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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

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To Fear Or Not To Fear, That Is The Question PT. 1

Lantern!Reader x Lanternfamily

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Mentions of PTSD

Author's Note: I wrote this story a while ago, but this ask made me post it! I'll get part two out sometime later! Enjoy! -Thorne

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She gripped the arm rests of her chair until her knuckles started to whiten, her heart pounded in her chest, so harshly against her rib cage that it began to hurt. The flashes spread across her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe as the mantra, “You’re home” flowed through her lips, though it didn’t quell the violent shaking in her body.

Their faces darted through her mind, expressions frozen in mixtures of shock, pain, and fear. She could feel herself slipping back there, could feel the heat of the sun beating down on her body, the sliding of her limbs in the burning desert sand, the splattering of hot blood from her teammates wounds, the smell of gunmetal and oil, of sweat—it was all coming back again, so fast, and all she could do was hold on and force herself to ground.

She had no idea what had set off the attack, but she did know that she was able to turn the lights off and sit down before it immobilized her with tremors. Clenching her hands into fists, she forced herself to bend over, pressing her forehead to her knees.

You’re home, (Y/N). You’re not in Afghanistan anymore. You’re alive. You’re here. The memories are there, but you’re not. Relax. Focus. Keep it together. Don’t give in. Hold—

An explosion rocked the side of the house, sending her to the floor and she gasped, automatically covering her head, waiting for the impact of mortar rounds and grenades. Another explosion sounded, followed by a bellow, and (Y/N) lifted her head up, crawling on al fours to the window. Gripping the window ledge, she pulled herself up and peeked over, eyes widening at the sight of two glowing figures throwing punches back and forth.

One of them was covered in a green glow, the other an angry red. She held the ledge and watched as the red one socked the other in the chest and they hit the ground, holding out their arms to protect themselves. The attacker lifted their hands and to her shock, a crimson block appeared above them. In an instant, she knew who the enemy was.

Her eyes darted to the lock box sitting on the shelf and forcing herself to get up, she ran to it, yanking it open and grabbing the contents. She sprinted to the door and shoved the clip into the 357 Magnum, pulling back the slide before flipping the safety off. (Y/N) slung the door open and ran down the front steps, kneeling in the grass as she raised the gun and closed one eye, taking sight of the target before her. With an intake of breath, she unloaded all nine rounds into the back of the glowing red person.

She wasn’t sure if it took them down because they started spurting more of the acid like blood, but it was the opening that the person below them needed, because the next thing (Y/N) knew, a flash of green sent the bellowing red enemy sky-high and out of sight.

Her arms suddenly felt weak, and she let them go slack, the Magnum landing by her hip. A groan sounded from the person in green and she stumbled to her feet, hurrying on weak knees to them.

They were laying in the grass, and when she got there, her jaw went slack when she saw their legs blown off a few feet away. (Y/N) went to her knees, already yanking her sweatshirt off, starting to tie tourniquets around the amputated appendages.

“Hey,” she breathed when they groaned. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m here to help.”

They opened their eyes and she blinked at how bright and green they were. “It is too late.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No. I’ll help you.” She swallowed the urge to vomit as the blue blood started soaking through her sweatshirt and on her hands. “You’re going to be okay.”

They reached out and grabbed her arm. “You must take my place.”

“I—what?” she asked, tying the knots tighter. “You need to get to a hospital. You’re bleeding out.”

“I have been bleeding out.” They laughed, blood splattering their chin. “Atrocitus’ minion has chased me long through the stars.”

“Atrocitus? Who?” (Y/N) shook her head. “Look, we need to get you help.”

“Your human healers cannot help me. I am at my end.” They squeezed her wrist. “You must take my place amongst the Green Lanterns. If the ring is left alone, someone could corrupt it.”

(Y/N) stared at them. “Rings? What?”

They raised their hand free hand and she saw a black band, a glowing green symbol in the center—she recognized the symbol; the Green Lantern in the Justice League wore it. Slipping it off, they handed it to her.

“Find the Four Corpsmen in this city. They will help you.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No. Right now, I need to help you.” Her eyes hardened. “I don’t know anything about alien physiology, but I will save you.”

Their eyes narrowed fondly, and they whispered, “I can see the fear you hold in your heart…that you could not save the ones you were supposed to protect from your enemies.” They swallowed, coughing harshly. “You can overcome this fear.” Holding out the ring again, they said, “The ring will guide you to the Four Corpsmen.”

She took the ring, flipping it over in her hand, and she caught sight of a dim green inscription. Squinting, (Y/N) read, “In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil's might, beware my power—Green Lantern's light.”

The green ring suddenly moved on its own, sliding onto her finger and an otherworldly voice commanded, (Y/N) (L/N) of Earth. You have the ability to overcome great fear. Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps.

A warmth washed over her body, and she watched in shock as her clothes were replaced with a skintight black and green suit, but it didn’t feel restricting. It felt comfortable—it made her feel safe. A mask flashed across her eyes and when she looked down at the alien, their eyes had glazed over, mouth frozen in a smile.

(Y/N) felt her heart tighten and she breathed out, reaching over, gently closing their eyes. She stood from the body and wandered behind the house, returning with a shovel. It didn’t take long to dig out the hole and she was surprised that she wasn’t tired from the exertion as she lowered the body into it, before covering them with dirt and standing over the grave, her hands clasped together.

Wherever you’ve ended up, friend…I hope you’re at peace. She opened her eyes, a firm look in them. I’ll continue your mission.

She looked down at the ring on her finger, then up at the bright city in the distance. Gotta go into the city. (Y/N) turned and walked into the house, climbing the steps to her bedroom. Glancing down at the ring, she said, “Okay, ring. You gotta power down so I can change my clothes.”

Nothing happened and her brows furrowed.

“Power down?” Again nothing, and a bolt of irritation struck a nerve, and she clenched her fist, commanding, “Power down. Now.” The suit on her body faded and she sighed in relief. “Okay, so commands work.” (Y/N) moved into the shower. “Clean up first, then get dressed and leave.”

***

She kept to the back alleys of the city, which, given that it was nine o’clock, most of them were empty, still, she didn’t want to find trouble before she found the…what had the alien called them? Four Corpsmen?

(Y/N) shook er head and looked down at the ring on her finger. It hadn’t lit up again since she told it to stop. “Ring! Uh…show me where the Four Corpsmen are!”

The symbol in the middle lit up and a started making flashes, and in a panic, she shouted, “Do it inconspicuously!” A small green line slide along the ground and she smiled. “That’s better.”

Following it, she sprinted through the back streets until she came to a bar; she rolled her eyes. “Of course, they’re in a bar. What men.”

(Y/N) followed the line into the bar and when it disappeared, she blinked, looking around for whoever could fit the description of supposed Corpsmen. There were a few guys at the bar, a few playing pool, some at booths and tables…she had no idea who could possibly be who she was looking for.

Someone brushed past her with a small, “Excuse me, sweetheart.” Another dart of green appeared in her vision, and she saw it attached to his back as he flowed through the bar and to the back where a trio of young men were sitting. They cheered when he got back and he smiled, passing out four beers.

“Them?” she murmured to herself and before she could move, someone had her around the waist.

“Hey, babe. Lookin’ for company?”

(Y/N)’s face pinched, and she shrugged away from them. “No thanks. I’m not here for fun.”

“Now don’t be like that.” The guy reached for her and before he knew it, he found himself being slammed face first into a wooden post, collapsing down onto his back, out cold.

She happened to look up just as his friends were coming over from the pool table and she rolled her eyes, already lifting her hands, ready for a fight. Two came at her and she swiped a beer mug from a server, sloshing the beer in one’s face before she sidestepped, slamming the glass into the second’s head. (Y/N) flowed into the next step and threw her elbow out into the first’s throat. They both fell to the ground, and she tossed the handle aside, but before she could do anything, someone had her around the waist, hauling her up then slamming her down to the ground.

(Y/N) grunted as she lost her bearings, and somewhere over the noise and music of the bar, she heard more shouting, but she paid it no mind, scrambling to her feet when one of them shoved her backwards.

Someone caught her, shoving her back up, shouting, “Get your head in the game, lady! We got some assholes to lay flat!” Four men passed her, already throwing punches and spurred on, she threw herself back in the fight.

Within seconds, the bar fight was over, and she panted as the four guys leaned against the bar, all laughing, each picking up a beer mug to drink from. (Y/N) felt a bit worn and someone laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, you good?”

She looked up at the man who had short cropped, ginger hair and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Glancing at the others, she said, “Thanks for the assist.”

One of them held out a hand. “You fight like a soldier.”

“Former special ops. Navy corpsman.” She replied, eyeing the dog tags around his neck as she shook his hand firmly. “Sergeant.”

“John,” he corrected with a smile, then gestured to his friends. “That’s Guy, Kyle, and Hal.”

(Y/N) shook their hands too. “Name’s (Y/N).”

One of them, Kyle, handed her a beer. “So, what brought you to the bar besides the bar-fight?”

She gazed into the liquid. “Uh…I’m looking for someone…multiple people actually.” Her eyes fell on them again. “But in the haze of the fight, I lost sight of whoever it was.”

Hal sent her a wink. “We’d be glad to help out a beautiful lady like yourself.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but since she didn’t have a better option, she murmured, “I’m looking for some men who are known as the ‘Four Corpsmen’.”

Immediately the mood shifted as their friendly faces dropped, all solemn as they looked at her. “Where did you hear that name?” John questioned and she met his gaze.

“I’m taking from the seriousness that you’re who I’m looking for then.” (Y/N) held out her hand. “The alien said you could help me with this…I don’t know how to work it.”

They all glanced down at her hand, well, the ring on her hand, eyes widening at the sight; Hal grabbed her wrist. “Where did you get this?”

“The alien. It was being attacked by something in red and I…” she looked away. “I shot it, but the alien, it…I couldn’t save it. Its wounds were too severe.” (Y/N) yanked her hand back, clenching it into a fist. “It told me to take its place amongst the Green Lanterns. To overcome my fear.” Swallowing thickly, she admitted, “I don’t how to do that…but it said you four could help me with it.”

She could tell the were mulling it over, quite possibly communicating with one another by the way they seemed to shoot each other looks, and she cracked a smile at how Guy cocked a brow and then gestured to her whilst looking at Kyle like he was an idiot.

But (Y/N) grew tired of their mental conversation and yanked the beer mug from Guy’s hand, ignoring his shout, and she down it before slamming it on the bar. “Look, I don’t what I’m supposed to do with this, and if I’m left to my own devices, I’ll probably do more damage than I would help people.” She stared them down. “Even if you don’t want to, help me so I don’t get innocent people killed.”

For a moment, they all looked at each other, then Guy reached over and pulled her around the neck, smirking at them. “I think she’s going to do great things with us, boys.”

Kyle winced. “Guy, maybe don’t put your arm around the woman who was former special forces?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry…I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years ago

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The harsh glow of the paralume on the bedside cabinet is enough to aggravate his grumbling headache, and Elio’s been tracing idle patterns above Oliver’s heart for several silent minutes when a snatch of poetry drifts from his lips.

“I dreamed that I died,” he whispers, and blunt nails dig into his waist as Oliver jerks out of a doze. “That I felt the cold close to me; and all that was left of my life was contained in your presence. Your mouth was the daylight and dark of my world, your skin, the republic I shaped for myself with my kisses.” Reaching up, he walks his fingers over Oliver’s face to his chin - a feather-light imitation of that day at the berm. “Straightway, the books of the world were all ended, all friendships, all treasures restlessly cramming the vaults, the diaphanous house that we built for a lifetime together all ceased to exist, till nothing remained but your eyes.”

The only eyes he cares about are red-rimmed underneath the fan of Oliver’s lashes, and Elio feels a grim satisfaction when he grazes his thumb across his cheekbone, observing him without filter or veneer. His disquiet spreads as he imagines his solitary life going forward - the one that must be his, not theirs - and when Oliver lets out a tremulous breath, it’s all he can do not to mirror him.

“That’s -” he begins, then breaks off, clearly struggling.

“Neruda.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Elio nods. “Seemed appropriate,” he says, as Oliver enfolds him in his arms.

He doesn’t know what’s worse. The thought of one day being consigned to a fond reminiscence. Some tshatshke to gather dust in the annals of Oliver’s subconscious. Or the false indifference of a treacherous future meeting. The genial handshakes. The pats on the back. The bonhomie that served them both so well when Oliver first set foot on Italian soil.

It’s inconceivable that it should end like this. That their bodies - having shared every intimate secret possible - will have to settle for casual acquaintance. They’re on the cusp of a potential everything, but hurtling towards an actual nothing, and as the wall clock continues to tick it's brutal countdown, Elio wants to toss it, smash it: bury it like a tell-tale heart.

“The things you say…”

“I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t -”

“It’s okay.”

It’s not. And they both know it.

Oliver’s stubble is rough where he nestles into the crook of his neck, and Elio welcomes the faint abrasion as he holds on for dear life, clutches him as though he’s the last handhold at the edge of an abyss.

“Tell me something else I don’t know,” Oliver murmurs, and Elio scoffs.

“Cieli… there’s a rope with no end.”

“About you, you little shit.” Oliver pokes him in the ribs. “Something simple. Something no one else knows.”

“How can I?” Elio asks. “You’ve already seen all there is of me.” Easing back, he nuzzles his forehead along Oliver’s bicep. “Va bene. This then. I wanted it to be you.”

“That’s hardly a secret.”

“The internship,” Elio explains, picturing the muvi star Polaroid attached to this year's application forms. “I made sure they picked you.”

He can’t help but wonder what turns his life might have taken if someone else had stepped out of that taxi, instead. If the Elio he could’ve been was happier in his traviamento, discovering things that he himself had missed out on, and now might never know. Or if he was miserable in turn. Grieving in absentia. Showered by the ashes of something he wouldn’t even realise was ablaze in the first place.

“What would you do with them? Those ten extra minutes?” he asks, harkening back to their earlier conversation, and Oliver sighs, drawing him into a lazy kiss.

“This,” he replies, licking at his cupid’s bow - nibbling, teasing - until Elio moans, melting within his embrace.

“Just that?”

“Just that, he says.”

Elio stays quiet as Oliver guides him over, legs sliding his thighs apart to blanket him with his larger frame. Their lips move together - languorous and hypnotic - and even with their fingers knotted in each other’s hair the kiss remains unhurried. Searching. Tongues probe, but don’t dip. Teeth scrape, but don’t bite. And merde, he’s lost - in him, them, this - addicted to each soft groan Oliver feeds him as he arches in blatant need.

“You are so precious to me,” Oliver tells him, each kiss growing bolder, more insistent. “Never doubt that. Never say you didn’t know...”

The tenderness of his actions is a brittle contrast to his words, and despite his closed eyelids, Elio can feel him watching him. Taking in his flushed brow and swollen mouth. The click of his throat when he swallows. The trembling in his digits as so much promise slips through them like silken ribbons. And Elio wants him to watch. To memorise. To curse the fates themselves for having spun them a glimpse of heaven, only to sever their fragile threads without pity or reproach.

“Let us continue living for the beauty of our own creation,” Oliver murmurs in his ear, and Elio’s hands start to wander in a bid to clear his consciousness of all else but him.

The man who will always be his brother and friend.

His husband and lover.

His one true self.

