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ateliersss · 9 months

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Part 3 - He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here Masterlist

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

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“Be'jaa, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer, or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life.

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track, and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Be'jaa wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets, but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed, and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you.

Speaking of him, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Be'jaa?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark, or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Be'jaa?”

And again.

“Be–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support, the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to instill that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up.

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on.

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant.

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately, a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat.

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that.

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything.

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip.

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to due-day you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein.

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you, or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit, but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear.

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition.

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward, towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes, and rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body that kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader.

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you.

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up, and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He looped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt.

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear.

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him.

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human-like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader; all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound.

“Be'jaa!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Be'jaa turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Be'jaa, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand.

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein.

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did.

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started.

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too.

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey, and kill it.

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males that were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee, and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course, I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain, and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and were whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson, while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this; not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him, you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing, and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating about what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of it had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table, and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between them at what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting, blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life, and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table, and down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

continue with the fourth part He Shall Prevail

#predator #predator x reader #predator x you #yautja x reader #yautja x you #fanfic

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squiddy-god · 3 months

Text

shower sex (leviathan)

Re-upload from terminated blog squid-god-supreme

CW: smut, fem aligned reader, shower sex, monster fucking but only a little

You found yourself walking down the halls of the house of lamentation to the room of your shy boyfriend. It was often that Levi asked you to his room in order to game or watch anime so that’s fully what you expected. Knowing Levi he probably wanted to rewatch TSL for the one hundredth time.

Knocking on the door you hurd Levi call out from the other side. “Password!!?” “It’s me Levi! Open up!” Waiting for a moment you hurd hurried shuffling before the door opened and you were promptly dragged in. Levi’s face was flushed and he was avoiding meating your eyes with his. “H-hey nor- I mean y-y/n, take a shower… With me… Please. ” The last sentence was almost a whisper and his small ‘please’ was almost completely silent, his face was burning red as his had was raised to hide it.

You blushed at the thought of showering with him, it wasn’t the first time but it was still Imbarasing none the less. “Yah l-lets do it! ” Almost immediately his face lit up as he pulled you twords the bathroom. You both striped off your clothes and got into the shower. The water was pretty hot and you felt your body relax as the water run down you.

Levi couldn’t take his eyes off of you, seeing you naked had always entranced him but there was something about the way the water droplets ran down your hips and curves that sent blood rushing to his cock. He watched intensely as the water washed over your body, you were so beautiful all wet and dripping he felt like you had put him under a spell. His hands were shaking as he placed them on your hips. “Y-y/n can i-i” His face was a tomato as you nodded shyly turning around to face the blushing demon.

Once he had the ok his hands griped your thighs and he lifted you up with ease, leaning you against the cool tile wall. It may not be a full body of water but he felt like he was in his element, although he’d definitely have to try fucking you in more water. He slowly slid into your tight cunt, you were do warm and wet around him he felt like he was in pure bliss (I’d say heaven but… Ya know) he pushed his body against yours as his lips locked with yours. His kisses were always a little bit clumsy but they were still passionate and fierce. Levi absolutely loved the feeling of your wet skin pressed against him, your chest smooshed against his as water ran down it. His cock was slaming in and out of you much faster then his normal pace, he was in his element, he felt confident like this. His cock dragged along your walls stretching out your pussy with every thrust, you were both moaning messes as your legs wrapped around Levi’s waist.

His tounge ran over your bottom lip asking for entry, you parted your lips slightly and allowed him to enter. His forked tounge swerled around yours as he pressed your body’s further together. You weren’t Shure if the steam was from the shower or your kiss but either way it was intoxicating.

You felt the coil of her in your stomach stretch and strain with every thrust he made into you. His mouth left yours abd traveled your neck biting and nipping at the skin. “Ahh l-levi! So good” Your words were strained and spliced between airy moans as his dick continued to run against your velvet walls. Your head roled back and rested again the cool tile wall you were pressed against. Levi left a trail of hickeys and bite marks behind as he lived closer to your collar bone.

Levi’s thrusts picked up speed and became uneven as continued to pound in and out of you, he could feel himself twitching inside you. Your moans reverberated against the tile walls and shower glass as your walls clenched and tightened around him. A low groan sounded from his throat as he came. Hot ropes of cum shot into your core and leeked out with the running water

You were both panting heavily as Levi let your down, still holding you slightly so you didn’t fall over. “W-we should uhh, get clean now” He said “yah haha”

#obey me x reader #obey me smut #levi obey me #obey me leviathan #leviathan x reader #om! leviathan #om! shall we date #om! x reader #om! smut #leviathan smut

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y0urm4m · 5 months

Text

No time to die ch.1

Warnings: smoking, swearing, arranged marriage, alcohol consumption, weapons, blood, arguing, possible smut, fighting.(This includes all parts!!)

Summary: What will happen when two strangers with awful backstories are forced into an arranged marriage but one is seeking revenge.

┏━━━ 🀥 ━━━┓

There I sat cross legged, on my father’s plush leather couch in his office. Cigarette in hand. His little ‘body guards’ standing by the door. “So why did you call me in here?” I asked, exhaling the smoke. “Would you put that stupid thing out, you know I don’t like it when you do that.” He sighed, motioning towards the cigarette. I rolled my eyes, putting it out in his ashtray. “You’re a bit hypocritical, I’m not a little girl any more.” I said, crossing my arms. “Anyways, I called you in here as we need to have a serious conversation.” He said, nodding at the men letting them leave. I never really cared about getting to know their names as it would be different men by next week. “Carry on.” I replied, completely uninterested. “Well you know how much danger you can be in once you turn twenty-one and I couldn’t let that happen, so the last time I was in a meeting I had a chat with a few people and sorted something out.” He explained, sipping on his whiskey. “I don’t get your point.” I snorted, raising my eyebrow slightly. “My point is, you’ll be getting married next week as we needed it to be as soon as possible,” He responded, smiling. “I’ve met him and you would both be a perfect match.” He added, re-filling his glass.

There was no way he was forcing me to get married to a man I’d never met in my life.

“Wait, that’s unfair. I’ve never even met him and we’re getting married in a week.” I explained, standing up to walk out. “Don’t be like that y/n, you know I’m only trying to protect you.” He remarked also arising from his seat. “If you really wanted to protect me you wouldn’t have done any of the things you’ve done and mom would still be here!” I shouted, opening his office door. As the door opened I saw my dad give the men a look and with that the two of them were gripping onto my wrists. “Get off of me.” I screamed, kicking my legs slightly. “I’m sorry sweetheart, everything I’ve ever done has been for you.” He sighed emphasising the ‘for you’. “You haven’t done shit for me, if I was ever in danger it would be because of you,” I disagreed, my face shining with disgust. “I. Fucking. Hate. You.” I spat, and with that I felt myself being dragged to my bedroom, the door being slammed shut behind me.

How could he do this to me, after everything he has put me through these past 13 years. I was forced to grow up, because of him. My mom died, because of him.

Flash back:

I was awoken to a loud crashing noise from downstairs, I slowly slid out of my bed, tiptoeing down the creaky steps. There my mother stood screaming in my father’s face. “I told you to not bring that shit in my house.” She shouted, pushing him back. “I never wanted to but I had to for yours and y/n safety!” He shouted back, looking behind him. I was just to far up the stairs to the point where I couldn’t see who he was looking at.

The next thing I knew, there my mom was, her limp body on the floor. Pools of blood surround her. “Mom!” I screamed, running down the stairs hugging her lifeless body. “Y/n?!” My dad gasped, pulling me away from her. “Daddy what did you do to mom?” I asked, my breathing patterns speeding up rapidly. “Nothing baby, don’t worry about it. Go back upstairs please, I’ll be up in a second.” He told me, ushering me up the stairs.

End of flash back:

That was the last I saw of my mom, he told me she went to live with my aunt and obviously with my youthful and young mind I wouldn’t have understood until recently.

I sighed, sliding down the side of my door. How could he do this especially behind my back, I was supposed to be ‘his little princess’ although I know for a fact I wasn’t, the only reason I’m still alive is because I’m ‘blood’.

Which was one of the biggest lies I’d ever heard. Blood only ever makes you related. Trust, love and loyalty makes you family.

— I stayed in my room for the rest of the day, not even leaving to eat. I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about yesterday and all the events that had occurred, but I just have to get through all this. I was brought out of thought by someone knocking on my door. “Y/n?” My dad called out through the door. “What do you want?” I asked, sitting up from where I laid. “You’ll be meeting some of the your fiancé’s family today.” He said softly, my eyes widened. “I don’t even know his name.” I shouted back, standing up and heading straight for my bedroom door. “You’ll soon find out, now get ready.” He told me, leaving me confused as he walked down the hallway back to his office.

I rushed over to my closet, picking out the most presentable but comfortable clothes I could, shoving them on.

I just had to get married and make my dad happy.

“You can do this.” I whispered to myself as I walked out of my room towards where my dad stood. He was on the phone, as per usual. “I’m ready, I’ll be downstairs.” I whispered in his ear, heading towards the stairs. He turned to look at me nodding as I walked downstairs.

I was immediately greeted by one of my fathers ‘big bad bodyguards’, who was pointing towards the car. I slid into the backseat, patiently waiting for my dad to make his way to the car. After roughly 15 minutes he had finally got into the car. The car immediately started, as we made our way to the restaurant. “Put your foot on it Darren, we’re going to be late.” My dad told the man driving us, he almost immediately sped up swerving through traffic.

I stared out the window, looking at all the shops and buildings we passed. “Where are we actually going?” I asked, looking slightly at my dad. “Just a restaurant, we’re almost there anyways.” He replied, looking down at his phone. I rolled my eyes, his phone was practically glued to his hand you’d think he was a teenage girl by the way he doesn’t leave the house without it.

As we continued passing people, buildings and other cars, two people caught my eye. It was a man and a little girl. They were walking down the street eating ice cream, they both looked so happy.

Why couldn’t me and my dad have that bond together?

— We slowly approached a small restaurant, which was filled with people; mainly middle aged men and women. “Come on then we’re already late as it is.” My dad said, patting my shoulder as he got out of the car. I slid out the car door, walking next to him as we entered the restaurant. “Can I know his name now?” I asked, looking at my dad. “I guess so,” He sighed. “His name is Chris and I expect you to show him and his family the most utter respect, okay.” He smiled, as I nodded.

“Good afternoon, have you guys got a reservation?” The waiter asked, looking down at the paper placed in front of them. “Yes, yes we have. The last name should be sturniolo.” He replied, looking at his watch. “Great, everyone else is already here so follow me and I’ll grab you guys some more menus.” The waiter said, leading us over to the table.

As we made our way to the table I was greeted with, 5 people. 3 in which all looked very similar in age and looks. An older lady immediately stood up walking towards me. “You must be y/n, I’ve heard so much about you.” She said, kissing my cheeks. I smiled, as the others greeted me and my dad. One boy in particular kept his gaze on mine. “If you couldn’t tell we’re triplets,” One of the boys said. “I’m Nick.” He added, bumping the one who sat on his left’s shoulder. “Oh uh I’m Matt.” The other chimed in, smiling. “And that’s Chris, anyways feel free to sit down.” Nick said, pointing towards a chair. I sat on the chair, looking at my dad who was already deep into a conversation. “So why don’t you tell us more about yourself.” The lady said, sipping from her drink. I bit my cheek slightly, looking at Chris and back down. “Why don’t I start, I’m Nick, I’m 20, I’m a triplet obviously and I really enjoy photography!” He said, smiling at me. “Uh well, I’m y/n and I.” I started speaking, when my dad ;who was now staring holes into my face, caught my attention.

“Why don’t we talk about the wedding.” My dad said abruptly changing the subject as he turned to look at Chris. “Right yes the wedding, aren’t you excited!” Nick said, giddily. “She is indeed, we’ve been discussing it a lot recently.” My dad butted in before I could begin to speak. I sighed, looking down at the water in front of me. “Chris are you happy?” Matt asked, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “What- oh- uh yes I am and it’s been wonderful meeting my wife to be.” He said, fake smiling. I could tell by the rest of his body language that he wasn’t genuinely happy or interested in the current conversation. “Well i was hoping we could go shopping and look at dresses tomorrow, but only if you’d like to.” The lady asked, grinning at me. “I’m sure she’d love to. Wouldn’t you?” My dad replied, looking at me. I nodded my head. “Yes, of course I would.” Just then my dad’s phone started ringing, who looked down at who was calling. “I’m sorry this is important, I’ll be back in a second.” He said, walking outside of the restaurant. “So what kind of dresses do you plan on looking at,” Nick asked. “Oh before you say, we wouldn’t want to spoil anything for Chris you’ll just have to tell us tomorrow.” He added, smiling at Chris who’s attention was now on his phone.

I sat talking with them and eating the food we had ordered whilst I waited patiently for my dad to return from his ‘important call’. “y/n!” Someone beckoned out to me, I turned to look. It was my dad and he wasn’t happy. “We need to leave now, something happened it’s important.” He told me, as I shot up grabbing my stuff. “It was nice meeting you all, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said waving as I left the restaurant. “What was that about?” I asked, frowning at my dad. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. We just urgently need to get home,” He replied, getting back into the car as I also slid into the car. “Oh Nick asked me to give you his number by the way.” “Okay, I’ll message him now.” I replied, pulling out my phone.

Hi my dad said you wanted me to have your number

Yes I wanted to talk about what time your going wedding shopping tomorrow

I honestly don’t know but i’d love if you’d come with me

I was hoping you’d ask me that

I giggled earning a frown from my dad. “What are you giggling about?” He asked, looking at my phone. “I was just talking to Nick about tomorrow.” I replied, looking back down at my phone. “Oh right, well I’ll get Darren to drop and pick you up tomorrow.” He said, Darren nodding in response as he focused on driving us home.

— We finally made it home, my dad heading straight to his office whereas I headed straight to my room to message Nick.

Me and Nick ended up talking for hours on end about anything and everything. It was as if we’d known each other for years. The connection me and Nick already had was all my 8 year old self would have dreamed for after all I’d never had a best friend because my dad had insisted for me to get homeschooled meaning I never got the chance to meet people.

Maybe this whole ‘arranged marriage’ wasn’t going to be so bad after all. I just had to get to know Chris and Matt more.

┗━━━ 🀥 ━━━┛

A/N: how we feeling about this so far, took me forever to write even though it’s short but this is just the start!!

Tag list: @junnniiieee07 @patscorner @mattyb4dominicans @watercolorskyy @brooklynn0103 @imwetforyourmom

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years

Text

Holy Orders [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A Link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: (17) Loki is working undercover as a priest in Rome. Ecumenical eroticism ensues. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Heresy. Smuttish. Latin. Priest!Loki. Language. (w/c 3.6k)

The door of your holiday apartment slammed behind you, cursing as you stumbled down a tiny step directly onto the cobbled street. It had been three weeks since the travesty of the Renaissance Faire.

After three days, you had accepted that Loki’s attention denial was not a phase. After five, the absence of his irritating teasing had you feeling an unusually bitter disappointment.

After seven, when he had left for Rome without even a courtesy farewell, you had woken in the night wondering the unthinkable. What if Thor was right?

And after twelve, you had begrudgingly accepted that you loved him.

There was a morning buzz in the air, jostling bicycles ringing lightly as the slap of your sandals sounded lightly on the aged stone beneath your feet. You hurried across the street, trying not to be run over by a moped speeding past, blowing up the back of your sundress. Jesus Christ, you thought; heart pounding before your lips curled in a secret smile. Father Laufeyson wouldn’t like that kind of talk, you laughed to yourself as you rounded the corner and Piazza Navona came into view.

For two weeks, Loki had been working undercover in a small church tucked out of the main bustle of Rome. His home had been the same ancient streets you now walked. And you wondered as you passed the marbled carvings of roman gods hanging against the circular fountains, if he had ever thought about you.

