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mimetoist · 18 days

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Honey Webbing

Part VI

“Daddyyyy!" Fren's high-pitched voice rang out, the pitter-patter of her tiny feet echoing as she rushed to Halsin's side. The druid paused, the broom he had been wielding against the wooden floor clattering to the ground as he bent down and scooped the little girl into his arms.

"Up so early this morning, are we?" Halsin gave her a gentle smile, although his exhaustion was evident in the lines around his eyes. He loved his children more than anything, but sometimes he longed for just a moment to tidy the house, to eat a full meal, or to simply rest.

Fren's brow furrowed, her small lips turning down in a worried pout. "The pwetty lady got out," she blurted out with a blend of sadness and impatience, as if yearning for her father to be as attentive to the matter as herself.

Halsin's expression shifted to one of puzzlement. "Hm?" he hummed, shifting Fren in his arms as he made his way towards Minthara's room.

Halsin paused outside the door, a soft knock echoing against the wood. "Minthara?" he called out. When no response came, his brow knitted with a hint of concern. The druid cautiously eased the door open, his gaze sweeping over the room.

The bed was neatly made, and for a moment Halsin felt a pang of disappointment, his mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that Minthara had simply abandoned this place, returning to the Underdark without so much as a word. After all, her attitude had been nothing if not aloof and dismissive towards his attempts to aid her.

But as he surveyed the scene more closely, his expression shifted. Minthara's armor remained, carefully arranged in a manner that suggested she had not simply fled in haste. In fact, the room had an almost meticulous order to it - more so than when he had last seen it. Intrigued, Halsin stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning for any clues as to Minthara's whereabouts. She could not have gone far, he reasoned, not in her current condition. Perhaps she had simply stepped out for some fresh air, or to explore the village.

A spike of worry surged through him, the thought of a person wandering off in a weakened state setting his nerves on edge. But then he paused, reminding himself of Minthara's resilience – the drow was no fragile flower, and he knew she was most likely doing alright, even in her current condition. With a quiet sigh, Halsin turned and made his way out of the room, pausing only to close the door behind him. As he stepped out into the sunlight, he found himself instinctively searching the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Minthara. Where could she have gone, he wondered, a faint thread of concern weaving through his thoughts. As formidable a warrior as she was, her wounds were still healing, and he couldn't help but worry about her. Against his better judgment, Halsin set out to find her, at least just for ensure himself of her well-being.

Halsin made his way across the streets, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Minthara. As he approached the small cluster of children playing nearby, his gaze settled on one of his adopted children, a young tiefling boy named Umi, sitting with his legs crossed on the dirt, tending to a small garden of herbs and flowers.

"Umi," Halsin called out, drawing the boy's attention. "I was wondering if you might have seen the... guest who has been staying with us. The drow woman, Minthara. Did you happen to catch sight of her?"

Umi paused his work, dirt-smudged hands resting on his knees as he looked up at the druid. "The scary lady?" the boy asked, his brow furrowing in thought. "I think I saw her heading that way," he said, pointing towards the building that once served as Reithwin’s Mason Guild hall.

Halsin offered Umi an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Umi. I'll go see if I can find her. Can you look after Fren for a little while?" The boy nods, and Halsin gently sets the girl down, watching as she scampers towards her tiefling brother. As he turned to continue his track, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly had drawn Minthara into the building.

Halsin's steps quickened as he approached the former Mason's Guild, the old building now in the midst of a transformation. Gone were the signs of its former industrial purpose, replaced by the beginnings of a more residential structure, its walls partially rebuilt and windows now framing cozy nooks.

As he drew closer, the druid could hear the faint sounds of laughter and playful bickering echoing from within. Just beneath a wooden ladder, two of his adopted children, a pair of mischievous younglings named Lila and Kiran, were huddled in a corner, their voices hushed yet animated as they gestured excitedly towards the upper level.

"I dare you to go talk to her," Lila, a young halfling girl, challenged her brother, a human boy with a mop of dark curls.

Kiran's eyes widened, a mix of apprehension and dread flickering across his features. "No way, she's scary! You go do it."

Halsin cleared his throat, drawing the children's attention. "What's going on here?" he asked, his tone gently probing.

Lila and Kiran jumped in surprise, their heads whipping around to face the druid. "N-nothing, daddy Halsin," Kiran stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being caught, while Lila averted her gaze.

Halsin raised a brow, his gaze shifting to the upper level, where he could just make out a shadowy figure silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the gap where soon would be windows. "Were you two perhaps talking about our guest?" he inquired, his voice warm but tinged with a hint of concern.

Lila nodded hesitantly, her hands on her back, faking a daredevil attitude. "The scary lady went up there," she admitted, her eyes darting nervously towards the second floor. "Kiran was gonna go talk to her, but he's too scared."

“No,” The boy protested, “It was Lila who was gonna talk to her, but she's too scared!” "I'm not scared, you're scared!" The girl retorted, igniting a frowned bickering between her and her brother.

Halsin's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on each of the children's shoulders. "Now, now, I'm sure she's not as scary as all that," he soothed. "Why don't we go see if we can't find her and introduce ourselves properly?"

Kiran's eyes widened in alarm, and he shook his head vehemently. "No way! She'll feed us to a giant spider or something!"

Halsin chuckled, gently ruffling the boy's hair. "I don't believe that will happen. But if you're not ready, that's perfectly all right. I'll go see if I can talk to her myself."

With a final encouraging smile, Halsin turned and made his way towards the stairs, his steps steady and his expression open as he approached the figure standing on the rooftop. The moment Minthara's piercing gaze met his, Halsin could see the initial annoyance flash across her features, her lips tightening into a thin line. But to the druid's surprise, the drow's expression quickly settled into a more composed, almost contemplative mien. Minthara's posture remained rigid, her arms folded across her chest, yet there was a thoughtfulness in her bearing that Halsin hadn't quite anticipated.

"Minthara," Halsin greeted cautiously, his tone carrying a touch of concern. "I, ah, I was hoping to find you. What are you doing up here?"

For a long moment, Minthara remained silent, her eyes sweeping across the expanse of the village below. Halsin followed her gaze, taking in the sights - the bustling activity, the cluster of modest buildings, the winding stream that cut through the heart of the settlement.

Halsin had entered into conformity that she would just ignore him. But then, Minthara spoke, her tone almost clinical in its detachment. "This location is quite strategically sound," she remarked, her hand gesturing towards the landscape. "Fresh water, access to trade routes - it has the potential to become a thriving merchant hub."

Halsin blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected observation. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose you're right," he admitted. "The village has certainly grown quickly over time, and we've been working to develop the infrastructure even further."

Minthara's brow arched ever so slightly, and she turned to face him, her expression stern yet composed. "And what of your defenses?” she asked, her gaze unwavering. "Surely you have a contingent of capable warriors to protect this... settlement, should the need arise."

Halsin felt a faint twinge of unease at the question, and he found himself hesitating for a moment before answering. "Well, no, not precisely," he admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of sheepishness.

The drow's lips thinned into a disapproving line, and Halsin could practically see the gears turning in her mind as she surveyed the village once more, her critical gaze sweeping across the unassuming buildings and the people going about their daily lives.

"Our community values harmony and-" Halsin began, only to be silenced by Minthara's sharp retort.

"Harmony?" she scoffed. “Your precious 'harmony' will do little to shield you from those who would seek to destroy this place."

Halsin's expression grew troubled, but he held his ground. "We have our ways of defending ourselves-"

Minthara's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I see no evidence of that," she interrupted, her voice dripping with disdain. "Where are your walls to deter invaders? Where are your watchtowers to provide early warning? All I see is a sprawling, vulnerable settlement, ripe for the taking by any determined foe."

Halsin drew a deep breath, steadying himself in the face of Minthara's withering critique. "I understand your concerns, Minthara, but I assure you, this village is not of such importance that it would draw the attention of any sizable army," he replied, his tone measured yet firm. "We may not have the overt displays of force that you're accustomed to, but we have weathered many storms through the strength of our community and our connections to the land. I believe that our approach of cultivating harmony and understanding will serve us well, even in the face of those who would seek to do us harm."

Minthara's expression darkened with a hint of condescension as she regarded Halsin. "Your naivety is almost endearing, druid," she remarked, her voice dripping with a barely concealed disdain. "This village may be small and insignificant now, but growth and prosperity often draw the eyes of those who would seek to claim it for themselves, and your lack of foresight could very well be your undoing." She turned her back to him, her voice burning with an intensity that made Halsin's skin prickle. "Mark my words, druid: if you do not fortify this place, if you do not prepare your people for the possible trials to come, then all that you have built here will crumble to dust."

With that, Minthara swept past him, her footsteps heavy with purpose as she descended the stairs, leaving Halsin to ponder the weight of her words and the unsettling reality they exposed.

< Part V || Part VII >

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 minthara x halsin #emeraldweb #minthara x halsin #fanfic writing #current wip #bg3

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cebwrites · 2 years

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all coming up roses

comfort fic for my buddy @dillybea cause it’s been rough :’c 💓💓

word count: 0.5k

You follow the path before you, ducking under branches and stepping over the occasional overgrown root. Birds chirp high in the trees whose leaves provide shade for your little trek through the forest and you see critters skittering, scampering around. Going about their merry little business.

Eventually this path leads you to a cottage in the clearing; double checking the address hastily scrawled on your arm and what appeared to be its address on the crooked mailbox. This did seem to be the place…

You knocked hesitantly, some noise could be heard from the inside - a muffled voice, clattering, and… a goose?! The door swings open and you’re met with feathers and a disheveled young man biting back a curse when he meets your gaze, exasperation immediately turns into a little sheepishness but he does afford you a smile.

Tacchan.

“You made it! Ugh, don’t mind him, come in, come in–”

He weaves through a small mess in the entrance hall and larger clutter spilling in from what appears to be a separate workspace. A woman in otter themed clothing and someone with a goatee–tattoos adorning their fingers, hands, and arms–bicker about color swatches in the living room, you’re offered a friendly wave and curt not, respectively from each, when you walk by. The man from earlier leads you to the back porch, a quaint little table already set up with snacks of every variety.

“I’m glad you could stop by,” He chirps as he takes a seat, gesturing for you to do the same and offers a cup of tea once you’ve settled in, “It’s been a while, huh?”

A little bit away, you can see two people tending to the garden–one tall man wearing a long skirt and a blond who joins him, the large sun hat resting on their back obscures most of their features but you momentarily spot what could be a third eye behind their bangs when her profile is visible. The two of them wave, too, when they notice you.

You hear the plaps of little webbed feet up on the deck as you sip your tea, there’s an indignant hjonk to announce his grand entrance. The young man seated beside you is none too impressed by the show.

“Came home because you were hungry, huh?” He holds out a cup of ice-water and berries for the little menace to ham on, and ham they do.

You can’t help but smile at the gesture. The wind carries wafts of something good from the kitchen, its breeze keeps you cool enough to make the day’s warmth pleasant. Further up in the cottage you barely make out the noise of people laughing, there’s a vague sound like music by the upstairs window, and you can even see two bunnies dart towards and away from each other, playing near the foliage. Fewer houses ever felt more like a home.

“Hey, I heard it’s been rough lately,” you turn to the man’s attention, “that’s why… I just wanted to tell you that you’re always welcome here, you know? If you ever need to get away for a while, our door’s always open.”

The goose now sits in his lap while he fusses over their feathers–they preen. Spoiled behavior.

Takashi smiles at you, his freckles follow the movement.

“Things'll get better, Miss Cae. Someone’s looking out for you, so I know they will.”

#cebwrites #original character #ocs #op ocs #comfort fic #reader pov #platonic x reader #gen

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hpalways · 3 years

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The Signature || Zhongli

Yandere! Zhongli x Reader

Please make sure not romanticize toxic relationships. I do not condone this behavior whatsoever.

AMBER eyes were stuck on you, never once leaving your form. They belonged to the Geo Archon, Zhongli, the attractive man you befriended not too long ago. His long ebony hair had left its hair tie, drooping loosely over his shoulder like a soft waterfall as he rested his hands on the surface of the desk -- the desk in which you were forced to sit at.

In front was a long piece of parchment, handwritten by the male delicately. On it stated:

An agreement that [Y/N] will stay by Zhongli’s side forever. The signer will not speak, look, or stand near anyone other than Zhongli. The signer will be cherished, so they will also have to cherish the other party. They will enjoy their lives to the fullest, as long as they do not step out of line and make sure to follow the rules laid out to them.

[Y/N] will never stop loving Zhongli. They will speak of topics in interest to both parties. They will drink tea and spend mora for the two of them. They will unconditionally love Zhongli. They will love Zhongli. Zhongli will love them. For an infinite amount of time. Forever and always. Always.

They will never die. They can not die.

DO NOT EVER DIE.

Punishment will come if they dare break the contract. The signer knows what this means.

Signed: _____________

The hand on the pen was gripped so hard, your knuckles had turned white and it shook. Your breath was shallow; A headache began to pound. His eyes would never leave. You were his priority now. Every action was a ticking bomb -- anything could set him off easily.

You didn’t want to fucking sign it. You knew it was a death trap, but did you have a choice? Not really.

Zhongli noticed your torn expression, so he tilted his head with a quiet hum. “Is it that hard to sign something?” he stated coolly, his gloved hand brushing over yours. The leathered feeling sent shivers down your spine, and it took everything not to cringe away.

“I was just… thinking,” you murmured. He raised his brows slightly, quickly interested by your words. Maybe you could buy some time and figure a plan out to leave this room unscath. Luckily enough, the God of Geo was a man who often went on tangents. “I was thinking about the first day we met. You made me pay for your tea at the teahouse.”

He nodded eagerly, stroking the bottom of his chin in thought. “Why, yes. I can remember that day as clear as the skies of Liyue. The tea made for me was quite striking. Made of violetgrass and it tasted delightfully smooth too. Then you came in and made it taste even better. You were all dirtied from battle, seeking for a nice drink to be refreshed on. It caught my attention immediately, but when you offered to pay for me, I knew you were the one.”

He described the meeting in a dreamlike tone, oblivious to the jarring reality that sank its teeth on everyone like a poisonous snake. You shouldn’t have paid for him that day; you shouldn’t have even made eye contact and spoken to him. This was the consequences to your failure of judgment. You could only now sow what you reap.

He swerved around the desk, growing ever closer to you until he was right next to you. His warm breath hit the side of your face, the smell of soft mint wafting up your senses. “Now… let’s not get off track here. Sign this, my love. I promise you it’s not that hard.”

Dammit. He was too focused on the contract that you barely had the time to brainstorm. Nothing was coming to mind.

Footsteps echoed throughout the office of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. You turned around in desperation, hoping it was someone who could save you from such a situation. There, stood a merchant, his hand holding advertisements to his stalls.

“Hello, I’ve come to--”

When his eyes landed on you, the figure beside you had made his move. Zhongli grabbed his polearm and with a clean swipe, beheaded the speaking man. The body-less head made a perfect, slow arc in the air before dropping to the ground with a sickening crunch. You let out a gasp, panting raspily in shock, stomach twisting within itself in nausea at the sight. What… just happened? That man just died. Oh god. Oh fucking goodness. You suddenly realized something. Help wasn’t ever going to come. No one could best Zhongli. He was a god!

“Why did you… do that?” you choked out, gulping down the huge lump in your throat. As a pyro vision user, you had your fair share of witnessing deaths. But this was wrong. Someone innocent died for coming into this room. On account of you. He died because of you.

“On the contract it’s stated that you cannot look at someone. Besides, he interrupted our moment.”

“I haven’t even signed the contract yet!” you cried out in hysteria. This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.

“Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise. “That’s right. You haven’t. Well, this serves as a warning.”

You could never leave him. Trapped in a glass box within all corners, you were to be suffocated by his presence forever. There didn’t need to be a contract; you were already in one. He would kill your loved ones if you didn’t -- he knew of the weakness humans had, for he lived long enough to observe. He had guilt tripped, blamed you for it all, and knew that you would indeed succumb. The deaths were caused by your actions, painting you in red of a blood bath.

The pen made its move. Ink bled into the paper, marking it as a tattoo. Indeed. This was permanent. It would continue to haunt you for the rest of your life. The writing was barely legible, pressed down so hard it became jagged like shards.

[Y/N] [L/N] was finally written on the goddamn page.

Gods were so selfish. They truly didn’t like to share-- whether that’d be war, the world, or the love of their life. If only you had known beforehand.

“This is marvelous,” he exclaimed, his expression brightening up. He looked so joyous at the signature, lapping it up like a starved dog. His reaction was so unnerving, especially since the dead body was still in the room, rotting away like the corpse it was. Disgusting. Your hands and his were bloodied and he had no shame. “[Y/N]...” He raised your limp hand and kissed the back of it. “I love you. We shall be bound by this contract. Know that I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

You stayed silent. He was trying to make it romantic, but this entire thing was surreal to you. Either he was ignoring your lack of response on purpose or he did not notice. Tucking the contract away into the pockets of his brown, gorgeous coat, he eyed his hair.

“Tie my hair, my dear. I’ve always wanted to feel your warm hands on me.”

You nodded robotically in response, getting up from your seat to reach the towering male. His cheeks flustered when your fingers weaved into his soft strands. But it was cold. They felt like weaving spider webs, ready to entrap a poor bug victim into its complex trap. That was what you were. Every second spent was eating you away, until you were nothing but dust.

#genshin #genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #zhongli x you #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #x reader #romance #horror #obsession #oneshot #OneShots #angst #childe

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morgana-ren · 3 years

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Just Business

Summary: You’re a loan shark looking to expand your enterprise to the League of Villains. Lucky for you, Dabi might just be willing to hear you out. As long as you can prove your loyalty to him, that is.

Rating: E for not everyone. Explicit. Do I release anything else?

Baby’s first Dabi fic. Just testing the waters, folks. I know nothing about this man. Literally nothing.

Money lending is such a nasty business.

Some poor sap shuffles in nervously shifting his fingers and recites some rehearsed script about why he needs the cash and how he’s good for it, and then you throw him a wad and pretend to make up some important deadline. He thanks you profusely and thumbs through the cash as he leaves, and you’ve still got your heels kicked up on your desk as you tell a goon to keep an eye on him.

Sometimes their reaction to your ‘charity’ varies, but one thing always stays the same. They can never pay it back.

Some run. Some try to hide. Some bolt the second the cash hits their fists, boarding the first train out of town. Some genuinely try to do the right thing. The result is the same.

You track them down. Your boot, their neck. They cry, you extort.

It’s not about the money. It never is. Wealth is fine and good but no amount of monetary fortune can amount to having another thread in the network web you’re building. You’ll let them off the hook and they’ll spy for you, lie for you, even put their neck on the line because they have no other choice. Info is worth infinitely more than a petty loan, and what you invest in their short sighted schemes is repaid tenfold.

You knew something was up with the shifty little prick the second he walked in the door. He asked for an exorbitant amount and could never meet your eyes when he told you just what he planned to do with it. It sounded too rehearsed, even for your usual clientele. Almost like someone told him what to say and just how to say it.

In this business, you learn to call a spade a spade, but even as he sat on his knees with his gaze shifted away from you and practically screaming tells, you felt there was something deeper. A truth buried deep within his lies. Something interesting. Something you wanted to know.

You give the poor bastard the money.

Sending a runner to watch his schedule confirms your beliefs. He walks into a dilapidated abandoned building not long after leaving the meeting with your thick wad of cash in hand and leaves with only a few bills, though he looks relieved for his trouble. You have his face, his name, a dossier on his entire life. He’s far too unguarded for someone into something so nefarious. Someone sent this little gnat into your domain and didn’t expect you to follow the thread. They were mistaken. Whoever this man works for, he’s the only lead into something deeper.