It’s a pointless task, he’ll admit, as a frenzied tattoo pounds at his temple. Like ripping off a sticking plaster slowly in hopes of avoiding the sting. Time cares nothing for the doomed fancies of innamorato, and the thought of what’s to come hovers like the blackest of storm clouds. Desperation strains beneath Elio’s skin even as he glories in the weight of Oliver’s body, but the roiling mass in his belly grows ever bigger. Nausea sweeps through him - like being doused in a frigid wave - and the bitter apprehension leaves him aching. Wheezing. Like his breath is caught in his chest, and he can’t do anything about it but wait until something splinters.

“Elio?”

That something turns out to be him.

“Arrêter...” he whimpers, pushing against Oliver’s sternum until he can sit up. “I can’t do this.”

“Sweetheart -”

The simple endearment sends him reeling, and Elio convulses, eyes burning as he launches himself to the side of the mattress. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, hugging his knees to his chin. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Oliver asks, reaching for him, and it’s anathema not to reach back.

“Fermare! Don’t!” Elio cries, scrambling to his feet. “It’s too much. If you touch me right now I’ll -” Stricken, he scrunches a hand at his nape, dreading the slick, metallic surge of a nosebleed as Oliver’s arm falls limply to his lap. “I love you,” he says, spitting his confession like gunfire. “I’m completely in love with you. And I don’t care what that makes me. Because if I’m sick and twisted, then so are you!”

“Elio -”

“This isn’t some game for me.” His voice goes up an octave as his tears spill free. “It isn’t. It’s more than that!”

“Hey! Hey, shh…” Oliver closes the distance urgently, ignoring his feeble protests to gather him near, raining words of inadequate comfort into his curls. “Elio, come on... it’s alright,” he soothes, rocking him to-and-fro. “I believe you. I do.”

“I don’t want it to end,” he sobs, redolent of that afternoon in a dust-moted attic. The air ripe with the scent of peaches and misspent arousal. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won't,” Oliver says, as Elio chokes his grief out into his shoulder. “You won’t. Not completely. We’ll keep in touch, okay? Letters. Phone calls...”

Mere crumbs compared to the banquet they’ve enjoyed. “Don’t make promises you can't keep.”

“I’m not. I won’t.” Oliver cradles the back of his head to raise it. “I miss you already and you’re right here in front of me. You’re not the only one who couldn’t stand the silence.”

“Je déteste ça...”

“It’s not fair,” Oliver agrees, hushed, deliberate. “You deserve so much more than I can give you. But if this is my speak or die moment, then so be it. And please forgive me. Because I love you, too.”

“I’d almost prefer you didn’t,” Elio whispers, and Oliver flinches like he’s been struck. “Fanculo. I didn’t mean that!” he rushes to amend. “But I’d rather suffer the pain of a wounded ego, than lie in an empty bed, knowing I have nothing to blame it on but circumstance.”

“I’d rather you not suffer either way.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Elio says, as Oliver’s own tears gather like dew on his eyelashes. But it was always going to happen, wasn’t it? It’s a cruel game they’ve played, the two of them, and now they’re both paying the ferryman for passage to what comes next. “You tried to be good, remember?”

Oliver looks at him askance. “You don’t think this is good?”

“It’s better than good,” Elio tells him, thumbs caressing the undersides of his wrists. “You’re a good man, Oliver.”

“How can I be?” He’s pressed so close Elio can feel the trapped breaths rattling in his lungs. “I’d steal you away if I could. Bring you home to New York with me. Wake up with you every morning. Sleep beside you every night.”

“Then do it.” Elio’s relief is tainted by inevitability. “Take me with you,” he pleads, as Oliver combs a hand through his fringe.

“You’d give up everything? For me?”

“For you?” Elio leans back, searching his face. "No, mio caro. For us.”

But Oliver is undeterred. “You could have anything you want in this world,” he murmurs, which comes as little solace when what Elio wants is him. “Your life is just getting started. In so many ways. You should be free to experience it all beyond restraint. College. Music...” His mask slips temporarily. “...love.”

Elio scowls. “Say what you really mean, then. That you want me to move on. Replace you!”

“Of course I don’t!” Oliver replies, eyes fierce. “I’m much too selfish for that. Can’t you see I’d like nothing more than to be by your side? Watch you flourish? Celebrate your triumphs? But you’re seventeen, Elio. And that matters. Even if you don’t think it does. There’s no limit to how bright your star could shine without all this to dim it.”

“This?” It’s practically sibilant. “You still think you’re going to mess me up, don’t you?” Elio demands, and when Oliver doesn’t deny it, he shoves him in exasperation. “You once asked if there was anything I didn’t know, so what makes you think I’m incapable of making such choices for myself?”

“Elio…”

“And if you say I’m too young again, I swear I’ll -”

“You’re not exactly helping your case, here.”

“Fuck my case!” Elio growls, spinning on his heel. Wishing he could offer more. Commit something. “Those aren't reasons. They’re excuses.”

“They’re facts.”

“There are no facts, only interpretations,” Elio argues, folding his arms as he glares out the window. “My age doesn’t matter, Oliver. We do. You and I. And when I graduate -”

“Twelve months is a long time, my friend.”

“Too long for you to wait, you mean?” He tries to keep his features neutral when he turns back around, already fearing the answer. “Long enough for you to give up before we’ve even begun. To convince yourself I’m just some stupid -”

“Don’t.” Oliver’s tone stops him dead in his tracks. “Don’t you ever call yourself that again. You, Elio Perlman, are exceptional.” Unlike him, Oliver’s tears are silent as they crest over his cheeks. “When have I ever given you the impression I’m not in complete awe of you? That I don’t feel privileged - humbled - by everything you’ve chosen to give me?”

“When have I?” Elio yells, knowing his shameful treatment of Marzia suggests otherwise. “You stand there, plotting out my future as if our being together will rob me of something, when the only thing you’ll deprive me of is yourself.”

“And what of your own ambitions?” Oliver asks calmly, not rising to the bait despite a disgruntled shout from the other side of the hotel’s too-thin walls. “I saw the brochures in your bookcase. The Conservatoire de Paris? The Giuseppe Verdi in Milan?”

“Bien sûr! The one’s gathering dust on a bottom shelf. Captivating reading, I’m sure.” Elio’s fingers itch for a cigarette. “Did you not see the Berklee prospectus on my desk? The one I’ve actually bookmarked? The one I requested back in April?”

A pause. “Boston?”

Elio steels his nerve. “Juilliard, too. Assuming they’d have me.”

“You…” The look on Oliver’s face is half lost, half questioning. “Why on earth wouldn’t they?”

“Have you seen their acceptance rates?”

“And what?” Oliver seems offended on his behalf. “You don’t think your talent is enough?”

“Seven percent is tough competition.” Elio shrugs, attempting nonchalance. “But the best person I know just said I’m exceptional. So.”

For a slow, drawn-out second, neither of them blink - fitting, really, when Elio’s never felt more seen - but something softens in Oliver’s expression as he takes three steps closer. “I want this to work,” he mutters, as if only now believing it’s possible. “Trust me, I do. There’s just so much standing in our way.”

“Big results require big ambitions,” Elio tells him, and Oliver snorts in disbelief.

“You’re citing my manuscript?”

“Arrogante. I’m quoting Heraclitus. Or would you prefer I go back to verse? Alfredo clearly has enough of them.”

“Please don’t,” Oliver murmurs. “If you start in on San Clemente I’ll never be able to -”

Able to what, he doesn’t dare ask.

This lengthy goodbye is excruciating, so Elio tamps down on his emotions, making a shrine at his very foundations. Knowing that whatever comes next, wherever this path might lead, however many layers he builds up around them, the memories will mold and shape him much like the basilica within this venerable city.

“Se l’amore,” he whispers, skimming his fingertips along the curve of Oliver’s jaw.

“Se l’amore,” he repeats, just as hushed, then slants him an uncertain smile. “Can I kiss you?”

He’d chosen him well, his Oliver, and Elio’s own smile is reluctant as he recognises the request for what it is. A bookend of sorts: first and last.

He’s surprised, therefore, when Oliver uncurls his fingers and lays them flat in his palm. “I love these hands,” he says, lifting them to his lips. Reverent, he sucks at the pale skin of his wrist, tracing the blue of his veins with a pointed tongue before turning his attention to his knuckles. “I love these freckles,” he continues, causing Elio’s breath to hitch when he angles his chin up, kissing the constellation beside his nose. “I love your tenacity…” Elio offers his mouth, and true to form, Oliver kisses that too. “I love your chutzpah... I love -”

His voice breaks, and Elio’s heart joins it as Oliver glances at the clock. “How much time do we have?”

“Not enough.” Oliver presses their foreheads together. “Never enough.”

It sounds like acceptance. Like a challenge. Like you’ll kill me if you stop.

They’ll always have this summer - in a perfect world, perhaps it could be summer forever - so Elio meets Oliver’s gaze unflinchingly as he unbuttons his shirt, letting the emerald green garment fall carelessly to the floor.

Sand is spilling quickly from the confines of their personal hourglass, but minutes, hours, decades would be insufficient.

They have a lifetime’s worth of love between them, and only a short while left in which to share it.

#cmbyn #fanfic #oliver x elio #angst #last night in rome #hopeful ending

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banditthewriter · 4 years ago

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Eye of the Hurricane - Charles Vane - 1

Here we have the fic that I started when I was high off writing/posting Trust Is Earned. Then I lost motivation.

This fic is complete (at 5 parts) but the ending is a little different than what I had expected.

Warning: Violence, but it is a Black Sails fic so....

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The sand felt coarse under your feet. The top layer was warm but underneath was cool and felt nice against your skin. You walked along the edge of the water, your shoes in one hand and a handful of your dress in the other. If your parents caught you, you’d be forced to listen to a lecture for an hour or two, but you had no intention of being caught.

In the morning you would be on a ship headed out into what was to you the great unknown. It would leave from a port in Virginia and, after a few other stops on the way, would take you to England. To a future you never asked for.

To a man you never asked for. Your parents thought it was a good match but you didn’t agree. Mostly because you’d never met the man, couldn’t even recall his name.

A marriage for love was never in your cards, but this? To be auctioned off to the highest bidder and shipped across the world to a country you hadn’t stepped foot in since you were an infant?

It was unimaginable.

You would be given into the care of your aunt and uncle in England and they would see you married off to the man your parents had picked for you. They didn’t even care enough to see their only daughter married in person. All they cared about was that it was done in a timely manner and that you did what you were told.

You’d spent your whole life doing what you were told. You were tired of it. You never expected to have a life of adventure and freedom, but you felt like you were being shackled.

From the distance you heard your name called by someone from the household. You sighed as you sat down in the sand to put your shoes back on.

In the morning you would be thrust into a world not of your choosing. You had just wanted to enjoy the last bit of your independence while you still had time.

It seemed that the time had passed.

------

The sway of the ship had become familiar to you after the first day you had been at sea. The captain had joked that you had found your sea legs faster than some sailors.

Some of the crew had taken a shine to you. When you were on the deck, they regaled you with stories of sea battles and legends of the seven seas. You were enraptured with it all, learning bits and pieces of the ship even though the captain refused to let you work with the men.

You were allowed to help the cook but only for the first meal of the day. As it got later and the sky started to darken, you were usually led to the captain’s quarters where you stayed until morning.

You longed to see the water at night. You had seen it from the port plenty of times, but this would be different. Nothing as far as the eye could see in any direction, just water and the sky? It sounded magical.

As the days at sea stretched on, you began to realize that you had traded one cage for another. At home you had to be at certain places at certain times unless you wanted to face your father’s wrath. On the ship you could only be in certain places at certain times unless you wanted to face the captain’s wrath.

England would be a new cage. It would be your fiance who would tell you what to do, his wrath you would face if you went against what he did.

There were plenty of marriages that were happy and equal, but you doubted your parents would marry you to someone who valued a woman’s worth. They would have picked someone like your father.

You listened to the stories from the sailors when you could. Some of them enjoyed telling you tales of horror and danger, obviously exaggerating the stories to make you squeamish and fearful.

“Not all of them are exaggerated,” the quartermaster explained to you one night as he sat with you for dinner. “Sailing the seas is dangerous. If it isn’t the weather trying to kill you, it’s the sea. And if it’s not nature trying to kill you, it’s pirates.”

Pirates. Plenty of the stories had revolved around pirates. They told you about the chase, the cannon blasts. They took pleasure in telling you how pirates would board a merchant ship and slaughter everyone on board if they had to. They took what they wanted without question, without recompense.

“But this is a merchant vessel technically,” you said uncertainly as you looked up at quartermaster.

“Aye, it is,” he said with a nod, shoveling more food on your plate. “We’re experienced on the water, miss. The captain knows what to do if we’re boarded. He wouldn’t do anything to put you in jeopardy.”

You could only hope that the quartermaster was right.

------

The days went from being passed with stories to tense and stony within the first few weeks. After the first port that the ship had stopped in to restock on fresh water, you learned that the reason the sailors weren’t as jovial was because you had entered waters where pirates were more common.

As you laid curled on the cot where you slept at night, you listened to the noises of the ship and wondered what would happen if the ship was set upon by pirates. You’d been assured there were plans in place for your safety, but you hadn’t been told anything of these plans.

You knew you would be terrified if the ship was taken by pirates. You’d heard plenty about them even before you had set sail. Most people in Virginia had a story to tell and you had heard them all.

But there was a tiny part of you that would be exhilarated as well. It was dangerous and something of an adventure.

If you lived through it at least.

You kept that little thought to yourself, refused to even think it during the light of day. It was best left to fantasy.

------

The days had been clearly marked on the calendar that the captain let you see in his quarters, but you still weren’t sure how it had been almost a month since you left Virginia. It was the longest you’d been away from your parents in your whole life. It was the first time in your life that you didn’t have what could be considered an appropriate chaperone.

It was freeing, being away from your parents. The thought of giving away this freedom to be married off to some man in England made your skin itch under the salty air.

You would almost rather stay on the ocean for the rest of your life. You would gladly give up the feel of solid ground beneath you if it meant you could keep your freedom.

As you walked across the deck, careful to stay out of the way, you gave a humorous thought to yourself as a pirate. You in your gowns with frills and lace and pearls wearing a sword and a tri-corner hat. It was almost enough to make you laugh outright.

“Sails,” you heard yelled from above in the crow’s nest.

You followed the eyeline of every trained sailor. The sails that were spotted were behind the ship, out of your view. You made your way to where the captain was using a spyglass to look into the distance.

“Captain Richards?”

The man looked over at you and gave you a tight smile. It wasn’t a complete dismissal but it didn’t fill you with confidence.

“Probably a merchant. Doesn’t look like the navy at least. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about. You gave a quick nod and moved out of the way as some of his men sped by, all of them hoisting the sails. You’d spent enough time on deck to know what they were doing.

They were trying to gather speed. Just in case it wasn’t merchants.

You stayed on the deck and watched the crew. None of them seemed to notice you, not while there was the chance of danger so close. You could catch a glimpse of the ship getting closer whenever you did a full lap around the deck.

They were following the ship. With the ocean this big, there was almost no reason for them to be completely in line with the ship you were on. The only reason they hadn’t changed course was because they were following you.

You thought about the times you’d seen the cats back home chase after the mice that had gotten into the pantry. Sometimes they played with them, letting the mouse think it had a chance. Then it would strike.

