#i am raging i am foaming at the mouth i am turning into a monster from the depths of the sea like alecto | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oogaboogasphincter · 3 years

Text

A Magpie, a Goose and a Sparrow Walk into a Found Family Trope (Ezra x f!reader)

Summary: A nightmare caused by trauma he endured before and on The Green haunts Ezra one night, his fear bleeding into reality. Under the fog of sleep, he hurts you, thinking you are the monster that is endangering you, Cee and himself while on your next trip. He apologizes by doing something that terrifies him: opening his heart up to another person.

Word Count: 10.7k+ (holy shit i deeply apologize for putting my readers through this agonizingly long junk)

Rating: M (mature) just to be safe (some pretty intense themes but i don’t think there’s anything too explicit)

Warnings: non-fatal manual strangulation and bruises from it, swearing, sexualization of two adults, mild references to sex, mild allusions to sexual arousal, discussion of trauma and its effects, Prospect (2018) spoilers, some argument, hair braiding, one (1) ✨neck✨ kiss, one use of (y/n), sprinkles of that sexual tension we all love, a resolved ending!

Author’s Note: first off, thank you SO much to @martinsmomo for this request!💜💕 this was so creative, i hope i did it justice :). second, AHHH!!!!! my first piece ever!!! i haven’t written anything on my own time for my own enjoyment since i was like 13, which may or may not be apparent by my comma splices, repetitive sentence structure/word choice and disagreeing verb tense💀. the thought of i have no idea what i'm doing never left my mind while i was writing this, but i just tried to go with it and have fun :). ALSO, i had so much fun reading all of the lore about the world that Prospect (2018) takes place in. Here is a link to a pamphlet about a lot of stuff that is featured in the movie, which i used while writing this piece. i highly recommend you check it out! i tried to stick to as much canon stuff as i could, but 🦋The Blue🦋 is something that i made up. also this is not beta’d, i just wanted to throw this into the void and see what happens✨. i also also want to point out that in no way am i trying to romanticize or sexualize domestic violence. i know that the subject matter in this piece can be triggering, and even though the violence wasn’t intentional and it’s resolved through love, i don’t want it to be misconstrued as something that it’s not. with that being said, i hope you enjoy it! :)

gif by @anakin-skywalker

A grunt stirs you from your deep slumber. Your eyes open easily, a treat that you weren’t given often due to the dryness of the pod’s recirculated air. The inside of your shared galactic chamber is as dark as your mind; no illumination to shine on your thoughts and wake them up or to show you how Ezra is doing. You know the grunt had come from him, as the only other passenger was his adopted daughter, Cee. You turn in your pilot’s chair, looking over your shoulder to try and make him out through the impossible darkness.

Parcel-Class Planetary Drop Pods were designed to fit only two travelers, however the three of you had decided to embark on your next journey together. To save on costs, your partners opted for a model without cots. Being the gentleman that he is, Ezra insisted that you and Cee sleep in the pilots’ chairs. He had thrown a few blankets on the cold, flat floor and had proudly announced, “Sleeping quarters fit for a king!”, eliciting pitiful laughter from you and Cee.

Now, your eyes can’t find the sad bundle of warmth that is his sleeping figure. He is a restless sleeper, and every time he made a noise that was more than a good-natured hum or a soft swish of rearranging his blankets, you would wake and turn to make sure that he was okay. You would do the same for Cee, but she was a fantastic sleeper. Not too deep, not too light, and never made a peep. You turn back around, giving up on trying to spot Ezra in the dark, when you hear another grunt.

This one is louder than the last.

You turn back around yet again, your own blanket falling off of your chest and into your lap. Eyebrows furrowing together and eyes squinting, your pupils strain themselves to find any shred of light to let you see. The noises increase in abundance and volume. Ezra’s sleeping fit has transformed from a halfhearted rustling to an aggravated clamor in less than a minute. Your eyes stay on the dark patch of space where you know his “bed” is situated while Cee arises from her sleep. Her chair lets out the slightest creak as she follows your gaze and attempts herself to see what all of the commotion is about. She asks you, “Is he okay?” Ezra answers her with an irritated growl through his teeth. You say to her, “I don’t know, I can’t see him, should we-”

Your suggestion of waking him up is cut short as two hands wrap around your throat. The hands twist your head to face forward, and you’re greeted with Ezra’s sweat-slicken face. Instinctively, you grasp at his forearms in an effort to ease the constriction of your neck.

Cee screams, “Ezra, let go of her!”

He defies her command and puts one of his knees in between yours on the seat of the pilot’s chair and leans closer to you. The brown eyes that you had grown to love now bore into yours with unwavering menace as the pads of his fingers press harder into the sides of your neck. His palms are flush with your larynx, threatening to crush it. You want to let out sobs of heartbreak, but are unable to. He’s restricted your actions to only being able to watch him attempt to strangle you. Your fingers aren’t able to get a grip on his limbs due to his angry sweat and your panicked claminess. Your mouth hangs open as his is shut tight, his jaw muscles stuttering with intense rage. He starts to growl through his teeth again, but a flash of light turns it into a howl.

His entire body falls back, his hands losing their purchase on your neck. You suck in a harsh breath and lean forward as Cee grabs your hand and pulls you out of the pilot’s chair. In her other hand she grips a Boscelot Frontiersman: the source of the light that had extracted Ezra’s shriek and drilled its way into his thigh. He sat on the floor in front of your chair and laced his hands just above his injury, throwing his head back and wincing.

Cee puts some feet in between the two of you and guides you across the floor to the other side of the impossibly small pod. Hoarse coughs begin to rise from your surprised larynx, accompanied by trembling of your entire body. Cee, still holding you by your arm with one hand and the Thrower in the other, yells your thoughts at Ezra, “What the fuck was that for?!” She flicks the lights on, allowing everyone to see each other’s face for the first time all night.

Ezra stares at the two of you in disbelief. Both brunette and blonde strands of hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes depressed from the subsiding adrenaline, his whole body drenched in distressed perspiration. You and him lock eyes, even through your flailing about as you continue to choke on air and delicately place your own hands over where his just had you in a vice grip. He knows what he’s done as soon as he sees you. He begins to cry and opens his mouth to start an apology that can never be adequate, but Cee hurls a field kit at his head. It hits him and he takes the blow without complaint. His devastated eyes keep to your bloodshot ones as he opens up the kit and starts to treat his justified wound. Cee stares at him with aggravation, and so do you, but her expression is void of confusion.

You are confused as all hell. What could have possibly made him do that? He seemed to be having a nightmare, but that didn’t give him the excuse to nearly strangle you to death.

Your coughs and stress start to dwindle as all of you sit there, not saying a word, the only other noise in the room being Ezra opening and closing medical supplies. He squirts a sanitizing solution over his wound, hissing, and then he takes out a Patch Gun. This sets your heart racing. The strangling was unpredicted and almost successful, would he get up once he was healed enough and try to do it again? You push yourself back against the wall and keep your widening eyes on him as he sprays the medicated foam into the hole the Thrower had burned through his trousers. He squeezes his eyes shut, winces intensely, and then fails to keep a painful wail inside his chest. You’ve seen him treat himself before, and usually his next step is to throw more than the recommended amount of pain relievers into his mouth and chew on the tablets, redirecting the pain from his injury to his mouth. He doesn’t do that this time.

Instead he throws the used Patch Gun to the side, closes the field kit and pushes it Cee’s way. He breathes your name out of his mouth, causing you to retreat further into the wall. You bring your legs to your chest and wrap your hands around the back of your neck, resting your elbows on your quaking kneecaps. Burrowing your face into the cavity you’ve created, you start bawling. Pain sears your throat, and is only intensified by your sobs, but you can’t help it. You’re absolutely terrified. Ezra says your name again, genuine with care, in an effort to get you to look at him. You shake your head once and continue to gasp into yourself. Cee startles you by touching your shoulder, and she quells your worries, “He won’t do it again.”

Her five simple words plant a seedling of peace in your heart, but it is nowhere near close to blooming. You don’t look up as she gets up and goes over to your pilot chair and grabs your blankets. Her footsteps return to you quickly, and within moments her warm, calm hands are draping the fabric over your shoulders. She rests her chin on your shoulder, moving with your heaves. A softening tone takes over her beautiful voice as she murmurs “It’s okay”s, “I’m here”s and “You’re safe”s into your blankets. Before you know it, your body succumbs to the overwhelming desire to heal mentally, emotionally and physically with sleep. Your trust in Ezra may be broken right now, but you know that Cee will watch over you. Despite her lack of size and experience compared to Ezra, you know she has the upper hand on him intellectually. He may be full of wondrous prose, a never-ending vocabulary and sharp wit, but Cee has had him in the palm of her hand ever since they met. You can sleep knowing that she can protect you and herself, if need be.

You peek out underneath your arm to qualify to yourself that Ezra is in no shape to attack again.

He sits where he landed when he fell, slouching with exhaustion. His eyes sparkle with tears of regret, his eyebrows quirked in a way that reads “There aren’t enough ways to apologize, but I’ll try every one until you forgive me.” You close your eyes, lay your head against the wall and beg the Sandman to bring you all a night of peace as you rest until the Sun comes up.

The pale blue morning light penetrates your eyelids and alerts your brain that it is time to get up. You awake to find Cee and Ezra sound asleep, her in her pilot’s chair and him in his “bed”. You are still huddled up against the wall, opposite to Ezra, and look upon him with a wary gaze. The fear he inserted into you last night makes your nerves feel like static, but at the same time you can’t help but be relaxed by his presence. It’s obvious he didn’t cause any more damage during rest of the night, so maybe his eyebrows were telling the truth: that he is sorry.

The muted sunshine washes his complexion out and dulls the warmth that his chestnut locks hold. It makes the blonde patch in his hair and the arc scar on his cheek glisten cerulean. His expression is relaxed, eyelids fidgeting under the controls of REM sleep.

The sound of Cee’s alarm clock distracts you, and moments later her hand reaches out and pushes the ‘stop’ button. Awakening limbs appear above the back of her chair, accompanied by a yawn. Your eyes dart to Ezra. He’s still asleep. She turns to you first and smiles, “Are you alright?” You nod once, return her smile, and you both turn to the slumbering man. She says, folding her blanket, “He’s fine. Calmed down after you fell asleep. He said he had a nightmare that you had turned against us. He said he wants to apologize but understands if you don’t want to speak to him.” You sigh through your nose, glancing over at him, “That’s okay. I think I would like some time away from him though. Just to process things, y’know?” Cee turns to face you, “That’s what I figured. I told him that.” You look at her and nod once.

She gets up and stretches again, folded blanket still in hand. She puts it on her seat and looks up at you excitedly, “Want to come look for aurelac with me today?”

“Definitely.”

Her face lights up with a wide smile and you mirror her reaction. Getting up and dropping your blankets to the floor, you go over to the compartment in the wall that holds your equipment. You take out what you’ll need - suit, helmet, air filter and a few Slurry Packs - and close the latch. The door slams shut harder than you intended, the resulting crash jolting Ezra awake.

A shy, apologetic smile graces his face as he meets your eyes, and you return the expression. You were still tightly wound, but were ready to start dispelling the fear, and that began by being cordial with him. His smile fades when his eyes lower to your hands and take in what you are holding. He gets up off the floor and inquires, “What do you have all that for?” His expression is neutral, but you worry that you will anger him by telling him what your plans are.

He had made it very clear since you joined him and Cee that he did not want you to prospect. He had told you that it was too dangerous of a task in itself, let alone the implications that came along with it: bartering, lying, gambling, stealing, killing. He didn’t want you or Cee to be subjected to any any of the horrors that accompanied prospecting, but Cee had been stubborn about her desires and had proven her abilities. She was great at prospecting, possessing an attention to tedium and an unwavering sense of calmness while performing the task. For a man who seeps with wisdom, Ezra wasn’t all that good of a prospector. He had the tendency to lose patience and cripple under pressure, which sometimes led to compromised digs.

“I’m going to look for aurelac deposits with Cee.” You nudge your head in her direction and she smiles at Ezra. He waves his hand dismissively, “That’s all fine and dandy,” now pointing a lazy yet warning finger at you, “But don’t you dare let prospecting dance upon those beautiful brain waves of yours.” His comment irritated you. You had never shown any signs of true disobedience to his wishes, besides the casual sigh of boredom or the bratty roll of your eyes. The words also set your heart aflutter. As you try to hide your blush and bury your annoyance, Cee says to him, “We don’t be doing any prospecting if we can’t find any aurelac.” His head tilts in agreement. He pads over to you and gingerly puts a hand on your shoulder. He had sensed your irritation and repeats his mantra of why he doesn’t want you prospecting, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Your anger became fiery again. Shoulder jerking to flick his hand off, you jab at him, “Because I’m safe in the confines of the pod?”

He points a finger at you again, this time accusatory, “That was purely an accident. Do not take it as anything but.”

Cee commands, “Both of you, stop, now. I’m not dealing with this all day. It was an accident. An inexcusable one, but an accident.”

Your and Ezra’s eyebrows had shifted to take on the same irate slope, however you both decide to just let it drop. You visibly signal your concession by dropping your shoulders and Ezra reflects you. He spins on his heels to open his own equipment hatch, and you turn to the wall yours is on. You all face the walls and change into your suits, a ritual of trust and time efficiency you decided on when the three of you agreed to work as a group.

Once dressed, you exit the pod, Ezra being first and Cee being last, and embark on your daily journey. The Sun had retreated behind some dark grey clouds. The sky was a royal blue, the ground was greige and the dark foliage that surround you drips with dew. You were stationed on the Blue Moon, an orbiting moon in the Bakhroma System. This place wasn’t highly traveled like its permanent sister (the Green Moon), due to the popular aftermath of the Aurelac Rush. Although Cee and Ezra had been there and left, many people in the galaxy still went to try and scoop up some valuable remains. Unlike The Green, The Blue wasn’t known for its abundant aurelac deposits, which is precisely why your partners chose to come here.

Their original plan was to travel to The Blue with just themselves, but while on a stop to Puggart Bench you had entranced Ezra while Cee tried to scope out her old friends and catch up with them before she set off on another mission. Demonstrating your eagerness to explore the galaxy and your expansive knowledge of it, Ezra decided to add you to his partnership. It didn’t hurt that you also tried to express your attraction to him, complimenting the rugged floater on his impressive vocabulary. He had complimented you on your willingness to listen to his ramblings, and it had been love ever since. Neither of you had come out directly and said “I love you”, and you hadn’t partaken in any physical affection, but your yearning for each other could not be more understood. His adoration for you only deepened when he saw how you interacted with Cee. Being closer to her generation than Ezra’s, you were able to connect with her like contemporaries. However, you were far enough away from her age group to the point where Ezra couldn’t act as a father figure to you. This duality made you irresistible to him.

Back to the present, you gaze at the back of his helmet intently, waiting to see what his plan of action for the day is. The Green requires visitors to wear air-tight suits and breathe through air filtration systems at all times because of harmful spores that float in the atmosphere. The Blue’s spores are far less harmful, and helmets can be taken off for 45 minute intervals, but the three of you only took them off when the confinement of the helmets became a little too much. The glass window of Ezra’s helmet swivels to you and he asks, “Split up, hourly check-ins, reconvene for lunch?”

As you’re thinking of your answer, you notice his eyes dart repeatedly up and down your body. You can tell by the way his mouth is slightly parted that he isn’t assessing your body language to predict your response. He’s thinking about all of the ways he would devour you for apology’s sake.

You look to Cee in the middle of your answer, “Sure. I’ll go with Cee today.” She smiles at you and turns to him. His mouth closes and he looks down to fiddle with his radio with thick-gloved fingers, “I’ll be on channel one.” Cee says, “Okay,” and beckons you to follow her as she sets off on a worn path. You and Ezra look at each other one more time before you turn in opposite directions and begin your divergent treks.

Catching up to Cee by jogging, your steps slow to match her pace once you are by her side. There’s silence between the two of you for a little while as you weave your way through trees of varying heights, eyes keeping to the ground to spot humps in the dirt. Humps gave away the location of aurelac deposits. A couple of slips were shared between the two of you as you climbed over hills and shuffled through valleys, the forest floor littered with puddles. What The Green has in vegetation, The Blue has in water. There were multiple lakes, some touting depths that are only achievable by advanced marine technology. Rainstorms are common, but they never grow to something like a hurricane. Everything was doused in a blue hue, whether it was the air, the water or the plants. The spores in the air resembled stagnant raindrops, peculiar in the way that they seemed to stay in their place in the atmosphere.

Cee broke the silence, “So, are you okay?” You know exactly what she is referring to and answer, “Yeah. Still a bit shaken up and confused, but other than that I guess I’m fine. I can feel bruises where his hands were.” She turns around to look at you and you lift your chin for her to see. She grimaces and says, “Yeah, you can see where each finger was and everything.” You look down, feeling disappointed that the event even happened. You ask her, “So he had a nightmare about me?” You watch the back of her helmet as she nods, “Yep. He just said that he thought you were going to endanger the three of us. He didn’t say in what way, really, just that you were a threat.” You take a moment to process the information and then fire off another question, “So, I have nightmares too, but I don’t act on them in real life. So why did he do what he did? Is there, like, an underlying feeling of distrust that he has for me, or...?” She started shaking her head halfway through your last sentence, “No, no, not at all. It’s just that The Green was so traumatic that I can understand just how vivid nightmares about it can be. And even though I don’t know much about what he went through before I met him on The Green, I’m sure prospecting was just as dangerous as it is now. I wouldn’t be surprised if at one point, or at a million points, someone that he trusted backstabbed him. But it’s nothing personal against you at all.” You nod and take in her words, trying to reassure yourself that you can trust him, even though he had done everything he could to prove you otherwise the night prior.

