#i wear a mask when i feel like it's necessary like on a plane or in a crowded theater

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 10

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Vessel is that bitch. Minor character death

“What do you think of my gift?”

Vessel head is bowed. He can feel the mark on his forehead flickering, burning; carving his flesh over and over.

“It’s beautiful.” He says.

He can feel the earth beneath his knees. What was once a blank plane is now something rich and almost real, a dark forest that creeks and twists with ancient power. It’s serene.

There’s a black cloak on his shoulders, the hood draped over his head. Another gift.

He looks up slowly, eyes scanning the trees as they whisper to him.

“Do you have a form?” He asks, hands clamped to his knees. “Can I see you?”

There’s a silence.

“I am something beyond sight.” The forest says. “I am a force, a saturation of thought. Any form I take does no justice to my entirety, nor any name, to what I am. Though to you, I am something you have needed since first you opened your eyes.”

Vessel feels something cold along his spine, slithering over his skin and dragging delicately like a mothers touch.

“…I believe you know my name.”

“Sleep.” Vessel whispers.

There’s a weight over his face. It turns his vision to slits as he looks up, feeling the touch drag along his shoulders and to his chest. His breath grows deeper as he feels his chin tilt up. “I am the author of your dreams. And you are the catalyst of my hunger. Worship.”

His lips part slowly, watching as his colorless surroundings seep fog into the little clearing until it rises up past his eyes. There’s a form in the haze; a singular bit of color that splits into six pieces that slowly gather before him.

Six glowing slanted eyes bore into him.

“Be my voice.”

When he looks down, he sees his arms covered in ash. His hands tremor and climb up over himself, admiring the palette of the trees as it bathes his skin.

“Does it please you to dress me like your home?” He asks. “…Why do I have a new face?”

“This place is what you make it, not me.” The eyes say, trailing over Vessel’s body. “The mask, is a sacrament of your surrender. You don’t need a face, only a mouth. And what is not necessary is not shown. Did you ask them to wear the masks?”

“…yes.”

“Is it almost time?”

“…yes.”

“Then stand, Vessel.” The trees twist and spread into four corners around him, the canopies spreading black and consuming above. He gets to his feet, setting the empty glass he finds in his hand on a table.

“Give your voice to me.”

He walks through the wooden door and opens it into a hallway, feeling the lights and the fog and the crowd all beckoning him. His cloak flows behind him and he reaches up, adjusting the mask one last time before mounting the stairs.

Worship. He thinks, unsure of what it truly means.

Worship.

He steps over wires, brain sloshing a bit more than it ought to be. But he’s truly not sure he could have gotten on stage at all without a bit of liquid courage. II is there, behind the drums. IV stands quiet and still with his guitar, arm free of the sling just for the occasion; it’s obvious how happy he is to be reunited with his instrument.

Vessel’s eyes move to III, dragging over him slowly as he makes his way across the stage. He didn’t talk much before the show, which was probably for the better anyway, if not a little concerning. He had hardly protested when the idea of the masks came up; something Vessel did not expect. Although if only one of them hid their face it might seem a little strange to the hundred or so people gathered in this tent to witness a mostly unknown band with a completely unknown name.

He wanders to the mic stand.

There’s a lot of eyes. More eyes than he had on him the first time. He’s safer this time, for sure; the paint, the mask, the hood… these things come together in a concoction free of normalcy and full of interest that has practically nothing to do with who he actually is beneath. All they want is a show, not him. But even with that thought he can’t look up.

There is a single pair of eyes he wants on him tonight and it’s not in the bloody crowd.

He pulls the mic of the stand and wanders off, trailing the chord head bowed. Can they tell he’s nervous? He prowls slowly as the music starts, looking down at himself bathed in the pale lights. The paint is honestly half-assed; splotchy and missing a whole few centimeters between his jeans and hips, displaying a glaring reminder of how rarely he sees the sun.

Whatever.

He picks up a water bottle and takes a small sip, before twisting the cap back on and just dropping it on the stage floor. He can practically hear III’s anger, and he can’t help but smile a little.

His lips hover over the mic, parting slowly.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes…”

“Do you have any songs you wanna add to the set, Vess?” II had asked. He sat with a pad and pencil on the couch. “That song you played at the bar, maybe?”

“Knocking on your bedroom door with money…”

“…actually, I’ve kinda been writing a new one.” He said, fingers twitching at his sides. “…I was gonna run it by you guys at practice, see what you think.”

“Building you a kingdom…” Vessel’s voice is low. Breathy. It draws a few screams from the crowd, something that does nothing to put out the fire simmering in his chest. God, it’s so much easier. He’s just a mouth, and they're just ears. And whether he understands it or not there’s a god who approves of that arrangement enough to make him promises he can’t begin to understand.

He glances at III, heart lurching when he sees the bassist strumming intently to his words.

“Dripping from the open mouth. I’ll show you what you look like…”

Both hand graze the mic, caressing the chord like his heart isn’t beating at twice its usual pace. “…from the inside.”

He steps up to the front of the stage, now casting a brief glance at all the sets of cold eyes now warming up as they watch him. It’s euphoric. Interesting. And it’s enough to make his back sticky with sweat.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes around.”

When the breakdown hits him, he can’t help but move. The sound erupts in the little tent like a call to a whole new plane of being and he closes his eyes, jumping side to side on the stage as the crowd reaches and roars for that plane. That Eden. His bandmates don’t hold back either, pouring their hearts through their fingers and giving everything they have to offer. And when he sees III actually kicking the air to the beat his face splits with a glistening smile.

He loves this.

Suddenly his head flares with a shooting pain. He doubles over, hands reaching up with the mic still trembling in his hold. He gasps and scrunches his eyes as a thought loud enough to terrify him seeps through the cracks of his skull;

“Don’t be driven to distraction. I will build you a kingdom, so long as you know to who you belong.”

His chin wobbles, a line of spit falling from his glossy lips. “Let’s load the gun.” He whispers below the music. “Load the gun…”

A wicked laugh falls out of his mouth as he straightens, forcing the pain deeper and raising his hands in the air. He ignores the wet tracks making their way down his face. He just smiles and bows his head, feeling the music flood his fucking form.

He floats on the brief silence as the song closes, chest heaving. It’s an intense quiet. Like a grave, at the bottom of the sea.

Then noise thunders into his ears like breaking waves.

They’re ecstatic; screaming and clapping and demanding more, maybe more moved than he is. He can’t believe it. Do they really like him- the music, that much?

He suddenly feels very awkward, aware of how lost he’d gotten and how insane he must have looked. He just stands there, stiff and still with a mic in his hands.

He gives them a little nod of thanks and retreats back as the next song starts up; one of II’s own.

• • •

Vessel’s still in his costume.

He feels a little silly, standing around in almost plain sight behind the tent. Although he’s sure that a lanky guy in paint and a mask isn’t necessarily the strangest nor most exciting thing to see at this festival.

He sits on the rigging, swinging his socked feet and looking up at the sky as dusk sets in over the chaos. He likes being secluded.

He takes a sip of his beer.

“That was insane.” IV says, pulling his mask off and leaning back against the structure. He drops his head back, swiping his face with his still-weak arm propped up on his guitar, and pops the cap off his own beer with a keychain. “God, I’m tired.” He says, taking a swig. “You?”

“…where’s III?” Vessel asks, voice a little quiet. He’s pretty drained after all that, body quite literally dripping with sweat. IV shrugs. “Off getting lit, most likely.” He says. “There’s plenty more shows to watch before the nights over, and he’ll probably be in as many pits as possible.”

“…and II?”

“Meeting up with some friends, I think.” IV rolls his head over, lashes flickering up at Vessel as he takes another sip of his drink. “What are you wanting to do, Vess?”

Before he can answer, II comes around the tent with a much taller man in tow. Vessel straightens, clearing his throat and blinking behind the mask. He wasn’t expecting company.

“Vessel! I want you to meet someone.” II says, pulling the guy by the arm. He’s a brunette, with soft features and a flushed, smiling face. He’s probably hit up a few drink stands himself tonight.

“Matt, Vessel.” II says, dropping the stranger in front of him. “Vessel, Matt.”

“Nice to meet you,” Vessel says, considering offering his hand but opting to just clutch his beer awkwardly between his knees. “Drummer, right?”

“Likewise!” Matthew says, still smiling wide as he shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “And yep, that’s me. Listen, man, I managed to watch your set- that was fuckin brilliant. Brilliant.” His eyes suddenly flick up and down Vessel’s body, smile quirking thoughtfully. “I like your style.”

If it weren’t for the mask, Vessel’s pretty sure his blush would be record breaking. But he just sits there instead, nodding and tugging his mouth into an award straight line of an expression that says “thanks” in the most casual way he can muster.

He fails a bit.

“What’dya think of the new name, Matt?” II asks, stealing the beer from IV’s hand and taking a long sip. “Does it suit us?”

“no man, it’s sick.” Matt says, turning to his friend, though his eyes are always just a fraction away from Vessel. “Though honestly, can’t believe you changed it! But ‘Sleep Token’ has a hell of a ring.”

IV snags his drink back from II. “Well, we didn’t exactly want to go down as the band that played before the damn crisis of the year happened.” He says. “Besides, it was time for a new vibe. Vessel actually came up with it.”

At the mention of the Blacklit room, Vessel’s body tenses. But he’s quickly distracted once more as Matt turns to him, grinning. “Oh really? What was the inspiration, then? Or does it just sound cool.”

“Um, both… I guess.” He smiles. “I mean, We all need Sleep, right?”

They all laugh a little good naturally, eyes gleaming as the dark sets in.

“Well,” Matt says, rifling through his back pocket and producing a pen and napkin. He starts scribbling it, eyes drifting to Vessel midway with a small smile. “If you ever wanna tell me more about it.”

He sets the napkin down on the rigging besides Vessel, casually dropping his pen back in his pocket.

Vessel swears he catches a wink before Matt turns back to II.

“Man, your percussions were wild. What was the name of that second song? Halfway through I swear…”

Vessel stops listening, eyes flicking down to the napkin as his fingers curl around it. There’s a little flutter in his chest, a smile fast growing on his lips as he unfolds it just enough to see the beginning of an area code.

He shoves it into his pocket, eyes twinkling under the mask and turning to IV.

IV takes a sip of his beer and offers him a small thumbs-up.

That night they all crash immediately. II, IV and of course III. After about twenty minutes of searching they managed to find the bassist in a mosh pit, screaming and shoving every person in sight until the whole thing nearly required security. He was wasted, and fell asleep against the backseat window with II on his shoulder as IV navigated them through traffic. Vessel sat shotgun, blinking away the alcohol with his hands in his lap, mask, robe and paint getting second-looks from other cars.

He thought he looked sick.

The next day they did nothing but practice until 5:00pm, when II suggested they all go get sandwiches. They did. And when they got home, the sun was already setting.

They all got ready for an early night.

“Anyone wanna watch some tv?” II asks, wandering out of his room in an oversized shirt and boxers. III is already digging through the fridge again, and II ducks under his arm, pulling out a beer before disappearing in the living room.

Vessel is leaning against the kitchen counter, a yawn trapped in his mouth while IV downs a glass of water before filling it up a second time for the singer.

“I’m good,” Vessel says after II, checking the clock on the wall. He nods his thanks at IV and sips the glass he’s handed. “I’m fuckin beat. Guess I didn’t sleep all that great last night.”

III is hauling a half-eaten banana pudding into his room, not bothering to say anything at all as he retires for the night.

IV looks at Vessel.

“You know, you do look off.” He says. “You feeling alright, bruv? …I heard you get sick last night.”

“What?” Vessel rubs his eyes. “Me? I…“

A horrified scream suddenly fills the house, turning his blood to ice.

“What the fuck-!“ III speeds out of his room, charging down the hallway to get into the living room where Vessel and IV have already gathered.

They find II on the couch, jaw dropped and wide eyes filled with the reflection of the tv.

“…found dead early this morning, in an abandoned home three blocks from his apartment.”

Vessel covers his mouth, a choked sound leaving him as he sees the face on the screen.

No way.

III and IV are already holding II, trying to quiet his cries. But Vessel feels empty. Devoid of reaction or even the ability to move.

“The man has been identified as Matthew Todd, a 22 year old college student.”

Tags: @thevenomousseprent @moonlit-valkyrie @mmendez0124 @yourviscera @rain-down-on-me @xzero01

[cloudinterlude]

Would you like to describe the personality of Howard Stark? And understand what kind of person he really is. I think he is hiding behind a mask... (sorry, english is not my native language)

Hi! First of all, no need for apologies, I get what you're asking! <3 <3 Long post ahead!

So, as it is known, I really like Howard for similar reasons why I like Tony. They're scarily similar and I can never stop thinking how much Tony would not like to hear that. I have a few Howard posts where I describe what I think of him here, here, and here mainly. Anyways, onwards!

See, there are different Howards to consider here. The one we see in CATFA and Agent Carter and the one we hear about from Tony, Fury, ect. I like talking about Agent Carter Howard the most because he's just so interesting.

Is he wearing a mask to hide his true emotions? The fastest answer is yes, but I think it's more complicated than that. It's that questions (something I sometime apply to Tony as well) "How long does it take for the mask become who you truly are?" Because there reaches a point where the person you constantly project isn't just a coverup. I think Howard's bravado, occasionally asshole-ish ways, womanizing, deceit, ect - all those less savory aspects are a piece of who he is, but it's not all he is of course. He has a ton of great qualities, usually shown in his friendships.

I've said before that I think Howard is an incredibly fractured character. I think he knows exactly what he's feeling most of the time, but never knows how to deal with the emotions he feels. He's obsessive to the point of self-destruction, and when he does self-destruct (or ends up hurting other people), he feels incredible amounts of guilt that never fully goes away. Instead, he uses that guilt to fuel his next project that will surely fix all his problems (until it actually ends up causing more messes).

I don't want to woobify Howard because I don't think that's what's going on with him. I do think he shield his emotions from others - not really from himself, but he does dampen them. I don't think Howard knows how to process heavy amounts of feelings in a proper way. Unless he's cornered, run down and essentially forced to. And he does have a few vulnerable moments we see in Agent Carter. When Peggy confronts him about lying about Steve's blood (he breaks down, basically declares his love for Steve, and talks about how deceit is how he was able to get anywhere due to his origins), when the villain captures him and threatens to blow New York to shreds (he tells them that they can do whatever they want to him and begs them to leave innocent people out of it), when we hear about what happened when the military got their hands on his failed experiment (he punches the guy in charge and locks up all his more dangerous inventions), the plane scene (Howard feels immense guilt over Steve crashing and dying, and desperately wants to find him and bring him home). These are all moments of genuineness we get from him...albeit moments where there is no other option but to be vulnerable. Regardless, this is 1000% mask off, last ditch effort Howard and I love that.

Of course there's like, an incredibly huge gap between Agent Carter Howard and the Howard we hear and see from Tony, Fury, ect. I suspect that Howard did undergo a pretty dark change in how he conducted himself sue to various things...starting with being the head of SHIELD during the end of WW2-Cold War. Could you imagine? Lol. And we already established that Howard doesn't deal with guilt well. In fact, I'd say that when it came to him taking "necessary sacrifices" he probably shut down his more...inconvenient emotions off as long as he could before he drunk himself into a stupor...then onto the next day.

When it comes to Howard and his family, specifically Tony, well, I don't think there's much I can say that I haven't already said. Howard loved Tony. Howard missed Tony when he wasn't there (Maria's words). Howard was also a bad father because he neglected Tony. Howard saw a kid that was too similar to himself and that seemed to be one of his biggest fears going by what he said in Endgame. I don't think he knew what to do with that whatsoever. Maybe he thought the less he had to do with him, the less Tony would turn out like him. Maybe he thought he could cut down the influence. Maybe all the dark things he's seen, done, ordered, ignored convinced him that he had nothing to offer in being a father, or that he'd make Tony worse. Maybe he thought Obie, Maria and Jarvis had Tony set straight well enough. Who knows really. Every loving thing Howard has said about Tony was told to Tony by a third party (Fury, Maria).

Howard is kind of an enigma, except not really. We don't know specifics, but it's so easy to put together his character with canon, context clues and US history. I like Howard, a whole lot. I don't get many opportunities to talk about him unprovoked so thanks for this ask!

[savage-rhi]

Immortal Shield Chapter 35: Gods Bane II

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**To read previous chapters, hit this link

Tagging: @seradyn​

Ardyn’s eyes zeroed in on Noctis while he made his approach into the throne room. Several people bowed their heads out of respect. Ardyn only followed suit when he was the last one who hadn't had his head lowered. With every step the king took, the sound of his pacing echoed. The noise triggered Ardyn’s heart to beat rapidly. He swallowed, doing everything possible to maintain composure and upkeep his disguise. The scourge and all its impurities were practically screaming at this point. Somehow he ignored it.

There was suddenly a pause in the kings tempo. Noctis hadn’t finished ascending to the throne. Ardyn's brows knitted into a concerned glare. There was no reason for the king to stop with his procession.

Ardyn with great care and subtlety, tilted his head up to gaze at the king. Noctis was staring in his direction. There was a gloss in his pupils Ardyn could make out from afar. The kings ocean blue eyes appeared pale, reminiscent of something undead. The feature sent a trickle of nerves up Ardyn’s spine. He made a fist with his right hand, attempting to keep the scourge at bay. It became increasingly obvious to Ardyn with each passing second that Noctis knew he was there. He just couldn’t tell which one of the many citizens amongst the crowd was being worn as a mask. The energy of frustration radiated off of his majesty.

“Your highness,” A light British accent whispered upon reaching the bottom steps of the throne. Amongst murmurs and conversation, Ardyn observed Ignis convince the king to keep marching. As soon as Noctis made it to the top of the stairs, he immediately went to the throne to catch his breath. Several guard and personnel were at his side to offer aid.

“You all may reconvene the forum!” The announcer proclaimed. It was a matter of a seconds before everybody went back to discussing their plans and concerns regarding Insomnia. Ardyn made a face. No one seemed to be concerned that their king was off the mark.

“Selfish fools.” He muttered bitterly to himself.

Ardyn drifted into the crowd, circling in and out and making small talk every once in a while. He side eyed what was going on with Noctis and his retainers. A few concerning details came to light for him: One, the king appeared to be having breathing issues since he made it to the seat of power. Two, he could be heard requesting water every few minutes or so when Ardyn was within ear shot. Finally, there were occasions in which Noctis would stare into the crowd like a hawk readying itself to descend from the skies and catch its prey.

Ardyn could feel his instincts beckon him to get closer to the king. The scourge continued to tempt him to unleash, but he refused to give in. Not unless it was absolutely necessary to defend himself. Ardyn began to make progress towards his goal. With every passing minute, he was arriving towards his destination.

"I know thou ist here, Adagium."

Ardyn’s eyes widened. He stopped dead in his tracks. His amber eyes glanced around while he remained still. Ardyn feared if he moved an inch, the dragon king himself would emerge from the Astral Plane and strike him.

"Thou wear many masks in this lifetime. He who lacks courage to face me himself. Such pettiness will not go without punishment."

Ardyn felt a pulsing headache suddenly knock him down several pegs. His knees buckled and he fell forward; catching himself from falling on his face at the last second. Several concerned folks approached, to which Ardyn tried to calmly dismiss. The pain grew worse. As if dragon flame itself was scorching his skull.

“H-how are you--alive?!” Ardyn exclaimed.

"I have waited a quinquennial to rise again. Remnants of the crystal dwell within the King of Light. The crystal left it’s mark upon his majesty during decade slumber. Thy will not intervene. The scourge calls thou to answer the call of my brethren. I shall slay thee before thou can lay me to rest among mortals. Now come out into the light, cowardly Ardyn. Lucis. Caelum!"

