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hunnylagoon · 1 month

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Take Me to War

PT2 Metaphor

Streamer! Ellie Williams x reader

Where do I pour my love if you take away my pen and paper?

Premise: You are starting to like your annoyingly loud neighbour more than you want to admit.

PT1 Here!

Warnings: Raunchy humour

The gym was busy on this particular day, I absentmindedly judged others for being at the gym at noon on a Saturday like they should have been doing something more interesting with their time until I realized I was at the gym at noon on a Saturday with no other plans for the rest of the day "And she's hot?" Abby asks me while she effortlessly benches something around 170 and I do nothing more than lean on the wall behind her.

"She's hot," I answer, scrolling through her feed on Instagram like the weird little stalker I was. I hadn't gone full FBI, just looked her up and possibly watched some of her videos "It's kind of cool that I have an internet celebrity living next to me."

"Define cool," Abby props the bar back onto the saddles of the machine and sits up, taking a chug from her water bottle.

"She is cool," I defend "It's not that weird Minecraft roleplay that your grimy cousins watch, it's just like video games and vlogs, that kind of stuff."

Abby looks back at me, sweat drips from her blonde hairline and rests above her brow "How is that even a career?"

I shrug in response "Sponsorships and donations and shit."

"Why do people throw so much money at streamers?"

"Parasocial relationships, I wrote an article about it last year which you said you read."

She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "You were writing a lot of articles, hard to keep up with."

"Define a lot," I mock Abby's words. I glance at a guy in between the rows of gleaming machines, their metallic frames reflecting the obnoxious glow overhead. He had been using the leg press upside down, his neck hunched over into an almost horrifying posture, his shoulders pressing against the top plate. It might've been the most normal thing I've seen in New York.

"So are you going to ask her out?"

I wrinkle my nose, thinking about it "I met her last week, I just don't think I know her that well." Within the past week that I've met her, I've been crawling out to the fire escape every morning just so her drowsy eyes could peer into my vacant skull and in recent months I had given up on dating, like a spider, I devoured my own heart.

"That's kind of the point of dating," She lays back down on the bench press "Getting to know each other."

"I think I'm too busy to date," I tuck my phone into my pocket, crossing my arms while I watch Abby. I wasn't entirely sure that I was too busy to date but I tended to consume myself entirely and make everything far more complicated than it needed to be. I still perform autopsies on conversations I've had years ago, clinging to every word like I need them to survive.

"Why don't you wanna be happy?" She asks, furrowing her eyebrows "You're always getting in your own way, is it a tortured poet type of thing?"

My breath hitches in my throat. How I hate when she's right. The last serious relationship I had was in college and even then I had sabotaged myself, I didn't know where it came from other than a nagging feeling that I wasn't deserving of the love that had been offered up to me on a shining silver platter. "I do I'm-

"Just not ready?" Abby cuts me off, finishing my sentence so perfectly as if it had been words on a script for some boring play about a woman who hates her life and won't do anything about it.

"Yeah," I say, my voice is quiet, she's got me in a box here.

"If you're not ready to date, you might as well be friends with her," She puts the bar back onto the saddles but this time, stands up after completing her reps. "You need to get out and it seems like you get along well."

"I guess," I say and Abby raises an eyebrow "No, you're right, I need to dig myself out of the grave I've dug for myself." What added to my overly apathetic mood was the season, I was so sick of February. It felt like winter had forced mold to grow on my bones to way me down onto the dirty city pavement where careless New Yorkers would gladly stomp over my body.

"How's it going with the family?" Abby is writing something down in her notes which I assume is her number of sets and reps.

"Nothing new," I answer.

She peers at me over her phone, digging for a more solid answer "Are you still sending your parents money?"

"Yes-

"Why?" Her arms dropped to her side, her phone still in one hand "You shouldn't have to play caretaker for two people who don't care about you," As true as it was, it didn't hurt any less to hear it out of my best friend's mouth.

"It's easier said than done, those are my parents," I'm almost overtaken by a delicate drowsiness from the thoughts of leaving behind the one connection I had to my small-town life. My parents were so careless that I would run around barefoot on the road with the neighbour's kids for hours, narrowly dodging cars that flew past us like it had been a game; everything was a game back then, when I came home to my father's drunkenness, I could hide away in the treehouse and read Harry Potter until the screaming came to a stop.

I was bonded to them like I was to the stray cats who raised me. There was no getting rid of them, we ricocheted between hatred and love like the game of catch I never got to play.

"I'm sorry," She says though I know it is ingenuine "I shouldn't get in between your family."

Abby didn't know them the same way I did. All she knew was the bloodiness of the relationship that I had cried into her arms, she didn't know how kind the wolves were after they tore me apart. The way my father would cheer for me the loudest at my soccer games and how my mother baked for me after a fight, wasn't the apology that I yearned for but the one that was shoved down my throat.

I dug through my brain to search for a way to change the topic "I saw Owen at the market yesterday and he said he wanted you to call him."

"You're fucking kidding."

My deadline had passed with no issue and I was finally blessing myself with a day where I wasn't chained to my desk. I could finally let my poor bloodshot eyes rest and for once I didn't have to drown them in eyedrops.

I was freshly out of the shower when I heard a knock at my door, Margot yelling at me to answer it. I slipped into a matching pyjama set that Abby gave me on my birthday, hurrying as fast as I could to the door. Margot's consistent screaming did nothing to aid this.

Ellie was the last person I expected to see on the other side of the door but there she was. I couldn't help the smile that cracked onto my face "Am I the one being loud now?"

She grins at me "No-it's just that my chat has been begging for you to come back all week and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to do a stream with me?"

I looked down at what I was wearing and suddenly felt like the scrouge, all I was missing was a nightcap and a taper candle. "Can I change first?"

"Go ahead but I think this is one of your best looks."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow "You have poor judgement since you've never seen me in anything other than pyjamas."

"We should probably fix that then."

"I guess we should." I smile. I decided against changing, it wasn't like I was going out, just heading to my friend's apartment that was three feet away.

"Say as much or as little as you want," She opens the door to let me in "I owe you big time," Ellie says this like I don't want excuses to spend time for her. Like I haven't been freezing my ass off every day just to talk to her when she watches the city wake up as she prepares to rest her head.

Ellie's apartment is more lively than the last time I visited, she's adapted some plants that are already beginning to wilt "Have these been getting any sunlight?"

She furrows her eyebrows "No? They're fake."

"Ellie," I stifle a laugh "I'm like ninety percent sure that fake plants don't wilt."

"Nuh-uh," She walks toward one just rubs its wilting leaf between her thumb and index, it begins to crumble in her hand and she sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "I guess they are real," Ellie pokes a finger into the bone dry soil and wipes the dirt onto her pants "How much do you know about plants?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess more than you."

She nods "Sounds about right," Ellie walks over to her sink to fill a Game of Thrones mug with water before circling back to water her plants "Drink up little buddies."

"looks like you need some sunlight too," I watch her attempt to revive the dying plants and

"Yeah," She keeps hyper-focused on the plants but she cracks a small grin, I could've sworn her smile burnt down the library of Alexandria "I think I'm turning into a vampire."

"The sparkly kind?"

Ellie shakes her head as she stands back up to put the mug on the kitchen island "Like the guy from Sesame Street."

I wrinkle my nose "Yeah, you're looking kind of purple."

"Damn, I was worried you would notice," She smiles again as she opens the door to her office, the purple LED lights are still running but the overhead light is turned on and washes away the colour.

The second I step into the room, Ellie rushes ahead of me and almost jumps to grab the folding chair. She sits herself down and pats her fancy gaming chair for me to sit in it. "Guys, she came!"

I stare at her, eyes wide, jaw slack. "Ellie."

"What?"

"Do you hear yourself?"

She takes a minute to think about it before nodding her head, I could see the exact moment it clicked "No, I hear it," She addresses the camera "Not like that guys but I don't know what she did with her day, not our business though."

Ellie looks at me like she's waiting for approval of her chosen words. After a moment's reflection, I answer dryly "Thanks."

"Sorry for taking so long, I had to water some plants," She watches the chat bar scroll by, squinting before she leans back in her chair, hand running through her hair "No, that's not code for sex."

"Could be," I shrug.

"They wanna know what your name is."

"Top secret."

"Okay," She reads some more comments from the chat "Can you tell them what you do for work?"

"I'm a ghostwriter," I say, giving a little thumbs up. I saw myself in the monitor and wanted to throw my hands at myself for being so awkward.

"Spooky," Ellie smiles "She writes about people instead of interacting with them, that's why she's socially inept." She reaches for her soundboard and presses a button, sounding a prerecorded effect of a crowd cheering and laughing.

"She's never had a girl in her apartment, that's why she can't flirt." I counter as she throws her hands up, I can tell she's about to retort with something before I cut her off "So what were you doing before you kidnapped me?"

"Guys, I didn't kidnap her, she willingly walked in here without the use of excessive force and I have had many a girl in this apartment," Ellie tells the chat before clicking something on her screen "So, they send in videos and we have to not laugh, which isn't hard because they aren't very funny."

"You're not funny either but they watch you," I tease, Ellie fights a smile trying to uphold our image of back and-forth pocking and prodding at one another.

"Laugh three times and you're out."

"Of the apartment?"

"No, you just laugh three times and you lose."

"What do I get if I don't lose?"

"Fuck, I dunno," She furrows her eyebrows, searching the room for something. Her eyes land on a small silver tin, she snatches it up into the palm of her pale hand and sits back down "You get my dill dough."

"I'm sorry!?" My head snaps to look at her "Are you sure you aren't a cam girl?"

"No," She pauses "No, I mean no it's not what you think, yes," Ellie backtracks again "I mean I am sure I'm not a cam girl, not that that I'm not sure I'm not a cam girl, because I'm not," She looks like she's sure of what she said like it made perfect sense "Not a cam girl."

"You're not-not a cam girl?" I ask, pointing out the double negative "So you are a cam girl?"

"No," Ellie runs a hand down her face "Can you guys please tell her that I'm not a cam girl?"

Dcknb4llz:She's a cam girl

Nataliadepressed:I just subbed to her only fans!

Mclovin_fury26:She just wants to show you her dill dough 😕

Yayayalorde:I wish she was a cam girl

The3nd_isn3ar:Ellie pls stop joking about it and become a cam girl already 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Ewmarryme:hahaha Ellie ur so funny now get serious and make an onlyfans

"Anyways," Ellie ignores the chat as they clearly aren't helping her case "This is my dill dough," She shows me the small tin she picked up, there's a picture of a pickle on the front. Over the translucent lid, it surely enough says 'Dill Dough! pickle scented'. It was just green silly putty with an oddly incredulous name.

"I weirdly want that," I answer.

"If you win, it's yours." She tucks it away into the pocket of her sweatpants "Mods, let's get this moving."

We sit through about fifteen minutes of videos; mainly people getting hurt, occasionally one of some type of animal. Nothing funny enough to make either of us laugh except for one of a man falling through a glass table which gets a little chuckle out of Ellie who denies it.

Another video began playing, it was Ellie in this exact spot, screaming during a game of Fortnite. It looks like it's from the first time she showed me her odd job choice. In the distance, you can hear a knock on the door and this is when I'm sure it's from the day I had been thinking of. Ellie pulls her headphones off and looks at her camera "Shit, I think that's my hot neighbour again."

I slap a hand over my mouth and turn to see Ellie who's looking disappointed at her chat, shaking her head at the camera. "Whoever sent that is fake as fuck."

"So you think I'm hot?"

"Pfft, no, dude, you're ugly as fuck," Ellie makes an overexaggerated confused face like she has no idea what I'm talking about "I was talking about my other neighbour."

Kaylnncourting:Ellie y r u fumbling so bad???????

Overdam00n:You guys were right for saying she doesn't get 🐱🐱🐱🐱

Sestwouth:bruh she's ruining it for herself

Connerstollit:WHY DID SHE SAY THAT

Cruel_summer:What is wrong with Ellie? Genuinely

F0gg4t:If El doesn't want her, I do

Aliinnnnnaaaaa:First girl she's ever met and she's ruining it

Randelwthehandle:Ugly as fuck??????? who says that 😭😭

Dcknb4llz:wow nice cover up Ellie

Marie_739:Bro Im gonna start calling the girls I like ugly as fuck

"Mr. Quigley?" I ask to which Ellie nods immediately "You think the eighty-seven-year-old veteran who is missing a foot and has swallowed four of his teeth is hot?"

"Yeah," She says, immediately regretting the hole she was digging herself into "I have a thing for older men."

"I don't think you have a thing for men at all, actually."

Her eyes go wide, Ellie opens her mouth to say something and she leans forward in her chair so fast that she falls out and smacks her head on the desk, folding over and onto the ground. I have the biggest smile on my face as I reach for her soundboard and press the cheering crowd effect. I'm laughing too hard to offer her help, clutching my stomach and keeling over so my head is out of frame. Ellie gets up, and puts herself back in the folding chair pointing at the camera "Do not clip that."

Almost seconds after she says that a video gets sent in of her smacking her head on the desk in slow motion while I burst out laughing and now I'm cackling even harder. You can even hear her yelp in slow motion and she sounds like the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park "You guys are way funnier than Ellie," I say, addressing whoever was watching the stream.

Another video pops on the screen right after the last one ends, it's Ellie again. She screams at something on her computer and you can hear me bang on the wall on the other side. Ellie goes quiet immediately going back to her game and muttering "She's so hot guys."

"I think my mods hate me," Ellie shakes her head.

"Thank you mods!" I smile at the camera.

A little clip of Ellie back at her desk pops up, she's wearing a Garfield shirt. This time she isn't playing anything, she just sits in front of the camera with that familiar lopsided smile "Guys, how do I trick my neighbour into going out with me?"

There's another video, it's a longer one with the caption 'Ellie Williams calling her neighbour hot compilation' Ellie's eyes go wide and she clicks off the video immediately, the camera goes to us full screen. "That's enough of that."

I pull my phone out and type in the caption of the unfinished video into YouTube, it comes up right away and I click on it. Ellie clicks around on her computer, unaware of my viewing until she hears her voice, echoing in low quality from my phone. She reaches for my phone but I pull it closer to myself.

I'm dead set on finishing the video until something on the other side of the door, catches my eye. It rushes past the small crack in the slightly ajar door and instinctively, I drop my phone with a slight jolt "What the fuck is that?"

Ellie takes this opportunity to snatch my phone and place it face down on the desk, out of my reach. "That's just Kitty." She pushes herself out of the folding chair and steps out of the room. She walks back in carrying what looks to be a mound of cotton balls, looking a little closer, I realize it's a rabbit. He looks more fluff than flesh.

"What the fuck," My mouth falls open in awe "Can I hold it?" She places him in my lap "He just walks around your apartment?"

She nods "He's litter trained so he just kinda hangs out."

I pet him, he's soft as a million feathers, and he looks like a mascot for a paper towel company "You are the only person I know that would name their bunny Kitty."

Ellie tries to wipe off the mass amounts of rabbit fur on her, it seems the more she tries to get it off, the more firmly it refuses to budge. "This is a good time to show you guys this new shirt that Dina ordered for me," Ellie stands up walking off camera. She has a couple of Amazon boxes stacked on her couch, she reaches into one of them and pulls out a T-shirt. Ellie turns towards the wall so her back is facing me, she pulls her hoodie off over her head.

All I can see is the back of her sports bra but I force my eyes to go wide "Guys, Ellie Williams has a tramp stamp that says cum dumpster," I lie and the chat goes wild and I grab my phone off her desk as she turns around in her Five Nights at Freddie's tee with a 'Seriously?' face. I take a picture of her with the flash on "I'll sell this rare image of Ellie for six hundred dollars on eBay."

Ellie walks back over to the desk with a stack of Amazon boxes "Every donation goes toward my tattoo removal," She jokes, digging around in the boxes. "I'm a little over your videos, you bunch of snitches so I think it's about time I finally open these up."

I look in the boxes too, leaning over slightly, being very careful of Kitty where he sits in my lap. I see something and pull it out to hand to Ellie "You should try this one."

"World's hottest gummy bear," She reads the package "Why is there only one? What if I want another?" Ellie yanks the gummy bear, squishing it between her fingers. It looks like Red-40 personified.

Melanie_felony:She's setting her up lmao

Dcknb4llz:Nobody say anything pls I rlly wanna see this

Elliewsidechick:YALL SHES TOO WHITE FOR THIS STOP

She eats the gummy bear in one bite. As she begins to chew it, she seems absolutely unfazed and partially confused about why it was labelled 'World's Hottest Gummy Bear' A moment later she begins to cough, balling her hand up into a fist and pounding on her chest. Ellie's little cough quickly turns into a deep wheeze.

Ellie lets out a scream, her face going red as she slams her hand onto her desk with watering eyes. I could see visible sweat on her face as she dry heaved, it only took thirty seconds until she sprinted out of the room.

"Oh my god," I watch her run out of the room while I give Kitty a little pet between his ears, he's so still I almost think he's taxidermy. "Guys, I think we killed her." You can hear her vaguely screaming and gagging from the kitchen "So what did everyone do today?"

Thelastgreatamericandynasty:wrote a fanfic about you and Ellie

Dcknb4llz:I got jumped at waffle house

"Yikes, sorry to hear that." I suck a breath through my teeth "Tell me what I should know about Ellie." Her name feels so right on my tongue.

Jesse_chang:She's a virgin

D4aughter_:OMG HI JESSE

A_birthday_card:The only s3x she's ever had was in Minecraft

Whathasshegot:She has a crush on you

Touching_theyouth:She's lactose intolerant

Dcknb4llz:She sold me ketamine in an ally

Gusty_queefqueen:She homophonic

Torxhmydreams2:Pretty sure that’s two words that have the same pronunciation but different meaning

Gusty_queefqueen:Bruh it means she doesn’t like gay people

Heytheredelilah7:She has a boyfriend

When Ellie comes back she's filled her Game of Thrones mug with milk and has a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese. She reads the chat "Can you guys be cool for once?"

"They're cooler than you."

"Very funny," Ellie eats a handful of mozzarella before she digs back in the boxes "What's next?" There's one box huge envelope that looks like it has a slip of cardboard in it. Ellie tears the corner open with her teeth and rips the rest of the top off with her hands. She pulls the content out of it, throwing the envelope over the computer for it to land on the ground. Just as suspected there was cardboard in it, not just a slip but it unfolded into a cardboard cut out of Ellie, she looked to be a younger teenager in it, giving an awkward little peace sign and showing her green braces off with a huge smile.

"Aww, you actually look cute in that."

She disregards me "Chat, interrogate Dina about this and report back."

"Dina?" I ask "Is that your girlfriend?"

"Nah," Ellie props up the cardboard cut-out and places it behind us, right in the middle to watch over us "She's my enemy as of right now."

"What did she do?"

"Send this shit," She eats some more mozzarella, holding the bag out to offer me some, to which I decline. Ellie shrugs it off and eats another handful, washing it down with a long chug of milk and putting it on the desk. She grabs a t-shirt, he eyes go wide and she pushes it against her chest so I can't see. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," I watch a smile spread across her face as she turns the shirt around to show me a graphic of her on it. In the picture, her face is close up to the camera covered in a white powder (presumably flour). "Oh, wow!" I feign shock.

"I know!" She holds it out toward me "It's yours, you deserve it."

"Wow," I draw the word out, taking the shirt from Ellie "This is really great, I was always hoping I would get a shirt of you covered in flour." Sarcasm drips from tone but I accept the gift regardless.

"I know!" Ellie grins brightly "You should put it on now."

"That's fine, I think I'll save it for our date," I tease.

She perks up just the slightest "Ooo, when's that?"

"The second this stream ends."

"On that note," Ellie looks at the camera "Thank you guys for hopping on tonight and thank you to my neighbour who came here without putting up a fuss," Ellie clicks around on the screen a little bit before addressing them again "Alright, go bug Dina now."

With that the stream comes to a close, the blinking light on the camera turns off, and Ellie and I are left alone with ourselves and Kitty.

“So,” Ellie thumps her foot up and down repeatedly like those anxious kids in high school. “Do you maybe wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

“I don’t drink coffee but I’ll pretend to so I have an excuse to hangout with you.”

A smile splits onto Ellie’s face “Phew, I hate coffee I just thought it was an adult way to ask you out.”

A/N: This is super short but I’ll make up for it in the next part, thanks for reading! We got some angst on the way 👀

Perm tag-list: @veeveeisgay @whenlostinthedarkness @gold-dustwomxn @ellslvr

Series tag-list: @diddiqueen @camillecrellin @fullmachinegirl @eveshyper @lmaoo-spiderman @camicocom1a @elliessweetheart @melanie-watermelon @lanafresitas

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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Azriel x Reader | The Beauty of Intimacy

type: smut (& a bit of angst) warning(s): explicit descriptions, curse words, mature language word count: 3.1k words

request: Hi could you write some thing where reader and azriel have been in a relationship for a little bit but whenever azriel tries to like do anything with her she brushed him off and be begins to think she’s not attracted to him but then she tells him that it’s because she’s never really had a positive experience with sex and so azriel shows her how amazing sex with him can be and like just worships her??? Srry this is so specific but I love your writing and would love to read this!!