Cee stops and turns to you, chuckling, “If anything-”

A short sound on your radios cuts her off, and Ezra’s voice comes through the speakers, “How are you little birds coming along?”

Cee answers, “Fine. No deposits yet. What about you?” She grins at you, not forgetting to finish her comment as soon as he leaves the two of you alone.

“Nothing. I’ll be shocked if we stumble across any hint of a deposit today. Like every day. Over and out.”

You look at her, eager to hear what she has to say. This only widens her smile, and she rolls her eyes as she begins, “Like I was saying.” You both laugh as she continues, “If anything, you’re the best thing that’s happened to him. I’ve never seen his eyes light up so much at anything like they do when he looks at you.” You blush and look down at your feet shyly. She gives you a playful shove and knocks you out of your butterfly-ridden trance. Her tone changes serious as she sighs, her pitch dropping a little bit lower than normal, “You really don’t have to worry about him hurting you or me. He’s just fucked up from our time on The Green. I am too, but I experienced it in a slightly different way, and deal with it differently too. I mean, I lost my father, but he killed two other people. It got us out of there, but that’s probably going to haunt him for the rest of his life. And since it was recent, he’s still trying to figure out how to handle the whole thing. I’m not making any excuses for him, because he didn’t have any reason to attack you, regardless of any dream, but he seriously wouldn’t do that under any other circumstances.” She puts an assuring hand on your shoulder and smiles. You smile back and nod once in understanding, saying, “I believe you.” She pats your back, and you both turn to continue on your walk. A few moments pass, and she lets out another laugh. You teasingly ask her with a smile on your face, “What is it now?”

“I mean, it’s obvious that Ezra’s been through some shit, because the guy’s fucking weird as hell.” Your helmets are filled with your cackling as thoughts of the strange man play out in your head. Cee jokes, “I mean, little bird? His confusing speech pattern in general? Someone who talks in crosswords is either an ancient person who is trying to be clever in their last days because that’s the only form of strength they have left or just some asshole who finds enjoyment in verbally tricking people.” Another few moments of giggling pass before she ends with, “And what’s with the drawl?” She turns to you, the injuries in your throat burning from laughing so hard, “Have you ever heard someone else, in the entire Bakhroma System, talk like that?” You shake your head while wheezing and she says, “I haven’t either. So how did that weirdo even get here?”

The surrounding forests may be quiet, but the inside of your suits are filled with the joyful laughter of two friends who continue on their merry way to find some aurelac.

What yesterday lacked in aurelac, it made up for in emotional gains. You had spent the rest of the day with Cee, strengthening your tender bond, exploring the terrain that The Blue had to offer. Ezra kept to his promise and checked in on you two hourly, making sure that you hadn’t run into any other travelers or went too far off the grid. Your group hadn’t crossed paths with any other citizens of the galaxy since you landed, which didn’t surprise or disappoint any of you; the three of you needed some peacetime for regrouping.

You start today by scanning the pod’s dashboard of lights to make sure nothing is out of order. Because of his contempt to the idea of you prospecting, Ezra had assigned you to be the pod’s programmer. Pods were cheap to rent, so they were justifiably subject to malfunctions. Given that Cee and Ezra were tasked with mapping out The Blue and harvesting aurelac, you obliged to take the responsibility of operating the astronomical vehicle. The other job you had been given was keeper of the harvested aurelac. Once in its containers, you were to check on the gems every day and make sure that none had cracked during transport. The problem is that you haven’t had any luck at finding such valuables. It has been documented that The Blue does contain aurelac, but that it is extremely difficult to find. However, the average gem on The Blue is thrice the size of that which The Green holds. So the size and abundance differences are a lawful tradeoff.

While you’re analyzing a digital screen on the dashboard, an expressive yawn escapes a man’s mouth. You twist to see Ezra stretching his arm out, eyes and nose scrunched in delight at the wringing out of his muscles. A smile graces your face as you take in his exaggerated display of awakening, and he mirrors your smile when he opens his eyes. His arm relaxes at his side, and a raspy morning voice greets you, “Hi.” You smirk at his unadorned statement and say back, “Hi.” He holds your gaze for a moment before turning to pick his mechanical arm up off the floor next to him. After losing his arm on The Green, his prospecting abilities fell drastically. He had to take out a loan to pay for the artificial limb, but it would restore his talents, so it was a fair deal. That’s why the three of you had gone on this mission, rather than building your friendship on Puggart Bench: to harvest aurelac to repay the loan.

Cee grabs both you and Ezra’s attention as she wakes with a start. Getting up and out of her pilot’s chair, she merrily folds her blankets and marches over to her equipment hatch. You and Ezra share a look of bewilderment, and he questions, “Good morning?” She flips around to you both, forgetting that you were in the pod with her. She cheers, “Good morning!” Reading the two confused expressions that watch her, she explains, “I want to go and look at this area that we missed yesterday. It has a lot of hills, so maybe that’s an indicator of more deposits. I was going to look at it yesterday, but then we came together for lunch, and I completely forgot about it until now.” Noting that she is the only one in the pod that is anywhere near awake, she asks both you and Ezra, “Is it okay if I go by myself?”

Memories of the last 36 hours flicker in your head, discomforting your nerves. It’s not that you don’t trust Ezra, but you don’t trust Ezra. The outburst that he had the other night frightened the shit out of you, and you’ve been wary to interact with him at all, let alone without Cee present to diffuse the situation if it got too tense. The fear he had shoved upon you was still fresh, but the excitement in Cee’s face and your tiresome brain convinced you that it would be okay. Maybe during this time alone you could patch things up with him. Him and Cee had given you a general rundown of what had happened on The Green when you first met, but you could prod Ezra about the details. Hopefully you could uncover some explanations to his night terrors.

You look over at him to gauge his reaction to her proposition, and he’s staring at you with puppy-dog eyes. His mouth is turned up in a soft smile, and you can’t help but grin at the way his hair is still unruly from his sleep. Suddenly you feel a pleasant heat between your legs, and you can’t tell if it’s just your body waking up or the overwhelming desire to pepper a million kisses over the sleepy man’s face. Refusing to admit to yourself that the latter is the true culprit of your wetness, you shake your head slightly to rock you out of your trance and say to Cee, “Yeah, that would be fine.” Ezra’s smile at you widens before he turns to Cee and inputs, “I concur. Like always, just be sure to watch your surroundings carefully. You’ll find us here when you return.” She nods once and turns to her equipment hatch, signaling you and Ezra to turn to yours as well to give her some privacy as she changes. Once changed, she closes her hatch, puts her helmet on and departs, “I’ll be on channel one. See you guys later!” You and Ezra both give halfhearted waves, still too tired to formulate any meaningful words. The door to the pod closes behind her, and you are alone with Ezra.

The anticipation of being alone with him made you more anxious than how you feel now, letting your eyes fall to the man still on the floor. He’s already looking up at you, the lazy smile still pulling at his cheeks. The desire to invite yourself into his bed, wrap yourself in his blankets and limbs in order to match the warmth that is flooding your genitals, and doze off into a lustful nap tries to take over your mind. You fight it with everything you have and make your way over to your pilot’s chair. Positioning yourself so that you’re facing Ezra, he simply asks you, “Hungry?” You nod your head and he reaches behind himself. His hand reappears with a Bits Bar, tossing it to you. The only sounds that fill the pod are the crinkling of the wrappers and your respective chewing. Although you’re both preoccupied with eating, Ezra’s silence is deafening. He tended to drop his confusing lingo when talking to you, since he wasn’t trying to trick you. He hadn’t had the courage to reveal his true feelings to you yet, which will be so poetic and heartfelt it will make you sick to your stomach, so he stuck to simple statements. He wanted you to note the difference between his conversations with you and other people, so he made it a very clear point to forgo his prose and expansive vocabulary. He wanted you to note that he revealed his truest sentiments to you and tried his best to hide them from others.

The peaceful nature of the morning encouraged you to bring up an irritating topic with him, “I only want to prospect because I want to help you guys.” He tries to keep his eyes on his food, knowing that looking into your eyes will ignite his possessive and protective nature, “I know that. And it doesn’t matter how many motives you come up with, birdie, there will never be a time when you’re in my care that you will prospect. That’s the extent that I will let this conversation fester to.” His dismissive demeanor infuriates you. You fire back at him, trying not to let your tension leak into your voice, “I’m not Cee. You are not my parent or my guardian, you’re my partner. So there’s no social expectation that I have to submit to your desires.” His irritation grows, entertaining his fingers by folding the wrapper, “That is technically true. But a good partner will never put their partner at risk. And I have deemed it risky for you to prospect.” His retaliation sets you off. You didn’t want this to turn into an argument, but you also don’t want to back down from this. Your eyebrows crease together in frustration, your arms cross and your mouth sets itself in a frown.

He looks up from his distraction and becomes infuriated by your look. Now he’s pissed. He begins a verbal knife fight, “Maybe if you had experienced what it’s like to have a shitty partner, you would appreciate my efforts to protect you.”

“I’m not ungrateful.”

“In a way, you are. You abandoned everything you had on Puggart Bench once you met me and Cee. You had friends, a nice family, a stable living situation, a good education. Don’t blame me for a position that you put yourself in.”

“First of all, that’s how it looked to you. Second, a good education in prospecting! Maybe if you weren’t staring at my ass every second of every day, you would have asked me what I was studying. I can probably prospect better than you can.”

“I’d find pure, mocking enjoyment in seeing you try to harvest. I would bet my life that I can prospect better than you can, even with my impediment!” He motions to his mechanical arm.

“You wouldn’t have the impediment if you weren’t so fucking devious! And don’t even get me started on the arrogance, or the fucking pretentiousness!”

Your overheated exchange comes to a halt when the pod’s door opens. Cee climbs in, and you and Ezra try to mask your fury for each other as much as you can. She acknowledges the two of you and says, “Just need an air filter.” The atmosphere turns awkward as you watch her get what she needs out of her hatch. She’s leaving as soon as she came in, and you hold up a parting hand and say, “Be safe. Have fun.” She tilts her chin at you, and Ezra chimes in, “Be safe, Sparrow.” She exits, disappearing into The Blue.

Her interruption quelled the fire that burned between you and Ezra, subsequently drowning you in a wave of guilt over your words. Ezra’s looking down at his hands, shadows keeping his expression unreadable. You uncross your arms in defeat as you feel tears gather on your bottom eyelids. Opening your mouth to apologize, Ezra puts his hand up and directs, “Don’t apologize.” You protest, “But-” He cuts you off, “Don’t. Apologize.” You audibly sigh and sit back in your chair, not facing him anymore. You wish you could just kiss him. It would shut the both of you up and finally bring your shared, passionate feelings to the surface. Instead you opt to stare at the program board in front of you. How sexy. Such allure. You roll your eyes at your own naivety.

Both of you sit and replay all of the moments that led you to the peak that you sit atop, questioning how to safely start the descent. You decide to break the silence with a neutral topic, “Why do you call her Sparrow?” Staying turned away from each other, Ezra answers, “Well, now that I have two little birds in my life, I have to distinguish them.” Your heart glows at his comment, but it’s not enough to wipe the somber expression off of your face.

“Why Sparrow though?”

“She’s adaptable. She’s been able to keep a sane mind while traveling through Puggart Bench, The Green, The Ephrate, The Blue. The presence of others doesn’t deter her from her work, yet she’s not aloof to their existence.”

His musings entertain you. Your anger begins to become a thing of the past as you get off of your chair and sit down on the floor a few feet away from him. Being on a literal level playing field only increases your ease.

“What are you?”

He smirks, “A magpie.”

“I should’ve known.”

You share a bit of laughter before he explains, “I’m intelligent in trickery. I take pride in my illusions, but that’s not all I possess. Once I find my mate, I become protective of them, sometimes to the point of absurdity. A magpie male and female share the brunt of building a nest; as all great relationships should split the responsibility of reconciliation equally.” Regarding his last sentence, he raises one eyebrow at you. You stretch your legs out so that the soles of your shoes touch his.

“Magpies mate for life.”

You break your eye contact. You have grown shy from his pointed allusions, so you playfully fiddle his feet with yours. A moment passes before he says, “You’re a snow goose.” Confused, you look up at him, “A snow goose?” He nods enthusiastically, “Yes, a snow goose.” You shake your head, giggling, “I’ve never heard of those.” He leans forward with shock, “Really?” “Yep.” He shakes his head once and stands up to open his equipment hatch above you. He pulls out a book and sits back down, this time beside you. All About Birds. You assume the birds are alphabetized as you watch him flip the book open about 4/5 of the way through, and he presents you with a page: “Snow Goose”. Amused by the fact that he wasn’t lying, you let out a laugh. He laughs with you, “My Goose needs to brush up on her avian animal knowledge.” A minute has to pass before the cackling subsides. Then he paraphrases, “Snow geese are another adaptable bird, preferring to travel in packs. They roost mainly in bodies of water: marshes, ponds, the like. Ringing true to stereotypes of the general breed, they are very territorial of their property once they claim what is theirs. Snow geese have a brilliant white coat, which I equate to your magnificent aura. They are similar to magpies in that they mate for life.”

You look up from the book and are greeted with chocolate eyes glazed in infatuation. Thighs and arms pressed together, you turn to rest your chin on Ezra’s shoulder. Flickering eyes go back and forth between his eyes and his lips, signaling to him that if he wanted to kiss you, you wouldn’t object. He inserts, “Snow geese also don’t lack in paying homage to their reputation of being loud bitches.” You gasp and lay a swat on his chest as he chuckles away at his poking. After he has had his fill of laughing, you return to your resting place on his shoulder and let out a sigh.

A few quiet moments go by before you look up at him and admire the handsome, irritating, brave, stubborn, loving man who are you enamored with. You reach your hand up and comb your fingers through his hair once, twice. He leans into your hand as you continue to brush his locks, “Ezra?” He hums, eyes closing rapidly from the lulling pleasure you’re giving him, “Mm-hm?” You whisper, “I’m sorry.” A stark contrast from earlier, he allows your apology. He opens his eyes and they’re dripping with honest remorse and helpless romance, “I’m sorry too.”

Yesterday didn’t amount to what you had originally planned to accomplish, but it was still a good day. Despite all of the insult hurling and badmouthing, you and Ezra ended the day on a nice note. Getting to the bottom of his nightmares could wait for another time. You both had needed a day of fun together to put aside your hostilities before you embarked on discussing trauma. Cee had returned without a problem, hands void of aurelac but filled with notes of The Blue’s landscape.

You wake up, startled, All About Birds slipping off of your lap and onto the floor. You had sliced it out of Ezra’s dormant fingers after he had fallen asleep, your curiosity piqued from his earlier paraphrasing. Cee’s awake and bustling about in the pod, trying to find something, anything, to eat that isn’t a Bits Bar or a Slurry Pack. As you lean over to pick the book up from the floor, you catch Ezra’s eyes on you.

He’s standing at his equipment hatch, doing some much needed cleaning up. He’s a traveler who believes in organized chaos, that putting things in their “right” place takes up too much valuable time.

You smile up at him shyly and as you sit back upright with the book in your hands he says, “Did you find any specimens that better suit us?” You shake your head, “No, you were pretty damn spot on with your choices.” He flashes a smug grin, one that paints your face pink with amusement. Cee plops down in her chair with a huff of defeat, unwrapping a Bits Bar. Ezra hears her and says, “(Y/N) and I will take today’s assignment, Cee. You’ve warranted yourself a break after your ingenious expeditioning yesterday.” She says, “Good, because my legs feel like jelly.” The three of you laugh and you get up and rush to your equipment hatch. With your and Ezra’s friendship on its way to restoration, you were excited to find what the day would hold. The two of you get dressed in a flash, and you tell Cee before putting on your helmet, “We’ll be on channel one, like always.” She sticks a thumb up from behind her chair, and with that you and Ezra are on your way out of the pod.

The rays of the Sun today are periwinkle, streaming through small gaps in the overhanging vegetation. The air is tinted royal blue, the trees shimmer with teal sparkles, the soil a shade of navy. You inhale deeply as if you can smell the fresh air through your air filter, imagining a place where you could be with your gang without all of this clumsy equipment, without giving up the majesty that this landscape has.

Ezra snaps you out of your daydream, “Where to today, Snow Goose?”

You pull out a map from a pocket on your back and scan it, looking for any uncharted territory. “Let’s go west today. There’s a big chunk of land that we haven’t documented yet.”

He nods and begins your quest by turning to the left and walking. You follow him, folding the map and keeping it in your hands. Little conversation is shared between the two of you for the first bit of the journey and the silences aren’t awkward. The majority of your time is spent looking up, admiring the scenery as the Sun comes up and illuminates more of the land. Different hues of blue are unearthed as light reaches deeper crevices: the underside of leaves show turquoise veins, the inside of a hollowed tree trunk boasts a purplish-blue hybrid. The puddles on the ground vary in shape, size, depth and color, and are scattered about the ground in an oddly methodical fashion.