Your little flies swarm the building only to find it empty. No trace of who you had been dealing with, no clues to lead you to the heart of your curiosity. Only dust splayed across concrete and a fire with the ashes still warm.

All your contacts and all your pull only give you one lead: the League of Villains.

A down-on-their-luck outfit of outcasts and outlaws. Their leader had been making some big moves with a large financier some months ago, but things turned disastrous and no one had heard a peep since. It doesn’t surprise you to hear they’re rebuilding, but what intrigues you is that they’re making such risky pulls to do it. Borrowing money they clearly cannot pay back from a loan shark with a reputation of ruthlessness.

It should make you mad, being ripped off and deceived like that.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it tickles you. You didn’t even have to put out any feelers and they had loitered into your web. You’d had your eyes on them for some time, curious about their leader and their members. They could prove a worthy investment, if given the chance. You never had an in with them since they never needed your services, but it seems that they hand delivered one in desperation.

It becomes a matter of baiting and trapping.

You wait and you listen. The debt date approaches and it’s only a matter of time. It doesn’t surprise you when the same man wanders back into your office and hands you a thick stack of bills, more than twice what you had offered him. You most definitely are surprised to find him returning but you accept his offering with a smile, running your finger along the bills to keep up appearances.

“It seems you find yourself quite wealthy! You simply must tell me how you’ve made such a grand turn around!”

He swallows hard at your compliment, raising a hand to the back of his head and scratching nervously. “Luck, Ma’am. Nothing more. I find myself in fortune and simply wish to repay your great kindness.”

“Of course.” You smile at him, allowing him to take his leave. Now the real game begins.

Your little spies follow him as he weaves through the streets into the industrial part of town. He ducks into another decrepit building, closing the door firmly behind him. He emerges a few moments later only to tuck a receipt of payment and a few more bills into his shirt. The pace he has is slower now, more relaxed. He believes he’s free, shaken clean of your webbing and can breathe without fear now.

How wrong he is.

The look of terror on his face as you block his exit from the alley almost makes you feel sorry for him. He immediately becomes defensive, backing up several feet despite the absence of your body guards. He’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of who is watching.

“What are you doing here? I paid you!”

“You have.” You acknowledge, bowing your head. “I’m not here for money. I simply ask for information. That’s not so terrible, is it? This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“I don’t know anything!”

“But of course you do!” You draw closer and he trips over his own feet, falling flat to the alley floor. “That money wasn’t for you, was it? You have no prospects, no family or land or investments of your own. Only a crippling gambling debt, yes? Paying debt doesn’t accumulate currency, so clearly you must have had some grand scheme. I’m very interested in your process.”

You bend down, venom gathering behind your fangs as you stroke his petrified face with a cool finger. “From one brilliant mind to another. I’ll keep it a secret. I promise.”

“I- Well-” He looks around anxiously, stumbling over words but so close to breaking. It won’t take much on your part to get him to crack.

Or it wouldn’t have, anyway.

A bolt of vibrant blue flame speeds toward you from around a corner almost quicker than you can process and it’s only barely that you manage to dodge it by shoving yourself clumsily backward. The unbelievable heat from the blast doesn’t escape you, and you cover your face as the alleyway erupts in fire, engulfing your only lead in flames and incinerating him before you could make a move to save him and whatever it is he had to say. The smell of charred flesh is overwhelming and despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but smile.

A tall figure walks fearlessly through the inferno, hands in his pockets and seeming almost bored as he kicks over the ashen figure that was human only seconds ago. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted this idiot.”

You stay silent, face shielded from the encompassing heat by your palm as he approaches. Inky black hair and a pale body covered in muldering skin, maroon scars stapled together with metal and sheer force of will. His threadbare coat billows around his feet as he trudges down the alleyway toward you. His eyes are a striking shade of blue, focused on you with an empty expression.

The ends of your hair have singed and your face itches, but it’s nothing compared to the accomplishment you feel. You had a feeling that toying with some strings might bring the cat out to play.

“So you’re one of the League.”

You stand up, brushing the dirt off your knees and stabilizing yourself on the wall despite the overwhelming heat.

“Sure. You’re that babe that lent us the money, right? That was nice of you.” He stops just short of you, arms withdrawing from his pockets and igniting with indigo flame. “Now why don’t you scram? You got your money, what happens from here isn’t your business.”

“Oh, it’s not all business.” You coyly tell him, running him once over with your eyes. “Sometimes it’s just pleasure. Are there other fine, strapping young lads like you in the League or am I just one lucky girl?”

“That depends.” He scoffs, puffing air out of his stapled cheeks. “Do you get any better at prying for information or is this the best you can do?”

“Oh!” A dramatic gesture and you cross your hands over your heart, already coating your hands in sticky, silken thread. “You wound me!”

“I’ll wound you a hell of a lot worse if you don’t get out of here.” His fist clenches, and a burst of ever increasing heat emanates from the fire engulfing his hand. “Last I checked, fire still kills spiders.”

“You’d burn down your own home to kill a single little spider? I’m flattered.”

Before he can retort, you kick one of your feet out behind you, jumping toward him and latching your legs around his midsection. Your hands are quick to wrap around his own as he tumbles to the ground, burning through the layers of webbing drooling from your fingers. The viscous cobweb coats his palms and successfully extinguishes his flames, if only for a moment. It won’t be long, but hopefully it will give you the time you need. You slather the mixture onto the ground next to his head, immobilizing his arms and trapping him beneath you.

He looks panicked for a moment, trying desperately to activate his quirk, but it can’t get the air his fire needs to breathe through your gossamer web. You keep steady on his bucking hips, as chuckling he tries to pry his hands free of your thick, durable weave. Once he realizes it’s not going to happen and you haven’t killed him yet, he seems to relax, if only slightly.

“So, it’s not just a nickname.” He muses, teal eyes focused on your fangs through your grinning lips. “You know, I kill spiders when they’re in my house.”

You throw him a faux pout, grabbing his jaw with your middle finger and thumb and holding him steady as you inspect the staples that line his jaw. “You’re so cruel. I’m just trying to protect my web. You can’t truly blame me, can you? You’d do the same.”

His hips thrash again and this time you don’t hold back the little moan it coaxes from you, His pupils dilate and for a brief second he seems frozen. At least before a smarmy smirk tugs at his upper lip. “You got your money, doll. I’m starting to think this isn’t business after all.”

“Maybe it’s not.” You lean down, running your tongue across the textured expanse of his neck and stifling a giggle when he stiffens. “Maybe I see potential in your little group and I want in.”

“That’s nice of you.” He juts his face toward you only for you to pull back. “But it’s really not up to me.”

You withdraw your hand from his jaw and run it down his chest instead, fingertips slowly stimulating the rough, scarred skin beneath his neck. “Then who is it up to?”

“That would be the boss.” He grins, one hand breaking free of your web and immediately finding purchase in your hair. You go to grab his wrist but he tuts you, threatening you with a familiar warmth on your scalp. Long, skinny fingers coil around your roots and yank your head back, and eventually his other hand breaks free, coming up to grip at your waist. “And he’s going to want nothing to do with you.”

He pulls you down closer to him, the moist heat from his breath collecting on the side of your neck as he keeps you steady on top of him. You can feel him hardening between your legs and you can’t help but wiggle your hips to bolster the sensation.

“What do I need to do, then?”

“I’d be willing to put in a good word for you,” The hand on your waist slides down to grip your ass, clenching the fatty skin and slowly moving you back and forth atop his hips. “If you’re okay with working for it.”

“You’d be so generous, yeah?” You gyrate your lower body against him, feeling the head of his cock poking your clit through his rough jeans.

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do if you make it worth it.”

“I guess I have no choice then.” Your tongue runs over the point of your fangs, swallowing back all the venom you’d had so ready. Sometimes it’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, and you had the sweetest honey of all right between your thighs.

“Say the word and I’ll let you walk away, babe.” His fingers loosen their hold on your body but don’t relinquish entirely. “But if you don’t, I’m going to need you to prove your loyalty.”

You push his body down with your chest until the back of his head meets the gravel, allowing him to keep his hold on you. “I’m very loyal.”

Your tits squish against his pecs and he sneaks a less than inconspicuous peak at them, cock throbbing against your apex. “Prove it.”

You don’t need any further prompting. He almost protests as you shake his hand free and scoot back farther down his legs, at least until he realizes what you’re doing. Your deft fingers work at the buttons of his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs before resituating yourself and working on your own buttons, pulling at them painfully slowly. Once you’ve both exposed yourself to the open air, you can’t help but look at his cock, thick and bobbing against his stomach. It’s one of the only parts of him that isn’t scarred and latched with metal, but the weeping tip looks so inviting. Every bone in your body wants to take him in your mouth and make him see God through sheer force of tongue, but you’ve got a job to do and there’s no time for play. Not this time anyway.

You sit up on your knees until he’s aligned with your hole, sinking down just enough to tease him with your tightness. He groans, trying to pull you down further, but you’re not having it. You arch your back, keeping your knees steady and allowing only the very tip of his cock to enter you.

“Fuck- hurry it up, would you?”

You grab his hands and push them down by his head again, sinking down on him as slow as you possibly can. His eyes roll back in his head, and he hisses all manner of curses as you situate him nice and snug between your suffocating walls. The head of his cock prods at your cervix as you sit on top of him but the fullness stuffed between your thighs forces a breathy moan from you.

He gives you no time to adjust to his girth, pumping his hips up into you as you’re still catching your breath. “Shit! You’re pretty fuckin tight, babe!” A shiver rolls down his back as his hands move to your hips and try to force you harder up and down against him

“So impatient.” You croon, licking up his neck again before sinking your fangs deep into the rough tissue.

“Fuck!”

He’s almost ready to shove you off of him before you start rolling your hips, letting his cock burrow deep into your silken cunt again and again, running your tongue along the column of his throat and nipping softly to gain his trust. You’re not trying to poison him, not now. Your job right now is to gift him pleasure, and so you will.

“Risky-” He huffs in your ear, one hand smacking down hard enough on your ass that you yelp. “Toying with me like that. I can guess what those fangs can do.”

“If only you knew everything.” You sigh, letting his hands go in favor of pulling back, your palms finding his knees behind you as your back arches and puts your tits on display for him.

He can’t resist. The only thing separating him from your chest is a flimsy shirt which he quickly disposes of, heating his fingers enough that the fabric begins to shred before he swiftly pulls it apart. He quickly takes advantage of the fact that your milky tits are within reaching distance, latching on to a nipple and sucking almost painfully.

A high pitched keen escapes your throat as he puffs and hollows his cheeks, slobbering on your chest with one hand on the crook of your shoulder to keep you anchored close. His cock pummels your insides, pelvis stimulating your clit as you ride him. You’re clinging to control but you can feel it slipping with every sloppy lick of his tongue and every brutal thrust of his hips. His heaving becomes more and more erratic, moist breath practically burning your chest on the odd second he pulls away to watch your face. Your eyes close and you lose yourself in the euphoria of his cock, letting him hit you deep and hard just where you need it. Eventually, he releases your nipple from his mouth and you figure you’re both about to cum.

That comes to a screeching halt when he slows his pistoning, grabbing your waist with both hands and keeping you from riding him either.

“What the hell!” You whine, trying and failing to chase your rapidly disappearing orgasm.

“Dabi.” He hisses, bringing a hand up and kneading your breast with fingers that are too hot to handle, squeezing your nipple and sending another jolt of hot pleasure between your legs.

“What?”

Your teeth are clenching, active frustration boiling in your gut. You were so close. Somehow he knows, but he knocks you off of him, watching with mirthful eyes as you land on your butt beside him. Instead of mocking you, he sits up and quickly pulls off his coat, throwing to the ground behind him and spreading it around haphazardly. Before you have time to question, he lurches forward, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the fabric beneath him.

“I wanna hear you say it.” He says, maneuvering your legs open and placing his thick cock back at your drooling cunt. “When you cum on my dick, I wanna hear you say my name.”

He refuses to move until you acknowledge him, so you do.

“P-please? Dabi?”

“Good girl” He purrs, plunging inside you again so fast you hardly have time to recover. The hand around your neck heats and you scream, at least until a pair of charred lips forces themselves against your open ones. He pounds into you with renewed energy, slamming with a force that jerks your head back with every thrust. The hand that isn’t firmly clasped around your throat finds its way between your legs and rubs in tight, calculated circles. His slick tongue worms into your throat, licking the front of your teeth.

“You’re cute-” he huffs into your open mouth. “I might keep you around. You’re more useful to me as a whore than a loan shark. Is that what you want, doll? To take my loads in your warm little holes? I’ll take real good care of you.”

You want to tell him no. You have a business, a mission. But as he drills deeper inside you, you’re so close to saying whatever he wants so long as he doesn’t stop. The electric warmth between your thighs is rapidly building, coiling up and ready to burst and you’ll say whatever he wants as long as he keeps fucking you.

Some part of him must sense this, because he pulls away from your throat, weaving his fingers up through the crown of your head again and pulling you up to face him. His eyes are glazed, sweat dripping down his temple and he huffs breath through his nostrils that’s practically steam at this point.

“Beg me to cum.”

“Please-”

His fingers work against your clit but just enough to keep the pleasure from fading. You need it faster. You need it harder.

“More!”

He hums and licks up your lips, slipping his tongue between your teeth again for a brief second. “What’s the magic word?”

The fingers on your pussy heat slightly as he applies more pressure, watching you through heavily lidded eyes as you writhe and squirm.

“D-Dabi!”

“Such a good girl. Say ‘Dabi please let me cum!”

It’s degrading and filthy but fuck you want it. Plus, remember, this is just business. Right?

“Dabi! P-Please let me cum on your cock! Please! I-I need-!”

He bites down on your bottom lip before the words can leave your swollen tongue. Your body wiggles restlessly as you wait for him to give you what he promised.

“Good girls get rewards.”

His hips pull back and shove almost impossibly deep inside, forcing a loud cry from you before he slams mouth down onto yours. His fingers work overtime on your engorged clit, utilizing the wetness seeping from your hole as his cock thrusts in and out. His tongue worms past your lips again and explores every inch he can reach, chuckling as you moan shamelessly into his mouth.

Though he starts off with a precise rhythm, it quickly becomes erratic as he chases his own pleasure while delivering yours. The hand at your apex is working overtime and the one in your hair is warm enough that you’d likely be a bit worried if you had the mental capacity. He uses both of them to maneuver you to his precise liking, fucking into you like you’re a pliable little doll built solely for his pleasure.

He’s mumbling incoherently, breathing hot and heavy against your cheek. Your needy moans and whimpers only drive him to move faster and harder as your own hips work double time to meet his powerful pulsating. If you weren’t the one making the noises, you never would have believed it was you.

“Fuck- shit! Gunna cum nice and deep in your pretty little cunt! Gunna make sure you’re dripping for days-“ He cuts off partway through to let out a heafy groan as you clench your muscles tighter to milk him. “God, so fucking tight-“

Your orgasm is approaching quickly, pain from his bony hips digging into the fleshy fat of your thighs barely a whisper compared to the white hot pressure building at the base of your spine. You can feel his cock twitch against your cervix with every punch against it and you know he’s close too.

You dig your nails in, fingers clamped against his shoulders and using his movements to build your own momentum. The cacophony of moans between you two becomes louder and more unhinged, him whispering depraved fantasies in your ear that only drive you further to completion. Your head falls back down to the ground as you lose the ability to keep it up any longer, cord finally snapping and unraveling as he throws you over the edge.

You practically scream as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, legs constricting ever tighter around his narrow hips as you push yourself up harder to chase every ounce of sensation he has to offer you. Stars dance behind your shut eyes and your entire body buzzes with prickling bliss that radiates from your core. You can’t feel the pain in your knees from the asphalt before he flipped you or the localized ache from him ripping at your hair; only the overwhelming, pulsing euphoria as he continues to hit that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you as you ride out your peak.

His animalistic grunts turn even more primal as your walls flutter around his thick cock, clenching and pulsing around him until he can’t hold back the tide of cresting pleasure anymore. Hot cum floods your insides, so warm you swear it nearly burns you. He continues pumping as it begins to leak from inside you, obscene squelching echoing from the point of entry. He turns his head, finding the crook of your neck and biting down hard enough you cry out, marking you one last time as he continues to stroke himself with your cunt until every last drop has been drained.

His cock throbs for a moment before slowly softening inside you as he tries to see straight. You’ve yet to open your eyes, only twitching in overstimulation as he withdraws his hand from between your slippery thighs. He allows you to catch your breath for a moment before lightly pushing himself up off of you, careful not to hurt you.

You slowly regain the ability to move your body and rollout from underneath him, wobbling legs dropping you back onto the cement instead of allowing you to stand when you try. It’s a struggle to pull up your pants since your legs have decided they no longer want to work, but somehow you manage to get them pulled up and buttoned, Dabi’s cum seeping from between your thighs and staining onto the fabric. Dabi himself hoists himself to his feet, using the wall as support. He’s trying desperately to seem unaffected but you don’t miss the falter of his legs like a newborn fawn when he first rises to his feet.

“Thanks doll, that was fun.” He somehow manages to bend over and grab his coat from the floor, snaking his arms through the armholes and readjusting it over his chest. “I think I’ll be in touch.”

You raise your head, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, beginning his walk back down the alleyway where he came from. He turns to look at you one last time, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I might need some more convincing.”

#Dabi x Reader #nsft #Baby's first dabi fic #do not be too hard on me this is low effort and just to test out Dabi lmao #I edited sorta kinda I swear #Not a whole lot but you know #Reader has a spider quirk that gives her fangs and lovely webbing she can make from her pores #ahaha I’m a fucking pathetic failure.

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androgynousgiverprincess · 2 years

Text

Hyde has always considered himself a lucky person. He had everything - he had great colleagues and fans who had supported him for so many years. He had everything else that he could then have - friends, money, property ... in general, that would have been enough. If not for one "but".

He was unlucky in love. That was not at all lucky. Although, it would seem, and here he did not miss. Nature gave him excellent external data for flirting, and his life path gave him an idea of how to behave with an object of love. But ... it didn’t work either the first time or the other times. The spark appeared instantly, but he never made it to the beautiful ending. They didn't light a fire. Divorce turned out to be the easiest decision for him. Although a year ago he carried this woman in his arms and thought that he would not be better than this. No, he was not really a soulless brute. He still loved his son and never gave rise to doubt that these were the father's true feelings for his child. He did not complain about fate - after all, he is not the first and not the last on earth who could not save the marriage. Rather, he consoled himself with the thought "it happens, everyone is wrong." Then there was work, work and more work ... Fartuna was again glad to see her pet in his rightful place, so everything went like clockwork. Until he saw Him …

Hyde does not remember when his heart suddenly whispered "this is what you need." Probably when that man standing in the opposite corner of the club, whose silhouette was so clearly outlined against the background of red lighting, looked at him and nodded his head in greeting. Oh, this fate - it does not explain anything to you, it just pulls everyone by the strings and weaves spider webs for its own sake, pleasing its pride ...

- Meet, Atsushi Sakurai.

Hyde doesn't remember when his lips felt the heat of his other lips. It was an exciting experience for him. The kiss seemed like a miracle that he had expected all his life. He does not remember when those same lips painted a pattern on his belly, and his tongue reached the starting point of ecstasy, forcing him to sigh erotically while arching his back. He does not remember when he admitted defeat in this game and realized his role among the two of them. Atsushi claimed the role of alpha, and Hyde did not mind being his omega. In the end, it is not always the same for him to be the commander everywhere and always.

