#I’d also go a little insane if I was powerless to stop most of my loved ones from dying and the world from being destroyed in front of me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doctorofmagic · 3 years ago

Text

My thoughts on What If... Doctor Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands?

The very title of the episode sends a shiver down my spine. And this is where we’re going to start.

~ long post under the cut ~

A year ago, I wrote this post as an attemp to dive into one of the most important traits in Doctor Strange’s personality: love. Stephen is a being made of love, made to love, no matter which interpretation you have when you watch Infinity War. If you don’t read comic books, you’ll understand the moment you meet Donna. You’ll begin to understand how her death reshaped his entire subjectivity out of fear of failing, being powerless and unable to control everything around him (especially death), thus the arrogant and yet a disaster of a man we all know.

Where do I even start? Stephen loved her sister deeply and felt responsible for her death. And then, slowly, he also lost his parents and his brother. He fell in love with Clea but he also pushed her away. He loved Zelma platonically and lied to her, which was enough for them to break their bond. He felt attracted to Kanna but screwed things up, even though they remain friends. He was forced to kill the Ancient One, the only father figure he had ever since his father died. And lastly, the only person who would never leave his side... also left. Yes, even Wong. Stephen has SO much love to give but he’s also afraid because he’s cursed. He truly believes his love in poison. And would you look at that? What If really delivered a story where this is actually true.

What If Doctor Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands?

The level of understanding when it comes to the character is... inconceivable. What could possibly reshape Stephen into following a dark path but love? The very premise of the whole episode. This is so much more than a love letter. This is literally too much, in all senses.

Fine, let’s begin.

What if the best of intentions has very strange consequences?

No. You used the word “strange” for the pun but this is not the word. Nah-ah. I’d go with ATROCIOUS, for starters. Things are gonna escalate so quickly, my friends.

Seriously, tho? Christine is SO SO SO SO beautiful, they’re so cute together. I have this feeling that MCU!Stephen was quite toxic because of his arrogance and this is why they didn’t work out. But WhatIf!Stephen???????? He’s always praising her, teasing her in a healthy way, respecting her and listening to her. HE TRULY LOVES HER, I’M GONNA CRY ALL OVER AGAIN, PLEASE, NOT THE CRÈME BRÛLÉE, PLEASE

I’m going to leave this shot here because we need to go back to it later. Hold that thought.

And bonus points to “Yeah, well, I would call that quite remarkable.” / “Well, I would say the same about you.”

GODS. THE PAIN. STOP THE PAIN.

So in this reality, Stephen didn’t caused the car accident because he was checking his phone while driving. Also it was not the reckless attempt to pass the truck. Well, maybe it was the consequence of this act? The fact is, the car behind them loses control, which makes them crash. Does it matter? We’ll learn later that no, it doesn’t.

And yep... Christine dies. Have you noticed the shattered heart? Ah, the pain only gets better and better.

Again, Stephen blames himself. More than anything, this is so important because Stephen is all about guilt. We still need to meet Donna so we can add yet another layer of guilt. But the feeling exists. This is what corrupts Stephen’s heart and soul in all his iterations. This is what makes him the character I love so much. I love this SO. MUCH. In addition, his stubbornness to accept his condition. Man won’t take a no. This, this is Doctor Strange in character. Stop complaining about NWH Stephen, it’s pathetic.

Okay, “grief-stricken”, Stephen found the Mystic Arts and became a sorcerer. That’s when he learned about the Time Stone, the Eye of Agamotto and Dormammu. Nothing changes, he saves the universe. But time does not heal his deepest wound.

I love Wong so much. Every time Wong does something, the world is healed. Really. We’re going back to him as well but for now I’ll just leave this shot.

BUT STEPHEN, DOING SOMETHING RECKLESS? HE’D NEVAH

Aaaaaaaannnnnnd then he did.

He goes back in time. It’s been two years since he lost Christine. I think he reacted pretty nicely, despite the circumstances. Now let’s go back to that shot I said I was saving for later.

Stephen is so light-hearted here. Also, during the first time he lost Christine, he had no idea what “The Price is Right” was. He knows now, which means he probably tried to learn more about the show because of her, because of grief. HAHAHA MORE PAIN

AND THEN HE

AND THEN SHE DIES AGAIN

AND THEN HE KEEPS GOING BACK IN TIME

AND SHE KEEPS DYING

AND THE MUSIC

AND HIS VOICE

AND HE TRIES TO CHANGE FATE BUT IT CAN’T BE AVERTED

HE EVEN TRIES TO STAY AWAY FROM HER LIFE BUT SHE DIES ALL THE SAME, WHY

AND EVERY TIME THEY CRASH, HE FEELS THE PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL PAIN AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, WHY

I’M-- *ugly sobbing noises*

Apparently, not.

And this scene when he simply... closes his eyes before she dies again...?

This is where this episode had me in endless tears. It got me the four times I watched it. I’m dead serious.

Okay, so, next the Ancient One appears to Stephen, explaining that Christine’s death is an Absolute Point in time. It cannot be changed. Stephen needs the accident to become the Sorcerer Supreme and defeat Dormammu.

And this is where Stephen starts his journey into darkness. “Nothing is impossible, you taught me that. I only require more power.” Disobeying the Ancient One, Stephen then travels in time, seeking the Library of Cagliostro. Now, if you’re not aware of that, Cagliostro was a sorcerer who studied time in comics, and later became Sise-Neg (there’s a recent post on this because of the new Defenders run). It’s funny to think that Sise-Neg also destroyed the world when he became a god, however he grew past his pettiness and remade reality. Stephen did not possess such power, as we’re about to see.

PS: “Stop torturing yourself, Stephen.” Naur but he should use this line like a mantra. Especially comics!Stephen.

Not gonna lie, tho. This place reminds me of the Temple of the Vishanti from T&T (of course I was going to insert T&T somewhere, it’s me).

And of course they’d go for a pun with his name haha. I don’t know how to feel about this, tho. I feel like the episode is too heavy and dark for comedy. But it is what it is.

Okay but why some books are in cages??????????? And wow, it seems Cagliostro also gathered knowledge about several fields of magic.

And then Stephen learns that, in order to break an Absolute Point, he needs to absorb more power. This is when I went “oh-oh, here we go”.

And for real, is this Shuma-Gorath? Why are they keeping his name a secret? Is this the same creature from the first episode with Captain Carter, right? RIGHT? It has to be Shuma-Gorath.

Of course he tries to be polite and ends up all hurt haha. O’Bengh warns him about love but he will not listen. “Love can break more than your heart. It can shatter your mind.”/ “Is she worth the pain?”. Please, this is Stephen. He eats pain for breakfast.

Also, also, let’s take a break. We’re finally going to get monsterf0cker tentacle-lover Stephen Strange. It will cost us everything but here we goooooooooooo (yes, I went frame by frame for your more obscure fanservice needs)

Gods, I love this sequence so much it hurts. Okay, here we go.

Shmebulock???????????

AND HE STOLE THE CAPE??????????? AND DREW THE LINE ON BUGS??????

The grasp this man is holding on me right now...

Some of you will understand. I’m with you.

And here are the grostesque ones. These are hard to take SS but I had to.

Animation, sound effects, OST? CHEF’S KISS TO ALL

And lastly... the tentacles. Yeah, if you’re new... this is a thing.

Fanservice. Fanservice everywhere. (low-key the reason I also waited to write this review, I wanted to enjoy this part so badly but I was too sad for that lmao)

Okay so. O’Bengh is suddenly OLD and DYING, until we realize that Stephen spent CENTURIES absorbing mystic beings. CENTURIES. WTF STEPHEN. He had nothing in mind but the goal to save Christine. And people wonder why he went insane???? I’m sorry, O’Bengh, but I can’t take you serious when you still call Stephen Sorcerer Armani. Oh, and also because you watched him absorb beings for centuries in silence lmao. But I guess I have to because you said that Stephen is split in two since the Ancient One cast a spell on him, splitting the timelines and making them exist in the same reality before he could travel back in time. I know, it’s complex. Anything for the plot.

And now good!Stephen has an evil!twin who wants to absorb him back in order to become whole and break the Absolute Point. Cool.

I said I wanted to talk more about Wong because I think people are not talking about him enough. Wong is so important in this episode. He’s the one who’s trying to heal Stephen after Christine. He’s Stephen’s anchor.

Also, THEY FINALLY USED A SPELL WITH THE NAME OF THE VISHANTI. HOORAAAAY

So, for the sake of our understanding, I’m addressing the characters as evil and good!Stephen. Let’s go. Evil!Stephen summons good!Stephen and gods, he still holds such a strong grasp on me... unbelievable. THE DEEPER VOICE BENEDICT USES???? PLEASE, DIDN’T WE HAVE ENOUGH?

Imagine his strength to hold so many beings inside him, fighting to control him. BRO, THIS IS TOO TOO MUCH

Fine, I’ll not post SS about the fight because I’d be here all night long but I WILL say this: NOT CLOAKIE!!!!! NAAAAAAAAAAUR

Also if you ask me if I recognize any of the spells? Maaaaybe the Flames of Faltine, the not-so-crimson Bands of Cyttorak and a little trick Magik does with her portals. That’s how far I go.

I’ll not comment on the “seducing yourself to stay in the trap”. I will not. I’ll just say that the first person Stephen thought of when “Christine” was talking about the crème brûlée was Wong. That’s it.

And finally evil!Stephen absorbs good!Stephen and releases... UNLIMITED POWER (I love when the stone goes red as if it was bleeding aaaaaaa)

I can fix him...

This scene here? Poetic cinema. (I love his wings so much)

And when Stephen says her name and the other monsters’ voices echo “Christine”, AAAAAACKKKK

AND OF COURSE CHRISTINE WOULD FREAK OUT, BRO. LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE BECOME BECAUSE OF YOUR TWISTED LOVE. I’M NOT DOING FINE.

Oh, but it’s too late anyways because Stephen broke reality haha. This scene is interesting because Stephen is the only one who sensed and/or talked to the Watcher until now. I read an interview that the Watcher kinda showed up but it’s also about Stephen’s keen senses. Bit of both, let’s say. Still, man, 616-Watcher is not that cold. 616-Watcher would watch this and say “how about I intervene anyway?”. WhatIf!Watcher is brutal.

The way Christine looks at Stephen one last time also KILLS ME, DESTROYS ME, BREAK ME INTO A MILLION PIECES.

And this is where my soul left my body.

This is how they end the episode. This is how you leave me speechless and with teary eyes. This is how you give me a whole existential crisis.

This... this was brutal to watch. Really.

What can I say after this? I’m used to reading painful things when it comes to Stephen. Aaron’s and Cates’ runs are heartbreaking on so many levels. Hickman’s New Avengers is not easier. Coincidentally, What If? Magik Became Sorcerer Supreme and The End. And now Death of Doctor Strange. And yet, after everything I’ve been through, I’d never expect to watch something so brilliant, so tragic, so heartbreaking and unexpected in the MCU. Never. This is top tier content and this is my favorite character with SO MANY LAYERS and SO MUCH UNDERSTANDING. I can’t put into words how meaningful this whole episode is to me, or how deep it touched my heart and soul.

I’ve been struggling to find the proper words since then, I still can’t. All I can add is, I cried for the 4th time now. This is too, too much, even for Stephen stans. Even for the ones who are used to pain, regardless of which media you’re into: comic books, live actions or animated movies. This is literally more than I can take and yet I’m so, so grateful. The voice acting, gods, how did Benedict manage to create a better Stephen than the one he’s literally playing in real life???????????? HOW

This episode really took the max potential Stephen had to offer as a character, added tons and tons of layers based on his grief, depression, arrogance and need to control everything and created a tragic masterpiece. In 7 years of being a Doctor Strange fan, I've never read or watch something that could go this deep into the character. The closest I can think of is Mr. Misery and the metaphor of Stephen's depression. This is a whole new level of respect and understanding. This is more than a love letter. This is peak maestry. It’s perfect, it’s heartbreaking, it’s... gods, I can’t.

Sorry for dragging you until this far. Before I wrap up this review, I just wanted to remind you all that Stephen will appear again, he will smile again, he will be surrounded by people again. So this is not the end. It was painful but be brave. We still have a few more steps to take.

#what if...?#doctor strange #stephen strange #what if doctor strange lost his heart instead of his hands?#wong #christine palmer #the ancient one #long post #review #he did nothing wrong #so what? he destroyed a whole universe #/j #benedict cumberbatch

