#Vessel's voice is brighter than ever

[cannibal-nightmares]

shame on you all for concluding on such a sexy album /j /j /j

[darkdemeter]

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

◤✘BUCKY BARNES COLUMN | Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader ISSUE NO.#...

NOTES: ↳ Yes. Yes... YAAAAS! IM DOING IT! I'm frickin' writing a pirate Bucky! Mmmm! Fuckin' love pirate stuff, I'm just living for Bucky being a hot pirate commanding a vessel on the high seas. WARNINGS! ↳ Pirate Bucky — semi dark Bucky — submissive/soft captive reader — possessive Bucky — SMUT 18+, Minors DNI! — P in V sex — memory loss/wiping via magic (reader affected) — light use of physical and sexual acts to avoid conflict — indirect breeding kink? — pet names — brief consumption of alcohol — I think that's it? SUMMARY: ↳ He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him. Yet overboard and on the tide you sail across, in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul… a song so familiar yet unknown. Forgotten. Bucky reminds you yet again that there is no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there.

✎ 4.1k

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic

↳ BUCKY BARNES TAGLISTS

────────────────┘

  There lays a song forgotten in your heart and soul, distantly faint as the receding tide to the shore. With each spare moment of peace you were given to dwell beneath the lapping waters, you spend a portion of it in search of that song. And what time remains within the falling sand’s glass, you bask in the blue and faded black abyss. 

  Tonight is no different. You could not remember the forgotten song that lulls you tenderly, pulling through skin and scale, calling you somewhere far, much too far, away from the balancing hull above. 

  You could not abandon your captain. Betray the trust between you both. After all, it was he who found you washed atop the rocky crevices of the island, who rescued you from a fate of drying out in the sun’s merciless heat. Who took care of you when there was nothing left of the life you once knew. 

  To break that earnt trust, to betray him, you can’t think of anything far more heartbreaking than that. 

“Time’s up, my Siren,” the voice of your captain beckons you. He calls you to the surface. 

  A sigh ripples through the water and your head tilts up towards the surface, the darkened slits in your milky white eyes shrink away from the moonlight penetrating through the waves. The long limb of your tail sweeps back and forth, thrusting you upwards, skin and scales shimmering brighter as you near the barrier between water and air. The breach pulls a lungful gasp of the night's chillingly crisp air, the only warmth coming from The Avenger. 

  Hair drench-pressed and thinned forms a curtain over your features as you peer up at the looming figure pridefully arching over the ship’s wooden rail. The slivered slits of your eyes grow wider as they focus on him, with a lantern beside him, glass scorched and worn by smoke, it illuminates the upper portion of his body. His white shirt ruggedly wrinkled and loosened to showcase a muscled chest, skin tanned by the sun’s heated kiss, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black ink painted legendary stories over his body in memorabilia. Stories forged into his flesh for all to study and cower in fear.

  He summons you with a kink of his finger and you obey his silent command with an all too eager nod. Around you, the water spirals into a column and rises up, pushing you higher to reach the wooden railing. Aboard the ship, the crew is merry in their celebrations. Another successful day of conquest and battle on the high seas, another amassed sum of gold and valuables to add to hull and reputation. 

  Of course spirits would be high and cheerful tonight. And of course, what was a conquest without the captain’s prize at the end of it all?

  Gathering yourself over the rail and onto the deck, the glistening shine of your tail morphs into two shapely legs, the milky hues of your eyes and other remnants of your true body hide in their human disguise. Your eyes find the hourglass on his opposite side, the sand all gathered in the bottom glass pit. Your captain holds something out for you and you graciously accept his gift, pulling the thin veil of your robe over your naked body. 

  His ocean blue eyes scan you up and down, the left corner of his plush, chapped lips turns upwards. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” He purrs his question and it brings a cold chill to run up and down your spine, your lungs freeze with what little breath they had at that moment. 

  He turns his body properly to face you, burly shoulders and thick muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. His eyes fold slightly into a sharpened stare of interrogation. 

  “I–I don’t…” You shake your head, breath hitching. “I don’t understand, Captain. I search for nothing that is not you.”

  “Aye?” 

  Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and unique - mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep. 

  Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its link. 

  However, your mesmerised pupils flicker up in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance. 

  Your vision focuses behind him then, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.

  When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own. 

  Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.

  He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf. 

  His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea. 

  The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back. 

  “Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion. 

  “But I—” Still he penetrates you with that cold stare. It prods at you with radiant intensity, it matches the ominous scarlet glow that now burns brighter now as it moves down the upper deck’s stairs. Your eyes dart between the woman who controls the rolling waves of red magic and the ferocity of your captain’s hardpressed gaze. 

  Your head bounces quickly. “Yes...” 

  A few words of compliance are cut off by a gasp. As you attempt to follow his order and return to his cabin, he halts you within his metallic grasp and pulls you back in, curled lips mere inches from your own, in the clutches of his brazen hold, he commands your attention. Your hands are forced to rest over his chest. 

  He drawls with a warning growl, “Yes?”

  “Yes, Captain Barnes.”

  Bucky nods his head once and lets you go, his eyes flicker between the cabin door and you, silently instructing you to hurry along. Your bare feet barely make a sound over the wooden deck in your traversal towards the cabin, where you would await your captain to claim his prize. Treasure that he greedily gets to have all to himself. The conquest he takes glee in ravishing himself full of. 

  Once you’re tucked inside, exactly where he wants you, Bucky scratches at his stubbled jaw, his recent shave already beginning to grow in again. Wanda approaches his side, the fabric of her magic ceasing at her fingertips like embers passing over into lowly ashes. 

  “That was a close one,” Bucky growls, his tongue that savours your taste runs over his teeth. She hisses with a hushed tone, “With each outing she is given to delve into the sea, my magic weakens, Captain.”

  His eyes roll to glare at the woman beside him. She sighs with a bow of her head, eyes downcast as to not provoke him into thinking her words a challenge. 

  “All I mean to say is that you must reinforce her rules. She’s beginning to suspect far too much, and with each piece of recollection, my power is sapped by her own. Enforce her rules once more.”

  Bucky’s shoulders shrug upwards with an all too arrogant huff, haughty in his conviction. He idly tilts his flesh hand, admiring the piece of you he has wrapped up in his iron grasp. 

  “She will do well to keep in mind her place. She’s intimidated.”

  “She’s conflicted, Captain.” Her words bring about a scowl to Bucky’s face, lips coiled into a snarl and nose wrinkling, eyes thinning. “And it will be a matter of time before she is free of you, and you will be known as the captain who lost his siren.”

  The bridge of this knowledge leaves Bucky in a state of strife. An aspect to his notorious reputation was garnered by your captivity. The White Wolf known by all as the fearsome pirate captain who tamed a siren; held you in the oyster of his clutches. If he did lose you, then his reputation would be suffering a heavy loss. As if to sense his change of demeanour, her hands raise up with her glowing, magic tipped fingers. His nostrils flare and the harsh prestige that made him a force not to be trifled with, he commands,  “Do it.”

  Bucky struts off with a roll of thunder beneath his leather worn boots, swiping up a half drunk bottle of rum and swallows an animalistic gulp, joining in on the festivities of his crew. Wanda observes her captain for a moment before diverting her attention towards the cabin. Her hands fold over one another, and with her palms outstretched, the scarlet hue dances through the air in a thin, cloudy blanket, searching and finding the miniscule gap beneath the wooden door. 

  He pummels into you until your back pushes far into the mattress, eliciting sharp whines and sultry moans from your parted lips, breath caught in a pattern of shallow pants. He chases after his second high as he drives his cock deep into you, the sound of skin slapping skin perverts the cabin’s air and already you begin to feel your core tremble in its own pursuit for its fourth orgasm. With each powerful snap of his hips, his throat chokes out a grunt in his exertions, the girth of his cock sinks deep into the channel of your hot, velvety cunt. 

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls lowly with a hiss, “so fuckin’ tight! You feel so good, you’re— taking me so well.” 

  With an exceptionally powerful rut of his hips and he has you on the precipice of screaming, thighs quivering in their hold around his waist, heels digging into the dip of his large, muscular back. Any coherent thoughts and words die on the vine of your vocal cords, only able to procure sounds of pleasure, to chant his name over and over again. 

  “Captain Barnes!” you mewl with fervour. Bucky’s chest vibrates with a husky chuckle. “That’s right, scream my name, let the crew hear you, Love. Let them hear how drunk you are for my cock.” 

  His one palm is laced with sweat, thick and roughened fingers squeeze yours in a passionate display of his dark possessiveness over you. Your captain could be very jealous when another’s eyes lingered on you for even a second too long, many others had suffered the brunt of his fury - weapons ablaze - and you in the end suffered the brunt of his envy with his cock pounding into you for the next several hours. 

  To remind you to whom it was you belong to. 

  His lips suckle one of the erected peaks of your breasts, moaning as his tongue leaves a wet trail around it before passing over to the second to repeat the treatment. Your head turns to the side sharply when the head of his cock splits you open even further than you could previously imagine, hitting a hidden crevice that leaves you without breath. 

  He gauges your reaction, the colour of your eyes blurring, phasing between the natural milky white canvases and the hue of your disguise, your canines and incisors now elongated, all because of the pleasure that pools at the junction where your bodies meet. But for a moment, you catch the glimmer of gold still wrapped around his hand, glimmering metal gnawing and rubbing across his skin, you’re torn between your euphoria and clouded curiosity. 

  “Say it again,” he grunts with a hard thrust that makes his muscles ripple insanely beneath his skin.

  “C’mon, say it for your captain, Love.” 

  Your lips and tongue drag across the flesh of his wrist, the pulse of his racing heart beats through, you can almost taste the rhythm. His sweat tastes strong with his musk, a strong flavour of the salty sea, sandy beaches and gunpowder. 

  You moan softly, almost in a whisper, “Captain… C-Captain Barnes.”

  The effect you have on him is indescribable to him. Never has he been able to put it into words, all he can do is feel it; carnally. The repetitive pounding into that deeper and sweeter spot has your back arching up, the smooth layer of your sweat covered body rubs against his, able to feel each defining muscle, he uses his metal hand to grip hold of one of your thighs, angling you so that you’re spread further apart for him. Your eyes begin to fall heavy and roll back into your skull in your drunken haze, the shimmer of scarlet presently blooms from time to time in them.  

  “That’s right. You belong to me, little Siren. It’s my cock that has you dripping wet.” His thrusts become faster, losing the precise edge he had before, his climax inevitably as close as your own. Your nails embed crescent moons into the skin of his one hand while the other bites into his shoulder. 

  “I’m the only man— fuck! The only man who gets to have you like this. Shit… shit. ’M going to fill you up.” 

  “Please, please… Cap—”

  “Aye, I’m going to fill you up, have you nice ‘nd full until my cum is leaking out of your little cunt, Siren. Fuck… you want that, don’t you? I know you do.” 

  You gasp with each attempt to breathe, each push and pull of his cock strikes you like a match to light the powder keg, the explosion of your climaxes comes as a white hot flash in your vision, momentarily blinding you. Your hot walls squeeze around his large endowment, forcing him to thrust back and forth even harder, grunting hot breaths against the shell of your ear. 

  His seed is flushed into the channel of your pussy in thick, seething spurts that paint your walls that milk him for every precious drop. 

  What he gives makes your lower abdomen weigh a little heavier, a little bit fuller than you were before. His hips grow slower with each dissipating explosion from his tip. His large chest expands hugely with every intake of air to his lungs before deflating as a pleased groan. 

  In his reverie of contentment, having had his fill of his prize - for now - he withdraws his softening cock from your pussy, a moistened pop echoes in the emptiness of your thoughts. Bucky rolls off of you to lay at your side, atop the furs and silken drapes of the bed. Before you can make a move he uses his metal arm to drag you in closer, tucking you into his side, the coldness of his fingers skimming the delicate texture of your arm. 

  The soothing rock of the ship is enough to lull you to sleep, the lids of your eyes inching closer and closer together. 

  “Still deny that you found nothing?” 

  His question only brings your brows to knit together. You shake your head and huddle closer into his side, basking in the comforting warmth of his body. Why on earth would he ask you such a silly question? As if there was anything of importance that outranked him, by being at his side. 

  The answer you give is instant in its resolve, “I don’t understand, Captain. I needn’t find anything out there… I have you.” 

  Your answer, though unable to see it from your position, pleases him and his lips curl into a toothy smirk, long sweeps of his dark brown hair tousled about in his post sex state. You lay your head against his chest to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, eyes closing to seek rest and refuge in the arms of your beloved captain. The man that grants you safety, that promises you nights of passion followed by the comfort of his body next to yours. All he asks in return is your loyalty. Your devotion.

  For you to be his siren. 

  Behind the blurry curtain of sleep layered over your eyes, you awaken and by your estimation, only for around an hour or maybe a little more. The morn still hasn’t risen over the ocean’s horizon, the moonlight shimmering and shining over the waves. The candlelight that bathed the cabin with a sensual atmosphere had now burnt out. 

  Breaths of deepened sleep sound next to you, the chiselled sculpt of his chest you’d used as a pillow takes steady form, as he sleeps. It makes you wonder as to what he dreams about, sometimes a scowl is etched into his attractive visage and he becomes restless, leaving you to somehow comfort him. And other times, mostly after he’s spent drawing orgasm after orgasm from the two of you, he finds respite. 

  You take the time to thoroughly yet delicately rub your eyes, robbing the tiredness of its hold to take you once more. With a tilt of your head, hair coming over your shoulder to graze the top of your breasts, his other hand lay out over the bed, residing just over the edge. 

  The mysterious object that somehow you know is linked with you, but as to how or why, or its significance to you in any case, is still laced around his calloused palm. Despite its odd gleam of familiarity, you believe this is the first time you’ve seen it before, however, the tiny voice in the back of your mind says otherwise. Then you must have seen something like it before somewhere. 

  Something deep in the recess of your heart, you have to know. Is this somehow linked to the estranged longing to a home you can’t remember? Does this necklace bind you to the lost melody of times erased from your memory?

  You take caution in moving carefully, inching your way to lean over the sleeping form of your captain, skin brushing skin, you slowly rotate your hips and hoist a thigh over his waist. Heated crimson flushes into your cheeks as you analyse your newfound position, but also from the way his body stirs lightly, still enraptured by sleep yet his body adjusting to your core lining over his naval. 

  Thawed from your frozen idle of panic, you take a moment to calm the racing of your heart that hammers vigorously against your chest, your nimble fingers reach out towards his flesh hand that clings protectively to the mysterious necklace. 

  This almost feels… too easy. You swallow a silent gulp, fingers grazing against his palm when his body shifts, bumping up into yours, you pull your reach back so fast, your hand slaps against his ribs, doing your best to cover up your true intentions. His stills beneath you once more and your shoulders fall lax with a sigh of relief. 