Of course not, he’s been busy, you chided yourself, hoisting the bag strap on your shoulder. When Rogers had assigned him this mission, apparently the laughs of the team could be heard two floors below. But as it turned out, Loki could be as convincing as a priest as he could be as a heartless arsehole. Now that his information gathering was complete, you had been sent to collect the evidence. You volunteered, idiot. A seamless pass-over. In and out, Rogers had said. Fuck, should someone have told him it was me that was coming? What if he’s mad?

You turned another corner, skilfully avoiding a group of tourists buried in a map. And what if he’s not? you thought; a thrill of wild anticipation blossoming in your belly.

“The Church of Santa Maria dell'Anima…” you murmured absent-mindedly, looking up at the flat exterior of the sandy coloured stone building.

As far as Roman churches went, it wasn’t a big draw - favoured more by the faithful local residents than photo-happy tourists. Perfect for a Hydra Vatican infiltration ring, you thought, pursing your lips as the eager congregation filed past you up the short flight of steps to the entrance. Swirling a white shawl around your shoulders, you took a deep breath of heavy, heated air.

Morning mass was about to begin.

You slipped inside the ancient wooden doors, a waft of stale coolness tingling over your skin. The breath seemed to evaporate from your lungs as your gaze drew up, eyes scanning over the high marble pillars and bright frescos painted floor to ceiling. Warm orange and gold infused the air, the sting of spiced incense filling your nostrils. The low hum of foreign conversation echoed around the church from people filing between the wooden pews, facing the altar. And there he was.

Loki Laufeyson stood with a long wooden taper clasped gently between his fingers, re-lighting candles by the far side of the carved stone nave. Strands of waxy hair fell around his cheekbones, illuminated by a hundred flickering flames resting in the metal display.

A thick green vestment embroidered with gold hung over his body down to his calves, making him look even taller than he usually did. Pure white shirt sleeves billowed around his arms, swaying gently as he continued his intricate work unphased.

He looked deep in thought, a calm serenity bathing his sharp profile as he blew out the taper and watched the smoke waft aimlessly through speckles of swirling dust. Loki clasped his hands in front of him, flattening the luxurious fabric of his vestment against the washboard stomach you knew lay beneath.

He turned, bowing lightly towards the crucifix hanging above the altar before ascending the several low steps.

Fuuuuck, you thought; pussy suddenly throbbing. Your hand fumbled to the strap of your bag, lowering it and sliding subtly into the back row. A cold shock of wood pressed against the back of your bare knees, making you wince. When did I get so wet, you frowned; knowing exactly when, as Loki turned towards the congregation.

A bell chimed, summoning another priest from the side of the church. You drew the shawl tighter around your chest, feeling your heart thunder against the clench of your fist. A woman slid in beside you, tucking her hair nervously behind her ears before making a sign of the cross.

“Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, Amen.” she murmured, running her wide eyes up and down the ridiculously handsome figure opening the large bible, poised behind the altar. You suddenly wondered if morning mass had always been this popular.

The low tinkle of bells echoed again as the service began. The crowd rose, fifty or so of the faithful bowing their heads as the undercover Avenger took centre stage.

He is loving this, you thought incredulously, seeing his arms rise at his sides. The drape of green and gold vestments shimmered in the light, a warm glow radiating upwards to his pale face bathed in morning bronze from the stained glass. The crowd before you sat down obediently on the lowering of his palms. You fumbled backwards, catching yourself on the edge of the long bench.

Loki’s stare ran over the congregation, covertly scanning every face like only his keen gaze could. It stopped on you, making your breath hitch. You thought you saw the tug of a smirk at the side of his lips, a glint in his eye. Or maybe it was the light.

The next twenty minutes passed in a religiously erotic blur, swathes of ceremonial chants in Italian at Loki’s command making your thighs squeeze together. Heresy, you thought; a shudder rolling down your spine as the god leant forward to kiss the gospel. I’d be burnt in the old days.

The second priest had blessedly taken over to give the sermon, the broken words you could understand not even registering as you watched Loki listen rapturously to the side in feigned interest. He knows I’m watching him, you scowled; realising that every casual smooth of his stomach, every clench of his perfect jaw was for you.

How you wanted to storm up the marbled aisle, grab his stupid fancy poncho in a fist and kiss him violently against the golden tabernacle. Might blow his cover, though; you thought, immediately thinking of what else you could blow as he gripped onto the tall candlesticks by the altar.

The vivid fantasy was broken as the congregation shuffled to a stand. The woman beside you adjusted her cleavage, shaking her hair back. Loki raised his hand. “Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.” he said, the practised words of prayer a chant - that velvet voice sinking through the heavy air like double cream. Even speaking in Latin, it was irresistible.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name

Your hips shuddered back against the wooden pew, bare skin of your thighs dragging against the grain. You recognised the tempo. How could you not.

“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.” Loki spoke slowly, eye-fucking you menacingly from the top of the raised steps behind the lecturn. His lips hovered on ‘tuum’, a fizz of unstoppable need rising in your belly as you recalled its place in the prayer.

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth, as it is in heaven.

Dozens of voices chimed around you, their Italian lilt making the dead language sing. But it was only his earthen tones you heard. Only him.

It had always, only been him.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut, et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris” he rumbled in baritone, tilting his head.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us

You raised your gaze to meet his, knowing it would be waiting as he stood with his large hands encasing the sides of the lectern by the altar. His eyes narrowed briefly, the subtle slant of his brows betraying his utter bemusement at your presence.

“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.” he growled, the timbre of his voice making the woman beside you straighten. You could see her fingertips digging into the soft flesh between her knuckles, hands clasped in prayer.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

How appropriate, you mused. You watched as Loki slid the bible from its place, holding it briefly aloft and placing a kiss against the leather before lowering it to his crotch in a gentle hold.

“Amen.” he murmured, solemnly; lowering his chin.

“Amen.” came the ringing response. “Amen.” you echoed slowly, squinting thoughtfully as Loki turned and sat with a smirk.

You sat back down, questioning everything. Did you think that when he saw you it would have been any different from how it ever was? That he would somehow wordlessly communicate that he was pleased to see you? That he had missed you? That he loves me too, you scoffed painfully; flinching as the organ sprang to life.

The communion procession began with those at the front of the church, each person pausing in front of the priest to receive god’s bounty. Loki and his counterpart held the small, circular host aloft, their lips moving before placing it on the recipients tongue. Kinky, you thought; before realising the woman to your right had risen and joined the slow moving queue. Fuck.

You shuffled behind her, rolling your eyes as she fiddled nervously with her hair, smoothing and re-smoothing the same strands. Your gaze wandered to the ornate figure of Christ hanging on the cross above the altar, his limp form getting closer and closer. Don’t look at me like that, you huffed to the disappointed looking Jesus; immediately switching focus to the floor beneath your feet.

“Corpo di Cristo…” a dark voice murmured. It was tinged with weighty intentions, thick memories of feral moans of unrestrained passion in your ear flooding your mind as you fluttered your lashes upwards. Loki’s eyes betrayed none of your history, his stare glazed; the twitch of one dark eyebrow the only indicator that he ever knew you at all.

“Amen.” you whispered hoarsely, parting your lips.

He placed the host gently on your outstretched tongue. Against your better judgement, you felt your lids flicker shut, the soft graze of his fingertip smoothing against wet muscle that longed for his touch.

It lingered, the melt of the wafer beginning to slide down your throat. His wide fingertip pulled imperceptibly at your bottom lip on its withdrawal, making your eyes shoot open. Loki’s brows raised, a light furrow reminding you that there was an entire congregation at your back. You gave a small nod towards him, scurrying around the front pews and back to your seat.

You could feel the burning heat in your cheeks for the rest of the mass, ten minutes feeling like an endless vat of time. The final blessing was, in reality, swift. A few chimes, swings of incense and murmurs of reverent praise and it was done.

Loki disappeared in procession with the other priest behind a door at the back of the church in a sway of luxurious, billowing green. The stillness of the holy space washed over you as attendees left in their own time. You checked your watch. Forty-five minutes. Had that been all?

The clap of your sandals against the marble floor echoed as you walked slowly around the walls, drawn to the beauty of the figures drawn by those long dead. You traced your fingers over cracks in the face of a rather grim looking Virgin Mary. “I know how you feel…” you whispered to no-one, feeling the plaster catch beneath delicate skin.

“I very much do not think you know how she feels.”

Your hand paused on the fresco, falling to your side as you turned. Loki stood resplendent before you, the folds of his holy garment making him look more achingly irresistible than he ever had before. You felt a frown crease your forehead, pursing your lips to stop a moan. It was worse up close.

Loki leant forward, casting a conspiratorial glance towards a small group of locals loitering by the door. “-due to the fact that for one thing, she is a virgin, while you...Agent...” he smirked. Your frown deepened.

“Keep your voice down.” you hushed, glancing over your shoulder. Satisfied, you looked back to Loki, his obsidian hair curled behind delicate ears revealing the white flash of his clerical collar. The bone structure you knew so well against the curves of your body sang in the mid-morning light through the windows, every iridescent inch of his skin glowing with tantalising radiance.

“I see you still managed to wear green.” you scoffed under your breath, making the priest chuckle lightly. “It’s Ordinary Time in the church calendar, Agent. Did you not read the briefing documents? It is the standard colour for the season” he drawled quietly, giving a reverent nod to his fellow priest heading for the door and the beckon of Rome beyond.

“They really think you’re one of them?” you said, turning towards a row of candles flickering to the side. Each one represented someone loved and lost, a prayer. A hope.

“Of course." he scoffed. "Father John Lockhart on pilgrimage from England. Why would they suspect?”

You ran your eyes down the silk embroidered vestment which hid his intensely muscular body. Just. The bulge of his biceps shifted beneath the billowing sleeves making your gaze hover. “Priests aren’t usually so…”

“Yes?” he goaded, raising an eyebrow in amusement. You dropped a coin in the basket, taking a candle and fingering the wick. “You don’t seem like the type, that’s all. I’m surprised you didn’t shapeshift.”

Loki chuckled. “My dear, you clearly don’t know Catholicism. A web of mysteries and contradictions which go far beyond their lore-bound texts...” he said, shifting so you stood with biceps pressing against each other.

“Are you considering a change of vocation then?” you quipped, playing with the wick between your fingers. He faced the wall of candles, but you could feel the stare of his eyes roaming the sliver of skin beneath the parted shawl. “Not quite.” he muttered absent-mindedly. “The reverence and theatrics are appealing I grant you, but there is far too much celibacy for my liking.”

The ghost of his breath skated across your collarbone, the unbearably small distance between you making every nerve in your body vibrate with desire.

“What are you praying for, mio figlio?” he murmured innocently under his breath as the wick of your candle caught flame from another. My child, you thought with a grimace, recognising the taboo of unmistakeable arousal deep in your pussy.

You watched the tear-dropped fire settle from its first rage, flickering gently as it came to terms with its place in the world. Setting it down amongst the others, you turned your chin to look up at him. The blues of Loki’s irises swam with green in the shadowed alcove, the dance of the candlelight illuminating him like a bygone Saint.

“Salvation.” you whispered quietly, voice catching.

Without knowing why, you bowed your head. The god’s fingers flew gently beneath your chin, tilting it upwards once more. His eyes were wide, lips parted as he inhaled softly. “Darling, I-”

“Padre?” a voice muttered tentatively behind you.

You and Loki both turned, seeing the fidgeting figure of the woman who had been your unknowing lust-buddy all through the service.

“Sì, figlia mia?” Loki replied gently, his hands disappearing back into the draped sleeves of his robes as he clasped them together. You rolled your eyes, pivoting back towards the wall of tealit flames. The thunder of your heart was a solid beat in your ears, pounding. His smooth voice rumbled in Italian, the sweet ministrations of his undercover persona clearly honed over the past two weeks. “Grazie Padre…” you heard the woman say, a tremble in her voice; before quick footsteps echoed away from you.

Loki chuckled, resuming his position by your side. “Impure thoughts about an inappropriate figure, apparently.” he whispered, barely contained glee bursting from the confines of propriety. “Wishes to make a confession to me personally at the next session. Imagine that. I wonder who it could be.”

“You are impossible." you sighed, a wave of jealousy roaring in your belly. "I bet you’ve been very popular here in that regard.” you said through gritted teeth, trying to focus on the wavering light of your candle. Salvation.

“Always so quick to judge.” he chuckled, drawing himself stoically upwards. “My dear, I am a priest.” he said, turning to face you. His nose was inches from your forehead, the empty church feeling stifling as the air settled around you both. “I have been a beacon of chastity...and contrary to popular belief, I do take my assignments seriously.”

Slowly, you met his gaze – the sincerity in his face, unmistakeable. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously, Father.” you said, mockingly; unable to stop yourself as you watched his eyes narrow at the words.

“Don’t you mean Daddy, Agent?” he smouldered, “Or am I nothing but a memory to you now with my brief absence?”

In two quick steps from his impossibly long legs, your back was flush against the nearest wall. The curve of the low archway hung dangerously close to Loki’s full height as he loomed above you. His forearm pressed to the marble cornicing above your head, trapping you like a lamb for slaughter.

A long sleeve of forest green shielded you from the gaze of a dozen judgemental statues, the collar around his neck straining against the weight of a hard vein that bulged ominously. “Why must you always think the worst of me?” he growled, the primal sound rumbling deep in his throat hoarse and wild. Familiar burning lust bubbled uncontrollably to the surface in those beautifully dangerous eyes as his chest heaved, daring you to respond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you said, flustered as the shawl fell around your shoulders to the floor. Loki stepped closer, fingertips of the hand not affixed above your head squeezing into the flesh of your bare bicep.

“I think you know very well.” he spat, all traces of serenity gone as he blazed beneath a façade of restraint. “Why are you here? To taunt me? To parade yourself in front of me while you tease me with your endless games? Anyone else could have taken your place. Anyone.”

Your frown deepened, a deep ache blossoming in your belly as you tasted the rage on his every word. You shouldn’t have come.

“-Or am I wrong? Have you come to confess to me, darling?” he hummed goadingly, the feeling of his tips running down your aching skin making your shiver.

Sarcasm bit through his words, slicing through the intimacy of the moment. “And what better place? What better persona? Are you ready to admit your undying love for me and put this charade to an end? Or have your attentions wandered...”

A staggered breath surged in your throat as his hand traced down your cleavage, feeling your resistance falter. You could feel the swell of his hard erection through the drape of holy garb, the violence of his lust boiling beneath the shroud of theatrical consecration. The words were on the tip of your tongue- But then the game will be over for him. He will have won, you thought with a chill; And what then?

Loki’s brow furrowed, a jolt of his jaw taking you by surprise – like shaking off a fly. Whatever was in your head, he clearly didn’t want to hear it.

“And what about you…?” you managed to quiver through shaky breaths, your hands sliding tentatively over his shoulders. Loki tilted his head, confusion etched across his brow. In a brief second, you saw his bravado falter, features softening as he processed the possible meanings of your request. His tongue darted out, licking quickly over his cupid’s bow before biting his lip.

He shook his head, a solitary gasp of forced laughter gusting against your parted lips.

“I have just recalled I seem to owe you a certain...something, do I not?” he said casually, skating over his previous barbs as he tried to change the subject. You shuffled against the wall, attempting to pull him closer to you and failing. “More than one, actually.” you muttered, feeling the wet slick between your thighs grow hot. It was embarrassing how much you needed him. Above everything else, it was him.

“More than one?” Loki purred disapprovingly, tsk’ing as he raised an eyebrow. His hips dragged up your pelvis, every forbidden inch of his solid cock making you mad with need. You began to pant, as he thrust once against your torso. Creases had formed at the corner of his eyes; his outburst it seemed...forgotten.

He released the forearm from the wall above your head, a theatrical flourish of his arm making the heavy metal bolt across the doors of the church slam shut with an almighty clang.

