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hoaqins-funk-house · 4 years ago

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Hoaqin/White

Yandere

Part 3

Walking through the halls, the other Hoaqin stays at your side. It seemed he had also gotten attached. “Y/N. I’m hungry.”

“You’re very similar to the other you. As for food, I’d ask the two behind us.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder. “Hey… I’m a bit hungry. Do either of you have something to eat?”

They freeze. “Wh-what do you mean by that...?”

“Like snacks.”

Yihwa pauses to look through her bag as Wangnan breathes a sigh of relief. “We have some snacks here.”

She hands him banana chips, you raising an eyebrow.

“Banana-shaped chips? Aren’t those for children?”

“Try them.” She urges, him shrugging and doing so.

“Oh, not bad. Thank you.” Holding the bag, he continues on down the hall, looking back at you in order to spur you into movement once more.

Loud rumbling fills the hall as you walk along, the Hoaqin at your side looking in the direction of its origin. “It’s not another me. Let’s go check it out.”

You crack your neck, looking in the same direction as him. “Sure.”

Wangnan and Yihwa look at each other, worried, soon running to catch up to you and Hoaqin.

“It isn’t the smartest decision to have such a loud fight on this dangerous train, is it?”

You look around at the group, seeing the angel lady and dog guy near two women and a small crocodilian.

“Mr. Crocodile!” Yihwa shouts. “Where’s Bam?!”

Hoaqin turns. “You’re their acquaintances?”

The dog guy turns to face your new group and Wangnan stutters out an answer.

“Is it possible that you’re another Hoaqin, sir?” He asks, the boy at your side confirming it.

“If you both know who I am, you must know the other me. Why are you fighting?”

Your eyes met with the crocodilian, him tilting his head at you. You both look away at the same time, seeing as a gargantuan sword made of white energy floated above Hoaqin. Your eyebrows raise, impressed. “Woah.”

“The ones who fed me are who I will side with. This situation may be unknown to me, but if you’re an enemy of theirs, I will not hesitate to slice you with this.” He threatens, the angel lady stammering as the blade gets pointed her way. “So, tell me. Are you an enemy? Or an ally?”

Before she can answer, the familiar voice of Hoaqin breaks the tense silence.

“Vicente!” He shouts, eyes widening before shifting into a glare at the sight of you next to him. “So, you’re the second one. It’s been a while! The first time seeing each other since we were one.” His grin was unnerving, not matching the anger that filled his eyes. “We need to become one.”

Vicente hums. “Right now?”

“Yes, a new Slayer Nominee has appeared, and everything has fallen apart. His name is Jue Viole Grace. We have to compete for the title of Slayer Nominee! Now, let’s become one, so we can defeat that bastard!”

Looking at the ground, Vicente stays quiet for a moment. “Okay. But if we do… who’s going to vanish?”

Hoaqin hesitates. “H-huh? What do you mean by that? We’re one, but many! It’s not like one lives and the other disappears! All we want is to be the perfect sword!”

“No.” Vicente states. “It’s only been you. You were the one living as a perfect sword. More than one soul cannot be awake in one body, so the others were asleep.”

Hoaqin’s lips twitch into a snarl, eyes glancing over to you, who was now next to the crocodile. By the time he was looking back to Vicente, he had continued to speak. “After we split, and got sealed in that unstable condition, I realized. I wasn’t awake for all of the years you climbed. It was only you, claiming the throne, and using our powers.”

Hoaqin grits his teeth.

“It’s my turn now, Hoaqin. I’ll be the next slayer, and I’ll cut off our father’s head, and make him look back at me.”

“So, if you want to be awake, do you plan on eating me or something?!” Hoaqin laughs, jumping into the air. “Cut the crap!”

“Daniel, take out the small fry!” He orders, Daniel readying his abilities as the crocodile by your side rushes forward, meeting him in the middle.

A large explosion rings out in the center, Hoaqin and Vicente having struck each other’s blades.

Hoaqin begins to shout at the other boy, you watching passively as Wangnan rushes forward with the knife he had threatened you with, striking Vicente through the heart. He vanishes right after, Hoaqin’s eyes wide. “He vanished? What the hell did you do, blondie?!”

“Yihwa, burn ‘em all!” He shouts, charging away as the flames explode. He was followed by the others, you slightly disappointed by not being able to get the crocodile’s name. He seemed interesting.

Hoaqin cuts through the flame, bolting forwards before getting stopped as the path shifts, obscuring the retreating group from view.

“Damn it! I was so close!” Hoaqin shouts, slashing at the new wall and scarring it. Walking over, you place a hand on his shoulder, him looking back (and up) at you. “Y/N...“

He sighs angrily. “Well, at least I got you back. Still, I was so damn close! That yellow guy just took him and ran!” He grumbles, grabbing your hand as he steps away and striding forward, you following without resistance. He turns down a hall, trailed by the normal group of evil-doers that followed him. “At this rate, how can I become one?!”

“Calm down, Hoaqin. Let’s go to the test, we need to get to the next floor anyway.” Daniel suggests.

He clicks his tongue, continuing down the hall.

"Wait, Rachel." Her head perks up as Hoaqin speaks, him still holding your hand. "Do you happen to know where the other copies are?"

You glance back at the blonde woman, her nodding. "A-ah, Emily knows where they were sealed, but they all seem to have gotten out…"

He huffs. “So, locating them exactly is out of the question, huh?”

She nods again. “Unfortunately, it seems so…”

“Then who let them out…?” He mumbles, head lifting as a young girl’s voice calls his name. “What?”

You turn before he does, releasing his hand in order to approach her, tilting your head as you crouch down in front of her. You glance over your shoulder as Hoaqin jogs over, soon facing the girl again.

“Anna?! Is that you?” Hoaqin asks, her slowly nodding as she looks at him, soon refocusing on you.

“Who are you?”

“Me? Well… I’m Y/N.” You answer, mindlessly scratching your head as you stand up once more, looking down as Anna grabs the edge of your sleeve, her other arm still wrapped around her rabbit plushie.

Hmm… every Hoaqin piece seems to like you. You’re like a Hoaqin whisperer.

Hoaqin grabs your hand once more, pulling you and Anna along.

“Why does she get to ride on your back?” Hoaqin pouts, you sending him an amused glance.

“She asked.”

Anna was on your back as you continued your trek, sound asleep while you carried her bunny for her. Looking around the group, you noticed the missing man, saying nothing.

“Any idea of how close we are to the match?” You ask, Rachel answering.

“About a week away. We still have a bit of traveling to do, so we’ll probably make it just in time.”

You hum. “That’s good to hear.”

Hoaqin glances up at your peaceful face, wondering. You seemed more expressive since getting out of that room. It was still rather rare for you to show emotion, but you seemed less lifeless and more just unemotional. It wasn’t as worrisome to see your expression never move, as the face it never moved from was warmer.

That was another thing he noticed…

You were a rather warm person.

When describing how you were in your past, you portrayed yourself as a workaholic who was cold and uncaring, but this present view of you seemed to be diverging from that path. Now, even if only through your eyes, you showed something. Before, you had slept so much it felt like he never got to see your eyes, but now you were awake. You were doing something, you were tagging along with him, you were helping one of his pieces. Quite frankly, he couldn’t wait to become whole once again, because as he had told you countless times, you would be his.

He wants your smile, your frown, your expressions, your emotion. He wants to see it all, He wants to have it all.

He wants you.

Every bit of you.

He just needs to become one.

Approaching a sudden drop to an arena with Anna still practically attached to your hip, Hoaqin was… also practically attached to your hip. He wasn’t holding your hand, though.

“It seems like Jue Viole Grace has yet to show himself.” Hoaqin states. “Let’s hope he doesn’t chicken out.”

You yawn, rubbing your neck with your free hand as you observe the large arena

“Did that bastard really run?”

“Hah! As if Viole would be afraid of a kid like you. Watch what you say.” Wangnan calls, from another entrance. “Even if it’s not Viole, we’ll beat you!”

Hoaqin gawks at the other team. “Vicente! Seriously?! You teamed up with those weaklings?! How far are you willing to go to beat me?!”

Your eyes fall to the girl at your side, who seems slightly conflicted as she stares at another one of her brothers.

Suddenly, you look up, feeling a surge in Shinsu a moment before it strikes down onto the center platform like lightning. A small group of people appears, including that red guide you had met a bit ago before Hoaqin dragged you away from her.

“That’s Viole…” Hoaqin mumbles… a frown on his face.

“Is Viole the black-haired one?” You ask, Hoaqin nodding.

“Now Anna; that guy, Viole? He’s our enemy.”

Anna finally separates from you as she follows Hoaqin’s lead in standing at the edge of the hall, looking down at them. “As always, a loud entrance, Jue Viole Grace.” He laughs. “I almost thought you were chickening out! I can respect your courage. Still, you’ll soon regret your decision to stay.”

Right as he finished, Vicente’s group began to shout at the new arrivals, filled with 'welcome back's and a shout of betrayal from the crocodile.

Everyone went quiet as the man floating above the arena where Viole stood began to speak. He seemed to be the moderator.

"Now that the participating Regulars have gathered, we'll begin the event." He pauses for a moment, seemingly gathering his voice. "Hell Train Stage 4! The fight for the title of Slayer Nominee! A deathmatch! The test for this floor will be-"

The screen behind him shows a golden coin, the words 'Dallar Show!' scrawled beneath in a swirly handwriting. "The Dallar Show!" He finishes.

You stare up as he continues explaining the game, uncaring to its history and relation to the 10 Great Families. In your experience, most of their kin were stuck-up and snobbish. They were the ones you gave up on approaching to form teams.

The Arie in front of you was… not prideful in his family so much as his own abilities, which, to be fair, did hold up.

"This test will have 3 rounds, with each consecutive round needing you to use the Dallars you earned in the previous! You can see this as a point-saving type of game!"

You hum, looking at Viole's group. Viole himself seemed to be the strongest of them, if his entrance meant anything, but he had a serious case of baby face that made you doubt his ability to kill.

“Every regular will have Dallars given to them, and their teams sum will equal the opposing team's. Wangnan and Viole's groups will be merged and counted as one. The first round will take place here."

You continue to ignore him, still uncaring of the rules, only zoning back in as the Dallar on screen began to spin, glowing a bright white that blotted out your vision. Falling coins then came to your sight, and you got one marked with a 2.

"Let's begin the first round! The reward for this is 15 Dallars, and due to it being the first round, only two from each team will participate! If you have 10 Dallars, step up!"

You obviously didn't have it, but it appears Rachel and the dog guy did. You never really spoke to him enough to care about learning his name, but Rachel seemed to want to talk to you a lot. Thankfully, Hoaqin was there to be jealous and pull you away from her.

There was just… something off about that girl.

“Let’s begin the first round! 10 Dallar Regulars, please get down to the stadium!”

As they do so, Anna steps back to pull you forward, sitting down on the edge with her legs swinging over it, you joining her. Hoaqin sits on your other side, looking over the roster for the battle.

“We aren’t going to win this one.” You proclaim, Hoaqin raising an eyebrow.

“What makes you say so?”

“The woman with candy; look at how she’s muttering and glaring at the dog guy. She’ll go after him, and I doubt this battle will just be as simple as catching a little fish, which Rachel doesn’t seem to realize. I can sense its Shinsu, and it's compressed. The blue guy knows what he’s doing; he’s probably the second most dangerous after Viole, just based on his intelligence. His posture is completely relaxed, confident. Even if Rachel knows that the fish isn’t just a guppy, she’ll have no chance to catch it; her lighthouses aren’t strong enough.” You explain, Hoaqin’s expression growing impressed.

“Hmm… you make a strong point. Let’s see how this goes.”

The moment the battle begins, the candy lady launches at the dog guy, and the blue guy begins to speak to Rachel, allowing her a chance to catch the fish. You gently shake your head, laying back. “This battle was over before it even started.”

Hoaqin would admit; he was impressed. Your quick, accurate deductions weren’t something that just anyone could do. You were smart, that much was clear.

“Hmph. Pathetic.” He watches as the suddenly enlarged fish flies up, its roar echoing as it focuses on the one who fished it out, beginning its descent in order to swallow her whole.

It was stopped by the Khun, whose lighthouses swung around it, catching it in an invisible prison. He says a few words to her collapsed form, her fists clenching against the floor.

“Khun Aguero Agnes caught the Sweetfish! The round goes to Viole Grace’s team! All participating Regulars, please return to your teams!”

After a brief pause, the participants returned to the hall, you having stood up with your Hoaqins doing the same. Hoaqin’s eyes trail after Rachel as she passes, ignoring the dog guy. “It was an interesting match. You’ve shown how pathetic you are, and it really makes me wonder… just how did you get up here? I suppose I should’ve been more careful when designating you as a useful one.”

His vague smile grows more into a sneer, one only she could see. “Don’t even think of participating in any more matches. You won’t be anywhere near me in battle unless you want to be missing a limb.” The threat was clear. He was trying to keep her from the one person Hoaqin had been around for so long, someone whose abilities she was doing her best to gauge.

You.

Her golden eyes meet yours for a moment, quickly looking away. Your eyebrow raises as you stare at her back, your gaze then shifting to the white boy at your side, his normal cocky grin on his lips.

Your attention is drawn back to the arena momentarily as a 20 minute break is announced, you taking the chance to lean against the wall and sit down. Your group broke off into smaller pairs, Hoaqin’s pieces gravitating in your direction. You close your eyes as Anna sits down next to you, leaning into your side. You don’t react any further as Hoaqin joins you both, laying his head in your lap.

And with that, you took a small nap, at least until the platform you were on started to move. You got the Hoaqins off of you and stood up as the floor slid away from the walls, everything beginning to shift as a cage with hostages came into view, hanging above you. Pipes filled the area, twisting and coiling around the empty space, surrounding a brightly glowing core that seemingly beat, thrumming with life.

“Welcome!” The announcer, moderator guy calls out. “This is the stage for the second round!”

You peeked over the edge, watching the core with dull fascination. It reminded you much of a human heart, its steady pulses copying the rhythm. Mesmerizing…

You lift your head as you end up in a pipe. “Huh. That was sudden.”

Looking around, you don’t see anyone near you. “Well. This blows.”

Sighing, you begin to walk in the direction of where you sensed Hoaqin and Anna’s Shinsu.

Then you sensed Vicente’s Shinsu.

Then you sensed another signature, similar to the other pieces of the whole.

It was weird, to be fully honest, and you didn’t think about it too much as you flipped and spun your Dallar, continuing to walk. Staring at the ceiling as you meander forwards, you come to a stop as the pieces’ Shinsu vanishes, the hair on the back of your neck standing as a cold wave of power hits you, its center being Hoaqin.

“Did he actually…?” You mumble, looking down the dark pipe. “I should probably pick up my pace…” Humming, you begin to run, brows furrowed. “It doesn’t seem like he’s fully one, as his power isn’t too overwhelming, but I could guess he got the three that I sensed.” You speak, organizing your thoughts. “Then where’s the last-” You come to a stop as a girl floats in front of you.

“-one. Are you the last sibling?” You ask, her floating in a circle around you, observing.

“I’m impressed you figured it out so quick. Yes, I am.” She smiles, moving closer to you. “I can see why Hoaqin and the others found you so interesting.”

“Really, because I can’t.” You sigh. “It’s been nice meeting you, but Hoaqin just ate his other siblings and I doubt it’ll be long ‘til he sees you. You seem strong though.”

Her smile widens. “Thank you. But I’m afraid it wouldn’t be wise to leave just yet. Hoaqin and Jue Viole Grace have just met again. It’s not safe for you.”

You stretch your neck. “If I’m confident in one thing, it’s my defense. Nothing has been able to penetrate it since the 20th floor, but if you say it’s unsafe, I suppose I’ll listen.” You sit down again, her landing in front of you and sitting on her knees.

“This battle won’t last for very long, but I’ll bring you straight to the core afterwards.”

“Oh, good. Hoaqin probably wouldn’t be too happy if I up and disappeared again. Well, if I stayed gone.”

“Are you ever gonna call him his Slayer name?” She asks, tilting her head.

“Did he ever mention his Slayer name…? I can’t remember. I’ll probably just call him Hoaqin until he tells me to call him otherwise.”

“Do you even know it?”

“Can’t remember, so I guess no.”

“It’s White.”

“White, huh? I guess it fits him, considering his Arie heritage and freakishly pale skin.”

She giggles, standing up. “Alright, It’s time to go.”

“Already? I guess sitting down was useless then…” You sigh, getting up.

She dusts off her skirt, holding her hand out. “Do I just, uh…” You mumble, her rolling her eyes and grabbing your hand as your vision gets enveloped by a bright light.

The next thing you knew, you were standing in front of a large group, with Jue Viole Grace walking in as everyone turns to face you, alarmed. “Huh. She moved me to the wrong place I guess.”

The Khun walks up to you, lighthouses menacingly floating behind him as he stares you down. “Who are you, and what are you doing in our area?”

“Oh, I’m Y/N. I met Hoaqin’s last piece and she moved me here instead of to the other place. I’m not here to cause a fight, I never really wanted to be part of this entire thing anyway.” You drawl. “Before you ask, I was with Hoaqin because I was sealed in the same room before him, so I got to know him over the 600 years we were in there.”

Khun hums, beginning to do some digging.

“White’s last clone?” Viole asks, running up.

“Yep. She seemed pretty powerful.”

“You are the blank turtle I saw!” The crocodile shouts.

“And you’re the compressed dragon-lookin’ guy.”

He huffs happily. “Dragon! That’s what they should call me! I like you, Blank Turtle!”

“Hm? Did you say something, crocodile?” Khun asks, looking up.

“Blue Turtle, one day I will hunt you down and kill you!”

Your lips twitch up, a small smile on your face as you watch Viole try to calm down his squabbling team. Khun’s eyes widen as he finishes his searches, your face already back to its blank slate as he looks up.

“You’re known as Y/N, the Cursed.”

“Sounds about right.” You sigh, sitting down.

“It’s believed that you made a pact with a demon in order to gain the ultimate defense, and it kills all your teammates as a sacrifice.”

“Now that’s wrong. If I had a pact with a demon that killed my teammates, Hoaqin would be dead.” You bluntly refute.

“Well now I kinda wish you did.” Khun shrugs, ignoring Rak's complaints about how cool your nickname sounded.

“This last match will be a one-on-one, so I doubt my team-killer status will be of much effect. Actually, I want to test something; Dragon, that spear of yours is a special throwing spear, right?”

Khun’s eyes stay on you. How did you figure that out?

“Well… decompress and throw it at me as hard as you can. I want to see how much my defenses have improved.”

You could sense the flow of Shinsu in that spear, with its main flow points being from the grip and from the bottom, with a more concentrated amount at the bottom as compared to normal throwing spears.

“Yes! I will do my best to annihilate you!” He cheers, decompressing and jumping back as Khun holds Viole back from getting involved. The other group members make the wise decision to not interfere at all.

Reeling his arm back, Rak soon launches it towards you, the spear flying at you at an impressive speed. Dust kicks up around it as it flies at you, obscuring you from view as it impacts with the sound of something ripping.

It goes silent for a few seconds, only to be interrupted by your monotone voice. “Damnit. I wasn’t thinking about how it would affect my clothes.”

You sigh, stepping back into view with a top that was essentially a crop top, and a small one at that. You toss the spear back over to Rak, thanking him and ignoring everyone else’s stares as you begin to converse with the rather dumb lizard.

Your torso was littered with scars from before you became an impenetrable shield, still having done your best to block attacks from hitting any of your teammates. It didn’t matter in the end, they all died anyway, but you still tried as hard as you could to protect them, even as fate clawed their souls to the afterlife.

You knew it was useless, and that they would die, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to either betray the promise to the Lightbearer or give up on trying to defend those who joined you.

It was a pitiful existence, really.

Getting sealed was the first time that you felt as if maybe, just maybe, you had helped your team. You really did hope they survived, and yet you couldn’t help but doubt. If they were your teammates, were they truly cursed to die early?

You didn’t know.

#hoaqin #hoaqin x reader #tower of god #tower of god x reader #arie hoaqin #hoaquin #white x reader #white #tog #yandere tower of god #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #khun #rak #jue viole grace

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years ago

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Like I’m Gonna Lose You

Pairings: Arthur Shelby x Gender Neutral!Reader

Request: Hi!! Sorry to bother, but I had a silly idea and i would like to read it but i suck at writing 💀💀💀💀 i don't know if you can/want to do it, but maybe for the future... Arthur is married (new character) and a bad guy tries to take and hut her. Tommy (Arthur too of course, but my idea was more of a in-law relationship) does anything to get her back because he likes her for his brother and when he does gets her back she understands that Tommy will always be there for her and vice versa.

Warning: Violence and cussing but what’s new?

Word Count: 3900

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Tommy had actually always liked you, which was odd for the Shelby, who never really seemed to like anyone that wasn’t blood (and even they were questionable sometimes). When you’d come to Tommy, desperate for a job, he was hesitant to accept. If it weren’t for the fact that he was desperate for someone that wasn’t a known Blinder to help him trick someone for a job, he wouldn’t have hired you. As luck would have it, though, he did need that special someone and you were hired.

Nobody had ever expected you to work out as well as you did. You were helpful, kind, and uncharacteristically positive for a Peaky Blinder but you were also tough and scrappy, a fighter, who was just bad enough to fit in. You (usually) stayed out of the cocaine and you didn’t cause unnecessary trouble around town.

You had caught Arthur’s eye immediately. Unrecognized beauty glowed when you walked into the room. When you weren’t out on jobs with Tommy, you were at the shop running the books. Arthur had made it a point to stop by and talk to you several times a day, adorably nervous instead of his stern facade.

When you started dating, there was an immediate noticeable change in Arthur. He was happier, drinking a lot less, and much less violent. All of these were issues you were well aware of prior to accepting his offer for a night out, but that was just it. You knew. It was no surprise if he showed up at your home slobbering drunk or with a busted eyebrow from a brawl (that he most likely started). It wasn’t that you condoned the behavior but you knew what you were getting into and how to handle him, whereas other potential partners weren’t. What surprised everyone though, was when his drinking became more moderate and social instead of throwing pint after pint back for the sake of numbness. He snuck cocaine much less often (though there were a few nights where you did it together…). Arthur’s violent tendencies became subdued and his rage seemed to dissipate drastically.

Arthur Shelby was a happy man for the first time in his life.

Tommy was hesitant about your relationship at first, only seeing it as causing issues for the company. You’d proved yourself to be quite the valuable asset to Shelby Company Ltd. and he was convinced that a fall-out between you and Arthur would mean the loss of your aid. But he quickly realized that you were just what his brother needed- just crazy enough to have a good time and not be too naggy or uptight but still pushing him to improve himself for his own well-being. He actually couldn’t have pictured a better person for his older brother to wed.

So when Tommy picked up the phone to hear Arthur seething with rage, he was already ready to end someone’s life.

“They got ‘em, Tommy. They fucking got them!” Arthur was furious and Tommy could almost see his face, red with anger.

“Wait, wait, wait. Who got who, Arthur?” The Blinders weren’t at war with anyone at the moment so he felt oblivious as to what was going on but tense for a possible new enemy.

Arthur gripped the letter that he found nailed into the front door of your home and ripped it from the thick nail, “Some bastards callin’ themselves the Green Snakes took Y/N. I came home and found the ‘ouse trashed and a letter nailed to the door. I’m gonna fucking kill them, Tommy.”

“Wait at the house. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Tommy slammed the phone down before rushing to his car, pocketing two guns on the way.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, he was letting himself into yours and Arthur’s home. Arthur spun around and pointed a gun at the door as it opened, paranoid that the Green Snakes had returned but lowered the firearm when he saw it was Tommy.

Like Arthur had described, the house was pretty trashed. The thin, long table off to the left right by the front door in the foyer was toppled over and the glass bowl that was on it was shattered in pieces across the ground. In the living room, a few wooden chairs were strewn around the room and the curtains had been torn down, now draped over the couch. But most notably, there was a blood stained knife on the ground as well as a trail of drops of blood leading out the door, and several smeared crimson handprints staining the cream-colored walls. It looked as if someone had been trying to hold onto the corners of the walls as someone dragged them away.

Tommy turned to look at Arthur who was standing by the door. There was a moderate crack in dark green painted wood, split in the middle by an iron nail, at least three inches long. “Where’s the note?” Tommy asked, getting straight to the point.

Arthur handed over the parchment to his brother. The paper was crinkled and torn at the top, most likely from Arthur crumbling it as it ripped it off the door. In somewhat sloppy black ink, the message was scrawled: We are rising to Snake your empire out from under you, Shelbys. It’s time someone brought you to your knees. You want them, come get them. 209 Milligan Ave.

“What the fuck is this, Tommy?” Arthur’s first thought had been that his brother had been conducting business with whoever these Green Snakes were behind everyone’s back. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten the whole family in trouble for the sake of his ego remaining intact.

Tommy lowered the paper and did another scan of the room, “I don’t know. Arthur. I’ve never heard of the Green Snakes before but whoever they are, they’re messing with the wrong family.”

Arthur watched his brother inspect the blood stains and ran his fingers through his messy hair, “Do you think it’s Y/N’s blood?”

Tommy got close to the wall and squinted at one of the handprints, “I can’t say for sure but I have a feeling it’s not.”

“Well I’m not gonna stand around speculating. I’m going to 209 Milligan Ave and I’m gonna fuckin’ slaughter every one of them.” Arthur threw his hat back on, palm just barely missing the concealed blade. He slid his gun into the holster beneath his coat and reached for the doorknob before Tommy stopped him.

“Wait, brother.”

Arthur paused and looked back, “‘m not wasting any time. Who knows what these Green Snakes are doing to ‘em?”

“The last thing we need is a war, Arthur. We need to get in and get out as quietly as possible.” Tommy reached out for his brother’s arm but he pulled away.

“A war?!” Arthur asked incredulously, “A fucking war? The love of my life is gone and you’re worried about some fucking turf war with a bunch of amateurs! I’m gonna go get them myself.”

Arthur turned to go out the door, expecting Tommy to hold him back or tell him it was a trap, anything to keep him from leaving, but no protest ever came. Tommy only pulled out his car keys, “I’ll drive.”

The day had been relatively quiet. You had business to do at home this particular morning so you’d arranged with Tommy that you’d just come in a few hours later than normal, which he was completely fine with. Arthur was… well he was supposed to be at the shop but knowing him, he was probably getting into trouble.

It was nice to have the house to yourself. You loved Arthur but one of the things that had initially made you nervous about marrying him was that you’d never really have any private space again. Right now, though, you had a few hours to yourself so your favorite record was playing on the phonograph while you swept the floor, something that hadn’t been done in much longer than you’d like to admit.

At first, you weren’t sure if you heard the knock on the front door over the music playing but when there was a second, louder knock, you knew for sure. You turned down the music and sighed, having a feeling it was probably John looking for his brother or something. Without any hesitation, you opened the door only to be shocked when three men you didn’t recognize stood there, “Oh, hello. Can I help you?”

“You’re married to Arthur Shelby?” The one in the front, the leader of this pack, asked, twirling a toothpick between his teeth.

Immediately, your guard went up and you moved the hand that was still concealed from view by the door over to grab the first hard thing you could find - a glass bowl on the small table by the door - and gripped it tightly. These men wouldn’t be here unless they were up to something suspicious or Arthur was dead, and you had a feeling from the way they sounded that it wasn’t the ladder. “Yeah.” You answered simply but firmly, showing you weren’t afraid of them.

With a side glance to both of his men, the main guy nodded his head and, before you knew it, you were being rushed. You swung the glass bowl into the nearest one’s head, flinching away as the glass shattered in every direction. He fell with a grunt but the other one was already lunging towards you. You ducked and ran towards the main living area when you were grabbed around the waist. You thrashed and yelled, driving your elbow as hard as you could into his face. He dropped you, blood flowing down his face.

Your feet hit the ground sloppily, your knees buckling a little from the sudden impact, but you made it to the kitchen nonetheless, frantically reaching for the first weapon-like object you could get your hands on, which just so happened to be a knife. When you turned around, the two men that had attacked you were already on their feet and coming towards you, blood running down both of their faces. The third one was nailing something to your door that you couldn’t make out.

One of the men came at you from the front, tackling you to the ground when you overestimated just how much their weight you could support. Both of you landed with a thud but he was on his feet before you, dragging you towards him by the ankle. You kicked him harshly in the face with your free foot until he let go and you tried to crawl away, the knife still tight in your fist.

The other man tried to grab you by the hair but you sliced backwards blindly, slicing across his cheek in a fairly deep gash. He howled out in pain and let you go but not before his hands were back on you. You reached up and dug your nails into his freshly wounded flesh. He screamed out, kicking you to the side. Blood covered your hands and body and you were sure it looked like you must have just murdered someone.

“Alright boys, quit playing games and just take ‘em already.” The leader demanded gruffly from the door, checking his watch.

A bag was wrestled over your head from behind and when you reached up to try and tear it off, your hands were gripped and roughly tied up with rope in front of you. “Let me go!” You screamed as you were hoisted over one of the men’s shoulders, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

There was a wordless chuckle from the direction of the door as you thrashed about, trying to free yourself from the grip to no avail. You reached your bound hands out, blindly and desperately trying to cling to whatever leverage you could find. Your hands gripped one of the walls but no matter how hard you held onto it, the blood that covered your hands made your grip slip free.

In a voice that imitated Arthur’s but was far from the original, the leader said, “By order of the Green fookin’ Snakes, the Peaky Blinders are no longer the kings of Birmingham.”

209 Milligan Ave was on the other end of Small Heath. The building didn’t look like much, just a single stand-alone brick building at the end of a foggy street. There weren’t any signs out front that established it as a place of business but it was definitely not a house either. There were a few other businesses around but this part of town was very clearly less populated than most other parts of the city.

“This is probably a trap so stay ready. Stay alert.” Tommy warned his brother, though he knew he really didn’t have to. Arthur had been through worse than this.

Arthur’s eyes were steadfast and unwavering, “I don’t fuckin’ care if it’s a trap. I just need Y/N back.”

Tommy gave his older brother an insistent nod, “‘Ey, we’re going to get them back.” Arthur didn’t respond but he didn’t need to.

Tommy walked up to the door and pushed it open without hesitation. Arthur followed close behind but it took everything in his power to not just pull the trigger on the first thing that moved but Tommy had insisted on a diplomatic approach first, mostly for the sake of them not killing you if they hadn’t already.