After a while of marveling at the sights, you regret getting dressed so quickly. You hadn’t brushed your hair properly, and the braid you had put it in was loose. Rubbing against your helmet with all of your head turning, the braid had fallen almost completely out of his shape and it was threatening to combine with your sweat to mold to your face. You instinctively put your hands to your helmet to try to push it out of your way, but you are met with glass resistance. Ezra, peeking over his broad shoulder to make sure he hadn’t lost you, notices your frustration, “Let me help you with that.” You furrow your eyebrows at him and wave off his help, “No, it’s okay. I’ll deal with it.” He shook his head quickly and spins on his heels, looking around and spots two conveniently placed tree stumps, one behind the other, that will accommodate te his fantasy. He gestures to them, “Have a seat, Goose.”

You stand there, not wanting to indulge in the dream. This was just as much of a dream for you as it is for Ezra. He watched you, everyday before you went out of the pod, braid your hair and willed that one day it would be his hands that would twist your smooth locks. And everyday you braided your hair, you would envision him standing behind you, concentrating hard on his handiwork, his hot breath cascading down the back of your neck, his knuckles grazing your back. Ezra starts walking over to the stumps and motions for you to follow.

You obey his command and sit down on the seat in front of his, scooting back so that he doesn’t have to reach very far to touch you. A depressing gasp fills the air as you detach your helmet and set it in your lap. Ezra’s gloves appear over your shoulder, “Can you hold these for me?” You were already turned on enough by the thought of him braiding your hair, now he would be braiding your hair with naked fingers and you got to hold the battered material that guarded those impossibly large hands almost everyday? Yeah, this is an illusion. You wait to wake up from your slumber. but are reminded that this situation is very real when Ezra’s fingers reach around your head to brush the sweaty hairs out of your face. His touch is gentle, unlike from the incident a few days ago. Now that you aren’t fighting for your life, you can take in the small, romantic details that you didn’t notice before. The pads of his fingers are rough but not scratchy. You see his fingernails, neatly trimmed and free from any sort of grime. How he pulls off that sorcery while being a prospector, regardless of the gloves, you will never know.

You tense as his fingers glide over your bruised neck, collecting your hair and bringing it all to your back. He holds your hair in one hand while the other stutters on a bruise. He senses your unease and strangles out, “I’m sorry.” You grip his gloves a little tighter, trying to fight your tears from spilling, and shake your head slightly, “It’s okay.” You’re ready to move past it. It’s important to remember that it happened, but you’re ready to rebuild your relationship. Like he jabbed at you the other day, leaving Puggart Bench had been tough for you. You worry that your leaving left behind permanent scars that would impact the relationships you had there. Ezra and Cee feel like the only friendships that you can count on to last. You need them.

Knocking you out of your despair, Ezra pulls your hair to one of your shoulders and rests his chin on the other. He turns his head so that his breath spills across your bare neck. He runs a finger lightly across a bruise and asks, mouth millimeters away from your skin, “May I?” You nod, and he plants an imperceptibly light kiss on your neck. You let a tear dribble down your cheek, wiping it away as quickly as it ran.

A thought enters your mind: my god, his lips are soft as fuck. The combination of the softness with the tickling of his patchy facial hair was heavenly, if not orgasmic. You giggle at your own thoughts* (*thots), intriguing Ezra, “What is it?” You decide to be transparent, “Nothing, it’s just that your mouth is soft as fuck.” A hearty laugh erupts from his chest, “Now I don’t want to put an end to your seductive observations, Goose, but I want this to be an innocent affair.” You smile and sit up straight, letting him know that you are willing to drop the flirtation. For now.

His fingers separate your hair into three sections and he says, referencing the other day, “As a treaty to our battles, I would like to clarify that I don’t think you’re ungrateful.” A soft smile graces your face and you input your own treatise, “And I don’t think you’re arrogant or fucking pretentious. You are a little devious though.”

He chuckles, “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be the scoundrel that I am, now would I?”

You shake your head no. No, he wouldn’t be the scoundrel that you are not so secretively in love with. As you sit there, enjoying the limited amount of time you are allowed with your helmet off, the details of your dreams prove to be true: you can feel Ezra’s concentrated breath warm the nape of your neck, his knuckles tap your suit when he twists your hair a certain way. You yearn for the day that you will be able to touch each other, feel each other’s true weight and texture, without the suits getting in the way.

“So, if you’re so good at prospecting, why don’t you tell me how you do it?”

His tone is playful and your situation could not be more peaceful, so you decide to indulge him, “Well, first you have to find a deposit, which is usually indicated by a lump in the ground.”

He verifies your first step, “Uh-huh...?”

“Then you want to pour a solution into the deposit’s hole. You don’t want to pour too much though, or else it could cause an explosion.”

Ezra’s hands stop. You turn and ask him, “Is everything okay?” He nods, his eyes first staring off into the landscape and then refocusing once they land on you. He continues to involuntarily nod as he says, “That’s what permitted Cee and I to escape The Green. She threw an entire pint of solution into a deposit. Nearly blew the entire place to bits.”

You feel rude when you realize that your mouth is hanging open in shock. You close your mouth and words about his time on The Green tumble out of his, “I am devious, indeed. But there were people--beings--there that would make me look like an angel. I take responsibility for killing Cee’s father because he tried to hijack my stash. A man’s work is no petty thing, Goose. I ended up having to kill two others there, in the end. I overestimated our luck after the first one, thinking that it would’ve been a simple escape. I killed the other mercilessly. You see now, Goose, the dangers that I encountered on The Green alone. I would never be able to forgive myself if I allowed you into harm’s way, and you became a tragedy.”

You reach a hand out and cup his face, which he leans into. He still holds onto your hair, your braid halfway done, and you say, “I was ungrateful, and I’m sorry for that.” He shakes his head once, taking your hand from his face and kissing your palm, “Now you see why I wanted to strangle you in my nightmare. I dreamt that you were someone else, some other thing, that was threatening to drag our trio back to that wretched land.” You both breathe out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. Even though it was nervous, you are glad that the both of you are taking some steps in the right direction.

He clears his throat and sits up straight, “Now, after you dodge an eruption, what is the next step of prospecting?”

You face ahead and let him continue your braid as you speak, “Next you want to remove the husk from the deposit, and cut the cord that connects the two. Then you want to remove the inner membrane from the husk.”

He quizzes you, “And what’s inside the inner membrane?”

“The aurelac gem.”

“Correct. Continue.”

“Then you want to cut out any blisters, but if you cut too carelessly you could puncture it, which will release acid. If that happens then the gem ceases to be worth anything.”

“That’s where my expertise usually falters.”

“Finally you want to remove the gem from the inner membrane, douse it in fazer solution, and you have your stone.”

He tests you again, “What is the purpose of the fazer solution?”

“To stabilize the gem and increase its clarity. Higher clarity grants higher payout.”

He pats your shoulder twice and ties your hair off with the hair tie you used for your loose braid, “Fantastic job, Goose. Couldn’t have explained it better myself.” He stands, walks around your stumps and holds a hand out to you. You take it, even though you were perfectly capable of getting up yourself. You got to hand him his gloves, and he stops you, “Wait a minute.” Both of his hands come to the sides of your face and push a few stray hairs behind your ears; the finishing touches to his masterpiece. You can tell he did a good job without having to look at it, since it didn't feel too loose or too tight, and the problem you had before was now solved. His tongue darts out and runs the edge of his bottom lip before he takes a step back, throwing his hands up, “Voila!” You giggle, eliciting a smile from Ezra wide enough to make the skin around his eyes crinkle in happiness. You hand him his gloves, which he puts on before you both secure your helmets back to your suits.

Ezra checks in with Cee, “Everything alright, Sparrow?”

A few seconds pass before she answers, “Yep, just listening to my music. Everything alright on your end?”

“Affirmative. We’ll be staying outside for lunch. Over and out.”

Ezra’s eyes gaze into yours for a brief moment before they move past your shoulder, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. You ask, “What?” before turning and following his stare. A patch of undisturbed soil, littered with lumps. In his rush by you, Ezra grabs your hand and pulls you along with him as you run to the potential aurelac deposits, laughing at his enthusiasm. He halts at the brink of the field, choosing which one he wants to dig up first. You suggest, “Why don’t we start from the outside and work our way in?” He nods, “That’s a great idea,” and drops to his knees. You stare at the mound in front of him as you sink down to the ground, pulling out your map. You mark where this field is located as he preps his harvesting tools. Once he’s prepared, he sighs and takes your hand, “Do you want to help me, Goose?”

You nearly spring to your feet with excitement, “Would I ever!”

He beams at your reaction and begins the process by clearing the dirt away from the mound to reveal the deposit. “How about for this first time, you just hand me the tools?” You nod, taking this as slowly as he wants to, “Whatever you’d like.” He grins as he cuts a hole in the deposit, knife already in hand. “Solution,” he requests. You hand him the bottle and he does the honor of pouring it over the deposit. A white steam emits from the hole, and he reaches in and grabs the husk. “Let me cut this cord, you can do the next one.” You agree and watch as he cuts it with his knife. He places the husk on a flat patch of land and requests his next tool, “Scalpel.” You hand him a Ralon Crusader Laser Scalpel and watch him work.

Laser scalpels are primarily used for precision work, like this step and the removal of blisters, while any generic knives will do the job when cutting the cord or opening up the deposit.

You watch as he makes an incision in the husk, handing you back the tool once he’s done. He wrangles the inner membrane out of the husk and holds his hand out. You know that he wants the scalpel back, and you give it to him. He flashes you a smile for your readiness, but then hands you the scalpel back. You take it, confused, and he says, “I’d like you to cut the blisters off of this one.”

Your pupils narrow and your muscles grow tense. You know the steps of prospecting backwards and forwards, but you had never carried out a lab experiment, let alone prospected aurelac in the wild. Ezra lays a gentle hand on your forearm, “I have eternal faith in you, Goose.” You move toward the membrane and turn the scalpel on. Ezra holds it steady for you as you go to remove the blister. There’s only one, which is a slight relief. You plunge the scalpel into the membrane, thinking that the skin would be thicker, and a hiss greets you. You pull back as the membrane deflates and an amber liquid seeps from it, the hissing never stopping. Your mortified eyes look up into Ezra’s and you immediately apologize, “I’m so sorry, Ezra, I thought that-” He raises a hand, “It is not a big deal in the slightest, Goose. I’ve never come across a prospector that didn’t puncture the membrane, or fail to mix the fazer solution correctly the first time.” He senses your lingering humiliation and grabs your shoulders, turning you even more towards himself, “Really, it’s fine.” You want to melt into his hands, crawl into his lap and just hide there until you feel better, but you know that you have to move on.

He points to the mound behind you, “Let’s try that one.” You stay on the ground and move the tools with you, while Ezra stands and walks over before he squats. You hand him the knife, watch him repeat the process and hand him tools as he needs them: slice the deposit, squirt in the solution, remove the husk, sever the cord, open the husk, take the membrane out. He looks to you, “I want you to try again.” Turning the scalpel on, its vibrations feel more vigorous against your heightened nerves than they did last time. Ezra assumes his position of securing the slippery pod, and you begin cutting. Again only one blister, you circle the blemish with the blade. Once the circle is complete, Ezra reminds you, “It’s easiest to pull it off with your fingers.” You follow his directions, turning the instrument off and setting it to the side. You pull on sticky flesh, and the part that you cut comes off easily. Ezra sighs, “Incredible.” Sliding his fingers in between the membrane and the aurelac, he pulls the rock out and discards the pouch. He calls for the fazer solution, which you hand him and watch as he washes the gem with it. Another hissing sound can be heard, much quieter than the one that came when you punctured the membrane. He holds the aurelac up to the blue Sun, and both of you observe, amazed, at how the light shines through the gem. Aurelac is an amber-hued stone, sometimes with ripples in the color, encased in a foggy crystal. The blue light complements the orange shade of the gem exquisitely.

Ezra turns to you, eyes bright with satisfaction, hands muddied with gristle, “Superb job, Goose!” He leans into you, helmet shields touching and reaches forward to kiss your glass. You smile and laugh with him in gratification. You can’t wait to harvest the rest of the mounds with your partner.

A warmth you have never felt before bestows itself to you this early morning. It flourishes in your heart and subsequently pumps through your body, reaching from the crown of your head all the way down to the soles of your feet. It stretches from your ribs to the ends of your fingertips, running in cycles back and forth. The cause of this pleasure was not from the large aurelac haul you had pulled yesterday, but from the man that you harvested with. Ezra’s arms encircle you, heavy with sleep. You’re swaddled in his blankets with him, the depths of sleep tempting you to fall back down to their level of subconscious. The Sun hasn’t risen yet.

You had crawled into Ezra’s awaiting lap after Cee had fallen asleep the night before. It wasn’t that you felt like you had to hide your feelings from her, but the dynamic still made you feel a little bit awkward, even with Ezra’s reassurance and Cee’s encouragement to pursue him. You would feel more comfortable if she were to wake up and find the two of you in your designated sleeping arrangements, and not in an amorous yet innocent entanglement of limbs.

You can practically feel a rainbow sprout from your chest as you look up at Ezra, finding delight in his relaxed expression. His hair is messy not from the tossing and turning of a restless night’s sleep, but the enamored strokes of a yearning partner’s fingers. The whirlwind of malachite butterflies in your stomach nudges you away from sleep. You press your hands into Ezra’s chest, where they have been resting, and turn to nuzzle your nose into his collarbone before you start to slip out of his embrace. Gently lifting his arms off of you in an effort to keep him asleep, you fail. He cups the side of your face and rubs his thumb back and forth against your cheek a few times before he lets his arm fall to his side. He gives you a smile of understanding, allowing you to leave him only because he will dream about holding onto you for forever once he drifts off again. You give him a playful boop on his nose before you stand and trudge over to your pilot’s chair, sinking down into your own cold blankets. You try your best to recreate the heat you just deserted by bundling yourself up tight, but it’s not the same. However uncomfortable, you quickly succumb to the temptation of sleep.

The true morning gives rise to an energetic group of prospectors. Still joyful about yesterday’s collection, you, Cee and Ezra are enthusiastic to stroll around The Blue again and see what else could be in store for you. Stretching in your chair, Ezra grabs your raised hands and leans over the back of your seat. You look up into his eyes and he greets you, “Good morning, Goose.” You smile and tease, “Good morning, Magpie.”

Cee blurts out, “Finally, you give her a nickname too!” You and Ezra laugh as he releases your hands, and you turn to face Cee at her equipment hatch. “I like Magpie too. Very fitting,” she raises an eyebrow at Ezra and he shoots you a wink. You get up to fold your blanket, Ezra glides over to his own equipment hatch, and Cee says, “You know, I say you guys last night.” Your face instantly beats red, and Cee notices, “No, it’s fine. It makes me happy to see a couple that can get over obstacles and love each other through it all.” You still feel a bit embarrassed, but shrug it off.

A word she chose makes you question Ezra, “Are we a couple?”

“Of course. We’ve always been partners, haven’t we?”

Suited up, the three of you enter The Blue. After your daily assessment of the land (beautiful, as always) you turn to Cee and wait for her direction. She had mapped out the majority of the Blue Moon the day that you and Ezra stayed inside the pod, so you trusted her guidance the most. Ezra asks, “Where to today, birdies?” Cee analyzes the map before pointing to an area, “This block was filled with hills. It didn’t look like there were many deposits, but then again I’m not the best at spotting them.” Eager to start, you ask, “Which way do we go?” Ezra glances at the map, points to the right and commences your expedition, “This is the way.”

💘taglist: @pascalpanic

#ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect #ezra fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #ezra x fem!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pascalitos #found family trope #prospect 2018

54 notes · View notes

lookforanewangle · 3 years

Text

sweet child o’ mine || spn || 2.5k || ao3

tags: canon typical mentions of violence from the slice girls, brief mention of blood

a/n: throwing this out into the void before I inevitably get sucked back into dc stuff tomorrow, so. here you go: a quick bundle of scenes of dean and emma, and a little deancas, and a little dean and jack. takes place around a year?? after the end of s15 (minus the finale because we don't accept that as canon in this household) title is from, you guessed it, sweet child o’ mine by guns n’ roses.

also! brief mention of the leviathan takes inspo from @/demenior’s fic series the love it takes which you all should go read asap 👀

Emma shows back up on a Tuesday.

The scuffle from the direction of the War Room draws Dean’s attention away from the long list of house listings he and Cas have been going through. Find a Fixer-Upper, Cas had said. We can make it our own. Dean was all for that, but finding their house, thee house, was taking longer than he’d like.

He thought nothing of the noise at first; Eileen may have come over or Sam may have been moving around artifacts again, or maybe Cas was back from the Farmer’s Market.

At Sam’s sudden shout, however, Dean goes running.

He whirls around the corner, gun whipping up to aim at whatever threat lay ahead. Sam is on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, and there’s a girl holding a blade to his throat. There’s something familiar about her, but Dean can’t place it. He doesn’t waver in his stance.

“Who the hell are you,” he demands, “and how did you—”

Dean falters, then, memories flooding back from a one-off hunt years ago. A one night stand, a sudden surprise. He pales as her face finally clicks.

That's his daughter.

“Not another step,” she snarls, fingers fisting tight in Sam’s jacket to hold him in place. Sam shifts his hand towards his pocket, and Dean pulls himself back to the present. He moves his supporting hand away from the gun and up to the side, placating, as he slowly lowers the gun to the ground.

“Woah, no no no, hey, no one’s gonna hurt anyone,” he rushes gently, catching Sam’s gaze with a look. Don’t. He turns his gaze back to hers and sets the gun on the floor. “I’m putting the gun down. Just let him go.”