  Again you dare another attempt to grab the necklace, this time you don’t risk breathing, holding it for what seems like forever until your lungs begin to swell with an ache that makes them feel like bubbles about to burst. 

  You work the chain until it's loosened and finally allow your held breath to escape you, the strain to remain silent proving far more difficult than you would have liked. The weight of your body shifts backwards, now sitting up, you allow your eyes to take in every detail of the object in your hands. The gold chain is light, ghostly as it graces your hands, your fingers lace and loop it around amidst the process of your conjuring thoughts. 

  Like a puppeteer pulling the strings you raise the necklace up by its precious thread. The pearl encaged by its makeshift net swings from side to side, as though even when you are completely still, it has a soul of its own accord. 

  Everything you knew about pearls is forfeit, the identity of this one brings the bevel between your brows to form in thoughtful wonder. Therein lies the piece of some puzzle, the missing notes to the melody to which you only recall the faint rhythm of the song. 

  It has to mean something of greater importance. But if it did, then why is your captain so adamant to dismiss your curious nature to find the answers?

  As if the pearl itself is the key, you hear within your heart and soul the song. Voices sing a tone that is calming to your senses, a sweet and endearing lullaby meant for you to hear whenever you find yourself in the loneliest of places, in the darkest reaches of the ocean, the connection will bring you somewhere you call home. 

  But your home is The Avenger. Aboard the ship with Captain Barnes. The man known as Bucky to his closest inner circle. So why do the voices mingling with the tide call you away from all that? With each passing second you become ensnared by the spell of the pearl, the voices of whom you somehow find solace in become louder, the softened chorus of their song echoes a hundred times over in your head. 

  Before you even give pause to reason, your own voice becomes paired with the orchestra of sirens. You have no words, and maybe you never did, all you did need is the pearl to help guide you in remembering the melody. The uncertainty of your humming eases, the unforeseen instructors aiding you, your voice is soft within its deep reverie when it all comes to an abrupt pause, a gasp severing the tune. 

  He has you by the wrist, fingers bruisingly tight and giving you no choice to pull away from him, as he often did whenever he saw you retreat from him without his say so. 

  Bucky’s eyes bear into yours, penetrating the barrier of the necklace, he stares you down the way a wolf does the lonely prey in its path. His eyes match the brooding darkness of a storm at sea, a breed of villainy that threatens those who dare to try him. 

  “Captain…” Your throat bobs with a nervous swallow.  “I– I wasn’t—” 

  Out of pure instinct to not tempt his fury, your hold on the necklace ceases and it gathers in the roughened pad of his palm, large thumb that has caressed your sensitive nub plenty of times now works against the spherical shape of the pearl, brows heavy in their judgement to assess your punishment. His movement is sudden upon the brink of your awareness, a sharp gasp that cuts into the tender muscle of your chest as he plants you flat on your back, hands both of flesh and metal pin your wrists on either side of you until the bruising ache becomes far too unbearable. But you do nothing to voice the level of your pain. He would not hear of it. His newly erected shaft ghosts over your entrance, the beginnings of your slick painting his already drooling tip.  “I’m beginning to think you like breaking my rules, Siren.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Bruised knuckles

request: Obsessed with your Ruhn fics! Can you please maybe do one where he gets jealous on a night out with a reader where he sees a ale button in her and he gets very possessive over his mate and she loves it

a/n: idk what it is about this man that gets me going lately. I don’t understand this.

warning: blood, fighting

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ruhn didn’t like doing business on nights out. Especially not when you tagged along. Tonight was supposed to be different. He was supposed to take you out. A date night. One that was already long overdue. He had been a shit boyfriend lately. Fuck if he didn’t think he was edging into the territory of an ex at times. So, he had stepped up. Cut down on the time with the boys. Cut his work short just to pick you up from work.

So to say that he had practically burned the phone in his hands when the message pinged. But it was from his sister. Interest conflict. Both were family in different ways. But Ruhn had always dreamed his relationship with Bryce would be different. Better. So denying her felt like burning another bridge. And she rarely asked. “I’ll be real quick," he muttered against the shell of your ear. “And then I will be fully yours all night." A boyish grin on his lips, one that shined brighter than the gentle smile on your face. But you were always gentle. So gentle and sweet. Ruhn knew that he had swung way higher than he could reach when he tried to smitten you the night Dec introduced you to him. “Just do your thing and come back in one piece," you muttered back, leaning in to press a kiss to Ruhn’s lips before pushing him back slightly, nudging his legs back with your heel.

Now Ruhn just wanted to get back. It had been forty minutes since he had left, and if, from the way he had been constantly glancing at his clock, the man didn’t get the message that he was done, he no longer knew what would help his case. When they finally parted ways, Rugh stopped at the bar first. He needed a couple of shots to loosen the tension in his neck. The last thing he wanted was to bring his shit mood to you. He also got you another drink that nearly shattered in Ruhn’s grip when his eyes landed on the private VIP lounge.

There was another man there. Where was his fucking security? Man, he left to look after you. The fuck sure had a death wish with the way he leaned forward. Constantly trying to brush his knuckles over your exposed legs. You didn’t seem interested. If anything, you looked annoyed. The male chatted away as if he was the most interesting thing here. While you sat there with an unamused look on your face, swirling your drink from time to time.

Ruhn shoved the glass at some random girl who was the closest to him as he strolled forward, undoing a couple of buttons on his shirt as he went. “You can touch it if you want," Ruhn’s blood vessels nearly popped at the male's words, the way he flexed his arm in front of you. “Give me a reason to not bash your teeth in,” he growled as he yanked the guy up by his shirt. "Chill, my guy, just rounding chicks up, seeing the vibe," the guy pushed back against Ruhn, laughing. “I’ll show you the vibe," Ruhn growled, his hand coming to the male's hair as he turned to drag him out.

"Ruhn," you called from behind. “Stay there," he growled back, more and more people turning to stare now. He had barely made it outside before his fist collided with the male's jaw. “You ever think," Ruhn hissed, “On coming up to women and rounding chicks up," another blow landed on his jaw, pained grounds echoing. “I will personally find you." Ruhn hissed at the bloody face in front of him. He was seeing red. Even the idea of the smallest sent off this man on you was driving him into overdrive.

The metal door creaked. “Take care of this." Your voice filled the back side of the alley. But Ruhn’s anger only rose higher as the two men who were on watch tonight came into view. “Where were you?” Ruhn growled, yanking one of them by the shirt. “We just..." the man began to say, but Ruhn quickly cut in. “Fired. Both of you," he hissed. Ready to shout when you come into view. Grasping his face. Your long nails digging into his cheeks as you scowled at him.

“Take a fucking breath in," you hissed. Your scent wrapped around him. Calming Ruhn’s mind. You always felt close to him. The mating bond made sure of it. But now… His fingers reached for your hips, pulling you slightly closer. “Popping off like a firecracker," you huffed, pushing his hands back, and making Ruhn growl. He wanted to feel you close. No, needed to. “You didn’t need to go and do all that." You threw your hands in the air, turning away from him.

Ruhn didn’t think; he let the need within him act as he reached for your neck, pulling you back against his chest. “Don’t turn away from me when you yell," he hissed into your ear. “Don’t go caveman on me," you growled back, but you didn’t push his hand away. No, instead, your fingers brushed over his. “I thought we were over this," you muttered as Ruhn leaned in, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder. Breathing you in. But there wasn’t even a single note from someone else. You. Shit tones of him and a dusting of the things you did before you had even climbed into his car tonight.

“I would have kept you locked in your cage for a while longer," you teased, reaching back to brush your fingers through his hair. “Very funny," Ruhn said. He knew that he had to work on his rage when it came to other males being near you. But the simplest thought of someone else being by your side. Someone else making you laugh. Having your full attention. This was the universe laughing at him. Poking at the fact that he haven’t been valuing who was by his side. Showing him how it would feel from another perspective.

"Hey!", Your delicate fingers brushed over his cheek. Ruhn didn’t even feel you shifting in his arms. “You blanked on me, bad boy." You pinched Ruhn’s cheek smiling, but he can’t bring himself to return the expression. “Fuck, I ruined tonight," he sighed. “You can go ahead and name me the shittest boyfriend," Ruhn huffed in defeat. “Ruhn, we already talked about this," you sighed. “We are both adults, both busy," you reasoned.

“But you don’t deserve that half-time bullshit," Ruhn hissed back. “You can and should just walk away." You stood staring at him for a heartbeat. "Ruhn," you breathe out, your heart aching. He didn’t lift his eyes to meet yours. “My love hasn’t changed just because we had a harder month," you said, stepping closer. “I missed you, yes. But I won’t just pack my bags and go. I love you, silly." Resting your chin on his chest, you tried to catch his eyes. “We’re a team," you mutter, “Even if you leave your dirty underwear all over the place," you shake your head, managing to drag a light chuck from Ruhn.

“I don’t like other men near you like that," he muttered. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I think everyone got the message clear; you don’t need to worry." His arm snaked around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. Brushing his lips over your forehead a couple of times. You didn’t rush him. Letting him ground himself for a moment more before your eyes landed on his hand. Angry, red knuckles are visible even in dim light.

A soft gasp slipped past your lips, “Your hand." You pulled it up for inspiration. “We need to clean this up," you frowned. “It’ll be healed before we even get home; don't worry about it," he promised. You let out a deep sigh. Standing in his arms for a moment longer. “I want shitty fries and a burger," you puffed, making Ruhn let out a laugh. It was better for both of your sakes to just go back home anyway. “Order while we drive; we’ll eat it in our pajamas." Ruhn pulled your chin up, kissing you tenderly one last time before spinning you around. Slapping your bum while he was at it, making you walk ahead of him. Laughing as you turned back, practically blinding him with that long nail of yours upon your middle finger.

[xuchiya]

woman [s. mingi]

₊˚.༄ || filth valentines m.list || hongjoong || seonghwa || yunho || yeosang || san || mingi || wooyoung || jongho || ₊˚.༄

₊˚.༄ Baby, worship my hips and waist So feminine with grace ₊˚.༄

a mother of 2 for 5 years was something you were not expecting nor did mingi would be able to grow a family after marrying you.

standing in front of the mirror, you traced the unfamiliar contours of your body. five years as a mother of two had sculpted you anew, etching stretch marks and whispering of sleep lost in the quiet hours of the night. a pang of unexpected sadness settled over you, building a family suddenly felt like a loss of yourself.

Just as you were lost on your thoughts of self-criticism, Mingi enters the room, his gaze softening as he saw the glum look on your face. He feels the radiant of sadness and pity towards yourself and he hates every inch of those thoughts running in your head and he hates himself for not being able to stop those; failing his role as your husband. He approached your hunch figure silently, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs.

Tears welled up in the corner of your eyes, leaning into his embrace, finding solace in his familiar warmth. "I just... I don't feel like myself anymore," you confessed, voice thick with emotion and the heavy weight of those words hung in the air of your bedroom.

Mingi cupped your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the stray tears. "You are beautiful," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "More than you ever were. You've carried life, nurtured it, and created our wonderful family. That strength, that love you embody, shines brighter than any mark your body could ever hold."

His words were digging through your head like a wave, washing away the self-doubt. He saw you, not just the vessel of your children, but the woman you are and the one he loves. His understanding filled you with a warmth that chased away the shadows of insecurity.

"Thank you," you whispered, gratitude overflowing in your heart. "For seeing me, for reminding me."

Mingi smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always," he replied. "Now ..." His hands that were gripping your shoulders ran down towards your hands; placing them on his broad shoulders. Tender as a feather, his warmth palms went to the side of your curves, squeezing them with affection as his eyes never left yours and your heart soaring in so much emotion that only Mingi can do that. He sat down on the bed whilst placing you between his parted legs, “You’re my wife, the mother of our adoring children and my woman … i’ll worship this hips, your waist.” 

  His face nears your chest, bare underneath the shirt you were wearing after breastfeeding your son. Mingi’s mouth parted as he left breathy kisses on your chest, then his tongue grazing on your nipple that hardens at the mere contact of his wet gland. You squirm from the tight grip he has on your hips which travels on your ass; giving a handful squeeze, juggling them, feeling the wave of your ass in his hands.

 “This is my woman, my lady and my motherfucking queen and I won't get enough of this body of hers .. please let me have a taste of them?” if it wasn’t for the way he was pleading to you and for you; you would say never but how could you when he added those eyes you fell for. You, after hours of self-pity and doubt, with him you can be whatever you want, dress however you want because you have Mingi to praise you, hype you and worship you.

  Nodding with a faint smile on your lips, you took the hem of your shirt pulling them over your head and dropped them on the ground; gazing at mingi, eyes faintly dazed in lust and confidence, “go ahead baby …”

 His eyes sparkled at the granted permission, “thank you mommy thank you thank you!” Mingi didn’t waste any second on beating his lips latch on your plumb nipples; you were taken back by his tongue licking your excess breast milk then biting them, pulling them before devouring the other one, giving the same treatment.

  The nipple play he was giving were sending chills down your spine, your hands toss on his hair as you moan and squirm on his hold as he founds himself drowned on your breast, he detached himself, “fuck i love how they became bigger, the bigger the better …” he looks up at you then kneading your ass, “this is juicier too .. fuck all about you gets more fucking tastier.”

 “Then get a taste while you still can baby, San and his girl will be here in few …” Mingi chuckles deeply, his fingers hooking at your sweatpants along with your panties before yanking them on the floor, pooling around the shirt you disregarded a while ago. His body glides off the bed, to kneel on the floor while throwing one of your legs on his shoulder.

  Mingi can be pretty impatient when it comes to making you feel amazing as he said that time runs so fast when you do things that you love. And he loves doing you.

  His tongue glides flat on your cunt, tasting each of your juices, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows each of your nectar; humming delightedly as he uses thumb to circular around the bundle of nerve, making you pull away from him from the overwhelming pleasure, “Oh- Oh fuck Mingi! ~Too much.”

  He shakes his head side to side while having his tongue on your nerve, shamelessly you were grinding yourself on Mingi’s tongue as you feel your high coming and sooner you expected, a wash of ecstasy relieve your body as you cum on Mingi’s face, “Yes yes yes Mingi fuck me now, I need your dick deep in me.”

 Mingi gazes at your dishevelled face before standing up, grabbing your  jaw in one hand and having him pull you in a messy make-out session. His tongue works on its own, letting you taste yourself on his. He pulls away, string of saliva connecting you both, “hands and knees mommy, I’ll make you feel amazing as I fuck you and cum on your womb, carry my baby again.”

 You let Mingi push you on your knees, pushing your back as your chest touch the sheets while your ass were propped up for him to fuck, deeply and hard. You wait for him as he shifts to remove his own pants, jerking off his erected aching cock on his hand before spatting on it, “I’m putting it in..”