The first room they walked into was large and open. Two doorways led to the back of the house but they couldn’t see anything back there. Tommy and Arthur didn’t need to look any further though. You were sitting in the middle of the room, arms tied behind the backrest of a wooden chair. Your legs too were bound to the wood legs of the seat and a cloth that looked none too clean was tied around your mouth as a gag. Hair stuck up messily around your head and blood coated your arms and face.

Four men covered each corner of the room, leaning back casually but trying to be intimidating, like a cowboy leaning against the wall of a saloon. One more man, the one who had led your kidnapping, stood next to your chair. He looked to be about a rough thirty-five with sandy blonde hair and a work-worn face.

Tommy could sense Arthur about to pop off and shoot everyone before saying a word so he spoke up before his brother could behave rashly. “You wanted us. You have us. What do you want?” Tommy demanded.

“Eh, not ‘us.’ Just you, Thomas Shelby.” The blonde man said with a gruff cockney accent.

Tommy shrugged his hands up in a vaguely exasperated motion, “Well here I am. Now let them go.” He nodded his head over to you, locking eyes with you. Everything will be okay, they seemed to tell you. He was relieved to see that your eyes weren’t broken but still fired up with rage and fear, just enough to fight your way out.

“C’mon, Tommy,” The man’s chest shook as he snorted, “Surely, as such a man of enterprise, you know that’s not how negotiations work.”

“I don’t know who you think you are but this is no negotiation. I’ll ask one more time. Let. Y/N/. Go.” Tommy’s eyes were narrowed at the man.

The signature toothpick that was between the blonde man’s teeth was plucked by his fingers tips and used to gesture, “The name’s Finnegan Bay and these are the Green Snakes.” He motioned to the four men around the room, “And we’re comin’ for the throat of the Peaky fookin’ Blinders.” He made his voice deeper as he jested about your gang and the way Arthur said it.

Tommy’s cold, stern gaze was relentless and unyielding, the way it always was. It was predatory and threatening in a scarily unpredictable way. The man had no tells. He wore the same face when he was listening to a pleasant anecdote as he did when he was on the brink of killing someone.

“You really think you could take us down, eh? What? Some men from the factories wantin’ to feel like they’re somethin’ bigger than they are? Well, y’know what? You’re just that. Just some small men from the factories. Nothing more. You think cause you got some guns and a name that it means you’re something but you’re not.” He paused for just a moment for effect, “See, you’ve messed with my family. I’m gonna give you one chance to let them go before I kill each and every one of you. You can’t even imagine the things I’m capable of doing to you. I’ll make sure they never find your bodies. Now, this is last time I’m gonna tell you: let them go.”

Finnegan reached down into his coat and pulled out a long knife. Your eyes widened as you watched him inspect the wide blade for just a moment before pointing it lazily at Tommy, “Y’see, it’s that right there. That attitude. The entitlement. The superiority complex. I think it’s time someone reminded Thomas Shelby of his place.” In a flash, he gripped your head from behind, palm smushing your face as he roughly pulled it back to expose your neck, holding the blade to your skin.

You let out a muffled yell of shock and fear. Your heart raced in your chest and your stomach felt like it had butterflies, but more aggressive. Dragons? The sharp edge of the blade dug into the top few layers of skin, almost drawing blood but not quite. This wasn’t the first time you’d had a knife (or gun, for that matter) to your head but it never stopped being terrifying.

Tommy sent a quick look over to his brother who had been standing there silently, seething with anger but obeying Thomas nonetheless. Arthur could almost predict not only the look but the succeeding actions as well after so many years of being in situations like this.

Without even a pause after the blade made contact with your skin, Finnegan hit the ground dead. The loud bang from Tommy’s gun startled you and you flinched, the knife slicing just barely into your skin, finally drawing those drops of blood, but not nearly deep enough to cause actual life-risking damage. Blood splattered all over you as it flew from your captor’s chest, right where the first bullet landed. The knife slipped from the man’s limp hands and bounced off your leg before crashing on the floor.

Just as soon as the first shot was fired, Tommy aimed his gun and shot the man in the far corner with the precision of a sniper before the other man could even process that Finnegan had been shot. Arthur turned and fired at the man behind him, hitting him in the side of the head. A few shots were fired from the men in the far left side and the back right side, both at Arthur and Tommy.

You flinched, trying to make your body as small a target as you could to avoid the flying bullets but couldn’t get far with the rope holding you in place. Then you remembered the knife on the ground. The only way you could reach that would be to topple the chair and hope to goodness that your tied up hands could manage to grip the blade. The way your arms were tied around the back, though, would result in an arm breaking crash no matter which way you fell.

Just as you were about to sike yourself up to deal with the pain and topple the chair, the gunfire ceased. At first, you were scared to look around and see who had fallen. A ceasefire either meant one team had one or everyone was dead and you weren’t sure you wanted to know either way.

“Are you alright?” Tommy’s voice suddenly asked and you opened your eyes to see your husband and brother-in-law coming towards you quickly.

You nodded, wishing you could speak if it weren’t for the damn gag. Arthur rushed to you and reached behind your head, untying the dirty cloth. The fabric fell from your mouth and you licked your lips a few times, your mouth agonizingly dry from being forced open for so long.

Arthur inspected the areas on you that had blood, “Did you get shot? Did they hurt you?”

You shook your head, arms coming to touch his face when Tommy cut your hands free, “No, no, no. I’m fine. I’m okay.” You almost were saying it to convince yourself more than anything. With the exception of the thin slice across your throat, you really were fine. Shaken up but alive.

He helped you up and you shook out your arms, seeing the red burn around your wrists from the rope. Your biceps ached from where they’d been pressed against the wood so tightly and you were sure there were bruises on them beneath your shirt.

Arthur’s arms wrapped around you like he’d never let you go. It was one of those “love you like I’m gonna lose you” moments where you both dropped any reserve or tough image that you usually held up and were just grateful for being blessed with each other.

Tommy watched the two of you and almost smiled at the sight of seeing his brother so happy. Arthur really did deserve happiness; Tommy had always thought all of his brothers did.

You pulled away from Arthur and hugged Tommy. He was taken off guard for a moment, not usually one for physical affection, but wrapped his arms around your body in an awkward but sincere attempt at comforting you and acknowledging your appreciation. “Thank you.” He nodded, retracting his arms to regain his composure. Arthur came up to stand just beside you, his arm around your back, like he was scared to let you go again, though, of course, his face didn’t show it.

“Yeah,” He acknowledged in his own laconic way, “Maybe we should get going before the cops show up. I’m sure the gunshots had a few people reaching for the phones.” Tommy adjusted his coat before heading out the door.

You and Arthur followed closely behind and Tommy opened the door for you to get in, something he didn’t do for anyone except maybe a girl he was trying to coax under the sheets. Arthur helped you in and sat in the backseat with you, still not wanting to be away after the day’s events.

There was a strange air in the car as Tommy drove you back to your home so you could clean up. Arthur kept his hand placed on your leg protectively, like you were his lifeline. Tommy’s silence wasn’t uncharacteristic but when you glanced up towards him, the two of you made eye contact in the rear view mirror.

It lasted no more than a few seconds but the unspoken sentiment was clear and mutual. You were a true Shelby now and that meant that Tommy would do whatever it took to keep you alive. It was clear that you’d do the same for him as well, outside of what was expected as a member of the gang.

Finding people to truly trust and love unconditionally in this life was difficult, whether it was family, friends, or spouses - but you were finally that person. Arthur had found that love and security in you as a spouse and Tommy had found the same in you as your brother-in-law. For once, he felt that a small part of him could be happy because when he looked back and saw the way the deep, worrisome crinkles around Arthur’s eyes softened when he held you close, he knew that his brother had found something to live for.

#Tommy Shelby #Arthur Shelby #arthur shelby oneshot #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #like i'm gonna lose you

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aterimber · 4 years ago

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Living In The Shade

Request #23 (fic 1 of 2), from hallmarkdestiel (Tumblr): Will you do one with Destiel, Sabriel and Crobby? Please please please please please please? Please please please please please please? Please please please please please please? Please please please please please please?

I love protective!Crowley where he’s their friend and stuff. So maybe a case fic or something. Maybe they run into some hunters who aren’t so accepting.

Thanks so much for your request! This fic focuses more on the ‘non-accepting hunter’ part, but don’t worry! I’ll be writing another fic that focuses on the fluffy Destiel, Sabriel, Crobby aspect, so that I deliver on your entire request, instead of just one part of it.

That said, I hope you enjoy the fic!

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Started: 21.03.15

Finished: 21.03.23

Words: 2,808

Destiel, Sabriel, Crobby

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“Pfft, come on!” Dean waved a dismissive hand, nearly knocking the Monopoly board over as he stood from the couch, “There’s no way I can pay that!”

Gabriel shrugged, satisfied smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair, “If you don’t pay, I win the game.”

Dean rolled his eyes, before they landed on his brother sitting in the corner of the room, head buried in a book, “Sam, your boy-toy isn’t playing fair.”

He didn’t look up, “Gabe, play fair.”

The angel sputtered a moment before turning around to face his boyfriend, “Well maybe you should tell your brother that buying all the properties that ‘sound cool’ isn’t a good game strategy.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, eyes still not lifting from the page he was on, “I thought Cas was Game Moderator?”

“He is.”

“So you’re asking me because…?”

Dean sat back down with a huff, “Because Cas left around the time Gabriel stole my last hundred.”

“I didn’t steal anything, Winchester.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, “You land on my property, you have to pay.”

“That’s a dumb rule.”

“That’s how you play the game!” Gabriel shook his head before getting up from his chair. He stretched his arms above his head, before making his way over to the giant in the corner, “So, what’s got you so preoccupied that you had to miss Game Night?”

“You mean other then not wanting to get in the middle of you and Dean duking it out over fake money?” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he finally lifted his eyes from the book and he shrugged, “Just thought I should brush up on some in-”

Cas burst in the room then, eyes frantic as he spotted the men, ��Demons!”

Dean stood from the couch, posture immediately switching to Hunter Mode as he took a few steps toward his angel, “What do you mean ‘demons’? Demons are coming? Here?”

“Yes,” Cas took a few steps into the middle of the room, turning so he was facing the kitchen door, angel blade at the ready, “They followed me back.”

Dean rushed to his jacket, grabbing Ruby’s knife before tossing an angel blade at his brother, “I thought this place was warded?”

“It used to be, but after-” The sound of a door banging open cut off the end of the angel’s sentence.

Gabriel rolled his eyes before plopping himself down in Sam’s chair with a huff, “You’d think with Bobby shtupping their leader they’d leave you alone.”

“What?” Dean turned to the angel, incredulous look on his face, “You’re kidding, right? Where did you get that idea?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him, “Uhm, because I have eyes. And ears. They’re not exactly quiet about it.”

A demon burst into the room then, evil smile splitting his face as he spotted the boys, “Excellent.” He leaned slightly back into the doorway, “They’re all here!”

Two more demons joined him then, all of them smiling widely. The first one took a step forward, “Where’s Crowley?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, “What makes you think we know?”

“Cut the crap, Winchester.” The first demon took a few more steps toward them, “Whenever the King goes missing, he’s always with you.”

Dean shrugged, holding his hands out to his sides, “Well, unless you think one of us is gonna poop him out…”

“Oh, good,” First Demon’s smile widened, “I was hoping we could do this the hard way.”

He flicked Dean back against a wall with a loud thud, before turning to Cas as he rushed forward. Cas tackled the demon to the ground, while the other two started toward Sam. The giant took a few steps toward them before being flung against the wall, angel blade falling from his grip. He let out a huff as he tried to pry himself off the wall, with no luck.

Dean stood up with a groan, just in time to see Cas plunge Ruby’s knife into the lead demon’s chest. He helped his angel up off the body, before he was flung back against the wall again. He struggled for a moment as he was pinned, sending daggers at the other demons, before noticing Gabriel was still sitting, examining his nails, “You planning on helping or…?”

“Oh, relax,” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand, “They’re not here to fight.”

Dean snorted, “Oh, great.” He raised an eyebrow at the closest demon, “So this is just how you guys get your rocks off?”

“Careful, Winchester.” The demon who had him pinned took a few steps back toward him, “Just because we didn’t come here to kill you doesn’t mean it can’t end like that.”

Cas scoffed and took a step between the demon and his boyfriend, twirling the angel blade in his hand, “I’d like to see you try.”

“What the hell’s going on here?” The voice from behind them made the demon’s jump, effectively dropping the Winchesters to the ground. Crowley took a step into the room, raising an eyebrow at the demons, “Well?”

“U-uh,” One of the demons took a small step toward the Scot, “There was a problem, a-and we needed-”

“A problem?” He shot a look over his shoulder to Bobby, who was leaning against the kitchen door frame, looking just as unimpressed, “And what problem is so terrible you had to violate my Do Not Disturb order?”

The demon swallowed thickly, “W-well, Simon, y’know, the crossroads demon? H-he’s been-”

Crowley held up his hand, “Save it.” He turned to Bobby, apologetic smile on his face, “Can I get a rain check on tonight, Darling?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him, purposefully ignoring the questioning look Dean shot his way as the blonde struggled to his feet, “I thought tonight was the rain check?”

Crowley let out an exasperated sigh and took a half-step closer to the eldest, “It’s not my fault they’re idiots.”

Bobby’s eyes flicked up to the two demons, “Yeah, fine. Go save the underworld.” He smirked as he brought his eyes back to their leader, “Not like I needed you for the whole night, anyway.”

The coy smile on the demon’s face made Dean shoot a half-confused, half-surprised look at his brother. Sam shrugged as Crowley turned back to his cronies, letting out a sigh, “Let’s get this over with.”

With a snap of his fingers, all three of the Hell spawn disappeared. Dean immediately took a step toward his father figure, “What the hell was that?”

Bobby finally looked at the boys, expression smooth, “What was what?”

Dean took a another step, gesturing vaguely to the space the demons had just occupied, “That! A-are you-”

“Dating Crowley?”

Dean held his hand up as his brother closed the distance, “God, don’t say that out loud!”

Bobby shrugged, “So what if I was?”

Dean sputtered a moment, “I-it…it’s,” he turned to the other men in the room, searching for confirmation, “it’s sick!”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, “Sick?”

“He’s a demon, Bobby! H-how would you even…?” The blonde let his voice trail off, nose crinkling as the mental picture hit him, “No, you know what? Don’t answer that.”

Bobby’s eyes moved off the blonde, “Sam?”

Sam half-shrugged, “I don’t want to think about you like… that, but if you’ve found someone who makes you happy-”

“What?” Dean turned to his brother, “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“No, but I just-” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting to the two uncharacteristically silent angels, “We have to be… fair.”

“‘Fair’?” Dean let out a humourless chuckle, “What are you talking about?”

“Well,” Sam shifted his weight again, “We’re both dating angels, so it’s not exactly like we’re in a position to judge.”

“Yeah, but it’s Crowley, Sam!”

“And you’re with Cas.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Cas was never a bad guy!”

“I did once eviscerate your brother’s mental health in a bid to distract you while I attempted to open a door to Purgatory.”

Dean huffed, turning to his angel, “Y-yeah, but that was different.”

“How?”

His brows pulled together as he thought, “T-that… that was a long time ago. And you didn’t do that because you wanted to.” He turned back to his father figure, “Crowley has screwed us every single chance he’s gotten just because he could. Me and Sam would never date someone who would purposefully-”

Gabriel cleared his throat from his seat, sly smile on his face as Dean shot daggers at him, “Wanna rephrase that?”

“You guys are killing me.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “We’d never date someone who was actively trying to screw us over.” He turned expectant eyes to the others, “Can we all agree on that?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow at the blonde, “So… what? Are you forbidding me from seeing him?”

“What? No. Don’t turn this into some weird teeny-bopper drama. I just…” his eyes searched the floor as he tried to find the right words, “Are you sure there’s no one else you’d rather, y’know…” his faced scrunched again, “do?”

Bobby snorted as he pushed off the doorway, “That’s not all we do, Dean.”

“Not all you…?,” the blonde reached a hand out behind him as he took a stumbled step backward, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Bobby rolled his eyes as he crossed the now angel-less room, “Quit being so melodramatic. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal?” Dean raised an eyebrow and followed him, stopping at the base of the stairs, “Ordering waffles and getting pancakes isn’t that big a deal. You dating the King of Hell? That’s a big deal!”

Bobby huffed, turning on the step he was on, “Well how ‘bout I make it real simple for you then, Dean?” He locked eyes with the blonde, face hard, “I never asked for your opinion, and I damn sure don’t need your permission. Got it?”

Dean swallowed thickly, but nodded, watching in silent surprise as the eldest disappeared up the stairs. He starred after him a minute – just long enough to hear a bedroom door close – before he ran a hand through his hair, making his way back to the couch, “Can you believe that?”

Sam approached cautiously, kneeling on the ground before picking up the empty game box, “That was a little rude, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“No,” Sam shook his head as he started packing up the board game, “I mean you were rude.”

“What?” The blonde looked up from the fake money he was stacking together, raising an eyebrow, “You’re kidding, right?”

Sam let out a sigh, keeping his eyes on the board he was packing, “I know you’re not that big a fan of demons, but…” he let his voice trail off, brows furrowing as he searched for the right words, “Where did all that intolerance come from?”

“Intolerance?” Dean scoffed, “I’m not intolerant. I just don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it to be respectful.” Sam flicked his eyes up to his brother, “You basically outlawed Crowley from his own house, after he saved our asses.”

“Sam-”

“No, Dean, look,” he closed the lid to the now-packed-away game box, and stood, “I don’t trust Crowley any more than you do, but don’t you think – that after everything – Bobby deserves to be happy?”

“’Course,” Dean ran a hand through his hair, before resting his arms on his knees, “But why can’t he be happy with someone else? Y’know, like a human. Any human?”

“Well we did kill Fate.” The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up into a smile, “Maybe he was destined to be with someone else.”

“Oh great,” Dean rolled his eyes as he stood, “Now you’re saying this is our fault?”

“No,” he clapped his brother on the shoulder, getting him to look him in the eye, “I’m saying don’t ask a person to choose between you and their significant other. You might not like who they choose.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, before closing it silently, “Yeah, alright, fine.” He swatted his brother’s hand off his shoulder, making a break for the kitchen, “Can we get back to game night, now?”

Sam shrugged, “If you tell the angels it’s safe to come back.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Cowards.” He ran a hand through his hair again, “Fine. I’ll send out the Bat Signal while I start the popcorn. You pick the next game.”

“But, Dean, I was in the middle of-”

Dean turned, “Game Night was your angel’s stupid idea.” He shot his brother a cocky smile as he leaned against the door frame, “That means you have to suffer, just like the rest of us.”

Dean shot up in his bed, frantic eyes looking around the dark bedroom, what the…? He blinked his eyes rapidly, willing them to adjust to the darkness as he scanned the room, jumping out of bed as he saw a silhouette standing in the doorway.

“I wouldn’t bother with that, if I were you.”

Dean stopped, crouched beside the bed, arm halfway to the machete he kept under it. He raised an eyebrow as he placed the accent, “…Crowley?”

“The one and only.”

Dean rolled his eyes before straightening back up, “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Ssshhh,” Crowley gestured for the hunter to meet him in the doorway, “Are you trying to wake him up?”

Dean turned to the bed, and was mildly surprised to see Cas sleeping, smushed against the wall, since when does he sleep? He made his way out into the hall, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him, keeping his voice low, “Well? What do you want?”

“I always thought angels would be too… hard to cuddle with,” Crowley sighed after a moment at the lack of answer, “Fine, straight to business, then.” He leaned himself against the banister, “It seems we have a problem.”

Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, “We’ve got lots of problems, Crowley. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“You have a problem with me and Bobby?”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Not this again. Look, I don’t-”

“Normally, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you think about me,” he flicked his eyes toward the bedroom at the end of the hall, sighing, “But apparently your opinion of me matters to Bobby. Which means we need to fix this. So,” he rubbed his hands together, giving the hunter an expectant look, “What exactly are you concerned about, hm?”

Dean scoffed, “You’re kidding, right?” At the lack of answer, he ran a hand through his hair, “Fine. You’re a demon, which means you feed on chaos, and love torturing those around you, just because you can. All you’ve done is lie, manipulate and try to kill both me and Sam,” he took a step forward, face growing serious as he felt the anger begin to bubble up in his chest, “And, perhaps most irritatingly, you’re juuust too useful for us to kill, no matter how much we’ve wanted to. So no, I don’t trust you. And I especially don’t condone your… whatever it is you’re doing with Bobby, because I know you’re incapable of having good intentions. But,” he took in a breath as he backed off a few steps, “for some reason, you seem to be making Bobby happy, so I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.”

Crowley nodded slowly, “Y’know you give pretty good threatening speeches when you’re half-asleep?” At the eye roll, Crowley took a few steps away from the banister, raising an eyebrow, “Are you sure you’ll be able to hide all of,” he gestured vaguely to the hunter, “whatever emotion that is?”

Dean gave him a tight smile, “I did it with Ruby, I can do it with you.”

Crowley snorted, “Yeah, because that ended so well.”

Dean rushed forward again, pinning the demon against the banister, “I got to stab that Hell bitch while Sam pinned her down after she royally fucked up, so yeah, I’d say it ended well. And, just so we’re clear,” he narrowed his eyes, nodding toward Bobby’s bedroom, “If you ever hurt him, I’ll be first in line to roast your bones over a bonfire. Got it?”

“Got it.” The blonde backed off again, and Crowley took a few steps away from the banister again, straightening his suit, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a tied up hunter to attend to.”

“Ugh,” Dean held up his hand, face twisting into disgust at the mental picture, “Just because I’m not gonna stab you in your sleep doesn’t mean I want to hear about your crazy demon sex. I’ve got more than enough life scars, thanks.”

A sly smile pulled at the corner of Crowley’s mouth as he started back down the hall, “Love you too, Darling.”

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Have a request you’d like me to write? Shoot me a message telling me what you’d like, or e-mail me: [email protected], with the subject line ‘Request’. (SPN Only)

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werezmastarbucks · 5 years ago

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guest

the reader opens up to her boyfriend about the demonic intruder haunting her at nights

tyler joseph x reader x kai parker

genre: horror

warnings: stalking

word count: 2950

music: ode to sleep by twenty one pilots, o come o come by tyler joseph

At night you put the drawer to the door and put your lava lamp on top. You fell asleep every time looking at the changing neon soft lights, to get woken up at three exactly, to the sound of his fists drumming on the door. Every night.

He’d come from the corridor, a tall shadow, as you once saw him, not in a hurry at all. He knew you wouldn’t run anywhere, not even through the window, because you were always afraid of getting too far out of it.

He’d walk down the corridor and to the door, and try to open it. Once he succeeded, and was inside your room, and you woke up, to see the silhouette standing above you. In the dark of night, he looked completely black. His eyes were vaguely glowing, and you were completely cemented in your place. People are generally divided into two groups when scared: those who scream, and those who freeze. There’s a legend that there’s also a thin layer in between, a group of people who fight, but you’ve never met one. The closest to that was your boyfriend.

You never told Tyler about the ghost hunting your house. You were scared to seem nuts; you had no proof and hasn’t caught it once, largely because the ghost was trying to catch you.

At school, you weren’t really the people’s favorite, so you just got through moderately peacefully by sticking with your best friend and your boyfriend.

What would you say anyway? Hey, Tyler. There’s this dude, he started manifesting himself at my house at nights. He’s invisible to everybody except me, and he always appears in the middle of the corridor, and walks to my room, and I don’t know what he wants to do with me, but he scares the shit out of me.

You were afraid he’d think you got some issues, and find someone better.

There wasn’t much you could do except put the drawer close to the door, and make it heavy, piling all your tings on top, and turn on the lava lamp to see when he comes.

Sometimes you thought it was all your imagination. You’ve heard that urban legend about a girl who thought her house was haunted. The things disappeared, and she heard voces constantly bothering her day and night. She saw shadow people lurking outside, trying to break inside the house, and one of them actually smothered her dog; when she realized she’s the only one seeing all of them, she took it upon herself to protect her family. That girl had a little sister, too, and didn’t want any harm to come upon her. Maybe she was a witch, or just had this thing that some people have. The kind of sensitivity for supernatural things. She was the only one who could defend her loved ones.

She got armed with a kitchen knife and attacked them the next time they tried to get inside. Strike, before they make a move. The girl allegedly spent a tough long afternoon chasing ghosts around her front yard, and killed all of them. To then discover they were, in fact, her family, and she’s been hallucinating the whole time.

That’s the kind of stories that were floating around in the town. No one would really believe you if you told what’s happening. Although your case was slightly different from that poor girl’s. The black shadow guy coming for you almost every night seemed to only have interest in you. It was like he was uncertain yet; that one time he actually got inside the room, he vanished, as you lay there, paralyzed by fear. You never managed to get rid of the sight of him, disproportionally tall, completely silent, watching you in bed. He seemed like he was about to bow, but you opening your eyes made him change his mind.

Other nights he was more persistent and you bet he regretted not having acted while he had a chance.

Usually he wouldn’t get past the door barricaded by the drawer.

You’d look at the lava lamp sending her orange, red, green and infernal blue light across the room, like it was a safe beacon of protective fire; as if it could actually stop him. While he hammered his fists on the door, pulling and twisting the handle, you held the blanket with your numb fingers. You were never religious so you never prayed. You had a strong feeling he wasn’t afraid of Jesus.

The worst thing was seeing the drawer move and wiggle when he pushed the door with his shoulder. Once, the lava lamp nearly tipped over, and you moaned with fear. Nobody heard anything in the morning, and that one time you screamed, unable to hold it inside anymore, you got in a big row with your parents.

Tyler took your fist and tried to undo it, to interlace his fingers with yours.

It was that hour after school when you’re not ready to go home yet, and the street seems gray even in the middle of the afternoon, and everybody looks like zombies.

Maybe I am going crazy after all. Thinking about stuff like that, and listening to depressing music, all those things at school weighing on you, made you feel like you were tied to the house, because the demon boy was there. You were afraid he’d do something to your family, too.

“You don’t seem like yourself these days”, Tyler complained, but his voice sounded pondering, as usual. He was a philosopher, this guy, always analyzing stuff and the words people say, reading into them.

“I don’t sleep well”, you said, putting your head on his shoulder. His soft black hoodie was warm even on the outside. His baggy clothes, his hands, like the lava lamp, seemed such a safe territory. You were scared he’d take it all away if you told him.

“Why?”

You knew Tyler had insomnia, too. He was suffering from regular headaches, turning into prolonged migraine, that started on the top of his head and cralwed down to the very base of his neck. You suspected he had some kind of injury he never spoke about. He did double work; taking care of you and fighting his own pain all the time. You knew it hurts even during the day. You read him when he suddenly put his head into his hands or stopped talking in the middle of the sentence. His silence was soft and dignified. He carried it well. You wished you could help him somehow. Sometimes he’d look so sad, such deep regret in his eyes, that you’d think it was something more serious that he let out.

Now you just needed him.

“I don’t know”, you shrugged.

“Huh. Doesn’t seem true”.

You hid a little guilty smile in the fold of his hoodie sleeve. Your arms vined around his shoulder, and you two watched the playground for some time, silently.

“Is something happening, Y/N?” he asked.

You felt bad.

“I don’t know”, you muttered again, like a dummy. “I’m sorry”.

You kissed his cheek as he tried to read you with his dark eyes. His ears caught your soft whisper.

I love you.

You heard the footsteps and rolled onto your back. Your elbows started hurting almost instantly as you tried to lift yourself up. Sleeping with the lava lamp on, you ruined your dreams completely, and you were sure the sleep wasn’t as healthy as it was supposed to be. You were dozing instead of sleeping, waking up every five minutes, horrible visions floating around.

You knew what came next. He stopped at the door, and for the hundreth time, you couldn’t believe it’s happening. How, in the rational boring world, do you get to have a night intruder vanishing in thin air, getting out of the darkness of your house like a vampire; why you?

The soft knock on the door didn’t, and wouldn’t wake your parents up. You were glad you didn’t have any pets; you didn’t want to imagine what he’d do to a dog barking at him.

Your heart pounding, you sat yourself, back to the wall, feeling the glossy smooth surface of a poster with your bare shoulder. Your own hand snaked up to your neck, holding the whimper inside the throat.

He knocked again, mockingly polite, as always. He never said a word, like he didn’t have a voice, which was way scarier.

Knock knock knock still sent a very clear mesage: let me in.

You just wished you’d get through your night routine as usual, and he’d leave again. You felt exhausted, old, thinking, you were slowly getting used to being haunted.

Suddenly, a hammering knock shuddered the door, and you jumped. The back of your neck started sweating. The lava lamp changed from orange to purple, the color you hated because it was too dark for the night. The people on your posters, smiling indifferently at you, they had no idea. They wouldn’t help.

Bang bang bang!

His hand was heavy. He was hitting the door like he was a drumming machine, at the fast pace as if trying to drive you crazy. The door stood, loyal and hard, but when he started colliding with it with his shoulder, it shook like carton.

Suddenly, the thing happened that hasn’t occurred before, and you put the hands to your mouth, feeling the blood pump in your ears.

The drawer actually moved.

He is getting stronger.

The lock clicked, and the door opened half an inch. Lava lamp tipped and fell on its side, banging on the wood, and you closed your eyes for a second.

You held your breath. The demon boy stopped. All of a sudden, there was whistling silence, and you heard the night wind outside. The narrow black line between the door and the wall was sucking the light out, the blackest you’ve ever seen, like space vaccum. Magnetizing your gaze.

You couldn’t sleep like that. The crack was big enough for him to watch you.

You crawled out of bed and listened again: nothing. Perhaps he exhausted himself opening the door. It seemed like he only had so much energy for one night.

Your knees were shaking violently as you stepped to the drawer and put the lamp back up. The jelly soft bubbles were drifting inside, like soulless clouds, casting neon colors on your face.

You reached for the door to push it back closed, having no desire to look into the crack... as your fingers touched the wood, a violent push crashed on it, moving the door and the drawer together. You jumped away, unable to hold a yell.

He was getting inside.

You crashed into the opposite wall. The drawer now stood almost sideways, and door was open wide enough for him to slither inside.

“Go away”, you begged.

“But I love you”, a voice said.

Your knees gave in, and you slid down on the floor, grouping so hard you could come off as a big cat. Your arms wrapped around your legs. He sounded hollow, alien, as if he was standing far away, wrapped in a plastic bag. The door moved a little, and he showed his head inside the room. Seeing him, a human looking guy, was so catastrophically sobering that your mind went numb.