173 notes · View notes

lovesupernova25 · 3 years ago

Text

Broken Glass

a Quackity Oneshot

warnings: torture (non-explicit), blood, insanity, brief alcohol

i sat down at my computer, blacked out, looked up at 3 am and this was here. please enjoy. (idea from this one comment on this one tiktok that suggested that quackity uses the shape shifting powers some people hc him to have to torment dream. i’ll see if i can find the tiktok!)

~~~ *** ~~~

Quackity knew what broken glass felt like. He knew how it felt slicing up his hands, his face, being kissed into his skin. But this was the first time he knew what it felt like in his soul. Yeah- that's what this feeling was.

Broken glass.

Quackity didn’t turn around when he heard footsteps getting closer. He knew who it was already. No one else would be in this wasteland he’d built, anyways. No one was ever here.

“Q?” The rumble of Sam’s voice was concerned, almost hesitant. Quackity grabbed a bottle from the rack. “Quackity- you said it was urgent. What’s going on?” He turned, and the liquor slammed onto the counter. He might’ve relished the way Sam startled, on a better day. Quackity’s hands found the shot glasses, twisted the cap of the bottle. The neon blue that sloshed from the cup reflected the thunder in his gaze.

“Quackity, it’s still early-” But he tipped his head, knocked back the burning liquor. This time, Sam didn’t jump when the glass crashed down next to his hand. Quackity splayed his palms on the cool granite and leaned across to level his gaze with Sam’s.

“I need to visit the prison, Sam.”

Sam had the good sense to nod.

Maybe this was the wrong way to deal with things. Maybe strapping on armor and sharpening his knives wasn’t a healthy way to process his ex-fiances showing up trying to- what? Apologize? Make things ‘how they used to be’? If that was the case, they really were just mocking him. Nothing would ever be the way it used to.

It ended in a fight, of course. It ended in his already cracking heart fully giving out, splintering into a thousand shards like shattered fvcking glass. It ended in him envying Schlatt, because at least when his heart broke down he got to leave.

Quackity’s stuck here, with this void in his chest that keeps him floating oddly outside his body as Pandora swallows him whole.

They don’t even bother signing the waivers anymore. It would be ridiculous, at this point, especially since Quackity’s fully decked out in armor and tools. He guesses Sam’s just realized Quackity won’t be the reason Dream gets out of the hell they’ve so carefully crafted for him.

Levers, keys. The threshold to the heart of the prison is as claustrophobic as ever, but Quackity embraces the suffocating heat. There’s not much for his mind to wander on, here. There is the wall of lava, and there is the rasp of his boots on obsidian, and there is the rough leather pommel of his sword. There is, on the other side of the fire, a sacrificial lamb. Quackity grins and it hurts as the lava simmers down.

Sam says nothing.

“Dream…” He leans on the butt of his axe, looming, and his ears are still ringing with screams. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to give me what I want?” He kneels next to the ragged lump of man on the ground and grabs his chin, forces it up. “C’mon… I would leave you alone then, right? I wouldn’t come, wouldn’t have to hurt you- you would get so much peace and quiet… you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Quackity makes his voice honey, his hand gentle. Gods, he thinks he even sees Dream lean into the touch. It’s pitiful, what the admin has become. One of Dream’s acid-green eyes is bloodied and purple, swollen shut, and a cut on his face oozes crimson. His mouth is positively dripping with the stuff, courtesy of Quackity’s pliers and some molars that were just begging to be yanked. He can hear the ragged, wheezing breaths of the man in front of him and Quackity has never felt so sickeningly alive.

“Heh…” Dream flicks his working eye up to hold Quackity’s gaze. “No-” He coughs violently, wheezing and convulsing. The hacking subsides and he forces out; “No peace in death, Big Q. You’ll know that s-soon.”

Quackity’s lip curls. He stands abruptly, taking little satisfaction in the way Dream’s chin cracks against the obsidian.

“You’re pitiful.” This was supposed to help. He thought it did- when he funneled all the glass inside of him into the swing of his axe, the cut of his knife. When the voices in his head were drowned out by the screaming. But Dream was on the ground, bleeding and broken and still acting like he had the upper fvcking hand, and it turned out the glass had grown only sharper.

This isn’t working.

He paces to the back of the cell and yanks a tattered book off the lectern, flipping through it with a scowl. He’s about to chuck the thing in the lava--just to see if it’ll get a reaction out of its’ author--when a name catches his eye. Gingerly, he thumbs back to the page it was written on. Quackity feels so sick he grins when he finds it.

It’s not just one name. It’s hundreds. Some he doesn’t recognize, but most from this server. In fact- it looks like everyone who’s ever stepped foot in Dream’s land has been scrawled on the black-bleeding page. Quackity even thinks he sees his own name in there somewhere. They cover the page almost entirely in ink, written and rewritten and scribbled over each other.

George, Sapnap, Karl, Tommy. Tommy seems to be in there a lot.

Dream must have sat here for hours, scribbling the names of people he would never see again, alone in his personal hell. It’s sick. And something in the back of Quackity’s mind sparks.

“Dream,” He says, as the start of an idea appears. “How would you like to see your friends again?” He sees the confusion in the prisoner’s eyes and has to fight to keep from grinning. “Or… your old friends, I suppose. But I bet they still care about you, don’t you think?” He sets the book down, pacing towards the heap of blood-streaked orange jumpsuit with mock sincerity plastered over his face. His mouth twitches at the look in Dream’s eyes. There’s fear, suspicion, pain… but also, delightfully, hope. He can see Dream trying to crush it, but it’s there. Gods, Quackity could get drunk on that look. Maybe he already is.

“How do you think,” He leans over Dream, hands folded behind his back. “They would feel about you if they saw you now?”

Quackity really is grinning now. The axe wasn’t working, the knives weren’t working, the pliers only made Dream more determined. It was time for a new tactic. He feels that spark in the back of his mind and fans it, turning away from Dream as it grows. He hasn’t dipped into this ability for a long time--people don’t much like his kind--but the only person to see him now is barely human himself. Quackity closes his eyes as the fire washes over him.

When he turns around, he almost breaks character at the shock in Dream’s eyes.

“George?”

There’s so much raw hurt in his voice- gods, why didn’t he think of this sooner?

“Dream…” Quackity says in George’s voice. “Gods… what happened to you?”

“No… how- George-”

“I mean, everybody says you deserved it.” Quackity makes sure the revulsion is clear on his--George’s--face as he steps closer. “I guess you did… Still, though… this is a new low for you.” Dream is actually trying to push himself up now, trembling on wounded arms. “I mean, don’t you remember how things used to be? When we were all together? And now you’re… this. Not to be rude, Dream, but it’s kind of no wonder no one’s broken you out.”

“Stop, you’re… you’re not even real, I…” Dream screws his eyes shut, chest heaving. Aw. It looks like he’s starting to catch on.

“We were all happy, before.” He continues, letting the glass, the anger, slip back into his voice. “Like a family. And then you ruined it. All you’ve ever been is a parasite- it’s just amazing we didn’t notice sooner.” Quackity snarls with George’s face and he knows Dream can’t separate the illusion from reality. “You know what everyone says? They say good fvcking riddance.” Quackity--George--takes a step toward Dream with every word, until he’s sneering directly down at him. “I used to defend you. Down to the very end, I’d defend everything you did- all the wars, all the hurt, broken promises and broken hearts. I was loyal to you.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Not anymore. Now, I say good riddance with the rest of them.”

Quackity doesn’t know much about George and Dream’s history, but he knew they were close. And Dream, for all his boasting about cutting ties, has never truly let go. “I loved you, Dream. And look where it got us. You’re bleeding out in a cell, alone and powerless, and I…” Quackity turns. It’s a damn good thing he’s an amazing actor, or the look on Dream’s face might just make him lose it. It’s the same look he’s seen on just three people’s faces before; three people with worthless rings and broken promises to tie them together.

(“Didn’t you ever love us?”)

But Dream was right about one thing. Attachments are dangerous. And Quackity can wield them like a sword.

“I’m leaving. I don’t need you, Dream. And neither does anyone else.” His lip curls. “You’re worthless, Clay. I hope you rot.”

And the curtain falls.

Dream has pushed himself against a chest by now, heaving and trembling.

“Stop. Stop this, you’re not him, you’re not-” Another coughing fit seizes him and he hacks up blood.

“Wasn’t it a good performance, though? I think I was spot on, Clay.” Quackity leers, in his own voice now. Gods, that was exhilarating.

Dream rests his forehead against the chest, face contorted. “What do you want?” It sounds almost like a sob. Quackity’s smile drops.

“Oh, you know exactly what I want, Dream. You know exactly why I’m still here, and why you can barely stand.” He cocks his head, lip twitching up into a smile. There are a thousand names scrawled into that book, all of them knives sharpened to cut. Quackity’s just gotten started. “Let's see if someone else could encourage you more.”

Dream barely has time to look afraid before the fire has washed over Quackity again.

Lights, camera, action.

“...You always wanted to be remembered, huh.” Sapnap’s voice says. Dream closes his eyes, breath hitching. “You’d always play the hero, when we were kids. Make George and I be the villains every time.” His eyes have been on the ground, but he lifts them now, stares down the figure in the corner. “Look where that fvcking got us.” And this hurts both of them, Quackity knows- because he knows Sapnap’s voice, his mannerisms, the way he sounds when he’s devastated and the way he sounds when he wants to burn the world with rage. Slipping into his skin is as easy as breathing and feels like suffocating all at once.

“You promised me- you promised me this would be our world. That we’d stay together, that we’d finally be happy.” And it is too easy to let that heartbreak bleed into his voice, sprinkle it with the rage and hate of wasted memories.

(“You promised me we’d be happy together.��)

He paces towards Dream with a glare like wildfire. “Well guess what, Dream. I am happy now. This whole server is happier now.” Quackity yanks the man in the orange jumpsuit up by the collar and snarls at his whimper of pain. “Without you. Without your sick fvcking games, without your wars, without your broken promises!” He’s shouting now, and he can see the whites of Dream’s eyes, like a horse near a fire. Quackity drops him with Sapnap’s hands like a rat he’d been holding by the tail. “Do you remember the promises you’d make, Dream?”

And now Quackity feels himself shifting again, almost involuntarily. His voice pitches higher and demonic horns scrape the obsidian above them. “You promised me peace.” Quackity says in BBH’s voice. “You said we’d be safe, that we’d win the wars!” It’s almost sickening to take the form of someone whose mind he knows is long gone. Worth it, though, to watch Dream squirm. “Is this what peace looks like to you, Dream? I can’t even remember what your face looks like!” There’s desperation in his voice, though Quackity doesn’t even know if what he’s saying is true. For all he knows it could be. “I can’t remember,” He takes a step towards Dream, glowing eyes wide with horror “What my own face looks like.”

“Bad-” Dream’s voice is almost pleading. He doesn’t want to hear this.

Good.

"Every time I look in the mirror-” Quackity’s breath hitches, just for dramatic effect. “All I see is red. Crimson. I’m poisoned, Dream. Because that’s what this place does to people.” The fire is back, transforming him. Quackity doesn’t even try to control it this time.

“That’s what you do to people.” Ponk’s voice rings throughout the cell.

“You poison them.” Alyssa.

“You tear them down.” Fundy.

“You think you’re so powerful,” Punz.

“But in reality-” Skeppy.

“You’re. Just. A. Parasite.” Karl hisses at the god on the floor who bleeds red regret instead of ichor.

Quackity doesn’t know where the words are coming from, now.

(“This country- it’s like a parasite, Q!”)

His breaths come ragged. When the fire sweeps through him again, Quackity nearly burns away himself.

Sapnap’s voice is tired when he speaks with it.

“You were never the hero, Dream. Turns out, you were never even part of the story.”

And Dream is left a crumpled mess of grief and blood at his feet as the fire dies to ashes.

Quackity’s tired when he leaves the cell that evening. It’s the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from more than lack of sleep, and it drags at his limbs. Sam does not look at him, and Quackity wonders if he knows what horrors were used in that cell today. He somehow can’t bring himself to care.

It was cruel, he knows. He slipped into their skin and cut Dream to shreds with the broken glass at his fingertips, ripped open his soul instead of his flesh and took pleasure in just tearing something down. It was cruel, but so is (was) Dream, and so is the world he created. Everyone gets cut and everyone bleeds, and the only thing to do is hope that your weapon is sharper than theirs. He’s had that lesson seared into his mind and cut into his skin too many times. So today when Quackity leaves a trembling mess behind the wall of fire, he cannot see Sam’s eyes- but if he could, he thinks they would hold something like fear.

So he steps out into the night, and he smiles, sharp and painful as broken glass.

56 notes · View notes

libsterslobsters · 4 years ago

Text

I'm Gonna Crawl: Post 2

Post 1

Summary: Five years. That's how long the reader and Bucky have been apart (although for him, it was only five minutes) Now with Thanos defeated and both of them taking up the mantle of Avengers, can their relationship return to what it was? Or will they have to discover a new normal?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! super-soldier! Reader (Reader can see pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language, smut (IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN, DON'T READ!!!)

*************************************************

One of the perks of being “enhanced” or in this case, a super soldier, is that you heal quickly. Within seventy-two hours, the bullet wound in his leg (not to mention the cut and black eye he sustained from several sharp blows to the face) and her matching one in the shoulder are almost completely healed, only a vague pink mark to show they were ever injured. The downside is-

“Do you want to punch sandbags until they fly off the hook, or run thirty miles around the compound first? I’ll start with whichever you don’t pick.” -they’re back to training as well.

He almost answers that he really doesn’t want to do either, it’s Sunday morning, for fuck’s sake, but it’s not like this is her first choice for what she could be doing this morning either, so he goes with-

“Punching things first. Think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, so I’d best get it out of my system.” She nods and, squeezing his arm, takes off at a jog.

“See you on the other side.”

His instinct is to tell her to take it easy, she lost a lot of blood the other day and who knows if there’s been some bone or muscular damage that hasn’t quite fixed itself yet, but again, he swallows it down and focuses on the task at hand. Namely, taking out his bad mood on a punching bag.

Usually, when his body is in motion, his mind is at least somewhat at rest, but this time around, the exertion is just adding fuel to the flames. He’s too pissed off to just zone out and concentrate on hitting the target, still too busy trying to process what the hell happened three nights ago.

It was their first mission together. She’s been on a few separate from him, and he and Sam get called out together on the regular. Stupidly, he assumed that, since her specialty is translating or gathering intel, maybe being the little voice in someone’s ear to direct them through a maze of assailants and twisting corridors her visions had allowed her a glimpse of ahead of time, she’d be out of the line of fire. At the very least, most of the attention would be on him and Sam. But no, she was the bogey. She drew fire while he waltzed through a military fortress, recapturing stolen tech. When Rhodey so much as mentioned that possibility, he should’ve told him no, hard no. If anyone’s drawing fire, it’s him. Still, in his arrogance, he assumed it wouldn’t come to that extreme. Sam’s good at his job, and as much as he hates the reason behind it, so is he. They should’ve been able to hold the line without her painting a target on her back.

That, of course leads to yet another issue. He’s also pissed at himself for instinctively seeing her as more fragile, something that needs to be protected. Even before the same chemicals running through his veins infected her, she’d proven that she’s a damn capable person. He knows that she’s smart, both strategically and academically. Add onto that the fact that she’s fast and strong, not to mention she has visions (less than helpful ones most of the time, but they have their moments), and she’s a powerful ally. He certainly wouldn’t want to be on her bad side. And yet, when he saw that she’d been hit, his mind completely emptied. He wouldn’t have been able to remember which end of a gun to use if his life depended on it, because all he could think was, “Oh god. She’s hurt.” It’s old-fashioned, outdated. He should be past this mindset, at least when it comes to work. Out there, she’s his fellow soldier, not the woman he lies awake next to in bed, sometimes for hours, just to listen to her breath and know he’s not alone. Did Steve ever put Peggy in that box, he wonders? No, of course not, because Steve’s a better man than he ever was or will ever be. So yeah, he’s pissed off at himself.

And finally, although he can barely admit it to his own mind, he’s pissed off at her. Logically he knows it’s mostly fear, some primal instinct to protect what’s his, but every time he imagines her being shot, having a bullet pass by her lungs and arteries by a very narrow margin, and then telling Sam not to let him know that she was hit, it irks him. Did she think he’d come unhinged? Screw up? Or is she stuck in the mindset she seems to have adopted as a response to the last five years of “Screw looking after myself. It doesn’t matter.” A small part of him realizes that he didn’t call in either when he took a bullet, but that’s him! And, now he’s circling back to guilt for treating her like she’s weak.

All in all, he’s so damn furious that he doesn’t realize he’s no longer alone until she grabs hold of his arm just as he goes to swing again.

“Jesus, Bucky. I know you’re grouchy, but don’t you think destroying five punching bags in thirty minutes is enough? Save some aggression for the run.”

He looks up to tell her something (I’m sorry? Damn right I’m grouchy? Let me take you home and wrap you in blankets so that nothing will ever hurt you again?) and catches sight of her sweat-soaked face. He hates how far she takes things with the running. It’s like she’s trying to see what the limits are, how much she can punish her body before it gives out and she drops. That’s what it was in the very beginning after the snap. She’s told him that. Now he wonders if she’s really as recovered from everything that’s happened as she claims.

“Have you had anything to drink? Water, or-” She groans and reaches to detach the punching bag (there’s a decent sized rip in it where he was hitting it over and over), making her shirt ride up. Her clothes were already so tight that just seeing her out of the corner of his eye was making it hard to think, but now they’re completely adhered to her in a way that’s nearly obscene thanks to all the sweat. Dammit. Think about something else. He needs to think about something else.

“Yes, I’m on my second water bottle, thank you Barnes. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Just self-destructive.” It slips out before he can stuff it down. Her mouth falls open in shock momentarily, but then she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eyes.

“You’re one to talk. Always running straight towards the fire instead of putting it out first.”

“That’s my job.”

“It’s your hangup.” She laughs bitterly. “Bucky Barnes, the big, bad Winter Soldier. You’ve decided you’re so fucked up that the only way you can make amends is to run headlong towards whatever’s trying to kill you, without backup I might add, and keep to your mission no matter what your personal damage is.”

“Says the woman who took a bullet and stopped Sam from announcing that you’re hit.” They’re teetering closer and closer to a fight with every nearly snarled word, but he’s powerless to stop it. In fact, he’s ready to go. Have it out. But not right now, because-

“Hey.” He catches her arm just as she starts to hoist another punching bag onto the hook. “Be careful! You’re still healing.” -she’s hellbent on hurting herself. Again.

She whirls around as if he’s slapped her.

“Oh my god. You have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop treating me like I’m going to break!” Her voice is shrill, rising higher and higher with each syllable. “I love you, but you are driving me insane. I am not your child-”

“No, you’re the person I want to marry!” He takes a deep breath, preparing to follow up with, “-and you keep acting like you have a death wish”, but before he can-

“You won’t even fuck me anymore!” Immediately, her eyes go wide and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

If her declaration surprised her, it absolutely stunned him so, not quite sure what else to do, he takes a few steps back and sits down. A few seconds pass before she approaches and, with a heavy sigh, sinks down next to him.

“Bucky, I am so sorry. I don’t know where any of this is coming from-”

“I think you do, Doll.” Her eyes dart nervously between his face and the floor. On instinct, he reaches over and takes her hand. “And so do I.” He takes a few moments to rearrange his thoughts before pushing ahead. “A lot has changed since-”