And sometimes they went straight for the kill.

The ship had gained even more distance, closing the gap between the two ships to the point that a spyglass wasn’t needed to make out the shape and number of sails. Murmurs started to go through the crew as the captain asked the man in the crow’s nest about what the ship’s colors were.

It was as if the entire world held its breath. The sound of the air, the sound of the waves against the wood of the ship all seemed to cease. No crew member moved, none of them breathed. There was nothing but silence until the crew member shouted down his response.

“It flies the black!”

Even you knew what that meant. Pirates. And unless you were mistaken, you didn’t think there was a chance to outrun them any longer.

A hand grasped your arm and you were tugged off of the top deck.

“Mr. Clemmons, what–”

“The plan, miss,” the quartermaster said as he dragged you down across the ship and into the depths. “You are to hide down here. We’ll put you somewhere the pirates won’t bother looking for merchandise. We will allow them to board and hopefully be on our way soon.”

You tripped over your own feet in a hurry to follow him.

“What if they do find me? What will happen?”

Mr. Clemmons had been very upfront with you about the truths of the sea before so you trusted him to be truthful.

“They might let you stay if the merchandise is more to their liking. They might take you for ransom. And if they are the blackest of souls, they might rape and kill you.”

Hearing it so plainly made your heart drop right through the bottom of your toes.

“And how many pirates are the blackest of souls?”

He looked at you for a long moment before he led you into the hold. You let him lead you into what looked to be some sort of cell. Once you were in there, he closed the cell door and locked it behind him.

“Stay in here, stay quiet, and stay low to the ground. We’ll get you through this.”

He was gone before you had a chance to question the plan. And you had questions. Mostly how he expected you to hide when you were surrounded by bars that could easily be seen through.

You pressed yourself into the corner of the cell, tucked against the wall with the bars in front of you. And as you closed your eyes to pray, you listened to the sounds outside of your cell.

There were no cannon blasts. You expected cannons and violence, but it seemed to be very silent. It wasn’t until the ship seemed to be struck by something along the side—a dull thud followed by a shake that made you almost fall from your hiding spot—that you realized this was happening. The pirates would be boarding the ship.

You tried not to think about what Mr. Clemmons had said might happen. Instead you clutched your fists in the fabric of your skirt and prayed that this would be over soon.

It was still mostly silent although you did hear the thud of boots on the deck above you. It sounded like a small army. Then you could hear the sound of stomping as men came down the stairs and went into the nearby rooms where the merchandise was. Your prayers picked up speed every time you heard someone walk past the door of the hold where you were hidden.

Then there seemed to be an explosion of noise above you. You couldn’t make out what the voices were saying, but it sounded like someone wasn’t happy. Some of the noises became clearer, obviously the sound of men screaming in pain as guns blasted and swords clashes.

They were fighting the pirates. Mr. Clemmons words came back to you. The pirates must have attacked even though the captain had let them board without issue.

These could be the pirates with the black souls that Mr. Clemmons had warned you about. If that was the case, you could be in danger when they found you.

Even as you tucked yourself more fully into your corner, you knew that you would be unable to stay hidden if someone opened the door. The color of your dress stood out well enough. Plus you were the only one in the hold.

As if you had conjured it, you heard the door creak open. First thing that came through was a pistol, but once the person was satisfied that there were no armed men waiting for him, he pushed the door open and looked around. It didn’t take long before those harsh eyes landed on you.

“Well what do we have here?” He made his way across the small room until he was in front of the door that held you. “Are you locked up for your safety or for ours?”

He grabbed the door but it wouldn’t budge. You were grateful for Mr. Clemmons locking you in for a brief moment before the man simply slammed the back end of his pistol against the lock a few times. It came open with a creak and then he was in the cell with you.

You might not have much life experience, but you weren’t about to get manhandled without fighting back. The moment he reached out for you, you struck out with your leg. It slammed between his legs and gave you just enough time to slip past him.

Barely three steps away, a hand grabbed your hair and yanked you backwards.

“You’ll pay for that,” the man growled in your ear as he shoved you face forward into the wood of the wall.

Hands were pawing at you as you were pushed harder and harder into the unforgiving wood in front of you. As you tried to squirm away, refusing to give in without doing whatever you could to stop this, you were too distracted to hear someone else enter the room.

A sword was pressed into the throat of the man that held you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your head turned to the side, unable to hide your surprise as you stared at a red haired female pirate. She was dressed like a man in trousers and boots, a streak of blood on her temple that went down to her jaw. Her eyes didn’t even dart to you, just stared at the man who held you until you felt him shift away.

“She was down ‘ere alone, locked up.”

The redhead pressed her sword a little harder against his throat, forcing him back another step.

“And you thought you’d have a piece, did ya?” She flicked her sword away from him, leaving a thin red line in its wake. “All bounty goes to the captain. You know that.”

You didn’t quite understand that this wasn’t your savior, not at first. It wasn’t until she grabbed your arm and started to pull you out of the hold and up the stairs that you realized that you still weren’t safe.

The lady pirate had saved you from being assaulted but it seemed like that might have just been temporary.

As you were dragged through the bowels of the ship and towards the deck, you were unable to look away from the various dead bodies you saw. It seemed like most of them were the crew from this ship, not the pirate ship.

The pirates had won the battle. And you were part of the plunder.

You were thrusted at a man wearing a tan jacket that looked below deck as pirates carried barrels and chests out to be inspected. He held a book in his hand. It looked like the one you’d seen Captain Richards write in during the trip so far.

“Found this in the hold,” the woman said as she moved around so that she blocked the rest of the deck from you.

“Ah, did you? How strange, she’s not on the manifest,” the man said with some level of sarcasm before he turned to face you. “Who are you? For what reason were you in the ship’s hold?”

There was something almost congenial about the man, but you wouldn’t let that fool you. There was blood on his hands as well as on the sword at his hip, plus his tan jacket was splattered with it.

This was still a pirate, no matter that he looked like he would be at home in your father’s reading room.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N. The quartermaster, Mr. Clemmons, locked me in the hold. For my protection,” you added with a flinch as a pirate came through absolutely drenched in blood, his body brushing against yours as he walked by.

“Yes, I could see that being the case,” the man said with a bit of a smirk.

He seemed to have a silent conversation with the redhead, but you tuned them out in an effort to watch the carnage around you. The sailors who had told you stories and protected you over the last few weeks were all laid out on the deck, covered in blood and entrails. You gagged as you saw one of the sailors sitting with his innards in his lap.

Slit throats, gun shot wounds, missing limbs. The more you stared, the worse it seemed to be.

You didn’t see Mr. Clemmons anywhere. Nor did you see Captain Richards.

Wait.

You recognized the sleeve of his coat. He was standing and speaking with a man who had his back to you, long hair spilled over a dark jacket. You felt almost eased to know that the captain was still alive, but that ease was immediately pulled from you.

The man with the long hair pulled a blade from his side and easily sliced it across the captain’s neck. As blood spurted from his throat, you screamed and rushed across the deck. Your shoes slipped in blood and water but you didn’t care, barely noticed. You barely felt the hand that tried to stop you from running off but you must have shaken it off because suddenly you were on your knees next to Captain Richards’s slumped form.

“Captain Richards, please, captain,” you begged as you pressed shaking hands to his throat, desperate to stem the flow of blood. “Stay with me captain, stay with me.”

The man’s eyes were glossy already. You saw him mouth something but the only thing that came out were bubbles made from spit and blood. And then he stopped.

Everything stopped. You heard no wind, no crash of water against the edge of the ship. You heard nothing but your own gasps as you stared down at the man who had been entrusted with your safety and care.

Could this be real? You almost wondered if it was just a very realistic dream but the blood was warm, thick, and sticky against your hands where you had tried to put pressure on the wound. None of your dreams could be this clear.

You turned your head and looked up at the man who had killed the captain. He stared down at you with barely the hint of an expression on his face. Your eyes darted to the blade in his hand, still red with the captain’s blood. It made your own blood run cold.

“You monster,” you spat as you stood up, knees knocking together as you wobbled uneasily.

All of the words that you’d heard from the sailors flew through your mind and you grasped at one that would make your mother gasp.

“You fucking monster. You–”

You hadn’t noticed the man and woman from before come up to you and the man you were currently trying to beat with your fists. You aimed for his chest, your fists a flurry of movement as you tried to deliver your own form of punishment for the deed.

And then you had been dragged backwards like a naughty child or dog who was sniffing too close to the table. The rage that had filled you overflowed and you swung your arm out the way you’d seen the sailors do.

Your fist connected with the jaw of the man from before. While you were sure it did more damage to you then it did to him, especially since the crack you heard definitely came from your own hand, you did feel a little better.

As you cradled your injured hand to your stomach, you looked around wildly at the three of them. The redhead almost looked amused by your antics, which was more than could be said by the dark haired man you’d hit. And the man you had been attacking, the one who had killed the captain?

His face barely changed as he stared at you.

“What’s this?”

As if you weren’t even a person, just part of their plunder from the ship. It made you want to claw the man’s eyes out.

“I think she was a passenger,” the dark haired man said as he looked you over. “She’s definitely not dressed like a whore so I doubt she worked for her passage.”

You were sorely tempted to punch him again.

“Captain Richards was giving me passage to England as a favor to my parents. And you murdered him for no reason!”

The last bit was shouted back at the man you were still being held away from.

“Your Captain Richards,” the man said as he leaned down to wipe his blade clean on the deceased man’s leg, “thought to revoke the surrender of his ship after we were on board. Now I can see why.”

He stood back up and approached you slowly, tucking his blade into his belt without looking away from your face.

“What’s your name?”

The confidence that led you to punching a pirate—and injuring yourself—fled as quick as water in a net. You remembered that these were pirates and you were very much not safe right then.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you finally answered when it became apparent that he was about to ask again. “We set sail from Virginia where my parents are.”

You could see the three of them trading looks but you weren’t sure why.

“Why didn’t they sail with ya?”

That came from the redhead. She had been so silent that you’d almost forgotten she was there.

While you didn’t want to give your life story to some strangers, especially some strangers who were pirates that had just slaughtered everyone keeping you safe, you knew you needed to say something. There was no use in lying, not that you could see, so you took a deep breath before you explained.

“My father is a businessman in Norfolk. They were unable to get away for the time it would take to travel me to England and then go back home.”

The three of them shared another look. This time as you saw the smirks on all of their faces, you realized what this meant.

You had spent so much time worried about what Mr. Clemmons had said about the darkest souls that you’d forgotten the other option he had given you. Kidnap and ransom.

And they had just decided that you would be worth the trouble of a ransom.

“Who were you supposed to meet in England?”

You glanced at the man holding your arm before you answered.

“Family,” you partially lied. “My aunt and uncle.”

The man in front of you gave a barely there nod as he looked around at the ship. There was something so cold and calculating about his look.

You were right when you said that he didn’t consider you to be a person. You were nothing but the plunder from a conquest.

“Anne, take our guest to the hold. Jack, tell the men to pick up the speed on stripping this ship. I want to set sail as soon as possible.”

Jack, as you learned he was called, released your arm and gave you a push in the direction of the redhead. Anne didn’t seem happy with being stuck dragging you along, but she did it without complaint. Their lack of resistance told you that the man with the long hair that had killed Captain Richards was probably the captain of the ship you were being forced onto.

As she dragged you towards a board that connected the two ships, you tossed one last look over your shoulder as if someone might come to save you. But there was no one left. Everyone was already dead.

Thanks for reading.

#charles vane #charles vane x reader #charles vane imagine #charles vane fanfic #black sails imagine #my writing #eye of the hurricane

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katieurah · 5 years ago

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Guys, I can’t get Elorcan as Zoommates outta my head. So I write it. And it’s a mess. But here I am posting anyways. Yikes.

Forgive my terrible attempts at writing out sounds of a coffee grinder. I hear one every morning, but still.....

Also, still titleless.

..........................................................

Whiiirrrrrrr. Sccrrrrr. Whiiiiiirrrrr.

Lorcan glared with bleary eyes at his coffee grinder struggling to keep up with the too-large scoop he’d tossed in that morning. He opened the latch and poured the grounds out into the pour over basket and set it to steep.

Extra butter went on his toast that morning, fried eggs instead of a healthy protein shake, and regular bacon - not turkey baked in the oven. Oh, no, not today, he’d thought as he laid the strips in the cast iron pan. He needed all the grease, comfort, and caffeine life could afford him for his day.

Seven months. Seven months, one week, and four days to be exact. His goddaughter’s dedication was perfect. The day was perfect. Until.

He finished his coffee, plated his breakfast, and walked to the office to turn on his system. And brood. Apparently he was good at that.

Elide. She was the other perfect thing about that day. But, apparently he was as self-absorbed as she claimed. How did he not know about that break-up? He and Elide were friends. They had a connection. A spark. Or so he thought.

As Rowan’s oldest friend and former military buddy, he’d always been around. He knew Elide from the start of Rowan and Aelin’s relationship. Aelin’s cousin was more like a sister and was always there. They talked. They chatted about life. He thought they were friends. Then one day, friends didn’t seem like enough. He didn’t like that she went home earlier than everyone else and he couldn’t seem to talk to her. He had tried to compose about a million different texts to her, but nothing seemed right. He followed her Instagram and Facebook, but messaging her there felt like he’d just be sliding into her DMs, which made Lorcan’s skin crawl.

But, how had he not known about the breakup? How had he not known there was someone to break up with? She never said a word. Had she? He speared his fork through an egg and watched the clock. His computer system was up and running, but he realized after Elide’s haste and hatred in logging off yesterday, they never specified times for working today. He really thought 7:00 was too early to be video calling her. Mornings were not her thing. She’d probably shoot a virus through to his system. And if anyone could get one in his through his security protocols and firewalls, it was her.

He ran through a few of his other projects while waiting, sipping his coffee and watching the clock. As 8:30 rolled around, he logged into the chat portal to ask what time they should start. As he was typing the first words, the screen lit up with a message:

>> Okay, Salvaterre. What time are we doing this?

He smirked at the sass in those eight words.

<< Whenever you want, Lochan. I’m all set up.

>> Gimme 5.

He chuckled as he imagined her getting her area cleaned off, checking her hair, and taking deep breaths before logging on.

The 3-tone alert for a video chat came through and Lorcan switched the camera and mic on. Here we go.

…

Elide scrambled to get her hair pulled into a semi-decent bun on her head. She was at least wearing a nicer sweater this morning, even if she was still rocking glasses and no-makeup. Deeming her work area decent enough to be seen on camera, she grabbed her iced coffee and pressed the call button.

Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths.

Lorcan Salvaterre was on this planet to torment her, she was sure of it. They’d been… acquaintances? Friends? Something? Ever since Aelin and Rowan had started dating, Elide and Lorcan were along for the ride. They had a lot in common. It was so easy to talk to him. They had fun together. He made her laugh. She soon wondered how easy it would be to date. To hold hands, to kiss, to… everything. But he’d never seemed interested in more than whatever it was they’d been, so she went on dates. She went out with other guys and even a few second dates. Then a real relationship. For a few months anyways. She was sure she’d told him about it.

Anyways, who asks someone else out while they’re crying from a break up? And while they’re buzzed? Ridiculous.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Nice of you to join me,” Lorcan crooned, eyebrow raised, small smile on his face. She was not a morning person. Never had been. And he knew it.