He didn’t have horns or black eyes, or sharp teeth of a monster. His face wasn’t distorted or disfigured; he looked like a usual boy. Only, there was this predatory hungry look about him. Sadistic smirk curled his lips when he looked at you sitting on the floor.

“Go away”, you asked again. He cocked his head, mockery in his eyes.

“That’s a pretty lamp”.

He moved so sharply you jumped again, throwing yourself into another corner of the room, like a cat that doesn’t think at all. Your joints were burning, working to escape, but there was nowhere to run.

He held onto the door, and with the other hand, he snatched the lava lamp from the drawer. You didn’t look, pressing your face into the wall, but there was a characterisical click, and the room went dark.

He stole your lava lamp and stole your beacon light.

The walls of his house were stiff and reliable. You liked to be in Tyler’s room because of all the things connected to him. You appreciated his constant musing; some people even said he was a bit slow sometimes. Tyler was a bit sad. But the saddest people are the most precious when you make them smile, and you made Tyler smile a lot.

He was funny when he swung his baseball bat, pretending to be a bad boy, about to smash some heads. He had a quirky sense of humor that always entertained you in a way that stuck with you. He was special, and he was good, and you were completely fine with others not getting him.

You were looking at the baseball bat put against the wall next to the book case.

Tyler came into the room with the towel on his head, rubbing hard his short soft hair, and then threw in right onto the bed. You stood up, sighing, and tried to find a place to hang it.

“You’re messy”, you noted. Tyler puffed, disinterested.

“You okay? You never get up so early on a Saturday”.

“Uh-huh”.

“What did you wanna talk about?”

There was hope in his voice; obviousy. He wasn’t fooled by all the badly masked secrets you kept. Like an owl, he watched you closely, but never intruded, probably, trained well by his folks: he knew how much it sucks when someone is trying to get under your skin. Even his mom thought he was weird, while he was simply sanguine; so she bugged him constantly.

He patted the bed next to him, inviting you. You liked to sit close so that your thighs touched, you connected to him.

“I need to tell you about what’s going on in my house”.

Tyler was quiet.

“There’s someone... uh”.

Anything you’d say, it would come out fucking stupid. Like in a movie.

“There’s this person who comes to my house at nights and tries to get into my room. I’m the only one who can see him. At first I thought I was sick, but last night, Tyler, he took something from my room, and it isn’t there. I think he exists”.

His face hardened. Tyler changed; the expression of his usually kind demeanor was something you’ve never seen before. It was hostile, and for a moment, he felt very distant.

“What does he look like?” he asked, his voice low.

You were taken aback by his question. No ��are you sure’, no ‘you mean like a ghost?’, no ‘is this a joke?’.

His arm went up your shoulder, and he hugged you, bringing you close as if to keep this conversation quiet and between you. You were getting a strange sensation.

“Y/N, what does he look like?”

“Like a boy. A usual, teenage boy. You believe me?”

“You should see yourself nowadays. You look tired and horrified”.

Tyler never called you ‘honey’, or ‘baby’. His ‘you’s said much more than that. Sometimes they communicated way more tenderness than any nickname.

“You spoke quietly, and then he said he’d stay with you for the night. He got very upset you didn’t tell earlier. His frustration at it seemed very deep; like something made him profoundly uncomfortable. You’ve also never seen peaceful, quiet Tyler so menacing.

He took the baseball bat with him.

“Shithead!”

A sound of broken glass pulled you out of sleep, vivid and simultaneously, ghostly. You couldn’t tell if you dreamt it or not.

The room was dark; without the lamp there was no way of telling who else was in here. You searched for Tyler next to you, and he wasn’t in bed. The sheets were stil warm, and you had a sensation of his skin under your hand.

You sat in your bed, dizzy. As your eyes got used to the dark, you finally realized the drawer is moved away from the door.

There was something happening in the upstairs bathroom.

You jumped off the bed. You couldn’t lose him. Tyler was yours.

You went to the door and opened it wide, stepping into the darkness. Few feet away, the narrow line of light was indicating someone was in the bathroom. Okay, maybe Tyler just knocked something over because he’s sleepy.

“Come here!”

His voice was hissing like a snake. He was whispering, but it sounded like the rain noise. Something bumped against the door, like there was a swift fight.

“Tyler!” you called.

Silence. Then, a sudden burst of laughter of that hollow, distant voice again. Your feet carried you on, and you pulled the handle, opening the door. Laughter rang in your ears, fading away in the depth of the house and your own brain. For a second, you were blinded and frightened by the light.

Your lava lamp sat on the edge of the bathroom sink, and Tyler was holding onto it, panting, his back humped like he’s been trying to outpower someone. But there was no one else.

His neck was covered in black, something that looked like blood, or oil, but was complete, vanta color, and it moved, as if darkness was consuming, coming up to his chin. Tyler’s jaws pressed together, and then he turned and looked at you - with the eyes of a stranger instead of his own. Like there was somebody else inside.

#tyler joseph #kai parker #blurryface #tyler joseph imagine #kai parker imagine #twenty one pilots imagine #tvd #kai parker x reader

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itsuki-minamy · 5 years ago

Text

“SWORD WITHOUT A SWORD”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

It was due to the little conversation with his subordinates that Shiotsu thought that it would not be suitable for him on his birthday.

It is the birthday of Minato's twin children, Hayato and Akito.

++++++++++

Minato's children, who will be in high school this spring, said, "I want a sword for my birthday."

"Sword?"

"Yes, "because we are already adults", we want a real sword like the one you are holding."

"Is it a skill control saber?"

Shiotsu's hand touched the handle of his waist.

"This is the equipment loaned to the members of "Scepter 4" under the authority of "Blue King". Just because you have the aptitude, you can't do it alone. Even more, for children…”

Minato nodded with a soft smile.

“Instead of being a hero, he just wanted to imitate an adult. It is not an appropriate treatment.”

"Oh, I see."

Shiotsu's shoulders lost their strength

"Then, as I recall, I can give him a small sword. Boys love those things.”

Minato shook his head slowly.

"Akito said the same thing, but I stopped him. I think those things are still early for our children.”

Minato's wife, Aki Minato, who is also the mother of the twins, is a woman who is part of the "Scepter 4" task force despite being a woman, and is what people in the field say she is "the great woman of Kintama". She often disagrees with her cautious husband.

"I see. If that happens, then it is a home schooling policy.”

Shiotsu bowed.

"Sorry. I told you."

"No... "Holding a knife gives you the responsibility and awareness of an adult". I think there is a reason for such an opinion. Akio also said, "Let's go buy a big one." However, I..."

With a gentle but determined will, Minato said...

"I want them to be ready to harm others a little later."

"I see."

Shiotsu nodded his head. As a single person, he has no idea when a boy is a young minor, an adult, or a child. He is not eligible to make a decision on this matter.

In addition, he regularly trusts the moderate and common sense of the man in front of him.

"So... I'm going to give him something else, not a sword."

"A matching fountain pen."

Minato stopped working on the paperwork and turned the pen around.

"The pen is stronger than the sword." I want you to do that.”

A few days after talking about it, he realized that Habari's birthday was near.

Daily, among "Scepter 4" members, including Shiotsu, there is little awareness of "birthday". Birthdays, birthday parties, birthday celebrations... He remembered after a long time in a conversation with Minato that there were such things in the world.

We look forward to our annual birthday and celebrate with our family members. Such acts belong to a peaceful daily life far from themselves. He behaves differently with sabers and always swaps lives. And a few times a month, he retires after one of his lives suffers. There will be no "happy birthday" on those days. Everyone thinks so out of the box.

But in reality, such "daily life" may be the most important.

The reason "Scepter 4" exists is to protect the everyday life of the general public. If you fight without knowing what to protect, the beast is no better. "Scepter 4", who controls Strains' crimes with his skill, is a law dog, and even a bloodhound is not a wild dog.

Everyday life as a general citizen, life as a person. We should not separate ourselves from such things.

In particular, he wants Habari, the Blue King, to be aware of this. Therefore, it is a "birthday" and a "gift". He wishes his actions could have some influence on what "Scepter 4" is like.

So what to give? It is not wrong to imitate Minato and give him a fountain pen, but he wonders if that is more suitable for Habari.

After hesitating for a few days, she decided on a paper knife.

"Sword" and "Judgment". Knife-shaped stationery. Although Shiotsu wants Habari to keep his society in harmony by exchanging letters and documents with other "kings" without depending on it as a base, he thought it was a tool that symbolized the ideal form of a "king".

Of course, the blade must have beauty and dignity as a sword, even if it is not sharp. In addition, I engrave the "Scepter 4" badge on the handle.

Also, as a result of ordering the materials and so on, the craftsman finished the job to the limit and received it directly on the birthday in the store. It was a bad setup that Shiotsu didn't have.

To make matters worse, there were several emergency dispatches on the crucial day, and not just Shiotsu himself but every member within range who might be called. The only one who was vacant was Zenjo Gouki, who was in the middle of the shift adjustment.

Kikuyodo is a cutlery store in Minokasabashi. They mainly sell kitchen knives and scissors, but he also handles art swords and half orders to artisans.

From Tsubakimon, it takes about 40 minutes by subway and on foot. He goes home, half a day of work.

"Well, don't take a detour. When you receive it, save it, and come directly here.”

Zenjo laughed at Shiotsu, who meticulously said that.

"Haha. It is like a child's messenger.”

"Younger than you."

Shiozu replied half angry.

"If I had another messenger, I wouldn't ask you."

"It is a configuration flaw."

"Yes…"

Zenjo laughed even more at Shiotsu, who was silent when he pointed at him.

"Don't worry like that. It is easy."

"Zenjo."

Shiotsu called out to him when he was walking away.

"This is for personal use. Change your clothes."

"I get it."

"I don't know, but don't take out a saber."

"Is it that bad?"

Zenjo looked back. Hit the saber handle with his hand,

"I will carry it in secret."

"Is there a good reason? Leave it here."

At this point, Shiotsu had made some mistakes. It was not the ultimate mistake, but it was causing an unexpected situation by creating a gap between internal and external routine actions.

An hour later, Zenjo met three members of the enemy clan, the "Purgatory", on the Minogasabashi shopping street.

++++++++++

Minogasabashi is far from the territory of "Purgatory" and is not considered a vigilante area. It was a coincidence that the members of "Purgatory" were there, and that one of them met with Zenjo.

Zenjo was attacked the moment he left the "Kikuyodo" store. One of the three was a strong enemy.

The man is now lying on his back after a fight where the shelves fell and the knives scattered.

A paper knife is stuck between the eyebrows to the base of the handle. Instant death.

"What did you do, Zenjo?"

Shiotsu screams when he arrives on the scene.

"I was attacked, so I decided to defend myself."

Zenjo replied. There are some burn marks on his body, but it is a minor injury.

"We both fought bare-handed, but this one was strong."

Zenjo pointed to the fallen man.

"If I didn't kill him, I was exhausted by this man's flame."

"Ah..."

"Calm down, Shiotsu."

A long-haired man emerged from behind Shiotsu, who was cluttering up his words. The "Blue King", Habari Jin.

Habari kneels beside the body and examines his head.

Sakeku Ryusei. You are an executive in "Purgatory". What do you have on your forehead?”

Zenjo answered Habari's question.

“It is an article commissioned by Shiotsu. It was an emergency, so I used it arbitrarily.”

He uses the fingers of both hands to indicate the length of the blade,

"This is a thin knife. There is no blade.”

"Paper knife? The handle has a small "Scepter 4" emblem engraved on it.”

"That's..."

The moment Shiotsu bets on explaining the situation,

"Oh, today is my birthday."

Habari said.

"But why a paper knife? The twins' birthdays are drawing near. They are high school students and want to stretch, but Minato does not accept it. When I heard it I said, why don't you give him a knife without a blade? It appears to be Shiotsu.”

Habari looked at Shiotsu and smiled coldly.

"The pen is stronger than the sword." I didn't think it was wrong.”

"Everything is my fault."

Shiotsu said.

"It is a boring idea that jeopardizes good articles and creates the cause of a collision with "Purgatory". If they demand a price, give me.”

"No, it's funny, Shiotsu."

Zenjo said.

"I killed this boy. If you gave it to him, it would be my neck.”

"By the way, you're out of proportion to the sake phrase."

"Then instead of changing, cut out a few more people and combine the ends of the book."

"Hahaha."

"That's enough!"

Shiotsu yelled at Habari and Zenjo, who were laughing at each other with unscrupulous jokes.

"I was told that this situation could trigger a large-scale conflict between clans... No, it could trigger the escape of "Red King" Genji Kagutsu.”

"Do you believe that?"

Habari said to control the sword curtain to Shiotsu.

"Purgatory" is the city of the relic, but for the city of the relic, what meaning does this man have?"

"He's an executive! Is it possible for an antisocial group to avoid retaliation if they killed one of its members?”

"No, Kagutsu Genji is not a man who works with both types. Nor is he a man who faces the demands of his subordinates. He is a lonely and uninhabited "King". To be honest, I can't read their behavior."

"That's interesting."

Habari hit Shiotsu's shoulder and asked him to take over.

"Don't worry so much, Shiotsu. Your gift was a last-minute rescue from Zenjo's life, and it also came with the neck of the enemy executive and interesting confirmation.”

Habari put a cross in place and applied a fist to the guy.

"It's a great birthday celebration."

Rather than answer the light talk, Shiotsu instructed his subordinates and began to compile the scene. Things are already beyond individual responsibility.

With a fearless smile and looking at the gap, Habari's brain begins to spin at full speed in an attempt to understand and respond to the situation.

The bomb called Kagutsu Genji may or may not explode right now, with tens of thousands of lives.

If the balance of fate begins to tip toward the worst, the one who can stop it is the power of the "Blue King."

It is impossible that the sword that holds the hand has no blade.

"I will return to base. If there is no profit.”

Shiotsu told Zenjo, that he was trying to start running.

"Use transport vehicles. Hurry up."

#k #k project #k stories #k fan clan #habari jin #shiotsu gen #zenjo goki #SCEPTER 4

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years ago

Text

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 13

[ And so the journey begins. Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously. Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine? Please Like, Share, and Follow us! We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] - Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

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[ P . K ] Kretus stared down into the blondes face and inwardly grumbled. But my stew is still hot and I hadn’t even had a bite yet! He masked his irritation with himself. Serves him right. He should have just minded his own business. But then he hated himself for those thoughts. With a sigh, he merely nodded.

“You’re talking about the old Duskflame estate then. If I recall, that is your surname yes? It’s not far from here. One, maybe two hours trek due north...”

He shifted on his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets now.

“I can help you get there, sure.”

He slid his gaze around the fucked up group again. Shoulda just stayed put.

[ L. K ] "Two. . .hours"

He mouthed silently and turned around to move back toward Pame. As he neared the Kaldorei he would softly motion for them to switch.

"She is much lighter, give your back a rest."

It wasn't that he was going to ask her, more or less tell her. She had been working herself to near death trying to take care and fight for everyone.

Rather than force her to endure further, Lazarius would take the weight of the Shaldorei and turn back toward the others.

"You find a way to cut that time in half. . . and I will make it worth your while, how does ten thousand sound?"

Lazarius grunted as he hoisted the one arm elf over his shoulder and supported the man the best he could without injuring him further.

"We can talk on the way, move. . .now."

He snapped inferring to Verza to get this show on the road.

[ P . K ] “Ten thousand what? Biscuits? Daggers? Punches to the gullet?”

The tattooed red head moved forward and made a gesture to Lazarius as if to say let me carry the girl.

“Give the woman a rest. I can carry her and then I have a mount we can put two on. That should cut the time down.”

[ V . D ] At the command of Lazarius, Pame wasted no time in heeding him. There was a selfish reason for it, too, because the thought of a break actually... Appeased the Kaldorei. It made the tension in her shoulders slacken when hoisting the red head into.her arms after Mars had been steadied and lifted by Lazarius. Though she'd bare her teeth in a glower at the suggestion of taking it too easy,

"I have her,"

She denies stubbornly, gritting her teeth after recognizing the harshness of her own tone,

"Egh... Thank you anyways..."

At the snap would the sindorei stare intently toward the Kashe'bahl, the previously tear soaked cheeks now flustered pink with shame attheir hesitation. He was a dick, but he was right. They werent safe, time was ticking.

"Gods sake," Tea groans at Kretus's cheeky remark, bending forth to scoop the little boy into her arms-- a habit she'd picked up with Brinys, and one she'd familiarize the boy with cause she'd be apoiling him henceforth...

Whether they followed or not, Tea starts walking the way Kretus had emerged from... Just to get them started! Even if it was the wrong way.

[ P . K ] Kretus just shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk north. Right to his hut and after Tea.

“Suit yourself,” he said to Pame.

He looked at Lazarius over his shoulder as he was walking.

“Might want to have a chat with your comrades that now is not the time to be stubborn.”

[ L. K ] "I can very easily call one of those worms down from the sky and let it pay you a visit if you think her company is so bad. In case you aren't aware, aside from 'Teacup' you're a stranger to the rest of us, with very little value. . .aside from some stew. . .and a hut. . . You'll have to excuse our apprehension and desire to be someplace safe, secure and also trusted. No offense."

If Kre didn't think Lazarius could hear him, he was mistaken, they were all elves here, even Jursol was keen of hearing, they all would have caught his remark. As he walked with the Shaldorei over his shoulder he grunted.

"Why don't we try this. . . since we are on the path toward doing something, You already know Verzatea. . . the troll is Jursol of the Zandalari, the Kaldorei is my personal Shade, Pame Myl'Brin and the young girl she is carrying is Raven. This arm less fellow who is going to be just fine. . ."

Marseille opened his eye, just barely enough to peer at Laz and crack a soft smile.

"This is Marmless. . .I mean Marseille."

He would point ahead with his hand holding the arm of the elf.

"We don't know the kids name, picked him up on the way. And I am Lazarius Kash'ebahl. I assume you are Kretus . . she had told me a bit about your escapade during the Magister incident. . . it is a shame we never got to meet after I was returned."

[ V . D ] Pame snorts noisily at the Marmless comment, biting harshly at her bottom lip to prevent that from bubbling over into a straight up laugh.

But it certainly was amusing, especially now that she was confident Mars stood a fighting chance of surviving. Maybe she'll laugh fully once they're completely out of the woods.

[ R ] Raven continued to be easy to carry. Indeed, she was lighter than the Shaldorei. Her frame was slathered in drying, or dried black void tainted blood however. At least being completely out, she didn't squirm while being carried.

[ P . K ] He continues walking, listening to Lazarius introduce them all. He had certainly not meant to keep his words from being heard. The man spoke what was on his mind when it was on his mind. Most of the time.

“You have the right of it. Kretus Dark.”

He wasn’t insulted in the least. He had merely been trying to help. He’d learned over the decades that help, whether offering it or receiving it, was a finicky thing.

“Tea,” he shouted.

“Start going right a bit. You’ll see my campfire.”

He looked at Laz again.

“We can grab a few things quickly and then lay both the comatose woman and Marmless atop Gambit. Should cut our time if two of you aren’t weighted down with bodies.”

[ L. K ] "Ma...rseille. . .wretch. . .even without my arm, I will knife y..."

Laz shook the words from him as he continued to walk.

"Save your strength." he quickly corrected as he continued to limp along with the ancient elf.

"Mister Dark. . . is that your actual name? I have never met anyone of the House of Dark. Was that your fathers house? The Kash'ebahls are a well known rank of nobility, In all of my time within the magistrate I don't ever recall hearing the name."

[ V . D ] With a hesitation in step the sindorei awkwardly wobbles around and starts meandering through the woods whilst wearing a bashful expression.

"I knew that,"

she murmurs beneath her breath, even though her breath was becoming equally shallow with every grueling step. She started to regret slacking in her stamina training.

Though she'd silently push herself to keep moving forward. Otherwise she'd become undeniably slow and fall to the back before slowly giving up.

[ P . K ] He slid his eyes toward the male elf and forced a smile. A smile that oddly looked like someone Laz knew when she forced smiles.

“My mother was a poor woman. And my father was...”

his jaw clenched and he looked forward, his camp fire in sight now.

“Don’t actually know. Some nobleman who took my mother for a mistress then discarded her.”

[ L. K ] "Sounds like a typical noble piece of shit."

Lazarius said, knowing what he did about his own father, the man who'd sold him off for the fortune he'd gained, he wasn't exactly lacking in the department of horrible fathers.

He would continue to walk in the middle of the back, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure Raven was alright. Even in Pames care, he was fiercely protective over the girl. Or was he just making sure she hadn't woken up yet.

[ P . K ] Tea would make it to the small home first. It really wasn’t a tiny hut. It was moderate and looked cozy in the dreary Ghostlands. The fire was all but cinders now, the stew still hot.

“He was from what my mother told me of him. Help yourselves to the stew while I gather a few things.”

Kretus grabbed his own bowl that was now lukewarm and began shoveling it in while he disappeared inside. He’s re-emerge with more bowls then disappear again as he rummaged around gathering a few things. It would not take long.

[ V . D ] With a weathered sigh of relief Tea momentarily lowers the boy to indulge Kretus's kind offer. She'd locate items which to safely carry the stew offered, as well as utensils for them all to eat from-- offering each of their group a bit of stew to fuel them for the hard journey ahead.

Pame, while she devoured it swiftly, would hiss and huff noisily from scorching the inside of her mouth from rushing the process of chewing. Though she'd offer to feed Mars, blowing on it so as to prevent him from unnecessarily hurting himself.more.

[ J ] Jursol followed the others choosing still to listen as they moved. Her raptors purred as they nudged her now and then. She glanced around at things as they walked taking in the new sights.

When they arrived at the mans hut she took a minute to look around. The raptors needed to hunt for food and felt the same at the moment. Mars was in good hands for the time being. Breathing a sigh of relief before speaking up.

“We be needin ta hunt for der meat.”

She said pointing at the raptors. Jimba now in her arms as she pet him. Jursol looked once more to the others to be sure they would be OK for a bit while she was gone.

[ V . D ] "Swiftly," Pame agreed with Jursol, her eyes sweeping the familiar forest with a glower before remarking secondly, stressing,

"Carefully. These woods are known for monstrosities."

-- The promise to Jursol made by Verzatea before her hunting spree was a vow to set up small hints to help guide the zandalari and her raptors to the right path, back to the traveling band of misfits after they began the journey. Something small, but something Jursol could track.

@siidaraykashebahl

@frompage112

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@thebladeitself

@whatadarkbitch

@pyravari-kashebahl

@miss-irascible

To be concluded in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Epilogue″

#thehouseofthenine #the house of the nine #original stories #guild writing #original characters #discord writing

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coldguard · 4 years ago

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( kiernan shipka. nineteen. she/her. ) WINTER ANDERSON, or WINNIE, has been at THE MIDDLE SCHOOL for SEVEN MONTHS and is currently a GUARD. their fellow survivors say they’re quite QUICK-WITTED, DEVOTED but i’ve heard whispers that they’re also FIERY, GUARDED. but, one thing is certain, they’ve survived this long for a reason. ( queenie. 19. est. she/her. )

Hello! The name’s Queenie and this sweet but chaotic bean is my daughter, Winter Anderson aka Winnie! Now, let’s jump in, shall we?

Before the apocalypse - Trigger warning for robbery

Winter Genevieve Anderson was the youngest daughter, but second child overall to a dad who owned a locally famous diner (Luke Danes from Gilmore Girls vibes) and a prominent psychiatrist mother. She had an older sister named Briar as well as a younger twin brother named Miles.

She had a fan-fucking-tastic childhood as this gal herself will tell you. Whenever she wasn’t in school, her time was split between the diner and the homes of her best friends. She’d either be helping her dad out however she could or just simply having a grand time with her friends, goofing off.

Of course, Winter could be serious when it was time to get serious. Her parents taught her to always be an advocate for the little guy and legend has it that an Anderson’s temper runs hotter than the fires of hell whenever injustice is at play. Bullies on the playground were no match for her sharp tongue. If that failed? Then resolving things with a round of fisticuffs never hurt.

Winnie was fairly popular in school, high school especially. She was a cheerleader and class president after all. But she also enjoyed her fair amount of nerdy things, such as being on the academic team and made so many bad archery puns during practice. Plus, her sweetheart reputation preceded her which made sure that she never knew a stranger.

So, she graduated from high school and decided to take Briar up on her offer of sharing a place. By the time fall rolled around, Winter had enrolled at a nearby college with a double major in business administration and culinary arts. She always had a love for food and cooking, plus she figured that it couldn’t hurt to have some professional training under her belt. Then who knew where fate would take her? Either she’d take over her dad’s diner or she’d go on to open her own restaurants.

Robbery TW - Just before Thanksgiving break however, she went out to celebrate Friendsgiving with her inner circle. They decided to head for the Anderson sisters’ apartment to continue the party and that was when things took a turn. During the walk back, someone attempted to rob the group. Keyword being attempted because Winter kept the would be assailant distracted while a friend called the cops.

Even though there was a moderately happy ending, the event shook her up. And she may or may not have taken up archery again. Other than that, life was quiet.

Then the apocalypse hit... Trigger Warnings for mentions of weapons & death

To say things went to hell in a handbasket would be an understatement. One moment, everything seemed fine. But next thing anybody knew, chaos was the new sheriff in town.

At the insistence of their parents, Briar and Winter started packing to return home to their hometown. “We should all be together. There’s safety in numbers,” their mom had said and dad echoed her sentiment without hesitation.

So, they returned home to be together as a family unit. And it turned out that Mr. and Mrs. Anderson had taken in some neighbors as well, ever the hospitable sweethearts. They’d all banded together...for the time being.

The looters and rioters that ran rampant in the beginning eventually came knocking. The adults remained behind in an attempt to hold them off while the Anderson sibling trio helped the older kids get out with the youngers. While she did her best to keep other groups of siblings together, Winter ended up separated from her own.

She made her way to the middle school and she’s been there ever since. Armed with a knife when she first arrived, someone gave her a pistol crossbow along with some bolts when Winnie signed on to become a guard.

Why a guard instead of a cook, one might ask? After all, she does have that love for food and was majoring in culinary arts before the apocalypse. Well, it all goes back to that sense of justice along with that classic Anderson family desire to advocate for the little guy.

With that, I believe we’re all caught up! If there’s anything else you’d like to know about my gal or you want to do some plotting, please feel free to slide into my tumblr messages or add me (Queenie#6441) on Discord!

#end.intro

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quietemptydiariess · 7 years ago

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Space Sapphics with Swords - Valkyrie & Gamora // Valmora

Cover By: @babybluepeaches

Chapter 1

A/N: Hey girls, gays, and nerds! My name is Michael-Michelle. I’m little nerdy 17-year-old bi wlw who loves writing. This is my first fanfiction in a while. I have also never read GOTG or Valkyrie fanfic, but trust me, I’m trying. Gamora and Valkyrie are my absolute favorite MCU characters (besides the Black Panther and Spider-Man characters). I love them and based on the similarities between their backstories, cinematic characterization, the fact that Gamora is somewhere on the fluid-sexuality-hella-gay spectrum in my head, and Valkyrie is canonly bi, I thought it only made sense that the two of them would date and have a beautiful connection.

Special Thanks: @starsandsupernovae @storibambino @natashalieromanov @dramaqueenamby (These lovely ladies either helped me with writing advice, coming up with ideas and/or being a beta reader. Thank you so much)

Tags: @probablysapphic @accurate-incorrect-marvel-quotes @verycorrectavengersquotes @bannerkhov @lyricxavierlove @musicals-and-emo-music @comfysapphics @rosepetalrichie @hallowyn @hadesapphic @artemisthevalkyrie @theadultdemon @mariel-wtf @ginger-chesire-cat @remembe-rr @beepboopblu @nebulapologist @bluearrow126 @sergio-so @wine-mom-of-nine-boys @joey8song @stripes2607 @elliesdinaa @whisky-adventures @hamushino @superswimluv @mxlti-fangirl @peter-bi-quill @hettolandija @general-geya @puggleplayer124 @belissimabitch @psychopat70 @annecraycray @spearcast @loveisevely @starsandsupernovae @rebellionrogers @higheverwave @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant @flourished-in-blotts @thenerdyjew @slythxr @widowout @sohotthateveryonedied @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname @bisexual-unicorn0 @magicalhudson @umniyah-s @vr1nda @dayzor @yuki-stark-22 @supremestoverlord @eluwutime @thanos-is-a-grape @thequeerpeer @liketotallynat @anonymousrobinhooqueer @insyndiar @levi-snk @isolemnlysweardanhasnolife @sasha-drakonov @mistycreature @your-anonymous-bitch @sliver-wolf-karma @whereiscarmensanfrancisco @too-shook @centerpointstation @trashyhipsterfangirl @huhawkeye @happywlwsuggestions @fairies-midwife @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics @daughterofavaloncosplays @shabalaarr @deathbystarlight @blackblerddev @autoboty @jellyheart

Gamora sat quietly aboard The Milano behind Peter Quill as she observed the fireworks that were vibrantly out in space to commemorate his father, Yondu the Ravager. He sat in his captain’s chair silently sulking over the recent loss. She silently fondled with her green nails as she pondered about the fact that if he had just listened to her when she warned him about the cavern filled with skeletons on Ego’s planet, this all could’ve been avoided. Her internal dialogue was quickly interrupted. The hologram com system rang, as a call came through.

‘’What the hell..’’ Gamora overheard Peter scowl. He slowly hit the receive button, and the transmission came through, the hologram popping up and then came Irani Rael's face. "Guardians, we need you here urgently- Oh my, what happened?" The Nova Prime asked, seeing Quill's deadened face. Quill scowled, his face hardening. "None of your business," he shouted.

Gamora quickly sprinted from her chair and clamped her hand over his mouth before he could finish his sentence. "Um. My Apologies, he's just lost somebody important to him, I hope you aren't offended. How urgent is this business?" She explained to Irani Rael before noticing a dazed anger across Quill’s face, the same as when he shouted at her to be happy for him since he finally found his family. Gamora removed her hands from his mouth.