Hyde remembered only one thing. Their relationship had already lasted two years, but none of them spoke the three main words to each other. He was afraid of these words, and Atsushi ... probably did not see such a meaning in it, as people give it. However ... it happened so unexpectedly that Hyde remembered this moment forever. On the night of August 23, Atsushi took his face in his hands, touched his lips to the bridge of his nose and quietly said ....

Love

You

Hyde will forget this only when the massive coffin lid covers the daylight and leaves him always in the silence of endless waiting ...

P.S- wanted to immediately apologize for mistakes in the text. I know English quite poorly, so sometimes I had to work through a translator.❤️

#atsushi sakurai #hideto takarai #buck tick #vamps #larcenciel

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and-there-were-words · 3 years

Text

A Spider Life: Back to work (Chapter 01)

I’ve seen so many good headcanons about the Spider Gang, I really wanted to write some stuff for them because I love it all, just chef kiss.

“A Spider Life” will be an AU with multiple chapters and continuation, mostly just fluff and everyday scenes. POVs can change between Huntsman, Syntax, maybe even Goliath and Spider Queen. First few chapters will be some scenes that are within the show’s season 1 and 2, and after that I’ll just go ham with spider adventures.

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Taking place during "Revenge of the Spider Queen".

Huntsman and Goliath are awoken, and there is no time to waste. Even if there is a new face around… some take it better, some less so. (wordcount: 1119)

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Huntsman rolled his shoulder, trying to get this crink out of his neck. With a satisfiying pop, tense muscles soothened a little. It’s been… how many years? It almost felt like forever since he went into hibernation… and looking around, this place was a mess.

Clearly, it was their hideout. It used to look better, he was sure of it. Mind still a little hazy with sleep and tiredness, Huntsman remembered a few buildings they had set up some time ago, now replaced by rubble and ruins. Here and there the occasional tube and cable, that most certainly was new. Though, it was cozy as always, nicely dark and slightly damp. The web-work was as beautiful and on point as always - his Queen made them after all, her signature way of weaving written all over them.

Speaking of which, time had been kind to his lady. As dazzling and terrifying as the day they had met. Mastered in the arts of weaving and brewing, with an iron will and ambitions to get what her birthright promised. She could be as cruel as she was beautiful. In short, a Queen he lovingly served under, and proud that she chose him to be part of her clan. However, it didn’t escape his careful eye that his lady almost looked tired, exhausted in a way und all that glamour and avidity. Whatever happened during the time Goliath and he had spend to recover, he would not want to imagine what his lady must’ve endured all by herself. It didn’t cross his mind to ask, it was not within his place. Doubting your Queen… unthinkable.

His four eyes continued to wander within the room. Catching on the large build of Goliath. Huntsman would never admit to it, but even all the centuries, there still was a ping of jealously when he watched his buddy’s muscle flex. Truely, a warrior’s build, powerful and unmoving. Huntsman himself was not weak by any means, he was a spider demon afterall…! But he was no fool, as bitter as this self-awareness was, in a mere contest of strength he wouldn’t be able to compete with the other. Though that didn’t stop Huntsman to challenge the larger spider to some mock battles now and then. He likes to think of himself as a formidable foe in the end, he didn’t invest all the time into web manipulation for naught!

One of Huntsman’s eyelids twitched, a silent snarl forming on his lips before he could even pinpoint the source of his annoyance. It took him a hot second, maybe even another glance to realize that there was a new guy. A new spider demon? Where did the Queen pick up that tiny nerd guy? An odd feeling crawled up Huntsman’s spine, trying to figure out what was throwing him off. It wasn’t his clothes for sure, even though they were odd and not particular spider demon fashion (or at least the last time Huntsman checked). It wasn’t even the cocky air the guy radiated, as infuriating as this alone already was. Maybe the fact that his goggles were covering so much of his face and the hunter couldn’t pinpoint this guy’s thoughts? As if he was deliberately trying to hide from Huntsman! Tsk, some people’s nerves...

The ‘New Guy’ was currently talking with the Queen about some technological stuff, something above Huntsman’s understanding. A mech or something? Spiderbots were crawling all around, leaving the hideout and into the world, only to return with metal, scraps and other material. At least some here knew what they had to do right now. Completely ignoring the two’s conversation and Goliath’s worried gaze, Huntsman inched closer on silent feet, something about the smaller man still feeling… no, smelling wrong.

“A human.”, he made himself flinch with how croaky and low his voice was. Judging by that, they did at least spent a decade hibernating… He cleared his throat, trying to bring his vocal cords back to life. This time, a bit louder and more confident with how he sounded, Huntsman looked at his lady. “A human.” It was not a question, and the spider did not even try to hide his disdain.

Spider Queen raised an eyebrow in mild annoyance. “Your point being?” The hunter started to grind his teeth a little, looking at ‘New Guy’ with a squint. He looked like a spider demon at first glance. Now closer, there were just so many little details wrong. The legs on his back were completely out of metal, artificial. He held himself the wrong way, his frame too delicate. Not to mention that he smelled so, so very wrong. How could his lady accept something like… this? What could he possibly do to gain her favor?

Both of the men were staring at each other for a few seconds of boiling tension. It really was hard to read this one’s face with the goggles covering most of his face. But without a doubt, he certainly was mocking Huntsman with a smug gaze. How infuriating, they didn’t need any help of some human. Or… whatever this guy currently was. Certainly not a spider demon!

Not getting any answer, Spider Queen shot her underling a glare. “He’s loyal and actually working, in opposite to some other people here.” He flinched a little at that tone of hers that did not tolerated any more wasted breath. The spider demon immediately straightened his posture, though he did not let ‘New Guy’ out of sight. “Understood, my Queen. I will await further orders.” With that and a low grumble, Huntsman trotted back and towards Goliath.

Who was currently trying to sort some of the metals around. It seems that the Spiderbots were directing the big guy where to put what piece. In Huntsman’s eyes, nothing of this made much sense. But as always, the giant did not voic a single question, just content of doing work. Almost as if Goliath could feel Huntsman’s presence, he turned around with a smile. “Good to be back, right? It’s as if nothing ever changed, our Queen will be on her throne in no time.”

Huntsman scoffed, kicking away a pebble. As much as he wanted to, he could not share his partner’s enthusiam. Is he just ignoring the elephant in the room? They will have to talk in private some time later. Looking back over his shoulder, the hunter send another annoyed glare at ‘New Guy’. Though this prick didn’t even seem notice, way to busy to tap away on some gadget around his arm that was… painting images with light? What sorcery was this? How long had they been asleep? “Yeah. As if nothing ever changed.”, he mumbled between pressed teeth.

#lego monkie kid #lmk spider queen #lmk huntsman #lmk syntax #lmk goliath #no beta this is war #maybe someone wants to beta read my stuff i always enjoy some feedback

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tossawary · 3 years

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Chapter 25: “Home Sweet Home” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Anyway, Shang Qinghua makes himself so fucking sincerely annoying that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators can’t figure out how to politely tell him to fuck off fast enough. Shang Qinghua makes outlandish assumptions about how many thieves there are (at least a dozen, he’s sure, probably twice that) and what methods they might be using (special invisibility talismans, he suspects); Shang Qinghua repeatedly apologizes for being too busy with important things for Cultivator O.B.B. at the last Immortal Alliance Conference, then tries to commiserate with the man about having to get important things done without getting any respect for it; Shang Qinghua also anxiously wonders if they should all go to Zhao Hua Temple Sect to report what happened here, since there’s a troublesome demon and also some sneaky rogue cultivator thieves on the loose out here! He gets turned down immediately, but assures everyone that he’ll at least let Yue Qingyuan know everything that happened here right away!

Liu Qingge pretty much just stands there scowling silently the entire time - he’s no Shen Qingqiu for sheer menacing "I can and I will ruin your entire life" glares, but he’s still pretty intimidating. He does a great job! No notes!

Shang Qinghua nearly pats himself on the back as he and Liu Qingge leave less than an hour after he arrives. “Holy shit, I’m good,” he thinks, a little giddy with the successful extraction. “That’s a skill that good ol’ Liu-Shidi will never have!”

AN: Of course this has a high chance of backfiring. Is Shang Qinghua going to weave webs of lies anyway? Of course.

Love the fact that Shang Qinghua can shamelessly act like a total pushover, while actually manipulating someone so that he gets the results he wanted. Some snobby sect leader walks into a negotiation room, prepared to use SQH as a doormat, and Shang Qinghua is probably internally like, “Bro, me and my jelly spine welcome you to hell.”

He gives them the rundown on what happened, but, to his complete lack of surprise, that doesn’t seem to satisfy interrogators like his little sister-in-law and his fellow transmigrator. They have so many questions! And Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough answers for them!

No, he doesn’t know what Huan Hua Palace Sect knows or thinks they know. No, he doesn’t know how they knew about that place. No, he doesn’t know whether the monster was just a local opportunist preying on distracted cultivators or something more sinister. No, he’s not experimenting with the creepy special item or discussing it at length here. No, Luo Fanli and Peerless Cucumber are not allowed to poke at the creepy special item!

Why the fuck would he ever let them do that?!

All Shang Qinghua knows is that Luo Fanli and Peerless Cucumber should eat their vegetables and then go to bed! Because they all have a long journey back to the sect in the morning! And also that words cannot describe how painfully old he feels as soon as he says this.

AN: I’ve been thinking about a Demon Trio fanfic in which Mobei-Jun finds himself in a similar position with Luo Binghe and Sha Hualing.

Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua are, like, bare minimum twice the age of Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan. Like, yes, neither Mobei-Jun nor Shang Qinghua are old old by the standard of the PIDW world. Yes, MBJ and SQH are stunted as all get out. But the fact that they have bare minimum 2x the life experience as Bingqiu is, in my opinion, funny as hell and severely underused in fanfiction.

Like, imagine Mobei-Jun unintentionally dadding new demon LBH in SVSSS. Mobei-Jun being like, “Don’t eat the meat from this monster. It makes you hallucinate.” Or being like, “These people aren’t politically important enough to be shown this kind of respect. Look down on them properly and go sleep, or no one will ever respect you again in demon politics.”

MBJ looking at SVSSS LBH and SHL like, “Damn, who raised you?”

Because, like, I love to joke about Mobei-Jun being an oblivious fool, but that’s in regards to human culture. Mobei-Jun operating on demonic culture + his level of arrogance in regards to how he’s handling SQH suggests that MBJ can be politically savvy among demons when he wants to be. Also, the mental picture of MBJ being like, “Eat your weird demon vegetables, there’s nothing wrong with them, you picky half-breed brat,” is extremely funny.

I’ll probably turn this into a separate post.

Shang Qinghua does not miss the man’s unconcealed “oh, great, some of my favorite problem people are back, probably with bad news” expression when they arrive. The man is not at all impressed to hear about the drugged-up Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders or the evil, murderous, madness-inducing plant they fought on their mission, but the Qian Cao Peak Lord is reluctantly, partially placated by the jar of three-eyed skeleton tears Shang Qinghua super thoughtfully brought back for his inspection. Mu Qingfang really likes his research projects!

Shang Qinghua lets himself feel kind of good about this gift - he’s the man who gets things and gets things done - and ignores the Weeper’s Eye whispering in his head, “He has resigned himself to the untimely deaths of everyone he knows.”

(Wow. Oh, Shang Qinghua knows that feeling!)

AN: Mu Qingfang doesn’t think that everyone around him is inevitably going to die, he’s just extremely aware of how dangerous the world is and how reckless cultivators can be. Also, for many years, he was fairly certain that Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu were headed for bad ends.

This felt like a good place to insert some optimism back into the sect in general. Luo Fanli has been cured and is willingly going to visit her sister, Liu Qingge has got a hold on his self-destructive tendencies, Mu Qingfang thinks things are getting better, Shen Qingqiu’s health problems have been essentially fixed, Qijiu might actually work their shit out, Shen Yuan shares his real name with Shang Qinghua, and so on and so forth.

It felt like a good contrast with and buildup towards Luo Binghe’s Skinner mistake (not everything is rosy yet, there are still growing problems), the secret basement, and the encounter with Bing-Ge.

Only to flip that around and then bring some surprise Moshang into things!

“I have now been informed that, after learning that you had returned and, at the very least, completing the duties that were intended to have him reflect on his actions, he has disappeared yet again,” Shen Qingqiu continues. “This second disappearance has set some of the other junior disciples into a renewed panic, which has concerned some of the senior disciples, which was, apparently, cause to alert me.”

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua says.

AN: Shen Jiu should not be in charge of a bunch of children, but it is funny to imagine him going through the same “be a less shit person” adoption process as Shang Qinghua. Like, oh, it would be so easy for him to be cruel about this situation, but fuck you if he’s going to be outdone in the recovery and redemption process by Shang Qinghua of all people.

Shang Qinghua: *grows into a kind of decent person*

Shen Jiu: “Fuck you. That’s not allowed.”

Shen Jiu: “...”

Shen Jiu: “Well, if THAT FUCKER of all people can do it...”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have to look long or far to find his nephew. He finds the young protagonist sitting despondently on the doorstep of his own Leisure House, sniffling into his sleeve. Peerless Cucumber of all people is sitting beside him and keeping him company.

“Focusing on other people’s lives is easier than looking at his own.”

“-think a drowning man first has to save himself… or else he’s only going to bring down the people he’s trying to save,” Peerless Cucumber is saying.

Binghe nods.

AN: Going by, like, the everything of SVSSS, Shen Yuan really is the asshole going, “I’ll die before I look inwards to recognize and deal with my own emotions.” Also, going, “Yes, I’m a hypocrite who won’t take my own advice. And what about it?” What a repressed nerd.

Shang Qinghua clears his throat to get their attention. Both kids (well, teenager and young adult, but still... kids) look up and then stand up quickly. Luo Binghe takes a forgetful step forward, before he wobbles into an appropriate respectful bow instead.

“Shang-Shishu!”

“How dearly this boy is loved!” the Weeper’s Eye declares, in its soft way inside Shang Qinghua’s head. “More than life itself! More than death itself!”

“Ah, never mind all that,” Shang Qinghua says, and steps forward to wrap his nephew in a quick hug instead, keeping the creepy talking eye oriented away from his nephew. “You’re a little too late to talk to me about your mission before your shizun did.”

Binghe, who was just relaxing into the unexpected hug, freezes.

Shang Qinghua knowingly pats the poor young protagonist on the back.

“Oh, shit” is right!

AN: Uncle Shang really is adorable. Still kind of knocks me for a loop writing it, though, given that the SVSSS SQH and LBH relationship is... nothing like this whatsoever. Look upon the field of SQH and LBH content and see that it is relatively barren except for the stubborn motherfuckers with excellent taste in character exploration.

“Ahhh, well, I’ll be there too for this potential family reunion, bro,” Shang Qinghua assures him. “Maybe we can finally get to the bottom of where this ‘Shen Yuan’ name came from.”

Peerless Cucumber makes a strange expression.

“What?”

“...It’s my name.”

“What?” Shang Qinghua repeats.

“It’s my name,” Peerless Cucumber says again, quietly. “It’s my real name.”

“Oh.”

“Huh,” Shang Qinghua thinks, having been operating on the assumption that the System made the name up for its mysterious backstory. Well, that gives new dimensions to Peerless Cucumber’s criticism of the scum villain!

“You can use it,” Peerless Cucumber says, with an air of determined nonchalance. “Everyone else is doing it.”

“Ah, alright. Thanks.”

AN: This is probably the part where I would have made Shang Qinghua reveal his original name in turn... IF HE HAD ONE. It drives me... kind of wild that we get the Airplane Extras and we STILL don’t get 1) Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky’s original name, and 2) MOBEI-JUN’s name.

Which actually makes things a little more interesting here, in my opinion, even though not having those names gets a little frustrating in terms of fanfiction writing. With Mobei-Jun, you get to explore the fucked up possibilities of him not having a name outside of his identity as the future Northern King. With Shang Qinghua, you get to explore him being a squirrelly little fuck who refuses to let anyone into his life.

So, because we don’t have Airplane’s name, we actually get this mildly interesting dynamic in which Shang Qinghua doesn’t even really think to reveal it to Shen Yuan. We don’t see this part, but Shen Yuan is actually a little miffed by this degree of secrecy, which is going to come up later. (Shen Yuan doesn’t like the fact that Shang Qinghua has as much power over him as he does.)

I personally do not hold the headcanon that Airplane’s name was “Shang Qinghua”. It’s a little too on the nose for me. At that point, the only reaction to transmigrating into SQH kind of has to be, “Ah, well, I was asking for that!” Maybe Airplane projected his worst qualities onto Shang Qinghua, but I don’t think he went so far as to give the character his own name.

Airplane’s main identity when he died appears to have been Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, and we know that he wasn’t particularly close to his divorced parents and any step- or half-siblings. So, the only names that are really relevant post-transmigration are “Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky” and “Shang Qinghua”. By the time that SY gets here, he’s firmly entrenched in those identities, and his original name is completely irrelevant. I could honestly believe that Airplane just doesn’t think it matters anymore.

Shang Qinghua’s nephew, in the way of a true young protagonist or fucking cannon fodder, got the bright fucking idea to slip away to speak with the concubine called Butterfly privately.

“I thought: what if she didn’t want to speak in front of that lecherous old man? What if she wanted to get away from him?” Binghe confesses.

“She was the demon,” Shang Qinghua guesses.

Binghe nods, voice breaking. “It was… I was really, really stupid, Uncle.”

“Well, at least you know that,” Shang Qinghua sighs, and pats his sniffly nephew on the back again.

Oh, he can see why Shen Qingqiu was pissed the fuck off now. Shang Qinghua kind of wants to start yelling! Or maybe just screaming, coherently or otherwise!

Except yelling isn’t going to help much right now.

Shang Qinghua listens as Luo Binghe recounts being captured by the demon and then waking up bound by Immortal Binding Cables - of being so terrified that he could barely breathe with it. His only hope was Ning Yingying and Ming Fan tattling on his disappearance and a senior disciple tracking him down on time. The skinner demon apparently nearly killed Binghe, crooning over his young and beautiful skin, except a flash of warm light intervened and dropped an unstable part of the ceiling in on them before they could hurt the captured protagonist.

“Fu-Shijie and Shizun arrived after that and k-killed it,” Binghe says. “Uncle, it was all stupid luck! Shizun said I should have been dead and that, between my efforts and the demon’s, he had no idea how I wasn't! And he was right! It was so close! If the ceiling hadn’t fallen in like that-! Fu-Shijie suggested the ropes might be faulty and it could have been an unconscious use of spiritual energy, but I didn’t do anything! It wasn’t me!”

It sounds like the System to Shang Qinghua, intervening again at a crucial moment to prevent the premature death of the protagonist. Just thinking about how close his nephew came to dying without him knowing is nearly enough to inspire a cold sweat! Shang Qinghua can’t speak about the System, so all he can really do is keep hugging! Keep holding on for dear life and saying soothing nothings to his crying nephew!

AN: I wanted to include the Skinner mission, but I didn’t want to redo it onscreen because that’s been done in many fanfictions before and I felt that there was really no good reason for Shang Qinghua to be a part of it. The reason I wanted to include it is to show how the plot is off the track of the SVSSS (and PIDW) stories, with the changed LBH and the changed Original SQQ.

LBH wants to be a hero, but he’s not there yet.

“...Don’t put yourself above him… or below him. Tell him what you want and listen to what he wants, and don’t be surprised if things don’t change all at once,” Shang Qinghua advises and, at Yue Qingyuan’s look, quickly raises his hands. “Ahhh, not my business, I know! Not my business! I just… I hope it works out! I hope you two get something better out of this mess! Aha, make the sect meetings a little less awkward and… things.”

