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curekibouka-writing · 1 year

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May I have a Rollo x reader scenario?👀👀 In which they are sorta debating, like Reader disagreeing with his views+his definition of justice(?)+both stating their own opinion and stuffs+sorta warm up to each other as the process goes on Btw, totally wouldn't mind for some angst in this if there's any u can think of fitting, that is

Thxx in advance🙏🙏 And take your time<(￣︶￣)/

Burn Your Way Out

**Major spoilers for Glorious Masquerade event**

A/N: When I realise I genuinely have trouble writing Rollo 💀 But thanks for the request, I wanted to write Rollo even though it's difficult (and probably not good) ;~;

“I apologise for having you involved in this,” Rollo settles near the Bell of Salvation, his back facing you, “But you will be safer here than with your companions. The flowers will not harm you and nor will I, so I’d appreciate it if you do not run off.”

You did, in fact, try to run off, only to fail because he captured you with a swift immobilising spell. Crimson flowers shot up to his wrist, glowing in the delicious magic they can suck from him, but he put you down without a flinch.

As he finishes instructing you to stay put, he places his handkerchief over his mouth and gazes far outside, into an abyss of fiery flowers. Waves and waves of screams devour the night’s silence. He sees, he hears, and his dead eyes come alive with an icy smile as all the red blazes in them.

“Are you satisfied?” you snap, “Destroying so many futures, crushing so many dreams.”

He stays silent for a moment. You know that he knows.

“Magic had shown me a dream too,” he stows away his handkerchief, “and destroyed a future too.” He straightens his back, “I will not let it happen again.”

“And you think it’s worth it? You think this is justice?”

“Of all people, of all creatures,” he turns his gaze to you, no more red in his eyes, only an ashen wistfulness left in its place, “I had thought you would understand. Magic is evil, all it brings upon us is calamity.”

“You are bringing a calamity upon this city, you—”

“It’s for the right cause. Magic is power, power that corrupts us, blinds us, power that we are not ready for. A world without it… a world like yours must be fairer, kinder.”

In a world like yours, he thinks, his brother would’ve lived.

“A world like mine? Aha… ahahahaha!” You burst out laughing, catching him by surprise, “So you’re blaming magic for unfairness? Have you seen the world? We are all corrupt from the start, we are blind from the get-go. Aren’t you the perfect example?”

You can almost see the anguish boil in his eyes, flaring dangerously like a monster in the dark as it reaches the brim. He pushes through flowers latching onto him to take a strong step at you, “I am not…!” His voice does not follow that momentum.

“You are caged. Caged in a cycle to prove your ‘justice’ to no one but yourself. So don’t expect me to understand. I’m not any kinder or any blinder without magic.”

“You—” Rollo looks at the city outside once again, and now the noises pound inside his chest like the tolls of the bell. He dislikes it, this awareness that he is making a mistake and despite all he still charges forward. It reminds him of innocence, of recklessness. It reminds him of childhood, of the time when he had seen his brother faltering, heard his brother panting, yet he did not stop him.

And perhaps you are right to some extent. How can he stop now? His wrongs not yet righted, his purpose not yet fulfilled. How can he face himself?

“I had to do something,” he clenches his sceptre, the slightest hint of uncertainty ripples in his eyes, “How else should I atone? How else do I set things right?”

How else can he be free?

“You can’t.” You state coldly, piercing through the tolls in his heart. “The past is past. It’s gone. It’s dead. You can’t fix anything of it no matter what you do. All this,” you charge right up to him, easily moving through the flowers reaching up to your calf, throwing a hand toward the fiery pit outside, “All this! Is pointless, selfish, stupid. You are covering up a mistake by making another, you can’t justify a lie with another.”

The voices shrieking “That’s not true, that’s not true!” in his head every day, voices that crush every attempt to waver his conviction, are somehow quieter when it’s you who speak. He can hear you over them.

He wants to take another step toward you. He wants to listen to you. Maybe you are not wrong, maybe you can free him.

He moves, but his feet are pinned in place, chained by fire crackling in whispers. They tell him it was his fault. They tell him this is his duty. They tell him he must fix it with his own two hands.

His eyes widen as if he is suddenly awake. A powerful blast peels you off the ground, throwing you away from him.

“My past cannot be gone. My past cannot be dead! You don’t understand what I must entrust my hopes to just to get by. You don’t understand after all.”

Flowers coil around his wrists, yanking his arms downward, and he doesn’t fight them.

You slowly get to your feet— he didn’t hurt you as he promised. You approach him again, he looks so, so small against the fiery crimson pulling him into their grasp.

He does not back away. He wordlessly regards you with his dark eyes, letting you come close enough to look into his eyes as well. What do you see in them this time?

With a loud snap, you grab the vines on his arms and rip them off. You take his palm and shove the now harmless flowers in it, “They are dead. You are alive. We are alive. Their path has reached an end and you’re not walking on it. Our paths are ours to pave and you have no right to it. Don’t entrust your hopes to what isn’t yours, you will never be free.”

Rollo considers your words hesitantly, falling to silence. And for the first time, you see no flame or ash in his dark eyes. You see rain. It’s a thing of sadness, of change, and of beauty.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst writing #twst x reader #rollo flamm #rollo flamme #twst rollo #glorious masquerade #rollo flamm x reader #rollo flamme x reader #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland writing #twst requests #twst masquerade #twst glorious masquerade

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bulkhummus · 1 year

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What I really enjoyed about this episode, despite it not being what we were all hoping for (and honestly, are we really surprised lmao) is the idea of Janet not getting what she wants. Even down to Jones being a nervous weasel standing behind her, still doing everything she's saying despite a mob on their doorstep.

I think there is potential for a really interesting narrative here of Janet never really being sure about something, and it driving her crazy. She has the supposed indescribable urge to explain, categorize, and make sense of anything in her immediate vicinity. She changes the words and definitions of things to her benefit in order for her to get the outcome she wants. What I love, is her not getting the satisfaction. Of never knowing undoubtedly with 100% certain the answer to something. There's just enough that doesn't add up. It reminds me of her explaining away station management, but she doesn't stop to question how the station has run without management for so long.

Josh Crayton is an interesting character for her to focus in on, because of what he can do. He can be anything, or anyone, at any given time. Right now, a lot of what Lubelle seems to be interested in is Dana's double, and doubles in general. It's what brought her to Night Vale in the first place. Now, I'm still on the fence of whether or not I want Carlos to save the town at all, quite frankly I don't even care that he hasn't done anything (because that keeps open a realm of opportunities about why even if I'd love for him to be mentioned or on the show) but right now it'd sure be interesting if he was working with Josh, Dana and Tamika. Josh can change his shape and his friends parent (the glow cloud (all hail) ) was murdered. Dana knows the town and how it works. Tamika has fought and protected the town and knows the value of knowledge. There is something there.

Carlos knew right from the start that Lubelle was coming and why. She announced it. He knows that the existence of doubles are real. He had lived with Cecil's for a decade. And if we are to assume that they had some kind of working relationship, after what Jones said about him in the diner, and what he said about Lubelle at the very beginning, she will not stop until she get what she wants. He knows this about her, and warned Cecil and the town. I have to think that if he got readily involved, Janet would have been keeping an eye on him no doubt. I have to think that him leaving and never coming back without explanation (assumably) is something that the University has never had an answer to. He is an open ended question for them, for her, for the town and for us as the listener. I am reminded of the line in 219 "Stay tuned next for the popular game show: “Who’s In My House?” where contestants try to understand strange voices and figures in the dark." After it is made known that Cecil is dealing with the frustrations of his town beginning to distrust his husband. Who exactly is living in his home? Who is the man he married really?

Carlos knows it must drive Lubelle insane. He knows the town not knowing things and his husband not knowing things, drives them insane. Right now, Carlos is taking advantage of an absence of knowledge, which is fun! And whether or not he ends up saving the day, the building suspense of him doing nothing is driving people crazy and really effective. Carlos is so completely off her radar, so thoroughly debunked and nonsensical to her, deemed a failure, that she's not even thinking about him actively being a threat to her being there.

Maybe he's looking at Tamika's ordinance of banning science in Night Vale as a saving grace. Maybe he doesn't want to be one anymore. Maybe he just wants to be Carlos. Maybe he left the university because he'd "gone soft and stopped caring" (episode 222) and was thrown into the exact role he was trying to escape from when he got to night vale. A scientist first, a person second.

I don't know if any of this makes sense, and I love Carlos and I'm angry that the show is not doing anything with the stakes they're raising but, I also can't help but sit and patiently wait. They waited ten years to give us some of Carlos' backstory. I can wait a little a longer to see what is to become of him.

I also can't wait to see the thing that breaks Janet. She can write off Cecil as a disturbed fool because it's a clear and concise answer that leaves little ambiguity. She can write off Carlos leaving and never coming back by deeming him a failure.

She's not interested in explaining anything.

She's interested in getting what she wants. She's interested in being right even if its by technicality. And what she seemingly wants is everything to be within her control. The idea of someone or something not doing what she expects might just be the thing to break her. I hope its Jones. I hope it's a Night Vale citizen. I hope its Carlos. Isn't it interesting that Josh is nowhere to be found, Dana's double story was conveniently forgotten (or genuinely, honestly) by Cecil on air, Tamika is banning science and Carlos hasn't been around from the beginning?

How do you beat someone who is in control? Isn't one way by making them think they still have all the power?

#this is my response to the episode #im just spitballing im just theorizing from thin air I think finknor need to make some bold choices and get a move on it #I do wish they'd've kidnapped cecil but #I wish it had been a voicemail episode #wtnv #welcome to night vale #wtnv spoilers #cecil palmer #carlos the scientist #janet lubelle #dr. Blake Jones #Dana Cardinal #Tamika Flynn #Josh Crayton #long post

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cartoonartistpng · 1 year

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Dadphiles!Silver Sheet

Technically Silver 2.0 since I wasn't happy with his old design. Now he's far more snazzy.

Silver's eyes glowing aren't a unique feature of this AU, by the way, it's just how I draw him.

This post will be updated as time goes on. New additions will be marked as (✨New!✨). Last update: (Mar 6, 2024)

-> Dadphiles AU Masterpost

-/-/-/-/-

🔹After receiving his dad’s crystal, young Silver was always on the lookout for something to help hide it, knowing the shard would be something a bandit would try to steal. He got into the habit of stuffing it in his chest fur.

🔹Eventually, Silver would find twine to wrap around the crystal and wear as a necklace. As Silver grew older, the twine got smaller. Pre-06, Silver couldn’t take the necklace off even if he wanted, as it could no longer fit over his head. Not without cutting it.

🔹While wearing the crystal, Silver is ignored by Iblis and its monsters for reasons unknown to him. This has led Silver to establish a sort of safe haven for other survivors. Silver’s clothes and cuffs are hand-made gifts from the survivors out of thanks. With Silver’s input, the designs are dedicated to his lost brothers, even with the limited resource options.