“He killed me!” she spits, blade pressing deeper against Sam’s neck. “I can still remember the look on his face, and you had a gun on me too.”

“I know,” Dean says, chest twinging at the memory, “and I regret how I acted, Emma. It’s— it’s Emma, right?”

At the mention of her name, her fingers loosen on the knife and she inhales sharp and quiet. Dean takes that as a promising sign. He exhales.

“You...you remember?” she breathes. Dean can only nod.

“If I could go back and change that day I would,” he says. He risks a half step forward. Emma straightens and retightens her fingers.

“Don’t,” she warns.

“Emma,” he says, hands still up and placating. He fights not to lunge forward and tear the knife from her grip. He takes a breath. “Please. Let him go.”

“And why should I?” she demands. “So he can kill me again?”

Sam wisely stays silent.

“He won’t, I promise you. He was pretty messed up the last time you saw him. We both were, really. But I need you to trust me,” Dean pleads. “We...we’ve changed. I know you won’t believe that, but it’s true.”

Emma says nothing, but she gazes at him intently, as if looking for the truth behind his words. Dean slowly lowers a hand out to her, facing up.

“Just give me the knife,” he continues, palm open and waiting, patient. “Please.”

She searches his face a moment more. Dean waits.

“Fine,” she says finally, and Dean can hear the tremor in her voice. She shoves the dagger hilt into Dean’s palm.

“Thank you,” Dean says, soft.

He closes his fingers around it and moves it away, placing it on the map table. Sam stands and steps out of reach, coming to a rest just to the side and behind Dean. Dean and Emma just look at each other, assessing.

"Sam, why don't you go see if Cas is back," Dean says. There's a pause. Dean can feel Sam leveling him with a look.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Dean says and spares him a quick glance and a nod. "Go on."

"All right," Sam says, hesitant. He glances between them, unsure, but he leaves them be.

"Take a seat," Dean says once Sam is out of earshot. He lowers himself into his own chair, hoping she’ll follow suit. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

“Where the hell am I?” Emma bursts, hands fisted at her sides. She doesn't sit. “What even is this place?”

“Home,” Dean says, lips quirking for a moment. He can hear the tell-tale flutter of Cas’s wings in the kitchen, arriving back from the farmer’s market, the low timbre of Sam’s voice as he speaks with him. Dean’s fingers itch for Cas, restless and wanting.

“You’re home.”

“You’re locking me up?”

“Listen, kid, I'd rather not do this, either, but you did try and kill us last time you saw us. And again today,” Dean says matter-of-factly, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

“I was ordered to slaughter you, and return with your hands and feet,” she says.

“Well, that’s gruesome,” Dean says.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispers, glaring at the room as if it’s a prison sentence. She doesn’t take a step forward.

“You always have a choice,” Dean counters, insistent. “Maybe not then, but you do now. We made sure of that.”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We...might have killed God,” he confesses, shrugging helplessly. “He was a dick.”

She stares at him.

“You killed...God.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ “It was a whole thing. Don’t worry about it.”

They stand in silence, glancing looks at one another in turn. Emma doesn’t step into the room. Dean doesn’t push. When he was younger, he may have forced her in against her will, locking the door behind him until morning and walking away from her desperate pleas to let her out. He’s grown, though. Changed. They’ve all changed, him more than most. His dad’s voice still rages in his head from time to time on the worst days, about how he’s grown soft, and wouldn’t last a day in the field.

But he’s made it this far. Their little rag tag group has beaten every adversary they’ve come across, even God, and over time they’ve all grown. They’re family.

Emma, however briefly they’ve known her so far, is family. Or she will be, if she wants to be.

Dean sighs, and strides in alone.

“Change of plans,” he says, tugging on the corner of the mattress. Emma watches him from the doorway, confused. “Help me with this, would you?”

“I don’t like this plan,” Cas says with a grumble after dinner, eyes squinted in distrust as he watches Emma from the far side of the doorway. She’s perched at Dean’s desk, flipping through the various papers and books with mild curiosity.

“I'm not locking her up, Cas,” Dean murmurs, chest panging. “We didn’t do right by her the first time around, and I’m not going to treat her like we did before. We’ve learned since then, and I’m— I’m not—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, reaching out to grip his fingers. Dean squeezes back. “I trust you. If you think it best, then we’ll go with it. But I will be listening in case anything goes wrong.”

Dean’s chest warms.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he answers with a smile, leaning over to peck Cas’s cheek. Cas’s free hand drifts upwards, catching Dean’s jaw to tilt him down into a full kiss. Dean hums.

“Love you,” he murmurs against Cas’s lips. Cas mimics his response as he presses his nose to Dean’s and vanishes in a flutter of wings. Dean opens his eyes to Emma’s face screwed up in disgust, cringing in the chair.

“What,” he asks, challenging.

“Gross,” she comments. “Why do you kiss if you’re incapable of copulating?”

Big words for a...shit how old is she? Dean muses, brain stalling out. One? Two? How many years is that in Amazon years?

“Because we’re in love, kiddo,” he says finally, shutting the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed with a sigh. Sam will be by to lock it before bed.

“Gross.”

Dean just laughs.

“Are...are you awake?” Emma whispers into the dark, hours later. Dean shifts, turning his head towards her voice up on the bed. He refused to let her sleep on the floor, regardless of the fact they’d both be on a mattress. She doesn’t have memory foam. She deserved to experience it at least once.

“Yup,” Dean whispers back.

“Oh,” she breathes. She pauses. “I, um. I’m hungry, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she answers, hesitant. “Sorry. I know it’s bad timing.”

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Dean answers, raising himself onto his elbows to find her. She’s sat up against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest. She looks so young.

Dean’s chest pangs.

“Luckily for you,” he continues, standing and heading to his desk, “I happen to be one of the best at picking locks.”

He rifles around in the top drawer for a moment. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and turns around with a smile, lock picks in hand.

“Have you had those the whole time?” she asks, not moving from her spot on the bed. Dean shrugs.

“Didn’t want to give you the chance to do something you may regret,” he answers. “Clearly that wasn’t something we needed to worry about though, unless you’re faking right now?” he asks, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“No.”

“Well, good on that then,” Dean answers. He waves the lockpicks in his hand.

“Ever been on a jailbreak?”

“I saw you once,” she says over a bowl of strawberry ice cream, “in Purgatory.”

“Oh,” Dean says, memories flooding back of the horrors from that long, long year. He tries to remember ever spotting a young girl in the vast, grey-colored woods. “I never saw you.”

“Good,” she says, corner of her mouth lifting up in tired amusement. “You weren’t supposed to.

“I got very good at hiding,” she continues, stirring the melted soup of her ice cream around her bowl. “I may have been bred for fighting, but some monsters are... too much for one girl to handle.”

“I, uh. I know what you mean,” Dean answers, setting down his spoon as his stomach churns at the thought of her scared and alone in Purgatory of all places. He’d seen how terrifying some of those monsters could be, the sheer magnitude of the Leviathan in particular. He’d had Benny, at least, and eventually Cas, but her on her own…

“Were you on your own the whole time?” he asks carefully. She doesn’t lift her gaze from her bowl. Dean waits.

“For the most part...yes,” she answers. “Making friends in Purgatory is, um.”

“I know,” Dean rasps. They sit in silence. Dean’s not hungry anymore.

“There were other Amazons,” she says after a while. Dean glances back up. She carefully doesn’t look at him, stirring her ice cream around and around her bowl. “We didn’t necessarily see eye to eye.”

Dean doesn't know what to say to that.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she says in a rush. She clamps her mouth shut, eyes wide with terror in her gaze, as if Dean would react poorly to her statement. Something about her fear strikes a nerve in him, reminds him too much of a little boy trying with all his might to please his father.

Dean wants to go kill a few more Amazons.

“You don’t have to be,” he reassures her. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on her wrist. She flinches at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. Dean holds. “Emma, you can be whoever you want to be. Family shouldn’t dictate who you decide to be.”

“Wasn’t your father a hunter?” she asks, wary.

“He started hunting when I was little,” Dean answers carefully, “and raised me into that. Just like you, I didn’t have a choice, then. But things have changed. They’re complicated, for sure, but I— I am not my father. You don’t have to be like your mother or sisters. Or, uh, like me either,” he says. He rubs his free hand across the back of his neck, self-conscious. He clears his throat.

“The point is,” he continues, “is that whatever you want to do and whoever you want to be is entirely up to you. You’re welcome to stay in the Bunker, if you’d like, or uh, head out on your own, I guess, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to keep you trapped here. We’re gonna get you a phone first, though, if you decide to leave. You may have shot up like a weed, but you’re still a kid, just like Jack.”

“Jack?”

“Long story,” Dean says, waving his hand as if shooing away the conversation, “you can meet him later. I just. I don’t want you to be alone, again. Not when you don’t have to be.”

“I’d like that,” she says, slow and careful, mulling over her words, “to...to stay here, I think. At least for a while.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stress sliding away. “We’re a pretty rag-tag group of fellas. Though Eileen comes by often; you’d like her, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” she answers with a shy smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

She ends up in the room just down the hall from Dean. He takes her shopping the next day, much to Sam’s hesitation, but Cas only offers a knowing smile and turns back to his crossword of the day. Dean figures Cas been where Dean is now, both with Claire and Jack, to an extent. He’s gone through many similar struggles.

Now it’s Dean’s turn.

Jack confesses to being the one to bring her back.

“Almost everyone else from our family got a second chance,” he explains when Dean finally corners him later, bribing with peanut butter cookies, “I figured she should get one too, even if you barely knew her.”

“That was sweet of you, Jack,” Cas says from over Dean’s shoulder, hand slipping beneath Dean’s jacket to rest comfortingly at the small of his back. Dean leans into the gesture.

“It was,” Dean agrees. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack beams.

When they find their fixer-upper, Dean triple-checks that there are enough rooms for everyone. One for him and Cas, one for Jack, one for Claire, one for Sam and Eileen whenever they come to visit—

And one for Emma.

She disappears for a while a month into staying with them, heading out with Claire to help figure herself out. It’s not until her first hunt (against Dean’s best wishes) where she kills for the first time that her rapid aging kicks in. She settles somewhere in the mid-twenties range; Dean doesn’t know for sure. It’s a bit too reminiscent of Jack, but they’re all used to weird magic things by now, and no one questions it.

She leaves often, these days, coming into her own over time, but Dean is proud of who she’s grown into the past few years since Jack brought her back.

She always returns home, though, and Dean welcomes her with open arms every time.

***

tagging a lovely emmanatural advocate: @borntodiedean

if you’d like to be tagged, just lmk! <3

#emma winchester #emma supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn fics #supernatural #supernatural fics #emma spn #lyss writes #take it I don't wanna look at it anymore #I need to read more emma fics so I can get a better grasp on her but I think I did pretty okay here #idk lemme know what you thought!!

43 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Medusa’s Child (part one)

eyyyy, here’s the first part of Medusa being a mom!! sorry if it’s not very accurate to the myths, i am trying my best. feedback and comments are greatly appreciated! i hope you all enjoy!

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

She was first alerted of a presence by an uneven splashing against the nearby shore.

It was the early evening, and the sun was at its best point in the sky, raining down on Sarpedon in just the right way to make her scales light with painless flames. She stretched out on her branch, pressing her bare belly up to the warm rays. Her tail flicked lazily while her mane of snakes hissed and tugged in the direction of the noises. She swatted a clawed hand at them.

“Let him come,” Medusa murmured in a husky, languid voice, not bothering to open her eyes. “You know he won’t stand a chance anyway.” She ran her black talons down her exposed breasts and stomach, chuckling deeply. “He may as well die with the image of a beautiful woman in his mind. We can give him that, at least.”

There were mixed reactions from her snakes, some spats of disapproval, some hisses of agreement, but they all coiled back down into quietness. Or, as quiet as a head full of serpents could be.

Compared to other creatures across the land, Medusa had a remarkably good childhood if she did say so herself. Her parents were the ferocious Ceto and Phorcys, ancient sea gods that kept the ocean seething with their monstrous children.

Phorcys was a grey-haired, fish-tailed mountain of a man, with rough red, spiky crustacean skin and huge crab claws that were strong enough to snap off the head of any mortal man that approached his territory. He was faster than any sea creature and stronger than any current in the existing waters. He could create a tsunami big enough to drown Greece with one splash of his mighty tail.

Ceto was quite possibly more terrifying than her father, however. She was a fair maiden with shiny, unblemished skin she never covered up and long, wavy black hair that floated like Kraken tentacles in the water around her. Her eyes were green and sharp enough to cut through obsidian, and her voice was booming enough to crack the earth and drain the entire ocean. She was as venomous as her animal creations, but she taught Medusa discipline and respect at a very young age.

Together, the two of them brought forth a myriad of devilish children. Ekhidna, a dangerous she-dragon with the head and breasts of a beautiful woman and the body of a coiling serpent; Scylla, a giant crab that ate sailors; Ladon, a dragon with one hundred head; the Graiai, three grey hags that shared one tooth and one eye; and the Gorgons, a trio of sisters with the bodies of serpents and hair made of living, venomous snakes.

Medusa was a part of the final group.

Medusa and her two sisters were born on a dark day, where the sky seethed with storm and the sea seemed to wrath against its gods. Through crashing waves and spitting sea foam, Ceto dragged her soaked, swollen body from the hissing water and into a cave where it was dry. The tide tried to catch her, nipping at her heels like desperate piranhas, but could not chase her all the way up the sand.

Within the cave, the pelting rain and howling gales were muffled by thick stone. Droplets of water dripped from stalactites that hung from the ceiling like dozens of monster fangs. Small tidepools were laid across the ground like traps, seemingly existing to trip Ceto and make her crash down onto her thick belly. But she managed to avoid them, hissing strings of curses to the starfish and crabs and tiny fish that thrived within the wet sinkholes before collapsing to the ground, powerful cramps rippling through her body.

There, Ceto gave birth in the eye of a raging hurricane, her monstrous children writhing out of her womb, clawing and scratching for the world outside of her body.

Stheno was first, born thrashing and hissing and brimming with rage the moment she came out. She was a thin little thing, but her blood red tail whipped around with enough power to crumble mountains. Her red mane of snakes sprung to life instantly, fangs flashing, hissing so loud they challenged the whirlwind outside the cave. The scales upon her head and face made it look like she was permanently stained in mortal blood, and the boar tusks curling out from her mouth looked wickedly sharp. Mere moments after being born, she had lunged at a tidepool and ripped apart a small crab with bronze claws, devouring it in just a few snaps of her powerful jaws.

Euryale came next, sliding out in a slick of fluids and screaming so loud she threatened to bring the whole cave down on top of them. Her white and yellow tail lashed as she cried, sending clumps of wet sand flinging through the air. The mane of snakes upon her skull, which had red snouts that looked like they had been dipped in blood, wailed with her, strange, raspy sounds that vibrated through the air like static electricity. There were small horn nubs protruding from her forehead, which had explained the pain when she was coming out. Stheno tackled her, whacking their tails together, and began wrestling with her.

Finally, out came Medusa, green scales shiny and new-looking. The first thing she remembered was seeing her eldest sister chewing on her second eldest sister’s tail. She had blinked her golden yellow eyes at them, flicking her own emerald green tail like she was expecting something to be attached to it. And then, she was lifted up and saw a beautiful woman gazing down at her. Her mane of snakes snapped at the long black hair cascading down onto her belly.

“What peculiar little beast you all are,” She remembered her mother rumbling. Ceto scooped up Stheno and Euryale and held all three sisters in front of her. “And what slayers you will all be, indeed.”

And she was right.

Medusa’s childhood passed by in a blur of mortal blood and seawater. Her mother taught her how to strike fear into mortal men. Her father taught her how to swim and fly when all of their wings eventually grew in. And her sisters taught her to hide her prey or else it would get stolen.

She was raised in the darkest reaches of the ocean depths, where granite tunnels formed interlocking caves and caverns below the rolling waves. While most children grew up raising family goats and playing with dolls made of straw, Medusa and her sisters grew up taming sea monsters and playing hide-and-seek venomous lionfish. They created crags of coral along the seafloor with their eyes alone and swept through the ocean currents on scaled wings. When they would go up to the surface, they watched the mortals in their wooden vessels, laughing at the way they attempted to overpower the waves that rocked them mercilessly.

That was when they discovered their deadly eye power.

Medusa was a monstrous teenager, floating along the ocean’s surface, when Stheno presented the idea to her.

“Swim into their nets and pretend to be dead,” Her older sister had said. Sunlight glinted off her blood red scales. When she smiled, her teeth were like a shark’s. “When they pull you up, give them a scare.”

Medusa gave a laugh. The only thing better than observing a mortal’s stupidity was causing the mortal’s stupidity by interacting with them. Of course, she agreed.

She swam into one of the large nets drifting beneath the boat, startling off a cloud of slippery grey-blue fish. She let herself get tangled up in its loops, tugging on the ropes enough to alert the sailors. After a few moments, the net began to rise, and she faintly heard the giggling of her sister’s vibrating through the water.

Cool sea air hit her bare skin; a series of gasps exploded throughout the vessel. The rough feeling of wood chafed against the scales on her exposed back as the net was dropped into the boat. She struggled to keep in the giggles and play dead as loud murmurs whisked around her.

The men were wondering what she was, asking themselves how they managed to wrangle up a thing. One of them poked her tail with something pointy and she almost flinched, but managed to tighten her muscles and stay still.

And then, there was a hand grabbing her breast.