"Is it because of the scars?" Azriel’s demeanour is solemn, his shadows calm, his eyes empty, sad.

A small crack appears in your heart and you quickly lift your gaze to meet your lover’s. "No," you say. "No, of course not."

Crossing one leg behind the ankle of the other Azriel leans his shoulder against the doorframe. Then his head, and his eyes close for a long moment.

"What is it then? Y/N, please tell me." He is almost begging you to be honest with him, his tone desperate. As desperate as all his attempts for the two of you to be intimate have been. It isn't that you don’t want to sleep with him. It is way more complicated. You have never found pleasure during sex, you have never had one single positive experience and at this point you think it is because of you. Yes, you blame this lack of sensual heights on yourself. Maybe you simply cannot enjoy it? Maybe you do something wrong? Maybe there is something wrong with you?

"I thought you weren’t a virgin. Did you not tell the truth when we talked about our past? Are you scared? Nervous?” Azriel asks and blinks his eyes open. "I don’t care at all, we can go slow. But please, just tell if it has something to do with me. If it is about me. Are you not attracted to me? Not sexually attracted?"

Gods, you are. There is no male who is only half as beautiful as Azriel, and you are more than attracted to him.

"I am no virgin and that is not the problem—"

"Then what is the problem? I don’t want to push you. I don’t want to force you to have sex with me, but I would like to understand. That is all. I just want to understand," Azriel says, his voice turning softer and gentler. He pushes off the wall and slowly makes his way over to the bed you sit on.

His throat burns when his mouth parts to ask one last question. "Did someone hurt you? Did someone touch when you didn’t want it? You can be honest with me. Always."

You love Azriel so much. And especially for that. For how good his heart is, how thoughtful he is, how understanding.

Sliding your hands over his, you draw in a deep breath and give your head a shake. "No. Thank you for asking, but no." Azriel exhales a shuddering breath of relief.

Leaning forward, you let one hand slide up his arm to his neck, you lips meeting his in a soft and quick kiss. "I just don’t like…sex."

"Sex is something beautiful," Azriel says and a sheepish smile blooms on his face.

The corner of your own mouth moves up at how adorable he looks. "Is it?” You raise your brow.

Azriel nods his head frantically and places his thumb under your chin, tipping it up. "One oft the most beautiful things in this world, I might say." His eyes have turned darker, the shadows becoming alive around his figure. The shadowsinger’s posture changes from formerly rather reserved to confident and he rolls back his shoulders, sitting straighter now. Your eyes meet, and warmth fills your body.

Nervousness coats your insides, your skin prickling. "I am not sure if I am…capable of having sex. Good sex, I mean. There is not one positive experience I have made and I am over 500, Azriel. It must have something to do with me."

A low chuckle leaves the shadowsinger and he gives his head a tiny shake, silken strands of onyx hair shifting with movement. "There is nothing wrong with you, I am 100% positive about that."

You love his certainty, but you can’t quite agree with him.

"Why don’t I find it… pleasurable then?"

"Because you may have not yet been with the right male," Azriel says, his brow lifting in an almost cocky way. It is this slight arrogance that changes his demeanour that makes your toes curl and the hair on his body stand.

Your voice becomes a breathy whisper when you feel a shadow dance over your bare thigh and you lean forward. "And now I am?"

His low chuckle reverberates through you, his lips brushing yours and tingling them with the vibrations of his laugh. Azriel pecks you shortly and then says against your lips, "Now you are."

You change your sitting position, stretching your legs. ”And you are going to convince me now that it is something enjoyable?"

The shadowsinger’s scarred hand smoothes up your foot, higher onto your leg and back down again. He lifts his gaze to yours and smirks. "I going to prove to you that sex is one of the most beautiful things in the world," he drawls, his index finger circling your ankle. "Only if you want that, of course."

Wet heat fills your body when you draw in a deep breath and bow your head. "I want that."

You really want to. You want it to be good. You want for yourself to enjoy it. You have faith— Azriel is a phenomenal male, he would do it right, would make you feel right. This is going to be good, Azriel is different to the males before him, he has already proven that many times.

His fingers curl around your ankle and he lifts your leg, carefully sliding closer to you and placing your leg over his lap, your other one behind his back. Azriel regards you, silently assessing you.

"So you’ve never come then?"

"Obviously," you whisper and avert your gaze when heat flushes your cheeks. Azriel’s fingers continue their exploration, dancing over your knee up to your thigh. The spymaster draws idle circles to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs which already makes you want to squeeze them together. "Never made yourself come either?"

You could practically the warmth radiating from your cheeks. "I think…I have."

"Thinking about me?"

Biting down on your lower lip you nod.

"That’s a good girl."

His praise almost has you squirming. Gods, you haven’t known that you would like that. But something about the way he said it, the deep tenor of his voice reverberating through your body, did something to you.

His hand giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, Azriel leans into you, damp lips coasting over your ear. "I should have known you like that. Should have known my lovely lady likes to be praised for the things she does so well." His lips curl when he pecks the pointy end of your ear, chuckling softly.

“Well, “Azriel drawls, his scarred hands slowly sliding over your skin, the calluses rough against it. "Lean back against the head board," the shadowsinger orders, his voice commanding yet soft.

You do as told, nestling between the pillows and behaving like his good girl. But there is still this teeny-tiny kernel of nervousness in you — what if not even Azriel can make you reach your height? What if it truly is something about your body and he just tries to be nice?

The shadowsinger must have noticed your unease, his smile faltering, happiness slowly fading.

Azriel swipes his thumb over your cheek. "I really want you to know that," Azriel says, his eyes piercing into yours, "you not finding pleasure has nothing to do with you. It is generally more difficult for females to reach their height, but if the male does everything right and takes proper care of their lover it most definitely should work. It has nothing to do with you, you can trust me on that."

Relief truly starts blossoms in your chest at that, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards. You slowly dip your chin and smile.

"I trust you on that."

A low but content growl leaves Azriel at that and he hooks his scarred hands under your knee pits, bracing your feet on the bed and easing your thighs apart. Your nightgown pools at your hips, Azriel’s gaze dropping to your centre. He leans closer and pecks your bent knee before his gaze lifts to yours. "Now," he drawls, "let me worship you. Let me show you how beautiful intimacy can be."

The shadowsinger’s damp lips brush down the inside of your thigh, his silken strands toppling over his forehead and tingling your skin. A strangled sound leaves you when a throbbing feeling starts in your core and you desperately want to squeeze your thighs together. Azriel’s grip is tight, holding your legs spread open. He tips his head back, a brow raising when your gazes met. "Uh-oh."

His tongue poking out he gives your inner thigh a soft lick, descending, savouring your sweet skin. Damp heat pools in your core, soft, quick pants leaving you when your lids start to feel heavy. Your knuckles turn white from how tightly you hold onto the pillows next to you, watching Azriel dip his head between your thighs. Azriel’s nose brushes against your still in undergarments covered core, adding just a light pressure that has you squirming.

The spymaster’s voice is a soft growl, the deep tenor rumbling through you when he says, "Lift your hips, beautiful." Azriel steadies you, helping you, and curls his fingers around the elastic, slowly peeling the undergarment off.

His desire stretches out, making it impossible for you to breathe when his heated gaze lands on the spot between your thighs. A low groan leaves Azriel, the sound so raw and primal it has you turning even more molten, your legs shaking slightly.

He leans into you and kisses your sex. You shudder, never having felt…anything like that.

The shadowsinger inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal beguiling. The strong tendons of his throat stand out when he clenches his jaw, his pupils dilating even more.

Azriel’s throat works on a swallow, his tongue feeling so thick all of a sudden when he says, "Ever been tasted before?"

The heated honey of his eyes meets yours, his need and desire laced into his features. You give your head a tiny shake, holding his gaze. His want, his need, his desire, it does something to you. To your heart. To your core.

"Good," Azriel purrs and dips his head. He kisses your lower belly, tongue circling your navel, hands skimming over your thighs, before finally lifting them over his shoulders. "Perfect," he breaths, his mouth moving lower. Shadows softly travel up your body when Azriel parts you with his thumbs. It is the first stroke of his tongue, the first broad stroke through your silken folds up to the apex of your thighs, that has you squirming. Your back arches, your hips lift, pressing against his face when a lewd gasp leaves you.

It is the firm grip of his scarred hands that places you back on the bed, that holds you tightly, that limits your movements. Azriel chuckles lowly, sending vibrations and hot air right into your core. You squirm against him and the shadowsinger tips his head back only an inch. “Sshh,” he cooes, grinning, his lips glistening. “Relax and let me worship you probably. Let me devour you, beautiful.” You get no chance to answer, his head dips again, his tongue poking out and he flicks it against your clit. And then he feasts, his tongue driving deep into. He licks and suckles, holding you firmly, the sounds that leave his mouth feeling like a sin in your ears. Azriel is like a starved male, some primal need fully unleashed, his restraints gone. You wreathe underneath him, something in your lower body squeezing, your walls clenching. It feels so good, it feels…nearly overwhelming. Your eyes roll back and then your orgasm comes crashing in on you. Wave after of hot pleasure overflows you, washes you under. You come with a scream that is a mix of curses and his name. Azriel.

He lets you ride out your height, softly guiding you through it, his tongue and lips still sloppily licking and kissing your sex. Proud at his work and your absolutely disheveled state, Azriel flashes you a full toothy grin when he lifts his head, his face wet with your arousal, with your release.

Having made you come one time is obviously not enough for the spymaster. Just seconds later you are fully underneath his tall figure. He has only given you a short glimpse at his marvellous body before climbing onto the bed and caging you beneath him.

Azriel flicks his tongue over the hardened peak of your breast, marvelling at how you shudder underneath him. His lips close around your nipple, licking, suckling.

“More?” Azriel breathes against your breast. Your hips give a little jerk, moving against Azriel who growls in approval, reveling into the feel of your skin against his. You sigh and dip your chin.

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words.”

The shadowsinger takes your nipple back into his mouth, suckling and tugging lightly. It has you squirming and making your unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Yes, more. Please, don’t stop,” you almost whine, burying your hands in his silken strands.

“Good girl,” Azriel drawls, pushing himself up on his hands and looking down at you. With something like a predatory gaze he watches you, marveling at the sight of your ruffled hair, the flushed cheeks, the need and desire in your eyes. All he can think is that you are stunning and fully his.

“Let me make you feel good.” The shadowsinger pushes your thighs apart, settling between them. “I need you to be my good girl again. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe. His hand reaches down between your bodies and he adjusts himself between your thighs. He lets the tip of his hard cock slide into you. It has you both gasping. Both of you look down at where you are connected. Azriel’s lips part in a silent hiss. “Fucking hell.” He carefully slides further into you, letting you adjust, but at the same time making you feel every glorious inch of his proud length. He leans in, softly brushing his lips against yours. “Tell me if I hurt you. Tell me when you want me to stop.”

Your hands find its place in the hair at the back of his neck the moment your lips close over his. “I will,” you whisper, “but it is perfect.”

Azriel’s lips curl against yours when he moves in to the hilt, stilling inside of you. You angle your hips, gasping at the sudden spark of pleasure when his tip touches one special spot inside of you. “Move, please,” you breathe and Azriel captures your lips, slowly pulling out of you.

He kisses you softly, one hand moving over your lower belly, gently adding pressure. You pull your legs up, curling them around his waist and moan at the feeling of it. Gods, this is perfect. This whole situation is pure satisfaction. And gods, you can enjoy it. It feels good. It is good.

The shadowsinger has you pinned beneath him, his tall body, covered in a thin film of sweat, hovering above you, him moving inside of you, filling you so perfectly.

He lets go of his restraints, his thrusts turning deeper, harder. He pounds into you, always making sure you feel good and that you enjoy what he is doing.

“Tell me how good you feel,” Azriel whispers when his lips close over your ear lob and he gives you a tiny bite. Azriel knows he is good at what he is doing. And this confidence, gods, it turns you on. You love it when he is like that, cocky and confident. “So good,” you breathe through gritted teeth, your head thrown back, your eyes squeezed closed, his hips slapping against yours. The sounds are wet, your high-pitched moans and pants the only things that are louder.

Azriel regards you, your figure, how beautiful you look underneath him, with him inside you. And he feels you getting closer, you clench around him and that feeling, gods! It brings himself closer and closer to edge as well.

The spymaster decreases his pace, slowly, steadily moving in and out of you. His thrusts are long and coordinated now. A lewd sob parts your lips, your eyes only opening for a split second. Calluses scrape over your soft skin when Azriel’s hand slides up your body, cradling your face. He lowers his forehead to yours, exhaling warm air that feels like a summer breeze against your skin.

"You" -thrust- "are" -thrust- "so perfect."

Your back arches, pressing against the solid body of your lover, your mouths meeting in a sloppy brush of tongues, and lips. Azriel’s stomach flexes, cock twitching and balls tightening. He knows he his close, wants you to come with him.

Azriel nips at your jaw, his thumb circling your clit, rubbing, adding extra pleasure that brings you closer to edge. You clench around him, rocking against him when a lewd cry breaks through the noises of your panting and moaning.

"Gods," you pant. "I am close, Azriel."

He doesn’t want to make you beg, does not want to torture you, edge you. He wants you to come, to fully enjoy this moment.

"Let go, angel," Azriel says and angels his hips differently to hit that damnable spot inside of you with each thrust.

Your pants come out quicker, your moans turning a pitch higher. You claw at his shoulders, flecks of white and black sparking in your vision when your eyes roll back.

You come simultaneously, a loud sob leaving you when a tidal wave of satisfaction washes over you. The shadowsinger trembles above you, his warm release spurting against your walls, his forehead dropping to yours. Your hips rock against each other with sloppy thrusts, riding out your heights together.

After easing out of you, Azriel collects a wet cloth for you to clean up. He kisses your forehead, his clothed hand carefully sliding between your thighs and over your lower belly. You are still in a blissful steady, knees feeling wobbly, legs numb. Soft pants leave you while your eyes follow your lover until he disappears into the bathroom. You fold a hand over your forehead, grinning to yourself and exhaling loudly. Gods! Love making was good, was enjoyable, was something you wanted more of. And you were were also a tiny bit relieved—there was nothing wrong about you. It was not your fault that you did not enjoy the times before.

Getting back into bed, Azriel brings you close to his body, wings stretched behind his broad shoulders. You rest your head on his chest, hand placed right above his heart.

Azriel brings your leg over his hips, holding your thigh tightly. “Could I convince you that sex is not so bad?”

You wiggle your head, mischief glinting in your eyes when you met his gaze. “I believe I definitely need some more convincing.” Azriel’s whole-hearted laugh is like balm to your soul. He cradles you to his body, kissing the top of your head, smiling. “I love you and don’t worry,” Azriel mumbles into your hair, giving your rear a soft smack. “You will get a lot more.”

Feedback and critics are always welcome, as I still try to improve my writing. Please let me know what you think 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tag list (crossed-out I couldn't tag):

@juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbitxh @cityofidek @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @whorefortim

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf

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murdocksdaughter · 1 year

Text

i love you ( jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader)

a/n: i promised this fic last night. hahaha i lied but here y’all go love you besties

warning: none. just sappy!jacaerys yeah thats it.

summary: jacaerys finally confesses his feelings at the oddest hour

word count: 1.4k

Jacaerys had never told Y/n he loves her. 'I love you' were scary words. They held so much weight; the words felt heavy on Jacaerys’ tongue just by thought. He wanted to say it so badly, Jacaerys yearned to tell Y/n.

The idea consumed every thought he had. His mind drifted to Y/n constantly- she was everything he’d want in a woman and Jacaerys wanted to tell her. He’d get on his knees to tell her if he had to.

However, no moment with her felt right. Jacaerys wanted everything to be perfect when he told her.

And in his eyes, Y/n was utterly flawless and deserved nothing less. He’s thought about how the moment would go in his mind a million times. Jacaerys became so nervous that his heart would race and hands would clam up. Y/n made him nervous in a way no others did.

Jacaerys laid awake thinking once again of his betrothed. Her voice played in his head like a soft melody and he could feel his heart squeezing as he stared at the canopy of his bed.

Continuing to stare at the canopy, Jacaerys toyed with his sheets. He rubbed the soft fabric between his fingers the more he thought of his betrothed. Every small detail from the way she ran her fingers on the table whenever she first sits down to how she rubs the fabric of her dress sleeve, it plagued his mind.

Jacaerys felt embarrassed of himself.

He was so enamored by Y/n and yet he couldn’t say three simple words. They intimidated him. The Prince of all of Westeros was scared of three little words. Out of everything in the realm- three simple words scared him the most. Not war, death, not even his mother’s wrath when she had a particularly hard day scared him the way saying ‘I love you’ did.

It was pathetic.

Perhaps it was the consequences of saying it. What if she didn’t feel the same? He was so scared of her rejecting him. And he knew that she had every right to. Jacaerys knew that he wasn’t entitled to her love. But just because he was a prince of the realm and heir to the throne didn't mean he lacked respect. He tried his hardest to act with the highest honor. However, he is still just a man who has wants and he so badly wants her to love him the way he loves her.

He wanted that storybook romance from the books he read as a child. The perfect ideal romance. And perhaps he was naïve in that desire but he didn’t care.

Jacaerys rolled to his side pulling his blanket up to his chin. He had hoped that soon sleep would pull him away from his nagging thoughts. But like hangnails to fabric, Jacaerys’ mind gets caught in its' own web of complicated thoughts.

Insecurities filled just his mind. Jacaerys whispered a small curse and pulled the blanket further covering his head. Trying his best to hide away from the world and with that it’s problems. All he wanted was some sleep.

Then there was a small knock on his door.

Jacaerys’ eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. He sat up pulling the blanket off his head. “Come in,” he called out fixing his mess hair.

The door opened revealing Y/n, his betrothed.

“I apologize for interrupting your sleep, My betrothed,” Y/n closed the door behind her. “However I couldn’t sleep and I wondered if I could have your company?” she asked.

Jacaerys straightened his posture after Y/n’s question. “Of course, you weren’t interrupting anything, I couldn't fall asleep myself,” Jacaerys beckoned her to sit with him.

Y/n smiled as she sat down in front of the prince with an exhausted sigh. “What is keeping you up, my lady?” Jacaerys asked, grasping Y/n’s hand and rubbing small, soothing circles on the back of her hand.

She looked at Jacaerys eyes drooping slightly- signaling to the woman he was tired. “I just feel so awake,” Y/n replied, falling back in the bed looking up at the canopy.

Jacaerys smiled at Y/n, she looked so beautiful laying there with her hair spread out. “Why is that?” he asked. She sighed, her eyes bouncing around from corner to corner on the canopy.

“You know sometimes there are nights where you just can’t sleep. You just feel so awake at such odd hours.” Y/n rambled as she rubbed at one her eyes.

Jacaerys laughed, his hands coming to toy with her sprawled out hair. “I suppose I can relate to that at times,” Jacaerys replied.

Y/n smiled at his touch as her gaze focused on him. “Why are you awake? Do you just feel awake or is there something else keeping you up?” she asked.

Jacaerys' heart skipped a beat at this question. How does he tell his betrothed that she is the subject to his never ending thoughts? A blush rose on Jacaerys’ face He laughed weakly and looked off to the side. “I don’t know? Just a reoccurring nagging thought, nothing special.”

“Would you like to talk it out? Maybe that’ll help you.” Y/n asked, her hand reached up to run her fingers through his brown hair. Jacaerys was so thankful for the dimness of the room as Y/n couldn’t see how his face got redder.

Jacaerys shook his head, “No, no need I don’t want to bore you with my thoughts,” he brushed her off.

“Bore me with your thoughts?” Y/n asked rhetorically. “You never bore me and even if you did at least it’d send me to sleep,” she smiled at him warmly.

Jacaerys nervously laughed. He looked at Y/n- her eyes had the smallest glimmer in them from the candle, her hair had a small halo around, her skin a shine too, she glowed. Y/n looked so perfect. Jacaerys could feel his heart strings pull and his stomach flutter. This was perfect. Everything Jacaerys was stressed about simply disappeared.

“I love you.”

His eyes widened as it spilled from his lips. Without any thought or reason, Jacaerys had said it. His body tensed back up, afraid of what Y/n's reaction would be.

“I love you too.”

The tight feeling that had built up in Jacaerys melted instantly after hearing those words. All his fears vanished. However he stared at her, shocked at her reply.

“You love me?” he asked in disbelief. Y/n nodded like it was obvious.

“Yes, of course I love you.” she responded in a matter of fact tone. “I’ve been in love with you for what feels like an eternity.” Y/n continued.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Jacaerys asked.

Y/n looked sheepily to the side, “I didn’t think you’d return my feelings.”

Jacaerys scoffed at her response. “You’re truly a wonderful woman, it's an honor to have your affection. Why wouldn’t I return your feelings?”

“I…well…well why didn’t you tell me earlier?? You’re the man, what stopped you??” Y/n asked with a faux accusatory tone trying to turn the spotlight of conversation away from herself. Jacaerys opens his mouth trying to find the words to protest. He had nothing. He could argue against Y/n.