🔹 Silver has enhanced sight, mainly being able to see better at night than a normal hedgehog. This is a combination of evolution and his practice of working in darkness. However, his pupil does give off an iridescent glow.

🔹Due to his appearance (blue glow, near-white fur, crescent markings) and his preference for working in the darkness, the survivors of his haven call him “Moon Child”.

🔹Silver only trusts Blaze with the knowledge and, eventually, shares the protection of his father’s crystal.

🔹Like his brothers, Silver believes the three are blood-related. That Sonic is on the other side of the world--far from Iblis' destructive path and a place full of green and blue--and that Shadow is somewhere "made of metal". When his family disappeared, Silver grew determined to find them. Inspired by his speedy brother, he began traveling the world. Yet as the years passed and he found nothing but wastelands, doubt began to creep in. While he never completely gave up, Silver shifted priorities to building a safe haven, not unlike the one he was granted as a kid.

🔹 Also like his brothers, Silver does not remember what his dad looks like or even his name, beyond his eyes and voice. However, he believes this is for his father's safety, who obviously has a powerful ability others would hunt him for. Silver finds this theory perfectly normal.

🔹Silver cannot actually read or write fluently. He recognizes some words, having been taught by Blaze, but it was difficult to find free time between shifts to do so.

🔹Silver had noticed that Blaze was always very poised when standing, sitting, or moving. She explained the concept of “proper manners and etiquette” to him, which only confused him. Regardless, Blaze would often catch Silver trying to emulate her posture.

Post-06 Facts:

🔹(✨New!✨) Silver is far more forgiving of Mephiles' actions than his brothers, mostly because his definition of "wrong" is skewed from living in an apocalypse. His brothers end up having to explain a lot more to Silver than they initially beleived.

🔹Despite being the youngest of the trio, Silver is also the tallest. Coupled with his psychokinesis, it's easy to keep things out of his brothers' reach, much to their annoyance.

🔹Due to a lack of proper food in the future, Silver cannot handle any spices. Sonic is incredibly gutted to learn his brother doesn't like chili dogs.

🔹Silver has a bit of a hoarding problem in the beginning of his life with his brothers, still not used to so much being simply available. This leads to his brothers finding random piles of food and clothes stuffed in odd places around the house.

🔹(✨New!✨) Silver lives in the past with his brothers and cannot travel through time, like Canon!Silver can.

🔹(✨New!✨) Between the events at Soleanna and the loss of his brothers' crystals, Silver grows far more protective over his own crystal.

🔹(✨New!✨) Following Sonic Unleashed, Silver legally goes by Silver Prower, like his brothers.

(Old Ref Sheet)

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cloudcountry · 1 year

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trust

Genre/Tropes: Nightmare Comfort.

Summary: You have a nightmare and find comfort in Yuuken's arms.