The man above her purred out something about her being beautiful and warm and the others should “give it a try.”

Her eyes snapped open wide. She ogled the man above her in shock and fear and disgust; he was a scruffy and flabby creature with hungry eyes and crooked yellow teeth. His hand remained on her breast as they locked gazes, and then his face did something strange.

It twitched. And his eyes went weirdly blank. And he sucked in a harsh breath.

The man’s entire body jerked like his soul was trying to claw its way out of his back. His brown eyes bulge and roll wildly in their skull, and Medusa could see grey spreading rapidly over the eye balls.

Stone began to march across the man’s flesh like a swarm of fire ants. He tried to scratch it off, but his nails bounced right off. His movements quickly began to stiffen as whatever came over him took hold.

His chest froze solid first, then his hands and feet, his ears, his arms and legs, all the way to his throat. His eyes were no longer brown, rather blank grey. His greasy blonde hair did not sway in the cool breeze. His mouth was open, teeth blunted by rock, and twisted in an agonized expression. One hand was extended outward to his crewmates in a final gesture of desperation.

The man had been turned to stone.

The other mortals on the boat began to frenzy. Some ran away in fear, others brandished their weapons, but they, too, met the same ill fate of their crewmate. One stare and they hardened into a statue against their will.

Stheno and Euryale had been alerted by the noise and they flew up to the ship. Both of them looked shocked at what was going on.

“What is happening?” Euryale asked.

“I-- I don’t know.” Medusa replied, slowly sitting up. She was absurdly confused at what was going on. “I turned them to stone.”

“How?” Stheno demanded.

“I looked at them.”

“Hm.” Stheno lashed out at a fleeing young man and flared her giant red wings open, essentially trapping him. Medusa heard a short scream, and then silence. When her sister pulled back, the man was frozen in an encasing of stone.

The discovery of their power sparked great fear across the land, but amazement inside Medusa and her sisters. Stheno used it the most, killing more men than both Medusa and Euryale combined. She kept her favorite statues in her lair as trophies, adorning them with her jewels and other treasures.

Euryale rarely ever killed, not because she didn’t like it, but because she never went out of her way to go around mortals. She rather watch them from afar, observing their strange hive mind mentality.

Medusa was a mix between the two. Sometimes she would simply stay away, other times she liked to see how dumb mortal men were when she came across them.

When they eventually came of age, the three sisters ventured off from the darkness of their homeland sea. Medusa went to an island called Sarpedon, claiming it as her own domain. Mortal men saw it as an arena, however, and often sailed to her home to challenge her. It wasn’t long before her island was filled with the statues of foolish men, decorating her gardens with the trophies of her success.

And another was about to be added to the collection.

There were crashes through her jungle; the stupid man was romping through her home and disturbing her nap!

Sighing, Medusa uncoiled her elegantly long body from the tree branch and carefully climbed down the trunk. Her emerald green scales shimmered in the sunlight filtering down from the canopy of leaves up above, dewdrops from the condensation of her garden sliding like melted diamonds down her tail. She slithered through the weeds, passing by ruined pillars and petrified statues, all of which were swathed with moss and vines. She admired them as she went by, as she always did, as she always would. It was quite lonely on her island, but she rather be alone than have the company of a man.

Emerging from the lush underbrush, Medusa set her eyes on a fleeting boat in the crystal clear water. Strange, she thought. There was still a living person on the vessel. Did they think against their decision to challenge her? No, there were footsteps in the sand… Someone was here.

Medusa flicked her pointy ears and slithered out onto the beach. A bright red crab saw her coming and darted into the splashing waves to hide. A mere crustacean was the least of her concern right now, though. She could eat later.

There was blood in the sand. Small, red droplets clumping the white grains together. A trail led across the bay in spatters that looked like the man had been in a hurry, disappearing into the thriving overgrowth of Sarpedon.

Medusa turned and followed the trail. The man seemed rather smart; there were many hiding spots in the jungle, but she knew this island like the back of her hand. He would not stand a chance.

A spray of bright yellow birds exploded from the trees when she came slithering by. Long-limbed creatures of fur leapt from branch-to-branch, poised and waiting to flee while they watched her. The monkeys always liked to test her. Perhaps that was what made them so delicious. The looks on their faces when she managed to snatch one and scarf them down was priceless.

There was rustling to her left. Medusa pricked one of her pointed ears while her mane of venomous snakes hissed in alertness. She smacked the nose of one of them to quiet them down and then went after her prey.

“Hello?” She called out in a purr. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”

There was no reply, though there had been before. That particular man had really thought he could swoon her. How could anyone fall for the grating voice of a male?

The rustling sounded again. Medusa whipped around, smacking a tree with her tail and sending a macaw flying off with an alarmed screech.

“You are a quick little rabbit, aren’t you?” She chuckled. Fine then. She’ll play with her prey before killing him.

Fleeting footsteps squelched through moist jungle mud. He was quick, but she was quicker. Legs were so hindering, while her tail could get her around with graceful ease. It also made a perfect entrapment tool. Nothing was better than constricting her victim and getting to look at them face-to-face while their life drained away from them.

A squeal caught Medusa’s attention. A smirk came to her lips, fangs flashing in the sun. Finally.

Peering through the leaves, Medusa could partially see the body of the man on the ground, sprawled between two trees. His right ankle was caught in some gnarled roots, trapping him.

It was perfect.

Medusa sprang out of underbrush, claws raised and brandished, fangs bared, wings flared out to their full size. Her snakes swelled up and hissed loudly, mouths loaded with potent venom. Her bright yellow eyes were flashing, ready to strike this man into stone, and--

And she froze.

This wasn’t a man.

It was a child.

#medusa’s child #my writing #greek myth #greek mythology #greek myth retellings #greek #greek gods #medusa #gorgon #gorgon sisters #theodora the vengeful

22 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

The Fabric Rustled

Jessica paused in the middle of brushing her teeth. The sound of rustling fabric from her bedroom had drawn her attention.

Mainly because she lived alone.

A foam of toothpaste dripped from the corner of her lip where she left the brush sticking out of her mouth, drooping to the side, with her attention absorbed in seeking the source of that sound. She opened the bathroom cabinet behind the mirror, using the angle to see behind herself and let her view sweep the bedroom.

Her eyes almost glossed over at the sight of a figure on her bed. The moment her gaze could return to it and allow her brain to catch up on what she had glimpsed, the light by her bedside went out. Jess spat into the sink, letting the brush clatter against the curved ceramic surface and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She had spun around in a flash, heart pounding and the rushing of blood in her ears drowning out any possible noise that she strained to listen out for.

Even in the darkness of her bedroom, bathed in the dim light that spilled through the connecting door, she could perceive the figure of something—or rather, of someone—on her bed.

The silhouette suggested the form of a person languidly lying there. Or a creature lying in wait.

“Get the fuck out. I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it,” Jess lied, muffled, immediately cupping a hand underneath her chin as more foamy paste dribbled out from her lips.

Fabric rustled again, as the figure on the bed moved. Almost like a cat nesting in a pile of blankets. Though her eyes had yet to fully adjust and the bright light from the tube above her bathroom mirror slowed the process, Jess could have sworn she saw the figure’s head tilt.

“What do you want?” she asked.

No answer.

But the figure moved, evidenced by more rustling of fabric. It rose, like someone getting up straight while sitting on their knees.

Jess pawed behind herself and when her fingers found purchase on cold metal, she gripped her nail file.

Although her heartbeat raced with furious speed and every fiber of her body rebelled against what she was about to do, she took a first step towards the bathroom door.

There was only one way out, and that way was through.

She could almost discern the figure’s shape. It looked like a person to Jess, but something about it felt off. Like the arms were too long. Or the hands that propped it up against the mattress. Or both. It tilted its head again.

She took another step, gripping that nail file so tightly that it turned her knuckles white.

The bathroom door slammed shut in front of her, causing Jess to stagger backwards and a gasp to escape her. The moment her back hit the edge of the sink, the bathroom light went out without explanation and she gasped again.

She stumbled forth and reached out, looking for the light switch, and growing confused when it felt all wrong. Instead of the wall, she felt a metal cylinder or something. A cable. Then a light switch, but one attached to a small lamp.

The little one on her nightstand beside the bed.

The plastic parts clicked when she squeezed them, and the light went on.

Jess was in bed, tangled in the sheets, a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Her heart still pounded, and she battled her disorientation, her inability to grasp what had just happened. Because she had somehow gone from standing in her bathroom after seeing a nightly assailant in her bed, to lying in that same bed.

If she had just awoken from a nightmare, well, it felt way too real.

Her heartbeat refused to stop in its ceaseless racing. She could feel the rhythmic and panicked thump of it against her skin, pulsing almost painfully with every thrum in her belly.

Something cold rested in her hand.

The nail file, from the bathroom. Its metal was exactly as cool as it would have been, had she just picked it up, unlike an object that rested in her palm for half a night and should have been warm to the touch.

The darkness in her room, looming at the edges of the bedside lamp’s dim illumination, felt more oppressive than ever. As her eyes scanned her environment, the place looked both familiar and alien at the same time, like something subtle had changed and her brain struggled pinpoint what exactly that was. Like every little detail was how it should be, but something was hiding there.

Lurking.

The air caressed her skin with an uncomfortable chill. Worse yet: she did not feel alone.

Fabric rustled. And then again.

The sounds originated from the space underneath her bed. That void which our imaginations filled with all sorts of intangible horrors.

Just like when she had approached the bathroom door in her nightmare—or was it really a nightmare? Just like then, her skin and muscles and bones refused to budge, but she pushed them beyond that hesitation, forced herself over the edge. Pushed, driven by a cold and steel will to survive, she crept over the edge of the bed, gripping the side in one hand and the nail file in the other, poised to jab.

Her hair rained down against the hardwood floor as she gazed upon the upside-down world beneath her bed.

But there was nothing. Nothing but a thin sheet of dust.

Nothing but the product of an overactive imagination, no fabric that could rustle, not a single thing that could not be explained away with something rational, like night terrors. Still, her heart pounded. Her body and mind had yet to calm.

Holding her breath all the while only drove up her pulse, doing nothing to conceal her presence should someone—or some thing—be lurking in her room.

A pained croaking sound emerged from her throat the moment she sat back up, the only result of her own body stifling a scream, owed to panic paralyzing her entirely.

The shape of a hand had taken form underneath the covers, like someone gripping the side of her bed, like someone had reached up from underneath the bed and shoved their hand under the covers, creeping up closer to her. A long and slender hand with grotesquely long fingers.

She wanted to stab with the file. To plunge it right in and stop it, but the hand stopped moving once she focused on it and stared, stricken with horror. Thoughts had long left the building and Jess mindlessly wondered if fighting would only make things worse.

“G-go away,” she told the hand in her trembling voice.

No response.

“Go away, you piece of shit!”

A growl. Something low, baritone, rolling and thunderous, ripped through the silence that should have dwelt below, now inhabited by something.

The hand retreated, those uncomfortably long fingers slithering back and letting the sheets shrink back down to blanket the hollow left behind in the wake of the hand’s absence. The fabric rustled all the while until the hand had vanished, never entering the field of vision captured by Jess’ unblinking, burning eyes.

“Yeah. Fuck you!” Jess shouted, surprising herself by the amount of vitriol she spewed.

Another growl, fueling more dread to tingle throughout her body, to remind her how trapped she felt on this lonesome island of her bed, bordering on helplessness, knowing that this thing could not get her as long as she was able to look at it, able to banish it with her gaze.

“What are you—some kinda, uh, s-some kinda monster under my bed? What the fuck? Get the fuck outta here!”

No answer this time.

The absence of another growl almost unsettled her more.

Instead, a strange sound hailed from underneath her bed. A whimper, which reminded her more of a dog’s pathetic whining.

Jess curled up into a fetal position, still tightly gripping the nail file. Her eyes burned with dryness, but her mind was nowhere near wondering when she had last blinked. Her eyes only darted to and fro, desperate to keep watch over every corner and nook and cranny, desperately scanning the little light and deeper darkness that enveloped her bedroom.

She was afraid of getting up, because it could get her whenever she was not looking—could grab her by the ankles if she touched down on the floor without looking underneath the bed, like the hand that had crept up behind her when she had taken a peek.

But the monster could not do anything if she observed. It could not survive her field of vision. That, she somehow knew.

That was the balance of things. It had to be. It was her only hope.

“You’re not supposed to be on my bed, you know,” Jess said, probing for a reply. What words had first surfaced between heavy breaths, the volume in her voice now rose as she whined, almost amounting to anger as she said, “That’s against the rules, asshole!”

Another whimper.

“How the fuck are you supposed to be a monster under my bed if you’re on it? How, fuck—how fucking stupid is that?”

No answer.

Thoughts formed in Jess’ mind, swirling around until they took tangible shape, forming a whirlwind. A nail-file-shaped sliver of anger pierced her fear and infected it with spite.

“So help me God, I will fucking install cameras everywhere just to blot you out! How would you like that, huh?”

Another growl, but it petered out into a whine.

“Yeah, and I will fucking bill you. How fucking long have you been creeping on me? Have you been following me from home to home since I was a kid? You—you owe me rent, motherfucker! You think I’m made of money?”

The fury swelled in her heart and spread, exploding out with every subsequent sentence. Such genuine rage. If the thing were to attack now, she would stab it without even flinching.

It must have been audible in her voice, for another whine from underneath the bed ended up punctuating her angry complaints.

“I am going to turn off the lights now! And I will go to sleep because I need to be up for work early tomorrow! And I will get those cameras installed, and I will bill you for them, too, shithead!”

Her heart pounded, and part of her did not believe herself what she was uttering. The sheer ridiculousness of it all. But the sounds, the gestures, everything told her that the thing down there understood.

She had intimidated it somehow.

“I get paid way too little for all the work I do,” Jess grumpily said as she switched off the light.

The monster emitted another snarling growl, but it stayed put, remaining motionless under the bed.

Of course, she could not fall asleep. With the little moonlight piercing the crack in between her curtains, her eyes eventually adjusted, allowing her to absorb the vision of her darkened bedroom. Every corner, every piece of furniture, every little bit. She took it all in, expecting to see something pop out from somewhere, or for something to creep up on her and spot it just a second too late.

Her eyes burned so badly, contrasted by the cool air sweeping over her skin like a chilly breeze.

But nothing showed up.

The sharp beep of her alarm ripped her from her sleep. Jess had no idea when she had fallen into a deep slumber, but she felt tired. She remembered no dream because what must have been a bizarre dream felt all too real.

Her mind reeled, trying to piece together if she had been hallucinating. But she remembered every single thing so vividly, remembered every little sensation.

Instinctively, she swung over the edge of her bed and beheld the space below, seeing it upside-down once more.

Nothing there.

She swung back up. No hand crept up underneath her covers, either.

She felt alone in her bedroom. First rays of sunlight had yet to pour in through the crack in between the curtains, because her alarm went off before dawn. As usual.

Jess groaned and got out of bed. Got ready for work. Brushed her teeth in the bathroom, admitted to herself that it was all just a dream—what monster under the bed would listen to reason, anyway? And she fell back into her daily rut, like she always did.

When she returned to her bedroom, someone had made the bed.

A lump formed in Jess’ throat and her heart skipped a beat, plummeting straight down into her belly region.

“What did I say about staying under the bed?” she blurted out, the anger quickly welling back up. She admonished it like a naughty child, “I will get cameras if you don’t do what I say!”

No response.

In a burst of motion, she flung herself across the room and knelt beside her bed to look underneath it. The dust there had been disturbed. Streaks in it told a story of a haggard figure having hidden itself below, scuttling about.

“If you—if you, uh, if you clean that? If you do some cleaning around here, I will think about, maybe, uh, not charging you rent. Okay?”

No answer.

Jess rose to her feet, finding nothing on her bed either.

She backed away and headed towards the bedroom door. Her heart, pulse, and breathing followed a much calmer, resolute rhythm than the night before. Unsure what to make of all of this, she found that fear had made way for bewilderment.

Looking around, she opened the door and stepped outside.

Just before the door clicked shut behind her, she heard fabric rustling.

Jess shook her head and went to work. Like she did every day.

—Submitted by Wratts

5 notes · View notes

slightlyobsessedwithstories · 5 years

Text

Never Leaving

Summary: Connie keeps an eye on Steven.

Author’s notes: This is based on @rahafwabas comic. Check it out!

Also warning for some slight blood mention.

When Connie received a call from Steven, she didn’t expect it, especially with how busy he was lately, but she was happy to answer.

When she heard Pearl’s voice on the other end though, she went from being confused to being worried and planning on seeing Steven pretty quick.

Steven didn’t do this. He couldn’t- he couldn’t possibly do something like this.

But she was staring at the wreckage, Little Homeworld was attacked, buildings were crumbling, gems shaking and huddled together. No one was cracked or shattered, thankfully, but it was done.

Months of building trust and a safe haven for gems here on Earth—crushed by what they think was a monster.

The scared gems could only describe in horror as crystal gems tried to wrangle the monstrous gem. No one has seen anything as towering, as destructive as this dark pink beast.

A single roar made a crater in the ground surrounding it, footsteps made the ground tremble beneath its claws, and its long spiked tail helped with the destruction.

They attacked with all their might, at first they tried to hurt or damage it with their weapons, but even though the attacks damaged it. It only made the creature angrier.

It used its long crystalline horns to charge through and break some of the crystal buildings, some gems’ forms were stabbed during its rampage. They still haven’t reformed.