“He has never known what better looks like. He will always be Yue Qi, the slave boy. No matter what he does.”

“...Thank you,” Yue Qingyuan says finally, thoughtfully. “I appreciate your… restraint in this matter… in recent months.”

Aha, yikes.

AN: I know that some people wanted more stomping on Yue Qingyuan, but... like... this man is as or nearly as traumatized as Shen Qingqiu. His childhood fucking sucked. He broke his own soul trying to save Shen Jiu and failed. He made some shit decisions where Shen Qingqiu was concerned, but the logic and trauma he’s operating on are pretty obvious. He was trying.

Part of the theme around the Qijiu and Moshang arcs has also been “an eye for an eye”. Like, are you guys really going to keep on not communicating with each other and then fucking up and then taking chunks out of each other? How many misunderstandings and upset over misunderstandings are you going to throw at each other? Where do you put your foot down and say, ��I don’t want to live like this forever. We can be better than this. I want better than this.”

Like, it can’t just be hurting each other back and forth (this applies to Qijiu more than Moshang, in which MBJ definitely carries the weight of this fuck-up). It can’t just be privately nursing hurt feelings forever. The options here are “fix it” or “live like this forever”. Fixing it won’t happen immediately, but the other option fucking sucks, so every little step helps.

So Shang Qinghua here is just like, “Bro, I’m tired. My anger has cooled a lot. I just want all our lives to suck less. I hope things work out for you.”

#tossawary svsss #tossawary commentary #pride is not the word

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sonid6699 · 3 years

Text

Time travels back to the start by SONid6699

Leipzig, Germany, 2016

"Underoos"

Suddenly a figure in cladded in red and blue leaped out of nowhere and stole Captain's shield, and landed in the most superhero pose ever.

"Hey everyone!!!"

"Nice job kid."

"Thanks well I could have stuck the landing a little better it's just a new suit"

Everyone was looking at the red cladded person "Underoos" as Tony had called him with curiosity and annoyance but the look on Tony's 'I am so done with it' face made him backtrack his statement.

"What it's nothing just a new suit. What. It's nothing Mr. Stark it's perfect thank you"

"Yeah don't really need to start a conversation"

"Cap-Captain big-"

Suddenly his spider sense tingled. Well tingled is a small word, it felt like his senses went overdrive. As if they were screaming at him for an upcoming threat.

Stopping his ramble mid way he observed the airport. The need to find what triggered his senses at such a level was vital. He found nothing.

"Underoos. What are you doing there's nothing over there. Roger is here in the front." Now Tony was getting annoyed and for the tenth time he questioned himself that whether he did the right thing or not by bringing a kid to this fight.

"Something is happening!!!"

"What do you mean something is happening ki-"

"Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good…. "

The tremble and fear in his voice settled a suffocating silence over the airport. All the avengers and non-avengers were trying to identify the actions behind those words but no avail.

Tony definitely did not like where this was going. Somehow he had a bad feeling about it in his gut. "Kid are you alright?" he asked in surprisingly calm voice.

"I don't know… I don't know whats happening…."

Terror invaded in everyone's heart as suddenly the kid fell on his knees the shield long forgotten fell on the ground with a clank. The scream that came next was terrifying.

"aaaahhhh… Aaaaahhhhh……… ItIt….. It… Hu…..hurts!!!!"

By this time even Sam, Barnes, Wanda and Clint had came out of wherever they were hidden to watch the commotion.

"Roos you have to tell us what's going on."

Whatever Mr. Stark was saying fell deaf to Peter's ears. He was terrified. He thought he knew what pain was but this was offwordly. He can't help the scream that escaped his lips. "aaagghh… He..help...it hu.. Hur-"

Silence. Pin drop silence covered the airport for the second time this day. Everyone's face displayed all the emotions. Sympathy, horror, astonishment, pained, terrified…….. No one knew what to say as the kid's body disintegrated into dust. Tha dust that had now flew away with the wind.

Natasha broke the silence "What the fuck!!!!"

Steve collected his composure "Tony I know we aren't on good terms but…But for the sake of God please tell us it was one of the kids trick or your plan to stop us. That the kid disintegrating into fucking dust was all planned."

Tony didn't know what to say. He can't even believe what had happened." Cap do I look like i know what's going on." He was angry know. He knew that he was desperate to stop them and take them into custody but he wasn't that inhuman that he would willing allow a kid to suffer from… Whatever just happened. "And I… don't know ok!!!! As far as I am aware this ain't in his skill set!!!!!"

"Tony I.. Didn't mean it like that. Listen-"

"Can you both fight later and discuss what the hell happened!!" Rhodey cut both of them.

Sam knew he will be seeing weird things once he joined cap but this was on another level. "Guy's listen-"

He abruptly stopped as suddenly the ash that once had fallen started integrating again taking the form of a human body. The kid's body he realized. The formation was as scary as the disintegration.

Looks like he wasn't the only one paying attention as everyone held thier weapons against…… Whatever the hell they are going to face.

¤¤¤¤¤¤

He falls on the ground, pain tearing through every cell, every atom of his body. He can still feel the pain of being torn from its neighbour and sent drifting out into space. He could still feel the pain of his atom binding together, again, and it hurt but the pain was receding. That was good he thought. He was still coughing, body still shaking, weakened due to his unplannes excursion. He was vaguely aware of being held at gun point.

"Ow" he rasped. "I am not a threat. Please…… Not a terrorist. Lower the weapons….. Please……The trial is complete I am innocent. Mysterio and Beck…… Everything was a fucking lie…. ''

Silence laid heavily on surroundings. Not even a whisper disturbing the air.

Odd. Nothing had been this overwhelmingly quiet since he’d been bit by the spider; he could always hear, see, or at least smell something. It was a bit disconcerting, though not entirely unwelcome. Sometimes he really missed having normal senses. The last time this happened was his fucking trial. Being on trial with a shock that disabled his powers was something he didnot want happening. again.

Cutting himself off from that train of thought, Peter realized he should probably try and figure out what the hell was going on and why he was he was experiencing the pain of atoms binding together again rather than be at Ned's funeral. Which he can finally go now since his name was cleared. Realizing his mind was getting off track again, Peter squinted open his eyes.

Get back on track, Parker. He reprimanded himself.

What he was met with when he eventually cracked open his eyes, however, was a dim, shimmering wall of scarlet red (which was not on the list of what he was expecting to see but it wasn’t a bad thing, either). He carefully peeled his eyes fully open, ready to slam them shut again in case the authorities didn't get the memo that he was not a terrorist.

Everything slowly came into focus, and he rapidly sat up, turning in a full circle. "What-" he breathed out. The red dissipated into whisps, and he was face to face with people who had been either dead or who had abandoned him since the funeral.

The Scarlet Witch stared him in the face, eyes returning to a normal murky brown rather than a vibrant red. Peter realized that she had trapped him in what could be described as a... bubble? with her powers so he wasn't disturbed as he regained his senses.

And as Peter spun around yet again, breathing picking up in panicked breaths, he recognized his surroundings.

Around him were the Avengers, every one of them.

He was back at the airport battle in Leipzig.

¤¤¤¤¤¤

Peter's eyes locked on Mr. Stark's, chest heaving, and he immediately thought back to the last time he'd seen the man. Alive.

We won. You did it sir. We won Tony.

Mr. Stark looked confused, eyes raking over Peter's form, clad in a red and black suit with a metallic silver spider sprawled in the middle of his chest.

"Peter?" the man asked, taking a step towards the boy, and that was all he needed to bolt away from everyone. Well in the centre as everyone seemed to be circling him. The reason unknown.

It took him a couple of minutes to arrive at the conclusion that Beck was alive. It was all his game. His fucking plan to fuck with him even more when everything was finally going to be as normal as possible. But no!!! His Peter Tingle™ had to betray him again.

Fury and rage filled him as he spoke. "What the fuck Beck. How can you be so cruel. Wasn't london enough. Want to fuck with me and my mind even more. With what the battle of airport. THIS TIME YOU CAN'T FOOL. I WON'T LET YOU. I DEFEATED YOU ONCE BEFORE. AND I WILL IN EVERY HELL DO IT AGAIN. THIS TIME I WON'T FALL IN YOUR ILLUSIONS YOU ASSHOLE"

By the time he was finished he was breathing heavily. His mind wandered to that one question again and again. How did Beck and his crew got the airport's battle. There was no footage in public media and after London he himself strengthened Stark Industries server.

"Underoos, what-" Mr. Stark said, cutting himself off as he took in the sight of Peter again.

Black and red metallic suit. Eyes filled with rage and fury. But their was hollowness in them like the kid had gone through hell. And London? Beck? Mysterio? Illusions?

"Kid I-"

"Stop!!!!!"

Peter said. No roared. Tony definitely never thought he could piss someone this much in such a short time.

"This is ridiculous" Peter yells ignoring all the looks he was getting. Ignoring the was his heart shattered upon seeing Beck using Mr. Stark's face, again to lure him into his trap.

"Peter it's me Ton-"

"Tony Stark is dead. Has been dead for a fucking whole year. Today is his death anniversary." Peter yells the illusion freezes. "I mourned him. For a whole fucking year. I went to his mother fucking funeral. I met his daughter. Do you really think I am that gullible!"

All the illusions looks confused froze In their spot. Mr. Stark no the illusion rasped "What!"

Peter turns his eyes stinging with tears, pain, exhaustion, rage. He just wanted this to end for good and for forever.

"You want a battle let's have one. And this time do not forget that you can't fool me into thinking you are dead. This time I myself will depart you to Raft."

With that he launched in attack webbing fake-Tony's hands and body to floor along with fake-cap. Disabling fake-Sam's wing and weaving him and Barnes together in a cacoon. He was fast like a shadow.

Suddenly he dodged the cars that fake-Wanda was throwing his way. Immediately webbing her hands up with the strongest webbing he had to disable her hand. This way she won't be able to to conjure magic. All the while dodging repulsor blasts from Fake-Colonel.

Again he dodged the punch fake-T'challa was gonna give and weaved him, fake-Clint and fake-Colonel similar to fake-Sam and fake-Barnes.

What he wasn't prepared was the blast from infinity stone and the sparring from Fake-Natasha.

After dodging and attacking what felt lIke eternity he was defeated. Fake-Natasha had won. But how? He didn't knew Beck's crew had such a skilled fighter. How the Blasts from fake-infinity stone seemed real. His body was aching. He wanted to rest. And he will after he capture Beck.

He tried getting out of her and Fake-Vision's hold but "You can't get out my Peter. Not until you tell us what the you did… You are doing. I thought you were on Stark's side against Cap? And who is Beck? What illusions are you talking about?" Fake-Natasha threatened very…… calmly.

"You of all people know Beck what you are doing" Peter choked. But his mind was just getting confused. The last Beck himself accepted that it was all an illusion. Had he changed tactics?

"Kid! Roos what are talking about? This is real everything is real. Their are no illusions kid." fake-Tony said.

By this time Peter had long given up on fighting instead he was waiting for the families Peter Tingle to tingle. To sense where drones could be. But his senses….. Were calmed. As if he wasn't in middle of illusions and drones. It was wrong. This was feeling real. Too much real.

"Pete-"

"Tell me a thing only my Mr. Stark would know. Something only between the two of us." He cut off fake-tony.

Tony was shocked seeing the kid's composure. The happy, bubby, nervous, like a lost puppy was gone. Instead in front of him was a kis who had suffered too much for his age. He thought of a thing only the kid and he would know."In your room you said 'If bad things happen. And you don't stop even if you have the ability then they happen because of you."

Peter's body went limp. No….. This can't happen. I know time travel is real but…… This can't happen……. Wait….. If I am back this means Mr. Stark isn't dead. He is alive and healthy.

"Mr. Stark????" He whispered. He was scared. What he isn't the real Mr. Stark. What if all this is just a dream just his imagination.

Even Natasha loosened her hold hearing the kid's scared and confused voice.

Peter immediately got out of Natasha's hold. And ran to where Mr. Stark was webbed up. He tore through the web using his super strength and hugged his Mr. Stark with all his force.

OK this wasn't what Tony expected. This kid was hugging him. Just a moment earlier he was fighting all of them and had almost defeated them and now he was hugging with such a force that he thought he might break his ribs.

"Kid-ouch easy" the hold loosened.

"You-you are alive"

Updated periodically on ao3. 4 chapters updated as of 13.5.21

#time travel fics for Peter Parker #ao3 #ao3 writer #time travel #morgan stark #peter parker #tony stark #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #endgame fix it

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sockablock · 4 years

Link

(start) - (previous) - (next)

Chapter 4: Just a Parlor Trick

“—and this is your room! Or it will be, soon, once we get your stuff moved in.”

A blur of curls flew past Nott and dove headfirst onto the bare mattress. Two-feet-two of little halfling boy sprung up, danced around in a circle, and surveyed his new kingdom by bouncing on the bed.

It was—as Nott would be the first to admit—pretty bare at the moment. Caleb had already taken all of his belongings, but there hadn’t been that much to begin with. Aside from the bed-now-turned-trampoline, there was just an oak wardrobe, and a rug. The only other fixture of note was the window, framed by thin blue drapes, currently open and letting in the sea breeze.

“What do you think, Luc?” Yeza grinned from the doorframe. “How do you like it?”

“The ocean is so cool!” Luc’s hair flew around in a storm as he jumped. “And the people—there’s so many people, Dad! That big turtle at the restaurant—his back had a pipe in it!”

Nott felt the ghost of a touch on her arm. When she caught Yeza’s tentative expression, she forced herself to relax into it.

The illusion had held so far, hadn’t it? And besides, her husband already knew the truth.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she gave her son a smile. “And what do you think about the house, sweetie? Do you like your room?”

Luc, mid-air, gave this some thought.

“It’s smaller than my old room,” he said. “The window is bigger. Can I put my pictures up?”

There was a box of posters somewhere in the moving van. Apparently, some time in the last three years, Luc had gotten incredibly invested in a semi-popular cartoon series featuring a team of adventurers who solved mysteries in the Marrow Valley. Yeza had told her during one of their rare reunions that the clerk at the store was all but giving them away; something about increasing promotional awareness.

“Of course you can put your pictures up, Luc.”

He beamed a freckled, toothy smile.

“I like it, Mom! Can I put them up now?”

— — —

Jester hummed cheerfully to herself as she made her way through the streets of Nicodranas.

The novelty of such an act was not lost on her, and not just because she’d spent most of her life indoors—the last time she’d hurried down a road like this, it’d been under much less enjoyable circumstances.

But Jester had more tricks up her sleeves these days, and skipping between street merchants and bustling crowds, weaving through the Opal Archways in the middle of rush hour, she was certain she could hide from any watching eyes.

She squeezed the picnic basket in her arms, packed tight with the best pastries money could buy. She’d keep an eye out, too, for that little sidewalk café that did the strawberry-mango drinks Momma liked, though Jester suspected that her mother was just feigning enthusiasm to get her to eat more fruit.

The stoplight above flickered twice, then turned green. She looked both ways, then skipped across the street.

Maybe she should make a stop for sandwiches. And flowers, while she was at it—and over there, a book sale! Now that Jester was finally back home, with the Chateau such an easy walk from her apartment, every weekend she did her best to bring the whole city to her mother’s boudoir.

Not that—and here she giggled at the thought—Momma needed any help there.

The Ruby of the Sea was busy, after all. Just not too busy for her little sapphire.

— — —

The thing was, Essek’s mother was busy.

She was always busy, and with good reason at that; for longer than Essek had even been alive—and how much longer before that, gods knew—Deirta Thelyss had been the Umavi of Den Thelyss, and therefore a permanent and immovable fixture in the intricate political dance of the Kryn Dynasty.

In another life, perhaps, Essek might have followed in her footsteps and joined her in running the country—though, if she got her way, there was a good chance that he ultimately would. But, as the Dynasty and Empire so far had managed to maintain a tenuous hold on peace, currently there was little need for a person of Essek’s particular talents.

The irony of that statement occasionally made him want to laugh, though he didn’t much feel like laughing now. It had taken a considerable amount of willpower to even drag him over to his desk, and there he sat with his forehead to the surface, lamenting that going back to bed hadn’t solved his problems.

Why was Mother bothering to attend the upcoming Clovis Concord Gala? Not a single one of these coastal cities was closely allied with the Dynasty, and the sheer geographical distance between them made the two nations vaguely aware of each other at best. In fact, Essek had chosen Nicodranas specifically because of how little the Bright Queen cared about it.

Which meant the unavoidable fact of the matter was that Mother was coming just for him.

The wood of his desk was cold on his head. If she were here now, she’d tell him to sit up.

Actually, she’d probably say much more than that. If Verin was telling the truth—and his brother had always been on his side when it came to Mother— fending off another round of her attempts to force him home would only be half the struggle.

He kicked his chair back and listened to the way his wheels slid across the floor. Distantly, he could just make out some muted shuffling coming from the kitchen, and he had to remind himself that it was probably not a burglar, but Caleb.

Today was his second day in the apartment, and the man would probably need a few days to settle in. Though, Essek noted with a hint of satisfaction, Caleb seemed like a very efficient person. He’d actually…quite enjoyed their negotiation last night, despite how long it ended up being. For just a few hours his fear of an impending maternal maelstrom had been staved off by the way Widogast sometimes quirked his eyebrow while he was reading, or by the way he’d gently tap the clip of his borrowed pen with his thumb…

Essek had let him keep it, afterwards. He hadn’t even considered doing otherwise.

And as that thought crossed his mind, his restful silence was shattered by a crash.

— — —

“Knock-knock, Momma!”

“Ah, Jester! Come in! Close the door behind—oh, bother.”

This was immediately followed with the sound of air snapping to fill a void, then another minor explosion accented by four scrabbling paws.

“Nugget! Oh, Nuggy, I’ve missed you so much—”

Marion Lavore hiked up her skirts and gently side-stepped the slobber on the floor. She made her way back to her chaise lounge just a moment after Jester peeled herself from the dog.

“He’s getting quite big,” her mother said, artfully removing the exhaustion from her tone. But two decades of living under Momma’s roof gave Jester all the hint that she needed.

“Oh, I want to take him back, I really do, but the apartment doesn’t let us have dogs.” Jester sank into a plush sofa with Nugget wagging his tail at her heels. He put his head in her lap and drooled.

“And…your luck with finding a…a new apartment?”

“We’ve all been busy, Momma,” Jester sighed. “Beau is working all day long to set up a new library by the Quay, and Yasha disappears all the time even though she’s…feeling better now. I think it’ll be a while until everything’s calmed down and we can look.”

Marion pointedly did not think about the many curtains that Nugget had already eaten in three months.

“Ah, well. I understand. And how are you doing, my sweet?”

Jester giggled. “I’m doing good! I’ve been drawing and painting a lot by the sea, and keeping busy with other arts and crafts. Did you know people on the Internet will buy dozens of tiny clay dick statues? The Traveler thought it was very funny.”

Her mother’s expression was an ocean of calm. “Oh, is that…is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear you’re finding ways to…spend your day.”

“I brought some to show you!”

“Oh, how...lovely…”

“Some paintings, Momma.” Jester set aside the picnic basket and fished around in her knapsack. The bag was a horrifically pink mess of burlap and loud, jangly pins. Jester had to shove aside quite a few rolls of brushes and capped paints as she searched.

Marion watched her work with interest. “Well, even if you had brought a…the statue, I would—oh, Jester. It’s beautiful!”