“The world ended. We lost. And then we won.” He nods.

“Yeah, and I don’t think either of us have quite wrapped our heads around it. I know I haven’t.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then, voice trembling, she tells him,

“After you went away, I was completely lost. Didn’t know why I had to stay. What kind of cruel trick is it, just when everything was starting to go right-” He finally had the poison of HYDRA sucked out of him, she’d found a safe place where she didn’t have to run and hide because of something she was born with, he’d worked up the nerve to ask her if she’d maybe one day be his wife. “-and then it’s wiped out? You finally went somewhere I couldn’t follow.” He still can’t imagine what those five years must’ve been like, not just for her, but everyone else who survived the snap. “I didn’t want to keep going. But I had to.” She chuckles. “Steve wouldn’t let me throw in the towel.”

A smile forms on his own face. “Yeah, he had a habit of doing that.”

“I guess…” She sighs. “I don’t know. I got harder, rougher around the edges. I thought I could just go back to normal once everyone came back-”

“But old habits die hard.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“Yeah, and as much as I chip away at it, I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to who I was before.”

“You won’t.” She peers up at him, eyes wide in shock, maybe a hint of sadness. “I can tell you that right now from experience. You won’t go back, but-” He’s had a lot of time to consider this, so he can say it and absolutely believe it. “-I love the girl that’s here now. She’s pretty amazing, rough edges and all.”

She’s sitting so close. He could pull her into his lap, just hold her for a minute. So, that’s what he does, and just like the first time, they fit together perfectly, like she was made to fit in his arms, or maybe he was made to hold her. Either way, it leaves no doubt in his mind that they belong together.

“You changed. Everyone does. You got stronger and tougher, because that’s who you had to be. And I wasn’t there to change with you.” He can feel her shoulders shake, and even though she’s facing away from him, he knows she’s fighting back tears. “But I’m gonna catch up. It’s just taking me a while to get it through my thick skull that my girl’s a badass, and I need to ease off the bodyguard routine a little.” There. That’s more like it. A laugh, even if it’s a small one. “I just worry about you, is all. I don’t know how to stop it, and I’m not sure I can, but I’m working on it.”

“I worry about you too, you know.” She sniffs, swiping at her nose with her hand. “I’m fucking terrified because, now that I’m like you, I know what your limits are. I’m scared you’ll forget them, or you’ll ignore them because you’re trying to be a good man.” She cranes her head, meeting his gaze. “But you are a good man, Bucky Barnes. You never stopped being one, no matter what you think.”

“I think your picture of me might be more flattering than who I really am.”

“Shut up.” She presses her palm over his mouth. “I have visions, so seeing is never my problem. And it’s not the way I’m picturing you. We’ve known each other long enough for the shine to wear off.” Never. It’ll never be possible for him to know her so long that she’s not absolutely golden from where he’s standing. “It’s who you’ve shown me you are. And if the rest of the world doesn’t see it, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

He’s not sure if he buys all that, but it’s enough that she does. She sees him as that man, so he’ll try every day of his life to be just that.

“Come on.” Gently pushing her off of him, he stands and offers her his hand. “That’s enough training for today. We’re still wounded.”

She chuckles. “Is that your excuse for calling it early?”

He nods, barely suppressing a grin. “That, and you’ve gotta change into something that doesn’t fit you like a second skin before my brain permanently short-circuits.”

“Showers, then?”

“Showers.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

The compound sustained heavy damage thanks to Thanos crashing a ship into it, but in the past few months (helped along by Pepper’s billions and the entire galaxy’s appreciation towards the Avengers in equal parts), enough repairs have been done to make it partially usable. In this case, the locker room. Just the one, though. Which, of course means co-ed showers.

She won’t admit it, but she’s particularly appreciative of that little detail today. As she circled the compound on her last lap, she saw that the only two cars there are hers and Barnes. They’re the only two people here, and she fully intends to use that to her advantage.

“Join me? I don’t want to overextend my shoulder trying to wash my hair or back.” It’s a blatant lie, and from his expression, she can tell that he knows it too. But, he nods.

“Yeah, doll. I can do that.” Part one of the plan has been executed beautifully. Onward to part two.

She purposely leaves the travel sized bottles of shampoo and body wash on the floor so that, after rinsing off for far longer than is really necessary, she has to bend over to retrieve them. If it weren’t for her enhanced hearing, she’d completely miss the sharp intake of breath in response to her little show, but she catches it and can’t help grinning to herself. Part two: get him as worked up as she is. So far, so good.

The feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, working the shampoo through her hair, is almost enough to make her forget that she’s a woman on a mission. Almost. As soon as she’s rinsed the soap out of her face, she turns to him.

“Your turn. Bend.” It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and as always, she has to fight back a laugh as he inclines his head towards her, the entirety of his hair falling forward to cover his face. “This used to take a lot longer before you decided to chop it all off.” He chuckles, eyes closed against the soap.

“What can I say? Seventy-three years without a haircut is my limit.” She can’t blame him, and although it was a shock at first, she’s come to like this new look. It makes him look…younger, somehow. More boyish. Like his life hasn’t contained as many horrors as they both know full well it has.

“You checking for lice or something?”

“Huh?” That jerks her out of her sentimental daze. “Looks like you’re clear.”

There’s no way to put it politely. She’s straight up ogling him as he rinses off. Five damn years…

“Ready to get your back?” And, she just got caught staring.

“Sure.”

His hands are gentle, putting as little pressure on her injured shoulder as possible, growing firmer as they work down her back. She holds her breath as she feels his palms ghost over the swell of her ass, but then he’s back to safer territory. At least, that’s what she thinks until the metal arm snakes around her chest, just below her breasts, holding her in place. His free hand runs down from her sternum to her middle, stopping just above her hips, then- fuck. Nothing. He’s backing away.

“Do you need help with your legs?” No, what she needs help with is located between them. Suddenly, the shower feels far too hot, and she’s desperate to cool off.

“That’s okay.” Her voice is shaky, and she mentally berates herself as she steps under the spray, rinsing away the soap.

She’s not at all sure that her excuse for leaving the shower and going to towel off made any sense, but with a few feet between them, she’s able to breath again. Alright, scratch the whole “shower seduction” idea. It wasn’t that great to begin with. She gets him as hot and bothered as she is, and then what? Shower sex is a slippery affair, and plus there’s the height difference… in the steamed up mirror, she catches sight of him climbing out of the shower and toweling off. Fuck it. What does she have to lose?

“Come here.” As he turns around, she hops up on the counter top (thank fuck Stark went all out and got the sinks that can easily hold the weight of an adult), allowing her towel to slip further down her chest.

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit down to her cleavage before settling back on her face as he stands in front of her.

“Yeah, Doll?”

“Let me get your hair. You’ll never get it dry yourself.” She’s really running low on excuses, but if she plays her cards right, she won’t have to keep up this ruse for much longer.

“You know-” She murmurs against his ear as she starts working a towel over his tousled locks, “-if you don’t take me right now, I’m gonna be really offended.”

His head snaps up, and she nearly drops the towel.

“Well, I can’t let that happen, can I?”

She has a smart-ass remark all planned out, but then his lips are pressed against hers, hard, insistent, and her brain completely empties of anything other than pure need. She’s not completely sure how, but somehow the towel wrapped around her torso (it’s so short, it didn’t even cover her ass sitting down) disappears, leaving them chest to chest, both still slightly damp from the shower. On instinct, her legs wrap around his back, bringing them so close together she can feel his cock twitch against her thigh.

“The floor, or-” It’s murmured against her ear between nibbles.

“No. Here.” It’s all she can do to hold back a moan as his whole body rumbles with quiet laughter.

“Someone’s eager.”

She leans back far enough to peer into his eyes.

“And you’re not?” The response is a thumb against her clit, and she has to bite down hard on his shoulder to muffle a yelp.

“If I’d known you were ready, you wouldn’t have gotten any sleep for the past two months.” That would’ve been a very small price to pay.

Five years is a long time, and her body tenses up at the intrusion of his finger inside of her, but she immediately forces her muscles to relax, and within seconds, it’s all she can do not to writhe against him.

“That’s it. Relax. I’ll take care of you.” It’s a lost cause. This is going to be noisy. She hazily thinks to herself that it’s all his fault.

He’s always been one for foreplay, making sure she’ll be comfortable once they actually get around to the main event, but finally enough is enough and, reaching between them, she stills his wrist.

“Get inside me.”

“Are you sure? You’re still tight-” Disentangling one of her arms from around his neck, she gives his hair a sharp tug.

“I’m like you now, remember? You’re not going to break me.”

He pulls back from her, hesitating, eyes darting between her face and the door.

“What?”

“I don’t have-” Oh. She quickly runs the calculations in her head. Given which day of the month it is, the likelihood would be-

“It’ll be fine. Just pull out.” To her relief, he doesn’t argue.

Her breath catches as he pushes inside of her, and if the panting against her neck is anything to judge from, she’s not the only one affected.

“It’s been too damn long.” Despite the situation (or perhaps because of it), she laughs breathlessly.

“You think it’s been too long? Try five fucking years!” His laugh tickles her neck.

“You’re never gonna stop using that one, are you?”

“Nope. I think I’ve earned the right.” After all, he constantly reminds her that he had to wait 98 years to meet the love of his life, so fair is fair.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

“Sounds like you just set yourself a challenge.”

“Guess I’d better get to work then.” As he says it, he pulls nearly all the way out only to slam back in again.

It’s primal, the way their bodies move together, desperate for a connection that’s been missing for so long. There’s no room or need for words to be spoken; their gasped breaths and strangled moans say it all. His hand sneaks between them, toying with her nub, and that’s what sends her over the edge. It’s the tipping point for him too because, muffling his cries against her shoulder, he pulls out just in time.

“We shoulda done that before the shower.” She’s still gasping for breath, but it forces a laugh from her. He follows suit, offering her a spare towel to clean herself up.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Barnes.” He shoots her a questioning look as she hops down on shaky legs. “I thought it was good before, but damn.”

He laughs, pulling on his jeans. “I didn’t want to risk breaking the bed. I’m a gentleman like that.” She knows the real concern was her safety, but if she concentrates on that too hard, she’ll start going mushy, and in this instance, crying after sex seems like it would kill the mood.

“You know-” She pulls her t shirt over her head, not bothering with a bra. “-I never really liked the bed I have now anyway.” It’s also really too small for two full-grown adults to share comfortably.

Sliding his duffle bag over his shoulder, he takes her hand. “Then maybe we should go home? Give you an excuse to get a new one?” Before she can answer-

“Go home. Please, I’m begging you, for the love of god, go.” Her eyes dart towards the source of the noise. The door, or more specifically, the other side of it. “Hearing you and the bionic man fucking once was enough. I’m gonna shoot you both and then myself if I have to listen to round two.”

Bucky catches her eye and mouths “Oops!”, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“You know Sam, you could’ve just walked away. You didn’t have to wait outside the door like a creep.” She has to bite her fist to keep from laughing out loud.

“Yeah, trust me. I could hear you from all the way down the hall.”

“Sorry.” She gasps it out between bouts of laughter, and she must be pulling a funny face, because he snickers to.

“No, you’re not.” No, she really isn’t. Just that they got caught.

“We’re heading out. You’ve got the place to yourself.” Giving his hand a tug, she pulls open the door, revealing a flustered Sam.

“I hope you remembered to wipe down the counter, you nasties!”

As they make their way down the corridor, Bucky calls out,

“See you Monday?”

“Yeah. And you’d better be wearing pants!”

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #post endgame #smut #part 2

64 notes · View notes

natrashafierce · 3 years ago

Text

My husband made a scared little whimper in his sleep. I said, “It’s okay,” and reached over to gently stroke his hand, but it startled him. I cooed that I was sorry, and he’s okay.

“In the rat box!” he explained.

“Well, get out of there. It’ll be okay,” I assured him,

“Gotta get in the rat box and watch a movie.” This sounded oddly derisive.

“Oh,” I said. “After the movie, then.”

“Cow’s pissed I took his parking spot.” Then he fell back asleep.

His dreams always sound like cartoons. He’s hanging out with anthropomorphic animals in there, or something. I can’t decide if that’s more fun than my dreams or not.

Mine are usually complicated, long, make 80% sense, and it’s not uncommon that I have a revelation that’s helpful to my real life either materially or emotionally. BUT the time dilation can be nuts, they’re intense, and I’m always trying to figure everything out which is an absolute bitch in a DREAM. It feels like I’m stuck in an entire episode or season of some HBO drama. Maybe I’d rather be in the rat box watching a movie.

I would love to have my biggest dream problem be that I took a cow’s parking space instead of having to psychoanalyze the guards in a woman’s mental institution to figure out how to sneak people out. I’m being all careful to map the building without being seen, meanwhile in my husband’s mind he doesn’t even think to be conscientious toward a cartoon cow. In real life he’s very conscientious, but fuck that cow’s parking spot. Who does that cow think he is, anyway?

That must be so freeing. I’ll kill violent people in my dreams, but otherwise I’m as careful to avoid unnecessary conflict with difficult dream people as I am in real life, so I’m constantly gauging whether they crossed a line such that conflict is necessary. Then sometimes I have to give them conflict. Juggling that is exhausting! Then you wake up and most of the people don’t even exist! If you wake up and the rat box doesn’t exist, that’s just a good feeling, probably. You’re just glad your time in the rat box wasn’t real, but my dossiers on dream motherfuckers feel like real time that was wasted.

But maybe it’s not so great, because his dreams seem to scare him often — which I guess makes sense because he doesn’t have much conscious control in them. It’s really hard to scare me in a dream or in real life. I’ll get angry or frustrated or sad in dreams, but I usually don’t feel like they just happen to me, I almost always feel like I can do something.

Wait, I just realized… is he scared of the cow? I woke him up because he was scared. I assumed the rat box was scary, but he did not intend to leave it. This cow’s got him on edge, I think. Because he took his parking space. It’s unresolved while he’s watching the movie in the rat box, maybe.

That would actually be typical of him. It is very important to him to be good, and if he does bad things in dreams he expects to be punished. I think his more conscious mind is a step behind his actions in a dream, so he watches himself do things he doesn’t approve of. Then the idea he should be punished arises, and it steers the dream in that direction. He also dreams of messing up things he normally wouldn’t and letting people down, too.

I’m pretty conscious in my dreams and making alert decisions, so my dreams rarely make me feel bad about anything. I have my same principles. The rare times I start to go against my principles I end up stopping and having some revelation, and sometimes realize I’m dreaming.

It’s been a long time since I had a helpless “oh my god I can’t believe I just did that, why did I just do that?” dream. Those seem to freak people out a lot, and they freaked me out back when I had them. But for probably a decade now, I always accept that I did whatever I did and process it. When I have those dreams that I’m back in school and didn’t go to any of my classes and now I’m going to fail the semester, I just show up to class open and nonchalant with the teacher about how I didn’t put forth any effort and I won’t start now, and then I leave without bothering to take the test and have an entirely different storyline in the same dream world. One time I just went and sat in the food court of a futuristic mall feeling peaceful I got to be there in the middle of a weekday when there weren’t a lot of people.

Instead, most of my stress in dreams is from needing to help people in some kind of immediate danger, especially if I have to fight an armed person or animal. Once I had to go through an air vent to this uncharted grey swamp dimension with a crew of people, got separated from them, and had to fight a crocodile that almost ate a kid. That was in the 2000s and it was so vivid I still remember it. Another one from that same decade had some guy going Texas Chainsaw Massacre in some sci-fi building with floating platforms, and I knew I wasn’t going to win that one but had to do it anyway. I woke up because I died. They almost never scare me because there’s no time to be scared, but I never get easy fights in my dreams. They’re always really frustrating and exhausting, because that dream shit where you can feel your real life sleep paralysis kicks in where everything seems slow and ineffectual. Any bullets I shoot go in slow motion, or if I’m stabbing someone, it’s the bluntest blade ever. I usually wake up from frustration or from dying. I rarely get to just win and continue the dream. I don’t think my husband deals with stuff like that.

Our dreams are very on-brand with regard to our respective childhoods. I had to witness domestic violence when I was young so my dream stress is just like, ah great, I must put this maniac in his place before he kills someone. I have to save all the people who are trapped. I never actually fought my dad because he was not violent toward me, I just dressed him down once I was old enough and it would shame him into submission. But when I was a little kid I wondered if it was my responsibility to kill him, or if there was anything I could do to outwit him, or if there was some other solution I hadn’t thought of. Every angle matters when you’re powerless. My dreams have involved me trying to figure everything out since before I started school. I just quit feeling powerless the older I got, and the compulsive digging and plotting still drives the dreams.

Whereas my husband was mortified by having to stand in the corner for time out, had to take on a lot of responsibility his mom heaped on him, and had to diligently regulate his emotions in response to her being impossible and insane. He gets stressed in dreams because he dropped the ball in some way — he betrayed his principles, or neglected a responsibility, or should have kept his cool.

I wonder if the rat box was punishment for stealing the cow’s parking space? He’s like me, he wouldn’t dodge the punishment, he’d just get it over with.

If I find out what the rat box was, I will update this if it’s not too personal. But he forgets most of his dreams, so who knows.

#dream #rat box

3 notes · View notes

littledreamybeth · 5 years ago

Text

Our little secret

A/N: Happy new year, everyone! Let's make the first post of 2020 a fluffy one! I hope you like it! I haven't properly proof read everything, so I apologize for mistakes beforehand. Comments are highly, I stress highly appreciated.

Picture does not belong to me. Credits to the owner!

“Are you ready?” It was not impossible to overlook how nervous the young couple was. Trembling fingers interlocked, they looked at each other’s faces, searching for confirmation, or even doubt. Harry couldn’t recall being this nervous. An uneasy feeling had settled in his gut since he was sitting in front of the camera. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t really do what they were about to do, however, he also knew keeping this secret forever wouldn’t help either, because at the end somebody was going to find out anyway- as usual. He had promised Y/N he would do this, and they had talked everything out. They had taken drastic precautions, doubling their security guards and placing cameras almost everywhere in their home, so he wouldn’t be worried anymore.

“Only if you are, love,” His raspy, deep voice filled the room.

The young woman, his partner, soulmate, wife- his love, nodded.

“Alright, here we go…” She gave her sister-in-law, Gemma, who was standing behind the camera, permission to start the recording. The brunette woman held her thumbs up, smiling assuringly and encouragingly at the couple. Harry squeezed Y/N’s hand in comfort before he let go of her. He knew she was going to articulate with gestures. Besides, he needed to calm down himself. He was sitting there, his body in a tensed form. He had to relax. Breathing deeply in and out, the British man and his wife stared into the camera.