Irani Rael blinked, "Oh... I'm sorry for your loss..." "No, you aren't!" Quill yelled, about to throw a punch at the hologram, his fist about to go through it, before Gamora caught his hand in midair. Peter ignored her hand before continuing his tirade, "You just want my fucking help!" She sensed it was a bad idea to pursue further and switched back to the main reason for calling. "How long will it take you to arrive here?" Rocket and Drax had just walked in as the question was asked, being led by Groot who Gamora had told to run and get them. "Maybe a couple of days at best?" Gamora explained. Ro The Nova Prime sounded confused. "Where in the universe even are you?" "In the middle of nowhere," Quill spat out bitterly. "But we're not in Knowhere, we're-" Drax blinked in confusion as Quill quickly cut him off. "He means Nowhere important ," he amended his statement, glaring at Drax. "Well, please arrive here as soon as possible, we have a situation that has to be resolved quickly," she said, glancing at the four of them, and at Quill last. "I am Groot?" the sapling asked, holding his branchy hand above a screen that was already set to Xandar. Apparently, he'd already forgotten about what had happened last time. "No!" The four all yelled, as the sapling brought his hand down on the screen and their wild ride began.

†††

Scrapper 142 better known as Valkyrie leads the way down a narrow lime green hallway through a Sakaarian building with Thor and Bruce Banner following close behind her. She suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and sighed. She was about to reluctantly reveal moderately intimate details about herself to the brother of the murderous goddess of death who killed her fellow Valkyries and a man she felt an odd connection with but only met minutes prior. ‘’Look, I’ve spent years in a haze, trying to forget my past. Sakaar seemed like the best place to drink and forget, and to die one day.’’

"I was thinking that you drink too much, and that probably was gonna kill you..’’ Thor replies.

They arrive at a door to their destination.‘’I don’t plan to stop drinking. But I don’t wanna forget. I can’t turn away anymore, so if I’m gonna die, well, it may as well be driving my sword through the heart of that murderous hag.’’ Valkyrie proclaims a smirk spreading across her lips. ‘’So, I’m saying that I wanna be on the team,’’ she confesses, taking Thor up on his previous offer. ‘’Has it got a name?’’ Valkyrie questions.

‘’Yeah, it’s called the Revengers.’’ Thor and Bruce mutter.

‘’Revengers?’’ Valkyrie scoffs.

‘’Because I’m getting revenge. You’re getting revenge.’’ Thor explains. Valkyrie ponders the name with a satisfied expression. ‘’Do you want revenge?’’ Thor asks Bruce. ‘’I’m undecided,’’ Bruce mutters.

‘’Also, I’ve got a peace offering,’’ Valkyrie exclaims proudly. She opens the front door to her apartment revealing - Loki. He is as restrained as anyone could be, sitting in the middle of the apartment with a dozen chains around him.

‘’Surprise’’ Loki shouts. Thor tosses a bottle. It bounces off of Loki’s head. ‘’Ow’’ Loki exclaims in pain.

‘’Just had to be sure.’’ Thor jokes dryly. Thor walks further to Valkyrie’s apartment which reveals Bruce.

‘’Hello, Bruce’’ Loki cordially greets.

��’So, last time I saw you, you were trying to kill everybody. Where are you at these days?’’ Bruce sarcastically asks.

‘’It varies from moment to moment,’’ Loki replies. Val’s apartment is a shithole. Bottles everywhere, blood-spattered clothes in the corner, a knife in the wall, etc. Banner gives Thor a look like “she might be crazy.” Thor responds with a “No, she’s cool” gesture.

Valkyrie lays something on a table. Unwraps it to reveal an old Asgardian sword. Thor’s eyes go wide as she sharpens it.

‘’Is that... a Dragonfang?’’ Thor asks, his eyes reminiscent of a child’s on Christmas morning.

‘’It is.’’ Valkyrie coldly answers, still trying to adjust to welcoming memories of Asgard into her conscience.

‘’My God. This is the famed sword of the Valkyrie,’’ Thor says, still fixated on the sword, gleefully balancing it on his fingers.

Valkyrie walks to the other side of her apartment, becoming annoyed with the side conversations, and decides to change the subject back to the matter at hand. "So, Sakaar and Asgard are about as far apart as any two systems. Our best bet's the wormhole right outside city limits. We can refuel in Xandar, and we should be back in Asgard in about... eighteen months?"

"She is right. Going through the wormhole is the safest and most logical option"

“In case anyone cares what I think, that's a great idea” Loki interjects. “And you’re going to need all the help you can get. I have what you need. I’d suggest you get me out of these chains."

Valkyrie parted her lips as a smile spreads across her face.

†† †

The ship finally landed in Xandar, Gamora parted her lips trying to catch her breathe, as she was clinging onto the counter. She noticed Drax stood his ground as if nothing was happening at all. ‘’Gravity is nothing, to the mighty Drax,’’ He chuckled. Gamora rolled her eyes and peered over to see Quill grunting, gagging, of exasperation as vomit almost spilled out of his mouth.

Quill tried to land without damaging anything, still feeling lightheaded and dizzy. He gritted his teeth as he looked over at Groot, "This is all your fault." Groot stared at him blankly not registering his frustration.

In that moment, the ship door was opened, Rhomann Dey stood at the door in confusion. "I thought you said you'd only be here in a couple of days." he quickly helped Mantis up, who had fallen to the floor in the passageway. All the Guardians gave each other quick glances as they realized they had all forgotten about Mantis. Quill finally landed on his feet, stumbling and shaking slightly. Almost knocking over Rocket, who held Groot firmly in his hands. "Hey! Watch it." "I am Groot," was the last thing Quill heard before it all went pitch black. † † †

Gamora whipped her head around as soon as she saw Peter blink his eyes open slowly, gradually taking in his surroundings. He suddenly panicked as he felt cords and equipment attached to his chest and tried to the swipe off the things that were attached to him. ‘’No! Get it off me! Get it off’’

"Hey! Everything's okay, Peter," Gamora gently grabbed his hands and stroked his face. Peter blinked and looked up into Gamora's eyes. She was visibly concerned with a warm reassuring smile across her face….he had never seen that expression on her face before.

He blinked and finally took in his surroundings properly. He averted his eyes from Gamora to the white bed he was laying in, to holograms flickering on the walls. There were little wireless buttons attached to him, connected to the holograms, which were projecting a model of his body and showing his heart rate. Drax suddenly stood up from where he'd been sitting on the floor, to further investigate the model of Peter. "It appears your fragile Terran body could not handle the pressure as well as the Mighty Drax’’ Gamora glared at Drax. "They checked all of us for and only kept him in here because..." she trailed off. "Because of what, Gamora?" Quill demanded, sitting up straight. At that moment, Irani Rael walked into the room. "Oh, good, you're up. We have several questions to ask you, Peter Quill. Please come with us." She indicated that the others could come too, as the Nova Prime's assistant quickly took the things off Peter's body and switched off the holograms. Quill gave the others a confused look as he reluctantly got off the bed and they followed behind Irani Rael.

They followed the Nova Prime, Quill dragging behind slightly, as she led them into the Nova Corps' Mission Control Centre, where they had been when she'd commended their actions in the Battle of Xandar, and informed Quill that he was only half-Terran. He glanced out the windows, grimacing, as the others chose to stand inside the room, and focus on the Nova Prime, except him, who was avoiding her gaze. "Peter," Gamora snapped. "This is important, you idiot." "I don't care," he grumbled, staring out the window, down into the clean and tidy streets of Xandar. The sinking feeling within him was making him want to run back out of the room and leave Xandar never to return. "Oh, yeah, so you had something to tell us?" he quipped impatiently.

“Recently, across every single known planet, there was a great wave of destruction that swallowed up many things." She gestured to the screens where gigantic walls of blue goop suddenly bloomed up and began swallowing up civilization, the holograms projecting the sound of screams and destruction as people ran away in terror. The others, Gamora most of all, remembering the destruction of Zen-Whoberi, stared at the holograms in shocked horror, having not seen what had been actually occurring on other planets while they were on Ego, trying to stop the egotistical planet from destroying the universe. “Oh...my god..." Peter gasped felt his eyes water as he thought about what could have happened if he hadn't resisted his father, if his father hadn't mentioned his friends or family, or if his father hadn't broken his Walkman... He could remember physically feeling Ego spread himself to the other planets, seeing the destruction his father caused with his help, through the tendrils that had drained him of energy... "This happened on Xandar, as well. There were two times when its progress halted, and we were able to analyze what it was then." The Nova Prime looked down at Peter as he looked up slowly. "It was something...something we'd never seen here before. Except in you." Peter felt his heart beat erratically as he frantically stepped away from the Nova Prime, his eyes widened in horror as her words sunk in.

Peter Quill held his hands up, like a barrier between himself and Irani Rael, "In my defense, I was not responsible for anything that happened," he pointed at the screen of blue goop, then sighed. "Okay, maybe I'm somewhat responsible..." he looked down at the floor, thinking of Yondu. "But I didn't mean for any of this to happen! I didn't want it to happen! He used me against my will!" Peter looked up again, looking the Nova Prime directly in the eyes, before frowning. His frown turns into a blank stare then utter confusion.

The Nova Prime continued to further explain and ease Quill’s confusion. "The reason that we called you here, and after hearing what you said just, it does sound like you know what happened. We thought that because you are the Guardians of the Galaxy, you would know something and be the incident, even without your genetics," she nodded to Quill. Quill stared at her. "You made us come all this way just to tell you something, you could have said over a hologram call?" he huffed

"We could have but now that we have seen you in person, we realized it was important to keep an eye on you in a stable, enclosed environment after this incident. We needed to see if you were physically affected by these events."

Peter separated his lips to protest. Irani Rael continued to further clarify, "This is not jail or captivity. You will be free to go once we have determined that you haven't been physically harmed, which may take up to a couple of days to a week." Gamora stepped behind Quill and put her hand on his shoulder. “I think we should do this, just to make sure you're okay." Peter blinked a couple of times. Gamora was acting a lot more caring than usual, and it was weird.

"I think it is a good idea to have your weak Terran body checked over" Drax addressed Quill first. Quill groaned, and held his hand up to his forehead as a little voice piped out, "I am Groot!" Quill tried to ignore Drax looked at the Nova Prime again. "So, this is just temporary, right? And You just want us to give you some information" The Nova Prime nodded, and then Mantis decided to pipe up as well, "I also think it a good idea to stay here. I might be able to help, as well, and I know a lot about Ego." Irani Rael frowned. "Ego..? He actually exists? Was he the cause of all this? Xandar has heard tales...but there are many false legends floating around in the universe." Quill sighed and looked around. "Okay, we'll tell you what happened. But first... Is there anywhere to sit down?" he asked. He knew it would take a while to explain everything. Quill's short version of events which included, "I have a crazy planet as a father who wanted to take over the whole universe and I had to commit patricide to stop him," wasn't satisfactory for the Nova Prime. Drax almost made matters worse by telling the Nova Prime that they'd stolen batteries from the Sovereign after she'd asked them how they'd met Ego.

Gamora came to rescue just in time, with a bare minimum explanation. She recalled that their ship needed repairs so they'd landed, and that was when Ego had passed by and introduced himself. Groot had tried to interject some facts a couple of times, but the Nova Prime and her assistant had struggled to understand his limited vocabulary, Quill explained about agreeing to go to Ego's planet with Gamora and Drax. Mantis spoke up to vice that she'd met them, but recounted that she'd only really been in the company of Ego before, and a couple of his children, once or twice, but never for a long amount of time. "I thought something seemed off, though, about the whole thing, especially when Mantis wanted to tell Drax something, but didn't," Gamora looked over at Mantis. "And then my sister came along and we found a cave with many skeletons lying around. That was when I knew something was wrong." "Wait, what?!" Quill stared at Gamora. He knew Ego had many children... What he hadn't known was their tragic fae that ended in death...

Gamora’s facial expression fluctuated, as a confusion morphed into realization, "I never got to tell you... When we got to you, there was no time to explain." Quill shuddered and shifted in his seat. He swallowed before speaking. "Ego needed the power of two Celestials to pull his plan off, and I couldn’t go along with..." He didn't feel the need to explain what he'd almost done. That he first went along with Ego’s plan or he'd only snapped out of it when he thought about his mother and his friends. Just minor details. Nothing worth mentioning. "And then we arrived and smashed that asshole into the ground with our ship!" Rocket smashed his small fists together gleefully as if it had been his pleasure. "I am Groot!" the tree piped up to protest Rocket’s inaccuracy. "Yeah, I know it didn't work, shut up, I was getting there," Rocket waved Groot off. "We just had to get a bomb to go off in the core of Ego's planet to destroy him," Quill interjected, pressing his hand to his forehead tiredly. He was visibly agitated and tired of talking. "We were all in the ship by the time Ego was destroyed, except for Quill, and Yondu..." Gamora trailed off. There was a silence. A beat. "And then Yondu died saving me...," Quill mummbled. Rocket then explained that he'd accompanied them to go save Quill. The Nova Prime processed this information slowly. Yondu the Ravager. She made a mental note of that name.

Quill pushed his chair out and stood up. "Okay, that's all we have to tell you. We'll be leaving now." He turned and headed towards the door.

"Peter! You know we can't leave yet," Gamora said sternly. "Yes, your fragile Terran body is extremely capable of breaking," Drax added in. "I'm fine!" Peter waved his hand at them. "Stop calling me 'weak' and 'Terran'?" The Nova Prime stud up to address him, "Peter Quill, Wait" she began, "Have you considered what being half-Celestial entails?" Peter blinked at her. "No way. I'm just Terran," he protested. "Ego said that I would be when he died.’’ "Did it occur to you that he was just saying that so that you wouldn't kill him?" Gamora snapped, also standing up. "Yeah, it's not like you stopped being Terran when your mother died," Rocket pointed out. "Don't bring my mom into this!" Quill shouted angrily. "The only thing that concerns her is that she was unlucky enough to fall in love with that asshole!" "I am Groot!" the trree interjected. "Groot is right, there is no way to tell whether your father was telling the truth or not." Drax chimed in. "And we do not have enough information on Celestials to discern whether what this Ego said is true or not," the Nova Prime added. "You know what? You guys can fuck off" Quill shouted angrily. "I'm a fucking Terran and that's all!" He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a bang as he stomped angrily leaving the building. They're all wrong, he thought. Drax stared after him and then turned to the others. "Do you think he will ever accept it?" Rocket shrugged, "Who knows? You nothing ever goes through that thick skull of his." "I am Groot," Groot politely reminded Rocket that the same applied to him. "You can just - shut your sap hole, alright" Rocket growled. Gamora looked to Mantis, who shuffled her feet a little. She was about to speak before deciding not to as her antenna dropping slightly. The Nova Prime sighed. "After hearing what you've just told us, I fear what might happen if he doesn't accept himself... If only we had more information about half-Celestials... We didn't even know they could exist," she admitted. "We should go after him," Gamora decided. "Before he kills himself like the idiot he is," Rocket added. "It shouldn't be that hard, considering he is half-Terran," Drax pointed out. "Oh c’mon, are you still hung up over that?" Rocket asked, exasperated. "What? It's true," Drax blinked. "I give up on the both of you. It seems like I always have to be the mature one around here" Gamora scowled and headed off to find Quill.

As Gamora walked through the streets of Xandar in search of Peter Quill, for what seemed like forever, her feet and ankles began to ache with pain. It was as if the lack of sleep due to the Guardians most recent adventures from defeating Ego, to Yondu’s death, and now this unexpected trip Xandar was all catching up to her. Gamora yawned and rubbed her heavy eyelids. She stopped in the middle of her tracks as she noticed a small bar on the corner.

"Peter can wait. I need a drink first"

†††

‘’If we’re going with my plan, we need another ship. The wormhole will tear mine to pieces’’ Valkyrie speaks up.

‘’She’s right. We need one that can withstand the geodetic strain from the singularity.’’ Thor nods in agreement. Banner gives Thor a quizzical look.‘’And has an offline power steering system that could also function without the onboard computer.’’ Bruce proposes, looking between Thor and Valkyrie for approval.

‘’And we need one with cup holders because we’re gonna die. So, drinks!’’ Valkyrie boasts while smiling and cheerfully holding up a bottle

‘’What do you say, doctor? Uncharted metagalactic travel through a volatile cosmic gateway. Talk about an adventure.’’ Thor offers Banner before the two of them high five.

‘’We need a ship’’ Banner points out.

‘’There are one or two ships, absolute top-of-the-line models-’’ Valkyrie begins to reply.

Loki interjects the conversation while sitting a few feet away, still held captive in chains.‘’I don’t mean to impose, but the Grandmaster has a great many ships. I may even have stolen the access codes to his security system.’’

All eyes turn to Loki. Valkyrie throws her bottle at him. It smashes above his head. Loki winces.

‘’And suddenly you’re overcome with an urge to do the right thing.’’ Valkyrie raises an eyebrow, setting her hands on her hips

Loki chuckles a devious smile. ‘’Heavens, no. I’ve run out of favor with the Grandmaster. And in exchange for codes and access to a ship, I’m asking for safe passage through the wormhole’’

‘’You’re telling us you can get us access into the garage without setting off any alarms?’ Thor steps forward in Loki’s direction, intrigued by his brother’s offer.

‘’Yes, brother. I can.’’

Banner whistles drawing Thor and Valkyrie’s attention. The three of them huddle together, debating Loki’s offer.‘’Okay, can I just... A quick FYI, I was just talking to him just a couple minutes ago and he was totally ready to kill any of us.’’

‘’He did try to kill me.’’ Valkyrie concurs.

Thor huddles closer and chimes into the conversation with a horrific childhood memory.‘’Yes, me too. On many, many occasions. There was one time when we were children, He transformed himself into a snake, and he knows that I love snakes. So, I went to pick up the snake to admire it and he transformed back into himself and he was like, “Yeah, it’s me!” And he stabbed me. We were eight at the time.’’ Banner shakes head in disgust as a horrified look leaves his face. Valkyrie furrows her eyebrows and doesn’t seem the least bit impressed. Loki suppresses a smile.

‘’If we’re boosting a ship, we’re gonna need to draw some guards away from the palace,’’ Valkyrie explains in Thor’s direction

‘’Why not set the beast lose?’’ Loki mutters, his eye staring at the floor.

‘’Shut up.’’ Thor points his fingers and adverts his attention to Loki

‘’You guys have a beast?’’ Valkyrie questions, smiling excitedly from ear to ear.

‘’No, there’s no beast. He’s just being stupid. We’re going to start a revolution.’’ Thor mumbles

‘’Revolution?’’ Banner asks

‘’I’ll explain later.’’ Thor whispers, glancing at Banner

‘’Who’s this guy again?’’ Valkyrie questions, motioning to Banner

‘’I’ll explain later.’’

†††

Korg sits with his cellmates. He’s talking to Miek. ‘’Is that some sort of protoplasm, all the stuff that’s coming out of you? Or are they eggs? Looks like eggs.’’ He asks Miek, as a purple like liquid spills out of him.

Suddenly the obedience disk of Korg and his cellmates powers down and stops glowing. As Korg stands up, another rock falls off of his body and Valkyrie appears at the door to his cell. She marches inside while holding a high-tech rifle. ‘’I’m looking for Korg.’’

‘’Who’s asking? I know you’re asking. Is anyone else asking, or is it just you?’’

Valkyrie tosses him the high-tech rifle. ‘’The Lord of Thunder sends his best.’’

Korg proudly catches the rifle, ‘’The revolution has begun…’’

Inside the Warsong ship Valkyrie is all focus, as she fires shot after shot, trying to keep the Grandmaster at bay, and flies across Asgard. Banner nervously sits shotgun. ‘’Good shot!’’ Banner compliments.

‘’Thanks.’’

Thor’s ship and Valkyrie’s ship now zip through the city in tandem. On the horizon, we can see the Statesman, the enlarged Grandmaster, and his Riot Control team raining down hell on the revolting prisoners.

Inside the commodore ship Thor sits in the pilot’s seat. Valkyrie comes in over the radio. ‘’Open the doors.’’ She commands. Thor looks over the console and flips a switch.

While Inside the Warsong ship, Valkyrie steers down, dropping altitude. Her whole ship spins upside down, yet her cockpit is still right-side up. Valkyrie turns to Banner and chuckles, ‘’I hope that you’re tougher than you look.’’

‘’Why?’’ Banner turns to her unaware of what’s to come.

Valkyrie maxes out the throttle. The ship accelerates. When she’s under Thor’s ship, Valkyrie presses the eject button and Banner is launched upward into the sky and out of the ship. He begins to flare his arms all around and a shrieking scream leaves his mouth.

Thor sits at the controls inside the Commodore. An incoming scream of increasing volume can be heard. “aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH’’ Banner is shot up into the ship and has a rough landing. He struggles to stand as he grabs onto the floor and crawls into the ship.

Thor chuckles at his friend and then returns his focus back to the piloting the ship. The ship is being fired upon by another pursuit vehicle.

‘’Hey Loki’’ Bruce waves in Loki’s direction. ‘’Wait, why are still tied up -?’’ Bruce raises an eyebrow. ‘’Brother tried to kill me again while we were distracting the guards. The chains are for safe measure.’’ Thor shouts over his shoulder from the cockpit.

‘’Hi, I’m Korg and this is my friend Miek. It’s nice to meet ya. Here for the revolution.’’ Bruce turns to his right and jumps back as Korg addresses him. He gives a tight-lipped smile and a nod in Korg’s direction. Banner turns his direction to the floor as rocks fall off of Korg’s body. ‘’Thor...Who is he again?’’

‘’He’s a friend that I met in the contest of champions. I’ll explain later’’

‘’Shouldn’t we be shooting back or something?’’ Banner asks, trying to catch his breath as he’s finally able to stand upright.

‘’Yes, we should,’’ Thor confirms. He realizes they’re going to need some help to win this battle. ‘’Where are the guns on this ship?’’ he asks Valkyrie, into the radio.

‘’There aren’t any. It’s a leisure vessel.’’ Valkyrie answers back between firing shots.’’Grandmaster uses it for his good times, orgies and stuff’’

Thor and Banner look around. The ceiling has mirrors on it and the floor is covered in a Sakaarian Persian rug. ‘’Did she just say the Grandmaster uses it for orgies?’’ Banner yells from behind Thor. ‘’Yeah. Don’t touch anything.’’ Thor replies, trying to get rid of the fire from behind.

Valkyrie’s ship is hit. She rotates the cockpit to face backward and opens fire, taking out the attacking chase-ship. But now in Val’s cockpit... Sparks. Smoke. Alarms. In the distance, Valkyrie clocks the Grandmaster’s Riot Ship raining terror down on the masses. A look of determination as she pops the hatch above - her ship is now a convertible.

Warsong zooms out from under Thor’s ship, still accelerating. Valkyrie has turned her ship into a missile, and its trajectory is the Grandmaster’s riot control ship! Grandmaster is still taunting his former captives below when suddenly, Warsong slams into the Statesman, specifically the Grandmaster’s projection! Enlarged Grandmaster stumbles, struggling to maintain his balance.

Warsong explodes while the Statesman is knocked off kilter and goes down for a hard landing in the market!

Thor and Banner witness the fiery explosion of Valkyrie’s kamikaze flight path. ‘’NO’’ Thor paincks. His heart sinks and sadness falls over him for a second. And then he notices a spec coming out of the explosion. All of a sudden, Valkyrie hits the ship’s windshield and grabs hold as residual smoke wafting off of her.

Thor pilots the ship out of the city into the Wastelands as six Sakaarian fighter ships race after them information. The fight proceeds as the ships battle across the Wastelands and then out over the Sakaarian Ocean.

Valkyrie is still on the windshield. A beat and a shot of gunfire. One of the pursuing ships wings the Commodore, causing it to lurch. ‘’Get inside!’’ Thor mouths to Valkyrie, squinting his eyes to see her as he fights the Sakaaran sunlight blaring against the ship’s windows.

‘’In a minute!’’ Valkyrie yells back. She pulls herself up and then runs down the roof of the ship. Thor and Banner follow the thumping of her footsteps. In full sprint, Valkyrie leaps off and lands hard on the lead Sakaarian ship. She begins tearing into the enemy ship with her bare hands!

Thor and Banner exchange a look. A beat. Thor motions for Banner to take his place as pilot of the ship and leaps out of the chair, ‘’I should probably go and help.’’ Thor abruptly exits, leaving Banner at the ship’s controls. ‘’Here, take the wheel.’’

Banner takes a seat, but shakes his head in protest, ‘’No. I don’t know how to fly one of these.’’

‘’You’re a scientist. Use one of your PhDs.’’ Thor encourages.

‘’None of them are for flying alien spaceships!’’

Thor leaps into the middle of the high-speed battle. Thor and Valkyrie seem almost superhuman, as the two Asgardians begin jumping between their pursuer’s ships, taking out guns, engines, and pilots with their bare hands.

Thor rips out an engine block and uses it to crush a pilot. Valkyrie drags her blades down the entire underbelly of a ship before backflipping to another. The two of them go back and forth, passing each other mid-flight a few times. One by one the Sakaarian ships go down.

Banner is frantically steering the ship, doing his best to dodge all the incoming fire. He peels away and is followed by Topaz, who is in her own chase-ship. Banner notices a button with a little explosion icon. ‘’Okay, come on. There’s gotta be a gun on this thing. That looks like a gun.’’ He frantically mutters to himself. Banner presses the button.

The ship’s lighting changes, like a disco effect. Weird dance music blasts over the PA, followed by Grandmaster’s voice. ‘’It’s MY BIRTHDAY! It’s MY BIRTHDAY! It’s MY BIRTHDAY.’’

Banner is so confused. Then he hears fireworks.

Massive plumes of powder paint shoot out of the ship followed by a huge colorful fireworks display. And then a rainforest’s worth of confetti is dumped from the hull. Topaz is suddenly in the middle of a party smoke screen! She tries to fly her way through all the fireworks and streamers, but ultimately she hits a hard crash landing in the ocean.

‘’Yeah!’’ Banner smiles to himself

Meanwhile, Thor and Valkyrie land together on the one remaining Sakaarian ship. Valkyrie leaks a smile to Thor. Thor yanks off the cockpit cover, Valkyrie tosses the pilot, and together they push forward on the throttle. The ship speeds forward. Just then Banner pulls the Commodore back on the scene, hovering above them. They leap up towards the Commodore’s open doors as the ship crashes and explodes behind them!

Thor and Valkyrie join Banner in the cockpit of the Commodore.

‘’Guys, we’re coming up on the Wormhole’’ Valkyrie shouts. ‘’Here we go!’’

The Commodore ship is swallowed up by the towering nightmare that is the wormhole.

The ship’s onboard computer shorts out. Darkness in the cabin. All around them the hull creaks. They’re under strain.

The Commodore heads toward the end of the wormhole. Debris flies all around. Thor, Valkyrie, Loki, Korg, and Banner are all in extreme pain, as their ship is being torn apart.

The ship finally landed in Xandar. The Revengers all crawled to their feet as they made a crash landing. Korg carried Miek as he went to help the other to their feet. At that moment, the ship door was opened, Rhomann Dey stood at the door in confusion. ‘’What do we have here. Another ship with a crash landing? That’s a popular theme today.’’

‘’We’re just traveling through to get to Asgard. We’re fine.’’ Valkyrie spoke, standing up from off the ground. ‘’You all seem to have landed pretty hard. Let’s get you all settled checked out’’ Rhomann Dey waved his hand, dismissing her explanation. Thor, Loki, Bruce, and Korg all followed behind as he led the way. ‘’We’re fine, really’’ Valkyrie shook her head, trying her find her balance.

‘’I need a drink actually. Do you know where a bar is? Ah, nevermind...I’ll find it.’’ Valkyrie limped off to find the nearest bar as the remaining revengers stayed behind.

†††

Gamora practically bum-rushed her way into the bar, the hard stomp of her boots ringing through the floorboards. This current mission was a lot more stressful than she originally thought. But, right now her focus wasn’t about the mission. It was on alcohol.

The crowd parted to make way for her arrival instantly, partially because of their recollection of her work with the battle of Xandar, but also partially because of the look of utter exhaustion and irritation spread across her face. Gamora threw herself into one of the barstools with an exhale of satisfaction, alleviating the ache in the arches of her feet, before turning towards the bartender. “A beer, please.”

A slow chuckle to her right jolted her out of the thoughts racing about in her brain. “I can’t tell if you just had the best or worst job of your life.”

Gamora couldn’t help but laugh, before turning towards the other woman. “Ugh. A lot has happened in the past few days...I’ve been on some missions...and my ship crash...and now here I am.” She sighed sheepishly towards the ground, raising an eyebrow at the large beer stein in the women’s hands. “What about you. Bad day?”

“On the contrary,” Valkyrie grinned impishly, pursing her lips as she raised her glass in victory. “I had a damn good day. So I’m celebrating.”

Now Gamora was curious, turning in the squeaky barstool to face her. “Celebrating what?”

“If you must know, I successfully avoided getting sucked into a black hole in Sakaar, lead a ship full of three idiot dudes, a robot, and a talking pile of rocks safely to Xandar, and in about eighteen months I will be in Asgard just in time to stab a sword through the bloody dying guts of the ugly hag that ruined my life” Valkyrie replied with a giddy smile.

The bartender returned with Gamora’s drink, Gamora thanked him before returning her attention to the conversation.

“So, what happened on these mission of yours that made your ship crash and made you land here? And where’s the rest of your team”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“I’m a damn good judge of character. You seem like someone I can stand the company of while I’m sober. and I would like some company. That’s rare. I like that. Plus, I don’t feel like going back to my shipmates right now and I have all night. So, spill”

“Well...My shipmate, he is from Earth and found his biological father. His father needed up being a living planet aiming for universal domination. We killed him, his death has caused destruction on Xandar, and here I am ” Gamora added. “Sometimes I think I’m the only sane member of my team. I just needed a break.”

Valkyrie did not seem the least bit surprised by Gamora’s travels. Gamora assumed by her reaction, she had experienced something similar.

Valkyrie nearly snorted into her beer mug. “I assume that there’s nothing out of the ordinary or odd about you?” She stared drunkenly into Gamora’s eyes searching for a response.

Gamora slammed down her bottle a little harder than necessary on the bar. “You don’t know me,” she warned, her eyes darkening. Valkyrie was surprised that the outburst was brought on through sobriety. Gamora had only taken a couple sips of beer.

“Relax, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Valkyrie waved a hand in her general direction as if it explained everything she was trying to convey. “And I mean, I’d like to...to get to know you”

“I’m not really the sharing type” Gamora laughed, trying to lighten the tone that was sharper she intended, though Valkyrie didn’t seem all that offended. “Neither, I am but like I said, I’ve got all night.”

