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morallyinept · 1 month

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Azalea - A Lucien Flores One Shot

Summary: A man from your past shows up at a party and leaves you on the cusp of making a life changing choice. Do you stay, or do you leave with him?

Pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader has hair long enough to be brushed over their shoulder and wears a dress.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶 “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral F recieving/mild ass play/kissing/infidelity/mentions of past issues with alcolholism and addiction/toxic relationship traits/unrequited love and longing/Lucien's chains come with their own warning

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I get the sense (from the little clips we've seen of Lucien so far) that he's in love, and probably loves hard, and is messy and complicated with a turbulent past, and isn't a bad guy at all. So here he is, my version. I hope you like him. 😘 (I've used some of his lines from the clips we've seen too.)

MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As guests mingle and laughter fills the air in the grand house, you can’t shake off the heavy feeling of discontent grinding sharply around your teeth.

As you stand invisible amongst the cluster of your braying friends, you can't help but cast a wistful gaze back towards the brown eyes staring at you from across the room, loitering casually with a hand in his pocket and lips wrapped around a cigarette.

It makes your skin itch and pickle that he's here.

How is it that he’s fucking here?

He’s like a ghost haunting the hollows of your bones. A constant white noise that only you can hear.

He looks good, well. Better.

He has colour in the capillaries of his cheeks again, and the way he stands is different, he seems taller somehow, a little more grey and wispy, but still handsome. He’s put on a little weight, a small paunch evidence of that. He appears more foreboding with those squared-off shoulders in their thick broadness.

He smirks at you, he never smiles. Just smirks, crookedly and you look away immediately. Those itches and prickles melting into warm heat that floods down your spine.

Fuck, why is he here?

You turn your attention to Mitch, basking in the spotlight of adulation. His animated gestures and booming laughter echo out through the open windows, mingling with the soft strains of music drifting from within the dining room.

Guests cluster around him, hanging onto his every word; their faces alight with admiration and respect. And it makes you fucking sick.

You slip away unnoticed, carrying a bottle of open and warm champagne, seeking solace amidst the blood red azaleas in the expansive garden.

You’re drinking from the bottle of flattening fizz bitterly, leaving your partner toasting his fortune and parry, and there’s tension swirling around your gut that hasn’t died down since the vicious verbal spat you endured the previous night with him.

Your jaw still aches from clenching it all night.

As the celebration in the house continues, the siren call of the garden seems to provide a contrasting haven for you amidst the vibrant azalea bushes that grow plush and full.

An immediate sense of relief washes over your clammy skin, being away from the pomp and grandeur of the party inside, where Mitch holds court with his characteristic charisma. Mitch is a man of stature, exuding an air of confidence that borders on total arrogance.

Tonight's gathering is, after all, in honour of the recent success of his book - a testament to his hard ambition and callous drive. You have no idea what it’s about. You’ve not read it, tiring of your opinions and input being constantly quashed.

Mitch moves through the crowd with ease, regaling guests with anecdotes of his success and achievements, which doesn’t care to highlight the months of patience and suffering you’ve endured whilst he wrote it; his crackling laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the hum of vibrant conversation.

Despite the outward display of celebration, you can't shake off the underlying tautness swirling in your gut, lingering from the fight that still hovers between you both. Mitch's ego often overshadows the relationship, and controls it, leaving your own feelings and desires overlooked and unappreciated.

And as you find welcome loneliness in the garden, a fucking moment to just breathe, you can't help but wonder if Mitch has even noticed your absence amidst the ass-kissing bestowed upon him.

Well, it's all about having the right mindset, you see. I've always been driven by success, and I refuse to settle for anything less than the best...

You roll your eyes at Mitch's self-congratulatory tone that follows out the windows and berates you further. It’s moments like these that remind you of the growing chasm between you, feeling a pang of disconnection, a sense of longing for something more profound than the superficial trappings of hollow success.

You find yourself retreating deeper into the shadows of the garden, seeking pause amidst the fragrant blooms with the champagne bottle as your only companion.

And then, startled by a familiar voice, one that grates on you for completely different reasons, you find yourself vis-a-vis with your ex-boyfriend, Lucien Flores, who’s unabashedly shown up uninvited.

Somehow inserting himself back into your life in blocks of time to taunt you further no doubt. The tension between you is palpable as you exchange awkward looks amidst the blossoming flowers under the moonlit sky.

His molten brown eyes are soft and deep as he smirks in your direction as you cast an aloof glace over your shoulder at him that is anything but. You swig on the bottle like his presence hasn’t jangled your nerves tenfold, but you both know that it has.

You can feel his eyes wandering and burning holes across your body framed in a cascade of vibrant crimson fabric; its rich hue contrasting beautifully against the wild backdrop of the garden. With every step, the hem of the dress brushes against the dew-kissed grass as you turn from him and head further into the darker recesses of the plush oasis.

Lucien follows, checking behind him to make sure you’re both still alone.

Lush greenery envelopes the space, with vibrant bursts of blood colour provided by the clusters of azalea bushes in full bloom, their delicate petals casting a gentle fragrance into the air. He watches as your fingers brush through their leaves and velvety heads as you pass.

Stone pathways wind their way through the verdant landscape, leading to secluded alcoves, where you find yourself now with Lucien’s presence engulfing the small space.

“This isn't really a good time for your bullshit, Lucien." You say, as you drink from the bottle again, feeling a trickle of its nectar within roll down your chin.

“I wanted to see you, amante," (lover) he says, nonchalantly.

You wince at the endearing nickname he used to shower you with, whispers of it keening from a set of explorative lips as they inked the affectionate moniker under your skin.

“Really.” You snort rather ungraciously. “Why are you even here?”

He drags on the last of his cigarette, smoke billowing from pink lips, before flicking it away, its embers dying in the night. “Can we talk?”

You shake your head adamantly. “We never just talk. You know I'm with someone else now."

“Yeah. Mitch.” He nods over to the house, the party still in full swing. “Quite the catch.” He slurs with a strained hiss, then smirks.

“He wants kids,” you scoff.

And Lucien’s face softens. “You’d be a great mom.”

“I don’t want to be a mom.” You confirm and he nods.

“I know. That's why I got the snip.” His eyebrow flexes in sympathy. “Remember that summer in Tuscany?”

You shake your head again. “We never went to Tuscany.”

He thinks for a second through the haze and frowns. “No, that’s right. That was Annabelle.” He corrects with a dip in his cheeks. He simply clicks his tongue at his mistake.

“Right. Annabelle.” You bristle. “How is she these days?” Although you don’t really care.

“We should go.”

“To Tuscany?” You baulk.

“Yeah, let's go. Right now. Slip away.” He suggests with a warm seriousness.

“Lucien-”

“Kiss me.” He steps in gently and you place a palm on his chest; the silk of his shirt like fluid under your touch.

Your eyes trail over the shiny watercolour of it, the way it hangs flimsy and baggy at the hem before you brave yourself to trail upwards over the familiar shape of his chest and exposed collarbone, shiny with sweat in the hollow. A duo of gold chains knotted around one another twinkle at you before your eyes find his own.

“You are so unfair.” You shake your head despondently.

“You’ve wanted to kiss me since you saw me tonight.” Lucien states, casually. You feel him take the bottle from your fingers and he drinks a mouthful of it for himself.

“I thought you were sober.” You frown.

“I am, but I still drink.”

You roll your eyes as he clears his throat and puts the bottle down.

“I don’t even know why you’re here tonight. Who invited you?” You question with a knitted brow. You’re pretty certain he doesn't know anyone here. Except you.

You he knows really well. Too well.

He looks at you for a moment, head dipped and cocked to one side as if taking you all in.

“You’re not happy.” Lucien says, brushing your hair over your shoulder and it lingers there, his fingers in your roots gently massaging.

You turn, your nose brushing the inside of his wrist and inhale the scents there. The sun, the natural salt musk of his skin, cigarettes. You close your eyes just basking in the innocent feel of him. He was always so generous with his touch.

“No, I'm not.” You turn your face up to meet his. You can't lie to him, not when he sees you - really sees you. “But I wasn’t happy with you either.”

“I am sober.” He reassures, dropping his hand. “Eight months. I have control of my life now.”

“Right.” You fold in on yourself. You can’t go there. You refuse to go there.

“I came here to apologise to you.” Lucien says, stepping back and casting his glance down the pathway back at the house and its design.

“Is that what your sponsor suggested you do?” You remark.

“Is it Venetian?” He asks.

From the outside, the house exudes an air of opulence, with its intricate facade adorned with ornate columns and graceful archways reminiscent of palazzos.

You shrug, watching him carefully as he frowns.

“I never knew Mitch had such exquisite taste." Lucien smirks with a sneer.

“He doesn’t. It’s his parent’s second home. We’re renting it for the summer. His stupid book tour.” You mutter.

"Pshoo. Fancy." He shakes his head. “No, my sponsor didn’t tell me to come here to apologise to you.”

He turns back to you, his features soft and moulding into concern at your watery eyes looking back at him.

“You seem... melancholy." You feel his thumbs stroke either side of your face and this time you don’t stop him. Just helplessly letting those rough, calloused pads swipe over the skin under your eyes.

“You’re all glittery and sad,” Lucien says, looking at the metallic shadow brushed delicately over your eyelids.

“Why are you doing this?” You query, deflating. Surrendering.

“Doing what?”

“Torturing me.”

“You think this is torture?” Lucien asks, stroking your cheeks delicately. “It got dark. I wanted to see the sun again.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

A phantom sensation dances across your skin - a gentle caress, feather-light and tender in its hesitation. In that brief, ethereal moment, you feel transported back to a time when what you and Lucien had was untarnished by the shadows of addiction and betrayal - a time when his touch had been a balm to your weary heart.

And you missed the sun too.

He walks with you, guiding you backwards to the craggy, stone wall encased in the curve of the dark. You can still see his eyes as they drop to your lips and you remember the taste of him, choking on the smoke of him as he draws nearer to your face.

A hushed conversation stirs your attention from the other side of the wall. A faint, muffled voice drifts through the thick stone wall, and your heart clenches as you recognize Mitch's unmistakable tone.

Lucien covers your mouth gently with an engulfing, warm hand as he ghosts his nose gently over the skin of your neck.

It's hard to focus as you inhale a faint remant of his heady cologne, but on the other side of the wall you can hear your partner Mitch on the phone; his voice dripping with honeyed affection that he hasn’t used with you for a long time.

Lucien pulls back as you push against his chest, standing straight, his palm flat against the wall above your head as he listens out curiously with you.

I can’t stop thinking about you either, darling…

Lucien’s eyes drop to yours, his smirk dipping. “He’s fucking someone else?” He mouths.

You nod. You’ve suspected it for a while now and are only more confounded as to why you haven’t left him yet.

"Pendejo." (Asshole/idiot) Lucien bites in a growl.

As he’s speaking beyond the wall to his clandestine lover, Lucien pulls back, standing upright and shaking his head.

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as Mitch waves his infidelity around the garden so casually.

His voice eventually fades out and Lucien takes one of your fists, unkinks your fingers, and brings your palm up to his mouth where he kisses it gently, eyes lancing at you, deep and entracing.

“Fuck him. Come with me to Tuscany.” Lucien drawls.

You wrinkle your nose. “What about Annabelle?”

He shrugs. “It didn’t work out.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You snort.

“Wasn’t the drinking.” He says, shaking his head and cupping your hand in between both of his ginormous ones. “Sober, remember?”

“You just drank from the champagne, I'm not an idiot.”

“Proof.” He says. “Proof that I can control it now.”

“You’ll never be able to control it.”

He nods. “Yeah, not without help. And I have help.”

You sigh and he looks at you earnestly pressing your hands to his chest. You can feel the ribbing of his heartbeat underneath them.

“I ended things with Annabelle ages ago.”

“Why? She was good for you.”

He breaks off with a garbled sigh amd swallows. You watch as he stares intonthe distance, and then he smirks.

“Do you remember when you threw my keys over the fence?”

“Don’t change the subject. Why did you leave her?” You say, fearing the answer.

“She’s not… you.” Lucien kisses your palm again and you can only watch him. Watch, rooted to the spot, heart thudding as he kisses slowly up your wrist and arm.

"I can't be with someone I don't love." He says simply.

You know it’s empty promises and hollow words as he paints this fantasy of a forever with him on your skin with his hot tongue. And it’s an illusion you’ll happily let yourself fall into for a while because it seems almost better than your current reality.

So you kiss him back. Pulling him by the lapels of his thin shirt until his lips are felt against yours, desperately.

He kisses you like the first time, when he was unsure and flighty. Before he became the man who broke your heart and left you walking barefoot on the shards of it.

His hands roam your face, cupping your cheek, thumbs stroking again as you feel his body crush against yours. Hips winding into your belly as he gasps around the taste of your lips.

You both part, panting and wanting, his deep eyes searching you out. He knows you’re in there somewhere, knows you’re better than this life, and also the one he tried - and failed - to give you.

Amidst the confusing turmoil, you can't ignore the unspoken longing lingering between you both, a palpable undercurrent of tension and desire on both parts.

He’s crushed tightly against you, bleeding into the shadows of the stone wall propped up behind you and your skin alike. You can almost feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, aquiline nose brushing up the side of your jaw inhaling the sweet scents of you that make his mouth water and his cock stiffen into your gut.

His hand pulls at the silk of your belt and your dress falls open, cascades of rich velvet and silk opening for his hands to roam gently over your naked skin.

You feel a rush of warmth flood your body despite the cool breeze puckering your nipples - warmth at the way Lucien looks at you, marvelling at you.

At the way he touches you, reigniting the sparks that you ensured you snuffed out a long time ago. You shudder at Lucien’s tender touch, the way his fingertips barely glide across your exposed skin, your weak heart fluttering in response to the raw vulnerability you see reflected back in his eyes.

You find yourself leaning into Lucien’s touch, finding solace and comfort in the unspoken connection that has always lingered between you both, despite everything. In that moment, amidst the fragrant blooms and the moonlit shadows, that small nagging thought mutates, that perhaps the love you’d always been searching for had been right here, in his stacked arms all along.

You shake your head, quickly gathering your wits and wrapping the dress around your body.

“We can’t do this.” You croak, trying to convince yourself of it despite all the blood in your veins rushing towards your centre and throbbing like a jungle drum.

“Yes we can.” Lucien assures. “I’ve fucking missed you, amante.”

It stops you in your tracks.

The words hang in the air, sharp and raw, teetering on the edge of a dreamy possibility that you’ve only allowed yourself to relive in the dark corners of your mind in quiet moments of a self-loathing masochism you allow yourself to harbour.

You feel his thick fingers on the tips of yours, a delicate yet invading touch that spreads its poison quickly and renders your resolve to crumble at your feet.

Any thoughts of regret are pushed aside as you wrap your arms around him and kiss him again.

Lucien worships your body as he trails his mouth over your naked breasts, sucking nipples into his mouth as he pushes you back against the wall. You gasp, already squirming and clenching as his lips leave more devastation.

He makes out with your stomach, dipping his tongue lavishly into your belly button as he sinks to his knees. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging gently as you wind fluffed, messy curls around them.

Lucien turns you with ease in his large hands, gathering your dress to the side, and kisses across your butt, biting the pert cheeks of them softly into his mouth as his hands pry them apart and his tongue makes lewd discoveries that make you gasp into the wall.

He crushes you to him, wrapping his arms around your thighs and forcing his face further in between your cheeks as you reach behind and rake desperately through his hair.

Running his tongue around the tight knot of your skin, and your mind can't help to revisit all the times when he claimed it with his fingers and cock too.

He kisses over the dimples of your thighs, all around them, under them, the backs of your knees - just everywhere and anywhere he can run his scuffed lips against.

Turning you again, he stares at your cunt inches from his nose, that’s soaking through the flimsy, black lace panties you’re wearing.

“He doesn’t fucking deserve you.” Lucien growls, looking up at you. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” You breathe resolutely. But you pull your panties aside and he gasps as you yank him forward by the back of his head.

He groans out in sweet relief as soon as his tongue makes contact, swiping into your soaked folds.

His hands run up the back of your thighs as he squeezes your ass, pushing your sopping cunt further onto his mouth.

“Yes, Lucien, get in there… get right in there,” you pant as your eyes roll back.

You struggle to stay upright, your body like jelly as you feel yourself slipping against the ragged stone wall against your skin.

He pries you open with his thumbs, licking over the shiny, wet bead of your clit and your thighs shakes uncontrollably. He brutally sucks it, flicking his tongue over and over in his determination to make you unravel.

He won’t stop until you come, you know this. He always was a generous lover in carefree abundance. Far from what you’re used to now - Mitch hasn't touched you in months, and the thought of it makes your skin crawl.

Lucien’s tongue works you up quickly, lapping and gliding expertly as he mouths on you exquisitely. You hear him grunt in hunger and want as he pulls you onto him further; his blunt fingertips pressing bruises into your ass cheeks as he grips tighter onto you, your hips winding into his face.

“Lucien…” you whine as you bubble and brew.

His eyes look up at you, mouth and nose buried into your core as you come; the silvery moon bathing your face in sweet, adoring kisses through its crescent smile as your body heats and your bones shake.

He lets you taste it as he rises up and kisses you, slipping his honey coated tongue back between your lips as you groan.

"Taste so fucking good." He groans.

His fingers attack your pussy, sliding in and pumping fast as you gasp. Clutching onto his shoulders, the silk bunches up around them in knotted waterfalls spilling over your knuckles as you claw and squeeze.

“Come for me again, baby.” Lucien encourages in a low, deep tone. Eyes watching you as the shadows of the alcove play over his ragged face like Rorschach inkblots.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here, amante,” he grunts as you squeeze and contract around his fingers brushing over your spot. “And then I’m gonna take you away from here, away from that piece of shit, and fuck you again. And again.”