Here goes nothing...

“Hello everyone!” It was Y/N who spoke first. She was going to speak more since it was mostly about her. “Welcome back to my channel! I know it has been a very long while since I’ve posted anything, and I’m aware that many of you guys were concerned for me. I just vanished out of nowhere after all.” Not that anything bad had happened, no- she had a reason for all of that. But one thing after another, right?

“I highly appreciate your worry, guys. I know I owe you an explanation, and here I am, finally giving you one.” Harry’s wife had started a YouTube channel after they got together, uploading videos so that his fans could get to know her better. She was the person who rather spoke through actions than words. The amount of love she received was mind-blowing. She had never expected the support. Her videos always reached millions of views. Some of them were even with Harry and her doing couple stuff or challenges. If it wasn’t for his love, Harry would never agree to things like this. He’s private as we all know.

“First things first, I’ve seen many people speculating that Harry and I allegedly divorced, but as you can see, Mr. Styles is sitting right next to me and I’m still wearing my ring.” She pointed at the diamond ring on her finger. “I’d like to happily confirm that your assumptions about us were wrong.” She leaned over to give a kiss on his cheek, sensing how tense he was. She whispered “It’s gonna be fine” into his ear, running her hands through his brown locks before she focused on what was in front of her.

“I want to get to the point quickly,” She stressed. “The reason why I disappeared, why I never have accompanied Harry to any special event for the past year, why I wasn’t active on social media, is because something has happened that changed our lives forever. Today, we want to share it with you.”

It was Harry’s cue to stand up, walking behind the camera to have Gemma handing him over something, or even better, someone. When he came back and sat down, he had a bundle of joy in his arms, wrapped up in a pink blanket. The tiny human being underneath, who was sleeping before her father came to get her, let out a little whimper of protest for interrupting her sleep. Harry weighed her back and forth, shushing her softly. “It’s okay, angel.”

Harry’s eyes were full of love for this little miracle. Everybody could see it. He basically had her name written in them. Whenever, their baby girl was mentioned, his eyes lit up and a large smile covered his lips. What could he say? He was a proud daddy.

Y/N blended out the camera for a second and reached out to play with her daughters tiny fingers, then directed her attention back to it. Flustered, she said, “World, meet Olivia Rose Styles. Our daughter…”

She could imagine the amount of confusion and shock their announcement would create. People for sure wouldn’t stop talking about this for weeks. (Online) Magazines and newspapers would report about them. And Twitter? Twitter was going to freak out. She chuckled at the thought.

“It’s true, people,” Harry confirmed, his attention tightly fixed on baby Styles. “We’ve become mummy and daddy.”

“Yeah, we’re parents.” Y/N nodded her head. “That’s why I disappeared. Because I was pregnant. We wanted to keep it a secret.”

It was pretty easy to hide her baby bump in the first couple of months due to the fact that she wore and always loved to wear oversized clothing. Her entire wardrobe consisted mostly of oversized shirts and pullovers, and a few of Harry’s belongings. But the bigger her belly became, the harder it was to cover up the evidence. So, she decided to step out of the spotlight and enjoy her pregnancy to the fullest without any factors that stressed her out. Y/N belonged to the category of people who were easily stressed over the tiniest things; reading negative articles or tweets about her alone was enough to drive her insane, and because she knew that everything stressing her out would also affect the baby, Harry and her had agreed that she lived somewhere else with a better environment; a place where people wouldn’t chase after her and follow every step she did. Not that they would ever admit it, but Harry had bought an island for his Y/N as a wedding gift before they got married (he even ordered to build a house there), and that’s where she had retreated to for the rest of her pregnancy. She really loved nature. Lying at the beach whenever she pleased felt so refreshing. Knowing that no one was going to snap pictures of her made her feel at ease. Being out of civilization, far away from negative influence, was very therapeutic for her. She attempted to use less social media, or media in general, only requiring it if she wanted to watch a certain event that Harry attended. Of course, she wasn’t all alone. Her husband would never let her. Instead, Harry had bodyguards around her that kept watching her and made sure she was safe when he wasn’t around. Anne and Gemma also kept her company. Harry, on the other side, couldn’t spend much time with her as he hoped, because of tons of work. He at least tried to leave the weekends unoccupied so that he could be with his wife. When it came to the control checks and appointments, Y/N was flown back to the city, with strict measures taken in order to keep her hidden. Or sometimes, her doctor would pay her a visit.

“This was my first pregnancy, and I wanted it to be a memorable experience. I wanted to be at peace, and vanishing seemed the only solution for me.”

Gemma’s voice behind the camera rang. “Explain why you’ve never been seen at a hospital.”

“Oh yes! I almost forgot about that. I gave birth at home!”

Harry, diverting his attention to the camera lens, added, “And it was truly an amazing experience.”

The day, Y/N delivered her baby, both of their mums, Gemma and a midwife were present. Their fathers were waiting outside the room, because Y/N found it embarrassing to give birth in front of her father, or in front of Des. It was painful and exhausting, robbing all strength in Y/N’s body. Harry couldn’t bear to see his poor wife in pain; he felt completely powerless over the situation, only holding his love, encouraging her and eventually, crying with her. He even blamed himself for putting her through so much ache. But, the moment they heard the shriek they were desperately waiting for, the young man completely broke down. When he held her for the first time, his heart felt so full and complete. She looked like a copy of him, a baby version of himself. And her eyes… a shade of bluish- green.

“For the last three weeks, Harry and I have argued back and forth whether we make a wise decision,” She explained. “We discussed the advantages and disadvantages, and to be completely honest with you; even though the cons overweighed, we still decided to share out little secret with you before some strangers have the chance to release unpermitted information.”

Now that Y/N returned back from the island to their home, the chances of being discovered with a stroller was high. Besides, they didn’t plan on keeping Olivia in between four walls; they planned nice family trips for the future, so addressing their secret was the best.

Harry added, “We are in constant worry about her. You cannot really expect what people can do with an infant, especially if it’s my child. I hope you can understand that we don’t want anyone, except for family and friends, around her.” His expression became hard, his eyes transforming into an intense shade of green and his voice deeper than ever. “I may be kind, and don’t address certain things, but even I know how to destroy people’s lives, so be warned. If you come any closer to my daughter, I’ll end you.”

His statement startled Y/N. She had never experienced him like this before. Overprotective. She looked at Gemma, who shared the same emotion as her. Y/N pulled herself together and continued talking. There was another point she aimed to address.

“Please, don’t expect me to pull out the Kylie Jenner card and release a pregnancy journey video after all of this, because it’s not gonna happen,” Y/N informed, shrugging her shoulders. “Sorry, not sorry guys. The past couple of months have been the most joyous and adventurous period of my life, something very special and intimate, and I don’t want to share it with the world expect for the people involved- our family and friends. That’s why I ask for acceptance and understanding.”

Indeed, Y/N had every moment recorded. Sometimes, she would even send a video to Harry while he was at work, mocking him for how much he was missing out. One day, she had sent him footage in which baby Styles had kicked for the very first time, and it had Harry almost jumping out of his socks. It had been in the middle of a meeting with his band when he had received the message. He had gasped loudly, covering his mouth in shock which had attracted everyone’s attention and having them stare at him confusedly. Harry, on the contrary, had tears pooling his eyes. And being the little show-off he is, he went around and proudly showed everybody what his unborn daughter was capable of doing now- not forgetting the occasional ‘That’s daddy’s girl!’ leaving from his pink lips.

“We don’t want anyone to expect too much from us. We are against the idea of sharing pictures online until she has reached a certain age, and we insist that this should be okay for everyone.”

The baby in Harry’s arms slowly became restless, a cry escaping her throat. Everyone took this as a signal to end the video. “Thank you guys for watching this short announcement video. Take care of yourselves, and please don’t overreact too much, okay? Bye!” Everyone winked at the camera, and the recording was done.

After the video was cut and properly edited, Y/N posted it on her channel. Not a even a minute had passed before it had scored thousands of views. Scrolling through the comment section, Y/N chuckled at the fans’ reactions.

Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr… every social platform was a mess. She received lots of comments on her accounts. Famous artists and influencers reached out to her, congratulating them for the new addition to the family.

It was just as Y/N expected; the world was going crazy…

429 notes · View notes

stormears · 4 years ago

Text

Long post: Sefikura Fic, Thx

A fic idea I’m making notes on and feel like sharing. For fun. For feedback. Please.

It’s half-baked and plagued with inconsistencies due to me only knowing Remake and an assortment of OG spoilers, and also not fully knowing what I even want out of the fic. (Time-travel and slight-AU mix. Spoilers for Cloud and Zack’s respective backstories; 50% canon and 50% made-up.)

Bulleting the details for ease of reading lol

Premise: legitimate SOLDIER Cloud Strife comes to Midgar and slowly, with trepidation and confusion, gets close to respected General Sephiroth, who, at the point of gaining Cloud’s trust and love, begins to drop larger and larger hints that he had evil machinations all along and will now possess and keep Cloud like a puppet.

legitimate SOLDIER Cloud Strife comes to Midgar alongside bff Zack Fair and immediately has the full attention of General Sephiroth, who is not a horrific, planet-destroying villain yet, but certainly feared and barely restrained by the authority of Shinra. Shinra collectively shrugs their shoulders at his behavior and does not fucking interfere.

Cloud’s resistance and inconvenient headaches in the man’s presence rapidly go away. He becomes more at ease with the attention than he was at first. Local Shinra grunts secretly gawk at the General having a “crush”.

On the cusp of developing an actual relationship, Sephiroth begins to drop hints that his already alarming closeness with Cloud is a result of knowing him from a previous timeline. He reveals he created this one with the intent of making Cloud trust him so he could more easily capture him in his version of a possessive love, planning to go on to his World Domination schemes later with Cloud in tow.

It is for this reason that Cloud and Zack each have their own Buster Sword, which cannot be, and that Cloud made it into SOLDIER as he always dreamed. Sephiroth stops caring if Shinra or general public think he is officially a menace, danger to society, ticking time bomb, etc.

Cloud, trapped, feeling used, unable to escape, nevertheless tries to think of ways to gtfo of Sephiroth’s clutches, as well as away from Shinra who would happily tie a leash round his neck and put it in the General’s hand to pacify him.

Tensions rise. TENSIONS RISE. (I love TENSIONS)

While Sephiroth’s maniacal hand seems unbeatable, fights and arguments still break out between them where Cloud occasionally gains the upper hand, including an actual fistfight/beatdown where Cloud slams Sephiroth in his jaw (every onlooker nearby is PIKACHUFACE.JPEG) then Cloud slammed against a wall himself. He spits blood into Sephiroth’s face before finally being subdued/knocked out. The symbolism of the General’s appearance and composure being stained is noticed.

Brief mention of gossiping employees being surprised that this twink-ish guy whom they kind of thought was a sugar baby being mercilessly railed by Sephiroth every night actually poses a challenge to him instead, and can stand up to him in a man-to-man fight.

Part of this is because Cloud’s strength is growing in proportion to his denial/horror that Zack is not truly alive, he is not a SOLDIER, and recalling how Sephiroth ruined his life in the OG. When the two fight, he sometimes ends up being more destructive and fights like a mad dog. Cloud’s emotions have a bigger effect on “reality” than he or Sephiroth realize. Sephiroth’s surety in his own plan wavers. For 1 second.

The public narrative is divided on whether this is due to an insane lover’s quarrel, a sign that the young SOLDIER actually is powerless/a toy in this strange relationship, or...a rumor Shinra likes pretty well, that Cloud is actually some otherworldly being or force, disguised as a man, which is thankfully being tamed by the great and powerful Sephiroth who surely cannot be beaten.

Eventual end of Cloud, with help of many friends (minus Zack, who has disappeared) making a run for it. He tears a hole in reality and escapes to the Remake continuity, where it makes even more sense that Sephiroth is smug and taunting in his every appearance. Because according to Me, Fanfic Author #44532, they are actually exes!

I didn’t plan to write that much, yeesh. Or to spoil my own story. Whateva.

What I did want to add at the end of this, though, is that I didn’t realize till very recently that this idea bears a really strong resemblance to “Inept Courtship of the One-winged Angel’s Cloud”. A Sefikura fic everyone probably knows, because it’s the most popular AO3 fic for this ship, and the first one for the ship I ever read (like 2 weeks ago). I honest to god didn’t mean it. I can’t plausibly deny that it didn’t influence me. It probably did. Even if I could poof this fic into existence by snapping my fingers, I’d be worried I’d be accused of plagiarism.

What really happened here is that I tried to shove together a bunch of ideas that frankly don’t gel: cute ones, dark ones, relationship-progression ones and “onlookers admiring the weirdness of the protags” ones, and it just...turned out like this: them working at Shinra while people observe them, a relationship growing and then violently degrading. I swear to god, it just happened.

The idea of Shinra gaping wide-eyed at the mighty Sephiroth having a “crush” on a local SOLDIER amused me. The idea of the two of them having a sudden fistfight where Cloud briefly gets the better of Sephiroth, to the surprise of bystanders, appealed to me. The idea of consensual, cute-looking, absurd shippy scenes like Cloud cautiously toying with Sephiroth’s hair when no one’s looking, or Sephiroth nuzzling Cloud’s neck or head like a kitten, made me grin. The idea that their relationship would start out consensual and nice and go sour because Sephiroth revealed he was evil all along, but Cloud knows in his heart that he loves him, appealed to me. The idea/phrase of possessiveness has been my fanfic poison since like 2006 and this ship using that trope made me manically grin.

Smushing all those together...it just comes out looking a lot like Inept Courtship, just less funny and more sinister. I’m surprised and a little mad about it. But I also don’t want to change my idea. I mean...I like the idea of “Inept Courtship but more sinister and serious.” That’s my jam. I’d make note of the similarities in an AN for certain, and link IC, too. But I don’t think I’d change anything in my own.

I swear to Christ I thought this post about the story summary and comparison to IC would be about 1/3 this length. I won’t clog up the tag like this again.

1am existential Sefikura thoughts, thanks for reading.

#Sefikura #SephCloud #FF7R #I've never written their names so many times in a row it feels odd.#Both have such cool names imo; writing them a bunch of times just turns them into gibberish noise #fanfiction #I need that Timmy's Dad from Fairly Oddparents gif; it'd be fitting because #I'd tag my Sefikura friends...IF I HAD ANY

57 notes · View notes

jabbajambler · 4 years ago

Text

Powerless

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 2,115

*GIF by @pixelahsoka*

It felt like I sat there for ages. Din was an excellent hunter, there was no way it took him so long to find this lady. I doubt she purposely ran away, so she wasn't evading him. In fact, she was his easiest target thus far and yet, I still sat waiting for him. I had half a mind to get up and find him if I knew he wouldn't throw a fit over it.

The snow continued to fall in light flurries, decorating the ship in a blanket of white frost. It had been a long time since I'd seen snow, I forgot how magical it could be. Just watching it felt like a dream.

If only it weren't so damn cold.

After spending most of my life in unbearable heat, it was difficult to adjust to the freezing temperatures of wherever we were. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, trying to lock in all the leftover warmth my body was producing. I think the temperature inside the ship was colder than outside.

It would've been warmer with Din here. When he pulled me into his side, it was like sitting next to a fire. Not only was he warm, but he was comforting to be around. Being around him felt natural, like being at home. I didn't want to admit it, especially with him only realistically being gone about an hour, but I missed him. It was lonely sitting in the ship all alone.

Would I ever admit this to him? No. But it was nice to think about, I suppose.

A low rumble shook the ground, quickly followed by the zing of blaster shots from the tunnel. I sighed quietly and slipped my gun from its holster. What kind of beast could they have found on this iced over wasteland? I didn't think anything could survive out here.

More shots were fired, their blasts echoing through the icy halls and then a quiet explosion, if there is such a thing. I stepped out from the ship's hull, patiently awaiting whatever disaster Din was bringing with him.

The frog lady came first, croaking and lunging towards the ship. Then Din emerged, holding the child tightly in his arms while an army of white spiders ranging in all sorts of sizes followed him. He shot at them with little success in depleting their forces, only angering them more.

I sighed and raised my blaster, firing a few shots at the kryknas. "What were you thinking?" I hissed as he came closer to the entrance.

"You think I meant to do this?" He growled and pushed me back into the ship.

"Well, you certainly never seem to avoid these conflicts," I huffed. Din passed along the child and the container of eggs to the lady while we shot at the spiders from the opening. "In fact, you seem to chase right after them! So yeah, I think you meant to do this."

He grabbed a spider as it sprung towards my face, crushing it in his hand and tossing it back to the ground with a grunt. "Get to the cockpit, now."

I rolled my eyes and climbed the ladder as fast as I could while trying to help Din, but our efforts were hopeless. He climbed up after me, pushing his way into the cockpit and blasting the kryknas while we struggled to force the doors shut.

"Well, we haven't done this before," I smiled up at him, receiving a subtle shake of his head and a very quiet chuckle.

Several of the little spiders squeezed past despite our efforts, the frog lady even snagged a blaster and started to fire at them. What a trio, us three against hundreds - if not thousands - of little creepy spiders.

"Watch out," I stepped back and held my hand out to the door. Din must've been looking at me like I was insane. Sometimes I thought I was. Nonetheless, I focused on the door, hearing the hiss of fire before it slammed shut.

"Myrah," Din panted. His hands gripped my shoulders, giving me a slight shake before my eyes shot open. He let out a breath of relief and dropped his hands, breathing out a quiet, "good job."

"Teamwork," I shrugged with a smile. "We're good at that sometimes, you know."

He huffed out a slight laugh and nodded, "yeah, sometimes. Is that part of your - uh - Jedi powers-"Din was cut off by a growing tapping. It sounded like a stampede of very tiny beasts.

We turned towards the windows as the kryknas started to climb up and swarm the ship. I guess I wasn't too far off from my original assumption.

"Strap yourselves in," Din quickly sat down and tapped at the control panel. "This better work," he mumbled to himself.

I would've been more concerned about his doubts if it weren't for the threat of thousands of pests taking over the ship. I pulled my belt over my chest faster than I ever thought possible and held the child tight in my lap.

"I've got limited visibility," he sighed. "It's gonna be a bumpy ride."

He pulled back the engine, which seemed to power up just fine. We were breaking free from the ice and slowly rising into the air. We were going to get away just fine, a little rough, but fine, until a giant krykna landed on top of the Razor Crest.

It stabbed it's daggers through the windows, barely missing the frog lady and I, and sending glass flying through the cockpit. It peered through the window and as much as I wanted to comment on how ugly it was, I couldn't think of anything else but our impending doom.

It's mouth smacked against the glass, displaying it's rows upon rows of teeth as it dragged them across the window. Din's hand flew back and rested on my knee as he leaned back in his seat. My fingers brushed against his hand while I squeezed my eyes shut. If I could focus hard enough, I could destroy it.

I didn't get that chance.