Jacaerys closes his mouth and shakes his head. “You’d laugh if I told you,” he whispered. Y/n grabbed his hand and moved closer to Jacaerys.

“It surely can’t be worse than my reason,” she said in a similar tone. Her free hand went to his hair once more, running her fingers through it.

Jacaerys leaned into her touch. “I was afraid of saying it,” he whispers in an unintelligible voice. Y/n grimaced, she felt bad that she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Jace what did you say?”

Jacaerys toyed with the end of his sleep shirt. “I said I was afraid of saying it…I was afraid of saying I love you.”

Y/n smiled, trying her best to hold back laughter. Jacaerys groaned, “I knew it! I knew you would laugh!”

“I apologize, I apologize, I’m sorry.” Y/n giggled out. Jacaerys fell forward into his bed groaning even louder.

“Jace…”

“Mhmmmm,”

“Jacaerys.”

“Mhmmmmmm.”

Y/n grabbed Jacaerys by his shoulders, “I apologize. It’s not funny whatsoever,” she said with a small smile. Jacaerys looked at her with a sulking face. Y/n just smiled. He smiled back and pulled her into his side.

Y/n relaxed, taking in his natural scent of burnt wood and cinnamon. “I love you,” she muttered. The smile on Jacaerys’ face grew bigger.

“I love you too,” he replied, his heart fluttering as he said it.

A comfortable silence fell with the couple and Y/n relaxed further into her prince. Jacaerys rested his head on Y/n’s. He felt content, as peace and exhaustion started to settle in. And with an arm around Y/n, Jacaerys fell asleep happy knowing he finally said it.

He said ‘I love you’.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #house of the dragon #hotd one shot #hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon oneshot #fanfic #hotd x y/n #hotd x you

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

Text

Through The Ashes | Chapter Five

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): my attempt at slow-burn, canon-typical violence, mild language, mentions of violence, injuries, blood, hurt/comfort kinda??

A/N: I've been using dialogue from the campaign for these chapters, so hopefully it translates well enough. Thank you for all the support :) | Word Count: 3.5k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

Kiss Of Judas

Valeria remained completely silent during the entire helicopter ride, refusing to look anyone around her in the eyes. She never expected to be caught, at least not by foreign forces. She was a complicated woman in your eyes, always nearly impossible to read.

You still felt jumpy and wired from the whole operation as the adrenaline began to dwindle, which was not helping your impatience. Valeria was the reason for your condition, but also the reason you didn’t get the life squeezed out of you. And yet, here she was, not giving your Task Force any reach on where to find the missiles.

You opened the door with your keycard and stepped inside, seeing her sitting in the middle of the room—surrounded by your team and the allies.

Her eyes flicked up at you when she heard the motion, mirroring the look she had in her eyes when you were the one in the interrogation chair. You ran your tongue over the cut on your lip, keeping a blank expression.

“Las Almas needs me,” she purrs, giving Alejandro and you a glance. She was searching for any sign of emotion in your eyes as if testing you. You weren’t going to give it to her, or anyone else in this room who tried the same.

Alejandro bends down closer to her, hovering his face in front of hers. “Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios… And you,” he begins, looking back at you before he speaks, as if referencing what she let happen to you. “You disgrace the Army, Valeria.”

She wasn’t like Hassan.

He was too emotional when backed into a corner—he was cruel. She always kept a cool attitude about her, always steps ahead of her enemies. And she harbored one skill you hadn’t mastered yet—keeping your enemies close.

Ghost remains posed against the wall, only keeping his eyes trained on the target. “You’re a narco harboring a terrorist.”

Valeria maintains a grimace, carelessly leaning against the back of her chair. “Terrorism is good for business, it’s insurance.”

“Innocent civilians turned to ash, all to protect your drug game?” You finally spoke up, crossing your arms to your chest. When law enforcement is more focused on maimed civilians, they turn a blind eye to the war on drugs.

She ignores what you’re implying, too intelligent to admit that out loud. “To find your terrorist and your missiles, you need me.” Valeria tilts her head, observing the tightness you were carrying in your posture.

Graves approaches her from behind, gripping one of her shoulders with a gloved hand. “I want the missiles, I want the targets, and I want Hassan. You’ve got ten seconds or I’m gonna show you the difference between the military and me.” For once, his combativeness might get you the answers you needed.

To get to Valeria, you needed to mirror her. Ladylike interrogation was not the way she did things, so the opposite was all she knew.

“I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you return, I’ll tell you where Hassan is.” She never meets Graves’ eyes. “In exchange, you will let me go. And get the fuck out of Las Almas.”

“Deal.” Graves loosens his grip and nods his head to the rest of you.

Making a deal with her was not in the team’s best interest, not in the slightest.

Graves only saw the big picture ahead of him, and he didn’t pay any mind to the people he would trample to get to that goal.

—

The intel Valeria grave led your team to an oil rig miles out on the Gulf Of Mexico. Considering how horribly wrong your last mission involving water went, you were hesitant to see the team going along with it, even if it did lead to the missiles.

How could you be sure Valeria was being honest? She had no reason to. She had the entirety of your unit wrapped around her fingers, and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

Perhaps you were lucky you nearly died the previous night because you were going to sit the mission out.

You’re sat on your bunk, cleaning your pistol with a rag, being the only person left in the quarters. Your eyes flick up toward Ghost as he approaches. Usually you would ignore him, or have some snarky remark, but there were bigger problems everyone was facing.

“Do you think the missiles will be where she said they would?” You questioned, setting the rag on the mattress beside you.

“She knows if she gives us this, we’ll have no choice but to set her free.” He keeps his eyes on the ground, still refusing to look you in the eyes. “We’ve been through situations like this before. Terrorists are all the same—only out for themselves.”

You nodded and dropped down from the top bunk to face him. He turned around hesitantly, his face contorting in confusion.

You looked around the room, making sure it was clear before you spoke. “What about Graves? Is he only out for himself?” You muttered, leaning close to him.

“He’s an ally of ours, until we know otherwise, you need to act like it, Sergeant.” He grumbled while reaching for his pack. The truth was, Ghost didn’t trust any of them either. The way Graves forced you into the operation yesterday made him seethe.

Ghost blinked away the emotions that filled him. The flashbacks he had, hearing you struggle for yourself in his ear, the gunshot that followed with silence—all while all he could do was stay put on the hillside.

He grabbed his bag and looped it around his shoulder. “Just say put here, and don’t make any more enemies while you’re at it. Think you can handle that?” He added, looking down at you as if you were dirt on his shoes.

You knew you were right. The most spiteful people have their weaknesses, and Graves had one for sure. Even if no one believed you now, they would soon. You just hoped no one had to die for it to become clear.

—

You’re awoken by what sounds like a disturbance outside, and the voices are familiar. The team must be back from disarming the missiles. You look at the clock, seeing it’s early in the morning.

You sit up straight and gather your composure, curious about what’s going on. Whatever it was didn’t sound good at all.

“This is my base.” You press your ear to the wall, hearing Alejandro’s voice first.

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility, and I admire it.” Graves speaks next. “So, I’m taking it.”

You feel like your jaw dropped to the floor. You were right all along, and things were about to go very bad very fast. You climb off your bunk and put on your backpack, grabbing all of your gear.

“Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

“Are you threatening us?” Ghost asks. You can practically feel the tension building, even if all you’re hearing is bits and pieces.

You peer out the window, seeing them standing at the gate. Alejandro is inches from Graves’ face; Soap is in the middle of it; and Ghost preemptively has a hand on his knife, searching for any excuse to use it.

Where are the rest of Los Vaqueros? The realization came that you hadn’t seen any of them since the team left.

A burst of gunfire filled your ears, making you jump. You didn’t have time to sit around and watch, and you weren’t going to be the next person sent home in a box. You grab your pistol and make sure it’s loaded and ready.

The compound will be swarmed with Shadows any minute now—and there was no time to regroup with your team.

You hear Graves’ voice again, but this time through a nearby radio, followed by the stomping of boots. “2-0, cordon the compound. If you find Ghost and Soap, keep them contained. Find the other one, she won't get far.”

You kneel behind the large structural pillar, watching as one of the Shadows patrols the sleeping quarters. He turns his back to respond, “Sleeping quarters are clear, Sir. No sign of her.” You crept behind him, jamming your knife into his jugular.

He goes down quietly, only suffering for a matter of seconds. The Shadow didn’t deserve your brutality. He couldn’t have known what hand Graves was going to play up until now. Still, it was better for them to be dead than you. And there was no time for a moral dilemma.

You jog to the armory, finding it cleared out. Graves was thinking way ahead of just taking the building, he was taking the inventory too, leaving your team with nothing. “Goddammit,” you muttered to yourself, before dashing back to the Shadow’s body. You winced as you ripped the rifle from the corpse’s stiff fingers.

You need to keep moving.

You advance to the upper level, wagering that it would be less noticeable to take one of the side exits up top. You do just that, finding a window in one of the offices to squeeze yourself through. Your feet prowl down the metal steps, keeping your eyes peeled for any hostiles. Lucky for you, the backend of the base isn’t well protected.

Your boots crunch the gravel below you, even when acting at your stealthiest. You reach one of the tall chainlinks bordering the perimeter, and loop one foot through it, taking each ascendant one foot at a time.

You reach the top, using the fabric of your shirt to protect your hands from the barbed wire. You carefully swing your leg over, and follow with the other, now descending down the other side. You drop down once the distance is close enough, taking only a second to catch your breath.

The easy part's over—now you needed to find an area that wasn’t crawling with Shadows on the lookout for your face.

The previous night's injuries didn’t make the ordeal any easier. You found yourself having to rest quicker than usual, almost letting out pained grunts when you extended your limbs. You needed to push through it, just like you did when you survived the tunnels.

You removed one of the backpack straps off your shoulders, leaving it to rest on one side, while the weapon rested on the other. You need to get out of here before another Shadow patrol rotates your way again.

The only sound in the distance was chirping insects, and faint traffic pollution from the city and the base behind you. Things were too quiet.

“Commander, possible sighting by the North Tower, engaging now.” You heard faintly, making your eyes bulge. Your feet carried you before your mind could decide to, making some distance between yourself and the noise.

You felt the rush of the bullets whizzing around you as you bolted until eventually you were knocked down by a lucky one. Your body tumbled down, rolling into one of the ditches. You felt a fiery sting on the fatty part of your hip, flinching as you pulled down the part of your waistband atop the wound. It was a deep slice, bloody and jagged torn skin.

Mercifully, the backpack slowed down the force of the bullet when it zipped through. It grazed your skin instead of being buried inside it.

“Approaching to confirm the hit, Sir.” The voice from before carries, as it echoes through the vastness of the humid air.

“Don’t confirm it—Finish it.” Graves chirps through, sending a rush through your veins. Once the Shadow finds you, it wouldn’t be a graze. If there was any chance of making it out of here, you needed to either choose fight or flight.

You muffled the sounds of agony escaping through your lips, biting into them instead. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for your pistol.

The soldier’s radio static grew louder as he examined the ditch, expecting you to still be laying there. In reality, you were behind one of the concrete dividers lining the path. Before he noticed you, you fired off one shot, dropping the Shadow. You followed the lights of the city in the distance, getting yourself as far away from where you fired as possible.

When you made it several yards away from the compound, finding yourself on a sidestreet, you finally utilized the radio clipped to your collar.

You turned the knob, finding the correct channel so it would go straight to anyone in 141 and not the Shadows. “This is 7-1, how copy? Anyone?” You grew frustrated at the lack of answer. “I repeat, this is 7-1. Anyone copy?”

The voice glitched at first, before it finally came through. He says your name, his tone filled with defeat and worry.

“How copy, Sergeant? You injured?” The reception finally cleared, allowing you to hear it clearly.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “I’m hit, but solid. I got a dozen Shadows chasing my tail. What the hell happened?”

Ghost doesn’t answer your question, but deflects. You sense it has to do with what he spat your way before they left. He knew you were right about Graves, and he wasn’t, and he couldn’t handle admitting that right now.

“There’s a church near the plaza. I’m heading there now. Any sign of Johnny?”

“No. You’re the first I’ve come in contact with. Was he hit? I heard shots before I got out of there.” You continue down the backroad, approaching the main district of Las Almas.

“Affirmative. Keep your eyes peeled for him. And watch your back, Sergeant.” The line cuts after he finishes his sentence, leaving you to stay alive on your own. Soap must be somewhere in the shops in the same prickly situation you are.

There was no time to search for Soap, especially if he’s left a trail of Shadow bodies through the city. You’re of no use out here when you’re bleeding all over yourself.

You needed to find Ghost.

—

Each time a gun fired in the distance, you had to double check you weren’t hit again, even though it felt foolish.

You finally reached the outskirts of the plaza, where the Church was sitting on the top of a hill. It looked almost ancient, tilting to one side. You hovered your finger over the pistol trigger as you crept to the door. You pushed it open, hearing it creak loudly as you did so. There was no light inside, except for where the night sky peaked through the holes in the walls, and one large gap in the roof.

Finally, you spotted his figure near the altar, knelt beside it. You limped up to it, meeting his eyes, which were all you could see given the dark clothing he was wearing.

You slowly dropped to your knees next to him, placing your pistol in the holster. “No sign of Soap while I was out there. Goddamn city is infested with Shadows.”

He nodded at your update, grabbing one of the stray candles off the altar. He fishes out his lighter and puts it to the wick, illuminating your battered appearance, while allowing you to view him.

You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, studying him as he takes the backpack off your shoulders, and begins to dig through it.

“I didn’t have time to pack supplies. There’s nothing whole in there.” You comment, watching as his brow tightens in concentration.

He still hasn’t uttered a word this entire time, simply returning deep glances through the warm candle fire. You flinch when he reaches toward you, but his hands are gentle and slow. He pulls up the fabric of your shirt only slightly, and pulls down the side of your waistband now turned a deep maroon.

You keep still as he examines the graze. He grips the sleeve of his jacket, and rips off a square of fabric with ease, beginning to pack the wound. You snuff out your struggles when he touches the tender parts, clenching your jaw instead.

For the first time, it wasn’t him saving you because he had to; he was because wanted to. He was showing an inkling of the tenderness buried deep within him.

He finished packing the wound with the tear of fabric, before carefully covering your bare hip with your waistband again.

You rise to your feet again, making sure not to put pressure on that side of you. You’re expecting hours of silence between you and him—hours of agonizing silence.

He finally speaks once his back is turned to you, as if he can’t look you in the eye. “You were right about Graves.” He sounded apologetic, like if he had just believed you before, none of this would’ve happened to you.

You tilted your head delicately, stepping closer to him. “Ghost… This isn’t on you. You couldn’t have known Graves would flip.”

He was looking down at the wood floor below him in disappointment, looking as if he wanted to curse himself. You reached out your hand, placing your fingertips on his forearm.

“Ghost,” you whispered. He shook his head and gathered himself before facing you, flinching away from your hand. His eyes had gone glossy, filled with angst.

“If this is about what I said, Ghost—It’s not a concern of mine anymore… We clearly have bigger problems.” You finished your sentence with a light smile, trying your best to lighten the mood. Your attempt to add comedy did nothing to ease him tearing himself apart inside.

“Did you hear me, Simon?” The first time you’ve said his name. He casted a look you’d never seen before. Not hardness, not anger, just torment.

“People like me don’t belong with people like you, Sergeant.” His exterior ran cold again, and he straightened his posture. “Everything that we did, everything you went through because of it, that was all me. Got it?”

You were stunned, completely stunned. You spent so long being angry at him, that you were blind to the truth of it. It wasn’t arrogance he used as a shield, it was his scars.

“Simon-” You repeat, feeling like you have been sucker-punched in the gut.

“Don’t say my name like it means something to you. None of it meant anything to me.” He snaps, stepping closer to you, using his frame to tower over you. The vulnerability he showed only last seconds before it quickly became a thorn in your side.

He lowered his voice to give his last blow. “I break everything I touch… I’ll break your heart, Love.”

You felt tears sting at the corner of your eyes. You tried to be stronger than this, but paired with everything you’d been through to get you to this spot, it was too much.

You quickly wiped them away and ripped your backpack from his grasp, slinging it back on your shoulder. You hurried toward the church doors, painting your face void of the emotions you were feeling.

Once you were outside, you radioed the frequency again. “Soap, how copy?”

He replied almost instantly. “Copy. I’m by the shopping district.”

Instead of following behind Ghost like usual, you led him. You ducked through alleyways, avoiding the Shadows rather than taking them out. There were still too many left to count. When you reached the shopping district, you and Ghost split off to take out each hostile one by one. With each kill, you followed the bloody trail that would lead you to Soap.

When you laid eyes on him, you let out a breath of relief. He was only hit on his arm, and it went through.

“Forgive me, Lass.” He was slumped against a brick wall, holding his injury. “But you look horrible.” At least you knew there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with him now. Focusing on him made you forget about your troubles with Ghost, even for just a minute.

“Well, it’s clear there’s no brain damage.” You said backhandedly, reaching out your hand to him.

You helped him to his feet and found an empty vehicle that was left behind, allowing him to climb inside. Ghost took the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes trained on the passing views as Ghost sped out of the city, showing no signs of slowing down for anything.

Las Almas was soon to be a distant memory—a memory that lingered within you nonetheless.

—

You craned your neck up at the aquamarine sky, your attention locked to it. You had to find the beauty of this place somewhere, even if the experience was only filled with violence and heartache.

The rest of your team was finishing up business with Valeria. You decided to sit it out. The closer you stood to the plane, the faster you would be climbing inside of it when they finished their business here.

Price and the rest of the Task Force approached the cargo plane you were standing by, making you break your gaze with the sky.

“Good work here, Private.” He patted your back and then returned his hands to the collar of his tactical vest.

“It’s not over yet. Valeria was privy to a third missile, somewhere in Chicago. Might be another long flight.” You acknowledged the update, following him onto the plane. It never truly ends, does it?

There are only moves and countermoves until there’s no one left standing to shoot at or bomb.

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #call of duty

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rkdhsdl · 9 months

Text

help me study!

word count: 599 female reader, but no pronouns shown character: daniel page, cassandra vole TW/CW: none writer's notes: this has been taken from my enstars drafts <3, established relationship. i still am trying to get the characters right apologies for butchering these

daniel page

“i need some help with potions.”

daniel looks up from the cauldron, brown eyes staring at you owlishly. you look back at him, (e/c) eyes pleading him for help.

“why so?”

you scratch your head sheepishly as you nod.

“you see, daniel, i just don’t know how to do it.”

daniel narrows his eyes in suspicion as he continues to brew his potion in the cauldron. you walk to daniel as he looks at you from the side of his vision. he opens his mouth as he comments, “i thought you were doing well in the class?”

stopping in your tracks, you look at him with a confused stare.

“no, i am not doing well in the class? as your partner i think you should know?”

finishing stirring the potion, he sets the equipment down as he turns to face you, face also contorted to confusion. you cross your arms, sighing. silence blanketed the both of you as the two of you stared at each other, (e/c) to brown.

resting his hand on the cluttered table, daniel brings his arm up to put his hand on his temple.

“alright. what do you need help with?”

“well,” you say in joy, “from the start!”

daniel, flabbergasted with your answer, looks at you in disbelief as you smile in glee. the boy questions himself if you were being serious, or just pulling a leg.

“(y/n), that…” daniel speaks.

“i just need the basics, not the whole subject, really!”

daniel visibly deflates in relief as he turns to the table to tidy the clutter of equipment.

picking up his bag, you wait for daniel to finish cleaning.

“lets go to the library!” exclaiming in joy, you take his left hand as you lead the way.

“alright, alright. don’t be too rackety, or they’ll kick you out.”

cassandra vole

“cassandra~ i need help…”

the said girl turns to look at you next to her table in the library, green eyes looking at your slumped figure.

“correct your posture first, (y/n).”

straightening your back, cassandra continues.

“of course you need help from me, so, what do you need?”

“herbology.”

she looks at you surprised, eyes widening to stare at you.

you laugh in slight embarrassment as you close your eyes to sigh. exams were approaching, and despite being able to follow the basics, the more complicated sub categories in the subject caused your brain to overload.

“herbology?”

you nod. coming to sit in front of her, you bring the books that professor longbottom had provided you when you asked for some extra help.

needless to say, the amount was abundant. proceeding to completely slump back onto the table as your partner looks at the copious amount of books settled on your right.

cassandra sighs as she reaches an uncertain hand towards your arm. looking up at her, she takes her hand away.

“fine. for this one time, i’ll help you, but you need to learn how to study yourself.”

“you’re the best! thank you~”

she blushes slightly as she takes out some of her notes from herbology, allowing you to read through the delicately written notes.

proceeding to go through the notes with you, time flies until the library closes for the day, as you and cassandra walk back to your houses.

“thank you cassandra, you helped me a lot!”

“of course. it was me who helped you after all.”

smiling, you hug her tightly as you leave to your dormitory after shouting an ‘i love you’.

cassandra smiles as she walks back to her dormitory, replaying your confession in her head.