“Can we not? I haven’t even finished my coffee yet and it’s too early for your….your… it’s just too early…” She groaned at not even being able to formulate snark this early.

“What you’re drinking - that’s not coffee. It’s cream and sugar pretending to be all grown up.”

“Oh, yes, because your pretentious single-sourced pour-over makes you an expert,” Elide sniped back. Lorcan always drank the strongest, blackest coffee and it was always some single-origin that he had various methods for brewing.

It would be too easy to fall into their banter. Too easy to believe he wasn’t an asshole. She needed some distance between them before it got too comfortable.

“So, I’ve been asked to make sure support services on the public side and the internal side secure and protect privacy rights. Here’s how we’re currently trying to keep that up,” Elide said as she launched into discussing protocols, servers, firewalls, identity management systems, and anything else they thought was necessary.

Lorcan was all business, professional to a fault, and courteous as they shared information. He asked great questions and traded scenarios with her. They worked for several hours getting a feel for what each department offered and wanted.

At noon, Elide’s stomach rumbled, drawing a chuckle from Lorcan.

“Geeze, El, hiding a gremlin over there? Go eat. We can pick up after one, yeah?”

She scowled back at him. Teasing her and using a nickname? Nope. “Sure, Salvaterre,” she said shortly, trying to put distance back between them. She almost felt guilty when she thought he looked startled, but his face went back to it’s neutral, calm, emotionless expression. She logged off the video chat and rubbed her hands over her face. How was this ever going to work?

…

As the chat window went dark, Lorcan sighed through his nose. He tried. He still had no idea why her ire with him went that deep.

Lorcan strolled to his kitchen to get his protein shake ready. Before he could start the blender, his phone chimed. He swiped at the screen to read the messages.

Young Pup: So, old man, how’s the “partnership” going?

Lorcan sighed again. Fenrys somehow knew he and Elide were working together. This couldn’t be good.

Sarge: Fine.

He watched the three dots bounce and disappear a few times.

Young Pup: Elide’s not got your balls in a twist yet?

Hawkeye has been added to the chat.

Lorcan groaned. Fen adding Rowan wasn’t a good sign either.

Young Pup: Ro, do we need to have an intervention with El? Two days working with the old man here and yet he’s alive and responding to our messages. Somethings wrong!

Hawkeye: Fen, knock it off.

Hawkeye: El’s a professional. I give it a week before we need to worry about her.

Lorcan rolled his eyes and didn’t even worry about checking Fenrys’ reply and put the phone on vibrate. He finished making his shake and walked to the living room. As he sat on the couch, his phone buzzed for a phone call. Glancing at the screen, Lorcan saw Rowan’s name at the top of the screen. He sighed and answered.

“I’m playing nice, I promise.”

Rowan laughed softly on the other end. “I bet. Look, Fen found out that you needed to work with their support services department and put two and two together about Elide. Aelin and I knew that Elide’s boss was going to ask you two to work together…” He trailed off, as if he didn’t know how to finish that thought.

“Just because we haven’t seen each other or spoken in months doesn’t mean I can’t do my job,” Lorcan said, a bite to his words.

“Hey, man, I know you can. It’s not that...It’s… Look, A is just worried. You two are Ellie’s godparents and you’re at odds right now. And I’m a little worried, too, about you both. You’ll let me know if things get worse, right?”

“Yeah, man, of course.”

“Good. And-” Rowan suddenly swore. “I gotta go. Ellie’s crying and A’s in the shower. Call me later and we’ll talk, yeah?”

“Sure.” Lorcan hung up. He looked at the time, downed his shake, and went back to his computers. Security systems and technology, those things he knew. People? Women? Foreign languages to him. He still couldn’t figure out why Elide was so pissed with him. Couldn’t figure out why Rowan and Aelin thought things would get worse. And now it was affecting his job.

It was going to be a long project.

#and they were zoomates #elorcan #lorcan salvaterre #elide lochan #elide x lorcan #tog au #modern au

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kissjane · 4 years ago

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DOWN / Short fic

#5 on this prompt list.

[Warning, not so fluffy, a bit hurt/comfort I guess!]

5. Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap

Mrs. Demaury opens the door for a panting Lucas. He ran all the way here from the park where he had been chilling with the gang.

“I’m sorry I called you, Lucas, but you know how it gets –”

Lucas shakes his head, eager to get to Eliott. He doesn’t mind Mrs. Demaury calling him, wouldn’t ever mind, even if it would be in the middle of the night, because, yes, he knows how it gets.

He has done this often enough by now. Eliott will be curled up impossibly small in his bed, staring into nothing with dull, glassy, red-rimmed eyes. His hair will be greasy and matted in knots, his skin sallow and sticky with sweat. There will be no telling how long it has been since he has eaten, or showered, or talked, or even moved.

Lucas hates to see Eliott like this. It hurts him physically, to see his best friend retreat into some dark and hopeless pit of despair, where nobody can follow him.

Eliott has probably been down for days – he forgot to ask Mrs. Demaury exactly how long it has been going on this time, but the last message Lucas has gotten from Eliott was four days ago. Eliott has probably screeched at his parents to leave him alone. Once, he even threw a heavy textbook in his dad’s direction, just because he didn’t want anybody near. Mrs. Demaury doesn’t call Lucas until it’s irrefutably necessary.

When Eliott is at his absolute lowest – that’s when Lucas comes in.

Lucas is the only one Eliott will allow near him, when he is lost in the deepest and blackest of deep black clouds.

He takes a fortifying breath to prepare himself, and opens Eliott’s bedroom door. It is dark, and stuffy, and smelly, but Lucas doesn’t care. He only thinks about the forlorn boy hidden under the pile of blankets in the middle of the bed.

He steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him, walking on tiptoe, knowing Eliott might be easily spooked.

He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t ask Eliott anything, because he knows there will not be a reaction, not even an acknowledgement Lucas is there.

And Lucas doesn’t know if he really helps Eliott at all, or if it hurts him that Lucas is here, but he cannot turn his back on Eliott – his heart is teetering precariously on the edge of the ravine as it is. Leaving Eliott would make it fall in for sure, and shatter irreparably on the jagged rocks thousands of meters below.

He slowly, methodically, peels off some of the layers of fabric covering Eliott, who is wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, but still seems to shiver in the stifling room. Lucas wants to open a window, let the autumn breeze in and chase away all of Eliott’s sorrows, but he knows it doesn’t work like that.

Eliott blinks when the paltry light coming through the closed curtains hits his face. He stares at Lucas, unmoving, silent tears rolling over his beautiful face.

Lucas slowly sits down on the bed, his back against Eliott’s pillow, leaning against the headboard. Centimeter by excruciating centimeter, he moves Eliott, his body limp and lifeless and not helping Lucas at all, until Lucas holds Eliott in his arms, Eliott’s head resting in his lap.

Eliott still doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, but his breathing slowed down somewhat, and the tears are trickling at a lower speed.

There is so much love in Lucas’ heart, so much he didn’t think it was even possible to ever love somebody this deeply, so much he’d give up anything and everything for a smile from Eliott – and yet it seems like just a drop of water against the ocean of Eliott’s agony.

They remain like that for hours. Lucas has no idea how long he sits holding Eliott. His legs cramp up and he is hungry, but he ignores it. Eliott is the only thing that matters right now.

Mrs. Demaury pokes her head through the door at some point. Lucas wordlessly shakes his head at her, and she leaves again, worry etched on her face in deep lines.

The light shining through the gap in the curtains has changed. It’s no longer golden and soft, but cold and silvery. Eliott is still staring into the distance with unseeing eyes, and Lucas dies a thousand deaths, praying to whoever will listen to take away Eliott’s pain.

At some point, Eliott closes his eyes, and cuddles his body closer to Lucas. Lucas feels like he can breathe for the first time since he got here.

Without realizing it, his fingers start combing through Eliott’s hair. He ignores the oily feeling against his palm, and just keeps running his hand up and down, slowly, rhythmically.

Finally, after hours of Lucas feeling the strands gliding between his fingers, Eliott mumbles a word. Just one word.

“Lucas.”

That’s all he manages, but it is all Lucas needs.

He cannot keep things in anymore, and he bends over, presses a kiss into Eliott’s matted locks.

“I love you, Eliott. I love you so much. I would take all of this from you if I could, and more. Please come back to me, Eliott. Please fight.”

The tears are rolling down Lucas’ cheeks now, but it doesn’t matter. He keeps his hand in Eliott’s hair, and waits. He will wait until eternity for Eliott if he has to.

***

It doesn’t take eternity, but Eliott needs a few more days to resurface.

It is only then he answers Lucas, and tells him how Lucas’ words set something free in him. Lucas loving him when he was at his most unlovable, when he thought he was without value and worthless, undeserving of care and tenderness, was the light at the end of the long, long tunnel.

And he cradles Lucas to him, and runs his big hands through Lucas’ smooth hair in return.

#I write things #50 cliché prompts #Elu #☯

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veryveryverytemporarily · 5 years ago

Text

Perfect

Sort of a match for robron week 2020 day 1. And chapter 1 of 2 chapters.

Ao3 link here.

There must have been a reason why Robert arrived at the age of twenty-one still a virgin; some half-formed idea that your first time was meant to mean something and then it had gone on longer than he ever intended.

Of course, the press had loved it; hanging onto the railings outside the TV set where the teen drama that made him famous was filmed. Cameras flashing with one single purpose; to catch a shot of the purity ring that he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand.

He slowed from a run to a walk and reached for the ring where it still hung on a chain around his neck, leaned against the sea wall that looked out over the bay.

There were seagulls. He watched them soar over waves whipped up by the east coast winds. They looked happy enough – happy and carefree.

There was a frantic whispering behind him. Automatically he pulled his hood up and hunched his shoulders, waiting until the sound of footsteps receded. A glimpse of ankle socks and black school shoes on the newly tarmacked promenade, followed by a shrill voice screaming, ‘It is him; I told you!’

Alone again he clasped his hands together. His palms were sweaty, and not from the run; it was a big day ahead.

‘It’s too much pressure. If anything, it encourages more focus on the physical side of things; not less,’ his mum, Sarah, had said once upon a time. She hadn’t known he was listening outside the door. She’d held up a tabloid which had his picture on the corner of the front page, caught in the garden messing about with a hose pipe, the water gushing over him. He could see the headline still: How long can teen heart-thRob keep himself cool as temperatures rise around him?

He was fifteen at the time.

‘He should be able to live like a normal kid!’

But what was normal? How was he supposed to know even?

His dad thought the ring protected him. And his agent had loved it, pointing out the positives of a wholesome public image.

And then anyway everything had changed. His Mum had died. He’d painted on a smile for the cameras while the blackest times played out behind the scenes. Then there were the fights, and well, he’d been suspended from the show age seventeen, and he’d never gone back.

For a while there’d been Katie, and even though he wasn’t sure why anymore, they’d both agreed to wait until the wedding, and he’d thought he’d been redeemed. Even got a role with the Shakespeare Youth Company, a chance to relaunch his career.

But the paparazzi had got a picture of him leaving a hotel with the older woman in the fur coat, and she’d lied, and said they’d gone the whole way. Andy was waiting to take Katie away, the distance with his Dad became a chasm. He stopped showing up for rehearsals.

And now, a couple of years on, here he was.

He followed the smooth inner circle of the ring with his finger tip, elbows still resting on the wall. The tide was in. Maybe today was the day, he thought: How easy it would be to just unfasten the chain and let it fall into the cold grey waves, and after, to just turn around and walk away.

***

‘Where did you say you were staying?’

‘Filey.’

’At this time of year? And you’re staying in a youth hostel, did you say? Is there even one in Filey?’

‘A hotel.’

‘Well, who’s paying for that, love?’

‘It’s a job, like you’ve been banging on about? A photoshoot; all expenses paid.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Paddy should join you.’

‘Mum, I’m seventeen, not seven. I’m fine. A couple of days and I’ll be back.’

Ever since she’d seen the dating App on his phone, she’d been on his case, doing his head in. So, what if he wasn’t old enough; he’d downloaded it more out of curiosity than anything. And anyway, he’d only used it once or twice and then deactivated, not because she was right, but because he’d got tired of turning down weirdos and pervy older blokes.

He walked into the dining-room, cutlery and linen laid out for breakfast service, sat down at an empty table. He flinched at the rare sighting of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows from outside, where seagulls divebombed hapless walkers hoping for scraps.

‘…a flawless family hotel with a reputation for fine cuisine…’ Adam had read out loud on his phone as they waited to say goodbye at the coach station the afternoon before. He’d sucked his teeth. ‘Does that mean they have like really small portions?’

Aaron frowned over the breakfast menu, then asked for toast.

The photographer, Marc, had already sent scouts over a week before on a location search; the remote outdoors he wanted, sand dunes and haram grass, most of all privacy. And yes, he did know this was Costa del Yorkshire, but the natural light and the ambience were perfect for what he had in mind.

Aaron had caught up with him yesterday when he arrived, but he hadn’t met the model yet.

He was examining his plate with something approaching alarm, when the blond came in through the garden door; freckles, long hair, long limbs in a blue tracksuit.

He turned back to his breakfast, prodded cautiously with his fork at something on his plate that looked suspiciously like black pudding.

‘Need to put a name to perfection? Allow me to introduce myself.’

His eyebrows shot up; the blond was attempting to chat up the waitress.

He turned his chin discreetly so he could listen in.

From the corner of his eyes he could see that he’d raised both arms, curling his wrists to show off his biceps which as far as Aaron could tell were nonexistent.

‘See those guns? Those are for the ladies,’ the blond said, leaning way back in his chair. And then he puckered his lips and planted a kiss on his sleeve. ‘So, if you’re a lady, you could be in luck.’

Aaron either coughed or choked.

When the blond looked round, he banged a fist against his chest, indicating his plate.

Good for the waitress that she seemed quite savvy. She spoke with an Eastern European accent, gesturing with her pen.

‘So, what’s under the table, then?’

‘Oh, that’s for a special occasion. But play your cards right, and your name might just get added to the guest list.’

‘Let me know the date of the occasion, and I’ll pack my magnifying glass,’ she answered.

Aaron snorted again, this time he didn’t try to disguise it.

Their eyes locked, the blond with steely accusation as Aaron turned down the corners of his mouth.

What a dick!

Arrogant - but not just that, the whole conversation had been a complete car crash.

But it was none of his business, he had more important things to think about. He inhaled a mouthful of tea, decided on one more piece of toast, and then checked his phone to see if Marc had sent a message about when they were due to start.

***

Back in his room, Aaron put on some black eye liner, picked up his key card and put it in his pocket, then pulled up the handle on his makeup case and wheeled it into the hall.

What he really wanted to do was work in the film industry; a chance to use his skills in silicone prosthetics.

‘First, I’ll take a cast, and then make a replica, and then paint it,’ he’d explained to Adam that time he’d asked him to be a guinea pig.

‘A cast of what?’ Adam had asked nervously.

‘Well not that, obviously! Your arm will do, you numpty! It’s a project, right, for my portfolio? And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t….’

He’d kind of blushed. It was a long couple of years ago now since there’d been that confusing time which had eventually led to him coming out. The time he’d tried to kiss Adam, which still made him cringe inside when he thought about it.

‘It’s alright, you idiot. I still love you, okay,’ Adam had said. ‘I think deep down I always knew even if you were in denial about it. And now you’ll be able to find a nice bloke, yeah?’