Author's Comments: i am on a ROLL this week!! double update again!!! trying my best to feed the hungry hungry yuu stans, these two oneshots were for you (and me too tbh LMAO)

~~~~~

The first thing you see when you awaken is the mirror on the far wall. Nothing reflects in its dark depths, so you're uncertain why your eyes are drawn to it. The room is pitch black, and you attribute the absence of moonlight to the curtains you and Yuuken stitched up. Turning over, you find yourself facing his broad back. His side rises and falls rhythmically, and by the occasional snore, you can tell he’s still fast asleep. The soft glow of the blue fire from over by the armchair slightly illuminates a sleeping Grim, who’s sprawled out on his back and scratching his belly. A soft grunt that sounds like tuna escapes his mouth before he rolls over.

Briefly, you consider slipping out of bed and going outside, but there’s no telling what could be out there. In an unfamiliar world, you’re pretty sure it would be best to stick with what you know, and in this case, that thing would be Yuuken.

Reaching out across the bed, you grab onto the back of his shirt. He makes a soft grunting noise in his sleep as you pull yourself closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and burying your face into the fabric of his t-shirt. His body jolts, and you try to silence your breathing once you realize that he’s most definitely awake now. There’s a part of you that feels guilty for waking him up, but then-

He whispers your name softly and with so much care that you slam your eyes shut to stop the tears forming in your eyes from spilling over. Your heart lurches in your chest when he groans and turns over, throwing an arm around your waist as he rubs his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he mumbles, pressing a warm hand to your cheek and running his thumb over the skin, “Everything okay over there?”

“Had a nightmare.” you murmur, squeezing him tighter.

He sighs as if he knows exactly what you mean, and with the way Yuuken holds you tighter, you have a feeling he’s had a few nightmares himself.

“I’ve got you.” he says, as clear as the starry sky above as he pulls you closer to his chest.

You wonder how a boy who has no place in this world could make it feel so safe, but you suppose you don’t exactly belong here either. You both are two pieces of a separate jigsaw puzzle, tossed under the rickety old couch in Ramshackle’s living room. Nobody will notice your existence until they try to complete the choppy scenery of your world, only to find you and Yuuken missing. Maybe they’ll search for you, maybe they’ll give up, maybe the almost finished puzzle will lay incomplete on the table for months and years without any sign of the other two pieces. It’s scary, being in a different world, being here with a boy you never would have met otherwise, being sheltered in a building full of holes and ghosts, not knowing what became of your world. What if time passes differently? What if you get back and everyone you know is dead? What will you and Yuuken do if you two never get back? What will you two do if you will?

Will he try to find you? Will you try to find him? What if nobody else will ever make you feel as safe as he does?

What if you never get to tell him how you feel?

The thought scares you. You squeeze Yuuken tighter.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” he mumbles, gently rubbing your arm, “I’ll be here for you, you don’t have to worry. I know it's scary but we’ll find a way out of this.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” you choke out, and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat, “I…”

Yuuken waits patiently for you to speak, his eyes searching yours for the words you can’t seem to say.

“I get it.” he whispers with a smile, a rare sight but not an unwelcome one by any means, “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“No, that’s…I mean, if we make it back to our world…” you stumble, feeling like you’re about to pass out from just how scared you are, “Um, I don’t…want you to leave. Ever.”

You force the words out in a rush and thank the Great Seven that Yuuken just hums and rests his chin on your forehead. That’s a good sign, right? He didn’t jeer at you or embarrass you or flat-out reject you, so-

That must be good.

Relief crashes through your veins before you have a chance to stop it.

“Hey, don’t worry. When we make it back to our world, I’ll make sure we end up where we’re supposed to be.” he promises, linking his pinky with yours, “I promise.”

Where we’re supposed to be.

If that’s not your world, then what-?

“What do you mean?” you ask, hoping against all hope that he’s saying what you think he’s saying.

“I’ll make sure we stay together.” he says, as if it's been obvious this whole time that you two are meant for each other, “That is what you want, right?”

“Yes.” you say, smiling like a fool and it’s so embarrassing how happy you are about this but you can’t bring yourself to stop-

Great Seven, you want to jump out of bed and jump through the front lawn and throw yourself down into the grass and scream and yell and holler up at the night sky because Yuuken wants the two of you to stay together no matter what and you don’t have to worry about anything anymore because there is nothing you two can’t do together. It’s like all the paranoid questions have left your mind, it’s like they don’t even exist anymore because the person you trust more than anything promised that you two would never separate.

And you know what?

You believe him.

“Good.” he huffs, and it sounds like muffled laughter as he turns on his back, “I was a bit worried there.”

You can’t even imagine what he could have possibly been worried about, not when he’s the only person in this new world and the next one that you could ever trust this much.

“You should get back to sleep.” he murmurs, and your heart flutters at the barely visible smile on his face, “You’ll be tired tomorrow if you stay up too late.”

“Right.” you say back, feeling wide awake and far too excited to sleep, “I’ll do that. Goodnight, Yuuken. Thank you.”

You turn over on your side and try to shut your eyes, but you just end up staring at the mirror again. A few silent moments pass before the bed shifts, and an arm wraps around your waist, a protective shield against the nightmares that may come for you. A soft grunt of approval is the last thing you hear before Yuuken’s snores fill the room once again, and you drift off with a smile.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #enma yuuken #yuuken x reader #enma yuuken x reader #yuuken fluff #nightmare comfort that turned into a ditch idk #first time writing for him so idk if i did it right

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

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“Kinda Like a Lich, Man”

(Eddie Munson Fix-It Drabble/Imagine)

The upside-down is... weird

Not just in the aesthetic sense. In the sense that it’s fucking weird. Everything moves. Everything breathes. The trees are meaty and the dust in the air looks suspiciously like spores

It’s all living, all connected. But, more importantly, everything is reused.

Everything.

So really it’s no wonder when Eddie Munson sits up in a cluster of fleshy black vines with a wheeze that he feels like awful, upcycled garbage.

Because the upside-down in weird. Nobody claims it’s pleasant

His hands go to his torso, first thing, feeling the frayed edges of shirt... and gooey, writhing, not-quite-flesh squirming around. Oily black pseudo abdominal muscles, where his belly used to be.

Patches of the same stuff are on his body like creeping vines: up his ribs, on the back of his neck

All the places the demobats stole flesh.

Huh, is his first thought. I’m pretty sure I should be dead.

He probably should.

But nothing goes to waste. And the animalistic, hungry hive-mind of this dimension clearly hated to see a perfectly good nervous system just decay without being utilized

When Eddie stands he feels it. feels it in the trees across the street, feels the ground expand and contract under him like lungs. He can vaguely tell there are demobats nearby. A demodog a mile off.

He... walks. Numbly. You’d be shell-shocked too if you sat up in a nest of sentient vines after getting eaten to death. The dude just Goes.

He peeks over at his trailer park and finds it fucking swarming with people in white protective suits waving wands around, carrying lights, and he pales and runs in the opposite direction. FUCK that.

Eddie’s at Hawkins High. Upside-down Hawkins High, and it’s all so fucking quiet and eerie and he’s alone and has no idea how long he’s even been gone for

He wonders if there is anything edible in the vending machines. He realizes right after that’s he’s not really... hungry. Or thirsty. Or tired, really.

But he does look really sick, in the trophy glass reflection. And not in a cool way either

All pale and veiny and dark-eyed, hair lank and nails bruised

Like he’s not really alive at all

Closer to a lich than anything. Huh. uh oh

Eddie’s having a this is fucked moment panicking on the bleachers in the gym, watching the swaths of sparkling lights and hearing the echoes of what he now realizes is a rescue center on the other side of reality

He can’t call Steve. Or Wheeler. Henderson thinks he’s fucking dead. The gates are swarmed with government big-wigs.

Eddie really, really wants help. Eddie is very fucking scared.

And the stuff on his body is growing. Pulsing, slow like a heart, and it’s not racing across him or anything but that vine was definitely a little smaller an hour ago

Now Eddie extra wants help and he��s muttering and pacing in the empty gym, thinking about who could he go to?? Who is the smartest, most perceptive, most quick-to-understand individual who stands an actual chance of seeing him???

Oh. Of course.

Eddie goes to Erica Sinclair’s house.

He walks. The weird sentient vines serving as his muscle groups don’t like the grinding bike gears.

He can hear the commotion even from another dimension. There are rifts everywhere. Poor Eddie has to dodge and weave like crazy, VERY stressful

And that’s not even accounting for the fact that sometimes his DemoParts will act of their own accord. spasming and shit

And the Sinclair house is is TURMOIL because of the earthquakes. And, you know, the Max thing. Yeah that’s rough for Eddie to hear about through upside-down whispers

But Erica’s in her room. Reading. You know, really burying herself in fiction right now because phewwwww she’s been thru a LOT.

Her nightlight glows. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

And it takes her a minute. At first it chills her. And then she remembers exactly who contacted her in that same way, all those days ago

Then Erica is SCRAMBLING off her bed and looking for Lucas, stealing his radio when she learns he’s out at the hospital.

“Hello, come in geek squad. Geek squad, do you read. This is a level one emergency.” (glances back at her buzzing night light) “You know how Dustin said his friend was dead? Yeah, well. You might want to actually make sure the body is still there. Because I’m pretty sure Eddie Munson is in my bedroom.”

#eddie munson #stranger things imagine #stranger things s4 #stranger things spoilers #my writing #fix it

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arealphrooblem · 10 months

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A Favor for a Favor Part 4

Part One Here

CW for the fic overall: kissing/fade to black off screen sex, mentions of non-consensual drugging, non-graphic wound care, off screen murder mention

Synopsis:

When Roxanne -- Agent name Rocket -- is back-stabbed by a friend and given a serum that drains her of her powers and leaves her helpless, she has no choice but to turn to the one person she can't trust: Her nemesis -- a politician and king of the underworld. With her powerless and in the palm of his hand, what he decides to do with her is greatly influenced by their chance meeting as teenagers that neither of them have been able to forget.

The Present

When Roxanne’s hands started to resemble her grandmother’s, she reluctantly crawled out of the tub and into the soft clothes left for her -- sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. Both felt buttery, sinfully soft against her skin. She used the brush by the sink and combed her wet hair into a single braid before stepping out.

The combination of the hot bath and the pain killers made her sleepy and relaxed. She hurt still, but it was a distant echo of the pain she had earlier. Roxanne could think again, beyond the blind panic and excruciating pain.

And that was a problem because the last thing she wanted to do right now was think about all the implications of what happened to her.

John waited for her in the living room, reading on one of the arm chairs. Dressed out of his suit and in soft pants and a henley (they almost matched), he looked so painfully domestic, so terribly innocent.

Her traitorous heart squeezed in her chest, as it did so many times when she watched him through the camera lens. He breezed through her work many times after he won the mayor race and then, more recently, the senate race.

And every time the sight of him ignited a blistering cocktail of rage at what he allowed himself to become: this master manipulator who lied as often as he breathed, putting on a wholesome face when he ran the criminal underground, and a persistent longing that she couldn’t shake off. Like deep down she still thought she could save him.

Which was stupid and unhealthy but it wouldn’t leave her.

Looking at him now, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp beside him, reading the exact kind of cheesy sci-fi book her father had in his library, she couldn’t shake the feeling that underneath the darkness he cultivated to survive was someone good, someone worthy of care.

He jerked his gaze up from his book.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had drowned,” he said idly.

If he heard her thoughts about him, he didn’t show it.

“That would solve a lot of problems for you if I did.”

“Yes, having the dead body of an Agency Hero in my bathtub definitely solves problems for me. Come here.”

He opened the first aid kit and took out gauze, medical tape, antibiotic cream and bandages. Roxanne found herself stepping forward to obey without even thinking of it. A thread of unease wound through her. Had he expanded his powers to actual mind control?

“I can only powerfully suggest what you think you want to do anyway,” he said.