Jester beamed as her mother took the canvas, gingerly like it was—and it was—fine art.

In her hands, a stunning landscape of the sea beside Nicodranas at dawn, pale pink light glancing off the tide and a thin breath of sun just above the water.

“It’s for you, Momma!”

“Oh, Jester, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Take it.” She laughed. “I have lots more at home, but this one’s my favorite so you should have it.”

Decades of living with a burgeoning artist had taught Marion not to hug the piece to her chest, though she quite wanted to.

“I’ll hang it up, then. In a place of honor,” she said seriously. “Maybe heading up the stairs? The light there is lovely, and that way I know the most important people will get to see it.”

Jester’s smile could have swallowed up the world. “Thanks, Momma.”

“No, thank you, my sweet. Now, come. What else have you been doing? What’s new and exciting with your…what did you call yourselves? The Mighty Nein?”

Jester helped her mother lay out a feast’s worth of pastries across the coffee table. Nugget eyed the bounty like a lit fuse until Jester also produced a chewing bone, which he gleefully snapped up and began to gnaw.

“I wanted to make sure we didn’t have a repeat of last time, so I stopped by a pet store,” she explained, munching on a strawberry tart. “And we’re all doing good! Caleb’s move went well, and Nott’s family just landed.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” her mother said. “You know, it would not have been a problem for them to stay with me. At least while they got settled.”

“I know, I know, but I think since she already had a place, she wanted them there, you know? And anyway, she said she didn’t want to impose.”

“Of course,” Marion nodded. “And perhaps the Chateau is…it would be a bit unconventional for a family to stay here, hm?”

“We did it!”

“We did, but we are an unconventional family.”

Jester laughed, then brushed a few crumbs off her skirt. “What have you been doing lately, Momma? Any news? Any interesting clients?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Well,” her mother smiled faintly, “actually, I…might have something interesting to tell you. I was, ah…well, I was invited to a party. To sing, but also as a guest.”

“What?!” Jester threw her hands in the air. “Oh, Momma, that’s amazing!”

“I, ah…might decline.”

Jester’s elation vanished instantly. “Oh, Momma. Is it…the outside…?”

Marion shrugged. It was a decidedly unrefined gesture, and left a little crinkle in her robe. “I’m just…well, you know I’ve made a little progress since you got back, but…I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d feel so comfortable being in a place like that alone.”

Jester reached across the table to pat her mother on the hand. “I understand. It’s probably just a dumb party anyway, I’m sure you won’t be missing much!”

“It’s…well, it’s the 400th Anniversary Gala of the Clovis Concord.”

“Oh, man.”

“Tell me about it, dear,” Marion sighed.

There was a moment’s pause, filled with the sound of thoughtful chewing.

And then:

“What if we went with you?”

Marion blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon?”

— — —

They left Luc in his new bedroom happily slapping tape to the wall. Yeza had been worried that this would damage the paint when they’d eventually have to take down his posters, but Nott reassured him that getting back the safety deposit for this apartment was already a lost cause.

“There was a…small incident,” she said, as he poured her tea, “involving electricity. And…a mild fire.”

“Oh, man. Did you guys blow the fuse box or something?”

Nott debated whether or not exploding a microwave with voltaic bolts fell under that category.

“Mm, yeah, it was something like that.” She watched him sink into the chair across the table, paying special attention to the way his glasses bounced on his nose.

He hadn’t needed glasses three years ago. He hadn’t been quite so pale, either.

“So, how is your friend Caleb?” Yeza asked, tilting his head slightly at her silence. “Is he alright? Settled in and everything?”

Nott quickly scrounged up her smile. “He is! Actually, his place is really nice. Cheap, too, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yeza sipped his tea, leaving a little half-crescent above his lip. “I was worried about him. You told him for me, right? How much I appreciate this?”

“Of course I did. And I told him plenty that he didn’t have to, but he really insisted, and…well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that he did.”

Yeza put a biscuit in her hands. “We’ll send him a fruit basket, then. With pineapples! Heck, I should send one to all of your friends, for pitching in for the plane tickets. They’re really kind.”

“They are pretty great, aren’t they?” Nott took a bite, coating her tongue with chalky crumbs. “They’ll probably be around at some point—they want to see you and the boy again.”

“Is the tall one still around? With the pink hair? I liked him.”

Nott gave a laugh. “I’ll tell him you said that. It’s been quiet these last few days, you know, so it’ll really be great to have the company back. Not that—oh, gods, not that you and Luc aren’t—”

“I get it, I get it,” Yeza shook his head. “Don’t worry. Like we said over the phone, right? It’ll take…there’ll be an adjustment period.”

Nott set her mug down on the table. Her smile was a little less firm now.

“You and Luc are here,” she said again, quietly. “You’re here, but I…I’m talking about my friends, I shouldn’t be saying those things, should I? I…should focus on you two—”

“Hey, no, Veth. Not at all.”

“But it is unfair,” she sighed. “I…sweetie, I’m so happy to see you, and the boy, but now that…Caleb’s gone, and the two of you have moved in, a…a part of me, an awful part of me, already misses—”

“Veth, it’s okay—"

“It’s not, I mean we’re married—gods, wait, I’d never betray—”

“Veth.”

A hand touched her shoulder. Yeza’s voice was low and soft. “Honey, it’s okay. It really is okay, and I…I know. It’s complicated. I know. We haven’t been a family for a while—and none of that is your fault, it just isn’t. It’s just…been a tough few years, for us, but also especially for you. I doubt I could’ve survived what you’ve been through, after all. And things have changed—I’ve changed, I mean—I snore again, and I’ve gotten used to Edith helping around our house, and…I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s only natural…it’s only fair, that you’re allowed to change too. It’s okay. We talked about this, right?”

“Right,” Nott murmured.

“So it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work. And it’s still you, right? You still love me, right?”

She felt herself nod. Then, gently, “I didn’t stop loving you.”

“Well, that’s good. Neither did I.”

This time, she risked a glance up, and saw his smile. Yeza’s smiles were always a little lop-sided, smushing his freckles, and crinkling one eye. She’d made fun of that when they were younger, and let go of a breath when she saw that hadn’t changed.

As she exhaled, she gave a nod. Then a chuckle.

“Right. Right. Of course we will. We’re…probably going to have to enroll Luc in school. It—it’s summer now, but when autumn swings around…what is he? In first grade? In second?”

Yeza laughed. “This fall will be his first year of school.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, gods, it’s his first year of school. He…I don’t even know if he’s ready, if he’s…wait, is it different in Nicodranas? Are there tests? Is this a good school district, I—I didn’t even check—”

This time, it was Veth who stopped him. “Relax,” she said, and poked Yeza’s nose. “His dad is the most brilliant chemist in the world. We can look up all that other stuff.”

She brushed his cheek with her other thumb. “Like you said. We’ve got this. We’ll make it work.”

— — —

It had started with a recipe for blueberry muffins.

It had ended, more or less, somewhere around the time that Caleb realized neither he nor Essek owned measuring cups—and anyway, the blueberries were looking a little mushy so maybe he should wait until next week to surprise the Brenattos, that way he’d have a chance to get better ones, even though their move-in day was technically today—

And at that point, Frumpkin had jumped into the cabinet, dislodging what sounded like years’ worth of unused pots, knocking down an avalanche of dusty pans.

The last skillet clanged like thunder as it spun to a stop on the floor.

“Mist. Frumpkin—”

Ever the cat, Frumpkin deftly wove out of Caleb’s grasp and darted for the counter. He perched himself unblinking at the edge of the sink and licked his paw, as if for emphasis.

Caleb sighed. He crouched down to reach for the nearest displaced kitchen implement, a stock pot.

“You know,” he began, exasperated, “you could at least help me out with this mess.”

“Is that so?”

He whipped around so quickly that his head hit the handle of a drawer. One hand flew up, he startled, “Miste—Essek?”

His landlord raised a curved eyebrow. With the mid-afternoon light streaming in through the windows, the purplish tint to Essek’s complexion was something akin to a dusting of twilight. His hair was half-tousled, like it’d been mussed by something, and his hand lingered on the doorknob.

“I…my cat,” Caleb managed. “That is, er. I apologize. Deeply. For the commotion.”

Essek looked him over. “I thought we had agreed on silence last night, no?”

Caleb hung his head, and he could feel disappointment coming, undoubtedly with despair on its coattails.

“I have broken the terms,” he said mutely. “I…I am sorry. I understand what that means.”

His gaze clung to the polished floor. Which was why he missed it when the heavy stock pot took on a faint, shimmering, blueish glow. And then the saucepan began to shine. And then a wok, a spatula, a bowl—

All of the fallen cookware slowly began to rise through the air. As they moved, a parade past Caleb’s amazed expression, slipping by Frumpkin’s outstretched paw, each individual pot righted itself, formed into lines, then were quickly and neatly whisked away into the cabinet above.

The doors clicked as they shut.

“I…but that—what spell was that?”

Mentally, Caleb kicked himself. He should’ve apologized.

But Essek only chuckled. “Oh, that was just a parlor trick. An idle curiosity about the…shall we say, limits of gravity. Particularly regarding how easy they are to break.”

Caleb scrambled up to his feet. “But I have never seen control like that on such a grand scale before. Your spell, it—Telekinesis only controls one object at once.”

“Well,” Essek allowed himself a smirk. “Telekinesis is a watered-down version of what true dunamancy can accomplish. I will say, even getting that far was impressive. I have seen your documentation.”

“Gods,” though, Caleb noticed, there was not a trace of resentment in his tone. “Here I thought our transmutative literature was the most advanced there was.”

Essek shrugged. “Please, do not misunderstand me. It is good, for Empire wizards, especially. Until then, I had been under the impression that your lot only excelled at evocation.”

“We are a dab hand at necromancy too,” Caleb said dryly, “if the stories from twenty years ago are believed.”

This actually won a laugh. “Maybe I am the one being too cruel. It was your people who pioneered the earliest manipulations of air elemental magic, no? It is truly an interesting method for conquering gravity.”

“Yours is better,” Caleb said, before he could stop himself. “If you think that a parlor trick, my friend, I hesitate to ask else you could accomplish.”

“Why hesitate?”

And then, Caleb blinked. Somewhere in the distance, Frumpkin nudged his shoulder, but in that moment, all he could focus on was Essek.

“I…excuse me?”

And with that, the spell was broken. Essek slid into a kitchen chair.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” he waved his hand. “And please. Do not worry about that mess. I am not so unreasonable to think that accidents can never happen. Just, ah…you have been a wonderful roommate so far. In the future…?”

“You have my word,” Caleb said. He slipped the carton of slightly-mushy blueberries behind him.

“Excellent,” Essek nodded. “Well. If that is settled, I might sit here and, ah…get some work done?”

Caleb, dense as he was, got the message. “I just—of course, I will be gone in a moment, I’ll just put these things away—”

“No rush at all. I am not in any hurry.”

And indeed, whether or not Essek was just being polite, it did seem like the man was…a bit distracted. Caleb had no right to poke into his business, which was a violation of Section II, Subsection IV anyway, but he couldn’t help but ask Frumpkin to take the tiniest peek at Essek’s face.

Something was bothering his landlord. And for once, still basking in the afterglow of powerful magic, Caleb was almost sure it wasn’t him.

He found out just as he was heading to his room.

“Might I, ah, ask you a question?”

Caleb had enough composure to turn around at a normal person’s pace.

“Yes?”

Essek ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it…it is more of a favor.”

“Oh,” said Caleb. And when more was required, “Yes?”

“Yes already?” He blinked. “But I did not say what it was.”

“I meant,” Caleb amended, leaning against his doorframe, “please describe this favor to me.”

“Ah,” said Essek. “Right. I, er…”

How in the gods’ names was he supposed to phrase something ridiculous as this?

“I wonder…” he tried, “that is…if you might…would it be…are you perhaps…are you busy this weekend?”

Whatever he was expecting, this absolutely was not it.

“I—no?” Caleb said, out of pure shock. Then he shook his head and added, “I do not think so, no.”

“Ah,” said Essek. Somehow he seemed even more uncomfortable now. “That is…excellent.” It did not sound excellent. “If…well, if that is the case, then…do you think you could…help me with something?”

Caleb waited patiently. “With something?”

“A date.”

“A what?”

“No—not—oh, gods, I am doing this wrong.” Essek actually put his head in his hands, and Caleb once again had to throttle his own surprise.

Then, in a move made by a part of him so bold he didn’t even know he still had it, Caleb re-entered the kitchen and down in the seat across from Essek.

“I think, perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

Essek nodded miserably. He breathed in.

“You are right, Caleb.”

He breathed out.

“So. It’s like this…”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

#thanks so much for reading!!#critical role #critfic #fic #shadowgast #fanfiction #fanfic #critrole #long post #SUCH a long post im so sorry if the break doesn't work yall tumblr is like that sometimes hfjgk #jay writes #now what are the chances of that #nwtcot #modern au #text #<3333333333333333

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

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AKA “Yasha The Protector” fic from the prompt poll!

Note: This is basically a SFW fic with a lil NSFW ending. The whole SFW bit is here, so enjoy, and click to AO3 for the sexy bit!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Poly Nein - Relationship, Beauregard Lionette/Caleb Widogast/Yasha, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Poly Nein Characters: Beauregard Lionett, Caleb Widogast, Yasha (Critical Role) Additional Tags: Tickling, Bedtime, gang tickle, Sub Caleb Widogast, Stress Relief, dope monk shit, Nipple Play, Cunnilingus, Polyamory, Group Sex, Threesome - F/F/M Series: Part 1 of The Poly Nein Summary:

Trent Ikithon has been brought back into the Mighty Nein’s orbit, and Yasha’s real mad about it. After Jester take Caleb to her bed to take care of his feelings, Yasha does the same to keep him safe. Beau… helps?

FICThe Empire and the Dynasty needed to figure their stuff out. They needed to take all their stuff, and just... lay it out on the table, measure it, and figure it out. That’s what Yasha thought, anyway. She supposed that these talks might be their way of doing it, but it sure was a bad way. At the very least she wished the Mighty Nein could stop getting mixed up in it.

When Yasha first saw that Trent Ikithon had manipulated his way onto the king’s party, she’d been tempted to bamf out her wings and scream in his face, right then and there. He was old, she suspected she could maybe stop his heart that way. But she’d felt Beau go still next to her, hard and poised like a switch, and paused to match instead.

The last night before their departure they’d set up the mansion in a rented room far from the castle.

Fjord was sure Ikithon had done it to force Caleb to interact with him. Caleb agreed, in that quiet way he did when he was thinking very hard, his eyes cast down.

“We should kill him while we have the chance.” Veth said. She didn’t shriek it like she might have done a year ago, but says it matter-of-factly, in the calm, sweet voice that always meant she was talking to Caleb. They were all talking, but what she said was meant for Caleb.

“No.” He says. “Peace is worth the wait.”

Nobody was willing to argue with him on it, but she could tell Beau and Veth both wanted to. When they all bundled off to bed, Jester intercepted Caleb and pulled him into her and Fjord’s room. Caleb went along numbly, only smiling a little when she insisted that he wouldn’t have nightmares if he slept with them.

Yasha was tense all night, sleeping with Beau weaved around her rigid form like willow reeds.

The talks the next day were very boring. Lots of people she didn’t care about talked. Trent talked occasionally, but only when called upon. Otherwise he would just whisper behind his hand. Fjord talked. Caleb talked. Jester even talked a little, defusing a heated exchange with spun-sugar grace.

Yasha didn’t talk. She stood directly behind Caleb, though, staring down Trent and his molefuckers. Throughout the day she tried to convey three things to them with just her eyes:

She wanted to rip their limbs off.

She was fully capable of ripping their limbs off.

The only reason she was not ripping their limbs off was because Caleb asked her not to.

Beau, on the other hand, roved around the room like a shadow, but her head was always turned in Trent’s direction.

The others seemed happy with how the talks had gone. The fortress they were in had rooms for them, but they all agreed to set up the mansion in one of them as an extra layer of protection. Yasha trotted to catch up with Beau, one hand reaching out to brush her arm.

“Hmm. What? Sorry.”

“That’s OK.” Yasha soothed “It’s been a long day. Um… so... I want Caleb to come sleep with us tonight?”

Beau looked a little surprised. “Uh, sure, but why? I’m not as good at feelings as Jester or Fjord.”

Yasha patted her arm. “You’re getting better. But it’s not about feelings! I want to make sure if some vole-fucker wants to show up next to his bed they get a big raging surprise.”

Beau snickered and Yasha beamed, pleased with the success of her joke.

“God, you’re so cute. Also, uh... very correct. I was worried about that too,” said Beau with a frown, "If they wanna try and take him out, we'll beat them right out of the pocket dimension."

They were all quiet and tired when they stepped into the mansion, Caleb most of all. Yasha wasn’t as persuasive or cajoling as Jester, so she settled for just grabbing Caleb out of the air as they floated up through the tower’s floors and carrying him to their room over her shoulder.

“Oof! Ah, Yasha…?”

“You’re not sleeping alone with him so near. You’re coming with us.”

“Oooh, good idea Yasha!” Jester’s voice carried down to them as she floated past. “Byyye Caleb!”

“Well, ja, alright then.” Caleb sounded too tired to argue.

“We’ll keep you safe.” Yasha assured him quietly as she gave him a pat on the butt. She didn’t put him down until they were in their room and she could dump him directly on the bed. Then she slipped the Magician's Judge underneath the frame.

“I need a bath before bed because I smell! Get comfy though, I’ll join you soon.”

Once she’d stripped down next to the always-steaming copper tub she turned around, surprised to see Caleb sitting on the ground pulling books out of his bag.

“Do you want a bath too Caleb? You can come in with me, you’re just little. Beau fits.”

Caleb gave her a quirk of a smile.

“No, thank-you. I’m just restless. I’ll work for a while before bed, I think.”

“Caleb!” Yasha’s brow furrowed. This was not good. Jester would never allow this, if she was the one taking care of him.

He shrugged. “I’ll stay here, if they attack I’ll be safe. You'll wake.”

“That’s not what she’s worried about, dumbass.” Beau joined them, a wine bottle under her arm and three glasses in her hand. “It’s late, this thing starts early tomorrow, and you’re the Bright Queen’s favorite human. You need to be sharp. You’re drinking this wine with us and you’re going to bed.”

“Verdammt noch mal , I’m manipulating countries by day and being put to bed like a child every night. Would you all let me be?!” Caleb snapped.

Yasha’s hands moved to her hips.

“You don't get put to bed like a child, you get taken care of by people who love you because we can't trust you to take care of yourself! And we’re here to protect you, even if it’s from the stupid part of your brain that’s too smart!” Oh, no, that hadn’t come out the way she wanted.

Caleb’s posture turned surly, but Beau stepped between them.

“Babe, relax, I’ve got this. Take your bath.”

She had him down in a matter of about six seconds.

First she reached out and seemed to only touch him in the centre of his chest. Yasha barely had time to notice that she’d undone the buckle of his holsters before he was being spun around by a steely hand on the back of his coat-collar.

Beau yanked his coat off in on swift movement, her other hand immediately grabbing the back of Caleb’s holsters and yanking them down to his elbows. She tugged the books out and set them aside while twisting the leather straps into a makeshift binding for his arms. She shoved him face-first onto the bed, straddling his thighs.

Yasha clapped when it was finished, having crawled into the hot bath to enjoy the show.