Ardyn screamed. It felt as if something reached inside of his body and ripped out all his guts and bone until there was nothing left but neurons to pop. He fell to his hands and knees, yelling aloud for the sensations to end. The experience was on par with the torture he endured before being locked away in Angelgard. Ardyn never thought in a million years he’d witness so much agony once again.

While Ardyn suffered at the hands of an unknown entity, the throne room descended into chaos. The barking orders of crownsguard and retainers were scrambled among the yells and pleads of citizens. Everyone made a beeline for the major exits, while crownsguard escorted, and some were preparing to attack Ardyn until they were commanded to help the public first.

Noctis began to yell and scream himself. His right hand reached for his abdomen. His palm pressed down firmly as if something would explode from his stomach. He cried out in bellows, feeling a wave of nausea and utter rage begin to seep throughout himself. Noctis was beyond terrified. The several months leading up to this point had been an anxiety inducing mess. Worst of all, Noctis still had no clue why this was happening and what was doing this to him, making his body feel as if it was being ripped apart and glued back together.

“It hurts! Make it stop! P-Please! Please make it stop! Gladio! Iggy!” Noctis’s voice was teetering between inhuman screams and the most depressing whimpers to ever leave the body of a man. The desperation in his tone was harrowing.

“Noctis!” Ignis and Gladio both yelled while either of them attempted to hold Noctis down while he violently flailed. Noctis hit whatever he could, desperate to rise up from the throne. Snarls and growls escaped past his gritted teeth.

“Gladio, keep a hold of him!” Ignis yelled.

“I’m trying! I don’t know what’s going on!” Gladio shouted.

“We have to get a medic! We have to get the king somewhere safe!”

“What about that damn thing!?” Gladio gestured with his head towards Ardyn. He felt a painful jab to his jaw causing him to flinch. Noctis had landed a punch. Gladio growled and grabbed a hold of the arm that did the damage and attempted to force his weight upon Noctis.

“Let--the guard handle it! Our duty is to keep the king safe! We can worry about the intruder later!” Ignis proclaimed, while ordering Gladio to grab a hold of Noctis’s arms while he secured his legs. The two men began to carry Noctis out in this fashion while he continued to cry, his body shook fiercely in their grasp.

The darkness beckoned Ardyn to let go so he’d no longer feel the grasp of Bahamut's actions. He did just that, allowing the scourge to envelope him in its cold warmth to soothe the incomparable ache Bahamut had bestowed upon him with great intrusion. The disguise was gone, but Ardyn no longer cared.

Several inhuman rasps left Ardyn while his body transformed. The horns of Ifrit returned upon his skull and his flesh appeared more sickly than ever before. He slowly rose from the ground, grunting as he finally caught a break from the pain. Ardyn was so wrapped up in his own misery's that he didn’t register the commotion from afar, both Ignis and Gladio shouting. His eyes glanced up, and in a split second, Noctis--with a crazed look in his eyes--attempted to strike him down with the Sword of the Father.

Ardyn managed to summon Rakshasa at the last second, the blade meeting it’s equivalent with a booming thrash of metal against metal. A blue light encircled Noctis while his glossy eyes became more enraged.

“H-highness!” Ardyn called him out, only to be met with a snarling bellow.

“I will kill you, Adagium! I will kill you!”

Noctis rapidly and in quick succession slammed the Sword of the Father against Rakshasa. Ardyn knew he was more than capable of countering the strikes, but it would come at great risk of harming Noctis, and that was the last thing Ardyn wanted to do.

Their swords clashed again, the blades trembled as their masters desperately tried to overthrow the other.

“Noctis! I’m not here to harm you! Please, listen!”

“Damn you!” Noctis seethed. “Why won’t you stay dead?!”

“Bahamut is inside you! Do you hear me!? Cast him out!”

“Fuck you!” Noctis screeched. While Ardyn was too fixed on the meeting of their blades, Noctis swooped under his legs, causing Ardyn to collapse backward onto the ground. He then attempted to stab Ardyn through the head, but missed while Ardyn rolled to his side.

Noctis didn’t make it easy for Ardyn to get back on his feet. With every attempt, Noctis seemed to have a good counterstrike to keep Ardyn trapped to the marbled flooring. Ardyn felt on edge with each pass of their blades, knowing if he didn’t get out of a defensive position and into one of attack, he would be done for. Even with the might of the scourge coaxing him to continue to fight, Ardyn knew his endurance could only go so far against the body of a man empowered by a god. Bahamut's essence was seeping out of Noctis like a dam that had been broken. To make matters worse, Ardyn quickly glanced between his right and left, noticing both his majesty’s retainers, Gladio and Ignis, decided to join the fight. He could see them rushing to the aid of their king.

“Gods be damned!” Ardyn’s inhuman voice shouted. He managed to break free of Noctis’s swings and rose up.

Ardyn began to take the offense, overwhelming Noctis while trying to figure out a way to break him down without killing. Easier said than done...Ardyn thought to himself. He had Noctis taking several steps back. A look of utter scare traversed his features while Ardyn gained the upper hand. Ardyn couldn’t tell if it was Noctis himself or Bahamut that was growing terrified, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was he was showing signs of exhaustion.

“Noctis, listen---!” Before Ardyn could get another word, he felt a painful jab to his lower back. Gladio’s blade sliced down him. Ardyn quickly spun around, raising Rakshasa to return a blow to Gladio’s chest, only for Noctis to kick him at the injury site. Ardyn gasped and fell forward onto the ground. He winced several times, crawling onto his hands and knees.  

“I’ll cut his head off!” Noctis yelled, beginning a starting run towards Ardyn.

“No you won’t!” Ignis suddenly stood between Noctis and Ardyn. Despite being blind, Ignis could sense the hesitation in Noctis’s movements. He raised his voice. “You never strike a man while he’s down, your majesty! Let Gladio assess the enemy and we will continue from there! We need to get you somewhere safe!”

Noctis was more than prepared to knock Ignis out of the way, even if it meant taking the blade to his retainer. Before Noctis could raise the sword up, he felt another wave of pain hit him. Noctis grabbed at the left side of his face, wincing while he stumbled backward. He dropped the Sword of the Father, the blade dissipating into thin air. His knees buckled until he was on the ground. Ignis ran to his aid, putting his palms upon Noctis’s shoulders to keep him steady.

“Gladio! What’s the status of our intruder?” Ignis hollered.

“I’m checking! I’m checking!” Gladio approached Ardyn. With caution and his sword poised to strike if necessary, the crownsguard commander gently used his right foot to flip Ardyn on his back mid crawl.

Ardyn panted heavily. His eyes closed while he heaved. The veins upon his flesh continued to branch out. Black smudge was pooling from the corners of his lips while he coughed.

“You can’t be--” Gladio squinted his eyes, studying Ardyn with scrutiny. He shook his head while looking past the daemonic features and into the core of who the attacker was. Gladio felt his blood run cold, his eyes widening in shock.

“Oh hell no!”

“What is it?!” Ignis shouted, managing to get Noctis to his feet while the king continued to whimper and grasp his head.

“It’s Ardyn! Ardyn Izunia!”

“That can’t be!”

“I’m staring at the son of a bitch, Ig! He’s right here!”

“Well done,” Ardyn croaked out. He opened his eyes, revealing his amber colored hues surrounded by a sea of darkness. It was enough to make Gladio jump back. Ardyn couldn’t help but chuckle as he rose the upper half of his body up.

“And to think I didn’t believe you had any brains under that skull of yours.”

A slight smile slipped across Ardyn’s lips. He was suddenly jolted upward. Gladio grabbed Ardyn by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him up.

“What the hell are you doing here?! You’re not killing Noct! We won’t allow it! You daemonic freak!”

“Y-you fool!” Ardyn choked out. His left hand grabbed a hold of the arm Gladio was holding him up by, claws digging into the man’s flesh. “I’m here to help--!”

“As if!” Gladio countered with a spat. “Why else would you terrorize innocents and attack the king at a public forum? It’s all part of your damn MO! We know you! Noct being sick…this is your doing, isn’t it!?”

“You--got it wrong!” Ardyn exclaimed. “I’m trying to--!”

“Noctis, wait!” Ignis yelled.

Noctis shoved Ignis out of the way. Before Gladio could register what happened, Noctis tackled him to the right, causing Ardyn to break free. Rakshasa and the Sword of the Father once more met. Both fighters struggled until Ardyn managed to land a hit to Noctis’s upper chest when he neglected to defend, sending Noctis several feet back. Before he could land another upon the king, Ardyn was confronted by both Ignis and Gladio. Each respectively attacking Ardyn with both long sword and daggers.

Ardyn could feel his flesh being pricked by the daggers Ignis summoned to his aid. Gladio struggled to land another blow like he did before, but Ardyn could feel himself losing ground. He needed to incapacitate them both, otherwise he stood no chance fighting one on one against Noctis.

“You two are being ridiculous!” Ardyn shouted as he exchanged hits with both men. “I’m here to help!”

“Then put your blade down if you’re so inclined!” Ignis commanded. “Call for peace and you’ll have it! We swear to you!”

“And let the king lay his blade to my throat? I think not!” Ardyn countered.

“Serves you right regardless!” Gladio shouted, letting out a powerful yell as he swung his sword towards Ardyn’s head, missing him by a few inches.

“It doesn’t matter if he wants peace!” Noctis screamed from afar. “Kill him! Help me kill him!”

Soon enough, Ardyn was fighting three to one. The wound Gladio had dealt to him was beginning to throb painfully with every block and parry Ardyn had to perform to ensure he wouldn’t be hit. The scourge continued to give him the strength to carry on, yet Ardyn knew he was being backed into a corner. Eventually he wouldn’t have the stamina to keep this up. He’d have to summon the royal arms much like he did against Tempus and the Einherjar. A huge risk to be certain, especially when the main villain in this fight was a deity that hijacked the body of a monarch.

As he traded blow for blow, and counter for block, Ardyn mentally beat himself up for excluding Caelan. If she was at his side, he would’ve had better odds. Yet he couldn’t fathom nor forgive himself if she were taken from either of the three idiots he was dueling to the death. Something had to give. Otherwise, Ardyn knew it would be over before he’d have a chance to strike down Bahamut once and for all.

The words of the draconian from earlier ran through Ardyn’s mind while he continued to fight, along with the cryptic messages he received during his nightmares. In a matter of seconds, Ardyn was able to figure it all out. How the dragon god came to be despite being defeated years ago.

Shards of crystal, the dragon calls. Dragon born from slayer. Heavy heart, youngblood falls. Seal draconic entity to its fate.

Noctis, during his ten years of residing within the crystal, absorbed its essence into himself. It remained with him long after the damned rock had been destroyed. The crystal, with it being so intimately connected to the gods, acted as a gateway for Bahamut to resurrect himself. The Astral’s spirit latched onto the crystal remnants within the king, causing his sudden sickness and erratic behavior. Bahamut was using Noctis to siphon his life force in order to come back from the dead much sooner than expected. And on a primal level, Ardyn understood the scourge was the key to casting the bastard back into the cosmos.

It all made sense. Ardyn knew what he had to accomplish, and it gave him the strength to up the ante. Despite the pain he was under, despite how tired his arms and legs were growing, he had to fight. He had to endure. He wasn’t going to allow the damned draconic entity to ruin another set of lives for his own gains. Even if said people hated Ardyn with every fiber of their being.

“Guys! Stop!” Prompto shouted from afar. He ran with Caelan following close behind.

The three men who were locked in combat looked up in surprise. All distracted until Noctis erratically jabbed the hilt of his sword towards Ardyn’s chest, causing him to grunt out. To everyone’s surprise, Noctis took off running from the battle. His body jolted and writhed in pain. His yells carried out into the hallways.

Ardyn had a feeling there was a part of Noctis still in there, desperately trying to keep Bahamut from succeeding with his plans.

“Prompto! Follow Noct!” Gladio commanded.

“You got it! Don’t do anything stupid guys, all of you!” Prompto shouted. Before he could fill the rest of the gang on what was going on, and who Caelan was, Prompto made a beeline for the king out of instinct. He felt his heart stammer. Hoping against hope that his friend would survive whatever the hell this ordeal was.

Ardyn began to run until he was blocked off by both Ignis and Gladio.

“What are you two idiots doing!?” Ardyn shouted. “I’m the only thing standing between your precious kings demise and keeping an Astral from obliterating this godforsaken planet!”

“Gladio, wait--!” Ignis attempted to grab a hold of his comrade, but to no avail. The bulky soldier was already moving into the offensive.

“Over our dead body’s!” Gladio shouted. He didn’t hesitate to swing his sword at Ardyn, once more picking the fight back up where they left off.

"That can be arranged!" Caelan shouted. A static noise on par with the vibrational frequency of electricity preparing to explode sounded off. Caelan performed a warp strike, hitting Gladio square in the chest with the reverse side of her blade and sent him flying while she got between him and Ardyn. Soon after she applied a harsh kick to Ignis’s chest. The retainer was cast off in the same direction as Gladio. Both the men crashed nearby the marble pillars in the throne room.

“Cahl!” Ardyn felt his heart leaping from his chest upon seeing her. He wanted nothing more than to drop Raksasha and pull her into his arms.

“YOU!” Caelan shouted while she pointed her blade to him accusingly, then blocked a series of attacks from Ignis’s knives that flew towards her.

Whatever happiness and deep concern Ardyn felt towards Caelan arriving to save his hide fell away. He wouldn’t be surprised if she too began to attack him. The look of contempt she wore made Ardyn swallow nervously.

Both Gladio and Ignis were still trying to recover after taking hits. Caelan focused her subsequent attacks on the marble pillars within the room. The large boulder-like monuments tumbled and caused quite a commotion. Debris flooded the throne room with a thick chalky color.

Ardyn began to cough, feeling the air become thick with dust. He let out a surprised gasp while Caelan approached and grabbed a hold of his right hand, sprinting out of the room and into one of the main hallways. He couldn't help but smile. Her presence soothed him greatly.

“Catch me up, what happened?” Caelan shouted while she kept running with Ardyn in tow.

“It’s Bahamut. The damned God is attempting to revive himself through Noctis.” Ardyn coughed a few more times in between trying to keep up with Caelan.

“How the fuck--?!”

“Noctis was in the crystal for over ten years. Even with it being destroyed, the boy absorbed remnants. Enough to where Bahamut could draw strength from and begin regeneration. The kings body is acting like a portal to the Astral Plane, and Bahamut is trying to get through so he can finish what he started, and--”

“We gotta hurry then!” Caelan exclaimed.

“Cahl, stop, stop, stop!” Ardyn fired off rapidly. He grabbed a hold of Caelan’s shoulders when she slowed, forcing her to look at him as they came to a grinding halt.

“Are you alright?” He couldn’t help but think of her safety before his own, eyes glancing over her face.

“I’m pissed!” Caelan admitted, taking in a few deep breaths. “Ardyn, we were supposed to do this together as a team!”

“I know!”

“Yet you left me behind!” Caelan shoved him. “You suicidal idiot, I was worried to death!”

“I don’t want to lose you!” Ardyn yelled. He furrowed his brows, his breathing becoming labored at the thought.

“You have no right to decide what I can and cannot do! I chose to come here and help you!”

“I can’t lose you. Do you understand? I can’t. I know you, Cahl--I know how much you wish to protect me. I couldn’t in good conscience put you in a situation where you’d get in the way. You dare call me the suicidal idiot? Well…look in the mirror! Look at yourself and what you’re doing! What you did back there!”

“Ardyn,” Caelan sighed, grabbing either side of his face. Her anger stilled. She smiled when his eyes locked with hers. “I made you a promise. That I wouldn’t stick my neck out for yours. I intend to keep it.”

“What?” A small gasp escaped from Ardyn’s mouth while Caelan pressed her forehead to his. Both their eyes shut momentarily while enjoying the contact and its familiarity.

“We’re sticking to the plan we made from this point on,” Caelan began and pulled back. Her features became serious while her hands still grasped the sides of his face, thumbs feeling over his stubble and flesh. “You’re going to keep moving and I’m staying behind.”

“Cahl, I can’t just leave you to--”

“No,” Caelan shook her head. “No ifs and buts about it. This is what we agreed to. I’m your shield and guard. My place in this mess, is making sure no one gets to you while you confront the king.”

Ardyn let out a huff, shaking his head in her grasp. The uncertainty in his honey colored eyes plagued him to no end. “So no protests or counter arguments on your part to convince me otherwise I should let you join in?”

Caelan laughed. “I told you before, dragons and prophecies are beyond my understanding. I already did the math. If I were to participate in your fight against an Astral, I’d only get in the way. I know my limitations, Ardyn. And my strengths. I have you to thank for that. My place is here. I’m choosing to stand down and guard you so you can succeed. It’s not my call to interfere with what you need to do. I know this.”

Caelan let his face go, her hands now went to his. Their fingers entangled while Caelan gave Ardyn’s hands a tight squeeze before lessening the pressure. “I love you. Now go. Get your answers, fuck up a God, and save your grand nephew. You can do this. You’re strong, and I know you’ll find your way back.”

Ardyn pulled Caelan into a kiss, he parted shortly upon hearing the marching steps of the crownsguard coming their way. The concern he held for Caelan once more plagued Ardyn as he murmured.

“Cahl,”

“Ardyn, trust me.” Caelan nodded, raising her brows for emphasis as her right hand held up to stop him. “I have this covered. I can handle the two back there. Keep moving forward, don’t look back. No one here will touch you. I have Eos, and you have the cosmos. I promise.”

Ardyn forced himself to nod. He realized he needed to put his trust in her as much as Caelan was giving her faith to him. Before Ardyn knew it, his feet began to take him away from her. He shook his head, then gestured towards her with a warning.

“I swear if you get hurt--”

“You have a higher chance of kicking the can versus me. Now shut up and go!”

Her smile alone could be the death of him. Ardyn allowed himself a few seconds to gaze over Caelan’s form before he took off up ahead, moving through a set of large doors and into the heart of the citadel.

Caelan watched Ardyn until she could no longer see him, wanting to make certain he wouldn’t come back to her. She swallowed, allowing her fears for Ardyn’s life to surface now that he wasn’t accompanying her. Caelan wasn't sure if Ardyn had the power to come out of this mess unscathed, but she knew she’d be there for him when the dust settled.

Caelan quickly turned around from the direction she and Ardyn had came from. Several troops made their presence known, drawing their weapons and slowly began to creep in towards Caelan's space. She shook her head, letting out a deep breath while taking a defensive position. Her grip on the hilt of her blade tightened.

“Don’t take another step towards the kings chambers!” One of the guards yelled. “You will come with us quietly!”

“Alright,” Caelan nodded. She could see several of the crownsguard ease up, some already making the stupid assumption she was going to surrender without a fight. Many weak points were exposed to her in a number of seconds. She let out a sigh, furrowing her brows. “Who's dying first?”

[oimatchstickman]

Do I like that I’m burnt out on covid news and that I literally cannot take in any more information about this freaking virus or I will have at least a minor breakdown? Nope.

Am I gonna do anything to change that? Also no. Mostly because people have not figured out how to talk to people who were really good about masking, ect. but just cannot deal with that any more vs. the people who never did those things.

I am Tired. I know it’s not good that I Am Done With It. But I am.

[miekasa]

okay but what about airport!levi? he gives quiet businessman vibes sitting in his slacks and turtleneck

IN HIS TURTLENECK 😭😭 He would also be quiet and to himself, but not in the emo way. You got me thinking about all of them now, so here are my other thoughts about the boys at the airport.

Levi

He thinks the idea of separating classes on an airplane is beyond stupid, but if the flight is particularly long, or particularly packed, he’s not above paying for business class for a little extra personal space for the two of you.