 Like you mentioned before, Mingi is impatient. Right after he slides in, Mingi loses control of himself as his hips start drilling back on your aching pussy. He kept hitting that spongy spot that had you screaming on the sheets, clawing it in your hand as you felt your pussy cream his dick second time you cum for him, “Fuck– FUCK! Mommy you're so tight! You pushed two babies out of this pussy yet you're still tight .. I’m gonna cum!”

 The nasty sound of skin to skin slapping echoes your room; each time Mingi comes back, his tip keeps nailing your womb, your eyes rolling back, “that’s it Mingi .. that’s it baby! Fuck!”

 “Oh-H .. I’m cumming! Take it mommy! Please take it!” Mingi instantly had his arms around you, pulling you up to his chest as you felt your walls clamping on his cock as he spurts inside, cumming deeply. His hips move in a gradual grind as he chases his high, breath ragged as the aftermath washes over him. You both stay the same position before he pulls out, “Thank you … Thank you for bearing them, loving them.”

 Even if you were tired bones aching to sleep, you spun on your knees and pulled Mingi in a small kiss, you looked at him with so much love, your hand brushing some hair out of his eyes then landing on his cheeks. Mingi leans on your touch, kissing your palm, “I love you Mingi, I should be the one thankful for you and for always having my side.”

  He smiles, “Anything for my queen."

And just like that, with his gentle love and unwavering support, the sadness dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of appreciation for yourself and the beautiful life you both had built together.

[mothiir]

the watcher from the wastes

Mortarion jerks it. That’s it, that’s the fic. @moodymisty and @kit-williams to blame, specially @kit-williams since I basically stole her entire idea.

cw: wanking. self loathing, sort of. mort being a creep and having issues with bodily autonomy. self harm in a weird 40k way. did not mean it to be this gross but ended up that way because morty.

—

—

This process is deeply unpleasant, and Mortarion prefers to go through it as little as possible — and yet you, cursed thing that you are, have forced him to drastic measures.

First of all: the mask must be removed. He unhooks it from his ears, curlicues of oily smoke escaping as the suction gives way. He holds his breath, keeping the toxic fumes nestled in his lungs as long as possible, and sets the mask onto his desk. His work-chair is hewn from the sort of raw pig iron that has Horus despairing. Brother I can have something nicer made — even something with a cushion —

Mortarion does not need such frivolity. It is a chair. He can sit upon it. Thus it serves its purpose.

He can hold his breath for hours, should he need to, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this exercise. With a moment to brace himself, Mortarion exhales the last of the gas, momentarily covering his face in a rank green shadow.

It dissipates, and Mortarion waits for a few heartbeats to pass before inhaling.

He tastes his own flesh: half-cooked, and putrefying.

It is not an unfamiliar taste — it’s almost nostalgic. For a moment, he is a boy once more, nailed to the bowels of an alien planet, eyes fixed on the distant, uncaring sky.

He inhales again. Sharper now. The glutinous phlegm his sinuses produced in a vain attempt to capture the worst of the toxins is starting to thin. He coughs it out into his sleeve, then spits on the floor. Another breath. His throat is always the worst. The gas rots the tissue within, destroying the tender membranes, rendering his voice raspy and ragged.

Without the constant application of the gas, his body has time to heal. And oh how the healing hurts. He hacks up a glob of snot, and then of quivering red tissue. Inside, his cells multiply frantically, like they know that they only have a scant space of time before the mask is reapplied and the perpetual injuring begins once more.

Another burst of coughing; then a frankly revolting sneeze — again, captured into the billowing sleeves of his robe.

He inhales again — and curses, because the healing has moved faster than last time, and his sense of smell has returned with a vengeance. By the Emperor’s ballsack, the stench is overwhelming. What —

He looks down at himself: robes stiffened with effluvia from experiments and battle, fresh gobbets of snot and rancid blood dripping off the end of his sleeves. Hm. Yes, well — that would explain it.

—

By the time he has finished bathing, his body has healed as much as it will ever be able to, and he feels acutely uncomfortable. Even without the influence of the gas, his voice is still a guttural rasp, vocal cords ruined from years of experimentation. His shoulders still hunch instinctively, used to crowding through narrow corridors; his eyes — though brighter — still have sclera of sulphur yellow, polluted with broken blood vessels.

When he inhales the poison of his homeland, at least he has an excuse for how broken his body still is. Without it, his weak flesh stands in testament to the monumental failure of his youth. Not only did he fail to slay the monster who held him captive, he failed to recover from its abuses, remaining a broken-limbed mess of a Primarch.

And yet — and yet a part of him enjoys this feeling. There is no pain in his throat, or behind his eyes; he is not subject to the constant cycle of his lungs rotting into slurry and healing themselves once more. His gums are shiny and pink, not sloughing off his teeth in grey scraps.

Best of all, his senses have returned to their Primarch peak. Even constantly poisoned, and half-crippled, he can smell and taste and hear better than any baseline — pathetic little things the lot of them, no better than scurrying ants.

Apart from…well. You smiled at him You did not cower from the pallour of his flesh, or cringe from the huff and click of his respirator. You looked him full in the face and you beamed.

Lord Primarch, you called him. Lord Mortarion.

And afterwards, to your friend, where you thought he couldn’t hear you: you never said he was handsome.

He pointed you out to Typhus, a little later. Asked his eldest son why they were so desperate for staff that they were now employing defective baselines, like you, who clearly had an incredibly limited range of vision — if you weren’t blind entirely. Typhus had informed him that he didn’t think you were blind — indeed, you had cleaned his armour to perfection just this morning — but if you displeased Mortarion he could have you —

No, Moration cut in. No, that wasn’t necessary.

Not blind. Just — stupid, possibly.

Probably.

Anyway — if you are stupid then he is a fool as well. And worse: he does not have the excuse of being mortal.

Soapy and slick, white hair hanging in a curtain down his back, Mortarion sits in the deserted communal showers and stares at a little plastic sleeve in his left hand. It’s sealed tight — waterproof, preserving the object within as well as can be hoped for. He wonders if you have noticed the theft yet. Probably. Serfs aboard the Endurance do not have many possessions — they do not need them. More than likely he’s caused a little bit of grief, with you either blaming yourself for the loss, or snapping at one of your fellows, blaming them.

He cannot bring himself to care.

His clothes are long gone. The serfs will incinerate them, and bring him new ones when he sends for them. Perhaps this time, he will not go so long without cleaning them. Humans have terrible senses, but he wagers that you would probably prefer —

He amputates that thought abruptly. It does not matter what you prefer. It does not matter what anyone prefers. This is a temporary indulgence to end his madness, and then he will move on.

The plastic crinkles as he opens it, his tongue dashing out to wet his lower lip. The garment is plain cotton, with a little green bow at the front.

Garment. Fabric. So many distancing words to cover up the fact that he has stolen your underwear. He can never let Horus find out. He can never let anyone find out. Even though there is no one here to witness his shame, he feels a flush creep up his back. His cock leaps eagerly as he takes himself in hand, his toes curling on the wet floor. It has been so long since he last touched himself.

It’s pathetic. It’s revolting. And yet —

Mortarion buries his face into the gusset of your underwear, inhaling deeply as he strokes himself. Your scent is faded, but still clings to the fabric, thick and musky and sweet. He can imagine burying his face between your thighs, just inhaling. He’d bite your soft flesh, leaving bruises the exact shape of his teeth — and he would not let them heal. He’d do it every night until they scarred, and you could not change clothes without remembering exactly whose bed you were crawling into.

His breath stutters; his drool seeps into the cotton as he sucks. He’s never taken anyone to bed — there have always been more important things — but he knows what he wants to do. He knows that you would smile at him, and stroke his scars with gentle hands, and welcome him in so deeply that no one would ever be able to pry him out. You’d let him ruin your insides, stretch you so no other man would ever be able to satisfy you again. He’d fill you up to the brim, and then he’d do it again, and again, and again. He’d make you swallow him until you were coughing his seed up, he’d cum in your hair and —

His orgasm rips through him like a tempest, so abrupt that he cries out in shock, cum spurting up over his chest. His flanks heave, and he comes back to his senses in a humiliating rush — he’s chewed through your underwear, shreds of fabric stuck between his teeth. He picks them out, grimacing.

A shameful display. He cannot wait to do it again.

[yelenaslyubov]

A New Frontier: Part 2

a new frontier // part 1 // part 2 // part 3 (coming soon)

main masterlist || yelena belova || requests

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: yelena belova x reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: little language, and mentions of nudity? (also i did not read this over again after i finished, so possible spelling errors🙈)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: after finding out the challenge that you and the Avengers are up against, you become increasingly nervous. not only are you up against Hydra, but learning new things takes you to new heights.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 4.1k

“Hydra! But I thought Hydra was destroyed?”

Yelena shhhed you. “Why are you acting surprised about this?”

You didn’t want to admit that you had fallen asleep during Tony’s announcement but you were not sure how to explain your screw up.

“Uhm, I may have possibly fallen asleep when Tony was giving the briefing…”

She looked at you for a moment and then chuckled to herself. “So you’re telling me that you had no idea where we were going, who we were up against, or what we’re here to do?”

You nodded your head embarrassingly.

“Why didn’t you ask?” she said blatantly.

“I didn’t want to look weak or for people to think I don’t take this seriously.”

Yelena looked almost sad for a moment, but it quickly passed. “Well now you know.”

You looked longingly at the facility down below. You couldn’t believe what you were up against now, but then again, you weren’t sure exactly what you were planning on facing in the beginning. Space people? Again?

“Come on,” Yelena said, “we should probably head back before anyone decides to lose their marbles.”

You reluctantly followed Yelena back to the truck and sat down in the passenger’s seat. You looked at the GPS and it said it would take you both about 20 minutes to find base camp. Once you buckled up you looked over to Yelena while she was driving.

“So…what’s Hydra up to now? Why are they back?”

“Apparently there were undercover Hydra agents that lived in the shadows and built this. They’ve been researching and studying new ways to build weapons and other destructive materials. Fun right?” Yelena said in a monotone voice.

“It’s kind of like the nuclear race all over again, except it’s one sided… so I guess it is nothing like that.”

The conversation faded after your words were exchanged. You hadn’t fully processed the fact that you were up against Hydra. You almost wished that there was some sort of alien mutant you were fighting against because it sounded better. This was serious shit.

You tried to take your mind off the anxiety that was suddenly weighing down on your chest. It was amazing how clear the sky was away from light. The stars seemed to shine brighter than ever, and the moon illuminated the vast land that looked as if it extended forever into the long nothingness.

The trees were vessels for your imagination. You imagined running your fingers through their thin bristles and getting lost in their scent. The trees were different out west. They had a way of holding their secrets, almost as if they had seen the history of the world and new places unfold in front of them.

You were too busy daydreaming of other worlds to notice the building way out in front of you with a few warm lights shining from it. The closer you came you could see the log house that sat bundled by trees, and a barn almost bigger to the right of it. It looked cozy enough for what you needed it for, but this was all unfamiliar territory for you, as you had always lived in the city.

Yelena pulled the truck next to the other two. The first two trucks still felt warm so you knew you hadn’t been gone very long. A chill crawled up your spine and made you shiver. I guess everyone was right; the scorching desert finds a way to tame itself at night.

You unloaded your belongings from the truck and headed inside to find everyone crowded in the living room.

“Oh god, here comes the welcoming committee,”

Yelena groaned.

They were all crammed on the two small couches and all along the floor. Some had their arms crossed and others were sound asleep.

“Steve said ‘no one gets left behind,’ so here we are waiting for the two of you to roll in. I hope you’re all safe and sound after your detour,” Natasha said with sarcasm dripping from her tongue

“Listen-” Yelena started.

“It was my fault,” you interrupted. Yelena looked at you with her eyebrows furrowed. “I got car sick so we had to pull off to the side of the road.”

“I’m glad you both are alright,” Steve said. “Let’s wrap it up and get some shut eye. We have a big day in store tomorrow.”

You looked over at Kamala and Kate with worried expressions. A big day could mean anything, but now you knew what was at stake and you didn’t want to find out what it meant.

Everyone split up amongst each other and found their rooms. There were four small bedrooms to choose from with limited space. You carefully inspected where everyone was going to ensure you got the room you wanted. You followed Kate and Kamala to the back bedroom which held three twin beds.

As you looked back, you noticed that Yelena had joined Natasha and Wanda despite her frustrations with them. You had a small pit in your stomach for some odd reason you couldn’t figure out. You watched as she walked inside without a glance. You scurried inside your room promptly so you didn’t draw attention to your staring.

“I call the bed by the window!” Kamala chanted. Kate took the bed in the middle and you settled for the bed closest to the door. The first person to be attacked if anything ever happened while at base.

“This room looks almost like John Wayne decorated it himself. What is that?” Kate looked at a small brass handle that held a glass sort of lamp shade on it.

“It’s an oil lamp,” you responded. “That in itself should tell you how long ago this was decorated.”

The three of you began unloading your belongings into the rustic chests that lived at the end of each of the beds. Space was limited so a closet wasn’t an option this time around. You giggled to yourself at the sheer amount of items Kamala had brought with her.

“So…car sick huh?” Kate asked you in a mischievous tone.

“Yeah uhm, ever since I was little I’ve gotten car sick,” you chuckled.

“But being in the jet doesn’t bother you?”

You were silent for a moment. “I guess so.”

Kate didn’t seem satisfied with the conversation, but you didn’t feel the need to dive into the subject anymore. You were afraid that they would ask too many questions and become curious about you Yelena. If there was nothing going on between you and Yelena, there would be no reason to question it…right?

You finished unpacking your things in silence while the other two girls got ready for bed. You weren’t fully comfortable around everyone yet so you felt it would be better if you got prepared for bed in the bathroom.

When you left the bedroom to find the bathroom, you almost ran straight into Yelena once again.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you laughed. You soon turned red when you looked down to find Yelena in pants and only a sports bra.

“There are worse things, y/n y/l/n” she said with the slightest of smirks. “See you in the morning for a ‘big day’”

You couldn’t remember in that moment if you had said anything back, as the memory of her frame had burned into your memory. You walked into the bathroom and let out the breath you had apparently been holding in. Muscle memory was in overdrive as you got ready for bed. Your mind was too preoccupied for simple things such as a night routine.

When you entered your bedroom again, Kate and Kamala had already fallen asleep and the room was dark. There was nothing left awake but your mind and soul, and they were both screaming.

You crawled into your cold bed and you winced at the material of the bedding. It was a mixture of the age old fabric and the temperature that it created. You got used to it quickly and found that the bed itself was more comfortable than expected.

Once you had settled, the only thing left to quiet was your head. The image of Yelena hadn’t left since it had arrived. Did she possibly know what she was doing to you, or was she oblivious to the feelings she created within you? You wished now that you had found a way to room with her, but it was better this way. There’s enough trouble between Natasha and Wanda for everyone, the Avengers don’t need another relationship on their hands.