Which was easy enough to say; he’d waited while all the kids at school moved on from one crush to the next, and then started to date. Until he felt like he was the only one still wondering what it was all about.

Then when he’d started college, all at once a load of blokes started to hit on him, and he’d agreed to see the ones he liked, and started exploring and enjoying the physical side of things.

But he still hadn’t had an actual relationship.

‘Honestly bro! You’re so picky! No one’s perfect, you just need to give someone a chance, yeah?’ Adam had said.

But what if there was someone perfect? It was just a feeling; but what if somewhere there was someone meant just for him? Wasn’t that worth holding out for?

He took the elevator up a couple of floors.

It had been his tutor’s gig, but then he’d got ill at the last minute and asked Aaron to go in his place. Male model, glamour, he’d said, then added hastily, not boudoir or anything like that, while Aaron felt his throat flush threatening to spread up to his face. ‘And it’ll be good to have something else to put in your portfolio with that…’ he’d hesitated as if he was searching for the right word; ‘…prosthetic. So, make the most of it.’

‘Bro! Is he gonna be ripped?’ Inevitably Adam had teased him about it. ‘What if it’s love at first sight?’

He’d ignored him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the slight fluttering in his stomach right now. He knocked on Marc’s door, waited until it was opened, then stepped inside.

A big double bed dominated the small room. There were prints scattered over it of local bays and coastal paths supplied by the scouts, and Marc’s laptop open with the fan blowing hard. Above the headboard there was a glowering seascape of a fishing boat in trouble over turbulent waters.

There was an old-fashioned dressing table with a folding mirror opposite the bed, and on the upholstered stool in front of it, sitting the wrong way round with his elbows balanced behind him, was the blond from breakfast.

Aaron turned back to Marc.

Even before he’d got the question out, he knew the answer; but it was too late, and anyway, by then he’d decided to enjoy it.

‘Where’s your model, then?’ he asked, looking searchingly about the room.

He saw the blond half close his eyes.

***

‘You know that meme…the one that goes …oh hello it’s you… it’s going to be you…’ he said later, on the phone to Adam.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, basically, it was that... only this was…goodbye, it’s not you…it’s not going to be you…’

‘Oh man! I suppose you could just come back.’

‘Nah, I’d better see it through.’

The thing was there was something he hadn’t told Adam, something he felt he shouldn’t tell because it wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t really his place. And a model and a makeup artist, well, before anything else there had to be trust.

***

Trust? – His very first job and he’d blown it.

Of course, Marc had introduced them and Aaron found out who the blond was; Robert Sugden - he remembered something about a teen on a daytime TV show when he was in primary school.

‘Are you sure he’s qualified? How old is he? Looks like a twelve-year old.’ Robert asked.

‘Basically, your fan base, then.’

‘Why, are you planning on joining? Succumb to the inevitable?’

Their eyes locked again, just like at breakfast, until Robert looked down at Aaron’s makeup case.

‘What products are you using? Dior? Guerlain? M.A.C?’

‘Erm, Wet n Wild, and just Boots own brand, really. It’s alright.’

He thought back to the weekend, trying to slip disposable lip wands in his pocket while Adam turned on the charm with the girl at the chemists.

It was Marc who broke the impasse.

‘We’ve got an hour until the transports here. Just get it done. And remember Aaron, raw and natural, alright?’

And then he’d gone, leaving them to it.

Aaron sighed.

So the model wasn’t what he’d hoped for. The best most generous description he could come up with for this one was your boy next door type - and he wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

But he needed to put that behind him now. He needed to stop thinking of Robert as a person, and focus on him as an art project; nothing more, just something to put in his portfolio.

He checked the lighting around the mirror and unzipped the makeup case. Robert sat forward, eyeing his reflection, a finger smoothing down an eyebrow.

He chose a nude primer for the blond’s eyes to start with.

‘Swivel.’

‘You what?’

‘Just move round to face me,’ he snapped.

He squeezed out some of the primer onto his finger tip, took a breath and started at last, dabbing the make up on under his eye.

Finally, they were both quiet.

He gently worked the primer into the corner of his eye, then blended down just onto the cheek bone, while the blonde looked up at the ceiling with green eyes that changed every so often like turns of a kaleidoscope.

Now he was actually this close, the thing that struck him was how good he smelt. He must have showered, sat there now in faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, smelling like a field of flowers, or like strawberries and melon, like those cups of chopped fresh fruit that you got with a plastic spoon from the chiller in the coffee shop at college, when you had a hangover.

‘Close your eyes a mo...’

He put some primer on his eyelids, picked up a brush and started to work it softly into his deep sockets.

The other thing was his skin. However reluctant he was to admit it, it was impressive. Fine, and poreless, just few hormone pimples on the T-line, he guessed his age around twenty. And then the glorious 3D effect that only freckles can bring, so you feel you’re looking into a sea of gold.

He sat back. He wouldn’t use primer on that, just some sheer foundation with uv protection and bronzer. Nude lips, he swallowed, shimmer on his eyes and eyeliner gel. Looked back at his jawline again.

He would need to blend down his throat.

He grimaced, he should have already thought of this. Rookie error.

‘Can you take your T-shirt off?’

‘And careful!’ he warned as the blond reached back pulling it up over his shoulder and off over his head.

It wasn’t a hot day, maybe it was where they were sitting with the sun coming in through the window pane, but the temperature in the room seemed to suddenly soar. And that fruit cup smell, now there was something sharp and tangy about it, making his mouth water when it was still hours to lunch.

He noticed he was wearing a chain, it seemed the safest thing to look at. There was a ring on it; and then he saw the writing. ‘True Love Waits.’

He blinked. He’d never seen one before, but he knew what it was instantly.

It was so unexpected.

And then the things about Robert that had jarred all at once seemed to make more sense; the awkward chat up lines.

His mind flashed back to breakfast; so when the blond had said, ‘That’s for a special occasion,’ he wasn’t joking; he’d actually meant it!

Robert had raised his hand around the ring, his eyes watching Aaron’s face.

He thought about saying something - something along the lines of... Look, I don’t judge, alright? Whatever people choose to do, or not to do, as long as it feels right for you and doesn’t hurt anyone else. But somehow he couldn’t quite say them aloud.

‘You’ll need to take it off.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the chain. ‘Maybe keep it in your pocket?’ he added gently.

He watched his long fingers move to the catch of the chain, then open it.

Of course he was still a dick. It wasn’t as if the ring made him a better person, or a worse person.

But it did make him a more complicated person.

And then Robert had turned again towards him, holding the ring out.

‘Will you take it for me? I won’t be able to wear it on the shoot, and I need someone to trust with it,’ he said. ‘Can I trust you with it?’

Aaron swallowed.

‘Course you can, course!’

#robron week #rw2020 #robron fic #my fic #chapter 1/2

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mamaskillerqueen · 5 years ago

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Thank You || Billy Hargrove x Reader

A/N: Yet another one I posted on an old blog. This was a request from a prompt this. This might be one of my favourites as well. I used to be such a good writer, wtf? Warnings: This is Billy we’re talking about. Problematic characters have their own warning labels. Domestic violence hinted at. Prompt: As a thank you - ways to say I love you

The blackest night of the year was always your favourite. Something about the stillness it brought with it was always incredibly calming for your continuously frayed nerves. The chill of the night air bit at your exposed skin as you laid on your roof, gazing at the starless night.

Most people found themselves staring at the sky when it was litter with little dots of light. You never seemed to appreciate the stars quite like they did. It often filled people with hope that there was more out there. For you, it filled you with impending demise. The blank slate of an empty sky was where you found your own hope.

One day, your own personal sky would be blank, wiped clean of the dots that left their mark in the years you’ve lived in this tiny town. Dreams of what your life would be like once you were out of Hawkins were disturbed by the rumbling of an engine. The otherwise quiet town continued to sleep peacefully as you sat up straighter on the roof.

If you squinted, you could see headlights off in the distance. Part of you assumed it was Hopper, coming to inform you that the apocalypse was knocking… again. The other part of you knew deep down, this was heavier than any demodog.

Your suspicions rung true when the car never reached your block. The engine cut off and the clink of a heavy door echoed down the empty development. What seemed like forever later, the silhouette of a person made its way down the sidewalk. A brilliant red glow burned across the expansive black around it. Your heart rate picked up.

The sound of boot falls bounced off the houses around you until they went almost silent in the grass. Before you knew it, the boy you’ve come to know so well was by your side. Silence took over the quiet neighbourhood once again. Words weren’t needed right now, you knew why he showed up this late. He didn’t even seem surprised to see you sitting on the roof, instead of being fast asleep. Clearly, he had no idea what time it was.

Smoke filled your senses quickly as he finished off the cigarette he had started on his trek to your room. With one last inhale, he flicked the butt off the roof. After a moment he heaved a sigh. You were fascinated by the way the smoke looked billowing from his lips in the black. His vibrant blue eyes found yours then, the intensity in them clear even in the dark.

Gently, your hand reached out to clasp his. He knew what you were saying without words. Silently, you scooted across the roof to the window that led to your room. In the time that you had become friends with Billy, he’d gotten quite comfortable slipping through your window. Tonight, he seemed to hesitate before following you through.

Curiosity burned in your every vein but, you knew whatever happened tonight was worse than any other time he’d come to you. You both pretended that these late night visits didn’t happen, you didn’t know why. It was just an unspoken agreement. He might not have ever told you what went on before he came to see you, but you were pretty smart. It wasn’t hard to piece together. His home life wasn’t good, yours wasn’t ideal either, and you could take solace in each other.

The night passed like they often did, Billy curled up in your arms, your fingers laced through his hair as you both tried to sleep off the restlessness that settled into your hearts. The quiet dreams you kept to yourselves played when you found comfort in each others embrace.

It might have only been a few hours of sleep before the sun rudely ripped away your favourite night, but it was possibly the best you’d had in far too long. The boy in your arms gave a faint groan as the light cascaded across his face. If it wasn’t against the unspoken rules, you would have pulled the curtains closed so he could sleep longer. Instead, you shook his shoulder.

“Billy,” you whispered before shaking him again.

He stirred once more before slowly cracking open his eyes. In the harsh light of day it was easy to see the dark bruise forming on his eye. He struggled to open it fully and you felt a crack form on your heart. You don’t know when it happened but, you’d grown to love this boy you only ever got to hold in the middle of the night.

Typically he wouldn’t say a word as he rose from your arms and collected his things. This morning was different. As he tugged his boots back on and pushed open your window, he turned to you. A sincere expression took over his features as he tried to open his swelling eye.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep.

The underlying meaning of his words were clear as day and left you breathless for a moment. Your mind raced with all the words you wanted to say. You knew it wasn’t the time though. So, you offered him the most sincere smile you could muster, hoping he knew what you meant as you answered.

“You’re welcome.”

He flashed you a quick smile and then crawled through your window like it was any other morning. As if he hadn’t just said “I love you” in fewer words.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #stranger things fic #some queue to love

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castellankurze · 5 years ago

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A Completely Normal Judgment Call

Anime bullshit returns. Again. Back to the main throughline of the plot, taking place in March, in the distant past, a bit to the left.

.........

"I'll believe it when I see it," was the saying that kept rattling around in Shouko's head. A saying about how some things were so unbelievable that you had to see them before you'd accept the reality of them. Funny how some things could be the exact opposite - you could see them every day, all the time, and still not really believe it.

Impossible things were actually pretty easy to believe in, once you finally saw them. Shouko had plenty of experience by now. Faerie-tale beasts. Ghosts. Dragons. Immortal warriors of legend. Time travel. She'd learned to just shrug and tried to roll with the newest loop the world tried to throw at her.

What was really had to believe was the girl whose head rested in her lap.

As if picking up on Shouko's thoughts, Saika let out a soft murmur and shifted slightly, and Shouko lifted her hand to gently stroke Saika's long golden hair. Her girlfriend had drifted off to dreamland - heh - an hour ago, leaving Shouko to sit on watch alone at the cave entrance while the rest of the group recuperated inside. Shouko didn't mind - she was still too wired to sleep right now.

It was still weird, she thought, looking up at a moon that was probably seventy million years before her time as she continued to idly stroke Saika's hair. When they'd first met, Shouko had initially figured her for another wannabe rebel-girl - looking for a fast, flirty ride on the back of a real motorcycle. She wouldn't have been the first. Then within days of their first crossing paths, there had been the whole...everything. But the world turning upside-down and revealing magic to be real didn't guarantee anything, and Shouko had kept waiting for Saika to get over the impulse and move on.

Then there'd been their first real date, the day Shouko inadvertently found out about Saika's secret, and that had seemed to hold them together a little longer. Then there'd been the concert where they both almost got killed. And then. And then. And somehow she kept being there, kept supporting her.

And somehow, crazily enough, through all the turmoil, they were still an item. Shouko hadn't had a relationship last even half as long before. She sat on a rock in front of a cave, watching real-life dinosaurs wander by in the distance, and yet it was the blonde who leaned on her that still seemed the strangest thing.

Saika murmured again, wordless noise escaping from her lips as she shifted her shoulders and pressed her face into the crook of Shouko's knee. Shouko gently rested her hand at her girlfriend's temple. Before she even knew what she was intending, she whispered "I'll keep protecting you."

A part of her recriminated herself for the promise. After all, not so long ago-

She tried to stop the thought, even tried to squeeze her eyes shut as if to physically block it out, but it was too late, and the memory played of the fiery meteor screaming down from the sky towards Saika, leaving her no time but to put up her arms in a hopeless gesture of self-defense-

Shouko grit her teeth and swallowed hard as her eyes welled up. She'd thought that she would scream out her voice for good, if such a thing were possible. Somewhere along the line, Saika had become...everything, it felt like. She was irreplaceable. Living without her would be like living without the sun. Shouko had never gone in for that kind of baloney - the whole 'oh, I couldn't live without them,' romantic silliness. But.

Even now, just sitting still, with a sleeping Saika in her lap, she felt...more whole. More here. Like she had her own personal star to warm her and light her way and all that gooey crap. Just the idea of losing her...

Her hand trembled, and she lifted it to rest it at Saika's shoulder instead, breathing slowly as her lip trembled. She looked down at her girlfriend's sleeping face as she breathed in and out, struggling not to hitch. "I l-" she started to say, but her voice fell dead.

She swallowed again, and a bit of liquid escaped one eye.

She breathed in and out again, and again, squaring her shoulders and, in a throaty voice she tried to find the words once more, "I lv ymm," even as her lips closed around them.

Her free hand balled into a fist. A couple of stupid words. A couple of stupid words Saika wasn't even awake to hear. And nobody else was even around. Why was she so bad at saying them? Why, of all things, did a couple of words yank away her courage faster than a roaring dragon?

"Loveya," she finally managed, but even then her tone was tinged with irony, and she had to turn her head away as she mouthed the words. It wasn't enough. Maybe it never would be.

Hard to believe.

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

How to even describe the next forty-eight hours?

I'll believe it when I see it.

Dinosaurs. Magic dinosaurs. Magic talking dinosaurs. People living in dinosaur times. Alternate dinosaur times. Other time travelers. Time traveling Nazis. Nazis riding dinosaurs. Magic Nazi dinosaurs.