“Lucien, please…” you whimper.

“We belong together, baby. I fucking love you.” He mumbles into your lips. “I never stopped. Not once. And I know you didn’t either. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, baby... come for me, that's it, let go... come... Fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You cry out as your orgasm floods your body and his fingers. Your body shakes beyond your control, eyes glazed over and lost in a tumble of his sweet ramblings and bewitching ministrations.

“Come here.” Lucien reaches to his fly as he kisses your neck. His heady grunts sound like gravel in your ears, breath warming you with the acrid scent of smoke seeping into your pores.

He hoists your leg up over his thick arm, his hand coming to rest on your face again as you feel him run his cock through your folds. He dips his hips low as he breaks on through inside you.

“You feel that, you feel that all the way?” He asks, as he slides all the way in and out again.

“Lucien!” You gasp, your lips nipping onto his as you feel him pack you out. You never forgot the feel of him, so hard and thick.

"That's it, baby. Back where I belong."

His pants are desperate; puffy little breaths that soon grow into laboured whines of lusty need. Drunk off of you completely, sobriety smashed in an instant.

He vowed to stay away, to let you heal and move on, but he’s selfish. He knows he is. He can’t abstain, can’t ever quit you. It’s why he’s here, fucking another man’s woman because he’s selfish. Sabotaging every relationship he’s had since you, trapped in that cycle.

Basking in the addictive feel of your cunt squeezing around him as you come, watching as your eyes soar into the sky, howling his name into his mouth as he tastes your tongue and sucks on it greedily.

"Fuck, you feel so good." He grunts.

He comes inside you, filing you full, but he still keeps pumping, still keeps himself buried inside of you, fucking deep and slow. Unable to pull himself out of you, unable to be parted from you now that he has you back inside his hands.

You clutch on tighter to him, not wanting this to end; wanting to indulge in this secret shame in the back of the garden you've allowed yourself to wallow freely in.

He feels so good, so warm and thick. He peppers your face with kisses, the silk scruff of his jawline smooth against your cheeks. Your fingers coil in the curls behind his ears and the back of his bronzed neck, damp with sweat.

They tangle in the chains, one that you're pretty certain in your cock-addled haze that was a gift from you that he still wears - you pull him closer to you still.

“Come inside me again, Lucien,” you whisper as he pecks over your face gently.

“I wanna spend forever coming inside of you,” he whispers back, voice breaking.

And you know he means it. He always means what he says, it's just the follow through is often lost in translation. He’s not a bad man, you know this in your heart.

You spent days convincing your reflection in the mirror that he's not a bad man; he was just weak when you needed him to be strong - an unravelling mess. But he was your mess for time.

And now that he’s inside you again like this, so uncouthly unperturbed that anyone could venture down here and see him claiming you, you know a part of you still loves him too.

You believed it when he said he loved you and you suspect he probably hasn’t loved anyone else like he loved you.

It was raw, unfiltered. Intense. You know it because you felt it too. It hurt, viscerally. Consumed you both and spit you out.

A gaping wound that you’ve not been able to stitch up and every day you’re bleeding out. You wanna tell him how much it fucking hurt to watch him willingly drown, inadvertently pulling you under with him.

You want to lash out and scratch at his beautiful face, slap him and bite and bruise him like he bruised you.

But instead you kiss him, you hear him falter and become weak inside your ear and he groans and whimpers your name as he comes once more.

You let him flood you again, feel it dripping down your thighs, thick and warm as he stains your skin with him all over again.

In the afterglow of your post-coital bliss, your hand traces the contours of his weathered face, running lightly through the wiry greys along his jaw.

Lucien nestles into your palm, lips finding the skin to press in a kiss.

You want to believe it, you want to believe he’s changed and grown and learnt. That he's spent time reflecting, healing.

But you're still marred with the splinters of hurt that’ve lacerated your heart.

Looking into the rich, warm browns of melted chocolate, flecked with golden hues that dance like sunlight on water, you allow yourself to remember the days when Lucien was your everything.

When his gruff, nicotine soaked laughter was the sound that filled your days, and his touch chased away any fears you could harbour.

The ways he would fuck you for hours into the night; his sweat soaking into your skin, as you gnawed on his shoulder, like perfume you’d wear for days without showering him away.

You remember the first time you noticed the signs - the subtle scent of hard liquor on his breath, the empty bottles hidden away in the depths of your home in the most unusual of places. At first, you’d dismissed it as stress or a passing phase, but as the weeks turned into months, the truth became impossible to ignore.

You’d watched helplessly as Lucien spiralled further into the grip of his addiction, his once-charming demeanour giving way to bouts of anger and despair that would paint your bathroom in plumes of his vomit. You remember the sleepless nights spent drowning in tears, the ache in your chest that refused to relent, the biting emptiness that hollowed out your soul into a pair of unblinking eyes and a heart cemented over.

You wonder if that’s why you’re with Mitch now. Wonder if perhaps that this is all you deserve; that you’ll never be happy, so what's the point in trying to fight for it?

The nights had become endless cycles of fear and uncertainty, each day a desperate struggle to hold your crumbling world together. You’d become withdrawn, adept at hiding the truth from your friends and family, plastering on a smile to conceal the pain.

But amidst the chaos and despair, there had been moments of hope - fleeting glimpses of the man you had once loved, the man buried beneath the weight of his addiction and trying to swim out of it.

And though you had often questioned your decision to stay as long as you did, you can't deny the flicker of love that still burns within you for him, the belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there’s still a chance for redemption.

And you hate yourself for allowing your mind to go there.

Lucien reaches to the bush and plucks an azalea off the stem and combs it behind your ear.

“Beautiful.” He says with a smile. Not a smirk, a smile.

“I can’t go back to that place, Lucien.” You say, shaking your head.

You stare out at the house and the sounds of music and chatter still tinkle down the pathway towards you both.

“I know,” he says, running a hand through his hair listlessly.

You untangle the flower from your hair and look at it resting in your palm, the velvety petals smoothed out under your thumb as you stroke.

“But you can’t stay here, either.” His voice pulls you from your swampy thoughts.

"No," you agree. You turn to glance back at the house.

“Come with me,” Lucien pleads softly, deep eyes searching yours out. "What's stopping you, baby?"

Fingertips on your chin tilt you towards him. You tuck the flower inside his breast pocket and he looks forlorn as you do, eyes sinking and any trace of a smile vanishing.

You wrap your dress around your waist and he watches you belt it up into a messy bow on your hip. You can still feel him pooling between your legs.

You take in a deep breath, a steadying one that seeks clarity through the confusion, and inhale the familiar, swarming fragrance of the azaleas one last time.

My first time writing for Lucien and I'd love to know your thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog too so others can read and enjoy. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | LUCIEN FLORES MASTERLIST | FLORA & FAUNA MASTERLIST

Tagging @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @undercoverpena @linzels-blog @avastrasposts @trulybetty

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #lucien flores #the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!reader #jett's writing

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hollybell51 · 10 months

Note

here me out. Adam Warlock and sex pollen.

It's ok - one

Navigation

Part two

Adam Warlock x AFAB!Reader

Marvel Cinematic Universe, Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3 (outside canon)

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: foreign flora has an unexpected effect on your human physiology.

Content: sex pollen and associated DUBCON, fuck-or-die, smut, maybe very slight perviness (but I don't think it's creepy or really triggering), Adam being down bad, SMUT. Gratuitous smut. Non-explicit masturbation, handjobs (kinda), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Adam's a virgin, reader isn't, bit on angst, unresolved, there will be part 2. Maybe some out of character-ness, but it's hard cause he only had like 10 minutes screen time so what I've written is based on my own interpretation and what I've read since I watched the movie

Notes: I hear you anon! I actually haven't done sex pollen before, though I always found it kinda fun, so this was new to me. I actually wrote a part 2 which I'll post with this, and that's much of the same xx. Also sorry I haven't done anything in ages, I've been super under the weather and busy so I haven't really had time lmao. Anyways, have fun with this!

“Hey, did you get through those notes?” Your voice echoed in the stillness of the forest, seeming to bounce off the lush petals of the giant flowers towering overhead. The local flora was all supersized, bigger than anything Adam had ever seen, and filtered the harsh light of the planet’s nearest star in sickly sweet hues of pinks, greens, yellows and even blue.

“Breathable atmosphere, mostly docile wildlife. Predators are nocturnal.”

“Ok, just… How much longer are we gonna be out here?”

Adam turned, letting the machete you’d armed him with – “bush bashing. Gotta learn those life skills, huh?” – hang by his side. You were panting, face flushed and beaded with sweat as you planted your hands on your hips and frowned at him. Even like this, speckled with bright yellow and orange pollen and clearly uncomfortable, Adam couldn’t ignore the odd swooping sensation in his gut. It was like someone was constantly pulling a rug from under his feet.

He checked the time displayed on the tablet. “Two hours. Maybe less. Are you ok?”

You groaned, but nodded and walked the few paces to stand beside him. “Goddamn flower dumped its load all over me. You sure this shit is breathable?”

The atmosphere. Right, you were joking about the humidity. “If you don’t mind a bit of a steam,” he tried, smiling at the short bark of laughter the remark conjured.

You tapped his machete-holding hand, jerking your head towards the wall of fleshy greenery. “Nice. Let’s just get this over with.”

Adam simply nodded. The falling feeling had been replaced by something warm and sticky, the simple touch and your laugh flowing like syrup to sit low inside him. It had been like this for a while now, since he’d started really talking to you, spending time with you, noticing things about you. Like your hair, now dusted with fiery plant spores and stuck to your forehead, and how it caught the lights of Knowhere just right when you sat down beside him to eat. Or the little wrinkles around your eyes and mouth when you smiled – really smiled. The High Evolutionary had disliked wrinkles and other physical signs of ageing, viewed them as imperfect and a blight on existence. Adam could have stared at yours all day.

“Can I see that?”

Again, Adam stopped and turned. You were craning at the tablet, your hand absently running around the collar of your suit.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just… It’s really hot. Do you feel that?”

Adam shrugged. Temperature wasn’t a huge concern to him, but you looked truly uncomfortable now. “Humidity can often make it feel hotter than it is.”

“I know, but…” You grimaced, pulling your collar down further and wriggling your shoulders. “I feel really hot. Worse than before.”

Adam frowned. He knew humans were often sensitive to their environment, much more so than was practical, but you seemed more affected than you should be. There were places on Earth hotter than the current reading, you’d told him that, so why were you–?

The comm on his wrist buzzed, Rocket’s voice crackling across the emergency frequency. “Warlock? You copy?”

“Yeah,” Adam replied, still watching you. You were taking a semi-restrained drink from your flask, no doubt aware that it had to last the whole trek and back.

“Is (Y/N) with you?”

“Yeah, why?” As he watched, you held the back of your hand up to your forehead, then your cheek, then your neck. The suit still seemed to be bothering you.

“Are you on the ground?”

“Yes.”

“You need to get out of there.”

Adam didn’t think he was imagining the urgency in the raccoon’s voice, distorted as it was over the distance. He was in an entirely different corner of the galaxy, after all. “Why? What’s wrong?”

A pause, then, “The flowers, they’re… uh, they’re kinda…”

“They are very powerful aphrodisiacs!” Ah, Kraglin, just as worried-sounding as Rocket. “They can be harmful to humans!”

Your other hand had joined the first on your face, but it didn’t seem to be doing a lot. You’d managed to get the zipper on your suit down, the neck pulled down to expose your shoulders and collar bones, the skin there just as flushed as your face.

“What?”

Rocket groaned, but Kraglin either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Aphrodisiacs,” he repeated. “If she breathes the pollen her body temperature will rise until she develops a fever, and if she doesn’t have sex she could die.”

His entire (relatively short) life, Adam’s mother – and pretty much everyone else – had been more than generous in pointing out that he was lacking, that he was slower than he should be, that he was not up to the same speed as they were. It was because he’d left the cocoon early, he knew that, but he’d never really felt that much slower. Maybe a little, but he’d always understood where he’d gone wrong and why. This was totally different. For the first time, Adam felt like he was lagging behind.

“What?” he asked again. “What do you mean if she doesn’t have sex she’ll die?”

“Makes ya horny, genius. Means what exactly that. Fuck or die.” Rocket took over, clearing his throat. “I’m reading off the notes, bit further down. It’s small, so you might have missed it. It says it works normal for most species, but humans are more fragile so…”

Yes, that made sense. Adam couldn’t remember that in what he’d read, but he’d also been distracted by your legs slung across his and the little wrinkle that had appeared between your brows as you’d carefully packed your bag, sliding everything perfectly into place. He’d wanted to just reach across and run his thumb over the line, smooth it away forever.

Now, that same bag thudded as it hit the ground and you frantically fanned yourself, eyes closed. There was no telling if you’d heard the conversation, but Adam didn’t want to waste time finding out.

“Ok, I’ll, uh, get her back to the ship.”

“She ok?”

He paused for a moment, then settled on, “yeah, she’ll be fine.”

“You got this, golden boy.” The radio crackled and fell silent, and that was that. What a great help.

“(Y/N)?” he ventured, picking up your pack. “Did you get all that?”

You nodded, wriggling to get the zipper further undone. Your back was beaded with sweat, and in any other circumstance, maybe Adam would have let himself dwell more on the soft contours of your spine, the roll of your shoulder blades, the harsh line of your bra strap in contrast to your smooth skin.

“I’m really… It’s so hot, holy shit. Why’s it gotta be so hot?”

“I think that’s the fever bit. Come on, we should get back.”

You drew a sharp breath when his hand met your back, your whole body tensing.

Adam withdrew at light speed. “Sorry, I didn’t–”

“No,” you cut him off, “no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Ok.”

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since you’d set out, but it felt like a long time to get back. You were slower, for one, stumbling and muttering apologies whenever you became disorientated – which was often – and wriggling like your clothes were full of insects. Your breath came heavy, your skin becoming more and more flushed as you drew closer to the ship, and you looked so uncomfortable it made something twist inside Adam.

“I heard it,” you panted, stepping clumsily over a root. “What Kraglin said.”

“Oh,” was all Adam could think of.

“You don’t— You shouldn’t— You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Hey, no, it’s ok. You’ll be ok.”

“I’m– fuck, Adam.”

“You’ll be ok, (Y/N). We can sort this out.”

“I don’t wanna force you to do anything–”

How cruel could the Universe be? Adam wondered as he patted your shoulder – then regretted it when you stumbled. You were the first person he’d really wanted anything with, the first person he’d thought about and imagined and, dare he say it, fantasised about, and now you were worried you were going to somehow hurt him or make him do something he didn’t want to. It was sweet, bitterly so, and ironic enough to feel like a punch in the stomach. If anyone should be worried, it should be him. After all, how were you ever going to look at him the same way after this? How was he going to look at himself the same way?

“I’m so…” You broke off as you emerged into the clearing where the ship was parked, a sob – relief or something else, Adam couldn’t tell – torn from you.

Your legs were shaking now, your skin so hot Adam could feel it through the material of your suit. He helped you quickly aboard, avoiding your eyes as you peeled the suit from your shoulders and pushed yourself against the cool wall. The pollen still lay over your hair and clothes, insultingly cheerful and innocent.

He sighed. “We should get rid of that.”

“Huh?”

“The suit. It’s got pollen all over it.”

“Oh, right.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, peeling the material from your body without a second thought. Well. Adam hadn’t expected that. Trying not to watch as you sunk down to the floor, he shoved the offending clothing into the disposal to be dealt with later.

“You should probably take a shower. There’s pollen in your hair and… on you.”

You nodded, legs pressed firmly together, arms spread over the cool surface at your back. “Yeah, sure, I… Can you… Fuck, Adam, I’m sorry I—”

“It’s ok, (Y/N), don’t worry.” It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, but seemed to help a little. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need…” You trailed off in a low whimper, your legs shaking now. You didn’t even seem to notice you were in nothing but your underwear. “I…”

Again, that twisting feeling. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with a relieved sigh, your head tipping back.

So Adam went with you, helping you into the tiny decontamination spray shower, trying to avoid touching you as much as possible – not for lack of trying on your part. You seemed to gravitate towards him, pressing your body into his hands wherever they lay, leaning hard against him. Your breath was still laboured, your face still pink, but it seemed less painful now that you had direction and were free of the suit. You’d stopped wriggling, anyway.

You sighed as you sank down to the floor, your fingers vice-like around Adam’s. His free hand found the taps easily, turning on a cool jet and directing it to the pollen in your hair. It flowed down your neck and shoulders, an orange river spiralling into the drain.

“I’m sorry,” you said for what must have been the millionth time, your own free hand pressed between your legs, tension radiating from every line of your body. “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

“Hey, no, don’t be. It’s going to be ok.” He crouched, ignoring the water as he reached across to lay a hand on your forehead. You practically whined at the contact, your fingers tangling even harder with his, skin hot despite the cold water.

“(Y/N)?” he said softly.

“Hm?

“Rocket, uh… Rocket said the pollen’s an aphrodisiac.”

“Yeah, I – fuck – I know. Trust me.”

“He said it works, um, strongly on humans.” Adam paused, heart pounding. Why did it have to be you, of all people? And why him? “If you don’t,” he continued, “you know… The fever might get high enough to kill you.”

“Oh fuck, come on!” Water sprayed where your foot slapped the shower floor, your voice echoing.

Adam had never felt worse about anything. “I’m sorry, I should have checked the notes first, I didn’t even consider–”

You didn’t seem to care. “So now I’m gonna overheat and die?”

“Unless you have sex. With someone.”

Your head thudded on the wall, a sob flopping wetly from your throat. “Fuck this. Does it have to be with someone? Will it work if I just… do it myself?”