“Here?” you gasped, feeling the embroidery of his sacred vestment scratch against your cleavage as he pressed his muscular torso against you. “But what about...you know.” You tilted your chin upwards towards the crucifix in explanation, the majesty of the surroundings somehow making you forget to whom you were pinned against.

“Don’t worry about Him, Agent…” Loki whispered, before his lips wrapped around your earlobe, sucking gently. “Mine are the only Holy Orders you shall be following today. Mine, the only sacrament your body desperately needs.” His dirty whispers hummed against your skin, falling deeper into waves of sin with each dark syllable. "Mine." he rasped quietly, the word melting against your breathy moans unheard, before fastening his lips to yours in a desperate kiss.

Continued in Holy Orders: Mercy Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @k-writer17 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @joyful-enchantress

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sereinlikessleep · 18 days

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Little rant about Grusha because I had time

So uh listen to my ramblings I had nothing better to do and I’m bad at articulating my points and thoughts 😭 ok cool? Cool

Rant about Grusha because I have nothing better to do. So like I’ve been noticing a lot of people are dissatisfied with Grusha’s injury and it’s been bothering me a tad because the main reason is that it isn’t lining up with their head canons or the severity isn’t enough. That’s fine feel that way but people are treating it like Grusha’s being dramatic and while I agree the little shite can be dramatic at times with all of his ice puns he’s not wrong. As someone who has a former athletic background and has dabbled in snowboarding a bit and has multiple people around me who do snowboarding on the regular I feel qualified to give my 2 cents on the topic. So based on the anime Grusha has a leg injury and as someone who has and has a family with a loooooong history of knee injuries it isn’t a small thing. When your sport requires balance the knees are crucial, while I sustained a minor knee injury for pushing myself too hard in running I have family and friends who had to go through literal years of physical therapy and muscle training and they still can’t achieve the same results they had before and after injury. And that’s why this injury is so big for Grusha, it’s been well established that this man is a perfectionist and cares about results more than anything else. (IE why he quit snowboarding and failed Liko) I also don’t think people understand how fast snowboarding is, a turn that Grusha took at the speed he was going (average snow boarders go 30-40 mph since Grusha was at a pro comp we can assume he was going at least 50-65 mph) and the fact that it was his leg got hurt likely meant he fell feet first or landed on his knees which makes the likelihood that he broke his leg even higher. A close friend of mine was snowboarding and tripped while she was doing it and she’s not pro, she was doing it casually but she landed so hard that she cracked her helmet into 2 pieces and would’ve died if she wasn’t wearing it. Lesson take away is that snowboarding is dangerous and Grusha is very lucky he only ended up with the injury he has now.

Now comes the hard part after a sports injury, physical therapy. A broken leg is going to require months of physical therapy at the least and knowing Grusha and how closely his identity as a snowboarder was this was probably hell for him and when he was finally cleared to go back he can’t get the same results he used to get. I’ve seen this happen, someone can’t get the results they used to and because you’re just trapped in this cycle of going from the best to only mediocre and you can only go as far as mediocre. For someone who was once considered the 2nd best snowboarder in the world this has to hurt. I didn’t mention it but even after physical therapy you still have to be careful because now you’re more at risk of re-injuring that part of your body. My cousin used to be good at basketball but she had a knee injury and had to quit because she couldn’t keep up and she was always close of injuring her knee again. For someone who likely did snowboarding almost 24/7 much of Grusha’s identity was intertwined with the sport not being able to return to his glory days is world shattering. Now he has to find something else to do, and pokemon battling was that next thing, he obviously threw himself into it with the same and possibly more effort than snowboarding because this is the one thing he has left and cannot let it go. So forgive him if he sounds dramatic or his injury wasn’t as sever as you expected it to be just know that Grusha is a perfectionist who values results more than anything else, snowboarding is dangerous, injuries suck and can last long times and be career ending. Thank you for coming to my ted talk :3

#grusha #Pokémon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokémon scarlet and violet #gym leader grusha #rant #Grusha #pokemon horizons #I have nothing better to do #This is not meant to attack anyone I just want to scream about it #God I’m horrible at talking

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starbeltconstellation · 2 months

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omg hiiiiii! i’ve been loving your fic since forever, and melanie is one of my favorite characters. i’ve always been curious about where you got the inspiration for her. every time i re-read the fic, i find something new that makes me fall in love with her even more.

i really appreciate how you don’t make her a mary sue, which is something i’ve sadly come across a lot in this fandom. her flaws feel very human, and she behaves in a way that most of us would. yet, you write her in a way that she doesn’t seem like just another fragile character. she has depth and strength that make her stand out. 💕💕💕

Hello! 😊💕❤️👋

Ahhhh, thank you so very much for the ask, dear anon! 😭❤️❤️❤️🥹 It’s soooo sweet. I always have wished more readers would hop on over to leave their thoughts. Maybe it would give me a little bit more of that sweet dopamine motivation. 😩😂 Lol.

As always when I hear this, I’m SOOOO happy that you love Melanie so much. 😭💕😁 It literally means the WORLD to me that so many people relate to a character I’ve written. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and then I think: “huh, maybe my writing isn’t half bad. 😌” 😂

It’s sooo cool to know you reread my fic often! 😭💕💕❤️❤️💕❤️ I’d love to read a comment whenever you do, just so I can go “agshsvhwbshvs!!! 😭” as a thank you for your kindness to read my little old work. Haha.

I’ll put the rest of my answer under a read more:

I’m so happy Mel doesn’t come across as a Mary Sue! ❤️ That was one of my worst fears, so it was REALLY important to me to try and flesh her out and give her an arc separate from Anakin. And the biggest part of that is The Shopkeeper, because it means Melanie has her OWN antagonist to deal with, just as Palpatine is Anakin’s antagonist. This was important because—just as I didn’t want Anakin to take away from MELANIE’S character arc—I in turn also didn’t want Melanie to take away from ANAKIN’S character arc. He IS still The Chosen One, after all.

That fact is really important, as Mel kind of brings up if you’ve read my latest chapter. 👀 Because it’s SO important to acknowledge how important Anakin is to the narrative and in the fate of the galaxy—specifically BECAUSE that gives him agency in his choices. Yes, there are factors such as his horrible past as a slave which fucks up his mind, but still: at the end of the day, Anakin wasn’t mind controlled. HE made those choices, and the galaxy all suffered for years because of it—because he was too selfish to change. Until Luke came along, that is. And while it’s a bittersweet feeling to say you can always change your mind, I WILL be exploring some in this fic how Anakin’s choice at the end of ROTJ is basically… selfless/selfish all at once. 😭🫣😬 (the Anakin stans gonna get me for this one. Lol. 😂).

Basically, his choice to save Luke is selfless, because he saves Luke knowing that he’ll die doing it, and won’t be around to spend time with his son. He has no clue Obi-Wan is gonna hop in last minute and speed run teaching Anakin how to become a Force ghost in the final seconds before eternal nothingness. And yet—at the same TIME—the action is selfish, specifically BECAUSE Anakin would ONLY do this for Luke. His SON. His BLOOD. But would he do it for anyone else? Like—idk—Han Solo? 😭🤷‍♀️ HELL no.

And honestly… I fr don’t know if he’d do it for Leia either. 😬🥶🫣 Low key, I truly think half the reason Luke got through to Anakin was through his sheer blind faith/loyalty in him that his father would turn it around at the last moment (and hey! He WAS right. 🤷‍♀️). But LEIA wasn’t sunshine incarnate like Luke. Leia HATED Anakin as Darth Vader. Anakin also TORTURED Leia canonically and also held her back while Tarkin blew up her planet and basically shrugged his shoulders like—“what can ya do, ya know? 🤷‍♀️🤪🤪”, so I’m FAIRLY certain Leia wouldn’t be begging Anakin to change/have such blind faith in him like Luke did. So—switch it around where Leia is the one being killed with lightning—and SHE doesn’t call out for her father. Because SHE truly doesn’t BELIEVE he can change like Luke could.

Can you TRULY see Anakin still making the same choice he did with Luke in ROTJ? 😬 Because, honestly? I can’t. 🥶🤷‍♀️

But anyway! 😂 This is becoming a little bit of a meta post, so I’ll try to move things back to your original ask.

But yes, it was SO important to me that Melanie had a realistic response to being in the SW universe, because with all the fics I’ve read—NONE of the OC’s actually react in a realistic manner. 😭🤦‍♀️ And so it was important for me to show her disbelief at first, INCLUDING her fear of Anakin. Because yessss, yessss, I know Anakin is fandoms little serial killer blorbo 🙄 (and I respect that! He’s mine too. 😏💓), but Anakin also isn’t REAL to the fans, and can be written any way they want. But for MELANIE, Anakin is now a flesh and blood person who can make his own decisions now… and considering his decisions end up being VERY bad… I do think her terror of him makes sense. 😭🤷‍♀️😂❤️

And it was REALLY important to me that Mel wasn’t just connected to the SW universe through Anakin. SO many OC’s are written without an arc because the whole fic is just about the romance, but when you do that—the OC becomes flat! Ya know? 🤷‍♀️😭 So it was important to me Mel gained other friends in the SW universe, like Ahsoka and the clones and even Yoda and Todo. All of this relates with Mel’s choice with The Shopkeeper 👀 (that I won’t spoil for any new readers who come across this post), because it means that Melanie has grown to care about the people in the SW universe, including what happens to them in the end. 💔😖

And I’m so glad you see the depth and strength to her! 😭❤️💕💕💕 That means a lot. It was certainly a struggle at first, because I obviously wanted her to start out weak and grow stronger and more confident as time passes on—but at the same time—I wanted to show that she has a backbone and a strong moral foundation; ie; she’s can’t turn her back on people she KNOWS she has the power to help (an interesting comparison to Anakin, isn’t it? 👀👀).

As for my inspiration for Melanie? Well, I think I’ve mentioned this before to some of my online friends, but when I first started the process of outlining this story, I just had the thought of—“If I landed in the SW universe, and met Anakin (AKA: Darth fucking Vader 🥶), how would I REALISTICALLY react?”

And ta da! 😁✨💕❤️ There you have it. That’s how Melanie Bains was born. Hehe.

I feel like that’s why so many people love her and relate to her—I first based a lot of Melanie’s reactions on myself and how I thought I’d act in the SW universe—but it honestly makes a lot of sense that everyone else relates to her so much, because Melanie IS basically a stand in for every fan in the SW universe (at least, the general audience fans 😂). When she curses in her head or grumbles at the clones’s antics or cannot shoot a blaster shot in a straight line (at least at first) to save her LIFE—the audience laughs and thinks, “Pfffft, that’s SO me. 😌✨😂”

And I think that’s what makes Melanie’s character so appealing. 😊❤️💕 And I’m VERY excited to show you all her journey on becoming tougher as time in the Clone Wars continues on. 😁❤️

Thank you so very much for the ask, dear anon! 🥺❤️ It truly makes my day. Hehe. 😊❤️✨💕

To any new readers that stumble across this and are curious enough to check out my fic:

Tags:

@ensomniaa

@heartfairy

@fangirlteallie

@readersunite

@shoniwake

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theerrorofmylife · 2 years

Text

Crime Fighter pt. 2

- So.... part 2... you guys asked and you shall receive! I meant to have this posted for Christmas but oh well. I am not confident whatsoever in my abilities to write smut, so please be kind. This is not for minors- I repeat THIS IS NOT FOR MINORS you’ve been warned.

Content: Reader stops by the Batcave under Wayne Tower after Bats calls them over for help on a case. However, things escalate because they are both incredibly desperate for each other.

Here’s Part 1: Crime Fighter

Warning: Sex, Lots of sex, kissing, making out, fingering, p in v sex, penetrative sex, THESE TWO ARE HAVING SEX, swear words, etc., I’m not sure what I missed but I know I did- HAVE AT THEE!

Rain pelted my helmet as I wove between cars and trucks in the upper Gotham streets, and holy shit was it cold. Days seemed to blur together since the migraine incident, and weeks became months became casually getting invited to the Batcave every other day. I’ll be the first to admit that I spent days and nights losing hours over him. Moments and singular little phrases blurred together the more I thought about it. Seconds spent holding his hand after he’d help me on my bike, little light touches on my back when we walked into a crime scene, the way he looks at me when I walk up to him after a case-well-closed. The little whisper that night… “he would love you” … the vivid memory of his lips on my forehead. I couldn’t care less if Bruce Wayne, billionaire recluse, loved me. I wanted this man, my Bat, to love me.

The stairs were all I could focus on as I made my way into the cave. Our latest case was still running through my head on repeat, slowly driving me insane. A series of medical equipment manufacturing plants had been robbed over the course of the last month, tallying up to a total of 7 buildings and over 25 pieces of equipment stolen. We spent night after night in the cave trying to figure it out, trying to stop whatever was going on before it happened. Over that time, I got to re-meet The Bat with new eyes. This man loves this one takeout place on South St. it was actually hilarious. To be fair, it was growing on me as well. If only we had been paying attention to the tiny details rather than trying to figure out the big picture, we would have noticed the tiny desk plant that went missing from the 5th building. Poison Ivy was using medical equipment to create a toxin that would grow plants in peoples lungs. Now, I never mind a good monstera deliciosa, but I do prefer them outside of my body. But that wasn’t important right now. Right now, all I could think about was the way he pulled me to his chest, turned us towards a wall and caged me with his arms so that a glass beaker would crash into his back rather than my face. I still vibrated with the ghost sensation of his hands.

“You called?” As he turned to greet me there was a smile on his face, a grin that had become so much more frequent, reserved just for when we’re alone. Parking my bike near his, a nervous glee set inside me, and I couldn’t stop the grin. He still hadn’t taken to removing the mask for me, but I knew that would take time, more time than we already had. And I was patient. For him, I would be patient.

“There’s some evidence I need you to look at,” I walked up past him to look at the monitors. He didn’t move, only made room by making a small space for me to stand in front of him. “You were always better at seeing the bigger picture.” He was directly behind me, the arm leaning against the table pressed against my side, he was so close I was sure he could feel my heart speed up at the closeness.

“Am I now?” Yes, yes act coy and snarky, let him build the conversation because clearly, I’m way too distracted by his arm to do it myself. I felt him shift, moving behind me, the arm that was pressed into my side lifting so that his hand pressed against my lower back as he passed behind me. The warmth that sunk in and then completely dissipated was intoxicating.

“You know you are.”

“Mm, I thought you were the great detective here. Why do you need me?”

“I want you.” My heart nearly fucking stopped. The goddamn implication of that statement, the ideas that it gave me. Sure, I had thought about it, you can’t blame me when this hunk of brooding emotional baggage was around 24/7. Ever since I spent the night after my migraine, he became a plague on my most intimate thoughts. First just passing thoughts, fleeting ideas and images. Then little daydreams and purely innocent wants. But after a time, it became an infection; a shiver as his hand brushed my lower back, my thighs crossing as he looked at me a certain way, and the heady feeling when he put his hand on my knee during an interrogation. His hands were the curse that tortured me though, his hands were huge and the thought of them on my waist, on my thighs, dipping between them… I was a lost cause, and I knew it.

He seemed to realize the implication as well, his eyes on me, flicking about my face as if looking for the same reaction I was. I should fix this, I should speak up, I should SAY SOMETHING DAMMIT. My mouth opens and closes like a moron, and for a moment I think I’m suffocating because now his eyes are flitting between mine and my lips and oh god get it together. “Do you?” I'm an idiot.

“Always.” He sounded so breathless, as if he could not risk his words to disturb the space settled between us. Chills set upon my arms and not for the first time I was eternally grateful for his closeness. There was barely a few inches between us now, and I could practically feel the human radiator in front of me through my suit, but instead of overwhelming me with discomfort… I became desperate for his hands on me. An ache grew in my chest, a desperate need to be touched that damn near made me sick with nerves. Everything I ever wanted, and it’s right here waiting to make a move. My eyes moved from his to his lips and back again, only to find him staring back with a deep intensity that made my head dizzy. This silence was agonizing, and my hands shook from nerves. I got so focused on the fact that I was beginning to panic that I hadn’t even notice the few inches between us had become less than a few centimeters now, less and less by the second. When I felt his lips barely pass mine, the shaking inside me stopped, and the anxiety in my chest lodged in my throat as I pressed forward.