And amidst it all, the hardest part to accept was that, as the group fought their way through a cave seemingly packed to the brim with fanatical reptilian shock troops bent on slaughtering the humans who opposed them, deep down Shouko had to admit that while Count McFuckface was still a bastard for sending them to this place, maybe he'd had a point to do it after all.

Capture Hans Abner, his little emissary had said, tossing them a set of enchanted silver shackles. They'd balked, of course they had, but the more they learned about how messed-up this world had become, the more it seemed maybe he really had sent them somewhere they could do some good. Hard to believe.

They still ended up in over their heads - that part was pretty easy to believe. They'd sliced and cut and burned their way through one obstacle after another, picking up one axe-wielding local badass named Jorik on the way, but then-

Well, then they'd found themselves in a dark, high-ceilinged chamber Shouko could hardly think of as anything other than a boss room. Surrounded by gun-toting storm troopers right out of the Second World War. And a triad of hunters - two women and one man, all of them pale-haired - in officers' regalia, flanking the not-so-good Doctor Abner as he delivered what would have been a hilariously badly-accented speech if the words hadn't been so chilling.

Hardly more than two hundred human beings left in this version of the world. Poor Jorik.

He made the expected offer to join him. By this point Shouko was having trouble listening as her eyes darted left and right, assessing the situation. They were going to fight. They couldn't not fight. No way in hell was Option B even on the table. But they were outnumbered more hilariously than they'd ever been before, and not by dumb brute beasts but by men with guns and rockets, and no less than three of their own kind.

That part was the real gut-clencher - a horrifying reminder that the Radiant Court and the Eventide Vanguard, for all their efforts, didn't hold a monopoly on individuals with magical power. That not everyone turned such power to good uses.

Amidst the standoff, it was a girl with raven-black hair and crimson eyes who turned her attention Shouko's way. Shizuka whispered the words, but somehow she heard them clear as day. "Shouko, show me what you've learned."

Not surprising that Shizuka was the one willing to take point in the coming throwdown, and as she gestured with one hand in Shouko's direction, the Dauntless Heart felt a chill touch, like a cold mist seeping around her shoulders and settling into her chest, and she realized what was about to happen. She nodded. Jorik was standing in front of her. She'd have to step around him to get in front of the group, but in the center of the room just ahead of where they were facing was some kind of well, the water that filled it looking black as ink in the chamber's gloom.

One step.

Cast aside doubt. It has no place in the dauntless heart, a part of her told herself.

Two steps.

Cast aside fear. It has no place in the dauntless heart, she thought as the icy touch swelled within her breast.

Three steps. She drew even with Jorik, and Erika glanced sidelong in her direction.

Four steps.

Cast aside all thought of safety. Of comfort. They will only weigh you down, and you must fly on wings of fire if you are to survive.

Five steps.

Shouko was distantly aware of every set of eyes in the room settling upon her as she moved to the front of the group and into the center of the standoff. She didn't hesitate - it was already too late for that. She bowed her head, eyes obscured behind the sweep of her teal hair as her foot hit the edge of the well and she stepped out over the still water.

The sole of her boot never struck the surface.

From Shouko's back sprouted wings of blackest night, beating hard in a majestic sweep of power, and she hovered in midair as the entire room seemed to hold its breath. From somewhere...somewhere far away, in a half-remembered memory, something floated to the surface. The ardor of red flame is thine, and thine the steely soul of ice-

"Thou poisonest the fair design of nature, with unfair device," she murmured, and it would have been a lie to say she did not distantly enjoy the sight of some few of the confronting soldiers shifting uncomfortably.

There was no time to linger on it. Shouko drew in her wings, hovering in midair with her body obscured behind the jet-black feathers, and then she snapped them out to their full span, and with the motion summoned numerous blades of flame that fired out in a grand arc towards everything in front of her. Abner himself was beyond the reach of the eruption, but a full half-dozen of his stormtroopers were struck down by the fiery hail, and the triad of hunters likewise pelted by the flaming blades.

Amidst the sudden carnage, Shouko brought her hands together, one over the other before her breastbone and clenched her fists, summoning not her customary daggers, but a single elongated blade wreathed in flame. Shizuka's icy touch vanished from her chest as she readied the weapon, replaced by a furious blaze of hatred.

All hell broke loose.

The remaining soldiers opened fire, beginning with one of the men who held a rocket tube firing it off and setting the chamber to rocking as blast after blast shook the walls. Shouko heard Reika screech few curse words, and in the corner of her vision she saw a blast of magic strike one of the enemy hunters - the man, the tallest of the three, who held a pistol in one hand. Miyumi's spell wrapped itself around him, and his body seemed to distort and become translucent, wavering as his will fought against the girl's banishment.

The second of the trio, undeterred, drew a sword and leapt into the fray, charging towards Jorik and Erika, and steel clanged as they met her rush.

That left the shortest of the three, and she went for no weapon but rather raised her hands, fingers curled into arcane gestures, and with a motion and a few words in German she called forth a torrent of flame that swept over the group.

Shouko felt outrage explode within her as the flames licked at her, a pale reflection of the flame that burned insider her, and with a clap of her wings she crossed the distance separating her from from the occultist in an eyeblink. There was just enough time for the sorcerer's eyes to start to widen before Shouko's blade struck in a left-to-right cut that left a haze of smoke rising from the enemy hunter's uniform beneath her upraised arms.

She didn't know any German, but she saw the gleam of recognition in the occultist's dying eyes as she hissed "your flames are extinguished," before the top part of the Nazi creature's torso fell away from the rest of her and collapsed to the floor. Shouko heard Saika yell something encouraging and even briefly luxuriated in the sound of Abner's startled "what?" but before either emotion could reach her face she saw the male hunter finally pull himself free of the banishment spell, and reacting to anything else dwindled away to nothing as she leveled her sword in a clear gesture of intent.

Cast aside comfort.

He gaped, but was only wrong-footed for a moment before he leveled his gun and fired. A hunter's weapon would be no stock gun, Shouko knew, but even so, as it seemed like fire surged in her blood the bullets seemed to move in slow motion as they crossed the space between the combatants. Shouko twitched her wing, and the leading edge of the shadowy feathers brushed aside the projectile like a pebble, while the second was deflected by the edge of her sword as she swung to face him head on.

She was rewarded with a soft groan of "sheisse."

There was a split second to survey the battle. Reika was on one knee, bloodied and burnt, swearing as she traded fire with the remaining stormtroopers with her rifle, while Miyumi's scepter arced with black energy as she supported her half-sister. Shizuka, Erika, and Jorik were all trading blows with the sword-wielding hunter. And Saika was...singing and dancing? No, not just either, because she she moved she brought forth twirling streamers of light energy, which Kanako used her staff to manipulate, sweeping them over the group and healing them of the burns inflicted by the now-dead occultist and the explosions from the rockets unleashed by the soldiers. Kanako held out a hand and the multitude of lightbeams coalesced into a feline form, and the class president rubbed her nose affectionately against the image of her pet cat before turning towards Shouko and nodding. The phantom cat promptly bounded towards her, and where it would have alighted on her shoulder, Shouko suddenly felt a burst of energy that made her bare her teeth in a savage smile.

If her blood had felt on fire before, now she felt as if napalm flowed through her.

The man with the gun leveled it for a third shot, and perhaps in an attempt to encourage the remaining troops he shouted as he pulled the trigger "Gott mit uns!"

Shouko didn't need to speak German to understand what he'd just uttered, and Kanako's surge of energy boiled over in an unbridled fit of rage. How dare the creature speak so, when the avenging angel stood right before him! Her wings beat and carried her up into the air, well out of the path of the oncoming bullet, and as she came down just behind the man, he had only a moment to hear her snarl "God was never on your side."

Then the blade of fire tore through him, striking through the right side of his chest and tearing out his shoulder. Only the faintest of margins as he tried to turn aside saved him from an instant death, and the resilience of a hunter served him well, for as he toppled, he twisted, thrusting out the gun he still held in one hand, and fired off a fourth round. This time, he was too close for Shouko to dodge the round.

Cast aside safety.

She was sure he felt a moment of triumph as her head snapped backward and she started to keel over, but her body caught itself inches above the stone floor of the chamber and, with a ferocious beating of her wings, reversed its course to bring her back to her feet. Blood tricked down her face from the wound in her temple where his bullet had grazed her skull, the crimson rivulets framing a set of eyes no longer a sparkling shade of magenta that her friends would have recognized, but had instead become pitch-black, without even the faintest semblance of humanity.

"Nein!" he shrieked as he struggled to drag himself away. "Nein! N-"

But the third denial was not to come, as another of Miyumi's spells erupted in the air above him, a blast of shadow energy finishing the job that the blade of fire had begun. Shouko looked across the gap between herself and Miyumi, but her comrade did not show apology for claiming the kill, and was already making a beckoning gesture to gather up the remnants of shadow energy that lingered in the room, bolstering her energy.

Shouko realized that she didn't particularly care, and assessed the state of the rest of the room. The battle had been short and certainly explosive, but decidedly decisive. The swordswoman was on the back foot between Shizuka and Erika, and though Reika looked like she had seen many better days, she was still in good enough shape to shoot down one of the remaining storm troopers, leaving only a single one of them alive, currently menacing Jorik.

Shouko glanced in the direction of the seated Dr. Abner, who by now was all but apoplectic with his underlings' catastrophic failure, but in a moment's passing decided his judgment was not for her to pass. Instead she swept forward to cut down the final soldier from behind. Her eyes met Jorik's and the inhuman jet-black gaze turned briefly towards the despoiler of the man's homelands before returning to his own in an unmistakable gesture of invitation.

Jorik picked up on her meaning instantly, charging the man with a roar and a cut from his axe. At nearly the same time, the swordswoman finally went down under the blades arrayed against her.

Shouko's feet touched the ground for the first time since the battle had begun. She realized that she was breathing hard, heart pumping furiously, giddy energy surging through her. It was impossible to deny how alive she felt.

But the moment of joy came too soon. Abner threw himself out of the chair, ducking away from Jorik's axe with a snap of some villainous repartee, and dove for the well of black water, vanishing into it with a splash. A moment later and the corpses that the group had left behind began to slide towards the well, like iron fillings drawn to a magnet, toppling in one by one.

Someone swore.

A figure emerged from the churning waters, hovering in the air above the well. It wasn't Abner anymore, but someone else, a man Shouko didn't recognize, a portly European draped in black. She didn't need to know his name to know what he was at heart - another damned immortal, like Taliesin and Jeanne. Outrage swelled within her. Another battle to fight. Another mountain to climb. She couldn't release her power yet. Not yet.

Cast aside fear.

Miyumi met her eyes, and she stretched out a hand towards the avenging angel, the hand that clutched her scepter leveling it towards the figure of the man. Even as she did so, he stepped down onto the lip of the well and swept a hand towards the group, black flames arcing from his fingers to crackle in the air, scattering them. Shouko turned her gaze back towards Miyumi and nodded. Miyumi stepped towards her, slender hand daring the arch of one black wing, and touched her on the shoulder.

Reality itself seemed to twist and bend, but Shouko knew this feeling well, and recognized that it was happening to her rather than the room without as Miyumi used her power to pull the angel into the realm of shadows, distorting space and time alike as she channeled power through her scepter. Shouko vanished from sight, exploding into being a moment later at the man's shoulder, blasting him with shadow and flame - a thing he surely hadn't expected, as he turned a snarl upon her.

Even uglier than his face was the realization that the attack hadn't seemed to do as much damage as she'd hoped. The others waded in, and it should have been a foregone conclusion - one man against Erika and her greatsword, Shizuka and her katana, Reika and her spear, Jorik and his axe, and Saika with her magic granting them speed, and Kanako and Miyumi with their own spells of healing and destruction. And Shouko, the avenging angel at his heel. But he seemed to turn aside their blows, his flesh regenerating even as they struck at him. It seemed impossible - perhaps if they'd been fresh and full of hope it would have been a different matter, but they'd been through three battles in a single day, one after another, and they were flagging while their foe seemed to grow only stronger by the moment.

Cast aside doubt-

No, no, Shouko fought against herself. Dauntless Heart or not, she couldn't lower her head and try to batter down the bastard, much as he certainly deserved it. She couldn't retreat into the persona of the avenging angel, as comforting as it was. She could feel her heart pounding, her head starting to swim, her vision starting to darken at the edges as the effort of channeling so much power for so long began to catch up with her. She couldn’t...

She couldn't win by doing something hard. She had to do something smart.

Shouko opened her hands and her sword vanished, and she grabbed for something different. A silvered chain. A chain that connected a pair of magic shackles.

Saika's haste spell made the first one easy. He wasn't expecting it until the metal band snicked closed around his forearm. Shouko tried to make it two for two, but as they grappled she felt her wings beginning to fray, feathers dissolving in the air as her concentration finally began to fail. She couldn't do it.

So she screamed a name. She'd tried to hand the scumbag's fate off to him once before, because if anyone deserved the right to claim victory it was Jorik, who's people had suffered so much at his hands.

The axe-wielding native surged forward, grabbing at the loose shackle and with a seemingly superhuman feat of precision it

clicked

around the villain's other wrist.

He stood there, mouth comically open as he stared down at his bound arms, before the enchantment surged to life and he was hauled bodily into the air, twisting and thrashing as he spat and snarled, until finally he vanished in a burst of light.

And then it was over. For some definitions of 'over.'

For her part, the world was a blur of colors and sounds as Shouko sank down to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself as they shook and her teeth chattered. Her stomach felt turned around as the energy of her and Shizuka's joint effort finally left her, the sensation of fire in her veins deserting her to leave them seemingly filled with icewater. For one horrible second, it felt like she'd left herself behind, a shell of a person, deserted by the soul within.

The others were talking, and Shouko pushed herself to her feet in an effort to look normal, and she even joined in, mouthing words of support for Jorik that echoed the burst of emotion she'd turned loose on Shizuka a scant few days ago. That a person couldn't blame oneself for failing to defend one's people when the odds were stacked against them. That it wasn't one person's fault, the evils perpetuated by another. That someone could fall short, and still be a good person, and worth saving.

She was getting good at saying that kind of thing.

Maybe someday she'd gather up the courage to say it to herself.

And at that thought, more than any threat placed in her path that day, the so-called Dauntless Heart quailed.

Hard to believe.

#kurze writes #Completely Normal RPG #Shouko #anime bullshit train revving at full throttle #Nazi CW #blood CW #this machine kills fascists #Chrono Trigger OST blares #excerpt from 'the Dark Angel' by Lionel Johnson #hue

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cherry-interlude · 6 years ago

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Top 10 Favourite Lana Del Rey Songs (Discography)

I’ve made posts like this before, discussing my favourite Lana Del Rey songs (or weakly ordering them despite the frequent alternations in which songs I like more), but I rarely seem to write at the moment so I thought I’d vaguely order my favourite Lana songs from her discography

10. Salvatore

This track is just a filler but I think it deserves much more, particularly as it is set apart from the rest of her music. The instrumentals and vocals, which are heavily Italian in nature, really set the scene for the beautiful landscape in which Lana is ‘working on her tan’, taking us away from the country she frequently sings of (though manages to reference it anyway) and into a different universe entirely, where the song gradually builds as does her seduction through the song. What sets this song apart is also the unusual laughing - or crying - at the start of the song which plays underneath the rest of the track, sounding like an old man who is either maniacally laughing or brokenly sobbing, which makes me wonder if he is whom Lana sings of, much to his enjoyment, or if she has left him, much to his agony, making this song’s layers become curios-er and curious-er.