“Uh, actually, I don’t know. Maybe.” He paused, unsure, then, “Do you want to try?”

“Yeah, yeah I—” You took a shuddering breath, blinking through the water dripping over your face. “Yeah.”

Adam nodded, standing. “I’ll… I’ll be around. If you need anything.”

“Thanks.” It was barely a whisper, so wretched it made his heart hurt. You released his hand, and he turned quickly to leave you alone, your relieved moan following him out the door. Adam didn’t like this, not at all. You weren’t quiet, though he supposed that wasn’t your fault, and he hated, really hated the heat your moans and gasped curses sparked in him. It was wrong, so wrong, and he should not be here. But he couldn’t leave you.

“Fuck, fuck oh my God–” you cried eventually, a wet thud echoing through the wall. “Oh my– fuck fucking fuck!”

Adam listened carefully, unsure whether or not he should…

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t…” You broke off in a sob, genuine fear lacing your voice. “Fuck.”

“(Y/N)?” He stepped back into the shower, pausing only for a moment to take in the mess that was you. Your hand was still between your legs, thighs spread wide, panties crumpled in a wet bundle in the corner and your bra pulled halfway down your torso. In any other situation, it would have been the hottest thing Adam had ever seen.

“I can’t… It didn’t work, I’m still so hot, why am I so goddamn hot?”

Adam cursed as he crouched beside you, taking your free hand only a little gingerly. He cursed fate and circumstance, himself for not reading the notes properly, Rocket and Kraglin for not miraculously having a cure, and you for still looking so fucking beautiful while you were quite literally dying. He swore that if – when – he and you got out of this, he was going to burn that whole jungle.

“We’ll fix this,” he assured you, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You sighed at the contact, shifting closer.

He frowned. “Is that…?”

“Feels better when you touch me,” you murmured.

That was going to haunt his dreams, he just knew it. This whole ordeal was going to haunt him, and probably not in the way it should have. He already knew he’d be seeing your shoulders silky with the water, your back slicked with sweat and the smooth curve of your thigh for months, let alone everything else. Wrong wrong wrong wrong, he reminded himself.

“Do you…” He stopped. It was absurd. It was wrong. It was not something he’d ever live down.

Your eyes were open, overly bright and dark with want, searching his face like he held all the answers. You were still so flushed, hair plastered to your forehead and dark with the water, lips parted and so, so pink.

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes.” The syllable was torn from you, ragged and desperate, followed quickly by another sob. You shook your head. “I don’t want to pressure you, don’t wanna make you do something you don’t want to.”

He could have laughed. How were you still so focussed on that of all things? It brought that syrupy feeling back, only now it was darker, hotter, and tinged with guilt.

“It’s ok,” he said softly. “(Y/N), it’s ok. Don’t worry.” He carefully moved his hand to your face, pushing the wet hair off your forehead.

You leaned into it as you had before, your eyes closed. “Then yeah, I… Fuck, Adam, I want you so bad. You have no idea how much I want you.”

It wasn’t you. Not really. He did his best to ignore the spread of the tingling warmth, his own want, as he helped you to your feet and did his best to dry you – again, as gently as he could. You just let him, casting your bra away when he paused at it, still struggling to stand and trying your best to get as close to him as you could.

Vaguely, Adam wondered how the hell this would actually work. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with much of anything before he met you and the other Guardians, let alone sex, and he had no idea if you had either. He somehow doubted you were in the same position as he was – you were gorgeous, after all, and so friendly it was a wonder he hadn’t ended up head over heels for you sooner.

He really wished this wasn’t happening. He wished you really did want him, that he’d worked up the guts to ask Quill about Gamora and how that had gone before he’d taken off, then told you about his feelings properly. If he’d gotten that far, he was sure you’d have shown him how it went with the same patience and care you’d shown him everything, and he’d have liked to have taken his time. He’d have liked to kiss you, touch your pretty hands and hold you close, feel you all over and let you take the lead, tell you about the things he thought about you and everything you did to him.

But it was happening, and you were probably not going to want to talk to him after it had run its course. At least you’d be alive.

You’d stumbled to a bed – one of the standard fold-out ones – beside him, and now he sat you down on its edge. You hadn’t released your hold, pulling him down with you, hands flying straight to the fastening of his own damn suit.

“Is this ok?” you breathed, practically vibrating with anticipation. Your hands were flitting everywhere; his hair, his neck, along his jaw, his face, his own hands. You were very clearly trying very hard to make yourself slow down, wait, and Adam’s heart melted.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s all ok. You do what you need to.”

A sigh of relief, a soft “thank you,” and then you were clambering into his lap and peeling his clothes off like it was nothing, your lips hot and hard against his. Adam hadn’t kissed anyone before, but he’d seen enough movies – most of them with you – to know that this wasn’t how it usually went. There was little technique or rhythm, more your tongue licking into his mouth, teeth occasionally knocking against his, so forceful he wondered if it was hurting you.

You’d completely stripped him remarkably fast, and now your hands explored his shoulders and arms, trailing goosebumps down his chest and stomach. You fit perfectly over him, and he allowed himself to run his own hands up your back, down again, over your hips, finally settling in the curve of your waist. How often had he wondered what it would be like to hold you there?

You moaned, the heat at your centre slick and wet against his own rapidly hardening dick. And now you were moving, too, grinding against him like your life depended on it and why had nobody told Adam it could feel like this?

You’d broken the kiss, your lips swollen and even redder than they’d been before, your hands now in his hair, fingers tugging ever so gently. Adam had to stifle his own little sound of pleasure, bending his head to kiss at your neck and those collar bones he could look at forever. You gasped a “yes” when his tongue darted out to taste the skin, the faint tang of sweat mingling with the sweetness of the water that had dripped there from your still-damp hair.

Your fingers tightened in his own hair, the delicious pull sending more heat straight down. You directed his head in that direction, too, arching your back until his mouth found the soft mound of your breast and he licked, then on a whim, sucked.

“Oh, yes, Adam–” you panted, your movements becoming even more frantic.

“Hm?”

“Oh, that’s– that’s so good.”

Did you know what you were doing to him? Adam supposed you didn’t, sucking again at a different spot, licking it, placing a kiss there, moving on. Rinse and repeat.

Then your hands disappeared from his hair – that was a shame, but this wasn’t about him – and the next moment your fingers were wrapped around his cock and you were stroking it better than he ever had, your palm a million times softer than his, sliding easily with your own slick.

“Can I?” you were asking. “Please, Adam, can I?”

You could do whatever you wanted, Adam didn’t care. If he’d thought about it, he’d have realised that he actually liked the idea of you having your way with him, using him for your own pleasure, taking what you needed from him. But he didn’t think about it, he was too caught up in the smell and taste of your skin, the little sounds you were making, the wonderful movement of your hand.

“Yes,” he breathed, “yes, go ahead, (Y/N). Please, just– just go ahead.”

You were moving, rising on those wonderful thighs and your hand was moving too, something hot and slick rubbing over the head of his dick and then holy shit Adam’s mind went blank. If he’d thought you felt hot before, it was nothing compared to this. He groaned in unison with you as you sank down, taking him fully and gripping his shoulders, your breath fanning his face. You fit perfectly around him, squeezing spongy and smooth, and nothing could have prepared him for it.

You braced yourself on his shoulders, rising off him – for a second he wondered if that was it, if you were pulling away – before you sank back down. You did it again, then again, and again and again until the only sounds in the room were your breaths mingling with his, your unrestrained little moans and his own half-stifled ones, the slap of your skin on his.

Adam held you close, hands still anchored to your waist, transfixed by the silken heat of you and the brush of your chest against his, the bounce of your breasts and solidity of your body on top of his.

“Feels so fucking good,” you panted. “No idea, so fucking – shit – good–”

“(Y/N),” he choked, unable to form a single coherent thought.

“You’re so good, Adam oh my God.”

Something was building in his stomach, he could feel it. The warm syrupiness was gone, something hotter and harder and so tight coiling in its place, growing with each moan and sigh and whispered curse from you. It was so much, almost too much, and half of his brain wanted you to stop right there. But the other half, the half that created those late-night daydreams, real dreams, half-formed ideas and scenes in his mind… That half wanted you to go harder, slam your hips down faster and say it again, tell him he felt good, he was doing well.

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you murmured, as if you’d read his mind. “You’re so… ah, fuck, Adam, I’m so close–”

Close to what? he wondered vaguely, but the praise was spinning that coil faster, faster, tighter and faster until–

“Adam, oh, Adam—!”

It snapped, electric and white hot and rolling up his spine like a damn shockwave. He could hear you crying his name, your movements slowing and your body spasming around his. He’d cum before, of course he had, but never like this. That had been small and so quick he hadn’t even realised what was happening until he was spilling into his hand or the bedsheets, confined to his dick, never spreading through his whole body and never with that glorious buildup. This was something else entirely.

After what felt like an age, Adam’s mind returned to his body. You were shaking, collapsed against his chest, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his around your waist, your face pressed into his hair, his own nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder. You fit so perfectly against him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice husky even to his own ears.

You didn’t lift your head, but he felt you nod.

“Are you sure? You’re shaking.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’m fine. I feel better, actually. How about you?”

Adam just nodded, unwilling to move. He could feel himself softening inside you, but didn’t want to lose the warmth and the feeling that he was yours, that he was fully with you. But… “Do you want me to stay?”

No response, then a deep sigh. “Yes,” you whispered.

Adam ignored the butterflies and the spark of hope that conjured, opting instead for practicality. He could feel the rapidly cooling sweat on his own back, the coldness of your damp hair, the mess of spend around the place where your body swallowed his.

“I’m going to clean you up,” he said softly, “then I’ll come back. Alright?”

“Ok.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted you off himself and set you down further back on the bed. You whined at the loss of contact, curling in on yourself and shivering. But you weren’t so hot anymore, the flush had been replaced by what he could only describe as a glow and the overly bright look had vanished from your eyes. You really did look better.

After a moment’s hesitation, Adam rose and turned away, making for the cabinet where the medpacks and other supplies were kept. You wanted him to stay. You’d told him he felt good. You’d held him afterwards, let him hold you, and had made no move to make him leave. If anything, you’d looked disappointed when he’d broken the contact. But still, you weren’t yourself.

He paused, a horrible thought crossing his mind. Was he going to end up like Quill? Hopelessly chasing a woman who didn’t feel the same way about him? He hoped not, he’d seen how miserable the man was. But you weren’t hard the way Gamora was -- as much as Adam knew her, anyway, which wasn't much. You were soft and open, and you did care about him, he was sure of it. At least you had.

Shaking his head, Adam returned to the room with a damp cloth in hand.

“(Y/N)?” he asked softly, pausing at the door. No answer.

You were where he’d left you, he saw as he stepped around it, still curled up on your side. Your eyes were closed, the rise and fall of your ribs deep and even. Asleep. The surge of tenderness surprised him, strong enough that he was sure he’d been swamped by an actual wave. You really were beautiful, even damp and naked, lips swollen and hair mussed.

He was careful not to wake you as he brushed the hair off your face, wiped away the worst of the mess, and then pulled a blanket over you. He wondered briefly if he should stay with you, slide down beside you and wrap his arms around your waist, warm you with his body heat and be there to tell you it was all alright when you woke up.

You shifted, heaving a deep breath and adjusting your position minutely, and that decided it. Adam couldn’t disturb you, as much as he wanted to, and there was still your suit and discarded underwear, not to mention the original task. On an impulse, he bent and placed a soft kiss on your forehead before turning, scooping his own clothes off the floor and making for the shower.

#adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock smut #adam warlock x you #gotg3 #mcu #fanfiction #fanfic #shameless smut #smut #marvel #gotg vol 3

435 notes · View notes

aholefilledwithtwigs · 7 months

Text

Future thinking

One of the hurdles faced with human/mechanical hybridization is the long term viability of any port installed on the human body. There are multiple medical applications currently where permanent to semi permanent ports are implanted, acting as a fixed gateway between the systems. The problem is keeping this hole happy— stop the body from pushing it out while not getting infected.

It’s the seawater donut issue. Humans are essentially donut shaped bags of seawater, carrying around our private oceans of nutrients and hormones (the donut hole is your digestive system passing through the middle). All complex life on earth is an expansion on this basic concept—keep good stuff in, keep bad stuff out, and a tube where you control stuff coming in and out.

How this plays out in humans is that skin acts as the main barrier (outside the donut), the digestive tract is outside the body, and your intestines pull all the nutrients they need and everything else passes through. This is why punctures to the intestines are so dangerous— it crosses the internal/external body barrier and allows your gut bacteria into your body cavity. Gut flora is incredibly important for our body to function, but it is technically outside the body, and is dangerous once inside.

So this is a long preamble to say that grafting monitors to your arm and passing wires through the skin are not without potential complications, because it goes against our body’s safety protocols.

I think it would be safer to dock our tech to the body’s established trade port. The stomach

167 notes · View notes

izukuisbaby · 2 years

Text

⊹˚.⋆ SHOPPING HEADCANONS - MY HERO ACADEMIA

୭ flora's notes : this wasn't planned but I'm on vacation and izuku owns my heart, I couldn't stop thinking about him when I bought clothes 😔✋🏼

୭ female reader/ male reader and gn reader friendly 💓

m.list | comment and reblog if u enjoyed !

⊹˚.⋆ IZUKU MIDORIYA

℘. he insists on tagging along with you on your shopping trips. he just loves to feel useful and wants to give his opinion on what you try on !

℘. and he's honest too ! if something looks bad on you he will nicely tell you : "I think this doesn't flatter your body well enough", "you should try another colour baby ! I've seen you wear this one before and you looked stunning/handsome !"

℘. and if one of your clothes fits you well expect a SHOWER of compliments "Y/N THAT'S THE ONE, this looks so good on you and the colour definitely lightens up your face. YOU LOOK SO CUTE oh my god" and he would be a blushing mess🥰

℘. learns about your colorimetria so he can pick clothes for you to try on or as gifts !

⊹˚.⋆ KATSUKI BAKUGO

℘. you have to DRAG him to the shopping centre because he hates being around a lot of people. he says they are impolite, careless and disrespectful and he would throw a tantrum if one dares slightly push him to get to a display.

℘. is grumpy the whole time : "hurry up goddamn it, you take 3 hours to undress I'd better get in there and remove your clothes myself", "tf is that granny outfit, who in their right mind would sell that", "this colour makes you look like you're gonna throw up your guts dumbass, get rid of it"

℘. when something suits you, he will very discretely smile and his eyes will sparkle,

"looks good i guess, take it"

"you sure, you don't seem convinced katsu ?"

"MOTHERFUCKING TAKE IT"

⊹˚.⋆ SHOTO TODOROKI

℘. "sho, you're not supposed to come in the fitting room while i change !"

"oh, I'm sorry y/n i thought it was okay since i already saw you naked"

"SHO- I mean technically you're right but you could AT LEAST close the curtain, I wouldn't want everyone to see my underwear"

℘. yeah shoto opens the curtain WIDE instead of asking if you're dressed or not. to him, the world stops when you two are together and he only sees you. so of course he wouldn't notice the 20 other people around you in the fitting area, who can now see your fully exposed body

℘. shoto apologizes and is even more of a blushing mess than izuku at this point AND he pays for your stuff (rich bf shoto💥💳💥💳💥)

℘. he is whipped and biased, he thinks everything looks good on you so he isn't of much help but he is a huge support and compliments you a lot♡

℘. ... you'd have to call Mina to actually get advice though -

1K notes · View notes

gallusrostromegalus · 11 months

Note

Re: zanpakuto

what about the zanpakuto that have more than one wielder at one (Toshiro)(diamond dust rebellion) also can zanpakuto die? are they forged from a dead, once-powerfull, hollow?

(for An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy)

... imagine zanpaktou as... Optional gut flora.

A human is it's own organism, and bacteria are their own organisms but both work a lot better together. All "souls" are composite organisms, really - you are not just yourself you are also made up of the influences of friends, teachers, books you've read, weird cultural phenomena etc.

The process of hollowfication is therefore a bit like suffering a major gastric disorder and losing a huge portion of your gut flora. Sure, you *can* live like that, but wow, it sucks. But nature abhors a vacuum, and a hollow hole is effectively waiting to be filled, and not just in the way most commonly found in Ao3 's explicit works section - hollows very literally accumulate smaller soul organisms and living fragments of other souls like walking spiritual magnets, which is kind of FUCKING ESSENTIAL to keeping the balance of souls between the planes :)

An asauchi (remember the pre-zanpaktou spirits?) is, essentially, a type of smaller soul or living fragment, but one that specializes in living in hosts that are relatively intact. If they attach to a living soul and/or a tool, it will manifest as a zanpaktou when that soul dies and moves on. If the soul is having a rough go of it, the asauchi starts getting desperate to keep its host alive, and can turn into an inner hollow. An inner hollow is not a bad thing, per se- it's VERY eager to keep you alive, after all. It's just willing to keep you alive at the expense of others, if necessary. So whether that inner hollow takes over or otherwise misbehaves is a matter of the host's self-control. The more desperate your situation, the harder it is to maintain that control.

Meanwhile, if things improve internally or externally, an inner hollow can transform into a regular asauchi or a zanpaktou if the host has a weapon, amd vice versa- a desperate enough zanpaktou can hollowfy.

You can also have more than one of these guys hanging out in your soul at once, like a pack of hopefully friendly remoras on a shark. The VISOREDS all have at least two- the zanpaktou they started with, and a fun new hollow that moved in when they nearly died during TBTP. Ichigo inherited a zanpaktou, a hollow AND a gob of divine cancerous tumor! Kyoraku Shunsui is hosting two zanpaktou- his own, and the Ise Clan treasure. Some zanpaktou are two souls acting as one, like Ukitake's (Ukitake is ALSO hosting more than one symbiotic soul- Mimihagi is more or less living in the same space as the twins or where Ukitake's theoretical inner hollow might live. Perhaps that's why Ukitake has been able to avoid hollowfication despite the extreme bullshit he endures...)