The sound of blasters interrupted my concentration and knocked the beast off the ship. Red flashes shot through the air, firing relentlessly at it. Din stood quickly with his gun drawn and despite his light touches, telling me to stay where I was, I followed him down into the hull.

Webs and spider corpses filled the area. We snuck through, taking care of any leftover kryknas as we left the ship.

A pair of X-Wings sat in the snow, their lights blinding as they finished off the spiders from their ship. They seemed to stop as they noticed us, lowering their guns to their hips. I let out a deep breath of relief and placed my gun back in its holster. Din was still guarded, holding onto his but with a little more ease than before.

"We ran the tabs on the Razor Crest," one of them spoke. His voice was familiar, along with the orange paint that surrounded the X-Wing. Great. The cops again. "You have an arrest warrant," he continued, "for the abduction of prisoner X-Six-Nine-Eleven. However, onboard security records show that you two apprehended three priority culprits from the Wanted Register."

I cringed as he revealed that there was footage of what we'd done. It wasn't the Empire so I wasn't a priority target anymore, but I certainly hoped they skipped over whatever mess I may have caused. I can't even imagine what would happen if someone knew there were more than a few Jedi out in the galaxy.

"Security records also show that you both put your own lives in harm's way to try to protect that of Lieutenant Davan from the New Republic Correctional Corps," the man continued while Din holstered his gun. "Is this true?"

He sighed, "are we under arrest?"

"Technically, you should be," he paused, letting his words dissolve in the air. "But these are trying times.

"What say we forgo the bounties on these three criminals, and you two help me fuse my hull so I can get off this frozen rock?" Din suggested. It didn't sound like too bad of an idea, but I doubt they would willingly help us. Not after our little stunt earlier.

The cop scoffed, "what say you fix that transponder, and we don't vaporize that antique the next time we patrol the Rim?" They both shook their heads and settled back into their seats, firing up their engines and shooting off into the sky.

"New Republic Forces have never been much help," I rolled my eyes and looked back at the mess that was left. "Now what?"

Din sighed, "fix up whatever we can. We can get it done sooner if you care to help," he nudged me slightly with his arm before leaving for the hull again.

I smiled as he left, remembering a similar situation on Arvala-7. It wasn't as bad, I suppose, but we only had two people this time. As long as we got a little bit of work down, we could make it to Trask.

Hopefully.

"Alright," Din started as I stepped into the ship, "We're gonna repair the cockpit enough for us to limp to Trask. There's nothing I can do about the main hull's integrity, so we're gonna have to get cozy in the cockpit. It's the only thing I can pressurize," he sighed, "if you need to use the privy, do it now. It's gonna be a long ride."

We climbed up into the cockpit, both Din and I fixing up whatever we could to get the ship running again. At least enough to get us where we needed to go. Sparks reflected off his armor in brilliant shots of yellow and white. I caught my staring this time, but I didn't make any move to stop it.

"Hand me that," Din pointed to the toolbox he brought up, but continued to look at whatever he was doing.

I hummed, "you gotta say please first."

"Myrah, stop messing around," he grumbled as he patched up the broken windows. He held his hand out, waiting for me to place the tool in his hand. A few seconds passed before his head fell forward with a sigh, "please."

I beamed and placed it in his hand while I leaned against the wall. "You're oh so very welcome, Din dearest."

"I should let you just fly out this window," he finished off the sealing and tossed the tools back in the box, closing it up after several hours of work.

"But you would never let that happen," I watched him pack the box away silently until he sat in his chair. I expected us to lift off, to test our work and see if we could truly get off this icy wasteland, but instead he turned to face me.

"No," he held my chin between his fingers and cocked his head to the side, "I couldn't. I should, but I couldn't." He pulled his hand back and spun around towards the controls again while the frog lady crept into the cockpit, "let's see if we can get this thing going once and for all."

The engine resisted at first, struggling to lift with the dead weight of the krykna on it, but we were eventually up in the air once again and far away from that monstrous planet. The ship sputtered and bumped in the sky, but it was enough to get us where we needed to be. Trask wasn't too far and while it wouldn't be the comfiest journey, it would be a decently quick one.

Din set up the auto pilot and leaned back in his chair, "wake me up if someone shoots at us. Or if that door gets sucked off its rails."

The frog lady croaked in concern while I breathed out a quiet, "Mando."

"I'm kidding," he turned towards the lady enough to address her before resting in his seat. "If that happened, we'd all be dead. Sweet dreams."

I rolled my eyes and lifted the child into my lap, holding him close. His eyes drifted shut, but remained focused on the eggs in the lady's arms.

"No," I whispered and shifted him away from them in my arms, "we can get you something on Trask, okay? Why don't you get some sleep, you little beast." I smiled and gently poked his nose as his eyes finally closed.

We were going to make it to Trask just fine.

tag-list:

@emiijemii

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x oc #Mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin x oc #dyn jarren #jedi #OC #star wars #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #babyyoda #grogu

2 notes · View notes

looselucy · 5 years ago

Photo

Guilt

July 15th “I don’t really remember the first time I started work on the Blood Sun.” Styles tells us, sitting in his quiet New York gallery whilst sipping slowly on a glass of wine, a deep red. “I don’t know if I’ve blocked it out. I know it started with the idea of thunder and lightning, but it veered from that pretty quickly. I had an idea what I wanted from the painting emotionally. I don’t know if I got that with the end product, but I knew I couldn’t get that from thunder. It had to be a sun.”

I was sat in PJ’s in silence, scrolling through a relatively recent article about Harry on my phone as I waited for my breakfast. I had always tried to avoid going online to read about him, because I knew whatever I saw was likely to be monitored and watered down, not even by those reporting on him, but by Harry himself. He was never going to share intimate truths so publicly, so there was nothing real for me to learn, but it had been so much harder to avoid since he’d sent me the painting. I wanted to know what he’d said about it, if he’d mentioned anything about selling it or not. I needed to know everything I could. Styles must be bored of answering questions about his most celebrated work at this point, but it is by far his most intriguing. Not only is the painting spectacular, with stunning mixes of oranges, yellows, and the artists own blood, but it’s a piece he seems to be refusing to sell – no matter how high the offer. “I don’t make art for it to be sold. I make art to express. If selling was the reason I painted, I would have given this up a long time ago. I never saw that as a reason to paint, it was always to do with the feeling, the emotion. I guess the therapeutic side of it, too. I’m not going to sell a piece for the sake of it.” I should have known he would have started painting again when he’d left, but that seemed like confirmation, what with him saying he would have given it up. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Of course I wanted him to continue with his passion, work in a way that showed his talents, made his life beyond comfortable, but it was what came with his painting that made me uneasy. I hadn’t seen anything expressing that he no longer used blood, and I thought that would have be a focal point had it been the case. I cursed his agent, leaping viciously to the conclusion that it was him who kept Harry in the frame of mind, convinced him that he had to paint with blood or people would lose interest. I was sure of it. I took a deep breath in and continued. “That painting means more to me than any number, I don’t think I’ll ever sell it, per se. I’m not even accepting offers anymore.” I question if his new work that he will soon reveal is a way of distracting people from the painting, moving on. “Partially.” He admits. “But it’s also a new time for me. It’s new work, paintings I’m really excited to share. I’m looking forward to seeing how I end up feeling about all this new stuff. What I want to sell, what I don’t. We’ll see.” What Harry has managed to achieve with his art is remarkable. It’s not merely the power of his paintings, something that is preposterously palpable if you’re lucky enough to be in the same room as one. And it’s not limited to the success he’s had, the respect he’s received from his peers ever since he was granted a scholarship when he was still a teenager. It’s the emotions that his work inspires. He is quiet, but with purpose. He doesn’t talk about the inspiration behind each of his pieces, what makes him paint – instead, he throws you in head first to figure it out alone. You are never told what to see or how to feel, every brush of paint open to interpretation. Styles never ties you to the idea of what his work should be, instead his art is open, free of chains, exposing you to the truth of your own emotions rather than lumbering you with the truth of his. There is something magic in his secrecy that allows you to feel personally connected to his work, your feelings valid. In his less is more approach, you are left feeling as much a part of his art as he is. He connects with his consumer by saying so little, a truly impressive feat. Harry Styles is not ours to know, but his masterpieces are, and that’s exactly why our relationship with this extraordinary artist works. Reaching the end of the article, I locked my phone, leaning back in my chair and taking a deep breath inward, the words resting heavily on my chest. It wasn’t even necessarily what they’d been saying in the write-up, not really, it was more the strange sensation of reading about him that way at all. The Blood Sun was still sitting where I had found it. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it, I didn’t even have the space in my flat, not that I thought it would even get through the door. It was almost as though I didn’t dare move it, fear of damaging it, fear of admitting it was mine to damage. It had been almost a fortnight since I’d received it, touched it for the first time, breathed it in, but it hadn’t moved and inch and I was still perfectly clueless. I’d cried that night when I’d got home. Once we were back on the shop floor, I’d managed to get through most of the day at work without talking about it, without really even thinking about it, but the second I closed my front door, I burst into tears. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and just allowed myself to completely shatter, freeing whatever emotion had felt so imprisoned. I hadn’t really stopped thinking about him since, slowly driving myself insane with wild thoughts of the boy I’d once known, the boy who’d left my life and then re-entered it in the most spectacular and elaborate way. I didn’t want to think about him because it didn’t help. Even with him sending me that painting, it didn’t give me any leads, any answers; I still felt entirely powerless. But what was playing on my mind relentlessly was the knowledge that he had been thinking of me. Since he had departed from my life, I’d managed to convince myself that he no longer thought of me at all, that I would never cross his mind. I had been sure he was simply getting on with his life and I had become a hazy memory of his, another girl he had once been with for a few months of his life, another mistake. It was one of the things that had helped me to get over him, to know I wasn’t even beneath his skin enough for him to have dig me out. I told myself that I’d barely scratched the surface. Him sending me that painting made me feel differently. To know he had sat and thought of me, gone out of his way to make sure I became the owner of his most personal work. He wouldn’t have done something so grand on a whim, meaning without doubt that I had been playing on his mind. I wondered how he felt when he thought of me. I wondered what emotions I might stir. I hoped they were positive, and judging by the nature of his gesture they may well have been, but then again maybe his feelings towards me were as complex as mine towards him. Some days I’d think of him and feel happy, grateful we had what we did, that I experienced love in its truest form, even though it wasn’t reciprocated. I had loved him, and I was fortunate to have been able to feel that way about someone who so rarely let people into his life. Yet other days, the thought of us produced anger. Others, upset. Others, longing. It seemed impossible to look back on something so formidable with limited and lax emotions. I knew I wouldn’t find the answers to any of my questions in any article, but it was the only option I had. “Here we are.” Paula approached cheerily, placing my Eggs Benedict down in front of me. “Do you want me to top your coffee up?” “Please.” I sighed as she started pouring the dark liquid from the old-fashioned compressor into my mug. “You look knackered.” She sounded concerned. “Everything okay?” “Couldn’t really sleep.” I looked up to her. “Think I’ve only had a couple of hours.” “Any reason?” “Um… Dunno. I don’t think so. My minds just been working overtime recently. I can’t seem to shut off.” I hadn’t been sleeping well for what I felt was a variety of reasons. No matter how much I tried, how tired I was, it was like I’d get into bed and my head would just start spinning, conjuring up all these questions and ideas and worries that simply didn’t allow me to drift off. And the longer that lasted the worse it got, gradually becoming alarmingly aware that I should have been fast asleep. I’d start counting how many minutes and hours it would be until I had to get up and face another day on so little sleep, tossing and turning and losing my mind. That morning, I must have only drifted off at around 4AM, and yet still I awoke just before 7AM, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. That was why I’d headed to PJ’s, getting in a good meal and an abundance of coffee before I opened the shop for the day. “How longs that been going on?” “Couple’a weeks.” I tried to shrug it off. “It’s nothing, really. M’fine.” “Alright.” She griped, unsure. “I’ll always have free coffee here for you, if you need it.” “Thanks, Paula.” She squeezed my shoulder encouragingly before getting back to work, leaving me to tuck into my meal and pray that the coffee would be enough to see me through the day, because the amount of sleep I’d had certainly wasn’t enough on its own. I was only a few mouthfuls into my first meal of the day when the front door to PJ’s opened, my eyes instinctively lifting upwards to see who’d walked in. It was Chloe and Sam. Though things were okay between the three of us, it still felt awkward then. It was early, there was only one other person there, an old bloke who was sat in the corner keeping himself to himself. It was like it was just the three of us, which made for a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. There was no anger there, no hatred, but that didn’t mean we were at ease. “Hey.” I smiled to them both after swallowing my food, grateful I hadn’t started choking on it the second they’d walked through the door. “Hiya.” Sam greeted, straightening his back out. “Hi.” Chloe barely whispered. I felt bad for her, in some ways. She had never quite figured out how to be around me, weighed down by her guilt even though she shouldn’t have been, and I’d expressed that to her more than once. They shuffled past me, going over to the counter to order some food, whispering between themselves. It was so stupidly awkward, so much worse than it should have been. They’d been together for well over a year at that point, it shouldn’t have been that bad! I sat thinking to myself, knowing it was likely that the reason it was so bad was because we’d let it be. We hadn’t put the effort in to make sure we were all okay with each other, we hadn’t put the effort in and gone out of our way to avoid the awkwardness of our affiliations. We had to get past it. I took another bite, regretting my decision before I’d even voiced my thoughts but I knew what I wanted to do, and as long as I’d put the effort in, that was the best I could do. Once I’d heard that they’d finished ordering, I turned around, closing my eyes and blurting it out. “Do you wanna sit with me?” I opened my eyes to find them both looking at me like I’d gone mad. They were probably right. “Are you… I… Wh-what?” Sam blundered. “Do you wanna… sit… with me?” I said again. “We could just… y’know… talk, or whatever.” “Are you serious?” Chloe dazzled, dumbstruck and emotional. “Have we… done something wrong?” Sam asked me. “No! Nothing, I just… I can’t stand this.” I exhaled. “I hate being this awkward with you both, we need to push past it. So would you just… fucking sit down so we can get over ourselves and just be normal? We’re too old for this bullshit.” Sam just looked amused, sniggering to himself as he sat down on one of the chairs across from me, Chloe following close behind. She was different. She looked as though she could burst into tears at any moment. She sat down, biting her lip to hold back tears as Sam dove straight in with questions, asking about me, about my dad, updating me on how his mum was. I kept catching her from the corner of my eye and she wasn’t settling. She couldn’t ease at all. It was clear she still struggled, with all of it. It was hard for her to sit there with a friend she’d lost, knowing it had happened because of choices she had made. I knew that was why she got upset when she was around me. There’s nothing quite like love, the power it holds over you. I had to be conscious of the reasons why she chose Sam, even when that meant losing her friends. When love is that strong, it doesn’t care about anyone else, who it hurts, what it breaks. When love is that strong, it’s a force to be reckoned with, its pawns powerless to its forces. I’d seen throughout my life that most people would do anything to save love, to keep it in their hearts for as long as possible, whatever the cost. It might have seemed odd, the abundance of sacrifices she’d had to make just to be with him, but their love had told her to do that, to fight for him. I hoped he was worth it. I hoped that every loss paled when she looked at him, when that love took over. The only problem was that when she was around us, and me specifically, it didn’t feel that easy. She’d get upset, she’d realise how much she missed us, how much she missed how things had been. She hadn’t just lost me when her and Sam had gotten together, it had slowly picked a lot of her friends out of her life, but it centred around me. It was so difficult to admit that we’d never be the same again. It was gutting to come to terms with the fact that we’d lost something so good. My only comfort was knowing that she’d gained from it in some way or another. That morning with her was a quiet one, conversation mainly being held between Sam and I as she put most of her energy into holding herself together, not breaking, reminding herself of the reasons things had changed so much. But as far as I was concerned, anything was better than how we had been for the past year or so. Anything was an improvement.