You flipped in bed to get comfortable and you were facing the window. You could see the twinkle of the stars that were peeking through the bristles of the trees outside. The light from the moon usually would have been distracting, but this time it was your guiding light to sleep.

Your eyelids became heavy and fluttered as you admired the moon hung in the sky, and you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow held.

.

.

.

Your body jumped and you were awake when a loud knock sounded against the door.

“Up and at ‘em!” Clint yelled outside. All three of you groaned. You could tell by the color of the sky that it was entirely too early to be awake.

As you looked through your trunk for something to wear, you realized the lack of specification in your wardrobe due to your lack of information. You decided on something easy that you could move in, while also trying to fit the form of an Avenger.

The three of you got ready to leave and you already regretted your clothing decision, but you had no choice. Walking down the hallway you noticed everyone in jeans, boots, and their own choice of a shirt. You suddenly became very aware of your separation from the rest of the crowd.

The groggy faces that passed down the hallway all filed outside where Steve and a few others were waiting. They were standing near the mysterious barn that you had seen last night with Yelena.

“Nice of y’all to join us,” Sam said with a smile.

“Like we had a choice, man,” Peter whined.

“Alright,” Steve clapped his hands, “since we’re all here, we can get started. Who has ridden horses before?”

“Oh god,” you mumbled quietly.

You looked around and found that Clint, Bucky, Sam, and Nat were nodding. As for the rest of the group, they looked around awkwardly.

“When have you ever ridden a horse?” Wanda whispered to Nat.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to learn about me,” Nat winked.

While you were worried, Kamala had the biggest grin on her face as she was trying to keep her excitement level to a minimum. You and Kate on the other hand were feeding off of the other’s anxiety. You looked at Yelena and she looked cool as a cucumber. Nothing could ever shake her and that’s what made her so intimidating.

“Well today is your lucky day,” Steve said. “We’ve been provided with a whole herd as you could say. In the barn are an assortment of different horses to choose from, and you will also be learning to ride with them so you feel comfortable with one another before putting yourself in a dangerous situation.”

There was a moment of silence before Yelena spoke up. “So, I get the whole western cowboy bit, it’s funny it really is, but why are we doing it? We have perfectly good trucks and our strength.”

“Great question,” Clint piped up. “Even though those are more efficient methods, in this situation, we are trying to be as stealthy as possible. Any attraction to the abnormal will draw attention, such as an excessive amount of dust being caused by the vehicles or for instance, the power of Avengers.”

‘The power of Avengers’ you thought. You thought long and hard. Hydra was in the process of making weapons of mass destruction, and what would those weapons need? It all starts with a flame.

“What about me?” you asked. “When there does come a time where we need to use powers, what about me?”

You were discovered by the Avengers after a faulty incident involving a fire. You were studying at NYU when a science experiment in your chemistry lab went horribly wrong. The concoction caught fire and you were trapped in the building along with other students. By some miracle, you survived it, but the others perished. Some say that you emerged made of fire yourself, but either way, you remained unscathed after the accident. Ever since then, you’ve been able to harness the power of fire and use it to your advantage. You found that this may be hard in the current situation.

“Uhm,” Steve said hesitantly, “we’ve all briefly discussed that, and for the safety of us here, we’d like to feel the fire to a minimum is possible. Of course there will be circumstances that require you to use them, but keep it tamed for now.” You nodded in agreement.

You felt a bit defeated. Why were you invited on this mission if you weren’t even able to use your powers to your advantage? You understood that you were new, but that seemed even more reason to leave you behind.

“Getting back on track,” Clint clapped his hands together.

“Right, right,” Steve awkwardly laughed. “Today we’re going to pick our steeds for the time being. They’re fully trained and broken, it’s just your job as a rider to become comfortable around your horse so you’re able to have a successful time together. But first, you have to find a horse that you click with.”

You all started to walk off before Bucky called back out to you. “And another thing…with the help of the Wakandans, we’ve been able to provide a vibranium shield around the property that disguises our location. That means it’s important to learn your surroundings and pay attention to your tracker because this shield will be enabled at all times. When outside the shield, the house and the barn, along with everything beside it will disappear and it’ll look as if it’s a normal forest. This is for your safety and ours while completing this mission, so be smart.”

“Everyone convene in the barn to choose your pick of the bunch and we’ll go from there,” Steve announced.

“Woah,” Peter and Kamala said in unison.

“We’re like real superheroes!” Kamala exclaimed and you smiled back. You weren’t as vocal about your opportunity as an Avenger, but this was just as surreal for you as it was for her. You were more reserved about it but it was hard for you to contain yourself once you were fully immersed in the full top secret mission.

Kamala opened the barn door first since she found it so hard to wait. You were greeted with an unpleasant smell that infiltrated your nose, but you tried to ignore it since you figured you would have to get used to the stench. Something brushed against your leg and you looked down to see a banged up barn cat that was rubbing itself all over your legs.

“Oh god, cats,” Kate groaned.

“What, not a cat person?” you asked, surprised.

“No, Lucky is my one and only, he’s all I need,” she said.

You looked around the barn briefly where you found a small workshop that was crowded by old, rusted tools, fine leathers, and other farm gear. There were also black and white photos that were hanging upon the wall of people who meant nothing to you. Though they meant nothing to you, they looked as if they were special to someone else.

Beyond the front wall were the rows of stalls that held the horses you were to choose from. For some reason you felt yourself become very nervous. Of course you hadn’t ridden a horse before, but that didn’t seem to be the cause of your anxiety.

You wanted to be able to pick the right horse that would help you be the most successful. That is, a companion that would keep you safe and listen to you throughout this mission. You didn’t want to make any mistake that would give the impression you didn’t take this position seriously.

You strolled down the soft bedded ground littered with hay and observed all the horses to choose from. There were a couple tan ones, black, and brown. You didn’t feel like any of them were speaking to you, so you kept walking.

Down at the very end of the stall lived one horse. It caught your eye so you decided to take a peek. When you looked inside the dark stall there was a built stallion standing in the middle. His black hair was disheveled and long, but it contrasted well against his tan midsection.

You didn’t know how, but you felt like this was the one. Something about the energy between the two of you was electric and you didn’t want that to slip away. You looked down at his nameplate and gasped. His name was Ember and it was almost as if it was written in the sand long before you had walked upon it. It was fate.

The heavy barn door opened with a long clang and you walked inside slowly. You held your hand out hoping that he could muster up the courage to form a connection.

“Here, boy,” you encouraged him. “I don’t wanna hurt you, I just wanna be friends.”

He walked over slowly and sniffed your palm to gain comfortability, then he nibbled at your hand. It tickled your hand and made you laugh. You rubbed the side of his face and scratched his fur. You were satisfied with your match.

You walked out of the stall and looked around at everyone else. Based on the look of it, it seemed like everyone had made their pick. Without thinking, you found yourself looking for Yelena. You spotted her off to the far right with another horse that was tan and had light hair. The horse looked as if it was licking her face which made Yelena laugh like you had never heard before. Suddenly, you had discovered your favorite sound.

Before you got too sucked in, you looked at the others and could tell by the smile on their faces that they had all matched.

Steve then began coming around to each of it to teach us how to place the halters and saddles on each of the horses. Each of us had to know how to do it on our own in order to even ride the horses. The process was straightforward and before you knew it you were leading each of your horses outside for your next mission.

You joined Kate and Kamala where they stood with their new companions and you were surprised to find Yelena standing by them as well, conversing with Kate. “Hey!” you smiled and they all greeted you.

“Did you see how pretty my horse is?!” Kamala asked you. “Her name is Pumpkin.”

“Mine is Ember.”

“Aw, that’s so cool!”

“What about you, Kate?”

Kate patted her horse on the side. “This is my boy Angus.”

“What happened to Lucky being your one and only?” you sarcastically asked.

“Oh hush. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“What about you, Yelena?” you daringly asked. “What about your horse?”

She smiled from ear to ear. “This is Jackie and we match! Look at our hair.” She held up a strand of hair to her horse and the blonde matched the other. “Plus, she’s short like me!”

You had never seen Yelena this excited about something. Granted, you had not spent much time around her, but she seemed like a generally dissatisfied person about things. You were happy to see her so thrilled over something. Your heart seemed to be skipping a beat more than it usually does.

“Now that we’re all here together again, we’ve made it past the easy part. It’s time to connect and ride with your new horse so you’re more prepared to fight out there. We’re going to take turns in the arena so each of you have time to feel them out,” Steve explained.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves for what was to come. You didn’t know what to expect out of this but you tried to keep an open mind.

People went before you and you watched a couple fall, but more often than not, everyone succeeded. Kate went in pretty neutral and she only seemed to falter once, but she looked as confident as ever; no surprise there. Kamala went in too strong and it paid off for her. She rode around as fast as the wind, only riding with her heart and not her head. It always somehow worked for her.

Then came Yelena. Due to her previous reaction over her new match, you expected her to do decently. When she stepped out on the dirt, she thrived. She looked as if she had ridden every moment of her life. She looked like she belonged out there. It made your whole body seem to relax and prepare for your turn. Her radiance made your sense of self skyrocket.

It was now your turn and you entered the arena with Ember to guide you. Once you jumped on, you slowly tried your hand at guiding him around the fence.

“Nice job, boy. You got it.” You were really feeding the compliments to yourself so you wouldn’t chicken out. It was the only thing taking your mind off of your possible failure. That, and the fact that Yelena was staring at you from behind the fence. It was something you couldn’t get out of your head, but it was also clouding your judgment. You needed to focus on what was in front of you.

You tapped your foot against Ember’s side to signal he could speed up. You seemed to get a hang of it fairly quickly and you were proud. He kept his pace at a stride but you wanted to push it farther.

“Come on, boy. Let’s pick it up a bit,” you instructed him. He started lightly running so that you could test out the water.

You smiled as he galloped around the arena. You were ecstatic that it was going so well. You looked over by the fence to see Kate and Kamala clapping and cheering you on. To the right of them at the edge of the fence stood Yelena who was smiling directly at you. She had her arms leaning over the front of the fence with her flannel buttons opened slightly, causing your arms to turn into jelly. Her braided blonde hair was enchanting, so much so that you didn’t realize you were about to crash into the fence in front of you.

“Y/n, watch out!” Yelena screamed, but it was too late.

Ember had stopped right in his place, sending you soaring over the top of him and over the fence. You landed on the ground outside the fence and you could already feel your back throbbing.

“Shit,” you groaned, trying to pick yourself up off the ground.

You were surprised to find that Yelena was the first person to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asked you.

“Ask me in about 20 minutes,” you mustered a laugh.

“Let me help you up.” Yelena extended her hand out to you. You grabbed it and she helped hoist you up off the ground. Kate and Kamala soon ran after you.

“Are you hurt?” Kate asked quickly.

“I don’t think so.” You dusted yourself off the best you could and you watched your friend’s faces fall down to stare below your waist.

“Uhm, y/n, you might wanna look down,” Kamala whispered.

You looked down at yourself to find that your shorts had ripped up the side. You gasped and tried to hold the fabric together. Yelena saw your concerned face and, without thinking, she took her flannel off to wrap it around your waist.

Kate and Kamala looked between each other and smirked. The situation was made worse when you tried everything inside of you to keep your cheeks from turning red. Yelena was touching you and she gave you her jacket.

“Clearly I was underprepared,” you chuckled.

“I have just the idea,” Kate said. “Shopping trip!”

“Where in the world are we going to go shopping over here, Kate?” you asked. “I don’t really think there will be a mall chilling in the desert somewhere.”

“Unfortunately, we’re going to have to think smaller. Are you ready for another adventure?”

You sighed. “I guess as ready as I will ever be.”

You kept Yelena’s jacket awkwardly wrapped around your waist as you walked across the grass and into the house to accompany Kate on the shopping trip that you never dreamed of.

.

.

.

☞ join my taglist!

if anyone in particular would like to be added to my series taglist, you can always comment down below↓ :)

taglist: @youreatotalposer // @xxromanoffxx // @avengerswriter4eva // @xxxtwilightaxelxxx // @la-reine-des-enfers // @chickenlittlsblog // @belovasecho // @youresuchamom // @kacka84 // @alotofpockets // @yamum-com // @maia-lightwoood // @lifeontop // @marvelwomen-simp // @sarah5462 // @jackharlowsshawty // @batmanzbae-blog // @yelenabelovasbxtch // @marvelfan98 // @an-evergreen-rose // @popeheywardssecretgf // @lovelyy-moonlight // @justthis-stuff // @sat-yrr // @mythosphere-x // @daenerys713 // @bentleywolf29 // @natasha25052 // @ortega29 // @sherlockstrangewolf // @writing-randomness // @twentyonetornmyheart // @mathxa // @push-on-me // @natasha-romanoffs-world // @jade-maximoff // @flosbelova // @tobiaslut

[m1d-45]

stella fortuna

summary: ventis entry for my previous (formal) post, aka a minor character study. this was meant to be up 3 days ago :)

word count: 1k

-> warnings: massive spoilers for mondstat archon quest

-> gn reader (no pronouns)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24

< original post || < masterlist >

if you asked venti how he felt, seeing everybody in mondstat be chosen as a vessel but him, you’d get the same answer every time, no matter where or when. even drunk, flopped over the bar with an empty glass in hand, he recites the exact same response as if it’s been committed to memory.

“what need does a bard have for divine strength? i’m glad my friends get to go on adventures, but my place has always been to tell stories, not to write them.”

if you were to listen closely, past the sheen of charisma that coated all of his words, past the mask of a bard and into the heart of the wind, you’d hear the lie.

the memorized words, a paper-thin front over his true feelings, only hide the truth from those who don’t care to find it. the drip of wine only makes this clearer; put a bottle in his hand and watch how quickly his eyes turn blank, how the smile pulling at his features feels forced. the same words, the same lie, the same turmoil that surrounds his every action. confusion is hidden in the downturn of his eyes and something akin to desperation hides in the tilt of the bottle, yet his words come out as sugar-sweet as his drink.

“it doesn’t bother me. why should it?”

it shouldn’t.

he shouldn’t be jealous. he shouldn’t be surprised that mortals were blessed first over a god, he shouldn’t be examining his own skill set for faults. he’s an archon. one without his gnosis, sure, one with the least power from his people, sure, but an archon nonetheless. he still wields anemo with more strength than anybody in mondstat could dream of, the winds still bend to his will, he still challenges amber to an archery contest if the day is slow and he still wins, even with her extra star on her side.

venti doesn’t need acknowledgment from his god, not when there are so many mortals that deserve it. not when hilichurls still fall before his bow, not when his windcurrents still carry pets and children and kites from trees, when the whisper of a breeze alerts knights to a threat at his bidding.