When he doesn’t do that, tho, he never picks your guys’ seats ahead of time, so sometimes you’ll be separated. Good thing he’s also not above lying at the check-in desk, “I’m in Zone 1, could my wife be seated next to me so that we can board together?”

They respond with an “of course,” and move your seats together, and Levi walks back with a content nod of appreciation. You are not married, and marriage sucks about as much as class separation on a 30 foot long plane, but it has its benefits.

Masks on, regardless. No debates. Pandemic or not, the mask stays on. Do not perceive him, keep the pressurized air sharing to a minimum.

Doesn’t wander much in the airport. There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen already, except for the marked up prices on touristy t-shirts.

And if you wander, he’ll usually just sit in the waiting area to watch your bags while you window shop and do your thing. If you’re gone for more than 30 mins, he might call, under the pretenses of, “Making sure you didn’t get lost. You know that Starbucks was near gate 41 to the left, not the right, right?” Like he’s a comedian or something 🙄

He does encourage you to get snacks before you board, tho. Airplane food is gross, and he would much rather pay for a $13 sandwich that you can snack on later, than for you to have to eat mush.

He’s got a little portable mug he takes with him for when he’s wants to buy a hot drink before getting on his flight. It’s cute.

Doesn’t fall asleep on the plane ever. No matter how long the flight is—at most, he’ll take a quick power nap somewhere in the middle if it’s over 9 hours, but other than that, he’s good to go.

Doesn’t mind if you fall asleep, and he always adjusts your neck pillow to make sure you don’t get cramps.

Jean

Travel champion. This man loves being in the airport even though he’s convinced it’s a time capsule, he fucking loves it.

King of “your airport fashion matters, babe.” Not necessarily wearing a whole three piece suit, but he does put in a little effort; it’s not just the first pair of sweats he has laying around.

Swears coffee tastes better in the airport. It does not. That does not stop him from buying it. He should learn to quit tho, especially for someone who hates airplane bathrooms as much as he does.

Charming with all the security personnel and desk assistants. You could be checking in for a flight at 4am, and Jean’s got people smiling and cheery for their shifts.

Bitches about the selection of movies on the flight, and learns to just download his own ahead of time. Gets really startled when he’s watching something and the flight attendants try to grab his attention for food or drinks—the very loud, classic, Jean Kirstein “HUH?”

On that note, he also gets startled by the loudspeaker announcements in the airport. He doesn’t know why he has to hear about American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun, when he is not on American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun.

Not opposed to paying extra for better airplane food or drinks on the plane if it’s the right time of day. He always finds something to toast to, plus he likes to treat you whenever and wherever he can.

Takes care of your overhead luggage and helps out the people around him if he sees they’re struggling. Gets shy when you call him a gentleman for it, and he rubs his neck, grumbling, “I was just helping the line move a little faster.”

Great timing, generous, will pick up your checked bags for you, and already rented a car a week in advance: 10/10 travel buddy.

Porco

He doesn’t like planes and there’s no solid reason why—nothing bad happened to him as a kid, and it’s not even that rare unfortunate incidents freak him out or anything—something flying just makes him a bit uneasy.

He won’t say it though, and he tries to keep it together when you’re checking in, but you can tell he’s anxious once you’re sitting and waiting for your flight to board.

He’ll ask to switch seats if you have the window seat, because somehow the feeling of being boxed in between the plane wall/window and another person makes it feel more like a car than a plane and he’s okay with that.

Going to the airport is one of the few times he hair won’t be styled, and falls in his face a bit. He usually throws on a beanie to cover it up, but you think he looks pretty cute either way.

Can’t usually fall asleep and he hates it because he just sits there thinking about the worst for the entire duration of the flight. But when you travel with him for the first time and coax him into taking a nap it’s so much better.

It’s about the only time he’ll let himself be publicly babied by you; but it makes everything so much easier that he doesn’t even mind.

So now, whenever you get on flights, he just puts his hood up, lays his head on your shoulder and waits for the magic to happen.

Bonus: you’re traveling with his friends, and Pieck and Marcel past to your seats, surprised to see Porco fast asleep on your shoulder. Pieck squeals, going on about how you must be a wizard to have gotten him to nap, to which Marcel just shakes his head, “Nah, he’s just really in love with her. Look at his face, that’s the calmest he’s been since he was five.”

Connie

Loves the airport. Not an ounce of organization in his soul though. By that I mean, yeah, he’s probably forgotten his passport at home, or forgotten that a full size bottle of body wash cannot go into his carry-on luggage.

Forgets to wear shoes that easy to take off and is fumbling over himself after the security check trying to lace them back up or put them back on.

Likes for you guys to have coordinating sweatsuits, and even though you don’t travel super often, Connie’s got at least 3 pairs of them lined up for you guys.

Sweet enough to drop plans or rearrange his schedule to travel with you if you were originally gonna be alone. He knows you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t want for you to travel alone if you don’t have to, especially if you’re going someplace far and/or for an extended period of time.

He always finds breakfast food to eat before he gets on his flight (if you two even have time to spare for food that is). It could be 9pm, but Connie’s asking for a breakfast wrap.

Hates waiting in the little pre-flight area. Claims it’s boring as hell and that’s why there’s no reason to get there 3 hours early 🙄🙄

He always spends at least 30 minutes browsing all the movie and TV show options available on-board, loudly exclaiming in excitement when they have something cool to watch—only to fucking fall asleep 10 minutes later. Right on top of you when he was oh-so-excited to watch Madagascar 2.

Always steals the aisle seat, even if it’s yours. It’s probably for the best though, because he has to get up to pee at least twice, no matter how short your flight is.

Makes some cheeky remark about you meeting him in the bathroom. He doesn’t mean it... unless he does. Unfortunately, you’ve never... successfully been able to do that out of fear of being caught by the flight attendants, but there have been a few quickies in the “family” (“It’s ethical, because technically we’re participating in the act of making a family, babe”) bathroom before you boarded. It’s his fault, not yours.

Armin

He really likes planes, and traveling in general. I think trains would be his favorite mode of transportation, but airplanes are good too.

I hate to say it but he claps when the plane lands. I will not elaborate or defend my stance on this.

Prefers the window seat because he likes to look out at the clouds as he’s in the sky.

He took his passport photo a little before he cut his hair, so the security personnel always hold it up and flicker between his ID photo and his current appearance a few times before stamping it. It makes him a little embarrassed because he can’t tell if they think he looks better or worse and sometimes he’s really fighting for his life convincing them that that’s him in the picture 😭

Listens to music rather than downloading a movie or watching a show, and always brings wire headphones to the airport so that it’s easier to share and listen with you.

If you fall asleep on him first, he’ll likely fall asleep on you shortly after. If he’s tired enough, he’ll fall asleep first, though he’s somewhat embarrassed and disappointed because he wanted to see the descent and skyline outside.

When he’s not asleep or window-watching, he’s somewhat fidgety out of excitement, rather than nervousness. He’s excited to be traveling and looks forward to wherever you’re going, even if it is just a weekend long work trip.

Hates traveling alone, though. It just feels particularly lonely to him to be going someplace foreign without company by his side. So, he’ll call you at every checkpoint and send you updates.

He only ever buys two things in duty free: shot glasses with the name of the city/country you’re traveling to, and whatever variety of button down short-sleeves are available to him.

Erwin

You knew this was coming, but this man is absolutely at the airport 18 hours before your flight takes off, and he’s driving like a manic getting there, like you don’t have all the time in the world.

Fascinated by anything and everything in duty free. Definitely spends more money than necessary on your return flight on the grounds that he was getting a good deal.

Exchanges money in the airport and keeps cash in his fanny pack. There’s no traveling without the fanny pack.

Plays crossword puzzles on his phone on the plane, and it’s just about one of the only games he has. That and Candy Crush—I get the feeling he’d be on level 500+ of that game and he always knocks out at least 10 levels on a flight.

Always a little surprised when he feels his your head on his shoulder, but he says nothing, and acts like he didn’t even notice, but there’s a telling little smile on his face.

Takes the most foul selfies of him and your sleeping self. In his defense, he had the best intentions; but that angle was flattering nobody. It’s too bad he’d already paid for the in-flight wifi and sent it to Hange because now you’ll never live them down.

You could probably get him to put on a (skincare) face mask during your flight. He forgets to take it off tho, and if you don’t tell him, he’d fully walk through customs with it on his face.

Accidentally gets drunk because he doesn’t understand that just because he can handle several glasses of whiskey in his favorite bar on a Friday night, does not mean it will translate on a plane.

[tobesolonely]

it’s not christmas ‘til you come home

a/n: hello!! please enjoy this piece from my dad!harry universe! (u dont have to read any of them for it to make sense, but it would be cool if u did! loosely based on it’s not christmas ‘til you come home by norah jones <3 hope you enjoy! thank u to @harryysstyless​ for beta reading for me!! happy holidays everyone :)

warnings: SMUT, a bit of angst <3 word count: ~5.1k 

my ko-fi! thank you :)

December 23rd, 2:00 PM

For as long as you and Harry have been in a relationship, you’ve never not spent a Christmas together. 

Before expanding your family, you and he used to hop from party to party every Christmas Eve. Both of you would be absolutely trashed by the time Harry’s driver would drop you off at his house in the early hours of the morning. You’d sleep in until approximately noon, willing your hangovers to go away before finally making it down the stairs and into the kitchen to prepare two steaming cups of coffee. The two of you would then make your way into the living room and exchange gifts (where Harry always went way over the budget you’d set). 

Once you had your first child, Allison, your yearly tradition of party hopping and getting so drunk you could hardly put one foot in front of the other was no more. Instead, you and Harry opted for calm nights in, watching Christmas movies and drinking hot cocoa until she eventually grew tired and got carried up to bed. You would wait an hour or so before springing into action, playing Santa and setting out all of the gifts she asked for and then some. Harry never forgot to take a big bite out of the cookie and carrot left out for Santa and his reindeer.

This tradition stayed the same once your second baby, Oliver, was born. Even though he was too young to know what was going on, Harry was still excited to spoil him rotten this year as it was his first Christmas. However, given the current state of the world, you were afraid Harry would not be here for the first time ever.

“Mumma, when’s daddy coming home?” your six-year-old, Ally, asked for what had to be the seventh time that afternoon. “I made him a drawing for his gift ‘nd I can’t wait for him to see it!”

“Let me see what you drew for Daddy, love bug,” you say cheerily, purposefully glossing over her question. Ally proudly holds her drawing up next to her face. She looks up at you with wide eyes, awaiting a compliment from you. 

“That’s gorgeous, bug! Daddy’s gonna love it,” you inform her. “Maybe you can stick a lil’ bow on it and set it under the tree for him, hmm?” 

“Good idea, Mumma!” Ally runs to the box where you kept all the supplies for gift wrapping, digging around for a pink bow to stick on the corner of her drawing.

While she’s preoccupied with finding the perfect bow to place on her drawing for Harry, you take a quick glance at your phone. He still hadn’t gotten back to you since last night’s quick conversation when he very briefly mentioned he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it home.

He was filming in Los Angeles. You shared your uncertainties about him going before he departed but in the end, this was an opportunity you didn’t want him to miss out on. You read the Los Angeles Times free articles on your phone daily, keeping track of the state of the pandemic in Southern California. You knew it was much worse there than it was at home in London. You feared what you were afraid of was sadly bound to happen— Harry may get stuck in LA.

You didn’t want to say anything to your curious daughter because communication with him had been so sparse. You didn’t know anything for certain yet. But what were you supposed to think? You knew flying nationally wasn’t a good idea at the moment, never mind internationally.

“Hey bug, d’ya think you can watch your brother for a moment? Mumma’s gotta go make a phone call.” 

You hear your daughter let out a slightly irritated sigh. “I suppose I can, Mumma.” Ally responds with a voice laced with exasperation. You chuckle slightly under your breath at your overly dramatic (much like her dad) six-year-old and head into the kitchen, quickly dialing your husband’s familiar number.

“Hello?” 

You let out a sigh of relief upon hearing Harry’s low, hoarse voice. 

“Hi, honey. Just checkin’ in to see how things are going…” you hear shuffling on his end. “It’s December 23rd, you know.”

“I know, love.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Six in tha’ mornin’ here.”

“I’m sorry, H. S’just Allison keeps on askin’ when you’ll be home and ‘m just so worried you won’t make it home on time and you’ll miss Oliver’s first Christmas—“

“Darling,” Harry interrupts your anxiety-fueled ramble. “‘M gonna make it home. Have I ever not been there when I said I would?” 

“No,” you say quietly. “I’m just worried, Harry. I hear traveling is going to get very strict because they’re trying to prevent people from going anywhere for Christmas…”

“Fine, then I’ll get my own plane with jus’ me and a pilot. Wear a mask the entire time and whatnot. Yanno I can make that happen if it’s necessary, pet.” 

Harry’s calm demeanor about the whole situation brings you a bit of peace. Perhaps you were catastrophizing something that wasn’t as big of a deal as you thought it was a mere two minutes ago. If he wasn’t worried about not making it home, you didn’t see any reason to stress about it— not for one second longer.

“Okay then,” you reply, still a bit wary of his travel plans. “What shall I tell your daughter? She’s drivin’ me up the walls asking where you are every twenty minutes.”

Your husband lets out a breathy laugh, causing you to giggle along with him. “Tell her not to eat up all the Christmas cookies before I get a taste of one.”

December 24th, 8:45 AM

Part of you was hoping you’d wake up on Christmas Eve and Harry would be tucked into bed next to you, plump lips parted, the sound of his snores the only noise in the room. However, you were a rational woman, if nothing else. You knew he wouldn’t be by your side when you woke up. 

You make your way down the hall and peek inside your son’s room. He was fast asleep, plump thumb in his mouth. You smile at your sleeping baby and gently close the door behind you, deciding to let him sleep in a bit longer before waking him up to feed him. 

Next, you walk to your daughter's room, gently pushing open the door in case she was still sleeping. Instead, you find her sat at her desk, deeply focused on what appeared to be another drawing. 

“Good morning, lovebug,” you greet your daughter in a sing-songy voice. “You’re up early. What are you working on?”

“Makin’ a letter for Santa,” she replies, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. 

“A letter for Santa?” You start racking your brain for anything you and Harry could’ve possibly forgotten to get for Ally, but you finished your Christmas shopping for your children way back in November.

“Yes,” she answers matter-of-factly. “‘M askin’ him to make sure my Daddy is home by tonight so we can eat cookies together and watch Toy Story, Mumma.” 

“I’m sure Santa will make that happen for you,” you reassure her. “You’ve been a very good girl this year, been so helpful with Olly and doin’ so well in school. The least Santa can do is get you whatever you want.” You see her smile as she digs around in her crayon box.

“Can we wait ‘til Daddy gets home to make Santa’s cookies, Mumma?”

“Sure we can, bug,” Ally claps her hands together excitedly, bouncing around in her tiny chair. “Gonna go make some pancakes, does that sound yummy?”

“Can we have chocolate chip pancakes please?”

“Are you askin’ me that because your dad isn’t here to throw a fit about it?” You give her a knowing smile, causing her to giggle.

“Maaaaybe…” Your daughter turns to face you, swinging her legs back and forth.

“If I make your chocolate chip pancakes, you can’t tell your dad. Deal?” You hold up your pinky. Ally gets up and runs to you and you bend down slightly so she can link her finger with yours.

“I pinky promise, Mumma!”

“Our little secret, yeah?” she nods. “Keep an ear out for your brother for me, bug. I’ll be downstairs.”

December 24th, 3:00 PM

“Love? ‘M afraid I got some bad news...”

As soon as Harry’s voice comes through on the other line, you can tell whatever news he’s about to share with you won’t be what you’re wanting to hear.

“What is it?”

It’s silent for what feels like entirely too long. You get up from your position on the couch next to Ally, telling her you’ll be right back. After breakfast, she convinced you to watch Toy Story with her, which quickly turned into a whole Disney movie marathon.

“Not so sure I’ll be able to make it home.”

You’re not sure if it’s his calm tone that bothers you, the fact that you didn’t want him to go to Los Angeles in the first place, or simply the fact that you and your children missed him terribly and haven’t seen him in nearly a month–– but your mood changes from relaxed to undeniably outraged in three seconds flat.

“You’re kidding.” Your tone is sharp, venomous. Harry once again takes a moment before responding, knowing that the current tone of your voice means he’d best proceed with caution.

“‘M not, love. I woke up early and everything to try and get this sorted out, it’s 7 AM so I was gonna try and catch an early flight––”

“I told you I didn’t want you going to LA,” you cut him off, voice rising slightly. “You knew how bad the pandemic was getting there. I told you this would happen.”

“What do you suppose I do then, Y/N?” His tone is becoming equally as sharp. “Y’want me to tell ‘em, “Sorry, I don’t give a fuck about the travel restrictions. My wife wants me home so let's make it happen!” ‘S that what you want me to do?”

“Don’t be a smartass, Harry,” you spit. “I’ll give the phone to your daughter and you can tell her you won’t be home in time for Christmas, then.”

“Y/N…” his tone is calm again. Fearful. “Don’t make me do that.”

“She woke up early to write a letter to Santa to tell him she wants you home by tonight, Harry,” your tone softens as well. “Even Olly has been asking for you. Swear his new favorite word is ‘dada’.” He laughs at this as do you, and the shared tension that was present just minutes ago dissipates. 

“Just… lemme try a few more things before I tell her, yeah?”

“Harry, it’s already three here,” you gently remind him. “Even if you do make it home today, she’ll be asleep by the time you’re home. I think you just need to tell her.”

Your husband sighs, knowing you were undeniably correct. “Alright. Give Allison the phone, please.”

December 24th, 8 PM

“Almost time for you to head to bed soon, yeah Allybug?” Your daughter lets out a loud sigh in response, not shifting her gaze from the television to you. Ever since Harry told her he wouldn’t be home in time to eat cookies with her, she’s hardly said a word. She’s never experienced a Christmas Eve without her father so understandably, she was missing him tonight.

You shift Olly, who was falling asleep nursing on your lap, into a different position so you could face your daughter directly. From your new position, you can see just how tired she looks. 

“‘M not sleepy, Mumma. Gonna stay up and wait for Daddy,” she informs you of her new plans. “When Daddy is home that’s when it’s time for bed.”

“Ally, remember what Daddy told you on the phone earlier? Santa won’t come unless you go to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” she’s quickly starting to grow upset. “Not until Daddy tucks me in!”

You purse your lips, not wanting to argue with your headstrong daughter when your son was so close to drifting off into his nightly milk coma. Turning your attention back to the movie that was quietly playing on the television, you decide to drop it for now and try again later.

December 24th, 9:05 PM

Not more than an hour later, Olly is upstairs in his crib fast asleep whilst Ally is still laying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, fighting sleep. She was determined to stay up until her father walked through the front door, and you knew getting her to agree to go to bed was going to be a battle and a half.

“You’re not ready to go to bed yet, Ally?” Her eyes fly open once she hears you addressing her.

“Not yet, Mumma. ‘M not sleepy yet.” Her words are a little slurred due to the exhausted state she was in. You hum in response.

“Could’ve sworn your eyes just shut for a minute there,” you pause for a second to see if she’ll look your way. “Must’ve just been my old lady eyes playin’ tricks on me, y’think?”

“I wasn’t sleeping!” She immediately defends herself, frown lines indenting her forehead. “Can we drink more hot chocolate?”

You knew if you wanted your daughter to fall asleep within the hour, another sugar rush wasn’t the best idea. You instead offer her a hot cup of sleepytime tea and she excitedly agrees once you tell her it’s her father’s favorite type of tea to drink at bedtime. You place her down on the kitchen counter while you fill the kettle and wait for it to whistle.