Valkyrie stared down her mug for a moment, swishing it around with a flick of her wrist. She seemed almost mesmerized by the movement. Gamora inferred by the numerous finished bottles next to her that she was inebriated.

“I remember you mentioned Asgard earlier. Is that where you came from? Are you Asgardian?” Gamora asked, breaking Valkyrie’s trance. “Yeah, I hated it there. Most of them are conceited. The whole damn history is based on family feud and ego.” Valkyrie took another generous swig. “Yeah, ‘Asgardian pride’ my ass.”

When Valkyrie seemed like she wasn’t going to elaborate, Gamora instead turned in her stool to face the rest of the bar, observing the other people around here. Some people were playing darts, and others were engrossed in conversation at the pool tables.

“And what about before Sakaar?” Gamora asked reverting her attention back to Valkyrie. “I’ve heard tales of it...but I’ve never been there.”

“I moved to Sakaar...after leaving Asgard,” Valkyrie said and continued. “I never really had a problem there. I had more freedom there, honestly. It’s just that the freedom was weird. The Grandmaster always favored me as his best scrapper. But, I could never to go long without a find or there would be consequ-”

Very suddenly, midway through her thought, a sobering look passed her face, her eyes somewhat glassy as she fixated on some random spot behind the bar. Gamora turned to see if she could tell what Valkyrie was looking at, but she was simply just staring off into space. Valkyrie starred directly at the wall into space while continuing her trai of thought, “Valkyrie. Valkyrie is my name. Well, my nickname. It’s the title I had back on Asgard. I led a battalion of women called the Valkyrie who would guide the fallen to Valhalla. And, one day, we had to battle Hela. It didn’t end well.”

“Meaning…” Gamora asked, although her mind already arrived at the most probable conclusion.

“Meaning I’m the only one left...Just like you.” She slammed her mug viciously against the counter, as beer spilled everywhere.

“You know, I’ve been around for awhile. I’ve seen a lot and heard a lot. I’ve heard about you. The ‘deadliest woman in the galaxy’, isn’t that what they call you? And didn’t you lost your family? I know a little bit of what that’s like.”

Gamora could feel her fingernails digging into her palms, though she knew Valkyrie didn’t mean any harm. That was a personal gripe with her identity that needed to be dealt with. Maybe she did have more in common with this stranger in the bar than she realized. She could tell from the way that she spoke of her past life, Valkyrie was recovering from years and years of trauma, just trying to survive, just like her. Gamora remembered that feeling before she had the Guardians. And now being apart of the Guardians had made her more comfortable, being susceptible to love, and people that genuinely care. She could tell Valkyrie would need time to get to that point herself, and people that would put in that time to help. Gamora wanted to be that person.

“It’s not something I like to relive,” Gamora murmured. “And I imagine the same goes for you.”

“I had to watch her sacrifice herself...right in front of me.” Valkyrie glanced at Gamora, “My...my girlfriend.” She then let out an unsettlingly painful laugh. “Why am I telling you this? God, I must be really fucking drunk.’’

“We don’t have to talk about all this now,” Gamora offered with a kind smile. She was admittedly incredibly curious, but it wasn’t the right time, the right place, and neither of them were in the right state of mind. Her own thoughts were feeling muddled as her brain felt buzzed.

“Good, because I don’t want to,” Valkyrie said shortly, though not unkindly. “Tell me, is there anything fun to do around here? I haven’t been in Xandar in awhile. I have already been to all the places that serve good alcohol on this planet, but what if I want to just fight? Not for my life, but just for the fun of it I love a good sparring match.”

Gamora smiled a little at this. She had never fought simply for the fun of it. Only to stay alive and see another day. The thought of it was fun. Her thoughts than lingered to how uneasy Valkyrie had seemed just moments ago. It was obviously uncomfortable and sensitive territory. She brought herself back to reality and out of her haze.

“I don’t. But, if I find any, I will be sure to let you know. You seem like the kind of person that’s good with a sword.”

“Thank you,” Valkyrie nodded. She leaned in a little, poking Gamora in the shoulder with a single finger. It was clear that if she wasn’t before, she was well on her way to being tipsy. “Y’know what, Gamora? You’re not so bad. You’ve got a real hard edge, but I could get used to someone like that.”

As Valkyrie leaned in to poke, Gamora starred closely at the woman. She had a face that was stunningly beautiful, a beautiful mischievous child-like smile, wise but warm eyes, accompanied by amazing muscles and an unforgettable confidence.

Valkyrie starred closely at Gamora and studied her as she leaned in to poke her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with mysterious eyes, amazing bone structure, vibrant ombre hair, and an effortlessly badass aura.

“Keep in contact?” Gamora asks, bringing them both out of their respective trances. “I could use someone outside of the crew on my ship.”

“As could I,” Valkyrie says. “Especially someone as gorgeous as you.” Gamora smiles for a second.

“Thank you,” Gamora replies. “I will see you soon, Valkyrie.” Gamora gets up from her bar stool, pays her tab, and lays a small piece of paper on the counter with her contact information inside.

The name Valkyrie had never sounded as perfect than it did coming from Gamora’s lips. Even more perfect than Valkyrie's favorite weapons.

Valkyrie let out a nervous hearty laugh, to distract from her notable flirting a couple moments ago.

“One more?”

“Sure,” Gamora replied, shortly before returning to her barstool and getting a refilled bottle, as did Valkyrie, to clink their beers.

“Cheers.”

(photo credit: @gyllent)

A/N: Updates will be every Wednesday. This and the next two to three chapters will all be set up for what’s to come. I included a good chunk of Ragnarok to refresh your memory. GOTG2 takes place in 2014 but please suspended belief that it and Ragnarok both take place in 2016, for sake of this story. Thank you so much for reading!

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professional-anti · 7 years ago

Text

City of Bones: Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Secrets and Lies Clary’s drawing and experiencing some Frustration. And like…..ya girl I gotcha. I know the pain. Clary wishes she could be more like her mother which is kind of sweet but super cliché. The phone rings, and it’s Simon being That Lovable Dork™ and pretending to be one of the guys she saw carying a knife. It’s a little funny, ngl, but Simon…come on. Clary’s upset rn.

Clary’s mom was apparently upset they were home late, and we get this:

“I am the bane of her existence,” Clary said, mimicking her mother’s precise phrasing with only a slight twinge of guilt.

…That was her mother’s precise phrasing? Clary, don’t feel guilty mimicking that. Your mom called you the bane of her existence! This is just bad writing, y’all. Jocelyn Fray is set up to be this loving, kind mom…and she says something like that? It makes sense that she’s angry, like, fine, let her be angry. But Cassandra Clare has absolutely no sense of extremes. This is just a li’l too much, babe. Tone it down.

OH GODD. I forgot. Simon has a band. Of course he does, bc this can’t get any more cliché. Simon invites Clary to a poetry reading one of his bandmates is doing. So far, it seems like all of Clary’s friends are boys, which really urks me. Let girls be friends! Let girls take care of each other! A girl isn’t “cool” just bc all her friends are boys. A girl who says “I don’t get along with other girls?” Take care of her. There is some deep internalized mysoginy going on. (Don’t @ me!)

Apparently Eric is really bad at poetry, which, like, mood. They agree that even though Clary’s mom is mad at her for going out the night before, Simon’ll still pick Clary up and bring her to the poetry slam. Not so nice of Simon, but I get the appeal of dragging someone along to a terrible poetry reading. Sometimes you just need support.

There’s a picture of Clary’s dad over the mantel. Apparently he was a soldier who died crashing his car into a tree before Clary was born. Even someone who has never heard anything about these books before and is experiencing them for the first time would be able to tell that Clary has clearly been fed a pack of lies. Apparently Jocelyn never talks about him but has a box with his initials (JC, gonna come up later 100%) with his medals inside.

Clary hears someone coming and grabs a book bc “Jocelyn recognized reading as a sacred pastime and wouldn’t interrupt Clary in the middle of a book, even to yell at her.” Ummmm,,,, sounds like a bad policy, Jocie. Clary should have walked in the night before with a book glued to her face.

A guy called Luke comes in holding folded cardboard boxes, and all I can picture is this:

And that’s how we’ll be thinking of Luke from now on. There’s some dumb background info:

“Hey, Un—hey, Luke,” she said. He’d asked her to stop calling him Uncle Luke about a year ago, claiming that it made him feel old, and anyway reminded him of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Besides, he’d remind her gently, he wasn’t really her uncle, just a close friend of her mother’s who’d known her all her life.

I’M SCREAMING. This is bad writing, folks. This is bad writing. Have any of you guys braved the steaming shit pile that is Handbook for Mortals? This reminds me of that. Totally unnecessary detail that just detracts from the action. Besides being unnecessary, it’s really fucking awkward. Nobody talks like that. “Hi, Uncle Luke!” “Don’t call me that. That reminds me of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, which for some reason Cassandra Clare won’t italicize. Besides, I’m not really your uncle, just a close friend of your mother’s who’s known you all your life.” Umm, Luke??? That’s what people call close friends of their parent’s. It’s a known thing that people do. Also, most people do not think of Uncle Tom’s Cabin after hearing “Uncle Luke”. So calm down, Uncle Luke.

There’s some banter. Apparently Clary’s mom is parking the truck. (Do you guys know how hard it is for me not to type Clare instead of Clary?? It keeps happening.)

Apparently the book Clary grabbed from the side-table was The Golden Bough. Now, spoiler alert: Jocelyn has had Clary’s memories of magic all wiped, which I know from the first time I read this hell book. So why would she purposely put books about mythology and magic in the house??????

Clary asks Luke if he’s ever seen something no one else could see, and he reacts totally unsuspiciously by dropping his tape gun. He spews some bullshit about hallucinating being okay bc she’s “an artist” and “sees the world in ways that other people don’t.”

Jocelyn walks in, and ofc, she’s super gorgeous blah blah blah. This happens:

People always told Clary that she looked like her mother, but she couldn’t see it herself. The only thing that was similar about them was their figures: They were both slender, with small chests and narrow hips. She knew she wasn’t beautiful like her mother was. To be beautiful you had to be willowy and tall. When you were as short as Clary was, just over five feet, you were cute. Not pretty or beautiful, but cute. Throw in carroty hair and a face full of freckles, and she was a Raggedy Ann to her mother’s Barbie doll.

#letgirlsknowthey’repretty2018!!!! Alternatively, stop being fucking cowards and let your MC not be classically beautiful. Bc I’m sorry, we all know Clary is supposed to be gorgeous. Her biggest flaw is that she’s short??? Honey, I am 4 feet 11 inches, and I’ll be that tall until the day I die (unless I do one of those old-lady shrinks). Being short isn’t actually a fucking flaw, Clare’s just pretending it is. I’m just sick of this. Girls have to be beautiful, but they can’t know they’re beautiful. And they can’t be beautiful if it’s not in a thin, white-girl way. Here’s what I want: fat girls who know they’re gorgeous. Girls of color who know they’re gorgeous. Jewish girls and Muslim girls who know they’re gorgeous. Alternatively, I want girls aren’t gorgeous and aren’t described in such a way that we’re supposed to know they’re actually gorgeous. I want girls who don’t pass judgement on themselves at all. I want girls who can just be without having to fulfill some vision of beauty.

Bc here is what we’re supposed to take away from Clary’s description: she has striking red hair and pretty freckles. She’s short and slender. She’s cute and pretty. She just doesn’t know it. Gag me.

Ughhhh. Clary’s also clumsy, her second “flaw”. This isn’t a real fucking flaw!! A flaw is something that is actually detrimental to you, okay??? When you say, “Oh, this character is clumsy,” you’re really saying, “I’m too lazy to think up some actual flaws.” And Clare’s been known to plagiarize, which is a lazy person’s sin.

Jocelyn drops the bombshell that they’re, um…going on vacation. Jocelyn, Clary, and Luke are going to a place called the “farmhouse” in upstate NY for the rest of the summer. As any well-read YA reader knows, this is code for OH FUCKING SHIT WE’RE ABOUT TO DIE THEY’RE ON TO US THROW YOUR CLOTHING INTO A SUITCASE AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

Clary flips shit bc even though she earlier said school is only a few weeks away, the rest of summer is apparently really long now. She demands to know what could happen if she stays behind. Apparently the only way Clare can show that somebody is startled is by them dropping something, so Luke drops some picture frames. Ugh, totally not worth being startled over, Uncle Luke. He says he has to go, and Clary hears him and her mom whispering about someone called Bane. From now on, this is Bane:

I promise he’s more badass than anything Cassandra Clare could come up with.

There’s some more Shady Conversation between Jocelyn and Luke that Clary is too dumb to follow, and Luke tells Jocelyn to talk to Clary. It’s really weird that after years of protecting Clary they’re just gonna argue right in front of her, but Clare does what Clare wants.

This happens:

The door flew open. Jocelyn gave a little scream. “Jesus!” Luke exclaimed. “Actually, it’s just me,” said Simon. “Although I’ve been told the resemblance is startling.” He waved at Clary from the doorway. “You ready?”

;lasdlajlkajldljl So much happening here. For one, Jocelyn screams. Why is it always the woman who screams? Why was Isabelle the one shrieking? Why is it possible for female authors to be mysoginistc? Why does the world suck?

But my main point is that I think Simon is supposed to be likable? But honestly he’s just coming over as a real douchebag, so jot that down. Anyway, Clary and Simon fuck off. It’s a little weird that Jocelyn is just letting Clary go, but as we all know, Clare does what Clare wants. Oh, and Clary’s super rude to her mom as they’re leaving. The usual.

Oh, God. Another wonderful Simonism. As they’re going down the stairs, Simon says, “Jesus, woman, don’t rip my arm off.” I love, love, love when a female character is referred to as “woman”! Hahahaha nope. Not even as a joke. I think it’s dumb and sexist and argh. Simon is just proving himself to be a real treat.

We learn that Clary lives in a brownstone that’s been divided into apartments and she and her mom share the building with a psychic called Dorothea.

“Nice to see she’s doing a booming business,” Simon said. “It’s hard to get steady prophet work these days.” “Do you have to be sarcastic about everything?” Clary snapped.

Hate to say it, but I’m with Clary on this one. Also, once again, Clare shows that she really doesn't understand moderation. Simon making a crack once in a while? Okay. Probably funny. ALL OF SIMON’S LINES BEING THESE ANNOYING JOKES?? NOT FUNNY. KILL BILL SIRENS EACH TIME. I’M TIRED.

WAIT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I THINK MAGNUS JUST WALKED OUT OF DOROTHEA’S APARTMENT??? YASSSSSS, HERE WE GOOOOO. Clary does the annoying thing where she’s like “am I remembering something?” but then doesn’t remember anything at all. Anyway, that’s the end of Magnus for this chapter.

We rejoin our intrepid assholes at a Mexican restaurant where Clary is angsting about her mom and Simon is cracking jokes. Clary talks about how she knows nothing about her mom’s life before her mom had her. It’s page 31 and nothing interesting has happened yet I swear to God. Simon’s like, “Haven’t you see all those scars your mom has?” and Clary’s like “What scars?” which we all know is bc she’s been mind-whiped or something. Clary ignored a call from her mom, which is exactly the thing to do when your mom is acting erratic and scared!!

They leave the restaurant and Clary thinks she sees a doll’s wings flutter. Simon complains about being the only boy in his band without a girlfriend. Save yourself, Clary! You suck, but save yourself from the Nice Guy™ anyway!! There’s a low-key homophobic joke:

“Pretty soon the only people left without a girlfriend will be me and Wendell the school janitor. And he smells like Windex.” “At least you know he’s still available.” Simon glared. “Not funny, Fray.”

And then Clary gets even worse:

“There’s always Sheila ‘The Thong’ Barbarino,” Clary suggested. Clary had sat behind her in math class in ninth grade. Every time Sheila had dropped her pencil—which had been often—Clary had been treated to the sight of Sheila’s underwear riding above the waistband of her super-low-rise jeans.

(source: https://tenor.com/view/batman-donotwant-animated-gif-4668582)

Look. I am not a nice person. I’ve been known to commit lashon hara, which is the Jewish way of saying being a big ol’ gossip whore. But I would never slut-shame. And I expect better of my female protagonists. This book is just so filled with girl-on-girl hate. And I hate girl-on-girl hate. I want girls building each other up. I want girls loving each other. I want girls supporting other girls, not tearing them down. I don’t want girls who only make friends with boys and then slut-shame other girls with them.

Oh, it turns out Eric the poet is dating Sheila. And we’re on our way to the poetry reading. Great! I bet we’ll meet her, and it’ll be slut-shaming goodness. Clary calls Eric a sexist pig for telling Simon to “just decide which girl in school had the most rockin’ bod and ask her out on the first day of classes.” I am totally in agreeance that Eric is a sexist pig. So why, perchance, is Simon FRIENDS WITH THIS ASSHOLE? This is the CLASSIC Nice Guy™. They always have a coterie of sexist pig friends to show how Nice they are in contrast. Fuck that. Actual nice guys, who aren’t Nice Guys™? They have nice friends.

Clary ignores a call from her mom and thinks about how much she’ll miss Simon while at the farmhouse even though she’s been nothing but annoyed at him since page one. The chapter thankfully ends.

#anti cassandra clare #anti the mortal instruments #book snark #CoB: Chapter 2 #CoB snark

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mf-despair-queen · 7 years ago

Text

Hocus Pocus - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 7,051

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral (both receiving), Hair Pulling

Notes: So, I was at work listening to a song and it inspired this. I will include the song that is sung IN the fic as well, in case you have never heard it. And in case it is not obvious, the inspiration is based a bit off of the movie Hocus Pocus. PS Happy Belated Halloween. I missed it by less than 2 hours. But I wrote 7k in less than 7 hours.

Inspiration Song | Fic Song

As a child, Stiles Stilinski heard the same story every Halloween from his mother, Claudia.

“There was once a band of witches that roamed and ruled the Beacon Hills Preserve. And every Halloween, they would lure little children such as yourself in to feed on their souls. With a simple lullaby, children would disappear into the trees, ever to be seen again. So, when you are out Trick-or-Treating, you need to make sure to stay away from the woods. Otherwise, they will come and take you away.”

With his young age and curious mind, he laughed at the thought, dubbing it as a tall tale people told their kids to keep them in line when Mischief Night came around. He thought it false and spent many years brushing off the story his mother had told him.

The doubt didn’t dissipate as he grew older and wiser; it only seemed to strengthen. And even when he learned of the supernatural, he overlooked those tales, figuring nothing like that could ever be true.

How wrong can one man get?

Maybe he should have listened to her closer…

Stiles glared between his burger and the two men sitting across from him. The three didn’t share any glances, the tension so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Finally slumping in his chair and running a hand through his hair, he sighed.

“Why the fuck did I agree to go out to dinner with you guys again?”

Derek looked up from his food, sipping the chocolate shake he had ordered. “I didn’t want to be home when the kids start trick-or-treating. You know I hate people. I can moderately stand you.”

The two turned to their third companion.

“I just like to piss you off,” Theo stated calmly, earning a loud groan from the spastic male.

Stiles leaned forward, stuffing a handful of curly fries in his mouth. “Yeah, well, this is exactly how I planned to spend my Halloween,” he grumbled, every word laced with his classic sarcasm.

Derek grumbled, placing his glass down. “Yeah because my ideal Halloween is sitting in a fast food restaurant with you and dipshit chimera over here,” he stated bluntly, Theo still looking amused that he was pissing the boys off. “It’s not our fault that Scott decided he wanted to have a weekend getaway with Liam and Isaac.”

“I know,” Stiles sighed. “He called it Alpha-Beta Bonding Time. Because they definitely needed it.” Please, note the high level of sarcasm dripping like venom with every word he uttered. “Then the girls decided to go to a club in San Francisco to help Allison get over her break up with Isaac. My dad is out on a date. Who the hell goes on a date on Halloween? And all this just means I’m left with you guys.”

“Someone’s bitter,” Theo remarked, his tone snarkier than normal.

“I will shove my fist through your face,” Stiles deadpanned at him. His stomach was suddenly full, his appetite lost in his anxiety. “I can’t eat another bite.”

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Derek suggested. “Maybe we can find a nice hole to bury dipshit in.”

“You mean yourself?” Theo quipped, gathering everyone’s trash and tossing it in the nearest receptacle. The boys continued to bicker, the bell on the front door of the fast food joint jingling as they left. Their bodies moved in unison down the dark road, their mouths moving a mile a minute. They weren’t sure where they were going nor did they care. They were focused on the mindless argument they found themselves in.

Their wandering led them to the edge of the woods, the light from the moon above them providing no relief in the trees. Fallen leaves crunched under their shoes, hands stuffed in pockets or hugging their jackets closed. Everything around them was silent, not a single soul in sight.

Stiles stopped suddenly, his honey brown orbs staring off into the endless abyss of the preserve. The other boys stopped, staring at their “friend,” if they could call themselves that. Stiles cocked his head to the side, forehead scrunching in confusion.

“Do you guys hear that?” He asked suddenly, breaking the silence. The two supernatural creatures looked at him in confusion, taking slow steps towards the chocolate-haired male until they too heard a soft sound in the distance.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Come, little children. I’ll take thee away. Into a land of enchantment𝅘𝅥𝅮

“What the hell is that?” Derek whispered to himself, though his companions picked up on his words.

“More importantly, how the hell did Stiles hear that? He’s a human, yet he heard it before our supernatural hearing? That isn’t possible, right? What is going on?” Theo asked, receiving no answer. Derek was just as confused as Theo was. Stiles was busy staring into the blackness, entranced by the sound.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Come, little children. The time’s come to play. Here in my garden of magic𝅘𝅥𝅮

“I’m going to figure out what it is,” Stiles said shortly, his feet moving forward without much thought. Derek and Theo followed shortly after, being pulled towards the voice just as much as the spastic one was. Their bodies moved quickly through the underbrush of the trees, the singing growing louder the further in the preserve the got.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Follow, sweet children. I’ll show thee the way. Through all the pain and the sorrows𝅘𝅥𝅮

“Maybe we shouldn’t be going after them,” Theo tried to reason, though his heart ached when he said so.

“Oh, come on, Raeken. You are a big, bad chimera. A werewolf and a werecoyote hybrid. You can handle whatever scary singer is haunting these woods,” Stiles mused, casting the quickest glance possible to him. Theo scoffed, shaking his head.

“Guys, look,” Derek said, stopping dead in his tracks. The others stopped as well, staring at the large house yards ahead of them. Dim lights shone through the windows, the door swinging ajar. A billow of white smoke flittered from the chimney on the roof. A large tree stood beside the old house, a ragged swing swaying in the late Halloween breeze.

The voice was louder than before, the sound spilling from the crack in the front door.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Weep not, poor children for life is this way. Murdering beauty and passions𝅘𝅥𝅮

“We should leave,” Derek muttered, his body betraying him when he took another step towards the mysterious house.

“Agreed,” Theo nodded, his claws digging into the tree beside him to fight the urge to rush forward as well.

“I’m going,” Stiles firmly said, willingly letting his body move forward. “Whoever it is can’t be that bad, right? And if they are dangerous, you guys can take them. But,” he paused in speech and step, looking back at the guys. “Something inside me is saying I need to find out who is here. It’s like… I need them in my life. And they want me here. I’m not turning back.”

The guys didn’t respond, reluctantly following Stiles. They knew he was right. They felt it too. They were just too stubborn to admit Stiles was correct on this matter.

Stiles pushed the door open with a shaky hand, fully engulfed by the elegant singing that had him lost in a beautiful trance. His eyes widened at the sight ahead of him, his heart picking up at the view combined with the enthralling sound.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Hush now, poor children. It must be this way. To weary of life and deceptions𝅘𝅥𝅮

He found you standing in the middle of the room, a black dress lining your body, a reddish-purple lace lining the sleeves and skirt, ending mid-thigh. A locket was encircling your neck, Stiles swearing he saw a soft glow emitting from it. Black thigh high stockings covered your legs with black booties. Your hair was thrown up into a ponytail, the front ends falling loose to frame your face. A black hat sat atop your head, slightly off centered to the right, the same lacing around the rim with a cat pendant attached to it.

Your hands extended out to him, gesturing him forward with a curl of your fingers, your voice coaxing him inside the house further. Stiles’ mouth dropped open, making his way forward until his hand was in yours.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Rest now, my children, for soon we’ll away into the calm and the quiet𝅘𝅥𝅮

Derek and Theo stopped feet behind Stiles, no one realizing the front door swung shut, locking itself.

Stiles blinked, opening his mouth slowly to speak, but no words came out. You giggled, your hand placed on his cheek instead. “Well, aren’t you adorable? My name is Y/N. What can I call you, handsome?”

“S-Stiles,” he was able to force out, his eyes never leaving yours as you backed away slightly.

“Oh, I love that name!” You mused, seeing Stiles smile are your enthusiasm.

“Y/N, you aren’t getting attached already, are you?” they heard a voice from above. “You always had a habit of getting attached to the children.”

Two sets of foots steps were heard, one descending the stairs, the other staying perched against the rail on the second floor, staring down at them. The figure at the bottom of the steps smiled, her pearly white teeth shining and her blue eyes glittering in the candlelight around the house. Her brown hair was strung over her shoulder, her curves accentuated by the black, sleeveless dress with blue trim she wore. A star barrette was holding some of her hair back.

“Oh my,” she mumbled, glancing at you are the girl on the second floor.

“I think your singing is getting rusty after being locked away,” the third girl mused, her brown eyes flicking between her compatriots. Her brown hair was up in a bun, loose stands falling about. A moon necklace dangled from her neck, resting mid-chest above her black halter dress with gold lining. “You’re attracting teenage boys now instead of children.”

“Well, I’m not arguing,” you hummed, staring at Stiles. “They’re quite… delectable anyway. I can feel it. Except for this one, they aren’t human.” You nodded at Stiles, a blush forming on his cheeks. “I’m sure Amanda agrees.”

“I definitely agree with Y/N. I like this one,” she said, moving from her spot at the bottom of the stairs and making her way towards Theo. Theo’s mouth opened, Amanda’s finger placed on his lips before he could speak. “He’s quite handsome. And his energy is delicious.”

Theo pulled away slightly, licking his lips slowly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Amanda,” she said, her eyelashes fluttering behind the glasses she wore. “And you are Theo.” Theo wanted to question, but his mind was blank. Her fingers drew circles on his chest, her touch fire to his covered skin. “How about I show you around the house? We have this really nice game room that I think you might like.”

Theo nodded, sending a look to Stiles and Derek as he was dragged away. Stiles gawked as they disappeared around the corner. “Damn, Theo is gonna get some,” he said loudly, Derek rolling his eyes. You laughed at his words.

“You picked up a real charmer, Y/N.”

“Oh shush, B. He’s sweet,” you hummed, glancing up at your friend long before focusing back on Stiles. “She’s just jealous, sweetie.”

“I can tell,” Stiles joked.

“Don’t try to lift his ego,” Derek groaned, massaging his temple. “He’s already witty and sarcastic enough. Don’t add a big ego to the mix.”

Briana, the third of the trio jumped over the railing she had been perched against, landing gracefully in front of Derek. “She always does this. She’s attracted to these kinds of guys. Then she likes to keep them longer than she is supposed to,” Briana snapped at herself, sending a look to you, which you proceeded to ignore. She looked up at Derek, her 5’7” frame doing nothing to his 6’ stature. “I’m Briana, B for short. And you look like a man who likes some good food.”

“Well, I live alone, so I don’t get a lot of good cooking,” he mused, a smirk on his face. Stiles gagged to himself at Derek’s lame attempt at flirting, his stomach twisting when he realized it was actually working.

“Well, I’m the cook between the three of us. I can show you to the kitchen. I am in need of some nice… meat anyway,” she hummed, eying his body a couple times. Derek’s eyes darkened, allowing her hand to slip into his and lead him away.

“Well, that was interesting,” Stiles mumbled, shuffling between his feet in front of you. You stood there calmly, watching his every move. He eyed your figure once, his tongue passing over his lips. “What are you? How did you lure us here? And why?”

“You like to question,” you told him, taking his hand softly, your thumb running over the top of it. “I like that. No one ever questions us. Though it has been a while since we’ve done this. And We don’t normally get guys like you coming.”

“That doesn’t explain what you are.”

“We’re witches, silly,” you said, grinning as you pull him up the stairs. You hummed as your led him through the winding halls, Stiles trying to process what was going on.

“Witches?” He asked himself more than you. “Alright, why are you here then?”

“No reason,” you said shortly, pushing open a door. Releasing his hand, you walked into the room, your arms spread wide and spinning in a circle. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Stiles slowly followed you in, the door swinging closed and locking itself just like before. Though Stiles didn’t pay attention. He glanced at the objects around him, tracing his fingers on little objects here and there. “It’s nice,” he mumbled.

“I know, right?”

He stopped at a book, flipping through the pages, his orbs scanning the foreign language inside it. Spells, he assumed, biting his lip. Multiple questions raced through his mind, though none made it to his lips. There was something off about you, and he knew it. He felt this aura you exuded, the feeling he was getting slightly off-putting. He felt kind of weak in your presence, and growing weaker every time he came in contact with you.

But, being around you also felt right. More right than he ever felt. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the captivating song that still buzzed around in his head or the true beauty you held, but being near you made him happy.

Stiles stopped at a picture frame delicately picking the photo up. It was a group of females gathered in front of the house he was in now, all wearing black dresses of some form with different colored trimming. Each had their own style, own look. Their hair colors varied from a bright silver to vibrant red. They all looked so happy together.

“Friends?” He asked. You nodded, sitting on your bed and patting the spot next to you, which Stiles gladly took. You leaned against his arm, your hand on his thigh drawing invisible shapes.

“We used to be one big group of girls, but small towns are hard to house so many witches.” He wasn’t sure what you meant, but ignored the feeling inside him when you started pointing at different people in the picture. “You know me, B, and Amanda. This one is Lauren, but everyone calls her Lau. She is pretty much our queen since she brought us all together,” you hummed, pointing to the beautiful red-head, her curled hair and make-up highlighting every feature she hair. She wore a green choker with a cat pendent, the green matching the green trimming she wore.

“This is Talia. We got lucky she joined in this picture because she normal takes all the pictures. She’s a sweetheart and I miss her,” you told him, pointing to the girl with longish, silvery white hair that was held back with a rainbow cauldron barrette. She was slender, her breasts perky in the C-cup she sported (don’t ask how Stiles could tell that from a picture). “She moved up north with Lau and Audrey”

You pointed next to a pale but beautiful girl, her brunette hair silky and smooth and her blue eyes as bright as can be. And orange pumpkin locket hung from her neck, the same shade as her dress. “This is Kayla. She’s a peach man. She makes killer potions believe it or not.”

