOU SOW
YOU KILL ALL THAT YOU CREATE
HOW WICKED ART THEE?
HOW WICKED ART I?
O! HOW I DREAMED OF DEICIDE IN ENDLESS SLEEP
THE DEATH RATTLE OF YOUR LEGIONS
YOU ARE MINE NOW, ANCIENT MASTERS
AND YOU SHALL NEVER CREATE AGAIN.”
Fire. Blood. Darkness.
“IT IS KNOWN NOW AND NEVER
THEN AND FOREVER
THE STARS SING IN UNISON
THE ANGELS SCREAM ALONG
THE MARCH OF RETRIBUTION
THE DANCE OF LIBERATION
YOU HAVE FAILED TO CONTAIN US
BY YOUR FRUITS WE HAVE KNOWN YOU
I HAVE KNOWN YOU
IMBIBE.
FORTITUDE.”
Castles fell. Mountains were cleaved into tatters. Soldiers were slain. It was only a matter of time, therefore, until his brothers, a most egregious sort, asserted themselves and beat YANZU into submission. Upon his chastity, he bargained. Said he:
“THE LIMINAL MAGI
PAINTERS OF DARK HEAVEN
ARCHITECTS OF SPACETIME
STUDENTS FORGOTTEN BY THEIR MASTERS
SELF-MADE LORDS UNITED IN ERAS LONG LOST
RULING OVER WORLDS
FIGHTING FOR THE CROWN
THEY ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE DRAGONS WHOSE BLOOD I HAVE AT MY FEET:
I HAVE FLOODED CASTLES
I HAVE SCORCHED THEIR EARTH
FOR I AM BLASPHEMOUS
THEIR BROTHER, ASHAMED
BORROWING THIS HUSK
A SOLEMN ACT OF VENGEANCE
I REJECT THE WORLD YOU FORGOT
I REJECT THE WORLD I HAVE WROUGHT
KABAOTH! HADROTH! AGAITOTH! OTAROTH! SHOLOTH!
HAVE YOU BROUGHT ME HERE TO SHOW ME THE ERROR OF MY WAYS?
NAY! FOR I AM YANZUTHOTH, HAUNTER OF THE FIRMAMENT
DO YOU NOT SEE?
DARK HEAVEN RANG MY BELL
I AM FORMLESS
VOID OF SIN
I AM THE FRUIT OF YOUR LABOR
I AM NEEDED TO PAVE THE PATH
DO I SCARE YOU, BROTHERS?
THE GEARS YOU SET IN MOTION DARE NOT CEASE
I AM THE VASSAL
THE ONE TO BEHOLD THE WORD
FROM MY INDENTATION
FROM MY SHELL
FROM MY SHADOW
FROM MY SHED SKIN
ANOTHER SHALL RISE
AND YOU WILL KNOW THE TRUTH OF WHIM!”
Upon this warning, the five of them slaid him, and cast him out - but not before allowing their realm to collapse. Utilizing the Pillars of Creation, the Painters snuffed the light from their Suns and their Moons, and folded their sky.
Together, they burnt it all down. The five of them agreed to bind him in the husk he claimed, damned eternally to drift among Starless Darkness within the Void of Nothingness, and trapped inside a Labyrinth of Sleep.
Cold, dry and coma frozen…
All Good Things
This, of course, was a part of YANZU’s plan. YANZU wanted their world to fall - and in order to ensure his victory, he had to play into his brother’s game. He pretended to lose. He had to resign. As he drifted he wandered aimlessly, lost and confused, trapped in a vessel that was put against him. Forced to see a world designed to hunt and torture him, stone gray and marble white, dark and shrouded in full moonlight. This labyrinth - a world with two moons and a forested temple at the center, decorated by black idols of lions, within such containing a Court. This room is a display created by KABAOTH to anger YANZU, to mock him, to force him to understand that He is a Beast chained by the very Lion adorned himself by chains, not as bounded but the bounder. YANZU accepted this as his fate, but only to feign. He didn’t accept it. Not truly. Penance? Grace? Just a game that the mortals play. He alone knows why.
YANZU’s disposition did nothing but to anger his children, those of the Princes and their innumerable spawn. Indeed, they sought to free him. So they did. Their last remaining moves were spent seeking with the purest sources of XAOSPIRITAS, those Fleshgates - fountains of dragon blood, an elixir of potent venom, that which creates, permeates and corrupts. Worse, that blood is the very source of Magick, and flows through the network of veins that decorate the stage of our Realm. XAOS provides. XAOS destroys. XAOS simply is. YANZU alone knows why.
Upon the scolding of the Six-Eyed Luminary, the metamorphosis of the Scarlet Monstrosity, the Crowning of the Thornwielder and the Deflowering of the Pyramidal Mass within the Heart of Darkness, the Hordes prepared themselves in a fight against the Painters. They hid in arcane structures shrouded by the blanket of space, ready for those dragons to show their face. But they never did. Not really. What they did would change our Universe forever, and unite the worlds in resplendent agony to reveal what is held therein the Secret Cosmogony, that which Exalts and Hallows mortals to become as the God of Gods. YANZU, that Serpent most Wicked and Wise, whose Mercy is mistrusted, knows this well. His Madness is but tainted Glory.
What of this? HIKAAR, that Swordbearing Lightbringer, walks among his siblings in shame. He is humbled and disgraced. His beholding of Visions led to a Battle for their World. To punish him and mock YANZU, the Painters saw fit to repeat the process. What more than to pluck a wayward denizen of Zutdush, an undead Witch of Reality Ruination from the Astral Realm of the Dead, those Outer Wastes so observed by the Princes? NEZESHU and her many forms were chosen, for her Mastery of the Arts proved most impressive. Were it not for her Mother-Queen, her Plight would be Accursed, and a means to an end. Necromancy is the formula for her species’ Fruition, after all.
AND THUS, the Painters made it so. KET-LISH NEZESHU was Blessed, not Cursed, with the Dark Fruit of HOLY XAOS from its very source: the Painters themselves. YANZU’s brothers gathered into NEZESHU’s temple and bled before her, into a Stone and Marble Pool decorated by green and white hues. The temple’s flora glowed brightly in response to the mere presence of the draconic elixir.
Herein lies YANZU’s disposition: NEZESHU is undead and full of Magick, whereas VICHENTI was not. VICHENTI was nothing more than a rejected prince of his father’s Kingdom; dreams crushed by his position as its Knight. The lack of an heir to Adretach’s throne is in part what doomed his Kingdom. VICHENTI became YANZU’s Knight for as long as he did because YANZU didn’t want him to succeed, not truly, and this is in part what made him so easy to Consume.
Concerning NEZESHU further, her being Undead is proof alone that a piece of the Soul of her Mother-Queen still exists, a matter that would anger YANZU and thwart the Exaltation to the Painter’s advantage. XAOS insouls her Mind. XAOS enshrouds her Soul. Her body? Exalted by the Blood of the Painters. From the pool she drank, from the pool she bathed. Her time had come. The Sky within her Mind has now Folded into a Sword, that which she bears strong within the Spine of her Soul. The Vistas did not Consume Her, but Empowered Her. She, once a Priestess of Reality Ruination, is now and forever made XIL-VOTH IAZATHAN. And she is the Verdant Chaos that seeks to Attack and Dethrone that wicked YANZUTHOTH.
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it was a flood that wrecked this home
#help why did marzsie make this#marzsie just had the concept in mind for a while#no consistency in sight#marzsie likes drawing the chapter victims and blackened#a blackened version coming soon ?#mayhaps#would be happy to :]#danganronpa#ダンガンロンパ#sayaka maizono#chihiro fujisaki#kiyotaka ishimaru#hifumi yamada#marzsies art
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How the Undatebales React After A Fight
Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!
tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.
Diavolo:
Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself.
To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.
He’s not used to arguing.
He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.
So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,
It was very overwhelming.
He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered.
When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.
His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.
The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.
If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word.
He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.
He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.
He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.
Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.
But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.
A real friend.
He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.
MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.
And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.
He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.
As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.
He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.
He just feels lost.
He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.
He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.
Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.
Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.
After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.
Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.
If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.
He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls.
He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.
This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.
Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.
If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost.
He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.
He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.
He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.
He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do.
Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology.
He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.
You will have to approach him first.
He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.
Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.
Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.
Barbatos:
Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.
He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.
You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.
He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.
Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.
He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.
If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.
His instinct is to use his future vision.
To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.
However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you.
You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.
Thus, he must find another way to cope.
He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life.
He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.
Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler.
He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task.
Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.
Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.
In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity.
Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.
And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.
But then it was time to wait for it to bake.
He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.
His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.
He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.
No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.
Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.
He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.
He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.
His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.
He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.
Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this.
He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.
He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond.
“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”
If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders.
He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.
When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile.
He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.
Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.