“What are you looking forward to the most from Santa, bug?” 

Her eyes light up at your question. “Well, I really want a new bike! ‘Member Mumma? How I asked him for a pink bike? And I also want a cool swing set! Since we haven’t been able to go to the park in so long,” her smile falters and she looks down at her dangling feet. “I want Daddy to come home the mostest, though.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to break in two upon hearing your daughter admit that Harry being home would be the greatest gift of all. “So do I, lovebug. He’ll be here in the mornin’ to watch you and your brother open all the gifts Santa got you though, don’t you worry.”

For everyone’s sake, you hoped that was true.

December 24th, 11:50 PM

Sleep wasn’t coming easy. 

You finally got your daughter to bed at around ten o’clock and waited thirty minutes before laying out your children’s gifts. It took much longer than it usually did considering you had to do it all on your own. Harry was usually the one to quickly assemble the larger toys while you laid everything out around the living room. 

Despite it taking longer than desired, you were proud that you got it all done without waking your children up. Consequently, that meant you were now left all alone with your thoughts considering you had no more tasks to occupy yourself with. 

You kept contemplating calling Harry, but you weren’t sure if he was busy on set or not. Surely he was immersing himself in work to distract himself from the fact he would not be spending Christmas with his family. 

Deciding you may need a cup of the sleepytime tea you offered Allison earlier, you quietly get out of bed and open your door, sock-clad feet padding softly against the wooden floors. It’s unnervingly silent in your home–– the tea kettle coming to a boil being the only source of noise. You keep unlocking and re-locking your phone, finally deciding to call your husband to see how he’s spending his day. It goes to automatic voicemail.

You assume the reason for this must be that he’s busy filming on set and set your phone down with a sigh, standing on your tiptoes to retrieve a mug from the cabinet. You mutter a slew of curse words under your breath intended for Harry who always puts the mugs up far too high even though you tell him not to.

Right as you begin pouring the now boiling water into your teacup, the faint jingling of your front door causes you to startle so badly that you nearly drop the kettle on the ground. You try to think back to everything Harry ever told you to do in the event of an intruder but your mind goes blank from fright. Deciding to use the scalding water as your weapon, you slowly creep towards the door, your only plan being to fling the water on whoever it was as soon as they got the door open. As soon as you hear the lock click, you flick the lid open that covers the spout and draw your arm back.

“Shit––”

“Harry?”

Your husband jumps slightly, his eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the dark living room. You reach beside him and quickly turn on the light, shakily letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He looks exhausted, his hair is an absolute mess, and his eyes are red from sleep deprivation–– but he’s home. You set the tea kettle down on the coffee table and fling yourself into his arms, breathing in the scent of the man you haven’t seen in a month. He drops his bags at his feet so he can properly embrace you, pulling you into him.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head and stays like that for a moment saying nothing, just breathing you in. “Missed ya so fuckin’ much.

“How? I thought…” you trail off. “You said that they said…”

Harry laughs quietly. “Remember what I told ya? I said to ‘em, ‘Don’t give a fuck about your travel restrictions! M’wife wants me home.’” You laugh at him, knowing he was far too kind to talk to anyone that way. 

“Yeah, okay,” you reply sarcastically. You pull him in for another hug, placing wet kisses along his jawline. “I’m so happy you’re home. The kids are gonna be over the moon, especially Allison.” Harry hums, surveying the room.

“Looks like you did a good job in here, Mrs. Claus. See ya even assembled some toys all by yourself,” he quirks an eyebrow. “Were you jus’ pretendin’ not to know how to do it all these years so I’d be stuck with all the hard labor?”

“Maybe.”

He pulls you back into him, tickling your sides. “My sneaky girl,” he bends down so his lips are level with your neck and sucks gently, causing you to let out a quiet moan. You see his eyes land on the tea kettle that was sitting forgotten on the coffee table. “Making a cuppa? Can I have one? ‘M freezin’.”

“I can think of something else we can do to get you warmed up,” you reach for his hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “If you know what I’m gettin’ at.”

“Hmm…” Harry releases one of his hands from your grip and taps at his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Not too sure I can say I know what you’re sayin’. Maybe you should just tell me?”

You frown. “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Y’know I’d give you the entire world if you asked me for it. All you gotta do is tell me what you want from me and it’s yours–– ‘m sure you’ve known that since the first day we met, though.” Harry takes a step back, crossing his arms across his chest. Even in his thick winter coat, you can see the way his biceps flex, and it makes you even more feral for him.

“Fine,” you say quietly, feeling yourself start to grow shy under his intense gaze. “I’m kinda... in the mood.” You say it so softly that it would most likely be inaudible to Harry if he wasn’t standing mere inches away from you. Harry throws his head back in laughter and you quickly shush him, not wanting any of your children to wake up.

“In the mood? C’mon, pet,” he uncrosses his arms and reaches for one of your hands. “Tha’s not tellin’ me what you want from me. Tell me exactly what you want, lovie.”

“You know what I want, H,” you tell him with a hint of annoyance in your voice. “It’s been a month. Yanno I want you to fuck me, why are you makin’ me say it?”

Harry gives you a shit-eating grin. “You jus’ said it. I didn’t make you say anything.”

You roll your eyes at his immaturity, already in the process of lifting your nightshirt (one of his old t-shirts that’s become just a little too tight on him) over your head. “Are we gonna get to it or not? Because if not, I’ll just go back to makin’ myself some tea and call it a night––”

Harry takes half a step towards you and reaches up to cup your face, colliding his lips with yours. His lips are a little chapped and taste of his favorite rose lip balm. You feel your body relaxing into the kiss, knees going weak as he walks you back onto the couch.

“You’ve been eatin’ up all the sugar cookies, haven’t you? Can taste it on ya. Thought those were for Santa,” he’s pulled away from you to examine your face. “A bit naughty of you, wouldn’t ya say?”

“Please stop referring to yourself as Santa when we’re about to have sex, Harry.”

“You’re not bein’ very kind to the person that’s about to go down on you, are you?” He sucks harshly on the valley between your breasts, wanting to be sure a deep-colored bruise will appear on your skin later. “That’s okay. It is Christmas, after all. ‘M in a giving mood.”

“Stop talking and get to it then.”

Harry slides off the couch and onto his knees in between your legs, gently kissing your thighs. “Cute pair of undies–– s’like you knew I was comin’ home tonight.” Before you can respond Harry’s fingers are tugging at the waistband of your underwear, eager to get them off of you. He presses light kisses to your core, mumbling about how much he missed the smell of you and how sweet you tasted. 

One hand is resting across your stomach while the other one is in between your folds, spreading you open. You try squeezing your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the feeling of your husband’s lips around your clit after being away from him for so long, but he removes his hand from your stomach and pushes your thighs back apart.

“Feels so good,” you’re breathless, tangling your fingers in Harry’s hair as his hollowed cheeks begin to suck more roughly on your clit. “Missed you so much. Missed this–– us.” 

Harry pauses momentarily to look up at you. “I know, angel. God, do I know.” He attaches his lips back on you, swirling his tongue around your clit as you  choke back your moans. The hand that is holding you open moves down to toy at your slit as he wordlessly checks to see if you’re okay with his fingers being in you. 

“Please,” you say softly, encouraging his next move. He spits on his index and pointer finger before slowly sliding both of them in you, immediately curling them up. “Oh, Harry. Fuckin’ love when you do tha’...”

“Know you do,” His response is curt, simple. He’s focused on the task at hand–– getting you off. He uses the hand that’s lying across your stomach to rub tight circles on your clit, sensing you’re nearing your orgasm from the way you’re starting to clench around him. “Such a good girl fo’ me, darlin’. Gonna make a mess on my fingers in a second, aren’t you?”

You nod as you try to control your breathing and the loudness of your moans. The last thing you wanted was for your daughter to come down to inspect the source of the noise. “Fuck, Harry.” 

“Come on, darlin’,” he gently pinches your clit, causing your body to jolt at the sensation. “Gimme a good one. A lil’ welcome back gift for me, hmm?” 

Your hips are bucking up to the rhythm of his fingers slipping in and out of you as your orgasm quickly approaches. “Har, I’m close…” it comes out sounding more like a warning than a statement. He moves the two fingers he has inside of you in a back and forth motion, coaxing your first orgasm out of you.

“Tha’s my girl,” he whispers, not stopping his movements even as your back arches as your first orgasm rolls over you like a giant wave. “Givin’ me a good one jus’ like I knew you would. Jus’ like you always do. M’ sweet girl.” As you’re starting to still, Harry pulls his fingers out of you and holds them up to your mouth, instructing you to suck them clean. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can properly lean in to steal a kiss from him and notice a rather sizable tent has formed in his pants. Harry gives you a sheepish grin as he palms himself, hissing from the feel of his palm against his cock.

“Want me to do somethin’ about that?” You scoot over on the couch and pat the spot next to you, signaling for your husband to sit beside you. He lifts himself from his seated position, stretching his legs out a bit before plopping down beside you.

“Are you offerin’ me a blowie?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Can we skip that an’ you can jus’ ride me instead? Think I’d quite like that.”

“Oh you would, would ya?”

Harry nods and unzips his pants, taking himself out. He licks his hand and gives himself a few pumps. “Still on birth control, I’m assuming?”

You roll your eyes as you move to straddle him. “Only been gone for a month, Harry. Of course ‘m still on it, you goof.”

“Can never be too careful. I don’t think now’s a good time for another lil’ one, do you? Think we should at least celebrate Oliver’s first birthday before we try for another one.” His hands are on his hips as he lines you up over his cock, helping you slowly sink down. You missed the burn of him which was even more intense than it usually was considering it’s been a while since he’s taken you.

“I think you’re right,” you reply. You rest your head on his shoulder while you adjust to the size of him, needing to take a moment to yourself before attempting to move. After a short adjustment period you begin rolling your hips, grinding against him in a way that was also bringing pleasure to your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your last orgasm.

Harry’s eyes are fixated on the way your breasts bounce in front of him, the way your stomach slightly jiggles each time you crash back down onto him. His lips are caught in between his teeth; you’re hoping he doesn’t break any skin so you don’t have to hear him whine about how badly the bruise hurts him later.

“Ridin’ me like your life depends on it,” Harry mutters. “Fuckin’ love takin’ you like this, angel. So fuckin’ deep.”

You simply hum in agreement, brain far too foggy to form a coherent sentence. Harry notices your movements starting to become smaller, lazier, so he puts his hands on your hips and decides to take over. He’s thrusting up into you like you’ll up and run away from him if he doesn’t give it his all. He cups your face with one hand and gently guides you towards him, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

“Fuck, H,” your eyes are squeezed shut and your wrap your arms around his neck, feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching. “Rub my clit please, almost there.”

Harry’s fingers immediately come down to rub at your slick nub, not faltering his relentless pace in the slightest. “Clench around me again, lovie,” his voice is higher than usual, whiny, and you know your husband is just as close as you are. “Love when you do tha’, jus’ need you to do it one more time.”

You do as he wishes once more, knowing once he cums you’ll be directly behind him. Harry lets out a string of expletives as he releases inside of you, pulling you tightly against his chest as he rides out his orgasm. You continue riding him, not slowly down as you chase your own release next.

“Harry,” you’re in a trance-like state, chanting his name over and over as you bring yourself over the edge. “Harry, fuck!”

“That’s my good girl,” he says quietly, rubbing your back as you rest your head on his shoulder while you catch your breath. You feel him beginning to soften inside of you so you lift yourself off and lay back on the couch, legs still shaking. It’s quiet for a couple of minutes as the two of you reveal in the afterglow of your orgasms, Harry gently running his fingers along your leg.

“Round two in the shower?”

December 25th, 6:42 AM

“Mumma! Santa came and he left lots of toys–– Daddy?”

Harry lets out a dramatic “oof!” as Ally jumps onto him, pulling the covers back. Her eyes are wide and she giggles are Harry pulls her into one of his infamous bear hugs, placing kisses all over his face.

“Mornin’, love bug! What’re you doin’ up so early?”

“It’s Christmas, Daddy! Santa came!” she sits back on her feet, a confused look on her face. “Did Santa bring you on his sleigh last night after me ‘n Olly went to bed?”

“Y’know what? He told me to keep it a secret, but he did,” Allison gasps in response to his news as she processes it, placing a little hand over her mouth. Harry sits up and gets out of bed, scooping her up in the process. “How ‘bout we go make Mum a cuppa before we see what Santa got for you and Olly? Tha’ sound good? Let’s let them sleep for a while longer, hmm?”

As you hear them exit the room you take a second to reflect on how lucky you are to spend another Christmas with you beautiful family before drifting back off into a deep, albeit short, sleep.

[thecreaturecodex]

Asura, Nobody

Image © Capcom, accessed at the Devil May Cry Wiki here

[Commissioned by @coldbloodassassin. Again, I’m very happy that fan wikis exist, so I can look up info about weird monsters from video games without having to have played them. This version hews more closely to the DMC5 version than the original game. Like with many of my fiends, the flavor text may be colored by current events.]

Asura, Nobody CR 10 LE Outsider (extraplanar) This creature is horrifically bent and warped, its body an upward facing torso crawling on four humanoid legs. A red-skinned arm rises from the center of its body, ending in a huge clawed hand, each of its five digits prehensile like a thumb. Warty clusters resembling eyes grow in the raw meat between its limbs. Its head is human-like, but wearing a metal mask.

Nobodies are asuras that are simultaneously hideous and pitiful. They are created from the souls of people who prayed to the gods for assistance while simultaneously ignoring help from their fellows. When they invariably suffer from their self absorption and die from their carelessness, they reject the gods that they feel should have rewarded them instead. Due to their reduced sense of self in the afterlife, it takes three such petitioners to fuse together to form a nobody. Each of the personalities is contained within a magical metal mask, and if these masks are destroyed, the nobody is weakened.

A nobody enjoys bullying fiends weaker and smaller than it, but kowtows to greater powers. In combat, they typically open by attempting to intimidate enemies, and then leap into melee with a jump kick. Most nobodies default to wearing their brass mask, which increases their confidence and magical ability, but they switch to red or green as necessary based on the flow of combat, whether they are intending on focusing on grabbing and crushing a single opponent, or lobbing explosive nodules at massed groups. They work well in unison, choosing to wear different masks to compliment each other in combat. If all of their masks are destroyed, a nobody typically flees at the first opportunity.

Nobody             CR 10 XP 9,600 LE Large outsider (asura, evil, extraplanar, law) Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +21 Aura elusive (60 ft., DC 25) Defense AC 25, touch 13, flat-footed 21 (-1 size, +4 Dex, +12 natural) hp 126 (12d10+60); regeneration 2 (good) Fort +13, Ref +12, Will +8 DR 10/good; Immune curses, disease, poison; Resist acid 10, electricity 10; SR 21 Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee 2 slams +15 (1d8+4), claw +16 (2d6+4 plus grab) Ranged eye bomb +16 touch (4d6+5 fire) Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft. Special Attacks eye bomb (8/day), fiendish dance, powerful charge (slam, 2d8+6) Spell-like Abilities CL 10th, concentration +14 At will—greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. objects only) 3/day—jump, protection from good (DC 15), spider climb 1/day—haste, summon (1 nobody, 60%, level 5th) Statistics Str 19, Dex 19, Con 20, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 19 Base Atk +12; CMB +17 (+21 grab); CMD 31 (35 vs. trip) Feats Combat Reflexes, Dazzling Display, Intimidating Prowess, Iron Will, Shatter Defenses, Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Acrobatics +19, Climb +19, Escape Artist +10, Intimidate +23, Knowledge (planes, religion) +9, Perception +21, Stealth +19; Racial Modifiers +4 Perception, +6 Escape Artist Languages Celestial, Common, Infernal, telepathy 100 ft. SQ masks Ecology Environment any land and underground (Hell) Organization solitary, pair or congregation (3-10) Treasure standard Special Abilities Eye Bombs (Su) As a standard action, a nobody can pluck one of the growths from its body and throw it. Treat this as a thrown splash weapon with a range of 20 feet. A creature struck takes 4d6 points of fire damage plus the nobody’s Constitution modifier (+5 for the average specimen). All creatures within 5 feet take the same amount of damage, or half if they succeed a DC 21 Reflex save. A nobody can use this ability a number of times a day equal to 3 plus its Constitution modifier (8/day for the average specimen). The save DC is Constitution based. Fiendish Dance (Su) As a standard action, a nobody can dance, sapping the magical abilities of its foes. All creatures within 30 feet must succeed a DC 20 Will save or lose a 5th level or lower prepared spell or spell slot, as per a spellcrash spell. The save DC is Charisma based. Masks (Su) A nobody carries three magical masks, and always wears one of them unless they have been destroyed. The masks, and their effects, are as follows.

Brass: The nobody gains a +4  enhancement bonus to Charisma. It can use its fiendish dance as a move action, and gains unholy blight usable     as a spell-like ability three times per day (CL 10th, DC 20)

Green: The nobody gains a +4 enhancement bonus to Dexterity. It gains Far Shot as a bonus feat, and can throw two eye bombs as a standard action by taking a -2 penalty to its attack roll.

Red: The nobody gains a +4 enhancement bonus to Strength. It gains +5 foot reach with its claw attack, and gains the constrict special ability (claw, 2d6+9)

A nobody can swap its masks as a move action. The masks can be sundered (hardness 8, 10 hp), or removed when the creature is pinned. A nobody that is not wearing a mask gains the degenerate simple template. A nobody can make a new mask with 8 hours of work, but can only replace a destroyed mask, not make spares. None of these abilities are incorporated into the statistics above.

[bevvydraws]

Kwami Exchange Students

This might be a mini-fic, I’m not sure yet, but for now just consider anything I post for this AU connected one-shots.

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

Marinette knew that the world was full of more odd and mysterious things than she had previously thought. She was a highschool super hero going after a butterfly themed maniac who wore a wrestler’s mask with a suit, after all. But somehow, despite the craziness she constantly experienced in her life, she still managed to get caught off guard.

Because one day, after weeks of Tikki making sad comments about wanting to experience life as a “modern human” (accompanied with longingly watching dancing videos), Marinette woke up to find Tikki missing. But more alarming than that, was that now there was a teenage girl curiously inspecting everything in her room. Thinking it may be an akuma, she looked around frantically for her tiny spotted friend in hopes of defeating it without waking her parents. She tried not to make any loud noises as she shuffled around in her bed.

It didn’t work, however, and the intruder turned to look at her with wide eyes that were somehow familiar, “Oh, Marinette! You’re awake!” The voice was even more familiar, soft and gentle while slightly squeaky.

“Wh-who are you?” Marinette tried to ask calmly, although the stutter betrayed her.

The girl gasped, her hands quickly flying to cover her mouth, “Oh gosh that’s right!! You’ve never seen me like this before.”

Marinette did a once-over of the girl. Her hair was long and bright red, with black roots. She was wearing a long white dress that looked more like a sheet and no shoes. Her eyes, somehow even wider, were bright blue, and held a wisdom that wasn’t normal for someone who looked so young. Then again, nothing was normal about this teenager who radiated energy and power even while looking like she had just been caught in the cookie jar. Wait... cookie jar?

“Tikki!?” Marinette asked, “Is that you?!”

Tikki nodded quickly, “Yes!! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“But you— You’re so small but now— huh?!” Marinette couldn’t find the words to express her confusion as to how the little creature that could fit in her purse was now the same height she was.

“Well, you see...” Tikki fidgeted with her fingers, “It’s been a while since I’ve walked among humans, and I thought it would help better understanding modern society if I could experience first hand...” She looked to the side, then her eyes widened as if coming to a conclusion and looked back at Marinette, “...that way I could help track down Hawkmoth easier. Mmhm, yep!”