“Here she is!” Niall yelled when I stepped into The Tin Mouse that evening, everyone greeting me cheerily; all except Lin, who didn’t really do anything, staring blankly at me as I cautiously approached the table. I was feeling rather anxious, my hands dug into the pockets of my denim jacket, pressing my lips together tightly. I didn’t really want to be there, to be honest. “Hi.” I just about smiled, taking a deep breath inward before I spoke. “Shall I get a round in?” Quite purposefully, I’d been running rather late, meaning they were all at the end of their drinks by the time I got there. They put in their requests quickly, all rather distracted and chirpy, meaning it took longer than it should have. Lin still hadn’t said a word by the time I was heading over to the bar, but I knew he’d grab at his opportunity. I’d only just put in the large order when I noticed him leap up to his feet and storm over to me, his voice leaden and irked when he spoke. “Why’ve you been ignoring me?” “I haven’t.” I protested. “Well, that’s fucking weird, because you haven’t answered any of my calls or my texts. You didn’t come to watch the match on Monday, you haven’t been at the pub.” He was angry, and I was fighting tears. “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot, Alf, I know what’s going on.” I hadn’t meant to avoid him. I didn’t want to create an atmosphere. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I didn’t want a lot of things that had come into fruition of late. What I had wanted, was to continue being honest and upfront with him, but receiving that painting and that note from Harry had somehow made everything with Lin feel twice as difficult. Because I knew it had to end. It had been hard enough to admit to him that I wasn’t sure on my feelings and what was happening between us, so it would have been even harder to be blunt and really end things, to tell him that I could finally make sense of the mess in my own mind. I knew it wasn’t right, that’s what my head was telling me, that’s what my gut was telling me. That’s what my heart was telling me. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to tell him. He waited for me to say something, my throat dry and tight as I tried to figure it out. “Please don’t be mad at me.” I whispered. “I don’t want to be mad at you, Alfie, I’m just frustrated!” He whelped. “Because if I knew asking you out would have led to this, I wouldn’t have fucking done it. I don’t think you understand how much I don’t wanna lose you, Alf! I can’t!” I looked right past him, staring over his shoulder and concentrating on the back door that would lead out to the beer garden, because looking in his eyes summoned too many emotions, ones I couldn’t supress. He made being opaque sound so easy, like it wouldn’t involve hurting his feelings and choking up over every single wrong word. I didn’t know how to handle it, what I should or shouldn’t say, and I certainly didn’t want to tell Lin that the main thing that had driven me away from even thinking about him in a romantic way was the delivery of a fucking painting. “Don’t avoid me, please!” He went on. “Just be honest. I can take it.” “It’s not as easy as that.” “It is! I’m telling you, it is! Because by not saying it, you’re saying it anyway. So, you might as well bite the bullet.” He sighed, wound his jaw. “Put me out of my misery. Please.” He just wanted it to be over, maybe even more than I did, but for different reasons. We were both in agony for different reasons and it needed to end. “I don’t wanna do this here.” I started to cry. I felt like all I did was fucking cry. “Fuck, don’t get upset. Oh shit. I don’t want you to feel guilty or sad, please don’t cry. If it’s not right, then it’s not.” He reached to grab my hand, pulling it away from my face as I tried to hide my tears. “You’ve just gotta be honest with me about it. I knew I was running a risk when I asked you, I just wanna be kept in the loop!” “Lin, it’s not that easy!” I wept. “I care about you so much and I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings. And I’ve had such a shit couple of weeks. I’ve been so sad and-” “That’s… the opposite of how I want you to feel!” He wailed. “C’mere. Wipe those bloody tears away, eh? I don’t wanna see you sad. Don’t be sad, not for my sake.” He held my cheeks steadily in his hands, wiping his thumbs beneath my eyes to dry my tears on my behalf, shaking his head like I was being silly, which made me laugh. He was good at that. It was obvious he was irritated with how I’d handled things since our date, but he was still trying to keep things sweet between us in any way he could, whilst also getting his point across. I sucked it up as much as I could as he wiped away a few more tears, talking calmly as he did. “Are you crying because of me? Did I go in too hard?” “No.” I shook my head. “I just feel bad. I didn’t want it to go like this.” “No… I can’t say I did either.” He chuckled uneasily. “It just… It doesn’t feel right. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.” He dropped his hands whilst my tears terminated progressively. “I don’t want-” “LIN, WHY’RE YOU MAKING ALFIE CRY?” Niall yelled from across the room. “NIALL, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Lin yelled back, proceeding to mentally block him out. “For fuck sake. Someone needs to tell that lad that it’s not always appropriate to drop a joke.” Despite the fact that I agreed, we were both still sort of laughing, shaking our heads and rolling our eyes. “I think we should probably do this another time.” I whispered, wiping away the last of my tears. “Sorry for getting mad.” “Sorry for avoiding you. I’d be mad too. And sorry for crying. You should be able to be pissed off without me crying and making you feel bad.” Abruptly, he moved in and wrapped his arms around me, releasing a swell of air that had be stuck in his chest. We could hear Niall whinging whimsically about how they were all waiting on their drinks, which were now sitting on top of the bar waiting to be paid for and waiting to be carried over to their consumers, but we had things to say. After quite some time, Lin pulled out of the hug but remained close, pressing his forehead against mine and speaking quietly, still trying to block out our surroundings, his hand latched against the back of my neck. I breathed him in, eased. “We’ll be okay, I promise. I don’t really know where we go from here, but-” “Harry?” I heard Louis yell through the bar, and I knew. Before I’d even turned around, I knew. I could tell from the sound of his voice, the perfect blend of surprise and terror. I knew and yet it didn’t seem real. Not until I watched Lin lift his head to gaze over the top of mine, eyes and mouth wide. “Holy shit, Harry’s here.” I whipped my whole body around a second later so I was facing the right way, so I could see for myself. That was the moment I locked eyes with Harry for the first time in over a year. He was completely motionless, so still and beautiful and perfect I could hardly comprehend that he was real, an image frozen in time and likely captured in my mind forever. He was stood in the doorway staring forward, right at me, as though he wasn’t conscious of anything else. It was just me and him and the static canvas we had become. His emotions were difficult to decipher, looking as shocked as I must have even though it was him who’d turned up out of nowhere. He hadn’t stepped foot in that pub since the previous May, but he was gazing right at me as though I had entered his space, like it was my presence that was the cause for alarm. He looked hurt, in ways. Those seconds felt like a lifetime, only able to snap out of my daze when Niall crashed his body against Harry’s, threw his arm around his neck. “What the hell are you doing here?” Libby howled excitedly as she approached him. “Are you moving back?” Niall asked whilst hugging the life out of him. “Please tell me you’re moving back.” It was then that Harry managed to pull his eyes away, and so did I, darting my vision to the left to look at Louis, who was already staring at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” He mouthed mutely. I found that my eyes drew back to Harry within seconds, like a magnet. His were back on me. He looked amazing. He always did. Even when he was exhausted and drained, his body had a certain shine to it that I’d never seen the likes of before and would never see again. Maybe I saw him in some divine light, but staring at him then I felt sure that simply, he was magnificent; radiant, powerful, immersed in splendour. “Uh…” Harry eventually began to grumble as Niall detached himself, looking away from me but not looking at anyone else, his gaze shooting down to the floor. “I dunno why I’m here. Sorry, I… I should go.” “What? You just got here?” Niall keened. Lin tried to edge past me to get closer to Harry, attempt to convince him to stick around like the rest of them were doing, all confused and stunned by his presence but desperate for him to stay. As he moved, Lin placed his hand on my waist gently, tenderly trying to edge me closer to the group to help with encouraging Harry to stay, but that minor action seemed to have the opposite effect. Harry witnessed the trivial exchange and withdrew completely. “No, m’sorry, I can’t do this.” He walked backwards, pushing his weight against the front door to open it without looking. “I dunno why I came, I’m sorry.” “The fuck, Harry?” Niall, Libby and Louis were all so dumbfounded they could barely move, just watching him back himself out of there. “What is going on?” It was rather clear he was overwhelmed, and I didn’t necessarily think it was the sole reason, but I knew that he was piqued by what he’d seen between Lin and I. He’d always had his paranoias, and though they still felt rather misplaced, he hadn’t been entirely delusional. The last time we had been together, we had kissed and held one another so intensely, the situation overflowing with passion and heartbreak. That was the last physical contact we’d had. Following that, he’d sent me a painting that was closer to his heart than most of the people in his life could ever hope to be. No matter how we’d ended or the complications we’d faced, I predicted that he saw me in a similar way to how I saw him – that in some way, we would always belong to one another. I would never be okay seeing him with someone else, and he didn’t want to see me with another man. Our history was too strong. For him to see me for the first time over a year later, another boys hand in my hair and lips close to mine. I knew I wouldn’t have wanted to see him and another woman like that, whether it meant something or not. I knew that was one of the reasons he desired a swift exit. “I shouldn’t have come. I don’t wanna interrupt, m’just gunna go. I promise I’ll see you soon, I promise, I just… Fuck.” With that final curse word he was outside, the door closing behind him. There were only a few seconds of shocked silence before Louis turned and bellowed to me. “Alfie, for fuck sake, go after him!” With no plan, no thought process and nothing to guide me, I ran out the door to catch him. I could barely make sense of a single thing, all I knew was that I couldn’t let him walk away without putting up a fight. I was terrified that if I let him walk away, that would be the last of it. Harry was sometimes hard to read, difficult to predict, and despite recent actions, I knew the chances of him disappearing from my life completely, never to seen or heard from again, were large. I knew there was a chance that this could be the very last time I saw him, and that was more likely if I didn’t go after him. I had too many questions that needed answering; why he was there, why he’d sent me the painting, how he had been for the past year. I wanted answers, and then if he wanted to leave he could. I could only hope that he desired the same closure I did. “Harry!” I yelled as soon as I could. He had his head down, walking central down the countrylane, heading towards town, towards the house where he used to live, towards a history he didn’t want to face. He tried to ignore me, not wanting to acknowledge my presence. I was so fucking confused. “HARRY!” I yelled again once I was out on the road, and he had to stop then, coming to a complete standstill but not turning to look at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” He didn’t answer. “Why’re you here?” “I… I don’t know.” He slowly turned around, but kept his line if vision right on the ground ahead of his feet. “It was stupid, m’sorry, I’m just gunna leave. I thought I was ready for this and I… I’m really not, so-” “Ready for what?” “Being back here. Seeing… I-I can’t. I have to leave.” He set off again, running his hand through his hair, clearly wanting nothing more than to get away from me. Though I could feel my frustration bubbling, I kept it locked down, remaining still and watching him walk away. “Why did you send me that painting?” I asked tersely, breathless, and that brought him to a standstill once again. I was surprised by how calm I sounded. Even when he turned back around and lifted his head to look at me, I remained still, serene, patiently awaiting his answer. He blinked, strangely acting as though he hadn’t been expecting me to question him on that, like he thought we’d both look past it, like it was regular, expected. “Because… it’s yours.” He eventually managed an answer, speaking as though it was obvious. “No one else deserves it.” “Har-” “I need to go, Alfie. I’m sorry.” He started walking backwards once again, not wanting to delay his departure. “I’m sorry for showing up, I-” “Wait… Fuck, I’m so… Don’t you think we need to talk?” “No. I can’t. Just… Forget about it, okay?” He shuddered. “I’ve got so many fucking questions, Harry! How do you expect me to just forget this?” “Will you tell them I’m sorry?” He said, and when I remained silent, stunned, he turned around and picked up his pace. I wished he’d called me Fee-Fee. I didn’t fully understand why that was my first thought, but all I knew was that I craved to hear him call me by that nickname he had so fondly adopted. I longed for that familiarity, that sense that we knew one another, that we had a history, because as he was walking away from me then, he truly felt like a stranger. The only thing that felt the same was the way he was running away from a situation that was more complicated than he’d bargained for. Exasperated, I picked up the pace and followed his footsteps, diminishing the space between us and then jumping so I was directly in front of him, forcing him to stop. We were mere inches apart. “Alfie-” “I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to talk to me, Harry, that’s fine!” I fumed, retrieving my phone from my pocket and searching through it, unable to look him in the eye now we were so close. “I stopped expecting things from you when you fucking left, I’m past it. But you need to speak to your mum. Here.” I held my phone out ahead of him, keeping my eyes on his chest but putting the screen right before his eyes, the contact information for his mother brightening his face. “Wh-what?” “It’s your mum’s number. Take it. Call her.” “But-” “If you don’t, I fucking will. Please step up and do it, Harry. She’s desperate to hear from you.” “How… How do you-” “I spoke to her about you, and I don’t even care if you’re angry with me. I really don’t fucking care anymore, because this is your way to reach her and that’s all that mattered to me. And now you know that she does want you to reach out for her, she tried to reach you, so you’ve got no excuse. Take it, call her. Please.” He was shell-shocked for a little while, taking his time before he reached into his pocket to retrieve his poor excuse for a phone, some old looking thing that didn’t look like it would still function, typing the number he could see and then hopefully saving it to his phone, but I didn’t check to confirm that. I just had to hope he was listening to me, and that I’d said enough for him to finally get in touch with Julia again. “You done?” I asked bluntly. “Uh… Yeah.” “Okay, I’ve done my part, so leave. I don’t care.” I huffed, moving past him, my shoulder colliding with his rather lethally. I had spent the past few months of my life trying to pick him away from my memories, some sort of survival technique I had attempted to adapt, tearing even the tiniest detail from my thoughts. Even down to the simplest thing, like the exact colour of his eyes, the precise shade of green. I had almost forgotten that colour, and the second I was close enough to reacquaint myself, I daren’t look, daren’t remind myself. Or maybe I daren’t acknowledge that I’d never really forgotten. I never could. One last thing held me back before I left him there alone, went back to trying to forget. I rotated to face him again, seeing he hadn’t moved. “And I’d fire your agent, if I was you.” I said. “What?” He turned slightly, enough so he could see me. “Your mum got in touch with him and he never told you. Fire him, he doesn’t give a fuck about you.” His hurt and his horror were clear within his face even though he didn’t say a single thing. I didn’t give him much of an opportunity to reply, really. I had done what I wanted to do, placed the responsibility and the knowledge within his hands, and then it was his to handle, his to deal with however he felt was best. I had hopes, but I certainly didn’t expect anything from him. Not after everything. As I walked away from him, I could feel tears building, like my heart was breaking all over again, like I was losing him all over again even though I’d never gotten him back. Truthfully, he had never been mine to lose.

#Happy Bloody Sunday #enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #HBS45

234 notes · View notes

rainbhrts94writes · 4 years ago

Text

Tephra 02

Hello! Here’s the next thrilling instalment, hope you enjoy the banter as much as I do! :)

POV: YN Warnings: None this chapter, mostly intro stuff Word Count: 2.2K Rating: PG

Master List

Tephra 02

When Imogen told you Prince Namjoon of Atlas had been searching for you in the mage courses by name, you nearly spit out your drink. It's not like you had forgotten about him or anything. Who could forget dimples like that? I mean, really. It was more like you didn't typically associate with people from any of the four kingdoms outside the Min family.

"What do you think he wants?" Imogen asked you over dinner.

"Who knows, it's not like I'm anything special." You grumbled, finishing off the food on your plate.

"You're kidding, right? Did you forget you're the youngest addition to the Academy's guard ever?" Imogen scoffed.

"You should stop bringing that up. The last formal training I had was when I was ten. The fact that anyone thinks I'm qualified is embarrassing." You rolled your eyes.

"So what is all my night time training to you? Chopped liver?" Imogen smiled as she spoke, spinning her fork around in the air. "Besides, who's embarrassed?"

"All of the old cranky ass guards who worked for years to hone their magical skills to defend the Academy from the invisible powers that threaten us all." You said in a mocking spooky tone.

"You're not wrong. Did you see General Karp's face when Lady Cecilia offered to promote you to Captain of the Evening Forces?" Imogen let out a roaring laugh at her memory.

"I'm still saying it had to be a prank. The Headmistress is an air mage by nature. Seriously, we're always out on night rounds. Just because I've caught a few shady individuals lurking around the gate doesn't mean I need to be in charge of my own task force." You poked your fork at your tablemate as you tried to make a point.

"I don't think she was kidding. You're a great mage, YN, and you lead your peers with this weird calm I've only ever seen in TV dramas. Your skills were obvious last month."

"Are you talking about that landslide again?" You asked, exasperated, deciding not to pick fun at her terrible choice in behavioral reference. "For the last time, we didn't do anything special. The royal family of Atlas and friends already had over half the trench built by the time we got there."

"You're right, but there's no way they would have been able to hold that line alone. They also didn't think to make it deeper while it was filling up, did they? That was all you and Tessa." Imogen stated, looking snarky as she sipped on her tea.

"See, the key there is Tessa. You really think I could have blown that much earth around without focusing on projectile boulders if she and the others hadn't been there." You argued back.

"I do. Even then, you proved my point. Teamwork, you got the stuff of leaders, kid." Then she paused. "Wait, YN."

"What?" You looked up at Imogen, concerned with her tone.

"Prince Namjoon mentioned in his report of the situation that he had narrowly escaped a flying boulder!"

"Yea, and?" You pressed her, trying to find out what Imogen was so excited about.

"Was that you or Tessa?" She asked, nearly bouncing in her seat.

"So what if it was me?"

"YN! He's been out looking for you for over a month! What if he feels indebted to you and wants to make you an offer?!" Imogen leaped up out of her seat, slamming her hands on the table. "Something to repay that debt, the people of Atlas hate debt!"

"Don't most people hate debt?" You deadpanned. "Would you stop with the wild fantasies? You're supposed to be my guardian."

"Exactly, I'm your guardian. I told your parents I'd take care of you, and if that means marrying you off to a prince of Atlas, then so be it!" Imogen's voice grew in enthusiasm as she pressed on.

"There are so many reasons why that's not going to work, and you know it. Did my folks know you were clinically insane before they put me in your care? Does the Academy know one of their professors is straight out of the looney bin?" You asked, trying to hide the amusement in your voice.

"Nope, nobody knows I've escaped." Imogen winked. "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"Not until I've graduated, I still need that free tuition." You replied, holding in a laugh.

"Is that all I am to you? A ticket to free education!" Imogen put a hand to her chest and feigned hurt as she flopped back in her chair.

"That and my pseudo-mom."

"You're not allowed to get sentimental with me after being rude." Imogen snapped at the comment, a gentle smile on her face.

"Whatever you say." You rolled your eyes and collected your empty plates from the table.

"So, what do you want me to do about the prince?" Imogen asked. "I can only deflect his questions for so long before he sends someone more powerful digging around."

"I don't know." You tipped your head as you put the dishes in the sink. "Find out what he wants first, I guess."

"That I can do," Imogen exclaimed.

---

The school had a strict curfew. It was how they ensured nobody knew about your class and the inner workings of the Academy. Technically, Spiros was a refugee city, despite it's long, illustrious history.

As the story goes, Neith the Great Mother descended from the heavens adapting to the life of human's already present on Sias. Those born of her newfound flesh and blood were known as The Children, and together they shared their knowledge and godlike powers with humanity. As time went on, The Children grew in strength and popularity, each now a god in their own right. With power came struggle, and when they fought, so did the humans who followed them.

The conflict immediately led to a hundred-year war, resulting in the fracturing of the continent and its people. To keep the peace, Neith separated those with magic into four territories and left her home open to all seeking refuge from her children and those who sought to harm them for their perceived powerlessness.

In the years of peace that followed, the Academy was built to educate those who resided in Spiros safely. They brought in people from all walks of life and the different territories to balance out the curriculum. This angered one of The Children, the daughter Opis who with the help o hr followers sought revenge. During the ensuing battle, Neith perished, the four kingdoms established themselves as they are now, and Spiros was taken and divided into sections to be jointly ruled and controlled.

One could say that for the past four hundred years since the end of the original conflict, all the four Kingdoms had fought for was a place to dump the underprivileged, unwanted, and their country's political adversaries. As such, over the years Spiros had developed into an eclectic city, one that you'd always really enjoyed visiting so it wasn’t so bad living here. It was a place heavy in multiple cultures, lifestyles, and most importantly the food.

Your parents had been sure to teach you all about the world when you were little. Spiros, in particular, had always made your dad smile. He had explained to you that nearly eighty years ago, the Adyan Empire was trusted with the duty to appoint a new Headmistress for the Academy. Fortunately, the Royal Min family chose a bishop from The Church of Shango. She was a kind and thoughtful woman who prioritized her students' wellbeing and growth before all else. Not only that, but because of the Adyan Empire's ongoing situation, the Academy's top brass bent the rules to accommodate the common folk of Spiros.

As stated in the peace treaty, refugees and those exiled were not to participate in the use and learning of magic of any kind. You had been told by Imogen years back that the Academy read the laws and decided it didn't mean the children of those who had been exiled, since they were technically born as people of Spiros, instead of refugees of another country. For that reason, the Headmistress decided to educate the commonwealth, leaving magic training until the students of Spiros could be protected by the cover of darkness and away from prying eyes.