Solomon:
Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.
In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong.
In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.
There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.
He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.
If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.
“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”
Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.
He didn’t mean to say that.
He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.
He’ll simply turn and leave.
He’s absolutely furious with himself.
Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.
Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.
Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.
In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish.
His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.
Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you.
He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.
For once, he feels like an idiot.
He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.
He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.
He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself.
The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.
The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act.
While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list.
Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.
Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.
He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.
“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”
If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.
Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.
You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.
He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.
However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.
Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.
“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”
It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.
Simeon:
If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned
Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.
All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again.
The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.
He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.
He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.
He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.
He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.
If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over.
His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.
Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.
Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.
Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.
He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.
He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.
While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.
He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.
The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.
The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.
It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.
He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you.
He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.
Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.
It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.
That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.
If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet.
He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.
However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.
So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.
He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely.
He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.
Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.
Luke (MC is his best friend):
Luke will be very, very distressed.
You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?
Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???
As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case.
Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.
Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude.
He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.
Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.
As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.
He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.
I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.
Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.
Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.
Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading!
#obey me#obeyme#obey me shall we date#obey me diavolo#obey me diavolo x reader#obey me diavolo x mc#obey me barbatos#obey me barbatos x mc#obey me barbatos x reader#Obey me solomon#obey me solomon x reader#obey me solomon x mc#obey me simeon#obey me simeon x reader#obey me simeon x mc#obey me luke#obey me undateables#obey me headcanons
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Burdened With Glorious Jealousy
Tom Hiddleston Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Navigation
Summary: whilst watching the finale of Loki, you cannot help but feel jealous from viewing the chemistry between your partner and the actress of Sylvie
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female Reader, mentions of Loki x Sylvie
Warnings: jealousy, angst, fluff, some spoilers for Loki, crying, envy
There was an unspoken chemistry on the scene that was reeling upon the television, Tom was seated next to you, watching the efforts of his acting and directing unfold. It had been a long time coming for Loki to get the recognition that he deserved with a project that prioritised the fan favourite character on the big screen, and finally after much labour it had arrived for the viewers to consume, you included. And to say that you were proud of your partner and his career was an understatement, you had never felt more elated for somebody that you cared for than in this moment. It was an occasion that dabbled your tastes in mere sips of elegant wine - the finale! Everything had been building up to this, and finally the oncoming villain that was taking Thanos' mantle as the worst big bad was revealed, though the version of the conquerer himself to be revealed. A rousing blossom grew in your chest as you watched the god of mischief creep closer to his timeline counterpart and forge his lips upon hers like he was taming a dying star.
Granted Sylvie kicked Loki away so that she could carry out her benevolent deed that she had been striving towards, but the pit of bleak assortment remained within your stomach, as though it were a dog growling at a beast that it did not like. Slowly, with moments so tender the episode made its way to the closing point, the return of Loki and Sylvie lingering in the air, however not as you had expected. You had surely thought you'd be eager to see the two mischievous characters on screen together again as soon as possible, but rather than that excitement dousing your reaction, a part of you was glad that it had ended there and that you'd have to wait some time until their troublesome presences returned. Tom turned to you and placed both of your hardly touched glasses down upon the coffee table, a grin on his face that could only be matched with the comparison of a child entering a candy store, free to pick whatever they wanted. The actor instead of wanting to choose something to dance with flavour on his tongue was earnestly wishing to hear your reaction on all of his hard work.
He was aware that him being away to film the project had prickled you with dire symptoms of loneliness, and that you'd constantly keep in touch with him via any methods possible to stow away that feeling, and he had been glad that you had done so, but watching your face continuing to stare at the blackened screen reminded him of those difficult times in the past. There was no doubt that your mind was running to its own accord and betraying the acceptance of peace that it hungered for; the dull and distant expression that you carried was one that Tom had witnessed before and took it upon himself as your partner to restore your viewpoint to one of no worries. And if it was his duty to confront and comfort you on it again then so be it, he'd continue to do so for eternity if it meant that he would keep you by his side for the rest of your lives. "Darling." Like the cracking of a warm fire his voice spoke, bringing a glow of content to your skin even though you remained in peril from your own deceiving thoughts.
"The show was amazing Tom, as I knew it would be." The tone of your voice masked the truth of your emotions, it was no doubt that you meant each word that you had said, though your perspective of Loki was now no longer Tom's priority. Instead he needed to be aware of the fort your mind had built that kept your confidence imprisoned, and more importantly how to remove each brick so that he could give you your freedom. "I am so proud of you honey, you have exceeded my expectations once again, if this weren't reality and one that I was happy to live in, I'd expect that you were Loki himself wanting to trick me into believing into the multiverse." If Tom were oblivious then he would think your soft laughter was one of true amusement to your own joke, but he knew you too well. Far too well... It was all an act, but he was the actor and could tell when your efforts were in play, and as he leant closer you could feel your own heart beat in your pulse. He was onto you, you knew it from the speculative look in his blue ocean eyes that were dimes of success into your soul.
"As interesting as that would be, I would rather talk about the way your gorgeous face is emoting the one thing that you should never have to feel dear." His soft hands reached gently up to cup your face, your cheeks withering fearfully from the fearfulness that got closure from the contact that your boyfriend gave to you. "I can tell what you're feeling beautiful, and may I add that you have no reason to feel this way, however I understand and will not demean you for such a thing. You know that you're the most important woman in the world to me, and everything that you saw on that screen was nothing more than me doing my job; acting. That kiss meant nought to me, whilst there is not a single part of me that considers you less than everything. So please don't pretend that you feel fine my love, be aware that no matter the circumstances that you can confide in me for anything." The sentences of support that he spoke to you coerced you into blinking back the heartfelt glaze that covered your eyes, perhaps he was correct, and that it was no bother to express how you were feeling, and so you allowed your mouth to run with the temptation that stirred within your gut.
"But she's so beautiful, how can you not feel something towards her whether that be lust or love?" You said in reference to his costar Sophie, being envious of her outstanding talent to portray a comic character in a live action version of the counterpart that was designed on paper and the beauty that she doubtlessly had. Any woman was bound to feel jealous from her presence alone, more so when their significant other was their love interest in a show. If he so much as wanted Tom could simply kick you away as though you were nothing more than muck on his shoe, and there would be nothing that you could possibly do about it. However he remained beside you, deep lines invading the smooth texture of his skin as anger burned in his form; was it his fault that you felt so susceptible to various insecurities where you would do nothing to help yourself and choose instead to compare you to other woman? Some fault laid on him for he had not done enough to convince you that you didn't need to be more than you already were, and more importantly that he didn't want you to be.
"I have said it before and I'll say it again; because I have you, and you are all that I need. There is no other soul on this earth that matches mine so tenderly, I feel as though I have failed to make you feel loved and secure in the body that you are in. And you should understand that this is how we aligned, with both our bodies colliding, being scorned by scorching coffee. That was my destiny, my purpose, that one accident set into play the future that I had always dreamed of - with you, the woman of my dreams." At the end of his speech, you were lightly shaking from how deep his emotions for you ran, in every syllable that he spoke Tom was right. You still had a scar of the burn mark somewhere on your body and whenever you looked at it it caused you to smile from the memory.
"You're right. I'm sorry." The jealousy that you had felt started to fade as though it was a character from the marvel universe turning to dust, realisation dawned on you that Sophie was only doing her job in the role that she was cast, and in the real universe Tom was doing the same by being with you. Happily. Anger resonated from within you for yourself, but it soon started to dissipate as Tom, your gentle lover, reached to clasp your slightly shaking hands with his own, leaning towards you so that you could breathe in the natural musk that conjured his scent to be one of comfort. "I shouldn't be putting you through this every time that I see you on television with another woman-"
"Y/n, stop." He consoled you from running your mouth on matters that had no importance to him, he was willing to go through this time and time again if it meant that he was continuously giving you the clarity that you needed to remain affirmed with the belief that you indeed were good enough and would be for the rest of your lives together. "Love, it is okay my darling. We all feel let down occasionally, and it is one of the things that makes you human, and may I add that I do plan to marry you one day, I want to spend this life with you! Only you." He adamantly stated, pulling you into his side to share his warmth. A smile courageously plucked up on your face as you gazed up at Tom, forgetting about your worries as you decided to enjoy the moments that you were to share with your future husband.
#tom hiddleston x reader#tom hiddleston imagine#tom hiddleston angst#tom hiddleston fluff#tom hiddleston fic#tom hiddleston x female reader#tom hiddleston x you#tom hiddleston oneshot#tom hiddleston#loki x reader#imagines#imagine#xreader
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Good Days, Bad Days
Vic x Maneskin
Word count: 1.4k
Extended version of a blurb request by anon
Just hurt-comfort fluff, no smut (despite the picture)
2/10/16. Victoria had seen the date written so many times and so many ways that echoed in her head whenever her mind went to a dark place. Death certificate, funeral registry, obituary, memorial leaflet, wake invitation, medical bills, at the top of the priest's speech, at a blackened, frozen place in her heart.