Marinette didn’t bother questioning Tikki’s logic, since she had more pressing questions on her mind. “How are you able to turn human?”

“I’m a god, Marinette,” Tikki said matter-of-factly, “I existed far before ladybugs were even a concept. I can take many forms, just like the other kwamis.”

“So why stay so little?”

Tikki smiled, although it seemed sad, “Easier to help, easier to hide, and it’s an easier form to hold. Especially since our energy is so heavily changed to the miraculous stones now.”

“Oh...” Marinette whispered. “But wait how are you gonna blend in?”

“The same way you and Chat Noir have all this time,” Tikki grins, “Hiding in plain sight!”

“It’s one thing hiding you as a kwami from my parents, but I can’t hide a whole human!”

“You won’t have to, silly.” Tikki smiles, “I have it all under control. We kwami are very good at convincing others that typically abnormal things are something completely normal. It’s how so few know of our existence.” 

“Okay…” Marinette said, unsure, “But it doesn’t matter how convincing you are, no one is going to think walking around in a bedsheet is normal.” 

Tikki blushed, looking down at her dress, “It’s not a bedsheet, Marinette. It’s a dress. It’s just something simple so I don’t stand out.” 

“You’re going to stand out if you go anywhere like that.”

“Well you’re the fashion designer,” Tikki huffs, cheek still blazing red in embarrassment, “What should I wear?” 

Marinette grinned wickedly and dashed to her closet. 

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

An hour later, Marinette stepped back to admire her work. She was very glad that she had been working on some clothing she had kept under wraps from everyone, it would be a little too suspicious if Tikki showed up in some of her very-Marinette clothing. Tikki was now fitted with a white tank-top, the words “Lucky” embroidered across it, and light-washed blue shorts. Her hair was tied up to the side and decorated with a black ribbon. Because Marinette didn’t have time to teach her how to tie shoes with fingers, she was wearing simple black flats. 

“Oh, Tikki, you look so cute!” Marinette fawned as the cherry-red-head tugged at her clothes self consciously. 

“I feel so… exposed,” she frowned, looking at herself in the mirror. 

“Tikki,” Marinette said, deadpanned, “you don’t normally wear clothes at all.” 

“You know what I mean,” Tikki huffed, “I’m less comfortable in this form… and it’s so cold.” 

Marinette smiled sympathetically and went to her closet, pulling out an old generic black sweater, “Here, maybe this will help.” 

Tikki slipped it on, and a smile stretched across her face, “This is perfect! Thank you so much, Marinette!” 

“I’m just thankful that we’re similar sizes,” Marinette laughed, “otherwise this would have been a lot harder. Now, how are we going to explain you to my parents?” 

Tikki grinned, “I’ll take care of that! Just be down in the bakery in a few minutes.” She playfully winked at Marinette before snapping, shrinking in a flash of light before revealing a little ladybug. Marinette shook her head, convinced she had seen everything at this point, and opened the window and watched as Tikki zipped out of the window. 

Marinette quickly finished getting ready, grabbing her book bag before running downstairs to the bakery. 

Sabine and Tom barely had time to give their daughter a warm greeting before their bakery door swung open and Tikki shyly stepped in, looking very lost. 

“Good morning!” Tom greeted heartily, “What can we get for you?” 

“Good morning,” Tikki responded, a kind but shy smile on her face, “I’m looking for a Mme. Sabine Cheng and M. Tom Dupain.” 

“That would be us,” Sabine smiles, “What can we help you with?” 

“Um, I’m the exchange student from the program through Francoise Dupont,” she says, producing a flyer Marinette had never seen before as well as some paperwork out of her back pocket. 

Tom and Sabine shared a confused look before Sabine read over the paperwork and flyer.

“I’m sorry…” Sabine says, reading the paperwork to find Tikki’s name, “Mlle. Tikki, but we never signed up for a program like that.” 

With acting skills Marinette had no clue Tikki possessed, tears began welling up in Tikki’s eyes, “Oh, I see… today has been quite trying,” she dabbed at her eyes lightly with her sweater sleeve, “first, my luggage went missing, and now there’s been a mixup with the paperwork. I have no idea what to do..” 

Marinette stepped forward quickly, wrapping an arm around Tikki’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, I have plenty of room upstairs. The paperwork all checks out, right? Maybe you signed up on accident or don’t remember, but we can’t turn her away.” 

Marinette and Tikki both gave Sabine and Tom their best kicked puppy looks. 

And that was how Tikki became a temporary member of the Dupain-Cheng household. 

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

Convincing the school apparently wasn’t necessary, as Tikki had already handled all of that the night before without Marinette’s knowledge. A few forged emails and “Kwami magic”--as Tikki worded it--and all Tikki had to do was stop by the principal's office to get her necessary books and materials. Marinette wasn’t sure whether she was thankful or concerned that everyone was so easily influenced and convinced by Tikki, but decided not to think about it too much. 

“Oh, I should mention…” Tikki said softly to Marinette as they walked to class, “I’m not the only new student.” 

“What do you mean…?” Marinette had a bad feeling in her gut at the guilty expression on Tikki’s face. 

“Well, I talked about my idea with Plagg,” Tikki said softly, “And he ‘didn’t want me to have all the fun’.” Tikki made air quotes, rolling her eyes. 

“But Plagg needs to stay with Chat Noir,” Marinette hissed. 

“That’s the thing…” Tikki said, wincing slightly as she walked into the classroom with Marinette. 

Marinette wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t seeing a guy she’d never seen before bickering silently with Adrien Agreste. 

The bickering stopped when both caught sight of Marinette and Tikki. 

The new guy, with wild black hair and even wilder green eyes, lit up and a catty grin spread across his face, “Sugar cube!” he said excitedly, zipping away from Adrien at inhuman speed to drape an arm around Tikki’s shoulders, “Didja miss me? It’s been far too long.” 

Tikki grimaced, “It hasn’t been that long, Plagg,” she said, “We were on the plane together just this morning.” The undertone of scolding in her voice made it clear that who Marinette was seeing was, in fact, Chat Noir’s kwami. 

Marinette looked back at Adrien, who was looking at her with wide eyes. Well, more specifically, he was looking at her earrings. Marinette’s eyes went to the ring he was wearing, before looking back up at him. 

Oh.

[richardlawson]

After a screening this afternoon, I stood on the busy sidewalk of 29th street and smoked my last cigarette of Cannes (having been home for almost a month). I decided to listen to a sad song while I walked back to the subway rather than finishing the latest comedy podcast droning its way into my ears from LA.

It was windy, but the air was still humid and close. The weather felt big, and the tall, tall buildings of almost midtown were enormous. (It is still so boggling to pop back into Manhattan!) I walked the short distance imagining myself at the cinemascope ending of a movie—what a poignant, subtle conclusion it would be, a person simply making their way to the subway after so much has happened.

It is difficult to grapple with what’s happened. Am I the only one finding that? I know that we must admit the important layers of this: we did not die, loved ones were okay, we kept working, held ourselves in the clench of our lives as so much cratered outside. Past that, though, it was tricky. It still is. More than that. Immediately post-vaccination, I felt the airy lift I was supposed to, the world not cracking open but gently re-revealing itself, a shining, outdoor Shangri La that had been hovering there, only hidden, all along.

That feeling lasted just a few weeks, though, as grim news lapped at the edges of the merriment. But it wasn’t really the news—concerning as it is—that sunk me back down. It was more the sudden weight of life, tossed into the pool and crashing down on me just as I was coming up for air. It was the realization that a year and a half—and quite likely longer—does actually change a life, that things will never go back to being the same. And the realization that I no longer really remember what that same was.

I remember parties, and a kind of cross-city ramble resembling the boozy digression of my 20s, but a bit more assured. I remember a rush, a haze, a feeling like I was living some grand existence without ever touching the ground, ever really connecting to any one thing. Of course, there were dull and dire days during all of that, but who would choose to remember those? No, in the abstraction of my mind there is just a sparkling blur, one I have found myself clumsily grasping for as real life has, allegedly, set back in.

I hope I am not alone in this feeling of mourning, this constant fear—a terror, really—that I am scrambling at something entirely irretrievable. Like I am trying to pick up an anecdote midway through, after a long and pregnant pause. Isn’t it so strange, and so sad, that so much is now definitively over, that we are on the other side of an undeniable piece of punctuation. There is no return, really. There is only carrying on, a new limp a part of the portraiture.

My sister and I took a trip in July, she meeting me in France after the Cannes film festival, and that almost felt like a before thing. Except it was charged with difference—masks and tests and all that necessary protocol, yes, but also an ineffable haunt, this little curl of a voice that whispered, “It’s not like it used to be.” I thought maybe it was France, that I’d somehow grown tired of it (spoiled me!), or it was just the weirdness of rumbling around on trains with my sister for the first time in so long, surrounded by people speaking a different language.

But it wasn’t that, not really. It was "not like it used to be" in a sharper, more persistent way, the pebble in my shoe that has me so startlingly aware of the lines and shapes and matrices of the world, all of a sudden. How could anyone, with death so persistent a topic for so long, not grow to see the frayed and finite threads binding us to everything? How are we supposed to enjoy anything fully again, when we’ve had such a regular reminder of its eventual end?

Luck, I’m aware of. Fortune, too. I know that some maudlin post about how out of step with reality I have been feeling is, well, out of step with reality. But there it is anyway, this nagging feeling like maybe we all died already, that what we're staggering through now is some after-effect, residual but fading. I find myself imagining a membrane that I might step through—back into the life I think I had, or into a future when all of this feels so peacefully settled.

A friend and I found a little tucked away space in a park by the river, a picnic table and an umbrella where we can post up to surreptitiously drink wine and watch the boats on the river. I love those fucking boats, the busy process they confirm, New York chugging along in its infinite capacity. You can see the planes from Newark, too, a view recently stolen from my building's roof by some hideous new condo building tinkering its way upwards to blot out the sky. There, in that park, the East River breezes whispering a calming song, I begin to feel re-clarified, certain again about my mind and my body and their place in—as Mary Oliver wrote—the family of things.

That feeling is fleeting, though. Then it's back into the plainness of life, the sensation that everything has flattened into some tiny fragment of what it once was. I have to trust—I hope you trust, too—that we'll get it all back. Or, rather, that a new and thorough thing will slowly bloom in the old thing's place, for those of us lucky enough to still be alive and, for all the wear of age, healthy enough.

A few years ago, I wrote a poem about a restaurant in Cannes, in which I wondered what it might be like to revisit it in the future. I found it again this year. It was still open, though I think it has a different name. And the little burbling fountain that stood next to its outdoor seating was silent and dry. So there it was, still plugging along, just a bit hobbled by circumstance, a little less pretty than it was in more ideal times.

I hope I get to wander by it again next year. I hope that the person glimpsing it then feels fuller, sturdier, more sure of the weight and consequence of his presence. That he knows he did not disappear into the couch, was not wholly lost to worry, did not irrevocably snap some tether that linked him to the great and troubled and bitterly missed past of his life.

The song I put on, walking to the subway in all that huge weather today, was this. I love its swell, its grandeur, its reminder that some stuff is not entirely reducible. It stays, small and determined and indelible as the new scar on my shin, from when I tripped on my suitcase, the night before I got back on a plane, cursing in the dark, forgetting how grateful I was to be feeling it at all.

[misterewrites]

Inhuman Interrogation (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound! Here’s the next chapter of the Underground!  A special thank you to everyone who reads my stories. I know they’re not everyone’s speed and I get wordy but I really do appreciate it! I really hope you are having some fun with it. Okay stay safe, sound, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear masks and get yourself vaccinated, push for vaccines worldwide. Here's the next chapter, enjoy! Feel free to leave likes, tell your friends, reblog and leave feedback I love it all! have a good week and I'll see you later! E is out byeeeeee!

If you want an easier way to read my story here’s the newest chapter at ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79942294

Curious what this about? Here’s the first chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

Want an overview of my works, you can find me right over here! Fun fact I do, on a occasion, write stuff for fandoms! Shocking I know :D

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Summary: Oliver's been caught red handed and there's only one thing to do: Claw and lie his way out of the situation. However, the bard might be a little over his head from this stranger who watches all.

-----

Oliver could feel a chill run down his spine, fear gripping him tightly as he scrambled to keep himself calm. Being found out was always a possibility he’d calculated in his plans, he just hadn’t wanted to deal with it tonight. Well you know what they say: When life gives you lemons, squirt lemon juice in life’s eyes and run like hell.

He’d been caught so the next step was to determine by who.

Oliver blew cool air onto his face as he pivoted around to see which person had been acute enough to catch onto his antics.

He had been expected to looking at an unhappy Lea with his sword drawn.

What found waiting for him was worse.

It was good looking man though Oliver couldn’t hazard a guess to his age. His hair was short wispy dark brown like the color of copper. His face was scratched by dozens of tiny whites line, healed scars that somehow did not detract away from his handsomeness. He wore a plain white tunic with black leggings, a large bronze hued cape hung over his unusually thin frame. The most striking feature were his golden eyes. Not golden in shade but actual gold, metallic shimmering and shining like metal caught in the glow of the sun.

He was a sight to behold, perfection made flesh and blessed by the gods.

And Oliver knew he was utterly and terribly inhuman. He was not a mortal being for no human could ever been so perfect.

The Stranger tilted his head quizzically, his eyes dilated into pupil-less orbs.

“You” He spoke in a raspy, low voice “You’ve been busy.”

Oliver coughed, trying to get his dry throat working again.

The Stranger took a step closer, his gaze unflinching “Yes, very busy.”

Oliver chuckled nervously “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean increasingly creepy man. If you excuse me.”

As Oliver turned to leave, his blood turned cold when the stranger harshly whispered, his words booming in Oliver’s ears.

“How’s Death I wonder? He’s an old friend for you, right?”

Oliver whirled around, fist clenched but the Stranger hadn’t taken a step forward. In fact he had taken a step away, furthering the distance between them.

Oliver gulped nervously, trying his best to stop his racing heart.

“And you” he murmured quietly, trying to hold onto his fleeting courage “Smell of it.”

It was true: Even this far away, Oliver could smell the stench of decay, of death and blood wafting off the Stranger as if he’d come straight from a bloody battle.

The Stranger made no indication he heard Oliver’s comment, just stared with golden eyes unblinking.

Oliver let out a tense breath before closing his eyes. He centered his will, he reached out into the universe and drew in the power of his magic.

He could hear the scrawling of a pen across the scratchy surface of parchment, the squishy wet sounds of paint drying, the tuning of a lute among excited laughter and cheers.

‘I need to escape.’ Oliver spoke in his mind.

Knowledge filled his mind: Spells and their uses. The hand gestures necessary to tug at the weave to make his will, his need a reality.

An unknown force guided his hand, raising it high and surging with magical power. Oliver’s eyes snapped open with a fierce determination. He took a deep breath, his fingers at the ready as he prepared to recite the incantation.

“I…” Oliver began when the Stranger struck. There was a blink and there was the stranger in front of him, his hand wrapped tightly around Oliver’s wrist.

“So.” the Stranger spoke in an oddly smooth voice “You ready to tell me what you were doing squirreling about?”

Oliver was strained against the Stranger but his grip was as strong as iron. Unless he could complete the hand gestures and motions along with the incantation, the spell was incomplete and he was as helpless as a kitten in Stranger’s grasp.

Oliver grimaced in pain “Now you’re remembering to be human? No creepy staring or awkward conversations about death?”

“Sorry, sometimes my lady speaks through me. I am her will incarnate on this plane.” The Stranger gave a sheepish grin

Oliver smiled uneasily “Right mysterious lady sure. That’s totally normal. How about you let me go and I won’t take the psychotic act personally?”

“But it is personal.” The Stranger’s smirk widen, his teeth too sharp to be mortal “You’re up to something and I’d like to know what.”

‘Great.’ Oliver thought to himself, his eyes darting about for a sign of assistance: a cloaked figure nearby fidgeted awkwardly but ultimately did nothing, a few nobles conveniently glanced the opposite direction of their altercation. Even the guards were nowhere in sight. Whoever this person was, he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

Oliver pursed his lips, his mind desperately grasping at ideas to escape this situation.

“Party planner” Oliver offered helpfully “My job is to keep track of everything, make sure the party is moving smoothly and ensure there is no issues. You know how Mr. Brambleoak dislikes unnecessary distractions.”

The Stranger nodded in understanding “Party planner? That’s a good one. Feasible. If were I shade dumber, I might actually believe you. However…”

Oliver winced in pain as his grip tightened. The bard had been manhandled once or twice before but never this single handedly.

“Now” The Stranger’s golden eyes narrowed threateningly “Let’s try this one more time before you really anger my lady. What were you doing?”

Oliver opened his mouth.

“There you are!”

For one nerve wracking moment Oliver thought the Stranger had backup but he seemed just as confused as he was.

Maria cut in between two men gracefully and forced the Stranger to release his grip. He backed away as she linked herself arm in arm with Oliver.

“Sweetie!” She spoke with honeyed words, patting his arm lovingly “You ran off so quickly. I was worried I’d upset you.”

“Umm.” Oliver eyed the Stranger carefully, wary at any sudden movements “Sorry honey. This person thought I was someone he knew.”

Maria peered closer, getting a good look at the man.

The Stranger smiled cheekily “Fraid I got the wrong person.”

“You should really be careful, the guards here dislike any disturbance to the festivities.”

Almost as if magically summoned by her words, the guards began to approach with hands on their blades.

“Of course. Of course. Wouldn’t want trouble.” the Stranger bowed mockingly “Besides, I don’t think he’s the one I want.”

“That’s certainly ominous.” Oliver murmured under his breath.

Maria jabbed him with her elbow though her gaze never left the Stranger’s golden eyes.

“We should go.” Oliver offered helpfully “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Maria beamed cheerfully “No worries, I was feeling a bit tired myself. Good night good sir.”

“Bye.”

“Good night miss” the Stranger tilted his head “Bard.”

Maria hurriedly dragged Oliver away.

“Thanks for the save.” Oliver said gratefully.

Maria blew a strain of hair from her face “You’re welcome.”

“Not mad about using you as a distraction?”

“Normally I would be” Maria admitted “But that little stunt you pull got the harpies off my back for the rest of night.”

Oliver chuckled “Basking in the admiration of their adoring fans?”

“You have no idea.” she replied wearily “I’m just happy for a moment of peace. So thank you for that.”

“You are welcome then.”

The two made their way outside and straight into quite the scene: a massive cheering crowd formed around a handful of people. Most of the combatants were faced down, sprawled across the cobbled streets though Oliver spotted two familiar faces standing tall and victorious over their fallen foes.

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?” Terri screamed into the roaring masses, arms flexed. Tyrell looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

Oliver spotted Lea among the thundering crowd, his eyes alive with excitement and joy.

Terri caught Oliver’s eye and gave a proud smile. Oliver offered a subtle thumbs up as Maria led him away from the bank.

“I take it you can’t go far.” Maria stated simply.

“No” Oliver spoke honestly “I’m afraid my business is not yet concluded.”

“Is it alright if I stay with you for now?”

Oliver bit his lip nervously “Sure. Of course. I have a moment. Not curious about what I was up to?”

Maria gave a cheeky smirk “Naturally but I have a feeling secrecy is important here. Better to not ask than force you to lie to me."

“Thank you. I don’t like lying to you.”

The two stood side by side, arms intertwined together in a quiet comfortable near silence.

Maria smiled softly “You know my father used to warn me about my sentimentality for people. About they would use it against me.”

“People like me?”

She smirked mischievously as she puffed out her chest, speaking in a mocking tone “There will come poet whose weapon is his word. He will slay you with his tongue.”

Oliver snorted loudly, trying to hide his flushing skin “Oh lei oh lai oh lord?”