“It’s so fucking creepy when you do that,” she complained as she settled next to him.

“My apologies,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s hard to stay out after being blocked for so long.”

“I can’t even feel you in there anymore.”

“That’s the goal.”

He took her left hand in his and dabbed Neosporin on it with a Q-tip, his touch still impossibly gentle. The intimacy of it made her squirm, stomach twisting.. She could almost believe in this moment that he might have some humanity still left in him.

It was a dangerous, stupid thought.

“What's going to happen to me,” she asked softly, “now that you’ve got me right where you want me?”

He placed a bandage on top of her knuckles and began wrapping the gauze tape around it.

“ . . .This is not where I want you.”

She snorted. “Really? Me powerless and vulnerable and at your total mercy is not what you’ve dreamed of for years?”

He said nothing for a long moment, focusing on securing the bandage tight and taping it down before moving onto the next hand.

“If I told you where I actually wanted you, it might scare you away,” he murmured finally.

“Please tell me this penthouse apartment doesn’t come with a torture dungeon,” she joked, hoping to God it was just a joke.

“I keep my torture dungeons at the docks in old warehouses.”

“We’re not going to make a surprise return trip are we?”

Pointed silence followed her question as he put intense focus on wrapping her other hand. He was messing with her, right? He had to be. Why the bath, the tender medical care, why take her home if he only intended to hurt her later?

His fingers slid gently into her hair, turning her head to the left as he searched for the cut above her ear.

“If you’re so worried about what I might do to you, why did you come to me?”

Roxanne swallowed, her gaze darting away.

“You’re a mind reader,” she said, stiffening. “You should know the answer.”

“I want to hear you say it out loud.”

She hissed as his fingers brushed over the cut in her hair. He leaned forward, lifting her hair to get a closer look. The woodsy, spicy scent of his cologne, which probably cost more per ounce than her electric bill, danced just under her nose. She could turn her head and kiss him.

“I didn’t have anyone else I could trust,” she whispered.

He chuckled, a low rumble. “Since when do you trust me?”

“I didn’t because you were an enemy of the Agency. But now I can’t trust the Agency.”

“And,” he prompted.

“And . . .I thought I would be safe with you.”

Admitting it felt like handing him a knife and offering her throat. The possibility that he would hurt her had always occurred to her. And logically, that’s what she expected. But something in her gut told her that he wouldn’t and it went against all reason.

He dabbed more Neosporin on his finger and pressed it gently over the cut.

“I was safe with you, all those years ago. You will be safe with me now.”

She believed him.

The spare bedroom sat tucked away behind the library. Roxanne glanced around just enough to note the dark jewel tone colors of the decor before collapsing into the bed and passing out.

She didn’t stir for fourteen hours. When she did finally rise, she felt like a zombie digging out of their own grave. Everything hurt. Everything.

“Finally. I was about to do the spoon test.”

John appeared in the doorway. The smell of something divine wafted from the open door.

“Is that . . .coffee?” she croaked.

“It could be. You should get up and find out.”

She did so with a groan, hobbling out through the study and into the kitchen like someone’s grandma. The weight of his gaze followed her long before his footsteps. The kitchen had a bar with tall swivel chairs that she slowly clambered into.

“Take these first,” he said, pushing the bottle of Ibuprofen and a glass of water over to her. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Right now I like that it exists,” she said.

“Excellent. You can have as much as you want -- after you tell me everything that happened last night.”

“Are you seriously bribing me with coffee?”

“No. I’m holding the coffee hostage until I get information.”

He took a long, pointed sip from his own mug. Her mouth fell open.

“You’re diabolical,” she hissed.

“And you’re stalling.”

“Is this another power trip just to hear me say what you could read for yourself?”

He pinned her down with a stare that made her feel like sitting in the principal’s office.

“You refuse to think about it and I find it tedious to sift through the myriad random thoughts that run through your mind just to find answers you should be giving me yourself. Now quit being childish and tell me everything.”

It spilled from her in spurts and false starts. It was humiliating to admit how blindly she had trusted Erik, a fellow agent and friend, when he asked to meet with her that evening long after everyone else had gone home. She didn’t even think to question him when he took her into the service elevator -- the one with no cameras.

Hell, her first thought when he plunged the syringe into her wasn’t even betrayal. It could have been a vaccine to something from a powered villain. It wasn’t until she felt a strange, heavy exhaustion flood her limbs that something felt wrong. When the elevator doors opened to the basement, she tried to blur away and fell to her knees instead.

“Did he attack you?” John asked, voice slow and deadly.

“I attacked him first. I thought he was some kind of shape shifter, targeting heroes one on one. Even then I didn’t think it was -- him.”

“And then he hurt you.”

“ . . yeah.”

She swallowed, eyes burning. It was made painfully clear just how much she depended on her powers to fight when he beat her soundly and in seconds -- head thrown against the wall, kicked in the ribs, kneed in the mouth and nose.

“He left me there and walked out like nothing happened.”

To her horror, tears slipped out the corners of her eyes. She pressed the hells of her hands against them, as if she could stem them from that alone.

“I know you think I’m naive and stupid,” she said shakily. “But I don’t understand why.”

He pulled her hands gently away from her face. “You are naive, but you’re not stupid. You worked with him for years, you had no reason not to trust him. Tell me, what is his Agent name?”

“Why? Do you want to send him a thank you card?”

“No. I want to kill him.”

The look in his eyes was downright terrifying. She had only seen John’s public face, the one that won him so many elections. The winsome, handsome, boyish smile with perfect white teeth. This reminded her of the John she first met, half feral and ready to stab anyone in the face.

Of course, he only got his wealth and his elections from his power. If he lost that, well . . . .He’d be worse off than her. No wonder he looked so pissed.

“Shadow.”

John’s mouth thinned into a tight, grim line. Erik patrolled at night due to his ability to travel through darkness. Undoubtable they had run ins before. Roxanne wasn’t the only one on the quest to dismantle John’s unground organizations.

“Did he say anything to you before he left?”

The memory was hazy from pain, but she thought hard.

“Something like . . .that I wasn’t cut out for this work. That he was doing me a favor.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know if he was working alone or if it was really even him or if the Agency told him to do it. I don’t know anything and I don't know how to find out without telling the whole freaking world that I’m a sitting duck!”

Her voice started cracking at the end and she bit the inside of her cheek hard to stop herself from breaking down. John waited her out quietly, his expression hard as stone.

“Can I have my coffee now?” she asked after a few minutes, throat tight.

His eyes softened into something that looked dangerously like pity.

“Yes.”

Part five here

#hero x villain #enemies to lovers #my writing #writeblr #a favor for a favor #dark villain

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nothing-but-love-for-all-you · 1 year

Text

Miraak's Appearance - Headcanons

I’ve seen previous headcanons about Miraak’s appearance shifting with the time he spends in Apocrypha, and I adore them! So, I wanted to share some of my thoughts (I say “some”. Fair warning: this ended up being a bit long).

TW: slight body horror

Before Apocrypha:

As a Nord, he has some of their ‘stereotypical’ features - the fair-skin, the golden-blond hair, but piercing dark eyes as opposed to blue ones. Tall, broad-shouldered, and muscly without being bulky (after all, he had people beneath him to do any heavy-lifting).

As a Dragon Priest, he was a man with power, wealth, and influence. He likely had access to the finest beauty products of his time, and was no stranger to being pampered. This was a man who knew what a skincare routine was, especially when he notices how his appearance impacts his followers. The more beautiful he is, the more people flock to him, and the more they find him persuasive, listen to him, and do what he wants.

In-game, he’s clearly a very proud (even arrogant) - this would definitely extend to his looks. He took pride in his appearance. I think he would be particularly proud of his hair, a common source of pride amongst Nords, and spent hours ensuring the golden-blond colour really lived up to its name. He was well aware of how good he looked, and the impact his looks had on those around him.

So what happens when that gets taken away from him? And - what’s worse - he has no control over it whatsoever?

In Apocrypha:

Miraak is stuck in the place where Hermaeus Mora’s power is at its most concentrated. In that time, we can assume his appearance became more… ‘Mora-esque’. (After all, he’s essentially part of the furniture by the time the Last Dragonborn shows up.)

When his appearance first begins to change, it starts off slow. His golden hair begins to darken. His fair skin begins to pale even further, and when he looks in Apocrypha’s murky waters, he swears for a split-second his eyes glow. But he’s just imagining things, right? He’s the Dragonborn - such things can’t happen to him.

It’s when his hair, now inky black, thickens into strands which move without him touching them, when the whites of his eyes begin to disappear, when his skin tightens and becomes a ghostly, that he begins to panic. Luckily, he’s in Apocrypha - the largest library in existence. There must be some information somewhere in here that can tell him what’s happening right? Something that can stop these changes? That can reverse them? There must be.

When his hair is a mass of writhing tentacles, when his eyes glow a sickly green with split pupils, when his skin is as sallow a corpse, so pale he could see every individual vein, so tight it pulls his lips back into a thin line, creating a permanent ugly snarl, when his back becomes permanently bent from hours spent pouring over books, he accepts what he has become. Well, ‘accept’ is not the right word - he could never accept his new appearance. A Dragonborn, THE Dragonborn, the most powerful Dragon Priest in existence, who defied the Dragons themselves, now looks like this? Like the unholy abomination of a Lurker shagging a Seeker? Oh no. No. This will not do. It can’t.

This can’t be happening. This cannot be true. This can’t be him. This is not him.

He used to have cultists spend hours combing his hair. Now, he can’t bear to touch it. He used to run his fingers through it, admiring its softness (and himself of course). If he touched it now, it might touch him back. The thought makes him shudder.

This is when he stops removing his helmet. He no longer sees a reason to. He neither eats, nor sleeps. He can converse with the mask on, though he shudders at how his hair writhes against it. At times, he feels suffocated. Like he’s drowning.

He stops combing Apocrypha for solutions.

And if he did remove his mask? If he was to glance at his reflection (for he could never bear more than a glance)? That thing staring back at him… That’s not him. That can’t be him.

He tells himself this is only temporary. He won’t look like this forever, because he won’t be trapped in Apocrypha forever! He’ll break out - of course he will! He’s the First Dragonborn (a thought that no longer fills him with the confidence it used to). He’ll find a tome, a solution, something, and he will break free. Then, he can resume his rightful place as Dragonborn, and everything will be as it should.

After Apocrypha:

Except it isn’t.

He never regains his golden mane.

His eyes never lose their eerie glow.

His skin remains sallow, sickly.

And his body? Millennia of no food, no water, no sleep - the second he leaves Apocrypha it all hits him like a giant’s club. He is as close to death he could possibly be without dying. His body is so frail, so fragile, so thin, he cannot even stand on his own. Each breath causes his chest to physically ache, he feels each rib groan in pain with every inhale. He has to rely on that damned Last Dragonborn, his so-called Saviour, to help him even stand. White-hot pain rockets through his body. He screams through gritted teeth, knees buckling beneath him. He blacks out before he even hits the ground.

If he is to regain his strength, to regain his appearance, to be any semblance of the man he once was, the man he sees in his mind’s eye, then he has a long journey ahead of him. But he’ll make it. He has to, right? Right?

It takes months - maybe even years - but eventually… Eventually, the tentacles recede into hair, but it remains black, and streaked with white near his temples (man’s stressed af). Eventually, the whites of his eyes return, his dual pupils merge together once more, but an electric green ring remains around his iris. His skin is no longer deathly pale, no longer so tight it pulls his lips back, but it never regains a healthy appearance, nor its softness.

Miraak is not the man he once was, and perhaps he never will be. So, needless to say, the mask stays on. He’s no fool. He knows what would happen if people saw what he looked like. Saw this monstrosity, this perversion, this wretch he has become. He has to hide his appearance. No one can know how he truly looks, not even himself.

#skyrim #skyrim headcanon #the elder scrolls skyrim #miraak #miraak headcanon

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chaldeanu · 27 days

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It’s been months since your disappearance from your hometown, gone without a trace nor a hint as to where you’d ran off to but you knew, of course you knew. Deep in the mountains behind your hometown, tucked among pine trees and rocky terrain stood a castle in all its dark brilliance, gothic and dated architecture that caused those who gazed upon it to shudder in a cold flush, eager to wander away back to the safety of the town.