“Witches really make potions?” Stiles jokingly asked, seeing you nod.

“Yes, we do. I will show you sometime,” you grinned, winking at him. You pointed to the next girl, her brown her half up and half down, held by a planet pin. Her blue eyes glimmered, almost as if they were entering your soul, and freckles peppered her face cutely. “This one is Jane. Super talented, super nice, super caring. One hundred percent would bake her a cake,” you laughed, Stiles chuckling along with you.

“There are two people unfortunately that aren’t pictured. Arielle and Madison. They are babes, but they moved down south to start up a new house and hopefully find some more witches for our coven. We are stronger together, not apart,” you told him, a sad smile on your face. His hand reached out, taking one of yours between his fingers, rubbing your skin softly.

Stiles looked over the picture again. “They’re beautiful,” he hummed.

“They are,” you whispered, leaning closer till your lips were against his ear. “What about me?”

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat, fumbling to keep from dropping the picture. “I mean,” he choked out, heaving slightly. “You’re definitely more beautiful than them. Absolutely gorgeous. And I feel like I need to be here with you. You just seem so amazing and I feel kind of complete with you. Fuck, I’m rambling.”

You laughed, kissing his cheek. “Precious,” you mumbled.

Stiles swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down, trying to focus. “Why did you lure us here? Why are you here? You said something about not being here for a while.” He paused, thinking. “The Nemeton…?”

“The Nemeton sealed us away,” you said, standing from the bad and taking the picture from his hands. “But you helped release us, Stiles. I can feel the Nemeton’s power inside you. So, thank you.”

“Why are you avoiding telling me why you are here?” He asked once more.

“You’re too curious, Stiles,” you said, humming a new lullaby. His mind blanked slightly, watching your body approach him, hips swaying slightly. You pushed against his chest, carefully straddling his waist on the edge of the bed. “It doesn’t matter why we are here. All that matters right now is you and me.”

The chocolate-haired man’s jaw dropped, his mouth dry. “Y-Yeah,” he choked out.

“Relax,” you mumbled, taking his hands and running them up your torso, his hands attaching to your clothed breasts. They squeezed at the perky mounds unconsciously, a smile flitting around on your cheeks. “Yeah, just like that, Stiles.”

“Holy shit,” he groaned to himself.

“You like this?” you cooed, placing your hands on his and helping him squeeze more. “You want more, Stiles?”

“This is a dream, right?” She asked rhetorically, looking up into your eyes.

“Hmm, definitely not a dream, Sti. This is all real,” you told him, placing your hands on his cheeks and moving down to kiss him fully on the lips. A low noise was lost between your lisp the second they were attached, his eyes sliding closed quickly. His head tilted to the side to get a better angle, his lips naturally engulfing yours. You mewled, the feeling of his lips being soft and juicy. Your lips fit together like two puzzle pieces, lips smacking against each other loudly. He pulled away occasionally to breathe before delving back in for another hot, open mouth kiss. Your teeth clashed whenever he leaned forward once more, your noses brushing and your lips sliding against one another. He would tug at your bottom lip with his teeth, eliciting a quiet moan from deep inside your throat.

Stiles paid no heed to the dropping energy he was feeling, every kiss he shared with you fueling him and draining him simultaneously. His body burned under your touch, your lips and fingers making his skin tingle. His body was yelling at him to spot and run, but his mind was urging him to continue, to regret everything in the morning.

His mind was winning by a landslide.

His tongue slid through a small gap in your lips, tangling with yours in a fruitful battle for dominance. His hands squeezed at your breasts a few more times before sliding around to your back. The back of your dress was open, his nails raking across your skin before attempting to find a zipper or clasp that held it closed.

He pulled away after a few attempts, his brow knit together. You giggled at the look, kissing along his jaw. “Need help?” You hummed. Stiles blushed a bright red, looking away slightly ashamed. He nodded slowly, frowning when he felt you slid off his lap. “How about you take off your shirt in exchange for me taking off my dress?”

Stiles’ pupils dilatated, gawking over at you. “I can deal with that,” he replied in a gruff voice, practically tearing the buttons off his flannel to get it off. He heard your soft giggle, the flannel slipping from his grasp. “You’re turn.”

“Deals a deal, right?” You asked, reaching behind to pull down the zipper that held the black silk to your body. It slid down with ease, the dress literally dropping off your body once the zipper was lowered. You stood in front of him in just your reddish-purple panties, thigh highs and booties. His tongue ran along his lips at the image in front of him, his hands reaching for you.

You grinned, strutting forward until you were directly in front of him. Your hands locked with his, entwining your fingers together, moving to kneel next to him on the bed. His breathing was slightly ragged, a tent forming in the khakis he was clad in. A manicured hand dipped down to rub the tent through his jeans, Stiles burying his face in your chest to stifle his moan.

“You’re so excited, Stiles,” you teased, cupping him through the tan material. He groaned into your chest, sucking dark red marks in the valley between your breasts. You mewled at the feeling he was giving you, shifting in your position so you could unbutton the intrusive material. His lips remained on your chest, moving just enough so he could attach to your nipple.

Your hands stilled, head falling back with a slew of moans. His smile against your chest was obvious, his actions deepening. His lips wrapped around the hard peak, kissing and sucking at it vigorously. His teeth nibbled at the bud, tugging at it whenever he pulled away. Dark bruises were splayed across your torso, zero regrets between either of you.

Stiles made to swap breasts but was surprised when he found his back to the bed, your dainty hands tugging his pants and boxers down his legs. Stiles propped himself up on his elbows, watching your expression turn into one of shock at the size of him. His cock slapped his stomach proudly, a string of precum connecting the tip and the dark hairs of his happy trail. He twitched in the chilly air around him, eager for some form of contact.

“Damn, Stiles,” you mumbled.

“What?”

“I’ve been around a long time. I’m sure you’ve figured that much out. You’ve the smart one of your pack. But never in all my years have a seen someone quite as… well-endowed as you,’ you muttered.

“You mean like…” he trailed off, pondering his words.

“You have a huge dick,” you told him bluntly in return.

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking down at himself. “I am bigger than the average guy, aren’t I?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” you quipped, your body squirming its way out of your panties. You dropped them on his khakis, smiling. “Now, I need to moisten up for a little bit of fun. And I think you do too.”

“I… what?”

The spastic male received not reply, just a face full of dripping pussy, one leg on either side of his head. His warm breath fanned over your core, your fingers wrapping around the base of his cock and your lips kissing along his length. Stiles mumbled curses into your core, his tongue flicking across your clit when he tried to moisten his lips.

“Come on, Stiles,” you hummed, licking at the slit on his tip, savoring the taste of his precum. “Lick me. I want your tongue inside me.”

His cock twitched in your hands, Stiles releasing a deep groan. “Fuck, that was sexy,” he said in a gruff voice, moving his head forward until he was kitten licking at your clit and entrance. You followed in response, your mouth wrapping around the head of his cock. Your hollow cheeks applied extra pressure around him, combined with the feeling of your mouth sucking hard at him. He groaned into you, pulling you back by your thighs so his tongue could slide into you easily. His tongue slid in and out of you quickly, swirling in circles to rub every inch of your walls. His fingers toyed with your clit, flicking it and rubbing harshly at it.

You moaned around his cock, your head bobbing quickly on him. It didn’t matter how deep you went. The feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat made your mouth water. Your fingers fondled his balls, your nose burying into the dark hairs around the base of his shaft. He groaned into your pussy feeling your tongue tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of him, his length twitching against your cheeks.

He pulled from your pussy, pressing his tongue to your clit once before lifting you off him. You gave him a confused look when you turned to him, the man under you just grinning widely. “I don’t want to cum in your mouth,” he stated. “I want to cum in your pussy.”

Your body shook with happiness and want, promptly moving to straddle his hips. His harden shaft slid along your moistened core moans pulled from both of you. You slid forward until the tip of his cock pressed to your entrance. When you backed into him, he slid inside you with ease until he was fully sheathed.

Your hands met his chest, rest then for a moment while you rotated your hips, adjusting to his large size. “Damn,” you mewled, head falling back. “It’s been so long since I’ve been fucked. But I’ve never felt someone as good as you.”

Stiles groaned, settling his hands on your waist. “You feel so good, babe,” he mumbled without thinking.

“Babe?” You questioned with a smile. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing to his chest. His eyes locked on yours, closing only when your lips met his. “Does that mean you’re mine? And I’m yours?”

Stiles contemplated his words carefully, unsure what the right answer was. But the answer filled the room before he realized he said it.

“Yes.”

And it felt all too right to say it.

“Good,” you whispered, kissing him softly. You pulled away from him, your hips rocking against his steadily. Stiles groaned, your walls tightening around him whenever his length rubbed against them. Your hands landed on his chest for leverage, speeding up with each thrust.

It wasn’t long till you were bouncing on his cock, the sound of your skin slapping one another filling the quiet room. His fingers dug into your sides, helping led your motions, his hips occasionally bucking upwards to meet your thrusts in perfect harmony. He shimmied up on the bed until he was propped up on the pillows, his eyes swapping between your bliss-filled face, bouncing breasts, and his glistening soaked cock emerging from your pussy, disappearing shortly after until he was buried deep in you once again. The tip prodded at your g-spot, your body massively shaking whenever he hit it. You moaned his name due to the friction between your pelvises, your body burning inside.

You pulled him into a sitting position, your arms slinging over his shoulder to claw at his back. Stiles grunted, resting on his hands and bending his knees to give him leverage. His hips thrust up into yours, a whiny moan ripped from inside you as a plea for more. Stiles took this as a sigh to continue, his thrusts growing more rapid and harder, pounding upwards into your beaten cunt.

Your head buried into his neck, arms wrapping around him. Red scratches lined his back muscles, proof that he was making you feel good. The thing that caught him off guard was when he felt a burning sensation on his left shoulder blade, the pain diminishing seconds later. He brushed off the weird sensation, focusing on driving you to your orgasm.

You shook in his arms, nipping at his neck. “Stiles,” you panted, withering in her grasp. “I’m close.”

“I know,” he mumbled, wiping the sweat on his brow. His thrusts were growing sloppy, his cock twitching violently inside you. He pulled you from his neck to look in your eyes, his forehead on yours. “Cum with me.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss him. The kiss sparked something inside him, a literal jolt of electricity running through both your bodies. His cock sputtered inside you, his legs tightening when he came, his seed spilling in waves into your pussy. You mewled at the warm feeling it gave you, your stomach tightening until your own release hit, juices mixing with his. You moaned into the kiss, nails digging into his pale skin more, your body flush against his.

When your bodies still, you rolled off him, propped on your hands and knees. “One more round. And I like it hard, baby,” you heaved out, sending him a seductive grin. Stiles’ eyes darkened, the normal honey brown turning into a dark chocolate. He swung behind you quickly, rubbing his cock through your folds a few times to reharden himself.

With a single, swift thrust forward, the giant cock you had grown attached to filled you to the brim, a loud scream trapped in a pillow. You were given no time to accommodate his size, his hips snapping into your ass. His speed was godlike, faster than anyone you knew – including supernatural creatures. He was forceful, feverishly thrusting into you. His hands held you still, the only movement your body made was when it jolted forward upon contact. The sound of skin on skin was louder than before.

“Come on, baby,” he huffed, tugging your hair slightly so you couldn’t hide in the pillows. “You said you like it hard. I want to hear you scream for me too.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered loudly, your body shaking. Stiles chuckled, speeding up more, his thrusts solid, hips vigorously slamming into you. His hand reached around, rubbing harsh circles to your clit, your body getting overly stimulated. The way his cock slid into you, his girth stretching your core more than you were used to, the tip easily jabbing at your cervix and sweet spot. He was effortlessly making you lose control. Your body tightened in ways you had never experienced, and you loved every second of it.

“Come on, baby,” he grumbled, his thrusts growing messier by the second. “Scream for me.”

The male’s body jerked forward with a powerful thrust, the sensation made your eyesight blacken and your hearing go out for a second. When you came to, Stiles made a groan of satisfaction, the only indication that you had let out a loud scream of his name.

“That’s right,” he moaned, rubbing harder at your clit, driving his weary body to the max. “Cum with me.”

You whimpered for him, your toes curling in your boots. Your stomach clenched, snapping in a single second. Your walls clamped around him in a tight hug, your juices gushing out and splattering around his thick cock. The warm moisture sent his senses wild, loads of hot, white cum spilling from his tip and mixing with yours. You moaned loudly, relishing in the feeling his seed gave you. His thrusts slowed, easing you both through your highs.

He pulled out a minute later, collapsing on the bed. You smiled, leaning over him and pecking his lips. “Sleep, Stiles,” you mumbled.

Stiles said nothing, lulled into sleep without a fight. You placed a light kiss to his forehead, draping a blanket over his body before proceeding to get dressed. You folded his clothes, placing them on the dresser, leaving him a treat of your panties in his pocket. You gave him one last smile before slipping out the door and running downstairs.

B was in the kitchen, fixing her hair. “Good time?” You asked, catching her smirk.

“Absolutely,” she laughed, looking over at the snoring former alpha on the kitchen table, a dish towel over his privates. “You sounded like you had a good time. I heard your screams echoing down here.”

You blushed, playing with the bottom of your dress. “Well, you know…”

“That big?”

“That good,” you told her. “I’ve never had better sex.”

“Is that why you’ve glowing?” Amanda asked, strutting into the kitchen. You could see Theo laying on the couch in your game room, wearing only his boxers.

“She marked him. You only get that glow when you mark your significant other,” B said. Amanda gawked for a second, her mouth wide.

“Damn, he must be REALLY good if you are serious like this. You want to see him every year? You pledged to him?”

“What can I say?” You hummed. “He’s special. And he said he was mine. And I’m his.”

“Get it girl,” Amanda laughed.

“Too bad he won’t know what it means. I’m sure he will figure it out before next year rolls around. He’s smart,” you told them. “Though he might kill me when he realizes that I was feeding off his soul the entirety of us being together. Especially the sex. It won’t permanently affect him, but it will be an interest conversation starter next time.”

“Well, you can’t kill him now that you marked him,” B said, gathering her stuff and pulling three brooms from the closet. “Now, can we go? We have little children to lure from home. Derek was a good appetizer, but I need my main course.”

“Amen to that, sista!” Amanda laughed, taking her broom. “Let’s go, Y/N. And this time, bring us children, not hot guys with your singing.”

“No guarantees,” you joked, the girls glaring. “Take a chill pill. Let’s go, losers.”

You led the girls outside, the three of you flying off into the night, the only sound echoing through the air being the last bits of your song.

𝅘𝅥𝅮Come, little children. I’ll take thee away. Into a land of enchantment𝅘𝅥𝅮

𝅘𝅥𝅮Come, little children. The time’s come to play. Here in my garden of shadows𝅘𝅥𝅮

Stiles groaned, looking around the bare room. He faintly recalled what happened the previously night, sighing to himself.

“It feels like a dream, but it wasn’t,” he told himself, ruffling his hair. “Otherwise I would be home right now.” He rolled off the bed, placing his clothes on, frowning when he found your panties stuffed in his pocket. “Definitely not a dream…”

He quietly made his way downstairs, finding Theo and Derek awake and dressed. Derek pursed his lips, looking at the human. “Glad you could join us.”

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, looking between the guys.

“Scott is home. And he wants to meet with all of us,” Theo mumbled, scowling slightly.

Stiles nodded slowly, making his way to Scott’s house with the guys silently. No one spoke of the events of the prior night, all ashamed of letting their guard down to the witches of Beacon Hills. Stiles recalled the events personally, rubbing at his left shoulder occasionally.

Scott looked horrible when he opened the door. Dark bags under his eyes, messy hair, bruises on his neck.

Wait… what?

“What happened to you?” Stiles questioned his friend.

“The same thing that happened to you apparently,” he mumbled. Everyone gathered in the living room of Scott’s house, sharing the same looks. A cold silence filled the room until Scott broke it. “While we were bonding, we heard this music. Like someone playing the piano. And I don’t know why, but we were drawn in. And we just wanted to be with them…” Scott trailed off.

“Who were they?” Stiles questioned.

“Lau,” Scott muttered, a furlong look in his eyes, like he was missing her already. “She was just so beautiful… I wanted nothing more than to spend every second with her.”

“Same thing with Talia,” Isaac mumbled. “She had this cute British accent. She was the one playing the piano. She played more for me while we were there.”

“Audrey was amazing, guys,” Liam said flatly. “She showed me things I will never forget. She was so talented in every way…”

“I never want to hear you say that again Dunbaby,” Stiles mumbled. He turned to the girls who sat quietly in the corner. “You guys too?”

“Mostly just Allison,” Lydia told him. “We were at the club and I knew the bartender, so he was giving us shots. Next time I know, I walked into the women’s restroom and Allison was there…”

“Her name was Kayla, alright?” Allison said boldly. “And I am not ashamed of what happened. I felt wanted again. I felt like I did when I was first with Scott. And that means a lot more than anything else guys.”

“Ally, you passed out when she left. You were hardcore sleeping on the drive back,” Lydia told her.

“I don’t get it,” Scott said, sitting on the couch. “Who were they?”

“Witches,” Stiles said quietly, recognizing every name that was listed. Everyone turned to look at him. “Y/N said they were witches. But she wouldn’t tell me why they were here.”

“They’re feeding,” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” Everyone in the room questioned.

“That’s what they do. They lure people in and feed on their souls. It’s how they survive till the next year. Their power is at its peak on Halloween. Have you ever heard the tales?”

Stiles paled. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you more, Mom…

“They were probably feeding off us the entire time without us knowing it you know,” Derek mentioned lowly. “We gave them power. We’re lucky we are alive.”

“Is that why every time I touched her, I felt weak?” Stiles asked. Everyone silently agreed with his observation, admitting they had felt the same, and had fallen into a deep sleep after their contact with the witches.

“Most likely. They took our energy,” Derek said, leaning on the counter.

“That’s all good and well. We know what they did to you. But we don’t know why they are here. Why are they only doing this now?” Malia asked, looking between everyone. “There hasn’t been reports of people disappearing before. And I used to live in the woods. I never heard any singing. Or saw kids wandering to that house.”

“They were sealed by the Nemeton,” Stiles answered. “When we sacrificed ourselves, we gave power back to the Nemeton. Which woke them up.”

“Great,” Lydia sighed, standing from her spot. “More issues to deal with. At least it’s just yearly now.” She grabbed Allison’s arm, leading her to the door. “Now, we are going shopping so I can cheer this one up. Again.”

Everyone began to file out of the room, leaving just Scott and Stiles. Stiles rubbed his shoulder again, Scott narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

Stiles frowned, shrugging. “I don’t know. When I was with Y/N last night, there was this burning sensation on my shoulder blade. But since I woke up, I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Let me see,” Scott said. Stiles wordless turned around, removing one arm from the flannel so Scott could look. He heard a click, Scott’s phone shoved in his face. “You have a mark.”

“What?” Stiles asked confused, looking at the picture. It was the outline of a black cat etched into his skin. “The fuck?”

“I have one too,” Scott said, rolling up his left sleeve. A small fox was embedded in his tan skin right above his bands. “I don’t know what it means.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Stiles sighed, fixing his shirt. “I’m going to head home. Get some rest. I’m still not all there after last night.”

“I get ya, man. Get some rest, alright?” Stiles nodded at his friend, the two doing a bro hug before he left. Stiles caught sight of a small fox in the bushes across from Scott’s house before he left, shaking his head at the image and telling himself he imagined it.

His drive home was silent, his thoughts consumed by thoughts of you. He sighed, part of him missing you. Well, a lot of him was missing you. He ran his fingers through his hair as he parked in his drive way, cursing to himself. He felt foolish for caring, but depressed that you weren’t there. He slid from the jeep, walking up to his front door.

What he saw surprised him. A small black cat sat outside his door, staring up at him. His brow furrowed, bending to look at it better. “And how did you get here?” The cat meowed, leaning forward to rub against his leg. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?”

He picked the cat up, listening to it purr. He saw the glisten of a locket around its neck, his heart wrenching. He felt a familiar pull, like he felt towards you the night prior. “Well, I can’t leave you out here, can I?’ he told it, cradling the cat in his arms as he walked inside. He hoped this would help him cope until he could see you again.

If only he knew the truth…

To my Witches: You are amazing and I love you all. @ofxmicexandxmanda @brianaisasongbird @khaotickittenkuriosity @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @arikachang @girlwiththerubyslippers @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @fox-lau

Tags: @ellie-bee242, @stilinski-stydia-obrien, @daisy-chains-over-diamonds, @sumcp, @anxitized, @catcrown21, @girlwiththerubyslippers, @bottleoffirewhisky, @xqueenarianax, @daddyxraeken, @parislight, @anxiety-emoji, @wittystiles, @born-into-the-fandom, @arikachang, @bitchy-sprinkles, @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone, @savage-stilinski, @obriensmystiles, @lovefilledtragedy, @stilinski-lover-24, @riddikuluslysupernatural, @honeymoonmuke, @rumoured-whispers, @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname @fuckwhateverfuck @caitsymichelle13 @lunacluna @awkwarddly @muchluvnicole

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greyhavensking · 7 years ago

Text

Future Looks Good - Part 1

“Capsicle, you’ve got incoming𑁋”

“How long?” Steve grunts, smashing the edge of his shield into the faceplate of a Chitauri who thought it was a bright idea to come at him from the side while he was seemingly distracted. Unfortunately for him… it… its buddy is already down for the count and Steve’s reflexes are sharper than ever with the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

“Five minutes, give or take. You still got civilians in your quadrant?”

“Affirmative. Police haven’t cleared this area yet and the barricade is a mile east of us.”

“Widow and Barton are close to your position, they could swing around and𑁋”

“Yeah, Stark, hold onto that thought for a second,” Steve interrupts. Stark splutters his indignation down the line but Steve ignores him, tugging off his helmet as he squints at what’s happening down the street. Sweat trickles down from his hairline into his eyes and he irritably swipes it away, a little convinced that the gesture will also serve to wipe away what he’s seeing. But no, that’s definitely a man 𑁋 at least judging by the breadth of his shoulders and general body shape 𑁋 single-handedly facing off against a trio of enraged aliens.

There’s a cluster of men and women, all of them sporting lab coats and clutching handfuls of files or expensive-looking equipment, huddled amongst the ruins of a storefront, their attention caught and held by the man decked out in black tactical gear slipping past the guard of a Chitauri and planting a knife in its side, armor be damned. And he’s got a — a metal arm. Sure, why not. It’s not the most mind-boggling thing he’s seen today. And anyway, it could be body armor, something not unlike Tony’s suit, but — no, Steve doesn’t think that’s the case. The arm moves too fluidly, far too reminiscent of a flesh and blood arm for the metal to simply be a casing.

Steve did a cursory search into modern-day prosthetics while studiously ignoring the hundred-page briefing SHIELD had saddled him with when he was dumped in that remote cabin, because contrary to Stark’s barbed comments Steve wasn’t half-bad at adjusting to modern amenities. Point being, he knew enough to confidently say that a prosthetic like that wasn’t anywhere on the market; no, it would have had to come either straight out of Stark’s labs or it was SHIELD’s. Which means he has an ally out here aside from his rather unconventional teammates. That’s something.

Finally refocusing on Stark’s continued tirade over the comms, Steve runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair and adjusts his grip on the Shield. “Won’t be needing that assistance after all,” he says, which gets Stark to shut up for all of two seconds before he’s back to demanding who died and made Steve leader, and — Steve isn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole, so he waits a beat before addressing the rest of the team. “Barton, Widow, you guys keep doing what you’re doing. I’ve got a friendly here. Looks like SHIELD’s out here with us on damage control, I’ll get one of their agents to help me move civilians.” Steve’s been standing still too long, and he jumps into action once he catches sight of another Chitauri hefting its gun higher to aim.

“SHIELD has agents on the ground?”

“Apparently,” Steve replies, a little breathless, as he swerves to just barely avoid the incoming blast.

Natasha hums thoughtfully, or at least Steve thinks it sounds thoughtful. He can’t really get a read on Natasha and it would normally bother him (will bother him once has the downtime to decompress and process everything, if that’s even possible) but right now it’s hardly more than a faint buzzing at the peripheral of his thoughts.

“Good to know,” is all she says after a few moments of contemplative radio silence. Steve takes the cue to consciously tune out the ongoing chatter of his teammates and lifts a hand to signal the man, calling out a greeting as he does.

The man abruptly stops, and Steve would find that strange if not for the rush of panic that settles in at the realization that the man has stopped mid-swing with a Chitauri barreling down on him, his wide-eyed gaze turned away from the danger and lingering on Steve. But he needn’t be worried because the Chitauri’s momentum carries it straight into the man’s raised fist, and the impact drives the metal into its chest cavity with a sickening crunch that’s audibly even all the way over where Steve is standing. He blinks, shocked, but the man only withdraws his hand and lets the alien crumple, lifeless, to the ground. The man shakes out his fist but otherwise the whole of his attention seems to be fixed exclusively on Steve. Seeing as how distractions result in casualties, Steve tries to remedy the situation by jogging closer, side-stepping downed Chitauri and throwing a reassuring gesture towards the terrified civilians.

“Hey,” Steve says, a genuine smile curving his lips. He offers the man a quick, sloppy salute. “Thanks for pitching in with the civilians. And the, uh, other situation,” he adds, nudging the alien corpse beside him with the toe of his boot. “I appreciate the assist.”

The man stares at him, saying nothing. Steve blinks again, his smile faltering; was it something he said? Is he being too polite? He’s noticed people are a lot more blunt nowadays, but politeness can’t really have gone out of fashion, can it? Or, worse, is this like his introduction to Coulson? Steve couldn’t deal with being moderately famous during the war (he’s still surprised Peggy forgave him for acting like such an inconsiderate ass), and he is way out of his depth now that he’s become a living legend — propped up with decades of patriotic propaganda and existing as a mouthpiece for agendas he never would have tolerated had he had any agency to deny them. He’s just — Steve. But that’s not who people think of when presented with Captain America.

Maybe the man can’t talk with the mask he’s wearing? It’s not the most plausible explanation given everything he’s seen in this modern age, but it’s much more appealing then the thought that this man is starstruck by Steve Rogers.

Steve’s just about to suggest they get back to work to cut this awkward moment short when the man takes a jerky step forward, as if pulled along by strings, and tilts his head at Steve.

“What’s your name?” His voice is rougher than Steve was expecting, like he smokes a coupla packs a day; Steve knew plenty of people back in… back Before who sounded like they gargled glass on the daily, so he’s fairly familiar with the cadence of it, but somehow it doesn’t suit the man in front of him. Could be the mask is distorting his voice, though Steve can hear his breathing just fine through it...

Nonetheless, Steve stands a little straighter at the question, wishing he’d thought to put his helmet back on; his current uniform is eight shades of ridiculous, but it’s infinitely easier to put up a front and act the part of Captain America when he’s hidden behind the red, white and blue. This man isn’t a fan, then, which is something of a relief, but it casts some doubt on his identity as a SHIELD agent. Then again, SHIELD likes keeping secrets; it wouldn’t surprise Steve if they cherry-picked who had clearance to learn of his return from the dead.

“Captain America,” he says firmly, extending his hand, which the man summarily ignores as he takes another step closer, then another, until only a few scant inches separate them. Steve fights the urge to shuffle backwards, or throw himself back into the fray as an escape; he’s no coward, and he’s never backed down from a fight in his life. He’s not gonna start now, whatever this man tries.

But the man doesn’t look like he’s gearing up for a fight. His eyes are wide, his stance uncertain. He watches Steve with the intensity of a predator stalking prey, though he doesn’t make any movements for the multitude of weapons Steve can see on his person. He’s just… looking. For some reason.

“No,” he says after a moment, and Steve can hear him swallow thickly before he tries again: “No, that’s… Your name, what’s your name?”

“...Steve. Steve Rogers.” Steve pauses, casting a look over the man’s shoulder at the group of civilians. They’re whispering among themselves, too low for even his enhanced hearing to pick up over the general chaos around them, and they keep sneaking glances at the two of them. It dawns on him that he’s wasting time on pleasantries and that he has a job to do here, namely minimizing the already too-high death toll. He turns his eyes back to the man and offers a grin, hoping it’ll be better received than before. “We’ve got a lot of civilians waiting for us, pal; you mind helping me get them underground? Subway tunnels are probably the safest place for them to be right now.”

There’s only a brief pause this time before the man is nodding, tugging a knife free from a holter on his thigh, flipping it expertly and closing the fingers of his metal hand around the handle. The thrill Steve feels at the sight is… unexpected, to say the least, though he’s always had an admiration for competent people. Peggy made such an impression on him at Camp Lehigh finds it shocking that he didn’t propose to her on the spot. So this is… different, but not bad, he supposes. Not the time for it, though, so he shelves the thought (and the tingly feeling he gets) for the time being, shooting off another salute before he turns around and starts searching for civvies hidden in the rubble.

Steve dials into the task so thoroughly that he doesn’t realize the man — agent, probably — has joined him until they’re nearly on top of one another. Steve spares a glance to where the group of scientists (or lab techs, or whatever) had been only to see they’re out of sight, hopefully below ground. He’s in the middle of hauling a slab of concrete off the legs of an unconscious woman and the addition of the man’s metal arm (which Steve openly ogles because it’s practically a work of art, though he quickly flushes with shame and averts his gaze when it hits him that people don’t appreciate being gawked at too much) makes quick work of the task. Carefully scooping the woman into his arms, Steve doesn’t have to dig deep to turn a grateful smile on the man, who’s back to staring at him (maybe he shouldn’t be so ashamed of his own looking) with an unreadable expression… though that could be attributed to Steve not being able to see the lower half of the man’s face.

“Didn’t catch your name before,” he says as he hands the woman off to a doctor who’d volunteered to watch over the critical patients who couldn’t make the trek down into the subways; Steve’s made them as safe as they can be, sheltered in the blown-out remains of a shop with a handful of armed veterans Steve couldn’t convince to join the masses in the subway tunnels.