When the time came to appoint a new Head, the Arabeillan Alliance chose Lady Cecilia. Not only had she figured out what the previous Headmistress had started all on her own, she found it so delightfully tricky that learning was allowed to continue uninhibited. She also did her best to make sure Spiros students were as trained in magic and combat arts as those from the four nations.

The air mages had always freaked you out. On top of never being able to see their attacks coming, they were capable of a host of inhumane magic that you had to trust they didn't use out of sheer benevolence. For that reason alone, you had joined the guard when Lady Cecilia told you to. Aside from Cecilia's wickedly psychic abilities and her probably having a reason for instating you, you didn't want the air ripped out of your lungs anytime soon, which is precisely how you found yourself here this evening. Staring at the gate, wondering why being on guard duty was so sought after.

Seriously, you could be in class learning, but no; According to Lady Cecilia, there wasn't anything more for you to learn in the courses here. Since you couldn't get her to explain what she meant by that, you did as you were told and stood there. Technically it could be worse; the job could be exciting, which just meant it was unnecessarily dangerous, and you didn't need that, not when there were still things you needed to do.

With curfew having started only a moment ago, you waited in silence, watching the sunset. It was that perfect time of the year where you got a show of sherbet skies just as your shift started. It was excellent and made up for the monotony of your guard duties. Though maybe you shouldn't have been so concentrated on the sky since the door was now slowly creaking open, and you were not ready.

"Halt!" You projected, "Who goes there?"

"Who goes there? What is this? A bad period movie?" You recognize that voice.

"Yoongi, seriously, what are you doing using the main door? There are much better ways to find me, yanno?" You sighed as your friend stepped towards you.

"Oh, I know, but he doesn't." Yoongi gestured to the man now standing behind him. "This the one you're looking for?"

Even though there wasn't a verbal answer, you'd recognize those dimples anywhere. "Long time no see Namjoon."

"Interesting," Yoogi remarked.

"What, he didn't like 'Your Princeliness.'" You shrugged as you relaxed back into your position. "I'm just following orders."

"If you say so." Yoongi snickered as he turned to the second prince of Atlus. "Welp, she's all yours. I'm off."

"You're not going to stay?" Najoon asked.

"No, why? Do I need to?" Yoongi quirked an eyebrow as he crossed his arms.

"No! I just- how am I supposed to get back without getting caught?" Namjoon continued his questioning.

"That's my job now, dear. Unless you've got a problem with that?" You wondered aloud.

"No! Gods, why are you both so infuriating. You're clearly capable. I was just curious." Namjoon sighed as he rubbed the wrinkles out of his forehead.

You stifled a laugh as you watched Namjoon work through his frustration. Once it was clear Yoongi had left, you turned your attention away from the door and out towards the town. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I uh, I wanted to say thank you." Namjoon bowed politely to you.

"You've been looking for me for this long just to say thank you?" You quirked an eyebrow.

"You knew I was looking for you?" Namjoon questioned back.

"Not really, just a hunch." You shrugged, trying not to give yourself away. "Yoongi did bring you here, which means you had to be visibly struggling for quite a while."

"That's a fair observation." Namjoon straightened himself out. "How do you know Yoongi, if you don't mind me asking?"

"We're related." You responded.

"That's a terrible joke." Namjoon sighed. "I should not have asked."

"So now that you've asked your more formal question, what do you really want?" You quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm honestly not sure?" Namjoon responded, relaxing against the looming stone wall behind him.

"That's a terrible reason to break curfew and seek out a stranger." You chuckled.

"It is, isn't it?" Namjoon laughed alongside you. "I think I wanted to be friends?"

"You think?" You raised your eyebrows, intrigued. "I'll have you know I'm a great friend. There's not much to think about."

"You shouldn't wink. It's creepy." Namjoon's lips twitched up in amusement.

"Oh? What's this now?" You leaned forward, meeting Namjoon's gaze. "I know nobody in the capital taught you to talk like that."

"You'll find that I'm very well-read." Namjoon puffed out his chest as he boasted.

"Oh my gods, you do need friends." You laughed out loud, not hiding the smile on your face. "Answer me this, though, why me."

"Why not you?" at that, you stuck out your hand.

"Touché"

#Tephra 02 #bts fanfic #BTS au #fantasy au #magic #kim namjoon #min yoongi #reader insert

1 note · View note

ghoulgeists · 4 years ago

Note

I HAVE QUESTIONS!!! ABOUT FLINT!!!! a lot so have fun :D 4, 9, 10, 12 :) 13, 14, 17, 23, 27, 42, 44, 50, 56, 57, 59 (i think i asked this before but i forgot the answer lol), 61, 63, 67 !! also i ask about seaweed boy !! 3, 5 lol, 11, 18, 21, 30, 40, 44, 51, 59, 61, 64 !!! and a few for cadma !! 11, 19, 30, 36, 48, 53, 64, 69

UM HEWWO?!?!? THATS A LOT OF QUESTIONS! I am so excited to answer these...

Answers are under the cut! This will be... Long

Flint

4. If they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Magic in their setting is a little different, and these questions are dnd centric, but I think I can still answer this! Flint would probably be VERY interested in divination magic, of any kind. So spells that could divine futures, locate objects, or show hidden things.

9. Do they care about their appearance? How much effort do they put into presentation?

In public, appearance is a top priority. They mingle with plenty of people whenever they can, and it's important to them that they give others a good first impression, so Flint's grooming is off the charts compared to most people.

When they're crawling around in the ancient dust of a tomb, however, the way they look isn't nearly as important as grabbing as many valuable burial goods as they can!

10. How often do they lie? What situations cause them to be dishonest?

Flint's no saint, and lies plenty enough to prove it. Most of the time it's white lies to spare feelings or to get out of doing something, but the bigger lies come when people probe about their past. It's pretty obvious they don't want people to know about who they used to be, and the bigger the secret the bigger the lie they tell to keep others off their tail.

12. Have they ever been in love?

Plenty of times! Enough to count on a few hands. It's infatuation that strikes them most often, but they have been serious on occasion too.

13. What do they dislike about themself? Why?

They dislike how weak they can often be, as well as how easy it is to take advantage of them sometimes. It drives them to take the easy way out of difficult situations no matter the cost.

14. What is something they love about themself?

They love their body! All the little details from the way their hair curls, the blue of their eyes, their stature, etc. They're very comfortable, proud, and happy being themselves!

I think this is the first character I've ever made who wouldn't want to change anything about their body for any reason :'D

17. What do they dream about, when their dreams are their own?

Beyond gold and riches, they dream about travelling to destinations both new and old, discovery, and about what stories they'll tell when they're old.

23. How do they feel about nicknames, titles, or labels that have been given to them? How do they feel about their name?

Nicknames are encouraged, but only between close friends and significant others! They don't have any titles or labels because they're not quite that infamous. Everyone who knows them refers to them by their first name, and that's what they're comfortable with because it's what they're used to!

As for how they feel about their name, they don't have strong opinions either way. It's the name they grew up with so they can't just toss it aside, but it has bad things attached to it as well. I'd say they think it's a ledger of all their (mis)deeds, and that's about it.

27. How do they mourn?

They carry on. But they swear to do better.

42. What are three words they would use to describe themself?

Confident, gorgeous, and amicable!

44. What do they need to learn?

To stop sticking their nose into trouble.

50. Can they sing? Can they dance?

Yes, Flint can sing and sings often! They will occasionally busk for lodging funds if they are ever scarce a few dollars, and have a very soothing voice that ensures at least a few people will toss them some coins. As for dancing, it's not something they're interested in, but you could always coax it out of them you can promise you'll be a good dance partner :)c

56. What animal do they most relate to?

Probably a dog? Fiercely loyal and trusting, but with a good nose (figuratively) for who they should let in on their vulnerabilities to.

57. What makes them angry?

Injustice, and the ideology that law and order outweighs the importance of the human condition.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

While not exactly quiet, they have a passion for music! Singing and playing the guitar is one of their favourite pastimes.

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

This is impractical, and they also aren't exactly found in meadows, but they would go for sunflowers. Something big and bold and bright!

63. What fight has scared them the most?

They haven't gotten there yet in the story I'm building around them, but any fight where someone almost dies and they're powerless to help is always terrifying! :^)

67. What makes them laugh?

Clever jokes, outrageous stories, and the thrill that comes from doing something dangerously stupid and getting away with it.

Tangle

3. What is their goal right now?

Two things: serve their unfathomable god to the best of their abilities, and get sweet, delicious revenge on the fishermen that almost killed him. The former is his current priority, because he knows he has plenty of years to hunt down his would-be murderers. Revenge is a dish to be savored :3c

5. Do they follow a higher power? What are their thoughts on divinity?

Before he met his patron the only thing he was concerned about was surviving. There's no time for gods when you're eking out a poor life in some nowhere village, after all!

After meeting his patron, there is honestly nothing in this world he could devote more time and attention to. So their relationship with higher powers and divinity etc all are attached by one string to a single entity!

11. What skills are they proficient in? Why?

Arcana, religion, and insight for obvious reasons! However he's also proficient in intimidation, because while he may look like a sweet boy he's actually kind of creepy (in an insane cultist kind of way), and that's sufficiently off putting enough that he can be rather intimidating.

18. Do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

lmao… definitely a follower.

21. Do they follow their head, their heart, or their body?

HMMM, I am not too sure about this yet, but probably his heart! He seems like he would be easily emotionally driven.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Open-mindedness! People who would be -cough- willingtosubmittotheoldgods -cough- -cough- I mean, people who won't judge him for his faith.

40. Do they enjoy poetry?

Nope! Not that he's had any exposure to the arts, though. I guess it would be more accurate to say he doesn't have an opinion :'D

44. What do they need to learn?

That he's not special, and his devotion to his god means barely a thing. He has in his mind this idea that he's some kind of glorious, special vessel through which his patron does its dark bidding, but in reality he's just a pile of meat labeled "minion." Until he learns that awful truth, he's got an ego about his position.

51. What is the most beautiful thing in the world, for them?

The rotten bones of shipwrecks stuck deep in the sand. They're a good source of materials, a home for the night, and they make lovely silhouettes against stormy seas.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

It's done out of necessity, but they enjoy sewing up and mending clothes!

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

Nothing specific, just any bud or bloom he can find :'D

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Probably justice! Although he's indifferent to things that happen to others, he is technically seeking justice for what happened to him, in his own… special way.

Cadma

11. What skills are they proficient in? why?

Athletics, performance and acrobatics because he's an active, swole boi! As well as that he's proficient in stealth and slight of hand because he is a smooth criminal, and he's also proficient in religion for a reason I cannot fathom or remember the reason for.

19. What haunts them? What doesn’t?

Like most of my characters… the past lol… specifically, the people he's abandoned on a whim, and more pressingly his former captain, who kind of wants to spill his guts :')

What doesn't haunt him is his decisions to leave. In every instance he's left people he's found himself in a grander adventure, and he's thankful and at peace with those life decisions!

Essentially, he has the mentality that people only stay in your life for part of the journey. There’s no such thing as a lifelong partner or friend, so while he does remember people he’s left behind he thinks that charting his own course in life is more important that unbreakable bonds.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Damn good company! If you're an interesting person in any capacity Cadma will probably take a shine to you. He can't stand a stagnant lifestyle, and wants to surround himself with people who will bring adventure into his life.

36. What’s a secret they’ve kept?

It's not exactly a huge secret or anything, and anyone with eyes can tell because he has scales, but Cadma is very hush hush about his dragon ancestry and blood. It's caused him no end of troubles and he'd really rather people see him as a person rather than the inheritor of a rare bloodline.

48. What do they see in their future?

Adventure, and lots of it. Maybe a couple near death experiences too, which he is not so keen on but it comes with the job :')

53. Which is more frightening to them: day or night?

Night. Visibility is low and it's too quiet. Fires burn too bright. You have to let your guard down eventually.

It's not a fun time.

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Definitely mercy! Cadma believes in second chances, and sometimes thirds. He's needed his fair share of them, so everyone else deserves chances too

69. How would they describe their party members?

Good fun and better friends! He's never been with people so easy to latch onto emotionally, and MAN is he attached to them…

---

Thank you so much for the ask, ilu!! It's so much fun talking about my characters, I love them a lot and the opportunity to get it off my chest has been really nice uwu

I am still accepting asks! And I finally have a page with links to my character's tags, in case anyone wants to peruse!

pwease... talk to me...

#ask #ask meme #sydney-jielin #flint locke #cadma #tangle #ilusm....#wild weast

2 notes · View notes

palettes-and-prompts · 5 years ago

Note

May I ask for some prompts for the oddly specific topic of: Character who collects teeth to survive gets in trouble with the tooth fairy equivalent of the mafia? And don't forget to stay safe.

This one was almost as weird as the corn ask I got and it was kind of hard to write for but hopefully these work for you?

Dialogue Prompts

1) "So, you going to tell me where you hid the teeth or do you want you head dunked in mouthwash gargled by an old man with gingivitis?" "Bite me."2) "I'm the fucking tooth fairy, did you really think you could get away with stealing what belongs to me?"3) "You could always hand them over. Of course if you don't you'll have to see this one here run out of oxygen. See, this floss is special, I got tired of it breaking. So I made this one very strong. Strong enough that if it was wrapped around their pretty throat it'd do the trick. But if you'd like a demonstration I'd me more than happy t-" "Wait."4) "I'll tell you where the teeth are." "See, was that so hard? If you'd just told me earlier I wouldn't have broken all those fingers." 5) "Since you want to steal my business why don't we show them what happens to those who cross the tooth fairies."6) "Don't lie to me, you little shit. You've never been good at it."7) "You stole from me. I raised you when your parents died and I taught you everything you needed to know to join the family business. But you stole from me. I don't go easy on those who cross me, you know that. You know the consequences so why would you do it?" "You always told me to test myself." 8) "They think they can steal from me, I'll fucking show them exactly who they're dealing with."9) "Think I wouldn't know you were trying to take what's mine? I can smell that spearmint toothpaste from a mile away on you. I'm /very/ good at what I do. And I do not like to be underestimated."10) "If you think just because my appearance is sweet and cute that I will be then you've got another thing coming."11) "Look around you. This, all of this can be yours. I don't have children so you're the closest thing I have to one. I want you to take over when I'm gone, but to do that you're going to have to give back the teeth you stole." "I didn't steal any teeth."12) "You're just another cavity in this place. I don't like cavities. So when I see one I have to get rid of it."13) "You know, human teeth, animal teeth. They just fall out. But fairy teeth? They're more valuable but they don't fall out, not on their own anyway. You have to use a special tool to extract them. Would you like me to show you?"14) "What did you do?" "I took a bag of teeth, I got a few things that need to be paid off and-" "Are you fucking insane? Do you know what they'll do to you if they find you?"15) "One tooth going missing? Annoying but an accident. Two? Could be something but maybe not. Three? Someone isn't looking after my teeth like they promised they would. But a whole set? Someone's up to something. So what do you need a whole set for?"16) "Stole this set from a dragon after I had it's fire gland removed, got a whole team looking after them. That dragon thought they could cross me, now I made them powerless."17) "What are we doing here?" "Stealing teeth." "Teeth?!" "Remember how I said I was part fairy?" "Yeah." "Well, that part fairy is part tooth fairy." "Tooth fairy?" "I'll explain later, we need to run."18) "Are you sure this is going to work?" "Yeah, we're just waiting on Person A with the teeth." "Teeth?" "Yeah, what'd you think, it was just gonna be abracadabra and they'd just come back with a few leaves? We need blood, teeth, some real disgusting shit to bring back a dead person."19) "Don't be mad but I stole a tooth from the tooth fairy." "I mean, it's just one tooth, we'll be--what kind of tooth was it?" "The first tooth." "You've doomed us all."20) "I can't believe I'm able to say I fist fought the tooth fairy mafia." "Weird day?" "Definitely!"

Regular Prompts

1) Person A stole teeth from the tooth fairy mafia by accident and if they stop and give them back the mafia will kill them anyway. Now they're on the run they meet a bunch of people along the way and have decided to team up with them to defeat the tooth fairy.2) Person A steals the tooth of their relative who died so they can extract DNA to bring them back. But the tooth fairy mafia don't like when what belongs to them is stolen.3) The tooth fairy mafia doesn't just collect human teeth, they also collect animal teeth and when Person A needs certain teeth for a spell the only way they can get them is if they steal from them. (Bonus if it's like a rare tooth like a dragon tooth or something.)4) When a priceless pair of teeth go missing the tooth fairy is willing to kill to get them back. Person A's friend stole them to pay off their debt but now that they've involved person A the tooth fairy thinks they're in on it so they're willing to kill them both. While on the run A and B have to come up with a plan to pay off their debt and try to keep themselves from being killed.5) While trying to build their own monster like Dr. Frankenstein they need teeth so they take a whole set from the tooth fairy mafia. They're pissed and want them back but they can't have them back until the monster dies. (Bonus if the monster is more human than some humans and they help the person who created them take down the tooth fairies.)6) Person A is hired by the enemy of the tooth fairy to steal a set of teeth just because they don't want them to have it. They offer a more than generous amount for A to do it. A soon realizes just how important these teeth are and how much danger their life is really in. 7) A accidentally pockets a tooth and when they realize no one will believe that they accidentally took the most priceless tooth in the entire building they're forced to be on the run.8) When A's pet accidentally eats a bunch of teeth belonging to the tooth fairy they tell A they're going to have to kill the creature to get them out because this particular creature can digest them. In order to save their pet A is forced to run.9) When A is suppose to inherit their tooth fairy company from the elder fairy they decide the teeth business isn't for them, snag a few bags of teeth for money, an head to the human world. When they make it their they pose as human and fit in surprisingly well, even getting a love interest. But when the tooth fairy finds them things get complicated and the tooth fairy world will be exposed to a human.10) Person A finds out they're part fairy, specifically the tooth kind which explains their obsession with clean teeth/perfect teeth/dentistry. When they steal teeth to prove to their friends they really are part tooth fairy, the mafia comes after them and they, along with their friends are forced to take them down.

If these don’t work though just let me know and I’ll see what I can come up with!

#kinda gross #only because #teeth #mention of teeth #yes I'm tagging teeth because they lowkey kinda freak me out

6 notes · View notes

hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

Text

To Keep You Safe

Title: Know’s everybody’s disapproval, I should’ve worshiped her sooner

Chapter: 11/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary: Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (there be smut ahead)

Notes: Friendly reminder that this is un-Beta’d, so please excuse any typos or grammatical errors I no doubt missed during revisions!