“Beauregard! Let me go. Now.” Caleb snapped

“Nope.” Beau tugged at his holsters until she could roll him onto his side, one clawed hand starting to scrub at his belly without so much as a glance. Caleb’s body spasmed, his breath pitching as he tried to resist laughing and keep a glare on his face. “There’s only three ways this ends for you. One, you give up, have a nice glass of wine and go to bed in the strong goth’s arms with me. Two, you use your safeword so I have to let you go and you can run off into a corner with your books like a pissy little bitch. Three, I personally tickle you until you pass out, which solves my problem anyway. So what’s it gonna be?”

Her hand squeezed his side and started to climb his ribcage, finally breaking the dams of his resistance. His torso was stretched, his ribcage extended by the angle at which the holsters were pinning his arms behind his back, and with Beau’s strong thighs around his center of gravity he couldn’t do much more than squirm. First a smile broke out, then helpless, rumbling laughter.

“FUHUHUCK YOU LIONEHETTE!” He ground out, earning an audience gasp from Yasha.

There was a stubborn, defiant and mouthy side of Caleb that only Beau seemed to be able to bring out. Often shocking, when Caleb was always so deferent to his lovers. But then, Beau’s relationship with the men in their group tended to be more ‘beloved best friends I share lovers with and also occasionally make out with’ than 'lover.'

“Ooh, mouthy! So, that’s how you wanna do it, huh? Huh?”

Beau’s hands started to fly, lightning-fast pinches tweaked Caleb’s ribs, sides, hips, armpits and neck faster than he could react.

“Ah- haha, nein! ” for the first time a little desperation entered Caleb’s voice, his defiance wavering just a little under Beau’s onslaught.

“No? Why? Is the little wizard ready for bed yet? Huh?”

Caleb’s face twisted into a furrowed glare over a helpless smile, and he shook his head from where he was currently muffling his laughter against the bedspread. Beau’s hands jumped to his uppermost ribs on each side, a precision attack that made him start thrashing and shouting in Zemnian. Yasha didn’t know what he was saying, but it didn’t sound complementary.

“How bout now, huh? What if I just do this forever? All ribs, all time! You like that, you smart-ass little shit?”

“No! Nohoho! I will gehehehet you!”

“Pfft. How you gonna do that, huh? You can’t cast your little spells while you’re squealing like a lil bitch…”

Yasha finished towelling herself off and flopped onto the bed next to them, putting her face near where Caleb’s was turned and pressed against the sheets before starting to dance her fingers around his neck and ears.

“Y-Yasha! I- Ah! Hahaha- I don’t- don’t feheeheeheel safe!”

“Oh so now Yasha’s here and you think she’s gonna save you? Nuh-uh. Hey babe, wanna see something cool that Dairon taught me?”

“No!” Caleb yelped, but it was muffled because Beau was already turning him onto his stomach.

“Ooh yes!” Yasha answered, leaning in with her chin on her other hand and continuing to tease the back of Caleb’s neck. Beau’s fingers started to follow the ley-lines of Caleb’s body, applying a poke, a twist or a ground knuckle at the intersections.

Caleb’s laughter petered into giddy giggles as his body trembled under the ministrations. He could clearly feel the effects of Beau’s work, because the steady whine of “nononononononono” became just a little more frantic with each applied touch, his neck and shoulders squirming and scrunching further to avoid Yasha’s teasing.

“We usually use this to make people’s nervous system more sensitive for interrogation,” Beau explained, “so… well, I guess it might work pretty well, huh? Let’s see!”

She didn’t bother to roll Caleb over this time, instead jamming her hands under his arms from behind to get his armpits and ribs. Every part of Caleb’s body started to shake, and his laughter turned into muffled shrieks.

“Nahahahat there!”

“Um, we already talked about this. It’s ALL ribs, ALL the time.” Beau teased, stepping up the rhythm of her fingers and making Caleb’s hysteria kick up with each word . “Yup, that works. How’s that, tough guy? Still wanna fight?”

She turned him on his side so he could talk, one hand still jammed under his arm. Caleb was red in the face, but he still spit out “Fuck you fuHAHAHAck you fuHAHAck youhooHAHAHA!”

“Caleb! That’s so rude!” Yasha admonished. “And you know what? I’m getting a little hungry.”

Caleb’s eyes widened and his thrashing sped up. Beau looked a little confused, but watched the one-sided exchange with an amused smile on her face.

“Remember in Aeor when you were a big spider? Do you think you’re as tasty now?” She pounced face-down on one of his thighs. “Omnomnomnom!”

Caleb’s squeal started before Yasha’s face got anywhere near him. She placed one hand on his knee and the other on his stomach to keep his body from folding up to block her, worrying both places with gently wiggling fingers. Then she nipped up and down the thigh muscle from hip to knee like it was corn on the cob, and Caleb nearly levitated off the bed.

“AAaaiiiiii! YAHAHASHA! AAAH! YAHAHASHAHA PLEAAHEEHEEHESE AAAH! UNCLE! UHAHAHANCLE!"

Yasha paused, peering up at him along the length of his body. Beau's fingers stilled too.

"Are you gonna come to bed?"

"Yehehes,” he wheezed, “yes!"

Yasha backed off. Beau started to, before mischief overcame her and she tweaked Caleb's ribs, making him convulse and scream.

"Hey!" Yasha warned, pointing at Beau. "He gave. My meal of wizard legs was interrupted, but I'll fill up on monk ribs if I have to."

Caleb made a raspberry sound at Beau from his position in a heap on the mattress. Beau held her hands up in surrender. "Alright! I was just teasing him, no need to get aggressive... Hey, you! You still want some wine?"

She untwisted Caleb’s holsters, setting him free.

“Yes pl- *hic* please.” Caleb croaked, still catching his breath.

Beau moved to pour the wine-- white, Caleb didn’t like red-- and they all sipped it as they got ready for bed. Once Caleb had stripped and tucked himself under Yasha’s arm with his head on her shoulder, Beau sat behind him. His spine went rigid.

“Relax.” The monk soothed. “I’m done. It only lasts an hour, but we can get rid of it faster.”

She started to rub Caleb’s back his firm, flat palms, working out muscles, nerves and energy where she had disrupted it to make him more ticklish. Caleb did relax, eyes rolling as his eyes started to flutter closed.

Beau moved to her other side, settling into a position that mirrored Caleb’s. Yasha fell asleep to the sound of their quiet breathing.

#yahsa protects Caleb from the dangers of being a sad wizard.#but also from deadly wizards #she does it all #yasha nydoorin #caleb widogast #tickling #tickle fic #tk fic #critickle role #mine #poes prose

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giogio-gucci-gangstar · 4 years

Text

Mudad Adventures: Spider-fest

summary: Giorno is terrified of spiders, Hol Horse is less than sympathetic

Giorno was not afraid of many things. How could he be, he lived in a mansion full of monsters (his father), freaks (Vanilla Ice), and idiots (Hol Horse). But all of them combined could not compare to the intense fear that struck him when he saw a spider. Being a nature boy at heart he knew that there were only a few spiders that could kill him, and that it was totally irrational for him to be frozen in fear whenever he saw so much as a brown house spider.

He just couldn't help but envision them climbing into his neat little buns, or burrowing into his braid and building a nest there. The thought sent shivers down his spine, that wasn't even the worst part, once they nested in his curls they would surely launch a campaign into his ears.

Giorno covered his ears instinctively, even though the spider in question was on the wall a good seven feet away. Once the spiders are in your ears it's all over. A few months ago he’d read an article in the newspaper about a woman who was killed by a scorpion in her ear and that was not a way he wanted to go.

Giorno took a deep breath. He was a big five year old, and he lived in a mansion with a vampire. There was not much a spider could do to him that he hadn't already seen (other than make a nest in is hair and burrow into his-)

He shook his head, no more time for those silly thoughts. He clenched his fists and steeled himself for an attack. Dio had always taught him that the best way to get rid of something you don't like is to kill it immediately and without mercy.

Giorno took a deep breath and slowly made his way to his bed, where he kept one of DIO’s shoes for emergencies like this. They were large and pointy enough to squish almost any bug, and he could throw them with more precision than a fly swatter.

Giorno reared back and took aim at the brown spider on the wall, he flinched one last time and closed his eyes before he hurled the shoe at it! He carefully opened one eye at a time, but was shocked to see no spider splat mark on the wall…

He carefully approached it, looking around for the wiley little beast, before he saw it. It was a few feet away from the bookshelf leaning against the wall. It was almost like it waited for Giorno to see it, before it ran behind the shelf. Surely to go tell its friends of the small pretty boy whose head would make a lovely nest.

This was fine, Giorno told himself. There was only one spider and he knew exactly where it was. He took a deep breath in and held it for a few seconds before exhaling again. He’d just have to wait it out.

A minute or so passed before Giorno saw the spider’s first taunt. It stuck out a spindly leg for him to see without exposing its body. It was a clever little beast, he’d give it that. But then, out it came trotting, this time with a friend.

Giorno gasped in horror as it trapsed across his will, a large, hairy, orange spider. The little beast had brought out the Spider Queen to fight Giorno. The boy’s breaths became shallow and his face palled when he beheld the monstrosity. His secret weapon had already been flung and they were scuttling towards him, there was no way to escape!!!

And then, the door opened.

“Hey, Kiddo, time for dinner.” Hol Horse poked his head through the door. Giorno peeled his wide eyes from the wall, and turned towards Hol Horse without blinking.

“Is there something wrong kid?” Hol Horse noticeably tensed up, Giorno was a weird kid but staring at a wall looking like he was going to pass out was weird even for him. Hol felt Emperor appear in his hands while Giorno slowly gestured to the wall to his right with his eyes.

Hol Horse slowly turned and aimed at: nothing. There was nothing on the wall. Giorno was shocked, a little relieved honestly, but also terrified that the hairy orange spider queen had disappeared.

“Girono, what's going on?” Hol Horse gave a little relieved sigh but was still holding on to Emperor. It wasn’t often that Giorno was frightened (if you could call that pale and unblinking face a fearful reaction and not something to be afraid of yourself).

Giorno took a deep breath and let the words haphazardly fall out of his mouth, “THERE WAS A BIG SPIDER AND I HATE SPIDERS SO I THREW DADDYS SHOE AT IT BUT IT SURVIVED OR ESCAPED AND THEN RAN BEHIND THE BOOKSHELF BUT IT TURNED AT LOOKED AT ME AND THREATENED ME AND THEN IT CAME BACK OUT WITH THE SPIDER QUEEN AND SHES SO BIG AND ORANGE AND HAIRY SO I KNOW SHE HAS TO BE POISONOUS AND NOW SHE'S TRYING TO KILL ME BECAUSE I TRIED TO KILL THE OTHER SPIDER YOU HAVE TO SHOOT THEM NOW”

Hol Horse paused for a few moments after that rambling mess, he needed some time to process what he’d just heard.

“So it's just a spider?”

“TWO VERY BIG SPIDERS” Giorno emphasized. Somehow the threat of the situation was not getting through to Hol Horse. Not only had the mansion been infiltrated by a large spider, an even bigger, harrier, and scarier spider had moved in too! Obviously this was the start to thier devious plan to torture Giorno. First it would be his room, then his hair, and then his brain! From there it would be all over.

“Okay well I don't know what you want me to say but there are no spiders in this room so let's just go to dinner before your Dad tries to kill me again okay?” Giorno was very skeptical of the whole situation still, he didn't like leaving the battlefront without knowing where the enemy lurked, but he definitely did not want to be left alone in this room and Hol was already turning to leave. So he scampered after him.

They made it a few doors down the hall before Giorno caught sight of them again. He violently tugged on Hol Horse’s sleeve and pointed to them.

“What? These?” Hol Horse pointed to the spiders pretending to innocently weave a web. “These are just flies, Giorno. No spiders here.”

Giorno had always feared that Hol Horse was stupid, but never before had he felt such utter dispair at the man’s lack of brains. His stupidity was going to kill them both if they didn't act soon.

“No they’re spiders Hol Horse! Look at the colors and the legs and the web they're in!” Giorno was doing his best to keep himself together. He absolutely refused to cry in front of such a man.

“Look here kid,” Hol Horse pulled a thrashing Giorno up into his left arm, while using his right to swat at the spiders on the wall.

Hol opened his hand to show a trembling Giorno what looked like a mangled and somewhat exploded orange spider.

“Giorno does this look like a spider to you?” The absurdity of the question threw him for a loop.

“It looks like a smashed spider!” He managed to stutter out.

“It's not a spider kid.” Hol Horse brought it a little closer to Giorno, who flinched, and tried to get a better look.

“I can only count four legs. If this is a spider how come there aren't eight eyes and eight legs?” Hol Horse smugly retorted.

Girono could not speak. It was like his tongue forgot how to make words and he kept opening and closing his mouth. How could he answer such a nonsensical question?

#mudad adventures #mudad #giorno #dio #hol horse #spiderfest #my nonsense

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

Part of Your World Pt.2/4

Summary: Jaskier is a sea witch who finds Ciri crying by the edge of the ocean. She’s lonely and desperate to find her Destiny so Jaskier offers to escort her to him. (AO3)

_________

“We’re going the wrong way!” Ciri snapped as Jaskier changed direction for what felt like the hundredth time in a minute. “You are lost and we are going the wrong way!”

Jaskier closed his eyes and listened carefully to the hum of the water. He sang back to thank the rivers and the clouds. They weren’t as used to his kind as the oceans were but the water knew where to find Geralt. The water also knew that someone was hunting the young princess of Cintra, most likely soldiers of Queen Calanthe trying to get her granddaughter back. Jaskier asked if Ciri would prefer to go home rather than trek all the way up to the village just south of Witcher’s keep in the mountains but the girl had fire and she refused to go back to Cintra until she had met her Destiny.

“We are not going the wrong way, cub.” Jaskier hummed with a flick of his wrist. “I am simply keeping those pesky Cintran soldiers off our backs. Unless you would like to ret—”

“I’m not going home!” Ciri snapped. “We’ve been walking for over a week. I want to find him.”

“Then trust me!” Jaskier pulled the young girl into a hug. “I wouldn’t lead you astray, princess.”

It was getting colder the further north they went and he could see Ciri starting to shiver. She hadn’t been wearing the most appropriate clothes for travelling in when they’d met. Jaskier had managed to weave her a better one from the nearby river that he made sure to follow as best as he could but it still wasn’t doing enough to keep out the cold of the fading winter.

Ciri huffed but hugged him back. “You’d better not, bard.”

“I promise.” He stroked her hair as he held her close, trying to absorb the cold from her tiny body. He sang under his breath, a tale of a lion cub on its first adventure to find its Destiny. The magic spell wove around them and Ciri stopped shivering in his arms.

“Thanks, Jaskier.” She hummed. “That was a pretty song.”

Jaskier grinned and laughed. “Well I had a good muse. Now let’s make camp. I think we’re only a day away from the village Geralt will be passing through on the way down from the witchers’ keep.”

“Another day!” Ciri buried her face in her hands.

He laughed. “I know, I know. Life on the path is hard, cub, but life is the greatest adventure of all!”

Ciri pouted. “Fine. Tell me more about your home.”

So, as they started to make camp for the night, he did. He told her all about the mermaids and the warriors that guarded their underwater citadels. He told her about the choirs made from all the sea creatures who wanted to join. It didn’t matter that she’d heard it all before by this point. She rested her head on her chin and watched him in awe. Her green eyes sparkling brighter than the ocean itself. He told her about the caves where he lived with his mother, the Queen of the Sea Witches. She could be cruel at times, extorting unreasonable demands from the mermaids that asked for her assistance. Jaskier often took pity on the mermaids, intercepting them before they could reach his mother’s lair. He would offer his assistance instead, his magic was almost as powerful as the Queen’s after all. Some mermaids wanted to see the human world, like he could, and he could hardly deny them the pleasure. Others just wanted enchanted necklaces and seashells.

“Sea shells?” Ciri asked. “Why would you enchant a seashell?”

Jaskier tilted his head. “To capture a song of course!”

“Huh.” Ciri scrunched up her nose but didn’t question it further.

Jaskier continued his tales of the ocean until the stars were glittering in the sky and Ciri had fallen asleep. He glanced around at their camp and sang an old coastal lullaby, pulling condensation from the cool night air and wrapping it around the camp in a protection spell. He peered at Ciri and tilted his head. She hadn’t noticed the web of magic around her and was still sleeping peacefully.

He hadn’t been entirely honest with her. The village was barely a half hour walk from their camp but he wanted to meet this witcher, this Butcher of Blaviken before he let Ciri anywhere near him. Yes, he was potentially fucking with Destiny but it was the right thing to do, he knew in his heart it was the right thing to do. He stole away into the night, leaving the young girl sleeping under his spell. If there was any problems then he would be alerted immediately.

But now, it was time to meet the witcher.

By the time he reached the rundown tavern most of the patrons were asleep. Jaskier slunk through the door and peered around. His lute was on his back, partly to keep up the appearance of being a harmless human, and he was fiddling with the strap. He glanced at the empty tables until he spotted a figure near the back of the room. He adjusted his eyes to the darkness of the room, silver hair, two swords.

“Got you.” He muttered.

The witcher’s eyes flashed up as his words and he pulled his swords closer to him.

“Easy, witcher.” Jaskier grinned. “I’m just a bard.”

He sauntered across the room until he was opposite Geralt. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from a witcher but Geralt wasn’t it. The man was fucking gorgeous. Soft moonlit hair and eyes like molten gold. Fuck, Jaskier was gone. How was a slayer of monsters so fucking attractive?

“Bard?” Geralt hummed, still not letting go of his swords.

“Witcher, Geralt of Rivia I presume?” The flashed his most charming smile at the witcher, careful not to let any of his magic ripple out.

“You have a contract?” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier slid into the seat opposite Geralt, letting his gaze roam over the muscular form hidden behind the black leather armour. It was a shame that Geralt’s kind were made to kill creatures like him, because what he wouldn’t give to ravish the man. He’d obviously stared too long as Geralt cleared his throat. Jaskier slowly returned his gaze to the man’s devastatingly beautiful face and grinned. He winked at the witcher and licked his lips.

“Not a contract no.” Jaskier traced a pattern with his fingers on the table in front of him and leaned towards Geralt. “Just returning something of yours.”

Geralt frowned. “What?”

“Had a little run in with Destiny, did you witcher?” He sang gently. The ale in the tankard rippled slightly and Geralt’s hand flew up to the medallion on his chest.

“The fuck?”

Jaskier should have been worried that he was giving himself away. He hadn’t meant to. He certainly hadn’t expected to flirt with the witcher but by Kostroma, he was completely enchanted by this witcher. He would be dreaming of those soft amber eyes for decades to come. Surely someone so beautiful couldn’t really have earned the title of Butcher. He sighed and pouted. He should probably check for Ciri’s sake.

“So, Geralt…” He reached out to pull Geralt’s drink towards him. The witcher was still stunned enough to let Jaskier take the ale. It wasn’t very nice ale but it sated some of his growing thirst. “Tell me, how does one earn the moniker of Butcher? You don’t seem the sort to ruthlessly murder a village.”

Geralt grunted. “I am.”

Jaskier pouted and rested his chin on his hands. “Come on, there must be your side of the story.”

Geralt was still scowling at him. “You’re not human.”

Jaskier sighed. “Well. No, but before you try to kill me, I would like to introduce you to your child surprise.”

“Calanthe sent you?” Geralt snarled and snatched his drink back.

Jaskier shook his head and laughed. “Oh ho ho! No. No no no. No. Calanthe is chasing us. This was all Ciri’s idea.”

“Ciri?”

“The child.”

“She’s… a girl?” Geralt grunted and Jaskier once again cursed land dwellers and their gender obsession.

“She’s a child and your Destiny.” Jaskier poked the witcher in the chest. “Now, Butcher. Is it safe for her to meet you or are you going to kill us all?”