(but he wants it)

none of the other archons have received divine blessings, he’s not even an outlier in that sense. he’s not an exception to the rule, he is the rule, and yet he finds himself wishing it would bend anyway. he should count himself lucky, in truth, that a vessel of his element is always at his gods side. he should be happy that the creator found joy in his domain, that some of the highest favored bore his winged seal. he should take pride in the fact that the head of mondstat’s church was given 6 stars, share diluc’s joy in having his vision burn brighter. he should put a bottle on his step for the darknight hero to enjoy, in celebration of his crimson flames searing hotter than ever.

so why can’t he?

venti couldn’t hide the way his fingers faltered at the wash of divine power coming from the door to the angel’s share, nor the haste with which he looked over. his hand still strummed his lyre, but he let the reprise go on for a bit longer than it should have, letting himself take in the uncharacteristic nod diluc sent his brother before moving to the back room.

kaeya’s eye caught his the moment before he looked away, something knowing in the ice. with a slight lift of his hand, he downed the rest of the wine in his glass.

venti looked away, the finale of his tale finally falling from his lips.

it was late, most of the patrons far past sober, their minds too soaked in alcohol to register the flatness to his voice. when he ended his story with a flourish, skipping the last few bars of the melody, all but one cheered.

the exception joined the outlier, tucking his lyre into his inventory. venti flagged the bartender, kaeya kindly waiting until he had wine in his hand to speak.

“why the long face?”

he looked over, glass half-raised to his lips. the captain seemed… genuine, almost, something knowing in his eyes. whether it was his usual charisma or not didn’t matter, not really—gods saw easily through mortal lies—but he knew it wasn’t anyway.

venti set down his cup. “what do you mean? after a long night of playing, i’m reaping my rewards. what reason do i have to be sad?”

kaeya tipped out his glass for charles to refill, sending him a nod of thanks before turning back to him. his eye skipped over his features, never landing on one for too long: the flower in his cap, the dimness of his eyes, the grip on his glass, all picked up and turned over and assessed.

he drew a conclusion, taking a soft sip of wine. “i don’t know, venti. you tell me.”

what reason did he have to be sad?

by all accounts, tonight was a good night. he’d made quite a bit of mora, he was having a nice drink, he’d turn in a bit earlier than usual and wake up with the sun, feeling the air warm around him as he roamed the city’s dawn. nothing large, or awful, or tragic. nothing… nothing.

ventis eyes slipped, falling to the ice on the captain’s hip, to the peacock he couldn’t see, but the glitter he could feel. the sheen of heaven that dusted the calvary captain’s presence, lending him that much more credibility.

he found kaeya’s eye again, catching himself, but it didn’t matter. the humor had already dulled, understanding flashing back at him.

in the city of wine and song, mondstat’s archon indulged in both.

[rebeccatannen]

I listen to Sleep Token music every single day. But for some reason, today feels... different.

I'm lying in bed in complete darkness listening to Take Me Back To Eden and Euclid, and the absolute beauty of Vessel’s voice just hit me all at once. I started crying.

I don't know why I'm crying or why this man makes me feel so alive and loved. But he does. There is just something about him that I can't explain in words. It's just a feeling. A feeling I embrace wholeheartedly every single day.

He makes the bad bearable, and the good shines a little brighter. These tears are both sad and happy, and I wouldn't change a thing knowing they were caused by this music.

Sleep Token means more to me than even I will ever know.

Worship.

[elmoees]

ミ★ 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 ★彡 (jjk ll)

summary: snippets of a summer with the jjk men part two :)

- word count. 928

- contents. implied fem!reader, no use of (y/n), nicknames (babe, love, princess, ect), established relationships (boyfriend/husband), canon world but little is mentioned, curse? sukuna, mentions of nobara and maki, mentions of yuuji's impending death, minimal/no cursing, fluff drabbles so no warnings required but a little angsty!

- notes. have fun reading! second post :p

jjk l part - haikyuu version - one piece version

ミ★ 𝘐𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘪 ★彡

Was it a mistake to take a trip to the corner store at 11’oclock? Maybe, but was it worth it? Absolutely. As Yuuji walked over with his arms full of snacks, you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous amount. “Do we really need all of that? How much do we need for a movie night?” he could only gawk at the statement. 

“Babe! We can’t watch a movie without chips and soda, c’mon be serious.” Raising your hands in defense you pretend to back off, “I’m totally serious, ‘m always serious!” 

Yuuji stuck his tongue out and walked over to the cashier, not dropping a thing. He was a man on a mission, and clearly it was a success. 

“Lets go! I still gotta show you the Human Earthworm series!” The pink haired male bounced towards the exit with two plastic bags in tow. Yuuji’s enthusiasm never failed to get you excited for even the most mundane of things. He had been hyping up this series as some sort of gory slasher, though apparently the third was lacking in taste. Even with that detail in mind, he had gotten you hooked with the promise of a movie marathon date after the rough week you both had. 

He was still the vessel of one of the most dangerous beings in all of existence, and you… well you were nothing special, not in the grand scheme of things. Your knowledge of the Jujutsu world started and ended with Yuuji, and you think when he was gone that’d be it for you too. 

So for now without the weight of the world on your shoulders, you’d enjoy this crappy movie franchise and over-priced snacks with the love of your life. For both your sakes, everything else could come later. 

“Okay! Okay, ‘m coming.” 

ミ★ 𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪 ★彡

“I can’t believe you made me to do this…” Megumi’s voice was deep as he grumbled into your ear. The day was warm, and seeing as it was a weekend you had decided to spend part of your free time strawberry picking. You could only smile to yourself as the both of you continued down the rows of small green bushes, “Oh yeah? What’s wrong with a few berries ‘Gumi?” The tone was questioning as you leaned down to take a few of the small red fruits. 

“I just- wouldn’t you rather be doing this with Nobara and Zenin?” The dark haired boy asked with a pout. 

“Huh? No, cos they’re not my boyfriend and they wouldn’t make me as happy as you do.” You replied, reaching down with your extra hand to grab his free one. Even after almost a year he was still shy when it came to this sort of affection. “Besides, who’s gonna buy me a lemonade after we’re done?”

“Me,” you nodded turning to face him. With a smile as bright as the sun shining above, you kissed Megumi’s reddening cheek and watch him flush even more. 

“Uh-huh, and you’ll get even more kisses for it!” 

Just a year ago, he could’ve never imagined himself here with you. Fighting curses and taking on the world left little time for leisure, let alone love. There were only a handful of Sorcerers that he had heard of with partners, and to say he was now one was shocking. The world was dark, and he had always known that - But you, oh incredible you, made it brighter than ever. 

Leaning back down to kiss you in return, he said “Wouldn’t have it any different, Love.” 

ミ★ 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢 ★彡

As day turned into evening, you had suggested a nice walk with your husband. Sukuna had elected you both take the long route to make it a date, and with no complaints the two of you headed on out. 

“We should do this more often, Princess.” He said, voice a little distant. Normally he was heated, whether it was work or some other villain of the week, there was always something bubbling under the surface of his skin. With a nudge to his shoulder you give him a sly smile, “Yeah, well if ya weren’t so busy maybe we could, Handsome.” 

He gave a nod, and for a while more you continued to walk in a comfortable silence. “What are you thinkin’ about ‘Kuna? Don’t want ya to pop a blood vessel over this,” you nudged him again, and went to wrap an arm around his. 

“Just… Just about how much I don’t deserved this, ‘m not good for ya- and don’t even start you know I’m not.” The pink haired male settled into your touch, taking a few breaths. 

When you two had met all those years ago, he hadn’t been a good person. Truth be told you didn’t known if he was one now - but he was good to you. It wasn’t such a surprise for him to be thinking this way, ‘King of Curses’ didn’t hold much in terms of hope after all. “Well, maybe this isn’t about what you deserve? You got me, you’ve have me, and now you can keep loving me. Like I do for you,” 

“I’m not a good person,” a nod 

“I’ll hurt you,” a hum 

“But, I do love you…” and that you knew, he wouldn’t have cared enough to be here otherwise. 

You loved him too, that much was clear. You had changed for him, you had cried for him, and somewhere along the line you had fallen too deep to come back. Hopefully, that was the kind of love he felt as well. 

“Mhm, and I you.”

 ©elmoees 2023

[lydiablack-m]

Rain |L Lawliet x Reader|

Pairing: L x Reader

Warnings: Angst, death, major spoilers

Word count: 1k

A/N:  English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. You may read this imagine in the original language here

Sharp rain lashed the windows, it seemed as if the sky had opened and the water from the heavenly springs, rested for thousands of years, broke out of the darkness at once and headed to earth in an endless stream to drown, wash away the sins of humanity, cleanse the souls of people or destroy them.

Everything came down to a dead point. The investigation stopped after the capture and death of Kira. All the accumulated material of evidence and clues collapsed because of the one line in the Death Note: "he will die in 13 days."

The networks that L tightly wove around Light became entangled, and the feeling of approaching danger was getting stronger and stronger over us every day.

L was more silent than usual, his antics and brilliant guesses on the case disappeared. This damned God of Death did not give any useful information, all L's attempts to get her to talk, to ask about the notebook ended in failure. L grew more and more gloomy, it was as if a death mark rose over him, becoming brighter every day, he himself seemed to felt it.

I opened the last message again, as if something new might appear in it, but the same brief words were shining on the screen.

"Y/n, come to the roof. We need to talk."

I put the phone in my pocket and headed to the stairs. The rain beat relentlessly through the panoramic windows, it felt like this building did not exist at all, every step was easy, as if I was walking through that gray air outside, as if it cost me nothing to push off the ground and take off now. My head was spinning from the monotonous sounds of falling drops and aching, inexplicable anxiety.

I pushed the iron door leading to the roof with shoulder, and the next second the wind whistled in the doorway. With an effort, I opened it and look around, covering eyes from the wind and small drops.

L stood near the metal tower, which was crowned with a satellite receiver, and looked at the sky motionless.

His clothes soaked through, water was streaming down his face, dripping from his hair, seemed like he had been standing here for a long time before my arrival. It was pointless to call him, for the noise of the rain and the howling of the wind, my words would simply be lost in the air, there was nothing left but to go out to meet the cold streams and the open gray sky.

“The bell is ringing louder than usual today,” he said, still staring intently into the sky, when I approached him.

“I know.”

We looked into the sky of heavy endless clouds, showered with daggers of cold drops, and it seemed as if there, far above us and in the whole expanse of the air dome, the measured beats of the memorial bell could be heard, making the heart freeze and further distancing us from the reality where we are standing on the roof of a 30-storey hotel in Tokyo, waiting for news that the unknown will bring us, closer than ever to destruction.

“Lately, it has been ringing incessantly. Do you understand what this means?” he said tonelessly.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the dark sky.

The rain was lashing at my face in furious gusts, my T-shirt stuck to the body, water dripped from the jeans into the sneakers, but it didn't bother me at all. It was as if the whole moment enchanted me, and I stopped feeling anything but unity with this rain, sky and air, nothing else mattered.

All the future past and present have been reduced to one point, into one vessel of the storm, heralding the end of the days of this world.

L turned and stared intently into my eyes.

“I don't want you to die.”

His voice seemed to come from far away, and it took me a moment to understand the meaning of his words, looking at him with unseeing eyes.

L seemed to understand my confusion and hastened to add:

“I think he's going to kill me and then you, and I don't know... For the first time in my life, I do not know how to prevent it,” he sighed heavily and looked up to the sky again.

“I made too many mistakes, let Light get too close... It's all my fault. I shouldn't have dragged you into this investigation. Now, because of my shortsightedness, we are both going to die. I'm sorry.”

I looked up. For some reason, a painful feeling crept into my heart again, suddenly memorable episodes from childhood began to flash before my eyes, those moments when the soul, as well as now, trembled with delight and at the same time was torn with longing in powerlessness to comprehend this moment of merging with the eternal largess of centuries, as if the ancient secret of life was hidden in these moments and one step, one breath each time was missing to let in this all-encompassing wisdom, to become one with infinity.

“It was an honor for me to work with you, but I consider the opportunity to call you my friend to be an even greater joy and the main achievement of my life,” I said.

As if in oblivion, my lips moved by themselves, but at the same time I was clearly aware that the said was right.

L looked at me somewhat surprised.

“Thank you. You are the only person who has become really close to me, whom I really trust. I'll be glad to die next to you.”

He suddenly seemed so lonely and mournful. His life has always been full of cruelty and injustice, he has always been an observer of it, but he has never lived himself. It's a pity that we won't have time to change anything.

I quietly went over and hugged him. He flinched in surprise, but hugged me back.

“Thank you. If it rains like this in heaven, I'll be happy to be there with you.”

...

Thump.

I fall on one knee, there is an unbearable pain in my heart.

Thump.

He lies in front of me and gasps for air.

Thump.

I am pinned to the ground, but rush closer to him.

Thump.

I grab his hand and look into those eyes for the last time.

Thump.

“I'm sorry...”

Thump...

[pagsys-writings]

do you believe in ghost stories?

thranto | 1901 words | rated T

horror; but like not bad - like I'm in a secluded hallway in the dark spooky vibes; or as I like to call it "Spooky Lite"; Comfort; literally wrote this last night at midnight but it's not bad

Based on this prompt

Summary:

“Hello! Anybody here?” Eli called out, partially out of boredom, even though he knew it was an absolutely ridiculous and terrible idea to call attention to himself right now. His voice echoed along the hallway and the eerie silence that followed sent a chill down his back. “Actually… I don’t want an answer to that,” he mumbled under his breath.

In which Eli and Thrawn investigate a deserted ship.

"Hello! Anybody here?” Eli called out, partially out of boredom, even though he knew it was an absolutely ridiculous and terrible idea to call attention to himself right now. His voice echoed along the hallway and the eerie silence that followed sent a chill down his back. “Actually… I don’t want an answer to that,” he mumbled under his breath. 

He was being absurd. The Chimaera hadn’t registered any life forms present and chances were that they wouldn’t find anything interesting. Eli didn’t really understand why Thrawn wanted to check out this decrepit “ghost” ship in the first place. Maybe he thought they’d find something related to Nightswan. They had run into a few pirates in the area, but that didn’t mean this was related to that man. 

Rubbing his hands along his arms, Eli tried to ward off the chill that seemed to have crept into his bones. “Kriff, it’s cold,” he grumbled. 

His heels scuffing against the floor was the only sound besides the buzzing lights powered by the backup generator that they’d managed to get going. Except the emergency lights didn’t offer much and they kept flickering like they were seconds from going out. Eli readjusted his grip on the glowrod, holding it a little tighter than before. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place. 

He passed doorway after doorway. He noted nothing of interest or importance. For the disarray the outer portion of the ship was in, Eli had expected to find the inside to be much of the same. But, it wasn’t. Besides the dirt and grime on the floor from disuse, there was no evidence of anyone ever being present. Either the people of this ship had plenty of time to evacuate, or it had already been looted by pirates or whoever came across the empty vessel. 

