#something something women as angry; feral animals | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meguwumibear · 1 year

Text

Let Not the Lord be Angry

Summary: Nai contemplates the bible. A human interrupts his quiet contemplation.

Word Count: 1,200

Warning: minor character injury (mentions of blood), knives (obviously), egregious and probably inaccurate biblical references, nai and his homicidal ideation, i think that’s everything but let me know if i missed something!

Notes: Pre-July incident. Implied future unhealthy Nai x reader relationship. Experimented a bit stylistically with this.

Nai’s reading the bible again. The one that woman gave him. The one he used to read on the ship.

He favors the book of Genesis. The beginning. Creation. Let there be light. And there was light. Let there be people, forged in the image of their creator, who shall have dominion over the sea, the land, the air. They may eat from every tree but one. They know they are naked. Have they eaten from the tree? Send them forth. Drive them out. Protect the plants.

Now command a great flood to wash away the humans for their crimes against both the heavens and the earth. Rain for forty days and rain for forty nights. When the humans can settle again, confound their speech so they can do nothing but babel.

Two angels sent to Sodom and Gomorrah. There are not ten righteous people in these lands. Destruction by fire. Destruction by brimstone. She who turns back turns to salt.

And, here, now, a human, standing before him. An ugly thing made uglier by their journey. Sunburned and sweating. Panting like a bitch in heat.

He summons his knives.

“That a threat?” the human spits, throat hoarse with thirst. “Think I’ve never seen a blade before?”

“I think you’ve never seen something like me before.”

“I’ve seen you before. A face like yours is hard to forget. You stole from my town, so I followed you here. I am not afraid.”

That’s amusing. A human? Unafraid? You are surely a liar. A liar, or a pissant who’s yet to fully grasp their own cosmic insignificance.

Before he kills you, he will become your teacher. Your master. Your guide. You will learn your limits. You will taste the fruits forbidden. Come let him show you. Let him open your eyes. Learn what becomes of women who look back and bite off more than they can chew.

A pathetic little human who couldn’t even survive without leeching off his brethren, who would die without the nourishment they provide. Feeble and weak. Fragile as a flower. Wilting and withering away without the water your kind oh so desperately needs. Petals falling one by one. Stem sagging. Roots rotting. You were not meant for his new Eden. You could not survive there.

Yet you survived here on the inhospitable planet Gunsmoke. For days you lived on. Without proper food and drink. Without shelter from the sun. Flesh burning. Skin reddening. You persisted. You searched. And finally, you found.

What will you do now?

“What are you doing with the plants?” you demand. There’s a ferocious look in your eyes. Something feral and beastly. Pure anger. Pure animal. Nothing human in them at all.

“I doubt a stupid thing like you could understand.”

“You underestimate humans. That will be the death of you. My mortality makes me privy to things beyond your comprehension.”

A sound. Quick and sharp. Then pain. Quiet and stinging. On your left cheek. Just below your eye. You lift a finger to the wound and it comes away bloody. He cut you. With one of his knives. Split your flesh and bled you. When you look up into his eyes you see not a monster, but a boy, frightened and alone.

“What set you against us?”

“Corruption and cruelty. You are ravenous little beasts. Your sins exceedingly grievous. Your kind stole knowledge of good from the garden of Eden and still choose to be anything but.”

You stare at him. Unflinching. Even as ribbons of crimson unfurl across your face. “My people cultivated this land. We built something from nothing. Churches and orphanages and homes. In elementary school my class learned to make paint from the elements. We painted a mural on the wall of our school. It’s still there today. By taking our plant you’ve doomed both the righteous and the wicked alike.”

“All of that you did at the breast of my kin!”

“Has no one ever helped you? Surely you did not enter this world alone.”

He thinks of his mother. He thinks of Rem Savrem. He thinks of the snake in the garden of Eden. Mother Rem. Mother snake. Rem the mother. Rem the snake. Mother seductress. Mother temptress. Enchanting. Enticing. Beguiling serpent. Bewitching snake.

He thinks he understands Vash a bit more now.

His ticket to the future is supposed to be blank. His future is supposed to be waiting there for him. That’s what that wicked woman always promised him. Something next. Something still to come. Was Eve’s future blank or was it always written that she’d be driven out of that paradise? Was her story always meant to end that way? Cast out from the garden. Cursed with a womb. Could she ever have been something more?

Could you?

Humans die so terribly. No matter how they go. Plummeting out of the sky as their spaceship crashes to the earth. Struck down by a torrent of blades. He’s never seen one die of natural causes before. Never seen one succumb to starvation or thirst. He imagines somehow that of all the ways to die, naturally is the worst.

A sick part of him wants kill you this way. Or, rather, he wants to watch you die this way. He wants to watch your fat and muscle slough off the bone. Wants to watch as your belly bloats with air. There’d be so little to you he could count all of your ribs. They’d be so brittle he could break one off for himself.

He doubts you’re going to last much longer.

You’re well past your expiration date.

You’ll die without him.

Your eyes widen. He’s said that last thought aloud. Those beastly eyes of yours are frustratingly unreadable. He expects fear but is met by fears distant cousin. Acceptance maybe. Or understanding. You know you’re a dead girl walking. This was a suicide mission.

There’s no pleasure in beating a dead corpse. How cruel would it be if you were to live? Crueler still if you were kept alive by his murderous hands. The thing about Nai is he’s good at being cruel. It’s familiar to him. And, yes, how cruel it would be for him to let you live. To sit you in his lap and force food down your throat. To punish you when you bite fruitlessly at his fingers. To shove his fingers deeper into your gaping mouth.

He thinks of Tesla. The first. The lab rat. He thinks of all the poking and prodding the humans subjected them to. Pumped full of poison. Pickled and preserved. All that’s left: an arm, a brain, some eyes. Not feeling. Not thinking. Not seeing. Hidden away, but not discarded. Rem’s dirty little secret. The team’s guiltiest pleasure.

What could your body handle? Just how long could it go without food? Without water? Without air? What if he gave you just enough to keep you going? What if he forced bite after agonizing bite down your throat? What if he wrapped his fingers around your neck and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed?

What if he used you all up? What if he sucked you dry?

What if you learned what it was like to be a plant?

#nai x reader #millions knives x reader #trigun x reader #nai x you #millions knives x you #trigun x you #nai x y/n #millions knives x y/n #trigun x y/n #trigun imagines #nai imagines #millions knives imagines

103 notes · View notes

t-tomuras · 1 year

Text

❆ ─── • 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬

Pairing: Akaza x F!reader

Wordcount: 5.3k

Warnings: Biting, dubcon, fingering, creampie, reader is slapped (not by akaza), canon typical violence mentioned.

Notes: For @/katsukikitten. Reupload

He hates this district, bears a heavy disdain for it for a multitude of reasons that he could never actually explain.

Though Douma makes it easy, keeps Akaza from infuriating himself while failing to find a reason for the unexplainable loathing he feels for the Red Light District. The blond upper rank frequenting the area was reason enough, delighting in the painted women offered and marketed like merchandise to be had all while continuously goading Akaza to join him and partake.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be so angry if you had a woman! They’re quite nutritious, they’re my favorite. Are you one to play with your food? I’m not usually but oh, how they scream in both delight and terror just makes every cell in—“ the sickening crack and squelch of Douma’s crushed skull at Akaza’s hand is a sweet sound. It brings a twisted grin to his lips, bearing his naturally elongated canines with prominent veins bulging in his throat and forehead to spell his fury if his acts of aggression weren’t enough.

“So rude Lord Akaza, but you’ve proven my point,” the second ranked moon purrs as he rebuilds the head the lower ranked demon desires to demolish again and then some. “But, even you can’t defy the master, try to have fun while you’re searching for the lily.”

He’s gone in an instant but the agitation he’d caused still lingers in every muscle of Akaza’s body as he leaps through the trees in search of the fabled plant their creator covetes.

He searches the wilderness first, hoping to be correct in his assumption that if it was to be found it would be in nature. So he scours, for days on end from the moment the sun sinks below the horizon until he begins to rise again.

Akaza absolutely abhors the idea of having to enter the district and search within homes in case some silly mortal found the lily and brought it inside for decoration but he has to be thorough. The master he serves is always watching and he’s sure to earn scorn if even a stone is left unturned.

With clenched fists he descends the hilltop that overlooks the glittering district, warm lighting casting its glow and muting the look of the moon and stars in the night. Sneering as he keeps a slow pace as if to delay the inevitable.

Until he rounds a thick tree trunk and something collides with his thick frame though it only mentally jars him, unmoving as he comes to a halt. Reflexively grabbing onto the arm of whatever rammed into him, your arm unfortunately for you.

You’re wrenching and twisting in his grasp almost instantly, kicking out in your tattered yukata like an animal caught in a trap. Clawing at his arm but it does no lasting damage, your sharpened nails cleaving open the skin of his forearm in angry lines of weeping crimson only to heal as quickly as they’re torn.

He grows agitated with you quickly squeezing your arm tightly enough that you yelp but there’s no sickening snap of bone like mere twigs preceding the sound before he forcefully releases you. You stumble but remain on your feet well enough, hindering geta’s long since abandoned in your hurried escape from the house you were sold to.

Akaza can tell by the look of you, by the painted face and ornately decorated yukata no matter how disheveled your state that you’re a runaway product.

And by the sound of distant yelling accompanied by several sets of trampling feet on the loose gravel and dirt, you’re one they want back.

You look at him like a feral cat, an animal cornered instead of cowering before the dangerous creature that he was. He’d be impressed with your fighting spirit if you weren’t already shoving at his solid body again, claws raking down his face in a way that should phase him but doesn’t.

He grabs you by the wrist when he’s had enough of your antics, lips snarled to bare his fangs like you weren’t already doing the same when you wrench at the hand that grips you again. Thrashing wildly in his hold, further ruining the already tousled updo until your hair falls loose and into your face.

“Let go, let go of me,” you finally speak, voice sweetly contrasting your aggressive display despite the gravel and growl you try to imbue the command with, “let go I said!”

You become insistent as you can hear the likely familiar voices near. Closing in on your location and you should’ve been far away from here by now if it weren’t for this man in your way.

It’s too late by the time you whip your head to head butt Akaza, giving him clear view of the pure expression of desperation in your eyes before you make contact with him. It does little more physically but rattle your own skull, but the look of you strikes a cord in him that the upper rank demon couldn’t begin to understand.

Nor the time to attempt when the group of men trailed by a woman that shoves to the front when they call your name.

Akaza is gone in an instant, pushing you away from him again but this time you collapse to the dirt in your daze as he finds his perch on a nearby treelimb. The older woman closes in on you in the next moment, grabbing at your hair and flicking her wrist to twist the locks in her grasp. You toss your head back, connecting with the bridge of her nose and delighting in the shrill shriek she emits while she stumbles backwards. You scramble to your feet but it’s fruitless, circled by the men the moment the madam of your house screamed her curse with your name.

Their hands grasp tightly at your upper arms, holding you firmly while you thrash for freedom until you’re too exhausted to continue to fight. Stilling but still tense in their hold as the woman stomps to stand in front of you.

Your head is hung, forcing her to take it because the woman simply needs to see the look on your face when she seals your fate.

“Your debt is doubled now, darling, I hope this was—“ her haggard voice stumbled over when you force spit from your lips violently in a final act of defiance.

A resounding slap echoes in the small clearing, loud in the quiet night where not even crickets chirp, “wretched wench, it’s tripled now. I hope this was worth it. Get her out of my sight, take her back and have the children scrub her until her skin is raw for all I care!”

Your fight returns enough to jerk and dig your heels into the ground, if not to at least make your captors’ job difficult until the very end.

“I’ll kill you next time, I swear it hag, count your days!” You scream, the throbbing sting of your cheek only steeping your rage, “all of you! I’ll remember your faces, none of you are safe!”

And as you look up into the sky, hoping to get even a glimpse of the moon's comfort that you trained on in your trek up the hill, you see him in the tree. Golden irises glinting in the pitch darkness like a creature in whispered tales that speak of bad omens.

“None of you,” you growl with an unwavering gaze, a tremendous aura of malicious intent that makes his eyes widen minutely before he can no longer see you over the slope of the hill.

He chuckles, dry and humorless, as he lets his back rest against the trunk of the tree. You were impressive to say the least, tenacious for a defenseless human.

Your words echo in his mind, replaying your threat before a wry smile finds his lips without him knowing.

He’ll remember your face too.

Every passing night he spends in this territory festers his disdain for it. Akaza will never understand why Daki and Gyuutaro willingly choose to remain in a cesspool similar to this one. Weak willed men pathetically buying women instead of earning their favor, he can’t stomach the entire exchange. Maintaining a distance even though his fingers dance with the desire to pulverize the vermin he sees them as into the dirt, knuckles singing with each roll and clench of his fists. He itches for a fight that’ll make his spirit scream, fill him to the brim with excitement by a worthy opponent he’s yet to find once again.

He wants to be done with this location, the sooner the better.

With too many bodies walking the streets even so late into the night, Akaza sticks to hopping between rooftops, light on his feet but the ceramic tiles crack under his weight when the honeyed moans of the pleasure houses he leaps from grate his nerves.

Maybe just a few meager mortals will appease the bubbling rage, the death of a few drunkards and sad sacks will give him some reprieve.

Akaza comes to a sudden halt atop one of the rooftops he’d lept to, crouching low in his catlike stance, ever ready to pounce on his prey. The moon is full and at his back in this position, bathing his body in the gentle rays and casting dark shadows over his facial features.

But you’d recognize that bestial golden glow of his peculiar irises anywhere, gripping tightly at the threshold of your window with snarled teeth. Oozing a malicious aura that Akaza instantly takes notice of but pays little mind to, you’re only a woman.

Until a hairpin sings through the air and clips the cartilage of his ear, tearing the shell that heals in an instant. He blinks once, twice, the warm trickle of his blood oozing from an already sealed injury shines in the moon's light and Akaza watches as a sadistic smile spreads on your lips.

He’d think you a demon yourself if he wasn’t already aware of the contrary. But, still, you’ve irked him with your attempt of whatever you thought you were going to accomplish with a meager attack like that. On top of his already foul mood being in the pleasure district in the first place.

The man is gone in the blink of an eye, seemingly disappearing in a flash and only leaving the ruined ceramic of the roof in his wake before you’re nose to nose with him again.

Your hand raises, nails sharpened for quick defenses should you not be able to reach the blade always strapped to your thigh, only for it to be taken in his grasp. He looks between your face and the poised claw shape you make with the appendage like you intended to run him through with it. As if you had the strength to do any damage to him.

You wrench and jerk in his hold, attempting to throw him off of his balance while crouched in the window frame. The action is almost amusing to him, watching you struggle so fruitlessly with him until you surprise him once again; hopping up to let your feet brace on the wall just beneath Akaza.

Grabbing him with your other arm while you use his hold on you to wrench him forwards as you kick backwards. You both fall with a deft thud onto the tatami, annoyed growl rumbling in Akaza’s chest as he moves to stand up. Inked fingers curling into a fist on the floor to lift himself up when your thighs wrap around his waist.

Nails raking angry lines down his back while you claw wildly, attempting to topple him to the side by throwing your weight up into his and slightly to the side. Each action is pathetic in nature to him, meager human strength doing little but he’ll blame it on the surprise of each movement as well as his reluctance to harm you.

Your claws are sharp enough to cleave open fresh wounds, flaying his skin but you don’t see how quickly they heal. Infuriated by the fact Akaza is hardly reacting to you at all save for the snarl on his face that shows elongated canines. Successfully, you turn your bodies, moving the both of you to where he’s pinned beneath you, straddling him now.

Finally, you manage to wrap your fingers around the hilt of your blade, drawing it quickly from its secured place on your upper thigh. Small and easy to conceal but deadly sharp for you to defend yourself in your forced profession. Quickly, in the blink of an eye, as sudden as his rage bubbles at your audacity, you sink it into the usually tender flesh of his throat. The steel faces resistance at first but your reflexes have grown keen in your upbringing, free hand clasping over the first that tightly holds the hilt to sink the point into his throat. Putting as much force as you can muster and all of your weight into the thrust with a feral growl.

You can feel the warmth of his blood spill from the wound, smiling at revenge exacted as you sit back in his lap, resting against his pelvis. But the satisfaction is short-lived as you feel his hands wrap around your ribs instead of clutching at the inflicted injury in a vain attempt to keep his blood from spilling free.

The contact makes you gasp, ribs a sensitive part of yourself for more reasons than just the delicate organs the bone cage protects.

Akaza finds your attempts laughable, filling the air with a mocking sound when you look down in borderline terror. Though it’s quickly replaced with unadulterated fury when you see the wound no longer weep around the still lodged weapon.

Your lip curls, body going rigid in his hold before Akaza flips the positions again, pinning you beneath him; but, you refuse to relinquish your flippant hold on the upper hand. Your legs lock around his waist once more, hooking your ankles even despite the pain that radiates through your body when he slams you back into the flooring. The presence of his weight is painful on your hips and pelvis and you’re sure to have bruises come morning, should you survive that long.

But you’re adamant about not going alone, reaching for the hilt to dislodge it and try again. Akaza growls at the attempt, reaching for your wrist to pin it, head rearing back to, at the very least, knock you unconscious with a headbutt when you elbow him away.

Your writhing grows irritating, brushing against him more than either of you realize in the moment. Continuing to thrash in the hopes of throwing him off balance once again so you can reach for the blade but Akaza has had enough of this entire exchange.

His free hand comes to wrap around your throat, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the column of your throat to restrict airflow but what he doesn’t account for is the fucking noise you’d make.

A breathy gasp that you could mistake for something pleasured instead of pained or a mix of the two. It throws him off, sends warmth through his body and jars him as his cock stirs.

Akaza dislodges from you quickly then, prying your thighs from him easily with expressed strength and tossing you away from him in a hurry. His chest heaves, veins protruding all over his skin and he emits another growl when you seem like you’ll recover quickly.

You shake your head to clear your vision, propping yourself up on your arm to look at him at your window in time to see him pull your blade from his throat. You can see the flesh mend unnaturally, holding your breath at the sight but you won’t have to for long before he disappears out of your window though not before snapping your knife in two with his bare fist.

Once he’s gone from your sight you draw breaths more easily, muscles beginning to ache with the crash of your adrenaline, almost feeling in real time all of the bruises forming on your body. With a steadying breath, you move to a sitting position as you lean against your bedroom wall in momentary disbelief over what’s transpired.

The look of the man you’d seen was certainly peculiar in nature with his golden glowing eyes and the glimpses of the criminal bands on his skin in the milky illumination of the moon because you’ve heard stories of creatures like him. Beings who can only come out at night, that sustain themselves on the flesh and blood of humans; recalling that even when inflicted with injuries that usually prove fatal they survive.

Demons.

You’d thought them a myth, fables told to naughty children to keep them in line or frighten one another while exchanging scary stories around a warm hearth but seeing is believing. Coughing as you breathe too deeply, grasping at your throat as you rub at your bruised ribs as if to abate the soreness that comes in a dull throb, wondering minutely as you peer out of your window, why he didn’t just kill you when given the opportunity.

The rest of your week passes by quietly and uneventfully, gritting your teeth and baring the clients you must entertain as you bide your time before your next escape. You’re just thankful none of them are handsy, mostly respectful of your body autonomy while you’re left without your weapon. You still have your claws, a sharp deterrent but there’s nothing quite as assuring than brandishing cold steel with intent to maim or worse.

But it’s all boring, monotonous as they prattle on about things you don’t care about hoping to either have you as a companion or a body to keep them warm for at least the night. You care for none of it, sighing wistfully as your eyes roam, always landing on the lunar comfort that hangs high in the sky. It’s beginning to wane, and you think of no better time to make your next escape than when it completely disappears from the sky as it’s completely shrouded in the sky by the earth's shadow.

Patiently, you bide your time, using the meager allowance the master of the house haughtily gives you out of your own damn earnings to purchase a new knife to holster at your thigh. The days drag by slowly, growing restless as the phases grow thinner and thinner until finally the final phase is reached; the new moon that spells your new beginning.

Leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back after slitting the throats of the madam and her husband as they lie peacefully in their futon. Their deaths are kinder than you would’ve liked but you’ve made good on your promise, whoever discovers them come morning will know the culprit but, by then, you will be far from this wretched prison.

With all the grace of a cat, you slip out of your window and land on your feet before breaking into a sprint. Refusing to stop until you’ve cleared the view of the district, guided by nothing but the stars that dot the sky above you.

You’re used to the obnoxious lighting of the community that never sleeps, the darkness now difficult to navigate in the moon's absence, staring at the ground ahead of you so you don’t lose your footing until your eyes can adjust. Trudging until none of the surroundings seem familiar but, once again, fortune has a way of taunting you (tormenting you now rather, it seems) when you collide with the only other body in the wilderness.

Inherently, you know that it’s him, because who else would it be? Of all the predators to encounter, it had to be Akaza once again.

And he won't let you have your way in the slightest this time around, grabbing harshly at your arm, new blade already in your hand, to keep you from launching any sort of attack regardless of how little damage it would do to him. He grabs you by the throat with the other hand, grip tight but the veins that protrude along his forearm and fist aren’t from exercising his strength but practicing his restraint. He’s furious, furious that he’d had to have been in this accursed district in the first place, seething that he’d come up empty handed in his tireless search for the elusive blue spider lily his master covets.

Enraged that he’s encountered you, once again, when all he wants to do is put you and this area behind him and never return but he’s vexed at the part of him that stirs as he stares at your snarl.