As for the lifespans of asauchi... It varies wildly. Some live long enough to be transferred from history to host, like the kuchiki clan's Senbonsakura. Others bond so closely to their wielder they die with them. Some follow the same cycle of reincarnation most souls do, others die and mange to become large enough to host others.

As for where they come from, the zanpaktou that most shinigami wield pass through the Royal Forge. The Royal Forge is what happened to the Soul King's stomach and part of his torso after he got dismembered- his stomach became an enormous hot and acidic chamber, and his chest... Well. Getting dismembered was not a great time for him, psychologically speaking, and now the Divine Hollow Hole draws asauchi spirits from all over- soul fragments, small spirits, ghosts that got a bit lost during reincarnation - and they stay in the pit, healing, growing, playing and sparring until they are ready to leave and be bonded to a weapon.

Not even Oetsu, the forge master knows all the details of this process. The spirits just seem to know when it's their time and what kind of weapon they will become. Sometimes it's a collaborative process between Oetsu and the asauchi, other times they kick in his door at 1am and go "HOW'S IT HANGING MOTHER FUCKER? JUST KIDDING, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT, I'M A SWORD MADE OF ACIDIC BLOOD."

"how does that even work?" Says Oetsu, pulling his shorts on.

"THE FUCK IF I KNOW, YOU'RE THE FORGE MASTER. CHOP CHOP BITCH."

Most of the resulting zanpaktou (an asauchi bonded to a weapon or tool) are carefully put aside and delivered to the shinigami academy where they will meet their wielders as students. Other, (more annoying) swords are tossed out the window to land where they will in the planes and meet whatever equally profoundly irritating bastard who can wield them.

...this may make more sense with pictures.

#aeiwam #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfiction

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evcrgardn · 1 year

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once upon a dream

jake sully x fem!navi!reader

genre: angst

warnings: mentions of death and blood, maybe a bit creepy, hurt (this was literally so painful to write)

note: first fic on this blog! <3 this is inspired by a scene that i love so much from braveheart and the jake and neteyam memory scene in atwow :(( this has been in my head for so long so i really wanted to turn it into a fic. this is very sad but i hope you guys will love it still :)) reblogs are appreciated! + will probably edit this when i have the time

.・゜゜・ Just when he was about to sleep, Jake’s ears perked up at the sound of footsteps outside the tent. He does not know why, but his gut tells him that he should check out whoever might that be. He slowly gets up, very carefully making his way out of the tent, not wanting to wake Neytiri and the kids up.

The sound led Jake deep into the forest. Along with the footsteps, the sound of flowing water from afar, as well as the chirping of the nocturnal creatures of the forest filled the peaceful night. He was unsure why he was even following the source of the footsteps, and why his heart was racing in his chest. Better be safe than sorry, he thinks. He would never forgive himself if anything bad happens to his family or his people just because he ignored this.

He then spots a silhouette, which seemed like that of a Na’vi’s, from afar. “Hey,” he calls out. “Who are you?” he asks in Na’vi, making the figure halt its steps and turn around, yet he still could not identify who it is. He was about to ask once more when the figure suddenly starts walking slowly towards his direction.

As the Na’vi figure comes closer and closer, Jake’s heartbeat goes incredibly faster. He draws his knife for his safety, although he surprisingly doesn’t really sense any danger from this person at all.

When the figure finally comes face to face with him, Jake’s knees suddenly feel weak, dropping to the ground, as well as the knife that was previously in his hand.

It was you.

I must be dreaming, Jake thinks. If so, then he wouldn't want to wake up from this dream. You look down at him as he kneels properly on one knee in front of you as if he is a knight kneeling before his queen. "Y/N," he utters your name, looking at you straight in the eye. “Oel ngati kameie.”

You gave him a warm smile that could light up the whole of Pandora, making his heart swell in his chest, "Oel ngati kameie, Ma'Jake."

Tears were starting to form in his eyes from hearing your voice for the first time in years. The longer he looked at you, the more tears came in. The bioluminescent flora lit up your face in a gorgeous purple hue, your freckles also glowing like the stars in the evening sky. Woodsprites were floating above you, a clear sign that Eywa brought you to him. You did not change a bit, your face still radiant and youthful as it was before.

You were as beautiful as the day he met you… and the last time he saw you, which was years ago, during the war against the Sky People. He remembers how your ikran led him deep in the forest to find your body covered in blood. He embraced you in his arms as he called for your name, so many times. He waited for you to respond to his touch, wishing that you’d open your eyes and give him that smile of yours that he loved so much. But no, you did none of that.

Instead, you laid there in Jake's arms as his heart breaks into pieces, your face peaceful as if you were just in a deep sleep. He could still remember that day as if it was just yesterday. He may have led the Na’vi clans to victory against the Sky People, but he felt defeated, because he lost you.

In fact, before the battle, you two made a vow to each other: that the two of you will survive, and after that, you will become a mated pair before Eywa and be together for the rest of your lives. Unfortunately, the vow was broken by you.

"Y/N, I missed you. It's been so long," he tearfully says. He could no longer hold back the tears. He could no longer hide the pain that he's been trying to keep to himself for so many years.

"And I you," you responded, reaching down to hold his hand and pull him up so you could face each other at eye level. Jake looked at you with so much love and longing. You were his woman. His first love, and you will always be.

"How are you?" you ask, bringing your hand up to his face to wipe his tears with your thumb. You smiled as you stared at him, your hand cupping his cheek. Your eyes scanned every part of his face. He had a few wrinkles showing he’s aged and faded battle scars, his golden eyes were glistening with tears. His hair is much longer and thicker than before, his body also larger now.

"I... I'm good. I'm happy to see you."

Jake has clearly changed over time but still looked as handsome as he was in his younger years. You could still see in him the reckless skxawng that you fell in love with.

"I see you are Olo'eyktan now... and you have a beautiful family. I am very proud of you, Ma'Jake." He's come so far. From just being a nobody, he became a warrior, became one of The People, became the sixth Toruk Makto, and now, the Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. Jake forces a soft smile though his pain is still evident. He hides it very well from everybody, but now that you're here in front of him, perhaps he could just let it show just this once. Even the strongest men can break down and cry.

"I think about you everyday, yawne. I'm sorry–"

"Hush. Do not," you cut him off, your index finger touching his lips. "I am with the Great Mother now. I am with The People... and I am happy. What happened has happened already. It is not your fault."

Jake could only nod at your words, though in his heart, he wishes that he could have prevented it. If he could turn back time, he wouldn't have let you fight in the battle, though he knows that isn't possible. You were a fearless warrior, and you surely wouldn't let yourself be left behind while others fought for your home. You would rather die fighting than stand and do nothing.

"You must wake now, Ma'Jake," you tell him, "It is almost morning."

Jake frowns at your words, his eyes glossy with tears and his ears folding back. "But I don't want to. I wish to stay here with you." He says, his voice laced with pain and desperation. Many years have passed since he last saw you... since he last felt your touch and heard your voice. He's fully aware that this is all a dream, yet who knows when you'll come back to visit him again? If this will be the first and the last time, he wishes to stay here with you for a bit longer before he goes back.

You took both of his hands in yours, rubbing circles on the back of his hands with your thumbs as a way to comfort him. "It is not your time yet. You have a family to protect. They need you. The People need you," you say, reminding him of his duties as a father and as Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. "The right time will come for you to join me." You placed your hand on Jake's chest, feeling the way his heart beats. "I will always be here. I will always watch over you," you assured him.

"I love you," Jake places his hand on top of yours, expressing his undying love for you. "I will always love you,” he adds. His voice already sounds raspy from crying.

"I love you, Ma'Jake. Take care of yourself," you say, giving him one last smile before you vanished into thin air.

"Ma'Jake, wake up."

Jake wakes up to the sound of Neytiri's voice. She was looking at him, her large eyes were filled with worry. "You were crying, Ma'Jake. I was worried. I had to wake you up."

Jake sits up, wiping his eyes that were indeed wet with his own tears. It seems that he was literally crying. He turns his head to Neytiri. "I saw her, Neytiri," he whispers.

Neytiri smiles at him, fully aware who Jake is talking about. You.

Jake rarely speaks about you, but Neytiri knows that he still carries the pain of losing you in his heart. She has no hard feelings about it, really, for she has witnessed the beautiful romance that blossomed between you two. She knows Jake is true to her and their kids, but she also understands that it is impossible to forget someone you love, most especially a first love. It is the same for her and the late Tsu'tey.

Jake recalls how heavenly your voice sounded like and how angelic you looked. He smiles. "She visited me in my dream. It was wonderful. It felt so real."

He hopes you’ll come and visit him again soon.

#jake sully #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar james cameron #avatar the way of water #atwow #jake sully imagine #jake sully x reader #jake sully fluff #jake sully angst #avatar x reader #avatar imagine #so nervous to post this but yeah

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uniquevoidflowers · 8 months

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Visions of Tears

@unexpectedstormy, here is the one about Sky and his vision about TOTK!

(I also tried to write in third person for once!)

Sky’s POV

“Off to sleep with you all! Remember, first watch is Warriors, second watch is Wild and third watch is Sky.” Time demanded.

Everybody nodded in acknowledgement and crept to their bedrolls. Sky sighed and closed his eyes letting the crackling of the fire sooth him as he awaited a peaceful slumber until his watch.

__________

Two people, which Sky recognized as Wild & Flora were walking in what looked like some sort of underground cave. Flora held up a flaming torch and with a contemplative look on her face examined her surroundings, while Wild followed close behind her. Wild had some additions to his blue tunic that Sky knew he treasured. The only one who had ever laid a hand on that tunic was the cook himself. Flora’s hair was cut short, unlike how Sky had seen before. Flora’s hair was usually long and flowing down.

Sky had a very bad feeling about this, a gut feeling that something was going to go wrong. A flash, and suddenly the pair were arriving at a huge room with something peculiar in sight. Sky saw a corpse and a glowing teal hand grasping the corpse. Sky had just noticed the weird red malice floating through the air and his stomach sunk. Malice was a very bad sign.

Flora and Wild slowly walked closer in wonder of the sight before them, when abruptly, the teal arm made a noise and broke off of the corpse. Sky startled, alarmed, watching as an object fell unto the ground in front of Flora. It was in the shape of a tear. Flora hesitated but picked up the tear and Sky noticed it glowing brighter and brighter until Flora suddenly gasped. Then the corpse began to move, slowly but surely standing until falling back and turning its head to Flora and Wild, eyes suddenly glowing red and a pupil appearing.

Before Sky could even react huge bursts of malice shot their way towards Flora. “NO!” Sky yelled, terrified.

Fortunately, Wild blocked the malice with Fi. Sky was relieved, until he realized the malice was still going and it crept through Fi and to Wild, eventually seizing Wild’s arm, as Wild grunted in pain. “Wild!” Sky gasped, desperately wishing he could go and stop this corpse thingy and rescue Wild.

But it was if he couldn’t move at all. Just like how he felt in his visions. Wild convulsed, struggling to get rid of the malice that was pouring in to his arm. And to add to all the cook’s struggles, a new burst of malice was making its way towards him. Wild quickly raised Fi in defence but the blade chipped, and that little chip managed to make a cut on the corpse, but even still Wild and Flora were in deep trouble. Flora stepped closer to Wild, a conflicted look on her face. “Link!”

“Was that the sword that seals the darkness? A blade that shatters so easily cannot save you from me.” The corpse spoke, voice raspy while staring at the two menacingly.

Sky felt enraged on Fi’s behalf. And, what this monster was implying was the it was a threat. “Zelda…” The corpse rasped.

Flora gave a startled noise, her eyes widening. “You, who carries that fragile sword…are Link.” The corpse smirked.

Wild gave a pained grunt as his own eyes widened as well. Sky was starting to see red. “Rauru placed his faith in you…and that was all you could do?” The corpse slowly turned more sinister.

“How do you…know our names?!” Flora asked, tone suggesting she was panicking.

Instead of answering the corpse just created more malice and shot it upward, Sky watched as the ground started to crumble and the room began to shake. The malice slowly pushed up a platform. Suddenly, the ground fell beneath the corpse, and Sky stared as the corpse disappeared into darkness. Wild gave another grunt of pain and knelt down, clasping his arm. Sky felt like it was torture to watch these events unfold. “Link!” Flora called, concerned.

To add to everything, the ground also collapsed under Flora and the princess gave a cry as she fell. “FLORA!” Sky screeched, mortified.

Wild ignored his wound and leaped towards Flora reaching his hand out. Sky watched as their hands nearly touched but unfortunately didn’t. Flora cried out again as she plummeted into the dark. “NO!” Sky shrieked, trying to move, even though he couldn’t.

A golden light wrapped itself around Flora and she disappeared out of thin air as Wild was caught by the teal arm from earlier. Then there was a flash of white light.

___________

“Sky, it’s your turn for watch.” Wild informed the skyloftian, shaking him lightly.

Sky shot up in a sweat, and tried to recollect himself and answer the cook. “O-Okay.”

“You alright?” Wild asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“M’alright just a nightmare.” Sky responded.

There was no way he could tell the champion of the vision. Wild was already too stressed, and Sky knew Wild would panic. Both Flora and Wild looked like they were going to end up dead. Sky couldn’t even find the right words to explain even if he wanted to. Sky would tell someone else instead. Maybe…Time or Warriors, they would know what to do. “Okay then, just…I’m here…if you need someone to talk to.” Wild offered, giving a small smile.

“Got it, thanks.” Sky returned the smile, but he was shaking, still terrified of what he just saw.

Sky knew that wasn’t an ordinary dream. That was a vision. Wild nodded slightly snd left to his bedroll. Sky took a deep breath and grabbed Fi, grateful to see she was still in good shape. The skyloftian took a glance around and once he made sure everyone was asleep, he curled up into himself and sobbed.

#an angsty ending #but #maybe he got some comfort #after #linked universe #lu sky #lu wild #lu flora #totk

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lauvwar-r · 9 months

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raise y_our glass.

sypnosis. despite kaeya's whole... everything, blue is not the first colour that comes to mind when you think of him. in fact, it's quite the opposite.

. . .word count. 608

. . .warnings ⸝⸝ tags. gn!reader, fluff, use of one nickname: "dear", angst, major character death, hurt/no comfort, swearing, descriptive grief, lack of capital letters and correct grammar perhaps ahaha :(

blue is not the colour you think of when you think of kaeya.

you'd think you would (since he's a literal replica of berry & mint burst) but you don't. though, if you were to, you'd think of starsilver moons — the mark of your first kiss.

it's near the end of one of your many dates with the so-called charming and mysterious cavalry captain, you're both at windrise with a perfect view of cerulean, huddled under vanessa's tree only an angel's kiss apart.

you're dating but you're not dating, you know?

he's sent you countless letters wrapped in soft ribbon and calla lilies from starfell lake (you can tell because they smell fresher, lovelier and not like vomit — unlike calla lilies from springvale. ref: draff) that leave you giddy with clenched fists, flushed cheeks and a journal of newly pressed flora. AND you've treated him to enough after-rounds lunches at good hunter to make them routine!

…but you're not dating

… yet

fucking archons, you're absolutely infatuated with him.

regardless, after months of childish pining, he reaches for your hand, caressing it warmly (like it's natural to him???) creating goosebumps that tickle your skin. curse him for being so sly.

"i can hear your heart racing, you know?" he whispers, tracing hearts into your skin. it's one of his favourite hobbies nowadays, he says. you recall him shortening his nails.

"ha!" you bluff, "you're hearing things, captain. it's probably the wind"

"maybe. but they do say i have quite the hearing skills, dear." he replies, a smirk adorning his face. "and if my hearing serves me right - and i'd say it does - i'd deduce that you're in love with me."

lighthearted jesting is typical between you two but you can't stop the way your chest tightens, nerves heighten like a criminal caught red handed with bright red evidence smeared across your face.

"no- captain…" you lie unconvincingly, "i'm most certainly not-"

"well that's a shame then. because i'm most certainly in love with you"

chaos rumbles in your chest, threatening to spill, "…you're joking. kaeya alberich don't you dare joke with me, it's not funny-"

"i'm not." there's sincerity in the stars of his eyes that bleeds with the love in his chest. "i love you, name."

your heart rate increases. his hand drifts from your knuckles… to your arm… and finally-

"more than your favourite wine?"

you feel a mix of cool leather and rough skin on your cheek.

"more than my favourite wine."

and you don't doubt him. not when his lips prevent you from doing so and not when a blue moon means so much more to you now.

but blue is not the colour you think of when you think of kaeya.

you want to so, so bad. because sapphire is the colour of the gem on your finger and the sky on his days off but when you think of kaeya you think of stinging bloodshot eyes and salty tears.

his uniform is no longer blue: it's marred and mangled, tainted with disgusting maroon — a polar opposite to the mocking ivory snow that surrounds him. and you feel vile. angry. fucking pathetic, like a blade that's been sheathed and twisted in your gut to make its stay permanent while you...just let it happen.

your nose is filled with iron, instead of wood and dragonspine has never felt any colder.

so you can't think of blue when you think of kaeya…not when a bloody crimson was the colour of the setting sun that day.

and not when it was the colour of his favourite wine — the same wine you raise a glass of behind mondstadt's cathedral.

masterlist! ⸝⸝ genshin masterlist!

notes. . . get it? cuz his favourite wine is death after noon ahahaha... n e wayz, first written post yipeee!!! blame huh yunjin, keshi and thai life insurance ads for this post :)

#kaeya x reader #gender neutral reader #genshin kaeya #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #kaeya alberich #kaeya angst #kaeya fluff #kaeya x gn reader #kaeya x you #genshin impact x reader #gn reader #oneshot #i think ive become immune now #to thai life insurance ads #genshin angst

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alovelyburn · 7 months

Note

I was introduced to Berserk by a guy/(boy) I was involved with last year. He - attempting to grow his manga collection last summer - regretfully, turned out to be complete scum. How telling that he ended up becoming bored with the story after the Golden Age. After reading Berserk myself…what a red flag lol. ANYWAY - at least for me, a straight woman - Guts is the quintessential, most perfect and exemplary man written for the “female gaze”. His general disposition, unwavering love for Casca, fiercely masculine nature (both protective and healthy) and tenacity are exquisitely woven together. This behavior extends beyond Cacsa too - in due respect to Farese, Schierke, Flora, Danaan…even just in modeling proper masculinity to Isidro.