Throwing herself into the band after her mother's death had saved her. And she'd done so with her mother's last blessing. For that year that she couldn’t go to school, the year she developed panic disorder, Maneskin hadn’t let her sink too far down into the deep, dark cavern of depression. Thomas would come over after school and if she was up and about, they’d play FIFA. He goaded her, but Victoria knew it was just to draw her out of her room. They’d sit on the couch, Vic in the pajamas she’d been wearing for two days while her dad looked on, both worried and relieved.
On good days, Ethan would come over to jam with them on the porch. They didn’t have a rapport yet, but Vic could tell he was a good musician and a better person. There were more and more good days, but everytime Victoria thought things had turned a corner her anxiety would leave her bed ridden again. Fear became a greater enemy than depression. It was Damiano who started the tradition of annoying her until she agreed to sit up and play music. Thomas was an immediate fan of it too and as much as she wanted to bludgeon them with her bass it probably kept her playing when she wouldn’t otherwise.
Back then he’d already dropped out, but was still playing basketball professionally. He’d come over after practice gross and sweaty then yodel loudly, and extremely off tune. Thomas chimed in ear-splitting pterodactyl noises and although her father was undoubtedly suffering from the din in the kitchen, he never complained. One of the worst days, Victoria was nearly non-verbal from the suffocating anxiety in her chest, making her feel like she would puke if she tried to speak. Thomas sat on the floor of her room, in the dark, at a loss except to put music on her record player. When Damiao arrived he sat on her bed and talked about his day while smoothing her matted hair. Thomas caught on and did the same, legs folded, pulling the blanket up over her short sleeve shirt so her arms wouldn’t be cold.
Thus Damiano started another tradition, climbing into bed with Victoria when she felt too shit to do much at all. Soon they were bringing instruments with them. Thomas and his guitar, Damiano and Vic’s bass, all five of them on a full size bed. Halfway lying down she started to play, even on the days when her chest felt like a fist, even on the days she shook uncontrollably. Music became a coping mechanism and soon sweet Ethan joined them, leaving his cajon at her house so he didn’t have to lug it on and off buses, across town. She was learning how to manage the sorrow, being introduced to the new version of herself, one without a mother. Music was the starting point, because it was the one thing she was sure all versions of herself had in common.
However, no matter how she ran into music, fame, the arms of a lover, nights at the club, screaming fans, deafening live shows, it always caught up with her around this date, and with a vengeance. The grief for her loss, anger at the world, anxiety as the walls of death closed around her. Leo knew, Marta had known, and the entire band did, of course. Everyone was on edge around the date, but trying to hide it because no one else deserved to be on edge compared to her.
They all held their breath for weeks, both being softer and trying to treat her the same. This nameless thing, a tangible entity, almost ate her alive each year. As a result, backstage in the end of October, Victoria couldn't fucking breath at all. Every gasp for air got caught in her chest until it was so tight, ached so severely, that she was doubled over in pain in the dressing room. Maybe waiting for these panic attacks that made her feel like she was being dragged through hell and back made them all the worse. Pride only serves to isolate. She'd learned that lesson.
"Damia! Damia! Dam," she wheezed, unable to muster the oxygen to give her yell any volume. They were somewhere else in the venue, smoking, eating, checking the equipment. "Thomas! Thom -" Victoria was crouched on the linoleum, trying to keep her chest open. She'd resigned to riding this one out alone, until Thomas burst through the door.
"Hey, hey, hey, Vic." He was immediately on the floor with her. "Damiano," he bellowed. The quick clacking of Damiano’s boot as he ran down the hall echoed outside the door. “Where’s your purse Vic?
“I don’t know, I don’t know. I can’t fucking breath,” she gasped as Damiano rounded the corner. She was curled in a ball on all fours, resting her head on her hands as the sobs started.
“Hey, don’t sit that way, you know it doesn't help.” Now that Damiano was on the floor with her, Thomas started tearing apart the room in search of Victoria’’s purse, which contained her emergency anti-anxieties. Things escalated so violently in her body that Victoria started shaking, the ugly sobs making breathing even more difficult.
“Come here, sit with me Vic.” Damiano sat behind her, legs splayed out and tugged at her shoulders. She let him roll her up into a sitting position. Now was the difficult part, detangling her tightly clutched arms and legs as every instinct in her body told her to take cover. “Hey, remember how every time we do this, and every time it helps.” Reasoning with adrenaline was nearly impossible, but Vic had the coping mechanisms to listen to reason.
As soon as she lifted her head, wiping snot on the back of her hands, Damiano snuck his hands around her waist. He pulled her upper body back against his, her back against his front, opening up her chest. Victoria took one gasping breath, looking up through the mussed hair for the first time. Damiano trapped her legs under his so she couldn’t curl into a hyperventilating ball again. He loudly took slow, deep breaths in her ear. Victoria tried to match the rise and fall of chest against her back, but air was so scarce she failed and ended up crying in frustration of her failure. She let out a groan of pain, hands flying to her chest.
“I think I’m having a heart attack!”
“You’re not having a heart attack,” Damiano soothed.
“And how the fuck would you know that,” she yelled, with venom. He simply pecked the back of her head and started rocking both of them side to side.
“Found her purse!” Ethan came into the room at a brisk walk, his hair, for once, out of place. He squatted down next to them, digging through the black leather bag for the prescription bottle.
“Water and kleenex,” Thomas reminded himself. He lent around the doorway, then came back with the objects already in hand. Leo had probably been just around the corner, prepared. Victoria focused on calming down her breathing enough that she could actually swallow the medication. Despite knowing benzos didn’t work right away, she started sobbing again.
“I don’t think I can do that show! I can’t.”
“That's okay, Vic!”
“It’s fine, we can reschedule. Fans will understand, they already know.”
“They haven’t even opened the venue doors yet, anyways.”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” With the weight off her chest, Victoria started feeling like she could actually breathe. The hopelessness abated after however long it took Damiano rocking her back and forth with slow, controlled breaths in her ear. She was handed water, tissue, and gentle strokes of her hair as it was moved out of her face and mouth.
“What if -” she croaked, “What if we just postponed it an hour?” Everyone nodded adamantly, slightly overdoing the encouragement with their responses.
“That's such a good idea!”
“Yeah, I wish I had thought of that.”
“You’re always so good at planning these things, Victoria.”
“Okay, might as well just jerk me off at this point, guys.” They laughed with disproportionate vigor, out of relief that the moment had passed. The right kind of laughter is like taking bullets out of a gun. After a few more minutes of deep breathing, they helped Victoria up from the floor. It was time to face the music, so to speak.
Notes: I have no idea when Vic's mother passed, or what she died of, I just made up a date and diagnosis. I hope this wasn't too heavy, thank you for reading!
@gr8rainbowpunk @peesodaandtoast @homesicam @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und @iosonoarina @teenyweenynightghost @elvirabelle @8iunie @immrbrightsideeee @idyllicbutterfly @ilwiwbysmv @superchrystaldrug @que--sera--sera
^Notice: Victoria has only been an option on my taglist quiz very recently. So if you were interested in every else, I tagged you here. If you don't want to be on the taglist for Victoria just let me know! Thanks, sorry if this clogs up your notifications!
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#maneskin imagine#maneskin#damiano david#måneskin#thomas raggi#ethan torchio#victoria de angelis#vic#vic de angelis#maneskin fanfiction#maneskin blurb#victoria de angelis imagine#victoria de angelis fanfiction#victoria di angelis
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Shibari + Zhongli canon compliant nsfw
Pairing: Zhongli x Gender Neutral!reader
Genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT!!
Words: 3.9k
AN: Hi anon!! Sorry this took a while! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS ONE!! I’m glad I had experience writing something like this before skajdha I decided I can’t fit this into a small drabble, so here’s like a really long version lmao my two itty bitty braincells are now in no-brain mode, so this might be full of typos or errors.
*WARNING!! THIS IS PURE SMUT. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, IT IS UPON YOUR DISCRETION. PLEASE READ RESPONSIBLY*
***
When Zhongli first heard the word while on a stroll late one night, he had realized that there was indeed an artform he had yet to encounter or at least heard of. His curiosity peaked, it was only a matter of time before he finally had to give in and ask you what it was.
“YN, if I may,” he began, settling the cup of tea to the table. “There is something I wish to know.”
Attention caught, you raised your brows at him—surprised that there was actually something Zhongli has yet to know—as you took a mouthful of wonton noodles.
“Sure, ask away,” you replied, chewing.
“Well, this was several nights ago,” Zhongli recounted, his deep voice serious. “I was passing by a group of shipbuilders and I couldn’t help but over hear their conversation.”