#hpma x reader #hpma #daniel page x reader #daniel page #cassandra vole x reader #cassandra vole

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Preview: Down the Rabbit Hole

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

✨To be added to the tag list for this story, just like or comment on this post! ✨

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain��t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

#Down the Rabbit-Hole #Pedro Pascal #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Agent Whiskey x reader #second soulmate #Soulmate Sunday

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silversiren1101 · 4 months

Text

OC Mannerisms - Minovae Arangeir

Tagged by @dujour13 to do @the-raging-tempest’s OC mannerism meme - Template here

Art commissioned from Elena Kononenko :)

- NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES >> Taldane, Infernal, Gnomish, Halfling, Abyssal, Protean (Innate)

- TONE OF VOICE >> Average but on the slightly lower side. Often with a slight husk if she's been barking orders a lot lately.

- ACCENT >> Wiscrani given she's from Westcrown [irl equivalent of Italian, specifically Venetian].

The haunting realization that my baby sounds Italian...

- DEMEANOR >> Easy confidence when observed and knows it, but distant and melancholic or preoccupied sometimes when she thinks she's alone or not being looked at. Approachable.

- POSTURE >> Hands resting on hip/armor or crossed. Straight.

HABITS

Talks with hands often if impassioned, and especially tail if greatly impassioned.

Sucks in lips between fangs when thinking.

Tail touches: congratulatory thumps on the back, gentle brush against side or leg if affectionate, protective coil around back of legs, quiet contact against foot if happy you're there.

COMPLEXITY (Fill in the circles as you wish)

- VOCABULARY >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️

A complicated question! Mino was uneducated for most of her life but pushed herself hard to catch up when joining the Hellknights. A lot of her vocabulary is only advanced when it's legalese or philosophical, and tends to be more crass or 'peasant' quality elsewhere. She also tries hard to sound on equal footing with the nobility when she's investigating them and around them, but falls short more often than not. She does not have time for leisure reading that would support a more robust vocabulary.

- EMOTION >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️

Minovae has been punished her entire childhood for any sort of emotion stronger than a small smile, and her subsequent entry into the Hellknights encouraged suppressing the despair and rage and grief and wrath long festering inside her. That being said it did help her with other issues that lessened a lot of those feelings and helped her understand and express happiness and more positive emotions better. As a matured adult that has been forced to acknowledge and work through what she's buried for decades, she still has difficulties with catharsis and actually letting herself process the darker side of herself. Bottling things up is her first instinct, not wanting to burden others with her negative emotions, but she is making steps to handle things more in stride rather than reaching a breaking point.

As such, most people only know her as a smiling and bright person, eager to crack a joke and cheer others up. Those that really know her know there's a lot more going on beneath the surface and can see the telltale signs she's needing a sit down and talk.

- SENTENCE STRUCTURE >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪⚪

Hellknights favor brevity in all situations where intense legalese isn't needed, but, well, Minovae is also a former bard. In casual situations she's what you'd expect of a friendly Wiscrani bard that loves a good meal and drink. In professional matters she's short and to the point up until Formality and Legal is required, THEN you might need to break out the dictionary as she is hyper specific, not wanting to imply or stretch facts beyond the core truth of the matter, and note where each clause and comma and punctuation she pauses for breath is.

Very Serious Business, you see.

PROFANITY

- FREQUENCY >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️

Minovae curses as punctuation. You can't take out the street urchin and bard, Hellknight or no.

- CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity) >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️

That being said with above, a Hellknight has to have a certain amount of decorum. She gets quite creative telling someone exactly what she thinks about them without outright telling them they should fuck themselves.

BOLD THAT APPLY

arse / ass / asshole / bastard / bitch / bloody / bugger / bollocks / chicken shit / crap / cunt / dick / frick / fuck / horseshit / motherfucker / piss / prick / pussy / screw / shit / shitass / son of a bitch / twat / wanker

THIS OR THAT

straightforward or cryptic?

finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind?

masculinity, neutrality, or femininity?

formalities or with abrasiveness?

praise or equivocation?

frankness or flattery?

excessive or minimal hand gestures?

name-calling or magnanimity?

friendly or blunt

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

- DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER?

Nope! Mino is loud in pretty much all aspects. She speaks loudly and clearly.

- DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK?

It sure does. She doesn't like to beat around the bush and doesn't have time for it.

- WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS?

Yes! She loves talking to people.

- WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS?

If she has other pressing engagements, yes.

- WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE ‘WHOM’ IN A SENTENCE?

...probably... not? I can only think in legal contexts: "to whom is may concern"

- YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE?

but / though / although / however / perhaps / maybe

- HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS?

"As much as I'd love to continue this - I'm expected elsewhere in a few!" Something like this.

- WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK?

Low when in casual setting. High when in professional setting, given she can *sound* like a lawyer if needed.

- IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS?

The strong Wiscrani accent for one! Specifically street Wiscrani. It's immediately obvious she is not from any sense of nobility or wealth, and might be the kind of voice you'd hear in the docks or fishing districts but more... 'trained'... Especially when she's had a bit to drink and the Hellknight education falls off she sounds like she just dragged herself out from behind some alleyway in the one of the poorer districts of Westcrown.

ANYTHING ELSE THAT WASN’T TOUCHED ON?

Despite being 100% Chelaxian, one would immediately clock Minovae's last name, Arangeir, as some bastardization of the Galtan surname Arangier. She did in fact 'take' it from a kind older Galtan woman that nearly adopted her, but was unable to for various reasons.

The full pronunciation guide for her name is:

Mee-no-vey | A-hu-ran-geer

But she has no corrections or preference for those that pronounce it more like the fish: "Minnow-vae". Or those that combine the sounds in her last name to: "ah-ran-geer."

Tagging no pressure @camelliagwerm @spyridonya @serenbach86 @minthy-fresh

#tag game #tag meme #oc: minovae arangeir

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lovebugspots · 7 months

Text

THE PAINKILLER

chapter three; wedding day.

THE PAINKILLER SERIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER CHAPTER FOUR: spider-man. CHAPTER THREE; wedding day. CHAPTER TWO; your too flattering. CHAPTER ONE: THE PAINKILLER THE PAINKILLER: INFORMATION

Play Money by the Drums :)

TW: some gore and death

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky was in the med-bay of the compound, his left hand holding a small wedding band, one that his wife wore. Another thing, he was thankful he left at the base. His and his wife's ring... It was simple but timeless, it had a golden band with a 0.50 carat diamond in the middle and 0.05 carat aquamarine stones on the side.

His wife's two favorite stones just so happens to be his grandmothers favorite too.

How the hell did this come to be?

Maybe it was someone else?

But Logan had no other kids...

Well, maybe he did over these years.

But...He felt her.

He was her.

Maybe.

He just stared at the ring, it's almost he could still smell her perfume on the piece of metal. It was his girls...

And on queue, he saw the flashbacks of her falling, screaming his name so loudly that he wouldn't be surprised if the other members of the Commandos heard it.

How her scarlet red blood squirted out of her body, the large rock fully going through her body, her organs falling out and dangling, her small intestines looked like rope from faraway.

The memories made him sick, he genuinely wanted to puke as he saw his wife's then corpse.

Wanda stood in the door way and said softly, her brown eyes looking into his blue ones.

"I can read your mind, you do realize that?" Her Sokovian accent rand through his ears and he looked up, thankful she was there.

Now, Bucky and Wanda had a complicated relationship. He was like a father figure to her and Pietro. And they were like a somewhat family...a very traumatized family.

He chuckled and looked up at the young adult.

"I do." He added quietly, his face was pale. He scooted a bit on his stretched and pats his right side. She sat down next to him and leans on his shoulder.

"You never told me about her..." She mumbled softly. He sighed and kissed her forehead, and wrapped his arm around her.

"It's a painful story to tell." He mumbled.

Bucky had met the twins when they were young, he had known them since they first became HYDRA assets. He was told to give them basic training and that was all, but he saw two children rather then weapons.

So he also nurtured them, after the long days of experiments he let them lay on him and sleep, even if he himself couldn't sleep.

All Wanda did was nod, she just asked softly.

"Can you tell me the good things..?"

Bucky gave a sad smile and looked at the ring in his hand.

"She was the most loving person..." He started and looked down to the ground. "She would always help out the ones who needed it, mutants, poor, anyone..."

Mutants, made Wanda curious. Wanda was a mutant, but with help of the power stone it amplified her powers.

"Mutants?" Wanda asked and turned to Bucky, sitting up.

"She was a mutant, маленький" He said softly.

"Like...me?" She asked.

"Yes, but she had these spikes that came out of her knuckles and elbows." Bucky looked at Wanda and said.

"Her name, was Y/n Laura Howlett." Wanda's eyes widen and she straightens her posture.

"The Y/n? The savior of mutants?" She questioned excitedly.

Bucky nodded, smiling at the fond memories of his wife rescuing mutants from HYDRA facilities in World War II.

"That, Y/n." He chuckles and looked down at the ring.

"How...How long were you two married?" Wanda asked delicately.

"Almost ten years... It would have been our tenth year anniversary in July." He muttered sadly, his mind going back to when they talked about having a family...

"We got married two or three weeks after she turned 18. We both were 18, I was 3 months older." He paused then stood up, grimacing as pain shot up his back but he ignored it.

"I can show you our wedding photos." He said delicately and Wanda smiled happily and nodded as she stood up.

"Can I get Pietro?" He chuckles and nodded.

"Just meet me in my room, маленький." He said softly and pats her head with his flesh hand and walked away.

Once he was in his room, he pulled out an old photo album.

To which he wished he could thank Peggy, and Steve. Since Steve had all of their things, then he got frozen, so Peggy took it into her hands to take care of their things. Both for Steve and her old best friend Y/n.

He sat down and saw the two walk in, Wanda had a smile across her face and Pietro looked...confused.

"What are we doing?" Pietro questioned, his accent was thick but soft.

Wanda rolled her eyes in annoyance, and said.

"We are looking at Bucky and Y/n's wedding pictures! I told you!"

"Uh, no you didn't."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Hey! I'm your older brother! I deserve respect."

"Only by 12 minut-"

Wanda got cut off by Bucky's cough.

"Stop t you two." Bucky chuckles and opens the photo album, and the first picture was him and Y/n at the altar. The old black and white pictures safe behind a thin sheet of plastic. He could smell the cathedral, the old incense, the smell of the candles.

Wanda looked curiously and asked

"Is that the Trinity Church here in New York?"

Bucky nodded and said softly.

"Yes... That is where me Y/n got married..." He looked at another picture, it was just her. She wore a beautiful lace dress. Yes, now it would be seen as a grandma table cloth but GOD she still looked beautiful.

It was a V-Neck top, but it was still modest for the time, and had long sleeves. The dress had gone down to her mid shins, and she had a small veil. It was a small, and tiny wedding. It was during the great depression so they couldn't have a beautiful and lavish wedding of their dreams.

But for only being 18 and barley having 200 or 300 dollars to spend, it was a damn good wedding.

Wanda and Pietro noticed how absolutely love sick Bucky was for her, how his eyes swelled with love.

Wanda flipped the page and saw the small group photos. She only saw Bucky, with his father, mother, and sister.

George, Winifred and Rebecca Barnes. Then she looked to Y/n's family photo and only saw Logan and Victor.

The look of the great Sabertooth made the twins feel uneasy, knowing what he did. Bucky didn't notice but only traced the smiling photo of his wife, how her Y/e/c gleamed with nothing but love and pride.

Pietro then noticed in almost all of the photos, he was looking at her and never the camera. He was smiling like an absolute idiot.

He was, and still is so madly in love with her. No matter all the advances he gets from women and sometimes men, he never moved on. He felt if he did he would betray their love.

And he can't betray the only woman he ever remember no matter how many times he was brainwashed.

He won't.

Then the final picture, it was him and Y/n, he had held her bridal style as they walked out the church. And he was in the middle of kissing her nose. It was one of his favorite moments, besides that night when they gave them self's each other's most sacred, and pure thing.

The memories, the beautiful moments. The tender ones, the vulnerable ones, and the bad ones.

No matter what, he was always bonded to her.

And even if she is with him no more, he will never, ever, let another person touch him, and love him the way she did.

Y/n held her boy as he slept. Not letting go.

He had fully healed after the hours of tortured, thank god. Her son slept peacefully, his tufts of dark brown hair where all disheveled from his rough ways of sleeping.

Something he got from Y/n.

She held him as she listens to his heartbeat, the only thing that kept her grounded.

His soft skin, his soft locks of brown hair and his deep blue eyes. He looked so familiar yet like her, it was odd.

He had her nose, and overall her face shape, yet he looked like the man she had hunted down earlier.

She didn't like the pulling feeling she had. She felt drawn to the man, like as if he was her missing piece.

Maybe... he knew her?

God she felt helpless. But then something clicked, she needs to break out of here.

She looked around and set her son down, his name, his name was Killian. But he was called 'X-33' by the agents.

She kissed Killians head delicately and ran around his room, quietly doing so. Her footsteps where as quiet as a kitten. She dare not to make a noise. If they heard her they would kill her boy.

'We can't do this anymore' She thought to herself as she packed the little they both had. She managed to put it all in one backpack then she looked at her riffle and grabbed it, the smooth metal gave a small shiver to her.

She puts the gun in a bag and puts the backpack on. She walked over to her son and picked him up gently.

Now was the hard part.

She grabbed her keys and opens the door and immediately an alarm went off. So, she ran, and ran to her bike that as a few hundred feet away. She got on her bike and her the soft cries of her son and kissed his forehead.

"Shh...Its okay." She said softly as the agents started shooting at them. She puts the key in the ignition and started driving as fast as she could, easily going at 80 MPH, then 85.

She didn't need to look back, she knew she was out of their reach for now. Her son nuzzled his face into her chest and held her tightly.

She sighed softly and kissed his head and whispers through the wind.

"We did it, baby boy...we are free"

Hours had gone by, and those hours were two days. From Oslo, to Ibiza.

They got a small apartment and Y/n sat down in the plain room. She had to find that man, she had to.

Then there was a knock at the door, she readied her fist.

So in any moment her metal spikes would poke out to kill. She opens the door and said in a soft voice.

"Hello..?"

The mysterious man gave a brief nod, and muttered.

"Are you The Painkiller?" He asked firmly, but it was still a mutter, so nobody could hear it.

She quickly grabbed the man from his tie and dragged him inside. His once neat and blonde hair now messy and out of place and his brown eyes wide with fear.

"What do you want?"

She boomed, her voice low and dark as she circled him. Her hand where crossed over her chest and he gulped.

"M-My name is-"

"Spare the intro. What. Do. You. Want." Her eyes glared deep into his as she walked around him

He gulped once more and said shakily.

"I need to have someone taken out." He looked at her and she didn't say anything.

"Who?"

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova" He spat out quickly, then something clicked.

DATE: UNKNOWN

YEAR: 1995

"You are the Painkiller?" Madame B asked quickly, and Y/n, the then Painkiller nodded and the woman turned to Bucky.

"Winter Soldier?"

The man nodded as well. The older woman nodded and turned around and motioned for the duo to follow.

"You will train our best widow. Natalia." The woman spoke as they walked into a room that was filled with girls doing ballet.

She pointed out to a girl with bright blue hair and yelled.

"Romanova!" The girl didn't flinch but walked over and bowed.

"These will be your new teachers. They will teach you more about combat then we can." The woman said firmly, and Natalia nodded. Her green eyes were dull and she said in a plain tone.

"Yes."

"Good, now show our two new guests to the training area." She said and the girl nodded and walked with the mutant and the super soldier.

Once they got to the room The Painkiller looked around and set her bag of weapons down.

"Center." The Winter soldier said firmly, and Natalia nodded.

"You know basics?" The painkiller asked through her heavy duty mask.

"More then just basics." Natalia added and The Winter Soldier nodded.

"Good, you start the first attack." He got into a defensive position and the girl did a fake round house kick but made it into a butterfly kick. It was a good move but I was sloppy.

"Your form is sloppy and your not balanced. Do it again." The Painkiller ordered and the girl nodded and tried once more but failed.

"Let me show you, little one." She gently moved Natalia out of the way, and balanced her feet and quickly did the kick and The Winter Soldier used his Titanium arm to deflect it.

"Understand?" She turned to Natalia and she nodded, thinking about how she did it and mirrored her actions.

"Yes! That is it, little one." The woman gave an encouraging nod from under her mask and so did the Winter Soldier.

"Very good." He added.

She shook off the memory and looked at the man.

"Black Widow?" She questioned and he nodded.

"Yes...We need her gone." He said quickly, his heart rate picking up as she got on her knees.

"Pay?" She spat out and the mans face paled.

"P-pay?"

"You expect me to do it for free when I am not a puppet?" She deadpanned, and the man looked down flushed and embarrassed.

"I-I...No." He mumbled and looked back at the woman.

"Then I won't kill her." She similes and stood up.

"But, I will kill you." And just like that, she unsheathed her metal spiked and shoved it through his skull.

She pulled it out as blood seeped into the carpet, and his brain matter pouring out. The immediate smell of iron filled her nose and she sighed as she grabbed a random sheet and covered the man.

She walked to her sons room and said softly.

"It isn't safe, my baby boy."

The boy pouted and stood up.

"Mama...I don't wanna go..." Oh how naive he is to their situation...

She got on her knees and said softly.

"Oh baby, I know...But, I found something that may help us." She kissed his forehead and grabbed their things and walked out of the apartment. That god her son didn't say anything as they walked out.

She got on her bike and went to the closest airport and got the first flight to New York.

'If little one is still alive...then maybe, just maybe she can help.'

She thought to herself over, and over. Both during their wait, and the flight.

And maybe, she will find the man she once knew.

#bucky barnes #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky #sebastian stan #marvel mcu #natahsa romanoff #natalia romanova #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #the winter solider x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #winter soldier #james bucky barnes

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capricorn-0mnikorn · 4 months

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So, my 2022 New Year's Resolution to write a Literary Fairy Tale with a protagonist with Cerebral Palsy (explicitly)

Has mostly been a success. I've composed, by hand the first portion of the story about her. And it has a coherent conflict, appropriate fairy tale tropes, and a resolution, and she has agency and is the primary force in bringing the story to a resolution.

It's just not a fully satisfying resolution, from her P.O.V..

There are longer, more complicated portions of the story that can bring the story to a more satisfying resolution, but those elements are the ones I'm blocked on.

I blame this on the fact that my wheelchair has been broken for nearly a year, and I haven't been able to sit with proper, supported, posture at the computer since December 29 of last year... It's like an extra drain on my "Thinking-things-through" battery... A constant background distraction.

But at least I do have a "Complete" fairy tale with a disabled protagonist, which is what I set out to do...

I just have to type it all out and get it out so other people can read it.

Then it will be real.

#writing: WIP #literary fairy tale #disability representation #last year's new year's resolution #progress report

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mania-sama · 2 months

Text

with every line, a comedy (05)

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Fic Summary: The people of Sumeru had not experienced dreams for the past five hundred years. Lesser Lord Kusanali then abolished the Akasha system and returned the wonders dreaming to her people.

However, there are complications that arise with freeing the brain’s unconscious activities. Nightmares start to haunt those that had previously repressed traumatic memories in order to cope.

Kaveh, on the other hand, begins sleepwalking. Alhaitham tries to fix the problem before someone gets hurt.

Or; Kaveh has nightmares and sleepwalks. Alhaitham dreams and deals with the emotions he holds for his roommate.

--------------------------------------------

05 - his translucent skin made shiver deep within my bones

Pale White Horse - The Oh Hellos

wc: 5,705 | Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own

Cyno was the first one to greet the two in the morning. There wasn’t a clock in the living room, but the windows showed the moon sitting on the horizon. Great. He forgot Cyno was even more punctual than Alhaitham. There wasn’t any way he was going to be allowed to stroll in late to work.

Alhaitham had been in and out for most of the night. The hearing aids coupled with previous events had kept his thoughts running, irritating him to the point that he considered it would be better if he just took them off. But of course, he didn’t. Not when he could hear Kaveh’s uneven breathing a few feet away from him at all times.

As for Kaveh’s night, the Scribe was well aware that there wasn’t a chance that he’d gotten back to sleep. If he had, they’d probably be dealing with a broken splint and a rush to Bimarstan or the student hospital against Kaveh’s will.

Tighnari soon came down afterward and examined Kaveh’s ankle. Although overall pleased that it hadn’t worsened, he insisted on them seeing a doctor together as soon as possible. Alhaitham noticed Kaveh acted overall neutral to the subject. Overcompensating — pretending his panic attack had never happened in the first place, that he had to consider if he’d trust even his oldest friend with the care of his body.

Breakfast was served by Cyno, who was easily the best cook out of the four. Collei joined them the moment plates were set on the table. Alhaitham had never been particularly close with her, but that didn’t mean they disliked each other. In fact, they’d shared conversations about the types of books they enjoyed. Though the attempt at reading one of her books, and conversely her attempt at reading one of his, went rather poorly, he recognized the merit in her choices of material.