He’s not expecting a quick answer (isn’t really expecting much an answer at all, what with SHIELD agents always keeping things close to the vest, and he’s pretty much a stranger no matter how much of his history people know), so he’s taken aback when the man blurts out, “Bucky” with barely a breath of hesitation. And Bucky looks equally as gobsmacked to have given that response, pale and washed out, his eyes practically bugging from his head. Confused, and a tad worried, Steve claps a hand on his shoulder and quirks a friendly smile his way.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” he says, utterly sincere despite the less-than-ideal circumstances of their introduction. He’s made friends in worse conditions (the war hadn’t exactly been a fucking picnic, though there had been less extraterrestrials — as far as Steve knew, anyway) and if nothing else his mother raised him right. She’d have given him quite the baleful glare if he were anything resembling rude to a man who’d done nothing but help him since they met, and Steve never could last long against a look like that from Sarah Rogers. Still, his next words catch in his throat as Steve levels another curious look at Bucky. He squints, feeling like he’s picking at the edges of a memory he can’t quite bring into focus. “We haven’t… This is our first time meeting… right, Bucky?”

Whatever answer Bucky might have given is lost to an explosion that erupts from across the street. He and Steve are thrown from the blast, and Steve hits the ground hard, the breath driven from his lungs. Sharp pain pierces his side — cracked rib — blooms from the back of his skull — mild concussion — copper pools across his tongue — bit through his cheek — and there must be a myriad of soon-to-be-bruises mapped over his skin from the starbursts of agony he feels from every limb. There’s gravel biting into his cheek, scraped over the ground, dust in his lungs and caking his face, his lips.

Shit.

Steve can feel his various cuts and scrapes bleeding sluggishly through the tears in his uniform; they’re shallow, already healing, but the sensation of skin and muscle fibers knitting themselves back together is almost worse than the sting and ache of the wounds. Everything is manageable, though, so, after rolling onto all fours, Steve shoves himself upright, lifting his head to blearily scan his surroundings (and again he’s cursing his decision to abandon his goddamn helmet). He picks out the shivering, dust-covered forms of the doctor and his guards, as well as the less-defined shapes of her patients in the background. Another building’s been reduced to a charred husk, with the accompanying debris dispersed haphazardly throughout the street.

Beyond the ringing in his ears he hears the hum of a foreign engine and a glance at the sky confirms his suspicions: a Chitauri aboard one of their gliders flies overhead, no doubt the source of the blast. Muttering curses under his breath, Steve lunges for his shield (only knocked a few feet from him, thank God) and takes a second to calculate angles and trajectories before he flings it skyward; a satisfying thwack resonates through the static silence right before the Chitauri topples from its perch with all the inherent grace of a ragdoll in flight. It smacks onto the asphalt a heartbeat later as its glider continues unerringly into the side of a skyscraper, bursting in a shower of sparks and twisted metal.

The shield ricochets off a street sign and Steve leaps up to catch it on its way back to him. He’s glad to have the reassuring weight of it on his arm again and he grips the straps with bruising strength for a count of five, pacing out his breaths accordingly. Right. Can’t let that happen again. It’s bad enough he risked civilian lives with his inattentiveness, what would he do if Bucky—

Shit. Bucky.

Steve’s eyes flicker between the too-still bodies on the street, the people he hadn’t been in time to save, his heart in his throat. (Don’t be Bucky, don’t be Bucky, don’t be Bucky) Nothing like black tactical gear stands out to him, no glare of sunlight catching on a metal arm. That’s… good, isn’t it? No news is good news, or something. Platitudes like that don’t do much in the way of subduing the crackle of panic that crawls over Steve’s skin, though; he needs to see Bucky’s face for that, see that he’s alright and relatively unharmed. Steve coughs out what feels like a pound of dust before he’s able to get his voice to cooperate, and he’s just managed to call out the first syllable of Bucky’s name when he’s bodily tackled back into the rubble.

The impact doesn’t jar him nearly as badly as the explosion and he’s quick to throw his weight around, flipping them over so that he can pin his attacker; only they keep on rolling until Steve’s flat on his back again and then there are hands — human hands, he realizes with a jolt — patting restlessly at his face, his hair, over his uniform-clad torso. Once the shock wears off it becomes abundantly clear that Steve isn’t in danger; it’s just Bucky, crouched over him and… searching him for injuries? That’s new; Steve hasn’t had this thorough a pat-down since that time he had half a Hydra base come down on him. Not bad, though, not bad at all. A bubble of warmth expands in his chest at the thought of Bucky worrying about him, Captain America. There were days back in the war when even Peggy thought him indestructible, so this blatant concern for his well being is… nice. Good. Definitely something he could get used to, even if it’s coming from what basically amounts to a perfect stranger. Hell, that might make it even better.

“Buck,” he manages past the sandpaper lodged in his throat, “Buck m’alright, I swear.”

He doesn’t mind the weight of Bucky straddling his thighs, which — really not the time for that particular train of thought. Mindless of his protesting muscles, Steve brings his hands up to wrap around Bucky’s forearms, stilling his frantic ministrations for the moment. Bucky growls out something incomprehensible (it might even be Russian; Steve only learned enough in the war to make passing conversation but he remembers the rough-hewn sound of the language well enough) and presses against Steve’s hold, though not with enough force to break his grip. He’s as dusty and battered as Steve, save for the metal arm, which doesn’t appear to have so much as a dent in it. His hair’s a mess, flaked with bits of concrete and asphalt and what might be dried blood, although Steve wouldn’t bet on it being his. Steve has the unprecedented urge to spend an hour washing every last knot and bit of debris from that hair, and then the follow-up urge to wrap Bucky in the softest blanket he can find followed by his own body. He blinks and while the urge dies down it doesn’t disappear altogether; rather it sits in his chest, nestled under his rib cage, ready to be plucked out and acted upon at a moment’s notice.

Ain’t that a helluva thing to discover about himself at a time like this.

“Buck,” he says again, softer, tightening his grip just enough to make sure he has Bucky’s ears. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

As if to negate Steve’s assurances, Bucky’s hands drop to his sides, deft fingers sliding against a long slash that curves up along his ribs. Steve can’t help but smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, teeth flashing briefly.

“They’ll heal quick,” he promises. “But thanks for the concern, pal. Now, what about you?”

Bucky cocks his head in a clear gesture of confusion, and that… that’s not right.

“That explosion hit you, too, Bucky,” Steve reminds him, a touch firmer as he shifts his hands to grip at Bucky’s hips, angling him back so that Steve can sit upright without dislodging him. “Were you hurt anywhere? Your head okay?” Bucky doesn’t protest as Steve cups the back of his head, feeling for gashes or bumps and finding precisely none. He doesn’t protest, but he also doesn’t look like he quite understands why Steve’s bothering. Brows furrowing, Steve returns the favor from Bucky and checks him over, top to bottom, for any breaks or serious wounds. He’s relieved that his search comes up empty, but unease is steadily unfurling in his gut because Bucky is docile and compliant, following his instructions without a word. It’s not like Steve is thinking of hurting him, for God’s sake, but… there’s no reaction, no curse or murmur even when Steve knows he’s pressed into a bruise. Bucky doesn’t make a sound except to let out a questioning note when Steve finally takes his hands away.

Steve hesitates a moment, then pushes through his reservations and reaches around to unclip the fastenings of Bucky’s mask. It falls with a muted clunk into Steve’s lap.

One might think Steve would be prepared for almost anything at this point, having lived through the hell of World War II and survived crashing a plane into the ice only to wake up decades later to square off against sadistic creatures from outer space. One would be insanely wrong in that assumption, because Steve is rendered speechless at the sight of Bucky unmasked. Bucky is beautiful, easily the most attractive man Steve’s ever seen in person. And he’s used to appreciating beauty no matter what form it takes; he’d been fascinated when drawing both women’s supple curves and men’s sharp angles alike. Blue-gray eyes, high cheekbones, chiseled jawline, full pink lips in a perfect cupid’s bow — Bucky looks like he belongs in a painting, no less than one of the masters’. And he’s… familiar, strangely, but to Steve’s addled mind it’s far more important that Bucky is gorgeous on a level Steve can barely comprehend and this is not the time for this, goddammit.

“Bucky, seriously, you’ve gotta tell me if you’re hurt anywhere.”

“I… The Asset is functional. Minimal impairment.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. The what is what? “Buck, that’s not what I—”

He doesn’t get much farther than that, as in the next second Bucky is shoving him by the shoulders until his back hits the ground again, and then Bucky’s whirling around, a gun Steve hadn’t even noticed in his hand and pointed at Natasha. She’s got her own gun aimed at Bucky’s forehead, her expression shuttered, mouth pin-straight and eyes cold and distant.

“Natasha, what the hell?” Steve hisses, digging his elbows into the road to leverage his upper half up, fixing his patented Captain America is disappointed in you glare on her, though to disappointing results. She merely cocks a bow, tilting her head in a way that says she’s heard him but doesn’t care to acknowledge his presence at this juncture. A muscle ticks in Steve’s jaw, jumping with every grind of his teeth against each other.

Natasha barks something in Russian and Bucky responds with a snarl, the plates of his metal arm recalibrating as if in echo of his agitation. Natasha’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits. Bucky growls something else, lower in pitch and longer than his first answer. Whatever he says has Natasha pursing her lips; the most Steve can glean from it is the word captain, which — it doesn’t take a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist to know that’s about him.

Natasha stares for another long moment, unyielding, before she slowly lowers the barrel of her gun; Bucky reluctantly does the same at Steve’s quiet urging. With the threat of imminent death apparently having passed, Steve maneuvers himself out from behind Bucky and takes up a position in front of him, arms folded tight across his chest, shoulders squared. Natasha, unimpressed, holsters her gun and folds her own arms, her stance loose but wary.

“I’ll need you to explain how you managed to get the Winter Soldier to follow you around like a lost puppy.”

“The Winter…” Steve shakes his head, baffled. “You mean Bucky? He’s with SHIELD, isn’t he? Why would I—”

“He’s not with SHIELD, Captain. He’s a ghost story, credited with over a dozen assassinations in the last fifty years, several of which have been key American political figures. SHIELD’s been chasing him for years but the only lead they’ve had on him is that he has a metal arm. Like what your friend is sporting,” she adds, jerking her chin at Bucky. Steve doesn’t turn to look at him, not willing to give Natasha the impression that what she’s just told him has him rattled. And it — of course it does (the Winter Soldier, what the fuck), but he’s not going to let Natasha shoot Bucky because he’s confused.

“I didn’t do anything,” Steve eventually admits, his shoulders sagging minutely. Behind him he hears Bucky shift his weight, and then there’s a soft, momentary touch between his shoulder blades; Steve feels the warmth of each of Bucky’s flesh and blood fingertips through the fabric of his suit and somehow he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t dwell on it, though; there’ll be time for all his tangled feelings later. “Nothing to get Bucky to trust me, I mean,” he adds to Natasha’s bland look of expectation. “He showed up out of nowhere, guarding a group of what looked like scientists. I thought he was with SHIELD and roped him into helping me round up the civilians in this area. I just… told him my name, who I was. That’s all.”

Bucky presses closer, his chest bumping into Steve’s back, and murmurs quietly, something in Russian for Steve’s ears only. Or, it would be if not for the comms device in his ear; across from him, Natasha’s hand twitches, not for her gun but just — twitches. Steve might have thought he’d imagined it if not for the glare he gets from Natasha a moment later.

“You’re gonna have to teach me Russian,” Steve says on impulse, his traitor tongue making a move without his say so. He’s not even sure who it’s directed towards, Natasha or Bucky, but Bucky huffs what might be a quiet laugh at his back and Natasha’s blank expression loses a hint of its ice, so Steve decides it doesn’t matter.

“Fury’s either going to be ecstatic about this development,” Natasha says pleasantly, “or you’re going back on ice, Captain.”

Steve trusts his instincts, he always has. He hand-picked the Howling Commandos based on those instincts, agreed to Erskine's experiment based on those instincts. He got into every back-alley brawl, every bar fight, every stand-off with every bully in Brooklyn based on those instincts. And he hasn’t regretted a single one of those decisions. His instincts say Bucky’s a good man despite whatever hell makes up his past; and he can’t forget the hot spike of fear he felt in his gut when Bucky seemed oblivious to his own pain. That isn’t… normal, it isn’t a skill one develops because they want to. There’s more to Bucky’s story than Natasha’s letting on, or maybe more than she knows, Steve’s sure of that. He wants the time to unravel that story and like hell Fury’s gonna get in the way of that. Steve may have agreed to join the Avengers, but he did it because it was the right thing to do — he doesn’t owe Fury anything, and even if he did he’s pretty sure any and all debts would’ve been squared away when he took a nosedive into the Arctic for his country.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says with a wry smile. “I’m backing Bucky either way.”

From there the matter of Bucky’s identity is dropped in favor of re-engaging the current enemy and preventing what civilian casualties they can. Steve’s opinion of Stark changes drastically when he’s willing to lay down his life for the sake of saving the city and Natasha’s opinion of Bucky at least shifts into favorable territory when he mows down an entire squadron of Chitauri by himself (and, to a lesser degree, when he saves Steve’s life by dragging his ass out of the way of a runaway glider).

Steve can’t say for sure what’s going to happen next. Fury’s finally caught wind of what Steve’s been up to on the battlefield and from what Natasha tells him, it’s inevitable that Fury’ll want a sit down with the Winter Soldier. He doesn’t know what’s going to become of the Avengers, if they’ll split apart from here and go their separate ways, or if this is the beginning of something good.

When the dust settles there are a few things that Steve knows for certain, though. One, they did it: they closed the portal and stopped the invasion in its tracks. Two, Thor’s promised to ensure that Loki is brought to justice in their home realm of Asgard. And three, whatever ghost stories Natasha spins about Bucky, he’s a good man and he’s earned Steve’s friendship.

Oh, and apparently? Bucky’s living with him now. He really doesn’t know how that one happened (he suspects he lost some time due to Bucky’s frankly obscenely long lashes), but he’s not complaining. They’ll figure things out from here and Steve’s willing to do anything he can to help Bucky.

All in all, he has to admit that he might be starting to like the future.

#stucky #stevebucky #fic #my writing #utterly self-indulgent fic #ao3 doesn't want to work for me so here i am

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caelindadewfall · 7 years ago

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The Gadgetzan Shuffle (Prestige Class Story - Merchant Prince[ss])

Warning: Violence and Mentions of Blood Ahead. Proceed with caution!

If there was one place the tides of war never touch, it was Gadgetzan. Nowhere else on Azeroth could there be found a more wretched cesspool of scum and villainy. Sure, there was Booty Bay, but dealing with pirates was much easier than dealing with mob bosses. The latter variety of criminal tended to be a lot harder to pin down, and had a tendency to hold grudges so spiteful your whole family would have to change their names. Lucky for intrepid entrepreneur, Caelinda Dewfall, she really had no family to worry about.

The stench of blood, rum, and ever pungent aroma of raw sewage, permeated the hazy avenues of the mean streets. Garbage from every walk of life from street rat to hitman drifted in the streets like tumbleweeds in the desert. For some, this seedy and absolutely disgusting backwater was nothing more than a fanciful home for the poor and unlucky. For Caelinda, it was more of a home away from home away from home. There was nothing about Gadgetzan that didn’t scream her name. The booze and brawls, the dandies and dames, and just about everything in between those four wondrous things just fit her like a glove. She may not be the type to commit larceny of any meaningful sort, but he slimy, cobbled streets of the city were as familiar to her as the back of her own hand. Even if she wanted to, she doubted she could ever leave this part of her life behind. It was positively addicting.

She’d strolled into one of her favorite establishments on the south side of town that night: The Winking Furbolg. The place was standard fair among dives in the city, but Caelinda had always preferred conducting business there for two reasons. First, it was discrete. Second, they served a cactus rum that was second to none in town; and she’d been in more than one scuffle over such a claim.

The place was moderately busy that night. The fire at the center of the great room was roaring, and all around people were drinking. It was a motley assortment to be sure, but only by an outsiders standards. Orcs toasting with gnomes, dwarves sharing a table with trolls, both were hardly an uncommon sight in Gadgetzan. You could throw a dozen rocks into the street and hit a different species of folk each time in this place. It was a real haven for anyone, as long as you followed the rules of course.

She checked in with Fokert first. The goblin bartender was, dare she say it, her most trusted confidante in the city. ‘Friendly’ Fokert they called him, but only those who really knew Fokert could call him a friend. Everyone else usually remembered him not for his smile, but for the monstrously sized boomstick he leveled in their faces when they got uppity. He’d been cleaning the bar in one of the few dips in calls for a refill when she’d walked in, and his face lit up like a Winter’s Veil tree when he caught sight of her. Despite her rather new attire, and her hood concealing her upper face, he always knew her from miles away.

“Caelinda frickin’ Dewfall.” He’d said, throwing his arms wide. “If it weren’t for that baby face of yours I wouldn’t have recognized ya. I was startin’ to think you thought you were too good for this place.”

She sidled on up to the bar, past a few of the other patrons, and held out her arm with a smile. “You know I’d never turn on you, Fokert. I don’t think I could afford to be on your bad side.”

The goblin clasped her arm with his own as they shook in what little warm greeting the counter between them allowed. His toothy grin, minus a few teeth of course, always did reassure Caelinda that she had at least one friend in this city. That was one more than many had.

“It’s good to see you, kid.” Fokert said. “What’s bringin’ you to the mean streets this time?”

“Business.” She said, releasing his hand. Her face went a bit more taciturn as she returned to the business at hand. “Wanted to see if my normal room was available. Got some folks I need to meet with.”

Her normal room was always her go to spot to conduct any business in the city. While most people were content to speak freely out in the circular common area, Caelinda much preferred one of the private rooms on the back wall for her work.

Fokert nodded, his large ears flopping in rhythm with his head. He leaned over across the bar and put a hand to his mouth. “Yo, Tony!” He shouted, clearly disturbing some of the many patrons in the bar. Not that any of them would say anything.

“What?” Came a nasally reply from just up the ways. No doubt it belonged to the aforementioned Tony.

Fokert rolled his eyes and gave Caelinda a look that seemingly mixed apology and annoyance into one package. “You and yours get out of that room. A V.I.P. needs it!”

The middle of the five doors along the back wall shot open, and a rotund goblin with yellowish-green skin stepped out. His attire suggested he had some rather unscrupulous affiliations. A perfectly fit, pinstripe black suit with a matching hat. Not a very common outfit for even a goblin in this city. Behind him, Caelinda could pick out a few other well dressed goblins and some burly bodyguards keeping watch over the group.

“Since when do you have a V.I.P. system in this joint, Fokert?” The goblin assumed by her to be Tony practically screeched.

“Since your fat ass crawled outta your mother and prettier folks came along after.” Fokert hissed. “Now either get out of that room or we’re gonna have a problem.”

‘Friendly’ Fokert indeed.

Caelinda didn’t pay much mind to the sneering goblin and his diverse entourage as they swept, or lumbered in the case of the two tauren bodyguards, past her. A few choice words were muttered as they all went to find somewhere a bit more cordial for their gathering, but whether Fokert heard them or not was up for debate. With a flip of a gold piece and wink, she offered her thanks. The goblin had always looked out for her, and she was glad to see that today was no different.

But the time for pleasantries, such as they were, was over. Making her way to the back, she took a wide look out onto the main floor. No one seemed to pay any special attention to her despite the circumstances, but it was always best to make sure no one was eyeballing you in this city. It usually meant they had a knife with your spleen’s name on it. Aside from the twitchy looking hozen in the far corner though, she seemed in the clear. Not wanting to push her luck, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

The room was practically pristine. A bottle under the table or behind a chair here and there, but for Gadgetzan it was clean. The lack of unknown, viscous fluids on the floor or table really was a change in pace. She swept off a few errant bottle caps and cigar ashes from the table and placed her pack on top. No sooner had she unburdened herself than her butt found itself firmly placed in her favorite chair; the only one with a perfectly unobstructed view of the door. She let out a sigh of relief. It had been quite the journey to get here in time for her meeting, and it left her feeling quite drained. Her legs felt like she’d been walking for ten years, and her feet felt even worse. She did the math in her head with what little sense she had to spare and figured she had a few moments to relax before her associates arrive. With that in mind, she reclined in her seat and popped her feet up on the table. Her hood fell from her head when she leaned back across the back of her chair. Joints were popping all over her body, and it felt so nice.

While her muscles worked themselves back into a relatively normal shape, Caelinda took a moment to get her bearings on the moment. Long spouts of travel tended to leave her more than a bit frazzled, and wishing she’d managed to grab some cactus rum. Unfortunately, she needed her mind crystal clear for the moment. The strange circumstances of the meeting had her a bit on edge, and she never liked to be foggy in the head when the weather started to turn sour.

A letter had come in the post for her just a week ago asking for her presence at a meeting of ‘like minded individuals’ at her favorite dive. She had not the slightest idea what that was supposed to mean, and she’d been quite wary about how anyone knew her favorite spot to drink in town, but far be it from her to turn down quite literally any kind of deal. As shameful as it was to admit, her lack of resources was rather quickly becoming an issue as large as a mountain. So, she’d packed up her bags and hopped on the quickest ship to Tanaris. It hadn’t been cheap to make such a hasty trip, and many palms had been left greased behind her. Time would tell if the expense would be worth it. She could only hope this particular soiree into the mean streets would not end with a broken rib and a throwing star in her left shoulder. She could still feel that particular misfortune whenever she did her morning stretches.

A knock at the door came very suddenly. It was heavy, like a stone being shucked at the side of a barn. She found that rather odd, she wouldn’t have assigned the stylized and curvaceous penmanship of the letter to belong to someone with fists like an ogre. She sat up slowly in her seat, her eyes never leaving the door.

“Come in.” She said.

The words had hardly left her lips before the door slammed open. For a moment, Caelinda considered the possibility that she had somehow gained psychic abilities, for just as she had predicted an ogre stood in the doorway. He was one of the ugly sorts too. Of course, every orc was ugly even in the best light, but this one was particularly nasty to the eye. His face was scrunched up, clearly having been on the wrong side of a fist too many times, and covered in scars both fresh and old. She guessed that his expression was permanently stuck as a scowl, but he was certainly doing his best to look even angrier with his bared, broken teeth. If this poor excuse for a living being was supposed to be some attempt at intimidation, she was horribly unimpressed.

The ogre barely managed to squeeze through the door with a few grunts and groans, but once he’d accomplished the gargantuan task he stepped to the side to allow the rest of the entourage through. Like little ducklings following their bloated mother, a line of well dressed, and far less smelly, individuals filed into the room. In fine silks and elegant attire came a rather mismatched lot of two high elves hand in hand, a goblin who smelled far too much of perfume for her to be distinguished from the bottle it came from, and a human with a knack for fine dress and equally fine appearance. Each one of them moved with the confidence of those who had seen their fair share of the world and the people in it. She wasn’t quite sure if that would work in her favor or not. The four moved to seats on the other side of the table, and took their seats in perfect unison, and the ugly ogreling closed the door. That was even less of a good sign. She sure hoped this wasn’t some kind of cult invitation; she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.

For her part though, Caelinda didn’t show any of her apprehensions toward the situation. She kept her face as expressionless as a board, and her guests had a similar idea. Well, except for the goblin who seemed pretty content to keep a permanent pout on her face like she was looking down on Caelinda. Now that was a gaze she always enjoyed seeing.

After a minute of perhaps the most awkward silence she’d ever been privy to, Caelinda cleared her throat.

“So,” She started, “You those like-minded folk from the letter? Or am I in the wrong room?”

The two elves looked at each other, and began to snicker like she’d missed some kind of joke between the two. The goblin, well, she just continued to pout. Caelinda had to wonder if maybe her face was stuck like that. The human though, he seemed a bit more apt at the art of actually conversing with the living. She guessed that he partook of that particular pleasure often enough what with his rakish good looks. The silver fox goatee was a nice touch, and really added to his elegant style, but with his bald head it did almost make it seem like his entire face was upside down.

“Miss Dewfall,” He opened. His voice was like butter being spread on toast. “You are a curious individual.”

“Guilty as charged.” She teased.

The man smiled as if he had been expecting that little comment.

“Quite. It is this curiosity that has peeked our interest, Miss Dewfall. Particularly, your talent for the procurement of rare, and often unique, items. Not to mention your obvious knack for both attracting and dealing with trouble.”

“Flatterin’ to see that you folks are so interested in me.” She said. “You goin’ to tell me my life story next?”

The man leaned forward in his seat, placing his arms on the table. Now that she had a closer look at him, she could see his eyes were cold. There may have been a smile on his face, but those eyes were like voids that sucked in any real joy. She didn’t like those eyes.

“I’m certain that I could, Miss Dewfall.” He said. “But your story is hardly anything special. I’m sure no one here needs to be told the same story of childhood woe and abandonment that every other Sin’dorei on a village street could tell.”

“Low blow there.” Caelinda sneered.

“Perhaps, but you were the one who asked.” The man replied. “But to redirect this conversation to the proper subject, we are quite interested in you, Miss Dewfall. And believe me when I say that our organization does not take interest in people so easily.”

“Yeah,” The goblin interjected, “So maybe you should wise up and show some respect.”

“Respect?” Caelinda snapped, “I don’t even know who you people are. I don’t hand out respect like free apples at an orchard sale.”

The human held up his hand for silence, and for some reason she found herself heeding his request. The gobliness seemed reluctant to oblige, but she managed to find her composure as well.

“You’ll have to forgive the Duchess Cogslice. She forgets her manners at times, and it’s had the unfortunate effect of landing her in some rather unpleasant company at times. I’m sure you can understand.”

Caelinda sat back with a huff. “Yeah, water under the bridge and all.”

“Precisely,” The gentleman said with a nod of his head. “And if nothing else that little outburst will serve as a wonderful path towards introductions. You do seem rather keen to know our identities after all.”

He began to gesture around the table starting from his right with a gesture to the two high elves. She wasn’t a big fan of how they were looking at her. There was something unnatural about their icy blue eyes that made her nervous.

“We’ll start with these two lovebirds. Miss Dewfall, please allow me to introduce Celen and Feanna Eveningbeam. They are-”

Caelinda cut him off, “I know who the Eveningbeams are. These two run half the shipments of gemstones up and down the western coast of the Eastern Kingdoms. Got their fingers in the pockets of damn near every merchant in Stormwind and Silvermoon from what I hear.”

Feanna seemed amused by her knowledge, and hinted at it with a sort of half-smile that sent shivers down Caelinda’s spine. Her partner offered that same smile.

“Quite the informed little child you are.” Feanna said.

“I’d have to be an idiot to not have heard of you.” Caelinda retorted, “Rumors always pass along about the ‘Lovers of Luxury’ and what they’ll do to get their hands on the goods they need. Didn’t expect you two to be High Elves though. You lot tend to be too weak legged to get any real work done.”

The smiles faded from their faces as quick as lightning. Clearly they took exception to the comment of their heritage, but Caelinda was more than happy to make sure they knew she wasn’t going to be handled by them. Oddly enough though, the human seemed more than impressed with the exchange. There was a bemused smile on his face as he gestured to the goblin to his left.

“You’ve already met the Duchess Cogslice.” He said.

Caelinda nodded. “Aye, I’ve heard of her to. Best weapon smuggler in Kalimdor. Primary operations focusin’ in Tanaris, Azshara, and the Southern Barrens. I’ve heard folks call you the Duchess of Death.”

“They better be.” The Duchess sneered. “I worked hard to get that title, and I ain’t lettin’ go of it.”

Caelinda only rolled her eyes which was not unnoticed by the Duchess who’s dark gaze only deepened to match the already shoddy lighting cast by the room’s single light.

Finally, the human gestured to himself. “And I am Vincent Marston.”

Vincent seemed surprised when Caelinda maintained her silence after a moment. He made a small gesture with his hand as he tried to prompt her to some kind of revelation, but she only came with a shrug as a response.

“Am I supposed to know you?” She asked. “Never heard of anyone with your name before.”

The other members of the gathering must have found the complete lack of acknowledgement for their suspected leader to be pretty amusing. The couple shared a quiet laugh between them, and the Duchess’ scowl faded for just a moment to be replaced with a taunting grin. Vincent, for his part, was clearly not amused.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should not be displeased with your lack of knowledge into my person. It pays dividends to be an unknown party in my business. I am in the trade of information, Miss Dewfall.”

Caelinda shrugged again. “Fascinatin’ there Vincent, but what exactly does any of this matter to me? No offense, but I don’t really get why you folks even want anythin’ to do with me. If you’re tellin’ the truth, then I’m hardly the type to fit in with you lot.”

“And why is that, Miss Dewfall?” Vincent asked.

“Look, I’m no rat, but I don’t deal in the same type of business you do.” She said. “I run a straight and narrow operation. I’m a treasure hunter, not a...whatever you folks call yourselves.”

There’s a bit of an ominous pause, the kind that makes the last speaker wonder if the words they chose were the wisest. She wasn’t a big fan of the eyes looking at her in that silence either. The icy gaze of those two elves and that look of pure spite that the Duchess just seemed to put on naturally just didn’t sit well with her. But it was Vincent’s look that made her sweat like a hog in line for the chopping block. It was soulless. There was no warmth or even cold in his gaze. It was almost like he was looking through her for something. Maybe he found it, because soon enough he began to laugh. It was a hollow sound to her ears.

“Miss Dewfall,” He began, “We are simply entrepreneurs searching for the opportunity to turn a profit. Surely someone of your status could understand the need to make a few coins in today’s market.”

“Not sure I follow.” Caelinda said, trying her best to maintain her confident tone.

Vincent beamed. “The world is changing, Miss Dewfall. Every day we draw closer towards an inevitable conflict, and we four believe that you are one of those that possesses the foresight to see this future barreling towards us all.”

Even as he said those words Caelinda already knew what he was referring to. She’d seen the signs, and she didn’t like the look of the way things were headed.

“I can see it in your eyes.” Vincent said. “You know what’s coming, and you are surely aware of what might happen when that future finally arrives. But you are no coward, Miss Dewfall, and that may be what interests us the most.”

She cocked an eyebrow. Sensing her confusion, Celen stepped in. He leaned across the table just enough to catch her eye.

“What he means is that in spite of this plotted course history will soon take, you have not closed yourself off.” He said. “We are well aware that your business ventures are in full swing. You’re investigations into matters in the eastern seas is evidence enough that you are not content to rest on your laurels while the world turns into a new age.”

“How did you-” She starts to ask before she’s cut off by the elf’s hand.