Akaza hates the weak, thoroughly enjoys crushing those that are willingly defenseless mercilessly and with a smile on his face but women were different to him. Never desiring to hurt one and feeling a deep seated malice towards those that did. It feels instinctual for him, ingrained in his very muscle fiber regardless of his current nature, an unspoken law for himself that he’ll never break.

But not bend.

Your persistent defiance brings a smirk to his face, deadly calm as the harsh lines of a pinched scowl melt away and he leans in close to your face. His fingers hold fast to your jawline before you can jerk your head away from him, Akaza astute in your reactions to him by now in such a short amount of time. An enigma that both enrages and intrigues him, what led you both to this position in the first place.

“Haven’t you learned by now,” a purr in that smooth voice of his but the smallest hint of a threat is still there as he twists your wrist until you’re forced to drop your weapon, “that won’t work on me.”

You scoff at his comment but Akaza swallows the sound, closing the minuscule gap between you with a kiss. In your moment of surprise your lips part around a gasp, inadvertently granting his tongue entrance, the wet muscle is as skilled as the rest of them. Sliding over yours and easily pulling a moan from your throat as the tension in your body slackens in his hold, letting your arms fall away from his triceps to rest at the bottom of his ribcage, beginning to reciprocate the action.

His lips are soft, the same thought he shares about you in general while he presses your body to his as he guides you backwards. Commanding and domineering but you had already assumed as much from the moment you encountered him, since the night you promised you’d kill him.

Your back hits the harsh surface of the tree bark, Akaza’s hand coming up to cage you against the surface as his head tilts to deepen the kiss. Sharp teeth pulling at your plush bottom lip, dipping lower to your throat in a burning trail of nips and swipes of his tongue, tasting the light sheen of sweat that's gathered from the summer's humid air and he salivates over the thrumming heart rate. He runs the flat of his tongue over the column of your throat, growl rumbling in his chest as he works to open the dusty pink yukata he knows your late madam forced you into.

Tugging at the fabric until it falls free, giving him full view of your breasts and the lace garments meant for your customers viewing pleasure, he’s certain. Your chest heaves for breath, brows knit as you stare at him while he admires your body, golden hues glowing in the moonlight.

You mean to snark, to snap at him as his gaze lingers too long, your lip snarled as your hand comes to rest on the curve of his skull, fingers knotting into silky pink locks when Akaza’s head dips. Inked fingers palming your left breast as he kisses the top of your right one before wrapping his lips around the pert bud. His eyes widen at the sound of your pretty sigh, earning a groan from himself in turn as he massages and the tip of his tongue flicks over your nipple, your back arching instinctively as your head lulls back against the tree trunk.

Akaza lavishes your chest in attention, free hand wanders to palm your mound, thick digits stroking over your clothed clit that makes you buck into his touch. Both of you become so lost in the sensations and sounds of the other that you almost forget the animosity you harbor for one another.

Almost, but not quite.

You hiss in pain when pointed canines pierce your skin, Akaza groaning at the metallic tang that explodes on his tongue, sweet to him in a way blood has never tasted before. Tongue swiping over the small punctures greedily so he doesn’t waste a drop of liquid ambrosia, eyes rolling as cheeks hollow. Growl rumbling in his throat when your nails rake over his scalp in warning, hissing at him nonsensically; still pleasured by his ministrations despite the pain. Only spurred on by the drawn out whine you emit when his fingers slip beneath the seam of your underwear to glide through your wetness; to press his fingers directly to your puffy clit, rolling his thumb in slow circles against the bundle of nerves until your breath hitches at the pleasure.

Prolonging his intoxication with you as his index and middle finger slip into your tight heat to the last knuckle, curling them to feel you jolt while he gives his attention to your other breast. Puncturing the soft skin to get more of a taste of you, letting the wound leak for his tongue to catch the droplet when it reaches your nipple and follow its trail back to the source all while pumping his digits into you at a languid pace that has the roll of your hips falling into pace with him.

And all you’re left to do is take his treatment while you pant and mewl, dragging your nails across his back or shoulders to leave angry red lines in your wake that disappear as quickly as they’re made. Hips bucking into his skilled hand, chasing the impending high that prefaced by that telltale feeling of a coil tightening in your lower abdomen. Pawing and clawing at Akaza’s body as the mounting pleasure overwhelms you, walls clamping tightly around his fingers when his teeth sink into your sensitive flesh again, moaning unabashedly at the euphoria that washes over you in waves. He releases your nipple reluctantly and with a wet pop, drool dripping down his chin and you don’t miss the feral look in his eye, never slowing the movement of his wrist. Curling his fingers against that spongy spot that makes your body convulse and your eyes to roll back while your nails bite into his skin.

The pitch of your moan, the heave of your bitten chest, the look of your kiss swollen lips and the hazy look in your eyes when you look at him as you ride the ebbing waves of your first climax makes his cock jump; makes him feral.

Akaza moves with a haste, shoving his loose pants down just enough for his cock to spring free before he grasps at the soaked fabric of your panties. The stitches groan at the force until they snap and tear, slipping down your thighs in tatters as Akaza fists his cock, twisting his wrist as he gives himself a few languid pumps to spread the leaking pre down his shaft as he presses his body into your own.

But in your post ecstasy it seems like you come to your senses a bit, remember that this man was the reason you were caught the first time; that this demon is the reason you’re still not free even though you’ve effectively escaped the house you were indebted to. Brows knitting angrily as he pushes you up slightly, grasping with a bruising force at one of your thighs to hike it over his hip as he runs his cock head through your folds to coat himself in your wetness.

“No,” you hiss, attempting to imbue as much venom in your tone as your palms push into his sturdy collar bones but you fight your own body. Knees still weak and with the mushroomed tip bumping your clit with his movements you instinctively anticipate more pleasure to come, muttering noncommittally as your nails break the skin and draw blood, ‘fuck you. Fuck you, you demon.”

He only smirks at you, cocking his head to the side with a taunting expression as he aligns with your entrance. Giving teasingly shallow ruts that make you clench your jaw with anticipation until suddenly he’s buried to the hilt in you, earning a long, relieved groan from pretty lips, throbbing with each pulse of your cunt in time with your heavy beating heart but still you try to fight him; however weakly that may be now. An aura of animosity rolling off of you in equal quantity to the lust that clouds your gaze when Akaza sets a mind numbing pace. Biting deep into his shoulder with a choked growl like you’re trying not to enjoy the pleasure he provides when a pointed thrust makes your hips jerk out of sync into his pelvis. Clawing his back with a mean snarl as you attempt to fight the roll of your eyes from the tightening coil he causes once again.

But each reaction, whether fueled by aggression or ecstasy, fills Akaza with an odd sensation, a steady buzz separate completely to his mounting release but it fuels the fire. Similar to the one he felt while facing Kyoujuro but different enough to make his jaw clench when you squeeze around his cock with a throaty moan from your second release. Trembling slightly as you grip tightly at his shoulders while you ride the waves of the orgasm he prolongs with slow rolls of his hips.

Deep and deliberate to feel the clamp of your velvet walls, gripping tightly at your hips to grind your clit into his pelvis so you’ll throw your head back with another throaty moan. Your cunt convulsing violently, keeping him in a vice grip until he chokes on his own groan, following you over the edge into rapture. Painting your pussy in a shade of pearly white even if it’ll surely be another thing he’s done to earn your ire.

His muscles trembling from the force of his orgasm, the rut of his hips jerky until they slow to a stop all together; on the brink of threatening to overstimulate you both before he withdraws his softening cock.

Positioning you on unsteady legs but his hands don’t move from your hips, his breathing coming evenly before your own. You groan at the tenderness he shows, carefully pulling your yukata back into place to make you decent. Hiding away the bites he’d left to your skin before you start to push his hands away from you.

Finally shoving at him but the solid mass of his body hardly budges at the force. Disengaging from you willingly when he seems satisfied with his work and putting away his softening cock.

He can see the fight return to your eyes despite still coasting on your post euphoric bliss by the furrow of your brows. Attempting to imbue a venomous bite into your voice, “I meant what I said to you before..”

You move slowly but Akaza is no fool, already leaping into the trees and out of your sight before you’ve even begun the arch of your attack, even if it were only your mere claws. Following the rustling leaves of the tree branches overhead as he decides to take his leave.

“I will kill you! You’re the only one left!” A woman of your word, yelling into the pitch black night but you know he can still hear you. Whether he believes you or not.

Because you also remember the whispers between the women of the house, mentions of an organization that handles creatures of the night like him without prejudice. It’ll be good to learn the name of the man you’ve resolved to kill.

#vixen writes #hiatus; on queue

52 notes · View notes

yallemagne · 2 years

Note

Why do folk call Dracula thee book about repression when the strange case of men of inhibitions: the novel is right there

I'm so fucking angry I was writing a whole thesis in response to this and tumbles ate it.

When it comes to repression found in men, the typical stuff you see is the Oedipus complex and the idea that all men are feral animals in a perpetual rut. Not really sexy concepts.

But you know what people find sexy??

LYING ABOUT WOMEN!!

What are we even gonna do with J&H? There are no women to project the Madonna and Whore complex onto. Adapters literally have to add a love triangle in order to slutshame women, too much work. But Dracula comes prepackaged with two women to grossly misrepresent.

Blah blah, men find it sexier to lie about women than about men, most people misinterpret the whole basis of Jekyll and Hyde anyway, so they don't realize it's about repression, yada yada yada.

Gross old men like the idea of female sexual repression. Though, not in a way that they would vouch for women's reproductive rights or a female sexual revolution. They love the idea of a "good girl" who secretly wants/needs to be corrupted by their unwelcome advances. It must be a secret! She must not reciprocate! Otherwise, she'll be seen as a whore. Women with internalized misogyny feed into this too. Hate all other women because they're "sluts" but you still want sex? Write a story depicting a good girl being assaulted but paint it as "good" because "she secretly wanted/needed it".

But there's no women in the book J&H to give this treatment to. Adaptations will give Jekyll two girlfriends to match his duality or something, but they're not the focus of the story. It's all about Jekyll.

Most takes I've seen on J&H take the "the true monster is man" approach where they don't explore the themes of repression at all. We get a line about how Jekyll wants to separate good and evil, but it's either never explained or twisted around in an attempt to make him seem more sympathetic. They just simplify it to "spooky potion makes nice doctor mean :0".

Now, male sexual repression. is a fucking doozy. The common misconception is "we're all rapists but we just keep ourselves in check". People who have this viewpoint need to stop. But honestly, I haven't seen a J&H that is explicit except for the Wildhorn musical, and they make him straight in that one. There's no interest in adapting the part where... well, Jekyll is a repressed gay man who just wanted a little relief from his own repression but things all went horribly wrong. They make it more about how Jekyll is a bit of a prude, and then he drinks rude boy juice and becomes a monster.

I don't know if you've heard... but academia is scared of gay people, and Jekyll's unspoken crimes scream gay shenanigans. RLS dangles the idea that Jekyll's been sinning over our heads but won't tell us how. He says "fill in the blanks" and like??? OKAY WELL, WHAT IS STRANGELY MORE CONTROVERSIAL THAN MURDER IN VICTORIAN ENGLAND! HOMOSEXUALITY. He sneaks in the implication that everyone thinks Hyde is Jekyll's lover. Jekyll deciding from a young age: "I cannot be myself, I have to hide everything about me" is a closeted queer mood.

But do you expect people to talk about that? In this society? They just don't get it. Most people misinterpret Dracula being a story where good girls get seduced by a bad man. And then? Jekyll and Hyde is about a good boy who drinks bad boy juice. People fail to realize that Jekyll is originally a mix of good and bad and instead paint it as if Jekyll manifested some daemon with his potion. So then it isn't a story about repression in the eyes of most, it reads more like a possession story.

Also, I'd just argue Dracula is more popular. People find it sexier. There's not a swath of artwork where Hyde is skulking over a sleeping Jekyll in a suggestive manner. But look at any Dracula book cover and there's a good chance it's an illustration of Lucy's boobs. People are hornier about Dracula so they project their poor ideas about repression onto it.

#update #people ask me things #sorry like i was in a different place all day yesterday so this is super late #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde weekly #dracula #dracula daily

35 notes · View notes

unusual-raccoon · 2 years

Text

Few More Like Her by Unusual_Raccoon

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Sadie Adler/Arthur Morgan

Additional Tags: Chapter 4: Saint Denis (Red Dead Redemption 2), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Violent Sex, Dry Humping, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Wrong Hole, Painful Sex, Low Honor Arthur Morgan, They're both crazy to be fair, Sadie is Feral, (Implied) Past Rape/Non-Con, The Author Regrets Everything

Word Count: 6k+

Ao3 Link

Summary: After fighting off an ambush at Shady Belle, Arthur sees to it that they don't suffer any more loss by tending to their resident unhinged widow...in his own way, of course.

A/N: This is the next submission in the Widow Collection. Since i have no clue how to organize literally anything on tumblr, the posting of the series itself is going to be on Ao3. Been looking forward to and also dreading posting this installment! It's a messy one.

As per usual, I don't own any characters (they belong to R*) and please don't mind any mistakes!

There was the stink of death in his lungs, so cloying beneath the humid cling of the air in the swamp.

There were bodies everywhere, their own little turncoat amongst the dead, head lopped off and eyes gouged out - all courtesy of Colm O’ damn Driscoll.

The attack had stirred most everyone into a panic. Those few not swept up in fear burned white-hot with hate.

After the hell Colm and his boys had put Arthur through, he counted himself amongst those not shaking with fear, but with rage.

Weren’t only him though, Mrs. Adler was still yowling like a goddamn wildcat, dressed in blood. Her knife in hand, dripping red into the soil. There was scarcely a patch of her skin that weren’t painted in crimson pigment. Made the greenish brown of her eyes look all the more deranged, bugged all out of her head like a rabid dog.

There was a haze about her, something in her demeanor that Arthur knew. An itching sort of bloodlust that he’d been known to fall prey to.

She damn near spelt it for ‘em when Marston moved to grab at a body, stepped too near to her, and she bared her teeth in a purely primal snarl. Slashing with her knife blindly.

Arthur lunged at her, wrestling the blade so she didn’t gut the sorry wolf-bit bastard. Near certain if she managed to kill him, Abigail would find a reason to foist the blame on John.

Sadie had started screaming her head off once he managed to get her knife out of tacky bloodstained hands, not a word to be found in the hoarse howl that ripped from her lungs.

She’d killed a fair few O’Driscolls with the long tapered blade by the time he’d got to her, a rifle in one hand and his cap and ball revolver in the other. He’d found her on her hands and knees, blouse torn, tryin’ to castrate one of ‘em in the middle of a goddamn firefight. And Arthur had been tempted as hell to drop his damn guns and hold the miserable waste of life still for her.

He’d tried to encourage her inside, with the rest of the women and folk who’d only be a liability in a fight. Keep ‘er safe like he would the rest. ‘Course she’d been too stubborn and too hateful to listen, and he’d been too hungry and delighted to fight her on it.

They carved through the rest of the bastards just fine, smoother than her knife through that feller’s pecker.

Her blood was still runnin’ hot and the same as he tried to get ‘er inside to keep her safe, Arthur knew it’d be best to haul her outta camp for the same reasons.

At least if she snapped out there with him, he knew he could handle her.

So he dragged her out and away from Shady Belle, kickin’ and screamin’ as it were; and not a soul objected. Didn’t bother him none though, her little angry fists wailing on his back. He tightened his white-knuckled grip on the back of her thighs where he’d gone and slung over his shoulder.

Arthur took her far enough away that he wasn’t worried folk might shoot her like a sick animal if they saw her hit him.

He paused by the shoreline, right in between where the ground turned soft and waterlogged, and where it was still whole. He tried to lower her slow enough, ‘course she was still causing a ruckus, they slumped the pair of them into the mud.

“Liked this shirt,” Arthur grumbled as he hauled himself up in time for her to leap on him, and clenched fists and cracked nails and bared teeth.

He flung her off easy enough, she kept his adrenaline soaring tho’, kept it rushing through his veins and that part weren’t so bad.

“Go on,” he goaded, “get this outta yer system. Can’t have you cuttin’ the cocks off folk at camp,” he paused with a growing smirk, “‘cept maybe Micah, reckon we could do that one together, though I’m sure he ain’t got much to cut.”

Made him feel kinda lightheaded and drunk at the same time. A bit invincible even as she raked her torn-up nails down his forearms and clawed for his face.

Arthur staggered back with a curse, trying to hold Sadie in his arms was like holdin’ a tornado. She was a goddamn force of nature. He stared down at his forearm where his sleeves had been rolled up and saw the bleeding shape of her teeth dug into the sinew.

“Careful now,” Arthur growled, “ain’t gonna put my hands on ya, Mrs. Adler, but I’ll bite back.”

He made a single vain attempt to wipe some mud off his face before she yowled and leapt at him again.

There was mud and blood and moss stuck to ‘em both.

When she ran at him yet again, Arthur caught her by the neck, held her still with one hand long enough to catch his breath. Every breath in the god forsaken swamp felt like some kinda rot in his lungs, ‘tween that and the bugs nipping at him, he already felt like a corpse.

She staggered back when he put a bit of force behind his shove, her boot was sucked in by the mud, ground under her had gone lopsided and she toppled back near the shoreline. He kept his eye out for gators and snakes ‘fore Sadie was on him again, clothes soaked, hat missing, and hair goddamned mess.

She’d gotten her hands on a rock, tried to bludgeon him with it. She weren’t in her right mind, he knew the feeling, knew that all that goddamn hate usually left him with more corpses scattered around him than he cared to acknowledge. He’d spoken about it with Tilly time and again, how he’d gone and lost his mind in this civilized land. He was meant for dusty open roads and hot sun, the wilderness. Not this.

He weren’t sure if Sadie could properly see him, what with her vision a blurred haze of red. He supposed she was just attacking, reverted to something primal and feral. And if she could see him…well, she picked a mean enough bastard to sink her teeth into.

Her little hands heaved her rock up, it was cumbersome and would break something for certain. Took some quick thinkin’ and a bit of his own body weight to hold her still. She writhed and kicked and screamed under him, but Arthur’s skull was still in one piece, mostly. They was one big bruise writhing in the dirt. He hurled the stone into the swamp with a weighty thunk and a splash of green water.

He’d admit, there was something powerful about her. Tiny little thing filled with so much fire, like a stick of dynamite. Maybe it was the way she was movin’, clawing and bucking under him. Or maybe it was seeing a woman - a widow with nothing, no home, no husband, no virtue, nothing but her own rage to keep ‘er warm at night. Or maybe it was just her.

He’d be lyin’ if he said a part of him hadn’t craved her in some demented way since seein’ her wildly sawing a steak knife at Micah, with half her house on fire. Even then she’d been pure Hellfire.

“Hold still,” Arthur gritted through his teeth, damn near pled with her to quit her tryna buck him like a bronco. Her hips knocking into his, in a violent sway. The coarse scrape of friction between her body and his, in the bubbling mud and grotesque frothing green water foaming at the sopping shoreline, surged right to his belly.

The feeling was gripping, a coil of heat that throbbed to his toes.

Her legs tangled up in his, a savage rolling twist of her hips, “Christ woman,” Arthur hissed. His hands dug into the dirt, wet handfuls of mud were compressed under the snug clench of his fists. Anything to keep from giving into the brutal desire she’d beat into him, tinting the corners of his vision. A primal rhythm they both rocked to in the muck.

He tried to press some space between them, but any gap he managed to dig in was swiftly closed with stinging blows and a bloody rake of her nails.

Her legs locked around his middle and squeezed like she meant to bust his ribs. She gave him no reprieve. Delicate, filthy little hands clawed at his back.

She managed a fist in his hair, teeth bared before she lunged up at him. Arthur thought she finally meant to tear his throat out, with all her hate and Hellfire. Woulda been a fine enough way to go for a bastard like him. Those wild greenish brown eyes stared up at him in her frenzy, wide and unblinking. But her mouth missed its mark and mashed unceremoniously against his.

He tasted blood and his jaw ached, but Arthur delved in deeper at the taste of the very thing he’d been denyin’ himself. He pressed his hips down to glide against hers in a swooping, instinctual need. His head slumped against her shoulder as she arched and clawed and cried, his teeth closing over the available skin made bare by her torn blouse. He bit back as he’d sworn and her hips rushed up to rock against his.

That haze of red was one with him now, not a product of a hot-blooded gunfight, but because of her. With hazy eyes and the taste of her blood on his tongue, Arthur admired the shape of his teeth pressed in a neat circle around the jut of her clavicle.

Her legs clutched him tighter as his hips ground down hard, chasing the coarse, wet scrape of friction between her body and his.

He lifted his head, mouth stained red when he pressed it over hers. Arthur knew in some rational way that what they was doing weren’t right, but she tasted wild and free, and the right thing weren’t enough.

There was a picture in her head of the woman she used to be, the woman she’d been before she’d been made a widow. With the taste of blood in her mouth and clinging to her clothes, a heavy body layin’ over hers, she could scarcely see the woman in the photo, the bright eyed bride of years past.

She was a stranger. An anomaly unknown even to herself. She wore the same skin and perhaps more scars than she had months prior, sequestered up in the cold of Ambarino. The cold had a way of preserving things, freezing them, prolonging them, stagnating them. But she was a long way from Ambarino and it’s biting cold. Out here in the soupy heat of Lemoyne. With no cold to preserve her as she’d been, she was meat left to spoil, something sweet now gone rancid; nothing more than carrion, a meal for a starving animal.