Her demeanor was entirely different from the last time he’d seen her. Collei was a shy and soft-spoken child but wasn’t particularly skittish or weak-willed. Even if she didn’t want to do something, she pushed her way through since she understood the importance of why it had to be done. That consisted of eating, exercising, studying, interacting with others, and more. Alhaitham saw a bit of himself in her, especially in the interaction department.

The girl that sat down at the table next to Kaveh was tired. Dark circles hung like heavy weights from her red-edged violet eyes, and her posture was tense and rigid as if she felt the urge to flee at any given moment. Eye contact was held for only half a second before she went to toy with her food. She was quiet and clearly watching them from behind her eyelashes.

The meal wasn’t silent, but it was quiet in a way that let everyone recover from the night previous. Any conversations they had lacked any real substance, aside from when Tighnari asked about Alhaitham’s dreams again, to which he politely responded for Tighnari to describe his.

Collei ate very little of her food, though she tried to put more down every time either Cyno or Tighnari requested that she eat a little more. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kaveh struggling just the same, even if he was better at hiding it. Alhaitham was certain he was the only one that noticed how Kaveh would swallow twice, lick his lips, and take extra time in preparing the next bite. His eyes would glance at the Scribe’s plate before looking back at his own, seeing how much progress he should be making in comparison to Alhaitham’s slow speed.

The coffee was more bitter than Alhaitham preferred. He watched the sunrise from the window in the dining room, and he had the foreboding feeling that it was going to be a weary day.

And yet, he left before Cyno did. Tighnari accompanied him to the door, and he anticipated what he was going to say before the Forest Watcher opened his mouth.

Lips drawn into a frown, he warned, “Don’t talk about my sex life again until you can figure out yours.”

Alhaitham leveled him a blank stare, leaving the held-open door without a word. Before he could step out of earshot, however, Tighnari’s voice called after him. “I mean it, Alhaitham.”

The Scribe didn’t grant him a response. On his walk to his house, his hearing aids were held firmly in his hands, deaf to the world and forcing his mind to focus on anything else.

—

Throughout the years that Alhaitham knew Kaveh, he’d noticed one intriguing peculiarity about Kaveh:

He was a strangely private person.

It didn’t seem that way at first. Really, Kaveh didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut most of the time. When they’d first met, Kaveh had sat with Alhaitham and talked his way through the entire lunch and barely stopped enough to eat his meal. He revealed everything there was to seemingly know about him; he was raised by two scholars, he was a student of the Kshahrewar Darshan, a master of trigonometry, loved soup and anything cute, and was generally obnoxious.

He told people so much that they didn’t feel the need to look deeper. They would think, after one conversation, that there wasn’t anything more to know about him. He’d already supposedly spilled their entire life story to them, so why would they try to find out more?

It had worked on Alhaitham for about one day. After that, he began picking up on the qualities that Kaveh didn’t expect people to see, notice or comment on. He expected that his hard-looking shield would deter everyone away from actually hitting it. That way, they wouldn’t find out just how brittle the metal actually was.

Kaveh wasn’t private around Alhaitham much anymore. It was hard to be with the Scribe’s perceptibility and how often they were around each other. Aside from the nightmare situation, Kaveh had given up on hiding. He let every part of his life and personality bare their ugly teeth in the containment of their home.

However, there was one aspect of himself that he’d never revealed to Alhaitham. And for his part, Alhaitham had never cared to push on the subject. He didn’t need to see Kaveh’s bare body. Even if there were days where he found himself picking apart Kaveh’s clothes, imagining what may lay underneath, he’d never brought it up before.

But it was while he was sitting in his office, trying to work through the thick stack of post-meeting documents, that he was struck by the fact that he’d never seen Kaveh’s naked stomach before, nor his thighs.

He wouldn’t know if dark freckle marks were dotting his skin like glittering constellations. Kaveh could have birthmarks of any shape. He was likely pale, paler than the rest of his skin. Would it be smooth from underexposure, or rough from constantly rubbing against his clothes? There could be blemishes, prominent abs on his stomach, or sharp muscle lines stretching across his thighs.

He’d thought about it before. It had kept him awake at night, wondering what he may never get to learn, and how he could go about finding out without driving Kaveh away from him. Because, of course, Kaveh wouldn’t expose himself for Alhaitham's pleasure and curiosity.

Alhaitham had never before contemplated the matter the way he was now.

Scars of Kaveh’s past could be littering uncharted skin. And the shape of those scars, whether they be burnt, large, jagged, narrow, or straight, could be a clear indicator of stories Kaveh left untold about his childhood. They could be the answers to the incessant questions Alhaitham had on childhood surgeries, torture, and escapes.

And there may be nothing there at all. There could be nothing to indicate trauma, nothing to show for physical abuse. Kaveh wouldn’t be hiding anything underneath, but rather keeping what’s there away from other people.

Alhaitham recalled the taut rope, sobbing, and incoherent words, and felt a little nauseated. The paper in front of him blurred out of focus for half a second. It was worse knowing that Kaveh might be afraid of what Alhaitham would do if he ever saw what he kept hidden.

“I hope this isn’t a bad time, my Scribe,” a young voice called, and Alhaitham’s vision cleared immediately. He focused on the Archon and the slight glow she always emanated. He wondered if she was aware of it, the way that people couldn’t help but notice her presence.

The Acting Grand Sage carefully set his pen down on top of the document, a little too aware of the organ working in his chest. “Not at all. What do you need?”

She walked up to his desk with heavy feet. Her eyes were open and imploring as if she could read every emotion on his face. Alhaitham had always been told that he was impossible to read — his facial expressions rarely differed. Kaveh had once said that his eyes would go from narrow to narrower, and that would sometimes be the only indication that his emotions had flipped.

“Kaveh isn’t afraid of you,” she blurted. Immediately, her hands went up and shook them. “I wasn’t trying to read your mind! I… I do it subconsciously. Looking into people’s heads, especially Dendro Vision holders, is like breathing for me. I sincerely apologize.”

“There’s no need,” Alhaitham forgave, and really, the only reason he did was the knowledge she provided and the ease that knowledge set aside. His stomach was still coiled with the theories left untested, but at least one tight knot was set free.

The Archon nodded, though her fingers twisted together in front of her chest uncontrollably. “I didn’t come here to tell you that, anyway. I want to inform you that I’ve found the reason why I can’t help Kaveh directly.” She paused, giving time for Alhaitham to fully prepare for what she was going to say. That, and her voice was uncharacteristically tight. It appeared that it caused her great discomfort to speak aloud. “He blames me for what happened to him.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Alhaitham refuted. His mind was already piecing together the route Kusanli took to come to that conclusion. “He loves his Vision more than he loves himself most days, and he holds you in extremely high regard. I don’t see how he could blame you for something you couldn’t have taken part in.”

Then there was the matter of Collei. Alhaitham had already compared and contrasted them; Collei had even mentioned before that she had screamed for the gods to help her, angry at them for allowing her to be tormented in the first place. Out of the two Dendro wielders, it would be Collei that should be blocking Kusanali out.

“He blames me like how I read minds; it's subconscious. What happened to him occurred in Sumeru, and he thinks he survived it all alone, without any help from me or anyone else,” she mourned. “I hear the prayers he sends in his dreams. I’m not helping him there, either. And that Vision… when he looks at it, he is only reminded of all the times I’ve failed him.”

Alhaitham sat with fighting words on the tip of his tongue, ready to come back to Kaveh’s defense. Even though Alhaitham largely disagreed with his viewpoints, he knew how much Kaveh loved her. He believed that his dedication had finally been recognized by their Archon herself.

But, he couldn’t deny that her conclusion seemed correct. It was an undeniable fact that Kaveh had unattached his Vision during the night, and hadn’t bothered to reattach it that morning at Cyno’s house before Alhaitham left. Collei, on the other hand, had her's safely pinned to her sides as most Vision wielders preferred.

“He doesn't attribute a lot of the blame to me,” she continued. “His reservations are mainly held in other places, but it’s enough to block me out. The reason why this doesn’t apply to Collei,” and she looked a little sheepish as she said those words. It was clear she was still reading his mind. “Is that she has already remembered most of her time in treatment before the nightmares started. She’s had time to heal and realize that the only person she can put her anger to is the one that hurt her, not the ones that couldn’t help her.”

Alhaitham finished for her. “Kaveh hasn’t had that time to adjust.”

The Archon shook her head, her shoulders tense and eyes downcast to the floor. “I would apologize to him in person, but doing that would be the equivalent of putting a roof over a young sapling. Its growth would be stunted and deformed, twisting in order to get around the roof and towards the sun.”

In other words, Kaveh wouldn’t heal properly. “There’s more,” Alhaitham prompted.

“... Yes. I’m honestly a little ashamed,” she admitted. Her body rocked side to side. “It’s not just Kaveh, but Sumeru as a whole. My people have been suffering for the past five hundred years, and there is little I can do to help or change that fact. I feel like a tiny fish in a wide, storming sea, trying to make a ripple among raging waves. Apologizing now wouldn’t even make so much as a sound.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m certain you didn’t come here to gain sympathy from me.”

“No,” she said, and a small smile appeared on her face. “I’m saying this because I want to thank you for all the work you’ve done for me and Sumeru. I know you don’t enjoy being the Acting Grand Sage but If you hadn’t offered to hold the base, the Akademiya would have crumbled by now. You’ve done an amazing job so far.”

Alhaitham stared at the young Archon, unsure of what to do with the praise. People didn’t often acknowledge the work Alhaitham did — they seemed to think his ego was already inflated enough. It was foreign. The last person to congratulate him on a “job well done” was his grandmother, who had long been buried.

Noticing his silence, Kusanali carried on with, “And I want to express my gratitude in more than just words. The issue is that I don’t know what would suffice. My Scribe,” she said with her hands spread wide open, “what would you like from me?”

His first instinct was to bite out “a new Grand Sage,” but he knew that it simply wasn’t feasible. Kusanali had made it his responsibility to pick the next Grand Sage, and so far he hadn’t been able to find a suitable heir to the title. He hadn’t had the time, and all of the candidates were less than exemplary. His second desire was equally as unattainable. Kaveh’s nightmares were far out of Kusanali’s hands.

Why did he care enough about Kaveh to give this divine opportunity to him?

He shut down the line of thought before it could spread. He could think about it later when his Archon couldn’t read just how confused he truly was when he had the time to fall to the same frustrating conclusion he always came to.

Alhaitham didn’t need anything. He supposed the window needed to be replaced, but he already made time to fix that issue at a later date. He wanted to wake up later than six in the morning, but that couldn’t happen until there was someone to take his place in the grand chair he sat on. His life was cozy and complete; other than his occupation and Kaveh, there was nothing he wanted.

“Your dreams,” Kusanali said, interrupting Alhaitham’s vigorous search for a request. He looked at her curiously. “How do you feel about them?”

He couldn’t remember his first dream, but that didn’t surprise him. His research on the topic showed that recalling dreams, especially after an extended period of time after they originally occurred, was exceptionally hard. Unless the dream caused an extreme emotion or was vivid enough, most people go their whole lives with only being able to remember a handful of their dreams.

However, he could recall his second and third dreams relatively well. In his second dream, his house was burning down, and he went down with it in search of his roommate still trapped inside. A few of the details blurred at the edges. His third dream, a ship capsizing with Kaveh as a drowning prisoner underneath, still exceedingly clear in his mind’s eye. His heartfelt desperation to release Kaveh was as vivid as it was real in the waking world. When Alhaitham analyzed it, he wondered why he hadn’t dreamt of either his Vision or Kaveh’s.

Dreaming, as he’d learned, is a way for the brain to process information. He didn’t mind that he was having them based on that fact, but Kusanali wasn’t asking for his opinion on the objective truth of his dreams. She wanted to hear what he felt.

If she’d asked Kaveh the same question, he would’ve said that his dreams made him feel fear and out of control of his life. Alhaitham knew this because he’d observed Kaveh react to his dreams and mask his emotions in an effort to regain authority over his own mind.

“I don’t hate them,” he started. “I’m aware of their value in processing information. That doesn’t mean I appreciate what their contents are. During the day, I watch Kaveh suffer. Then at night, I relive it all over again. I can’t escape his pain or mine.”

Even in his office, far away from the architectural work Kaveh was laboring over, his mind persisted in reminding him of all that his roommate wasn’t telling him, all that he was dealing with alone in his own head. He never truthfully ceased reflecting on Kaveh and his situation, and Archons-forbid if Tighnari’s incessant voice echoed in his thoughts one more time Alhaitham might have to go the rest of the day without his hearing aids. It wasn’t like he cared to hear anyone’s voices anyway.

When he slept, it was a respite from the day he had. Since upholding the title of Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham had craved that solace even more. Now, his dreams prevented him from receiving that break.

Lesser Lord Kusanali put a hand on her chin and stared thoughtfully at the desk in front of him. “Thank you for telling me, Alhaitham. Even if it’s just for one night, I’ll see what I can do for you and your dreams.”

Alhaitham nodded to her. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No. Please, continue your work and I will continue mine. We are making Sumeru better every day.” She smiled and winked at him. Instead of walking to the elevator, she blinked out of his sight. The only indicator that she had even been in the room was the faint green outline of the body that permeated the air.

Now that he reflected on it, she hadn’t come in through the elevator, either.

Blinking away the reflection, he returned to the document on his desk. Kusanali had cleared his head and ebbed away his growing anxiety and overstimulation. Sifting through papers wasn’t fun regardless, but it was easier to do when he wasn’t focused on Kaveh. Instead, he thought of his dreams and how Kusanali intended on influencing them. The logistics played in the background of his mind as he approved another paper.

—

Alhaitham hated being the Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya. It was exhausting, hard work that was incredibly boring at the same time. He had chosen to be the Scribe of the Akademiya for a reason; it was easy work that rarely took up much time during his day. The title of Acting Grand Sage guaranteed the exact opposite.

Worst of all, the meeting he had scheduled later that day to further the process of choosing the next Grand Sage since two of the sages were ill with the flu. The virus had been spreading through the Akademiya during finals week, and the students that had all caught it from their weakened immune systems due to stress had spread it to their mentors.

Of course they spread it to their mentors. Alhaitham used a sparing prayer to Kusanali, silently asking her to protect Kaveh from the illness. Not because he was worried Kaveh wouldn’t make it, but because he would spread it to Alhaitham. There were few things that Alhaitham despised more than being sick.

As he walked to his house, he eyed the Matra tailing him. Then he spotted the ones lurking further up the street, finding himself disappointed that Cyno hadn’t been lying.

Cyno had dropped by his office soon after Kusanali left. The visit wasn’t overall unexpected; if he was in the city, he would make the personal trip to drop off the reports and case files that Alhaitham had to analyze and approve. The General Mahamatra acted first on reports, but they did wind their way to the Grand Sage for a second opinion. If he wanted to have a case halted or pursued, he had the authority to override the General Mahamatra’s decision.

Alhaitham knew that Cyno would do what he believed to be righteous no matter what the Grand Sage thought, so he didn’t even bother to correct his decision. The most he would do was read the first passage of the report in the instance that it was intriguing.

When Cyno had delivered the papers, he warned Alhaitham that he, Kaveh, and their shared house would be on surveillance for the next week. The General Mahamatra then showed him the report that he’d filled out. Kaveh and Tighnari’s names had been listed as the correspondents.

“We’re going to snuff out the criminals as soon as possible,” Cyno had said, his eyes narrowed and unamused. “But if they manage to catch wind of this before we get to them, Kaveh could be targeted, and you by extension. I’m keeping you both safe this way.”

Alhaitham had carefully held the paperclipped stack in his hands, flipping through the pages until he landed upon a blueprint and a sketch. They looked just like the ones that Kaveh was working on for his commission. The one that had needed it to be finished as soon as possible, and even paying extra for maximum efficiency.

Before the Acting Grand Sage could open his mouth, Cyno had said, “I advise you to talk to Kaveh about this. He wasn’t taking it well when he gave me the report. Tighnari and I convinced him not to drink, but it’s been a few hours. I don’t know how well our advice stuck.”

Alhaitham was fully expecting to open his door to either two situations:

One. Bottles strewn across the living room with the architectural drawings ripped up in a pile. Kaveh would be drunk out of conscious thought, mumbling his woes into Alhaitham’s ear.

Two. The papers would be intact, but Kaveh wouldn’t be home. He’d be at the tavern, drinking his sorrows where Alhaitham couldn’t see his pitiful state.

With a Matra staring coldly at his back from across the street, he prepared himself for either scenario. The blanket that had been re-tied over the empty window slot moved with the door. Alhaitham tugged it behind him as quickly as he could, not wanting the Matra to see the scene inside.

Kaveh was home.

There weren’t any empty bottles. There weren’t any bottles at all. The living room was spotless clean of any dust, dirt, and architectural sketches. The book that Alhaitham had left open after he’d departed that morning had been closed and tucked into its proper place. A distinct smell of cooked meat and roasted vegetables drifted through the house.

The Light of Kshahrewar sat hunched over on the center couch, a paper clenched in his hands. He didn’t react to Alhaitham’s entrance.

“Kaveh?” Alhaitham called, making his way over to his roommate. The only indication that Kaveh had heard him was a small bob in his throat as he swallowed.

When he reached his side, the Scribe didn’t pick up on any trace of scents of alcohol. His clothes were unmussed, his hair pinned back in his usual style, and his skin glistened like he’d taken a long, hot water bath. A proper splint covered his foot and ankle, meaning he’d made it to the doctor and back just fine.

His ruby eyes were blank and unseeing. The paper in his palms was crinkled from constant pressure, and the ink had been smeared in various places. It was otherwise free of variant marks and stains. It did not tremble or move in Kaveh’s grip. The architect was as still as a statue carved by his own hands.

Alhaitham sat beside his roommate on the couch slowly. He recognized this routine now. If he tried to say anything more, the results would be static and unchanging. Perhaps he wouldn’t make it worse, but he certainly wouldn’t achieve any progress.

He could violently pull Kaveh from the couch. It could startle him into the present, or he could be an emotionless doll. Under Alhaitham’s hands, he would allow himself to be pushed in any direction or touched in any way without a reaction at all. Alhaitham could tear the sketch to pieces, light his blond hair on fire, rip the earrings from his skin, and Kaveh wouldn’t make a sound.

The Scribe laid his hands on his lap and stared forward, letting himself drown in the static feedback from his hearing aids. Normally, everything had sound. The air moving, Kaveh’s breath, their house creaking — the only time he could ever escape it was when he took off his hearing aids. Now, it seemed like the world had sewn its mouth shut.

Silence was Alhaitham’s comfort. It was his blanket. He had lived without sound until his grandmother had fitted him with a pair of hearing aids. He hadn’t worn them often, then; he hadn’t cared to. It was only after he’d been a year into studying at the Akademiya that he’d crafted his own pair of hearing aids, ones that reverberated sound back to his eardrums as though he’d been born listening to the city’s bustle and the scholars’ debates.

His hearing aids weren’t made for the convenience of others. If someone wanted to converse with him, they’d find a way to do it. They’d learn sign language like they would any other ancient language they had to study in order to graduate, or they’d write what they wanted to say. Alhaitham had developed a keen eye for reading lips and understanding the words being spoken. He didn’t make them for the convenience of himself. He didn’t have any issues with his perpetually deaf world, and the occasional rough sound the old hearing aids provided.

He’d made them because, for the first time, he wanted to clearly hear someone’s voice other than his grandmother’s.

He had met Kaveh a year into his higher education career.

In the presence of Kaveh, silence was disturbing. He wore his hearing aids around his roommate for a reason. They were not meant to ring with static alone.

“They told me it was a ranch.”

Kaveh’s voice was not quiet. It was not choked. It was entirely blank, void of any of the depression, fury, or regret that Alhaitham associated with the architect. It matched his posture, the living room, his cleaned body, the scent of cooked food permeating the air, his dull ruby eyes.

“I had known they were lying. It looks nothing like a ranch.”

His voice was nothing at all.

“My first draft certainly looked like one. We talked about the modifications, and though I argued with them, I couldn’t pass up the mora they were offering. They knew what they were talking about, exactly what they wanted. If they wanted a terrible ranch, then that’s what they were getting,” Kaveh continued. His gaze was in the present, but not exactly focused on the sketch. “Cyno has already told you about this, hasn’t he?”

That was the first indicator that he’d acknowledged and recognized Alhaitham’s presence. Just because he’d been talking didn’t mean he’d known exactly who he’d been talking to. But the use of Cyno’s name showed that Kaveh was acutely aware of his surroundings, no matter how absent he had been before.

Alhaitham’s voice was toneless when he said, “Very little. I skimmed the first paragraph of the report; I want to hear the rest from you.”

His hearing aids rang with silence as he waited patiently for a response.

“The plan includes bedrooms, bathrooms, and a kitchen. At first glance it seems normal, but then you take into consideration everything you’d need in a house in general, not to mention a ranch house, and it certainly doesn’t meet the standards. Then there’s the fact that it’s in the center of the ranch, where the animals are roaming all around, and there aren’t any sheltered areas designed for animals themselves,” he monotonously explained. “But I’d explained all of the problems to them already. They didn’t care. This was the way they wanted it.”