“Oh quiet you.” Maria scolded with a chuckle “Surprise you didn’t take the set up.”

“Too easy.”

“Should I be offend?”

“I mean those are pretty good lyrics” Oliver replied, hand high in surrender “Surprised they came out of your father’s bitter lips.”

“I suppose everyone has their moments. However rare.”

“I suppose so.”

Maria’s hazel eyes met Oliver’s brown, curious yet expecting “Do you remember what you said to me two months ago? At the last competition?”

“Umm…” Oliver scratched his chin thoughtfully “I say a lot of things. You need to be specific.”

“That my voice was utterly angelic?”

“Ah, I didn’t think you actually heard me.” Oliver’s cheeks blushed a bright red.

Maria giggled sweetly “Did you mean it? What you said inside?”

“Yes” Oliver answered without hesitation “You don’t need them. You would be amazing by yourself.”

Maria’s smile was sad. She sighed tiredly as she threw a glance towards the bank “My father won’t let me but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Oliver nodded in confirmation.

“I feel like I am a disappointment. A puppet controlled by a father who craves nothing but influence and status.”

“You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

Oliver shifted uneasily.

“That’s what I thought bard. Nice try though.”

Oliver caught sight of Flora and Sel making their way outside, signaling the others the mission was complete. Terri and Tyrell broke free from the fight circle and began making their way towards the rendezvous point.

Maria slipped her arm out of his “It is time I suppose.”

“Enjoy your night off.” Oliver took her hand in his own and softly kissed it. Maria flushed a pink hue but still curtsy in response.

Oliver turned to face her, his eyes gentle and understanding “You aren’t a disappointment.”

Maria rolled her eyes “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Oliver firmly stated.

Maria’s eyes stared quizzically into his “Certain, are you?”

Oliver cleared his throat “You aren’t a disappointment to me.”

“That’s sweet but I’m afraid I barely know you. Besides you’ve been a thorn in my father’s plans consistently. Technically, I shouldn’t be talking to you let alone assisting.”

Oliver gave an impish grin “Yet you are.”

“You are far too charming for your own good.” Maria frowned mockingly

“Nothing compared to you.”

“Sweet words are nothing without meaning beyond them bard.”

Oliver took a deep calming breath, struggling to get the words out before he lost his nerve “The boy who used to climb your fence still loves you.”

Maria’s eyes widen with confusion before realization dawned upon her hazel eyes “How did you…?”

but Oliver ran, bravery failing. He disappeared into the crowded streets without another word. He ducked and weaved through the people in case Maria decided to chase him though he doubt she would. Perhaps those words didn’t have the same weight as they once did. Oliver really did not want to stick around to find out. He shouldn’t have said anything but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

-----

It hadn’t taken long for Oliver to meet up with the rest of the crew. Everyone managed to gather in a nearby alley, their chatter excited and cheerful.

“Boss man!” Terri boomed, arms opened wide “WE DID IT! See the pile? Do I get results or do I get results?”

Oliver gave a weak chuckle “Yes you do. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“Damn straight.” Terri flexed unnecessarily once more. Flora gave a playful wink towards her girlfriend which turned Terri a lovely bright pink.

Tyrell looked haggard and sick “I never want to do that again. Ever.”

“You did amazingly Ty! You can be First Chair in no time if you keep this up!” Terri patted his back approvingly, Tyrell nearly went sprawling to the floor below.

Oliver gave a sharp whistle, grabbing the attention of everyone “We did great team and it was an honor to work with you. If you require my assistance, I’ll be in town for a few days at the Right Hook. Ask for Ollie.”

Terri slipped her hand into Flora’s “We won’t be in town much longer. We have business up north but we wish you well! Permission to leave?”

“Granted.” Oliver waved them off “No making out until you leave our sights.”

It was impossible to know who was a redder shade: Terri or Flora.

The pair bowed respectfully before taking their leave, Flora’s head resting lovingly on Terri’s shoulder. Oliver couldn’t help chuckle at Terri’s proud “And you didn’t poison anyone! Great work sweetheart!”

Oliver turned to the remaining two “Sel, destroy the paper and report back to the local Conductor. If there’s any more trouble come get me.”

Sel gave a single nod before disappearing into the crowded streets without another word.

“And me?” Tyrell whispered anxiously “What about me?”

“You.” Oliver stretched his neck, trying to relive the tension of the night “You’re gonna tell me how to get into the Clifftop Distract.”

“E-excuse me?”

Oliver waved his question off “Don’t even. I know you’re a noble born. Your clothes are way too nice to be a simple baker or blacksmith’s son. And barely frayed means you ran away from home recently.”

Tyrell glanced away, fidgeting nervously “You noticed?”

Oliver nodded.

“And you don’t care?”

“Not in the least” Oliver admitted honestly “You got into the Choir. That means you’re good in my book.”

“Thank you.” Tyrell smiled softly “I appreciate it. May I ask why you need to get into the Clifftop Distract?”

Oliver scratched the back of his neck sheepishly “Someone I know has business up there. Figured I might as well ask you to make our lives easier.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m really not.” Oliver murmured quietly, unable to stare Tyrell in the eyes.

Tyrell shook his head is disagreement but didn’t press further “Every month they change the password. This month’s is Knightly Valor.”

“Knightly Valor, thank you.”

“No, thank you for not telling the others. May I go now?”

Oliver ruffled Tyrell’s hair playfully “Go on scamp.”

Tyrell bowed and with a skip in his step, made his way out of the alleyway.

Oliver stood there alone for a moment before turning towards the shadows.

“You gonna keep follow me or we’re finally going to talk?”

The figure did not break the silence of the night as they stepped out seemingly from darkness itself.

“You knew I was following you? Impressive given not many can sense my presence” the cloaked figured spoke. unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“Mhm.” Oliver grunted “Ever since West End. You were in the bar the night Abigail and I hired Archie. I heard you moving about when we camped for the night, just down the tunnel out of sight. I assume you lost us when we went down the side tunnels and decided to stake out West Haven for us to pass through. You’ve been tailing me all night since I left the Right Hook.

The figure said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Oliver sighed tiredly “Alright, we gonna have a problem? I've had a long night and I've been threaten one times too many today.”

“No problem.” The figure muttered.

Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously “Then why show yourself?”

“You need to know my presence.”

Oliver sighed “You are being very cryptic.”

“Now you know how everyone else feels.”

Oliver smirked mockingly, unable to hide the sarcasm from his voice “Thanks, I hate it!”

“Be careful bard.” the figured glanced about, worried “Something is coming.”

“Nice and vague, thanks for the tip ninja.”

The figure shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.

“Fine, go on then if you're not gonna be any more helpful.” Oliver shook his head before closing his eyes. When he opened them, the figure was gone, upped and vanished into nothingness.

Oliver ran his hand through hair tiredly as he began making his way back to the Right Hook.

“And I still have to climb two stories. Fucking hell, what a night.”

[blissfulparker]

Seasick→P.P pt.2

Parings→ peter Parker x reader

Warnings→slowburn, fake dating, fluff

Summary→when you lie to your mom about having a boyfriend before vactation peter steps in to help. But being in a fake relationship isnt as easy as you thought. especially not easy when you two have feelings for one another. 

A/n→ here is part two of seasick! @spectacularlyspidey made me this lovely moodboard, I love Ren 🥰 I hope you guys enjoy it and I’m going to try and post it more often if that is what you guys want💗

Toothbrush, Peter, you need your toothbrush.” May helps him pack. She seemed more excited than peter. Peter placed his clothes into bens old suitcase as if it was a chore. Hes scared, beyond scared. What if your family hates him, what if they think hes less of what they expected, what if they catch on? All the ideas and scenarios ran through his head.

“May, i've got it. I'm 19 not 14.” he reminded her and she pouted. She knew the whole plane, he had nothing to hide from her Anyways.

“You know that you can still say no.” she comes over to run a hand through Peter's hair. She knew when Peter had a crush, she always did. Although normally he'd get scared of going on a field trip with one or a study date, never a summer vacation.

“She needs me to do this. I told her i would and were setting boundaries on the plane so when we get there its not weird.” he told her and she hummed.

“I know you really like her, like more than a friend. I have a tingle too.” she teases and peter scrunches his face. “But think this can be a start, you maybe could start something here.” she kisses his forehead before leaving him in his rom to finish packing. He looks over at his phone to see the time, he sees how you’ll be at his house soon and picking him up for the airport. The airport where you'd meet your family in Florida where you’d go out to sea.

He shuts the suitcase and listens to the sound of it zipping up before flopping on his bed letting the time run out.

-

8 hours, it was an 8 hour flight filled with anxiety and fear. You had both agreed on a list. A list of things to do around your family

-forehead kisses are allowed(kisses on the lips not necessary unless needed)

-holding hands as often as we can

-snuggling up to one another

-going places together like the pool or restaurant

-pet names

-make up stories about each other

-hands always on one another

That was about it. That's all you two had to do and you'd keep it up for a week. Then when the two of you get home things go back to normal. Normal. That word hurt peters ears. Normal meant there were no real feelings and he'd have to let go of you.

“I-i can hold your bags.” he offered as you two got off the plane. He wore his Columbia hoodie with sweats, probably not the best option for landing in Florida but he was so nervous.

You give him a warm smile and nod. You were nervous too, for almost all the same reasons as peter. You wished you could have just taken ned, ned or another friend who was just seen as your friend. Someone you didn't have to think so much about kissing. Someone you didn't have to think about pretending to hold. Someone you didn't have to worry catching feelings for.

“Wait,” you stop him and he looks at you with soft eyes. “My mom is really....touchy. She loves hugging and she might kiss your cheek. It’s nothing to intentionally make you uncomfortable but i'm really sorry in advance.” you warn him.

He nods as from a distance your mom shouts your name. She's wearing a sundress and sandals, ready for a vacation. Your dad is next to her smiling ready to hug you, now he knew it was real. All of it was now real. If your mom and dad intimidated him he was scared to see the rest of your family.

“Oh sweetheart i've missed you so much, ugh New York is such a small yet big state. We wished college did hog you so much.” she kisses your cheeks.

“Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend...Peter, the one I've been telling you about.” you hold his arm and he's already smiling and going in to shake hands. Your mom takes him for a hug and gets pink lipgloss on his cheek.

He sees how much you look like her, the hair, the eyes, the smile that's so contagious, but the personalities are completely different. She was bubbly and happy all over the place while you, you were a little more reserved and only showed the good side to your friends. Save the best parts of you for the best people.

“Ugh i was starting to think she'd never get one, especially not one so handsome and smart.” she holds his arms giving them a squeeze. “Wow he works out too you can really tell.” You quickly take him back before he gets uncomfortable.

“Mom…” you warn and she scoffs.

“Sweetheart, you know I'm teasing. Your sisters are already boarded and waiting so we can leave when you two are ready.” sisters. You never told him about sisters. He didn't even know you had any siblings. He thought you were always an only child. You never talked about any siblings or really family except your mom and dad and occasionally your aunt.

But he can tell by your facial expressions that you were already dreading it more than him, dredging sisters but he didn't know why. He wasn't going to push it either. By the shift in your body he knew it was best to just question when you two were alone.

He willingly followed your family into a cab where you four set off for a week of one of the hardest masks he had to put on, the mask of pretending to love you when he really did but could never tell you.

-

Never being on a cruise ship before he had no idea what to expect. His bare knowledge being the titanic—which did not help his fear of the ocean—even for the smartest kid, normally, he didn’t know much about boats. He never even considered himself to be on one, until last summer he never even thought he’d be in Europe for his senior year of highschool. That’s how he had to think of this, Europe. Semi-relaxing, regular peter, Europe. This was a once and a lifetime opportunity for him to be on a cruise with no Spider-Man activity, No stress, nothing but the sun on his skin.

“So we eat dinner at 7pm, you kids can get all settled in...maybe find yourself at the spa or the pool. Don’t be shy to order room service, ugh the boy is handsome but skinny.” Your mom comments once again. You give her eyes and a groan as you follow her down the hall to your room. “Oh please, you eat too, you're starting to lose your color.” She picks up your arm and you take it back.

He didn’t think the teasing was that bad, sure the appearance comments were too soon but he thought it was all a part of her bubbly personality. May teases all of them to eat when they’re over. May has teased all of them but always in a nice way.

When Peter dated Gwen—his ex girlfriend—last year she was the same. Always telling Peter about his appearance but he never really cared what she had to say. He just really needed someone at the time to move on from you.

“Here is your room, you kids have fun.” She hands you the card and kisses your cheek. “Wear the sundress your sister picked out, don’t be late.” She warned and walked down the hall. Only a few hours in and you wished you would’ve made some crap excuse about having a late final or actually telling the truth.

You two enter the room and Peter is shocked. It’s a gorgeous beach themed room. If he were a child he would already be jumping on the bed and touching everything. You seem to just drop your bags on the floor and immediately go to the bathroom. He leaves you be, taking in the beauty of the room, the California king bed, the wall hung T.V. The view of the ocean that made him slightly nervous but he didn’t mind. There was a dress on the bed, the sundress your mom wanted you to wear.

“Oh fuck.” You rub your face seeing that there’s the one bed. You thought maybe she’d at least use some sense and get two beds, that or a two roomed hotel. “I’m sorry pete, I thought she would maybe get us two rooms or—“

Another thing he seemed to notice was how money didn’t seem to be an issue for your family yet you never seemed to come off as well off. You lived in a small apartment like peter, your clothes were mostly thrifted or old, you ate ramen about three times a week and if it wasn’t that it was cheap pizza. Just like the rest of the group. You never came off as rich, it shocked him to even hear about a cruise, it shocked him even more that you could just say about how they could’ve gotten two rooms on a ship.

“It’s a California king,” he gestures. “We’ll fit without touching each other.” He calms you with a soft smile seeing how stressed you were.

“You’re not too scared of ships are you?” You ask him remembering how he said something about being afraid of the water.

“Well...Uh...no but yes, it makes me nervous but—“ your hand places itself over peters for comfort and he freezes up. You notice and quickly take your hand away.

“It won’t feel like anything trust me, you don’t feel the ship rock or anything. It’s not the titanic.” You reminded him as you picked up your phone and looked at the time. You two had plenty of time to get yourself ready.

“So….” he clasp his hands together and you look over to him. “For dinner how should I act?” He questions. You’re getting comfortable in the bed already while he’s still scared to touch it.

“Just be Peter, um...maybe a hand around my shoulder at one point or hand holding? Just like our list said. Really sell it. They’re gonna ask a lot of questions of how we met and stuff like that but I can do all of them if you want.” You tell him and he nods.

“Right,” he responded thinking the best thing to do was just be peter, the peter you knew, not the peter who was totally in love with you. “Just be peter.”

And that’s all he had to do.

Permanent Taglist: @hoodiesparker @dahliaspidey​ @parkersvibes​ @itssss-a-bean @ppkrtingle @myfinalwords​ @bocaul @tinyplanet-explorers​ @sincerlyfan @softbaby-tom​ @awesomeblackcottontail​ @rosebeegraham @stormyholland​ @unicorn-princess-1999​ @spideyyypeter​ @marshyrebelcloud​ @oh-epiphany @yeahimcrying @highlydisfunctional1​ @disgustangg @pterstingle @quacksonhq @starlightparker @reblogsfics​ @tomsrebeleyebrow​ @dreamyyholland​ @imaginashawnns @imaginashawnns​@alilpunkrock​ @kthemarsian​@peterspideysenses​ @lovely-valllll​ @lowkey-holland​ @hannaholland1811 @kthemarsian @maryjane23

[bloodfromthethorn]

The past is never dead. It’s not even past

Bozer and Riley knew, logically, that Mac and Jack would share some bad memories. They weren't expecting to stumble across one while they were busy planning some R&R over the Pacific Ocean.

Also on AO3 ->

..

Bozer was still getting used to the idea of going on actual, honest-to-god missions for a US government covert agency, but even he had to admit, this one sounded pretty simple. Mac and Jack apparently had some sort of aversion to the word - the instant Riley had said it earlier, the pair of them had looked a heartbeat away from running for the hills - but all of them had had to agree that being tasked to fly to the other side of the world and sit around surveilling a suspected dead drop was about as plain sailing as it was ever going to get. They didn’t even have to confront anyone who approached said dead drop, just record and report it. 

The result was, unsurprisingly, Riley and Bozer planning what they were going to do with the ample free time they were sure to have. Jack had initially made some attempt at reining them in, reminding them that as easy as it may seem, they were going there to do some actual work, but he’d given up some time ago and now seemed content to listen to them plotting in peace. Amused, Mac had just watched the whole conversation play out without a word. 

It wasn’t until Bozer and Riley had spent a solid ten minutes arguing about the possible pros and cons of a natural mud spa that the blonde figured it was time to intervene. “You two know that at most Matty’s going to give us a few hours of R&R before she calls us home. All of this planning is going to go to waste.”

“If that,” Jack put in with only a touch of sullenness. “Remember that time in Trinidad? We didn’t even get a full ten minutes before we had to be back on the plane.”

Mac wrinkled his nose at the memory. His recollection was foggy given that they had more or less crawled back to the landing strip and then passed out the instant they were off the ground, but then, that was really the point Jack was making. “Right? Just saying you shouldn’t get your hopes too high.”

Bozer scowled at them both. “You two have absolutely no faith. I have no idea why Matty thinks all four of us should be on this mission but I for one fully intend to make the most of it. If you want to sit back and be negative, that’s on you.” He let that indictment hang in the air for a minute, then bumped his shoulder against Mac’s. “'Sides, you’re supposed to be helping! You must know all the best sights, right?”

Unexpectedly, that earned him a confused frown. “Should I? Why? I’ve never even been to Fiji.”

Across from them, sprawled out carelessly against his seat, Jack suddenly went rigid. The change was sharp enough that all three of them picked up on it even though the man hadn’t actually moved, staying exactly where he was like a bug under a microscope. Bozer cast a quick glance at Riley but she looked every bit as lost as he did.

Fortunately, Mac was apparently more clued in. “When was I in Fiji, Jack?” He asked quietly, his voice very gentle. 

For a very long moment there was no response. Bozer considered answering the question - he’d asked Mac about tourist attractions in the first place because he remembered Mac had holidayed in the South Pacific with Nikki three summers ago - but he’d gotten the sense that maybe this wasn’t a conversation he should involve himself with. Jack still hadn’t so much as twitched and he could feel Mac tensing up beside him. 

Eventually, Jack answered with a heavy sigh. “July 2015.”

A short pause. “Ah,” Mac said quietly, his eyes darting to an unremarkable spot on the floor for a second before jumping back to Jack. 

The pair of them fell silent, Jack glaring sharply at the ceiling of the plane cabin while Mac watched him steadily. Evidently something significant had just happened, and Bozer had a sneaking suspicion he was at fault for whatever it was, but he didn’t think he could just leave it there. Apparently, neither could Riley. “What happened in July 2015?”

Predictably there was no response, so Bozer offered her the little that he knew. “Mac went on a ‘work trip’,” he said with quotation marks. “I thought he was in Cleveland. Then just when he was due to come home, Nikki called me. Said they were taking a last minute vacation to Fiji and I shouldn’t expect them back for another two weeks. Ended up being gone most of a month.”

At the time, it hadn’t been that weird. Logically he understood that it might sound strange to most people, but Mac had always been a somewhat inconsistent presence in Bozer’s life, even when they were kids. It was just the way he worked: Mac would go where his brain took him and he wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved whatever it was he was hoping to do. In hindsight, that long standing pattern of behaviour must have been a godsend when Mac had joined DXS and Bozer had become part of his cover.

But that was then. Now, he knew the truth of those strangely frequent, unpredictable work trips - except in all the ways that he didn’t. “I take it you weren’t in Fiji,” he asked slowly. 