I have kissed many people in my time, each slightly different with the same overarching form of conduct. Every kiss before this one meant nothing when B kissed me for the first time. It was sloppy, I’ll admit, and it was clear he hadn’t really done it before, at least not in a long time, but he was a fast learner, and as his hands grabbed my waist to pull me into his chest, the force sent me reeling. I would like to say I was more elegant, less messy, but that wouldn’t be true. Because the moment I felt his hands and his lips and the way both made my head swim, I became so incredibly desperate for more that I could hardly be blamed for dropping all sense of decorum. When he broke away from me, I remembered that breathing was important and tried to regain myself as he leaned his forehead against mine. His hands tightened around my waist, and I felt the force with which he lifted me up and onto the table with ease. I barely sat on it, and a good portion of my thighs hung off the edge, but whatever care for stability I may have once had was overpowered by the concept of his hips between my legs. He looked down at me once more, and I nodded with extreme enthusiasm. I heard him chuckle lowly before his hand wrapped around the base of my jaw and he kissed me again. Clumsily, I pulled at his belt and tried to undo the clasp at the front. Instead of actually succeeding like I hoped I would B grabbed my hands, gently tossed them aside and did it himself. When the belt hit the floor, he began kissing my neck, inching his way down slowly, as his hand gently pulled at the waistband of my pants.

“Please…” He slipped one hand into my hair at the base of my neck as his other undid my pants, slipping into my underwear where the pad of his forefinger gently pushed against my clit. Jolts of sharp pleasure ran up my hips and I had to actively refrain from bucking my hips up against his hand. The rough fabric of his suit rubbed against my thighs as he shifted his stance, pushing my legs apart. He pulled my hair gently so that I leaned back only slightly, enough for him to place his lips against mine. My hands shook as I wrapped them around his shoulders, the wonderful sensation giving me jitters.

“Hey, hey look at me, is this ok?” He nudged my nose with his and I looked up into his eyes. Those ice blue eyes. I nodded very enthusiastically. “Is this?” His hand slipped further and brushed his fingertips against my entrance.

“Yes.” Slowly dipping his fingers inside me, I sighed at the stretch. I was by no means a virgin, I’ve had plenty of partners of varying origins, so sex was no major endeavor for me. Usually. B’s fingers were huge, and callused and two alone made me lose my breath. This nauseating weight started in my chest, and I felt myself tightening around his fingers and his other hand pulled away from my hair and grabbed my hips to pull them farther off the table. I was barely sitting on it now and I was beginning to feel pressure in my lower abdomen. Little moans and breathy pleas were all I could manage, it just felt so good. He slowly moved his hand, pulling his fingers out before slowly pushing back in, pushing the pads of his fingers against the inside. The pressure began to get intense and my hands on his shoulders clawed into the armor of the suit. He continued to move slowly, only removing his had from my hips to place his other thumb against my clit. With both his hands occupied I lost my ability to speak as my walls sporadically tightened and released with his fingers still inside me. I was breathless, gasping and rocking against his hand ever so slightly. After a few seconds he removed his thumb from my clit, then slowly pulled his hand away.

“What do you want? I need for you to tell me.” Fuck, words are the last thing I wanted to think about. Resting my head against his shoulder, I tried to regain my breath.

“For the love of all things holy, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m-” My back hit the table with a soft thud as he pushed me down. My pants, albeit having fallen low on my thighs, were tugged off all together. His hand on my chest stayed there as his other hand lifted my knees to rest on his shoulders. My breathing regulated easier while laying down but that didn’t stop my breath from catching when I heard this belt come undone with a click. His left hand left the loose belt, pushing between my legs again to rub my clit slowly. My eyes roll back, and I hear him take a harsh breath before letting slip a low groan. It took effort, but I leaned my head forward just enough to look between my thighs where I got a perfect picture. With one hand rubbing my clit with his thumb, the other was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down at the same pace as his thumb. His head was thrown back, eyes closed with his mouth open. He was big, bigger than I expected. I threw my head back gently, whining little obscenities as I tightened around nothing. “Mm!” I whined when his hand pulled away but sighed as I felt the light pressure of him lining up with my entrance.

“Shhhh relax, I got you.” His hand that wasn’t guiding his dick inside me came to rest on my hip, rubbing little circles with his thumb. He was slow to push in, taking his time to allow me to acclimate to the stretch. Again, 100% not a virgin, but holy shit. There was a slight sting, then immense pressure as he filled me to the limit and then some. The push was so satisfying and filling that it forced me to sigh out all the air in my lungs. He was easily 8 inches and him taking his time gave me the wonderful opportunity to feel every bit of him.

“Fuck…” I was gasping quietly as he slowed to a stop, I couldn’t feel his thighs against my ass which meant he wasn’t even fully in. I hadn’t even realized my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, I looked up to see his eyes closed, brows drawn in concentration, with his mouth slightly open to let out ragged breaths. To say that it was hot would be an understatement. My eyes were focusing and unfocusing as I watched his eyes open. His once ice blue eyes were darker somehow, and his pupils were blown wide. He looked predatory. Suddenly I felt the drag of him pulling out and then the heavy push back in. There was heavy friction that sent sparks of pleasure up my abdomen. It was absolutely amazing. He began moving, pulling out slowly only to push back in with force. It wasn’t anything erratic or rough, but it was firm and precise, like he was doing it on purpose. As much as I loved the slower pace, I was more needy than I realized, so I moved my hips with his. Slowly lifting to match his, he seemed to get the idea, grabbing my hips harshly. His fingers were bound to leave bruises, but I wasn’t opposed to that at all. I wasn’t opposed to any of this, finally having B to myself like this and knowing that I wasn’t totally crazy thinking he would want me like this as well. His movements were harsher, hitting deep and I slowly adjusted to fit him entirely so his thighs brushed against my ass as he moved. It felt absolutely amazing, the slow build of pressure below my abdomen creating a slightly nauseous feeling in my stomach. But that needed fast when he pulled out.

“B? No no please don’t sto-” I was pleading with him, there is no way he could be stopping now, I think I might kill him holy shit.

“Shhh, come’ ere.” He slowly pulled me to my feet and turned me before I could fall, “Is this ok?” I nodded, not entirely sure what he meant but I’d probably agree to anything if it meant he’d continue fucking me. He pressed me forwards till my hips were against the table and on instinct I laid down on top of it, my ass high behind me. His hands immediately grabbed my hips, lifting them off the table and realigning himself with my entrance. My toes barely grazed the ground beneath me and something about not touching the floor while he slowly pushed back into me was intoxicating. It was different, the drag of his cock in me was pressing against the pressure in my abdomen, increasing it greatly. His rhythm became so much harsher, snapping into me with a force that shook the table. I couldn’t do much but whine and try to breathe but every time he push back into me so hard, I heard his thighs hit my ass and felt the table shift, the air was forced from my lungs. Through my own sounds and the sounds of us together, I heard him from behind me, muttering explicatives through gritted teeth and groaning lowly. One of his hands tore away from my hip and I heard fabric moving before his hand hit the table above my head, holding his mask in his fist. His mask…. Oh fuck. He’d taken his mask off. I suddenly felt his forehead against my shoulder, his hair falling and brushing the side of my face. His lips pressed against my shoulder, then moved up my neck as he continued to move inside me. I was stunned. Not only was I beyond thinking with the overwhelming amount of pleasure running through my system, but I couldn’t move past the idea of him removing his mask. But his other hand pulling away from my hips, letting me softly settle on the table again before wrapping around to press his fingers to my clit distracts me, and I’m lost in the feeling again. I let out little moans with every thrust, barely able to keep my breath as the hot tightness between my legs grew worse and worse. His hips move faster, and the pressure is becoming more tangible as I feel a sharp tightening in my hips before an overwhelming release. It’s a confusing mix of tightening and relaxing as my walls contract around him. I try desperately to breathe through it, but my mind falls blank, and I can’t think of anything but the pleasure rocking through my body. B continues to move, slowing his finger on my clit to gently coax me through my high, his thrusts losing rhythm but not force. He kept moving in and out of me, breathing heavily, until he pushed all the way in and stilled. He buried his head in my shoulder, moaning loudly now as my body brought him over the edge, barely moving now. His hips jolted every now and then as he slowly came down from his high, heat flooding my lower body as we both slowly relaxed into each other.

“Mm,” he rubbed his face into my shoulder, “Are you ok?” I nodded slowly, still fuzzy in the head. He chuckled quietly, shifting to kiss my shoulder again. We stayed like that for several minutes, still pressed together, cum dripping between the two of us. Suddenly, with a sharp kiss to my cheek, he pulled out of me. I whined, the rush leaving me with nothing, no energy to move or string a sentence together. I stayed still, acutely aware that he still had his mask off. I may be… very dazed, but I had enough sense to know that if he wasn’t ready for me to see his face then I wouldn’t move until he wanted me to.

“B?” He hummed in response, “your mask?” He was somewhere behind me, and I didn’t have the energy to push myself off the table.

“Do you want me to wear it?” What a loaded question. I respected his privacy, his identity, and the deep-seated secrecy that comes with the job. But I also don’t think I could live without seeing him after this.

“No.” I heard him walking around behind me before a wet washcloth was placed beside me. His hands wrapped around my waist to lift me up. Once again, standing was not an option, but he held me up and turned me to sit back against the table. Looking up, I met his eyes, but now I saw the angular nose that accompanied them, and then his cheekbones, then his lips, and his jawline, and his eyebrows, and- “You…”

“Yeah…” Bruce Wayne. Billionaire, recluse, and... Batman. Of course, he was Batman, of course my Batman was Bruce Wayne, it made so much sense. The same night that had haunted me for weeks suddenly hit me like a truck. ‘He would love you’.

“You said… but if you’re…” He looked so worried, but it was his own fault for ruining any chance I had of a coherent thought.

“Is this ok?”

“Yes! But… that night, at the tower, you said-” He smiled, something he used to do only rarely.

“I know what I said.” But then… that meant…

“Do you?” With a low chuckle he shook his head, bright blue eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Yes. Now lay back.” My eyebrows shot up in excitement.

“Again?” This time he laughed, an actual laugh that was full and deep.

“Later, let me help you first.” I sighed in disappointment but groaned the moment his large hands grabbed my legs. I was still incredibly sensitive and the washcloth, no matter how warm and comforting, still rubbed my sore clit gently causing my body to jolt and shake a little. “I know, I’m sorry.” Once he was done, he gently helped me put my underwear and pants back on. I stood, leaning against him, and he helped me into the tower elevator. “Hey...”

“Hm.” I couldn’t really respond because I was trying to focus on standing rather than falling.

“I love you.”

@wolfie1494 @tumb3ld0wn @projectcampbell @niviiera @dur55 @spidercat

#batman #Battison #batman x y/n #batman x reader #battinson #batman2022 #smut #batmansmut #batman smut

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beeeinyourbonnet · 5 months

Text

Covetous | Chapter 7

Rating: E

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6]

[read on ao3]

tws: alcoholism, homelessness.

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

MacAvoy did not remember the bus being so nauseating. Every time he got off one to switch to another, he had to find a discreet place to vomit, and he regretted leaving all of his booze at the church. The only thing that kept him from going back to get a bottle was the thought that Belle would confiscate it if she found it, and then he’d have nothing.

His third and final bus pulled up two blocks from the library, and he was so dehydrated and void of all the eggs and toast he’d eaten all weekend, he wasn’t sure he could make it. Vodka was, for once, not what he wanted—water would have been divine.

Nonetheless, he staggered forward. He had to see Belle. She would need counsel, a friend after her weekend. He would be there for her no matter that his stomach felt like a wrung-out sponge.

His phone told him it was about ten when he stumbled into view of the library. That was good. He didn’t look overeager waiting until ten to get there. Of course, she was the one who told him the route, so she would likely know that he’d left over an hour ago.

Whatever. She already knew he was pathetic. At least he was arriving sober this time, of his own free will.

The first thing he saw when he stumbled into the library was the cart full of water, and he lurched for a bottle.

The second, as he chugged water with more speed than his stomach wanted him to, was Belle’s empty circulation desk. And yet, someone had opened the library, so she probably wasn’t lying murdered in her apartment.

He crossed himself at the thought. If she was, there was nothing he could do—he didn’t know where she lived.

“Joseph!”

He whipped around, spilling water all over his hand, and there she was, resplendent in an olive green dress and carrying a stack of books, all but glowing with happiness. What did that mean?

“Belle! Ah—good morning.”

“Give me just a minute, I need to re-shelve these.”

He wanted to follow her, but she’d said to give her a minute, so instead he lurched his way to the circulation desk and fished the fiver out of his pocket to drop in her collection jar. Part of him wanted to wait for her to see it so she’d know he wasn’t just taking advantage, but he knew that doing a good deed for recognition would sully it, and he’d done so many awful things over the weekend, he couldn’t add that to the list.

“Good morning!”

He jumped, almost knocking the jar over, and then Belle had her arms around his shoulders, squeezing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” She might as well have floated off, back around the desk. What had put her in such a good mood?

“No problem,” he managed, leaning against the desk. He’d spent all weekend sure she would be broken, sure she would just run to him, her wise and loving confidant, and now he didn’t know what to do.

“Why don’t you bring over a chair and tell me about your weekend? There’s coffee if you want.” She pointed to the carafe near the cart.

Coffee was a smart idea, so he poured himself a cup, black, and then dragged over a chair. He thought Belle might have been shopping again, but she was reading through her emails. He averted his eyes to preserve her privacy.

“Was the trip difficult?” she asked, typing a quick reply to one.

“No, it was no trouble.” He studied her back, trying to discern anything. Where had Nosty hurt her? He must have.

“Did you hold mass yesterday?”

He sipped his coffee, narrowing his eyes at the back of her head. “I sat in the pulpit, but no one showed up.” The doors were locked, but she didn’t need to know that.

She hummed her acknowledgment, clicking through a few more emails, and then she pushed her keyboard back in and spun her chair to face him.

“So!” She clasped her hands in her lap. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan?”

He searched her face for a clue, and as she started on about being glad to have him in the library, he zeroed in on a red mark on her neck. It looked like a bruise, not the bite he was expecting.

“What happened?” he asked, hoarse.

“Hmm?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He raised a shaking finger toward her neck, and her eyes widened before she slapped a hand over the mark. Far from looking terrorized like he expected, she flushed all the way to the tips of her ears.

“Oh, that.” Her voice was oddly high-pitched. “I thought I’d covered it better. If you’ll—I’ll be right back.”

She fled to her office, and he sat, stumped. What was she hiding? What had made her so happy? Surely, if Nosty had hurt her, she wouldn’t be wandering around with her head in the clouds? Was he still drunk somehow, despite everything he’d purged from his system on the way here?

Maybe she’d left something on her desk that could clue him in. He didn’t want to snoop, so he vowed not to touch anything. He’d just look around, see what was there.

He was debating how to get around his no touching rule and also open the desk drawer when she came striding back out, no longer flushed and with no more mark on her neck.

“Close call.” She plopped back into her chair, throwing her arms out for balance when it spun. “Can you imagine if a patron had seen that and complained?”

“What?” He was so confused. He had to still be drunk. “I don’t understand. Did you hurt yourself?”

“Oh.” She blushed again, biting her lip. “Nothing, Father—Joseph! It was nothing. Thank you for spotting it.”

Not only did he feel like a failure, he felt stupid. What was he missing? Why was she embarrassed by a bruise? Sure, it was in a strange spot, like someone had given it to her, but—

Oh.

It was his turn to flush, and he turned away before she could see. He didn’t often think about pleasures of the flesh because he’d always been more tempted by drink, sometimes even gambling. There had been times when he’d wanted, but it had been so long. His parishioners, however, had been another story. He’d heard all manner of depraved confessions, even in his little outskirts-of-London parish.