I officially committed to Berserk in June. (Context: The beginning of 2022 was the first time I began seriously exploring anime in general, and since have started reading manga.) But I ,as a woman who has always loved any escapist story with depth, have never come across a character like Guts - aside from one other male character. Prior to discovery of Berserk, Jamie Fraser from Outlander was the exemplar of perfection in this category. However, upon diving into this manga - albeit a series whose readership is mostly comprised of by men - Guts is superior above all men I have come across in literature.

Additionally, I will add that the men in this fandom (with exception to the bad apple I mentioned) who vocally idolize Guts, as well as ALSO consider Berserk a love story - give me hope that good men do exist. Thank you, Kentaro Miura.

I posted this on Reddit and got backlash, I did not write this to say he is the most perfect character….I am saying he is perfectly written FOR THE FEMALE GAZE. Please look up the ‘female gaze’ because there have been a few useless comments by people who missed the point of what I said. Even more confusing are the comments by some people who completely missed the point of the entire story Miura wrote too???????

Feminists love to bring up how he choked Casca. Respectfully, here are my thoughts.

First, he literally choked her during Golden Age. Casca’s resolution and grace towards that assault is universally praised and yet people talk about her acceptance of him/his trauma as if it would be an isolated incident???????

Second, the beast of darkness emerging in that moment in the later arc is to serve for Guts to realize, and be horrified/fearful of the evil within him. Casca is the most precious thing to him - so for him to assault her in that moment is (in my view) a device to establish how serious the darkness in him is.

There are two reasons I hate when this is brought up to me. As a woman, if I raise concern about it regardless of context and ignore the numerous merits Guts has - it’d be written off that I don’t understand his depth of character. On the opposite side - if I don’t bring it up, or even better, others think they need to remind me….then I’m something of an SA apologist if I lack concern. It that suggests that women can’t and/or choose not to recognize complex male characters. Something of a catch 22

Genuinely, I wasn't sure whether to answer this. I don't really understand what it is about me or any G/G type person that inspires Gutsca fans/Casca fans to write us these long lectures about opinions you must know we're not going to agree with, and I'm not sure I want to encourage that. And also because any argument that Guts sexually assaulting Casca just proves how important she is to him makes me want to die, and I do find the refernece to "feminists" to be a little strange.

That said, I guess I do want to address this attempt to counter the idea that Guts trying to kill and rape Casca is perhaps bad for their relationship.

First of all, there is a difference between the strangling in the meadow scene during the Golden Age and the one where he's trying to kill her after having a chat with the Beast over the campfire. Specifically, the Golden Age incident was a ptsd/trauma flashback that involved him lashing out at a hallucination that brought out his rape trauma, whereas the second incident is him literally trying to kill her because he's frustrated that she holds him back from chasing Griffith.

This is literally what is happening. It's enabled by the possession, yes, but Guts himself acknowledges that the feelings/impulses come from within himself. They are motivated by his exhaustion, his frustration, the fact that while he cares about her, he also resents her because he'd rather go chase Griffith around like he had been doing before Conviction.

This is not a PTSD flashback that she gets caught in, it's him venting his anger at her. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about her or that he actually wants her dead, but it is an impulse that exists inside him, and he's struggling to contain it under the circumstances.

Second, the sexual assault is again literally and explicitly him reenacting the Eclipse rape in an attempt to get closer to/more enmeshed with Griffith like the words are right there on the page, that's what he's doing.

Which brings me to the two-pointed root of this disagreement:

Casca isn't the most precious thing to him, Griffith is. I'm sorry, this comes up a lot. The Beast of Darkness tells him that he's carrying her around just so he won't heal and be forced to move on from Griffith. It also lumps her in with the rest of his current companions as fragile flames that he uses to sustain himself until he can chase Griffith, "the true light that burns (him)." The Beast is, let's remember, just Guts' subconscious/dark side. It's not some outside entity trying to lead him astray, it's the dark feelings he tries not to acknowledge. It also comes up in interviews, e.g. Miura stating directly that Griffith is the one that gives Guts his motivation to live. When she runs off alone, Guts' first instinct isn't even to go look for her - he only decides to do that after sitting in the dark moping about the Hawks, and he directly refers to her as abandoning the Band of the Hawk itself. In fact, every time he commits to staying with her and protecting her, it's directly in the wake of him being reminded/reminding himself that when he abandoned Griffith and the Hawks it resulted in him losing everything he cared about without even realizing it. And even then, the entire time he kept promising himself that he wouldn't abandon her, he also kept vacillating - should he find her a safe place and leave her there and go back to what he was doing, or should he try to make himself stay? When Griffith takes off with her, he literally doesn't think about her even once. And to be clear, I do think if Miura hadn't passed away he would have shown more concern about her. But that doesn't change the fact that when Miura relayed what was most important about this situation to Mori (who said he wouldn't make up or flesh out anything but would just put down what Miura told him), apparently what he said was something to the effect of "Griffith kidnaps Casca, Guts has a meltdown about being unable to hit Griffith." All the people saying he's melting down because he couldn't save Casca are living on Cope, I'm sorry there's no other way to put it. He's melting down because after all his years of growing stronger and obsessing over getting to Griffith when he finally got there he was completely powerless to do what he intended to do, which was fight Griffith on something like equal footing. While yes, this ended up resulting in his being unable to save Casca, it's just extremely evident from reading the book that what he's most bothered by is his inability to land a single hit on the man who he has, in a lot of ways, lived solely to try and catch up to ever since Promrose. Thus the callback to the first duel, when Griffith overwhelmed him, and he became "Griffith's." Which brings me to

Casca's importance to Guts is very complicated, and I'm not here to say he doesn't care about her or love her as a person or that he didn't have legitimate romantic feelings for her, or that he isn't motivated in large part by his self-imposed duty to protect her. But I *am* here to say a lot of what motivates him is that Casca is his path to redemption. Casca may be the woman he had intended to be with, but what she is more than anything else, is the embodiment of the Band of the Hawk - he literally refers to abandoning her in the cave as abandoning the Band of the Hawk itself, and the idea that she has come to represent the lost army is emphasized during the Eclipse itself when Judeau and Pippin declare that if she, their current leader, survives it means the Hawks are still alive in some form. With Guts, his decision to dedicate himself to protecting her is a direct result of his bad choices in the past: he abandoned Griffith, and it resulted in Griffith being imprisoned and broken, plus the Hawks being killed... and ultimately led to the Eclipse. He abandoned Casca and Rickert and Casca ended up running around loose without any protection (that he knew of). Hell even Godot died while Guts was off doing something else, and he didn't even bother to say goodbye. Guts' tendency to chase a goal at the expense of the people he cares about and how it results in him losing them before he understands what he's doing is a repeated theme in his character, and it ultimately resolves (for the most part) on the Hill of Swords when Griffith abandons him. This puts him on the receiving end of his own callousness for the first time - he realizes he hates it, and decides he has to change his approach. His decision to protect her, to dedicate himself to protecting her, is not a grand romantic gesture, though there is romance in it. It's his attempt to stop making the same mistake and make up for what he's done in the only way he can: by not letting it happen again.

#ask #anonymous #ariel talks about berserk #...this might be one of the people who sent me anti-griffith essays #not sure #but the spacing and writing style are very similar

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keqism · 1 year

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⎯⎯ 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐌 .ೃ࿔*:･

.࿔ feat. kaedehara kazuha + gn. reader

.࿔ premise. it was a quarter past two when cupid shot his arrow at your heart.

.࿔ cw. modern au, brief mentions of death & funerals, a touch of angst

.࿔ notes. written for the modern au event at @yae-publishing-house

Pretty boys are your weakness.

Specifically, doe-eyed boys with sweet voices, sweet like the cheese danish you had for breakfast. Doe-eyed boys who seem more angelic than human, who remind you of early autumn mornings and sunshine, who stir up butterflies in your stomach.

It just so happens that there's one standing at the entrance of your flower shop.

Well, not exactly your shop. The Wind’s Oasis is your grandmother’s pride and joy—a backyard hobby that spiraled into a full-time business. But it’s dwindled a bit; people rarely buy flowers anymore, an unfortunate sign that romance is dead. To you, the shop is both a blessing and a curse: a chance to carry on your grandmother’s legacy, and a part-time job that gets awfully dreary during the afternoons, because no one buys flowers in the middle of the day.

So when the doe-eyed boy steps foot into the shop at exactly a quarter past two, you nearly combust.

Keep it cool, you scold yourself, but you can feel your mind and heart racing as your eyes latch onto him. The breeze from the open window tousles the streak of red in the boy’s blonde curls, and you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to run your fingers through his hair and trace the splattering of freckles across the planes of his cheekbones. You wonder if he would let you press a kiss to the smooth column of his throat and straighten the stiff collar of the dress shirt peeping through his suit jacket. You wonder what love with him would be like, and if it would be warm like a picnic in a meadow under the sun’s rays, pressing strawberries to his lips as he reads lines of poetry to you—

"H-hello?" A voice snaps you out of your reverie and you shake your head, desperately trying to ground yourself back to reality while your face heats up in embarrassment, because you definitely creeped the boy out with your staring.

"Hi, welcome to Oasis! How may I help you?” Your voice is sickly sweet as you force your best customer service smile toward him, but also laced with curiosity. Does he have a date? You wonder, nervously chewing at the skin of your lip. He probably does—he’s too pretty to be single.

“I’m looking for flowers for a funeral,” he tiredly states, hands shoved into his suit pockets as he awkwardly stands before the counter.

At his response, relief swirls in your gut because he’s not going on a date and there’s a slim chance that you might work the courage up to ask for his phone number. But then guilt sinks in your stomach, and you’re mortified that a funeral would make you so happy.

Sending him an awkward apologetic smile, you guide him towards the flora on display before retreating to the counter, silently observing as he ponders over the selections. It takes him a few minutes before he settles on a bouquet—a bundle of white daisies; a symbol of peace and hope.

As you ring him up at the register, you hear a wet sniffle—is he crying? And sure enough, the boy in your shop has tears beading on his lower lash line and dripping onto the bouquet in his arms.

“Fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry.” You don’t know why you’re apologizing, but the pretty boy is crying in your shop and you can’t help but feel partially responsible for it.

At your question, he begins to sob, eyebrows scrunching together and bottom lip quivering as quiet, little gasps leave his lips. An arm is raised to soak up his tears, the expensive fabric of his suit darkening, while the other remains by his side, hand clenched into a fist. And as you frantically pass him tissue after tissue across the counter, some part of you is extremely thankful that no one buys flowers in the afternoon, because you definitely would have been accused of bad customer service.

When the boy finishes his seventh tissue, his tears finally begin to ebb, leaving his doe eyes puffy. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, his cotton-soft voice a little ragged.

“Rough day?” You offer him a concerned smile, ready to reach for another tissue as his face crumples again.

“You could say that,” he warbles with a wet laugh. “My friend died two days ago and I failed an exam, and on top of that I lost my favorite literature book—how many first edition copies of The Sleeping Beauty do you think there are in this world?”

“I’m sorry” is all you can come up with as he takes the eighth tissue from your hand and noisily blows his nose.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” the boy rushes out a little sheepishly, as if he hadn’t meant to say all of that to you. “I should get going. Don’t wanna be late.”

The eight tissues are stuffed into his suit pocket, and with a half-hearted wave, he quickly makes his way to the shop’s exit.

"Wait," you call out. The boy pauses at the door.

Your hand moves on its own, carefully cutting a flower from the vase on the counter. You hold the stem out to him, his scarlet eyes perplexed as he accepts the bud with a soggy sleeve.

"What is it?" he asks, his honeyed voice interrupted by a little hiccup.

You tilt your head in confusion, staring at him dumbly. "What is what?"

"What kind of flower is this?"

"That's a chrysanthemum," you reply, clearing your throat. "You can actually use them to make tea, you know. But that one isn't edible so don't try eating it, please. The market across the street sells dried mums though, they should be open until…" You trail off, realizing that you’re rambling and that he’s already late for his event. “Just take it, please,” you sigh. “A little gift for first-time customers.”

Never mind that your shop doesn’t usually hand out freebies; you’re rewarded with a blooming smile, and you swear you can feel your heart ascend to the heavens at the sight. The soft curve of his rosy lips deserves to be displayed on a museum’s walls, alongside Michaelangelo angels; yet, you got to see it for the price of a single chrysanthemum.

It must be your lucky day, really.

The tinkling of the windchimes hung on the door signals his exit, and your brief view of paradise is over. You crouch down behind the counter and press the palms of your hands to your eyes. Somehow, despite knowing him for a short span of ten minutes, he's wedged himself into your heart like Cupid's arrow.

But Cupid is cruel, because people rarely come back to your shop a second time. And so you tuck the memory of his face away into the depths of your mind, like one might do with a love letter, and prepare for the next customer.

.࿔ notes. thank you to aly, bun, and micheya for beta reading

#yaepublishinghouse #genshin impact fluff #kazuha x reader #genshin impact kazuha #kazuha fluff #genshin impact x reader #kazuha x you #genshin impact #･ﾟﾟ a memory of forever ໒꒱#kaedehara kazuha x reader

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chezzywezzy · 2 years

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Yandere Miles Fairchild (4/4)

Word count ; 4.5k

*Edited:3

I stirred, feeling warm as I pressed against Miles. I had never felt such strong, good emotions at the same time of such bad emotions. I felt somewhat guilty and regretful, but at the same time, it was the best night of my life. It was a rollercoaster. And now, waking up, that rollercoaster had finally come to a stop. I was completely winded, but in a pleasant way.

I nuzzled against his bare chest, eyes flitting upward to meet his peaceful, sleeping face. His hair was messier than usual, and some strands were stuck to his pale cheeks. His long eyelashes were shut firmly, and his lips looked dry from a good night’s rest.

I sat up slightly, despite how tightly his arm was wound around my chest. My body felt cold as it separated from him, and I felt rather embarrassed from the state we were in, even if Miles looked adorable. If Mrs. Grose found out…

Well, I shouldn’t think about it right now. I grabbed Miles arm and slid it off me so he was hugging his own waist instead. I sat up straight, holding the blanket to my bare chest. I gulped down the rising embarrassment, glancing around the bedroom. Strewn on the floor was our slightly damp clothes, and some dirt was trailing from the doorway. The bed was messier than usual and the lamp was still turned on, so I clicked it off.

I kicked my legs off the side of the bed, releasing a breath that was caught in my throat. My heart felt oddly tender, despite last night’s events. My gaze always returned to the sleeping boy, and I couldn’t help but think back to last night’s events.

“Calm down, Y/n! Just —"

“How fucking dare you tell me to calm down!” I shrieked, trying to push Miles away. He was holding my shoulders to the rocky shore, appearing to be very distressed. Despite his frail-seeming form, he was strong. He was straddling me to the ground while I flailed beneath him, gritting my teeth.

“It’s fine. Just breathe, Y/n. Please,” he pleaded, and I reluctantly sucked in my words. Miles had veins popping out of his lower arms, His chest was heaving and he did not look happy. “Listen, I know what it looks like. But everyone knows what that bastard did. He deserved it —!”

“That doesn’t mean you can let Mrs. Grose get away with it!” I retorted furiously, trying shove him away again. “We have to call the police —"

“Mrs. Grose didn’t do it,” he seethed, leering over me venomously. “She doesn’t have the pluck to do what’s necessary. I love you, Y/n. I relished the opportunity to strangle the life out of him. That asshole deserves to burn in hell.”

I fell silent, my knuckles growing paler from how hard I was clenching my fists. My mouth grew dry and it was like my worst nightmare had become true.

I always thought Peter Quint had made a run for it to avoid the cops. His disappearance was abrupt. And yet, everyone around me, minus Flora, acted like he deserved it. And I always found that odd, because he was a criminal. He didn’t deserve to get away.

It turns out that he didn’t. And Miles… had the hands and face of a murderer.

My mind went completely blank. I hated Quint with every fiber of my being because he hurt me and made me hate myself. And yet, he was a human being. I would’ve preferred he had just rotted in jail. And what would I do with Miles? I didn’t know what to feel —

Miles had inched closer to my face, and I could see the disparity in his eyes. Was I a bad person for still liking him? Was a murder really enough to convince me of him being a terrible person? I wanted so desperately to hate his guts, and yet I couldn’t. I was almost grateful for what he did.

“I love you, Y/n,” Miles whispered fervently. “Please… understand that.”

I gulped again, staring into his dark eyes. His grip on my shoulders loosened, and I propped myself up on my elbows slightly. My heart was beating erratically in my chest, but seemingly for a different reason now. Subconsciously, my tongue rolled over my bottom lip, causing the man to glance momentarily.

All of his anger dissolved, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. And just like that, he closed the gap, pressing his lips to mine. With one arm, I wrapped around his neck, and with the other, I pushed myself closer to him. One of his arms weaved around my waist and he pulled me into a sitting position, deepening the kiss.