For the first time since Alhaitham got there, Kaveh moved. It wasn’t much — he changed his grip on the paper so he had one free hand while the other prevented the paper from flopping at the edges. Kaveh lightly traced the outline of a fence on the sketch with his pointer finger. Alhaitham followed the finger intently, his attention flicking back and forth between the sketch and the architect’s face.

“It was the f…” His voice cut out, failing on the word he’d intended to say. He blinked, possibly for the first time in a while, and took a moment to regain his speech. “Fence. Ranches require specific types of fences for a list of reasons I won’t bore you with. There can be leniency for people as uneducated as the commissioners, but a palisade is obviously out of the cards for a ranch. The perimeter also wasn’t long enough for any type of ranch animal, nor the area big enough to provide enough space.”

Alhaitham had come to that conclusion on his own. He hadn’t asked Kaveh to explain it because he didn’t understand the logistics, he did it under the assumption that it would help Kaveh process the information and begin healing from it.

Looking at him then, Alhaitham realized that the issue ran deeper than he had originally thought.

“It’s meant to keep people, ” Kaveh started, and then choked on his own sentence. He let the sketch flutter softly from his hands onto the ground in front of him. His eyes were scrunched up together and his teeth were bared in a half-snarl. The usual shine that came with unshed tears was absent from his gutted face. “It’s meant to keep people in. Meant to harvest their organs and throw them out once they are emptied of anything to sell.”

When Kaveh stood, he staggered, tripping over his splint and hitting the edge of the table. The sketch crinkled and tore under Kaveh’s weight. Alhaitham stood up with him, reaching out to steady him before he fell. What he received for his efforts was a hand wildly swatting him away and a strangely level voice that said, “I don’t need your help.” Those ruby eyes, the ones that Alhaitham could never get enough of — the way they were so unique, their color descending from a deep crimson to a dusted pink, always so expressive of frustration and excitement — met Alhaitham’s with a glaring intensity. “I have never asked for it.”

And his nose was flared, and his hands were balled into fists, and he was favoring both legs as he roughly pushed past Alhaitham. His bedroom door slammed, rattling the vase settled by a set of books on the shelf beside the center couch. The sound reverberated into Alhaitham’s hearing aids, and they reminded the Scribe just how sensitive they were with an ear-piercing screech.

Fresh dust settled in the newly-cleaned house. The aroma of cooked meat and roasted vegetables filled the space where the smell of Kaveh’s shampooed hair had once been. Light streamed in from where the blanket had come slightly undone. The ever-present sound of silence wrapped around Alhaitham like the Grim Reaper’s skeleton hand.

Alhaitham tied the blanket back over the empty space where the window should be. He checked the kitchen to see a plate carefully preserved for him. It had meat and vegetables and a glass of water on the side. His footsteps were light and even as he brought the food to the dinner table. He kept his mouth closed and chewed slow as he ate alone. His mind was blank as he tried to think.

Lesser Lord Kusanali’s words bounced around in his head, reminding him constantly of their weight. It made him want to plunge his steak knife into a carotid artery. It gave him urges, not thoughts, not plans, not ideas. Only the strong urge to do something incredibly and uncharacteristically impulsive. Alhaitham prided himself on the fact that he did not do anything without consideration beforehand, and that he didn’t have compulsions since they were entirely illogical, reckless, and without cause.

Alhaitham wanted to flip the dinner table. He wanted to choke on his food. He wanted to cradle Kaveh’s head and beg to see his stomach and thighs. He wanted to shake his Archon’s little body and scream in her face.

Alhaitham did not act on his urges. Instead, he tossed his hearing aids onto the wooden table, took a deep breath, and ate the rest of his food in the complete, utterly deaf world he belonged to.

He wanted to be able to think, but the dead silence in his head was infinitely better than the uncontrollable voices scraping his brain like a dog that’s been trapped in a cage for days, making his hands shake and his heart burst. Having real thoughts would have to come later, when he calmed down and could open his mouth for anything other than eating.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fic #genshin fanfic #alhaitham #kaveh #genshin alhaitham #genshin kaveh #alhaitham x kaveh #kaveh x alhaitham #kavetham #genshin kavetham #kavetham fic

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morbid-mutt · 4 months

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'Till The Cows Come Home - Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Characters: John Price, Kate Laswell, Original Characters TW: Childhood Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

If you had asked any of the members of Task Force 141, they wouldn't have expected the events leading up to the addition of their two newest members. And yet, the duo soon found their place amongst their newfound team, their family. Unfortunately, this peace doesn't last forever and soon, the task force finds itself in ever-growing complication that is tangled with old foes that were thought to have been put away forever.

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

“New Beginnings”

JUL 10, 23 0800

Capt. John Price, Kate Laswell

LONDON, ENGLAND

A cool spring breeze lingered in the air as the sound of passing cars buzzing by permeated the small cafe situated just outside of downtown London. Two people sat among the several metal tables outside the business, quietly murmuring amongst themselves. One of them, a stocky build man with a thick mustache framed by mutton chops, leaned back in the chair as he addressed the woman sitting before him.

Captain John Price briefly removed his hat to card his fingers through the short brown locks of his hair before returning it to its resting place. The woman, Kate Laswell, dressed in a simple blue sweater, leaned forward to rest her arms against the table. Between them sat two manilla envelopes.

Kate’s hand casually reached forward to slide the envelopes across the table towards the man in question, her crystal blue eyes looking up at him. John Price let out a deep sigh as he wearily eyed them before lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. “Wha’ the hell are these, Kate?” he asked.

Amusement glinted in Laswell’s eyes as she spoke. “Two new soldiers for ya,” she said, her American accent a stark contrast from the man’s deep British-laced tone. Her face softened in sympathy at the unease etched on the older man’s face, and the hesitance tensed in his posture. “Listen, John. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. But this is a direct order from General Shepard; you know how he can be. No matter what I said, he wouldn’t budge on this.”

An exasperated groan thrummed in his chest, battling the urge to throw his arms up in frustration. “More o’ Shepard’s men? Wha’ am I, his goddamn babysitter?”

The CIA agent huffed a quiet laugh before giving her head a slight nod towards the files beneath her hand before retracting it to fold her arms on the table’s edge. “Something is different about these two, John.” Her voice was hushed, despite not needing to over the drowning sound of the nearby traffic. “Shepard was quite persistent about having them transferred over to the task force.”

Price let his eyes fall to the envelopes, his brows knitting together as he looked down at them with suspicion. It wasn’t unusual for the General to be sticking his nose into the business of Task Force 141, but this was odd. Never had he made a special request such as transferring two of his own men under Captain Price’s leadership. Most of their interactions had been based purely on the guise of mutual benefit.

He finally reached for them with a resigned sigh before carefully opening the file with tentative care, tugging the papers from its confines. Across the top of the soldier’s file read a name, “Wren ‘Fido’ Lewis.” His eyes skimmed across the data on the papers before setting the documents on top of the envelope, brushing it aside. He picked up the second file, opening it with the same care. Inside was a similar document, though this one had a different name across the top: “Ryder ‘Joyride’ Daniels [REDACTED].”

John’s eyes, an infinite pool of blue granite, stared down at the papers laid out before him. Finally, after a moment's thought, he raised his gaze to meet Kate’s waiting eyes, one of his eyebrows quirked inquisitively. The Captain cleared his throat, leaning back against the metal chair as his hand moved to fish out a pack of cigars from his pocket.

He tugged one free from the packet before sliding it between his teeth before finally addressing her. “Al’right. So, wha’s these kids’ stories?” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was on a crisp autumn day in a tiny little town on the southeastern coast of South Carolina on October 13th, 1997, that Wren Lewis was born into the world to a loving single mother by the name of Dianne Lewis. From the very beginning, it was just the two of them against the rest of the world, his father having passed away a few months prior to his birth. Wren was a relatively peaceful babe, never crying without want, which made things easy for his mother, who was struggling with the responsibilities on her own.

That is until they moved in with her long-distance boyfriend, a man named Alan, who lived across the state when Wren was around the age of 5. Despite not having met in person, Dianne was swept up in a whirlwind romance, moving into the small trailer with Alan only after a few months of dating. This would end up being the best, and worst event of this boy’s life.

At first, things seemed to be going fine. Their new patchwork family was an adjustment for the little boy but certainly not an unwelcome one. It was only a few days into their new home life that things took a turn, and Alan’s true colors began to rear their ugly head. It turns out Alan Dubois was a drunk, a disgrace of a man, if you could even call him that.

For most of his days spent in his new home, Wren would find himself hiding in the closet of his too-small room, a pillow clutched firmly over his ears in an attempt to block out the roaring voice of Alan and the resulting cries of his mother. Those days were when a deep-seated anger began to fester in his heart. He despised Alan with every fiber of his being. Despite this, the boy was oblivious to the sound of skin striking skin through the paper-thin walls, something that he would realize later in life that only caused that anger to boil deep within his stomach.

Wren was unfortunately not free of Alan’s rampage, either. The littlest thing would set the man off into a rage, sometimes something as simple as forgetting to put his toys away; sometimes, there wasn’t even a reason. Whatever the cause, Alan’s favorite punishment would be to stub out the simmering embers of his cigarettes against his pale skin. And fuck, did that hurt. The smell of his burnt flesh mixed with the lingering scent of tobacco made him sick to his stomach.

Initially, he was careful, calculated so that the marks would remain mostly hidden beneath his clothes. The boy had learned early on that it was best not to struggle during these alcohol-fueled outbreaks lest he be punished even more severely.

Fortunately, some respite arrived in the form of preschool. Wren eagerly followed his mother as they approached the school, his hand held tightly in Dianne’s warm grasp. Those hands always brought him so much comfort. It was orientation day, a chance for the incoming students to explore the school premises before their first official day. After briefly meeting the Principal, Wren and his mother walked along the sidewalk past the different classrooms situated in small cinderblock buildings.

As they passed by the expansive field of the playground, Wren noticed something from the corner of his eye. There was a small child crouched by the fence, much smaller than any of the other students he had seen that day. He felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach, realizing that he was by himself, away from the other students playing a game of kickball. Did they not let him join? His eyes swept over the kid; his red-brown hair hung in his face as he carefully poked at something he couldn’t see with a stick, his arms wrapped in thick bandages.

The boy turned to look up at his mom, her curled black tresses framing her soft face. She was so beautiful. “Momma, can I go play?” The sound of his voice caught her attention as she turned to look down at him. A fond smile spread across her face, only marred by a faint bruise visible around her eye that was barely hidden by the concealer she wore.

“Stay where I can see you!” Dianne shouted after him as he dashed across the field toward the other kid before she even had the chance to answer his question. The sicky, sweet scent of decay hit his nose before he skidded to a halt just behind the other child. His nose scrunched at the offending smell as he spoke up. “Whatcha’ doin’?” The kid’s shoulders jolted as he was startled by the sudden voice behind him. His pale gray eyes raised cautiously to look up at Wren from the carcass of a raccoon he was prodding at.

He was small, much smaller than he had appeared across the playground. His red-brown hair was tied into a loose braid that stopped just short of his shoulders, and Wren’s eyes were drawn to the faint pink scarring that peaked out from beneath the wraps covering the boy’s arms. The small boy shifted uncomfortably under his stare, returning to the carrion lying on the ground.

The fur on the animal's hindquarters was matted and discolored as if something had been gnawing at it. Wren couldn't help but wonder what creatures had been feasting on the raccoon's remains. He couldn't see any maggots or other insects, but he knew they were probably present in the animal's decomposing flesh. The sight was both fascinating and repulsive at the same time.

“Ooh, cool! Are those bones?” Without waiting for a response, Wren crowded the other kid’s space as he knelt beside him. A relatively peaceful silence settled between them, only broken with the occasional comment from Wren about their discoveries as curiosity sparkled in their eyes.

After a short while, Wren’s mother’s voice rang out across the playground. “Wren, sweetie! It’s time to go now!” The boy’s cheeks puffed up with a pout as he begrudgingly stood from his seated position. He spun on his heel to leave before quickly turning back around, smiling at the kid still kneeling down by him. “I’m Wren, by the way! Let’s be friends, okay?”

A huge smile spread across his expression to reveal two missing front teeth as the child finally spoke up, his voice barely an audible whisper, “O-Okay. I’m Ryder.” Warmth filled the little boy’s heart as he gave a quick wave before running to catch up with his mother. He made a friend, a real friend! Little did Wren know that this kid would end up becoming his best friend for the rest of his life.

A few years later, his mother got married to Alan, much to Wren’s chagrin. The abuse from his now stepfather only seemed to get worse with time after this. By the time the boy had reached middle school, he found himself sneaking out of his room in the darkness of the night for the first time. The crisp winter air whipped against his tear-stained cheeks as he slid open the window to his bedroom, glancing over his shoulder every so often as fear knotted in the pit of his stomach. That day, he had received a particularly ruthless punishment at the hands of his stepfather. Bruises feathered across the pale skin of his arms, shadows of the tight grip of fingers around his thin arms that were dotted with a constellation of red burns. Blood was crusted on the corner of his lips, paired with the angry split in the pink flesh. He sucked in a trembling breath before climbing out of the window, wincing as the leaves beneath his shoes crunched too loudly for his liking.

He trekked out into the cold night as his arms wrapped around his frame to brace against the frigid wind that whipped around him. Thank whatever creator there was that Ryder’s house was only a few roads away from the trailer park he begrudgingly called home. Wren sniffled wetly as he let his feet carry him on a path he had grown all too familiar with towards the large house settled in a comfortable urban neighborhood.

He found himself standing outside the window leading to Ryder’s bedroom, his hand poised to knock on the fogged glass, but just as his knuckles were about to make contact with the surface, he paused, hesitant. What the hell am I doing? He’s probably asleep, and ugh, this isn’t his problem to deal with. Anxiety twisted in his stomach as he stood there for a moment, battling against his inner turmoil of simply going back home. He was turning on his heel when he practically jumped out of his skin at the jarring sound of metal grinding against glass.

“Boltz..? What-” Ryder’s voice cut off at the sight of the teen, battered and bruised with fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “H-Hey..Sorry, I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Wren managed in a croak, his chin quivering as he fought back the sob that threatened to wrack his chest at the sight of his friend. His best friend.

“No, no...I was- it’s fine. Come in.” Wren wiped an arm across his eyes, wincing at the sting of salty tears against the fresh burns that marred his skin. His feet shuffled against the ground as he moved over to the window, placing his feet in one of the holes of the lattice siding before hoisting himself through the partially open sill.

The warmth of the room enveloped him like a cocoon, and he was greeted by the familiar aroma of homemade meals that instantly made his heart ache. As soon as his feet set down on the plush carpet of Ryder’s room, arms circled Wren’s waist, and he crumpled into his friend’s embrace. Every emotion he had pent up suddenly spilled forth as he slumped to his knees. Anger. Guilt. Sadness. His shoulders shook as he buried his face against the material of Ryder’s sleep pants, silent sobs bubbling up from his lungs.

Ryder bent over him as he rubbed his hands soothingly against his back, giving him a moment to gather himself before he managed to speak again, “I-I’m sorry...I’m sorry…” Wren had promised himself he wouldn’t cave in like this. He was meant to be strong for himself. For his mother. And yet there he was, raw and feeling everything he had fought to bottle up inside.

“Shh, shh...It’s okay…Did he- Did Alan do this?” Ryder’s voice vaguely registered in his mind as he solemnly nodded his head. He didn’t realize when he had begun to gasp for air, his heart hammering against his ribcage as his fingers clutched the soft fleece of Ryder’s pant leg. Tears pooled in his eyes, blurring his vision while a warm hand came to cup the side of his face. Ryder’s voice sounded closer now as his forehead pressed against his own, his voice low and calm. “Hey, hey...Breathe with me..” He barely noticed as his hand was moved to press against Ryder’s chest, the slow rise and fall of each breath the other teen took beneath his touch. Wren clenched his eyes closed as he tried to focus on that little thing, something so simple yet so grounding. In. Out. In. Out. Time seemed to stretch onward until Wren blinked his eyes open once more, meeting the metallic grey gaze of his best friend. A gentle smile pulled at the corner of Ryder’s lips as he let his hands fall to his lap. “Welcome back, buddy…Now, tell me, what happened?”

From that day on, this became a regular occurrence for the two. Wren would often find himself seeking solace in his friend's company, which was always welcomed with open arms. Countless nights were spent talking about everything and anything, from their deepest fears to their wildest dreams. They would stay up until the early hours of the morning, lost in their conversations, with only the sunrise to signal the end of their time together. As time went on, their bond grew stronger, and they both knew that they had found a true friend for life.

By the time they had reached high school, they were practically inseparable. They would always support and defend each other, even if it meant getting into physical fights with their classmates whenever a comment was made about them. However, frequent trips to the nurse’s office made Wren realize the need to learn first aid. Initially, it was just to avoid the scowl they received from the nurse every time they visited her office, sporting a new injury from whatever trouble they found themselves in. But eventually, Wren discovered a passion for it he never had expected.

A few weeks shy of their graduation, Wren noticed something that just seemed off about Ryder. He could barely stay awake during class, deep purple hues permanently beneath his tired eyes. Unbeknownst to him, Ryder had been dealing with quite the issue.

It had been a few days since the duo had last hung out; Wren blinked bleary eyes open from where his head rested on his desk. Wha-? The sound of knocking against the aluminum door of the trailer finally registered in his sleep-addled mind. He stood from his chair and walked out of his room, a hand lifting to card his fingers through sleep-mussed hair.

He paused for a moment to take a quick glance outside through the window that overlooked the tiny wooden porch. His face brightened up with excitement as he spotted Ryder standing outside. A smile stretched across his face as he hurried to the door and flung it open with dramatic flair while striking a pose.

“I do declare, what ever have I done to deserve such a visit from a fine young man such as yourself?”

His expression faltered at the rather severe look that was plastered on Ryder’s face. His heart sank to his stomach as he took in his best friend’s haggard state. Gaunt was the only word that could come to mind that accurately described the teen before him.

“Bones?...Everything alright, man?...”

Wren watched as Ryder let out a deep sigh, his exhaustion evident on his face. As his usual dramatic self, Boltz tried to lighten the mood with his jokes, but it didn’t seem to work. Unease coiled in his stomach as another sigh escaped Ryder’s lips, and the boy couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over him.

“Ah, no, not’actly. Mind joining me for a walk? Got some shit to say,” Ryder said, his voice wavering with nerves. He swallowed thickly as his hand instinctively ran through his fluffy, wavy hair while he scratched his neck, lowering his head to hide behind it as usual.

Wren was taken aback by how unsettled Bones appeared as he carefully observed his expression. Ryder was usually somewhat reserved in his manner, and this was just not like him. Although Bones was known for being quiet, this was on a completely different level.

“Y-Yeah, no problem. Lemme’ throw a shirt on and grab my shoes.”

As he turned away from the doorway, the teen left it ajar as he entered his room and walked over to his dresser before putting on clothes for the day. After a few minutes, he emerged wearing a black tank top that showed off his toned arms, a pair of gray gym shorts that hung loosely on his hips, and black sandals that slapped against the vinyl floors as he returned outside. He stepped onto the porch, taking a deep breath.

He gazed down at Ryder before hesitantly extending his arm to place his hand into Ryder’s warm palm, startling the boy from his thoughts.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Wren noticed Ryder's demeanor and could sense that he was going through a tough time. He wanted to reach out and comfort him, but at the same time, he didn't want to pressure him. Ryder had always been the stronger of the two, patient and caring as Wren struggled with the dynamic within his home. He silently wished that he could take away all his pain and make things better for him. Ryder simply gave Boltz's hand a light squeeze and nodded.

Wren felt a sense of unease wash over him as he walked alongside Bones through the trailer park area. It was their usual routine to take a walk and end up in a small field that was a little more secluded. As they walked, he felt Ryder fidgeting with his hand and rings, and he couldn't help but smile. As they approached their usual spot, Wren couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over him. The tall grass swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant sound of cars passing by was the only noise in the otherwise quiet area. Ryder squeezed Boltz's hand as if grateful for this moment of stillness.

Wren watched as Ryder took a deep breath, his face contorted with worry. His heart raced as he wondered what his best friend was going to say. "Here we go," he thought to himself, bracing for the worst. The silence stretched on between them for a few moments before Ryder began to speak.

"I've been given a choice," Ryder said, his eyes downcast, as if he couldn't bear to look at the taller teen. "I either go to jail for 20-plus years or...join the military." Wren's heart sank as he processed the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t imagine Ryder in jail for two decades, but the thought of him going off to war was equally terrifying.

Wren paused momentarily, lost in thought, as he contemplated his best friend's words. He looked down at their hands, which were now intertwined, and examined them closely. He had never really paid much attention to Ryder's hands before. They were slightly rough, with calluses that had developed over the years from working on cars. However, despite this, they felt warm; comforting.

Thoughts of their childhoods rushed through his mind, endless days spent together, all melding into one thought. Wren decided he didn't need the details that led up to this ultimatum, but he was sure of one thing: Ryder wasn't about to go this alone.