He remembered now a man who’d admitted to wanting his wife to choke him, and MacAvoy’s hand flew to his own neck. Is that what happened? Had Belle been choked?

He wouldn’t ask her. There were many things he was sure she’d confide in a close friend, but they’d spent all of one day together, and he was sure any other close friend she might have had would not have been a Catholic priest.

“So,” he wheezed. He cleared his throat. “You had a nice weekend?”

“It was wonderful.” She twisted the ends of her hair around a finger, and he had the fleeting urge to join her, to twine their fingers together so he could have the pleasure of touching her hair as well.

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Good, I’m glad.”

“So, volunteering?”

“What?” Who was volunteering?

“Earlier? I said it would be helpful if you volunteered while you were here? I know last week was kind of slow, but it’s usually quite busy, and I’m always looking for new volunteers.”

He swallowed. It made sense that he couldn’t simply take a bus to the library to sit at Belle’s feet for eight hours a day, five days a week. That would have been insane.

“Of course. I would love to help.”

It wasn’t a lie, but Belle’s sunny smile made it feel even more true. He smiled hesitantly in return.

“If you don’t mind starting today, I can teach you how to check books in and out and you can cover for me at lunch?”

All he really heard was that he would be here while Belle went somewhere else at lunch, but what was he supposed to do? Say no? She’d taken care of him for two days, driven him across town, and welcomed him back even though it was obvious he was hungover.

“Anything’s fine,” he said, and Belle rewarded him with another smile.

****

After almost two hours, he did not really have the hang of the system. He was not great with computers, and though he practiced on a few older ladies that had come in to return and pick out new books, he wasn’t confident enough to be left alone.

In the end, they decided he should write down the library card and book information of anyone who came in, and Belle would just log it when she came back.

“Going somewhere fun?” he asked, trying not to stare at her touching up her lipstick.

“Not really. Nosty and I are going to the clinic to get tested.”

She puckered her lips together a few times, then capped her lipstick and stuck it back in her purse. It gave him time to process what she was saying, but he still didn’t understand. Was she pregnant? He wasn’t the most knowledgeable man, but pregnancy usually didn’t show after just a day or two.

“Tested for what?” He probably shouldn’t have asked, but she had mentioned it, so it wasn’t prying too much.

She glanced sideways at him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to overshare.”

“It’s not oversharing.” Was she pregnant? “It’s my job to listen.”

She licked her freshly colored lips, but even whatever hesitation she had couldn’t stop her from smiling for long. She had to be pregnant.

“You are my closest friend, I guess,” she said. “I’m sorry if that’s odd for you.”

His neck warmed, and for the first time in forever, it wasn’t from guilt or shame. It was a nice feeling, a pleasant warmth. “You’re my closest friend too. You can tell me.”

She pursed her lips again. “We’re going to the clinic to get tested so we can be, ah—safe.”

“Safe?” He frowned. “From what?”

She wiggled her eyebrows, and as understanding crept along the tips of his ears, he wished the library would swallow him. They were getting tested for STDs. Of course. Like safe, consenting adults did.

His knees shuddered, and he clutched the desk. Did that mean—

“So you haven’t—you didn’t this weekend?” Was he even allowed to ask that? As a priest, probably not. As her closest friend, though?

“No.” A dreamy look crossed her face. He was going to be sick. “We stayed up all night talking.”

He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he was conscious, but she would notice. How could they have done nothing? Maybe she had been drugged? She didn’t remember?

“Joseph? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, sorry, I—”

She laid a hand on his, and oh god, how could she have figured it out already? He was going to fling himself into the Thames.

“How much did you drink this weekend?”

His vice. It had saved him. She thought he was just hungover. He tried to look sheepish which wasn’t hard.

“More than I should have.”

Belle squeezed his hand and then, for one horrible split-second, he saw her naked. His stomach clenched.

“I’m sorry, I need to—” He stood, stumbling over his chair in his haste to flee to the bathroom.

“Okay, good luck,” she said, and he tried to laugh. “I’ll wait until you’re out before I go?”

He nodded or maybe he agreed, he couldn’t remember. All he knew was he had never run so fast, but he did make it to a toilet before throwing up.

When he returned ten minutes later, shaky and thirsty, Belle was standing by the door clutching her purse, peering out the window.

“When’s he supposed to get here?” MacAvoy asked.

“Any minute now.”

There wasn’t enough left inside of him to react to that, so he collapsed in his chair, sipping his water. After that round of vomiting, he was sure the shakes were to follow.

Belle waited at the window for another ten minutes, then sat at the desk staring out for fifteen, then poured a cup of coffee and ran to bring it to the man sitting outside the convenience store across the road, then stared at the window again.

Her lunch hour came and went, and as much as MacAvoy was glad not to see Nosty, his heart ached watching Belle wait for him. He should have known he wasn’t coming. Belle should have known.

Tentative, he put a hand on her shoulder, and she all but jumped out of her skin.

“Belle?”

“He’s coming.” Her eyes were wet, but the set of her jaw was determined.

“Are you sure?”

“He wouldn’t not come.” She pressed a hand to her neck where he knew the mark was, where Nosty must have choked her. “If he’s not here, it’s because something happened.”

“Like what?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s dangerous on the streets. Once he came in with a slash across his shoulder and wouldn’t tell me how he got it.” She swallowed. “It’s dangerous.”

In his drunken stupors, he’d met all manner of dangers on the streets, so he coldn’t disagree. “Do you want to try to teach me the computer system again while we wait for him?”

A tear spilled over her cheek and he forced himself not to brush it away, not to use the tip of his finger to caress the soft skin of her cheek.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get some books to practice with.”

****

They practiced all day. Nosty did not show up. Joseph could even check books in and out on his own by the time Belle had to close the library.

She wandered back to her office, the loneliness rooting in her gut again and telling her that nothing had happened to Nosty. He had simply kissed her goodbye outside the library that morning and lied when he said he would see her in a few hours.

But no. He wouldn’t dare. He had held her so tenderly, kept her heart safe within his grasp. He knew leaving would destroy her. Something had happened.

Out of habit—and a little hope—she checked every possible hiding spot in her office and bathroom before locking up, then wandered through all the stacks. Nosty didn’t leap out and grab her, she saw no flash of tartan, no wild tangle of hair.

As she turned off the lights, tucking her home in for bed, she looked around one last time. Nosty wasn’t there.

She would have to find him.

****

It was supposed to be a chilly night, so while Belle closed the library, MacAvoy took another cup of coffee to her friend across the street, along with a few snacks she recommended for him.

The man thanked him, and in a moment of what MacAvoy considered genius, he asked him if he’d seen Nosty, but he hadn’t since that morning. That, at least, probably meant that Nosty wasn’t lurking somewhere in the library.

Belle emerged and MacAvoy made his hasty goodbyes, promising to come by for a chat tomorrow.

“You don’t have to drive me,” he said.

“I don’t mind.” She stood on her toes, searching the distance, and then flattened. “Maybe he’ll be waiting for me at home.”

“Then you should go home.”

She smiled then, and he was grateful that she didn’t listen to him because he felt like shit, his muscles were shaking, and he didn’t want to be out of her company for the hours it would take him to reverse engineer her bus instructions.

MacAvoy wasn’t sure that Belle looked anywhere but straight ahead while she drove—he didn’t see her check her mirrors, her blind spots, anything. She stared forward, eyes full.

“Belle,” he said. “You’re gonna hit someone.”

She jumped, blinking some tears down her cheek, and then finally did her usual visual circuit from mirror to mirror. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just worried. Can you do me a favor tonight?”

The devil decided that now, as she asked him for a favor, was the time to remind him of the vision of Belle pressed to the shower wall, Nosty’s gargantuan cock inside her while MacAvoy held his own pitiful member. He clenched his fists.

“Anything.”

“Will you call as many hospitals in your area as you can and see if he’s checked in? I’ll call in my area. And text me if you find him?”

That was not the favor he expected—although he didn’t know what he’d thought—but he hastened to agree. He knew how to use a phone, and there had been a time when he’d made the rounds at hospitals. He might even have contacts at some of them.

“Thank you.” She reached across and closed her soft, gentle fingers around his fist. He felt it in his cock and wished he could fucking die. “I don’t want to do this alone.”

With a hand somehow both stiff and trembling, he patted hers. “You don’t have to do anything alone, Belle. I’m here.”

He was here with his impure urges and visions sent straight from the devil himself, but by God was MacAvoy going to call those hospitals for her.

****

It wasn’t until the fourth hospital he called that MacAvoy finally got somewhere. Thank God, because he refused to drink a sip until he’d finished his task, which also meant that he couldn’t force down any food, and his whole body rebelled. He needed the dopamine of a success.

“Nosty?” the man on the phone asked. “And who’s calling?”

“Father MacAvoy,” he half-wheezed. “From St. Joseph’s. I’m his chaplain.”

“Sorry, Father. We haven’t seen him in a couple months. If you’re looking for him, he’s probably locked up or dead.”

MacAvoy closed his eyes. Belle would not want to hear this.

“Thank you. Can I ask—do you see him often?”

“Fairly. He’s had a bit of a dry spell recently.”

So that meant that wherever Nosty spent time, it was likely near this hospital. He thanked the man for his time and hung up. Belle had said to text her, but this was news that he felt was probably better delivered spoken. Texts were for concrete information and hospital addresses.

Promising himself a drink as soon as this was over, he dialed Belle’s number.

****

All of Nosty’s new clothes were folded neatly on the spare bed, just where they’d left them. None of her books were missing. There wasn’t even any food or water missing.

Belle was torn between a desire to cocoon herself in the bird blanket and think about Nosty’s strong arms and to move, move, move. The blanket wouldn’t help find him, though, so she made herself a cup of tea and set her laptop up at the kitchen table.

The closest hospitals to her flat and the library didn’t know him at all. She considered pouring a glass of wine, but what if she found him and needed to pick him up? Better to stay sober.

Her phone rang and she snatched it up, praying for an unknown number and Nosty’s voice. It was only Joseph, but maybe he had good news?

“Did you find anything?” she asked instead of hello.

“Maybe.”

Her heart sank deep into the expanding loneliness in her gut. Soon, it would blossom and overtake her, and she’d be nothing but a husk.

“What?”

“I found what I think is the hospital he usually goes to.”

Belle took a sip of tea. The hospital he usually goes to. Usually goes to for what? Did he have a terminal illness?

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke to a man who said they used to see him fairly often but haven’t for a few months.”

What did that mean? Why was he there so often? She rubbed her forehead. If only Nosty had left some sort of clue or ever allowed her to know anything personal—she’d be able to find him then.

“Did he say anything else?”

Joseph made a noise like he was reconsidering talking, and Belle straightened.

“What? What did he say?”

“Belle, maybe this isn’t—”

“Joseph, what did he say?”

The only sound for several seconds was Belle’s hammering heart. Then, “He said if I can’t find him, he’s probably locked up or dead.”

Belle set her mug on the table, a great feat of restraint considering she wanted to hurl it against the wall. Nosty couldn’t be dead. She would know. She didn’t know how, but somehow, she would know.

“Belle?”

That meant that Nosty was locked up again. He was probably miserable. She had to find him.

“Belle?”

“Sorry.” She stared at the map on her computer. How many police stations were there? How many would she have to call? Would they even listen to her?

“Are you okay? What are you doing?”

She shook her head, the map lines swimming in front of her. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Come to the church.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Belle, it’s not haunted, I promise.”

“What if he comes here?”

Joseph was quiet. A sob escaped, ripped from her chest, and she pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Do you want me to come there?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said, even though she had intended to say no.

“Okay. There’s just—I’m sorry, but—”

“You have to drink.” She didn’t care. How was she supposed to keep Joseph from self-destructing when she was crumbling from the inside?

“I do.”

“It’s fine. Get in a taxi. I’ll pay.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

They hung up and Belle stared at the map again. She could hardly remember what she needed to do. She wouldn’t be alone anymore at least. Nosty would have to accept Joseph once they found him and he realized how integral he’d been in helping her. Is this what having real friends was like? Heartache and support in equal measure? She’d take it over the loneliness.

****

MacAvoy felt disgusting as he gulped from his handle of gin then stuck it in his jacket pocket before heading outside. How could he bring his vile crutch when Belle was paying for his taxi?

But he’d be no use to her sober, that much was certain. If he wanted to help Belle, he’d have to give her a glimpse of his world.

The drive took half an eternity, but Belle stood on the sidewalk, waiting for him as promised. She swiped her credit card and then she was in his shaking arms, sobbing.

“Come on.” He patted her on the back, feeling each sob deep in his chest—and only his chest, thank God. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

She led him up to a small two-bedroom whose decor style could be boiled down to, unsurprisingly, books everywhere. He hid his smile, not wanting her to think that he enjoyed any part of what was going on.

“So I’ve broken the city down by area,” she said. “And I’ve been making a list of all the precincts to call.”

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

She licked her lips. “No, not yet.” Oh, how the tables had turned.

“Come on.” He spied her laptop and a mug on the kitchen table, so he put a hand between her shoulders and guided her there. “You’ll be of no use to Nosty if you faint. Do you need another cup of tea?”

She allowed him to push her into her chair, then she looked into her mug and nodded. “It’s gone cold. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” An electric kettle sat by the sink, so he filled it again and set it to heat. While his back was to her, he nipped from his gin bottle.

The chair scraped and he whirled to see why, but Belle was just taking a box of tea and another mug from the cupboard and bringing them to the table.

When the water boiled, he managed to pour it into both mugs without spilling, and then while Belle added a squeeze of lemon to her tea, he tipped a shot of gin into his.

“All right,” he said, unsure of where the authority in his voice came from. He hadn’t sounded like that in years. “Let’s see about dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said. Somehow, the look he turned on her was strong enough to make her blush. Maybe she’d taught him a thing or two. “Fine. Let’s get a pizza. Here.” She fished her card out of her sweater pocket and handed it to him. “Get whatever you want.”

At this point, all he wanted was Nosty to appear or for Belle to eat. He didn’t have a thought to spare for pizza.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll figure something out.”

She nodded, and when she turned back to her computer, he saw that she’d made a spreadsheet of information.

This was going to be a long night.

[chapter 8]

#anyelle #anyelle fic #anyelle fanfic #anyelle fanfiction #nostelle #macelle #nostelle fic #macelle fic #new update #covetous

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singlesablog · 1 year

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The Look.

“Is There Something I Should Know?” (1983) Duran Duran EMI - Capitol Records (Written by Simon Le Bon, John Taylor, Roger Taylor, Andy Taylor, Nick Rhodes) Highest U.S. Billboard Chart Position – No. 4

“[It was] completely separate from electronic music or the future…all the fucking Southern New Romantic bollocks. I mean, if we were ever called New Romantics there'd be a fight... 'Am I wearing a kilt? Am I wearing enough eyeliner? Is my shirt frilly enough?' Oh, fuck off!

- Paul McCluskey from Orchestral Manoeuvres in The Dark on The New Romantics

I love the term “across the pond”, which suggests that England, the mother country for the USA, is only a hop and a skip away, when in truth, the spaces between us are enormous. The innovations transferring from one continent to the other, especially with respect to music and fashion, have always had a strange and years-away delay that has been ongoing since the very beginning, as if the ideas were always awaiting the right winds, funding, and large, cumbersome, three-masted ships from the Colonial period to bring them over to us. Part of Modernism is to assume the new world will be changed; part of reality is that the change, as delivered, is much more elusive.