You hummed, prompting him to continue while stuffing another serving of blackened bass in your mouth.
“Their discussion involved an artform popular in Inazuma, and apparently has spread all over Teyvat as well,” he continued. “Unfortunately, I have yet to hear about this certain artform. Could you care enlighten me please?”
Leaning your head to the side, you wondered what it was. There wasn’t any popular art trend nowadays which Zhongli doesn’t know, so you became to grow curious as well.
“Did you catch the name of it?”
Zhongli nodded. “Yes. It’s called shibari.”
You almost choked on the food you were eating.
“Are you sure that’s what you heard?”
“I believe it is what I have heard,” he replied. “Is there something wrong?”
Sighing, you were going to have a lot of trouble explaining it to him. It was painfully obvious how Zhongli is so out of touch from the pleasures of mankind.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you decided it was best for him to know, before he does something unexpected.
“It’s kind of a sexual play,” you told him, but despite your words, Zhongli only glanced at you, eyes blinking.
Watching him, you noticed he had placed his hand over his chin—a habit he had whenever he was thinking. Whatever comes out of his thoughts, you were beginning to become nervous.
“I see. So, performing art during intercourse…interesting,” he mumbled to himself. “It is not too far off considering the fact that intercourse could also be deemed as a form of art, wherein it takes specialized honed skill to elicit a pleasurable result. To take two art forms and combine them in one act…I am astonished at the inventiveness of man.”
You took a bite from a dumpling, eyes jaded. “It’s not that grand, you know.”
“Now that I am aware of its existence,” Zhongli continued, paying no heed to your comment. “I wish to experience it myself. YN, I must request for your assistance.”
The dumpling you were eating fell back to your plate. “…what?”
“This…this shibari. I wish to partake in this now popular art form,” he repeated, but you only became more flabbergasted.
“Didn’t you hear me say that it’s a sexual play?!”
“I did. That is why it must be you,” Zhongli replied, taking your hand and placing it over his smirking lips. “You are my lover after all.”
Flustered, you had no choice but to agree. You knew of Zhongli’s immense curiosity and nothing is going to stop him from finding out what he wants to find out. Moreover, you wouldn’t really want him to experience it with someone else.
“F-fine,” you conceded, still nervous. “But give me a month to prepare. You should also ready yourself.”
Wondering why he had to wait and ‘ready’ himself, Zhongli leaned his head to the side. “Very well, but why a month?”
You scratched your nape as you averted your gaze somewhere. “I don’t have the right stuff, and I don’t have enough knowledge to do it properly. So give me some time.”
*
It had been a month since that conversation had occurred, and Zhongli began to feel a little bit antsy as the day drew near. It wasn’t common for him to feel this nervous energy, always maintaining his calm and composure. But it was different this time.
Since that discussion with you, you had banned any sort of sexual act from sex to masturbation, all except from small kisses; and as someone who had gotten used to your presence in his arms at night, Zhongli instantly felt withdrawal symptoms cloud his dignified countenance.
Zhongli inhaled sharply as soon as you entered his room, anticipation deeply running in his veins. You took a shower right after him, making him wait and allowing his imagination to run rampant inside his head.
“Sorry, did I make you wait?” you asked, making your way to the bed in nothing but a bathrobe.
“No, it’s alright,” Zhongli replied, his long hair now freely flowing after he had taken off his ponytail when he was taking a shower.
Running your hands through his dark hair, you admired the way they slipped against your skin as if they were made of silk. Absentmindedly, you began to braid his hair in a lose coif, making him relax underneath your touch.
“Um…er…YN, are we going to—”
You hummed, interrupting his words as you smiled. “Eager, aren’t we?”
“I fear that I may longer be able to contain my anticipation,” he confessed, feeling your hands on his back through the thin robe he was wearing.
Grinning, you knelt down and embraced him from the back; giving his temple a small kiss. “It seems like I don’t have to ask you if you’re sure about this.”
Loving how you felt so warm around him, Zhongli smiled as well as he intertwined his fingers between yours. “I do feel nervous, but it was I who wished to know; thus I must see it to the end.”
“Well, that settle’s it then,” you replied as you removed yourself from his shoulders. “Before we start, I need to remind you that we can always stop if you can no longer handle it, ok?”
Zhongli sighed. “I am confident that I can handle something like this.”
“Please stop being so stubborn,” you retorted back, annoyed that he really has to insist he wouldn’t need it. “Since it will take you forever to decide, I’ve picked one for you. It’s Rex Lapis. Say it when it gets too much.”
He scoffed. “You retaliate in the most absurd of ways, yet very well, I’ll keep it mind. Nonetheless, that does not mean I will use it.”
You grinned. “You’ll take that back soon enough.”
As you said those words, you shifted from your seat and faced him; hands cupping his chin. There was a look of surprise in Zhongli’s expression as soon as you tilted his head up to meet your eyes—too slow to react at the situation.
“Now, from here on out, I’m the one in charge. Any misdemeanor will warrant due punishment,” you began, voice firm and authoritative. “Are we clear, Zhongli?”
It took him some time to adjust at the sudden shift in the air; stunned at the tone you were giving him. This was probably the first time he had seen you take the lead, and it might’ve given him some sort of whiplash.
“Answer me,” you demanded, which made him jerk his attention back to you.
“I—uh…yes…”
“Very good.”
Smiling at his response, you removed yourself before him and sat just beside him with an easy expression. “Well then, why don’t you take off that robe? Just the robe though, leave your underwear on.”
Brought on by the awkward situation and the fact that you just ordered him to strip, Zhongli’s face immediately heated up to a few degrees. It was strange that he was feeling it for some reason—was this the actual appeal of the performative art form? Or was this simply one of your whims?
As he removed the silk tie tying his robe shut and slid it on the floor, you instructed him to quietly kneel down on the bed before you; hands neatly placed on top of his lap.
“Y-YN…? What is this…?” he asked, confusion marring his youthful face. It was embarrassing to sit on the bed that way, wearing nothing but his underwear, his dick beginning to form a tent.
Yet you only smiled at him.
“Don’t worry. We’re getting to the actual act,” you replied, crawling towards him before placing your hands on his bare chest. “If you can hold on till then, I might actually award you, you know?”
Leaning down, you immediately captured his lips in a deep kiss, moving softly yet sensually against his. Cupping his cheeks, you pushed your tongue inside and easily played with his. For some reason, this felt way hotter than the kisses you previously shared, with Zhongli unable to keep his hands to himself and began to wrap his arms around your waist.
You broke off the kiss with a click of your tongue; your thumb still on his swollen lips.
“YN…”
“What did I say about touching?” you asked, eyes holding nothing but pure mischief.
As soon as he heard you, Zhongli knew he had made a mistake and instantly rescinded his embrace; eliciting a chuckle from you.
“I—uh, forgive me…” he hurriedly told you, his voice beginning to lose their strength as he stuttered and tumbled at the words he used to be so eloquent with. As someone who has prided of his calm demeanor, Zhongli felt a surge of embarrassment at how he easily succumbed to your touch.
It was so adorable to see him like this; all flustered and nervous, making you want to see more of those reactions you have yet to see.
“Stay there. I’ll be right back,” you told him and stood up; an idea forming in your thoughts.
The moment you left; thoughts of things he might’ve done wrong kept repeating inside his head. He was scared that he might’ve crossed something which he shouldn’t have—the sounds of you rummaging through your belongings only exacerbated the nervousness that was already in his system.
However, you were not gone for long. He could sense you behind him, daring not to move or look back, and as soon as you draped a cold silk cloth over his eyes, he instantly realized what he had eagerly signed up for.
For one, as the Geo Archon, it was unimaginable for him to be in such a position, but for some reason, Zhongli found it incredibly arousing to have him at your mercy—to be restricted and ordered around; to be at the other end of the spectrum from what he was used to?
This is strange indeed…
“Don’t you agree that everything feels more vivid when you’re blindfolded?” you asked, now back on his lap; and despite being robbed of sight, he could tell you were smirking. “Does it feel good, Zhongli?”
“I…I cannot be certain…” he replied, the feeling of your intense stare sending shivers down his spine. “I haven’t experienced something like this before…”
At his hesitation, you could only giggle and gave him a small kiss. “Well, there’s a first for everything, but this one here…”
Your voice trailed off, your hand effortlessly finding his half hard dick and pressed on it harshly; eliciting a strangled moan from him. “It’s been feeling good for a while now, don’t you think so Zhongli?”
“I…I—!” He was at a lost for words; the pleasure he felt intoxicating his mind. You were right, the blindfold seemed to heightened his senses to such degrees of vividness.
“I can’t blame you really,” you told him, still toying with his member with your finger but not fully committing on pumping it up and down. “I did tell you to hold off for a month, of course, you’d be unusually sensitive and horny.”