Geralt snarled and stood up. “Fuck off, bard.”

“Geralt. Please.” Jaskier jumped up and gripped Geralt’s arm. “My gut tells me they’re wrong about you.”

“They’re not.” Geralt turned away, refusing to meet Jaskier’s eyes but there was a vulnerability in Geralt’s voice that drew Jaskier in.

“She’s sleeping. Come to the camp. It’s not far. We don’t have to wake her.” Jaskier pulled Geralt towards the door. The witcher was still glaring up a storm but slung his swords over his back and followed Jaskier willingly.

“Will you tell me what you are?” Geralt murmured as they walked from the tavern.

Jaskier, still holding Geralt’s hand, gazed at the witcher with a tilt of his head. “Not yet.” He replied with a smile and a wink.

When they reached the camp Geralt froze on the spot and just stared at Ciri. The girl was still asleep and Jaskier’s magic was unbroken. He watched Geralt carefully as they stood at the edge of the trees. Geralt seemed perturbed by the whole situation so Jaskier squeezed his hand gently. The gestured appeared to remind Geralt that they were even holding hands and he yanked his fingers from Jaskier’s grasp.

Jaskier sighed and put his hands on his hips instead. “So.” He drew out the word as he tilted his head at Geralt. “What are you going to do?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chuckled. The witcher was almost as bad as the krakens, a grumbly old monster that never had much to say. Still Jaskier was quite fond of them. He knew exactly where to tickle them to have them practically purring, or the underwater equivalent at any rate. If you knew the right places krakens would turn into oversized cats. It was a shame they had such a bad reputation really, he blamed the humans for that one. They could really be the real monsters of the Continent. He let the witcher brood in silence as he watched his child of Destiny.

He clapped Geralt on the back and headed towards the nearby river. He’d been in his human form for too long and he was starting to feel uncomfortable. The river wouldn’t be as good as the vast spacious waters of the ocean but at least it would be cool and wet against his natural form.

“I’ll be by the river.” He whispered to Geralt who was still staring at Ciri. “If you harm her, Geralt.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Jaskier believed the witcher, gods only knew why. Geralt still hadn’t explained Blaviken but there was just something about those gorgeous eyes that Jaskier couldn’t help but trust.

Perhaps he was a fool, or perhaps Destiny was making her presence felt. Ciri would be safe with Geralt. He was sure of it. Once he reached the river he sank into the water and let his true form show. He let out a happy sigh of relief. He enjoyed walking amongst the humans but the water was his home. He ducked his head under the water and watched as the river flowed above him. A human would have been pulled away by the current but his tentacles kept him gripped in place as he sang to himself under the water.

His mother would have a fit if she saw him like this. She didn’t like humans and fraternising with witchers, well that would have been unforgivable, but bathing in the rivers as opposed to the Great Seas. He might as well say goodbye to his home, but she hadn’t found out yet and he’d been doing this for years already.

Through the water he could just open see the twinkling stars up in the night sky. They were really so beautiful. The humans took them for granted. Jaskier loved the stars. He was momentarily distracted as a pike swam past him. He called out to the creature and it bumped its nose against his fingers. Jaskier contemplated making the fish a late night snack but he’d eaten well with Ciri earlier. So he let the fish go on its way. It danced through his tentacles like a cat would wrap around its owners legs and then swam off.

He sighed and rolled onto his stomach. His mother did have a point. The river was just so cramped. He wanted to swim, to dive, to be free.

“Jaskier!” He heard Geralt’s voice from the river bank.

He rolled his eyes and sat up in the river, rising back up to the surface. He shook the water from his hair as he broke free of the water. Geralt was staring frantically into the river. “Yes, darling?” Jaskier grinned back at the witcher.

Geralt’s eyes were almost completely black in the darkness of the night and along with his silver hair and swords, he almost looked like a monster himself. “Jaskier? You’re alright. I thought. I thought you’d drowned.”

Jaskier laughed and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers were webbed in his natural form and Geralt was sure to have noticed. He also had gills just under his chin. “I assure you, dear witcher, that is not a problem.”

“You’re a mermaid?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Not quite.” He raised a tentacle from the water to give a wave to the witcher.

“Hmm. A… sea witch? I thought they were mythical.”

Jaskier huffed and fell back into the water. Geralt hadn’t immediately tried to kill him so he decided he was safe for now. The water splashed up around him and he grinned, flicking his wrist to make sure the waves hit the witcher.

He heard Geralt’s disgruntled growl and he giggled under the water. What he wasn’t expecting was for Geralt to jump into the river after him? He was pushed away with the current before he swam back over to the witcher. He breached the surface and glared at Geralt. Geralt’s hair was dripping wet and he was smirking at Jaskier, who noted with glee that Geralt’s swords were lying on the bank. He dived forward and tackled the witcher under the water. Geralt snarled and bared his teeth but there was a quirk of a smile on his lips. They fell together into the depth of the river. Geralt did well to fight against him but Jaskier had the advantage. This was his domain. He wrapped two of his tentacles around Geralt’s legs with his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. He made sure to let the witcher up to breathe frequently as the tumbled in the water and every so often he let Geralt think that he was gaining the upper hand.

“Jaskier?”

Both witcher and sea witch froze as they bobbed up to the surface and stared at Ciri who was on the banks of the river.

“Fuck!” Geralt cursed and disentangled himself from Jaskier’s grip, swimming back to shore. He picked up his swords and fled back to the camp. Ciri watched the witcher go as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Jaskier pouted. He wondered when the witcher had last let himself have fun like that. It had been unexpected but Jaskier had not complained. He’d enjoyed his tussle with Geralt. He could almost believe they could be friends…

Maybe even more.

He sighed wistfully as he thought about Geralt’s golden eyes.

Gods he wanted him.

“Who was that?” Ciri asked. “And why were you fighting?”

Jaskier snapped back out of his Geralt filled daydreamed and smirked at the princess. “Oh we weren’t really fighting. Just having some fun. That, my dear Ciri, was your Destiny.”

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Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan (Reminder you can be added/removed at any time just let me know!)

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #sea witch!jaskier #non-human!jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon #wolfie's witcher writing #part of your world

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

Golden Bullets, Ch 4: Moonlight Trail

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 2700

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: discussion of violence/drugs, swearing

Featured Song: All Time High by Rita Coolidge from Octopussy (1983)

~ “We´re an all time high, we´ll change all that´s gone before, doing so much more than falling in love.”

+ “Where are you? Why do you hide? Where is that moonlight trail that leads to your side?” from Moonraker by Shirley Bassey from Moonraker (1979)

A/N: not much action in this chapter, but i’m saving that for chapter five and i’m very very excited about that chapter haha

~~~

You let out a groggy groan, your eyes fluttering open, just to be met with a dull pain in your head from the drugs last night, making you close your eyes again immediately. You tried clearing your mind, focusing on the sound of the DB10’s tires moving with the road, but the sound of Harrison’s music was too distracting. Somehow the normally soothing voice of Sam Smith just made your headache worse- and that’s when it hit you.

“You listen to Sam Smith?” You questioned quietly, opening your eyes just enough to peak over at your partner. The car’s interior lights as well as the streetlights outside were the only things illuminating Harrison’s face.

“I’m surprised you know an artist from this decade.” He chuckled lightly, his thumbs drumming against the steering wheel as he continued his drive down the nearly empty highway.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked as you shifted in your seat, stretching to get more comfortable.

“All you seemed to listen to going to Monaco was Nancy Sinatra.” Harrison stated and you felt a twinge of embarrassment strike you, you’d never have someone so blatantly call out your music taste, but yet again you didn’t exactly spend quality time with many perceptive agents.

“Well, I don’t only listen to Nancy Sinatra. I listen to other artists,” You trailed off, trying to come up with names, “I listen to Carly Simon.”

“As in “You’re So Vain” from the ‘70’s?” He laughed and you let out a groan.

“Alicia Keys.”

“Hardly counts.”

“She still counts.” You insisted, “You were listening to Duran Duran earlier. That’s not from this decade.”

“But I still,” He paused to let out a large yawn, “I still listen to more modern music. Sam Smith is very modern.”

“Where are we?” You asked, wanting to just drop the subject.

“We’ve got about half an hour until we get to Venice.” Harrison replied, glancing over at the clock. You took a moment to study him as he kept his eyes on the road. His hair was the most disheveled you’d ever seen it, and you’d dare to say he had bags under his eyes.

“Let me drive for a while.” You offered, and he glanced over at you like you were crazy. You could tell he was holding back from scoffing in response.

“A few hours ago, you were spilling your darkest secrets to me and then spilling your guts in the toilet. I’m not letting you drive.”

“Then pull over so we can get a hotel. You need to sleep.” You stated. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, you added, “As assistant director of MI6 and the lead on this case, I’m telling you to get a hotel.”

Harrison let out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head at you, “I was just going to say, I’ll stop when we get to Venice. No need to pull the assistant director card.”

“I might as well pull it while I can.” You said, and he raised his eyebrows at you, making you elaborate, “M doesn’t want us to kill Le Chiffre, but if I see him, I will. I doubt I’ll keep my position if that happens.”

The rest of the ride into Venice was silent between the two of you. You didn’t particularly want to talk about last night’s revelations or the upcoming task of having to not kill Le Chiffre; meanwhile, Harrison had his own inner turmoil between trying to empathize with you, allowing you to take out the private banker, or following M’s directions of simply tracking him. By the time the two of you arrived in Venice and got a hotel, it was nearly 3 AM, and, with a six hour car ride behind you and an eleven hour car ride ahead of you, you two were beyond exhausted.

“This bed better be softer than the last one.” Harrison mumbled as the two of you stepped into the elevator. With one hand on your suitcase, you leaned against the elevator wall as he stood in the center, holding onto his own luggage.

“Surprisingly, Monaco had the worst hotel bed I’ve ever slept on.” You stated. The elevator came to a stop on your floor for the next few hours. The doors opened, and the two of you stepped off it.

“Really? I think the worst hotel bed I’ve ever had was actually in New York.” He replied, inserting the key card into the door. He pushed it open, holding it for you to go inside first. You paused once you’d stepped into the room.

“Scratch that. This might be the worst.” You said, eyeing the single king size bed in the room. Harrison blinked, stepping in the room behind you.

“Am I so sleep deprived that I’m only seeing one bed or is there actually only one bed?” He asked.

“There’s only one bed.” You sighed, setting your suitcase down near the dresser and opening it. You started to gather your clothes for the night. “But you’re still sleep deprived, and I’m too tired to even attempt to get a room change, so this’ll have to do.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take the floor, but, for now, while you get ready,” He trailed off, flopping down on the bed with a small sigh of his own. “God damn, this is comfortable.”

With your pajamas in hand, you turned back to face the bed. Seeing your partner so exhausted and sprung out on the large bed, you felt your heart twist a little. “Sleep on the bed, then.”

“What?” Harrison mumbled, sitting up to look at you. “No, you take the bed. I’m a man of chivalry, I can’t let you sleep on the floor.”

“A man of chivalry. Is that what you call yourself when you sleep with all those women?” You questioned, sarcasm dripping in your tone. For a split second, he pouted, before it grew into a smirk.

“If gets the women into the bed, then yes.” He replied, cockily. You turned, making your way to the bathroom as you shook your head at his words. He hopped off the bed to follow after you, “Look, it’s big enough for both of us. Besides, I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you.”

“How lovely.” You rolled your eyes, and he shook his head.

“That’s,” He sighed as you shut the bathroom door, locking it to ensure privacy away from him. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. We can share the bed and sleep next to each other, nothing sexual about it.”

“Agent 007 not wanting to sexualize sharing a bed with a woman? That’s a surprise.” You scoffed through the door, beginning to change in the privacy of the spare room.

“You’re one to talk.” Harrison bit back, “You know we’re really not that different. We both sleep with the enemy.”

“Except you sleep with women for sport and you’re called a womanizer, whereas I sleep with men for strictly professional purposes and get called a whore.” Now changed into your comfortable clothes, you threw open the door, jaw clenched angrily at the double-standard that cursed your ‘profession’. Pushing past Harrison, you sarcastically remarked, “Sexism- isn’t it wonderful?”

“You’re not a whore.” He said, quietly, a new softness in his tone, making you look at him curiously. You could see the genuineness in his blue eyes, “You’re intimidating and, quite honestly, scare the shit out of me sometimes, but you’re not a whore. Anyone who calls you that obviously doesn’t realize they should be less concerned with how you handle your body and more concerned with how well you handle a gun. You use your assets like I do, like any spy would.” He paused, “You don’t like to be known as the maneater, but I don’t like to be known as a womanizer. For us being MI6’s top agents, neither of us are winning in the reputation department.”

You swallowed an uncertain lump in your throat, not sure how to respond to his unusual yet kind words. Turning away from him to put away your clothes, you replied, “Let’s just get some sleep.”

Harrison wordlessly entered the bathroom to get ready to sleep himself, and you quietly climbed into the bed. You laid on your side, facing away from the bathroom and the other side of the bed, keeping to one edge of the mattress. A few moments later, he emerged from the bathroom, turning off the bedroom light as he did so.

“Do you- do you mind if I sleep without a shirt?” He asked.

“I don’t care.” You answered quietly, despite the odd feeling in your gut at his question. Momentarily, you thought it could be leftover from last night, but as you heard him discard his shirt and climb into his side of the bed, you knew it was something much worse- butterflies.

You lay on your side of the bed, waiting for sleep to overcome you, but it seemed to be taking its dear time. Meanwhile, it only took a matter of moments for Harrison to fall asleep. Your poor partner passed out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and you were left to listen to his soft snoring, little noises that you hadn’t noticed while sharing a room with him in the past. Yet again, the past few nights, you two were plenty far from each other and tonight, well, there wasn’t much space, especially when you heard and felt him shift closer to you in his sleep. You just about put Harrison in a choke hold, feeling his arm sling around your waist, but as you flipped over to look at him, your fight reflexes dropped. He was still asleep and, god, he was a cuddler. You considered shoving him away or even just getting up and sleeping on the ground, but then he let out a soft murmur of incoherent words, light puffs escaping his lips. Finally feeling a sense of peace overcome you, you let yourself lean into his embrace.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the laptop ringing with an incoming call from M, or at least you recognized the ringtone as that; your arms were currently trapped under the tight cuddles of Harrison, who was still peacefully asleep. With how heavy of a sleeper he was, you were surprised no one had murdered him in his sleep yet, considering how annoyingly loud the laptop was.

“Wake up, Osterfield.” You grumbled, kicking your legs harshly against his. He mumbled something, tightening his grip around your arms and torso, pressing you further into his bare chest, before his eyes fluttered open. His arms dropped from around you immediately as he processed his position, cheeks flaring red a little in embarrassment of his cuddly nature. You shot up from the bed, grabbing the laptop from the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. You open it, answering the call without a second thought. The screen flashed to M in her office, and you bit back a groan at how obvious it was that you just rolled out of bed- it didn’t help that Harrison was in the background, getting out of the bed and tugging on a shirt. Talk about the professionalism between the two of you for not only stopping Venice for some sleep, but also sharing a damn bed.

“Sorry, was I interrupting your beauty sleep?” She questioned with no actual apology laced in her words as Harrison sat beside you on the couch.

“Good morning, M.” You greeted, professionally.

“I must say I was surprised to hear from Moneypenny about Monaco last night. How did Britain’s finest agents get drugged so easily?” While her question was directed at both of you, you couldn’t help, but feel like she meant it more towards you than your partner. You were meant to be the one calling the shots for this mission and you were the one that drank the suspicious champagne.

“It was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.” Harrison replied definitively. Sensing how you tensed beside him at M’s words, he placed a reassuring hand on your knee, hidden from the laptop’s view; he felt almost protective of you for your actions last night, and, having been so vulnerable yourself, you were hesitant to lean into the security.

“It damn well shouldn’t have happened in the first place.” She let out a small sigh, “I know your next target was intended to be Le Chiffre in Montenegro, but there has been a slight change of plans.”

“Are we no longer going to Montenegro?” You asked, trying your best to not sound hopeful about never going back there.

“You’ll still be going there, 006. Le Chiffre has decided to host a charity gala tonight; and, seeing as it’s currently 11 in the morning in Venice,” She spat out the city’s name in distaste as if to question why you two had stopped there for so unintentionally long, “You’ll be taking a private jet to Montenegro straight out of Venice’s airport. Leave the DB10 behind, Agent 003 will be there shortly to retrieve it.”

“How is this different than our prior mission of interrogating Le Chiffe?” Harrison voiced.

“I believe you’re familiar with this woman.” M stated, and a photograph of Pussy Galore appeared on the screen. Harrison dropped his hand from your knee as he recognized the blonde, “Pussy Galore has been identified as Goldfinger’s personal pilot, and she has been spotted in every location the sniper has struck in.”

“She’s the sniper?” You questioned. You already thought the woman was a joke just because of her name, but now, she was the bitch that shot you, and you weren’t about to let that go.

“We believe so. Q traced her to Montenegro this morning. Your new mission is to keep an eye on Le Chiffre and try to keep him alive- he could prove useful as an asset to take down Goldfinger or he could be the perfect bait to get the bullion smuggler.” She sent you a pointed look, catching how you clenched your jaw as a picture of the private banker flashed onto the screen, “As for Pussy Galore, bring her in alive. If she’s Goldfinger’s personal pilot and favorite sniper, she’s valuable to him.”

“Is that all?” You asked, and she shook her head.

“I need to speak with 007 alone.” She said, making you and Harrison look at each other in confusion. You nodded before getting up and leaving for the bathroom, deciding to get ready while they had their private discussion.

“M, the champagne wasn’t Y/N’s fault-” Harrison started, immediately believing that M’s private conversation was about your mistake from last night- that or she was going to strongly suggest Harrison take a leave of absence again.

“Last night happened, and I am not going to fret it any longer. I’m far more concerned with Montenegro.” She spoke, and Harrison’s face fell, giving it away to her that he knew already, “Agent 006 is my best agent, but by now, I assume you can tell she lets her emotions get to her. Four years ago, once she was healed, she went rogue for a few weeks. My only way of finding her and bringing her back to MI6 was a trail of dead bodies- all of which were connected to Le Chiffre.” Harrison gulped at the new information, his eyes flicking nervously to the bathroom door. Le Chiffre really did a number on you and you had the physical scar to prove it. “She will kill him at the first opportunity. You accused me of hiring her as your nanny for this mission, but now I need you to take care of her. Don’t let her kill Le Chiffre; he needs to be alive. Don’t let her kill Galore either. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” He nodded with a heavy head.

“And, for the love of God, no more champagne between the two of you.”

“Got it.” He nodded again, “When will Q be in Montenegro?”

“He had to finish a new prototype for 005, but he will be there tonight.” She explained. “Now, you two get to Venice airport as soon as possible; you have a gala to attend.”

Before Harrison could reply, M ended the call. Shutting off the laptop, he stood from the couch, already feeling anxious about tonight. The only reason he had a partner for this entire mission was his own mistake, and M didn’t trust him, but, now, it seemed like the tables had turned- M didn’t trust you in Montenegro. With each new piece of information, this was transforming into so much more than it was just days ago in London, and, without Q to crack the flash drive, all Harrison could do was keep you from killing the two people that could lead back to Goldfinger.

~~~

Let me know if the tags aren’t working or if you want to be tagged :)

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield one shot

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aroseandapen · 3 years

Text

{Don’t go asking to be a horror movie protagonist when you’re terrified of ghosts}

For the @badthingshappenbingo; prompt: caught in a storm

A sudden storm drives Kaito to seek shelter. Nothing unusual could ever happen in an abandoned house. Ghost AU.