Growing up, vampires had been nought but a folklore story intended to scare the children - at least that’s what you had believed until you met him. Dark violet hair that holds its waves, framing that porcelain face so handsomely. You could compare the structure of your partner’s face to those of the marble structures littered around the castle, polished and cared for frequently by the man.

Now you know that vampires are anything but a folklore story and they most definitely don’t scare you when his cold hands trail up your bare sides, cupping your breasts and tenderly kneading them as you sit perched on his lap, your skin glowing a warm orange in the light of burning fireplace before you. There’s a small whimper that falls from your lips as Veritas’ lips graze over your neck, his fangs dragging over the unmarked skin in temptation.

Red eyes flicker up to your face in amusement at your reaction, hot breath fanning onto your skin and causing goosebumps to raise as he chuckles deeply. His hands roam back down to your sides, sitting on your hips once again.

“Why did you stop?” You pout, blinking down at him in confusion as he leans back on the plush red sofa, his muscles flexing as he adjusts so his erection presses just right against your clothed heat - this bastard.

“I didn’t consider whether you’d want to be bitten in my contingencies,” he chimes, his voice low as his eyes feast on the sight of you topless on his lap, shivering despite the heat of the crackling fire, “is that something you’d like to indulge in, princess?”

Princess, your newest petname since you’d finally settled into the castle with him. He thought it was fitting, regardless of whether he was ever genuine royalty at any point in his sorry lifetime but little did he know, to you… to you, he would always be your king and you were quite happily always willing to be his princess in hopes that one day, he’d promote you to the title of queen instead.

Your nerves settle in at the prospect of him biting you, tasting the sweet nectar that runs in your veins; your blood, your lifeline, the thing you knew he couldn’t live without and yet he resisted against you every time. Would it hurt? You presume that Veritas is an intelligent enough man to know not to tease a bite during such an intimate moment if he knew it would hurt you.

Embarrassedly, you nod your head, determined that Veritas would take care of you, “yes, please Veritas.”

His eyes glow in the amber of the fire as he sits forward again, the pads of his fingers digging into the plump flesh of your hips as he presses his toned chest against your breasts with a taut smirk. Veritas’ lips ghost against your neck again, pressing tender kisses that contrast the sharp sting of his fangs the moment he presses them hard enough to puncture your skin.

There’s a brief moment of pain before it washes over and the feeling of Veritas drinking at your neck sends tingles down your spine, aching in your cunt as you let out a soft moan. He groans in response, pulling away to lick his lips before he switches the side of your neck and bites again, nails pressing into your skin to keep you still on his lap.

He knows his limits and you can only assume that he’s had enough experience around mortals to know your limits too, so why not indulge? Your nails claw at his back through the white dress shirt that clung to his muscular body, a hand shifting up to weave your fingers into those dark purple locks, tugging helplessly as you roll your hips forward on his forgotten hardness, situated in such a perfect position it makes him lose his momentum for a moment.

Veritas doesn’t expect you to be so turned on by the experience and yet it’s a pleasant surprise on this dull winter night, his tongue lapping at the blood that drips down your collarbone as you grind pathetically on his clothed cock, a grin slithering onto that chiseled face as he whispers “that’s my girl” into the crook of your neck, bucking his hips up into your heat just to hear you squeal and pant for more.

- 🪭

shshdhdhdjii wha whaait wait vampire au??? sitting on his lap??? like… right away? 😳 i passed out after reading this. i had to take a nap after work… but!!! thank you thank you thank you

i wouldn’t say that calling me a princess is effective, but… twirling hair around my fingers, well, it is effective now. and the biting… uhh, i— *acting like it doesn’t affect me at all, reading about such things* ଘ(*. .)

he’s such a tease, i’m literally shaking, my heart would not survive this situation… but you’re a tease too, nonnie! ending it just when it’s about to get interesting… swooning at the thought of him calling me his girl whahttttt the hell i’m so nervous rn…

oh to disappear without a trace and join a mysterious and handsome vampire in an eternal life :((

my brain is a mush, i don’t know how to thank you, nonnie ;;; i will read this again before sleep hoping he will haunt me in my dreams :(

#anons ノ #anon ノ 🪭#thirsts ノ #recs ノ

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sl-ut · 1 year

Text

detka

quick note: the last instalment to this series is one of the worst things i’ve ever written and i hate that i went ahead and published it anyways so we are just all gonna forget that it ever happened, kay? that’s all.

pairing: au!baker!wanda maximoff x fem!reader

description: it’s been a summer of bliss, but all good things come to an end. wanda fears that it’s over for her and y/n, while y/n is determined to make it work.

warnings: SMUT, strap-on use, spitting kink, mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism, legal alcohol consumption, legal age gap (reader is early 20s, wanda is late 30s), talk of breaking up, mention of PH, fluff

words: 2.2K

date posted: 04/12/22

series masterlist

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“I can’t believe that it’s August already.”

Y/n hummed quietly, head lulled back against the smooth tiling behind her as a jet worked to relieve her of the knot that had grown in her back. One of the many perks of dating Wanda is that she was at a point in her life where she could afford to have nicer things, and that she had not spared much expense on the large bathtub in her ensuite. The room was mostly dim, the modest chandelier having been set to the lowest brightness in favour of the flickering glow of several eucalyptus scented candles.

Opposite her, Wanda watched in fondness as the girl visibly relaxed into the steaming water. Her eyes traced the shadows of her face, down the slope of her neck and shoulders, and over the small amount of her chest that was visible over the mountain of sweet smelling bubbles. She disguised the curve of her lips by taking a long sip of her zinfandel as her other hand settled beneath the water, fingers curling around the ankle of her lover as it rested next to her and massaged circled into the flesh with her thumb.

“It’s my favourite month,” Y/n murmured, “Warm days, cooler nights. Perfect for a day at the beach and a campfire after dark. Not to mention that I get to have you all to myself for the next thirty days.”

“Is that so?” Wanda chuckled at her, “I will admit, it’s weird not having the boys around for so long, but there are definitely many benefits of them going to summer camp. Maybe I’ll have to start sending them away for a week or so once every couple of months.”

Y/n peeked her eyes open, a small smirk crawling onto her own lips when she caught Wanda’s stare, “Isn’t that the point of school?”

Wanda shrugged, “Some days six hours just isn’t enough. Or maybe, we should go away once every few months, a little vacation?”

“There is nothing I’d like more. Maybe on my breaks?”

Wanda’s smile fell. She found certain moments where she would forget that her time with Y/n was not infinite. A few weeks from now, Y/n would be leaving to return to university, and though it was only an hour or so away, Wanda worried that their short-lived relationship might not do so well under the imminent stress of long-distance.

“Hey,” Y/n squeezed her ankle gently under the water, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Wanda took another drink, “Just thinking.”

“About?”

She shrugged, “Just that… It’s going to be strange with you so far away.”

Y/n smiled gently, “Wanda, I’m not leaving the country, I’ll be an hour away, tops. Plus, I’ll be back every couple of weekends, and it’s not like I’m in a dorm anymore so you’re more than welcome to come stay for a few nights, if you’d like.”

“I know, but I know what it’s like to be in college. You’ll be out at bars, and parties, and there will be girls wanting to experiment or whatever–hell that’s what I did in college. But they’ll be your age, girls that you can bring out with you without being looked at and–”

“Wanda, if I was looking for meaningless hookups or someone to drag me around at parties, I would go find them. I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you before you get that into your pretty little head.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes, I do. Besides, what college chick can offer me this? Best I could get there is a freezing shower in the communal bathrooms. Here, I’ve got bubbles…” She lifted her own glass to her lips and downed the remaining liquid, “Wine… My favourite friendly neighbourhood MILF…”

Wanda pinched her foot beneath the bubbles, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Y/n erupted with giggles, “What? You’ve seen my search history, you know that I like that about you as much as you like me being your little sugar baby.”

“Sugar baby?” The redhead raised a brow, “I wasn’t aware that that’s what this was. So now I know, you just like me for my bathtub, my booze, and the fact that I match your favourite search on PornHub.”

“The bathtub is a luxury, and you’re incredibly sexy. The booze, well you have an excellent taste in wine, I’ll admit.” She tapped her empty glass.

“I’m glad you like it.” Wanda mused, “Would you like a refill, then?”

Y/n tilted her head in consideration before she placed it back down on the side of the tub, “No thank you.” She pushed forward, grinning mischievously as she slid her way across the tub and settled in her lover’s lap, grasping the glass out of her hand and taking one long drink from it, “I’ll just share yours.”

Wanda smiled up at her, fingers finding solace in the plush flesh of her hips as she was finally able to admire her up-close, even if she had blatantly stolen her drink. Her fingers kneaded the slick skin, sliding up to grip her waist, then back down to her hips as Y/n settled down into her embrace. She set the glass aside, looping her arms around Wanda’s neck so that she could comfortably rest their foreheads together and bump noses. She moved forward, hoping to catch her lips with her own, though Wanda moved back suddenly, a sly smirk on her lips. Y/n pursed her own lips, lurching forward again to no avail.

“You admit to using me for all of my… luxuries, steal my drink, and expect to get your own way?” Wanda scoffed, reaching up to grasp her face and smirking as her lips puckered under the force, “You call yourself my sugar baby, maybe I should start treating you like one, heh?”

Y/n shifted, wiggling her hips enthusiastically.

“Would you like that, detka? I think you would.” Wanda removed her hand from Y/n’s hip, sliding it along the slick flesh to rest on her rib cage, watching as her chest rose and fell quicker under her touch. “Would you like a kiss?”

“Mhmm,” Y/n mumbled, unable to form words under Wanda’s grasp.

Wanda grinned, fingers finally cupping her breast as she leaned forward to press a kiss to the swell of it, biting on the bulge of flesh gently before tracing her tongue over her erect nipple. Y/n sighed, shaking her face out of Wanda’s grip as she arched her back so that her chest was pressed closer to her face. The redhead released her grip on one breast before latching onto the other and offering it identical treatment. Once she deemed her attention to have brought one enough of a reaction, she relented, leaning back against the porcelain wall and reaching for her wine. She sipped it slowly, eyes never leaving those of her lover as she swallowed one large mouthful.

“Come here, detka,” She nudged her closer, taking another sip of wine.

Y/n shifted nearer, being sure to drag her hips as closely to Wanda’s body as possible. Wanda grasped the underside of the younger woman’s jaw to draw her as close as possible, pressing their lips together in a quick peck. Y/n pulled back quickly, lowering herself and parting her lips as she awaited for Wanda to do the same. She let out a small squeal as she did, puckering her lips so that she could create a narrow stream of wine from her own mouth into Y/n’s. As the stream of wine became thinner and thinner, she rose up so that their lips met once again.

“Thank you,” Y/n giggled playfully in between kisses, slowly rolling her hips against Wanda’s.

She laughed along, nudging her throat with her nose as she grasped her hips and prompted her to stand, “Why don’t you run off to bed while I clean up, huh?”

Y/n pecked her once more, carefully stepping out onto the tiled floor and wrapping herself in a white fluffy towel and disappearing into the bedroom.

Wanda did very little to clean up, in truth. She drained the tub, but did not take the liberty to clear the bubbled from the bottom once the water had gone, and she simply moved the empty wine glasses next to the half-empty bottle, all of which had been abandoned on the vanity before she grabbed her own towel.

The redhead scoffed as she set foot in her bedroom, eyes catching sight of her girlfriend as she knelt on the bed, knees spread and chest puffed out, towel abandoned on the floor just next to the bed.

“With the curtains open?” Wanda raised a brow, stalking past to slide the sheer drapes closed, “You truly are shameless, aren’t you, my love?”

“When it comes to you? Definitely,” Y/n grinned, leaning forward on her hands, “Besides, would it be so bad if someone were to see? Watch as I make you–oh!”

Y/n landed on her back suddenly, bouncing on the impact of Wanda’s shove, and even more so as the woman pounced on top of her.

“Would you like that?” Her voice was husky, accent thicker than usual, “Someone to watch? Someone to see your face when I make you come, time and time again; to see this pretty pussy spread open for my tongue, my fingers, my cock.”

Y/n mewled underneath her, wriggling her hips excitedly as Wanda pressed down against her, thigh bumping her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You would, my sweet girl, wouldn’t you?”