In 1982 the Second British Invasion was brought to the United States in color on MTV, and was ushered in by two very important videos: first and foremost with the complete smash “Don’t You Want Me” by The Human League (an electro masterpiece and forever influential) and then by Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf”, their first bonafide, giant US hit. It wasn’t just MTV that had them on heavy rotation, it was nonstop over the airwaves as well: these two songs nearly swallowed up the 1982-83 season for radio. In truth there was so much happening with British artists over here that year it is dizzying to consider; sound and image were delivered with enormous speed, and very persuasively. It was a very rapid musical turnover (and considering my previous thoughts, I know this is ironic; however, a backlog is a backlog.) The only problem for me that year was that I loathed “Hungry Like The Wolf”; this included the song, and the stupid video, in which I believe Simon Le Bon is in animal drag pursuing a female through the jungle, but I can’t be sure: I refuse to look at it again after being forced to 500 times. I was also only mildly interested at the time in “Don’t You Want Me”, after being worn down by its’ endless radio play in the US. However, the invasion had begun.

As a teenager, there was a lot to process in 1982/83: music was now television, and MTV was our god. I wasn’t staying up late to look at the Brits, I was staying up late waiting for Prince to appear in a haze of multi-colored, neon-infused fog spinning around in high-heeled boots to “Little Red Corvette” (an incredible fusion of sound and image). There was a lot to look over: Men at Work with “Who Can It Be Now”, A Flock of Seagull’s “I Ran (So Far Away)” which was HUGE in the states, and even Bowie, the originator, coming back from the dead with the future-forward “Ashes to Ashes” being re-aired (1980). The Vee-jays talked and talked, and we absorbed every scene.

In 1983 Duran issued their 8th single, “Is There Something I Should Know?” straight to MTV in a video directed by Russell Mulcahy, and it was at this moment that I sat up and took notice. Technically the band had already conquered the UK and the US, but it took forever for these ideas to sail my way. Capitol Records was looking for another hit and had the band create this track after their best album, Rio, was already a sensation, and they were starting to work on their third, Seven and the Ragged Tiger (a hilariously late-imperial and overblown, if rather beautiful, mess). For me, watching on TV, this video was my first impression of The New Romantics ever. Even though DD's style had already moved forward into clothes that were more New wave, I could sense the old style running through the images. Mulcahy, a true innovator in music videos, had directed many of Duran Duran’s previous clips, as well as for many other artists (notably Buggles “Video Killed The Radio Star”, MTVs first-ever video broadcast, and most representatively Duran’s “Planet Earth”, which, shockingly, I had missed). His work initiated many of the classic techniques in video: spot lighting, jump cuts, platform stages, empty spaces, slo-motion, breaking glass, fog, bifurcated screens, costumes, nonsense—you name it.

Unbeknownst to me at that time, Capitol tacked this single on to Duran Duran’s first, self-titled debut LP (1981) for the 1983 US re-release, to capitalize on the huge success of Rio’s “Hungry Like the Wolf”. Until this post, I was always confused at the range of style changes and images that we took in from Duran in ’83, and why I assumed this look was from 1981. We were all taking in so much British fashion then it was impossible to sort any of it out. The video, however, was sharp, clean, and brilliant, the clothes still holding a bit of the New Romantic flounce and swagger, but cut leaner, and cleaner; the bandmembers, by now seasoned stars, had clothes, hair and makeup all perfected in an exactitude of knowing postures, and the song was one of their best, and hookiest, with old touches of guitar from their previous work, and with synth-work that looked forward to the next record. But in 1983, I thought that this was vintage Duran.

Fashion is a curiously hard thing to pin down, especially considering the clothes from London and Birmingham in the late 70s and early 80s. I would submit that a classic, classic New Romantic look would be the Duran Duran of 1981: lots of makeup, lots of flounce and ruffles, lots of teased up hair (even a ponytail, here or there). The beginning of the look sprang up alongside of punk (which was anarchic and utilitarian); Bowie and Bolan would be among the New Romantic inspirations. By the time of the 80s things moved quickly, and Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood’s Sex shop become involved (Westwood’s Pirate collection in 1981—think Adam and the Ants—is a clear expansion of New Romantic fashion); however the Sex shop was also an expression of Punk fashion, and much more avant-garde, so the ideas began to merge and mutate. By 1983, to be called a New Romantic band became an insult (and to these eyes a downright homophobic assault on foppery and artifice) and many bands distanced themselves from the title, if not outright denied it. Even a band like Spandau Ballet (a true New Romantic sensation from the Blitz club in London) moved away from those associations, and began to wear suits. With the Duran of 1983 everything was trimmed down but one could see they were unashamed; if their clothes flounced less, they still had the spirit in them. This was in contrast to the bands that resented the association for whatever reason: ABC, Depeche Mode, The Human League, Soft Cell, Simple Minds, Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, and Talk Talk. The other band closely associated with it, Culture Club, was fronted by Boy George, whose fashion sense ran from Bowie to Punk. He seemed neither to take offense nor to care what they called him as long as they were looking.

Back in America I was watching all of this late at night on television—too late. Many of these styles had emerged and were already smoldering in the ashes before we could understand or appropriate them here. New wave we got, New Romantic we did not. It did all rather re-flower in the mid to late 80s for us, however. Looking at the back of the vinyl from the offshoot band Arcadia (with three members of Duran, 1985) I would say their old style had returned. Around this period there were lots of brooches and asymmetrical haircuts, lots of layers, and lots of unashamed extra everything from nearly every pop artist everywhere. I think the British divisions had finally synthesized into a catch-all aesthetic. In fact, it was this extra-ness that we now think of in America when we think of 1980s pop music.

Back cover from Arcadia's So Red The Rose (1985)

But please—don’t call it New Romantic. It just isn’t cool.

There were so many styles that emerged in the 80s from the streets, but none better than Bananarama, who were never hard to understand, being appropriated from street culture in England. Like the Go-Gos, when you saw them, it was pretty clear what they were doing stylistically, and it was never anachronistic. US or UK, you just got it.

Researching this entry, and looking around on the internet, I became interested in the word “naff”, which because it is British has had many permutations, but mostly means awful, ugly, no-good. I texted my friend British Rachel for the definition:

Me: Define “naff” Her: Deely Boppers and Ra Ra skirts. That was the 80s here. Nightmare. Thank god for Bananarama!

On an internet message board from The Guardian, I found a more complete, and complex, definition:

Naff is polari (or palare), the gay urban secret language developed in London to ensure conversational privacy in public when talking about gay sex or insulting straight people. Polari was widespread in London, and particularly in the theatre, from the 1940s-1960s, suffered a decline in the 1970s and 1980s, and has had a revival since the 1990s. It consists of snippets of Italian, Latin, Spanish, Yiddish, Cockney Rhyming Slang, Black-slang and acronyms. Naff is an example of the latter - Normal As Fuck - and means drab, unfashionable, dull. By extension, it is a defining characteristic of straight people, who lack the style and swagger of the urban homosexuals.

- Gerard Forde, London, UK

Well. Excluding Duran Duran, of course.

#1983 #duran duran #popmusic #new romantics #vivienne westwood #malcolm mclaren #mtv

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langernameohnebedeutung · 3 months

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Ok, giving you an update as I finish up Season 3!

Claiming Liv for BPD rep. With the mood and Personality swings (+ related interpersonal problems) I feel very seen :)

This might me just my Aro vision making it hard to see, but I don’t get MajorxLiv. Like with all the other pairs, there’s a path there or they shared interests and worked their way closer. But with these two we’re just told that they are meant for each other because ??? , but everytime they are together it’s just…why?

Liv has had better chemistry with every single one of her dead Boyfriends and she deserves better

Watching Blaine go from the main villain to that annoying bastard you can’t get rid of makes me so proud! I love characters like that! He’s the best, I wish him to never achieve his dreams! :D

On that note, the series has consistently fun villains. Good Job!

Big fan of the Meal montages that started with Season 2. And with how the brains keep their colour and consistency unless turned into mush. As brains are known to be x)

Fillmore-Graves has taught me that my armor for puns is still sore

I just like Jimmy, I’m glad he keeps showing up. He hates working with the Morgue Crew so much and it is so funny!

Fave episodes: “Astroburger” “Fifty Shades of Grey Matter” “Eternal Sunshine of the Caffeinated Mind” “Zombie Knows Best” “Looking for Mr. Goodbrain 1+2”

4 more days and 2 Season to go!

*braces for the LARP Episode*

!! You weren’t lying when you said you were speed-running! I was worried you might not be able to make it through the show before the end of June but you’re making headway!

- Oh, I love that (re: Liv BPD rep) – I never thought about it before but that is really interesting to explore! Tbh I often think of the zombism as a metaphor, e.g. Liv’s early zombism as a parallel to the PTSD symptoms that someone would experience after the boat party. And some specific brains having her adopt different neuro-types (e.g. the “hot mess brain” really struck a chord with me as someone with ADHD) – and the thing is, BPD would also make a lot of sense, especially with the age of onset often being in someone's 20s. Plus, it makes me even think in literal terms and not just metaphorical ones – Liv always seems to be more strongly affected by the brains than most other zombies on the show and I think it would have been interesting to explore how zombism and related brain-effects would interact with different mental health conditions and neurotypes. (The thing is, I have at least the working theory that the underlying personality as well as the willingness to engage with the new personality affects how and how strongly zombies are affected. A big example for me is Liv having a vision the very moment she ate one of Lowell's orphan brains while he could surpress it. Or in Conspiracy Weary, when Liv, Blaine and Don E are on the same brain and Liv does stuff like putting gum on her friends' webcams and wants to protect them, Don E likes to talk about celebrities (we see him do that on other occasions like with Christina Ricci or Gwyneth Paltrow) and Blaine is very opinionated on Tupac and the symbolism of Makaveli (music being a big deal to him)

-- The thing is, I think MajorxLiv might just be one of the most contentious topics in the fandom. I know people who really love them together and the tragedy and drama and the doomed-lover-ness of it all and I know others argue more from the point that such a major (ha!) point of the show is deconstructing the seemingly perfect life Liv had at the beginning of the show and he realisation that it wasn’t perfect at all and that she mostly lived for the expectations of others and didn't really have anything that mattered to her. And that part of that should have been realising that Major and her weren’t meant to be married-two-kids-picket fence and that they should have just embraced being friends and that it defeats the narrative. I also think it might be because they’re one of the only couples we don’t see originally falling in love – with Peyton and Ravi and Clive and Dale we see what attracted them to each other in the first place and watch their relationships develop (though I must say that I have more fun with Clive/Dale than with Peyton/Ravi but that’s no hate on the latter, I just enjoy the dynamic between Clive and Dale more). But Liv and Major were a thing from the beginning and you can tell that the writers very much prioritised them over other relationships these two had (rip Nathalie especially, you deserved so much better) which I alo think leads to some frustration. Personally, I don't really feel that strongly about it either way but I wish there were some aspects that they had gotten into more. Also, I wish they had prioritised Liv dealing with the deaths of so many of her boyfriends more?? Dude, the trauma of that. The guilt!

--- REAL. It goes from Blaine being a child-butchering monster to Blaine and Don E being the Pinky and the Brain of zombism (and also having the main-gang on speed dial). I like that they didn’t even go the route of redeeming Blaine or making him less evil. He actually continues to do things just as evil (and worse) than what he did in season 1. But even the morgue gang doesn’t really prioritise stopping or killing him anymore. I bet they run into each other in supermarkets or at the bank sometimes lmao.

I think it’s partially because he’s the long-distance runner of iZombie villains – most of the other baddies contain their evil to one season, maybe one-and-a-half. So it’s much easier to keep track of where they wronged you. With Blaine, the list is so long, it’s really hard to keep track of it all. Plus, a lot of his schemes don’t even directly affect the gang or they never learn about them. The show just gives like…a good amount of screen-times to tuning in to Shady Plots or the Scratching Post to show us what stupid schemes these two clowns are up to. (Also, I like that David Anders said that Blaine actually really likes the morgue squad and spending time with them. Those are his best friends who hate him <3)

----I also kind of dig that the meal montages really only started happening with season 2. Because early on, Liv’s zombie meals being more depressing (the instant noodles she does in the pilot for example) makes a lot of sense because she still feels defeated and lost being a zombie. But later on, she starts having fun with it! And I think it goes well with stuff like her refusing to tan or dye or putting on a scratchy wig – she really starts owning being a zombie and the fun meals are part of it!! I love that for her!

----- iZombie drinking game: Always taking a sip when there’s a silly pun somewhere. (doctors do not recommend this)

------- They put so much energy and thought and screen-time into their non-primary cast! Jimmy! Vampire Steve! Enzo! Johnny Frost! They’re just like: “here’s another perplexing little guy. We will not elaborate.”

--------- These are all fun! I always find it kind of hard to say which one of my favourite episodes are but I also really like The Whopper for all the drama happening there and Conspiracy Weary – Oh, and in season 4 you have Brainless in Seattle and Goon Struck coming up which I also really love (you might already be there, even. Not to spoil but: Major and Don E on a roadtrip! That was fun.). And in season 5 The Scratchmaker and the noir episode are really fun!

#izombie #fandom

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aioledreams · 24 days

Text

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 2: Horizon

Ciel is on her way to the Waking Sands for the first time.

They had stopped at the Thanalan settlement to rest the chocobos. Ciel climbs out of the back of the carriage and stretches her long limbs, arms above her head, hands not quite catching the sky. She does a few paces around the worn stone streets. She briefly shields her eyes from the ever beating heat and glare of the sun to get a better view of the sand coloured buildings that crowded the walls of the surrounding plateau. Between the spindly trees with their wide leaf crowns, the high stone walls, the plateau itself, and the cheerful red awnings, there was more shade in Horizon than there had been the whole way from Ul’dah.

When she comes face to face with the driver, a smile crinkles his tan skin. Years in the sun had made it like leather, and it was clear he smiled often. “We’ll be continuing on to Vesper Bay in a few hours, but if your business needs more haste, it’s a short ride by chocobo porter.” The elder hyur gestures toward a yellow clad lalafell. They are surrounded by crates and a small cluster of chocobos nearest the gate and the stone steps leading down toward the village’s towering aetheryte.

“Thank you for taking me this far,” Ciel replies with a smile of her own, fishing out a sum of gil to press into the carriage driver’s waiting hand. The man dips his head in thanks and the two part ways, the driver to tending his chocobos, Ciel toward Horizon’s chocobo porter.

When she arrives amongst the crates and chocobos she isn’t the first in line to talk to the porter. A dark skinned man is already negotiating with the diminutive merchant. He had the sun bleached clothes of a desert native, but the telltale long pointed ears of an elezen. Curious, she thinks. She hasn’t run into many fellow elezen in Thanalan; but she hasn’t been here long. “For Vesper Bay” she hears him say, “Reckon this should cover.” Gil is exchanged and the man swings himself up on one of the chocobos, navigating it around her in a trot before disappearing through the gates at the other end of the village at higher speed.

She catches sight of the glare off a pair of red lenses, and for a moment her head reels like a lightning bolt has sliced its way into her skull. Foggy images assault her all at once, drowning out the nearby stone buildings and the noises of the chocobos as they gain clarity. There are tents crowded against the towering walls of the great city Ul’dah, packed full of sweaty bodies in ragged clothes from all corners of the realm. She is walking down Pearl Lane, head down, weaving through a river of faces, hands in pockets, one wrapped white knuckled around coin that wasn’t hers. She smells the familiar sea and fish smell of Limsa Lominsa’s lower docks, but right now it is new and strange. There’s a heavy wood and iron door in the white stone walls and a blonde roegadyn with an eyepatch looking down at her. Then very briefly, she feels a world and a time away, like she is holding onto the last vestiges of a dream when waking. There is a smile, bright blue eyes that are hers but aren’t.

Ciel blinks, the blurred lines of Horizon’s buildings and the stark contrast of sun and shade re-asserting themselves into reality. She rubs her forehead and runs a hand through her hair, taking in a deep breath. The pain had vanished as quickly as it came. These episodes always arrived without warning. She scans the surrounding streets. People haul crates, do business under awnings. The chocobo carriage she rode in on is pulled off to the side, more crates and parcels being unloaded from the back. The rider has already disappeared into the dark tunnel at the gap in the cliff wall.