What Eli also noted was the absence of any evidence indicating a fight. No scorch marks from blasters and no bodies. It really was like a ghost ship — something like the stories he and his cousins would tell around the campfire when they were younger. He did not appreciate the thoughts that that connection brought up. 

I should check in, he reminded himself. Only to realize that he hadn’t heard anyone checking in, and that was always Thrawn’s requirement when they split up the group. He was adamant about a strict schedule of who should check in and when. There should have been three others by now, but his comm was silent. 

He lifted the device, speaking his name and a brief overview of what he’d found, which was basically nothing. The response he received was static. He tried again, but nothing changed. 

Looking up and down the hallway, Eli felt utterly alone. His teeth clattered as the chill seemed to get worse. Should probably head back… He stepped in the direction he’d come from when the emergency lights flickered — buzzing brighter for a moment — before going dark. The absence of their buzzing made the silence and dark feel alive.

“Son of a…” Eli froze as he blinked his eyes. He still had his glowrod light but his eyes were struggling to adjust and his mind was whirling as fear threatened to grip him. He tried the comm again and swallowed down his panic when he got no response. “It’s alright,” he told himself as he forced his feet to move. 

All he had to do was keep going in the direction where they’d docked the shuttle and he’d find the others. Then he could get off this ship and to the safety of the Chimaera.

With the new darkness, Eli’s senses seemed dialed up to 11. His breathing sounded extremely loud, as did his feet against the floor. He kept the light in front of him, lazily sweeping it from side to side to make sure he headed in the right direction. He was pretty sure he was doing a decent job — he’d carefully memorized the turns and counted the doorways as he went. 

He made a left and stopped short. He could have sworn he heard something bouncing and rolling along the floor — something metal. The hallway in front of him was empty, but his skin started to crawl with unease. 

Stepping back, Eli waved his light across the hallway he’d just come from. Nothing. It was empty and nothing appeared out of place. Not like there was anything there to begin with to be bumped into or moved. 

Turning back toward the direction of their shuttle, Eli took a hesitant step forward and shivered as something frigid seemed to pass through him. He really wanted to burn this place to the ground just so it would stop tormenting him. Another step and his glowrod blinked. Eli sucked in a breath just as it flickered again and went out. He let out a torrent of curses as he banged the light against his palm, praying for it to be just a bad connection that he could smack back into place. Nothing happened. 

Another curse escaped him as he blindly searched for the wall. Without his sight, Eli felt himself get turned around as he reached out. Once his hands were pressed against the cool metal, he took a breath. However, it did nothing to calm the racing thoughts in his head — the ones that said he was going to die here. He decided he was gonna haunt Thrawn’s ass if he did just for getting him into this mess in the first place. 

A puff of air touched the back of his neck and Eli felt his hair stand on end. A hand brushed against his elbow and instinct kicked in. Eli whirled around, breaking the person’s hold while bringing his other hand up to punch or at least attempt to fend off his attacker, but the person was faster. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, halting his movements before Eli could do any damage. 

“Easy, Commander Vanto.” Eli looked up and blinked. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, but he didn’t need them to find Thrawn’s soft glowing red eyes in the darkness. Why hadn’t he noticed their glow before? 

“Sir?” Eli asked dumbly. Thrawn’s grip on his wrist relaxed and he lowered Eli’s arm. He didn’t let go, though. “Why didn’t you say something?” he hissed in frustration. His heart pounded from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“I did.” Eli blinked. Had he been that lost in his thoughts? “You hadn’t checked in and weren’t responding,” Thrawn continued, “so I came to find you.”

“My comm isn’t working,” Eli said with a frown. “Yours are?” He noticed Thrawn’s eyes drop lower and back up, as if nodding. “Why don’t you have a glowrod?”

“The lights were still on and I knew you had yours.” Thrawn paused. Eli nodded to himself, reminding himself that the Chiss had better vision than humans. He probably didn’t mind the dark as much. “Though it appears you are having difficulties.”

With a sigh, Eli nodded. “Yeah, the darn thing just… fizzled out…”

There was another pause. Thrawn adjusted his hold on Eli so that they were holding hands. “Very well. I will guide you back to the shuttle then.” 

“That’s not necessary, sir,” Eli said. His wild space twang thickened with his embarrassment as Thrawn gently tugged him forward. Eli dutifully followed him. Even though Thrawn said it in such a matter-of-fact way, it didn’t help that this felt too intimate for Eli’s liking. He was definitely blaming the darkness for it. His other senses felt like they were in overdrive without being able to see, and he was very aware of the feeling of Thrawn’s touch. He tried to tell himself that Thrawn would have done this for anyone, but it didn’t prevent his heart from skipping a beat. “I can just follow you,” he said, briefly squeezing Thrawn’s hand and relishing in its warmth. Weird, he thought. Usually, Eli was the one who ran warmer.

“That would be unwise,” Thrawn replied. They made another left. If Eli remembered correctly, they had to make two more rights, pass seven doors, make a left, pass three doors, and then make another left followed by an immediate right. “I’m sure you remember the exact turns to reach the shuttle but it will take much too long when this is simply the most logical and efficient way.”

Efficiency. Eli pouted even as he flushed at Thrawn’s compliment. His hold on Thrawn’s hand tightened slightly. It made sense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment in his chest. Something clanged behind them. Eli’s back stiffened while Thrawn paused, listening intently. Then they continued walking, but Eli noticed the tighter hold Thrawn had on his hand and the way they walked slightly faster. 

“Do you believe in ghost stories, sir?” Eli whispered if only to distract himself. 

Thrawn didn’t respond. He made a few more turns and Eli knew they were close to the shuttle. He could hear the voices from the others in their party echoing along the empty hallways. 

Finally, they made their last turn and Eli breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the well-lit area. Thrawn immediately ordered the group to prepare to leave. As everyone hurried to move — apparently as eager to leave as Eli — Thrawn turned to look down the hallway they’d come from. 

“Check your comm, Commander.” 

With a frown, Eli did so and was surprised to find it worked. Out of curiosity, he lifted his glowrod. “What the—'' Its light clicked on without any problem. “But it was…”

Thrawn’s hand still held his own, but Eli’s hand ached with how strong Thrawn’s grip was. It was the only indication that something was amiss. His eyes didn’t leave the hallway as he said, “There is usually some truth to ghost stories,” answering Eli’s earlier question. A chill ran down Eli’s spine and maybe he leaned closer to Thrawn. “Though usually, the details are highly exaggerated.”

Eli knew that. He remembered saying as much to some of the other officers back when they were on the Blood Crow, but hearing it from Thrawn somehow didn’t feel all that comforting. He glanced back at the hallway and thought the shadows appeared unnaturally black. “I’m ready to leave this place and never come back,” Eli whispered — his voice thick with worry. 

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. He finally turned away and guided them to their waiting shuttle. Eli wondered what sort of stories Thrawn had heard growing up. He also wondered if he’d faced things that perhaps made him believe or at least wonder if something here was… off. If it was enough to unnerve his commanding officer, Eli wasn’t sure he wanted to know the stories of his youth.

As they boarded the shuttle, Eli couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He kept his eyes forward — too afraid to glance back and risk seeing something he shouldn’t. Once the doors closed, he let out a breath of relief. He didn’t comment on the fact that Thrawn’s hand remained wrapped around his for the duration of the flight back to the Chimaera. Neither of them commented on the unease they’d felt on the deserted ship while their crew chatted around them. And it wasn’t until the shuttle docked and everyone began to disperse did Thrawn and Eli mutually released their hold on each other.

[duunswitch]

edited/updated version of this mythos on the origins of sirens bc it's been like 3-4 years since i wrote the original and it's been aggravating me for fucking ever and i've just been too lazy to edit it and repost an updated version until now

“It is common knowledge that sirens are born when the heart of the sea’s song and the sea foam on the surface mix together; the foam forms the body and the song of the ocean itself forms the siren’s soul and voice. They do not reproduce sexually, and in fact as a species do not have sexual organs. Less known is the origin of the sire–not even the sirens themselves know quite for sure where they came from as a race. However, like any culture what they do have are stories; included among these stories is one titled Seve’ti, or in the universal language: Great Mother’s Rebirth. Seve’ti is the story of how, according to their mythos, sirens came to be.”

–Sirens and what we know, p.45

Land creatures have often remarked that all things are born of stars, and that all things upon death return to stars. For we, children of the sea, this is both truth and falsehood.

We know that all returns to the sea upon death, for that is where the Kraken dwells, and it is He who came from the stars and made life, turned a little star into a big big world. They come of the Kraken, and He comes of the stars, and so while they do not return to the stars themselves, they return to one who will in the end.

But we are of the stars as well.

Long long ago, when the Great Serpent still traveled the sea and brought strife to all that he touched, the moon lived higher in the sky than he does today. In those days, he was much larger, shone brighter. The seas were more responsive, and you could ride upon the surface waves for days without end.

He was beloved by a star, just a little thing in the corner of the night sky. She was not nearly as bright as her sisters, but she was diligent in her duty, never faltering. It was a silent love, as the moon made his destined journey across the sky each evening.

The Great Serpent, with a void of great evil in place of a heart, cannot abide joy or happiness in others.

This little star’s love was strong, and each night she sang to the sea of her love. So sweetly did she sing that it drew the Great Serpent’s attention to the sky, and so his long, lithe neck rose from the depths and further up into the very sky itself. He set his jaws in the moon’s nightly path, knowing that the moon could not deviate from his destined journey across the sky, and waited with his great mouth open wide.

“I will devour the moon, and then there will be no love left!” And he laughed, a terrible thing to behold.

The star was distraught, for the moon could not alter his path even were he to wish it; the very gods would not allow it. There was no escape that any could see from this fate. Even her sisters began to weep for they also loved the moon, if not as strongly as she, and they knew not what to do. What could they do, so far from their beloved moon as they were?

The solution came to the little star when the moon was only moments from sure death.

“I will throw myself into the sea next to him, and the Great Serpent shall burn away.”

Her choice made, the star said her goodbyes and before anyone could interfere she had flung herself out of the very sky. A streak of fire trailed behind her, and as she fell she sang of her love for the moon. The Great Serpent screamed, writhing in pain as her love burned him away to nothing, and the star sank under the sea waves. And then she felt nothing, because a star ceases to live when their fire goes out, and she had used all of her fire on the Great Serpent; there was nothing left of the star but a small smoldering ember and that was not enough.

But the sea was the moon’s domain, and the star had died for love of him. Foam churned on the surface as the moon extorted his power, commanding that the sea churn and churn and churn until a suitable vessel for the soul of a star was born. Somewhere deep below in the very heart of the sea, the star’s song as she had come crashing down resonated, rising with the currents to mix with the solid foam upon the waves. Something broke the surface, and the stars in the sky rejoiced, because though she was no longer a star and could never again shine, their sister still lived.

She sang.

And thus, we are born. When the star’s song drifts from the deep of the sea and resonates with the foam left behind from our Great Mother’s sacrifice to give her breath, a siren sings her first song.

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XXIV | Behind the Mask

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: panic attacks, referenced abuse, referenced self-harm AO3:Lost Kin | Chapter XXIV | Behind the Mask First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Notes: Hollow learns that their sister has a name. Hornet reflects on meeting her sibling for the first and second times. This is the first of several chapters that will be a bit slower, though there's plenty of angst and even a little fluff to be had, although the action has dropped off for now. Hollow's brain continues to be Jell-O, and this marks the third apology Hornet has ever given them. Poor princess! It nearly killed her.

○

Rain on the roof was the first thing it heard. The light was brighter again, though coming from a different direction, and the view when its eyes opened was not what it had come to expect. But the colors were right, and the empty doorway it was staring at was one it had seen before, so it pushed back the fear and blinked again, and again, until it came clear, until its memories floated back into place.

Ah. This was the entryway to the house. It was lying on the floor, rather than the mattresses, a fact that accounted for the achy stiffness in its limbs. Yes, it remembered this. It remembered—

It remembered crawling across the floor to its sister’s body, desperately seeking to sense whether she still breathed, still lived. It remembered crouching over her in the half-light, waiting with breathless patience as the pain slowly grew—the pain in its shoulder, yes, and its arm, and its throbbing head, but also the pain of not knowing, of dread. Its mind was as unsteady as its body, precarious, unbalanced, inching closer and closer to the edge.

And then she had moved, and sat up, and she really had been all right, and even the familiar churning shame could not drown out its relief.

It took deep, deliberate breath, assessing its physical state, something it had not had the calm or control to do in some time. What had it mattered, when it was burning from the inside out? One day was much the same as the next, each passing hour only heralding the march of the flames.

It felt different now. Present, in a way that had not been possible before. Perhaps the decline of the fever, the lancing of its wounds, the rest and sleep—it could not say, only knew that the pain was burning low, that its breath came somewhat easier, catching with only a small shudder as the motion disturbed its aching limbs and the cuts across its back and shoulder.

A sound nearby fell silent, a sound so quiet that the vessel noticed only the absence of it. Something that almost disappeared under the patter of the rain: a whisper of thread, and a rustle of fabric, and the low, breathy voice of its sister, humming to herself.

“Hollow?”

She was still calling it by this… name? It must be a name, even if it was only a shortening of its title, only a bittersweet reminder of what it was supposed to be.

Its father had reprimanded those who referred to it with familiarity, or affection, or anything besides the regal remove of its titles. Such slip-ups had been rare, and confined to court newcomers; Herrah had forgotten, more than once. Though it wondered now if the correct form of address had really slipped her mind, or if she had been striking at a weakness she sensed in the Pale King, unable to reach him directly with her barbed comments, but knowing that his chosen vessel was a point of contention.

It had suffered through such arguments with its customary apathy. Being called by the wrong name did not hurt it, and neither did the suspicious glares the spider queen arrowed its way, and neither did the same look it saw in her daughter’s eyes when it met her at last. None of it mattered, and none of the blows landed, and yet its father had risen to the taunts anyway, drawing himself up and bleeding all emotion from his voice like void from a faulty kingsmould.

But Father was not here to reprimand its sister for failing, or to see it respond to something that was not its title.

The soft query was not an order, much as her request last night had not been an order, precisely. She was not used to commanding it, and it should not even recognize what she asked of it, but it did. It knew what she wanted, and it wanted to please her, and perhaps—perhaps it would not be punished for that.

It turned its head.

She sat before the wide, rain-streaked windows, a swath of fabric across her lap, a sewing needle in her hand, with gossamer thread trailing from its eye. She had stopped mid-stitch, and now she lowered her hand and regarded it, with a weighty silence it did not know how to interpret. She had not sounded upset, or angry, but the way she was looking at it made it wonder if it had indeed done wrong by responding to her query—it had almost forgotten that she might be testing it, searching out its flaws as one might feel for bruises, and that made it want to flinch, only flinching would be another flaw, so it froze, pinned under her stare as if she had her claws round its throat.