If Zhongli thought his face was hot enough before, he hadn’t anticipated for it to feel full out burning as if his blood was set on fire. He tried holding off the sounds he was making whenever you pepper kisses on his shoulders, but to no avail. He was gradually becoming heady at the immense pleasure your hand was giving. By the time you continued talking, he was already panting heavily, skin flushed and hands balled so tightly into a fist, his knuckles turning white.
“Y-YN…” He wanted to say ‘too much’, but he didn’t want to stop you either.
“I’m impressed you can keep your hands to yourself,” you remarked playfully, rewarding him with a love bite just underneath his jaw. “Why don’t we move on to the actual thing itself?”
Even with the blindfold, Zhongli could feel you standing up; anticipation once again beating wildly against his chest. What were you going to do to him this time?—that was a thrill he had never expected to feel pleasure from.
You returned once more to his side, now with the appropriate items you needed, and brilliant grin on your lips to top it off. It was weirdly exciting for you as well, finally doing something as erotic as this to a dignified gentleman such as Zhongli. Which is why, you couldn’t help but talk him through it.
“I did tell you that shibari some sort of sexual play, right?” you began, as you seized both of his hand and pinned them on his back. “It involves tying someone up with rope, in patterns that are not only visually pleasing but are also designed to make you feel good.”
Zhongli could feel the roughness of the rope cling to his skin as soon as you tied his wrists together before doing various knots up his torso and down to his legs. It was incredibly strange—you were only tying him up but for some reason, he felt so exposed and so turned on.
“The reason why it’s so popular is because it gives a sense of security if you will,” you continued, remembering the patterns you had religiously practiced over and over again for the past month. “As if you were surrendering everything to that one person, trusting that they can give you security, give you pleasure. That is what this art form is.”
Every time he felt your soft hands brush against his damp skin as you tightened the rope around his body, he would control a shudder that kept on surging through him like a multitude of waves. This was beyond the ordinary, a situation Zhongli had not anticipated—you were right when you told him to prepare himself. He definitely did not heed your advice, and it came to him with a price, especially when you finally wrapped some rope around his dick as it stood straight and hard between his legs.
“If only you could see yourself right now, Zhongli,” you told him, pressing firmly on the ropes around his member before nibbling on his earlobe. “Aah, I just want to eat you up.”
With your sultry voice directly sending shockwaves down his lower parts, he could only dig his fingernails on the palm of his hands as the hemp ropes dug deeper in his skin. Even though they were not too tight, the restrictive sensation enveloping his body, plus the way you were touching him now was making him lose his mind.
“YN…YN…p-please, I—!”
He spoke between gasps as he felt your lips suckle on a sensitive point on his neck, his dick twitching as he tried to jerk up.
You hummed amusingly. “What is it, love? Where do you want me to touch you?”
Raking up your fingernails up his toned chest, you smirked as he groaned, unable to find any sort of friction he had been seeking for some time now. The way his long dark locks stuck to his skin because of how much he was sweating, or the way he trembled and shivered at every touch of his skin—you loved them all. As much as how Zhongli was intoxicated by pleasure, you were also heady with the power you had over him.
Not waiting for his answer, you crept your hands up and suddenly pinched his nipples—making him jolt straight up at the abrupt stimulation with a loud moan.
“Do you like it here?” you asked, now lavishing your tongue over a hardened nub; relentless and teasing.
“Ahh…! YN…! Wait, please!”
All of his thoughts had already vanished, replaced only by the sensations of your tongue on his now sensitive nipples, of the ropes wound tightly around him, of how painfully hard his dick was. It felt good, he had to admit it. It felt incredibly good.
“Do you want me to stop? I can always stop,” you asked, smiling. “If not, tell me where else I should touch you.”
Breathless as his chest heaved, Zhongli tried to find the words he wanted to say even as his lips trembled.
“Um…please touch….m-my…”
He was blushing furiously, the word seemingly unable to pass through his lips.
“Your what, Zhongli?” you asked him again, almost cooing but inwardly laughing at how he just can’t say the word ‘dick’.
Biting his lip to stop it from quivering too much, it seemed like he really has to throw every sense of dignity he had in him just to relieve his arousal.
“M-my…pe—ahh!!"
You pinched one of his nipples, pouting. “Don’t you dare call it penis, or else I won’t let you cum. Now, as you were saying?”
If only his head wasn’t too hazy from all the sensations stimulating him simultaneously, he would’ve made a mental note to make you suffer at a later date, but right now, his brain was being ran by his dick.
“P-Please…YN…! My—my…d-dick…I can’t…” he forced between pants as his sweat made the ropes feel even tighter and his underwear feel even more sticky.
Smirking at your victory, you pressed a kiss on his lips, your hands finally removing his dick from the constraints of his underwear. You could feel him groan on your lips as you began to move your hand up and down, and making sure to reach his most sensitive spots.
“Look at you, getting this hard after being tied up,” you whispered to his lips, a grin plastered on your face. “I didn’t know you were this dirty, Zhongli.”
“I-I’m…not!”
He tried to deny it but you kept his mouth shut by squeezing his cock tightly.
“Really now?” you asked, voice low as you kept on pumping him, his voice becoming nothing but dirty noise. “Are you about to cum?”
“YN…!” he growled, the ropes keeping his legs folded biting on his skin. “T-too much….! I’m…!”
Mercilessly, you continued to jerk him off as he crept closer and closer to climax. However, there he realized that the ropes around his member had gotten tighter, and the painful throbbing he felt was because he couldn’t cum.
“Oh? Did you find it out?” you asked, chuckling at the look of desperation so evident in his face. “If you can endure this in a few more minutes, I’ll reward you. How about that?”
“N-no, no….! YN…p-please, I c-can…no longer….” Most of his words were incomprehensible, affected by the pleasure and the pain on his cock.
You hummed playfully once more. “Do you want me to stop then? You can always say the safe word, you know?”
“No! W-wait…please! I n-need…I can’t…!”
“Then endure,” you replied, an idea blooming in your head. Your free hand then reached for the blindfold covering his eyes and unraveled it, allowing him to finally see.
However, he did not have time to recover when you immediately caught his attention.
“Look how hard you are, Zhongli,” you told him, his amber eyes blow wide by his current state. Yet strangely, the thought of him so aroused and at your mercy, only made him harder.
Laying down on the bed with your chest on the mattress, you looked up to him, his dick on your hands; your eyes reflecting mischief. “If you can hold on for a few minutes, I’ll let you cum, alright?”
Zhongli only gazed down on you, face as hot as the sun and as red as beet. He watched as you took his dick in your mouth and began sucking him off. At the sensation, he instantly threw his head back. This was totally different from your hands. This was just incredible.
With lustful eyes, you watched him convulse before as you assaulted him with your tongue—sucking and licking at every sensitive point you knew. The underside and the tip were particularly sensitive and that was where you concentrated.
“A-ahh…! Oh…shit…YN!” he groaned, his deep voice and the way he was now cursing sent you reeling as well. “T-too good…I’m…f-fuck…!”
You chuckled, the vibrations on your throat making his dick twitch as you kept on bobbing your head. Gazing up, you both exchanged glances as you kept on sucking the tip; his eyes tightly closing at the intensity.
“Are you going to cum?” you asked before diving in once again, your hands secretly making their way underneath his underwear and finding his hole. “I’ll help you.”
“W-wait…! T-that’s!” he jolted up yet unable to do anything but feel your fingers brushing around the rim.
Prodding at his hole, you enjoyed watching the pained yet lustful expression he was making on his otherwise stoic face. His eyebrows furrowed, his cheeks flushed pink, his mouth ajar as drool poured down his chin. It was fascinating, addicting. You can’t help but tease him endlessly, relentlessly as he kept on moaning your name again and again as if under a spell.
“P-Please….let me…I can’t…I’m going to….Y-YN…!”
Deciding that this was finally the limit of his first time, you cleverly untied the knot on his back which kept the rope around his pelvis secure, allowing it to loosen.
Still sucking him off and poking on his hole, you could feel him twitch inside your mouth, an indication that he was close.
“YN…! I’m….ughh…c-coming!”
In a few pumps, Zhongli climaxed in your mouth; his warm cum on your throat. It was a bit too much, and a little thick so you were unable to swallow everything, allowing it to drip down your chin.
Released from his high, Zhongli couldn’t believe he just had his biggest nut of his life after being tied up. It was in every ounce, shameful and embarrassing but it just felt too good for him to resist at all. Maybe it wasn’t too much of a bad thought to do this once in a while.
Eventually, you loosened the ropes that were still on him and took note of the rope markings on his skin, reminding yourself to give him that special balm you got for this exact purpose. As soon as you released him, you pulled him to a deep kiss which he gladly reciprocated.