Miles suddenly pulled away, eyes half-lidded and prying for more. I couldn’t help but melt under his loving gaze.

“We should get back home,” he stated, his voice hushed.

An unfamiliar feeling blossomed in my stomach and I found myself nodding, not breaking eye contact.

I blinked, just now noticing that Miles had turned on his side and was feeling beside him. His brows furrowed and his eyes finally fluttered open. He tugged on the blanket, forcing me to release a part of it. It made me feel a little more exposed, much to my shame.

Miles finally flitted his eyes open, and a tired grin braced his lips. “Good morning, Y/n.”

“Good morning, Miles,” I tittered. “You might want to get yourself back into your own room. I mean, Mrs. Grose could come in any moment and chew my ear off —"

“Stop worrying about that old hag. I’m the boss around here. If she really bothers you that much, I’ll just fire her —"

Miles sat up instantly and wrapped himself behind me, arms tightly wound around my waist. He propped his head on my shoulder, his hair tickling my cheek. I couldn’t help but lean into him, although I made sure to keep a tight hold on the blanket.

“Jesus Christ, Miles, you can’t do that,” I exclaimed, nudging him with my shoulder. “Now, scram, Miles. As… lovely as this is, I have to get to work.”

Miles growled under his breath, pulling me back into his chest. “Not on my watch,” he muttered, peppering a few kisses across the nape of my neck. As much as I appreciated the affection, I also didn’t want our newfound… relationship… getting in the way of my job. Miles may see it differently because he was a spoiled and wealthy, but I still had to earn my keep for the sake of my sanity.

I finally detached his arms, letting the blanket fall, although I used my hands as a shield. I could feel Miles staring me down excitedly, but I tried to ignore that. I dashed over to the piles of strewn clothes and tossed all but Miles into my laundry basket before sifting through my dresser. I pulled out the maid outfit, hearing Miles roll back into bed, much to my chagrin.

I looked myself over in the mirror, adjusting my outfit. I dolled myself up in the mirror, trying to clear my head. Mrs. Grose was an observant woman, so if even one behavior of mine was absent, and Miles was parading like a king, she’d know something was up. As much as she was like a mentor, she was much more a boss, and she could be terrifying when reprimanding me.

I finally exited the bathroom, seeing that Miles had fallen asleep again. I wanted to convince him to sleep in his own bed, but I knew that when the man made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. I could only hope that Mrs. Grose didn’t question his… unruly appearance if she so happened to check to wake him up.

When I was about to leave the room, I heard Miles mutter my name, and he rolled closer to the side. I withheld a worried sigh, stepping over to him. His thin hand reached out and grabbed my puffy skirt. I placed my hand on his, and he fluttered his gorgeous eyes at me.

“Are you really choosing to work, Y/n?”

“Seeing as this place would be a mess without me, yes,” I chuckled. “Just let me do your job, okay?”

Miles groaned loudly, grabbing my skirt tighter. “At least give me a kiss before you go. You’re my girlfriend.”

“Ah,” I hummed playfully. “Thanks for asking first.”