The three fused into Alexandrite and managed to throw the creature into the forest, just far enough that it didn’t came back.

Only Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl knew the true nature of it and that’s only after they attacked him. Only after he was tired and beaten. They found Steven in the center of a giant crater and he slowly turned back, every agonizing shout, every tear shed, they heard and saw it all.

He turned back to human, mostly human anyway. He loss consciousness as soon as he got back to his original size.

They argued amongst themselves, they didn’t know what to do with Steven.

"He wasn’t like this.“

"He would never hurt anyone.”

"How and why did he even get corrupted?!“

Everyone was shouting at each other, Pearl was sobbing and asking what could’ve happened to him, Amethyst couldn’t even say that that creature was even Steven, and Garnet wasn’t there, Ruby and Sapphire were. One trying to comfort the other who wished they saw this future coming.

They stopped when they heard him groan, he was about to sit up straight, but he became unconscious once more.

They didn’t know what to do next, he could turn back, they couldn’t risk him possibly losing control again.

They didn’t want to do this to him, but even they didn’t know what he would do when he wakes up.

Connie reached the front door of the beach house, she took a deep breath and braced herself for what’s she’s about to see.

Pearl may have told her what happened, but that didn’t prepare Connie for what she saw.

Steven was in a makeshift cage, he was facing the wall when she entered. She didn’t really see what was different until she saw the long dark pink tail covered with spikes traveling down his spine.

She was about to go near him when her cellphone rang, it was Pearl.

Connie turned around and answered the phone, "Yes?”

Pearl kept reminding her about watching him, Connie could only listen as she talked about Steven like he was some animal.

"He’s dangerous, don’t go near him.“

"Please be careful, Connie. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

"We’ll be back soon, just keep an eye on him.“

Even Connie can sense that Steven knows he’s being talked about, so she cut the conversation short, "Don’t worry, Pearl. Yeah…I will keep my eye on him.”

She ended the call and his gravelly voice tried to reassure her, “Connie, I am fine.”

She turns to see him, but it was only for a second before she looked away.

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

He had small horns on his head, blotches of pink on his skin, he had claws, and his teeth were sharper.

She stepped closer to the cage and made another attempt to face him, it’s still Steven, she should have nothing to worry about.

His arms were holding the bars while looking at her, he had a sharp toothy grin saying, “It’s a gem thing.”

"I can fix it, just let me out.“

Why is he lying? An effect of corruption, maybe? Is he still the Steven she knows?

She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as she apologized, "I’m sorry Steven. I can’t-”

“LET ME OUT!”

He was snarling at her, eyes pitch black with pupils glowing a bright pink as he shook the bars in rage, screaming at her.

None of this is Steven, this wasn’t the boy she met years ago, this wasn’t the person who shielded her from harm. This was-

No. She isn’t finishing that thought.

She got even closer to his cage, tears were starting to fall as he stared at her with nothing but hate.

"Steven, please calm down-“

She got too close, and suffered the consequences.

It was a swift movement of his claws on her face. She didn’t react fast enough.

She stumbled back and clutched her right eye, she can feel it on her hands and see the streaks of crimson on them.

He kept screaming like a caged animal. Honestly, he was one at this point.

The first friend she ever had, the first person who stood up for her, the first person she loved.

He’s gone. Mind lost to corruption.

Connie opened her other eye and saw a tear fall near a familiar pink bracelet.

The day she met him, the moment he came into her life. She had the some of the most amazing adventures with him. He had been with her in the bottom of the sea, snowy forests, and even space itself.

She seen him at his best, determined to help the corrupted gems, risking to hurt himself just so he could save some people’s lives, and he never gave up on other people, other gems.

He always gave them a chance. Even when it seemed that it was hopeless for them to change, he still gave them love and patience.

And now he’s at his lowest point.

Connie stood up, a bit shaky, but she faced him. Even as he growled at her, practically foaming at the mouth.

"Steven, it’s going to be okay.”

He may be lost somewhere in his mind right now, but she’ll get to him. She won’t give up on Steven. Not now, not when he needs it the most.

"I am here. I will never leave you.“

It could just be her eye playing tricks, but she swore she saw a bit of recognition in his eyes as he calmed down.

She’s never leaving his side as he never gave up on anyone who needed help.

#steven universe #corrupted steven #connie maheswaran #corrupted steven fics

271 notes · View notes

bigbadredpanda · 6 years

Text

Mo Dao Zu Shi extra: From night to morning

I hadn’t planned to translate another chapter but I recently discovered the extra story「朝暮」exclusive to the Taiwan physical book and it’s truly a hidden gem.

I also hadn’t planned to ever write explicit content. Oh well.

Warning: Graphic sex scene.

It was long past 9 pm and he still had not come back.

The paper lantern on the table was not yet extinguished, Lan Wangji was gazing at its hazy glow without blinking.

Rising after a long while, he walked to the entrance of the Jingshi and opened the wooden door.

He stood still for a moment. He appeared to be on the verge of stepping outside when a suspicious thud sounded from behind.

Lan Wangji abruptly turned round. All he could see was the window that had been opened at some point. The window frame stirred in the nocturnal breeze. A strange lump rolled into a big ball had suddenly appeared under the quilt of the bed as if it broke through the damaged window, rolled inside and huddled up trembling.

After a momentary silence, Lan Wangji softly closed the door. Returning inside the room, he blew out the lantern in passing and closed the window before going to bed.

He lay down beside the large lump, pulled the other quilt over himself silently and closed his eyes.

Not long after, something big and icy-cold suddenly made its way into his quilt.

This large and icy-cold figure crawled over his body until it fitted snugly against his chest. “Lan Zhan, I’m back! Quick, welcome me,” said a cheerful voice.

Lan Wangji raised his arms to pull him into a tight hug, “Why are you so cold?”

“I had to brave the wind for the better part of the day,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Lend me your warmth.”

This explained why he was covered all over by grass blades and dust, he must have led the disciples of the Cloud Recesses in the mountainous wilderness to hunt birds and beasts as well as all sorts of monsters.

Despite the fact that Wei Wuxian was covered in grime when he rolled into Lan Wangji’s bed and creeped inside his quilt, Lan Wangji who was naturally fastidious about cleanliness made no sign to rebuff him. Without speaking, he exerted more strength to embrace Wei Wuxian tighter in his arms.

After using his own body temperature to warm him up, Lan Wangji said, “Take off your boots at least.”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian answered, kicking off his boots and snuggling back inside the quilt to chill Lan Wangji.

“Do not squirm,” Lan Wangji said in a monotonous tone.

“I'm on your bed and yet you don’t want me to squirm?” Wei Wuxian teased.

“Uncle returned,” Lan Wangji replied.

Lan Qiren dwelled not far from Lan Wangji’s Jingshi. As he disliked Wei Wuxian, if he heard any kind of scandalous noise, he would most likely foam at the mouth the next day and fly into a terrible rage against Wei Wuxian.

Nevertheless, Wei Wuxian inserted his knee between Lan Wangji’s legs and clandestinely grinded a few times with mischief, letting his actions speak for themselves to bluntly express his mood.

After a moment of silence, Lan Wangji abruptly flipped Wei Wuxian under him, pinning him.

His momentum was so great and his strength was so fierce that the two of them collided with a thud on the wooden bed.

“Slowly, slowly, slowly... SLOW... LY!”

Lan Wangji pressed down Wei Wuxian against the bed with an inexorable grip. He penetrated him with irresistible force and buried himself to the hilt in one sustained thrust until his abdomen pressed against Wei Wuxian’s bare ass. Only when he was unable to go deeper did he remain still.

Wei Wuxian inhaled sharply several times, head thrashing. He didn’t dare squirm much, he merely rolled his eyes and twisted his hips uncomfortably, trying to dislodge the cock inside him a little. But when Lan Wangji realised his intent, he clasped his waist and filled him again at once.

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian shouted, “Hanguang-Jun!”

After a moment of forbearance, Lan Wangji said, “You asked for it.” He paused briefly before starting to pump in and out.

Wei Wuxian was firmly pinned underneath him, legs curled up in the air, black hair in disarray, face flushed. His body rocked repeatedly in time with his movements. Lan Wangji thrust once and Wei Wuxian shouted in response. For two thrusts, two shouts answered in return. After a period of single-minded and strenuous effort, Lan Wangji could no longer allow him to scream like this. He managed with great difficulty to keep his breathing under control and his heart from bursting out of his chest, he said in a low voice, "Keep… Keep your voice down."

Wei Wuxian lifted a hand to stroke his face and thought inwardly that it was truly baffling that Lan Zhan's face could be so unaffected. Clearly his face was already burning terribly hot but no blush was visible and he was still pale as if touched by frost. So handsome it made Wei Wuxian’s heart pound and his soul sway. Lan Wangji exercised such self-restraint, the only indication was the pink faintly tinging his earlobes.

"Er-Gege, you don't want to hear me scream?" Wei Wuxian panted.

Lan Wangji, "..."

He seemed to find it difficult to speak the truth but he was also unwilling to break his convictions and outright lie. At the sight of this, a thrill pleasurable beyond words coursed through Wei Wuxian’s entire being. He wished he could also take Lan Wangji whole in his mouth. “You're afraid of someone hearing me scream,” he said. “That's a problem, you better silence me.”

Lan Wangji’s chest rose and fall wildly, eyes slightly bloodshot. Wei Wuxian egged him on, “Go on! Silence me, I'll let you do whatever you want to me. Even if you fuck me raw, I won't be able to scream...”

Before he could finish speaking, Lan Wangji had bent over him and sealed his lips with his.

After having his mouth shut, Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms and legs around him and the two rolled and tangled on the bed. The quilt that covered them earlier had fallen on the floor in the heat of the moment. In general, Lan Wangji would seldom change their position during the act. After being penetrated for one hour, Wei Wuxian already felt numb from his back all the way to his ass and his legs and he highly doubted that he wouldn't be pounded in the same position all night. Seeing that Lan Wangji did not look the slightest bit inclined to stop seemed to confirm his suspicions. Thus, Wei Wuxian took the initiative to flip their bodies in order to straddle and ride Lan Wangji. Arms wrapped around his neck, he bounced up and down of his own accord. While moving, he bit Lan Wangji’s earlobe and asked, “Deep enough?” The whisper at his ear was accompanied by wet sounds and warmth. Lan Wangji reached out a hand to grip his shoulder fiercely and push him down. A formidable thrust made Wei Wuxian cry out in surprise and hold him tighter. Lan Wangji rubbed the small of his back and returned the question, “Deep enough?”

Wei Wuxian had not yet recovered, his lips kept quivering but no answer came. Frowning, he let out a sudden shout, “Ah! Wait, wait! S-Slow… Slow down first before thrusting harder! [1]”

With one hand he made a futile effort to shield himself and with the other he clasped firmly Lan Wangji’s shoulder, fingers digging in the toned muscle. Almost alarmed, he yelled, "Lan Zhan! Don't you understand what 'Slow down first' means? Don't. Use. Each. Time. So much. So much…"

The rest of his sentence came out as a fragmented stammer due to the strength of the thrusts. Lan Wangji roared, "I cannot understand you!"

Later at night and after their two climaxes, despite the earlier wretched cry and begging ramblingly for mercy, Wei Wuxian's legs were locked securely around Lan Wangji's waist to prevent him from leaving.

Lan Wangji entirely covered Wei Wuxian with his body, carefully avoiding to put all his weight on him. Their two bodies were pressed against one another and the place connecting them together was dripping wet and slippery. Lan Wangji appeared as if he wanted to rise but as soon as he moved, Wei Wuxian restrained him with his legs and the part of the cock that slipped out immediately went back in to fit snugly inside him.

"Don't move," Wei Wuxian said languidly, "Have some manners and lie down."

Lan Wangji complied to his request and remained still. A while later, he asked Wei Wuxian, "Do you not feel full?"

"I'm full, so full I'm bursting", Wei Wuxian whined pitifully. "You kept ignoring me when I was crying out so miserably earlier."

"…" Lan Wangji said, "I am pulling out."

Wei Wuxian immediately changed his expression and stated bluntly, "I do like being filled by you, it feels so good."

He punctuated his sentence with a clench. Lan Wangji's expression changed at once and his breathing slowed down for a moment. After enduring for a moment, he uttered in a hoarse tone, “... Shameless!"

Seeing that he managed to annoy him, Wei Wuxian laughed heartily and pecked him on the lips. "Er-Gege, what haven’t we done together? Is there still anything to be ashamed of?"

Lan Wangji could only shake slightly his head, he said in a low voice, "Let me pull out, you need a bath."

Wei Wuxian was already feeling a little sleepy, he mumbled, "No bath, I'll wash tomorrow. I'm too exhausted now."

Lan Wangji lay a kiss on his forehead and said, "Bathe. Take care of your body or you will be unwell."

Wei Wuxian tiredly released him and weakly lowered his arms and legs. Lan Wangji got out of bed, he started by picking up the quilt that had fallen on the floor and tucked in Wei Wuxian's naked body. Then he collected one after another the clothes thrown haphazardly and hung them on the folding screen. He draped on his shoulders his own clothes, dressed rapidly and tidily and went out to draw water for the bath.

After some time [2], he carried the dozing Wei Wuxian and lowered him in the bath. The cask was situated near Lan Wangji's writing desk. As Wei Wuxian soaked in the water, he recovered his energy and high spirits. He patted the edge of the cask, "Hanguang-Jun! Not together?"

"I will wait," Lan Wangji answered.

"Why wait? Just come over now."

Lan Wangji glanced at him, looking as if he was pondering something. He finally said, "We returned four days ago and the bath in the Jingshi broke four times."

From the way he looked at him, Wei Wuxian felt the need to justify himself, "Last time it broke wasn't my fault." Lan Wangji placed the soap case in Wei Wuxian’s reach. He admitted in a monotonous voice, "My fault."

Wei Wuxian cupped water in his hands and poured it over his own neck. The cluster of red hickeys stood out even more with the glistening water. He said, “That's right. And the time before that wasn't my fault either. Actually, each time it was you who broke it if we think about it. You haven't learnt your lesson since the first time it happened.”

Lan Wangji rose to his feet. When he came back, he placed a jar of Emperor's Smile near Wei Wuxian's hand. He then sat at the writing desk. “True,” he acknowledged.

Wei Wuxian could reach Lan Wangji by extending his hand so he went to rub his chin. Lan Wangji picked up a thick stack of papers and started to write brief annotations and comments in the margins as he read. While soaking in the water, Wei Wuxian opened the jar of Emperor's Smile and threw back his head to drink a mouthful. He said casually, “What are you reading?”

“Night hunt notes,” Lan Wangji replied.

“Written by the children?” Wei Wuxian asked. “You're not usually in charge of correcting notes, right? I remember that it’s your uncle's responsibility.”

Lan Qiren was probably busy with more important matters so he must have assigned temporarily Lan Wangji to perform this task on his behalf. Wei Wuxian reached out his hand to take two sheets of paper, flipping them over, he said, “Your uncle used to write a comment running a few hundreds of characters in length for every two paragraphs written, he even concluded with a summary several thousands of characters long. I really can't imagine how much time he spends to write all those comments. Yours are really short.”

“Short? Is that bad?” Lan Wangji asked.

“It's good! Simplifying makes it clearer.”

Lan Wangji's succinct comments were not due to sloppiness at all. Even if the work was simple, he would be conscientious to the utmost. Whether it was spoken or written, he used words sparingly as it was his usual practice, paring down to what was strictly necessary. Wei Wuxian submerged his head underwater and then surfaced dripping wet the next moment. While using one hand to wash his hair with the soap, he grabbed a page on the writing desk with his other hand. After taking a glance, he chuckled in spite of himself, “Who wrote that? There are so many characters written wrong. Hahahahahahaha... I already know it’s Jingyi. You gave him a grade B.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said.

“That's the only B I've seen in that huge pile, how pitiful.”

“Numerous mistakes, verbose analysis.”

“He got away with a B?”

“No. Rewrite.”

“He should satisfy himself with that, it beats being punished to copy while doing a handstand.”

Lan Wangji silently gathered the papers Wei Wuxian had messily scattered, ordered them properly and tidied them up in a neat stack that he put aside. As Wei Wuxian watched his movements, the corners of his mouth spontaneously lifted up. He asked, “How did you grade Sizhui?”

Lan Wangji took out two pages of notes and handed them over to him. “Grade A.”

Wei Wuxian took the proffered pages and bent his head to read. “His handwriting is truly splendid.”

“Proper organization, clear ideas, meaningful substance, pertinent and precise,” Lan Wangji expounded.

After Wei Wuxian flipped the pages, he put them back in the stack. Noticing the pile of papers not yet graded, he asked, “You need to read all these? Can I help you and take one part?”

“All right,” Lan Wangji answered.

“If I see a mistake somewhere, I’ll cross it and put an annotation, that’s enough, right?” he asked.

He took more than half of the pile for himself but Lan Wangi tried to take it back. Wei Wuxian stopped Lan Wangji’s hand and asked, “What are you doing?”

“That is too many. You are bathing.”

Wei Wuxian took another swallow of Emperor's Smile and grabbed a brush. “I’m bathing, so what? I'm free anyway and I have nothing to do. Reading what the children wrote in their notes is pretty fun,” he said.

“You still need to rest after the bath.”

“Look at me, do I seem sleepy to you now?” bragged Wei Wuxian. “I feel like I can easily go another two rounds.”