Wanda chuckled, pushing herself up to round the bed, reaching into her bedside table for a familiar object, one that had quickly become a favourite of hers since meeting Y/n. The younger woman grinned at her, returning to her position on her knees as she watched the redhead slide into the garment, turning to face her lover as she slowly ran her fist up and down the length of the scarlet strap on.

“Come, detka,” She beckoned her over to the edge of the bed, “You want my cock? Come get on your knees for me.”

Y/n wasted little time sliding off of the bed, dropping to her knees on the hardwood floor as she eagerly parted her lips, moaning as Wanda began to tap at her lips with the firm tip of it. She extended her tongue, allowing for the woman to drag the plastic cock up the length of her warm tongue before finally allowing her to take it into her mouth with ease.

“There you go, my beautiful girl,” Wanda purred as she began to bob her head, taking the toy further and further into her throat with each movement. She gripped the hair on the back of her head to aid her movements, offering slow thrusts of her hips as well. “You take me so well, my sweet.”

Y/n gagged lightly, tears welling at her waterline, though she paid no mind. Instead, she reached behind Wanda, gripping the flesh of her ass to take her even further.

Wanda chuckled at her, “Look at you. How is it that you have a preference for women when you clearly love cock so much?”

Y/n pulled back just enough to respond, “Only yours.”

“Mine?” Wanda laughed, “You do, don’t you?”

She pulled her off, pushing her towards the bed.

“On your hands and knees.”

Eager, Y/n obeyed her lover as she scrambled into position, perking her ass out further and spreading her legs so that Wanda could clearly see her dripping sex.

Wanda sighed, fingers running up the length of Y/n’s thighs, gliding through her folds gently and up over her puckered hole.

“How wet you are, my sweet.”

She gave no warning before dragging her tongue carefully over her clitoris and up so she could slide it into her weeping hole. Y/n gasped in surprise, pressing back into Wanda’s touch as her thighs began to tremble.

“Fuck, Wanda,” She huffed, “Oh please.”

“Please what?” Wanda teased, “You want my cock?”

Y/n hummed, dropping her face into the soft duvet as she felt the plastic tip drag over her wetness. She gasped as it slowly pushed into her, pausing as she sheathed the toy into her to the hilt. Wanda took hold of her hips as she allowed her time to adjust, pushing her forward slightly before hauling her back to create a steady rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed around the room, accompanied by the pleasure sighs and moans of the woman being penetrated.

Wanda circled her clit under her thumb, grinning wickedly as she heard the sounds growing higher in pitch, and much more frequent. It was clear to her that Y/n was not going to last very long, which was good, as Wanda wasn’t sure that she had too much patience for the night, considering that she had planned to draw many more from her lover before the night was finished.

And many more she would receive.

tags: @lainjupi @vaeeeel @how-to-disappearrr @mellxa @wandanatvoid @d14n4ol @lorsstar1st @swiftdazer @aawake-atnight @fayhar @s1ut4nat @gimaximoff @3-02sth @battleg03 @splatashaizgay @r4nd0mgir1 @nicolesangel @inluvwithfictionalwomen @lizzieolsen89 @wildnightuniverse @wanda-is-my-joker @stormsluvr @keepingupwithwandanat @imlike-so-gaydude @exclusivitymajor

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#wanda #reader insert #x reader #imagines #female reader #wanda my beloved #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #scarletwitch #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #smut #lesbian #gxg smut

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: literally just me saying poetic stuff abt love. i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: swearing, incest, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Fourteen- The Sun

—-

After Her

He stands in front of you with a bored expression.

Your skin burns with his touch but it is not like hers- it burns. It hurts. Why is she not there to kiss it better? Why is she not there to save you? To hold you?

He places the blue cloak around your shoulders. Promises that he is yours and you are his.

He will be everything to you. You are nothing to him.

—-

Everyday in this place feels like an early grave.

You imagine your want for her burning through you, smoking towards the ceiling and into the sky. Maybe she will see it, from wherever she is.

You lay in your bed. Imagine she is thinking of you.

You don’t know. You don’t know her anymore. You have been away from her for years and she has surely changed in that time, as you have. You are a solemn thing, feeling the pain of something so beautiful slowly dying in front of you. You are a woman, you have resigned yourself to that fact. But you are away from the woman you love, and you feel the pain of a thousand stars so vividly you convince yourself they must be dying in your chest.

You think now that being a woman is something simple. It is the feeling of knowing your lover is there to look at the prettiest flower, and you are there to be with them.

You are like a rolling mess of thunder and metaphors and you do not know what is right and what is wrong without her.

She was your shining star, and now the night sky is empty.

Gods, what happened to the stars?

You sink into your bed. Maybe if you get to the precipice of sleep, if you mind is cloudy, she will be there.

—-

After Him

There is a saying your Septa told you.

When you cried the night before your wedding, and she held you and whispered that he would be kind. He has to be kind.

“He cannot take your heart, Y/N. He cannot take your mind. Your thoughts, your feelings. Don’t let go of those.”

You never thought your Septa would lie to you.

But after meeting Daemon, she must have.

Daemon has invaded your thoughts. Captured your heart and mind. You think about him day and night.

You think about him in debauched ways that would make your Septa faint. But you also think about him in a simpler way. In the kind of way that it is action and reaction. Just love and admiration.

You find your eyes drifting the helm of Dark Sister, always strapped to his belt, because you will always find his hand there. He has worked his way into you heart, made room for himself in a place you thought Rhaenyra would only ever fit.

When you see him your mind fades and you step into this haze where you know nothing, only the surety of him.

The definition of want is to desire something.

The definition of need is to require something.

With him, the words fade into one.

Because you need him like you need air, because you have always been water, and he is a dam that will stop you. Hold your current, so you can rest. You desire him to be your dam, your anchor, your ground that you stand on because you have always been an island. You never had roots. Never belonged.

With him, you do.

—-

After Them

Love has always been a fickle thing.

Your mother died too early for you to remember her, and most days you can live and forget her. But sometimes you feel her absence so heavily you are surprised she does not walk through the door, a smile on her face and a kind word on her lips.

Your father was always too preoccupied with his estate, his affairs. Making sure House Honeyholt keeps their place under the foot of those above them.

You do not scorn him for this.

Sometimes it is easier to fade than to glow.

Sometimes it is easier to be than moon than the sun.

But Daemon and Rhaenyra have shown you what it means to shine, what it means to be the sun. What is means to command attention even when you are doing nothing but hanging in the sky.

Your relationship with them had always been too much.

Too many metaphors to describe it. You think now that there is nothing that can compare.

You, Daemon, Rhaenyra- you were always meant to burn together.

It is a want. A need. It is everything. It is nothing.

The three of you would always be together. In death, in life, the bond of three souls like that is more than trivial things.

It is the sun. It is something primordial, something beyond mortal understanding. You could spend years studying it but never quite grasp it. It is the sun.

Daemon is the sun. Rhaenyra is the sun.

You are the sun.

What is marriage, if not a trivial thing of life? Your love goes beyond that.

Your love has always gone beyond that.

So, as you stare at the two loves of your life, mind a mess, you feel nothing but them.

You are more than yourself. You are them. You are the sun.

You burn, but you are the sun. You were already burning.

—-

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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amphiptere-art · 7 months

Note

(Finally got motivation to respond to the thing)

Moom is glad that it helps. It’ll take him a few weeks to get the new faces ready and install them, but once he does, he’s going to be so happy about Blue Moon being more comfortable.

Endo it is. Moom thinks Blue Moon deserves a nice treat after the stressful experience from Lost Lord, and from RBB. Like taking a kid out to icecream after a bad day.

At least LL Sun has Lunar to give him public speaking lessons, so Infero hopefully doesn’t have to cover that as well. Running society is a delicate balance. Infero’s been managing his universe for over a century, and started from the beginning to build himself up. Sun’s taking over for a beloved figure, and starting from a bad place because he already allowed public opinion to wane. They have a lot of work to do.

(I don’t think they gave him a unique nickname yet. Think it was still the generic Lord Eclipse name) Cue Infero’s happy signals all going off. Bright glow in the rays, rays spinning, tail wagging. He’ll hug back tightly. “Siblings.”

Despite Blue Moon's hesitance he is quite happy to eat and Endo. Although he isn't quite comfortable to eat around the others. Probably heading out to the hallway. Allowing the closed door to muffle the screaming static. Ripping into it slowly. Taking Glee in The kill as a stress reliever.

LL Lunar will definitely help with the public speaking stuff. He's basically been an ambassador for quite some time. But without the actual figure it hasn't been working out. Since LL Sun became the Lord, a lot of the people blame him for lost Lord Eclipse's death. Rightly believing that he has abandoned his people for a revenge He can't even take.

Blue Moon will hold on with a hug for quite some time. Not really caring as Vim walks off into the distance. Just wanting to live in the happy high for as long as she can. Nuzzling infero until they put him back down. A better hop in their step as he explores the city again.

(well now he gets the personalized nickname. Tinted due to a sense of needing to hide. Dark tinted glass hiding a light.)

#red blue and black #crossover story #lost lord #lords brother au #kid eclipse au #sams #tsams #tsams au #sams au

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vanny6407 · 1 year

Text

so… I made this… idea of how I think Dark Deception Level 10 Prison Panic will go…

I also made Dark Star kinda the focus of it because I really like her and some theories going around about her…

Doug couldn’t see where he was, Bierce wasn’t talking, all Doug could hear of her was confusion… these strange things approached Doug when he attempted to leave the Mall Nightmare.

But now he doesn’t understand… where are they taking him? Probably to Malak or back to Mama Bear… wait what’s that sound? It’s a woman, with some sort of accent, like a British accent with this eccentricity to it. “Take him to the special cell! Lord Malak will want him under the best security we can offer!” There was a pause…

“Well? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?” She yelled with anger “TAKE HIM INSIDE!” Then he kept moving, then the sack over his head was removed. He saw the prison, cold and dark. Someone clearly tried to lighten the mood with these neon lights… reminded him of the Hospital.

He felt how cold and dull the floor was, this was a place without happiness. Any that was there, was forced, by her. He saw the woman through the closed bars, she wore this leather jacket with a gold trim, this strange blonde and pink curly hair, a top hat like her jacket. She looked like a ringmaster, what definitely stuck out about her was the star motif she had. Her pupils glowed in the dark light of the prison, a dark star in darkness.

“Well well well… Doug Houser… your reputation precedes you, the legendary mortal who aided the deal breaker! Honestly darling, I expected you to be bigger…” she laughed this callous and malignant laugh. “Hmm Lord Malak will want to know you’re here, but until then make yourself at home darling! See you later!! Try not to live!” She left Doug, laughing that same laugh, the cell was dark even more without her…

The Orb was back, “quick, before she realizes I’m here!” It opened the door, letting him out. Doug took no time escaping the cell and running further into the prison. The woman no doubt watching him through the cameras.

Running through the dark neon lit prison, Doug eventually came across the shards. Running up to collect the first one, lights sprung to life, illuminating the woman (who Doug had taken to naming Dark Star in his thoughts) in this office above the room.

“So you escaped with the help of that pest!” She spoke with disdain for the blue orb, “The King told me of what you did! Mannequins can’t come back from that you know! You should be ashamed! King is thankful that I sent my boys out to escort you here before you caused irreparable damage to his domain!” She spoke almost like a child when speaking about the Puppet King…

“Now then, Lord Malak is on his way to collect you for Mama Bear… she clearly can’t deal with you so I will for Lord Malak! Oh how he’ll reward us for your death!” She seemed to be excited about murdering Doug…

“Now… BRING ME THE MORTAL BOYS!!” As she yelled that command, those things that apprehended him at the mall ran towards him. “Get out of here! Run now!” Bierce? She hadn’t abandoned him after all! Doug took her advice and ran into the labyrinth, collecting shards as he ran.

“Watch out for the spikes!” The woman? Seems she could talk to him over the PA system, though her advice would have come in handy before he tripped the spikes.