9. The Blackest Day

This song is particularly special to me, not because I necessarily relate to it but because I have always been mesmerised by its beauty and emotion. It slipped through the cracks for me until I sat and listened to Honeymoon properly, and I thought it was incredible how Lana managed to convey her grief through the steadiness, building and falling along with her vocals, through the song, and it was heart-wrenching the first dozen times I heard the bridge which seemed as if Lana was losing her controlled tone from the verses. It’s an incredible track overall, with the references to Lana’s favourite musician and the way she mutters, wails and just purely sings, reminding me of the underrated Cruel World from a sadder perspective, making me wish she would sing this song live or at least push it into the spotlight along with the rest of her most-loved music.

8. Brooklyn Baby

I don’t listen to or particularly like songs I don’t relate to, particularly when they oppose me in nature - for example, This Is What Makes Us Girls - but Brooklyn Baby is one of Lana’s finest masterpieces in terms of music. It’s a charming song which strays from her dismal world of sublime sadness and instead perks up the album with a plucky guitar and Lana’s sweet vocals. Yet Lana’s vocals aren’t just sweet - they can be strong and breezy, as demonstrated in the pre-choruses - and it’s this that adds to the richness of the song. Understanding that Lana’s idea for the song is to be ironic makes it more bearable, yet it is great to hear the ridiculous claims of how no one is as cool as Lana, when compared to the much more adult and gritty opinions on ‘being the mistress’ or being abused yet nonetheless dedicated, which highlights this song as an enjoyable delight rather than a typically sad song.

7. Shades Of Cool

My terrible opinion of Shades Of Cool was, at first, that it was boring, not at all interesting and too weird for me to get my head around, yet giving it several listens really struck me just how incredible the song is, from the breathtaking music to Lana’s coy yet strong vocals - much like in Brooklyn Baby - to the emotive lyrics. Just the opening music to the track is enough to raise goosebumps, with the tentative steps that match her voice perfectly before it grows to an explosion of vocalising and music that seems to come from her heart rather than instruments. The clashing bridge is also now a favourite of mine, defiantly demonstrating her emotions as rather than being careful like in the verses instead being this strangely hypnotic noise, and I can say I was absolutely mistaken when I first claimed this to be a boring song.

6. Art Deco

The lyrics may be simple but somehow Art Deco never stops being one of my favourite tracks. The hypnotic music, which I describe as ‘aquatic’, sets the tone perfectly and automatically gives the feeling of calm on the listener, distancing from some of the more fiery tracks and instead is refreshing as a song. It doesn’t mean much in terms of lyrics, as the verses are just about the type of person I could never relate to, and the choruses are mostly basic, but the feeling the song gives me is incredible. The gradual build, with the final chorus feeling much more powerful and emotive than the rest of the song, leaves a flourishing finish, whilst maintaining the same feeling of contentment each time I listen to this song. What would make the song more perfect is if it had a music video or a live performance from Lana to bring that feeling and dreamy world to life.

5. Born To Die

There are many songs on Born To Die that I do love, but if I had to pick just one to put on this list, it would have to be the album’s title track. My favourite song on the album is Blue Jeans, yet this track somehow has more meaning to me personally rather than just the story I’m being told through the track I favour, and I can relate somewhat to Born To Die, for many reasons. What makes me like this song more is that it is one of the first which really made me listen to Lana Del Rey, with Young and Beautiful, Video Games and Put Me In A Movie being the first few, yet Born To Die was something else entirely and seemed to take me to another place that still felt in my world. The lyrics, which surely can be applied to many people and situations, always relate to me no matter who or what is surrounding me. There’s also the instrumental, the violins and the steps that lead into the verse, then the much more dramatic burst of the chorus which gives the song a film-feel, which is what I enjoy about Lana Del Rey’s music. It’s such a Lana Del Rey song, a memorable classic from her discography, and the greatest example of why she is brilliant when it comes to her music.

4. Ultraviolence

Because there are previous posts where I have talked about Ultraviolence, I won’t repeat what I’ve written but Ultraviolence is definitely one of Lana’s strongest songs in terms of music, as the clanging cacophony of chiming bells and shaky violins sets the tone perfectly, the slightly-off feel and the low-fi quality shows the instability and abusive romance, which doesn’t make this purely a song.

3. Cruel World

Like with the track Ultraviolence, I have gushed over Cruel World many times before, particularly when it comes to the luxuriously low-fi rumble of guitars, drums and Lana’s vocals which incredibly show her anger throughout the track, particularly when she claims she is “crazy”, an atmospheric track which is brilliant to listen to whenever you feel just as deranged as Lana within this song. It is one of Lana’s best songs by far, as passionate as it is sexy, as sad as it is empowering, and it paints the perfect image of Ultraviolence itself - unpolished yet undeniably brilliant, Lana’s finest album in terms of instrumentals.

2. Music To Watch Boys To

This track definitely managed to fight its way onto the list after years of not really listening to it as much as the rest of her music, yet Lana’s beautiful and unusual atmospheric aquatic dream, Music To Watch Boys To, is a hypnotic masterpiece and one of her best songs. It may be slow-paced and quiet song, a homage to the people that pass Lana by, but it’s a soothing, sensual track which includes different vocalisations that layer this song as much as her emotions do throughout it, whilst maintaining a cool, careless feel despite the theme of the song. The lyrics which keep the rich imagery often within Lana’s music make this the perfect glimpse into Lana’s mind, and the Fantasia-feel creates a world rather than merely a track.

1. Cherry

Though it isn’t impactful the same way as Lana’s stronger tracks such as Born To Die, Ultraviolence or her other well-known songs, it’s still a fan favourite and my own personal favourite. Though it keeps with the theme of sadness, unreliable people and Lana’s typically Del Rey imagery which she lists within the track, it’s still a seductive and strong song, twisting the idea of being broken into being able to be stronger from it, as Lana doesn’t lose her brilliance within this song. The instrumentals make this even better, with the Ultraviolence-feel of guitars and drums - though more polished - whilst maintaining the feel of Lana’s latest album.

#lana del rey #lana del rey songs #salvatore #honeymoon #the blackest day #brooklyn baby #ultraviolence #shades of cool #art deco #born to die #cruel world #music to watch boys to #cherry #lust for life #writing #my opinion

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offtoseewonderland-blog · 7 years ago

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# 7 “As a thank you” with Billy

Thank you so much for sending this in! I actually ended up really liking this one, which is new for me. I hope you all enjoy it too!

“Billy,” you whispered before shaking him again.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep.

“You’re welcome.”

He flashed you a quick smile and then crawled through your window like it was any other morning. As if he hadn’t just said “I love you” in fewer words.

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove fic #billy/reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery fic #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you

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grubsnuggle · 7 years ago

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Ninoir week day 1: Gay chicken

I did the prompt correctly, right?

right???

It was actually thanks to Alya that Nino met Chat Noir in the first place, though he was none too happy about it at the time. The fox had him pinned by his tail feathers, with her signature toothy grin and a coy remark about him staying for dinner. Nino had turned his head to face her, probably with some last ditch quip about playing with her food, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw something practically dive bombing the predator. At first glance, Nino was certain it was a raven, but as the burly bird turned its spurs on the surprised vixen, he realized it was in fact , his own kind. Alya cussed and ran off with a bloody muzzle, and Nino faced his savior.

The biggest, blackest cock he'd ever seen.

---

"So, you mean to tell me you have no flock? Or coop for that matter?" Nino interrogated the strange fowl, who had seemingly appeared from the woods.

The ebony rooster preened himself nonchalantly as he spoke. "I'm a free bird. I go where I want, when I want."

Nino remained weary, his feathers fluffing up. "How do I know you're not after any of my hens?"

The wild stranger sputtered mid preen, before erupting into raucous laughter. "I- *snort* what? You-Your hens? Pfffffft, what makes you think, think I'm after your hens-" Upon noticing Ninos unimpressed glare, he composed himself. "Sorry," he muttered. "Anyway, the name's Chat Noir. And you are..?"

"Nino. And, well since you did save my life, can I at least offer you something to eat? There's grain back at the ranch."

Chat grinned, and for a moment that air of overconfidence faded, leaving only honesty behind it. "Thanks, but I don't belong on a ranch. I live out here, taking care of myself, you know?" he turned and headed back toward the dense woods. But before he disappeared off into the undergrowth, he shouted. "But you can always come and find me!"

Nino was then left standing there, staring off into the bush where the so-called Chat Noir had sauntered off. He couldn't quite pinpoint what he was feeling about the free spirited, yet aloof bird. It was a little bit of annoyance, sure. But there was something else. Was it envy? Was he jealous of the fowls ability to live however he wanted?

---

Of all the hens in the flock, Nino always found himself able to confide in Rose and Juleka. The broody hens had patient ears and usually sound advice to offer. That day was certainly no exception as Nino paced back and forth before them, feathers in a ruffle and feet kicking up the dirt.

"I just don't get how a domestic animal like him can just... decide to be wild like that! Who's feeding him? How does he avoid getting eaten? Where's he sleep?"

Rose spoke up in her distinctive honey sweet tone. "Well, if he is black as night as you say, I suppose he blends in well enough to avoid foxes and hawks."

"Or perhaps," Juleka stated in her much calmer demeanor, "He's bluffing. He might just live in a neighbors coop and he's just lying to make a bigger cock of himself."

Nino gazed off towards the woods. He felt both a pull toward the forest, yet a great sense of unease. "I should go look for him."

The girls looked at each other with knowing grins. "If it's what it takes to satisfy your... curiosity." Rose chirped.

"Yeah, you won't be able to stop thinking about him if you don't." Juleka added in, "You won't sleep."

Convinced, Nino fluttered up to the top of the fence, staring off into the woods. "I'll be back by sundown. And I'm gonna bring that guy back with me."

---

Chat Noir was alone. What else was new. Flapping his wings to create lift, he scurried up the incline of a tree trunk, finding a comfortable branch to rest on as the western sky began to turn pink. A deep shadow overtook the forest floor. Great for camouflage, were the chicken capable of seeing in the dark to take advantage of his coloration. All there was to do at this point was sleep and hope the foliage gave him protection from owls.

As his eyelids grew heavy, the distance scream of a vixen jolted him back awake. Was it perhaps that coy mink that he had scratched up earlier that day? That fox hadn't been the one he'd been tracking for a few days now, the one whos gullet his mother had disappeared down. He was now far from home, and wondering if he ever would catch that monster.

He then wondered about the other rooster he had saved from that vixen. Nino? He had offered him food in return for saving him. Now Chat contemplated his empty stomach, and cursed himself for not accepting the offer. He had been so preoccupied with making himself sound impressive. Why was he even trying to sound so cool in the first place? There was a slim chance he'd ever meet the other bird again.

But fate had a funny sense of irony. None other than Nino passed beneath his branch, completely unaware of his presence. Fate was giving him another chance! With a whoop and a crow, he leaped off, fluttering down to meet his visitor.

---

Nino practically jumped out of his own skin when Chat once again seemed to appear out of nowhere, dropping from above like the sky had hurled him down. "Could you maybe stop doing that?"

"Can't help it, I am a spirit of the night-"

"No, you are not, you are a chicken!" Nino shouted. "Chickens don't live out in the wilderness, and they don't live alone. So what's your deal, huh? Why are you out here."

Chat hesitated with his answer. He could lie, but Ninos patient stare told him it probably wouldn't work anyways. "I'm...chasing a fox." He said, the quiet in his voice starkly contrasting his cocky attitude from before. "It ate my mother. I just felt like it couldn't just get away with it, so I left my flock." Chat's eyes were distant now, as he tried to remember where he had been. "Can't really say I can find my way back, now."

There was a long heavy pause between the birds. "You know," Nino started, "Even if you do manage to take out that fox, it's not going to bring her back."

Chat avoided his gaze. "Avenging her might help her soul rest."

It was impossible for Nino to remain cross with Chat now. Poor guy with good intentions. "Well, think of her soul now. She must be pretty restless seeing her chick alone and hungry in the woods." Nino turned back toward the ranch. "And the suns almost down. Why don't you come back with me? At least there's food. Grain, mealworms, berries,"

Now painfully aware of his hunger, Chat finally conceded. "Well, if only for a while. Can't remember the last time I've tasted a blackberry."

"Berries as black as you are. Fitting." Nino chuckled. As the two made their way back, something was nagging in Ninos mind. "Hey. How did you get a name like 'Chat Noir' anyways? Were you a show bird?"

Chat laughed. "I was going to be, actually. The rooster who sired me was. My mother told me we're a valuable breed around here." There was no boasting in his voice this time around, and Nino believed him. "But really." Chat said, "The name my mama gave me is Adrien."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Adrien."

#ninoir week #lemu writing #ninoir

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techmaestro · 7 years ago

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How do you run your blog?

Repost; Do Not Reblog

Speed: Oh jesus um. So you have two modes with me. Either I’m ON IT and I’m going at the speed of lightning and you’ll get about 50 replies in 2 days, or I’m really really not, and you’ll wonder if I died and all that’s left of me but my queue for a month. This NEVER means that I’ve dropped things, it just means, you know, my timing is kind of terribad.

Replies: Okay so I have a tendency to talk, a LOT, but this doesn’t always translate to long replies. I don’t do a lot of internal conflict, as I learned VERY EARLY in my RP career to not do that because you didn’t want to accidentally influence the other author if they have even a bit of trouble keeping [what they read off their character. This means that my replies tend to be very clean, everything that a person will see on the surface of my muse, what they say and do without the context or the implications of what they’re doing it for. This also means that they are often shorter, though this does not mean they lack content.

I’m just extremely careful, reflexively these days, to only give the other player what they need to know in context of a thread. Any discussions between players are welcome of course, and if someone is telepathic I will start throwing thought patterns at another player, but largely, my replies are always very, shall we say, physical? Movement, intonation, expressions, surroundings. I will admit this tends to err me toward being slightly shorter than my partners though.

Starters: You will have more context than you know what to fucking do with. To explain, when I give starters, especially when I’m really excited, it might very well be the longest post in the thread from me because I’ll often give lead up or universe details or something of that nature, all dependent on exactly how far astray a muse or AU IS from the typical MCU. Also, I answer when people pelt me with random starters, though for the love of god, ping me in them or I might not see it for weeks.

Inbox: I keep this sucker empty, and I answer everything. Primarily with Tony mind, so OOC stuff should be pretty clear if you don’t want it to hit my dash. I tend to use messages for player chatter more than my inbox, not gonna lie.

Selectivity: Ummm. How to describe this....I’m shit at reaching out unless I’ve gotten REALLY attached to you and talk to you off tumblr a lot. However, I accept all comers. If you come talk to me and want to plot with me, I’m game. I will ask you questions. I will probably be a little scary intense as I work out exactly what I can do with you. However, this is not me being unwelcoming. This is just how I uh, plot. -waves a hand- I don’t even attempt to keep track of who my mutuals are because I have so many people I follow and am followed by, so that’s never a concern for me. I don’t expect people to play with me either, and I know I don’t often follow everyone I’m threading with because that would make my head explode.

In other words, you’re welcome to try your luck, and we’ll see how it goes, yeah?

Wishlist item: Some of my more obscure AUs REALLY need some love, just saying.