Blue eyes pitched now black as oil blinked dazedly above her, mouth agape with the sort of hunger that she knew. She could see her reflection in the sheen of Arthur’s wanting eyes.

Her heart seized painfully in her chest, a hot throb of agony pulsed down the length of her sternum. It was a pain so vibrant it was nearly tangible, the perfunctory thump of her broken heart, all its conflicting edges clashed behind the confines of her ribs.

Weren’t somethin’ she needed reminding of, this bitter, hateful thing she’d turned into. Jake had been so good. He was a man like any other, sure, he could make mistakes as well as she could. But he’d such a heart, so potent good intentions.

Sadie didn’t know if she had it in her to accept goodness like his again, if she had room for the loss of that kind of light again.

She was a stranger to herself and unbalanced without Jake’s goodness, without his tender guiding hand.

She stared up at Arthur, felt the weight of him pressing her into the muck. There was no goodness to be found in a man like him and she took comfort in that certainty. Perhaps deep down, he possessed a stunted kind of good that had been clubbed into infancy time and again - by men like his father, most certainly by Dutch, the sycophant.

But she’d seen the look in his eyes when he found her in the reeds, knife in hand, trying to hack the pecker off an O’Driscoll who’d stopped screaming at the first twist of her knife. He hadn’t looked at her with the kind of disgust most men fond of their own parts would. He’d looked at her with a sort of intrigue, surprise perhaps, to see what she was capable of; to see the repellant thing she had devolved into.

If there was goodness in him, she’d not look for it, nor mother it.

She had become herself, or become him, or like him; a killer, an outlaw. Or the loss of her husband had unveiled in her this truth, like a snake shedding its skin.

Her nails bit into the flesh at the back of his neck, dug in until he growled against her throat in warning. A thrill of heat raced through her, staving off the chill of death that had found her in this miserable place.

She rocked up against him impatiently, the warm chafe of friction left a pleasant burn between her thighs. She wanted more, she wanted him. She wanted that kinship she found in his eyes every time they’d been in a fight together.

His mouth bore down on hers, rough and unkind and everything she ached for.

She writhed against the mud and loose soil as he fumbled with the clasp of his trousers. Large, powerful hands trembling as he battled with the buttons. Sadie hardly had any room beneath the crush of his weight atop her to pluck at the opening of her own pants.

Arthur had shrugged off his suspenders, lowered his pants just past the round swell of his buttocks, all firm and pale. His manhood stood out, thick and cumbersome between his muscular thighs; the exposed stalwart muscle of his legs were covered in downy blonde hair.

He seized her by the hip, his grip tight. There were smears of blood on the dark fabric of her trousers, blood and a generous caked layer of mud. Weren’t long until Arthur was batting her hands away, tearing the rest of the fabric down himself. They were awkwardly bunched around her knees, revealing more pale flesh.

He settled swiftly between her spread legs, hands braced on either side of her head pulling up chutes of grass between his fingers. His hips were rocking impatiently, an impulsive series of shallow thrusts. The thick tip and pulsing shaft pressed against the crease of her inner thigh, gliding between the flesh with a growl. The grate of his sex pressed so close to hers earned a strangled sound from her, a hungry, impetuous whine.

He seemed drunk on the sensation of her skin, rutting against her thigh and hip blindly. Sadie dug her nails into the stern, round muscle of his rear. Held herself there until his hips stuttered and the whole, throbbing length of his cock spasmed against her slit. She gasped and cried out a starved sound.

His thrusts turned sloppy and slick rocking against the abundant wetness of her sex; content to scratch his own itch. It was damn near impossible to get her legs around him with her pants tangled up about her knees. Sadie panted, scrabbling a hand to press between them.

She managed to spread her slit open with two fingers. The next delicious glide of his cock grated against her plump clit before snagging at the velvety entrance she held open in offering. A pitched gasp caught in her throat as the bloated tip of his cock pressed into her heat. They shared a labored breath, Arthur exhaled a grateful sound into her hair.

His hips surged forward swiftly, burying the entirety of himself into her. Sadie clawed at his back in retaliation, feeling the ache of her body accommodating him. The burn and stretch was a pleasant sort of sting, urging her to rock up against him, head thrown back and throat exposed.

He endured each grinding swivel of her hips for a handful of moments, shaking above her as her tongue rolled out and arms clung around his neck.

She exhaled a breathless sound when he pressed her into the dirt, hands gathered around her hips. The loss of him was astounding, leaving her with an emptiness at her very core before Arthur plunged back inside. The pleasure was a blinding burn that skittered up every taut muscle of her abdomen. His thrusts were fast and deep and came without warning. The sound of their coupling was a sloppy sordid thing, the wet and violent clap of their bodies became a blur in the swamp.

The quake of his every thrust, the tremble of his body ground down on her swollen clit, aggravating the bundle of nerves endlessly.

Sadie clung to him, sex stretched full around him, clenching and flexing and dripping.

She reached a shaking hand between them, groaning at the swell of her distended belly, pressed a palm over the shape of him inside her.

It’d been so long since she’d felt so good. Felt pleasure creep along every notch of her spine and tingle down to the soles of her feet.

Arthur pushed in deep, a twinge of pain joined her pleasure, and her walls fluttered tight around him. She rubbed at her bloated belly, hypnotized by the shift of each thrust under her fingers.

He meant to steady himself in the dirt, but the ground was unsteady and he slipped. His forehead whacked against hers and they scarcely acknowledged the slight blur of his vision nor hers while he kept fucking her savagely. His nose pressed against hers, breathing her air and tasting her pleasure.

The motion of his body wasn’t a smooth roll, but the violent thrust of a knife’s blade, uncompromising and fulfilling. Her whole body jerked with every push, breath knocked clean from her lungs every time.

Pleasure crept higher in her, spilled over her chest and filled her lungs. She clawed and clenched and cried something resembling speech, something close to his name.

Her mouth hung open and his tongue dipped into the warmth of her open mouth, desperate hands pulling her in time with each plunge of his cock; stretching her body to its limits, blurring that delirious mix of pain and pleasure.

She felt so full she could scarcely breathe, so thoroughly used, he ground his hips forward where he’d buried himself down to the root. He spread her at new angles, scraped raw new nerve endings. Arthur managed a few more harsh digs before Sadie was screaming her way through an orgasm.

Arthur felt Sadie spasm and clench and go boneless beneath him, watching as her expression contorted further with his cock still stuck deep in her belly. She’d wrung out every bit of pleasure, stroking over that plump jewel ‘tween her legs. He stared movin’ after a minute, chasing his own release with a growl. He damn well deserved it, all the good he’d done, keepin’ everyone safe from her, and keepin’ her safe from everyone.

Her sex drooled all warm and wet while he fucked her, clung to him tighter even while she whined and squirmed in her sensitivity.

Rough hands spread her legs wide as her tangled up trousers would allow, as he sank into the slippery squelch of her wrapped around him. She felt so goddamn good, heaven for sinner like himself.

His nose pressed to her temple, her breath beat against his throat, cock dripping all her mess. His hips surged forwards, gliding in the abundance of her liquid desire. He managed a few dripping thrusts, the rough pace of which left them both panting, pleasure throbbed along his scalp. Sadie tugged on a nipple, plucked and rolled the pert bud as he slipped out, thick, throbbing cock, grinding over her swollen sex and plump clit.

He growled and shot his hips forward, rampantly searching for the warm clench of her velvety embrace.

Sweat dripped down his brow, sluiced down the dried dirt on his cheek, left ugly graying droplets clinging to his jaw. The pulsing, drooling head of his cock snagged at the tight furl of her entrance, overcome with impulse and need, he pushed.

A scream tore out of her as he managed to cram nearly a third of his length into her on the first frantic jerk of his hips. There was a primal sort of relief that came with bein’ back inside her.

Sadie shook beneath him, hazel eyes wide and brimming with tears. The sound she sobbed out was more pain than pleasure.

Every muscle in her body had gone taut, the hole he’d gone and stuck himself in cinched tight and heat surged vibrantly in his belly. Arthur ran his tongue over his cracked lips, tasted the salt of dried blood and the bitter grit of dirt.

He leaned back from between her legs, angled his head back and saw the ruined state of her puckered hole stretched open around him. It shouldn’t have done somethin’ to ‘em, but it did.

The angle had him pressing inside her different, weeping little hole spread open. Sadie’s chin quivered and her belly dipped concave with the deep breath she sucked in.

“M’almost done,” Arthur muttered apologetically, even if it felt hollow with the way his hips inched forward incrementally, shameless in his intention.

He anticipated Sadie tryin’ to kill him again if he deigned to move in any direction that wasn’t out. But her expression creased and her mouth curled up, lower lip trapped between her teeth and she nodded and soldiered on.

He lowered his mouth to hers one last time, lathed in wet, hungry strokes of his tongue. Sucked up the sound she crooned straight into his lungs. Swiftly, he rolled her onto her belly, her trousers were snagged around the shaft of one of her boots. Arthur settled between her legs, hips pressed up against her round buttocks when he breached that ruined little hole again. Her spine went stiff and she grunted out a small, muffled sound against her little torn up knuckles.

Sadie had gone all limp beneath him while he sank further into her rear, his pants pushed further down to accommodate the new position.

His rhythm was slow at first, rocking in a steady back and forth until enough blood, sweat and filth could ease his movements. Weren’t pretty, but lord did it feel good.

Every thrust loosened some tension in her until her bowels clung to him just as well as her cunt had; tighter even.

Arthur’d soon lost himself in the bliss of her untouched flesh damn near bursting at the seams with him inside her; he reckoned her own man had never had her there, and he never would. A shiver trickled down the length of his body like a waterfall, cold and exhilarating at the foul thought. This was a delight only Arthur’d know. Sadie yelped and gasped into the mud and every sound, every sensation was urging him faster and harder.

He pressed his nose into her hair as he sank down to the root of his manhood without warning, she squirmed and scratched and spread her legs wider. She smelled of sweat and salt and death.

She scrabbled for purchase, for anything to cling to but the oozing, waterlogged earth beneath them. He wrapped his arm around her delicate neck, thick bicep bulging against her throat, pointed chin digging into his brawny forearm. She briefly went rigid, held in such a vulnerable position, before his breath beat against her ear and she went lax under him again. He held her there all the while, muscles in his thighs and lower back burned with the effort of taking her in the way he wanted, the way he needed.

Sadie’s mouth hung open, puffing out little breathless sounds as she drooled down over his arm with every twist of his hips he sank into her loosened entrance.

The hard clap of his body impacting hers scared off a couple of spoonbills down by the shore. His bloated balls slapped against the sticky seam of her sex, still dripping slick.

Heat coiled in his abdomen and throbbed like an open wound. Her sticky, pale thighs trembled and she wheezed and gasped. The sharp incline of her back bowed further, her spine curved and muscles contracted.

That white-hot gouge of pleasure torn across his belly bled anew, his nerves were alight and his muscles ached in that sweet delirium that blurred pleasure and pain.

He seized her back against one final slam of his hips with a snarl, savoring the soft, ragged creak of her breathing. Her filthy little fingers flexed and curled at funny angles as she whimpered and went stiff, thighs shook like they’d soon give out as he seated himself inside her with a long groan.

They swayed and sucked in greedy breaths from the exertion, sweat uncomfortably adhered their clothes to their skin.

He breathed out something hungry and guttural as he pumped every bit of his release into her ruined hole. He watched with hazy eyes as the reddish tinted excess spend overflowed, oozing out like sap from a tapped tree. And lord, he weren’t sure if he’d ever seen anything quite so pretty.

Sadie whined, breath raspy as her scarlet, ruined rim clung tight to the thick head of his cock still stuck in her.

Arthur spread her cheeks apart, hypnotized by impression of his fingers dug into the supple flesh and the milky mixture of white and red that spilled out slowly with every lazy wink of her gaping hole to join the slick that dripped all watery from her swollen sex.

It was the kind of sight he’d sooner commit to paper lest his memory fail him, though he doubted he’d ever be able to forget this.

So thoroughly spent, they slumped, one open wound, into the dirt.

Sadie’s body buzzed with pain and pleasure and sanity. Or some semblance of it. She felt more human laying in the dirt, dripping blood and come, than she had in the past few hours.

She felt a twinge of guilt for the rampant, savage thing she’d turned into; for the thing she’d turned him into. Like them fairy tales she used to read as a girl, ‘bout folk changing into fiendish animals and unlovable monsters under the cover of night.

Those O’Driscolls had grabbed ‘er and she’d just - well they’d rattled her cage, and she weren’t fond of what had crawled out. One minute she’d been tryna shake one of them off, the buttons of her blouse torn, then next she recalled kneeling in the reeds with her knife in her hand and the feller’s trousers around his ankles when Arthur found her. It’d been like waking from a dream in a way when she’d seen him.

There was still blood on her hands, rubbed into a pale coppery sheen that stuck between the creases of her palms, old residue buffed into place by the gritty dirt.

Arthur…

She followed the deep shape of his footsteps left in the mud, straining her eyes where the trail careened towards the placid shore.

He was washing himself clean, clean of her, clean as he could be in the fetid water of the marsh. She’d been the rust red sheen of blood smeared down the length of his wilting manhood when they’d finally found the strength to untangle the mess of limbs they’d become.

She’d yet to right herself by the time he’d returned, her trousers still snagged around the legs of her worn boots. Arthur came back, and Sadie felt a bit of relief at that; whatever he was, he hadn’t left her there in the swamp. He was a loyal dog, one that bit more often than not, but loyal still.

He had a few fat little bullhead catfish stuck on a stick, like some sorta wild man. His shirt was undone, hanging loose off the breadth of his torso, with its well defined brawny and generous smattering of blonde hair.

Sadie still felt like some sedate creature, with all her fight snuffed out. She just laid and watched as Arthur managed to coax a little fire out of some reeds and damp twigs. He fed it with some fragrant leaves of some burdock root he’d found on the shore. She watched those vibrant violet little buds shrivel and die on the fire, eaten up by the wavering flames that danced like blood-stained teeth.

He didn’t have much on him to work with, so he set about fileting the frumpy little bottom-feeders with her knife. He roasted the first yield of gritty meat over the fire until it darkened to a toasty sun-burnt red and blackened at the edges.

Wordlessly the fish was passed to her.

Sadie picked at it, minded the bones. The meat tasted like dirt, though, she supposed an argument could be made that it was just her mouth that tasted foul. She’d spent too long in the dirt of the swamp.

Arthur roasted the next bit of fish meat on the same stick the fish had been stuck on. The stick nearly caught fire, but Arthur seemed content that the meat was cooked through.

She caught his gaze over the shimmer of the flames and felt something fiercely warm grip her, a fist tangled in her innards, the feeling was a violent tug and a surge of warmth low in her belly.

He swallowed a bit of poorly chewed fish in the aftermath of her gaze, nose wrinkling like a bit of bone had gone down too.

She’d been so caught up staring at him, that she grazed her own lower lip with the blade of her knife. Nicked the soft flesh until a vibrant bead of scarlet dripped down her chin. She hissed at her own foolishness, lowering her knife and suckling the broken flesh into her mouth, until all she could taste was the coppery sweetness of her own blood. Her whole body itched like a wound just starting to heal, the kind of flesh begging to be torn open all over again. All because Arthur’s gaze burned unrepentantly on her. In her peripheral Sadie watched him tease open a scabbed over cut on his lower lip, almost subconsciously. Her well used holes tightened around nothingness, spent body aching…partially for him.

She stared at her knees and picked some dirt out from under her nails with the tip of her knife. Arthur fried up the last of the fish and offered her some with a grunt. She took a bite, chewing slowly, tasting the clash of the meat’s inherent flavor, like something that lived in a swamp, against the crispness of sweet blood still sucked in from the graze on her lip. Her gaze was once more pulled to the awkward jut of her bare knobby knees, the delicate glitter of blonde hairs on her legs that shimmered under the sinking sunlight that bled through the boughs of moping willow trees.

The rest of the fish had been passed back to Arthur and the stern grip in her belly twisted on her feeble, foolish insides like tugging on reins. He took bigger, more brutish bites, chewed in a way that made some veins on his sun-burnt neck strain beneath his rosy, freckled skin. Something about it made her mouth water. Sadie swallowed, savoring the strange taste in her mouth, knowing his tasted of the same, blood and fish.

There was a quiet sort of kinship that she found in his company, something that she didn’t want to lose now that she’d known it. It was a painful connection that they shared, one that riled them into monsters.

She bore her own hate for that god-forsaken gang led by Colm O’Driscoll, bore it real and true, it was something even this miserable heat couldn’t decompose. It was something that had survived the migration eastbound. A white-hot kind of hate and snarling panic that drove her senseless.

She’d never known the look of it on her own face, in truth. Never known the face of her hate, until the weeks Arthur had ridden in half-dead on horseback after being taken by the same animals that had taken her…that had made her a widow.

She knew the twitchiness she’d seen in him as she were lookin’ in a mirror, the aversion to touch that paled him like a ghost, the sleeplessness that could only be dulled with liquor, the rage.

Sadie had learned it then, in those weeks that followed, and in the look upon his face when Arthur had knelt beside her in the reeds of Shady Belle.

Her mangled reflection was one not so mysterious as it had been before, before this, before him.

They’d scarcely said a word to one another in the time since he’d dragged her out of Shady Belle like a rabid dog, frothing about the mouth.

“Arthur,” She croaked, voice worn thin and tongue shifting to accommodate proper speech, not the rankled howls she’d offered in her spiral of wild madness.

His gaze lifted, weathered lines along his brow deepening with the curious furl of his expression beyond the faint glow of the flames.

“This don’t change nothin’,” Sadie said icily, praying the swamp wouldn’t melt away the cold of this as his bluish eyes with striations of gold and green squinted back at her.

He scratched at his cheek with a broad thumb, head bobbing with a resigned nod.

“I know,” He hummed, the bruises she’d given him had darkened on his sun-beaten skin.

He wasn’t her man, nor had she become his woman. She’d never be more than what she was; Sadie Adler: widow.

They had resided in the swamp well beyond sun-down, listening to the music such a foul place could make. Fireflies swirled in the air while miserable little fire was fed more twigs and reeds.

Sadie had done her best to clean herself up, too stubborn to ask for his help, to set in her own ways.

“Skirt woulda been easier,” he remarked as she struggled back into her pants, picking at his teeth with a bit of fishbone.

Sadie glared at him murderously and Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return. “Ain't never been one for doin’ things easily, Arthur.”

“Oh I learned that the hard way, princess.” He said, lifting a bloody forearm. His body was a lattice of her scratches and bites and in his way, he wore them with pride.

Sadie had joined him by the fire with a wince. The tired, spitting flames made her freckles glow.

Maybe she was right, things wouldn’t change, they’d carry on as they had.

She leaned back with a sigh, in her soiled clothes, her snarled blonde hair half loose from its plait.

Arthur watched as she rooted around her pockets, the withering firelight gleamed off bronze metal.

She dusted something off with reverent little fingers, wetting her lips with a distracting velvety pink tongue.

She lifted the vague bronze shape to her mouth, pressed her wet lips to it, and breathed out notes. Her harmonica…the one he’d found for her.

Arthur sat up a little straighter, toes of his boots knocking together excitedly. The tune she played was a mournful one, lilting and whistling and folksy and lively all at once. He’d heard her play it before, through Shady Belle’s rotted walls.

He was sure the song had words, but he melted into the metallic rasp of the notes she played.

Sadie was wrong…for better or worse, things had changed.

___

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the fic! Also, For those interested about the song at the end, it is the stripped back version of Break My Baby by KALEO, which just felt like the perfect fit for this fic.

#my writing #my fanfiction #arthur morgan #sadie adler #sadithur #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut

40 notes · View notes

zooophagous · 2 years

Text

Inhale for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Exhale for seven seconds. Artemis repeated her breathing exercises over and over, trying to stop her heart from pounding in her ears. It sounded so loud. She wondered if he could hear it, if it might set him off. He had ears the size of Texas, he could probably hear it. She better keep that thought to herself though, no need to insult him. No need to make him mad. Ursula was already going to be making him mad enough.

"Try not to antagonize him on purpose, auntie."

"I'm not the one you have to worry about here. If it can't control itself long enough to do a bit of small talk, it's not going to work out long term anyway."

Artemis flattened her lips and looked down. Auntie had a point. As much as she wanted to be lenient, half the success of the meeting depended on the subject.

The incredibly angry, confirmed homicidal subject. Great.

The interview room was not the sort of comfortable office space with a few fake plants and ergonomic chairs she'd like it to be. It really looked more of an interrogation room. It was closed behind a heavy metal door with a thick tempered glass window, just big enough to peek inside with your face right up to it. The space within was dark (for the comfort of the subject) but the desk and chairs sat in a bright spotlight. It was a fairly weak light, but maybe enough to make the subject think twice about jumping across the table to throttle the researchers to death. Maybe.

"Are you ready to do this?" Artemis asked her aunt, who was busy double checking her side-arm before stowing it in its holster.

"No. But I suppose we have to. Lets get on with it then. Did you bring it a snack?"

"Right here." Artemis plucked a warm glass tube full of deep red liquid from her pocket and gave it a cheerful shake. "Fresh squeezed."

"Hmph. I hope it appreciates it."

Ursula nodded in greeting to the backup catch team, who had now made it to their posts and hovered uncomfortably around the door.