Finally he had completed the Zone, with Dark Star and Bierce commenting on his progress, he was ready for a break in the ballroom before everything…

The room he now found himself in was large, the lights once again illuminated Dark Star, behind glass in an office. Observing Doug, “Doug Houser… you have definitely proved to be quite the nuisance… ladies!” Female versions of those things that had been chasing him appeared

“BRING ME DOUG HOUSERS HEAD ON A PLATTER NOW!! Try not to live!” She was very angry now… shouting the command had an identical affect on the ladies, cueing them to chase after Doug as he entered Zone 2

“She definitely doesn’t seem to like you” yeah Bierce, she doesn’t. Doug ran through the zone again avoiding the enemies and collecting shards… “everything is being ruined because of your Doug Houser! Try not to live!!!” Dark Star sounded extremely angry. Eventually Doug saw something, large in the distance… the abyss outside the prison housed some behemoth outside in the abyss.

Finally the end of Zone 2 arrived, now Dark Star was in the distance, seemingly floating “there’s the mortal! Kill him Big Mama!!” She yelled, causing that thing in the abyss to begin glowing. It was massive, deformed and definitely under Dark Star’s command. The world bent to its will, crafting a large arena for the fight between Doug and this thing. That thing was wrapped in neon lights, decorated with star tattoos.

Whatever it was, it was never human… Dark Star shouted commands to the thing, it obeyed. Smashing onto the floor, slapping Doug across the arena. Until finally it fell into the abyss in defeat. Deep down into the dark depths of the darkness.

Doug made it to the altar, guess Dark Star took his ring piece, either way Doug took the piece. This action sent Dark Star over the edge. “YOU HAVE RUINED EVERYTHING!” She was no longer behind glass, now she stood maybe 20 feet away from Doug…

“I WILL RIP YOU APART! I WILL EVISCERATE YOU! NOTHING WILL BE LEFT WITH LORD MALAK ARRIVES!! ONLY THE RING PIECE WILL REMAIN!” She flung her hands up in the air, assuming a more showman like pose, “LADIES! GENTLEMEN! KILL THE MORTAL DOUG HOUSER!!!” She screamed as the things that had chased Doug began to chase in tandem with Dark Star.

The prison was set aflame, no doubt due to Bierce or The Orb. Dark Star was furious, chasing Doug with a desire to completely maim him. “Quickly to the portal! I can’t keep it open for long!!” Bierce struggled to keep the portal open, it was Doug’s only escape. He drew closer to the scarlet sigil as Dark Star and her officers gained speed and ran after Doug even faster.

But Doug escaped… Dark Star was finished… how was she to tell her lord this? She allowed the mortal to escape just like her coworkers before…

#dark star #prison panic #dark deception #doug houser #glowstick entertainment

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insomniamamma · 2 years

Text

Nightswimming: Young!Ezra x F!ShipCaptain!Reader

A/N: this took me WAY longer to finish than i thought it would. Egret AU. Takes place after “Fairy Tale of Puggart Bench” This is as close to multi-chapter fic as I can get, so if you have not read “Greenhorn” and “Fairy Tale of Puggart Bench” you might want to. Glowing algae is absolutely a thing that happens. I have witnessed it on the east as west coasts. We learn a little about Captain!Reader’s past. The song Captain!Reader sings is “The Fields of Athenry.”

Warnings: lots of food mentions, eating, alcohol consumption, language. Angst. Kissing. Soft, non-descript smut.

"I don't feel so good." Ezra twists his head away from the rolling waves, the vast expanse of blue-green water stretching around the curve of the world. He staggers and Del catches him, hands on his shoulders. "Hey, man, just breathe--" Ezra grabs onto Del's forearms like a man drowning and Del shoots you a desperate and exasperated look. You nudge Del out of the way and kneel in the damp sand so you are looking up at Ezra. He grabs your hands hard. It hurts a little. "Ezra, I need you to open your eyes and look at me, yeah?" Your thumbs smooth the backs of his hands, "Don't look at the ocean, just look at me." He takes a deep, ragged breath, but opens his eyes. His pupils are wide despite the bright sun of local noon. "Okay," he says, more to himself than you,"Okay." "I've got you," you say-- "They don't have oceans where you come from?" Says Big Pete. "No, Peter, we did not have oceans on my homeworld," he says, "What we had on Salis was a series of gritty puddles that could generously be called ponds--" Ezra is the only one who can call Big Pete by his given name without risking a throat-punch. "Most of our moisture came from the succulents that sprang out of that ugly, uncooperative ground--" You relax some, you know that a talking Ezra is a more or less okay Ezra. You tug at his hands. "Take a look, Ez. Keep your eyes on the horizon. It's okay. Oceans are crazy if you've never seen one." He lets go of your hands, and you feel the shift in his body. He's looking out over the breaking waves, really seeing the ocean of Ursula's World for the first time. You haul yourself up out of the sand and brush your palms on your pants. The four of you stand in the damp sand and stare out over the sun-glittered blue water for a beat. Open water is a rare thing out in the black, whole oceans of it are rarer still. Even the seas of Puggart's world are a pale shadow of Old Terra's oceans, but not Ursula's World, a half-grav planet with an elongate orbit, a summer that spans stand-months and a winter that ices over for the rest, brief transitions between seasons that bring hurricanes unscalable by the standards of Old Terra, only reason this world doesn't have a station orbiting and shiny white hotels lining the beach-fronts. Ezra stands a little straighter, stops curling in on himself. You know by his body language that he is transfixed. "It's so big," he says, his voice small for a change and Del claps him on the back. "Greenie," Del chides, but not unkindly. You've all been here. You are station-born, and for cycles the vast sweep of sky made you want to hide, still does, but you control it better now. Del sprang out of one of the slum archologies of Central, mistrusting any luxury as a bribe or a trap, and Big Pete? You'll never know his story because he won't say, but his manner suggests some backwater. An actual ocean, a strip of pristine beach is something of a miracle, and the four of you stand and stare for a moment.

"Hey, Cap?" "Yeah, Ez?" "What's with this manifest? We got a lot of perishable goods for a quick jaunt downworld," "So?" "So, it seems odd," His dark eyes bore into yours, "Most drops we live on Bitz-Bars and faith. Also, you've loosened the weight regs some. Is there something I should know about?" You try hard not to smile. Ezra is the dictionary definition of Too Smart For His Own Good. "Now, Ezra, are you questioning your commanding officer?" He straightens and squares his shoulders, puts on a serious face, but those big eyes dance with mischief. "No, Ma'am, I would never be so presumptuous. I am curious about the nature of this job, however, and our crew mates seem equally tight lipped. I expect that of Big Pete, but Del will usually respond to my queries so he doesn't have to listen to me." "You ever hear the phrase 'let the mystery be?'" "Can't say as I have, Captain," says Ezra. He's crept up into your personal space, a hand on your hip, "Care to enlighten me?" You lay your hand on his chest and give him a little shove. "It means do your job and get us buttoned up for drop," you say, "That list'll make sense once we're down world." "Fine. But I get the distinct impression that you are hiding something from me." "Live with it."

Ezra makes you think of when you were just as green as him and full of questions. For a time you were crew on a rust-bucket called The Polly Jean. To say The Polly Jean was a piece of shit would be a gross understatement and an insult to actual shit. You look back at your time aboard her and internally shudder. She would never have been allowed to fly in Central space. The Polly Jean was captained by a sallow, long-faced man named Virgil, who differed from other captains you'd worked under in that he would say more to you than "shut up, Greenhorn," when you came to him with questions. You'd come to him with concerns like Ezra's. A cargo manifest that just seemed weird, a job much lower paying that what you'd been doing. "Pay ain't everything," he'd said, "You gotta mix it up some. You'll never get a decent crew to stick if all you give them is gritty suit-work. People gotta get some sunshine and fresh air on occasion without worrying about getting poisoned or eaten by the local fauna." Virgil poked you in the chest, a hard, bony finger pressed into your sternum. He did that to everybody. It was his way of emphasizing a point. "This is good advice I'm giving you, kiddo. If you ever get your own ship you'll thank me." And when you dropped, the world you landed on was all snow-capped mountains and clear lakes so cold that swimming in them felt like being cut. You sometimes wonder if Virgil's still kicking about the black somewhere, but you doubt it. He was old when you were his juniormost and the Polly Jean was like the ship of Theseus, repairs over top of repairs held together with shoddy welds, patch sealant and the constant muttered prayer of C'mon babygirl, be good for me, while Virgil piloted her through atmo. You'd like to imagine he bought some little plot of land on a quiet planet, maybe by one of those frigid, crystalline lakes, you'd like to imagine a future like that for yourself, it could happen, the right convergence of timing and luck, the right pull at the right time and you could sell The Egret and find some calm, untouched patch of land on a decent world, not some barely habitable dustball out in the fringe. And maybe not alone, maybe Ezra with you-- You've got to stop this. Letting your thoughts drift like this on a drop, even a gentle one like this could get you killed. Virgil, Kevva bless him, is probably a smear of bone-ash in whatever crater The Polly Jean left when it finally fell out of the sky. Trines are foolishly easy to harvest and plentiful, not the kind of pull you're likely to get shot over, but you and Big Pete keep the rails close at hand just in case. Summer on Ursula's world is brief but kind, the long stretch of beach is dotted with drop-ships and pods, some are harvesters like you, some are luxury cruisers, drop-yachts with party tents, music that leaks up the beach to where you are. Ursula's world is a middling thing, profit enough from the pearls to get you to the next drop, but not so much that someone is likely to kill you for it. This is the kind of world where fringelings and rich folk might rub elbows for a minute, might forget caste and station. Trines themselves are trivalve molluscs. Ursula's world is the kind of planet affectionately termed a "dumb Terra", life a-plenty but nothing to rival the biodiversity of Old Terra before the Last Extinction. There are some large, deep ocean predators, but that’s where the higher forms stalled out. Land-life is limited to fractal-trees and the few critters that hang out in the littoral zone where land and sea touch. Trines spray a dark, inky substance as self defense. Vibrations scare them. Stomp on the wet sand as the wave recedes and you see the ink trails and thats where you dig. "The pearls are in the big ones, right?" asks Ezra. "Just grab what you can," says Del, "We'll do the grading and shucking later." "If the pearls are in the hand-sized ones, why we bothering with the little ones?" "The little ones taste better," says Del. "That is your opinion, Del," says Big Pete. "Pete's crazy," says Del, "Any trine longer than a hand-width tastes like dead-hooker flavored rubber bands." "And how, exactly, do you know what a dead hooker tastes like, Del?" says Ezra, "You got some weird proclivities we should know about?" "Fuck you, Greenhorn," says Del. "The big trines are best slow roasted," says Big Pete, "Don't let this kip tell you different. Good for you. Puts hair on your ass." "Just what everyone needs," says Del, "A hairy ass." "It's good to have goals, Del," says Big Pete. Ezra laughs and Del just shakes his head.

The four of you drag buckets of trines up the beach to camp, pack damp sand around them to keep them cool. "Now what?" Says Ezra. "How bout a game of ships and kings?" Says Del, "They play that on your backwater homeworld or do I have to teach you?" "Mmmm," says Ezra, "Didn't realize there was such culture in Central's sewer systems. Now you're inviting me to the game, but as a gesture of good will I will forfeit my right to chose colors." Del's already setting up the board, placing the neutral fleets. "We flip for the colors. Like civilized men."