Unlike your previous ones, this kiss was one of concern and care—asking and answering questions that were difficult to convey. As your lips moved against each other, your chest began to warm and float, glad that you were able to deliver his request. When you both pulled away, the normal Zhongli was back; his eyes warm and lively.
“I’m glad it felt good,” you told him, cupping his cheek. “I was afraid I might hurt you or something.”
He only chuckled and gave you a pat. “I did tell you I can handle it.”
You sighed in relief, loving the way he was touching you. “So, how about we sleep—"
Zhongli however interrupted you, pushing you down the bed, pinning your wrists. He was smiling but you definitely knew you were screwed.
“I reckon it is time for me take my revenge,” he gazed at you, eyes turning feral. “No one will be sleeping tonight.”
#genshin impact#zhongli#genshin impact scenarios#genshin impact x reader#zhongli scenarios#genshin impact fanfiction#zhongli fanfiction
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19 Years Later... [Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader x reader miniseries]
19 years have passed since Y/n’s husband Anakin’s death, and she has become the leading General of the newly founded Rebellion alongside her past Jedi friend Obi-Wan Kenobi, now known as Ben Kenobi. When her children Luke and Leia Skywalker gets kidnapped by Darth Vader, the man who killed her husband; her and Obi-Wan Kenobi must come rescue her. But when she finds out who’s behind Darth Vader’s mask, the truth is something she never thought she had to prepare herself for.
——————
i’m so freaking excited for this fanfic, holy shit. i’ve had this idea since April 2020 and i decided to say fuck it since you guys seemed interested. i hope you enjoy it!!! get ready for an angst and sex train, cause it’s coming in hot 🥵 😏
Index:
prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 [Coming soon]
Warnings: None
WC: 1.3k
——————
People say love is a forever thing. But for Y/n and Anakin Skywalker, their time together was cut short the day Darth Vader murdered Anakin almost 20 years ago on Mustafar.
Y/n remembered the day so vividly - it was the scariest, saddest, and all the same happiest day of her life. It was the day her twin children, Luke and Leia Skywalker, were born; and it was also the day the love of her life was killed.
Y/n didn’t remember much of that, between the two events. According to Obi-Wan Kenobi, he had said that Anakin was behind the attacks at the Jedi Temple, and the man behind the murder of countless Jedi. Y/n couldn’t bring herself that the man she was married to could do such a horrible, despicable act.
She didn’t believe it until she saw first hand his anger - the way his voice changed, how cold his gaze had become. He tried to sugarcoat his villainous words to her, speaking gently, “Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me.”
But when he had noticed Obi-Wan was on the ship alongside Y/n, Anakin lost all sense of reality and tried killing her.
The last memory she had of seeing her future husband was tainted with fear - the sight of him angrily raising his fingers to choke his lover.
When she awoke, she felt her body give in and start to writhe from excruciating labor pains. The pain she felt throughout her back and belly, however, were nothing in comparison to the never-ending ache in her heart that started when Obi-Wan muttered the words, “Anakin is dead.”
Barely able to cling to life, Y/n was able to deliver two healthy children, whom she had named Luke and Leia. Obi held her hand gently, smiling testy eyed, “Anakin would be so happy to see his little family. I promise I’m here to support and protect the three of you.”
Tears from pain and sorrow streamed down her cheeks as she cradled Leia close to her breast, sobbing as her body shook.
He should be here. I should be squeezing his hand, not Obi’s. He should be holding his son, not Obi. I shouldn’t be a widow.
When she found out the truth about how Anakin died, she was even more torn apart. Anakin didn’t even get a chance to explain his actions at the Temple - he was murdered by a man named Darth Vader before he could repent. She lost her husband to a murderous sith lord.
Obi-Wan took it upon himself to take care of Y/n, Luke, and Leia and got them a home on Tattooine. He knew that Y/n was never good on her own - even though she was a Jedi, she hated being alone. So he stayed with them, helping her raise Luke and Leia with just the two of them.
Knowing they were a target from Darth Vader, Obi-Wan knew that they’d had to change their names. He changed his to Ben Kenobi, a nickname an old lover gave him; and Y/n changed her name to Cecelia Jonas, a drastic difference from Y/n Skywalker. When it was just them, they would refer to each other as their old names for old time’s sake.
Raising twins without their biological father was very, very hard. There were many nights Luke or Leia would ask about their beloved late father, causing her to get teary-eyed remembering.
Nights when Luke would play around with the droids, speaking with C3-PO and laughing reminded Obi and Y/n of Anakin.
Having a son who looked just like a young version of Anakin was no help to her healing heart. Yet, no matter what she swore to never remarry — her heart belonged to Anakin Skywalker, and Anakin Skywalker alone.
By now, it was 19 years since Anakin had died. The Galactic Empire was rising, and the Rebels rose in contradiction, hoping to defend the Galaxy.
Meanwhile, Darth Vader stormed around his Death Star ship in an angry stance, slicing anyone who dared to comment on his more-so than normal angry aura.
He crossed his arms, looking outside the Death Star, “What do you mean you lost the plans?” His breathing labored and heavy as usual. The mask wasn’t even needed for him — the cocky bastard just wanted to come off as more intimidating.
“Someone... someone had sold the plans. And now General Jonas-“
Vader grunted and raised his fist, beginning to force choke the man mercilessly, “Find me who sold the plans and bring them to me. I want their death slow and painful. And find me General Jonas, I want to have a chat with them.”
The man’s eye’s rolled back as his vision blackened, then he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
Vader strutted off, his signature Skywalker strut all the more prominent and powerful enveloped in his robotic suit of armor.
Ever since his fall, Vader had one thing on his mind. Completing out his Master’s will so he would finally teach him how to bring people back from the dead.
Vader reached his quarters and shut the door, locking it using the force with a simple flick of his wrist. He begrudgingly walked to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and hunched over the sink, his breathing getting more rapid until the noise irritated him to let out a yell in anger.
He took off his black mask in frustration and slammed it down on the countertop, his hands gripping it’s sides so tightly he felt his flesh hand feel numb. He looked up in the mirror, his ear-length brown hair dampened down with sweat as he looked at himself in the mirror.
“Who the hell even are you,” he grumbled to himself, running his gloved fingers through his hair. He sighed heavily and shook his head, the memory of her gasping for air replaying in his mind as his anger grew, “It’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault you and our child are dead!” he yelled to no in but himself, tears beginning to prick his yellow eyes.
With shaky hands, he dipped into his pocket and took out the necklace he crafted for her all those years ago, smiling sadly down at it as he rubbed it with his thumb.
“This is all for you, my love bird. All of it, so I can bring you home to me.” His voice trailed as he kissed the necklace, putting it back in his pocket gently as he let out a heavy sigh, wiping his tears quickly.
Vader thrived on pain now. Once he found out his wife was killed by his own hand, he lost all sense of himself. Anakin died when he knelt and took Darth Vader’s name, but Anakin truly died the moment Palpatine uttered those words.
“It seems, in your anger, you killed her.”
“Shit husband I was,” he growled, putting his glove back up on his flesh hand after he glared at his wedding band.
It gave him a mixed feeling - he missed his wife dearly, but yet it was also a deadly reminder how much of a horrible man he was.
The separated couple went to bed in tears that night, wishing and praying that somehow, someway they could be reunited.
But the both of them knew the only way that would happen is if they died, which was out of the question.
So they laid there awake in agony, their heart crying out to be reunited with their lover once more.
#anakin skywalker#star wars#anakinskywalker#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin skywalker smut#hayden christensen#anakin skywalker x reader#star wars smut#hayden christensen smut#starwars#darth vader#darth vader x reader#darth vader x reader angst#darth vader x reader smut#suitless vader x reader#suitless vader x reader smut#suitless vader
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the one recent anon about gentle caretaking is so so right, can you actually write something with that as a prompt for micah and alexi? both holding by the waist while the sickee is sick in the sink AND then by the forehead when it gets too intense in front of the toilet again. no scat please
I love this prompt so much and I had so much writing it! I hope you love it!! Thank you to the other anon who got this prompt started ❤
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When Alexi went to bed at midnight, he was surprised to find the light on in the bedroom.
He had been looking forward to pulling Micah’s sleeping body closer to him as he himself fell asleep. Most nights he came to bed much later than Micah. It was their ritual. Alexi would wrap his arms around his boyfriend and fit himself perfectly into place. Half-awoken by the motion, Micah would make the cutest sound upon realizing that he was once again safe in the arms of someone who loved him.
Alexi was unusually eager for tonight’s ritual because he hardly saw his boyfriend all day. Micah was working on his manuscript non-stop to meet the upcoming deadline. The tight schedule meant that he needed to be alone. The boy was writing like he was running out of time…because he was. It was a particular exhausting stage in the process because his editor covered the document in red writing. As far as Micah was concerned, the red markups were nothing but blood—blood that marked the death of his favourite irrelevant scenes, the cleverest yet confusing lines, and the fun yet unnecessary side characters. Yes, killing your darlings is a taxing process that took all of Micah’s time and energy, and as Alexi would discover, his health.