"Ok. Here's the rundown one more time for how this will work. Artemis and I are in body armor, but obviously not our heads. If you have to fire into the room aim for center mass, fatal stopping power is authorized and encouraged. If it breaches containment it's a full red alert- taking it down will come before staff safety at that point. What I'm trying to say is, don't miss."

She turned back to the door and turned her key till it clicked. "I'm going in first."

Ursula took her place in the front, with Artemis behind her, and the back up team flanking them and bringing up the rear, ready and poised in case the subject tried to make a break for it. It didn't. The door slid open easily and quietly, and the two women shuffled in and took their seats.

The door scraped shut behind them, the echo of the heavy lock filled the chamber. There was no going back now. They were trapped in there with that thing- or, Ursula mused, it was trapped in there with her.

Artemis sat down with a bright, open smile and folded her hands on the table in front of her. The stark contrast of the floodlight to the rest of the darkened space made it somewhat difficult to see. Still, she could make out a tall figure backed into a far corner of the room.

He was very pointedly ignoring his chair, and making it a point to stand as far from the two interviewers as possible, arms crossed and a deep scowl of annoyance. A deep gutteral growl, something like the sound of water and air choking through a pipe, reverberated off of the thing in the dark corner.

Ursula put her hand on her side arm. "Easy, easy." She said quietly, as if she were trying to calm a feral animal. Perhaps she was. "Come on. Sit down. The head of the institute would like to speak to you."

"Oh." It finally spoke, in a deep and toneless voice. It took a step forward. "So you're the one responsible for this."

Artemis clenched her hands and sat stock still, forcing her fear back down her throat. Well, he spoke English, that would make things that much easier. It marched slowly to the table, glowered down at the two women for a moment, and finally pulled out the chair on the opposite side and sat down.

Artemis relaxed slightly. The being across the table from her seemed locked in a permanent state of annoyance. His face was a solid and unflinching scowl. Heavy lidded eyes set deep in their sockets glared out at her, glinting a dull red where the edge of the spotlight caught the tapetum lucidem. He was tall, and waif-thin. Emaciated, really. Every edge of every bone stuck out, and he was practically swimming in the secondhand shirt he'd been dressed in. His hair was long, and although freshly washed- unkempt, and hung around his face and long pointed ears in thick waves and curls that defied styling. As he sat, he crossed his arms again, and resumed his visible display of disdain for his captors.

He could have almost passed for human if it weren't for the fangs.

"Speak, then, fraulin." He demanded.

"Guten abend, mein herr." Artemis replied with a smile. Her heart was racing, but she had to remember. She was in charge, and she was the one conducting the interview.

"Thank you for sitting down and talking to me. My name is Artemis Van Helsing, I'm the head of the Van Helsing Institute. I just have a few preliminary questions for you. Can I get your name?"

"I am dead."

"Okay... how about a title? occupation?"

"Dead."

"Mhm, and your preferred pronouns?"

"Dead."

He spoke his answers with a deep sneer of contempt, showing off a hint of yellow fang. Violence may be actionable, but rudeness was not. Ursula snorted and crossed her arms in turn. Artemis cleared her throat and continued.

"Let's try it like this. According to our information, your name is Luther Strauss, you were a physician who died in Trier in 1790, or there abouts, at the age of 55. Is that correct? Are you herr Strauss?"

"You cut my nails."

"Excuse me?" Aremis flinched, taken off guard.

"You cut. My. Nails." He placed his palms flat on the table, drawing back slightly when the light touched him. His skin was pale to the point of transluscence, and deep blue veins were visible just beneath the surface like worms. His long fingers should have been tipped with claws- but Artemis instantly saw the problem. Yellow, short, freshly trimmed nails.

"Oh..." She paused. "I see... they shortened your claws."

"It was a standard safety procedure." Ursula interrupted. "Honestly, be grateful you're in here without the muzzle and the cuffs. There was a time if we needed to talk to a vampire the night began by literally pulling teeth."

"Auntie!"

"Grateful?" Strauss cut off the argument between the two women before it could begin. "I'm sorry. Perhaps my English is not so good as I believed. Did I mishear you telling me that I ought to be grateful of my treatment here?" His fingers curled angrily into the table. Despite their lack of clawed points, they left visible lines in the finish.

"You took me sleeping from my bed. Destroyed my home. Someone bathed me, dressed me, shackled me, all against my will. I have been violated, over and over, since the very moment you were near me- yet when I raise a single complaint, you tell me to be... grateful?" He rose to his feet as he spoke, becoming more agitated with every word. Ursula put her hand back on her pistol.

"I'm sorry but removing weaponry, or claws, is basic self defense." Ursula replied flatly.

"And what of my right to self defense, hm?" Strauss snorted. "If you wanted me good and harmless, you should have killed me. I may have forgiven an intrusion into my den. I will not forgive a violation of my person." He practically spat the words in defiance. He sat back down in his chair, looking sullen, lips pulled back to reveal a sharp set of teeth in apparent warning.

"Herr Strauss..." Artemis said softly. "We don't want you dead. We don't even necessarily want you harmless. Just... reasonable."

"Forgive me if I disbelieve you, fraulin. The name Van Helsing is not a positive one for a creature like me to hear. The fact that I remain unharmed long enough to be brought to some... compound only means my own fate can be one worse than destruction."

He paused and looked aside as if in thought. "Where... is this compound? Where am I?"

"St. Joseph, Minnesota. Or, thereabouts. Technically the insitute is out of town." She tried to smile warmly at her subject. If he was asking questions, he was talking. Talking was good.

"America? I'm in those dreadful British colonies, then? Pity." He sighed. "Fine. If you must torment me by refusing to destroy me, tell me then. What is it you want?"

Artemis glanced at her aunt, and then back to Strauss, and began her pitch.

"Well, you see. Historically the Van Helsing institute has been geared towards research of supernatural beings, but mostly, more or less for the purpose of exterminating them."

"I am painfully aware."

"Yes. I'm not proud of it."

"I am." Ursula shrugged.

Artemis frowned at her and continued. "...As I was saying, that was our OLD mission statement. I've been trying to shift focus to research that aims to actually know and understand the nonhuman citizens of the world around us. I think... I think we can cut down on the historic levels of violence between humans and other persons by fostering relationships built on mutual respect and-"

"HA!" The vampire let out an ugly, barking laugh that subsided to an evil chuckle.

"Mutual respect! You put me in a muzzle! You don't even trust me to have my own fingernails! You deprive me of freedom, and of my own physical integrity, and then you request mutual respect. I had heard Americans were stupid, I did not expect it to be so severe."

Ursula bristled. "If you knew what side your bread was buttered on you'd watch your damn mouth."

"Or what?" he hissed. "You've been itching to shoot since the moment you broke into my home. So what do you wait for? Do you need an excuse?"

"You know what, Strauss?" Artemis interrupted, suddenly talking loudly over both of them. "You're right."

"Ehh?" He tilted his head.

"You're right. You weren't treated fairly or respectfully. And for that, I am sorry." She continued. "It was never my intention to frighten you or insult you, we used the methods we did to try and ensure safety for all parties. Ultimately though, you were right. You were abducted. It wasn't the right thing to do. Here."

She stuck her hand in her pocket and produced her small vial of blood. It foamed slightly in red bubbles at the top, while the settled contents were now a dark, deep purple. "This is for you."

"What is this? Do you think it's THAT easy to placate me? Am I so base? So desperate?"

"No, not at all. But that isn't just anyone's blood, Strauss." She folded her hands. "It's my blood. Freshly taken from my own veins just a few moments before we came in. It's a little tit-for-tat. I've taken a piece of you, now I'm offering you a piece of me."

Strauss raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was, momentarily, struck silent. He looked down at the little sample cup and gingerly reached out, lifting it between a finger and thumb as if it were very delicate.

"Interesting." He said softly, before gently removing the lid and lifing it beneath his nose, testing the scent.

"It is a very rare vampire who can say they've had a taste of a Van Helsing."

"You can be one of the first." She quipped cheerfully.

The vampire put the vial to his lips and tilted his head back. In one fluid motion, he downed the small cup like a shot. He stood quietly for a moment, savoring the taste and examining the label on the cup in his hand. 'Artemis Van Helsing, A/B+,' date, bar code, tube type. He nodded silently, and spoke again at last.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Artemis exhaled sharply. The barriers had finally been broken. Don't fuck up now.

"I've been doing research for a long time, Strauss. It has been the opinion of the founders of my institute that vampires and humans have an adversarial, predator-prey relationship. None of those founders, however, were sceintists or anthropologists. At best they were theologians, which leaves a lot to be desired in the textbooks they left behind." She sighed.

"And you disagree?"

"I do. I have a theory, and modern case studies back this up, that vampires and humans are SUPPOSED to live in symbiosis. Think about it. A human village has a... a patron vampire, lets call it. This vampire can hold sway over animals- protecting flocks from predators. They're incredibly strong and fast and resiliant, making them excellent security and emergency response, and they live so long that they have decades, even centuries of learned experience to draw from. All of this, and in return they get to be fed and protected from elements like sunlight. It's such an obvious benefit to both parties. When it breaks down and you have an adversarial relationship the whole thing becomes a giant... a giant CLUSTERFUCK and suddenly you have killings and revenge killings and... and groups that should be working together are all left in gory shambles and it just makes no sense."

The words tumbled out of her mouth, laced heavily with frustration. She huffed quietly as she caught her breath. Strauss raised an eyebrow as he listened to her spiel.

"What evidence do you have that you are correct?"

"That's the best part. You're right here."

"Me?"

"Yes!" She clasped her hands together in excitement. "Look, we didn't just pick your name out of a hat. We've been following you for a long time. Actually, a VERY long time. My first records of you are all the way from 1899 in our archives. It describes a rat catcher by the name of Luther Struass in Trier, Germany. There's just one note in the file. Do you know what it said?"

"Tell me."

"Harmless."

She smiled. "That's all it had to say. Do you know how rare it is to find a vampire living in a human settlement with such a low incidence of anthropophagy?"

"What a nice thing for them to say about me." Strauss shrugged. "Too bad it isn't true. I am fully responsible for a recent human death."

"Well, there's another funny thing about that." Artemis said, practically winking at him. "Apparently, there's some talk in town that maybe you weren't just going after that guy because you were hungry. Maybe you weren't acting entirely in self defense, but I get the sense you may have been defending someone else. I was hoping you could elaborate."

"Don't romanticize it." he snorted. "I am not entirely without empathy. I have no desire to impede the lives of those around me for no reason. Do not be fooled, however, I still must eat. Rats will not nourish me forever. He was a rich man from a rich family, one that was adept at keeping him out from under the law when he let his cruelty run rampant. I was asked by my neighbors to protect them, and in return I would be fed a rare meal, and that was that. A simple transaction and nothing more."

"Exactly!" She nodded. "Symbiosis. Quid pro quo. The community rallied around you, and you protected them in their time of need. If it wasn't for an artificial intereferance in the form of the law, the system would have worked perfectly."

"The law has a way of doing that." The vampire mused. "Well, beyond asking questions, what is it you actually want to DO with me?"

"Well. Let's just say that... the law is inadequate in a lot of ways. Eventually yes, maybe, in time, you could be put to work. For now though. Mostly I just..."

"Yes?"

"Mostly we need to just get you cleaned up and teach you to live in society again. Don't take this the wrong way. Living in a hole in the ground, naked, not socializing... you're not stupid, Strauss. And you aren't an animal. You can't possibly be mentally well like this."

"Hmph." He chuckled. "So this was all an elaborate intervention for my own good."

"That's not all it was, no, but it's a non zero part. I can't force you, Strauss, but with a murder on your record I can't let you go either. I'm going to try really, really hard not to harm you any further, though. What do you say? Do you want to give it a shot?"

"Well, fraulin, it appears there isn't really much of a choice."

"Frau Van Helsing, please, if you must insist on honorifics. Mutual respect, remember, Herr Strauss?"

The vampire smiled.

"Very well, Frau Van Helsing. Tell me where to go from here."

#long post #writing #wayward souls

71 notes · View notes

gaitwae · 3 years

Text

Whispers •||• Loki x Reader

Summary: You fall asleep to try and quell your stress, but nightmares only make your night worse. Impulsively, you do the only thing you can do.

Rating: PG for nightmares and initial angst. Fluff ending. I originally started drafting this around December. Uh. Here it is. Probably explains the bad mood board and the different formatting.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz @itscomplicatedx @sophlubbwriting

+-+--

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice snarled, sharp-tongued and voilent. Long fingers gripped at your shoulders, turning you about, left and right, left and right. “What do you think you’re doing, loving a man who doesn’t care about you?” You felt your throat squeeze up. The voice laughed at your displeasure, clawing its hands down your neck to your shoulders once more, then at your waist. “What a fool you are, Y/N... he wouldn’t even remember you passing.”

“Let me go,” you asked, your own words quivering in comparison to the feral tone that growled in your ear. There was a dark chuckle, almost a real laugh, and the claws released you. Instead, the floor beneath you swiveled, causing you to face your attacker... your nightmare. His face was hidden in the darkness of your dreamscape.

“Are my whispers too real for you, darling?” the voice asked, the smile audible now. This figure was mocking you, now. “Then perhaps you should just... wake up, shouldn’t you? Wake up, silly girl.” With a howl, a crow of shrill laughter, he stepped into your vision, pushing you back against a wall. His breath smelled like tea and blood. His teeth gleamed in a dark, sickening sliver of light. “Who do I look like?” he asked you.

He pulled back, suddenly visible to you now. Your eyes wouldn’t look away. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. The face. The face was what scared you the most.

Loki’s face.

+-+--

You sat up with your heart racing faster than it ever had before. You felt like your chest would explode; tears raced down your face as you tried to catch your breath and calm your heart down. You needed something different, tonight. You hated yourself for even thinking it, but you needed a blanket... or a stuffed animal.... or someone’s arms. You needed something to hold onto. You felt so alone, here in the dark.

You hadn’t ever felt so unsafe in your own room before.

What had come over you?

“I hate this,” you mumbled. “I can’t believe I’m dreaming about him, again.” You shook your head, sniffing once or twice. Your hands were clammy. If your hair was long enough for it, it had been wetted by your tears. Your pillow had stains. Something about the reminder that Loki wasn’t human hurt you.

Why? It was the truth. You knew he wasn’t a good fit for you. You always knew. Yet, somehow, you couldn’t help the tearing heart beneath your breastbone.

There was a soft knock on your door. “Y/N,” a female voice came. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, Nat,” you called. “I’m fine, now. You can come in.” You didn’t want her to come in right away, but your mouth was moving faster than your brain. All your wants had been concentrated on keeping this nightmare to yourself.

Whispers of forgotten affections, whispers of stupid dreams that would never come to be were in your ear as you sat, gazing at your hands while Natasha came in and sat down on your bed. You rested against your friend.

“I heard screaming,” she whispered. She rubbed your arms gently. “I thought something had happened to you.”

“I had another dream about... about him,” you said, angry at yourself for admitting it. “I don’t know why I have nightmares about someone I love.”

“He’s pretty intimidating, I’ll give you that,” Natasha said, now putting her hands through your hair. “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of him? I mean, he threw Tony out a window one time.”

You laughed gently, her joke making you feel better. “Tony’s terrifying when he’s pissed off, yeah.” You were glad she didn’t say anything about you being a strong woman. Usually, out of everything you’d read online, strong women didn’t need to be afraid of anyone. For once, you were glad you could be intimidated by a person you admired rather than being too strong to be “scared of a man’s opinion.”

It wasn’t like that.

Loki wasn’t like that.

“You just have to figure out how to ignore the whispers in the back of your head, baby.” Nat set a hand on your arm comfortingly. She squeezed, the tension you held in your body leaving as your best friend stayed next to you.

You held your head in your hands. “I’m trying. I really am, but...”

“You had a nightmare. You should get him to comfort you. Get over the nightmare and win him over,” Natasha suggested. “I’d stay with you but --”

“But you’ve got to go,” you filled in. You sighed, nodding with understanding. “Steve taking you?”

“We’re going to see a midnight film. It’s romantic, I think.” She shrugged. “I’ll be back around two am.” She kissed your head. “If you need me to stay, I’ll cancel. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay. Okay, just go.” You swallowed. “I’ll try my best.”

+-+--

“Loki?” a small voice came from the door. The god squeezed his eyes shut tightly, but sat up anyway.

“Y/N, do you have any idea what time it is, sweetheart? Are you cold? I can assure you,” he chuckled, lifting his legs off the bed, “solving that problem won’t be easy.” He balanced himself, then opened the door to see his dear little mortal. He stopped when his eyes adjusted.

Y/N was crying.

“What in the Nine Realms...?” Loki scooped you up. “My dearest heart, what in the world could be on your mind? Has someone hurt you? Are you sick? Shall I go out and buy you something?” He pet your hair. He was trying his best not to fret. He hadn’t heard any continous shouting, no walls breaking, and no gunshots. But... now that he thought about it... “Why do you cry?”

“I had a nightmare,” you murmured. “It’s stupid, but I wanted to see you... Nat came in when she heard me.”

“What was the nightmare?” he asked, crawling into bed with you. “No nightmare is stupid.”

You explained the horrors to him, and he patiently listened. He wiped your tears and stroked your cheek.

“I see,” he hummed. “You see me as... what?” He was trying to keep his cool. He didn’t want to react the wrong way. Nightmares could be of anyone and anything; the dark whispers in one’s mind didn’t necessarily mean you thought of any person as evil.

“You weren’t you,” you said. “Something was trying to look like you and convince me that I... I was wasting my time...” You ducked your head. You didn’t meet his gaze.

“Wasting your time?” he repeated.

It took you a while to answer. Loki was patient. “Because I’m in love with you.”

“You were scared because you’re in love with me?” he smiled, then laughed gently. Sleep was filling both your voices. You stopped crying. “Dearest, I thought we already knew our feelings for each other.”

“...you knew?”

“Of course, I knew. What kind of sweetheart would I be if I didn’t know? Have I done a bad job showing my affections?” His eyebrows drew together. “I’ll fix that.”

“No, I just... Humans don’t always exchange hugs and kisses and cuddling when they’re in love. Sometimes, it’s the need for physical contact, and I didn’t know if we were just... a thing... or if you wanted me to say something.”

“You silly humans!” he sighed. He kissed your cheek, your forehead. “I love you. There. Now, fret no more. I’ll battle your nightmares away.” He wrapped his arms around you. “Sleep. I’ll whisper lullabies in your ears as you drift.”

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki god of mischief #loki mcu #mcu loki #loki #mcu #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #platonic nat x reader #gaitwae writes #gaitwae writes marvel masterlist

173 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

Text

Steel Eye Files, “Gods of War.”

WARNING: EXTREME VIOLENCE with graphic descriptions. GORE

Turns out you can’t really get across how shitty steel eye is without being enormously graphic, so yeah, don’t read it if you may be bothered by that sort of thing in any way what so ever.

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing.\

The sky was dark with ash, and despite Chal, Astar, shining down from above, the land below languished under cover of darkness more profound than night as even the two moons and stars were hidden by ash. The ground was coated in a fine layer of grey, and the colorful, almost whimsical landscape became an apocalyptic hellscape.

Just a few miles distant from the human Forward operating base, a unit of Drev soldiers hid in the cover of ash, separated from the base by half a mile of open ground and a small rocky gully where they made their camp. They had no tents or lights like the humans did but crouched next to the leeward side of stones their knees tucked to their chests, their arms clasping their legs, and their, once colorful, cloaks wrapped around them now stained with ash.

In this way they were camouflaged from outside notice by way of ash, and the breathing holes at the bases of their necks were kept clear. Spears were gripped tightly in hands, metal dulled and muted under a coating of cinders, and like that they were practically invisible in the dark landscape,

Not that they were worried of course.

Ever since the dark season had come, they had been the ones to initiate conflict, not the other way around.

This was their world, and they were in charge.

They understood how to navigate her in al weather.

But now was not the time for movement, or navigation. In the dark and the swirling of the storm, it was time to rest.

The wind died down slightly, and the ashfall reduced.

Some light filtered down from high above, and the visibility improved to that of a middling blizzard back on earth. It was still dark, and the landscape was difficult to make out, ash flurries kicked up with some regularity as they sat.

Their sentinel crouched at the head of the group tucked next to a rock.

It was him that heard it first.

It was difficult to make out over the sound of the wind, a sort of distant hissing.

He lifted his head peering through the amber goggles that had been supplied to him. Drev didn’t normally practice combat during the dark season, but they knew a tactical advantage when they saw one, and this seemed to be the only time of year they were going to have a leg up against the humans. It was a controversial decision, but eventually they had collectively decided that goggles did not constitute technology enough for it to be heretical.

Ans so he peered out into the ash his eyes narrowed.

Drev do not have the greatest night vision. They are primarily a daytime creature that relies heavily on color differentiation which is not commonly present at night.

He saw nothing.

Still, something was off, and he shifted forward on his knees to peer out from behind the rock.

Ash gusted into his face, but still he saw nothing.

Something still felt wrong.

Was that an echo he heard over the sound of the wind? Rocks clattering down a hillside?

It was hard to tell, the sounds were so muffled.

A few of his clan members stood to peer out at the ash with him, his anxiety bleeding over into his soldiers.

What was that.

The ash kicked up again, and his vision was mostly obscured.

He stood now, cape billowing behind him in the ashfall. He stepped out into open ground head titled to one side as he tried to make out the sound through the darkness. It was not a sound that he recognized, and indeed he was sure he was hearing SOMETHING.