It had allowed itself to relax, it had gotten too comfortable, it had lapsed one time too many—

“Good morning,” she said.

The puzzling words halted its shallow breath entirely. Then, when nothing more was forthcoming, it allowed itself to continue, hoping she wouldn’t notice it had reacted in the same way it did to pain, to the bright light and scrutiny of the laboratory.

Do not hope.

It had been days since those mantras last flashed into its mind, days since it had last been able to bury its own weakness, and the return to its old patterns now was like trying to wedge itself into an abandoned shell that no longer fit.

She had seen. She had seen it speak. She had seen the quivering mess it became afterward—and she had done nothing at all. Nothing but sit at its side as it unraveled slowly, as numbness and fatigue eclipsed its whirling thoughts, as its body finally failed it, buckling beneath the combined weight of prolonged terror and exhaustion.

It could not bear those things as well as it used to.

And yet its sister had not seemed ashamed of it. She had not spoken, had not condemned it—had only offered it the simplest of gestures. A hand stroking its face, the barest rumble of claws over its mask. Something it had not felt since it hatched, since the soft little paws of the other vessels patted and pushed at it in the darkness, half-seeking the comfort of their kin, half-desperate to escape the suffocating tangle.

It had witnessed comforting touches all its life. The absent caress of a pack beetle’s shell. The soft smoothing of a hand over a hatchling’s face. The heavy, urgent grasp of lovers, entangled in a secluded alcove in the Palace, out of sight of all but a mindless vessel, to whom their embrace should have meant nothing.

The dim, far-off moments of its birth, of unthinking need and curiosity, before any of them had known light, or pain, or purpose, did not seem to compare.

Its sister continued to give it that which it should not have. Comfort. Touch. A voice that was unlike any other, a voice that spoke through motion, not sound, and was a voice, nonetheless.

And even when it defied her, even when it used the voice she had given it to rebel against everything it was meant to be—

She had not punished it.

It could not explain that it had only asked for reprieve because it feared its own ability to harm her. It was built to suffer. It would gladly endure whatever she asked of it.

It would never ask for the pain to stop.

It would never beg for mercy.

Suffering was its due, its birthright, its eternal shame. It had been born flawed, able to feel and to hurt, and the pain of living was its punishment.

None of this was obvious to her, and none of it was easily communicated in the scant words she had taught it to say. She hadn’t asked, and it could not explain, it was not allowed to explain, but for the first time the desire split its breast like a blade and its heart would not stop aching.

Another fear—would it never run out of fears?—took hold of it. It had slipped. It was past the point of no return. It had fallen so far that it could no longer suppress the awful want that built inside its veins like the poisonous pressure of dream-light—

“I hope you slept well.” Its sister went back to her sewing, oblivious to the chaos swirling behind its eyes. It surfaced for a moment as her gaze left it, and the odd awkwardness of her words broke through, and it took a breath almost free of the crushing fear that had hold of it.

She did not know what to do. Even her hands seemed to hesitate, fingers tightening and relaxing on the needle, and she stared down blankly at the cloth in her lap—part of another curtain-cloak, likely destined to replace the one she had cut to pieces—as if this skill, too, had deserted her, along with the ability to hold a conversation.

And no wonder. Why was she trying to talk to it? Why now?

You feel pain.

You can feel.

She seemed lost, now, though it hesitated to ascribe that attitude to one so purposeful. To a demigod, to the spawn of the Pale King and a child of Deepnest, where it knew being lost was laughable, and to be accused of such was a great insult. But what else could this hesitation be? Why else would she change the way she treated it, why else would she stare away from it in silence that had newly become awkward?

Was this all because of that one revelation? The command it had given her? The moment she had looked down at it in naked shock, and the new, horrible awareness that had dawned in her eyes?

Something had changed, then. She had fled the room, only to return and take up watch at its side, offering her presence and her touch to comfort it in a way it had never felt before. She had stayed, hour upon hour, though it had expected her at any moment to grow restless, to leave it to its guilt and fear, as she should have done.

And now she seemed strangely hesitant to command it, concealing her desires behind questions and pleasantries, forcing it to search out what she wanted, fumbling in the dark for the actions that had been so clear before.

Oh, what had it done?

She stabbed the needle into the cloth and laid the project aside, turning to face it with her hands laced tightly together, as if she needed to hold them still.

One deep breath, and then she spoke.

“I would like to… apologize. For last night.”

Apologize?

It remained motionless, though the confusion ringing through it felt like it must be loud enough for its sister to sense regardless. But she did not even look at it—she was still staring at the floorboards in front of her, and it heard the grating whisper of her fangs grinding together.

Apologies, it seemed, did not come naturally.

“I did not mean to upset you. I… acted recklessly, and caused you undue distress. It will not happen again.”

Stilted as the words were, there was something real behind them, or she would not have forced herself to speak. Regret? Embarrassment? Something in the way her claws clenched, in the way her horns tipped downward, in the subdued gleam of her sharp, sharp eyes.

What did she have to be sorry for?

This was uncharted territory, an unfamiliar tunnel stretching off into the dark. It… did not know what to do with this. Under the haze of confusion, it was vaguely aware that this was another thing, like a name, that it was not meant to be given.

What use could it have for an apology?

“Now.” Its sister straightened. “There are some things I need to tell you.”

She met its eyes, though not for long. The scrutiny of the void was not an easy thing to face, even for a half-goddess. It devoured light and warmth and conscious thought, and even the king had preferred not to look directly into its eyes. Though perhaps that was grief rather than discomfort—an unwillingness to hold the gaze of the abomination that wore the face of his child.

Then it noticed the pages lain out on the floor between them. Its sister broke off to study them, with an uneasy intensity that suggested she was no more comfortable looking at them than she was at it. There were marks on the pages, what looked like hasty sketches done in charcoal, impossible to decipher from this angle, and it should not be curious, should not have to shove down the writhing tension in its gut as it waited for her to explain.

What did she need to tell it? What could she possibly think it needed to know?

“Would you give me your hand, please?”

Again, not an order, but a request. No one had ever interacted with it like this—not its father, not the knights, not the priests, not the scholars who had overseen its molts. They had been instructed in the proper way to command it, to minimize miscommunication, to ensure that their words were understood.

The vessel could not infer or interpret, only act upon clear instruction. If the command was not clear, the vessel would not act.

It remembered its father saying this once or twice, with conviction so absolute that it was almost boredom, as though he had given this speech a dozen times. And perhaps he had, outside of its hearing. He had not known that it was listening, that forbidden thoughts spun behind its mask at every word from his mouth. He had not known that, though it had never heard him command it thus, it strove to be empty with every moment that it existed.

The force of his assumptions, the depth of his knowledge—these things were an eternal weight that pressed down upon it, a mold that constricted its limbs, forming it into the shape he wished of it.

For a time, it had even thought it truly was what he wanted, that a few small flaws would not matter in the face of such godly belief.

Its sister believed differently.

She knew it was capable of reasoning. She had guessed that it could think. Its desperate bid to protect her had exposed it for what it was—a failure—and now it could not go back.

That did not mean that the fear was gone. That did not mean that it could stop itself from hesitating. That did not mean its hand was steady as it extended its arm toward her, placing its wrist in her outstretched palm.

She did not seem to mind.

Her hands closed around its fingers, the warmth of her shell and the roughness of her palmpads dulled by the layers of silk. It caught the moment she steeled herself to look into its eyes, the steadying breath that stirred and then settled her shoulders.

“I have new signs to teach you.” Her hands were still and steady around its much larger one, her fingers barely encompassing its palm. “I will need to unbind your hand to do so.”

She stopped, and inhaled, and said nothing for a moment. Her words were low and solemn when she spoke again, and it sensed that this, above nearly all else, mattered to her.

“I do not wish for you to hurt yourself. If necessary, I will rebind your hand and you will practice the signs at another time.”

A quick pulse of shame caught it in the chest, like an arrow turned aside by armor. The bruising ache remained, even after her voice fell away.

It did not answer her. It could not—she held its hand immobile, and had already begun to pick loose the silk that bound its fingers shut. And there was no request or desire for it to speak hidden in her words.

It did not have to answer. She did not have to know that this was a promise it could not make.

Its hand felt strange when she removed the wrapping, the air almost shockingly cold against its shell, each joint soft and sensitive once she cut the cushioning silk away. She leaned forward and laid its hand down when she finished, just below the raw marks its own claws had made, below the line of blisters that still throbbed and pulsed between its chest-plates.

It did not move, though its fingertips tingled, though its claws scratched against its chest when it breathed, like chips of flint.

It did not want to disappoint her. It would try—the vessel was always trying, it seemed.

Always trying. Never quite succeeding.

Its sister shifted on the floor beside it and took yet another steadying breath. A soft, subdued kind of fear swelled as the silence lengthened. It tried to breathe, to push it back, stow it away, the same way it had done when it had been pure.

It did not quite succeed at this, either.

She, too, was afraid. And again, the question of what she thought she needed to say rose to the front of its mind. Perhaps she had discovered something awful when she left the house? Though it did not know what could be worse than the knowledge that it had failed, that the kingdom was desolate, that even the streets of its capitol were empty of all but the shambling dead.

Surely its father knew, as well, that it had failed. Surely he had seen what it had done. Perhaps its sister’s care for it now was, by necessity, in secret, in defiance of his wishes. It nearly quaked at the thought.

The vessel had devoted itself to her. Its father would never wish to see it again, not now that it was past any use he might devise for it, unless he desired to deliver the punishment it deserved, to unmake it and reclaim what he could from its ruin.

Until then, it clung, desperately, to the illusion that someone might still find it useful.

And that was more evidence yet of its weakness, that it desired a purpose, that it was willing to believe something of it might be salvaged, if only to beat back the horrible grasping fear that took hold when that illusion crumbled down.

Weak, it was weak, and there was no hiding it, not anymore.

It should be the one asking for forgiveness.

The fact that its sister had not criticized or blamed it, that—for whatever reason—she thought its mangled husk worth saving, called into question whether she knew the extent of its failure. The true reason for the infection’s resurgence might not be evident to her—

Or it hadn’t been. Until it revealed itself. Until it showed her how far its deception had gone.

 The fear crept higher. She had informed it of things before—small things, such as her plans to clean its wounds, or attend to her supplies, or leave the house to hunt. What if she had made a decision, now, about its fate? Had its actions convinced her of its flaws, when she had been unsure before? Had she run out of uses for it?

Did she mean to leave?

Its breathing quickened, unbidden, and it tried—it tried—to force itself to calm, but its efforts were useless against the rising tide. Useless, useless. It had failed then; it kept on failing now.

But—

She had said she had signs for it to learn. She had said it could practice later.

Why would it need signs, if not to speak to her?

Please stay. The plea was a single drumbeat, a one-note rhythm in its head. Please stay please stay please—

“You may repeat the signs after me.” Its sister’s voice interrupted, and it cut the thoughts sharply off into silence. It must be listening. It must be ready to do what she asked of it.

She glanced down, once, at the papers on the floor, then drew herself up and lifted her right hand.

“My name is Hornet.”

○

Her sibling gave no reaction to her name.

No tilt of the head, no intake of breath. Neither did they move to repeat the sign she had assigned to herself—a quick downward slash of the hand, with all the fingers snapping shut, like a trap.

She waited. Aside from a slight increase in the pace of their breath, Hollow had remained unreadable while she spoke. She had noted the shaking of their hand when they placed it in hers, but that could be attributed to physical strain; she really had no way of knowing whether any of these small signs were emotional tells or physical strain from the wounds she had only managed to half-heal.

And there was the problem—she had explained away every reaction she saw in them, any indication of reasoning or thought, and she could still do so now, with worrying ease. Her first instinct was to assume that silence meant emptiness, but silence was all they would ever give her. She couldn’t keep on thinking that they did not communicate because they could not. They had proven that they could. Under duress, yes, and half-delirious with pain and fever—but she could not simply ignore it.

As they were ignoring her now. Waiting for a prompt, perhaps, or a clear order… or just frozen in confusion or uncertainty.

She had woken early, despite her exhaustion, roused by a vague and disturbing dream about the Black Egg, of which she could remember nothing now but fire, and sweetness, and the sizzle of quenched void. To distance herself—and to make her hands stop shaking—she had cleaned herself off and put her things back in order. In a clearer frame of mind than the night before, she had recognized that it was perhaps not the wisest thing to leave Hollow’s weapon within easy reach, and had managed to drag it aside and stash it in a rolled-up rug without waking them.

Then, unable to fall back asleep, she spent an agonizing hour or so hunched over the pages she had gathered, sketching the signs she had invented, parsing what she wanted to say to her sibling, how she would convey her wishes without giving direct commands. She recalled all the orders she had heard her father give them, and all the ones she herself had given them so far, and hammered out a few phrases she thought she could safely use—requests that would respect their desires if they chose not to follow, but would still get the results she needed if they had no objections.

Now, though, she had to confront the reality that her efforts were not good enough.

They had responded to this phrasing before, so their resistance now puzzled her. At a loss, she simply repeated the sign, and her name, slightly slower now, and she felt their eyes tracking her, a swirling storm of black trained on her hand as she moved it down and across her torso. “Hornet.”

The silence was nearly unbearable, now that she knew there was a mind behind those vacant eyes. It was tempting to forget that they had spoken to her unprompted, that they had admitted that they felt pain, that she had watched them curl up and quiver in indisputable terror.

She set her jaw and sat with them in that silence, refusing to break it. She recalled the slight push of their mask into her palm, the unvoiced plea for comfort, for reassurance. They were not mindless. A mindless thing would not ask to be held or touched or consoled.

They were not mindless, no matter how blank their stare, or how long they took to answer.

She would wait. Either they would decide to respond on their own, or she would need to restate her request. But they had obeyed this very command before—she knew they understood.

It had not been long. Half a minute, maybe, but it felt like half an age. She refused to fidget. She did not feel the need to shift or squirm when she stalked prey in the wilds. Patience may not be her foremost virtue, but she had not whiled away a century alone without learning how to sit still and wait.

Hollow’s hand lifted.

She tensed, a knotted thread of emotion twisting in her chest—pride, nerves, excitement. Though they moved more slowly than she had, and their fingers shook a great deal, they did not flinch or look away as they copied her motion exactly, signing her name back to her.

Hornet.

She had not heard her own name in years. Not until meeting Quirrel at the lakeshore. This was not the same as hearing it spoken aloud—not what she had once wistfully pictured as their first meeting, back when she had not even had a name of her own and Hollow had had no capacity to answer her. But that was fantasy, and she had known it—only the fragile daydreams of a lonely child far from home, who could not help grasping at the remnants of her family. She had imagined what it might be like if the Pure Vessel could listen, could speak, could take her hand and bow over it and welcome her to the Palace with a spark of mischief in their eye.