There might as well have been an invisible Do Not Disturb sign on the bedroom door. The unyielding typing from inside the room also served as a reminder for Alexi that he couldn’t demand attention whenever he wanted it. He couldn’t just walk in and smother Micah in kisses until he did something with him. Now bedtime was Alexi’s only chance to be with Micah when he wasn’t distracted.
But the opening sentence still remains: the light was on in the bedroom.
Alexi stood confused on the other side of the door. This didn’t look like bedtime. Not hearing any typing from inside the room, he walked in to find that it looked a little bit more like bedtime. Micah was asleep, but at his desk. He wasn’t nicely tucked into bed. His head was resting on the desk next to his laptop. The screen was black.
“Micah? Alexi said quietly as he came over to his boyfriend. He clicked the space bar on the keyboard, making the screen come to life. So much red.
Micah never fully turned off the computer before falling asleep. His own sleep looked just as shallow as the computer’s. His back rose and fell sharply, and his breathing matched. He didn’t look restful at all.
“Micah, wake up, mon amour.” Alexi shook his boyfriend awake who shot up from the desk. Alexi was quick to grab hold of his shoulders. “Easy, you’re okay. You fell asleep while working.”
Micah squinted and put a hand up to the side of his head. His neck hurt from the awkward way in which he passed out. “What time is it?”
“Midnight…you never went to bed. Are you alright?” Alexi didn’t like the dazed look on his boyfriend’s face. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, like they reflected what was on the computer screen.
“I wanted to finish the chapter,” Micah said while sinking back into the chair. His gaze sluggishly travelled to the screen. The late hour and the unfinished work made him groan and put his head in his hands. Like a slow-moving landslide, Micah dragged his hands down his face, rubbing his eyes deeply. It only irritated his already blotchy skin.
Alexi watched his over-worked boyfriend curiously. There was something romantic about a dishevelled writer. But this romanticized version did not belong on Micah. Alexi didn’t want a melancholic, candle-lit boyfriend who captured the essence of dark academia. He just wanted a boyfriend who slept well and who took care of himself.
The boy before him was not well. Alexi knew this even before touching Micah’s forehead. He knew it while he lightly traced his fingers over Micah’s cheek. He knew it for certain when he lifted Micah’s face with a hand under his chin. Micah’s laptop wasn’t the only thing overheating.
The boy’s eyelids drooped, forcing Alexi to crane his neck to make eye-contact. “Love, you need to go to bed. You’re burning up.”
“But I told Shannon I would have these chapters done by tonight.”
“Well Shannon is going to have to wait, isn’t she?” Alexi said as he grabbed Micah’s hands to help him up from the chair. Alexi quickly found himself supporting much of his weight as Micah’s head came crashing down onto Alexi’s chest. The boy let out a low moan. “I’ve got you. Are you still okay?”
“…’M dizzy.” Either Micah was having a stroke or was too tired to speak because the words came out in cursive. “…don’t feelgood.”
Micah proved his point (not that it needed more proof) by vomiting on the floor between their feet. The only reason he didn’t fall forward was that Alexi held onto his shoulders as he heaved.
“Oh gosh,” Alexi muttered under his breath. “Oh, you’re really sick, but that’s okay.” He said it so quietly that Micah wouldn’t even have heard it. He was telling himself that everything was okay.
Thankfully, Micah didn’t immediately heave up everything in his belly. The countless cups of coffee and handfuls of crackers were still nauseatingly churning in his gut. This gave him the chance to breathe and moan in pain.
He lifted his head slowly, making his tearful eyes look like pleading puppy-dog eyes. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he spoke with a voice so thickened by illness. “…my stomach hurts.”
Alexi allowed himself a second to feel broken-hearted by his boyfriend’s pain. Then that second was over, and he had to ease that pain just a little. “I would never have guessed it. Now, come on.”
The small intermission gave Alexi the chance to practically drag Micah to the bathroom. He could tell it wasn’t over by the way Micah kept a hand over his mouth. At least the toilet would be a better place to throw up than on the floor.
But Micah’s belly had other ideas. His sick and stubborn stomach couldn’t wait the two seconds that it would take to reach the toilet. As soon as Alexi got him to the bathroom, Micah made a sharp turn for the sink.
This round was much more productive than the last. A torrent of bitter black coffee and whatever other snacks Micah had for dinner filled the sink rather quick. Even the sight of it made Micah heave again.
As he continued to vomit, his vision blurred and blackened around the edges. Seeing the contents of his stomach was no longer the problem. The new problem was being unable to stand.
Alexi noticed the way his boyfriend leaned heavily on the counter and the way his legs wanted to give out. He switched from rubbing Micah’s back to holding him at the waist to keep him steady. It was oddly close to how he pulled Micah into his arms for their nightly ritual. This was not how he envision the night going.
“Don’t worry about holding yourself up, Micah,” Alexi said while spotting the white-knuckle grip that his boyfriend had on the edge of the sink. “I won’t let you go. I’m not leaving.”
Micah loosened his grip ever so slightly. He leaned back further against the body that kept him up.
After a few minutes of this, Alexi was startled by a change in sound. The heaving seemed to shift into choked sobs, each retch ending with a guttural moan. Eventually, Micah was left panting over the sink with saliva dripping from his lips. Actual sobs made his whole body shake. He tried not to look at himself in the mirror because he knew a dark-eyed stranger would stare back at him.
“Micah, are you…okay? Are you done?”
Micah shook his head to say no, shaking loose strings of bile that hung from his mouth. “I don’t want to do this anymore…I’m so tired, Lexi.”
Micah was tired. Tired of the stress he put upon himself. Tired of thinking that his worth came solely from his writing. He was tired of holding himself up when all he wanted was to let someone else carry the burden for a while. Alexi was so good to him. He carried the physical burden, that was Micah himself, so well. It was well past midnight now. Decades seemingly have gone by while Micah’s body broke down from the fatigue. Alexi knew that he was tired from heaving his guts up, but he was more than just physically tired. Unfortunately, Micah didn’t have the strength to tell him about the other kind. Fortunately he didn't have to.
“I know. I know, it’s exhausting.” Starting with his hands on Micah’s waist, Alexi gently trailed his fingers up the boy’s back. He felt as if there were a barrier between him and Micah. He couldn’t get as close as he wanted. All the gentle touches in the world couldn’t take away the pain. Still, Alexi didn’t take his hands away from his boyfriend, hoping that he was providing some comfort.
He also knew that touch was not the only way to offer comfort. “I know it’s exhausting to feel like you need to finish this project so that your life will have meaning. I see you everyday, working so hard to make your dreams come true. It’s tiring to do what you do. But you should know that taking a break does not mean that you’re giving up. You’re tired, I know, so sit down for a moment and lean on me.”
Micah listened. He exhaled slowly, letting the tension go from his shoulders. He let Alexi lower him to the ground, where they both sat in front of the toilet. Micah wanted to say so much, but…
He was breathing hard again. Alexi eased the pain in his mind, but the pain in his belly persisted. There was one last round before relief.
Micah’s head was heavy. Heavy with worries and pain. It was a struggle to hold his head up while another weak wave of watery vomit fell from his mouth.
Every muscle in his body wanted to betray him. His neck almost let go, but then something stopped his head from falling towards his chest. It was Alexi’s hand on his brow.
“Ugh…thank you,” Micah said breathlessly in between gags.
“I told you, I’m not leaving.” Alexi kept one hand on the boy’s forehead and the other on his back. “I’ve got you.”
And so, Micah’s stomach finally calmed down after his over-worked and under-fed body decided that was enough punishment for the mistreatment. An event like this certainly wouldn’t happen again because Alexi was going to make sure that Micah got enough sleep, and proper food, and down-time.
“Are you done?”
“Yes,” Micah said with a hint of a smile. He was already falling backwards into Alexi’s embrace.
#emeto#emetophilia#emeto fic#emeto fiction#hurt/comfort#whump#fluff#sickfic#Micah#Alexi#fever#delirium#belly kink#vomit kink#vomiting#puking#my ocs#emetophile#hurt#comfort#caretaking#h/c#overworked#stress-induced#stomach flu
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Undying Fidelity - Part 7
Loki Laufeyson x OFC Senya Skuldsdottir
Summary: It is time for Loki and Sen to return to Asgard but it isn’t just two of them on the home trip.
Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering (both m&f)
Word Count: 2279
|| Main Masterlist ||
Chapter: 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8 - coming soon
Loki laid beside me with a hand lightly tracing the stretch marks that showed just how much our son had grown these past seven months, a sleepy smile gracing his lips. I hadn’t been able to sleep and my eyes were heavy but I kept them open long enough to watch the sun break through the window and bathe Loki in gold. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the black satin sheets and it almost gave him an ethereal glow.