Soemthing that was.

Getting closer.

And getting closer fast!

The clan had no time to react.

One moment their sentinel was standing before them in the ashfall, and the next moment, an alien hand sprouted from his chest.

The sentinel felt like he had been plowed over by a rockslide. At first it was hard to tell what had happened, but the stunned screams of his clan, let to the slow realization of his brain. He looked down with wide eyes just in time to see the hand flex.

The hand drew back with a sharp crunch, and the sentinel fell to the ground dead.

And standing over his body was a shadow.

With two legs, two arms,

Gore dripping from its arm.

And then chaos.

***

The room gasped.

Men and women visibly jerked in their seats. Someone cursed.

Another called out involuntarily to their god.

Even Admiral Ablemen sat momentarily shocked.

He didn’t tell it to do that

Unit 15 withdrew his hand from the Drev’s chest with a wet crunching noise loud enough to be heard over the build in microphones. The beast of a Drev, at least nine feet tall if not more, hit the ground dead on impact.

In the following silence the Colonel overseeing the project grabbed his shoulder and whispered, “I can turn it off now, cut the signal so no one sees the rest.” But he shook his head

“Let him see what it’s capable of.”

The colonel nodded.

The pause didn’t last long, and the massacre followed.

***

It was, difficult to tell weather he was awake or dreaming. The land around him was an unfamiliar was of grey tinged red as struggling sunlight tried to filter down through ash. The landscape was in itself alien, and something about that made sense though he could not have said why.

In his confusion there was one thing he knew.

And those were his orders.

Orders that were being wired directly into his brain on a background loop so he wouldn’t forget. The HUD display on his visor took the landscape before him and analyzed it drawing glowing green contours around notable features of the landscape.

It was like walking through the base code layer of a videogame.

The suit interfaced with his brain using his own processing capacity to run probability calculations on where the enemy would be hiding. All bets were on the gullies to the south east of the FOB, and so he headed in that direction. As he walked he hissed and whirred as his robotic skeleton lent power to his feet.

His robotic pieces whined in anticipation for what was to come.

He did not take cover, or try to hide, but walked over the landscape, the dark god of war coming to seek vengeance on the enemy. As he walked the probability meter in his HUD began to rise, ash whirled around him disrupting the connection between him and the FOB.

But he knew his orders.

Inside his heart pounded.

A feral animal rose up in the back of his head ravening and hungry for blood.

He spotted them easily, outlined in green as they hid against the rocks.

There was one at the front, a big bastard too.

He broke into a run, the steel eye skeleton howling for blood.

The Drev had no time to think.

He could have used his gun, or he could have deployed the blade in his right forearm plate, but that was all beside the point. He wanted…. Violence.

And so he drew back a fist and with all the weight of the iron eye suit he punch the drev in the back.

Carapace crumbled to dust under his knuckles, flesh split, bone cracked, tissue tore, and then resistance was gone and he was wearing the Drev like a bracelet.

He ripped his hand back bringing fragments of bone with him as he retrieved his fist.

The Alien staggered to the ground.

His HUD sensors found no heartbeat.

Dead.

And then he turned his eyes on the rest of the alien’s waiting clan.

The blade snicked into place against his forearm.

He WANTED to hurt them. That was the one thing he understood in the haze of his brain, in the haze of a dream. Information and constant input from the suit flooded his brain threatening to confuse him and snuff him out.

But the confusion just made him angry.

And that is what he was going to do.

***

Red lights like the fire of Anin’s lava fields.

The creature didn’t care it could be seen through the ash.

It WANTED to be seen.

If they had known anything about human warfare, maybe they would have had a chance to retreat, knowing something was wrong , but as their sentinel fell to the ground they were confronted with an unholy demon drenched in his blood, glowing with red lights of fire, his body sheathed in precious metal.

It was an abomination.

The first drev to initiate attack was scythed down with a single blow, head rolling across the stones.

But the rest didn’t stop.

They raced forward over stone their spears raised.

The creature caught one by the throat and snapped their neck before throwing the body towards its companions.

Another tired to flank from the right but was hit with a devastating kicked that crushed its sternum and stopped its heart on impact.

The other Drev pulled back in uncharacteristic fear as this creature decimated their numbers like it was a joke.

It stood there, waiting, blood still dripping from its hands.

But when no one moved, it turned its head slowly to look at them,

And the remaining Drev ran,.

***

He had to get away, he had to get away, if he could just run far enough, or find somewhere to hide maybe it would be ok. All around him he could hear the sound of screams, the ash had kicked up again and he was running blind, tripping over stones and moss, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t fall into a boiling pit.

Someone ran to his right, but in the next moment they were gone with a scream.

Something snapped.

He turned on a dime and bolted in another direction hearing the screams from behind him . After a few moments of running he nearly brained himself as he ran straight into he trunk of a tree. Luckily for him the coil tree was young and springy throwing him back onto his back though his head still throbbed.

He rolled onto his hands and knees seeing the silhouette of many trees before him, and crawled into their cover pressing his back up against a nearby trunk.

Behind him cries continued in earnest.

He could see the glow of red through the ash, flickering in and out of existence as the demon hunted them, moving with a power and speed never granted naturally by spirits.

It was an unholy abomination.

He scrambled back into the ash trying to cover himself. He lowered his head, listening.

And he heard it coming for him.

The slow and methodic whirr thud as the creature walked.

He hoped that maybe it wouldn’t see him.

His hopes were dashed a moment later as he was grabbed roughly by the shoulders and hauled into the air. He screamed and kicked, but the creature adjusted his hands forcing him to his knees with a strength that was almost godlike. He was forced to his knees as the creature placed its hands to either side of his head, and began to squeeze.

***

“What the FUCK! “

“STOP!”

“WHAT IS IT DOING!”

One of the officers jerked from their seat and raced out of view of the Holo projection, wrenching loudly off camera.

The sound that followed next.

Still haunts the dreams of the men and women who were in that room.

***

Kill them. KILL THEM ALL.

His insides burned with such rage, such energy, and the cracking of the Drev’s skull between his hands had never been more satisfying than it was in that moment, or at least in the ten seconds before the drugs burned off.

Lieutenant Vir regained lucidity with a crushed skull held in his hands.

Lt Vir was not a violent person.

In his youth he had taken dance classes instead of martial arts for a similar reason.

And now the sightless Drev head looked up at him, and the sight is beyond description.

Certain things happen when you apply too much pressure to a skull.

He gasped and staggered back dropping the thing like it was on fire. His mind whirled, and he remembered the bloodlust that not moments before had coursed through him, turned him into a… a demon.

He staggered back into his hands scrambling away from the body.

He….

What had he done.

What had he done?

He clutched his head gasping for air. He felt like he was going to throw up and desperately scrambled to open his helmet. The dead eyes stared at him from the dirt and ash, accusatory. He was trapped! He couldn’t get them helmet off!

He was drowning!

This had to be a nightmare.

An unending nightmare.

Why couldn’t he wake up!

He screamed, and screamed and screamed still clutching at his head.

Why couldn’t he wake up!

Maybe if he could pinch himself, he could determine weather he was sleeping, but the metal was in the way.

He clawed at his helmet, at his arms, then curled his hand into a fist and tried to break the metal.

***

The room was scrambling.

Admiral Ableman was on his feet, “MAKE HIM STOP.”

Over the line the unit continued to scream.

It was like nothing that he had ever experienced before, a man burning in hell.

The scream of the damned.

And then it was clawing at itself, trying to rip the metal armor open.

“DO SOMETHING!” He snarled at one of his lackeys.

“I’m trying.”

But before he could do anything, it was all over, and the camera watched as the unit fell to the ground and began to sob.

The room was silent but for that sound echoing over the speakers.

And somehow, it was worse than everything that had come before.

Powerful enough to haunt even Admiral Abelman until the day he would die an ignominious death.

*** So, that demonstration didn’t go as planned, but you saw the results didn’t you, one man against an entire Drev squad and he won like it was nothing, with impunity. Like a god, we have created gods of war, and don’t give me some bullshit about ethics, you all sat through the whole thing and are now culpable for what happens here. If you tell ANYONE what you have seen, I will personally take each and every last one of you down with me and let the board of ethics know that you were PERSONALLY involved and funded the program.

What’s done is done, but at leas you can help us win the war.

#gore warning

82 notes · View notes

embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 22

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Language, angst, violence, blood A/N: thanks for all the comments/asks xx

Chap 22 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 22: How I'm imaginin' You

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

March 15th, 1976

It was just over ten past eleven when they called it a day.

“Night, Reg! I’ll see you later!” Y/N called. Regulus beamed, waving back before scurrying in the direction of the Slytherin common room. For the past week, she had brought him to the small hidden room by the library she found over the winter break. Red and green blankets clashed together on the old couch, pillows and candles, books and even his violin was there. It became their — or mostly his safe place.

She’s kept quiet about their secret meetings, mainly because Regulus seemed so skittish at the mention of other people and simply because he was a Slytherin. It put her into a tricky position considering not many Slytherins were like Regulus — they weren’t nice to those of her blood status. Besides, house rivalry was no joke and honestly, Y/N was confused. What did he mean that he couldn’t be seen with her?

The bitter cold began to subside as April neared. The full moon had risen, nearing its peak as she walked through the empty corridors, way past curfew. Distantly, she could hear footsteps becoming louder but made no move to hide once the student came into view with no prefect or Head Boy or Girl pass. That was until the hunched figure seemed to drift closer, coming into her direct line of view. Once they passed, the student knocked into shoulder roughly, making Y/N stagger back into the rough jagged wall.

Crinkles formed in her skin, frowning. They knocked into her purposely. The first thing she took notice of was their tie, a Slytherin. Of course. But when her eyes continued to drift up, she wasn’t surprised to see who it was: Snape.

“Watch where you’re going,” he says, a nasty leer on his face.

“You better watch yourself. Must be obsessed with me.”

“Is that a threat?” It wasn’t, not really, but Snape’s ego is a fragile, fickle thing.

Snape stands taller, his shoulders squaring to appear intimidating but it does nothing but make Y/N’s lip curl up before suppressing it.

“Seems like it to you.”

Seething, his skin becomes an angry blotchy pink. Greasy hair never mattered to her, some people even rocked it but on Snape — anything on him seemed to irk her. His hair seems to stick to his face and an intrusive thought wiggles in and suddenly, she wants to ring it out — see if enough grease would come out so she could cook with it.

But, she readjusted her vision, observing the tight grip he has on his and that he managed to draw without her noticing. On instinct, Y/N slips her out too, her other hand ready to use wandless magic.

She remembers a long time ago, her mother always told her to never start a fight, but to finish it. She guesses that there wasn’t another other option but to listen.

“You’re foul — wretched trollop —” “What did you just call me?!”

Snape jabs a nasty finger into her shoulder before she slaps it down, hard. “You heard me, trollop. Things were so much better when you weren’t around.” His voice drops low, dripping in venom.

“Could say the same thing. I wonder if Lily knows the way you treat women when she isn’t around.” Y/N dangles the threat above his head for leverage. “I bet she would be in for a real shock if I told her.”

There was an ugly pause.

Snape’s nose flares and she would have backed down but since she hadn’t gotten to defend herself last time around Lily, there was no way she wasn’t going to this time.

Snape steps closer in a challenging manner. Eyes burned strong in detest that she even feels it. His hand trembles, going white from how hard he’s gripping his wand. A wild look crosses; he looks feral — like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth.

A spell is already forming on his tongue before she raises her wand, throwing up a shielding spell she learned. A bright blue sheet, in the shape of an invisible dome explodes from the tip of her wand just as Snape shoots a spell. The curse is powerful, making her knees buckle. It was at that moment she realized that maybe she should’ve just walked away. Y/N was good at defensive charms — great — but not at offence charms and clearly, they were among Snape’s specialties.

As shoots another spell, Y/N focuses and puts all of her concentration into the shielding charm — so strong that it pushes Snape back roughly and an item from his pocket slips out, plummeting to the floor. In strong silver letters that made her skin raise with goosebumps, it read: The Dark Arts. The overpowering sensation of revulsion and outrage fuels her, beginning to shake.

“You’re a fucking freak,” she blurts.

It touched a nerve. “Watch it, you dirty little mudbl —”

Most people (and Y/N would include herself with them) like to think of themselves as rational beings; civil, thoughtful, just, benevolent, humane. However, when things ripped at the seams without a given warning, people — we — are no better than wild animals. Even if you don’t know it, there’s an animal inside all of us, waiting to pounce and protect.

Without a beat, filled with pure adrenaline, hate and shock, the protective spell fell and Y/N stormed up to him, drawing her entire arm back as her fist curled into a ball. In a flurry, she delivered a sharp blow as hard as she could in the nose.

There was a loud cracking sound that ricocheted through the corridor, simultaneously, thick blood gushed out of Snape’s nose like a waterfall. It sprayed all over their robes, the ground and covered her hand.

She winced in pain, flicking her wrist a few times, noting the skin splitting around her knuckles deeply. Her ears rang like a whirling fan, radio static, a hissing radiator as Snape stumbled back, a hand shooting up to stop the bleeding. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Call… me that again…” her breathing was ragging and voice shaky, “And we’ll see what else happens.” Before Snape could retaliate, Y/N spun around and dashed off to the Gryffindor common room.

Her footsteps echoed around as she felt her eyes sting with tears but made sure to squeeze her eyes shut. Out of all people, she wasn’t going to cry because of Snape.

She wasn’t a mu — a mudl — she wasn’t that. She was more than that word.

She needed to tell Lily.

Tears were replaced with anger. There wasn’t a single coherent thought that seemed to force its way out.

Before the Fat Lady had time to ask for the password, Y/N shouted it out, nearly ripping the portrait door off. The force resulted in a large — BANG! — then slammed shut and Y/N distantly heard the portrait yell.

She took a deep breath, bending over while a hand clutched her knee. Distracted, it caused her to miss the familiar boy sitting on the opposite side of the room who stood up.

Her fist began to ache once the shock slowly wore off. A quiet, dejected groan slipped out as she stared at her clothes. She must’ve looked insane.

The sound of the wooden floorboards creaked and Y/N peered up. There, dressed in all black clothing was Sirius, staring at her bewildered. His eyes scanned her entire body, noticing the rusty blood staining her white blouse and hand.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” She gritted out defensively. She wasn’t in the mood to be anywhere near Sirius, let alone hear another insult. Without the ability to think rationally, Y/N wondered if she’d had the restraint to not punch him if he said something idiotic.

Sirius’ brow raised, not expecting that response but didn’t bite back. “I — Merlin — what happened to you? Are you okay?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, attempting to shield herself and moved towards the stairs. “Like you care.”

“I don’t,” he counters quickly. But he sighed, gravitating towards her and lightly grasped her elbow. Y/N turns around harshly, ripping away from him.

“Who do you think you are? Don’t touch me!”

Sirius’ hands raised, signalling submission; similar to a prey to its predator. “I’m not going to hurt you and I’m certainly not going to let you bleed everywhere! Come, sit — I’ll patch you up.”

She eyed him warily, then closed her eyes. Y/N’s chest rose in irregular intervals, weighing out the pros and cons.

She’s heard that he’s gotten into fights and probably wasn’t lying about knowing how to patch up wounds.

He’s an asshole.

He didn’t like her.

She didn’t trust him

Why would he want to help her?

But the stinging sensation flooded in again. Y/N desperately sought to gauge for any underlying motive but Sirius was unreadable. If anything, his grey quartz eyes weren’t as hardened; more blue bleed in, looking brighter — her heart gave a little thump.

With a nod, Sirius gave a weak smile and led her to the couch closest to the fireplace for light. He told her to stay put, took his jacket, threw it on the couch opposite, then ran up to his dorm and grabbed a medical kit along with a bowl and cloth. Rushing back, Sirius set down his supplies and with a flick of his wand, the bowl was instantly filled with water, his hands sparkling clean.

Body angled to face her while sitting, Sirius gently took her hand and submerged the cloth in water, ringing it out, then diligently worked to clean off the blood.

Why didn’t he just use magic? He wouldn’t have to touch her then…

She burned more from his touch than the wounds themselves. When it came to James or Remus, there wasn’t anything that made her skin tingle or spike in sudden shyness when she touched them. But whenever Sirius was just near, she felt her heart speed up, palms start to sweat and brain go completely blank.

They sat in silence. Every now and then, Sirius would glance up. Only when he had a disinfectant, he flicked his hair out of his face, seeming to be in deep thought and spoke;

“What happened?”

Y/N remained quiet, a faraway look now settled in her eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she broke Snape’s nose. She’s seen what broken noses looked like — she grew up colouring nose and sinus anatomical charts in the O.R gallery while she waited for her mom to finish surgery. She was in deep, deep trouble if Snape were to rattle. Detention, house points, expulsion — a possible criminal assault charge.

Shit.

“Hey, Y/N.” He placed a hand on her knee, the cool metal of his rings seeped through her stockings. That caught her attention. That was the first time he’d ever said her first name. His voice was soft — the softest he’d ever spoken to her before. “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me but I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even Potter or Evans. It’ll be our little secret.”

She breathed, “I… um —” She stopped and Sirius gave an encouraging squeeze. “Snape, he… he called me a you-know-what and I…” The rest was self-explanatory.

Sirius’s body became stiff. There was a subtle change in his micro-expressions as his jaw tensed, sharpening his features even more. His eyes, which burned with a fiery rage contrasted greatly as he cradled her hand as if she were made out of glass. Sirius huffed, mumbling out ‘thank you for telling me’ and proceeding to clean the wounds. She winced as the cotton pad touched her knuckles, her free hand clutching onto his shirt.

“I know this part’s shit. I’m sorry, sorry…”

She bit down on her bottom lip to prevent pained noises from slipping out. Sirius applied a light magical cream that helps reduce scarring and wrapped gauze around her hand; holding it in place with a magical seal that made it into a light cast. He added a few magical seals along with waterproof charms.

“There.”

She marvelled at his work, he did an amazing job and whatever he did, her pain reduced drastically. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me…” His voice trailed off, a small smile appearing, “Anyone that hates Snviellus is… okay in my books. And what are co-parents for?” He tries to joke. At this, Y/N perks up, a sharp exhale of air forced its way from her lungs; emulating a half-light-hearted scoff.

But soon their smiles disappeared and something strange flashed in Sirius’ eyes. Suddenly, the air around them shifted, becoming tense and enclosed.

Sirius was oddly close to her — since when did they become that close?

Her heart pounded wildly in her ribcage and Y/N wondered if he could hear it over the crackling fire. He’s so close that she could feel his breath fanning her skin. She registered his thumb grazing over the bandage. The warm colour from the fire illuminated his face, different from his usual cool-toned skin. His face looked sharp, more refined than usual. He looked enchanting, so regal and otherworldly without trying to — like a painting.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something but he trails off, leaning closer. His hand trailed up, touching her arm lightly and moved to cup her cheek delicately. The entire time, his eyes trained on her for any glimmer of irritability or discomfort. His thumb began to stroke her skin and she lent into it. It’s large and warm and his touch feels so, so fucking good.

Sirius chooses his next words with caution. “Can I?” He murmurs but the question is clear — louder than any screaming match she had with him. His lips are millimetres away from hers.

In times like these, that Gryffindor bravery was nonexistent.

Y/N’s mind is vacant, internally freaking out but still manages to choke out, “Yes.”

Frozen in place, his eyes flicker from her eyes, then lips, and back to her eyes. He tilts her head back slightly using his hand before it travels to the back of her neck and leans in. But, there’s something in Sirius that hesitates.

The hesitation is too long because a voice could be heard from beyond the portrait and the sound of it swinging open causes them to break apart. She misses the contact already. Sirius stands hastily, wand swishing to clean up the mess around them in a daze. A beautiful blush settles on his face; a hand runs through his hair, rings catching the low light and widens the gap between them. He put his jacket back on.

Y/N’s brain hadn’t caught up yet. Too much happened too quickly.

“Pads? Where have you’ve been? The moo —” the moment he sees her, his voice draws out, “— ooooony! Moony! He’s waiting for us. Whiskers! Ugh — h-hey!”

Peter fucking Pettigrew, in the flesh.

She makes sure to hide her hand and bloodied shirt from him. “Evening, Pete.”

Sirius coughs awkwardly and clears his throat, Peter doesn’t look suspicious. “Yeah, ugh — right. Sorry,” he takes a pause, eyes drifting momentarily to her and back to Peter, “Was busy with our Puffskein. Let’s go.”

“Night, L/N!” Peter acknowledges. He even sends finger guns.

Y/N is left stunned, watching Sirius leave. The door clicks and her body slackens.

In a haze, she padded into her dorm: quiet and dark, everyone fast asleep. She took a very cold shower, changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth and threw out her bloodied robes. Then, she pulls back the curtains around her bed. A floating candle burned brightly as Lily was there, writing in her journal.

“What took you so long?!” Lily chirped, sliding over to give her more room to slip in. Letting the drapes fall shut behind, she hummed in response.

“Puffskein. Oats.” She’ll talk to Lily about Snape another day — that is if Dumbledore doesn’t expel her.

Y/N rolled over to her side, facing away from Lily. The cool pillow did nothing to help chill her heated skin. It’s like she can feel the ghost of Sirius’ fingers graze her cheek still.

Lily babbled — something about Dorcas and Mary inviting them to skate one last time before the ice melted. But it all went in one ear and out the other.