He leaned over the edge of the cask and started to read attentively the notes. From time to time, he raised his arm that was propped on the writing desk to write. While watching him, Lan Wangji’s eyes seemed to flicker warmly with the reflection of lantern light.

Despite boldly boasting that he could go another two rounds and more, it was hard for him not to feel drowsy after spending the day leading the group of disciples deep in the mountain to throw them in total chaos, tangling noisily on the bed for half the night as soon as he returned and still afterwards correcting a heap of notes. Wei Wuxian strived in all seriousness to finish commenting his own pile. As soon as he discarded the heap of papers on the writing desk, he started to slide in the water. Thanks to his sharp eyes and quick reflexes, Lan Wangji picked him up with a gentle movement. He then wiped him dry and carried him to bed.

He finished his own bath quickly and went to bed. Being held in Lan Wangji's embrace, Wei Wuxian woke up a bit. Resting against Lan Wangji’s collarbone, he mumbled, “Your Sect’s children can write pretty well. However, they still need to improve a bit when going out on a night hunt.”

“Mmh.”

“But that's all right... I'll help them study hard during my stay in the Cloud Recesses. Tomorrow... I'll proceed and take them to attack the den of the Shanxiao [3].”

The one-legged Shanxiao was renowned for its prodigious strength, it was covered from head to foot by black fur and ate people as if they were slices of vegetables. If it were someone else speaking like that, it would sound like he was about to take a bunch of snotty kids on the rooftop to disturb a bird's nest.

The corners of Lan Wangji's mouth twitched as if they wanted to rise. “Were you also gone today to capture the Shanxiao?”

“That's right,” Wei Wuxian confirmed. “That’s why I said they still need to practice. The Shanxiao only has one leg and can barely run with it but in the future, they might meet lizards with four legs, spiders with eight legs, centipedes with hundreds of legs that won’t simply lie down and wait for their death... Oh, by the way, Hanguang-Jun. I don’t have any more money, give me some more.”

“The jade token you hold should raise sufficient money,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Wuxian muffled a laugh, “You gave me that jade token so that I can cross the borders… Can it also be used to raise money?”

“Yes,” answered Lan Wangji. “Did you destroy some vendor's booth or someone's house?”

“No...” Wei Wuxian denied. “Where did you get... All the money was spent because I took them to that Hunan restaurant [4] in Caiyi Town after the night hunt... It's just that before I died, I wanted to drag you to that place but you always refused... I'm exhausted... Lan Zhan, let’s stop speaking...”

“All right,” Lan Wangji said.

“... Don't speak... Even if you say a single word, I can't help answering... All right Lan Zhan, let's sleep quickly, I… can't keep… Really need to sleep… Lan Zhan, see you tomorrow…"

He kissed Lan Zhan's throat and quickly fell in a deep slumber.

The inside of the Jingshi was plunged in darkness and silence.

After a while, Lan Wangji lay a gentle kiss on Wei Wuxian's forehead.

"See you tomorrow, Wei Ying," he whispered.

Translator’s Notes

[1] Wei Wuxian says originally 九浅一深 (jiǔ qiǎn yī shēn), meaning “nine shallow, one deep”. This is a sex technique where one deep thrust is performed for every nine shallow thrusts, the change of rhythm is supposedly very pleasurable for the receiving partner.

[2] The time unit here is one incense stick. There are contradicting definitions for its duration.

[3] 山魈 (Shānxiāo) means literally “Mountain Demon”, it is a legendary creature in Chinese folklore.

[4] Hunan cuisine is known for being especially hot and spicy.

#mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs translation #mdzs spoilers #my translations

3K notes · View notes

guesswho-mp3 · 4 years

Text

[ Lady Luck ]

Au: twoface!baekhyun | Pairing: character x reader | Warning: language, death, gore/body horror, sexual references | Rating: 16+ | Word Count: 1.6k

This is: Visage One | Visage Two

“Rough day?” A light voice questioned. Baekhyun could feel the pent up tension in his body ease, his shoulders slightly slumping as he turned around while loosening his tie. The last of his worries left him, like waves flowing from shore, ebbing away at the sight of her leaning against the hallway.

“The worst,” he mumbled, hands circling her waist, nuzzling against her neck to inhale her scent. “There’s enough as it is, trying to clean up the G.C.P.D with the corruption scandals pouring in and Moon isn’t complying. The Gazette is more interested in my dating life than my plans for the future and I just have to smile and wave like an idiot. Did you know that they started calling me Two Face down at the precinct?”

“Oh my poor baby,” she dramatically sighed, laughing in admiration when he raised his head to reveal a pout. She thumbed at his bottom lip and his hand fell to her ass, giving it a light squeeze. Arcing her eyebrow at him he just hummed, taking her thumb into his mouth, wet tongue lapping at the digit. She grasped his tie and started pulling him towards their shared bedroom.

“Come on then, Mr. Hahm. Let me see what I can do to make it better.”

When he came to the world was blurry, the only clear sensation he could feel was a splitting pain on the left side of his head. His right hand crept up to pick at the bandages on his face, starting to peel the edges back.

“Uh uh uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you boy-o.” Baekhyun’s neck snapped in the direction of the voice, neck straining to the far left in order to be able to look out of his right eye.

The Crown Prince of Crime sat in the cushy hospital chair in the corner of the room, dressed in a white nurse’s uniform. The reaction was immediate, a coarse yell for help escaping his throat as his body jerked back and forth, the burning of his limbs too great to actually get up.

“Scream all you want. I shot the doctor and the police are running around like headless chickens at the Court House. They’re not coming.” The clown’s voice was unemotional, the lackadaisical way in which he said his words even more terrifying.

He kept still even after five minutes of watching Baekhyun struggling to lift himself up, frustrated yells and curses leaving his lips, a cracked image of the sophisticated and put together DA candidate that graced Gotham News. He was thoroughly enjoying this. He knew the Bat wouldn’t, and that thought made him laugh.

The attorney finally quieted seeing as the clown had yet to do anything. He leaned back in the bed, his right eye still furrowed at the figure in the corner.

“Why are you here?” Baekhyun accused, his right nostril flaring. The burn tape that covered half of his face still didn’t stop the wince at the burn of his torn cheek tendon stretching.

“To see you of course. Now I’ve done a lot of bad things to a lot of good people, but I have to admit, I think I really outdid myself on this one.” A proud smile strained his visage, his eyes slightly glazing over.

Baekhyun scoffed. “So what, you’ve come here to mock me?” He could feel an angry tear forming in his waterline, turning his head at the last second so the clown wouldn’t see it, he couldn’t give the madman the satisfaction. But it didn’t go unnoticed as he’d hoped, snake tongue passing over red stained lips at the sight of the liquid pain. If only his Lady Luck were here. Baekhyun didn’t see what happened to her after the attack.

White hot fury engorged Baekhyun’s pupil as he scrutinized the Joker, body trembling. “Wait. Where is she? What did you do to her?.”

Joker abruptly rose from the chair, like a marionette brought to attention, and got up close to Baekhyun, leaning in as if telling him a secret. “Oh, you don’t know?” He chuckled, a humorless, caustic sound.

“She's dead.”

The air was knocked out of Baekhyun’s lungs, the unshed tears forming a hurricane as he wailed and twisted in the hospital bed. The desperation he felt was mutating into something else. It was growing claws and gnashing teeth. His psyche was cracking like concrete, straight down the middle, his heart shattering along with it. He wanted blood. His paralyzed state prevented him from seizing a hold of the clown who just raised his hands up and backed away in mock surrender, his own figure buckling under the crazed cackles that wracked his body. This was going so well.

“I get it you know ehehe, it must be difficult to lose your other half. Especially aha, when it was y-your ahaha,” he wheezed,” prettier one.” Baekhyun felt like he was in hell, the previous screams reduced to a mixture of helpless sobs and infuriated growls, as if his soul were being split in two. Rage, earth-quaking, blind vengeance overcame him.

The Joker wasn’t done though. He had to push him, make him his pawn, his raving mad dog.

“May I ask a question?” He took the severe glare and snarling he received as his sign to continue. “You were squirming in your sleep, like you were having a very pleasant dream.” The grin that appeared on his face was predatory. He came closer from the foot of the bed, fingers skipping along Baekhyun’s left leg.

”Though I wonder, with the acid dripping down your body can your little friend still…” His eyes trailed down the blanket, whistling like a bird while raising his pointer finger up. In a sudden show of strength, Baekhyun grabbed the jester by the collar, pulling him eye level, seething at him, foaming at the mouth.

“Ok ok, aha, touchy subject, though I’m sure nobody is going to touch that anytime soon,” he tittered. “Especially since, oh what’s her face—”

Baekhyun barked out her name, spittle flying from his mouth and onto the corner of the clown’s, who licked up the drop before he continued, “Yes right, especially since she kicked the bucket. But that’s not important. Look, I wanna help you, Hahm.”

“Help us?” He grunted, skeptical at how the madman’s switch. His right eye roved across the clown, voice suddenly hushed, eye wide and desperate, “You want to help me?”

“Yes, help you. Listen, Baek, I may have pulled the trigger, but Batman and the Commisioner loaded the gun,” he said in a comic lilt. “You put your trust in a corrupt order. Am I right? You put your trust in the Bat, of all vermin, and where did that get you? A dead girlfriend and a fucked up face?” The Joker’s hand ghosted over the bandage.

Traitors, a voice spat. We have to make them pay. Punish them.

But they promised. They deserve a fair trial.

Deserve? The pigs deserve a bullet in their heads after what happened. They promised to protect you. But they just screwed us over. They screwed her over. Now we’ve lost everything because of them.

But they really tried—

Tried? Tried?! Give the Bat a gold fucking star than, get on your knees and blow Moon to thank him for the brilliant job he did. After that you can go tell the love of our life to go fuck herself and spit on her grave.

Oh God, please stop, don’t mention her. She didn’t deserve to die. It’s not fair. Baekhyun hit the left side of his head as he sobbed, a wet squelch being released from under the surgical tape with each bout of pressure.

Joker just watched on, transfixed, as Gotham’s White Knight started cracking, one part of him maliciously attacking and the other cowering. Two identities forming, one a tiny show poodle, charming and gentile. The other a rabid rottweiler, eyes rolling and teeth gnashing. The madness was being let loose. That acid must’ve really done a number on him. And boy was he gonna run with it.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you that Batman is always the one that crosses the line but never seems to lose anything?” Baekhyun bristled.

Joker pulled a gun out of the waistband of his nurse uniform, placing it in Baehyun’s hand and wrapping his fingers around it. “With life so merciless, the only thing that will forever remain faithful is chaos. Ok? Chaos is clean. Pure. Chaos doesn’t play favorites. It just kills and spares. Life. Death. Balanced. It’s fair. ”

“Fair?” Baekhyun trembled, weighing the glock in his grip.

“Yes,” the devil falsely soothed, voice grating and sinister. He lightly stroked the bandage on Baekhyun’s head, “Now are you just gonna let them get away with it? After what happened to her?”

The monster was back, rearing its ugly head. “No,” he snarled, fingers grasping the metal hilt, thumbing at the hammer, “we’re not.” He used his other hand to rip off the bandage, hissing as some pieces of skin went with it, flinging specks of blood onto the pillow.

“I’m glad you see it my way. It’s time to turn over a new leaf in this city. After all, like your slogan says,” Joker grabbed a mirror from the bedside table, turning it towards the fallen attorney.

He saw gnarled oozing skin. Part of his cheekbone and mandible were uncovered from stringy red muscle, surrounded by crusted and flaking gray skin. Patches of hair were singed off and one side of his mouth was curled in, revealing pearly white teeth hidden behind cheek tendon. Something flashed in his dead eye, nearly hanging out from the socket, the Joker staring back at his twisted grin in the smoke and tar of his clouded orb. There was a hunger there. Cereberus waiting to be let off the leash with an appetite for anarchy— to watch cities burn and symbols to fall. The Dark Knight to fall.

“The new face of Gotham, is Baekhyun Hahm.”

2 notes · View notes

eliniei · 5 years

Text

Not As It Seems Part XI - Emet-Selch x WoL

Summary: When the WoL wakes up shouting a name after a nightmare, Emet-Selch tells her a story from another Shard.

Word Count: 1807

Masterlist: here Ao3: here

As always, if you have any requests you’d like to see show up in this series or any other Emet/WoL one-shot you’d like to see me write, please let me know!

----

Wings and masks. Steel against crystal. Light against dark.

Feathers, feathers everywhere.

I watched across the platform as my opponent laid upon the stone, chest heaving, its life bleeding away.

I looked at my hands, red staining them to the elbows, dripping off my skin. Drip, drip, drip.

Horrified, I took a step back. Blood on my hands. Blood on my boots. Blood all over me.

“You...see…?” the dying creature across from me rasped.

The ground shook, threatening to pitch me over the edge. A wave of black hovered in front of me, rolling and foaming, ready to envelope me. I braced myself for the impact.

I was swept up in its currents, the liquid thick and hot. Try as I might to stop it, it forced its way up my nose, into my mouth, salty and metallic, drowning me.

I sunk, and sunk, and sunk. Down, down down.

I fought for a way to the surface- to breathe, to live… Did I deserve to live after the things I’ve done?

“You see, hero, you are no better than me.”

I paused and looked towards my enemy. He was no longer dying, the hole in his chest mended.

My enemy? Or was he my friend? I couldn’t…

I opened my mouth to call his name. His true name. The name I used to call him before the fall, before the break.

The word didn’t come. The word, on the very tip of my tongue… What was it again?

There was no hope for me. I inhaled, letting the darkness into my lungs.

He stood before me, now, my enemy and my friend, one of his many hands on my chin, looking down at me with a smile. Was it a smile?

“Say my name.”

“Hades!” I cried as I shot up in bed, heart pounding so hard in my chest I thought it’d burst. I gulped down air as if I was dying, chest rising and falling in quick succession. Twelve, that was-

I felt warm hands on my shoulders that I was not expecting and scrambled out of bed, summoning an orb of thunder to my hand.

Emet-Selch was sitting up, still under the covers, hands still raised, watching me carefully. I sighed and lowered my hands.

“I-I’m sorry.” I sighed and dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing my face with my hands. “I guess it was my turn to have a nightmare.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?” he asked, softly. I closed my eyes again, imagining the great and terrible monster I had battled. The wave of black blood threatening to drown me. My hands clenched into fists.

“I don’t...really remember it,” I lied. He was quiet for a few long seconds.

“You’re really a terrible liar.”

I leaned forward on my legs, looking down at the floor between my feet. “Fine, then. I don’t want to talk about it.” My words came out harsher than I’d meant.

The bed shifted behind me as he moved, and I felt his hands on my neck as he brushed my hair over one side. He lowered his lips to my shoulder for a moment, then rubbed his hands up and down my arms. He pressed his cheek to the back of my head so his mouth was right next to my ear.

“Come, hero. Let me tell you a story,” the Ascian whispered, tugging me back. I twisted my torso and watched as he placed himself against the headboard and held his hand out to me. With another sigh, I did as he bid. He placed me between his legs and I willingly leaned against his chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“What kind of story is it?”

“Hmm,” he hummed. I could feel the vibration of his voice against my back and I closed my eyes. “There are some who say it’s true and some who say it is a myth.”

“What do you believe?”

He paused for a moment, but breathed a laugh. “What I think doesn’t matter, dear hero.” He nodded and he exhaled a long breath before continuing. “Long ago-”

“You’re really going to start your story like that?”

“If you’d rather I not-”

“No. I’ll be quiet.”

He raised his hands, holding them out in front of the both of us, palms up. I relaxed into him as an illusion of a girl appeared in one hand, bright and golden.

“There was a young Goddess of Spring, as beautiful as the day was bright. And there was an old god.” In the other, foreboding figure materialized, covered in shadow. “God of the Underworld, lonely in his cold, dark palace.”

The girl moved, dancing around a field of wildflowers, occasionally bending to pick the prettiest. The other watched from afar.

“One day, as the god ascended from his home, he found the goddess gathering the flowers she’d created for the world and he was instantly in love.”

He sighed against me. “There are many versions of this story, the words and actions of the characters changed over time.”

“Which one are you going to tell me?”

“The original one.” I nodded and continued watching the magical play in his hands continue. The God of the Underworld walked across Emet-Selch’s palms and the two sat together in the field, smiling and laughing. The Goddess fashioned a flower crown in her hands and gently laid it on his head. “She was of the same mind. So, he went to his brother- a king among gods- to ask permission to marry her. He did not oppose.”

“But, there was one obstacle.” A woman appeared in his free hand, similar in looks to the young goddess. “Her mother would never agree to this union and forbade her to ever see him again.”

The third figure vanished and a chariot replaced her in his free hand, sleek and black. It went forth, sweeping them both up, leaving behind an array of flowers in the field.

“At her behest, he stole her back to his domain.”

The gods disappeared and a tall, dark castle materialized in both of his hands. I sat forward, taking a closer look at it. The spires were… The Ascian paused his story for a moment, sitting up as well, pressing a lingering kiss to my shoulder blade, then sat his chin in the crook of my neck.

“They lived happily in his home. But it did not last for long.”

Dark clouds and lightning appeared above the palace. “Her mother was furious. Her anger served as a blight upon the world- killing everything in its path. So harmful, in fact, the king among the gods bade his brother return the young goddess to her mother.”

I frowned. “This does have a happy ending, right?”

“Not to fret, dear hero.”

I sighed and sat back against his chest again. He closed his hands, the scene vanishing and wound his arms around my chest, pulling me closer, nuzzling my neck with his nose.