I crouched down, and he finally released me, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. I stroked his cheek affectionately before giving him a quick kiss. He leaned into it expectantly, but let out a frustrated growl when I pulled away almost instantly. Smugly, I bid him one more good morning before rushing off for my morning chores.

~~~

“My only regret is not seeing you grow up.”

“The Fairchilds are your new family. They will take great care of you.”

“I love you and always will.”

Some days, my mom’s dying words from when I made my last visit to the hospital echoed in my head. I could still hear her voice when I needed it most. Even when her head was bald, her skin was frail and thin, and she could barely stay awake, her voice was light and positive. The cancer could never take that away from her.

So, I always rehearsed what she said on off days. But the past few weeks have been getting progressively worse. I had caught some sort of illness, and I dreaded the possibilities because I couldn’t help but think…

No. We only did it once.

Once again, I was rudely woken up by my twisting and turning stomach. I dashed over to the bathroom and threw the toilet seat up, retching violently. At first, nothing came out, but after a few minutes, out can chunks of last night’s dinner. It splattered against the side.

A few minutes of vomiting later, my stomach finally settled, although a dull ache still resided. I let out a quiet sob. All of the signs pointed to the inevitable, but I didn’t want to believe it.

My period was late. This was akin to morning sickness. I was constantly peeing and constantly tired. I could barely complete my daily chores like I used to.

Maybe it was the stomach flu, though. So thank god Mrs. Grose, with all of her suspicions, called a private doctor in to visit later this morning.

I heard my bedroom door open just as I rose to my wobbling feet and flushed the toilet. I assumed Miles had entered. He’d been waking up early and being more attentive ever since I caught this mysterious illness. He already brought up the idea of pregnancy. - and was oddly excited by the prospect - but I shot him down every time. It was possible, but not like, possible possible.

I rinsed my mouth out and did my morning routine. I used a hot towel for my stomach, tucking it neatly into my pajamas, before exiting the bathroom. Lo and behold, Miles was there, sitting at the edge of my bed with his legs crossed. He was in his usual morning attire, meaning loose pajama bottoms and no shirt. Usually he would be groggy, but it was like he was getting used to waking up at a decent time.

“Again?” he questioned with a quirked brow, eyeing my stomach.

I tensed, not meeting his intensely serious gaze. “It’s… just the stomach flu. There’s no way that happened.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his cheeks. “Yes way, actually. All it takes is one time —"

My nonexistent temper suddenly flared, and I clenched my fists. “Shut up, Miles! It’s not possible. I told you you should’ve pulled out, or at the very minimum gone to town and bought some meds for the aftermath, but you’re the one who said it would be fine!”

Miles had a prominent frown on his face now, and sent me a stern glower. “I don’t get why you’d be so against it, anyways. It’s not like there’s a money problem —"

Anxious shivers rolled down my spine and I rubbed my forehead. “God, you’re not making my morning any better. Just get out. I don’t want to see you. Leave me alone. I’m already stressed as it is —!”

Miles suddenly rose to his feet, just as irritated. His face had grown red and he took a few steps toward me. “You don’t have to be! It’s obvious what’s going on here. It doesn’t take a genius. Are you that scared of having a future with me?”

I had so many things I wanted to say. But I knew how stubborn he was. He wouldn’t get it. As much as I wanted to believe it was a stomach flu, he was right. It was obvious. But god, I wish it wasn’t. I wish, instead of letting my emotions control me, I had been rational and prevented the situation in the first place. In fact, I shouldn’t like Miles at all. He killed someone. A bad someone, who I preferred dead, but someone none the less.

His words were enough to make guilt-stricken tears roll down my cheeks. I was angry, sad, and all that good stuff that negativity preyed on. I was stupid. I became stupid the minute I came here with my mom. Something was always going to happen between me and Miles, but clearly, nothing should’ve.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I just don’t get what the problem is —"

“Out!” I shrieked, pointing at the door. “Get out, you psycho! Leave me alone!”

Miles was visibly taken aback by my fury, and I was grateful when he stepped down from the fight. With his tail between his legs and but a glower in his eyes, he stalked out of my bedroom. That left me alone to theorize and worry until the doctor arrived, because at the very least, I didn’t have as much work to do.

I plopped onto the bed, readjusting the hot towel. I massaged my stomach with the cloth, feeling somewhat soothed. I lay back on the bed just as the bedroom door opened again. Instantly, I assumed it would be Miles, but instead, in came Flora with a tiny plate of leftovers.

“Y/n! Mrs. Grose told me to bring you breakfast,” she greeted eagerly, an adorable smile plastered to her face.

I lifted some pillows to support my back as I sat up, smiling gratefully. The girl was so innocent and sweet. Like my own little sister. “Thank you, Flora. That’s very kind of you.”

Flora giggled, handing me the plate. As I took it, she hopped onto the bed next to me. She kicked her feet in the air, her puffy pink dress bouncing on her lap. She looked at me expectantly as I fiddled with the pieces of toast before shoving one into my mouth. It tasted like toast. It was perfectly fine, although I craved something else.

“Big brother says you’re having a baby,” Flora suddenly spoke up. “Are you really? How does it work?”

My mouth went dry and I stopped chewing. I cleared my throat, replying,” Well, maybe I am. And how it works… It takes two people that really love each other —"

“Wow! I always knew Miles was in love with you. That’s so-o-o romantic,” she giggled. “It’s just like the stories mom used to read to me!”

I strained a smile. The child knew absolutely nothing about what really was going on in the household, and it was better that way. I watched as she excitedly ran off, leaving me to my lonesome. I finished my meal before setting it on my bedside table. My stomach aches had left me once more, but I preferred to wait for the doctor in peace.

Just as I was dozing off, my bedroom door suddenly swung open loudly. I jumped, being met with an unfamiliar, posh man and Mrs. Grose, who was incredibly unhappy. Miles also entered, leaning against the wall. I sat on the edge of my bed, legs kicked off. Anxiety consumed me as the doctor pulled a seat over and opened his kit.

“So, Miss Y/n, care to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

I exchanged glances with Miles. He was smug. I was terrified. I gulped, though, answering, "Well, I’ve been feeling sick every morning. I feel really tired when I do too much. I threw up again just today.”

The doctor nodded, sending me a wary glance. He clasped his hands together in his lap. “Miss Y/n, have you been sexually active?”

My heart dropped. Of course that was the first answer to run to. Everyone thought it, but it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Mrs. Grose was staring at me with such intensity that I was about to melt there on the spot. And yet, I had to say it. I just had to.

“Well —"

“Yes!” Miles suddenly spoke up eagerly. “I’m - she - we’re dating. We’re, like, in love.”

Oh. Oh no, honey. That was the wrong thing to say. Mrs. Grose’s expression went completely blank, but when she returned to the real world, she was pissed. It was as clear as day. If not for mortal limitations, she would be ablaze on the spot from her anger. My knuckles grew pale as I stared at Miles incredulously, to which he just shrugged knowingly.

The doctor cleared his throat, sifting through the awkwardness. “Well, then, Miss Y/n. I think you know where this is going.” He began searching through his bag before pulling out a thin stick. “So, what you need to do is urinate on it and then ash it off for sanitation. The results will come in in a few minutes.”

In shame, I snatched it from him. I was completely in autopilot mode as I marched to the bathroom and did as he said. I was quick to rush out, though, not wanting to see the results. Surprisingly, Miles stole it from Mrs. Grose, who stole it from the doctor, who stole it from me. As long as I couldn’t see it, that was fine by me, though.

The passing moments were deafening. At some point, Miles clambered onto the bed beside me. Flora had also dipped into the bedroom, bugging Mrs. Grose about what was going on, although she was quickly shewed away. Miles was staring at the stick with such excitement and hope, and I almost felt bad for being so scared. After all, here he was, overjoyed at the prospect and rubbing my legs and arms while waiting for the result.

Miles eyes widened. “Hey. What does this mean? Is this the result? It’s just lines. Doctor, what does it mean?” he exclaimed, shoving the stick at the doctor.

The doctor took one glance. “Two lines means that you are pregnant, Miss Y/n. Mrs. Grose, I’m sure you’d like to talk about procedures and medical care outside —"

“Yes,” Mrs. Grose boomed, hardly containing her anger. “Let’s talk. Outside.”

Mrs. Grose was gone in a flash, and so was the doctor. That left me and Miles. He was seemingly bursting at the sees with happiness, but I… I didn’t know what to feel. My hands found themselves palming at my stomach absentmindedly.

“Y/n,” Miles called, placing his hand on my knee. “This is perfect.”

I grabbed his warm hand, squeezing it without care of hurting him, He let out a tense grunt, rearranging his hand. He pulled it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on it. My heart, which had seemingly stopped, began beating at his gentle affection. With blurry vision, I finally met his gaze. I furrowed my brows.

He was staring at me with such unadulterated adoration. His eyes were not the one of violent teenager or a murderer. They were the eyes of Miles, a sweet man who had his faults, but still treated me like royalty.

“But…” I squeaked, my voice waiving with uncertainty, "I didn’t - I’m - we’re too young… I haven’t planned at all —"

“Shh,” he interrupted softly. “Y/n, I’ve dreamed of this happening my whole life. Life will be a breeze. We have the money, we have the love, we have the time —"

“I need to work. You need to work. Life isn’t this easy, Miles —"

“I know! I know it isn’t.. I’ll take over dad’s companies. It’s that simple. I’ll work from home and all that. Things’ll work out.”

I sighed, finally casting my gaze away. Miles was a stubborn guy. He always had been. And he looked so happy. I guess… I couldn’t really take it away from him. Things wouldn’t be that different anyways, would it? Just one extra kid running around the house and my relationship with Miles being far more intimate —

The bedroom door burst open, and in came Mrs. Grose. Her face was burning red and her fists were clenched. I didn’t even get the chance to mentally prepare myself as she slammed the door behind her.

“You terrible, terrible children! Miles, you are an adult with responsibilities who doesn’t have time for being irresponsible. And you, Y/n. I cannot stress my disappointment. You have lived in the Fairchild household rent free your entire life, and yet you still intend to shun your duties and use your boss for money! As far as I’m concerned, you’re done. Pack your things —"

“How fucking dare you!” Miles suddenly shrieked at the top of his lungs. He rose to his feet aggressively, stomping closer to the woman. He was red in the face with fury, and he was staring down at her. “Get it through your thick skull, old hag. I’m the adult here. I’m your boss. You have no right to insult her —"

“I do because I have dedicated my entire life to serving your family, Miles,” she retorted with just as much of a fiery passion. “You’re insulting me by bringing shame to the household. You two aren’t even married, and yet you’re to commit such heinous crimes!”

I could do nothing but clutch my belly in embarrassment. Mrs. Grose was right. It was irresponsible and there had to be consequences. I had fully prepared myself for her blowing up. But on the other side, Miles made it easy for things to be okay. He was my shield in all this. As violent and evil as he could be, he was angel to me, and that made all the difference in influencing my opinion of him. I trusted Miles.

“You’re the one that treats her like shit,” Miles growled, suddenly pushing Mrs. Grose, causing her to collide into the wall with a gasp. Worry washed over me, although it vanished when her glare washed over me. “You act like she’s not a part of the fucking family. Like she hasn’t been my fucking soulmate since she was brought here. Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, hag, because I’m your boss. I’m in control of this house.”

Mrs. Grose scowled, closing the distance. Despite how intimidating the man was, she refused to be pushed around any longer. She shoved his finger into his chest, meeting his enraged expression. “You’re nothing but a little boy. Stop disrespecting me and stop letting your little crush control you. If you started thinking clearly, you’d want the same as me. As to fire her and let her go —"

The old woman was mid sentence when Miles arm shot out, grabbing her throat. One hand was strangling her against the wall, and the other held her shoulder in place as she writhed against him, palming at his face and chest. Her face was quickly growing pale, and the realization of what he was doing dawned on me.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, but Miles was so concentrated he was deaf to it. I jumped to my feet, pain shooting through my stomach. I noticed the door creaking open slightly, but my focus was still on Miles. The woman was growing weak.

I grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging desperately. “Miles, stop, please! What would Flora think? Let her go!”

All of a sudden, he released her, and Mrs. Grose crumpled to her knees, clawing at her throat as she clawed for air. Miles gaze was stoney as he watched the woman. My entire body was shaking with fright, but mostly concern. The argument had been blown out of proportion, and out of the corner of my eye, I knew that Flora had witnessed the entire thing.

But that wasn’t important. I finally released his shirt, bowing my head in shame. Oh, what a terrible person I was for tolerating such behavior. For loving a man like him so. I stepped away just as Miles, still panting from the adrenaline, turned to face me exasperatedly.

“Y/n, I told you everything would be alright,” he cooed, grabbing my shoulders gently.

A few tears escaped and I trembled in his hold. Mrs. Grose made her escape, taking Flora with her. Good. I shook my head, hair falling in my face like a curtain. “No, Miles, it isn’t. You’re a bad person. You almost killed her. She had a right to be angry —"

“Not at you,” he seethed. “Never at you. At me? I couldn’t give a shit. But I have a family to protect. Our family —"

“Not anymore,” I boldly declared, although my voice was reluctant. “Mrs. Grose was right. I should leave. For my own safety. How long will it be before that anger is directed at me?”

His grip tightened, and I gasped, but he pulled me into his chest. My tears stained his shirt as one hand held my waist and the other pet my hair. He buried his head in the crook of my neck, his voice muffled as he spoke. “No, Y/n, I would never. I love you. Mrs. Grose is just a bitch —"

“She’s doing her job, Miles. It’s a shit situation and if you loved me, you’d let me leave. You terrify me. I don’t care if I love you. I’m not stupid —"

“You’re not stupid for loving me!” he insisted, holding me closer. Somehow, all my fear dissolved, but I just became afraid of myself for being so forgiving. “I would do anything for you, Y/n. I’m only like that to people who deserve it. We should all just… calm down.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He sighed, his breath tickling my neck. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong.

“I’ll fire her. She can easily be replaced. But you could never. Especially now. Things will be easy from now on. Things will be good. Trust me, Y/n. You know I love you and you love me. Okay?”

#yandere #x reader #self insert #yandere the turning #the turning #the turn of the screw #miles fairchild x reader #yandere miles fairchild #miles fairchild #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard #yandere horror #horror #horror films

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bokettochild · 5 months

Note

so I noticed that you seem to have never mentioned anything about what the bad guys do in your Opera House au so I thought maybe they are just critics that have big vendettas against the chain and are always looking for things to pick on when they go to their shows? Idk random thoughts you can ignore this if you like *yeets self out of window*

-Window anon

Hmmmm...

I'm going to say that Ganon at least is a business tycoon of a rival company to Flora's father, and while, on one hand, he is actively trying to topple their company for his own gain, there is also the fact that his little sister Riju is constantly undermining him? And he can't even confront her about it because she inevitably manages to distract him with something else (like talking about boys, he is a VERY protective older brother, no you are NOT dating another loser Hylian boy, young lady!). I would't say he's evil, I just think he's rich and has power and doesn't always use it to benefit the people who need it, so it's more that the media hates his guts.

Hmmmm.....basically, if you know anything about American Politics, he's a slightly less horrible version of Trump. Like, if Trump knew that respecting women was possible and good for your health. So yeah, the entirety of the young generation makes so many memes about this guy, and he kinda deserves it.

As for the rest!

Veran and Onyx are Ganon's trusted business partners overseas. They're technically under his mothers' supervision, but they also answer to him. They're not evil, even if they have made it their personal mission between the three of them to get the notorious street artist Sheik and his(her?) little sidekick arrested, mainly just because Sheik keeps leaving street art on their buildings specifically.(Lullaby and Ganon have beef. It's not even big beef, they're just both petty.)

Onyx and Veran also have beef with Legend, not for any good reason even, they just do. He's purposefully annoying whenever he and Lullaby have to be around the three of them, and Ganon genuinely will call off a meeting if he sees Lullaby's pet brat waiting for her.

Then we have Vaati. Vaati is....well, to put it short (pfft), Four's rival. Four is the Mr. Fix-It at the opera but he also dabbles and creates in his own time. Vaati and he met at an expo where Vaati's mentor, Ezlo, took a shine to Four and thus sparked jealousy from his then-student. They're never violent, just extremely aggressively trying to one up each other all the time.

That said, Vaati's actually pretty chill to anyone who's not Four! Although he does tend to flirt with Dot whenever he sees her. His little brother is the opposite: edgy and grouchy to everyone OTHER than Four, although whether that started as a way to piss off his big brother or because he genuinely enjoyed Four's company is yet to be determined. Vaati hates it though, so, either way, mission success!

Zant is just a online troll who likes bashing successful people and tends to target the opera mostly to spite Midna, because he knows her ex and her bestie both work there. The crew actually love reading his posts online though and enjoy laughing at him. He's basically harmless, and while Midna hates it, Twilight loves reading how Zant is going to bash him on any given day.

Yuga is a really shitty art professor at Hilda's art school who likes trying to manipulate her and who Legend and Ravio kinda think is hitting on her. They hate him, she just thinks he's "strange but talented". His art is very unique though, they can't deny it. Ledge signed up to take his class just to keep an eye on him, so Yuga kinda hates his guts now, but also he can't fail him, because Ledge is actually good, so he kinda hates his guts instead and tries to make life difficult for him instead.

As for Cia? She's a fangirl. She's one of the more loud and outspoken fans that Warriors has, and slightly insane? They think? He had to take out a restraining order on her, and she violates it routinely. They don't know what, precisely, was the final straw to make him file for the order, but there is a history of drama there that only newbies don't know not to ask about.

I will say that Octavio is a musician who goes out of his way to point out every flaw or fault the opera has. He could be a critic? Maybe? He's a well regarded musician at any rate and has made his opinions very public. He doesn't damage their reputation a lot, but sometimes he gets on the team's nerves.

Malludus is the ghost that Spirit says is haunting the mechanic shop. He has no proof, he's never seen it, but he swears that it's the reason stuff is always a mess there. Wind's one of the only people who believes him, but he also believes Ravio about the ghosts that the Lorulian says haunt the opera, so....

As for Ghirahim? I'm not sure..... I'm wracking my brain, but I got nothing. Suggestions.

#opera house au #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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eywamygoddesswrites · 1 year

Text

— ｔｅａｓｅｒ —

synopsis: dreamscapes are known by the na'vi since the beginning of everything, especially the tsahiks and tsakerams. they come to this plane of existence to learn more about what happens to someone who falls asleep and what happens when another wakes up. do they pause when the na'vi is awake? or do they resume their lives as if it was normal? what happens when that character in your head begins to have their own consciousness?

pairing: avatar by james cameron x fem!platonic!reader

word count: 1.0k

want to join this series' taglist? send an ask here!

pandora. the land where na'vi clans live in peace, the fauna and flora glows with their bioluminescence, the cycle of life is both celebrated and respected, and where the people inside their dreams go to sleep.

although training to be the next tsahik was dominated by women, there were some male na’vi’s that practiced as tsakarems but they rarely become tsahiks. in some clans in pandora, there are male tsahiks and female olo’eykte. but still, it’s not shameful for young boys to want to learn the ways of the tsahik.

tsakarems often ask their tsahik, 'what happens to those na'vi people when we wake up?' even those who lived past them didn't know the answer. another question was, 'do they go on living like they were there, or do they just pause until they go back to bed?' still, questions arose as answers never came.

'who were those leNa'vi anyway? are they pieces of our consciousness, our memories? or do they evolve independently, in a place in our minds we can't quite reach?' a tsakarem once asked. mo'at was her name. one of the best students during her time as she did her training diligently. she was curious about the stories of her tsahik and the stories of others before her. curiosity leads to research, research turns into practice. but time went on and her curiosity had to be put aside when she became pregnant with her firstborn.

although she had become the tsahik of the omatikaya clan by then, her passion for the research of learning where the leNa'vi go inside their dreams had been thrown into the backburner of her head. her priority was now her clan and her child. a few years after sylwanin was born, neytiri was born.

as the two grew up and began training as tsakarems, sylwanin grew to have the curiosity her mom once had. now, she began doing her own research and practices. 'if one grows up with a gut-deep understanding that tsu'tey was my soulmate, would that make every single na'vi in my dreamscape love tsu'tay the same way i did?' sylwanin asked when she progress into dreamscapes passed beyond her mother's progress.

she was able to communicate with a few of the na'vi in her dreamscape but the replies were limited as if they were on autopilot like a robot having been controlled by a human.

still, despite such progress, her journey came to an end when she was killed by the sky people. her research was left untouched until y/n, tsu'tey's daughter was digging in the ruins of what was left of grace's school when she saw a few boxes buried a few feet underground.

the only daughter of tsu'tay, taken under the sully's care to honor the death of her only family. her mother didn't want to do anything with her nor tsu'tay, so she left the clan after giving birth. so, she was now the oldest sully kid and a tsakeram.

like her aunt sylwanin and tsahiks before her, she began doing her own research and practices. she never stopped even if she was doing her big sister and oldest daughter duties back at home despite not being a sully. it was alright really. though lo'ak, her youngest brother, sometimes gave her a hard time, she still did her job diligently but she feels bad for neteyam, her younger brother, who had always taken the blame for their brother.

it wasn't unfair given that it was lo'ak's fault, to begin with, but she can't blame him. he's just a kid who wants their dad's approval but still, that's not a reason to be reckless—

"y/n?" a voice called out to y/n, who was staring at nothing in particular. tsireya's voice shook as she tried to call her friend once again. "y/n?" when her friend didn't reply, she mustered out a stronger tone that would get her friend's attention. "y/n."

with that, y/n's trance was cut off. she turned to her friend and muttered a soft 'what'. tsireya had stopped weaving the basket in front of her, face full of concern as she asked, "are you okay? were you dreaming?" y/n shook her head in reply.

"no, uhh, i was just… thinking." y/n furrows her eyebrows as she fixed her posture. tsireya chuckled at her friend, y/n had always had a habit of getting lost in her thoughts. "did you hear what i said?" she asked, fingers not leaving the unfinished basket.

y/n shook her head no once more. "no, what'd you say?" tsireya hummed in reply. "oh, nothing. you should probably finish that basket you're making. it's almost finished so it's not that hard."

the omatikaya looked down at the half-finished basket in her hands, grumbling since she didn't want to make any more baskets. "yeah… not that hard." she rolled her eyes to herself before finishing the project in front of her.

“do you think mr. sully is right?” y/n turned to their friend. “i mean, like, that na’vi i saw training with the tsuraks yesterday, he’s his son?” the omatikaya shrugged their shoulder as she held her arms up into an ‘i dunno’ stance. “i meeean, i think he’d know.”

tsireya furrowed her eyebrows. “then why was he in our dream? what was he doing there? i mean, how did he get there, to begin with? we don’t know him so how is it that we just imagined him?” the two stared at each other, shrugging as the question never got its answer.

tsireya finished up the last remaining straw of the basket before shrugging it beside her. “i’m gonna go to bed.” a heavy sigh left her mouth before standing up to leave when y/n called her back. y/n hesitated for a moment before saying, “i’m really sorry for waking us up.” the metkayina didn’t move. there was nothing going to happen whether a sorry was said or not. “what??” y/n’s lips pursed thinly. “i’m just… sorry.”

tsireya breathes in deeply before turning back to her friend. “you should rest up now, y/n. you look like you lack sleep.” before leaving to go back to her marui pod. y/n was left with their thoughts as they stared beyond the ocean.

taglist: @nyotamalfoy @hanhanartz @iwaslikeblah @tejas-kris @sophiexoxo-lol @neteyamforlife

want to join the taglist? send an ask here!

— 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 — , — 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 — , — 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 —

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spinchip · 9 months

Text

Never the Dark

Chapter 9

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

warnings: body horror, mentioned death of non-major character, threats of death

I RESENTED THE CONTENTMENT OF THE FIELD.// WHY MUST WE PRACTICE THIS SURRENDER?

“So,” Jay begins, “Nice weather we’re having, eh?”

The woman next to him gives him an incredulous look, “...What?” She makes a face, the bat slung over her shoulder swaying with each step.

“It was a joke. Like I said, ‘nice weather,’ but it’s funny because the weather isn’t nice at all.” He explains, motioning to the rolling clouds and gloom. A beat passes, “It’s funny.” he repeats.

She stares at him with all two and a half of her eyes, “Are these the type of jokes that get laughs where you’re from?”

“Nope.” Cole cuts in, “He strikes out at home too.”

“Hey!” Jay whips around to shoot Cole a dirty look, “I’ll have you know my mom thinks I’m hilarious!”