God, she thought, mad at the realization. There was no point in denying it anymore; she’d been doing so for months and clearly, it was fruitless. I like Sirius Black. I really, really like Sirius Black.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

She didn’t get a wink of sleep. Her mind reeled the entire night, replacing the scenarios again and again, analyzing everything he said, his actions — that look on his face. All she thought about was Sirius: his eyes, his smile, his hair, his skin, his hands, his fucking lips — Argh! Sirius was the personification of Firewhiskey and all she wanted to do was drink more of him — and they hadn’t even kissed!

Sirius is arrogant, rude, cold, cat-called her — insulted her! A part of her felt disgusted — disgust how her heart raced wherever the mere thought of him appeared in her mind. Disgusted how her heart leaped whenever he was near. Out of all people, why him?!

She fucking hated Peter Pettigrew right now — or loved him, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he saved her from making a terrible mistake.

Okay, okay! First things first, she had to stop thinking about him! She forced herself to think about something else: Charms — Professor Flitwick — Peter’s grandma in her ‘purple knickers’ — Slughorn — Slughorn in his underwear — yes, that certainly stopped any more lewd thoughts. Her mind and body were at war.

“Rise n’shine, darlings!” Marlene sang in a high-pitched Victorian accent as she tripped the blinds back. Y/N peeked out from the small gap in her curtains, watching Marlene tiredly. Everyone groaned, Dorcas even threw a pillow at her. Y/N, unaffected, blinked and perched herself against the headboard, yawning. “Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!”

“Marls…” Dorcas groaned. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock that hung above their large window, quickly collapsing into bed and dove under the covers. “It’s six in the morning…”

Marlene hopped over and ripped off Lily’s covers only to realize she was with her. She skipped her way over, ripping the drapes back and jumped into her bed. Toulouse hissed, jumping off before Marlene snuggled up to Lily, proding her cheek.

She gave Y/N a once over, “Morning sugar.”

She continued to poke Lily who forced her eyes open, trying to swat at her. Lily flipped over, moving over to Y/N. Marlene rolled her eyes, but a hurt pang flashed her face before she covered it up. Instead, she bellowed, taking hold of Lily’s shoulders and shook.

“EVANS! EVANS — YOU TOO L/N, WAKE UP NOW!”

“McKinnon! What do you want?!”

She gave a triumphant smirk. “Quidditch! It’s Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff today!”

Marlene was already decked out in her tracksuit, ready to go on a jog around the castle with the rest of the Gryffindor team. Once everyone woke up, they all gave her one of many pep talks and ushered her off.

The morning was slow for everyone but Y/N. Her thoughts drifted away from Sirius, only to think about the next worst thing possible; Snape.

Damn… she had to tell Lily, but how? ‘Hey, Petals! One of your friends — if not your best friend, called me, a Muggleborn — which if you forgot, you are too —the cruellest word there is! And he was caught with a book about The Dark Arts!’

She would tell her, but not today, or at least until after the Quidditch game.

As Y/N got ready for the day, everyone noticed the bandage around her hand (which she lied and made an excuse using Oats), then headed down for breakfast. The Gryffindor team was huddled around Marlene and James. Mary and Alice sat close, giving her a small wave.

Downing coffee after coffee, the caffeine strangely made her sleepier as she listened to James and Marlene’s agonizing rambles. Lazily flicking through sections of the Daily Prophet, she waited for a letter from her mother. None — again. Until a hand came out of nowhere, snatching the paper from her grasp, leaving Y/N to huff out.

She didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Mornin’ Professor,” she mumbled, reaching over to grab it from him.

“You look like you’ve been shagging the whomping willow,” Remus jokes, shaking his head with a smile.

At this, Mary leans in and whispers into her ear, “Didn’t we suggest Remus —” “Or Black? Not a tree!” Marlene adds.

She ignored them but felt her stomach drop at the mention of Sirius. Remus wore his gold oversized glasses today. His curls were tousled, eyes slightly bloodshot and he seemed to be sluggish that morning. She scooted over making room as he took a seat next to her. She grinned back, “You look like shit too, Lupin.”

Remus’ smile turned brighter.

James floated two plates to them, filled with their favourite foods while Y/N poured Remus a mug of coffee, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar in, handing it to him. From all the times they brought coffee or tea for each other, whether that be for study groups, lounging in the common room or walking past the kitchens while heading to class, they knew how they liked their beverages by heart.

He flashed a tired smile, humming as he took a sip. Their dating rumours hadn’t calmed down yet, so when a couple of students passed by, looking between them enviously, they both side-eyed each other humorously.

“We’re such catches,” she whispered to him.

“Abso-bloody-lutely — hey!” He randomly cuts in, pointing to her bandaged hand, “We’re matching.”

He raised his hand, showing a couple of his fingers taped together before a long bandage was wrapped around his palm and travelled down his wrist, disappearing beyond his red sweater.

Y/N mused at it before grabbing a quill from Marlene who’d been sketching out the Quidditch pitch and dipped it into an inkpot, handing it to Remus.

His head tilted, “Hmm?”

“Sign mine and I’ll sign yours?”

His long calloused fingers took the quill from her, doodling on the white bandage gently. He drew Dumbledore with pom-poms, cheering for the upcoming Quidditch game, along with a smiley face, his initials and a couple magical creatures. Then passed the quill back, placing his bandage hand on the table and flicked open the Daily Prophet. A few splotches of ink splattered around as she drew The Beatles on broomsticks, all chasing a Golden Snitch. She also drew Remus as David Bowie’s cover as Aladdin Sane, using his scars to make the lightning bolt and quickly signed her name.

Lily and Peter had come in, taking a seat and Y/N had become hyper-aware of Sirius sitting down directly across from her. Both of them stiffened and she continued to avoid his gaze as she drew on Remus.

“We’re going to be fine, it’s only Hufflepuff.”

“Nope, Hufflepuffs know how to get shit done,” Peter says, his mouth stuffed with food. “Never underestimate them — what the fuck?!”

Everyone in the Great Hall collectively held a breath, looking up at the Slytherin table. Lily’s eyes almost bugged out in rage, her ears becoming red as she got up and walked over.

It was Snape, but it wasn’t his nose that caught people’s attention. No — his nose was fine — he must’ve gone to the hospital wing that night.

“What happened to him! Ahah!” Peter cried out, “He looks like my house elf!”

There, Snape stood completely bald with no eyebrows and wearing Gryffindor robes.

Y/N slapped a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to calm her shrieking laughter but couldn’t. She and Remus lent on each other, trying to not tip over the hall bench. Everyone whopped loudly, James even whistled.

But as everyone was occupied with the sight, the person who she expected to be howling in laughter that most definitely should’ve been was Sirius. He simply drank from his goblet, his eyes peered over to her with a knowing look and bowed his head ever so slightly and looked away.

Oh.

Ohhh.

She was left with more unanswered questions than ever.

101 notes · View notes

elkian · 3 years

Text

Here’s my breakdown of Iron Widow!

Recommended: Hell yeah!

tl, dr: If you want to see a queer disabled girl going absolutely feral, unapologetically, for 400 pages, against the patriarchy - while abetted by the boys who love her AND each other - this is the book for you. Bear in mind that this is a YA book that apparently had a pagelimit to deal with and is the author’s first book (so there are some pacing and polishing issues here and there) and you should be find.

I’ve seen some decent (and not-so-decent) critiques of the book, and it’s just not going to be everyone’s cup of tea, but ultimately I thought it was really compelling and a joy to read.

Pros:

Main character is an unapologetically angry, violent young woman (some people have read her as nonbinary and I think there’s merit to that!)

Typically, in a book like this, you’d get to a point where her rough edges were sanded off and her anger mellowed a bit, right? I kept seeing those coming up and wondering if it would happen. The answer is “no”. Because much of her fury is responsive to the society she lives in, and until that society experiences a major shift, she will continue to be angry and continue to rail against it.

Look I haven’t read anything in a while that had such an outright violent female protagonist without some kind of mitigating factor and I just think it’s neat.

Really interesting setting, Chinese historical fantasy meets futuristic sci-fi. The rules of the worldbuilding were a little fast and loose, which I think is better given the amount of time allotted for the worldbuilding, overall.

The main triad are a delight, none of them quite existing in the expected ways. Li Shimin is still quick to violence, where others might have made him a sad pacifist (no complaints here: I love both options, but the first is unusual at this juncture). Nor does the text shie away from Yizhi being more ruthless and cunning than his soft uwu prettyboy act implies, while still being an excellent friend and supporter, then partner, to Zetian and then Shimin. Zetian, as mentioned, has a ton of rage, and despite society demanding she stop venting it, she absolutely refuses.

The polycule is a delight, the boys hooking up (and encouraging Zetian to love the other) made textual rather than subtextual, which I think was a good call. All of them enable each other in a way that wouldn’t, obviously, be healthy irl, but is fascinating and delightful to watch. Shimin and Yizhi temper Zetian’s choices without inhibiting her, and support her more often than not - and when they work in concert, it’s magnificent.

The action is good, swift enough to not be boring but paced out well enough that we can figure out the important parts. The Chrysalises are enormous war machines and the text repeatedly emphasizes that. I would LOVE to see a feature film of this.

The way Zetian is handled by society is a very important, but subtextual, detail. Almost everyone deals around her, as if she is a nonsapient problem rather than a person making choices. One of the exceptions to this is an exception from the moment she ‘proves’ herself to him, to the moment of his demise (spoilers) - while he does not accurately gauge her threat, he acknowledges her as a threat - as someone making the choices to do things rather than a disaster epicenter. This echoes the way women are treated in this society extremely well.

I actually love the ostentatious visuals we’re given, the very “anime” vibes (as the author gleefully puts it xD) from things like transforming mecha, reactive armor, glowing eyes, qi blasts, and more. It feels like the author had a blast writing it, so I had a blast reading it.

While touching on topics like sexual assault, the book never shows those acts directly on-screen, only people’s reactions to them (in one flashback) or the general concept, which I think is a good call.

Doesn't shy away from the horrors of foot-binding practices and the fact that (something even I failed to recognize before this book) those suffering such procedures would have impaired mobility and be disabled for the rest of their lives. In fact, past a certain point in the book, Zetian uses a wheelchair and other mobility aids available where she had only a cane before. I like that this isn’t treated as a weakness or failure on her part, but a regrettable and understandable consequence of the damage she’s been dealt. The wheelchair doesn’t trap her, it helps her.

Also doesn’t shy away from the fact that minorities (in this case, women) can be the tools of their own oppression: Zetian’s grandmother enacted the foot-binding, while her mother constantly pressured her to be the best THING she could be, to be quiet and appease.

While it’s easy to miss, Zetian gains a more nuanced understanding of intergender politics and interactions by the end of the book: that women (even the ones initially good to her) don’t always have her best interests at heart, and men (even the ones presented as dangerous and powerful) aren’t always out to hurt her, or other women. Li Shimin gets a subplot that could be described as “not all men”, but he has enough understanding of the horrors of power imbalances to know that just saying that is no good: instead he reinforces the idea through his actions, including dressing-down another man who suggests he fuck Zetian as if it’s a checkbox on his to-do list.

Cons:

Pacing.

Pacing is by far the biggest issue in this book. Author Xiran Jay Zhao mentioned cutting a few scenes to stay within a strict page limit, so I think that’s probably a factor. The prologue, while necessary for worldbuilding, drags a bit, and the pace doesn’t really ramp up to its best until at least three or four chapters past that. Certain revelations or ideas hit sooner than really feels organic, though they tend to match the fast pace of the rest of the book enough that it’s easy to miss.

The ending in particular feels much too fast, the final revelation coming almost completely out of left field (I don’t mean a lack of foreshadowing so much as a lack of direct textual buildup - it feels like we skipped ahead 5 hours without being notified).

Two things worth remembering:

1) This is the author’s first book; not that first books can’t be good, but that few really hit the writing stride we’ll hopefully see by two or three more books in. There’s some minor unpolished and awkward bits that stand out beyond the rest of the Cons section that I don’t think we would have seen from someone with more literary publishing experience.

2) This is a YA novel, which means it has to adhere to certain standards and be accessible to younger readers. YA is not inherently inferior to adult lit, but it is held to different standards that can affect how it’s presented.

There’s a lot of overt textual commentary on things that could, in theory, be handled as subtext. I’m loathe to rate this an outright Con, however, because I feel a lot of it was intentional, partly in order to prevent people from skipping over the intended meaning where they might have otherwise.

Unfortunately, historically strongly-feminist media and overtly textual media aren’t a great mix - there’s a lot of hamhanded mass media works, or enthusiastic but unpolished personal works, that can cause one to have the instinctive urge to recoil from the concept. Even I had that feeling here and there. I believe it’s worth powering through, but I understand why some people wouldn’t agree with me.

A lack of build up for other characters and more worldbuilding details. World-wise, we’ve got the basic gist of the province, 1 or 2 detailed areas, and then some vague middling bits on a few more areas. Chang’an, for instance, could have enjoyed even more detailing, really highlighting the way Zetian’s life has changed.

Character-wise, I would have liked to see more on the other pilots in particular, because this would have granted more context to Zetian and Li Shimin’s situation, made it easier to tell what was different from the norm. Someone else pointed out that this is partly due to the singular 1st-person PoV (past the prologue), as we can only see things through Zetian’s eyes. While I don’t think that PoV was a mistake, I do see how that could cut into more of the detail

In conclusion, I feel it’s a worth read and really enjoyable, but some people (as with all things) are going to be turned off pretty early on, and that’s okay.

#elk text #3rd #March #2022 #March 3rd 2022 #read this book #get it at the library if you're not sure you'll like it!#let yourself enjoy things and I think you'll be fine #iron widow #iron widow (book)#elk reads iron widow #i almost want to say it reads like fanfic in that it reads as something created out of sheer love for the setting and characters

12 notes · View notes

omegarosemain · 3 years

Text

everyone gets hugged because i said so

(you can also read the fic here)

Thor stared. What else was he to do, really, after his dead brother stepped out of a portal (a yellow one, so it couldn’t have been Loki’s own magic) along with two other people and a large reptile and said, “Well, that was certainly an adventure.”

The two people looked startlingly like Loki had as a child and when he became Thor’s sister. They had Loki’s horns, too—even the reptile had a little gold headpiece.

“...Loki?” Thor asked, afraid to hope and confused as to who to even address.

The man who looked most like the brother Thor had thought he had lost took a step forward. He smiled, just a little movement at the corner of his mouth, so slight it couldn’t be anything but genuine happiness, and darted his eyes (to Thor, his surroundings, Thor again, his companions, and back to Thor) in a way that Thor knew was anxiety of this encounter going awry.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

And that’s all Thor needed to surge forward and sweep him into a bruising hug with an elated cry of, “Brother!”

Loki—surprisingly enough—hugged back, best he could while his feet were off the ground and his arms mostly pinned. Thor couldn’t quite remember the last time Loki hugged him. There were affectionate touches, sure, but it had been decades if not longer since Loki made such a tangible show of care.

“Alright, enough!” he was quick to complain.

Thor wasn’t going to let him go, not yet. Loki had been dead—well and properly dead. Thor had lost hope of Loki having survived not long after Brunnhilde and the few remaining Asgardians arrived to Midgard. But Loki was here now so he wouldn’t be letting him run off so soon.

“I said enough, brother!” Loki snapped and never mind what Thor was just thinking, because he was going to put Loki down before he hurt him.

The expression on Loki’s face remained, anxiety mixed with a genuine sort of happiness.

“Loki you were...you died,” Thor said. “How-”

Loki shifted his weight and glanced around. “I’m not exactly sure. I wasn’t there. I’m from a different timeline, one that diverged after I attempted invading New York.”

“Oh,” Thor said.

This Loki wouldn’t remember anything that happened in the past decade. He might still be furious at everyone—Odin, the Midgardians who defeated him, Thor himself—but he got over it before he died in Thor’s timeline. There’s no saying he wouldn't again.

“Well, I hardly see how a few years make a difference.”

“How about more than just a few?” Loki asked, sweeping an arm to gesture to the boy who had to be Loki, so identical it couldn’t even be a sibling or child. The boy couldn’t be older than a Midgardian fourteen, if that. He wore the golden wings on a headpiece that Thor would have sworn was his when he was young, though the boy had added Loki’s horn signet at the front.

“Another timeline, I presume?” Thor said.

The boy-Loki nodded sharply, a half-feral look around his eyes.

“Were we brothers there?”

Loki (adult-man-Loki, that is, Thor was mostly sure the woman was Loki, too) made a jerking motion with his hand, like Thor had said something he wasn’t supposed to. But the boy was already answering, something like grief flashing across his face alongside a quick anger that seemed to dare that grief to linger.

“Yes, we were.”

“Then brothers we are here,” Thor declared, opening his arms in invitation. When Loki had been as young as the boy-Loki he used to take up that invitation when he was so inclined. Though who knew what this Loki had been through.

Not enough that he wouldn't accept Thor’s offer, apparently.

He crashed into Thor and clung on tight. Thor reciprocated with the same ferocity. The poor child was trembling, like it had been a very long time since he’d last had a hug like this.

“I’m sorry,” the boy gasped. Not quite crying, no, but dangerously close. “I didn’t mean to-it was an accident.”

Thor didn’t know what he was talking about, but it wasn’t as if he needed to in order to comfort him. Thor had much practice with children—Stark’s girl, the Asgardian children, and his own niece and nephews—and he had more than enough experience with Loki.

“I’m sure it was,” he soothed, determined not to set the boy down until he demanded it. “Accidents happen, and they are no one’s fault.”

“It was my fault. I didn’t mean to, but I was the one who-I- I’m sorry-”

“Loki, brother,” Thor interrupted.

The boy hiccupped.

“Whatever you did, I forgive you.”

The boy shuddered, and took a good long minute to compose himself before shoving at Thor to get away. He went back near the two others, crouching next to the lizard and surreptitiously attempting to hide the redness of his eyes by glaring at the grass.

“Are you another Loki, too?” Thor asked the woman who looked very much the same as his brother did when he was his sister. Loki usually went with black hair, though, and Thor didn’t want to make any assumptions. And good he didn’t.

“Gods, no,” the women said with disgust at the same moment adult-man-Loki said:

“She is.”

Thor blinked. The two exchanged furious glances.

“I was once Loki,” the woman said, after a pause. “Now I am Sylvie.”

“A fine name, sister!” Thor exclaimed and pulled her, too, into a hug. He was half certain she would stab him and was rather pleasantly surprised when she didn’t.

“Uh,” she said instead, holding herself very stiffly. That was typical of his sister, though, so Thor wasn’t worried about it.

“It’s a hug,” adult-Loki whispered, loud enough that Thor could obviously hear him. He was right next to Sylvie, afterall. Loki must know that, though.

“I know that,” Sylvie snapped back, similarly quiet.

“Wait-have you never been hugged before?” adult-Loki asked.

Thor squeezed Sylvie tighter. Never having been hugged? That was terrible! He must not have been around, at whatever point in the timeline that she came. He’d have to hug her often to make up for it.

“Ow!” she protested, squirming and kneeing and kicking at him. “Let me go!”

Thor set her on her feet and she scowled. She stepped back, falling into line with adult-Loki and child-Loki. She brushed herself off and refused to meet anyone’s eyes when she said, “‘Course I’ve been hugged. Just been awhile, ‘s all.”

Thor contemplated grabbing her into a hug again, or either of his brothers—the one who was practically the one he lost, the boy who looked so sad and angry and small—but he decided not to press his luck.

“And this lizard?” he asked, instead.

“Also a Loki,” Sylvie said.

“I think, anyways,” adult-Loki muttered.

“He is!” the boy insisted, standing and glaring.

“It isn’t a stuck enchantment?” Thor hazarded.

The two adults shrugged. The child pouted as he was forced to admit, “I don’t think so?”

“...right,” Thor said.

Well, he had always said Loki was his sibling no matter what.

He crouched and awkwardly patted the animal on the head, ignoring adult-Loki’s hissing gasp of worry. The lizard growled. Thor thought it might have pressed up into his palm, but couldn’t say for certain.

“Right he said as he stood, looking around the empty clifftop that overlooked New Asgard, where he had taken to broadening in the months since he had been dropped off by the Guardians. “What exactly are you doing here?”

@suvikamahes98blr @halloween-lover13 @stefanyd

#loki #loki show #thor #marvel #my fic #sylvie #kid loki #croki #loki laufeyson

59 notes · View notes

willowbird · 4 years

Note

can we get an Aaron POV of him beating the abuslute shit out of Jack in the locker room. i’m talking about slamming this boys head into the locker beating, he need kevin, matt and nicky to get aaron to stop and even then he still struggling to get more in till andrew comes into his vision. show me that same aaron from that secne in thanksgiving!!!

I am so SO sorry it's taken me so long to answer this!! Work was getting hectic and I was working on something else BUT now I'm for sure gonna get through the rest of these asks ^.^

Aaron losing his shit on Jack, huh? Well, we can sure do that ^.^

I changed a few things from your prompt just because as I was sitting down to write it made the most sense to me that if Aaron was gonna go after Jack it probably wouldn’t be about Andrew or Neil. Neil and Andrew take care of themselves, more or less, and if they can’t then they’ve got each other. Not that Aaron wouldn’t beat the ever-living shit out of Jack for doing or saying something to Andrew, but he just probably wouldn’t have to -- if only because Andrew doesn’t care enough about Jack to be affected by him.

Nicky on the other hand...? Well, I’m a bit soft for the twins being protective of Nicky.