Mac didn’t look away from where Jack was still frozen. “No.”

“Where were you?”

He hummed. “Not entirely sure, to be honest. I think I wound up somewhere in the Ural mountains.”

Bozer tried to work out the most delicate way of asking further and found none. The deadened tone of Mac’s voice would have made it very clear it wasn’t a happy memory even if the fact that he apparently hadn’t known where he was hadn’t given it away, and his eyes hadn’t drifted from where Jack was looking more and more strained. 

As Bozer floundered, Riley pressed on. “A mission gone bad?”

“In the worst way,” Mac agreed, then seemed to come awake from some reverie. He blinked, and finally looked away from his partner to take the two of them in. Whatever it was he saw on their faces, he visibly made an effort to make himself smile and relax, shaking off the grim set of his shoulders like an unwanted coat. “We were in Minsk, tasked with surveillance on a human trafficker. Turned out that he was more well-connected than we thought, and some of his friends ended up grabbing me out of our hotel room.” His voice faltered ever so slightly and he bit off whatever he was about to say next. 

Bozer did some quick maths and came up feeling ill. “You were gone for a month.”

“I wasn’t with them the whole time,” Mac hurried to reassure, immediately seeing what Boze was getting at. “Jack caught up with me after about ten days.”

“It was too fucking long,” Jack murmured, the first thing he’d said in over a minute. He still hadn’t moved, but he was wearing one of the darkest expressions Bozer had ever seen on his face. “Should have got there sooner. Should never have let them take you in the first place.”

“It wasn’t your fault Jack,” Mac said with the air of someone who had already said it a thousand times, but was willing to repeat it for as long as necessary. “You were on the other side of the city when they found us. We didn’t even know that they knew we were there.” He glanced back at Bozer to explain, “Someone at the CIA leaked information. The target wasn’t supposed to have any idea there were agents in the city, but somehow his guys knew exactly what hotel room to hit. We didn’t get any warning.”

“I knew something was bogus,” Jack said, more to himself than anything. “I said it felt off, and then I fucked off and left you in that hotel on your own.”

“Instinct isn’t everything. We had no reason to suspect the hotel wasn’t safe.”

Jack shook his head sharply and said nothing more. Mac sighed, but didn’t press. 

Thoroughly thrown for a loop and feeling more than a little bit guilty for inadvertently touching on what was so obviously a sore point, Bozer cast a wild-eyed look at Riley. She looked little better than he felt, pale in the harsh white of the plane’s overhead lighting. They’d both known that, in theory, Mac and Jack both had years of service behind them and that those years were likely to be host to any number of bad memories, but to have the knowledge of that so suddenly and specifically confirmed was a lot to take in.

“If you were- there for ten days,” Boze started slowly, half-knowing the answer and needing to hear it anyway, “Why were you gone for so long?”

Mac glanced back down at the floor, looking distinctly uncomfortable before he settled himself. “I was in medical for a bit. Once I could shake the oxygen mask, I moved into Jack’s apartment for a few weeks. I would have been good to come home but there was- bruising.” He fumbled over the last word, waving a distracted hand at his face as though that explained anything. 

For the first time since they’d broached the topic, Jack moved. He jerked to his feet with a strange lurching step, as though he hadn’t expected to do it himself, then marched towards the back of the plane, shaking his head as he went. Bozer caught the tail end of some dark mutters, but he couldn’t make anything out past the stormcloud of Jack’s expression. Startled, Riley shifted forwards to go after him, but Mac just waved her down, watching Jack’s retreating back with a careful eye before turning back to the two of them. 

“He’s okay,” he said, as though that was in any way believable. “It’s not a great memory, for either of us. Despite what it sounds like, he got the worse end of the deal.”

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “You were in captivity for ten days and he had the hard time?”

“I knew he would come after me. He didn’t know what he would find when he got there,” Mac said with a shrug. He’d said it flippantly, like it was some great truth of the universe that was just the Way Things Were. Maybe to him, it was. “Sure, physically I was a mess, but that stuff heals. If I had the choice again, I wouldn’t have switched places with him for anything.”

Bozer was shaking his head slowly, trying to remember details he had brushed off as unimportant years ago. “I remember you coming home. There were bandages on your arm.” A pause, then, accusingly, “You said you got got by a jellyfish.”

Looking down, Mac tugged self-consciously at the cuff of his rolled-up left sleeve, only managing to draw attention to what he was trying to keep hidden. They were faint - so faint as to be almost invisible against his already pale skin - but for the first time Bozer was able to make out a fine tracery of scars marring the skin of his forearm like a spider’s web, twisting all the way from his wrist to beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Jesus, Mac,” Riley breathed. 

“Electrical burns,” he offered as the explanation they wouldn’t have asked for. Catching their thunderstruck looks, he shifted his expression to what he probably imagined was reassuring. “It looks worse than it was, mostly; being shocked hurts like hell but there’s no real permanent damage to worry about. Honestly, most of it was superficial stuff, scarcely a mark left on me. The only reason I was in medical for as long as I was was because they had to drain my lungs and get me on antibiotics in case of infection. Could have been home within a day otherwise.”

Bozer wasn’t entirely sure what it was about Mac that made him think that explanation would do anything at all to allay their concerns, but he didn’t care for it at all. Worse than any of that though was the dawning realisation in the back of his mind that had been growing steadily ever since Mac mentioned moving into Jack’s place. “Except you couldn’t have come home,” he said quietly, needing to hear it for himself. “Because I was there.”

Mac shuffled in his seat, but held his gaze. “A couple of bruises could probably have been explained away, but I was… kind of a mess. Even if you could have believed I got hit by a car or something, all it would have taken was a few screaming nightmares to give me away. No way it wouldn’t have blown my cover.”

He sounded apologetic even as he said it, bracing himself as though he was expecting Bozer to lash out at him for something that had already been long forgiven. Sure, lying to him for years had been a shitty thing to do, but Boze understood why he had done it now, and he knew that Mac had only ever been trying to keep him safe. It might have been the wrong choice, but it was done for all the right reasons. 

“Mac,” he started, uncertain and wounded and so, so guilty, “Mac, you should have been at home. After whatever it was you went though, you should have been able to recover in your own house.”

Mac blinked at him in clear surprise. Did he really not understand? Boze tried again. “I’m guessing that Jack wasn’t the only one dealing with some shit when you got back to LA and I’m not even going to pretend I can imagine what that was like. You should have been able to come home, come back to the place where you felt safe and cared for and-” He sucked in a hard breath. “And you couldn’t, because of me. I chased you out of your own house when you’d been tortured.”

The blonde was already shaking his head, looking stricken. “That wasn’t on you. Boze, that was never on you.” He finally stopped worrying at his sleeve to grip Bozer’s shoulder, tight and grounding. “I was the one who kept the truth from you. I lied to you, for years, and that’s all on me. I know that if you’d known what had happened you would have been there for me and you only weren’t because I didn’t let you.”

He wasn’t wrong and Bozer knew it, but he wasn’t exactly right either. “I get that. But you do know that you shouldn’t have had to make that choice, right? You should have been able to come home Mac.”

Riley was glancing between the two of them looking utterly lost, and Mac was starting to look not much better, so Boze took a slow breath and tried his best to let it go. He had spent years of his life trying to convince Mac that he should rank his own well-being at least somewhere on his list of priorities, and this was really just another piece of that endless puzzle. There would be time to fight that battle later. “I’m just glad you’re okay man. No lasting damage?”

Thankful for the lifeline being offered, Mac dropped his hand away from Bozer’s shoulder and shrugged lightly. “A few scars, but nothing else. Like I said, I had a surprisingly easy time of it in comparison to Jack.” His eyes darted over to where his partner had hunkered down as far from them as he could get. “And speaking of, give me a minute.”

He was on his feet and gone before either of them could even think about trying to stop him, not that they would have done. Bozer had the sense that this was a conversation they had had before, and he knew that Mac would have it handled. If there was anyone who could convince Jack that he hadn’t somehow apocalyptically failed the man he had dedicated his own life to protecting, it would be the man himself. 

“How many stories do you think they have?” Riley asked quietly, soft enough that the others wouldn’t hear her. “All the years they’ve been doing this… How much is there that we don’t know about?”

Bozer thought about the scars on Mac’s arm that he’d never really seen before, about the number of unannounced work trips he had gone on after he came back from Afghanistan. Thought about the number of times he had heard him moving around the house late at night after a nightmare, or worse, the times he’d woken up crying out in panic. He’d known for years that Jack had a protective streak a mile wide and he’d centered it firmly on Mac; before he’d known about the Phoenix, Bozer had always wondered if the man was going overboard. Now, he knew with certainty that he wasn’t. 

When he met her gaze, there were tears in Riley’s eyes. “Too much.”

[enderbot-magic]

Welp I have gotten a general “yes post the brawl stars fanfic” so here it is. Forgive me for the gaps I am on mobile.

Description, I guess: A criminal wakes up in a very, very unfamiliar place. He’s not sure of many things, he doesn’t know many things, but he feels like he shouldn’t be caught. And that he should stay awake.

Warnings for touching on unreality.

Colt panted, holding the bag as close to himself as he could, as if he could drop it at my second. He didn’t know why, but he was sure he was going to be caught. Or maybe this was just his paranoia? They hadn’t seen him yet, which was probably good – he was still on foot and trying not to look suspiciously like some run down vagrant.

A red jumper, a mask, gloves, boots. It looked like he was dressed in a costume, which made sense considering all of that stuff was in there too. Money sticking out of the bag, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t cram it in so nobody would see. His hand was hurting from gripping so tight, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, making sure they wouldn’t catch him when he ran.

He heard footsteps behind him then, but ignored them for now and kept running. If these guys were the police or something, he should just try to get away as fast as possible. Maybe he could lose them and then find shelter somewhere. Where could he go though? He didn’t want to get caught, something inside of him screamed that would be the worst case scenario right now and he didn’t even know what he was doing here! But… but he was here, wasn’t he? And he had to have done it somehow right? He wasn’t sure how he got here or even when, but if he thought about that too hard, it felt like he might throw up or pass out again.

Again. He had done something like this before, right? But he didn’t-

He rounded another bend – his head was spinning again – his vision blurring. The only thing in front of him was a wall. It was too far away. He could almost feel his fingers touching the bricks, himself attempting to scale the wall to no avail. It wasn’t enough.

He turned around and threw himself flat against the wall, putting his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes closed and hoping he would wake up back in his room, safe under his blankets with an alarm waking him up any second now. Anything to keep from getting sick.

“If you are experiencing awakenings, don’t.” A speaker he didn’t notice was there crackled suddenly. “The experience is not pleasurable, but if your body rejects the awakening or has other physiological effects it is not worth pursuing. You will be forced back into the waking world eventually. Until then, stay put and rest until we are able to contact you.”

“What?”

There was a click and silence followed. A chill ran through him as he realized that voice sounded familiar. Was that what he said? Who was he talking to? Why did he sound familiar? What had happened?

His mind raced, trying desperately to remember anything – anything! - that might give him clues on what to do next.

“What are awakenings-“ He mumbled to himself, holding the bag closer. This felt real, more solid than anything else he knew, even if it wasn’t much. “Is this an awakening-“

“Do you find yourself questioning your station in life? Having flashes of another plane of existence? Experiencing occasional bouts of sudden realness?” The speaker spoke again, whining slightly as a new voice rung out. “If you’re suffering from these things or more, you may be experiencing a rare but serious condition called ‘Awakenings’.”

Colt opened one eye. Wait, did the speakers say ‘awakenings’? That didn’t make any sense… did it? There wasn’t much time to think about that though. He needed to move. Now. He scrambled away from the wall.

“These temporal existential interferences disrupt your permitted activities, and threaten your permanence. But now there’s help.” The voice sounded like it was from a commercial, advertising a medicine. He saw those - he heard those - before, but when? “Introducing: Please Stop. Please Stop is the only hourly pill perfectly engineered to quell awakenings. Just one pill an hour keeps all these disruptions where they belong; elsewhere. Awaken no more with Please Stop. Please, just Stop.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? How was it supposed to be helping him, help anyone? Colt groaned, putting a hand to his head – his whole body ached and throbbed. He didn’t know what to do. Where to go. How to get away.

“Ask your doctor today if Please Stop is right for you.” Colt could swear he could hear a smile in the speaker’s voice. “We already know; they’ll say yes.”

Then the speaker hung up and was silent again.

Colt took a deep breath, letting it slowly out. He had gotten out okay, that was true. For now. As long as he hid and stayed put, everything would be fine.

But, what about his mom? Was she okay? Had she woken up yet? Wait, mom, why was he concerned about her? He didn’t even remember her, at least not to his knowledge. But he knew he was concerned about her.

“I want…” He clung to the bag, trying to take deep breaths. “…my mom.”

God, he sounded pathetic. A grown man wanting his mom, like some kid. Like he was scared.

Okay. No. He wasn’t afraid. He was terrified. But he wasn’t going to let that show. So he took another breath and tried again to calm his racing heart. Calm his breathing. Calm the tremors wracking his small frame and shaking his arms from their hold on the bag. Calm his racing thoughts. Calm himself. He took another deep breath and tried to breathe calmly again. Okay. Okay.

He was just going to get out, that was all. Get out of… whatever this place was. He didn’t know. But he was going to leave, so he wasn’t going to stay here longer than necessary, no matter how scared he was.

So, so scared.

He pulled the bag towards himself, wrapping it tightly around his chest. The material muffling his own sounds to some degree but not entirely, especially since it kept him warm. Was the park always this cold, or was it just him?

The park.

He was in a park. A park with alleys, buildings, sidewalks… He tried to think of a park like that. Maybe that would give him a clue of how to get out of here. Maybe. He couldn’t think of a park like that though, parks had grass and trees and maybe a playground. Sidewalks, maybe a few buildings, but nothing like a city or a town.

…unless that was the playground.

Theme park. He was in a theme park. With rides and food and games, and… people. People who talked and acted funny and wore weird clothes, people who played pretend. And kids and families and dogs and… he could be someone like that. He didn’t know who he could be though. A character?

A character.

…was Colt even his name? He hadn’t put much thought in it before, but part of him responded to the name even though it felt… off. Like he was conditioned to it, not like he grew up with it. Like it wasn’t his name by birth but rather something that belonged to a character. Something made up. It didn’t fit him at all, but, what was his name?

His head hurt. It was pounding. Everything felt so strange, so unreal – but it all seemed so real at the same time. It was all so wrong, but how? How could he explain it? There didn’t seem to be a single way he could describe how he could feel this way.

“Colt’s not real.” He spoke to himself, trying to ground himself, trying to focus only on what mattered – that was easy enough – to understand. His name didn’t fit him – it was his character. There was no point dwelling on it. “He’s not.”

It wasn’t his name though and it definitely wouldn’t be using it, even if he didn’t remember any other. It probably didn’t matter. What mattered as that Colt, whoever or whatever he was, wasn’t real.

“I’m real. I’m awake.” He could hear his own voice. Could hear the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m in an alley in a theme park, holding a bag.”

He was in a park – not like one in a town, but somewhere new. Not sure exactly where but somewhere. He wasn’t sure how he got here. But he was. He really was. Whether he liked it or not, it was real.

“I’m not Colt, I’m in an alleyway in a theme park, and I’m holding a bag.” He eased slightly, opening his eyes. “I’m wearing a red jumpsuit and - and a mask?”

He moved the hand on his head, feeling a cheaply made mask, and pulling it off. He flipped it around - a cutout of a man with red hair and a scar on his chin - he felt like he should recognize him. It seemed familiar. Like something important…

But he still wasn’t sure. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t right.

That connected the mask to him though, in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something he couldn’t see. But he couldn’t shake off a creeping fear.

“I’m holding a bag,” He said, finally deciding on saying it, “And a mask.”

Okay. He felt better now. He felt more awake now, even if tired. A little bit less alone, and a little bit less confused. Still, the fear remained.

How did he end up in this situation?

[fkingsteverogers]

Tell Me We’ll Be Just Fine

A/N: A couple points: 1) I made a new blog for these writings to make them easier to find 2) I have a tag list! lmk if you want to be added to it 3) For my non US babes and others, your third amendment rights say you can’t be forced to house soldiers. Long Story Short 

Contains TFATWS Episode 5 spoilers

                                                        ****

With John Walker being Honorably Discharged after an International Incident, you’re stuck under house arrest.  (The United States Government would tell you house arrest is too strong of a word, it’s simply Strongly Advised you stay in your apartment.) You want to scream from the rooftops that you had nothing to do with him, that it was all an act, but you’re being Strongly Advised, so that’s not an option. You hope, wherever he is, Bucky is having a better time than you are. 

Five Days; Eastern Europe:

Bucky is not having a good time. They’re in a country where everyone wants them dead, holed up in a shitty motel and all he can think of is the absolutely devastated look on your face when he walked out the door. It makes him brood. 

“You have to talk about her sometime.” 

“Who?” 

“Whoever makes you frown like that.” 

“‘M not frowning. What do you know about it anyway? You’re single.” So maybe he was being an ass about it. You were so far away, probably cuddled up with John or Steve, and he was here, sitting in a motel room with Sam. John Walker was probably feeling you up right now, running his hand over those beautiful thighs of yours as you kissed him, making soft little noises--he clenches his fist so hard he breaks the bowl he’d been holding, splattering rice and beans all over the floor cracked tile floor. 

“Yo, man, what the fuck?!” 

Day One; New York City: 

Steve’s allowed to visit, because of course he is. He flashes some badge and the guards (who are Strongly Advising you), stand down. “Why are you here, Stevie?” And you hate that you still call him Stevie. Stevie is what you called him on the quiet nights when you two were alone and he was still yours. Steve gives you his sad smile and you want to fall into his arms, to sob into his chest and tell him how you fucked it all up. You don’t. 

“Just go, Stevie.” 

Four Days; Eastern Europe: 

Sam goes to do some surveillance, announcing that he “couldn’t deal with this shit,” leaving Bucky alone in the shitty room they were sharing. Before he’d been deployed, he would’ve spent an afternoon alone in a hotel curled up with a pretty girl or a handsome boy. During the war, he’d spend a quiet day catching up on some sleep or rereading a well loved copy of The Hobbit. During his Hydra days (which he hated thinking about but also couldn’t stop thinking about), there really weren’t days off. There were days where he killed and days where he didn’t. Since then, he’d spent most of his days off trying to remember how to be a human. 

You had made those days feel like living again. And now you were John’s girl, dressed all pretty up for him and everything. Bucky’d been fucking stupid to think you’d want someone like him, someone damaged, someone with blood on his hands. You were good and soft and pretty. You spoke four languages and had probably read every book ever written. 

You’d been good enough for Steve. 

He breaks another bowl and has to lay down after.

Day Three; New York City: 

You glare down the solider that’s sitting in your kitchen, eating a sandwich. “This is violating my Third Amendment Rights, you know.” 

The smug bastard grins and keeps eating his sandwich. 

Two Days; Louisiana: 

“That shield’s the closest thing I’ve got left to a family, so when you retired it, I felt like I had nothing left.” 

The mission had gone down as well as any of their missions go, they’d been shot at, gotten out by the skin of their teeth. Sam left to go back home as soon as he could, Bucky followed. Where else did he have to go?

“You have her.” 

He didn’t, not really. 

“I don’t want to talk about her, Sam.” Bucky tosses the shield, scowling deeply. 

Sam sighs, catching the shield. He turned to face his friend, were they friends?, and looked him up and down. “Yeah, you do.” So maybe Bucky does want to talk about you, about how betrayed he feels by you choosing Walker over him. The government hadn’t been powerful enough to stop some gossip magazine from publishing a spread of you and Walker, you in a little red sundress that makes you look incredible and his hand on your thigh. There’s some bullshit story about how you met and had been so enamored with him you’d asked him for coffee on the spot.