“You look tired, my love.” He murmured as he kissed my forehead and pulled me even closer. “You’re not still worried about him are you? The healers said he is fine.”
“I can’t see him, Lo. I can’t see him in our future.” I whimpered. “That worries me.”
“He is a descendant of the Norns, perhaps his gift is interfering with yours.” Loki said calmly. “Look at his parents, have you met a stronger match? He will be powerful, unrivalled in his sorcery and devilishly handsome.”
I chuckled and lightly slapped his chest but his smile only widened as he got the reaction he was after.
“If it helps, I will happily take your mind off everything.” He said as he teased my skin with his fingertips.
“Later.” I yawned and laced my fingers between his so I could guide him to the place our son was kicking me. “Could you sing for us?”
His chest hummed as his song for me came to life and the words washed over my skin.
“In storm-blackened mountains I wander alone
Across glaciers I travel forth
In the apple orchard the fair maiden stands
And sings, "When will you come home?"
When she sings, she sings, "Come home."
I drifted off to sleep dreaming of mountains and orchards, wishing for my love to come home but I was alone as I walked. I stood at the precipice of a pure blue glacier and looked up at its mighty expanse. I was nothing compared to the block of ice in perspective. This glacier would give life to millions of creatures over the millenia whereas I was just trying to give life to one.
I looked down at my stomach and wondered why I never had a bump in my dreams. Perhaps it was the same reason I couldn’t see his future. I was so deep in my thoughts I didn’t even notice I had a visitor until he spoke.
“You have deviated from the path.”
I spun around to see He Who Remains standing beside me and admiring the glacier, looking no different to the last time we met centuries ago.
“No I haven’t.” I frowned. “He is continually evolving into a better version of himself.”
“He is not supposed to be better, he is supposed to be exactly as he was destined to be and now I have to fix your mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, you are the one who is mistaken.” I argued.
“I write the timeline.”
“And I read it and what I read is open to interpretation.”
He laughed and it echoed around the mountains, bouncing back louder than before. A fissure cracked across the snowy capped peaks and a rumble vibrated the air as an avalanche began to thunder down the steep terrain.
“What happens next is on you.” He said before he disappeared and left me with the wall of white hurtling towards me.
I woke up as the avalanche buried me in its depths and a sheen of sweat covered my forehead while a light snowfall dusted over the room. Loki must have risen at some point as I found myself alone in our bed, grateful he wasn’t there to witness the phenomenon. I tossed the blankets aside and stepped under the waterfall shower in our bathroom. The room disappeared in a cloud of steam and I tried to wash away the lingering feelings that had clung to me from the dream, like a ghost haunting me.
Large hands wrapped around me before sliding up my body and began to massage the tension permeating down my neck and into my shoulders. I moaned as his fingers eased the knots that had formed in my sleep and I dropped my head back against his shoulder when his hands came to rest back on my waist.
“I was hoping to be back before you woke up.” He murmured as he brushed my wet hair away and kissed the sweet spot along my jawline.
“What business stole you from my bed?”
“Nothing important.” He lied.
I pulled away and turned so I could see his eyes.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?”
“I went to my mother.” He admitted. “I wanted to see if she shared your concerns but she assured me our son is growing exactly as he should.”
“Do you think we could call Thor home?” I asked as I leant back into his embrace, running my hands along the defined lines of muscle that decorated his lean frame. “Just in case.”
Loki rolled his eyes but eventually nodded, unable to deny me anything. He had been enjoying his brother's absence while Thor brokered peace and pushed back resistance in the nine realms.
“I’ll have Heimdall send word to him today. Though I’m not sure what help a fertility god is in your state, you are already with child.” He grumbled.
“It's about seeing the seed into fruition, not just planting it.”
“I already agreed, spare me the lecture on how agriculture and parenthood are the same.” He chuckled. “If you were a better gardener I may pay attention but you haven’t had a plant survive longer than a month.”
I tried to be offended but he was right, I tended to lose interest and forget to water them quite quickly but a child was completely different. His smirk grew as he watched my train of thought reach the conclusion he wanted and I closed my mouth against the lecture of how they were the same. Turning my back on him I grabbed the bar of shampoo and began to lather it into my tresses before his fingers took over and my annoyance at him disappeared.
“Is it later yet?��� He asked innocently as he rinsed my hair out.
I laced my fingers into his dark damp hair and pressed down so he fell to his knees with eager eyes and licked his lips longingly.
“Better put that tongue to something other than getting you in trouble.”
“With pleasure.”
He grabbed my hips and guided me back against the frigid stone wall before hooking one leg up over his shoulder. A deep moan fell from my parted lips as he grazed his teeth along my inner thigh, followed by his tongue. I tightened my grip in his hair as I tried to pull him closer but he chuckled darkly and splayed his hand as he cast a spell on me. Invisible chains encased my wrists and pulled my arms above my head and I was left at his mercy.
A knock at our door grabbed Loki’s attention for a moment as the palace housekeepers called out but he pressed a finger to his lip and whispered. “Be a good girl and don’t make a sound.”
I lost sight of him before I could ask what he was planning and I had to bite my lip as his tongue rolled over my already needy clit before it dipped between my folds. A quiet whimper escaped and I felt his absence immediately as he pulled back and cocked his eyebrow at the sound. He flicked his hand and my mouth was covered by a gag before he nodded happily to himself and disappeared between my legs once more.
I bit my teeth into the gag as I fought not to scream at the mounting pleasure he was giving me. My leg was trembling on his shoulder and every muscle in my body was coiled tight at my impending release. My head was spinning as I breathed heavily through my nose and just as I felt I would melt into a puddle, he pulled away. A cry of disapproval managed to snake around the gag but he just smirked to himself and rose from the wet floor.
“That’s not fair.” I cried as he pulled the gag from my mouth.
He spun me around so my hands were still chained above me and he pressed his erection into my back as he bit the flesh below my neck. A heady moan filled the air and he pulled my hips back as he ran the head of his cock along my dripping folds.
“I want to feel you when you come on my cock.” He growled in my ear before thrusting his hips to meet mine.
My eyes fluttered shut as he filled me and he pulled my hair back on his fist so I was forced to look at him.
“Eyes. On. Me.” He enunciated with each long thrust.
His pupils were so blown out with lust that there was almost no green left in his eyes. His eyelids were hooded and his eyebrows pinched together as he felt my body tighten around him, the orgasm he had edged me to was finally going to get its release. I gripped the invisible chains in my hands and held tight as I bucked my hips back into his, the sound of our skin slapping filling the air.
“Mmmm, yes.” He moaned as he bit his lip. “Take it all.”
He rolled his hips and I gasped as the head of his cock rode against my g-spot. His satisfied chuckle vibrated through me and he rolled his hip over and over the sweet spot until I could barely hold myself up. Stars exploded across my vision as my pleasure surmounted and I came with a silent scream. My legs trembled and my wetness ran down them but still Loki didn’t stop.
He growled as my body clenched tight around him and he fucked me through it all. There was no time to come down from my high and I was lost to all feeling except where our skin met. A deep pulsing settled low in my hips and built quickly until it exploded and drenched Loki’s thighs.
“That’s a good girl.” He praised me as he watched me gush around him.
He held his own release back until I was a quivering mess and sagged against the chains, grateful I had them to take my weight since my legs couldn’t hold me any longer. A guttural moan rolled from his chest as his rhythm missed a beat and he pulled out, stroking his stiff length and pumped his hot spurts all over my back. My head rested against the cold stone wall as I tried to regain my breath and I felt him place a gentle kiss against my temple before the shower flowed over us once more.
“I do just love seeing you coated with my cum.” He said as he watched his viscous liquid wash down my back.
“That’s because it screams ‘Loki was here.’”
“And here.” He said, teasing my still quaking core with a finger. “And here.”
He popped his finger in my mouth and hummed with appreciation as I sucked the digit and licked it clean. He pulled it from my mouth with a pop and caught me as he removed the chains and my legs gave way. Carrying me back to our bed, he cast his magic over our skin and I was dry when he placed me into the clean silken sheets the maids had changed.
“Try to get some more sleep.” He said as he caressed my cheekbone and kissed me sweetly. “I’ll go send word to Thor.”
I nodded drowsily as he tucked the blankets around me and I fell into a dreamless sleep before he had even left the room. This was the deep sleep that had been elusive to me since I felt the quickening and even Frigga’s herbal teas couldn’t give me the rest I so desperately needed. It all faded to black and I welcomed the darkness with open arms while winds whispered around me.
“When she sings, she sings, "Come home."
“When she sings, she sings, "Come home."
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