“As Vincent just informed you, his business involves the trade of information. We’ve been interested in you for a while now, Caelinda. It was not hard to focus our many eyes and ears on you.”

She might have felt honored by that if it weren’t for the massive breach of her privacy and operations.

“Your willingness to continue, and even expand, your expeditions in this time is admirable.” Celen continued. “Bravado is a quality our little group tends to search for in new partners.”

“Partners?” She asked.

“Indeed.” Feanna stepped in. She placed an arm on her lover’s shoulder, and almost immediately he sat back in his seat. “You may not command a sizable enterprise, Caelinda, but your independence is impressive. You command your operation from start to finish, and tend to take sizable risks in order to acquire your products. For any of your faults, there is sizable reason for us to conclude that you are well worth our attention. Well worth our partnership.”

It was a lot to take in at once. That these people knew so much about her while she knew next to nothing about them was unnerving. They flattered her for her work, but so much of it felt insincere. Not to mention the unshakable unease that each and every single person in the room sent down her spine.

But this was what she had been hoping for. An offer at a partnership with some of the bigger names in the market. The opportunity to expand her enterprise further than any Dewfall before her was in reach. The chance to revive her family name and take a piece of the world for herself was here. Served up to her on a platter was the most lucrative deal she might ever relieve in her lifetime, and all she had to do was reach out and take it.

But she hesitated.

“What would I have to do for this partnership?” She asked.

The four looked between themselves for a moment. They spoke not with words bu with subtle changes in their facial expressions and slight twitches and nods. The Duchess, it seemed, was elected to answer her question.

“Pretty simple trade off.” She said. “We provide you with all the fixin’ up you need to get yourself up to higher places. We’re talkin’ connections, and not the kind you get just by chattin’ up the harbormaster or nothin’. You want to get somethin’ into Dalaran and don’t want the authorities seein’ everythin’ you’re carryin’? No problem, they’ll conveniently forget to check that last crate your haulin’. You want to ship some of your goods across customer lines? We can set up a dealer for you in Stormwind within the week. Anythin’ you need to get trade movin’ is yours.”

“And in exchange?” Caelinda pressured.

The Duchess smiled. “In exchange, you offer up information and a small percentage of your profits. Fifteen percent is the usual.”

She must have visibly winced at that number, because the Duchess’ smile only grew larger.

“You’ll also need to show our little organization a little bit of a love too, toots.”

“What’s that mean?” Caelinda asked. She already had a feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“From time to time you may be asked to levy your resources for the betterment of the organization, Miss Dewfall.” Vincent cut in. “We have many avenues of business as I am sure you know. I know that you consider yourself a woman of principle, but I am certain you would have little trouble turning a blind eye towards certain activities undertaken by your new partners. In the name of profit of course.”

“You’re askin’ me to look away from the bad to see the good, yeah?”

“Precisely, Miss Dewfall.” Vincent chuckled. “You have the right idea. Your relatively high moral standing position in Quel’thalas would surely deflect suspicion and aid our efforts in the region. And I promise that your name would never be connected to any of our more...unsavory deals.”

Unsavory was always the operative word. It toed the line between bad business and downright illegal, and normally Caelinda wasn’t a fan of either. She had always prided herself in shipping top of the line products and making honest deals with her customers, but this was something she’d never dared to venture into before. But with an offer like this on the table could she take that leap? She’d done a few less than honorable things in her past surely, and what would be so different about this one? It was for the sake of her business, and her name.

“I take it there’s no paper trail.” She said.

Vincent nodded, and the others smiled in approval. “Certainly not, Miss Dewfall. As I said, your name will never be attached to us in any ‘formal’ manner. A simple handshake will do.”

And like that, the devil held out his hand to her.

All she needed to do was shake his hand and her future would change forever. Everything she’d ever wanted would be hers for the taking. Her name would be spoken on every tongue worth its coin from one end of the world to the other. She’d be able to put her troubles behind her, and at last she could find some semblance of her former self. It would all just melt away.

She held out her hand, and took Vincent’s. The icy smile on his face guaranteed to her that she had made the right choice. This was the start of a new day.

For her anyway. Probably not for the rest of them.

“Thanks, I hate it.” She said.

Now, it’s a fairly well known fact that Caelinda prided herself on her strength. It was a particular quality that she had honed for years, and it had not been easy to acquire such immense physical power for someone seemingly so petite. So, it was surely a surprise for Vincent when he was hoisted from his seat by his skinny arm and hurled into the back wall like a sack of potatoes tossed into the garbage. He smacked against the wall with a loud crack, and his body went limp onto the floor. Caelinda surely would have checked to see if she had killed the man, but she wasn’t anywhere near the crumpled man by that point.

In the shock of the moment, she’d jolted across the table while the others watched Vincent’s body sail through the air like a majestic ragdoll. By the time the four remaining visitors had recovered from their awe, Caelinda was out the door.

All heads in the main hall turned to her, clearly attracted by the sound of a body hitting the floor and her sudden appearance. In that moment, many would have likely frozen like a deer in a goblin trike’s headlights, but this wasn’t her first time in a spot of trouble. She placed her fingers to her lips and let out a whistle so shrill that it surely cracked a few glasses in the room. To some, that was a sign that a fight was on, and to most it was a signal to get their butts out of the bar.

The scramble was on. Patrons darted left and right to make it out of the building or to find some cover. Bodies and drinks were tipping over everywhere, but that wasn’t Caelinda’s problem. She took off for the bar, and, in an acrobatic move that would have surely impressed onlookers if anyone was bothering to pay attention to her, she vaulted the long counter and slid behind where Fokert was waiting. As she had hoped, his boomstick was in his hands and ready to fire.

“Damn it Dewfall,” He grunted. “How many times are you gonna blow deals in my place? I just sanded down the bullet holes from last time.”

“Last time was an accident.” She said, a bit out of breath. “This time was different. Those fat hats were askin’ for it. Like minded my ass.”

Fokert just grunted again. They both took a peek over the bar. It was all but empty save for a few stragglers who were either too drunk or too nosy to leave. But out on the far wall they were waiting, and were they armed to the teeth. The Duchess was touting so many guns she might as well have been a walking dwarven armory. The two elves, well they were both there with swords drawn, they had to be elegant of course. And of course the ogre didn’t have much of a need for a weapon seeing as he could probably crush Caelinda’s skull like a grape. Not a pleasant thought.

Caelinda slid back down. “This ain’t good.”

“You think?” Fokert replied.

She shook her head. There was little time. She needed a plan and she needed it now. That had always been her weak spot, thinking up a plan for after the first punch. Vaelrin and Esme would surely be ripping into her right now if they had been there. But she was on her own, and maybe that was the best time for her to come up with an idea. Her mind moved at a mile a second, but it wasn’t quite fast enough.

“Hand her over Fokert!” The Duchess screeched. “Or I swear I’m gonna put enough holes in this place to make people think it’s the world’s largest wheel of swiss cheese.”

Caelinda looked to Fokert for his reply which took its form in a quick blast from his boomstick over the counter. There was a shout on the other side, but since it wasn’t continual she knew no one had been hit.

“There’s your answer you dime-a-dozen mook.” Fokert called out. Then he leaned over to Caelinda. “You got a plan?”

It took another second, but she did get one in good time overall. She nodded. “It’s free range. Everyone’s fair game, ‘cept the Duchess.”

Fokert raised an eyebrow. “Why the hell ain’t we sending lead her way?”

“She’s the key to my plan.” She said. “Just trust me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to say that in my place?” He grumbled. “It always goes bad when you do.”

“Name one time.” She said.

“A year ago when you wanted to make a deal with that basilisk wrangler.” He replied.

She wanted to protest, but he was right so she just returned his grumble. The two shared another look, and then a smile. It was time to go to work.

“Hey, Duchess!” Caelinda shouted.

“What?” The Duchess shrieked. She was clearly not in a good mood.

“Is Vincent dead?”

“That he is.” Came Celen’s voice. He seemed closer than the Duchess just based off of the volume.

“Well I wouldn’t feel to peeved about it.” Fokert chuckled. “You lot will be with him soon enough.”

“My words exactly.” Caelinda said.

Then there was a laugh. Two to be precise, and they were very close.

“I don’t believe you’ve fully grasped the situation you’ve created.” It was Feanna who spoke. Her chilly voice sent shivers down Caelinda’s spine. “The only one’s who will be dying tonight are you two.”

The last word was accented with a sudden plunge of a blade towards Caelinda’s head from up above. She tumbled out of the way towards the back of the bar. Feanna was standing on top of the counter beside Celen who had nearly taken Fokert’s head himself, but the goblin was quick enough on his feet to dodge the strike.

There was a crack from Fokert’s boomstick, and a hunk of the bar disintegrated in a spray of wood dust. But Celen was no longer there. He’d almost leisurely sidestepped the shot and made his lunge to Fokert. Feanna copied his movement with ease toward Caelinda. While Fokert rolled again to dodge the strike, Caelinda lashed out with her hand to smack the blade to the side. It impaled itself into the wooden cabinet behind her, and the sound of shattering glass accompanied it as an expensive bottle exploded inside. Feanna seemed surprised by the counter, and that was all Caelinda needed. Combat was much like business, you needed to take any advantage you could find. She shot forward from her crouch like a bullet and wrapped her arm around Feanna’s neck. With a perfect arc of momentum, she lifted the elf off of the counter and brought her down headfirst onto the floor in front of the bar. There was the familiar crack of bone smashing into solid object, but Caelinda didn’t waste time to check for a pulse. She turned to see Fokert still being chased down by Celen who was dancing around on the counter like a professional. She put her fingers to her lips again and shot out a whistle that quickly caught Celen’s attention. His eyes went past her to Feanna on the floor with a small pool of blood forming around her head.

“Feanna!” He shouted, but those were his last words.

Fokert’s boomstick flashed again, and Celen was hurled from the counter as if he’d been flung by a catapult. There was another sound as his body was slung against the wall and then to the floor, but nothing after that. Caelinda knew he wouldn’t be getting up again.

Fokert stood up and tossed her a grateful look, but there was hardly even time to share that. The Duchess let out such a howl of fury that Caelinda was sure she’d need to see a Dawnmender about her ears, but she booked it to make sure she wasn’t going to have to see one in a morgue. A hailstorm of bullets followed right behind her as she dove clumsily behind the bar again. Fokert ducked down too just before the mirror above him shattered into a million shards. The Duchess continued to cry out in abject rage as she fired off every weapon that she had. Caelinda couldn’t be sure how many she had, but she’d counted at least four pistols, three rifles, and some kind of minigun. At least she assumed it was a minigun. She’d only seen one before after all, and that day hadn’t been nearly as eventful as this one.

It was hard to hear anything over the constant screeching and gunshots, but somehow Caelinda was able to hear Fokert as he shouted, “How does she not need to breath?”

She snorted at that. Still, the hail fire was going to be a problem. She was fast, but not fast enough to dodge that kind of firepower. There was no way Fokert would be able to get a clean shot at the Duchess either without being turned into green alterac swiss. For all she knew, her supply of bullets might not run out for the next century or so, and by that point the bar would likely be reduced to splinters. She really didn’t want to be sitting around when that happened. Unfortunately, that meant coming up with a plan, and she had already spent a lot of her brain power on the first one.

Still, there was just enough juice left in her tank to come up with one last daring maneuver.

“Hey Fokert!” She shouted over the many bullets raining down around them.

“What?” Fokert yelled back.

“Run!” She cried, snatching up a broken bottle.

The plan quite clearly relied in Fokert understanding her meaning, or at least getting the basic gist of the idea. No sooner had the word left Caelinda’s lips than she took off to the right of the bar. She could only hope that Fokert would shuffle his way in the opposite direction, otherwise they’d both be ripped to shreds in a wonderfully violent manner. The Duchess didn’t seem to take the sudden motion well in stride as she tried her best to swing her weapons towards her now moving target. Thankfully, her aim lagged just enough behind the elf to keep her in one piece.

Or at least that was how it was supposed to be. There was always a margin for error in hasty calculations.

Even with all that adrenaline pumping through her veins, Caelinda could still feel the first bullet rip clean through her right calf. Assuming it had missed any of her really important veins then she’d be alright, but it still hurt. But now wasn’t the time for sitting on the ground and crying about it. Her body, and all its assorted chemicals, kept her moving even through the pain, and perhaps more bullet wounds, which it quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

Perhaps knowing what Caelinda planned, the Duchess wheeled back around to face Fokert who would surely be slower than her. She shouted a command that was drowned out by her resuming fire, but the ogre seemed to catch whatever her order was.

Without the threat of impending death being rained down on her, Caelinda did her best to make a move. She readjusted her trajectory and made a beeline straight for the Duchess. If she had given it more thought, it may have been easily recognizable to her that she wasn’t in the clear, but she allowed her arrogance to get the better of her in that moment. Only a few footsteps away from the Duchess, a massive fist collided with her chest. At once, all of the air left in her lungs was quickly expelled, and she collapsed like a sack of bricks. The ogre lumbered over her like a towering mass of muscle and low brain cell count, his face a countenance of ignorance and anger.

Caelinda crouched on all fours as she tried to catch her breath. She’d spent so much energy just getting this far, and defeating a whole ogre wasn’t a piece of cake even fresh out of bed. Of course, this didn’t matter much to the ogre. He lifted her up easily like a child with one hand. His grip felt like a vice clean around her stomach.

Over the ogre’s shoulder, and through her own blurry vision, Caelinda could see Fokert still mobile and taking pot shots at the Duchess. She had to give the goblin his due credit, but hopefully that could wait until she was finished with her present issue.

Fortunately for her, she was well trained to handle a situation like this. Though she rarely had the chance to display it, most people did tend to forget that she had been trained by some of the very best martial artists the world had to offer. She took in a deep breath, finally, and whipped herself back into a focused head space. It wasn’t much, her thoughts were practically running on fumes, but she’d made due with less. With her right arm she reached forward and jabbed the interior of the ogre’s elbow. A jolt of pain went right up the ogre’s arm, and he released her with a shout more out of shock than real hurt.

The ogre quickly recovered. He lumbered forward with a disgruntled grumble and swung his arms wide to try and grab the smaller elf in a surely spine-shattering bear hug. Caelinda ducked under his arms and rolled between his legs. She popped up behind the mass of muscle and sent a swift, but highly effective, kick right into his more sensitive loins. She surely wasn’t below hitting beneath the belt; it was a fight, not a prissy duel in some parlor room.

The ogre howled in pain, and dropped to his knees. He whirled on Caelinda with tears in his eyes. Unfortunately, any sympathy that he might have hoped for went out the window some time ago. Raising her leg to knee height, she snapped a kick right into the center of the ogre’s scrunched up face. Blood shot out of his nose and onto her beautiful shoes like water from a spout. This was rather upsetting given that they had been a gift.

Unfortunately, ogre’s tend to be a bit more sturdy than a kick to the face. The brute snatched up her leg in one of his meaty mitts and hoisted her over his shoulder before she had any time to react. Her training kicked in without hesitation, and she twirled about in the air like a circus performer to land on her feet with little incident. The ogre, for his part, seemed confused. Not wanting to give his tiny brain enough time to rethink his ‘strategy’, Caelinda leaped back towards the ogre and slammed her foot into the side of his face for a hook kick that would have made her masters quite proud. This time, the ogre dropped face first into the floor, and he made no move to get up again. Caelinda counted herself lucky, her injured leg was starting to really catch up to her. There was bound to be glass stuck in her somewhere too after the amount that had been sent flying. There was little time to spare in wrapping up this affair.

Whirling back around to face the final opponent, Caelinda was surprised to see the situation in a slightly more positive position than she had expected. Fokert’s bullet riddled corpse was not on the ground, and in fact the goblin stood daringly on top of the last table not reduced to splinters. There was a bit of blood on his forehead and his hands, but he seemed to still be without major injury. His boomstick was gripped tightly in his hands and pointed at the Duchess who seemed to be in a very similar position. She had exhausted most of her ammunition, and all that remained was her lonely pistol gripped tight in her right hand and pointed at Fokert. If she had noticed the events going on behind her she didn’t make any indication of it.

Fokert caught Caelinda’s eye and gave her a toothy smile. “Glad to see you’re in one piece. Thought that lummox would flatten you.”

The Duchess looked over her shoulder for only a moment, and growled when she saw that her now mortal enemy was still alive.

“I’m a bit offended by that.” Caelinda said to Fokert. She looked down at the Duchess who was now gripping her pistol with both hands. “You ought to put that down, Duchess. Even if you could shoot Fokert over there, it’d be easy for me to take two steps forward to snap your little neck. And if you turn around to put one in me, well I’m sure you saw what happened to your little friend Celen before.”

The Duchess didn’t move for a while as she considered her options. Eventually, she raised up her left hand and lowered her pistol to the ground. She turned around slowly to face Caelinda. She looked like an absolute wreck compared to the pristine high roller she’d first appeared to be. Her hair was skewed in all manner of directions and her makeup dripping away beneath all of her sweat. It was an image of defeat of Caelinda ever saw one.

“So, what are you gonna do?” She spat. “Turn me over to the law? Throw me in the sea?”

Caelinda shrugged. “I was hopin’ we could just talk first.”

“What in the hell would we have to talk about?” The Duchess said, her voice barely contained below a shout.

“Legal business prospects?” Caelinda offered.

The Duchess blinked once, and then again. She squinted her eyes at the elf like she was looking for something, but it wasn’t clear what.

“You kill my partners, the only people in this damn shithole that I can stand, and now you’re tryin’ to strike a deal with me? You’re one dumb elf.” She said.

Caelinda crossed her arms and shrugged again. “Maybe, but you’re a goblin who wants to keep that heart of yours beatin’, so I’d say we’re on pretty level ground here.”

If the Duchess agreed she sure didn’t say so.

“Look,” Caelinda sighed, “I don’t like you. I mean that in the most honest way. If it weren’t for my ironclad morals and childlike point of view, I’d probably just kill you right now. But I don’t want to kill you. It’d be a waste anyway.”

The Duchess huffed. Caelinda just rolled her eyes at the attitude.

“So,” She continued, “I’d like to offer a better outcome. One where we both stay alive, and make a lot of gold.”

Now that caught the Duchess’ attention. Her eyes practically lit up at the prospect of making a profit, but her dour expression did its best to try and maintain a sense of burning hatred for the elf.

“What kind of offer did you have in mind?” The Duchess asked after a moment.

Caelinda unfolded her arms, and reached into her waist satchel. She hesitated for a second as she realized just how lucky she was that a bullet hadn’t hit what was inside the bag. Worst case, there might not even be a Furbolg left, winking or otherwise. Shaking off her sudden realization of potential death, Caelinda pulled out the same glowing shard she’d scavenged up two months ago. The shard flowed from blue at the very tip to a dazzling gold that shimmered like rippling water. The mineral was clearly something to behold, but it was even more to feel. Something about it always put a sense of awe in Caelinda as she held it. She held out the shard just a bit so that the Duchess could inspect it.

“This is the stuff I’ve heard the Alliance and Horde are fightin’ over in Silithus.” She said. “They’re callin’ it Azerite, and it’s gettin’ big. I’d bet every ounce of gold in my pockets that this is goin’ to be what the next big scrap is over, and that makes it valuable.”

The Duchess marveled at the shard. Fokert peaked over her shoulder and found himself entranced by it as well. Clearly the goblins understood the value of this new resource even if they didn’t quite grasp what it was. To be fair, Caelinda didn’t really understand it either.

She quickly placed the shard back into her satchel. “Duchess, I want your help.”

The Duchess looked her in the eyes, her brown meeting Caelinda’s emerald. She seemed apprehensive of her to say the least, but Caelinda could see she was also incredibly interested. It was just as Caelinda had intended. Promise a goblin gold with charming word and they’ll always come around to your way of thinking.

“What do you want?” The Duchess asked.

Caelinda smiled. It was a grin full of both delight and her playful mischief. “Nothin’ too out of the ordinary, Duchess. For starters, I want one of your ships. One you picked up legally of course, I don’t need a stolen ship on my ledger. I’ll want the crew too, obviously. Then I’ll be needin’ your kind assistance in payin’ for all the damages you’ve caused to this fine establishment.”

“Damn right.” Fokert called.

“And finally, I want you to forget all of this shadowy nonsense that happened tonight and just go about your business.” She finished.

The Duchess seemed quite confused by that last point.

“You’re just goin’ to let me go?” She asked.

Caelinda wiggled her hand in a so-so motion. “Sort of. I’m lettin’ you go, but I want you to leave me alone. No chasin’ after me for revenge or any of that. You stick to your way, and I’ll stick to mine. We don’t ever need to see each other again. And I’m hopin’ that tellin’ you about this whole Azerite business will just have sweetened the pot a little. You know, a friendly monetary tip, except we’re not friends.”

The Duchess took her time in thought. Her mind must have been absolutely abuzz with thoughts about the whole situation, but Caelinda could only really think about how much her leg was starting to hurt. Just as she was about to say something, the Duchess held out her hand to her.

“Fine then, Dewfall. I’ll accept your terms.” She grinned. “You know how to work a deal.”

Caelinda reached out and took the Duchess’ hand in turn with her own smile. “It’s been a pleasure doin’ business with you, Duchess.”

#writing #Caelinda Dewfall #the sunguard

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toushindai · 7 years ago

Text

Good Luck Charm

For Baccano! Week 2017, Day 5: “Moments.”

Rosetta gets her boyfriend involved in something dangerous, and tries desperately to get him un-involved again.

[ Read on AO3 ]

Rosetta opens her eyes.

The dream she’s just had is no dream—instead, it’s a vision of the near future. Of upcoming chaos. The Flying Pussyfoot, a transcontinental express. Murders, hijacking, competing factions. A handful of Ronny’s Immortals. It’s complex, and the dream had been overwhelming, but honestly it isn’t particularly concerning. Somehow, the only ones who will end up dead are the ones who will be guilty of the worst malice. Rosetta rolls over in the bed, her interest in the train fading—

But then she realizes two things in the same moment.

One: Jacques-Rosé is awake next to her, shifting uneasily, his eyes opening a crack to look at her.

Two: her knowledge of the events of the train are changing. The future is changing.

As soon as the future revises itself in her head, she forgets its earlier shape; but as it settles into its new form, she feels a deep dread that she knows she was not feeling a moment ago. There will be innocent victims aboard the train. Humans who try to step into the fray, who try to save people, will be mercilessly gunned down.

Rosetta’s blood runs cold for a moment.

Jacques-Rosé will be there.

She tries to keep her breath even. She tries to hide the fact that she’s awake. She feels the attempt fail.

“Hey, Rosetta?” he breathes. “You awake?”

“Yes,” she murmurs back, because she doesn’t feel like lying tonight and she has to know why the future just changed. It’s not like she’d intended to tell Jacques-Rosé about the chaos aboard the train—but somehow, he just became involved. “What’s up?”

“Oh. Nothing, sorry.” He shifts onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up. Just… had a weird dream, is all.”

“A dream?”

“Well… it felt too real to be a dream. But don’t worry about it, honey.”

He obeys his own suggestion with more ease than she does, drifting back into slumber within a few minutes. She stays awake, wishing she could read his mind. Her vision, his ‘dream,’ the changed future—she doubts it’s all a coincidence. And even if it were, how was she supposed to get the image of Jacques-Rosé being shot aboard the Flying Pussyfoot out of her head? That’s how the future is aligned, for now. There’s still time to change it, but this event feels stubborn. Entrenched.

Not for the first time, she wonders if she’s done something wrong by involving herself in Jacques-Rosé’s life. Her very closeness to him disables her ability to answer the question: it blurs her sight of his future because it overlaps too frequently with her own. And now her knowledge has somehow seeped into his subconscious, and the knowledge has put him in danger. A grave mistake. That she has come to care for someone who falls outside of her omniscience can only be another mistake.

A very human one.

(More’s the pity.)

At long last, she sighs and rolls away from him. In any case, she can’t abandon him now. She will keep him off the train and decide what’s best after New Year’s.

She catches him checking train timetables in the morning and asks him why, as though she doesn’t know.

“I have this weird feeling,” he says. He lays the paper out on the table between them. “Ever since the middle of the night last night. Something’s going to happen on this train. Something big. And bad.”

Rosetta glances down. His finger is resting on the name of the Flying Pussyfoot. It’s no surprise, but she doesn’t display the resignation she feels. Instead she tilts her head to the side.

“Didn’t you say you had a weird dream last night?” she inquires. “Jacques-Rosé, are you getting dreams and reality confused?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. I can’t remember what I dreamed. I just know that the Flying Pussyfoot was involved, and there was evil aboard the train.”

“That sounds like some sort of eerie gothic story,” Rosetta says, lightly patronizing.

But her words have the opposite effect from what she intends. Instead of discouraging him or convincing him that he’s imagining things, they make him more certain of what he feels. The future doesn’t budge.

“Whatever it is,” he says, only half-listening to her now, “it’s gonna happen at the end of the year. And I’m gonna be on that train, and I’m gonna stop it.”

Jacques-Rosé stands awkwardly at the ticket counter, rooting fruitlessly through his wallet, until the man behind them clears his throat and Rosetta has a reason to tug him out of the way.

“It’s an expensive train,” she murmurs, feigning sympathy. “If you just want to get to New York, there are other—”

“No,” he says. His voice is quiet, but intense. “It’s something about the Flying Pussyfoot. The December 30th trip from Chicago to New York. I just have this feeling about it, Rosetta. You know?”

Yes, she absolutely does know. She sees the future spread out wide before her, every event crystal clear, but she can’t help but focus on the sight of his bullet-ridden body slumping to the ground in the Flying Pussyfoot’s dining car.

“That’s a lot of money to spend on just a feeling,” she says aloud.

“I’ll manage.” His face hardens. “I’ll pick up some extra shifts at the plant.”

“Jacques-Rosé, listen to yourself,” she pleads, but she knows it won’t work. His eyes are sharp and determined.

“I am listening to myself. I don’t know why I’m the one who knows what’s going to happen, but that means I have a duty to prevent it. And I’m going to prevent it.”

She makes a few more attempts to dissuade him, but none of them take root. He saves up enough for a second-class ticket. The future only grows firmer, and Rosetta finds herself spending nights mired in anxiety. It’s not an experience she enjoys.

He’s useless, is the thing: moderately strong, immeasurably passionate, but foolish. He has a big heart. That’s fine. Rosetta doesn’t object to that. It’s fine, as long as he only reaches out his hand towards what he can see in front of him as the ordinary human he is. He can take on bullies and petty thieves, and if he gets in a little over his head Rosetta at least has enough power to bail him out. It’s fine, just like it was when he pushed her out of the way of a speeding car; it never would have hit her, but he couldn’t have known that. She forgave him his ignorance then, and healed his wounds fast enough to keep him from growing suspicious.

But somehow her knowledge has bled over to him now, in the worst circumstances, and Rosetta has to admit that she simply doesn’t want him to get involved with this. Even if she could tell him what to avoid, guide him safely through every single potential calamity, she doesn’t want him on a train with forty murderers and five Immortals. He’s just a human. His passion, his valor—they’re only going to put him in danger, but he believes in their ability to protect him like he never grew out of fairy tales.

Even if she told him how to stay safe, he wouldn’t listen.

So, in the end, she doesn’t tell him anything.

Christmas comes, and they celebrate together. Rosetta roasts the turkey and Jacques-Rosé eats most of it, telling her between each bite how delicious it is. She smiles at him. She’s almost accepted his impending death, she thinks. If she’s going to involve herself with humans like this, it has to happen sometime: the loss of someone she’s found herself caring for. Humans survive the feeling all the time, and she’s far more than a human.

After dinner, they open gifts. As she suspected he would be, he’s delighted by the little wooden turtle she bought him.

“It’s a good luck charm,” she says. “If there’s really evil on that train like you say, I want you to stay safe. This will protect you.”

He holds it up to eye level like it’s a real animal he’s trying to look in the eye. “It’s so cute!” he exclaims. Then he presses it against his chest seriously. “I’ll wear it right here, next to my heart,” he promises. “To be protected by your love.”

She laughs, because it’s corny, but he must mean it. The future shifts. She’s bought him a few extra minutes.

And that’s the most she can do if she wants to respect his agency as a human. It’s a stupid limit, but she’s stupid enough to care for him, so this is how it’ll have to be.

A few days later, she sees him off at the station. He almost forgets the turtle between the seats of the car and for a moment she stares at it and wonders how she’s gotten herself into this. If his head weren’t attached to his shoulders it would fly off every time he went rushing forward without a second thought to save someone. He really is useless, isn’t he? All enthusiasm, no sense.

A few minutes fade off his future and her heart clenches. Before tears can come to her eyes—tears that he might see—she snatches the turtle and calls out to him. He catches it easily when she tosses it his way.

“Don’t forget,” she says, head tipped to the side with a smile. “You said you’d take me to Dolce when you got back to Chicago.”

“It’s a date,” he assures her with a grin. “Just gotta get rid of the evil on this train first.”

She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe him. “Take care, Jacques-Rosé.”

“See you soon, Rosetta.”

She sits in her bed, arms around her knees, barely holding herself human: only watching, watching the chaos aboard the Flying Pussyfoot. The turtle saves Jacques-Rosé from the Lemures’ bullets. It can’t save him from the knife of the paranoid boy-Immortal. He collapses, fades. His life leaves this world.

Rosetta takes a deep breath, and tries to fight the feeling of her heart breaking, and—

She fails.

She is indignant.

Infuriated.

She is unwilling to accept this, for no one’s sake but Jacques-Rosé’s and her own. She takes hold of the threads of time and yanks on them and brings back the afternoon; brings Jacques-Rosé back to her bed, where he was napping before they left for the station.

Where he is napping before they will leave for the station.

Like he hasn’t a care in the world.

To be honest, the manipulation is more than she’s easily capable of.

But she expects the nausea, the vertigo. The way her limbs shake. She takes big gulping breaths to steady herself, and before she goes back to pretending she’s someone sweet enough to be dating a softhearted fool like him, she allows herself the selfish arrogance of the universe allowed to enforce its own will. She is going to make sure he is saved.

Then she tilts her head and becomes what Rosetta is expected to be once more. She shakes Jacques-Rosé like she can’t believe he would oversleep at a time like this.

“Jacques-Rosé… Jacques-Rosé! Wake up!

“If you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss the Flying Pussyfoot!”

#baccanoweek #baccano!#rosetta #jacques rose boronial #tou wrote a thing #my baccanoweek #baccanoweek 2017 #good luck charm

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