 It makes Bucky physically sick with rage. 

Day Four; New York City: 

After four days of being Strongly Advised, you’re ready to start pulling out your hair. The news is nonstop coverage of what happened to John Walker, the green beret who had gone crazy and killed a man in a moment of grief induced rage. And to top it all off, People released a spread that makes you want to scream. The whole shoot hadn’t been your idea, some government publicist had insisted it was necessary to sell the story. In reality, it’d been five hours with John’s hands all over you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. During a break, he’d asked you about Steve, his tone suggesting something that was none of his business. 

“You don’t get to talk about Steve.” John had smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. It clearly annoyed him, someone thinking he wasn’t good enough for something. “What about your wife, John?” A look of surprise crosses his face but it’s gone in a moment, the mask he wears to keep people out back in place. 

“Olivia isn’t part of the deal. I thought we could be friends,” he spits the word out like it’s dirty, “but clearly you’re not interested in that, clearly you’re interested in--” 

“Be careful how you finish that sentence, John.” Your voice is low, betraying the landmine he’s almost stepped on. Given the chance, you’d stab John Walker in his pretty face. Decades in prison means nothing when the love of your life abandoned you and the man you thought you could count on ran out. (So maybe you were thinking about Bucky, it doesn’t actually matter.)

Bucky had been a solid presence in a sea of uncertainty. He’d made you feel safe and okay. After Steve’s departure and the death of Tony, the only member of your family left, solid and safety had been in short supply. He’d showed up, ate his cold beans in silence in the kitchen, and hadn’t left. He’d made you laugh in a way you hadn’t in months. You’d developed a routine, Bucky would wake up before you and boil water for tea, you’d stumble out and cook something to serve as breakfast, and you’d both go about your days. In the evenings, you’d come together, talk about the stupid shit that had happened during the day, watch a movie on Friday nights, and go to bed. It was nice to have a routine, something and someone you could depend on. 

The nights had been quiet since he left. 

Twelve Hours; New York City: 

Bucky’s plane lands and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

It’s raining when he steps out of the airport, a down pour by anyone’s standards. Fine by him, less people to avoid. He manages to make it to the little coffee shop outside your apartment without getting too soaked. Going up there wasn’t an option, not when you were probably angry with him for running out. So he sits, drinks endless cups of coffee and watches. 

“She takes it two creams, no sugar, if you want to bring it up to her.” Bucky turns and finds himself face to face with Steve. His friend looks old, but happy, at peace even. There’s so much he wants to say, he wants to ask Steve why he left, what he thought about Walker. He wants to punch him or throttle him or hug him. Bucky wants a long fucking hug. 

“I don’t think she wants to see me, punk.” Steve sits, shaking his head. 

“I didn’t think she wanted to see me, either. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her..” 

Before Bucky can reply, before he can really process what Steve is saying, he gets a text from Sam and he’s off to save the world again.

Day Five; New York City: 

Because the universe hates you, you can’t even use your phone to entertain yourself. Someone leaked your personal number and it hadn’t stopped ringing since. And, since the internet has no nuance, they’re mostly death threats. You’re reading a book when the guards who are Strongly Advising you abandon their posts. There’s something going on, something that no one bothers to inform you about. 

You go back to reading your book. Hopefully Bucky’s not being thrown through a wall. 

Thirty Minutes; New York City: 

Bucky gets thrown through a wall. 

It fucking hurts and he’s dizzy after. Like can’t-walk-straight-am-I-actually-drunk-dizzy. Sam, the useless bastard, loads him into a taxi, tells him he’ll be fine, and gives the driver your address. Bucky’s dimly aware of this fact, aware of the fact that this poor man is driving him, a bleeding super solider, to the one place he wanted to be but wasn’t welcome. 

Two Minutes; New York City: 

The guards aren’t back by the time the downstairs buzzer starts ringing incessantly. You’re in the middle of your book, right at the moment where the head-strong damsel and the Lord she hated are about to kiss. You try to ignore it, With a groan, you stomp down to the doors. 

Standing there, half supported by Vasily, the Russian cabbie (who is definitely into some shady business), is Bucky. 

Now; New York City: 

You thank Vasily, telling him you’ll pay for the cab when you see him on Friday for Shabbat, and take the bleeding Bucky into your arms. Bucky mumbles something, clearly speaking Russian but too lowly for you to actually understand. Vasily glares at him, muttering curses as he stalks away. 

Dragging Bucky up to your sixth floor apartment means sharing a run in with Daisy Mae, your elderly neighbor who’s 90% blind and enjoys loitering in the elevator. She seems to take offense to Bucky mumbling Russian children’s songs to himself. 

“Speak English dear, not Communism. We’re in the United States.” 

“Mind the business that pays you, Daisy Mae.”

She hmphs, but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky, for his part, gives a rousing performance of the Russian alphabet. Finally, you get Bucky into your apartment and unceremoniously drop him on your couch. 

It’s not long before he falls asleep, leaving you to stare at him for hours, wondering just what he’s going to say when he wakes up. 

When he does wake up, it’s to the scent of your soap, sweet watermelon that always leaves an aching in the pit of his stomach. Waking up on your couch, smelling your soap, and listening to you cook feels like a dream. How many times had he thought about this exact moment while he was with Sam? Soon enough you’d turn the corner from the kitchenette and smile at him, that beautiful smile that never failed to make him feel a little dizzy. 

And then he’d wake up in a shitty hotel room, listening to Sam take a shit through the paper thin walls. 

He waits, but when you appear, you’re frowning anxiously. And God, you’re so fucking beautiful. You’re wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts that expose your long legs to his greedy eyes. Your hair is pushed back off your face, exposing the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. 

Steve was a lucky man, to be able to love you.  Maybe one day he’ll find a woman like you to love, if he’s lucky. Has he ever been lucky?

Bucky looks confused when you appear holding tea. “Hi.” He doesn’t say anything back, just frowns back. Your mind races, realizing he probably doesn’t want to see you, that he was dropped off here by some well meaning friend, and he was going to get up and walk out the door again. 

“At least let me clean you up before you go.” Bucky nods wordlessly, looking like he’s still a little stunned. He takes a seat at the kitchen table as you pull down the first aid kit you’d put together when Steve was still here. There’s a cut above his eyebrow that’s still oozing a little blood. It’s in such a place you have to situate yourself between his legs in order to get to it. 

It’s quiet while you work, Bucky’s never been a man of many words and now he’s probably trying to figure out how to tell you you’re never going to see him again. As soon as he’s cleaned up well enough that you’re satisfied he won’t die sitting at your kitchen table, you step away to admire your handy work. Bucky’s left hand, his metal hand, catches your wrist and pulls you back to him. It holds you there while his right hand comes up to cup your face, running a thumb over your cheekbone. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

He’s not sure what possesses him when he pulls you back into him. All he knows is if he doesn’t get you close, if he doesn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are, he won’t be able to breathe. You make a little noise of exasperation, your gorgeous lips parting. “I mean it.” “Bucky…” You try to pull away but he holds you there, studying every inch of your face and committing it to memory. There’s an electricity between the two of you, it feels like the air is charged enough to light that stupid snail lamp you’d bought from Arrow or whatever that store you loved was called. “Bucky…” You repeat, your voice softer, in a tone he can’t quite describe

Before either of you can move or say anything else, the door swings open to reveal Sam and Torres, flanked by three soldiers. None of them take notice of what feels like a very compromising position. 

“Oh good, you’re here, Sargent Barnes. You're all being moved to a safe house. Pack enough for an indeterminate amount of time.” 

[guigz1-coldwar]

Needs to satisfy : Wraith/Knight (Smut +18)

Warning : Smut, +18 content

Summary: Before leaving for doing Stitch's work in the Yamautau, Wraith is willing to do something to fulfill her necessary needs.

We were soon going to be sent by plane to the Yamantau to retrieve what Stitch wanted for his plans but right now, the only thing I wanted was to get only some relief and pleasure but there was no one to satisfy my naughty needs...no one except Knight himself. He can surely help me with that.

I was already prepared in terms of outfit but I couldn’t wait anymore. I wanted to blow him just for my pleasure, not right when we will be in the skies in that plane, it was now or never. I started to walk into the room where he was preparing himself away, finding him, putting on his mask.

“Knight, I need you,” I started to him in a clear & serious voice as I was entering the room he was in, surprising him by the look of it.

“Need me? For what?” He asked me in a confused voice.

“Put your pants down, I need it,” I replied, closing the door behind me and already removing my bulletproof vest off me, putting it away on a chair.

“Need what?” He continued to ask me, not understanding at all my needs even if it was damn obvious with what I was doing.

“Are you stupid or something?” I said. “I want to blow off your dick before we’re leaving the base, is that so hard to understand?” I clarified myself to him, taking off my mask and walking to him. “Come on, pull your pants down, now!” I ordered, sounding very serious in my voice, more serious than I could have been with a simple order.

“Uhm...okay,” He whispered as he was unbuckling his belt, seeming a bit disturbed before he put down his black military pants on the ground, revealing his grey boxers to my eyes as I was kneeling on the ground in front of him.

“Mmhm...seems that you’re not this hard enough,” I commented, looking at the package he was hiding in his boxers. “Do I really need to make you hard or something?” I demanded him, peaking my eyes to see his face.

“Just...can you unzip your top? I can be harder if you want,” He suggested to me, well knowing that he was dreaming to see my breasts, just by looking in his eyes

“As you wish, little pervert,” I muttered, using my left hand to unzip my combat outfit slowly, keeping eye contact to see his reaction on some things below my clothes.

“Wait, you’re not wearing any bras?” He told me, surprised to not see anything below my clothes…seeing my breasts coming out in the cold of the room.

“I didn’t want to wear one this day, now, pull down your boxers, let me see it,” I responded to him after I was done to unzipping only my top to his sight, not wanting to tease him more for him, I was the one in need, not him.

He then complied to my little orders, taking down his boxers as he was looking away from me in a sort of shame of himself before I could discover his cock, still not hard but half way from it, making me sigh.

“Really? I have to do this by myself,” I mumbled, shaking my head to that before I decided to put my hand around his dick, starting to warn him up slowly and it was at this moment that I could see him groan.

“My god...don’t fucking stop,” He groaned, looking at the ceiling.

“Hey, I’m the one in charge, let me do my job, Knight,” I reminded right now of the things I wanted, still stroking him.

I was getting his dick slowly into a hard way but to make it harder and to satisfy what I needed, I decided to start to move my head closely to his dick before getting into licking his balls with my tongue, continuing to giving an handjob as my brown eyes were not removing themselves from his face.

My right hand was not on him but on me, stroking my right boob to give myself some pleasure to myself before I slided it down my body, inside my suit to stroke my pussy, even closing my eyes about it and then, he was finally hard enough for me...finally.

“Alright, big boy, be ready,” I scoffed, my voice trying to not break down with pleasure because of my right hand before I start to put myself in front of his hard toy.

I took a deep breath before opening my mouth and leaning to welcome his cock right inside of it, feeling the cold of it on my lips as he was continuing to groan, as if he was overwhelmed by my lips and my moves, his hands staying along his top, seeing them briefly struggling to not put them on my head.

“Wraith...you’re so great…” He said, his voice breaking down, the first time I saw him doing that.

To concentrate better on sucking him, I stopped stroking my pussy with my right hand , getting up to put it right above Knight’s chest as my mouth was going to start to get deeper & deeper to let his dick entirely in it...I wanted it entirely...entirely.

The seconds were passing and Knight decided to put his hands around my head, holding me gently around it, looking at me with puppy eyes and still surprised that I was going down on him, making a blowjob to him.

“My god, deeper,” He said before his hands around my head were reinforcing their hold, getting behind it to make me deeper.

I continued, moving by myself and by him, slowly getting faster & faster, gaining at each second more place for his hard cock to come into my mouth. It was at this moment that I put my arms around his waist as he was starting to facefucking me by his own will.

“Shit...I’m...fuck...cumming…”He moane, looking up as he was still facefucking me like a doll. “Wraith, I need to pull out now,” He warned me but I didn’t give a fuck about what he said, keeping his dick inside of me. “Fuck...fuck!” He almost shouted when I could feel his cum going out of his cock, filling my mouth with it.

I stopped moving when he was cumming, seeing him take a deep breath and amazed by what he did to me as me, I was satisfied, feeling his cum on my lips and his dick all wet...what a big toy to play with…

“Good boy,’ I commented, looking up at him in a normal voice, slowly passing my hand near my lips, a little drop of his cum coming on my fingers. “Nice taste, seems you have been awaiting for this for a long time,”

“I...I...Wraith, I wish that we can…”

“Nope, you can dream for yourself,” I cut him straight, starting to go up in front of him. “I just needed you for relief, nothing else,” I revealed to him, moving near my bulletproof vest I let on the desk after zipping back my outfit.

“What? You can’t be serious? You just literally let me blow your mouth,” He stated, gesturing at my lips, seeing his own cum on it. “It was looking like you wanted more,”

“No, I just wanted to relax, the thing we did was only for my needs,” I told him, putting my vest around me, making sure that it was perfect. “I let you blow me as you said but it’s the end of it,” I turned around to see him still naked. “Get your pants back on, you ain’t going to go to the Yamantau half-naked.” I suggested.

“You’re really a little bitch, you know that?” Knight implied, resigning himself to get dressed again.

“And you, you weren’t hard enough for me so don’t speak up against me, Knight,” I scoffed at him. “Now, if you talk about this, you’re a dead man,” I threatened him in a very serious voice before putting my mask on, the cum still on my lips. “Get yourself ready now for good, we’re leaving soon,” I said before walking to open the door & then left the room, leaving Knight alone.

He was the only one I could do this but this was only to fulfill my own needs. Now, I was walking towards the hangar, mask on, outfit on, tasting his little cum around my lips hidden by the mask...too bad that I wasn’t into guys...it was just an experience but now...it was time to get to work...

[sosthemortalcoil]

BLM Donation Shorts: Ethereal Music

@thindol requested a Zaria fic for their BLM donation featuring Zaria’s powers. Not specified Gabriel x Zaria

You lounge across the couch—white, the only person you know who has white couches, another one of the underpinnings of her wealth—watching as Zaria sits down at her harp. She looks to you, studying your languid repose with a sharp eye.

Getting her to agree to this had been a trial. But you want to hear her, the actual her, not the human veneer she puts on. She’d warned you of the effects, and you’d accepted the risks. You’re not a mortal after all.

The first step isn’t entirely pleasant, a sort of dislocation of your energy within your shell. It’s not enough to slip outside of the fleshy protection of your skin, but it’s enough to let you passively access more of your Grace, enough to hopefully protect you from the mind-altering effects of her voice.

Long fingers dance across the thin wires, and at first you don’t hear anything, but you can feel it, resonating along the edges of your Grace. Closing your eyes, you lean into the sensation, and slowly the sound swells in your ears as you adjust your auditory receptors to hear the appropriate frequencies.

It takes a touch more of your power than you probably should be using, but surely the low-level power you’re giving off will go unnoticed. If it isn’t, well, you’ll have your evening interrupted by either an extremely irate guardian angel overseer, or some other uninvited guest.

Her strumming is loose, the sounds beautiful but not forming any sort of coherent piece. Opening your eyes, you can see the tight line of her mouth, the only sign of her nervousness. She’s good at closing herself down, at hiding her thoughts and feelings behind an impassive mask. Society has taught her to hide herself away, to be practiced, perfect in every interaction. More-so because a single lapse, a moment of anger could easily have major repercussions. Sauti ya hila weren’t a populous race, and few resided in this plane, but there’s a reason humans fear sirens.

“You won’t hurt me.”

Her eyes flash to yours, wide with surprise that she can hear you. You’d pitched your voice to the same range as the harp string, startling her.

“Suggestion is… a powerful tool. We are meant to… prey on those who hear us.” She’d told you about how she’d fought with her mother to spend time on earth, to live and work here. How her mother had considered it perfect for honing her hunting practices.

How she’d muzzled herself, how she’d swallowed her words as much as possible. Stay quiet, work hard. But she spoke in other ways, with her body, with the way she dressed, with the written word.

“Oh, am I your prey now? Kinky.”

She snorts, one side of her mouth twitching up in an unbidden smile. It’s not as good as her full-blown smile where the white of her teeth flashes against her dark skin, her whole face lighting up with joy, but it’s a start.

This time when she caresses music from her harp, the sound has purpose, sliding into a soft, deep lullaby. After a few stanzas she begins to sing, an ethereal, haunting sounds that bypasses every safeguard you’d put in place. The sound builds, swells within your chest and though the lyrics are nothing you understand, no tongue spoken by the native inhabitants of earth, you know what the words say.

Your eyes fall obediently closed as her power washes over you. You can’t fight it; there’s nothing tangible to push back against. Who doesn’t want to close their eyes for a bit? Let your worries drift away to be replaced with the echoing chords. You find yourself humming along, impossibly, to this song you’ve never heard before, a smile curving your lips.

The urge to tell her how exquisite her playing is passes, replaced by a knowledge that it’s better to sit quietly lest you disrupt a single note of this masterpiece. That would be a trespass not easily forgiven, since she’s deigned to give you a personal recital.

Somewhere in the deep, infinite recesses of your soul something stirs, a warning, a discordant cry that clashes horribly with the peaceful waves of sound washing over you. But like an undertow, before you can surface you’re pulled deeper, drowning in the song.

A hand shakes your shoulder and you stir, brow furrowed as you stare up into a pair of anxious violet eyes. Amethyst, some might say, but not the cloudy version you see most often. No, this is like the deep purple of a geode cracked open, pried from the depths of the earth but glowing within.

Her hand points at you and then her thumb moves in a circle, and though you’re fluent by this point it still takes a moment to process her question.

“Yeah,” you croak while nodding, your voice dry like you’ve been out for hours. In fact, you feel like you’ve rested for days, though you have no recollection of falling asleep. Her shoulders sag and her eyes close, the tension bleeding from her features and leaving them slack.

Reaching for her, you cup her cheek, waiting until her eyes open again. Love you, you mouth, refusing to let go of her face and your other arm too weak with lingering drowsiness to move.

She sighs, shaking her head.

“That was a dangerous request,” she signs, her eyes narrowing to convey her displeasure.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, sitting upright and signing back.

Her lips purse and you know she disagrees with that statement. It’s why she wears contacts more often than not. It’s why she hates to speak unless absolutely necessary.

“You are no monster.” Not human, certainly not, but neither are you. And she doesn’t hunt humans. When she uses her powers, sparingly, begrudgingly, only when all other avenues have been exhausted, it’s for the greater good.

She has a human heart, you think.

And, while it might be the lingering effects of her voice—it’s interesting to note how easily she affected you, and you wonder if it’s because of your relationship, since Sauti ya hila usually appear as exquisite specimens of humans, the better to lure them in and then devour them—but of all the ways you’ve contemplated your own ending, dying to nourish her isn’t such a terrible fate.

“I know. But power is a temptation, and I prefer to avoid unnecessary temptations,” she signs back, her motions subdued, small and tight. “Let’s not do it again.”

“I had a good nap though,” you reply cheekily as you coax her into sitting on the couch beside you. “And I like listening to you be yourself.”

She shakes her head, folding her long limbs onto the couch like a tulip closing its petals at night as the light fades. “That isn’t me.”

“But it is part of you, Zaria. And I don’t want you to feel like you ever have to hide any part of you from me.”

She leans forward, pressing her forehead to yours, pushing until you’re once again flat out on the couch, Zaria hovering over you.

“You are so sappy,” she signs, and then leans down, letting her lips spell her love out against her skin, her hands finding new chords to play, evoking fresh notes from your lips.