Honest note: I am probably terrifying from a distance, but if you get too close I’ll either be a wall or a hugmonster who never lets you leave my vicinity again. It’s a toss-up and always depends on how adaptable someone is. I don’t try to temper myself, though I make the attempt to be sensitive to the needs of other to a degree. Also, if anyone ever tries to throw anon bullshit my way I always let the muses handle it, so it never seems to get anywhere. Frankly, I’m bad at realizing when people are trying that because of that habit, no lie.

Tagged by: @the-blackest-spider

#meme answer

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ecotone99 · 6 years ago

Text

[HM] A Quid.

There was a guy called Harry. He would walk to work everyday. He had been doing so for about 8 years. Infact, it was 8 years today that he had made the same walk to work. It was a short walk that took about 15-20 minutes depending on how busy the streets were and how lucky he got with the traffic lights. Everyday Harry would see the same people. The same people walking to the same places at the same times. The same people standing outside the same buildings, just minding their own business.

One day Harry left a little earlier than usual, not much earlier, maybe just a couple of minutes earlier. He didn't leave earlier on purpose though. He only realized it was earlier because the shapes around him were different. Maybe they were different people, or maybe they were the same people but they were at different distances compared to his normal journey. This made him look around more than normal. He liked it, he liked that things were slightly different, it felt fresh. That’s when he noticed it. An alleyway he had never noticed before.

He must have been walking past it everyday for 8 years. He tried to look it up on google, but it wasn’t there. If it was he couldn’t make it out. It just looked like a load of buildings bunched up. A couple of days passed and each time he walked down that road he would glance down the alleyway. It looked long, but it was very narrow so it was hard to tell where it ended. He initially assumed it was just a parking space for one of the adjoining buildings, but it looked too narrow to fit even a small car in. He looked at google maps again but this time he tried to picture an alleyway. He squinted his eyes while imagining the alleyway. Assuming it was an alleyway that lead somewhere, where could it lead to? He figured if it did have an exit he could use it as a different route to work, he had been making the same journey for 8 years and he would love to mix it up a bit, get a different bit of scenery, see different people. So he decided tomorrow would be the day he would try the alleyway.

The day had come. Harry left the house 20 minutes early this time, just incase the alley took him in a circle or he had to backtrack on himself. He started off his walk as normal. He felt different. Instead of staring down at his feet he was looking up, looking around. He wondered what he might find down the alley, maybe he would get to walk past a tree rather then just more grey buildings. But maybe it would just lead to a puddle of piss and a dead end. Either way he was about to find out. He turned down the alley, it was long and narrow but looked like it would open up at the end. There was a van parked at the end of the alley. Did the van somehow manage to turn down the narrow path way? No, there was no way that would fit. That meant there had to be an exit the other side. And he was right. At the end was another narrow walkway, but this one was on a proper street, with a nice cobbled road. And in the distance he could see a turning that would lead to his office. This was perfect, he had discovered another route to work. A much quieter, more quaint route to work. And then… Something magical happened. He looked down. There was a quid on the floor. This morning couldn’t get any better. He couldn’t believe his fucking luck.

He had a quick look around just to make sure no one had walked past and dropped it. Nope, there was no one apart from himself walking. There were a few people nearby but they were just hanging around outside some of the buildings, minding their own business. He leant down to pick it up but was quickly stopped by a voice. “Wouldn’t do that mate. I wouldn’t wanna be the one to do that. Just leave it. Just leave it”. Harry

immediately reacted with an apology “Oh sorry”. Harry assumed the man had dropped it or something. He carried on down the street but the rest of his walk was a bit of a downer. Anyway the good news was this route got him to work 5 minutes quicker. 8 years he had been taking a longer route. He didn’t want to think about what the amount of wasted time that would add up to. Luckily he was a lazy fucker and couldn't be bothered to do the maths.

Throughout the day that slightly awkward encounter Harry had earlier kept bothering him. He wanted to take that same route tomorrow as it was quicker, quieter and just generally more pleasant. So Harry decided he wouldn’t let it bother him. He didn’t do anything wrong so why should he let it bother him? But then maybe he should have picked it up and gave it to the bloke? Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day. Harry’s alarm went off at the normal time. 7:20am. But then he remembered the alley way. It got him to work 5 minutes quicker. So he hit the snooze button. But he forgot how long the snooze button actually snoozes for. So he didn't get the extra 5 minutes sleep. Harry was mentally preparing for his journey. He planned to give a little nod and smile to the people he saw. Seeing as he might walk past them everyday now it made sense to make friendly with the locals. Harry felt good. This small change to his routine would make a big difference. He took the turning down the alley, he wondered if some of the people who took his normal route would notice and start doing the same. Just as he thought that, something caught his eye. It was the pound coin from yesterday. Still in the same spot. The same people were standing around outside just chatting amongst themselves again. No one was paying attention to it, to the pound coin. But as he stopped walking and stared at the coin. The man from yesterday looked at Harry. He raised his eyebrows to Harry as if to say, “Just leave it”.

The next few days he took that same route, this time noticing but ignoring the pound coin on the floor. It hadn’t moved, not even an inch. He started getting a few smiles and pleasant nods from the locals he would see. It was a great start to his morning. But as things started to settle,as the days passed, as he got use to the new journey to work. The coin started to pop into his head, it has started to bother him. “Why had no one picked it?” up Harry kept thinking to himself. Maybe it had gum on the bottom, so it was stuck and just wouldn’t budge. That could be it, that bloke told him not to pick it up to save Harry from embarrassing himself. Or maybe the man was playing a trick on someone, He was waiting for one of his mates to walk past and try pick it up, but it would be stuck to the ground. That had to be it. It’s a good little joke. Maybe soon he would be pals with him and they could laugh about it together.

The next few days he carried on as normal. Sharing pleasantries with the locals. Until again his mind started to wander. The coin was still there. Surely if it was a prank it would have been over by now. So that was it. Tomorrow he was gonna move the coin. Harry had a plan. He would give it a very slight nudge with his foot as he walked past just to check it wasn’t stuck. If it wasn’t stuck and it moved he could then just bend over and pick it up. And if the bloke questions it. He will just ask what the problem is? If it’s really a problem he will just put it back. No big deal.

Tomorrow came. Today was the day Harry would be a pound richer. He left the house and started walking. He played out his plan in his head but before he new it there it was. The pound coin. He needed to time his walk perfect. So that his foot would be in the right position to kick the coin as he walked past. He didn’t want to have to do an awkward little shuffle to get the timing right. Then it would be obvious what he was doing. But his stride was perfect, Harrys foot met the coin like a perfect golf swing. But the coin didn’t move. It didn’t feel totally stuck. He felt something, but it didn’t move. It was almost like a magnet was pulling it down or something. It didn’t feel like it was glued or stuck down. He turned around and went for it. He grabbed the coin and gave it a good pull. He was right. It started to move but it felt like it was being pulled down with a magnet. He pulled out his office keys and managed to slide the edge of one underneath the coin. He used it like a crowbar to pull it away from the floor. He made enough room to get his finger underneath and thumb on top. Harry pulled. Success! He had the coin. It was pristine, gold in colour but made of a mixture of copper, nickel and zinc.

The bloke from before immediately ran over in a panic, screaming “What have you done!?” “You fucking idiot! What have you done!?” The rest of the locals overheard this and the panic began to spread. “You’ve doomed us all!” he heard one woman scream. Off in the distance Harry could hear the terror start to domino. He could hear screams, crying, violence and even laughter. Fires started, smoke billowed in the distance and the sound of smashing glass could be heard everywhere around him. A woman nearby pulled down a passerbys trousers and forced herself on him. What the fuck was happening? Harry asked the man who was staring in disbelief at the floor. “What the fuck is happening?” Harry looked down where the coin previously sat. There was a tiny little black hole. Barely the size of a pinhead. It was the blackest thing Harry had ever seen. Inside it, was everything and nothing. As he looked around, the street suddenly looked more narrow than it did before. His gut sank. Literally, his guy sank. His intenstines spilled out from his anus. Everything around was being pulled towards the hole. Harrys screams of pain started to distort and below into a repeating deep echoing noise. The hole was swallowing everything in existence. Even concepts like time and feelings started to manifest and merge with each other before breaking apart and merging again. An orange liquid bled from the hole. Atleast that was the only way to attempt to describe what was happening. Logic itself had broken and what replaced everything, was nothing. Everything that had been in the past, the future and outside of time itself was an ocean of orange liquid that rested still in a strange open space of metaphysical nothingness.

So next time you see a quid on the floor. Just leave it.

submitted by /u/letshavefunevery1 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2UtRAWP

#Blogger #Story

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alis-grave-nils · 7 years ago

Text

The Fresh Roast

Pairing: NinexRose

Rating: T

Words: 1,468

Chapters: 1/?

Fanfiction AO3

To say that John Noble loved his job would be...an overstatement. A corner coffee shop would not have been his first choice in career when he was younger, in fact, he thought it was a job only reserved for high school students and recent college graduates, but life had thrown him a few surprising curve balls that had meant he settled.

A recently retired military man, John had done a few tours in the royal navy and hadn’t had much experience in anything besides as he had gone straight in after his AS levels. Not many places would hire him without his A levels, and as his parents had recently passed away and left their estate to his sister, Donna and him, he was too busy to study for his tests.

He had to find a way of making a living somehow, as he didn’t want to live in his parents’ house forever. Too many sad memories in the place, and besides, there would be another family that would find it far more beneficial than the thirty-seven year old bachelor. His sister had suggested this place to him as she saw it on her way to the office she was temping at this month, and saw there was a help wanted sign in the window.

The owner was a randy American man named Jack who was younger than him by a few years, and had only asked him a few simple questions before proclaiming John Noble hired. It had nothing to do with qualifications, he found out, and more to do with the fact that the owner like a bit of a drink and didn’t want to come in early with a hangover. A perfect situation for John, as he was used to being an early riser from his years in the navy.

The Fresh Roast was a dingy venue with a much too bright neon sign, a first business venture opportunity that the American had seized at without taking much look at the fine print. The space was small, dimly lit, and in need of a good scrubbing. Still, Jack had managed to make do with what he had by adding some solid wooden tables and chairs for customers to sip their beverages at; a decent wi-fi connection for the students and the business go-ers; a cheerful wallpaper; and some good coffee.

So, every day at five a.m. he arrived to the coffee shop and unlocked the doors. He brewed a fresh pot of coffee for himself and made sure all the supplies were well stocked. Today had been a normal day of operations: the usuals coming in for their hazelnut lattes, the mothers stopping off for their childrens’ steamed milk before school, and the students needing the blackest coffee available to deal with their lack of sleep.

It was here that John laid eyes on the most beautiful woman that had ever crossed his sights. The spotty flourescents framed her blonde waves, giving her a surprising ethereal glow. She was dressed in a soft brown leather jacket over a mustard yellow top, and her warm brown eyes sparkled when she greeted him.

“Hello!” he greeted her more cheerfully than the usual paying customer, with a daft grin gracing his lips. “What can I get for you?”

“Latte, please,” she requested in a voice tone that matched her warm eyes. “Lord knows I’ll need it.”

“Where are you headin’ off to at this hour?” he asked conversationally, ringing up her purchase.

She sighed. “I have an eight o’ clock clinical at the hospital.”

“Student?” he asked.

“Yeah, down at University of London,” she told him. Her gaze held him for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“That’ll be 3 pounds. And can I get a name?”

“It’s Rose,” she told him, grinning as she handed over the notes. “Thanks, John.”

He was about to ask how she knew his name, before he remembered he was wearing a bloody nametag on his apron. “Do you like it?” he asked instead.

“What?” she asked. “The clinical?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh! Yeah, I mean, I wanted to be a doctor. I want to help save people after my dad died,” Rose said. “Ya gonna give me the change?” she joked, motioning to where John still clenched the pound notes in his fist.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, hitting the register button to make the drawer spring open and he sighed when it jammed again. John sighed. “Hang on, it’ll just be a mo’. This happens sometimes.”

He reached inside his apron pocket where he kept a screwdriver to jimmy the sides of the drawer to catch the latches. He bent down to see what he was doing, twisting the tool side to side when suddenly he heard a pop! and had the unfortunate pleasure of the drawer smashing into his already obtrusive nose.

Rose gasped. “Are you alright?”

John popped up with a grin, waggling his fingers at her. “Yeah. Just clipped me barely,” he lied smoothly as the pain in his nose roared through his ears and he silently cursed any god that would listen about this god-forsaken place.

With a nod of determination, he placed the pound notes into the drawer and quickly did the math in his head of her change, before thrusting it happily towards her. “Right, Rose. I’ll have that latte right out for you if you want to wait on the other side of the counter. Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” she said sincerely. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, her eyes holding deep concern and her lips pursing slightly. “Maybe you should get some ice. It looks really red, mate.”

“It’s really fine,” he told her again, before turning on his heel and silently kicking himself for the embarrassment he caused himself. What was he playing at? He was behaving like a school boy with his first crush. Just ask her out- just

“Excuse me?” came a snide voice from behind him. “If you’re quite done flirting with that woman, I’d like to use this coupon.”

“I’ll be with you in just a mo’,” he promised, while shuddering internally at the word ‘coupon’. Coupons were more trouble than they were worth, and he usually ended up getting frustrated and giving up at any attempt to reason with the customer.

John quickly started steaming the milk required for Rose’s latte and poured the coffee into a to-go cup he hastily labeled with her name on it, scrawling a tiny smiley face on her cup before shaking his head at his own stupidity and crossing it out in a mad scribble.

He poured the steamed milk into the cup and set it down in front of her patient, smiling face. He was about to say something else before the woman at the register cleared her throat impatiently, grating on his nerves. With a shrug of his shoulder and a mumbled “Sorry”, he turned his attention away from her and towards the coupon lady.

With the best smile he could muster, John asked, “What is the coupon, ma’am?”

She thrust a crumpled, water stained, and slightly torn piece of paper in his face so close to him that his eyes crossed trying to read what it said. Her hand brushed against his injured nose, and he had to breath deeply to keep himself from cursing out loud. He gently reached up to grab the paper and move it to a reasonable distance to read it, only to wonder who he had pissed off for this woman to be trying to use a two years past expiration date coupon.

“Ma’am,” he said as politely as he could, “I’m afraid I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?” she roared. “I bet if I was that young blonde woman you would have accepted it!” She sniffed, her nose upturned in the air.

“Actually,” John said calmly. “I wouldn’t. It’s two years past expiration.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault is it?” she continued with a huff. “Didn’t know you existed, did I, until just last week?”

“Be that as it may, I can’t take it.” John placed it onto the counter top. “But, I would be happy to make you a coffee.”

“I don’t want it if it’s not free!” she shouted. “Where is your manager? Let me speak to him!”

“My manager would tell you the same thing,” he told her. “He isn’t in right now.”

“What sort of place is he running here?!” she demanded. “Leaving a man like you in charge of his business while he’s off galivanting, no doubt-”

It was here John Noble lost his temper, and spent the next thirty minutes in heated debate that he knew would probably get them a bloody awful Yelp review. Stupid technology. By the time the lady had left, Rose was gone.

#ninth doctorxrose #ninth doctorxrose tyler #ninexrose #nine x rose #ninth doctor #rose tyler #jack harkness #donna noble #fanfiction #fanfic #mine #coffee shop au #realistic #ish?

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