The teenager sighed softly, then lifted his emerald eyes to meet Ryder's uncertain gaze. He hummed softly in his throat before speaking. "Okay, when do we leave?"

Ryder opened his mouth as if about to speak but suddenly stopped himself and stuttered, "W-What!? What the fuck do you mean by "we"!?" He asked with disbelief, and his face showed the shock he must have felt.

Wren raised an eyebrow, and a slight smile began to form at the corner of his lips. "I mean 'we'," he replied.

He raised his hand to play with Ryder's fluffy curls, enjoying the softness beneath his fingers. The smile spread across his face, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners.

"You think I'm going to let you do this alone? Come on, Bones. You can't get rid of me that easily."

Ryder practically whined . "No, please, Boltz, man, I really do appreciate it, but you can't follow me to the fucking military!? Or prison!? I fucked up, like big time, and before you say it, I know. But you've got your mom to take care of, and aren't you getting ready to head off to some fancy-ass college to be a big-time doctor? Don't throw away your life cause of me... I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I somehow screwed up your life too." Ryder pled, grabbing Boltz's other hand as well.

"Just don't try to follow me. Try to live your life fully. I'm practically begging you on my knees here. Please think about it and don't come chase after me right away. Please," he says with tears in his eyes, looking at Wren.

"I- I know we joke all the time about being together forever, an-and I want it too, but god, I want you not to have to look at my ugly mug every day, man..." He said with a wet chuckle, his voice thick with emotion as he squeezed Wren's hands. "Please, don't immediately jump after me. Can you promise me that?"

Wren's smile turned sheepish as he leaned his head forward, bumping his forehead against Ryder's.

"I'm sorry, Bones. Just this once, I can't agree with you."

He chuckled, feeling a warm sensation in his chest, before sitting up once again. His expression was one of absolute conviction as he gently squeezed the hands of his best friend. He sighed softly and said, "Don't worry, Momma will be alright. Who needs eight years of college anyway? Besides, who else is going to keep your sorry ass out of trouble?"

His eyes softened as he looked down at Ryder fondly. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as his following words came out as a choked sob.

Ryder let out a quiet laugh and closed his eyes. "I don't think they allow me to bring a plus one, Boltz," he said, followed by a sniff and a shaky sigh.

Finally succumbing to all the emotions he had held back in the past few days, Ryder rested his head on Wren's shoulder and started to shake silently. He held onto Boltz's hands tightly as if they were his lifeline.

As Ryder's body started to shake silently, Wren instinctively wrapped his arm around him, pulling him closer. He could feel the weight of his emotions and knew he needed comfort. He held him tightly as he rested his head on his shoulder, his hands still clasped with Boltz's. Wren whispered softly, "It's okay to let it out, Ryder. I'm here for you." He could feel the warmth of Ryder’s tears against his skin, and he held him even tighter, offering him the same comfort that the other teen had given him so many nights before.

"God, Wren, I thought I was gonna die... I-I was hidden, but I saw so much..this is what I get for ignoring the obvious just for fucking money. " Wren's heart sank to the pit of his stomach, guilt tangling with anxiety that coursed through him. Fuck, how had he not noticed that all of this was happening? Through their years of friendship, Wren could tell the slightest thing about Ryder without even having to exchange any words, but somehow, he managed to miss something as devastating as this.

"I saw kids my age get- get- fuck "

Wren's eyebrows drew together as he pulled his hands free of Ryder's in lieu of wrapping them snugly around his trembling body. His hand came to rest against the back of his red-brown hair, pulling his head into the crook of his neck. Ryder clung tightly to Wren, hiding his face in his neck, and wrapped his arms around his waist. He was sobbing, but it was still a quiet thing. He was never one to be too loud; he just never enjoyed the sound of others and himself at a higher volume than needed.

"I was helping them for four years, Wren. I figured out they were more than a fucking gang a year and a half into it, but it was experience on vehicles and good money once I got noticed by the sicario. Fixed up his car. I started driving them to random ass locations on weekends but never questioned it much. Why the fuck did I become a getaway driver for a fucking cartel and stay ." Ryder sobbed. Wren could tell his best friend's head was a mess of insecurities, self-doubt, and so many other things. Boltz couldn't even imagine the things that Ryder had seen, no less something that a teen should never have to witness.

"Hey, hey. Ryder, none of this was your fault. How were you supposed to know.." The tears finally spilled over his own cheeks as he squeezed Ryder tightly against his body. His fingers carded through his hair soothingly as he wracked his brain. Finally, a thought came to his mind.

"Hear me out, Bones...They said you could enlist, right? Could we- Could we ask Phil to see if we could do this together? Maybe he could pull some strings." Ryder almost didn't hear Wren, pulling away slightly and bringing a hand up to rub his face away from tears.

"Philly?" He croaked. "What does he have to do with this? He left the house when I was 4?" Ryder's muddled brain was not picking up the pieces of the puzzle. Wren pressed a warm hand against Ryder's swollen, damp cheek and let his thumb gently brush away a stray tear. He let out a quiet huff of a laugh before explaining. "Your dad said he's in the military now, right? Maybe he could- I don't know. Maybe he could ask one of his managers or something if they could make this work."

Especially now, the thought of being separated from his best friend tore at his heart with an aching burn. Not after everything he had been through. It was bad enough that he hadn't noticed something bigger was going on, but the thought that he would have to continue to bear this burden alone killed him.

Wren knew the conversation with his mom about this wouldn't go easily, but this was what he wanted: What felt right . Ryder had been through everything with him, through the countless nights when he fled to his house, knocking on his window as sobs wracked his body from nightmares that haunted him of his stepfather's wrath. No , he was determined to be there for him, just as he had with him.

Ryder blinked, a look of realization dawning on his face. His face scrunched up with uncertainty at Wren's suggestion. "I mean...maybe? I only see him like, every couple of years. I could ask Jenny. She may have his number or Dad; I'm not sure. I haven't seen him much since I was around 8. He stopped coming home for holidays, but if it could help?" Ryder's voice had doubt in it. He sniffed and really looked at Wren.

"Are you 100 percent sure you wanna do this? Cause I could just go to prison, ya know, for fun." Ryder said sarcastically. "Who knows, maybe I'll get a boyfriend there!" It was a feeble attempt at humor, but Ryder's lips curled into a faint smile. He let out a small sigh.

Wren's eyes rolled in a dramatic circle as he let out a sigh, disappointed by the poorly timed joke from his best friend. He then dropped his head against his palm with a quiet smack, sporting a slight smile on his pale face, revealing the point of his canine through his lips.

"It just doesn't sit right with me that I'd be dragging you down with me 'cause I fucked up..."

As Wren looked up at Ryder, he felt a sense of determination well up inside him. He knew he had to do something to lift Ryder's spirits, to make him feel better. The boy had always been a compassionate person, and seeing Ryder in such a despondent state tugged at his heartstrings. He wracked his brain for ideas, trying to think of something that would make Ryder smile, something that would bring a glimmer of joy to his eyes. Despite the gravity of the situation, Wren refused to give up hope. He was determined to help Ryder through this challenging time, no matter what it took.

"Sorry, bro. You can't make this decision for me. I've made up my mind."

Wren gazed at his best friend, who had been by his side since they were little. He saw tears welling up in his eyes, but this time, they seemed to be tears of happiness. Ryder pulled him close and hugged his lean body tightly, burying his face under his stubbled chin as he let out a chuckle.

"Man, you're so stubborn. What would I do without you, fucking asshole? I can't believe you are just gonna join me, in the military, no less… Thought you hated authorities?" He quietly asked.

He let out a dramatic sigh and wrapped his arms tightly around Ryder. "Yeah, well, that's not going to change either." He pulled back slightly to look down at his best friend with immense warmth in his green eyes. "But it's worth it for you, Bones. You've done so much for me. It's about time I paid that back."

He shrugs his shoulders, his eyebrows quirking upwards playfully.

"Plus, it just means I get an excuse to kick your ass on a daily basis.

Notes:

This all started off as a idea based off of a silly TikTok POV, that spiraled into so much more. I hope you love our boys as much as we do! I promise the rest of the team will be introduced soon. <3

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dipolardruid · 1 year

Note

BRO I AM LOVING YOUR POSTS!! 💘 I HAVE AN IDEAAA(request) OKAY SOOOOOO I remembered reading Yan!step moms backstory and how she was mostly neglectful towards her kid/husband and how she was basically a bad mom alright. SO when she gets together with the dad of the reader, what happens if the reader was a close friend of her late child? Like maybe the reader is all like.. “hmm… she seems familiar.. but from where?” And the reader is like studying Yan!step mom BUT the reader doesn’t know it’s the mother of her deceased friend. Since she was almost never with her kid back then but reader is all like “You look like *kids name*” while talking to Yan!step mom. SORRY IF THIS IS TOO COMPLICATED AND MAKES NO SENSE

also can I be -🌊 anon?

Of course you can be 🌊 Anon! Also thank you I'm gald you're enjoying my works!

TW: Mention of death

Betra looks awkwardly between you and your father but mainly at you as you continue to stare at her intensely as if she was something unique.

"Why do you keep staring her?" You look away from Betra and towards your father upon hearing his voice "I'm telling you these past few weeks are torture I can't figure out who she looks like but I know she looks like someone." You go back to looking at her causing her to move her head back slightly her eyes widening a little "stop staring at her and eat your food." Lifting your hands up in surrender you begin eating again but take sneaking glances at her but look away when you make eye contact.

As she begins to stay for longer periods giving you a chance to look more carefully you finally figure it out while you both are talking about something it finally clicks "I finally know who you look like!" She stops talking to look at you a little surprised but raises her right eyebrow waiting for you to continue "I had a very close friend they passed away unfortunately but we shared the same name even but their last name was curie."

Almost out of nowhere you see Betra's whole demeanor change from all smiles and straight posture to slumped and her smile completely gone.

"You were...." Betra stops talking the silence causes your dad to finally turn his head, "you ok?" You ask her taken off guard this causes your dad to stand up and begin to walk over to where you both are to take a look at her "what's wrong?" He puts both hands on her shoulders and moves her to face him.

"I have to go." She taps her left hand on your fathers chest to signify that she wants him to let her go, once he does she begins to head towards the door "I'll walk you to your car." As he opens the door for her she stops she looks slightly over at you "I'll be back tomorrow (Y/N), rest well tonight." She gives a small but forced smile before walking out with your father.

You can't help but think you said something wrong, you really hope not.

Once you get up in the morning and get ready for school you see Betra and your father on the couch "Hey kiddo get ready to eat breakfast together." You look at him before answering "I can't the bus is gonna be here soon." He stand up Betra following after him.

"I already called saying there was a family emergency." He says this as he starts serving the food sitting down next to Betra after finishing serving his own plate "Betra had some things to ask about yesterday before I had to go into work." You look over to her to see her staring at you.

"Ook." You say confused from there Betra apologized for her sudden reaction and explained, come to find out your father is dating your deceased friend's mom not something you ever expected to ever hear but here you are.

Betra asked questions more so about her chikd and your relationship with ranging from simple hobbies to deeper feelings, this went on until your father had to leave "Try not to overwhelm Betra their friend is a very sensitive subject just as it is to you, love you both." Was all that was said before leaving.

"One more question is all I have it's a very loaded one but I must know." Betra looks you in your eyes before continuing "you said you talked to her before the crash happened and I was brought up can I know what it about." You hesitate to answer which she realizes "please..." you look at Betra's hands which are clenching her pants tightly.

Sighing you decide to answer "they told me that they wished you had loved them and didn't understand why you hated them so much as to not want to see them." Hearing Betra take a sharp cut off breath "...Thank you....I'll be in the room if you need anything." You watch as she begins to slowly head to your fathers bedroom muttering under her breath.

After that day Betra seemed to always stay by your side even picking you up early from school, talking to you and going as far as to call you her daughter, even if you tell her to stop she continues to do so.

"Are you hungry? Maybe you want to go out just you and I? Let's take a picture of this moment to save it." Things like this have began to become a daily thing ever since the whole conversation, Not only that she pretty much stays at your home from 1 to 2 weeks which your father loves.

The house has become more crowded due to her stuff coming little by little which also means she's even given you some of her clothes that don't fit anymore but despite her constantly floating around you one thing that does cause a chill to run down your spine is her staring.

Everytime you turn your back you can't help but feel her gaze on you, moments like those make you regret ever bringing up your friend it may sound bad but it would've been better than having her start breathing down your neck.

All you can do is live with the fact that now she's become far too attached to you, while all you hope is that she at least give you some space to breath.

Request are open!

#my oc character #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere oc #female yandere x reader #female yandere #yandere female oc #platonic yandere #yandere female #yandere mother #yandere step mother #Betra

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downwiththeficness · 1 month

Text

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Forty Four

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes. This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Word Count: ~3,600

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist Read on AO3

Eva hung her ochre dress in the closet. After days of lying on the floor, the thing was a crumpled mess and it had taken effort to find a local dry cleaner she trusted to clean and press the garment. Eva would happily exert that effort all over again. She stared at the shimmering fabric, knowing that she would never get rid of it. The dress would go wherever she went for as long as she lived. Always a reminder of the momentous step forward in her relationship with her alpha.

The heat ebbed and flowed, rising and falling over the course of several days. Intense need bracketed by sleep and drowsy wallowing in the bond. Wrapped in Horacio’s arms, Eva felt safer than she’d ever felt in her life. In the bubble of their shared bed, nothing and no one could reach her.

A knock at the door.

Eva flinched and held her breath.

Horacio and Javier were scouting the factory so that they could create a plan of attack. Josh hadn’t moved the place, which was a boon. But, he also hadn’t been seen on-site in several days. Horacio had a hunch that he was staying in one of a few residences nearby, but hadn’t yet figured out which. Finding out where Josh was hunkered down was their primary objective for the day.

Another knock.

Eva moved silently through the apartment. She couldn’t think of a single good reason for anyone to be knocking at her door. Her hand hesitated over the deadbolt, hovering mid-air, before she blew out a breath and opened it. The doorway was empty. She stepped out and craned her neck to look one way. Empty. And then, the other.

Barrel of a gun.

And, beyond, the angry face of Doctor Joshua Moore.

“Hello, Eva.”

She was surprised she could speak through the icy fear, “Hello, Josh.”

The gun was very close. So close that Eva thought she might be able to see the bullet in the chamber, if she squinted. He’d cut his hair. It was razored very near to his head, only the way the color caught the light gave away that he was blond. There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there before. The mouth that once held a constant, self-satisfied smirk, was flat. He looked like a completely different man.

“Where are your manners? Invite me in,” he demanded.

Slowly, Eva backed into the apartment. She kept her eyes on Josh, on the weapon in his hand. Eva was fairly confident that he didn’t come there to kill her, but ‘fairly confident’ didn’t seem so reassuring when death was on the line.

He moved smoothly through the door and closed it behind him, “Sit.”

She sat.

Josh took the armchair opposite her. His posture was casual, the gun resting on his knee, “How are you, Birdie?”

“Fine, I reckon,” she replied, wincing at the crack in her voice.

“Oh, you reck-on?” he teased, “I see you’ve regressed a little since I saw you last.” He rolled his eyes, “Although I suppose I can excuse it, given the circumstances.” When she didn’t say anything, he leaned back into the cushion and asked, “So, what have you been up to?”

Eva searched for words. Her voice, when it came, was high and reedy, “Oh, you know, same old stuff.”

He smiled, “I’ve heard. Diego really did need an accountant.”

She clung to yet another of Josh’s incorrect conclusions, “His books were atrocious.”

A laugh, “I bet.” Then, “Tell me, where are his holdings?”

Eva’s brows drew together, “His holdings?”

He rolled his wrist in a kind of ‘come on’ gesture, “His money, Birdie. Where is it?”

A lie felt like it wouldn’t land well, “I...don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

She shrugged, “I don’t. I have no idea where Diego’s money comes from.”

Josh’s eyes narrowed, “You’re his accountant.”

“And,” Eva replied in a low tone, “he is remarkably private.”

He sucked his teeth in disappointment. “Alright. What do you know?”

She hesitated, “He’s been working with a cartel.” God, why hadn’t she planned a fucking story for this moment? A thought came to her, “You know, I think he’s more of a...what do you call it...a mercenary. But, for drugs?”

Josh stared at her, “A drug mercenary.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes and ran his hand across his face, “Its been months, Eva. And, all you have is drug mercenary.”

She swallowed, “He doesn’t let me see much.”

“He doesn’t let—,” he cut himself off, sighed, and started again, “Birdie, you have to have seen something.”

What he was hunting for, she couldn’t even begin to guess. Eva glanced at the gun while her brain worked to come up with a response. Something—anything--that would fuel his ego. “He’s waiting for you.”

Josh’s brows lifted, “Oh?”

Encouraged, Eva continued, “He...knows you’ve been asking about him. He’s been waiting for you to make contact.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me about it.”

“What does he talk to you about?”

There was a softness in his tone that sounded like danger. She felt the hair on her arms stand up in warning. If Eva said the wrong thing, he would lash out. She wracked her brain for every effective strategy she’d ever used to mitigate Josh’s anger.

Eva took a chance at stroking his ego, “You, mostly.”

His tone was intrigued, “Oh?”

“He asked me the same questions you just asked me.”

Josh’s face lit up with interest. Nailed it. “What did you tell him?”

“As little as possible,” Then, “Diego is...perceptive.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m sure you think he’s perceptive.” Then, “He’s been manipulating you, Birdie.”

She looked away, “He kidnapped me, Josh. He took me to a new place where I don’t know anyone, where I don’t speak the language. You’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little off balance.”

Josh leaned forward, “All this sass is new for you. I don’t like it.” A pause, “That’s not the only thing that’s changed, is it?” He pointed to her neck, “Did he force you, Birdie?” A pause, “Did it hurt?”

Not at all, she thought while saying nothing. Let him project whatever he wanted onto her. Their bond, and the way it was solidified, was private. Sacred.

“Well,” he sighed when he realized she wasn’t going to answer, “that can be fixed.”

“Fixed?” Eva blurted.

Josh’s brows lifted, “Yes, of course. I’m an incredibly gifted pharmacologist—or had you forgotten? With enough time, I’ll break the bond. Don’t you worry.”

She gasped involuntarily, “You’re going to kill me, then.”

“Oh, no,” he replied easily, “I can’t guarantee that it will be painless, but you won’t die. I’ll make sure of it.”

Eva blinked at him, dumbfounded by the sheer audacity. He was talking about something that had never been successfully performed by anyone in the world. And, he was talking about it with all the confidence of a seasoned professional. The sheer arrogance was astounding. Horrifying, even.

Josh slapped his hands on his thighs, “We should go. I need to get back to work.”

Slowly, Eva stood. She couldn’t think of a single thing that would buy her time. Nothing that would get her enough space to leave some kind of message for Horacio.

Moving towards the door, Josh picked up her clutch from the island and threw it at her, “Here. Let him think you went out shopping, hmm?”

Cradling the purse against her chest, Eva let Josh drag her out the door and into the parking lot where a car was waiting. The driver wasn’t familiar, but he seemed to know that Josh would be bringing along a guest. As soon as they were in the back seat, the car took off down the road.

Eva, conscious of the gun in Josh’s hand, pressed into the door, “Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” Josh replied, his eyes on the windshield, “Temporarily, of course.”

“Temporarily?”

He hummed in confirmation, “I’m looking for another place. On the beach. This one is just for convenience.”

Eva stared at him, confused, while the car whizzed through traffic. She expected him to be angry, to beat her half to death the second he got his hands on her. And yet, the man sitting less than three feet away seemed perfectly calm. Perfectly genial. Except for the gun.

It wasn’t pointed directly at her, anymore, but that didn’t make Eva feel safe. When the car slowed, she tested the handle on the door, cringing when she realized he’d activated the child locks. She was well and truly stuck until he got her where he wanted to go.

Fuck.

The car pulled into a residential neighborhood, stopping in the driveway of a nondescript house. She memorized the street and house number, repeated it over and over in her mind so that she wouldn’t forget.

Eva had to wait for the driver to get out and open the door for her. She resisted thanking him, but did catch the way his chin dipped in acknowledgment when she glanced his way.

Turning in a small circle, Eva quickly took in the new environment. Manicured lawns. Clean, well built homes. New landscaping. And, down the street, a moving van sat in the driveway.

Recent development. Neighbors that were relative strangers. Money, possibly lots of it.

Just like in Louisiana.

Josh moved close to her and Eva felt the barrel of the gun dig into her side, “Move.”

Reluctantly, Eva let him push her towards the house, up the steps and through the front door. The driver followed them the whole way, stalling next to the entrance. Eva chanced a look over her shoulder to find him standing in the foyer, looking out through the window.

Driver and security, then.

Josh redirected Eva towards a modest living room with spartan furniture and décor. She sat on the couch, disappointed (but not surprised) to find that it was as uncomfortable as their last one. With her clutch on her lap, she shifted on the stiff cushion, trying to get comfortable, “Where’s Myra?”

Josh almost smiled, “You know, I wanted to ease you into this, but I think its better if we just get to it.”

Eva blinked, “Alright.”

“Up.”