"Hey boss," says Big Pete, "Let's go get some firewood while these two kips fight their fake-ass war--" "You're just jealous because you don't understand the game--" says Del. "Oh, I understand ships and kings," says Big Pete, "I just think it's boring. Like watching paint dry." "--the fuck? Kevva's teeth--" "Sit down, you asshole," says Ezra, flapping a hand at you and Big Pete, "Ignore the cries of these plebeians and make your move." "C'mon, boss,--" says Big Pete. His hand rests lightly on your forearm, and your neck hairs prickle up. Big Pete does not like to be touched, nor does he tend to touch people. "Petey-bird could beat both of you dipshits at ships and kings in an Ephrate minute," you call back to camp, and Big Pete chuckles at Ezra's muttered curses. You let Big Pete lead you into the trees. You point to your ear-piece and draw a finger across your throat. Even on a world as gentle as this you wear your mic-rigs, even loose slung around your neck so you can hear a transmission. Your mute your mic and so does Big Pete. The two of you gather dry wood for a beat, you need it to roast the trines later, to get the fire going. "Can I speak freely?" "Kevva, you really need to ask?" And Big Pete looks genuinely worried and that unsettles you. They don't call him Big Pete as a joke. There is precious little this wall of a man is nervous about. "Del's been actin weird," says Big Pete. "How do you mean?" "You know he plays ships and kings through the drop-net," "Yeah, so?" "So he's been weird about it lately," says Big Pete, "He'll usually let me watch--" "Thought you hated ships and kings," "I do," says Big Pete, "But beating Del at it would be a unique kind of joy. He ain't playing against his usual bunch. Lyta H. Emory. Those guys." You draw in a breath. People tend to underestimate Big Pete because of his size. He looks like a large dumb bruiser and lets people think that's exactly what he is. He says little and sees a lot. "He's been playing someone called DawnsPlunderer..." "So?" "So you don't know latin?" Big Pete grins at you, a rare one that touches his eyes. "Kevva. Of course I don't know latin. I grew up on Sogo station. You think we had Terran root language studies?" "I don't know latin either, boss, but I can search the net and DawnsPlunderer is the translation of 'Eoraptor', you know, Marko's new ride." "Hell. You're sure?" "Del never agreed with you cutting Marko loose." "And you say he's been acting shady," You reach for Big Pete and touch his arm like he did to you earlier, "I cut Marko loose for a good reason. You know what happened between him and the stationmaster's girl. You really think Del is okay with that?" "Shit, boss, I don't know. I don't even know for sure it's Marko Del's playin ships and kings with. I do know that Del's been off since you brought Ezra aboard. High strung. Antsy. You don't see it. You've been distracted lately." He's right and you know it. "By Ezra," Pete's eyes flick to the side. He doesn't have to say it. "You think I'm losing my edge." "I think you're in love, Captain, and love makes people stupid." "Fuck." You gnaw at your lower lip. "What should I do?" "I don't want to speak above my station--" "I'm not asking as your commanding officer, Pete, I'm asking as your friend." "I don't know," says Big Pete. "You think I should cut Ezra loose? If he's a liability--" "I like Ezra," says Big Pete, "I think you and him are good together. I like seeing you happy. I don't want to see you get hurt. You need to keep your eyes open, boss, that's all." "We both keep our eyes open, clear?" "Clear," says Big Pete. "We should probably actually gather some firewood. Before they get suspicious." Big Pete huffs. "They're probably so wrapped up in that dumb game that time's lost all meaning for them." You reach for your mic-rig to unmute it, and pause. "Thanks for telling me. Thanks for having my back." "I've always got your back, boss."

Sure enough, Ezra and Del are too embroiled in their game of ships and kings to even look up when you and Big Pete start piling up dry wood. They look a bit like angry cats facing off over the pentagonal board, each with a nest of captured pieces. "Alright, fellas, it's time to start shucking these bad boys if we want to eat before we lose the light." "I've almost got the little rat-bastard," says Del. "Oh, in twenty moves or is it thirty?" "I can see into the future, Greenhorn," says Del, "I can see your whole superficially clever strategy collapse under its own weight." "Make your move if you're so certain." Del uses his cruiser to take out one of Ezra's point defense stations. "Roll for collateral damage," says Ezra and Del gives him a dark look, as if he would forget that very basic bit of game mechanics. Del rolls the dice. "Fuck! Shit! Fuck!" "I take it you pissed off one of the neutral fleets?" "Go fuck yourself, Pete," says Del "You talk an awful lot of bullshit for someone who won't even play." "Oi!" You say, "Get to a stopping point. It's time to work. Or did you soft bellies forget what that is?" "Okay okay," says Del, "Nobody touch this board! I got him right where I want him--" "Keep telling yourself that--" "You best get moving or I'll upend the table," says Big Pete. "You'll never find all those little pieces. Not in all this sand." "Fucker," says Del. Ezra just narrows his eyes.

Soon you are all seated in the cool sand, armed with trine-knives, a double sided tool, one end being a bladed hook, the other a wide rounded blade for levering the meat from the shells. "Remember," says Del, "Don't shuck anything smaller than your hand is wide. Those go in this bucket here. You find pearls they go in this tub." There's a shallow plastic tub filled with a chemical cocktail that helps harden the pearls and preserve their luster. The leftovers from those go in the chum-bucket--" "They sure as hell do not," says Big Pete. "Strip those big boys out and put em right here." Big Pete rattles a bucket half full of seawater. He has a pile of broad leaves the size of a station viewing port cut and sitting beside him. "Rinse the sand off em, brine em a little, then wrap them up like a present and cook them in the coals. That is some fine dining." "You are out of your fucking mind," says Del. "What're we gonna do with the little ones?" "Steam them open," says Del, "Manifest says we dropped with two pounds of butter, from actual cows." "That true, Cap?" Real butter from real cows is absurdly pricey in this part of the Great Arm. "Get shucking and you'll find out."

"Son of a bitch," mutters Ezra, tucking a finger into his mouth. Shucking trines is tricky if you've never done it. Slide the hooked end through the narrow bit where the shells meet, scrape and pull and then the rest will relax open. Real easy to stab yourself in the finger when the hook slides through. "Build us a fire, Ez," you say, "We gotta roast this whole mess. Best to get the coals going now. 'Round front so we can look at the ocean." "Kid can't shuck for shit," says Big Pete. "Trines're finicky," says Del, "The man can cut a carom blister without hardly thinking about it, but can't handle a trine-hook to save his life. Funny how that works, huh?" "Yeah," says Big Pete. You look for tension, you look for any sign that Del is off somehow. Del just seems like Del. A bit prickly but he always is. You find yourself wondering if Big Pete is reading too much into things. The three of you sit, sort and shuck in silence. The tray of pearls is about what you expected. Most of them are irregular ovoids, all of them are varying shades of pink ranging from something the color of a cat's nose to absolute screaming fuchsia. A few of them are faceted, the little bit of grit they formed around caught close enough the where the three shells come together in a point to give them rounded, natural facets. Those dozen or so faceted pearls are going to make this drop profitable. Big Pete starts piling his spoils, shucked trines that look a little too much like boogers for your liking, into leaves and wrapping them into neat packets. The advantage of steaming trines in the shell is that they look significantly less like snot when they are fully cooked. By the time the three of you are done shucking and grading, Ezra's got a good fire built. Del digs a narrow trench around the fire pours sea water into it to firm up the sides, dumps the small trines into the trench. "Now what?" Says Ezra. "We let them steam open." Pete lays his leaf-wrapped packets in the coals, prodding them with a long stick until they are positioned to his liking.

Later the four of you sit close around a battered pan full of melted butter and a heap of steamed trines piled on a big leaf. "Don't fill up on these little ones too much," says Big Pete, "Gotta save room for the main event." Del rolls his eyes. The shells have opened like three-petalled flowers. Ezra looks at you uncertainly. "Here," you say, "Like this." You peel two of the three shells away from the little knot of muscle inside, dip the remaining shell into the butter and strip it with your teeth. The taste is salty, sweet and a hint musky at the same time. Like the ocean. Like sex. "Oh Kevva that's good," says Ezra. Later you all try some of Big Pete's roasted trines, mostly to be polite. "I don't know how you can eat these," says Del, "I've been chewing this for a good sixteenth." "I like the taste," says Ezra, "The texture leaves something to be desired." "What do you think, boss?" "I've had worse things in my mouth." Del snorts and Ezra swats his arm. If there is tension here other than the usual push-pull between crew members you don't see it. The two of them seem at ease. Maybe Big Pete is seeing things that aren't there. Maybe. You all sit around the dying fire for a beat, gorged on buttered trines, passing a bottle of hooch. Something Petey picked up at the last station and now shares. Strong stuff. Enough to loose tongues and hearts. Big Pete produces a guitar. Not a real one, one with strings and pickups and a built in amplifier, packs flat, but the sound is still sweet when he plays and for a time the four of you sit passing the bottle and trading songs. There's a song in Vayok about a luckless pirate with a leaky suit trying to fix a balky airlock before he passes out, each attempt getting more desperate. Pete sings and Del translates the lyrics in the thickest, most ham-fisted Vayok accent you've ever heard. You've seen this act before, but Ezra hasn't and buy the second verse he is red faced and howling, leans bonelessly against you. Even with a belly full of trines and hooch you are still trying to suss out the tension in Del. And you just can't see it. He just seems like Del as usual. "That is the worst Vayok accent I have ever heard in my life--" "You know Vayok only from holofilms, young man," says Del, "You do not speak Vayok, Vayok speaks you!" "You ever try that bit with a Vayok girl?" asks Big Pete. "Are you insane? I like my testicles right where they are thank you," says Del. You shake your head and Ezra presses Pete's guitar into your hands. "You've got to know some songs, Cap," "I can't play for shit, and all of you know it except for this kip," "Yeah, but we've all heard you sing," says Ezra, "The dropper's not that big. Sing something you want to, and not just whatever you've got stuck in your head while you're running the checklist." "I hate you, you fucking menace," you say and Ez just smiles, a self assured smirk that will probably land him in the brig again sooner rather than later. You hand the guitar back to Pete. Ezra has put you on the spot, and now Big Pete and Del are looking at you expectantly. Fine. "I don't know the chords or any of that shit--" "S'okay boss, you get it started and I'll catch up." You close your eyes and center yourself, your mom and her mom sang these words, some long forgotten time where your people lived down a well, planted crops, when sailing meant traveling over water and not throwing yourself out into the black in a pressurized can. "'By lonely prison walls I heard a young girl calling Michael they are taking you away For you stole Trevelyan's corn So our child might see the morn Now the prison ships lay waiting in the bay...'"

Later, the coals are low, slow shifting embers, you and Ezra pass the last of Big Pete's bottle back and forth. Del and Big Pete struck out down the beach towards the party tents and the thumping music that leaks out of them. "You sure you don't want to go with?" "I've got no interest in all that noise," says Ezra, "Seems like a good way to wake up with your pockets turned out." You laugh. "Awfully cynical for someone who's barely been out in the black." "Learned from the best--hey look, the waves!" He points out over the starlit strip of beach and the waves break crested in shimmering blue, glowing foam spat across dark wet sand. You stand and shuck out of your clothes and start running for the surf. "C'mon Ez," "What if someone sees?" "Who gives a shit?" The water curling around your calves churns electric blue. Ezra strips down and runs towards you, only to get distracted by the way the sand lights up beneath his feet. "What in Kevva's backroom?" You smile, watching him puzzle it out for himself. Ezra stomps his feet and the wet sand lights up blue. "It's algae," you say, swirling the water around yourself in luminous curtains, "What? Are you scared, Greenhorn?" And with that Ezra strips down and pelts into the surf, silly in the way men running naked always are, less so when he wraps himself around you and kisses you hard enough to make you whimper, cradles you against him, all hot mouth and seeking hands until a big waves tumbles the both of you into the sand. He lurches up, spluttering, hauling you up, an arm hooked around your waist, pulls you flush against him. "You knew that would happen." "I didn't make you get in the water," you say. The waves suck at your ankles, swirls of bioluminescent blue trailing in and out with the tide, "As for the wave? Maybe that was Kevva testing your resolve." "Hmmph," Ezra says, his breath warm against your sea-chilled lips, his eyes shining with starlight, "If she is testing me, than I am surely failing." "Ezra?" He nuzzles his nose against yours, his arms vined around you, his hands splayed warm over your skin, and when his lips find yours they taste like salt, breaks away and then nips at your throat where your pulse beats hard and fast and you shiver, arch into him and you feel him hard against your thigh. You step away from him and take his hands, leading him out past the breaking surf. "Captain?" "It'll be easier out here," you say, press your lips to the shell of his ear, "Trust me."

The water is warmer than the air, the breeze blowing over it raises gooseflesh on your exposed skin, but the places where your bodies press together burn hot, Ezra's hands gripping as he slides inside you, smooth roll of his hips with the rhythm of the waves. He cradles you against him one hand on your hip to guide your movements, the other splayed warm between your shoulder blades, and this gentle ocean holds you both, making you buoyant, glowing algae flaring with your movements, sparkling on your skins like a mirror for the stars. You come with a strangled cry, swallowed by the low roar of the surf, and Ezra follows, head thrown back, cords of his neck painted in star shine, blooming hot inside you. You cling to each other, panting, you feel his chest heaving against yours, and the wind blows cold over the water. Ezra kisses your forehead, soft touch of his lips that never fails to undo you, to make your heart squeeze and stutter inside. "Lets go get warm," says Ezra.

The music still thumps loud and ugly from down the strand. Ezra sleeps sprawled on a blanket by what's left of the fire. You set your data pad aside and look at him. He is lovely in the starlight, the arc of the Great Arm spread across the sky. You know you'll get cold sooner rather than later, know you should head back to the tent and wake him up so he can do the same, but instead you shake the sand off a blanket and drape it over him, tuck yourself into his side, the warm weight of his arm enfolding you, pulling you into his chest. You will have to address this rift in your crew, this strain between Del and Big Pete, but for now it is enough to sleep in your lover's arms.

#young!ezra x f!shipcaptain!reader #egret au #ezra x f!reader #prospect #prospect au

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