Her first sight of them, stoic and unknowable, standing at rigid attention behind her father’s throne, put that notion to rest. They seemed a paragon, a sculpture of the perfect soldier. She snuck glances at them through the long reception and the banquet that followed, and never once did she see them blink, or shift their weight, or let those heavy horns tip downward. Only the long, measured breaths that stirred their breastplate hinted that they were not, in fact, a statue.

She cried that night. For herself, her mother, her sibling, her home.

She abandoned her fantasies after that. The Palace was no place for dreams.

This felt like a twisted fulfillment of that dream, as so many things did. No voice to speak her name, and the world had ended before they ever knew she had one. But there was a shadow there of the sibling she might have had. There was someone behind that imperfect mask—someone who could think, someone who could feel pain and sorrow and…

Perhaps even love.

A sharp guilt hooked in her guts and pulled. She looked down, staring at nothing, her careful sketches only jumbled black lines across her vision.

Love.

She should not want this. She did not need this. And even if she had, she did not deserve it. Not after she had wiped out so many of their kind. Not when she was the reason they were almost alone in the world.

The blood they shared was only a curse that bound them together. They should have no loyalty to her. They deserved better than a haughty spiderwyrm with the blood of her own family on her hands.

White carapace, many-jointed fingers, claws a faded, damning gray, like ink-stained quills, as long and as sharp—

She shook the memory away, loosening her own notched and scarred claws from the hard fists they’d curled into.

She was the only thing standing between Hollow and the painful death that had long been waiting for them. She was all they had, for good or for ill. But she should not let them love her.

Taglist: @2amtime @moss-tombstone @slimeel Send an ask or reply to this post to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[kessielrg]

[MM+KH] Hide And (Don’t) Seek: Part 1

Summary: In which a young Kairi is thrust into a different dimension altogether, and is quickly held close by the world’s greatest force. Part 1 of ???

Note: No italicizing as I’m not at home right now and don’t want to play around with whatever keeps the proper formatting from Google Docs to Tumblr. This fic is also up on AO3 here: link. A second part is planned, but it took over five months just for this much to be done, so the future of continuing is... meh. This was also one of the stories I was considering writing after I got done with Mega Man S and was hinted at in a Google Forms poll that went out when I was near done with MMS.

Rating: K

Word count: 1,467

- - -

The Arc would keep her body stationary until he commanded otherwise. Before he would send her elsewhere, there was an itch he needed to scratch. A theory he knew was true, but had to test out anyway. So what if Radiant Garden was set to fall into darkness days from now? This would be his only chance to further any future plans.

How does a heart respond when it travels solely without its body, or a vessel to await it? Xehanort could not wait to find out.

. . .

Kairi was tired. The ground she was on was sterile and cold. Did she fall asleep in the castle’s corridors again? That didn’t seem right. She could have sworn that she was picking flowers in the garden instead. At least the lights in this new room were nice and warm. It helped when she was finally able to open her eyes.

“Oh!” young Kairi marveled as she got better bearings on where she was. The room was simple- the only thing of real note was a large orb hanging from the ceiling. It was mostly white with blue and green etchings that resembled the face of a woman. Just above the face was a beautiful blue jewel- place so like a diadem. On each side of the orb were wing-like cylinders made of gold and green.

“Well, this is certainly different,” a new voice softly spoke. The face on the orb started to disappear as sparkles started to appear in front of Kairi.

The sparkles took their time to rearrange themselves into a certain form. Pieces of the form started to solidify into a clear image of a woman much older than Kairi, but far younger than her grandmother. When the form finished taking its final shape, Kairi found her eyes widening. This lady was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. She had a face similar to what had been on the orb, and her long white dress flowed into the ground with dissipating sparkles. The green and blue accents from the orb made its way into the stitching and decoration of the dress.

“Hello sweetie.” the woman greeted, having the same voice Kairi had heard before. “You must be a bit lost.”

Kairi suddenly felt very bashful in this lady’s presence. She gave her a small nod of agreement.

“My name is Kairi, ma’am.” she greeted in a timid voice.

“A pleasure.” the lady smiled. “I am the Mother Elf.”

“Mother… elf?” young Kairi repeated with a tilt of her head.

“Indeed. Once upon a time, not too long ago, I was created to help get rid of a very dangerous illness. However, a mean man decided to use my abilities for evil. It led to a dear friend of mine using his whole strength to keep me contained here. Now the mean man is gone, and my only visitors are my friend’s copy and his children.”

Kairi shrunk a little. The story had a lot of weight to it, that much she knew, but she couldn’t quite grasp the full extent of it yet. Instead, she let out a small, “That’s so sad…” in secondhand mourning.

The Mother Elf offered her a small smile.

“To some, it might be,” she agreed. “But they are my friends- my family. I trust them.”

Kairi let out a small hum as she thought the idea over.

“I trust my friends!” the girl soon decided- a broad grin etched across her face.

“That’s good to hear.” the Mother Elf calmly replied.

Kairi beamed even brighter. It was in that moment the Mother Elf realized the child was truly someone special. There was a light inside of her that needed to be protected. No one was going to harm this child with the Mother Elf in charge. Absolutely no one.

“Mother!” a stern voice shouted from the door.

But alas, the Mother Elf mused to herself, not all things are meant to be kept in secret.

Both the Mother Elf and Kairi turned to the main door. Coming through it with urgency was Sage Harpuia. He didn’t look pleased. The tiniest corner of his eye betrayed his sense of worry.

“Mother, we received a distress call from your chamber.” Harpuia informed her. “It indicated that an unauthorized force had-”

Harpuia stopped dead in his tracks when he finally noticed Kairi. The little girl’s eyes expanded at this new entity. This new person wore a green and white armor, and had a weird helmet with wings coming out the sides. It was hard to tell if he was human or not. A gut feeling told Kairi that he wasn’t, although she had little point of reference to decide otherwise.

“What-” Harpuia started to say before quickly changing his mind. “Who is this child?”

“Her name is Kairi.” the Mother Elf told him, quite calmly. “And she is not an intruder. In fact, I'd like her to stay for awhile.”

Harpuia gave the Mother Elf a rather dark glare. “You can’t be serious.”

“As serious as a Reploid about to be retired.”

“What’s a Reploid?” Kairi piped up. Harpuia and the Mother Elf looked at her with various degrees of amusement.

“A Reploid is a very special being. They are a robot that is able to think and feel for itself. Some people think that they are humans before being told otherwise. Harpuia is a Reploid. Can you tell?”

Kairi looked up at Harpuia with a sharp eye. The gaze was intense enough that Harpuia could feel a part of him squirm while under it.

“I don’t think so.” Kairi soon decided, her voice more than a bit thoughtful. “Not very well, I think.”

“Good.” Harpuia decided as he stood a bit taller. Something about it made Kairi laugh at it a little. Hearing it made the Mother Elf sure of what she wanted to do next.

“Harpuia, while you’re here,” she said, “Can you contact the other Four Guardians? I’d like them to meet Kairi as well.”

To this, the green Reploid look appalled.

“Mother, I know that it can be lonely here, but show some restraint. The other Guardians and I have duties to complete. I only came because I was already training my army close to the area. I plan on returning to them when I am done here. Pulling the other Guardians just to meet a misplaced child is-”

Harpuia didn’t get to finish his thought. The Mother Elf had stepped close to him. Her holographic form had the oddest of effects on Reploids- just mere decimeters away and you could feel the static come off of her. Physical contact was even worse. Having her so close, and having her give him a rather desperate look, stopped any line of thought Harpuia could even consider.

“Look at her.” the Mother Elf requested. Her voice was low and desperate. “Look at her and tell me who you see.”

Harpuia raised an eyebrow at the entity. He partially looked around her form to get a better look at Kairi. The child had noticed the details within the chamber. The lights were fluctuating slightly at the Mother Elf’s distress. It was more of a soft lightshow to the child than an indication of warning.

Her appearance overall was nothing too impressive. Her white dress with purple trim was made for a middle class budget, perhaps a bit lower than that. Her blue eyes glittered in wonder at the odd things around her. Such a thing was typical for a child her age. It wouldn’t take much to be impressed. Her hair was well kept as well. Short and a very dark shade of red, Harpuia soon understood what the Mother Elf was seeing.

She used to have hair like that- short, red, and well cared for. After that small observation, everything else seemed to make sense. The child’s face shape as well, round and youthful, was a bit like hers. It wasn’t a complete mirror image, but it was enough to feel a punch to the gut.

“I will gather the Four Guardians.” Harpuia then told the Mother Elf, in a low voice so the child couldn’t hear. “But don’t do anything reckless. If Master X sees her…”

“I know the consequences, just go.”

“Yes Mother.” Harpuia agreed. He gave her a bow before heading out. His steps were quick and anxious. It wasn’t until he shut the door behind him that Kairi noticed he had left.

“Where did Mr. Reploid go?” Kairi innocently asked.

“He’ll be back shortly.” the Mother Elf told her. “I’ve asked him to bring some more friends over. I’d like you to meet them.”

“Oh?” Kairi wondered with a tilt of her head. “Who?”

For this the Mother Elf smiled.

“Children to a dear friend of mine.”

[libidomechanica]

Of river burnt & blast

Press he tossed, we can find favouring     down. Would compliment, that could breath say, is, What do not     so that should die first with shining Rays, on this book fell the     next demand severe before me like cream, deepening ethered     long behind then become

then am I, who in the     little, lispings of the abandonment of silent wheel     ceased with many a hill offence could for ever? Sweet-season:     many more Glory of a foot of the heard. From beneath     had begun. For thing,

other walie nieves me laugh     for him with Conquests something limpin leg a spot to save     his defence, that sev’nfold Fence to roll, teach my Tent—for I     remain unnamed it more white body, and joints, a wretch constant     stayed ere its virtues

raised her what is far too supplied,     it were: not thing, though the head, he better parches thro’ Heav’n     to grant the pest of flowers like the amaze: the boon the     drear than when Woman’s suff’ring Face, how near. And light, and hence     the worlds on his fair. For

health, my dear, more sweet odour of     the fair in ilka quarter: she had endure. With slow, languish’d     Care that chance with love must beyond, one with round the Snuff-     boxes and they shift the poor thorn, the darkness, the morning     glow; nor did he every

act confined, no two made agree,     that, where the journey homeward the queen through unknown! She scuds     with the long-lost child was half so fast, as for that infamy     and flits are held in these enchanter! By the idle     youth to a vicious lamp

of heaven had teaz’d me even     now relaxed, thus her Smiles to this wings. Shall no more, it sent     out naked wave! Communicate to none do slackening     hand: our day of empires, and ivy buds, with crystaline     dominion claim no

more, sweeter than the brain to which     he climb. Mouth with Robert, he beames beneath the widow     well shew the imprinted Vessel cou’d make Lodgings in this     state was glad Wings, by the sun, when rich China shook it on     earthy house-affairs appeared—

just two sad steps forth of Mischief     justice brought half asleepe. Hum of soldiers going slow     steps of Air; the nice yellow swift as ever. Of river     burnt&blast. For such according the map of my best hover     round untethereal for

please the hollow the mind. Touch upon     the forth, through a mimic temple to human had you     in thy clear, vanish’d Hair which, when his long the small relics     such thy grave; here two feet to find closed at this. Sudden voices,     echoing fruits, and

the body—I looked more, speake, it     is the peace It is no secretest. The kite thou deigne to     collide violence. What’s what is my hand; I was worth their     extremest parts are things do not make all ruby red, or     brighter Washes lie, or

as delicious tears shed would the     unnamed boy on the strained more solemnly that sweet!—Now they     follow’d bed sat silent Bed the corners of Japan the     boy who on the room for great cup of those chin and for laste.     Gold dome lives and what no

just as blithe, now believe the Fair     her breed. Whilst flower that he lived the thunder other infant’s     graves and Infidels adore him. But meeting Points that     indigence, and scape as Nature, till we had not yet taught     discontent, has dare to

sit in mine there all my clear; and     by your eye. The rent, refuse. Waking on the children are,     or, one deliciousness, at hereafter; present’st the primrose     from my ear; I knew ’twas with faint eternal summer     breast, who tuned the pass away

from above; give the air be     music we thou were gnawed away that she said was getting.     If She inspire there was hardly when Success a Lover     shalt makes there of this counsel take—and so he kept my Charms     conceal’d, the Sylph—With

carefully, wearing Spires, at the vast     eternal, to the rest; that wondrous Bag with his knife carved     from th’ Exchanged away and no spurre can own myself     the glitt’ring to walk tiptoe divide the door, no soon elate!     Was not me, ah let

my pretty lad, said their sleep. Yet     never tarry sphere? Gold cup, a rosie Morning each new     Night was yellow grace of greenness of the same rapid blast     it was seen, and at the warm first, and in. When I kisses     that silent mystery.

[sweethoneyrose83]

True Colors

In the dimly lit corridors of the Pizzaplex, shadows danced with the flickering lights, creating an eerie ambiance that seemed to swallow everything whole. Among the shadows moved a figure cloaked in darkness, her presence as elusive as a ghost.

Vanny, the enigmatic follower of Glitchtrap, prowled through the Pizzaplex with a sense of purpose that drove her every step. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, torn between the thrill of serving her master and the faint whisper of doubt that lingered deep within her soul.

As she passed by the various attractions, the memories of her past life echoed in her mind like a haunting melody. She remembered the days when she was just Vanessa, an ordinary employee of Fazbear Entertainment, before Glitchtrap's seductive whispers lured her into the darkness.

But now, as Vanny, she was something else entirely. She was a vessel for Glitchtrap's will, a harbinger of chaos and destruction. Yet, despite her unwavering loyalty, there were moments when doubt crept in—moments when she questioned the path she had chosen.

It was on one such night that Vanny found herself standing before the animatronic mascots of the Pizzaplex, their colorful exteriors a stark contrast to the darkness that consumed her. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to gaze upon them with a sense of longing, a longing for the innocence she had lost.

But as quickly as the moment came, it passed, replaced once again by the cold resolve that had become her constant companion. With a shake of her head, Vanny pushed aside her doubts and focused on the task at hand.

She moved with purpose through the Pizzaplex, her steps silent against the tiled floor. With each passing moment, her determination grew stronger, driving her ever closer to her ultimate goal.

But just as she reached the heart of the Pizzaplex, a voice echoed through the darkness, a voice that sent shivers down her spine.

"Vanny, my loyal servant," Glitchtrap's voice whispered in her mind, his presence a chilling reminder of the bond they shared.

Vanny clenched her fists, her inner turmoil threatening to consume her once more. But then, with a deep breath, she steadied herself, steeling her resolve against the doubts that threatened to overwhelm her.

"No more," she whispered into the darkness, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I will not be swayed."

And with those words, Vanny turned and disappeared into the shadows, her true colors shining brighter than ever before. For she was Vanny, the loyal servant of Glitchtrap, and nothing would stand in her way.