With a barely repressed sigh, Eva stood and followed Josh to a staircase. She could see another man standing at the landing and wondered how many guards were scattered throughout the house. Every additional man would make it more difficult for her to escape. And, she was going to escape. There was no other decision that she could make. If possible, she would get a message out to Horacio with a well placed phone call. Barring that, she would run. Not now. Not yet. But, soon.

Eva would start by learning the layout of the house. She would return to her well-honed skill of detecting even the slightest creak in the floorboards so that she could move silently from room to room and then from floor to floor. Then, Eva would work on memorizing the rotation of the men Josh used to keep others out (or in). And, finally, at the most opportune time, she would run. She would haul ass to the highway and hope someone would be willing to pick up a woman in distress.

They cleared the landing and took a turn down the hall. Another man was posted in front of an open door. Josh ignored him as he stepped into the room. Eva followed, stopping four steps inside the threshold while she tried to work through her shock.

It was a hospital room, or looked like one. Machines beeped intermittently and there were all kinds of supplies piled up on every available surface. In the middle of the room, sitting in a bright beam of sunlight, was Alexei.

Sort of.

A man who could once command fear with little more than a look or a well placed threat now looked like he could barely hold his head up. His lanky frame was skeletal, muscle and fat melted away to revel the bone beneath. An oxygen mask concealed most of his expression, but Eva could see anger in his eyes when he looked at her.

Beside him, Myra was pushing liquid into an IV. She looked up, “I see you were successful.”

God, Eva did not miss that tone.

“Yes,” Josh replied, ignoring Myra’s distaste, “Did you have any doubt?”

Myra didn’t answer. She finished up her task and gathered up the supplies into a bucket that she carried into the bathroom. Nose up. Spine straight. Unlike Josh, she still looked very much the same woman that Eva left behind in the States. Not a wrinkle in her clothes. Not a hair out of place.

Josh took a breath and followed, “I did this for you. Now that Eva is here, you won’t have to look after Alexei any longer. You can do what you like with your time.”

The conversation faded a little as he entered the bathroom and pulled the door to. With nothing else for Eva to focus on, her turned her attention to Alexei, “Hello.”

Alexei took a long time to respond, “Hello, Birdie.”

Even his voice was weak.

“I’d ask how you are, but I don’t think you want to talk about it.”

“No,” he replied, “I don’t.”

She shifted on her feet, “I’m sorry. For what that’s worth.”

“Fuck off.”

Eva nodded, “Fair enough.”

The bathroom door opened and Myra stormed out, “You brought a traitor into this house. A traitor that left us to gallivant around Mexico with the man who nearly destroyed our lives!”

Feeling the need to defend herself, Eva lifted a hand, “Technically, I was kidnapped.”

Myra glared at her, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Eva shrugged.

Josh stepped between them, “Eva is right. Diego stole her from us and now she is back. And, while she may have deserved the torture he put her through, she has an opportunity to fix it.”

It took all kind of effort to keep from either rolling her eyes or sneering at Josh. As annoyed at she was just being in his presence, Eva needed him on her side if she was going to get out of this mess.

“Teach Eva how to care for Alexei,” he ordered. “And then, we’ll work on getting you into that new house I built for you down the street.”

Myra crossed her arms, but didn’t disagree. Josh seemed to take that as a ‘yes’ and kissed her on the cheek, “I have an appointment. I’ll see you at dinner.”

When he was gone, they were left with an awkward silence that stretched on for a long while. Eva set her jaw and waited—she certainly wasn’t going to do a single thing to alleviate the other woman’s discomfort. To give herself something to do, she set her clutch down on the side table and pretended to look at the medicine lined up in a long row.

“Well,” Myra said, eventually, “I hope you’re happy. Look what you did.”

Eva met her gaze levelly, refusing to react to the accusation. She wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” Myra griped, “Still so selfish.”

Less than five minutes in the woman’s presence and Eva was already exasperated, “Jesus, Myra, can we get on with this?”

Myra drew back, looking at her anew, “Fine.”

It took several hours. Myra walked Eva through every aspect of Alexei’s care. He was making progress, but required regular antibiotics and physical therapy. They hoped in a few months that he would walk again without a cane.

The scar on his head was healed, but raised and ugly. His skull had cracked with the impact of the bullet. An inch to the right and he would have been dead before he hit the carpet. Even that small mercy hadn’t kept him from seizures and a brief coma.

Alexei was very lucky.

He was also very angry.

Eva couldn’t imagine what it had been like. Relearning how to talk, to eat, to breathe properly. A man of action, he had been relegated to this bed for months—and would continued to be for several months more. Eva would be angry, too.

“I need to start dinner,” Myra said, having finished her lesson. “You’ll stay with Alexei from now on. You will do anything he needs, whenever he needs it. Understand?”

Eva nodded.

“Good. Now, one more thing,” she reached beneath Alexei’s bed and unrolled a heavy chain. “Josh might trust you, but I certainly don’t. Can’t have you running off to tell Diego where you are.”

What the fuck?

Backing away, Eva’s hands curled into fists. She wasn’t going to be subjected to that again. It wasn’t going to happen. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, readying her for a struggle.

Myra’s eyes narrowed, “Juan, can you come in here. I need some help.”

Juan turned the corner. Had he been so big in the hallway? It didn’t matter. Eva squared up with him, perfectly willing to fight, if necessary. His step slowed and he looked to Myra with an expression that said, ‘really?’. Myra handed him the chain. He looked at it, looked at Eva, looked at Myra, and then sighed.

What happened next was glazed over with fear and anger. Eva grabbed the IV pole next to her and brandished it, uncaring that the IV was still attached to Alexei’s arm. He screamed while she waved it around, actually managing to catch Juan on the side of his head hard enough to draw blood.

Juan ducked her next swing and grasped the pole, yanking it from her hands. Needing to put distance between them, Eva scrambled over Alexei—sorry, sorry—so that she stood on the other side of the bed. She picked up a pair of surgical scissors, holding them in front her while Juan circled towards her.

When he got too near, she slammed the sharp end into his arm. They pierced deep—too deep. She couldn’t get them out again. In her struggle, Juan got his arms around her and threw her across the room where she landed hard on her hip and arm. He dragged her by the ankle with one hand while he reached for the chain with the other.

Despite several well placed kicks and half a dozen curses, Eva felt the cuff go around her calf and click into place. She deflated right there on the floor, cheek smushed into the carpet. Juan pushed his hands into his knees and stood. Eva smiled at the tired groan and the way it took him a moment to stand straight. The smile widened when she saw the line of blood dripping from the wound on his arm. As far as she was concerned, the asshole had it coming.

Myra, who had pressed herself against the wall during the squabble, tossed her hair and looked down at Eva, “Serves you right.”

She waited until Myra and Juan were gone to sit up. The chain clinked as she gathered her legs beneath her. Eva picked it up and studied the length. As before, it was long enough to get to the bathroom. And, as before, it was secured to the bed frame. She ran her thumb over the cuff, relieved to find that it was the same as the last. Eva hadn’t practiced much since Horacio taught her how to pick the lock, but she thought she could manage.

Which left her with an only slightly modified plan.

Break the lock. Run like hell.

Alexei groaned on the bed.

She stood and brushed her hands against her pants, “Sorry about...you know.” Eva searched for the words to apologize for ripping the IV from his arm, “I, uh, panicked.”

Alexei sighed, “Clearly.”

“I can put it back.”

He shook his head, “You’ll roll the vein. Just get it set up and I’ll do the rest.”

Chagrined, Eva did as he asked. Alexei muttered instructions for supplies, let her clean the area with alcohol, and, with confident hands, pushed the IV back into place. Eva gave him room to work, standing a few feet back and watching closely.

When everything was back to where it should be, Alexei leaned back into the pillow and took a cleansing breath, “Seeing you beat the hell out of Juan with an IV pole was the most entertainment I’ve had since I woke up.”

Surprised, Eva barked a laugh. Then, “They didn’t bring you a TV?”

She looked around, noting that the room was as sparsely decorated as the one downstairs. There was a dresser, an arm chair, a side table, and not much else.

Alexei shrugged, “I don’t watch much television. And, the only thing that would be on in the daytime would be telenovelas.”

Eva sat in the armchair and said, “I actually like those shows.”

He lifted a brow, “Really?”

She nodded, “How else was I going to learn Spanish?”

Alexei chuckled lightly and pushed his hair back from his face. It had grown long in the many months since they’d seen each other last, “Well, tell me about it, then,”

And so, she did.

He listened patiently through all the twists and turns. Eva tried to leave out the extraneous details, but kept having to go back because the details were never extraneous. The show always circled around to them at some point, usually with accompanying flashback.

When she was done, Alexei was silent for a moment, “I had no idea they were so bizarre.”

Eva frowned, “I’m not sure if they’re all like that, but that’s the one I watch. Or, watched.”

Alexei nodded and shifted around on his pillows, “Well, I guess I’ll be asking Josh to put in a television tomorrow.” Then, with a smirk, “Can’t have you missing your show.”

#Shadow and Veil #narcos #Horacio carrillo #carrillo #maurice compte #au #A/B/O dynamics

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upsidedowngrass · 1 year

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OK this isnt one of my essay character analysises, BUT i offer: a 784 word character study fic abt the beginning of ep 5 :)

(also uploaded on ao3!!)

It's the happiest either of them have seen Scenty through the whole competition.

From where Liam and Bryce both sit, they can hear her cheering. After all the times Stone has stopped her team from being up for elimination, she finally has a way out.

But she's just so, so hopeful, because the viewers would certainly be on her side. They'd take her home, and she could leave this place behind. She could leave the unsettling geometry, ominous figures, and all-powerful voices who don't care about the lives of those they harm all in the past. This was certain to her. After all, she was the one who has asked to leave the most. Even her own teammates were vouching for her.

(Neither Bryce nor Liam would ever find issue with this. They want to go home too, yeah, but they're all being subjected to ONE; it'd be hard to accuse her of any selfishness or her teammates of any bias in a situation like this.)

It's the fact that she is so hopeful, though, that makes Liam look away and Bryce go quiet. Her excitement was loud and blatant, and though she was turned away from the both of them, it could be heard in the increasing thickness of her words that she's crying, at least a little.

All of this twists at something in Bryce's chest, as he just stares. It's far from panicked, but his breaths nonetheless feel shallow. Liam altogether tries to ignore her joy. It feels cruel to him. It feels unfair, and he doesn't want to see, and just the happiness in her voice makes him feel distant from the Plane.

They both just stay there, sitting in the pointed grass, because her hopes are so high. It really is the happiest either of them have ever seen her- though that doesn't mean much here. In her place, both of them would be just as excited. If they told her of Stone's message, that excitement would be completely crushed. Crushed with the ease of a wooden stake-

Then again, if she doesn't go home this elimination, would that be worse? Would telling her after only serve to make her spirits even worse, with her not only having to deal with the horrors of the Plane, but also the fact that her friends, the only people here from the same world as her, had kept something that important from her? Would she even care?

Scenty's cheering had died down by now. Her team had huddled together further, no doubt trying to make the most of their time with her. They all seemed to have grown close quickly through the competition. She'd moved to rest the back of her candle against Tray, allowing Bryce to read her expression better from where his team of three sits. Liam still stares only ahead of himself. With everything that's happened, a moral dilemma is far too complicated for him to even consider thinking about.

She's smiling, and she looks calm, though she occasionally wipes at her eyes. The relief is obvious in her posture. Her teammates talk casually and quietly amongst each other, Scenty piping in with a now worn, but still happy voice every now and then.

All Bryce can think about is Stone's message, and that if the eliminations truly are random, then out of all of the contestants up for elimination, she doesn't have great odds of leaving. But she's still so happy, and if she does end up stuck here long, isn't it better for at least some of it to have been spent not afraid, and not desperate, but content?

Really, it doesn't feel like anything is the right decision here. No matter what, the situation is terrible, and no amount of sparing emotions or being honest will change that. Frankly, neither Bryce nor Liam could probably even bring themselves to tell her anyway, no matter what the “correct” decision is, the weight of Stone's message still weighing on their own minds, as well, keeping them both at a loss for much. Learning just how helpless everyone here was was never going to be something that would settle well. The text box’s clicking hadn’t gotten either of them to budge much, and they definitely wouldn’t now, Scenty’s words leaving its own mark that rivaled that of the message itself.

So instead, the two stay where they've sat since they left Stone's notes behind, still failing to know what to do about the knowledge given, even for themselves. As the members of Scenty's team individually fall asleep in their tranquility, both Liam and Bryce stay awake under the burning sun, and remain there still after the sleeping members awaken.

#hfjone #my fics #yeah thatll work #man. this is the first fic ive ever posted #and it was written on a whim #NERVOUS to be im more experienced w like essay like prose BUT #trying my best to do whatever i want forever ...#(also. writing in two characters pov is a little odd. but i didnt wanna only write one)#ANYWAY. thank u if u read i hope its ok :) im a little rusty writing the one cast but im doing my best!#and i RLY wanted to write smth that elaborated on their thoughts during this scene bc this scene fucks me up

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sands-of-amber · 7 months

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FFXIV Write Entry #3: Keeping the Balance

�� Prompt #13: Check || Read it w/ notes on AO3 here ❀

“As I have explained many times before, hero, everything in this world naturally seeks a comfortable balance. We Ascians know this all too well.”

Yuna listens to the lilting sound of the Ascian’s voice but does not look up at him as he goes about his work, feeling too awkward to meet his gaze in her moment of vulnerability. Instead she looks off in the opposite direction, trying to focus on a patch of moss winding up the cavern wall to take her mind off of the all-too-close quarters in which she currently found herself with him.

“With your aether having shifted so heavily toward the light, it is only natural that it should want for a little bit of darkness to keep it in check.” Emet-Selch sighs, shaking his head as though chiding a young child as he holds his palm gently against the Au Ra’s shoulder.

Yuna tenses momentarily as the initial feeling of his aether attempting to flow into her puts her on edge, and he seems to notice this.

“Relax. If I wished to harm you I could’ve done so many times before now.” He says with another tired sigh, causing her to become aware of her stiffened, defensive posture. “The more you fight it, the longer this will take. And though I know not your feelings on the matter, I, for one, am not too keen on the idea of lingering here in this backwater for any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

The Warrior of Light lets out a sigh of her own this time, drawing in a deep breath and then releasing the tension in her body with it. “Alright, alright.” She murmurs, letting herself sink down into the coolness of the rock which was currently serving as her seat here in the cavern and trying her best to fight against the natural urge to resist the intrusion of his dark aether.

Collapsing in a cave in Yx’Maja shortly after defeating the Lightwarden of the Rak’tika Greatwood hadn’t been part of the plan, but then again, not much of anything ever went quite according to plan for her and her companions it seemed. At least her body had waited to give out until after her friends had already departed back toward Fanow. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her, and it seemed for the time being that most of them were largely unaware of the extent to which her condition was taking a physical toll on her body. She found herself suddenly very thankful that she had decided to stay behind a bit longer to reflect on the cave paintings and the words of Emet-Selch that had gone along with them.

When she’d awoken not long ago, it had been not to the aid of one of her companions, but rather to the sight and unmistakably heavy presence of a certain Ascian looming over her, her body sitting upright and head resting against the cool wall of the cave. When he’d noticed her gazing up at him, he’d given her that signature smirk of his and made some smarmy comment about her finally being awake (his exact choice of words hadn’t fully registered in her groggy mind but she did remember the teasing cadence). He had then gone on to explain to her that he had imbued her with a bit of his aether to help calm the ill effects she was currently experiencing from the abundance of light within her, but that if she wished for true momentary relief he’d need to give her a bit more.

And now here she was, accepting the help of what was supposed to be her sworn enemy and wishing the lines weren’t becoming so confusingly blurred these days. Not long ago he’d rescued Y’shtola from her second foray into the lifestream, and now this… Not to mention the increasingly complicated feelings she had every time the theatrical man deigned to grace her and the Scions with his chaotic presence. And of course there were the stories he’d shared about his motivations and the truth about Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Why couldn’t he just act purely evil and irredeemable like every other Ascian she’d faced until now? It would make things so much easier.

The feeling of his aether flowing into her is strange at first, but it quickly takes on a cool, soothing sensation that spreads down her body and throughout her veins. Where the light had been almost an overwhelmingly burning presence tearing at her insides, his dark aether was a cooling balm by contrast. It wound its way around her own aether and reached into the parts of her soul that were beginning to split, making her feel much more relieved and like herself than she had felt in a while.

Yuna’s eyes fall shut and she melts into his touch, a soft sigh inadvertently sneaking past her lips which earns an amused chuckle from Emet-Selch and in turn her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“I take it this feels pleasant, hero?” He remarks in that snarky drawl of his, and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to see the smug expression plastered upon his features.

When she doesn’t respond, he takes it upon himself to press her further. “You know, I could do this for you a lot more frequently. And, if I may be so bold, I believe such regular “treatments” as this would be beneficial to us both.”

This gets her eyes to snap open, her neck finally craning up to look at him and meet that self-assured grin with an expression of bewilderment. And of course, this is precisely the reaction he had hoped to pull from her, and it shows in the mirth dancing in his otherwise tired aurum eyes.

“You… What are you implying?” Yuna stammers, any relaxation she’d found having faded and given way to more defensive tension as her eyes search his for the motives behind his words like they so often did.

“Simply that I am here to offer my assistance should you choose to accept it. Did I not tell you as much upon our first meeting?” Emet-Selch shrugs, feigning ignorance at her question as he withdraws his hand from her shoulder.

The Warrior pouts and shakes her head impatiently. “No, you know what I mean. Why must you always dance around the truth and make me guess at the true intentions behind your words? Do you enjoy being difficult to speak to?” She cocks her head to one side and raises a brow accusingly, rising to her feet and facing the Ascian with arms crossed over her chest expectantly, the toe of one boot tapping the hard ground. Despite her diminutive stature and the way she has to crane her neck to look up at him, she stands firm in her stubborn pursuit of the truth.

“Is that much not abundantly obvious, my dear?” A lopsided smirk. She’s so much like Azem when she gets riled up like this. It’s almost uncanny. Emet-Selch thinks with amusement.

Just as she opens her mouth to retort, the infuriating Ascian takes it upon himself to close the distance between them, pressing his mouth against hers somewhat forcefully and shoving the petite Au Ra up against the wall directly behind her. The breath leaves her nostrils in a surprised exhale as her back collides with the cool dampness of the stone, her wrists kept in place on either side of her head by a strong grip. Another calming wave of his cool aether rushes over her, and she feels her body melt into his kiss, lips parting to allow his tongue to dart in and claim hers.

Her tail begins to thrash anxiously against the wall as her lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen, and Emet-Selch pulls back just enough to break the kiss and allow them both to take in gulps of air. He regards her in this state, eyes half-lidded and cheeks tinted pink, and for a brief moment his face mirrors her own. But that minuscule glimpse of vulnerability is quickly replaced by a triumphant smirk, his hands releasing their grip on her wrists and coming to rest upon her jaw.

“Does that aid in conveying the ever-elusive meaning behind my words, dear hero?” He asks in a hushed tone, his own breathing still ragged from the intensity of the moment prior. “I had hoped you’d discern that just as I am the dark your soul seeks, you serve as the light to mine. But perhaps demonstrations truly work best on you, hm?”

Yuna shivers and swallows as one of his gloved hands tilts her jaw up to hold his gaze, his thumb gently stroking the pearly scales there, while his other hand finds its way into her short lavender tresses, fingers tangling gently yet firmly into the strands. His face is still close enough that his lips would brush hers were he to lean even an ilm closer. Suddenly the cavern feels much smaller, and it’s difficult to think straight with his scent of musk, amber, and a hint of cologne overwhelming her senses and making her knees feel weak.

“I…” Her pale yellow irises dart back and forth between his lips and his eyes, his breath warm on her face. Something in her wants more of whatever that was just now, but she hesitates.

Emet-Selch sighs. “Darling, did I not just demonstrate to you the way that the darkness within me can keep the light within you in check? ‘Tis only natural that we as beings of dark and light should be drawn to one another to maintain the balance.” He quirks a brow, hoping she’ll pick up on his underlying sentiment. “What I offer you is something your sundered companions could never provide.”

Yuna looks down, but he is quick to force her chin back up to look at him. He wants to see her face when she admits it. “I… I suppose that makes sense, yes…”

“Good.” He smiles. “And you must surely understand that the relief I have just given you from your affliction is only temporary, and ere long you will inevitably need another dose of my aether. Unless you would like to continue collapsing in all manner of strange places, that is.”

She takes his smirk as a challenge, and the lively fire he’d loved and missed seeing for so long ignites in her eyes as she returns his playful grin with one of her own.

“As long as we keep these “treatments” of yours just between you and I, I see no reason to refuse.”

And this time it’s her turn to steal his chance to retort away, her hands flying up to grab at the fur collar of his coat and pulling his mouth back down onto hers with a sigh.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite 2023 #ffxivwrite #emetwol #azemet #emet selch x wol #emet selch x azem #ffxiv #more self indulgent writing whoop #Yuna Akiyama #my writing #yunemet

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