When Ciel approaches the chocobokeep she can almost hear the lalafell smile behind their mask. “Can I interest you in a chocobo porter? Our fine birds are trained to take you to Vesper Bay, Ul’dah or the Silver Bazaar with the most direct route!”

“Vesper Bay, please.” Ciel replies, “How much is the fare?” She adjusts her pack, quickly counting out a likely sum of gil.

“Only 15 gil.” is the cheerful response. Ciel glances at her sum, her estimate a bit over. She hands it all over anyway, and the porter gives the coin a quick glance before pocketing it. Ciel waits as a tall yellow bird fitted with a simple but sturdy saddle is led to her. The handler fusses a bit over ensuring she is comfortable in the saddle and has a good grip on the reins. “She’ll do most of the work, so just enjoy the ride. Take care, now.” It still sounds like the porter is smiling.

With a nudge she is off, the sun glinting off the blue crystal in the center of the village before she leaves cobblestone streets and the brown and grey and sand buildings with their crimson awnings behind. She is swallowed by the calm and cool shade of a passage that never bears the heat of the sun, the smell of the freshwater pools beyond carrying on the wind.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #wol ciel #wol tempest #ffxiv writing

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jtl07 · 1 year

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jt (finally) watches warrior nun - s1 e9 (pt 3) & e10

Last episode 9 thoughts and brief-ish thoughts on episode 10

I was thinking again about the fight vs flight critique that Ava and Bea had and was pondering that in the context of all the other interactions they’ve had thus far - and how it kinda bridges over to the interactions (esp the arguments) they have in s2.

As in: This is the first time that we see Ava kinda bite back at Bea - not like how she does in s2, mind you, (e.g. their arguments re: Miguel and the FBC) but it’s a little hint of it. In the same vein, for Bea, it’s a step further from the critique she had of Ava in the hallway in s1 e3 but not yet as emotional as the apartment fight in s2.

There’s not really a point to this observation, more like a, huh that’s interesting, in terms of how their relationship is slowly evolving.

That said, I … don’t have much to say about e10. I’d been dragging my feet mostly because I did not want to watch Adriel being manipulative, and woof, I was right. What I mean: they knew how to cast Adriel as evil via manipulation and lies, and they did it well. It really turned my stomach to watch it, and I was going at 2x speed plus had a completely unrelated movie running in the background (if you’d like to know: it was one of the Ice Age movies lol).

[Things I was pleasantly surprised by and some frustrations under the cut]

The reveal of Vincent’s loyalty was really well done - probably the only time the short scene edits served a purpose. Interweaving Vincent going to Adriel with Mother Superion confronting Duretti (and goddamn, Di Fanti was amazing) reminded me of old Hong Kong Triad movies for a sec. That said: It actually took me a moment to realize what they were doing because they’ve been doing those damn cuts so much prior to this that it nearly lost its effectiveness. All in all, really showed that they’d been setting up Vincent’s betrayal from the very start.

Speaking of old school HK movies, I was really frustrated with the lack of tension in the editing - or maybe it was the angle of shots? I can’t put my finger on why I wasn’t getting the tension I wanted from the girls’ reactions to Vincent’s reveal. (I was, however, hella amused that it took three of them to hold back Mary lol)

I will say that I was surprised by the scenes of the girls waiting for Ava near the beginning, namely Beatrice’s calm - which was highlighted by everyone else’s reactions: Lilith’s restless anxiety, Mary’s tense cynicism. Part of my surprise was because of that fight vs flight convo in e9. I mentioned in my e9 writeup that I found it really odd that Beatrice frames the reason why she has the extra explosives as more of a contingency if Ava fails, rather than how she simply says here in e10 that it’s their worst case scenario. She presents an almost serene sort of faith in Ava here - is it because she’s not alone with Ava (and therefore more critical of Ava)? Is it because she’s with the others (and therefore more presenting as “faithful”)? It’s very curious, human even, how she is both critical and trusting of Ava in these two episodes.

(Or: Perhaps Beatrice can’t find it in her to praise Ava to her face? Hm. Curious, curious)

Oh last thing: I did like - and hadn’t known! - that twist of the fight with Adriel actually being them buying time for Ava. That said, hadn’t it already been 7 minutes since she phased through the wall and yknow, had been talking to Adriel? Also what uh, what were they expecting Ava to do? Like, she still isn’t much a fighter lol. Again, weird tension/build/logic issues - there were plenty of “cool” moments but they didn’t seem to make sense…?

All said, kinda happy to be done with season 1. It felt really disjointed to me in terms of storytelling and editing (goddamn the short scene edits killed me), though it served as a good “introduction” to the main characters. The things it felt like they really wanted to, and did, nail was: let Alba shine as Ava (mission absolutely accomplished) and build Vincent’s betrayal (mission also accomplished).

In any case, looking forward to finally get into s2!

#jt watches wn #jt ramble time #warrior nun #finally done with season 1 #only took me 2 months lol #hopefully season 2 will be faster

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biblicallyaccuratebeskar · 2 years

Text

Metal Home

Read Chapter 1 Here

Also on AO3

Chapter 2/22: ~1.7K words

Explosion

He was a Mandalorian, alright. Head to toe in unpainted beskar and a blaster pointed at my chest. His stature was tall, wide, and unnervingly still. I remember reading about them in the books back home. They were rare these days, almost legend. Just my luck to have one stand in between me and freedom. My eyes crept down to his unarmed hand, which held a blinking tracker. A bounty hunter. Did I have a bounty on me now, too?

“Are you a captive?” His voice came out deep and gruff, modulated through his helmet.

Was I a captive? Were the gag and handcuffs too subtle? I nodded cautiously.

He flicked out a knife from his pocket and walked forward. I made sounds of protest but he ignored them, taking me by the shoulder and cutting off my gag in one fluid motion. I took in gasp as he took care of my handcuffs as well.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said, not stopping for me to catch my breath. He pulled out a puck from his belt and a glowing image of the captain sprung to life before us. “Is this the man that’s keeping you?”

“Yes,” I replied. I began to gather that maybe the bounty wasn’t on me.

“Is he here?” I didn’t know for sure, but I nodded again.

The Mandalorian stood up. “Help me get to him, stay out of my way, and I’ll see to it you’re freed.” There it was: my ticket out. I stood up, new adrenaline rushing in. Looking into his helmet I had to crane my neck up ever so slightly. It unnerved me that I couldn’t read his expression.

“Control room is to the left, down the hallway. I don’t know what’s to the right,” I offered. He spun around, a brown cape swishing behind him as he exited the cell. I didn’t remember a cape being an integral part of Mandalorian armor. No matter how outlandish his fashion choices were, I followed him out the door.

We set off towards the control room when shuffling came from behind us.

“Hey! You!”

The Mandalorian and I both turned to see who else but Gero. He looked worse for wear with a crazed look in his eye, like he had seen a ghost. I remembered the two thuds I heard, presumably the other men. Out of my peripheral vision, the Mandalorian pulled out his blaster with inhuman speed, but he didn’t shoot. I was already running towards him.

I slid on my side, kicking Gero in the ankles, toppling him to the ground. The blaster he was holding with shaking hands slid across the floor and I dove on it, swinging it around and smacking him across the face. His head slumped to the side, out cold, and I jumped up, pocketing the blaster.

I turned, smiling, to see the Mandalorian slowly lower his blaster and stalk back towards the control room. Maybe I disappointed him, taking away his shot. He seemed to have the flair for the dramatics. I followed him into the control room, both our blasters poised. My eyes scanned, but I couldn’t see Captain Buzzcut.

“You said he was here,” he growled, turning to me.

“In case you didn’t notice, the prison cell I was being kept in didn’t have windows,” I shot back. “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go find him in the other part of the base.” I turned around and-

“I don’t think that will be needed.”

Shit. The Mandalorian and I re-aimed our blasters in sync.

The captain stood in front of us, both hands holding blinking metal globes. His posture was relaxed and confident, smile predatory.

“Deactivate them.” The Mandalorian was talking about the globes. “Now, or I’ll fire. And you’re no good to me dead.”

The captain laughed loud and long. Too loud. “I’ve heard of your kind, Mando. Heard stories. Never seen one, though.” He shook his head. “How disappointing it must be to you that I have the upper hand.”

I suddenly realized, with horrifying certainty, that the things he was holding were ticking bombs. Something primal and fearful in me tumbled over itself. I looked over in panic to the Mandalorian to see his aim hadn’t wavered.

“I know I’m no good dead, Mando. Know too much. Seen too much, too. That’s why I’m dragging you to hell with me.” He was shaking now. So was I. “You and the little bitch-“

BANG!

Shot through the head, his body crumpled, the bombs clinking to the floor. The Mandalorian rushed forward before I could react and kicked the bombs down the hallway. I saw the blinking lights accelerate and heard a click.

“Get down!” He yelled, shoving me aside as they detonated.

The world shook as I fell. Light and heat burst through the hallway, sending shrapnel flying. The force funneled through the space and pushed into the control room, sending the Mandalorian flying back into a control panel. I curled into a ball, covering my head and stayed there as I felt the dust settle.

I looked over at the Mandalorian. He was sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

He pushed me out of the way.

“Hey. Hey, Mando,” I croaked, crawling over to him. I coughed on the smoke and dust as I shook his chest. He didn’t stir. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

I looked up around me at the swirling smoke and drifting embers, and in the hallway saw a light filtering through the waves of gray. The explosion had blasted a hole through the hallway into the outside world. An exit.

I could have ran out then. But looking at the Mandalorian I knew I couldn’t.

“Ok, big boy. Try to make this easy on me.” I grabbed him by his belt and that stupid cape and began to drag him towards the hole. I groaned as I slid him across the floor. Maker, he was heavy with all that beskar. After more pulls and grunts we made it outside the blasted out exit.

“I really hope you didn’t walk here, Mando.” The small base was in an open glen, surrounded by trees. I scanned the forest line hoping to see some sort of ship. Squinting I saw a glint of metal peaking though the branches. Seemed like a good option. With a heave I started pulling him again.

We made it about halfway through the glen when I heard blaster fire. A shot whizzed past my ear, hot and sharp. I gasped spinning around to see Gero, alive and and on a trigger happy rampage.

More blasts whizzed by, one ricocheting off the Mandalorian’s chest plate. I cried out before realizing it deflected. Beskar was heavy, but at least it was effective.

My breath was coming in sharp gasps as I tried to pull him while running towards the metal in the woods. We finally dipped behind the trees, somehow unscathed. Gero was somewhere nearby yelling and cursing. I couldn’t tell if he was in pursuit or not but I didn’t stop to listen. My whole body was screaming at me to stop, arms and legs burning as I pulled him through the underbrush.

My fingers cramped and I dropped him. Cursing, I fell next to him, crouching, fumbling for my blaster. Breathing heavily, I spun around on my knees, pointing the weapon at every crack of a branch, every flutter of a leaf.

For a brief, horrible moment I realized the Mandalorian might be dead and I was just carrying around his body. But I quickly shook it off. I couldn’t think of that, not now.

My head felt like it was going to explode, the adrenaline plateauing as I waited for Gero to jump out of the trees. Painfully, my throat grew hard and I was hit by a sudden urge to go back to a home that didn’t exist anymore.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, reaching down inside, scooping into that store of myself I’d tried to ignore. I listened. Felt.

There.

I shot. Would’ve been a dead giveaway if I had missed, but I didn’t. Gero yelled as he fell. I didn’t see him, but I heard him hit the ground. I could’ve cried but I knew I had to keep going. Latching back onto the Mandalorian, I continued towards the metallic shimmer.

Finally, a clearing opened up and to my utter relief I guessed right. A ship stood in front of me, his ship.

A Razor Crest. Of all the ships in the galaxy, it was a damn Razor Crest. Something closed off in my heart squeezed and I whispered a small thank you.

Opening the hull, I dragged him in and closed the doors. It was dark and still. I leaned him up against a wall and fell to my knees, shaking, finally truly looking at him.

I couldn’t see any blood, and no limbs looked broken. For a reason I couldn’t name, I dared not take off his armor. Instead I stilled and stared intently at his chest plate, willing to see him breathe. And he did. It was slight, but there, and in the silence of the Crest I could hear it through the modulator too. He was alive. Thank the fucking Maker, he was alive.

I looked around the cabin. It was modest, the ship of a lone bounty hunter. Carbonite cryo chamber. Weapons closet, storage crates. An enclosed latrine, a small kitchen, and a bed in the corner, all organized to a tee. There was a ladder, going up to the cockpit I assumed.

“Well, Mando, I think I’m done carrying your ass around for the day.”

My knees threatened to buckle as I climbed the rungs, and I found myself in front of the main console. I sat in the center chair, taking in the buttons and switches. Before long we were in lightspeed.

I didn’t set a location. I didn’t know where to go. As I sat there taking in the blue ripples of space and time I felt my eyelids getting heavy as the exhaustion finally set in.

I leaned into the leather of the chair and let my brain leak into hyperspace.

#metal home #din djarin #din djaren #din djarin x female oc #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian x female oc #mandalorian x oc #mandalorian slow burn #mandalorian fic #mandalorian fanfic #Mandalorian x female reader

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ceph-the-ghost-writer · 1 year

Text

Apophenia 0.5 Part 1

Summary: Isaac's curiosity does him no favors.

Words: 981

Content advisory: Kidnapping, drugging, needles/injection, captivity, use of restraints, being gagged, loss of consciousness, swearing, supernatural horror elements

Dysthanasia Taglist (Ask, DM, or tag to be +/-): @thecyrulik @cljordan-imperium @k--havok

Original Version Here :: Ao3 :: Patreon

>Status report logged: 0124

>ID: R784

>Zone: 93

>Case Code: 1897

>Issue: Sighting

>Comments: Bloodborn in an all-nite diner next to old interstate. Scoping the place while stirring coffee. There any registered out this far or am I being jumpy?

>Re: Report #1897 logged: 0136

>ID: A209

>Zone: 163

>Good catch, Soto. Definitely shouldn’t be any registered that far off the grid. Pretty far south for one of Walsh’s brood, but you never know. Got a description we can run?

>Update report #1897 logged: 0147

>Submission >Person/Creature of Interest Form

>Name: Unknown

>Type: Bloodborn

>Age: Appearance of a man in mid to late 20s you could take home to parents

>Pronouns: Unknown (defaulting to he/him for now)

>Height: 5’5” est.

>Weight: 130-140 lbs

>Hair: Dark brown, trimmed around the ears and longer on top

>Eyes: Really bright blue or green, have that tapetum lucidum going on when the light hits them right, it's what tipped me off

>Skin/Fur/Scales: Medium brown skin, no tats, no scars, no mods. Five o’ clock shadow going on around outline of jaw but clean shaven otherwise

>Threat Assessment: Might have a weapon under the jacket, I don’t know, it’s an unregistered bloodborn that’s scary enough, right? Someone’s going to wind up getting a death hickey

>Notes: Cooking staff has been taking turns to come out on break and chat him up. Yikes. Waiting to see if subject makes a move. Will observe from a distance, maybe find daytime hiding spot

>Re: Report #1897 logged: 0152

>Keep your head down, do not engage. Sgt. Alan Curry from bloodborn dept. and Corp. Cristina Yi from magic to be deployed as soon as description is run. You know the drill.

>Re: Report #1897 logged: 0431

>Comments: Back up arrived, Soto. Meet at location on map within the next hour.

>Re: Update #1897: 0450

>Comments: Soto, status? Sgt. Curry says you haven’t shown.

>ALERT: PROTOCOL 1997: 0520

>Zone: 93

Curry, Yi, I don’t think the bastard was after the cooks. Find him.