“They resisted the will of her mother, but the poor goddess saw what their defiance did to the world. She grew listless, depressed...and so, unable to watch her wither away, the God of the Underworld offered to her a solution.”

He held his hands out again, a red fruit I’d never seen before appearing in his hands. It looked so real, I reached out to touch it, but my hand passed right through.

“Eating the fruit of the Underworld is said to seal a marriage. If the goddess were to eat one seed for each month of the year, she would be bound to the Underworld forever, no matter the will of the gods. He bade her eat six of the twelve so that she would sate her mother’s rage by spending half the year above ground, but at the same time, her mother could not argue that she must spend the rest of her time with him.”

“I hope she agreed to it,” I pouted. He huffed a laugh.

“She did. For half the year, she filled the world with vibrant, blooming flowers. The other half, she descended to the Underworld and ruled by his side as a fierce and powerful queen.”

“Not happy, exactly.”

“And why not?”

“She only gets to spend half the year with him!”

“Half a year is better than no time at all, is it not?”

“Mm,” I hummed, looking at the fruit again, still sitting in his hand. “I suppose. What kind of fruit is this? It’s not something we have in Eorzea.”

“Ah,” he said, pulling it closer to my face. “This fruit is called a pomegranate. It’s quite popular on the Ninth.”

I tilted my head to the side. “And you eat its seeds?”

“Yes,” he answered, the illusion splitting open so that I could see under the peel.

“Why did you choose this story to tell me?”

He paused for a moment before answering.

“The name you shouted when you woke is the name of this God of the Underworld.”

I raised a hand to my lips, thinking back to my nightmare, but it was mostly gone. And the name...What had it been, again?

He closed his hands once again, forcing the image away. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t remember…the name I called.”

He stretched his arms above his head and laid back on his pillow. “I’m sorry, hero,” he started, playfully. “That hardly seems like my problem. Could we, mayhap, go back to sleep now? I’m terribly exhausted.”

I flipped myself around so that I hovered over him, my lips tugging upwards. “You won’t tell me?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

I shook my head, an incredulous huff escaping my lips, but I leaned down, kissing him slowly, deeply. He put both of his hands on my face, one thumb stroking my cheek, as he returned with fervor, exploring my mouth with his tongue.

When I pulled away, he tried to follow me, but I sat up fully, straddling his hips.

“Was that nice enough for you?” He smirked.

“Oh, I suppose. He has many names, but most just call him Hades.” The Ascian sat up, slightly, sliding his hand around the back of my neck. “I think I am spending entirely too much time with you, my dear hero.”

I mimicked his smile. “And why do you think that?”

He pulled me back down over him, pressing his third eye against my forehead. “I think I’m beginning to rub off on you.”

I started to laugh, but he caught my lips with his and pulled me down onto the mattress, next to him and proceeded to kiss me until my nightmares were forgotten and my mind was at ease.

#emet-selch #emetselch #emet selch #emet-selch x warrior of light #emet selch x warrior of light #ffxiv #ffxiv shadowbringers #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv shadowbringers #final fantasy xiv fanfiction #final fantasy 14 fanfiction #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #5.0 spoilers

26 notes · View notes

silvereddaye · 5 years

Photo

Here’s a preview of my upcoming fic, Godhood. A Greek God AU.

Summary: Han Solo has entered Hades to find and return his lost love Qi'ra. However, shortly upon entering the land of the dead, he meets a pair of twins who offer to tell Han where Qi'ra resides . . . for a price. Han quickly realizes these two twins aren't normal citizens of the dead. They are something more. Something alive. They don't belong down in underworld, but up in the living world above. The two don't want to leave. Frustrated, Han takes Leia to the mortal realm to show her what it's really like not knowing she is the daughter of Darth Vader, god of Hades.

Chapter 1:

Han landed with a hard thump. The ground was brittle and bit into his back, legs, and arms. He slowly lowered his head as his vision spun. The calls of the winged monsters rang loudly overheard. Despite the pain, Han couldn’t help but smile. He had done it. He had crossed the River Acheron without having to cross on Charon’s boat. Han patted the pouch that hung from his belt. He could feel the two coins still in there.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. He looked behind him at the dark purple waters of the Acheron. The waves rose and fell and twisted and formed human shapes. They arms were reaching out of the waves. Their fingers falling apart into foam. They clawed and screamed. Their eyes wide. But no sounds were heard but the soft rush of the water hitting the rocky shore. Acheron was the river of pain, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that.

Han stood up and looked at the vast underground cavern. Crossing the Acheron meant he was now in the land of the dead, Hades. The cavern was dark and filled with sharp rock columns that disappeared into the darkness overhead. The ceiling wasn’t visible. Han sighed. He needed to hurry, so he started to walk along the shore. He eyed the waters uncomfortably. The dead who were unable to pay the ferryman were forever trapped in those waters. They were all too willing to drag anyone down into the depths should they venture too carelessly to the water’s edge.

The silence grew except for the soft rush of waves on the rocky shores. The caws of winged monsters were dying out as they flew away. Han focused on the sound of the rocks crunching under his sandals.

“Did you just ride a drexl over the river?”

Han jumped. He went scurrying back, but stopped himself after a few short steps. He eyed the water. Hands formed the white foam of the soft waves. They were ready for the moment Han got too close. Han quickly stepped away and looked up. He froze and gaped. Sitting on a rock was a young man. A teenager from the looks of it. And he clearly wasn’t dead.

In fact, he looked so painfully alive. More alive than Han had ever seen anyone. There was a golden glow about him. The youth had tanned skin and golden blond hair. His eyes were a bright blue like the sky. He was dressed in a white chiton tunic that was tied around his waist and leather sandals. A black stripe ran along his tunic and a red pattern above that. He carried no pouch or weapons.

“I’ve never seen a mortal do that before,” the youth said. His voice was intoxicating. Melodious. Han wondered if he was a singer. “Why not just take the ferry?”

“I need to save the coin,” Han said. His own voice sounded rough in comparison.

“Oh?”

“I’m here to find Qi’ra. I need two coins for us both to go back,” Han explained.

“Qi’ira? Your love?” The boy’s eyes sparkled as he asked. For a second Han was standing under the night sky. Thousands of stars lit up the sky. Then he was back just looking into the boy’s eyes. Han blinked and then blinked again trying to clear his head. Did this boy ever blink?

“Yeah,” Han said slowly. “I promised I’d come back for her. And . . . I meant it. Even if that means coming into Hades itself.”

“How long ago did she come to Hades?” the boy asked.

“What?”

“How long ago? That will depend on where she is at in her journey.”

“I uh . . .”

Han paused as he looked at the youth. The youth had mentioned mortals. Was he not a mortal? The youth jumped off his rock and grabbed Han’s arm. It felt warm and soft yet strong.

“Come,” he said and pulled Han away from the river. Up a rocky incline they went. The walls of the cavern slowly appearing out of the darkness. In the wall was a jagged opening. A slice within the rock. The boy pulled him into the tunnel.

Then the youth started to run. His hold on Han was tight, so Han was forced to run with him. He tried to say something, but found his mouth felt thick. As if filled with thick honey. He was barely keeping his feet under him. His free arm waved wildly about. Any moment now Han would trip.

But soon, light grew ahead of them. Soon they came out of the tunnel into another large cavern. They were in a forest of tall trees. The trees were thin and tall with white bark and silver leaves. Short gray grass grew among the roots.

“That way,” the youth waved to their right, “is the Asphodel Meadows. That is where ordinary souls go to reside. That way,” the youth waved to their left, “is the Mourning Fields where those who wasted their lives on unrequited love reside.”

“Hey, it wasn’t unrequited love,” Han barked defensively.

The youth laughed. It sounded like bells. Like the ones they rang at the temples of the gods. “Good luck then,” he said.

“Uh yeah. Thanks,” Han said.

The youth nodded and saluted Han with two fingers. Then he turned and walked off into the trees. Han took a steadying breath and walked into the forest. It was quiet, but there was a soft sound almost like a rustling of leaves. Or whispers.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He could feel eyes on him. He turned his head this way and that, but all he saw were the trees. Though a few times he swore the knots in the tree bark looked like faces and their branches like arms. He tried to look down at his feet as much possible.

The trees were neverending. His feet were tiring. He debated on resting, but decided that it would be for the best to keep pushing on. Eventually the trees thinned, and he found himself at the edge of another river. On the other shore stretched a grassy plain that rolled gently with soft hills. Pale green and white grass swayed gently, but Han saw no one in them. Perhaps the dead were further in.

He walked to the pebbled shore. He glanced for a crossing or a bridge or even a boat. Would a boat require payment? He stared at the waters. Unlike the Acheron, these waters were smooth. Almost as smooth as glass. The water seemed to glow a light blue. Would it be safe to swim in? Han walked up to the water’s edge. He could feel the chill of the water on his toes.

“That is the Lethe,” came a feminine voice.

Han was startled, but didn’t jump. He turned to see a young woman standing nearby. At once, she reminded him of the youth he met before. She was dressed similarly in a short white chiton tunic. Her hair was twisted back into buns on either side of her head. Her eyes and hair were warm brown.

And she glowed. Warm and golden. Her chest rose and fell. She was alive.

“Luke was right,” she said as she walked over to Han. Her voice was silky and smooth. He closed his eyes for a second to enjoy it. “There is a mortal here. Is it true? Did you ride a drexl over the Acheron instead of paying Charon?”

“Uh . . . Luke?”

“My brother, whom you supposedly met.”

“The blond haired kid?”

She nodded. Her large doe eyes looked at him unblinking.

“Then yeah, I met him.”

“So, you’re looking for your lady love?” the girl asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

“Qi’ra.”

“Qi’ra. Qi’ra,” the girl said as she rolled the name around her tongue. She looked around in thought. “Hmmm. And you are?”

“I am Han. Han Solo.”

“I am Leia,” she said. “And that is the Lethe River. It is the river of forgetfulness. Drink its waters and you shall forget everything you have ever known. The shades of the dead are required to drink its waters so they forget their earthly life.”

There was a sharp pain in Han’s heart. So even if he found Qi’ra, she wouldn’t remember him?

“She may not be there yet,” Leia said picking up on his woe.

“How am I going to know? How am I going to find her?”

“I could help,” Leia said with a smile.

“You would?”

“Not for free of course. First rule of Hades, nothing here is without a price.”

Han’s hand went down to his pouch which held his coins. “I can’t part with these. I need them to go back.”

“Oh I don’t want coins,” Leia said. “Now let me think.”

She kicked a pebble. It bounced into the river. It didn’t make a sound nor splash. It was simply gone into the waters. Only a small ripple to mark its passage.

“Leia! Leia!” a voice in the trees called. A voice like bells. A voice like laughter.

Leia sighed and rolled her eyes. The young man from earlier ran out from the trees. He trotted over to them.

“Leia,” the youth said. Hadn’t Leia called him Luke? “It’s almost time for the feast. We must go prepare. You know how father is.”

Leia’s face lit up and she turned to Han. “That’s it! You want to find your dear Qi’ra? Very well. Attend the feast and dance with me.”

“What?” Han said.

She smiled. “I will see you there!” she said with a laugh that reminded him like summer rain and ran into the trees.

“Wait? What feast? Where is it?” Han called after her. He turned to her brother. The youth only laughed. He walked up to Han and patted him on the shoulder.

“Come now,” he said. “Can’t go to Lord Vader’s feast dressed like this.”

“Wait? Lord Vader?” Han exclaimed.

Luke grabbed Han’s arm and pulled him back into the trees. They passed through the trees in a matter of steps, though Han had traveled through them for a great length. They entered a tunnel and wove their way through various passage ways. Eventually, the passages started to lighten with a red light. They exited the tunnel into a much larger tunnel. Raging down the center was a river of molten lava.

“The Phlegethon,” Luke said casually with a wave of his hand. “The river of fire. If you follow it upstream to its depths, you shall reach the pits of Tartarus.”

A thick knot formed in Han’s throat as he thought of the prison for sinners. Luke was moving on and Han quickly followed him. A narrow stone bridge crossed the raging river. Luke walked across it without care, but Han was much more careful. He could feel the heat. Sweat dripped down his face and back. He tried to focus on the bridge. On his steps and not on the water that looked like flames.

Upon reaching the other side, Han sighed in relief. He wiped his face with his arm. The further away from the river he got, the colder it seemed to get. Had it always been this cold? He also noticed a change in the rocks. They seemed much more smooth. Carved. In fact he started to see carved columns and decorative motifs.

Soon, they were no longer walking through a tunnel, but a hallway with towering ribbed stone columns on either side. The hall extended into a large room. Rows and rows of columns stretched into the dark, except for a hint of distance glitter. The first piece of the glitter they came across was a gold coin. Then Han noticed a second and a third. Then a pile.

As they moved on, the gold coin piles grew and grew. Soon the whole floor beside the path they walked on was nothing but gold. Then it became more than just coins. Statues. Jewelry. Gems. Slabs of swirling marble. There was a large red crystal that towered taller than Han. The place was piled with treasure. Even in the distance, between the columns, the treasure grew and grew into rolling hills.

“What is this?” Han whispered.

“The Treasury of Hades,” Luke said. His voice light. Unnerved.

“I thought . . . I mean I’ve heard tales but . . .”

“Didn’t think it existed?” Luke said with a laugh.

Lord Vader was the god the underworld, and as such the god of the riches it held. Han himself had kneeled and banged his head and hands against the floor in hopes Lord Vader would hear his prayers and grant him riches. Luke stopped by a pile and dug through the treasure. He picked up a necklace and then casually tossed it aside.

“What are you doing?” Han hissed quietly.

“You can’t go to Lord Vader’s feast dressed like that,” Luke said.

“I can’t go wearing stolen treasure.”

“It’s not stolen,” Luke said. “We’re merely borrowing it. Just be sure to return it before the keepers do their count.”

Luke said it so nonchalantly. Without a care.

“The keepers?” Han asked.

Luke pointed up and Han followed the finger up to the ceiling. It was dark and Han couldn’t make out anything. But he kept looking and he was sure there was something . . . moving . . . up there. Something slithering. Something with scales that glittered just like the treasure.

“I think this will do,” Luke said as he held an armful of treasure. “Still more work to do. Let’s go.”

Luke led Han back out of the treasury, over the raging fiery river, and back into the tunnels. As they continued through the underground maze, Han realized he had no idea how to find his way back. How would he return the treasure? Find Qi’ra? Even find his way back to the Acheron?

Noise started to echo in the tunnels. Loud squealing and grunting. It wasn’t long before Han started to smell a foul stench. He plugged his nose, but Luke carried on in his normal carefree way. The stench and the sounds grew worse. They exited a tunnel onto a raise pathway. Below them stretched animal pens. Inside were hundreds of squealing pig-like animals. They were huge and hairy with four tusks. They all rolled around in white stinky mud.

Luke walked down the path until they came to an empty pen. He placed the treasure on the ground.

“Come here,” he said. Han walked over and wondered what was next. He wasn’t expecting Luke to grab his arm and throw him into the white stinky mud. He was surprised at how easily Luke had done it. By the gods, the kid was strong!

At once, Han was flailing in the sticky mud. He was soon covered in the stinky mess.

“What? What was that for?” he shouted.

“You smell,” Luke said with a smile.

“I do now!”

“No. You smell like a mortal. Like someone living. I don’t think you realize my sister’s request. She’s asking you to go to the feast of Lord Vader, the ruler of Hades. All sorts of beings will be attending as guests. None of them mortal. You have to go into the feast and dance with my sister without being found out your a living mortal.”

Han stilled. He sank into the mud some more. “What happens if they do find out?”

“It’s best not to dwell on that. Come on, get out.”

It took a few moments of struggling, but eventually Han pulled himself out of the mud. Luke collected the treasure, and the two returned back to the tunnels. This time Luke only led him a short distance to a wooden door. They opened it to find a rather normal looking room. A small fire was in a fireplace. A wooden bed was shoved into one corner. A small table with two chairs in another. Clay cups and bowls sat on it.

Luke dropped the treasure on a table and at once started to dig in a trunk in the corner. He pulled out a large black fur coat. He draped it over Han’s shoulders. Then he returned to the trunk and pulled out a large skull. It looked like it belonged to the pigs. It was thin with four tusks. He placed it on Han’s head as if it were a helm.

Then he took the jewelry and started to place it on Han. There was a large gold necklace with several chains. A huge red ruby hung from the center. There were a few bangle bracelets and two large rings. Luke laced a few thin strands of gold along the tusks. Then he picked up a piece of coal that had fallen out of the fire. He used it to mark all over Han’s face.

“I guess that will do,” Luke said as he tossed the coal back into the fire.

Luke opened the door and Han followed. They exited the room into a street . . . Han looked around. They were on a road. A paved road with stone buildings. Not a tunnel with squealing and stinky pigs nearby. The road led up a large sharp hill. Houses and buildings were everywhere. Yellow and blue fire lit up windows and large braziers lit up the streets.

It was a city. A whole city underground. It wasn’t a simple village. It was possible it was bigger than Han’s citystate of Corellia. Han had to tilt his head back to see all the up the hill. At the top was a large building. No, a palace.

“That’s the palace of Lord Vader,” Luke waved at it. “That is where the feast is taking place. Just follow the roads up.”

“Wait what about-” Han said, but already Luke had ducked back through the door and shut it.

#godhood #greek gods au #my writing #preview #I don't plan on posting it until I have the whole thing written #who knows when that will be #enjoy for now

35 notes · View notes