Warning for violence, depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts, triggering language. Take care of yourselves.

----

“Jesus fucking Christ. That was the most pathetic excuse of teamwork I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life, and this is my sixth year coaching this fucks-forsaken team.” Coach Wymack had just spent the last twenty minutes ripping all of them brand new assholes. They were all tired, they were all angry, and they were all ready for this day to be fucking over, but it wasn’t over until the Coach had had his say, so here they were -- sitting in the locker room, getting chewed out again.

Not that they didn’t deserve it. Aaron knew they did.

It had been a brutal fucking loss. The Foxes trashed by some half-cocked team from Alabama. Even with Andrew actively trying to block the goal, there was only so much he could do when the other team’s offense kept breaking through their defensive line to swarm the goal. Matt was off the court with an injury, which meant the only backliners they had were Aaron, Nicky, and Keith -- the freshman backliner who still couldn’t figure out how to fucking pass to a moving target.

Aaron cared less about the loss than he did about the cause for it, and not for the same reasons as half the rest of the team.

Nicky had been all thumbs and no energy tonight, but that hadn’t been a surprise -- not to Aaron or any of the rest of the monsters. Nicky had been off for a few days, his usual chatty, chipper demeanor whittled down to strained smiles and shrugs in a way that the rest of the team had never seen before. Well, most of the rest of the team. Aaron had seen this before. Andrew had too. Neil and Kevin hadn’t witnessed it directly, but by now the other two “monsters” knew Nicky well enough to know this other side of him existed even if they hadn’t seen it.

So yeah, he’d gone into this game knowing it was going to suck -- knowing that they might lose. Maybe that had been their mistake. He, Andrew, Kevin, and Neil had been distracted -- torn between concern for Nicky and the need to cover for him. The freshmen had been a nightmare about it and what the fuck even was teamwork. At halftime, the commentators had called it one of the worst performances by the Foxes in three years.

Yeah.

But at least it was fucking over, right?

“Now get showered up and get the fuck outta my sight. I don’t want to see a single one of you fuckers until tomorrow -- yeah, that’s right, we’re having Saturday fucking practice thanks to that sorry excuse of a game you pissed all over tonight.” Coach glared at all of them in turn. “By tomorrow I expect Nolan and Fisk to get their heads out of each other’s ass and Hemmick?” The big man’s gaze landed on Aaron’s cousin and he felt himself go stiff. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Andrew stand up from where he was leaning against the lockers.

“Learn how to be a little less fucking useless. I don’t know what the fuck has been up with you the past few days but get it figure the fuck out. You hear me?”

The first pulse of genuine rage ignited in Aaron’s veins. His hands curled into fists and his vision narrowed. Nicky’s quiet, tightly muttered, “Yes Coach,” was partially drowned out by the dull roar in his ears.

Anything he might have said or done was stymied, however, by Andrew, who slammed his fist against the lockers, drawing everyone’s attention away from Nicky and onto him.

“Coach, I think we need to chat.” By whatever magic Andrew had over everyone that made everyone automatically take him more seriously than anyone else, he had Coach’s attention, just like that. The man snorted then jerked his head toward the door.

“Fine, but make it quick. I need to try and block out what just happened.”

Coach and Andrew left the room. For a minute, there was a tense, weighty silence, then someone whined and someone else bitched and normalcy returned -- well, normal for a really shitty fucking day anyway. The women split off to their changing room to shower and get ready, and several of the guys did the same.

Nicky remained seated, staring blankly down at his hands, shoulders slumped in utter defeat. That anger curled in Aaron again -- not at Nicky and not at the fucking game, but at Coach and the team for being so fucking stupid, and at himself for not knowing what the fuck to do about any of it. Nicky’s depression was an open secret among their group. It was something they all knew of but never talked about. This was probably the worst episode he’d had in years and Aaron just felt... fucking powerless.

When they’d noticed it, they’d closed ranks around Nicky as a group and shut out the rest of the team in a way they hadn’t done since the cousins’ freshman year. None of them were soft enough to take care of Nicky in the way he probably needed, but Andrew drove Nicky to Reddin Thursday morning and Aaron and Neil joined forces in helping Kevin hold his fucking tongue during practices when Nicky struggled to keep up with the rest of them.

It was not gentle support, but it was all they had to offer.

It just... wasn’t fucking enough.

“Jesus, Hemmick, are you fucking crying?” Aaron jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of Jack Nolan’s sharp, mocking voice. It was edged with a cruelty that went beyond the typical assholishness of the Foxes.

“What, forgot how to fucking talk too? Wow, you really are useless aren’t you?” Jack continued when Nicky only flinched at his ridicule and didn’t rebuke him like he usually would.

“Hey, Jack, leave him the fuck alone. You didn’t do so great out there yourself tonight so why don’t you worry about yourself,” Matt barked from where he’d been sitting through Coach’s dress-down. He was wearing his jersey but since he hadn’t played tonight there was no need for him to have to peel gear off or shower.

“Whatever.” Jack rolled his eyes like a petulant fucking teenager, but the look he shot Nicky was all cold predator. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and just go kill yourself?”

Even over the exclamation of Matt’s reprimand, Aaron still heard Nicky’s breath hitch. He remembered, vividly, the night two years ago when he and Nicky had been drinking and he’d asked him ‘How the fuck did make it through? We were fucking assholes, we are assholes, and you still stayed.’ He remembered not expecting the answer he got. He remembered Nicky looking down into his drink and saying, ‘I almost didn’t. Probably the only reason I didn’t try to off myself again was knowing that if I did, you two would go to my parents and I... I couldn’t let that happen. Didn’t care about me, but I could care about you. Caring about you guys kept me alive.’

He remembered the sick feeling in his stomach and the way that knowledge cut through his buzz, striking him sober with one fucking word: again.

Aaron did not make the decision to grab Jack, or if he did it was overwhelmed by the roar of the monster under his skin as it surged suddenly up from whatever dark place it had been lurking since that violent, bloody night last November. All he knew was that one moment he was standing there, and the next he had his hands on something that needed to shut the fuck up.

He only vaguely registered the shouts around him as he dug his fingers into Jack’s shirt and whirled him around. Then the only thing that existed was the feeling of flesh and bone and the slick of blood against his knuckles as he drove his fists into every soft part of the body in front of him as hard as he fucking could. Jacks hands scrabbled ineffectually at Aaron’s shoulders, then his face, trying to hit him or grab his hair or push him off, but for all that Aaron was a small man he was a fucking backliner for a reason and he threw every single ounce of his muscle into shoving Jack into the lockers.

A second later he was on him again, taking a fistful of his hair so he could slam his head into the lockers until the fucker’s knees buckled and he went down.

All he could hear was the rumble of rage in his veins. There was no thought, no goal, no understanding -- not of anything but the raw, unfiltered hate pouring out of him as he followed Jack to the ground. Distantly, he knew there was shouting or screaming -- that there were words being thrown at him and hands desperately trying to haul him back. He felt the fingers curling around his biceps and tugging on his shoulders. But his wrath was far too powerful and each time someone got a grip he was able to wrench free and use that momentum to land another hit.

At one point a solid arm wound around his waist and hauled him up and away. A sound like a feral animal ripped from his throat as Aaron thrashed wildly, trying to throw himself back onto Jack. The man had stopped moving at this point but there was a wet, raspy sound coming from him that still spoke of life and maybe Aaron hadn’t consciously decided to keep going until it stopped, but the drive was there all the same.

The rest of the room was hazy around the edges, people were blurs of sound and color. The only thing in focus was the wheezing form of Jack fucking Nolan on the floor, and Aaron fought viciously to get back to him, jerking at the arms holding him back, kicking and trying to lash out with all his strength.

Until something blocked his view. And it took a minute for Aaron to recognize what it was. To recognize who it was.

“A-Aaron. Aaron. Stop. Please. It’s o-okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. S-stop...”

The rest of the world snapped back into focus at the sound of Nicky’s gasped, broken words. Aaron stopped fighting so suddenly that he and everyone trying to hold him back stumbled. There were three of them, he realized -- Matt, Kevin, and Dan. Neil and Andrew were flanking Nicky, the three of them blocking his view of Jack’s prone, gasping form but not actually trying to stop him from killing him.

Nicky was crying, his eyes wide and his hands trembling as he held them out in front of Aaron, pleading him to stop.

Aaron took a few more heavy breaths and realized he’d been panting. He looked from Nicky to Andrew’s cool, appraising stare, then to Neil’s similar expression before finally glancing beyond them to the mess that might have once been Jack Nolan. When he dragged his gaze back to Nicky, all he said was, “He shouldn’t have opened his fucking mouth.”

Nicky made a strangled sound, something between a sob and a laugh. Then he did something he almost never did and launched forward, wrapping his arms around Aaron in a tight hug. In a reflex that Aaron didn’t even know he had, his arms snapped around his cousin and he hugged him back just as fiercely.

As Nicky sobbed onto his shoulder, Aaron looked over his hunched form and met his brother’s gaze. There weren’t words that could translate the look they shared just then, but if he had to label it, it might have been something like understanding.

#aftg #aftg fanfic #tw: violence #tw: depression #tw: mentions of suicidal thoughts #tw: triggering language #pov aaron minyard #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #protective aaron minyard #asks #100 followers #anonymous #my writing

295 notes · View notes

carriagelamp · 3 years

Photo

Weirdly enough, I often find myself reading less in the summer, since I have more time than I do during the rest of the year to do other things. Also artfight has been eating up more than a bit of my free time! But here’s a collection a graphic novels I sat around on the hammock reading, and some novels I finished up...

(Everyone go read All Systems Red, holy crow guys)

A Whale of the Wild

The “sequel” to A Wolf Called Wander, though it doesn’t actually connect to the previous novel except in the stylistic/thematic sense. A Whale of the Wild is very much a standalone novel. And a pretty decent one! Personally, I think I liked Wolf more, but this one was a pleasant, informative read, with just the right amount of crushing dread sprinkled in. It’s about a young orca called Vega who is learning to become a new wayfinder for her pod but who still has a lot to learn, especially in an ocean that is becoming increasingly hostile to orcas and the other sealife that live alongside humans. When a devastating earthquake hits, Vega and her little brother find themselves separated from their family, lost in a now horrifyingly unfamiliar environment, and fighting starvation as the salmon that sustain them become more and more unreliable. It’s a desperate fight for survival as they search for food and their missing family. This book is written for a middle grade level, and does a really good job of putting the current environmental crisis into an animal’s perspective while giving the readers something to hope for.

The Adventure Zone: The Crystal Kingdom

Every July I eagerly anticipate the next Adventure Zone graphic novel. This one is for their fourth arc, The Crystal Kingdom, in which Magnus, Taako, and Merle respond to a SOS from a floating laboratory that is gradually being consumed by crystals and which threatens the entire world should it fall into the ocean. Carey Pietsch’s art continues to be absolutely fantastic, so beautifully and hilariously expressive, and this one delivers some great Merle moments, lots of Carey Fangbattle, and, of course, Kravtiz. Kravitz, my beloved…

Anyway, I obviously always recommend these. If you’ve never gotten into The Adventure Zone, I totally recommend either trying these graphic novels — or even better, just go listen to the podcast because it really is both hilarious and creates a shockingly good and heart-wrenching story by the end.

All Systems Red

I’ve seen The Murderbot Diaries on my dash occasionally, and it always looked interesting, but a friend’s recommendation finally compelled me to read the first novella of the series. And holy shit y’all. Absolutely the best book I’ve read this month, it’s amazing. Mind-blowingly good. Also, if you’re like me and want a good audiobook, it’s a nice three-hour listen, very chill!

Anyway, All Systems Red is about a Security Unit, an artificially created being that’s part-organic part-mechanical and all-company-owned-and-controlled. However, self-named “Murderbot” has managed to hack into the system that suppresses its own will, and is now coasting along, doing the least amount of work its job requires not to be noticed, while preferring to spend all its time watching the hours and hours of soap operas it has downloaded into its brain. And it’s a tolerable if somewhat dull life, until the science team that it's currently rented to is attacked and the whole mission goes pear-shaped. Suddenly Murderbot has to scramble to keep its humans alive… while its humans scramble with the realization that their “SecUnit” isn’t actually a mindless robot like they had all believed...

This story is both gripping and hilariously funny. Murderbot has such a unique voice and perspective and it’s an absolute pleasure to follow its story. I reallly need to read the next book...

Asterix and the Banquet

A classic. I was startled when I realized I hadn’t actually read this Asterix story… but hell I’m not gonna complain, it lets me read one of the originals for the first time again! In this Asterix volume, the Indomitable Gauls and the Romans end up arranging a bet — the Romans intend to keep them under siege, trapped in their village, while Asterix is confident that he can easily evade them… and will prove it by going on a tour around all of Gaul, collecting iconic foods from each region in order to return and put on a fine banquet. So we get a fantastic adventure in which Asterix and Obelix run all over the country, pursued the whole way, while making cheerful stops at the various eateries along the way. Also the first book Dogmatix shows up in! All around, a wonderful read, fun like all the best Asterix comics are.

Beauty Pop v4

A less impressive graphic novel. The first Beauty Pop is one of my guilty pleasure manga because… it really is pretty stupid but in the best possible ways. I mean, the whole thing is framed around hairstyling battles, like a shojo sports manga without the sports. It’s bonkers. Unfortunately, the series does not really manage to hold up, and it really begins to feel repetitive and dragging as it continues… as a lot of series like this do. *shrug* Unsurprising but still kinda disappointing I suppose. The building three-way romantic tension is mildly interesting if for no other reason than the main character Does Not Notice and Does Not Care about any of it, which is amusing and refreshing.

FRNCK v5

Now this series only gets better and better as it goes. This is the first book of the second arc, and somehow the danger just seems to be ramping up and up and up. The cavefamily have lost their home… as well as Léonard and Gargouille. Heartbroken, shocked, and angry, Franck is the one who ends up shouldering the blame for their presumed deaths as the others mourn. Things only get worse when Franck finds himself separated from the family, and in the territory of another tribe, this one hostile and cannibalistic...

Haikyuu v5

I continue to read this series because it continues to be charming… though it is beginning to feel, maybe, just a little repetitive. Kind of an inevitability with sports manga. But so far it continues to be good enough to overcome that. I’m not sure what I can say about this series that I haven’t already, so I’ll simply say it continues to be one of the most impressive sports manga I’ve read, and the author does a fantastic job of creating engaging characters, fleshed out teams, and really compelling relationships. I do genuinely adore all the main members of Crows, along with a number of characters from the rival teams as well. And of course it has some kickass volleyball scenes that are just drawn so dramatically they can’t help but take your breath away a little.

M*A*S*H Goes To Maine

Meh. The original book of the series was actually quite good in my opinion. This one… considerably less so. The first part I enjoyed more, since it was about Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, and Oliver Jones trying to set up the FinestKind Clinic and Fishmarket in Crabapple Cove (which… is just the best premise I could have ever asked for). However, the book spends most of its time describing the quirky lives and times of other people living in the area and I… just… don’t care. It was funny at times but… I just don’t care. I wanted to hear more about the main cast. Also I found this book felt more racist and misogynistic than the first which also put me off :/ Wouldn’t bother if I were you. Go read the first book instead, or better yet just watch the TV show which is an obvious banger.

My Heart’s in the Highlands

I have had this on my “currently reading” list for so long but I’m officially giving up. It’s a really good book in theory but my god I can’t get over the pacing.

It’s about Lady Jane, a woman studying medicine in Edinburgh in 1888, and who suddenly finds herself back in the Highlands in the 13th century. Lost and confused, Jane is now at the mercy Clan Donald’s hospitality while she tries to adjust to this new world and hunts for her broken time machine. Fortunately, this hospitality include a burgeoning friendship with a red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, who opens Jane’s eyes to the way the world could be.

Listen. It drives me nuts. This book should be completely up my alley, it has everything I like — IT HAS ALL OF ITS HISTORICAL FOOTNOTES CITED AT THE BACK, LITTLE EXTRA DETAILS ABOUT EVERY CHAPTER. THAT’S MY SHIT RIGHT THERE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LIKE BEING ABLE TO GO OVER HISTORICAL DETAILS?? AND WELL RESEARCHED FOOTNOTES?? And yet it doesn’t. Fucking. Work for me. It has a kickass Scottish warrior lady as a love interest! It has a badass lady doctor! It has fish-out-of-water culture shock! But it also has a completely meandering plot, no sense of building tension, and a romance that just happens out of nowhere and feels completely unearned and uninteresting.

I would genuinely just rather read Outlander again, which I know has its own host of problems, but at least Outlander felt exciting and interesting and tense and funny. The romance built in fits and starts, it was complicated, and kept me interested. That book had me hooked (and has me hooked every time I reread it) whereas this book I’ve been sadly picking at for months like its a plate of overcooked spinach. This felt like an attempt at a queer, historically accurate knockoff which I would normally be super into but which just could not stick the landing.

Moomin on the Riviera

My first time actually reading anything from the Moomin canon. I have zero idea how to feel about it! It certainly is as feral as I’ve heard described! Overall, I think I enjoyed it but it sure made me feel strange emotions I didn’t know existed. I’m not even going to try to describe it. Read it if you want a batshit insane anti-capitalist comic.

Surviving the City

This was good in some areas, less good in others. It had a very interesting indigenous perspective on life in the modern city, the foster system, and The Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women issue, which I’ve never seen handled in a book before. Something about the pacing did not completely click with me and I found myself getting easily distracted, but it’s definitely worth the read just to experience it and look at the issues it deals with through the characters’ (and author’s) eyes. It did give me a lot to think about and wrestle with, which is sometimes the best thing a book can give you.

Torchwood: Pack Animals

A really fun read, more so than I had ever expected! If you like Torchwood and want more stories about the team before everything goes to shit, this is perfect for that. It includes the entire cast, an interest mystery to be unravelled, lots of slavering monsters, Rhys being really wonderful and sweet (which I didn’t know I wanted until I read this book), and all the humour I expect from Torchwood. I had to send a lot of quotes to my long-suffering girlfriend who a) does not watch this show but b) needs to tolerate it because I find it too funny to keep to myself. It was good enough to make me go out another book of the series since this was the only one my library carried.

40 notes · View notes

rudemaidenswrite · 4 years

Text

Don't Belong Here

Part 1

Fandom: Bright

OC Fogteeth Orc x Reader

By: @pusantheamazonian

You're dragged to one of the monthly Fogteeth party's against your will. For once it doesn't end up a bad night for you.

The music's too loud, there's too many people and now this. You’re staring up at the orc, and he’s standing in front of you mumbling something.

"Sorry but you're going to have to speak up. Bad hearing." Tapping your right ear, you scoot over on the couch. Allowing him to sit down.

"You don't belong here." Huffing he leans over before sitting.

Chuckling, you already knew that. A packed house party with strobe lights, mosh pit and dubious activities is not your idea of a fun time. You'd rather be at home under a mound of blankets with all the food watching Gravity Falls.

Why not amuse him. It's not like you're going to come to another one of these ever again and he'll probably be with someone else by the end of the night.

"Flaming red asshole hair." Pointing at the bar. "My sister and her girlfriend. They are the ones who dragged me here."

"Yeah they've been here before." Nodding he takes a drink.

"Said I was a bad night shifter and needed to socialize. So this." Gesturing at yourself. You had purposely worn an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Sat in the back corner away from everyone. So that people would avoid talking to you but not this guy. Apparently he didn't get the memo.

“Sitting in the corner is not socializing.” Teasing he gives you a lopsided grin.

“Eh, close enough.” Waving your hand you dismiss that accusation.

The more you look at him, he's kinda cute and not entirely threatening looking. You know orcs have quite a bit of range on them. From looking terrifying to absolutely adorable. He's chunky but it works for him, honestly it's doing it for you.

God this not what you are supposed to be doing. So what if he's your type. Stop oolging. The Fogteeth jersey he's wearing means he's bad news.

"Name's Ronnie."

"Y/N." You quickly scan the crowd to make sure you haven't lost your two hooligans. Cause those bitches would leave you for a dirty alley quickie. And you’ve lost them. "Is it always this loud?"

"The barbeque is a lot quieter."

"I would hope so." You don't know why but you find yourself smiling and laughing. The more you talk to him the less grumpy you are about being here. His humor is out there but he's very pleasant to talk to.

God. He doesn't know what's going on. You smell faintly of blackberries. He keeps getting a whiff every time you lean in to hear him. Most humans run away in disgust from him, especially women. But you're still here.

You don't know how long it's been, hours you imagine but you're ripped from peace very suddenly.

"Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!" Your sister is screaming at the top of her lungs.

"What Charlie?" Panicked, you immediately stand up.

"Come on! You're up next. You can't miss your turn!" She’s jumping excitedly.

"Turn for what?" Confused, you look at Ronnie hoping he might know. He shakes his head no. You haven't seen anyone playing games that would require turns.

"You'll see." Giving you a suspicious smile and pulling your arm.

As she starts to drag you away, you instantly grab a hold of Ronnie. Dragging him with you through the sea of people. You know her suspicious smiles never lead to anything good. It’s best to have another witness or at least someone on your side.

To his surprise he lets you drag him along. Your warm hand tightly interlocked with his. Whatever your sister has planned can't be that bad.

He was wrong.

"You got to be kidding me." Horrified you let go of everybody and back away. Charlie has led you to a back room where it is fight club night.

"Nope!" Olivia is squealing, suddenly appearing on your left. Trying not to shake in excitement or else she'll spill the contents in her arms. "Three shots of Everclear and a can of Fat Orc."