They trek through thick red woods while Jay shoots off a few more jokes, trying to prove his prowess as a comedian that all fall flat. The tension in the air is too thick to be cut with a good joke, let alone one of Jay's bad ones. The warriors from Oasis had formed a circle around them, boxing them in and guiding them along the treacherous ground-it isn’t long before the trees thin and the group steps out into tall grass. The grass is thick around as their fingers and grows up to Kai’s waist, thin spindly looking black plants lined with flower petals poke up sporadically through the grass. The grass is alive with movement, each tendril blindly attempting to wrap around the party's legs and trap them in place.

Birdy makes a rushing motion at Nya when she slows down to stare at the plants, and she catches on to why when she has to use more force than she thought to be able to shake off the snares. If they moved quickly, the flora couldn't encase them.

What catches Lloyd’s attention the most, however, is the massive beasts floating gently in the sky.

“What is that?” he breathes.

Wox glances back at him with a furrow in his brow, “...How long’ve you lot been here?” He squints.

“They’re Jellies.” Birdy starts before the Ninja can answer his question, “Named after Jellyfish on Ninjago. Can you see the resemblance?”

Kai doesn’t respond, studying the massive monster aimlessly drifting above them. It does look like a jellyfish, with long luminescent hanging bulbs on the ends of its tentacles to lure in prey. Its bell is a translucent white, and its arms- it makes Kai’s stomach turn. It looks as if someone had taken the guts out of someone and tossed a sheet on top. It’s dripping with a fluorescent pink liquid that nearly mimics blood.

“Never seen a jellyfish like that before.” Nya comments, looking away.

They pass through the pasture and reach the city limits.

Nya whistles low, “Wow.” She speaks what they’re all thinking as the town comes into view.

The main fixture in town is right smack dab in the center. A massive spire of stone spears the sky, the horizon a jagged line where brown and ruddy red split purple down the middle. It’s the size of two mansions stacked and three times as wide, with stone walkways dug out into the hard earth lining the outside and dark arches for doorways leading deeper inside the structure. It’s old enough to have been refined, with stone railings and decorative architectural choices thrown in. The lower parts of the hollow mound are covered in doorways and windows, things that grow more sparse the higher up the dirt climbs. Lights flicker through some of the doorways and windows, definite signs of life. The lower level spaces are taken up by shops and occasional homes- a blacksmith, several stalls selling strange looking foods and unnaturally colored breads, skeins of cloth and thread on display in another shop, and more.

In a massive sprawling collection of blankets piled with trinkets and essentials, the people of the Realm of Madness have set up shop just outside the largest entrance into the cave system. It’s a market with temporary vendors who are displaying all different kinds of wears- Filler fruit, strange colored gems, swathes of fabric that shimmers like silk but as thick as wool, and a thousand and one other things to poke and peruse. Several horses lounge next to pull carts, resting as their owners sell their goods. People are sitting or meandering through, the sounds of laughing and bartering and chatting flooding the air as they near.

Birdy slows to the point where he's next to Jay, “Take your watch off.” He says shortly, voice clipped and urgent, “It is painting a target on your back. Technology is few and far between, and it is incredibly valuable. It is the type of thing people here would kill over.”

Jay slides the watch off and tucks it into his backpack with a nervous nod.

Cole nearly jumps out of his skin when a trundling bag of bones materializes next to him.

“Hullo there might I interest you in some fine craftsmanship? Some excellent jewelry? All handmade, all natural, all materials ethically sourced! Fine jewelry, excellent craftsmanship!” He jangles along, the skulkins' skull bobbing and bouncing with each step as if his head wasn’t quite screwed on right.

“Is it really ethically sourced?” Kai asks skeptically.

“All handmade, all natural, and all definitely sourced.” The skulkin says with an enthusiastic nod.

With a flourish, he whips his draping black cape back, revealing the mutated bones underneath. Instead of legs and hips, he’s made up of several arms scuttling along beneath him, a few of them too small or deformed to offer any proper support with his steps. The arms lead into his spine which lead into an open rib cage, sternum split down the center and his ribs curled open and spread apart just perfectly enough to loop fancy looking necklaces and bangles and bracelets. The smaller lower ribs are studded with rings and the occasional set of earrings too, those same strange looking gemstones curled behind wire as added flair.

Cole's eyebrows raise, “Is that gold?”

“Is that gold- is that gold!? My dear boy it's something very SIMILAR to gold! Who cares to have boring old gold when you could have something completely unique and slightly worse? Very similar to gold indeed!” He drags his knuckles down his rib cage for emphasis, which sounds like a perfectly tuned xylophone scale. “My name is Tauto and every piece I offer is one of a kind! Excellent fine Craftsmanship! What can I wrap up for you? Maybe wrap up something for the ol’ lady?” If he had eyebrows, Tauto would be waggling them, glancing meaningfully at Nya who's walking by Cole's side.

Cole glances at Nya in surprise and she immediately turns away, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. He swallows his down painfully, “Uh, yeah, no thank you. Good luck on your endeavors.”

Cole doesn’t get the chance to finish his goodbye before Tauto has reequipped his cloak and is walking away, greeting a multi-headed snake who’s already picking out several pieces.

Birdy is walking in the center of them all, seemingly trying to keep a low profile in spite of how the market is growing considerably quieter, all eyes turning to the interlopers in their midst. Murmurs break out, people talking amongst themselves and a few of them getting up to trail the party, more invested in the interesting drama than guarding their meager shops.

“Butcher Bird’s back!” Someone cries, and the murmurs get louder.

“Welcome home!” Someone else shouts sarcastically.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, butcher!”

Similar jeers crop up, but surprisingly there's no real heat behind it.

“Butcher?” Kai whispers, turning hard eyes on Birdy.

“My mask was gifted to me by another realm of madness convict.” Birdy murmurs, “Many believe she would not have parted with it by choice.” The implication is, of course, that everyone here believes Birdy murdered and looted for his gear. Great. There was… something else there too, Lloyd was sure. Something Birdy wasn’t saying.

And interestingly enough, despite the jeers, no one dares approach. The shouts only come from indistinguishable spots in the crowd that grow silent when Birdy comes close enough. Those they pass lower their eyes.

Why?

Wox seems to walk slower so that everyone really has the chance to toss out a cruel jab before they step inside the cavern. It’s cooler inside, enough where Cole shivers in surprise. The hall is dark, torches studding the walls few and far between to the point where the midpoint between two is only three shades from pitch black. They pass by several off-shooting halls without pause, trudging through large atrium's and up sloping stone and stairs until the sounds of talking comes muffled down the hall. It feels like they’ve been walking for ages before finally rounding the last curve, walking into a massive cavern filled with people.

The room is lined with tables along the edges and one massive red wood table in the center that is bare of any occupants. The rest of the seats are nearly fully taken, warriors sharing stories, eating, or maintaining their weapons. Cups clink and blades on whetstone shhhk in the space between words.

All the tables are aligned in a way that leads the eye up to a raised dais where two people sit. Off to the corner tucked away with a little desk is a man with horn-rimmed glasses and a pristine white lab coat writing away in an ancient looking journal, completely unassuming.

In the very center is an ornate chair made of dark red wood with curling legs and an intricately carved back. Deep red upholstery cushions the chair, giving it a luxurious and plush appearance in stark contrast to everyone else's plain stools. Sitting in the chair is an older woman with salt and pepper black hair. She's wearing black boots and gray pants that sit high on her waist, her legs relaxed and spread wide as she lounges on the chair. She's wearing a red and gold bodice over a black turtleneck, slumped over bored enough to pillow her cheek on one hand and rest her elbow on the arm rest. In contrast to everyone else in the room- and in the realm at large- her clothes are perfectly maintained other than a few purposeful tears. No patch marks or obvious stitches from mending. Her long purple claws on her left hand poke at a dagger stuck in the arm of the chair idly, wigging it in the gouge she’d made just because she wanted to.

The most jarring thing about her isn’t her wild hair or the patches of purple-blue scales crawling up her left side, but the multitude of eyes that block out half her face. The right side is mostly normal, one blue eye and perfectly manicured brow. The left side, however, is marred with at least four different eyes all crowding into each other. The main eye is filled with several irises and pupils, all of them randomly expanding and contracting regardless of the light. Places where her sweater is torn reveals more eyes, suggesting that the entire left half of her body is broken up by her mutation.

She looks up as Wox and his party enter the room and her eyes light up at something to break the monotony- and then even more so when she realizes who’s at the center of it all.

“My my!” She drawls, sitting up properly in her chair, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She grins and it's all teeth.

Birdy inclines his head, “Samira.” he greets.

“Now with a tone like that I might think you’re mad at me. And what's with the voice? You have a cold or something?” She hums idly, sitting back and letting her eyes roam the newcomers. Cole suddenly feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, “What's the meaning of these visitors, Wox?” She asks bluntly.

Lloyd steps forward, “My name is Lloyd,” He begins, and Birdy- who wasn’t fast enough to stop him, places his hand on his forehead like he’s fighting a headache. Wox lets out an indignant chuff at Lloyd speaking over him, “And these are my friends Kai, Nya, Cole, and Jay.” he introduces, “We were just passing through.”

They were both in similar positions, him and Samira. Leaders. He just needed to talk to her on her level, to control the situation. He could get them out of this.

Samira looks at him for a long moment, “I’ve never seen you before. You’re new, aren’t you?” She looks relaxed, but her eyes are sharp, “Brand new.”

“We came here just a few days ago.”

Birdy jerks as if struck, but there’s no way to snatch that tidbit of information back from the air.

Samira tilts her head, her hair falling gracefully down her shoulder, “Interesting.” She says and doesn’t press for more, which makes Birdy relax a fraction, “You’ve never been here before, but your guide most certainly knows the rules. You cannot just ‘pass through’ Oasis, as I’m sure my patrol has informed you.”

Lloyd hesitates, glancing at Birdy.

Samira sighs and rests her elbows on the arms of her chair, “You must offer something as payment for access though my territory.” Her eyes flick over them, eyeing their empty hands and hopelessly flat bags, “I can assume you have not brought anything. That was very foolish of you, Birdy.” She steeples her fingers, “You know I am obligated to take care of trespassers.”

He steps forward, “You owe me.” He says simply.

The quiet chatter stops completely, a silence descending over the room that's so thick Lloyd feels like he can't move. Samira is stone still, but her eyes have widened a fraction where they’re trained on Birdy. The intensity in her eyes would make even the strongest men waver, but Birdy doesn’t look away. Or maybe he does. It’s kinda hard to tell with the mask.

“As I recall,” Each word is measured out in tense control, “I owe you one favor. Not five.”

Neither of them speak.

Lloyd notices Cole slowly and calmly reaches out and clamps a hand over Jay's mouth, just in case he tries to break the tense silence with another stellar joke.

Birdy raises his staff, bladed end pointing out. Half the room scrambles to their feet, but Samira holds up a hand and everyone freezes. Sweeping his staff backwards, Birdy holds it in front of the ninja like a protective shield. The staff ends up pressed against Lloyds stomach, firm and unwavering. Birdy is telling Samira in no uncertain terms that he will protect the Ninja from her and this makes the whole room break out into murmuring, a shockwave of commotion at the action. Birdys defense has weight to it. His presence and opinions is something these people take extremely seriously.

Lloyd follows the staff up to look at Birdy, staring at the smooth side of his mask. Who are you?

Samiras expression sparks with shock before a deep interest overtakes her face. She grins, leaning forward to really study them all. “I’ve been a poor host, haven't I?” She says, the strange tenseness of the room not fading but the energy changing somehow, “This is no way to welcome our newcomers to Oasis. Why don’t we discuss payment over dinner?”

All because Birdy threw his lot in with the Ninja? Instead of killing them, she was inviting them to dinner?

Wox looks flabbergasted, “Lady Samira-” He starts.

She stands, grabbing the back of her chair and dragging it down the dais stairs thunk after thunk, “Wox, would you have Elizal prepare a meal for my friends and I? And please, send someone to set the table.” Her chair legs screech as she hauls it across the stone floor, “The rest of you? Get out.”

Wox tightens his jaw but doesn’t object, nodding is assent.

Samira swings her chair around to settle at the head of the table as everyone else immediately rushes out, Cole huddling into the group as they’re suddenly surrounded by warriors beating a hasty retreat. In all of about thirty seconds the room is empty save Samira and the man still up on the dias writing in his notebook.

“Will you be joining us, Barath?” She speaks without looking at him.

“Shh,” He says, “You’ll make me lose my train of thought!”

She takes no offense at being shushed, turning her eyes on the ragtag group in front of her, “Sit.” She orders, “Please.” She adds.

Birdy moves first, sitting to Samiras right. The ninja, after exchanging a collective worried look, fill in the rest of the seats. The other seat next to Samira remains empty. As they sit, a woman carrying a large tray walks into the room. She sets the tray down and starts handing out silverware and handmade clay pots filled with the realms equivalent of water using the tentacles sprouting from her belly. She delivers Samiras by hand. Cole does his best not to stare because that's impolite.

“Thank you, Ila.” Birdy says quietly when the others are too nervous to remember their manners.

“Sweet as the day I met you,” Ila tuts, “This place ain’t changed you a bit.”

She brushes her hand along his shoulders as she passes, and then they’re alone again.

The table is made out of the same red wood as Samiras chair, and the seat they’re sitting on are too. They’re less fancy than hers is, but they also have a cushioned seat. A welcome reprieve to the stone and grass they’d been lounging on during their trip.

Birdy turns towards Samira, who hasn’t bothered looking at him, instead studying the gaggle of ninja seated at her table, “What do you have in mind for payment?”

She flaps her clawed hand dismissively, “Business can wait! I’d like to get to know the trespassers,” She says trespassers like a term of endearment. “How did you all wind up here?”

Birdy shifts his grip on his staff nervously and Cole picks up what he’s signaling out- they must be very careful with what information they piece out to her, “Well, it all started when my Mom met my Dad-” He begins.

“I mean the Realm of Madness.” Samira has no issue interrupting him, a spark of amusement in her eyes as she fights a smile.

“It’s nothing special,” Lloyd shrugs, “We were in a fight.” He studies the room surreptitiously, hoping to find more leverage, something he can use to turn this conversation in their favor. The room was frustratingly bare, and it was increasingly apparent that the people of the realm only cared about reputation- of which the ninja were severely lacking. And after Birdy's warning, Lloyd knew he couldn’t throw around his status as the green ninja to earn any respect. Samira smiles at him like he's a particularly curious piece of lint and nothing more. There is no equal ground for them to find, so Lloyd will keep his mouth shut.

“But it is special,” Steepling her hands together, Samira leans forward to examine them carefully, “You see, Banishment to the Dark Realm is an archaic Practice. You’re the only newcomers in nearly 30 years, barring Birdy.”

“I am sure that would be willing to explain their origin if you were to share yours first,” Birdy suggests. An attempt to stall, probably, pr a diversion.

Samira thinks on that before sitting back with a thoughtful humm, “Well, what is there to tell? My story is the same as most of the others here.”

“I was a seamstress first, before a warlord. My home was the Cloud Kingdom.” She starts.

Nya looks confused, “But I thought everyone in the Cloud Kingdom was a scribe?”

Samira gives her a patient look, “Where do you suppose the robes on a Scribes back come from? The food they eat? The very ink and paper they write with? These worlds are larger than you think, with a thousand and one moving parts, and I was a cog in the machine. I was happy, until I wasn't anymore. Then I burned it all to the ground.” She sighs and it's a put upon thing, “They didn’t like that, and bam- I was sent here. Simple as.”

Samira picks up her cup and sips from it, “There, is that enough of a rapport? Now tell me, what realm did you come from?”

“Ninjago.” Jay says helpfully.

Before anything else can be said, two people enter the room carrying several of the big trays from before. One of them is Ila again, who once more serves the food with her tentacles until her trays are empty. The man with her waits for her to be done so she can help him with his burden, doling out green bread and soup until the table is full. The ninja thank the two as they leave.

“What’s in this?” Kai asks, scooping up a bit of the viscous jelly before letting it plop right back in the bowl.

“It’s a favorite of mine.” Samira tears a piece of bread off her roll, “Filler fruit sliced and reduced in fizz fruit concentrate. It makes the broth savory and thick. Then the normal soup fixins: vegetales, tubers, and meat. Don’t ask what type.”

Cole takes a whiff of the soup and it smells vaguely like lavender. Whatever ingredients included seemed to cancel out each other's smell into this light floral scent.

There’s a lull in conversation as they eat. Barath doesn’t come down from the dais to eat, his bowl cooling on the table. Birdy picks up his spoon and they all expect him to do the same number he had before when he’d eaten in front of them, lifting his mask just enough to wedge his utensils under it without revealing his face.

Instead, to their great shock, he pulls his mask off to the side and angles it so the ninja can’t see his face, but Samira can. This doesn’t phase her at all.

“So she can see your face, but we can’t?” Kai comments with a pout.

“We are very close,” Samira explains, “We’re nearly best friends.”

“No we are not.” Birdy shuts that down immediately, “She has seen my face before- by circumstance not by choice.” He corrects.

“You wound me! And here I am, one of the only people in this realm who welcomes you.” She tuts, “You’ve made quite a choice in your guide so i must ask, why Butcher bird of all people?”

“He saved us from an ambush.” It’s Nya this time who chimes in.

Samira smiles at her with an unreadable expression, “How sweet of him.” She looks at Birdy's bare face, searching for something that he doesn’t give her. Her lips purse into a thin line. There's a moment where they eat in silence, “You say you're passing through. Where are you heading? It seems you have a destination in mind.”

There's an uncertain silence as they grapple with how to answer that.

“If you’re going somewhere specific, you’ll be on a tight schedule. The evershift waits for no one- so tell me, and I can ensure you end your journey on time.” She smiles pretty, and it's all teeth.

“There’s no rush.” Lloyd says stoically.

Samiras smile dims, and she seems to sense she won't get anything out of them on that topic. She pivots, “You’re from Ninjago, yes? Interesting. I had no idea they still practiced this type of punishment. What do you do to get sent here?”

“We told you earlier, we just got into a fight.” Kai reminds her, “Simple as.” He parrots with a grin.

Samira narrows her eyes at him, “So you all just stood still while your opponent brewed the travelers potion? I see my initial judgment of you as warriors was false.”

“Hey! We are warriors! We’re ninjas!” Jay defended, “She didn’t brew anything- she used a gauntlet!”

Samira, who’d been lounging back in her chair with a smirk on her face, sits up straight at that. Her eyes widen a pinch, “A gauntlet?” She clarifies, “Was it blue?”

Her sudden interest surprises even Birdy, who sets his spoon down to dedicate his full attention to the conversation.

“Er, yeah. Teal and dark blue with like, little metal claws-”

She barks out a laugh, “That gauntlet was supposed to have been destroyed! Do you know just how unlucky it is that you got blasted with it?” She pauses, “And how dangerous it is that it’s been found?”

The room grows tense, “What do you mean?”

“That gauntlet is a piece of The Armor of Utano.” Samira explains before her face pinches and she glares at the table, searching for a piece of information in her mind, “Oh what did they call it in Ninjago… something stupid…” She snaps her finger, “You should know it as a piece of the Allied Armor of Azul.”

“Azure.” Birdy corrects.

“Same thing.”

“I’ve never heard it called that.” Lloyd commented, “Even Uncle Wu has only called it the allied armor.”

Samiras eyes flash as if she's learned a particularly interesting fact, “It's quite the weapon... I could tell you more, but I’m afraid it won’t be free.”

Bird speaks up, “That won't be necessary. I know of the armor, and I will inform them.”

“Fine, be my guest.” She says sitting back, feigning nonchalance.

Birdy turns towards them and clears his throat, “How do I start… ummm… there was once- No, uh. A long time ago in Ninjago-”

“No! Shut up, you aren’t telling it right.” Samira immediately interjects irritably, “You know what? This is a Cloud Kingdom story. It should be a Cloud Kingdom native who tells it.”

Nodding, he inclines his head, “You’re right. Please, the floor is yours.”

One of Samiras eyes gives him a dirty look before she starts, “The first thing you need to know is that there are places in every realm where the Ethereal divide is thin enough to cross over, and the second thing you need to know is that every realm has its own artifact with the ability to easily cross the Realms of Creation. In Ninjago, that would be the Realm Crystal.”

Lloyd frowns, “But I thought the Realm Crystal was created by the First Spinjitzu Master to escape the first realm?”

“The First Spinjitzu Master found it in the First realm,” Samira corrects, “It was lost when the great serpent Wojiras' wrath tore open those thin spots between Ninjago and the divide. Much of Ninjagos history was scattered this way. In the Cloud Kingdom, our realm key was a ball of pure metal imbued with the essence of the other realms. Before time had a name, a man from the Cloud Kingdom fell in love with a man from Ninjago. He heard him singing through one of those thin spots in the realm, and they began to meet in secret. You see, It is forbidden for a cloud kingdom native to fraternize with any other realm inhabitant- as the writers of destiny, we were meant to stay completely impartial. He was breaking the most sacred law of our land.”

Samira picks up her cup and sips from it, “They only kept it secret for so long- they could not hide the pregnancy. Once they were discovered, The Grand Scribe ordered the dimensional portal sealed and forbade Daichi from returning- but he did return. With the Realm Sphere. The Cloud Kingdom could not stand for this and warriors were sent to retrieve him. He hid his husband and his daughter from the kingdom's eyes, left them the Realm Sphere, and was imprisoned until his death.

“His husband passed not long after Daichi was taken, and their daughter Utano was alone. The loss and hardship of her life poisoned her, and she took the realm sphere to a smith and had it forged into a powerful set of armor imbued with the powers of each realm of creation. Her helmet granted her future vision and she allowed it to inflate her ego. She gained money, power, and prestige. She amassed an army. She believed herself to be judge, jury, and executioner and called upon the powers of the 16 realms to become a revered warlord… In the end, she was defeated by the elemental masters of creation, and her armor was split apart and destroyed. Or, if your story is true, mostly destroyed.”

“Except the gauntlet that leads here?” Lloyd grin wryly.

“Apparently.” Samira hums. “This gauntlet not only opens portals to this place, but it has the ability to change its shape to whatever the wielder desires. Utano felled many men with this ability, by the blade of a sword, the flat of a hammer, or the claws of a dragon. Whatever enemy you have made was merciful in their decision to banish you rather than cut you to pieces.”

She gulps down the last of her soup and surveys the room and sighs, “It seems dinner is over. I feel like I'm the only one who did the talking here.” She narrows her eyes at Birdy for a moment before looking back at the ninja, “As much as I’d love to pick you all apart, it’s time for the boring part- business.”

They grow tense, stiffening under her eyes as her expression changes from relaxed to closed off in an instant.

“Well?” Kai challenges when the silence goes on too long.

“One of you will stay and serve me, and the rest may go on.” She says instantly.

The ninja erupt into protests, “No way!” and “We can’t leave anyone behind!” filling the room.

“Okay, fine, keep Birdy.” Kai says with a frown, motioning at the man.

“He is ineligible for this particular offer.” Samira says apologetically, “It must be one of you color coded trespassers.”

“I understand your responsibilities as a leader, I really do, but that gauntlet is dangerous and I have a duty to the people of Ninjago to protect them. That is my responsibility. There has to be some other way.” Lloyd insists.

“None.” Samira says stiffly. “This is the way it must be. I have a reputation to uphold, and an expectation from those who I punished before you to maintain consistency-”

“Three funeral flowers.” Birdy announces into the air, staring at Samira. It’s an offer, and a serious one if her sudden silence is anything to go by.

“Do not interrupt me again,” She says quietly, “I’ll allow it this once because that is quite an offer, Butcher.”

“Three funeral flowers is more than enough to allow all of us safe passage through Oasis.” He seems unphased by her chastising him, “If we fail… you may kill us.”

“What?” Kai demands, jumping to his feet.

“There is no other way.” Birdy doesn’t look away from Samira.

She studies him just as hard, “I assume you’ll leave now?” he nods. She takes a tense moment to think, “I can’t allow you all to leave for this journey. I must have leverage to ensure you complete your part of the bargain… but you’re already planning on leaving alone.” another nod.

“You’re going to just leave us here?” Cole asks, surprised at how much that stings.

Birdy immediately turns to him, “I will come back.” He says firmly, hearing the betrayed hurt in Cole's words, “I will not abandon you.” And Cole finds he believes him.

“Anyone else, and I would be convinced they were lying. I’d be certain they’d never look back once they got off Oasis’s land… But I know you well enough to know you’re telling the truth. You’re a man of your word.” She leans forward and examines them all again, “And for some reason… These people are special to you.”

“They are good people.” Birdy says weakly.

“I accept your offer, but you aren't going alone.” She looks around the room for a heartbeat before pointing at Lloyd randomly, “Blondie will join you. The rest will stay here.”

“No way!” Kai sputters, affronted.

Reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Kais shoulder, Lloyd offers Kai a confident grin, “Kai, I’ll be fine. I mean, we’re just going to pick a few flowers, right? how dangerous could it be?”

Samira cringes, and she and Birdy share a look that means one thing. This wasn’t going to be as simple as a walk in a meadow.

What did we get ourselves into?

#ninjago #lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #jay walker #zane julien #ninjago never the dark #ninjago au #nya ninjago #spinchip fic #ns11 #body horror #this chapter also mentions a guy getting pregnant but hes trans alright

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