It was embarrassing how fast it happened. Isaac had always believed he’d put up a fight at least—death before dishonor and all that enforcer talk—but there hadn’t been any warning. No clatter of footsteps rushing up behind him. No ominous chuckles from the darkness of an alley. No hair raised on the back of his neck. Just an arm snaking around it and squeezing. A few moments of pressure on his carotid arteries frosted the world white, then shrunk it down farther and farther away on the other end of a black tunnel. When it returned, it was too late. A fabric gag cut into the corners of Isaac’s lips. Zip ties trussed his hands behind his back, his ankles to each other. Disappointment in himself outweighed panic over finding himself bound in the dark trunk of a car at first. Slowly, though, reality rearranged his priorities.

He would wind up both dinner and a show if he didn’t escape. Okay, okay. He could do this. Focus. Think it through. The subtle hum of an electric engine and gentle bumping and rocking motion meant they were on the move. Trunks had latches to open them from the inside for this kind of situation, didn’t they? He could maybe wriggle around and grope until he found it. Roll out into the road. Hope he wasn’t hit by any vehicles following in that lane. Though, getting turned into an interstate pancake had to be preferable to what awaited at the end of the ride.

He’d just completed Step One—felt the rush of cool wind against his clammy skin, heard the dull roar of its passing—when the car began to lose speed and drift toward the shoulder of the road. Desperation got him as far as up onto his knees before it stopped and time ran out. The crunch of shoes on gravel came around the side. Against the backdrop of the starry sky, the silhouette of the bloodborn loomed over him. None of his features stood out clearly in the gloom of pre-dawn. Except for the eyes. Same color as a tropical sea with the pupil blown wide like a cat’s to hunt in the darkness. He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket.

“I didn’t want to resort to this, but I can already tell you’re trouble.” His voice projected goodwill, giving away only the barest hints of accent around the vowels. Spanish or Portuguese, this close to the Broken Coast.

“Fuck you,” Isaac replied in his own basic, Central States one, muffled by the gag.

A pale glimmer of teeth in the dark as the bloodborn smiled. He pulled his hand from his jacket pocket. Something small and made of glass winked in the starlight. A syringe. The cap was pulled off and tossed to the gravel.

Isaac thrashed, cursed, strained muscles. Fought for his life just like the Coven field guide suggested. It didn’t stop the bloodborn from getting an arm around his neck again while the sting of the needle sank into his bicep and released a rush of something cold into his veins. That done, he threw the syringe aside, calmly reached into the trunk, and wrenched off the escape latch with a jerk of the wrist. He still wore the same crescent sliver of a smile while sealing Isaac back into his lightly upholstered tomb. Fuming became the only remaining option. There’d be plenty of time for it, he suspected; whatever the bastard had injected him with would work even slower for having to be absorbed through muscle. That meant a long ride ahead.

It took what he estimated to be a half hour before the drug slipped into his brain, picking apart the tangled threads of terror, outrage, and despair. They unraveled, fell away. Combined with the gentle hum of the engine and rocking motion of the car it turned his eyelids and limbs to lead.

Isaac Soto rode to his doom not with a roar or whimper but a snore.

#dysthanasia #vampires #urban fantasy #paranormal fiction #chapter 1 #pretty minor changes in this 1st part #the 2nd is where things diverge more

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ladyofthecastleproject · 1 year

Text

The Knight and the Warrior of Water

[AO3 version]

Summary:

Full of doubts about Lightnimon, Miyako finally gets the proof that he wasn't their enemy since day one, the tradeoff is that she has to face Ranamon in order to prevent Daisuke from getting caught.

[note: It's 2008; this is a re-write of one of my favorite parts of the original project]

That reveal didn’t help Miyako to not judge the mysterious Lightnimon, despite Daisuke having explained what he was doing and how much he hated to work all alone, and be forced to be someone he wasn’t… She had her pet peeves about it.

Starting with how she can’t see his face, she couldn't know what he was thinking. Second, she wasn’t totally sure if she could believe he was being honest -- Is he Daisuke or not? It could be a digimon pretending to be him after all! Like, if Bakemon can be shapeshifters… What are the odds of existing more digimon with the same ability?

The only nail in that panicked theory was that he got a D-3 and V-mon can evolve with it. Unless V-mon is able to evolve without his help…

She was troubled. Many thoughts in her head and while everyone was going with it, she couldn’t. His agreement with Takeru’s plan sounded like what he wanted them to do. Was he manipulating them? And Mimi, Palmon and Gummymon? Is that V-mon really Daisuke’s digimon though?

“You feel a bit upset” Hawkmon noticed her staying very distant from the group.

“A-am I? No, I’m just trying to… process the information we got recently.”

“Is it because of Daisuke-san?”

“Yeah…” she looked at the group, Daisuke and V-mon weren’t with them that time, “Do you think he… He is really Daisuke, Hawkmon?”

“I’m sure he is.”

“What if he’s an enemy digimon pretending to be him? Like for real, not like Takeru-kun’s plan.”

“Why do you think so?”

“... He said cruel things to us, sent digimon troops to stop us and eliminate us…”

“I remember he mentioned those were needed to keep the enemy thinking he was on their side.”

“Still… Why didn’t he tell us before!? I’m completely… I was shocked when Frostmon told us he was dead, and then… He was just playing hide and seek with us…”

Hawkmon frowned, but he understood Miyako’s feelings. She was mad and confused, and he couldn’t do anything but try to ease that pain.

“I’m sure he’s still Daisuke-san inside” Hawkmon said, “And you have your own reasons to be mad about his behavior, but… Give him a chance to redeem for those actions.”

“I will try… Thanks for understanding me, Hawkmon” and then Miyako smiled. But said smile turned into a frown when she heard the sound of drops of water. Hawkmon stared at the sound’s direction expecting to fight right now.

“Miyako-san” Hawkmon muttered, she got up slowly and gestured to him to run. He nodded and once she counted to three with her hand, she and him dashed through the field, trying to reach the group and alert them, but a huge wave burst from the woods and suddenly came after them.

They had no other option but to run in the opposite direction, getting far and far away from the group’s camp.

“Can you evolve!?” Miyako yelled at Hawkmon, who was flying next to her at full speed.

“I don’t think we can battle a big wave coming after us!”

“To escape quick--” a shadow jumped in their direction and grabbed them, heading to the trees.

“Huh?!” Hawkmon blinked, seeing the shadow was actually BurningFladramon.

“ You !?” Miyako babbled, and she looked at someone else on the armored digimon’s shoulder “What are you doing here!?”

“Shh, keep quiet” Lightnimon (Daisuke) said, and then glanced to the ground, “Strange Ranamon coming after you… What must be her plans?”

“Do you think I know!? Ugh, I can handle this alone, put us down!”

“What’s with that sudden mood?” he squinted his eyes.

“I don’t care, you masked-mon, we can handle this alone!”

“She’s… In a bad mood, sorry” Hawkmon frowned.

“Seriously… What have I done now? I’m not with Ranam--”

A fist made of waves hit them all and shove them back to the ground. BurningFladramon managed to hold himself, but was unable to catch Lightnimon, Miyako and Hawkmon.

“What was that!?” Miyako growled, “I’m soaked!!”

“Only you!?” he whined, “Ugh, where did that come from…”

“Stop playing around and SHOW UP!” she yelled, and it echoed in the area.

Ranamon appeared in the horizon, from a lake localized in the field.

“So… You two are together” she laughed, “Well done, Lightni-chan”

“Lightni-chan…?” Miyako glanced at him unamused, Hawkmon too but in silence.

“W-what are you looking at me like that!?”

“I knew it, you’re working for them…” Miyako got up once again and grabbed her D-3, “Hawkmon, let’s deal with her first.”

“Wait… ‘First’?!” Lightnimon babbled, then… “No, you stay out of this. This my job”

“Your job was to get her,” Ranamon said calmly until her tone of voice got bitter, “But now you’re on my way!? I knew it… You were working for them!”

“Wha-what!?” Miyako babbled “How can he be working for us, if all he did was threaten us and send your troops against us!?”

“What? Don’t you think I didn’t notice that Frost-chan suddenly disappeared after you ambushed her!?”

“You… you did something cruel, like killing a comrade...?”

“Wow, you two are simply accusing me of being a double agent!?” Lightmon was wavering, “I already told you, we have the same goals but we’re not allies…”

“Quit lying!” both Ranamon and Miyako yelled.

“Okay… I think I can keep lying… If you’re dead.”

Miyako gulped, was he saying that to her or...

“Miyako-san!” Hawkmon stood in front of her, “I won’t let him harm you!”

“You dummy…” Lightnimon said, “I was talking to…” and he summoned the Lighdra-Glaive, and threw it against Ranamon.

Ranamon dodged, by diving into the lake.

“Heh, the fish girl thinks you can hide in the depths of a lake?”

And he ran towards the lake, summoning his weapon again.

“... He was after Ranamon?” Miyako whispered, still petrified. For a moment she expected him to murder her first, since she was too close from him and unharmed. Hawkmon wouldn’t be able to evolve that fast and prevent it.

She was in total denial now, she never saw her life pass through her eyes like now. She kept doubting him being Daisuke though, he wasn’t not like him and was scary.

“Miyako-san?” Hawkmon called her, “We should leave before something bad happens.”

Ranamon was too busy with that humanoid 'digimon' which apparently had no special attacks other than a weapon in hands. BurningFladramon couldn’t help though, he only worked in the shadows or with a cloak hiding his body and face.

“Miyako, Hawkmon” But the digimon could at least talk with them, “You have to protect him for me.”

“Huh!?” Miyako looked at the big armored digimon, “What do you mean?”

“... I’m not sure what you’re thinking about him but… He was aware Ranamon would come after you and tried to negotiate with her. But she’s not dumb and naive as Frostmon, so this probably was a trap and he’s in real danger now.”

“Is he…?” a glance to the background and Hawkmon (and Miyako) could notice Lightnimon was struggling to deal with Ranamon, despite him having some ‘advantage’ by her being water and 'him' lightning, “Miyako-san… We need to fight.”

“I got it” She nodded, “Love Digimental Up!”

Hawkmon armor evolved to Horusmon and he flew directly at Ranamon, using Red Sun on her. She dodged in the first moment, while Lightnimon jumped back to avoid being caught.

“Ugh, Two against one now!?” Ranamon complained, “Unfair!”

“I thought you wouldn’t help me,” Lightnimon commented, panting a bit “She’s quick… And tough, be careful.”

“Roger.”

“Hmph, This is really unfair” she said with a pout “If you’re going to get an ally… I will make this battle the last one of your lives!”

She jumped back to the lake, and it started to glow. What did she mean by what?

“I have a bad feeling about this…” Lightnimon slipped back to his Daisuke-nesses.

From the water, a half-human half-beast creature came from it. Calamaramon had a woman's upper body, but her bottom was a giant squid upside down.

“I don’t use this form that much, but it might be enough to crush you and this traitor.”

“Traitor…?” Lightnimon repeated, then laughed “You really thought I was your ally?”

“Huh!?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not your ally but… Their friend . ”

“ Our friend…” Miyako mused, “Wait, so it was true… But he’s… He’s not that cruel…”

(“What…? Their friend, don’t tell me--!!” “Hehe, you were right when you said I was working with them, Now… You’re going down!”)

“If he’s indeed him, why… Why is he doing this? I refuse to believe he would play with us like that…”

“Miyako,” BurningFladramon spoke, “He never toyed with anyone.”

“But how!? He was threatening us, and working with the enemy--”

“We were sabotaging them, and protecting the innocent digimon affected by this crisis. Do you really think he would be doing those for fun?!”

“N-no… I…” Actually, he was somehow helping us and the weak digimon… -- She thought, watching both Horusmon and him fighting Calamaramon.

“Then, why are you mad…? Have you really thought he was gone forever?”

“I…”

“This might be a good hour to evolve--” Lightni and Horusmon were dodging Calamaramon’s tentacles “Horusmon to-- Fauermon right now!!”

“Stop moving you insects!”

“I can-- Try to stop her with Udjat Gaze--!!”

“No, focus on the offensive attack!! If I manage to get a good time to aim…”

“Hahahaha, I won’t let you hit me with that spear!” Calamaramon said, “Nero Corso!”

“Watch out!!” Horusmon grabbed Lightnimon with his bird talons and flew away from the acidic ink spitted by Calamaramon.

“T-that was close…!!” his voice got a familiar high pitch, “Thank you, Horusmon.”

“Hm? That voice…” the squid woman raised an eyebrow.

“Shoot…!” He covered his helmet’s mouth with his hands.

“I see, I recognize that voice now… Everything makes sense, especially why you got rid of Frost-chan!”

“You know they’re more people and digimon who speak like me in this entire world right?”

“He got rid of Frostmon?!” Miyako exclaimed.

“No, Frostmon was spared, just returned to Child form and flew away” BurningFladramon explained to her, “Lightnimon is not cold hearted as he tries to be”

“No, I’m sure you’re him! The Chosen Child who should’ve been dead!”

“Now Horusmon!”

“Red Sun!” The red laser from his eyes hit the enemy, who fell on the lake.

“Did we get her?” Daisuke asked rhetorically… Only a tentacle hit Horusmon suddenly and then another grab him “Guh!”

“Ack!”

“Horusmon!! D--Lightnimon!” Miyako screamed in panic.

“Ghn… Le-let me go…!”

“No no, I will take revenge for her and finish you off since master Duskmon couldn’t”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I’m so tired of this!” Miyako screamed and then ran towards Calamaramon, welding the Shuri-Shuriken, “Let! Him! Go!” and threw it at the enemy, cutting the tentacle holding Lightni. He immediately fell on water and got freed from the cut tentacle minutes later.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH, WHY DID YOU DO THAAAAAAAAT!?” Calamaramon screamed in pain. Lightnimon jumped out of the lake.

“Lightnimon are you okay?” Miyako ran to him.

“What the heck was that idea of using the Shuriken against her!? What if you had hit me instead!?”

“Hey, you’re complaining about saving you!? I--”

“... Thank you. I like how you finally did not hesitate.”

“?!”

“Now evolve Horusmon and finish her off!”

She nodded, and then pointed the digivice at Horusmon, activating the upgraded armor evolution for Fauermon - a bird man version of Horusmon, with the motif based on the Egyptian god Horus.

Fauwermon held his rod and released a laser from an orb which appeared on the top of it.

“Red Sunburst!”

The attack was much more powerful than Horusmon’s technique. Lightnimon finished by throwing the Lighdra-Glaive, with its electric effect activated, on the lake, electrocuting and stunting Calamaramon.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH AH---” and she fainted on the lake.

“Miyako,” Daisuke called her normally, “use your D-3 to revert her to a Digiegg stage.”

“H-Huh, why?”

“If she wakes up and escapes, she will tell that creepy digimon that I’m alive.”

“Ah, so she can hatch and be reborn right?”

He nodded. Then, Miyako pointed her digivice at the fainted floating Calamaramon and pressed a button. A light came from her D-3 and hit the enemy until she became a digiegg floating on the lake. The egg floated till the edges of the lake, in which Daisuke took it from the water.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you, but we had no choice” he gave the egg a little soft pat on its shell.

“You’re indeed him,” Miyako muttered.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry--”

“... It’s okay, I don’t like it either.”

“No, I’m sorry for doubting you!”

“This isn’t a safe place to say things, but… Sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

“I thought you had gone forever…”

“Pfft hahaha! I’m not going to go anywhere, I’ve always been on y’all side. Even if I was hidden.”

“Don’t laugh about it! Ken-kun thought you had gone completely insane now!”

“Ah I see… So you and him thought that… Hm…”

He sighed, “Maybe I went a little off the rails, so I take it. I did wrong things, but I can't sit and whine about making bad decisions.”

“So you’re still the same… I’m glad.”

“Maybe you should go back now, if you stay here for much longer they might discover it.”

“Oh okay....”

Silence.

“So, where will you go now?” and she broke it after a few seconds.

“I need to take this egg to Frostmon so Ranamon could get company when she hatches.”

“Okay… See you soon?”

“See ya soon.”

#arc 5: hinode [concept]#digimon adventure 02 #daiyako #daimiya #inoue miyako #hawkmon

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