"Are you serious? This the real reason you brought me?" This is so uncalled for and obviously something that they have planned. They've been doing shit like this a lot lately.

"No we did want you to socialize but then we found this and everything else was thrown to the side." Olivia rambles on.

"I hate y'all so much." So offended you can't process what’s really happening.

"Awe come on you can do it." Charlie tries to pep talk you further into it.

"No I'm not! I'm not thunderdome-ing it so y'all can win some money. This-" In processing of telling them off you're interrupted by an asshole.

"Yes run on home girl. This is a man's room. Don't want you to hurt yourself." Sneering he leaves just as quickly as he appeared.

"That's your opponent." Olivia whispers.

"How much Charlie?" Glaring you watch him disappear back into the crowd. Fuck it. Eye twitching, inner alpha bitch activated.

"$100." She knows you're hooked now.

"Give it." Still staring off into the direction he went, you hold a waiting hand out. Grinning wickedly Charlie tosses the Fat Orc at you. Cracking it open, you chug the entire thing in one go. With the boiling rage inside of you, the can is crushed with one hand. Everything else can wait. This asshole needs to be taught a lesson.

The current fight ends and the orc ring leader is yelling out different things. The bookie next to him is frowning. Apparently he betted on the wrong guy.

"Give me your sweatshirt and finish the shots.” Olivia giggles.

"Hold your horses." Grumbling with a grimace you downed the last shot. Somehow your sweatshirt’s already off and Charlie's pushing into the ring. It's a stupid makeshift ring. Just a circle outlined in chalk.

"Place your bets!" The ringleader shouts.

"Oh you going to stay?" He smugly questions.

"To beat your sexist ass? I wouldn't miss it." Snapping back you're fueled with liquor and hatred. Dude looks like a unsanitary version of fuck boy. Which just further fuels the fire.

He can’t believe what he's seeing, you have transformed into a completely different person. The quiet girl who didn't even want to be here is now a feral animal.

A crowd is gathering. Often it's human men that enter the ring on these nights. Testing how long they can last against an orc or other humans. Rare is it that a woman enters, even rarer that they win. Causing this much uproar has reached the top of the command chain. Seeing Dorghu enter the room. Everything has escalated and Dorghu happens to stand next to him.

"With the house cut, she'll get over $900 if she wins." Craft informs.

“Who is she?” Dorghu demands, not many capture his interest.

“She came in with Ronnie.” Craft grins at him.

"Ronnie?" Dorghu turns in surprise.

"We were talking then her sister brought her back here.” Nodding at Charlie. “He made a sexist comment and she flipped. Did three shots, a can of Fat Orc and got in. She’s been drinking water all night."

“Interesting.” Dorghu turns back to the match to watch you counter a punch and punch him in the middle of the throat. With a kick to the stomach you knock him to the ground.

"The winner!" An orc yells to a sea of angry groans, briefly holding your arm up. Exhausted everything is spinning, ears are ringing and the liquor burps start.

"Give me my stuff." Slurring you almost lose your balance looking for Charlie and Olivia. Staggering a few steps you make it safely to them. You have forgotten everything about Ronnie and exactly where you are. It's too hot in this room and you need a nap. You are going to regret everything in the morning. Tugging your hoodie back on you doesn't bother zipping it.

The bookie appears as you're putting everything back into your pockets. Of course you have to be the one to collect the money.

"$936 all yours." Smiling he hands you the cash. You see his eyes dip for a second before leaving to collect money for the next round.

"Thanks." Great, he just got an eye full down your shirt. What a pervert. Spinning back to the hooligans, it is time for their punishment. "Ten for you and ten for you. Two four six eight for me."

"Come on-" Whining Charlie starts pouting.

"Zip it! It's whatcha get for signing me up without my permission." You whip around determined to give it back to the bookie.

You visibly pause when you make eye contact with Dorghu. You're not stupid you vaguely know what he looks like. Change of plans. Drunk you who is still pissed has decided on a new dumb plan. You march straight to Dorghu, maintaining eye contact. Everyone watching you is confused.

Out of sheer intoxicated boldness you grab his hand and put the winnings in it.

"Keep it. Fun party. It was nice talking to someone besides Ronnie's kinda cute. So do what you do."

The room freezes. You can feel the tension but could care less about it. Clear as day you touched the leader like it was nothing then spoke perfect Bodzvokhan to him. Before toddling off complaining about getting fresh air and water.

Your sister said you were probably at the car cooling off. He checked the parking lot twice. No sign of you. That's until he gets a whiff of you.

After making it outside you disappeared down an alley by the car. Much quieter, no people and the breeze is nice. Sitting on the ground you can feel yourself nodding off.

"Ah!" Jumping from the sudden cold against your neck. It's Ronnie holding a water bottle. "Dang it Ronnie you scared the bejeezus out of me." You accept the water bottle.

At this position you can really see how tall and massive he is. Sort of reminds you of the Strongman Champion Brian Shaw. Your mind drifts, wondering how he would taste and feel in your hand. Your insides quiver from the thought. What the fuck? Trying your hardest you focus on the bottle.

"You shouldn't be trying to sleep in the alley then."

"Fair point. Thank you for the water." Struggling for a second you finally open the water.

"You speak Orc?" From this angle he can see straight down your shirt. He can see that you were hiding a great set under that hoodie.

"Learned it in high school trying to impress a boy. Some of my co-workers are orcs so it works out." Shrugging speaking Orc isn't a big deal, anyone can learn it.

"You didn't say you could fight."

"Honestly, it's like some drunken boxing Kung Fu shit but the more intoxicated I am. The more berserker I get when fighting." Taking a swig of water. "I don't usually drink or purposely get into fights."

"Damn baby." Taking the risk, you have been an enjoyable companion tonight. Why not see what the limit is.

"Don't call me baby." You aggressively glare at him to make a point.

"Whatever you say, Sprinkles." Putting his hands up in surrender, he needs to change the subject quickly.

"Sprinkles? That…that's different but okay." Weird name to choose but he seems to get the point.

"How's your hearing?" Lowering himself, he sits down beside you. He has no plans for tonight.

"Much better. I can clearly hear you and not have to be all up on you just to listen."

You see his ears twitch at that comment. Maybe he does like being close to you.

"Brave move you did. Handing the money directly to Dorghu."

"Yeah. But it's the only way I knew how. The money would make it back for the next party. Does that make sense?"

"I get your point."

"I don't need the money and it's payback for them setting the fight up in the first place." You give him a mischievous eyebrow wiggle.

"So you think I'm cute?" Blurting out the question was not the smoothest thing he had planned but it’s the easiest way.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Your face gets a little warmer and you stare at the opposite wall. Hard. You forgot he could speak orc.

"Don't worry I think you're cute too."

"What?" Surprised and suspicious. You can't help but to stare at him like he’s crazy as you feel your heart rate speed up. "Are you sure it's not because I just kicked someone's ass?"

"About 90% sure." Teasing he gives you a genuine smile.

"Y/N!" Charlie yells.

"Y/N! We're ready to go!" Olivia is screaming.

"Y/N! Where - oops sorry for interrupting." Charlie yells louder, now walking down the alley. Until she sees you two.

"You two could wake the neighborhood." Groaning, you're still annoyed with them. It's going to be a long car ride home.

"Rude! Not my fault you're deaf." Charlie scoffs.

"Wait by the car!" You fling a rock in their direction and they scamper away.

“Oh I'm going to end up snapping one day and killing them.” Groaning you heave yourself off the ground. Ronnie does the same while trying not to laugh.

"Sprinkles, you get more interesting by the second. How about I get your number so I can stay up-to-date?" In bold fashion he holds his phone out.

"Really?" Stunned, no one’s asked for your number before.

"Yes." Nodding in reassurance.

"I guess since you're so adamant." Pretending to be exasperated, you enter your number under the name Sprinkles. Turns out socializing for once wasn't that bad.

#reader insert #rudemaidenswrite #fanfiction #reader inserts #fogteeth #bright fandom #bright #OC #original character #orc x reader #OC Fogteeth Orc #orc #orc boyfriend #thunderdome #bad hearing #chunky bois #fight club #fluff

338 notes · View notes

waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

Text

Waking Up Alone

This is for my anon who requested something angsty and fluffy with El Phantasmo- hope you enjoy! The idea is partially inspired by the Cowboy Junkies song "Sun comes up, it's Tuesday morning". (I am the queen of sad lady songs, I swear.)

Pairing: El Phantasmo x OFC

Word count: 3.091

Content advisory: language, sexual references

Sun comes up, it’s Tuesday morning

Hits me straight in the eye

Guess you forgot to close the blind last night

Oh that’s right, I forgot, it was me

The morning sun feels like an assault on your eyes, punching its way through your delicate eyelids and right through into your nerves. Yeah, you definitely had a few too many drinks last night. Gin and tonic with the girls, which you hadn’t done in ages. It ended up with pitchers at the dive you’d been frequenting since you were too young to get into bars, the place that truly catered to everyone. Beer after liquor, never sicker; liquor before beer, in the clear. Why the hell had you switched from liquor to beer?

Doesn’t matter now, you think, wrestling yourself into a sitting position while protecting your eyes with a trembling hand. Wrestling yourself. You sigh a little as you consider the term that immediately springs to mind. You didn’t mention the breakup to the girls. It still feels too strange, too ephemeral. Were you ever really a couple anyway? You suppose that’s the crux of the problem. You didn’t know where you stood, so you’d estimated that you were somewhere it turned out you weren’t close to.

If Riley The Perfidious Bastard were around, he would have made sure to lower the Roman shade you’d fashioned out of an old curtain and some bamboo rods. He was always impressed at your ability to create homey touches from spare parts. Now that he’s not around, you realize how much you’d liked having your abilities praised.

If Riley were here, you’d also be waking up to the smell of coffee, the most wonderful thing in the world for someone in your condition. But there’s nothing. No rich, roasted scent, no happy, burbling noises from the machine in the kitchen. You have to get up and take care of it yourself, which you haven’t had to do in a long time. Goddammit.

You run one hand over the expanse of your king bed, the plump mattress extending almost all the way to the window. Sure, the thing took up most of the room but you didn’t care. The room was only going to be used for sleep anyway. Well, sleep and that other, delicious thing. That thing you missed so much. Well, you missed it the way that Riley had done it. If he was really gone, you were going to have a hell of a time finding someone who could make you want to spend all day in bed the way he had. You still hadn’t made your way back to the center of the bed. Somehow, your mind refused to accept that things were over. You were still making space for him.

With a dramatic effort that has no one to appreciate it, you heave yourself off the bed and make your way towards the kitchen. You’re halfway through the process of making coffee when you realize that you’re wearing one of his shirts, one of the ones with his logo emblazoned on it. You must have just reached for the first thing you could find when you got home and, of course, that would be something from the pile of shirts you’d made next to the bedroom door; shirts to be given to charity because you sure as hell didn’t want to look at them anymore. That pile had been sitting there for three weeks, the dried traces of angry tears still on every part of it, and you hadn’t gotten around to carrying everything to the donation bin less than a block away.

Coffee is more important than anything right now, so you focus on that. You also shove a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster oven. Bread and peanut butter will help ease the seething broth in your gut and allow you to concentrate on the day. Which would be even more useful if your day actually required concentration. Band practice had been pushed back to tomorrow because Kyle and Lily were off in the country visiting her parents. Sure, you could work on the guitar parts by yourself, but it’s not like there was anything to learn. You had a handful of gigs coming up in the next few weeks, mostly local, all focused on your last album. Practice was just a matter of making sure you all kept tight and maybe came up with some new ways to make the live experience a little different for people.

As autumn shifted closer to winter, it was always the quiet season. Students were running short on money, the weather became unpredictable, and going on the road became less and less lucrative the closer it got to the holidays. It was approaching that time of year when people started to nest rather than seek a mate. Or at least that’s how it was for most people. It just wasn’t that way for wrestlers dividing their time between North America and Japan. You cringe at how that thought makes you recall the fights you’d had in the last few days of your whatever the hell it was because apparently it wasn’t a relationship.

It’s a very different feeling than at the beginning of spring, when everything was starting to pick up, when you constantly felt excited about what the immediate future held, and when you’d agreed to go to a wrestling show because Nadia was doing makeup for it. You and Wendy had shown up already drunk and had taken advantage of Nadia’s invitation to come backstage.

You’d stolen beer from kraft services and watched Nadia attending to her work while you tried to distract her by making her laugh. You’d been surprisingly successful but she was such a pro that she had no problems. The women took the longest for her to do, but all the performers had to come in to make sure that they’re coloring and contouring was perfect for tv lighting and that was how you’d met him.

The two of you had locked eyes as soon as he came in the room and had remained that way as he settled into Nadia’s chair. You hadn’t been able to tear yourself away from those huge, shiny orbs with their saucy expression and despite your inebriated state, you could feel that stare lodging itself in your memory forever.

“This is El Phantasmo,” she giggled.

“He’s a what now?” you’d snorted in response, relishing the flare of indignation in his eyes.

“Are we letting just anyone back here now?” he snapped.

“These are my friends!” Nadia assured him, slurring her speech as she motioned to you and Wendy. You’d been feeding her the beer you’d purloined as well.

“Like I said. We’re letting just anyone in.”

At that, you’d given his seat a shove with your foot, despite the fact that Nadia had started to apply bronzer to his cheeks. He was left with a dark streak across one side of his face and nose, which had made you and Wendy crack up.

“Come on,” Nadia chided, “I need to make these guys look good.”

“Good luck with that,” you laughed.

The man you knew only as El Phantasmo flipped you off and you’d returned the gesture, swiveling on your seat a little so that your hips were thrust forward. It wasn’t that he was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen, far from it. But something about him just got to you. He had such an effect on you that even as you were mocking him, you let your body move and pose in ways that were intended to resonate with his basest masculine instincts.

You’d been captivated by the show, particularly by his display of athleticism, as well as his bratty defiance to what the audience wanted. You’d booed him with everything you had and you’d been so drawn to him that you’d had to restrain yourself from running to the ring and grabbing his pert ass right there.

Instead, you’d made your way backstage again and insinuated yourself into the group that was going for drinks. You insisted that Nadia come along because Wendy had headed home as soon as the show was over. You wanted someone to hang out with so that it wasn’t totally obvious what and who you were there for. It didn’t really matter, though, because everyone was so friendly and most were so drunk that they didn’t care that they had no idea who you were.

You’d kept an eye on him for a while and then approached the bar when you saw him going for a refill, elbowing your way in so that you were right next to him, bumping his shoulder hard as you got to the bar.

“You wanna buy me a drink?” you crooned.

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll buy you one.”

“Does that mean I have to hang out with you?”

“Yup. Besides, you know you want to.”

“I really don’t.”

He was laughing a little when you said it, and when you leaned over to scream your order at the bartender, ordering him a random drink since you hadn’t even bothered asking, he ran his hand down your back and gave your ass a quick slap. You’d smirked to yourself. You knew you’d seen the spark in his eyes.

“Riley,” he shouted right into your ear.

“Deaf now,” you shot back, pushing his drink at him. “You’re skinny for a wrestler.”

“Don’t need to bulk up when you’re as good as I am.”

“Anything else you’re good at?”

“Fucking women with big mouths until they can’t say anything but my name.”

The two of you had spent the night all over his apartment and, yeah, he’d lived up to his own hype. The sex had been outright feral, biting and clawing and animal-like noises until you were both too exhausted to move.

You thought about dropping a hint that you wanted to sleep there but since it was kind of obvious that this was a one-night thing, you’d waited a while then pulled your clothes back on to go. The two of you shared a surprisingly tender kiss at the door and when you made to leave, he’d looked surprised.

“You don’t want to exchange numbers or something?” He’d sounded legitimately surprised.

“Sure.”

You’d entered each other into your phones and you went home in a cab, reflecting that you did feel more of a connection than you’d realized at first.

Still, you held off calling him so as not to look desperate, but he’d called you a couple of days later. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting to admit you were broke until your next royalty check cleared, you’d invited him over for dinner. The two of you had cooked some pasta together and drank a couple of bottles of wine and then tore into each other again, gradually making your way to your bed. Once again, it had been mind-blowing, but the real surprise came at the end of the night.

“Mind if I stay here?” he asked quietly.

You’d patted the pillows beside you and grinned. You’d drifted off thinking that, yes, this was something a little special and you’d woken up thinking the same thing.

Craving the crisp air on your reddened cheeks, you grab a sweater, jeans and boots and that wonderful alpaca poncho you’d found when you and Riley went to that farmer’s market. It was a weird thing to find in a place that was supposed to be all about food but it didn’t matter because it was soft and full of deep colours and even though it had been hotter than hell outside, you knew that you were going to get plenty of use from it once the weather turned colder. At the time, you thought that you’d still be going for walks and dinner and drinks with Riley.

As you get ready, your phone buzzes. Wendy sending you a message.

“Never let me do that again.”

You chuckle, remembering that however bad you got last night, she was the one who ended up trying to dance on the bar, refusing to acknowledge that she couldn’t climb up on it. You’ll all have a good laugh about it later but right now, you can’t deal with it. And the reason you can’t deal with it is because for a second, you’d hoped that it was him texting you.

Your body immediately knows where it wants to go, turning the first corner and heading for the hipster diner you eat from too often. They make a mean breakfast burrito but today, you limit yourself to one of those extra buttery croissants you love so much.

Joanne is working the counter, which is kind of remarkable since you remember running into her late into the night, but although her face is flushed the same as you, she’s smiling warmly at every customer.

“Hey there, lady,” she chuckles. “Still walking?”

“Barely. May I please have coffee and a croissant? And may I ask why Peter isn’t working this morning?”

She prepares your order, grinning. “Well he had some of the guys over to watch the game last night and it turns out he’s in worse shape than I am.”

“The bastard.”

“He was totally unconscious this morning. I hope he’s not dead because being a widow would suck.”

Everyone is in a relationship. Everyone you know is in love. It hurts a lot to think that one of those things is still true of you.

Things had gone to shit over an instagram post of all things. Him during a trip back to Japan, posing with a woman who looked straight out of a modelling agency. Immediately, you’d felt in your gut that something was off and although you hadn’t wanted to seem like you were scrutinizing his every movement, you’d been unable to hold back.

“Is something going on with you and that girl in the pictures with you?”

“Going on?” He’d seemed puzzled. “I mean, we hook up when I’m in Japan. No big deal.”

That’s where he had been wrong. It was a very big deal for you. The two of you hadn’t talked about your status but you realized that you had been assuming that because you’d been wrapped up in the romance of it all that he was too. Apparently not.

It had led to a huge fight, then another resentful exchange, and then he was back in Japan for a week. You hadn’t messaged him at all while he was gone. He didn’t contact you when he got back. You’d come home one day to find your spare set of keys in an envelope in your mailbox. No note, nothing. No request to get his set back from you. Giving someone a spare set of keys was supposed to mean something. How many women had keys to his place?

You ponder it glumly for the umpteenth time as you make your way back to the home that always feels strangely empty to you now. You’d been in the place for five years. He’d been coming around for five months and somehow it feels like he belonged there. You see a figure sitting on the front step of one of the buildings and for a second, you think it’s him, waiting for you to get home, like he used to before he had keys and could go in and surprise you with dinner, or flowers, or-

Then you realize that it actually is him, sitting on your step, drinking a beer and staring off into space. He doesn’t even look up when you come to a halt next to him.

“Dude, it’s nine in the morning. Are you starting early or finishing late?”

He shrugs without looking at you and after a long moment of silence, you sit down next to him. You tear the croissant in half and silently offer it to him but he shakes his head.

“For the love of god, eat something.”

He shakes his head again.

“Fine, become an alcoholic and drink yourself to death for all I care.” You bite into the delicious pastry, humming in satisfaction and finally he reaches over and takes the other half from you.

“Good boy.”

“Here’s the thing,” he says quietly. “I thought that since you’d never said anything, it meant that you had other guys in your life. All the guys I work with either lie to their wines and girlfriends or they just have these open things going on and I guess after a while it starts to seem like that’s the normal thing to do.”

“Well I never said that I was opposed to that. I never said that we couldn’t work something out. But you didn’t even give me the chance. You just carried on as if I didn’t even exist.”

“I didn’t, though.” For the first time, he turns to look at you. His eyes are red and swollen and something tells you that it isn’t from drinking. “I said that I’d hooked up with that girl and I had. In the past. Nothing happened when I was there last time.”

“Then why did you let me believe that something had?”

“I have no fucking idea. And that’s been killing me.”

With a heavy sigh, you reach out and place your hand on his. He immediately grabs hold.

“I think,” he says pensively, “that I felt nervous about telling you I was serious about you. I was nervous because I haven’t felt this serious about someone before. And when you got angry, I think I just flipped out and thought it meant that I was wrong.”

“Wrong for having feelings?”

“Wrong for thinking you did too.”

Your stomach flips and you tighten your hold on his hand.

“Well I did.”

He nods and stares off, his face twitching a little like he’s trying to keep from crying.

“I still do,” you tell him.

He turns and stares at you, big eyes surprised and hopeful.

“Really? Because I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “I know.”

“I miss you,” he whispers.

“Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?”

“Only if I can make it,” he grins. “You always put too much in.”

“Asshole,” you grunt, standing up and pulling him with you.

As you unlock the door, he leans in and plants a warm kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

The two of you enter your flat, hand in hand again.

#el phatasmo imagine #el phantasmo fanfic #njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

40 notes · View notes