Warnings: Past Suicide

Drizzle turned into downpour, with whipping winds throwing sheets of freezing water directly into his face. Kaito pulled the side of his jacket up as a shield, but it quickly soaked through. His eyes stung, bringing tears in defense of the painful wind.

He didn’t think he’d make it home like this.

Quickly he scanned the street, hoping for an overhang to huddle underneath until the worst of the storm passed. Miraculously, he saw a vacant house tucked between two others, the wind having blown the door open to flap against the elements like it was waving him in. Really, it would be rude of him not to take the invitation the gods offered up to him. Technically it might be trespassing, but what was the law of man against the powers that be.

He could hardly see anyway with how ferociously the wind kicked water up directly into his eyes. Surely no one would denounce him for popping into a house for shelter for an hour at most, especially when no one else was using it.

Squinting against the rain and wind, he jogged up the walkway, forcing the front door shut behind him and dragging the deadbolt into place so that the wind couldn’t blow it back open.

Immediate relief washed over him. The wood groaned and glass panes rattled under each gust that buffeted the side of the house, but it was safer and warmer compared to being outside. His clothes and hair dripped into the entryway. Too bad there probably weren’t any towels left in this vacant place; he could really use one right now.

The small entryway opened up into a large area, ornate stairs directly in front of him leading up to the next floor, double doors to the left and the right that were cracked open. A smaller door was tucked half out of sight by the stairs. He opened it, hoping that it was a closet that contained at least one bit of fabric he could use to dry off. Fortunately, it actually was a closet. Less fortunately, there was nothing inside.

Kaito sighed. Dammit. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed. He shrugged off his jacket and peeled off his shirt, hanging both over the handrail lining the stairs after wringing them out. His exposed chest left him shivering somewhat in the large drafty house, but it was better than dragging around soaking fabric that hung heavy over him the entire time. And while there was no hope of them drying before he left this place again, at least it might be a bit better by the time he had to put them back on.

He lingered by his hanging shirt and jacket for a moment to consider his next move. Nothing really to do now, he supposed, but to explore the house for a while, right?

First he swept the lower floor, peeking into wide rooms occupied by worn furniture--the odds and ends left behind by the final owner’s evacuation. A chair knocked over in one corner had spiders weaving their webs between the legs and the floor. The kitchen had a fold-up table leaning against the wall, but it’d been bent out of shape in such a way that Kaito wondered how the hell it’d stood on its side in the time since it’d been abandoned.

One room in particular was crammed wall to wall in junk, so that when he pushed the door, it would only open a couple inches before getting stuck. A storage room, evidently, but he couldn’t tell for what reason and why it’d been left behind. Unable to get in to sift through the stuff in the room, there was nothing of interest on the ground floor for him.

Kaito stepped back, hand on the door handle to close it. Just then the wind outside picked up, whistling through the tiny cracks in the house. The door slammed shut, no input from him.

He jumped back, heart rolling into his throat. A chill ran down his spine, hairs sticking up on the back of his neck. Probably just uneven air pressure from the wind, he figured, but that didn’t make it any less damn creepy. Like something lurking in the house didn’t want him in that room.

Which was dumb. Silly. Nothing--nobody--was in the house but Kaito. Maybe a homeless guy or two, although he hadn’t seen evidence that anyone had been in this place recently, but still nothing supernatural.

Yeah. He had goosebumps now for absolutely no reason.

And for no reason at all, he sped-walked down the hallway to return to the staircase. His skin prickled with his back to the door, but he refused to look back. As he lingered by his hanging clothes, he was suddenly reminded of the many scary movies that took place in an abandoned house in the middle of a storm.

Tree branches slapped against the side of the house, screeching along the glass window panes. He jumped.

“Dammit. Get yourself together, man,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Something about the sound of his own voice filling the void of the house made him feel a bit more secure. Enough so that he could finally take the next step, heading up the stairs to check out the top floor of the house.

He opened up the first room, and nearly slammed the door shut again in pure shock. It was a child’s room, practically untouched. Dust covered every inch of furniture--a small bed with the corners still tucked under the mattress, a desk, a tiny chest in the corner. He couldn’t imagine how it was still there, why it’d been left behind. His heart wrenched with dread. Nothing good could come from this room, left behind to be forgotten with the rest of the house empty.

Slowly, he closed the door. It didn’t feel right to wander into some kid’s room, even if it had been abandoned for however long. This adventure felt less fun by the room. He moved onto the next door down, dragging his feet heavily across the floor.

He opened the door, noticed two things: the room was almost a perfect mirror of the previous, and a torn racoon plush was slumped against the leg of the bed.

A face popped in front of his eyes.

Kaito screamed.

He pinwheeled his arms and scuttled back. His head slammed into the wall in his rush to escape. The face briefly retreated, then surged forward again.

“Wait, you--.”

A person, it was a fucking person speaking to him, transparent and floating inches above the ground. A ghost, right in front of him.

Kaito ducked and twisted his body. He dug his toes into the floor and sprinted down the hall for the stairs. Even without looking behind him, he could sense the ghost in hot pursuit. Outside the wind howled, rain pelting the house.

He’d take a full hurricane, plus an earthquake, before he dealt with a ghost.

“Don’t!” it called, voice thin and bouncing off the walls as if the sound, too, was chasing him.

Flying down the stairs, he full-body slammed into the front door so hard that he bounced off it. He staggered back, but he didn’t bother to right himself before he threw himself at it again. The knob turned easily and he yanked on it.

The door creaked and clattered in the frame, but did not open. Kaito choked on his heart.

“Fuck, no, come on, come on!”

He pushed and pulled, jerking the door to force it open. No matter what he did, though, it wouldn’t budge. Was it the storm? The ghostly figure whistling down the stairs after him now? Was he trapped in this abandoned house he’d recklessly taken shelter in?

“Fuck!” The door was no good. His eyes darted along the wall, searching for an alternate route. A screech that hurt his ears and teeth drew his attention over to where the branches outside scraped against the window. The window!

He made a mad dash for it, bulldozing ahead with all intentions of crashing out through it. A misstep, though, twisted his ankle and brought him tumbling to the floor. His head cracked against the floorboards and stars burst in his vision. He hissed in pain, the room spinning around him. Stunned, he could barely move when the half-there figure once again swam into view.

“A-are you ok? Oh no, please don’t be…” The face grimaced. His eyes darted around, looking for something. Then, as if realizing he could do nothing even if he found what he was looking for, regret filled the ghostly features. “Take it easy ok? Hang in there.”

Kaito blinked rapidly. His head throbbed with each bat of his lashes. “Gh…” He brought a hand to his forehead. “What the hell… are you?”

Hurt flooded his expression. “I’m…” Face pinched, he looked away and crossed his arms. Something was vaguely familiar about his appearance, especially when he posed like that. “I mean… you can tell, can’t you? That’s why you...”

That was why he ran.

“...you got hurt.”

“Wait, what?” Despite the ghost’s urgings for him to take it easy, Kaito forced himself to sit up. The ghost, as if startled, drew chillingly close to him, hands hovering over Kaito’s shoulder. When he flinched, the ghost withdrew. He blew out a relieved sigh. “Of course I got hurt. You were chasing me.”

“I wasn’t.” The ghost pouted. “You were just running…” His face twitched uncomfortably. “Ok I guess that is chasing, but… I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

“You locked me in!” Kaito protested with a burst of anger. He staggered to his feet. “You made the door jam shut, how the hell am I supposed to take that?!”

A flash of irritation twisted the ghost’s expression. “I didn’t! You’re the one who locked the door when you came in here!”

The faint memory of sliding the deadbolt to keep the door from blowing back open scratched the back of his mind. The angry fire in Kaito’s gut immediately extinguished. “Oh… right.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Who’re you supposed to be anyway? What do you want with me?”

“I’m Kurochi; I don’t want anything with you. You’re the one who came into my house. Or… the house I grew up in, I guess… So who are you?” Kurochi ended with a question, his tone defensive.

“Kaito. It’s raining outside and this place was abandoned, so…” He shrugged. For some reason he felt guilty, but he didn’t know why he should. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t expect the place to be literally haunted by some kid. “How old are you?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know, probably same age as you? It’s been… a long time.”

“So when did you...?” he blurted out the question, regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth. He was asking about an actual person’s death here; he wouldn’t be surprised if Kurochi grew furious because of it.

The ghost didn’t. His face did fall, however, eyes dropping to the floor. “I… died when I was twelve. So… I don’t know. It’s been years since then, though.”

“You don’t look twelve.” Even if Kurochi would have been the same age as him, if he died at such a young age he should have looked the part. Although Kurochi did have a young face, it wasn’t as if he looked like a child.

Kurochi only shrugged. “I don’t really know what I look like. Mirrors don’t exactly work when you’re…” He gestured toward his incorporeal body. “I have a twin brother, though. Maybe I look like he does now.”

Suddenly Kaito realized just why Kurochi had looked so familiar to him before. “Wait! I think I know… what’s your full name?”

“Oshi…” Kurochi started, then stopped. He looked physically pained before he shook his head and quickly changed the name he was about to give. “Ouma. That was my mother’s family name, that’s what… we wanted before…”

Kaito’s eyes bugged. The pieces fit too well to be a coincidence.

“Wait, was your brother named Kokichi?” Kaito could see his classmate in the ghost’s (transparent) features. It wasn’t exact, but the resemblance was enough to be uncanny.

He’d never seen quite a mixture of shock, hope, and horror in a person before like he saw in Kurochi’s face the moment the question left his lips. A tremor ran through Kurochi; he pulled in so close to Kaito that he could feel his own body heat being sapped from him by the chill of Kurochi’s form. Kaito backed up, unnerved and trying to get some space, but Kurochi only closed it again.

“Yes! You’ve seen him? Is he ok? He’s ok, right? He’s safe? Right?”

The anxious questions tumbled out in a rush. Kurochi seemed to shimmer, the anticipation practically leaking out of his body. Part of Kaito regretted saying anything, but that was overwritten by the overwhelming relief that he had some good news to tell.

“Yes. He’s ok. A little shit sometimes, but he’s good as far as I can tell.” Which probably wasn’t saying much; Kaito had the feeling that Kokichi hid a great deal beneath his wide grin and clowning behavior. It was blatant now, considering he’d never heard of a twin brother who’d died when he was twelve. “We’re classmates now.”

Kurochi melted to the floor, almost passing through it as he sunk in his deep relief. “He’s safe… he’s good, thank god…”

He held a hand over his chest, where his heart would be if he still had one.

“What I wouldn’t give to see him again…”

Well, that was a wish well within Kaito’s ability to grant. “Do you want to? I can bring him here for you.”

“No! No, no, no, don’t you dare!” Kurochi shrieked, making Kaito jump and fumble back.

The vehement reaction to the negative shocked Kaito. “What? Why not? You just said you wanted to see him, right?”

Tremors ran through Kurochi. He hunched his shoulders, tucking his chin down as if to hide himself from Kaito’s gaze. With a tiny, quick movement, he shook his head and said, “I… don’t want to put that burden on him. If he’s started to get over my death, I want it to stay that way. If you brought him here… I don’t think he even will move on.” His bottom lip trembled; Kurochi closed his eyes. “I can’t handle that. I already left him behind, I can’t… I can’t…”

Despite the innate fear he had of the ghost, the pathetic wobble of Kurochi’s voice pulled on Kaito’s heartstrings. He stepped forward, raising a hand as if to rest it comfortingly on his shoulder. Just before he made contact, he remembered that it wasn’t possible to touch him, and he quickly pulled his hand away. Trying and failing to touch Kurochi would probably only make the ghost feel worse. “Hey, it’s not your fault you died…”

Big watery eyes met his, but the tears never fell. “It is… I… I… when we were twelve, I just couldn’t…”

Shame forced Kurochi’s gaze back down and he trailed off without explaining. He didn’t need to, Kaito understood without him being explicit about it. Kaito swallowed hard.

“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry you felt that way. That the only way to escape whatever the hell you went through was… that. I know I just met you, and tried to run away from you and all, but… no kid deserves to feel that way. No one does,” he said, solemnity muting his tone.

Kurochi near-smiled at his heartfelt sympathy. It didn’t quite lift his expression, but there was something appreciative deep in those eyes. “Thanks. I just… wish I never put Kokichi through that though. I… ruined everything.”

No, that wasn’t his fault. Kaito didn’t know much about his--and by extension, Kokichi’s--childhood, but regardless, it wasn’t a twelve-year-old’s fault if he was so overwhelmed by the pain in his life that he killed himself. Boiling heat stirred in his chest, anger at the injustice rising on Kurochi’s behalf. He was just a child. He deserved so much better than life had given him back then--up until now, too, living as a ghost alone in this abandoned house, not a soul to talk to.

Kaito decided then: he would give him that. While he couldn’t fix the past, he could be that bond Kurochi needed to help him work through what happened to him. He couldn’t bring him back to life, but he could help Kurochi move on. Whatever ‘moving on’ meant for a ghost.

“You didn’t ruin shit--and I’ll show you, too! After this storm passes… I’ll be back tomorrow! And probably the day after that, or next week even! And the week after too!”

Kurochi stared, bemused. And yet--though perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part--Kaito thought he saw something hopeful sparking deep in those hollow eyes. “You’ll… but why?”

“To hang out with you, what else?”

Kurochi choked--or maybe he snorted--shaking his head hard. “No I get that, but… why?”

“Because…” Kaito planted his fists on his hips. “...everyone deserves at least someone at their side, right? And if you don’t want me telling Kokichi about you, I’ll just have to keep you company myself then!”

#kairochi #kaito momota #kurochi ouma #badthingshappenbingo #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #Drabble.#prompt: caught in a storm #ghost au #this one is gonna be a two parter baybee #with a different prompt in the next part tbh

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haberdashing · 3 years

Text

What A Tangled Web We Weave (16/?)

TMA AU diverging from canon at the end of episode 92. Jon is forced into an arranged marriage by Elias; Martin does what he can to help.

on AO3

As Martin looked up at Annabelle Cane, perched atop his ceiling in a position that seemed to defy gravity, he kept thinking that by all rights, that ceiling should be caving in. Surely it couldn’t hold a human’s full body mass without getting damaged in the process... but then again, Annabelle Cane wasn’t exactly human, was she?

Not that Martin was one to talk now, he supposed...

“Why are you here?” Martin blurted out.

Annabelle’s voice was cool and collected despite the situation. “Helping you prepare for your wedding day, of course.”

“My... my wedding day? That’s weeks away still, what-”

“Not anymore it isn’t. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Annabelle slid down a strand of spider silk until she was perched not on Martin’s ceiling but on the far corner of his bed, which didn’t actually make her presence any less disconcerting, especially since the closer vantage point just made it that much easier to see how her skull was literally filled with cobwebs.

“What d’you mean? That was the deal, that we’d get married in a month-”

“I am altering the deal.” Annabelle’s grin was just wide enough to send shivers down Martin’s spine.

“...pray you don’t alter it any further?” Martin’s response was soft, tentative almost, but he couldn’t help but finish the reference once it had been started.

Annabelle laughed at that. Martin had expected her laugh to be eerie, otherworldly, perhaps distorted and aching and wrong like Michael’s, but instead it was just... a laugh, a normal human-sounding laugh, loud and raucous. “Oh, I like you.”

Martin decided to keep his immediate thought that the feeling was very much not mutual to himself for the time being.

A moment passed before Annabelle spoke up again. “As I was saying, circumstances now require that things move a little faster than initially planned.”

“And you didn’t think to share this information with me until what it sounds like is the day of?”

Annabelle put her hands on her hips. “Perhaps I thought you’d do something unwise with the information if given more time to digest it.”

Martin mimicked Annabelle’s gesture, narrowing his eyes as he put his own hands on his hips. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do, then.”

“Perhaps.” Annabelle’s arms returned to her sides, and a hint of a smile appeared on her face.

“A-and Jon, everybody else, they-”

“Aren’t my priority.” Annabelle finished, her voice still surprisingly calm. “There’s a suit out in the hallway for you, if you want to try it on. Should fit better than that old thing in the back of your closet.”

“Not a high bar, that.” Martin retorted before he could think better of it.

“That old thing” had been Martin’s father’s, once upon a time, and it fit him horribly, really, much too short in the sleeves and too wide in the shoulders, but he’d kept it around all these years because he needed at least one nice outfit on hand and buying a new one had never been high on his list of priorities. Martin hadn’t really thought ahead far enough to think of what he’d be wearing to his wedding, but he was glad that it wouldn’t be his father’s old suit, at least.

The suit in the hallway, on the other hand... even before putting it on, Martin could tell that it was new, tailored better than anything he’d ever owned before, and when he brushed his hand against the fabric, it was soft and cool and just yielding enough.

(Martin tried to ignore the niggling voice in the back of his head that said that fine, soft fabric might well be spider’s silk.)

“I’m going in the bathroom to try this on, I assume you’ll manage without me for a solid two seconds so I can get a bit of privacy.” Annabelle opened her mouth, and Martin did his best to head off the impending protest by adding, “Or some semblance of privacy, anyway.”

Annabelle Cane closed her mouth, and Martin closed the bathroom door behind him.

The suit’s fit was as perfect as the fabric it was made out of; Martin was so accustomed to poorly-fitting clothing, to having to tuck some fabric in and do his best to stretch other bits out, that wearing something that actually fit without any alterations (on his end, at least; there did appear to be a few stray stitches, though what hands made them Martin didn’t know) came as a bit of a shock.

“This fits perfectly, how did you-”

And then Martin cut off his question, because he realized that there were only really two ways that Annabelle Cane could know his size that well.

First was her consulting Elias, because apparently they were close now--not that Elias had any business knowing Martin’s clothes size either, of course, but Elias seemed to have a way of just knowing that sort of thing, of knowing whatever might be useful to him in his own smarmy way. But the idea of Annabelle Cane and Elias Bouchard making conversation about getting Martin a suit was a mental picture Martin would much rather not have in his head, thanks.

But then the other option that came to mind was that she’d gotten Martin’s measurements a little more... directly. She evidently hadn’t had any trouble gaining access to his flat, after all (even though he’d made sure to lock the door, had grown very careful about that ever since the Prentiss incident), and while Annabelle herself doing such dirty work might be noticeable, might be enough to wake him up even in the middle of those deep sleeps he’d been having lately, her spiders...

No, that wasn’t a mental picture Martin much relished, either.

And asking Annabelle Cane how she’d gotten his measurements just meant that one of those two disconcerting possibilities would be confirmed, would be that much harder to push to the back of his mind.

“...nope, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Good.” Was that a hint of smugness Martin heard in Annabelle’s voice just now?

Martin opened the bathroom door. “So what now? What other ‘preparations’ are on your to-do list?”

“Mostly just making sure you arrive at the church still intact.” Annabelle Cane stood up and headed for the front door. “I’ll drive you there. Car’s waiting out front.”

Martin didn’t know how Annabelle Cane had gotten a car, whether she’d stolen it or borrowed it or somehow outright bought one from some unsuspecting salesperson who didn’t know they were dealing with an eldritch monstrosity in the flesh... but again, he figured he was probably better off not knowing.

“Fine. Whatever. Lead the way, I suppose.”

Annabelle’s car was black and clean and had tinted windows and no license plates, and Martin really wished he had it in him to be surprised.

As he entered the car, though he knew that Annabelle would be bringing him to the site of his wedding, Martin couldn’t help but think that it felt more like he was heading towards his own funeral.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #martin blackwood #web martin #web martin blackwood #personal #my writing

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