This is the first time I’ve written anything like this, so here’s hoping it’s not utter trash!

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings: Consensual sex, language

Desire darkened his eyes and he looked up to me from beneath his sooty lashes. “Lie down for me, darling,” he said softly, voice velvety sin. Behind him the blinds dropped down on the windows, leaving just a faint glow of the afternoon light peeking out from between the slats. Smooth.

I paused for a moment, my stomach twisting with a sudden bout of nerves before I relented and scooted up on the bed to rest my head on a pillow while I stretched out on my back next to him. His eyes trailed down my prone form with agonizing slowness, taking his time admiring every inch of my body laid out before him. The attention made me flush and squirm as I resisted the urge to hide from his piercing gaze.

Loki shifted so that he sat on his knees with his feet beneath him. He put one hand firmly on my hip and applied pressure steadily until I rolled over onto my stomach. After he slid a pillow under my hips, his calloused hands dragged down my arms to capture my hands and pull them from beneath my head to beside me. Every movement was unhurried, and each second that went by without him touching me stole my breath away just that much more. My whole body was tense, waiting for his next move, waiting to see where this was going to go. He was in charge now. And it was thrilling to relinquish that control.

“Relax. I will not do anything that you do not wish me to. I am simply working to ease your discomfort,” he soothed, brushing the hair off of the back of my neck and gathering it carefully beside my head. His fingers lightly tugged on my hair, causing goosebumps to tingle on my scalp.

I nodded, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. His strong fingers began rubbing steady, even circles on my neck, focusing on the knots and working them away skillfully. I knew that he had to feel my racing heartbeat as he massaged my neck, and I buried my face into the comforter to hide my blissful smile. He had obviously done this before, and his talented hands were both relaxing and exhilarating at the same time. I wanted to both let him lull me into a deep sleep and flip over and beg him to end my torture and touch me, but I was too keyed up to do either option. The heat between my legs was certainly hard to ignore, and growing more difficult with each ragged breath he hissed out behind me.

His fingers skimmed over my shoulders, catching on the soft threads of my sweater, and down my arm until he clasped my hand in both of his. A soft moan passed through my parted lips when he began kneading the joints in my hand. I wasn’t used to anyone paying attention to that part of my body, but it was heavenly, and my hand went completely lax when he moved onto the next one.

‘Does that feel good, love?” he asked, voice rumbling low with desire and sending a wave of pleasure through me.

If it was at all possible, I shoved my face deeper into the bed beneath me. I didn’t answer, hoping that he would continue and forget his question, or that it was rhetorical, but his hands stilled over my forearms and I could feel him watching me expectantly. How could he ask that question? Wasn’t it obvious that he was driving me insane? It took everything I had not to moan wantonly from his touch alone, and then he had to go on and throw in that voice. I was done for and the smug prince knew it.

My voice muffled by the blanket I refused to lift my head from, I growled out, “You know damn well it does.”

One of his hands lifted from my arm and brushed through my hair, tugging on it until I lifted my face out of my comfortable sanctuary. “I can’t hear you, darling. Look at me,” he commanded firmly, the smile in his voice lessening the harshness of the order.

With an embarrassed groan, I opened my eyes to look up to him. He was watching me with lust blowing out his pupils, his brow lifted as he waited for me to answer his pressing question. Him looking at me like that, like I was the most seductive woman he had ever seen, gave me enough courage to answer his question. “Yes it does and you know it, ass,” I muttered.

“Why does that embarrass you?” he asked curiously, his thumbs rubbing against the tired muscles of my forearms now that I had done as he asked. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and in my aroused state the innocent gesture was so obscene that the wet heat between my legs throbbed in response.

I couldn’t answer this one, though. I didn’t have an answer, the more I thought about it. Feeling good because of something he was doing shouldn’t be shameful. He was my boyfriend, or something along those lines. Boyfriend sounded so immature, but we weren’t anything more than that. His touch felt good. And I should be able to admit that, especially when he asks for it.

He moved his hand from my arm to grasp the bottom of my chin, lightly stroking my bottom lip until I parted my lips for him, pulling me from my thoughts. When my breath hit his thumb he shivered, and his wolfish grin made my mouth suddenly go dry. Damn, he was beautiful.

“You are an exquisite creature, who deserves all the pleasures of the world. And as your lover, it is my duty to bring them to you. You are allowed to be selfish with me. So,” he paused, a seductive smirk slowly growing on his handsome face, “don’t hold back, love.”

The word ‘lover’ had always been one that I hated. Like the word ‘moist’. It sounded so creepy when anyone else had used it, but coming from his deep, accented voice and paired with his hands skimming over my back and barely skim over the sides of my stomach, it became the most beautiful word I’d ever heard. Coming from him, it promised passion and tangled limbs and cries of ecstasy and I needed it all.

But I still had some reservations. The logical part of my brain was clawing its way to the surface, demanding that I made sure I knew what I was getting into before we got in too deep and I lost myself in him completely. “You’ll stop if I ask you to?”

“As I said, I vow to you that I will do nothing that you do not wish. My only task, at this moment, is to bring you pleasure.” He accented his last word with his fingers moving back up my body to graze the sides of my breasts, and my nipples hardened against my bra instantly.

How could I say no to that? Biting my bottom lip, I propped myself up on my forearms and nodded. Yearning smoldered in his eyes as he moved to straddle my legs in one fluid motion, trapping them between his lean thighs as he settled above me. I had to stifle a groan and my chin dropped to my chest as I felt the hard length of him pressing into my ass. And all of that was just from him giving me a little massage. Goodness gracious, he was going to kill me.

“Do not turn your face away, darling. I want to watch you unravel from my touch.” He leaned forward and ground himself against me, drawing a mewl from my throat.

He spoke softly to me as his cold hands slipped beneath my shirt, lifting it over my head and tossing it to the side, “An exquisite body such as yours should be given the proper adoration and worship that it deserves. Every curve,” he trailed his fingers down my the length of my spine, “every dip,” he caressed the curve of my waist, “and every inch of supple skin should be properly attended to,” he splayed his large hands across my lower back and rubbed at the tender spot he had found earlier.

With each firm yet tender touch, I relaxed further into the bed and oblivion. Goosebumps spread across my body as the edges of his fingers slipped beneath the cups of my bra and passed over my hardened, aching nipples briefly before retreating to my back. I gasped, arching my body into him, and I felt more than heard the rumble of his pleased laughter as it shook his hips pressed against my ass.

His nails followed the edge of my bra, scratching pleasantly at the skin until they rested on the closure of the restricting fabric. “May I?”

God, did he have to sound so sexy asking that? Men really needed to get on board with asking for permission to undress their partners, especially men with beautiful accents, because those two little words caused goosebumps to rush over my entire body. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to speak, so I managed a jerky nod.

“Your skin is so smooth,” he purred, easily unhooking my bra and moving the straps so they fell to the side.

I couldn’t stifle my soft moan when he ran his hands down my exposed back from shoulders to the edge of my jeans. Each touch was an inferno on my sensitive, flushed skin, that traveled down to settle into the now-constant throbbing between my legs. I craned my neck to keep watching him, even though his lustful gaze scorching my body was almost my undoing in itself. No man should look as handsome as that and then direct his full attention onto someone. I was just a mere mortal, trapped willingly beneath him, powerless to his sensuality.

I cried out softly when both of his hands teased the sides of my breasts once again and then lingered to rub small circles into the giving flesh. He was so tantalizingly close to where I wanted him, my nipples brushed against the bedspread with each shallow breath I took, but he showed no sign of giving me the relief that I so needed.

After several moments of him focusing on my sides, I groaned in frustration and shoved my forehead into the pillow beneath me. “Loki...” I pleaded.

“Yes, kitten?” he asked innocently, voice all honey and sweetness.

I squirmed beneath him, unable to voice what I wanted. My brain had melted into uselessness long ago, and I couldn’t find the courage nor the words to tell him that I just needed more. Instead, I pulled off my bra and tossed it to the side, propped myself up on my elbows, and arched my back to expose my chest to the cool air of the room. I turned my head to look at him with my bottom lip captured between my teeth. “Please.”

I felt the hard length of him twitch against my ass, and he leaned forward suddenly and pressed his entire upper body against my back. He grasped my chin with his fingers and pulled my mouth to his, coaxing my lip from between my teeth with his tongue.

Pleasure flooded my senses and I twisted beneath him--as much as I could with my hips trapped beneath his--to deepen the kiss. He tasted like the sweetest ambrosia and the most intoxicating wine as his tongue teased my own.

He lifted himself from my body only for a moment to roll me onto my back, settling back down between my legs that had opened for him of their own volition. I reached out to grip his shoulders to pull him closer to me, to stop his wanton perusal of my bare torso, but he didn’t budge.

“You are ravishing,” he growled, cursing softly into the dimly-lit room.

My hands flew to my chest to hide my goose-bump covered flesh, a sudden wave of embarrassment from his intense scrutiny rising within me. Even clothed as he was, he was still so breathtakingly perfect, and I was anything but. His hands covered mine, lacing our fingers together, and he moved them to rest on his lean thighs before releasing them.

“You will never need to hide your body from me,” he promised, staring deep into my eyes. With a groan he leaned over, cupped one of my breasts in each hand, and then took my right nipple into his mouth.

“Loki!” I cried, arching myself into his cool, wet mouth. All of his teasing had made me so sensitive, and his teeth lightly scraping against the hardened nub shot electricity straight to my clit. My fingers sought for purchase on his legs, scratching at the slippery fabric of his athletic pants as he bit down just hard enough to draw a gasp of pain from my lips before he laved the aching bud with his tongue.

“I do love the sound of my name on your lips,” he murmured hotly, moving to give equal attention to my other breast.

My hands caught the edge of his shirt and tugged roughly. It was not fair that I was the only one partially dressed. I needed to feel his skin against mine. With a flick on my nipples, he gave me what I so desperately needed and straightened to pull his shirt off.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, eyes tracing each line of muscle on his smooth chest, my nails following in their path, scratching lightly at his pale flesh. His muscles rippled beneath my touch, and there was no stopping myself from dropping my touch lower to the line of muscles at his hips that pointed to his very hard sex that was slowly grinding against my hot, wet center.

I grinned at the blush that stained his skin and the hitch in his breath when my fingertips dipped beneath the hem of his pants before moving up his body. I hooked my hands around his shoulders, pulling him down so that I could feel every ridge and hard plane of his body against the softness of mine. Every ridge. His arousal never stopped the tortuous rocking against me, and I tried rolling my hips in return, drawing a loud moan from him. His hands pressed my hips into the bed, keeping me from continuing to seek the delicious friction we both craved.

“Darling, if you do that I’m not going to be able to give you the attention you so deserve,” he ground out, digging his teeth lightly into my shoulder.

“Is that such a bad thing?” I breathed, sliding my hands beneath his pants and underwear and taking a handful of his ass to pull him down to ground harder into me.

He bit down harder, sending a shock of pain through my body that had me digging my nails into his flesh. “Patience,” he chuckled lowly, pressing open-mouthed kisses up my neck and to my ear where he nibbled on the lobe. “I want to hear you fall apart around me first.”

“Oh, fuck.” My head pressed back into the pillow behind me. He was absolutely going to kill me tonight. But what a way to go.

His lips placed wet kisses down my neck and chest as he slid down my body. I closed my eyes and tangled my hands into his hair, stifling a moan when I felt his tongue trace the edge of my pants. “May I?” he asked, and I felt him tug gently on my skin-tight jeans.

I lifted my hips for him, and he slid down my jeans and my underwear in a few quick tugs, adding them to the smattering of discarded clothing tossed around the room. Feeling the cool air of the room against my hot sex, I tried to close my knees against him, butterflies fluttering in my stomach at the thought of him seeing me so vulnerable and making me shy. His hands slid up my legs to rub small, comforting circles into my inner thighs.

“If you truly want me to stop, I will. But if you are merely shy, then let you ease your worries,” he said reverently. A sudden sharp sting erupted from my thigh as his teeth bit down on the sore, tender flesh, forcing my leg to jerk away and open for him.

“Look at me while I touch you,” he ordered, rubbing the bite with his fingers to ease the throbbing pain from his love bite.

I forced my heavy-lidded eyes open, looking at him up through my eyelashes as he knelt between my legs. I have never seen a more beautiful and more sensual sight than the god smirking up at me from between my spread thighs. His eyes flashed at the wanton need that had me buck against his fingers as he traced the line of where my hip met thigh.

God, he was gorgeous. His flushed skin slightly dampened with sweat, his piercing green eyes as he delighted every thrust and arch of my body, his sly smile as he reveled in the pleasure he knew he was the cause of. The god tantalizing me was ruining me for anyone else with each caress, forceful exhale, and kiss that he lavished upon me.

I writhed beneath him, bucking my hips to try to move his long fingers to my center. They crept closer and closer to my hardened clit, exploring my wet folds with too-light touches and strokes.

“You’re so wet, little one,” he murmured, before teasing my outer folds with a swipe of his tongue. I cried out, gripping the sheets beneath me in surprise. “And so responsive.”

When I let out a soft cry of frustration, he gave me an incredibly smug grin before finally giving me what I needed most. His thumb pressed firmly onto my clit just as two fingers slid easily into my ready and quivering opening. I jerked and moaned at the sudden influx of pleasure, attempting to close my legs around him to fight away the growing wave of ecstasy threatening to overwhelm me.

The heel of his hand ground against my clit as he adjusted himself over me, putting one forearm beside me on the bed to hold his weight as he lowered more of his body to rest enticingly against mine. His hard cock was still trapped beneath layers of frustrating fabric as it ground into my thigh. Becoming more frustrated at my rising need, at the growing ache between my thighs that overruled any soreness in my body, I slid my hands back around to grab his ass and pulled him against me, seeking any friction that I could find.

He took my lips for his own, plundering my mouth with his tongue that still tasted of my arousal. I swallowed his soft groans of pleasure, my heart fit to burst at the sensual sounds. His thumb never stopped rubbing a steady beat on my clit, matched by the curling of his two fingers inside me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge of bliss.

My body desperately sought release beneath him. My thighs shook beneath his and my muscles contracted around his fingers, trying to pull my pleasure from them. He pushed harder down onto my clit, and I threw my arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles flexing on his back in a futile attempt to stay grounded to reality.

“Don’t fight it, love. Open your eyes and let go. I want to watch you lose control,” he whispered, breaking the kiss and panting into the air between us. I did as he asked, forcing my clenched eyes open to stare into his just in front of me, our foreheads pressed together. He angled his fingers in deeper and beckoned me closer to orgasm with them. When they brushed my most sensitive inner spot, it sent me plummeting over the edge into the abyss.

I cried out my release, closing my eyes and scratching my nails into his back and clamping my thighs around his hand as I rode him to completion. The world faded away around me and I was only aware of the spasms of white-hot electricity twitching throughout me, of the wonderful fragrance of arousal and spice and sweat of his skin, the hardness of his body against mine, the heat between my legs, and his forceful exhales against my cheek as he watched me soar to heaven and then fall back down to my spent body.

Once I gathered my senses, my eyes fluttered open to see Loki pulling his fingers from his mouth with evident satisfaction. It was the most overtly sexual sight I’d seen yet, watching a man enjoy the taste of my sex on his skin. He caught me watching him and winked, standing up to finally remove the last of his clothing so that he was as bare as I was. My eyes widened as they fell on his long, hard cock twitching between his thighs. He smirked at my expression and settled back over me, propping himself up on his forearms and nudging my thighs open with his knees, resting his arousal on the outside of my folds.

“Darling, I so desire you around me, but I-”

“Drawer,” I interrupted him, excitement dancing in my stomach as I caught his meaning. It wasn’t hard to guess what he had meant, if the very hard member slowly rutting against my hot center was anything to go by.

His lean body towered over mine as he stretched out and dug around in my drawer to grab a condom from inside. I stopped his hand as he made to open it, boldly taking it from him. “May I?” I asked softly, repeating his words from earlier.

“Oh yes, darling, please,” he purred, getting up on his knees before me. I sat up in front of him, ignoring the way his eyes raked over my flesh longingly, focused only on his pleasure now.

My fingers closed hesitantly over the base of his cock, stroking the length of it lightly. His chin dropped to his chest and he let out a deep, low groan that shot straight through to my still-throbbing core. Emboldened, I dipped my head forward and dragged my tongue along the underside, and his hands fisted into my hair. I slowly slid the protection over him, taking the time to tease the flesh with my fingertips as I go along.

He was long and thick enough that when I wrapped my hand around him fully my fingers barely touched. I wasn’t sure how I was going to take him inside of me, and it must have shown on my face.

“I’ll go slow, love. If you still want to,” he assured me, giving me one last chance to change my mind. His willingness to stop when he so obviously wanted to take me as his own warmed my heart, and only made me want him more.

“Fuck me, Loki,” I sighed, hardly even recognizing the seductive depth of my voice.

With a growl he grabbed both of my hands, pinning them to the bed as he leaned his body over mine. His hot breath panted against my neck, and his hips shifted so that the very tip of him parted my soaking wet lips. I bucked my hips, desperate to have him inside of me, needing the friction he was holding back from me.

“Kitten,” he groaned, his body shaking from restraint as he slowly sheathed himself within me.

I clenched my eyes shut, feeling like he was searing me from the inside as he slid into me, inch by tantalizing inch. My breath puffed out against his shoulder as he finally settled fully within me, stretching me to my limits. It was just shy of being painful, he was so very big, and it had been a long time since I had known a man this way. My hands clung onto his as I got used to feeling so full, and I felt my muscles contract erratically, drawing a pained moan from him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and I opened my eyes to see concern flooding his perfect, flushed face.

“Yes, ugh, you are very big,” I grunted, angling my hips up against his and thrusting slowly, spurring him on.

His lips parted at the movement, and he pulled himself out gently, tugging deliciously at my inner walls, before thrusting back inside me in one smooth, fast motion.

“Fuck!” I grunted, pulling my hands away from his grasp so I could bring him down against me and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He slipped his forearms beneath my back, clutching onto my shoulders from beneath me for leverage, pulling me into him with each thrust.

He began with mind-numbingly slow thrusts, allowing me to feel every inch of him moving within me. Every breath pushed his chest against my own, my sensitive nipples rubbing against him. His low moans and shallow breaths were muffled against my neck where he left hot, open-mouthed kisses against my feverish skin. Each movement of his hips rubbed against my clit just enough to kindle the flames of my orgasm, but not enough to fully ignite within me. It was delicious torture.

“Please, Loki…” I whined, bringing my legs up to loop around his hips, urging him deeper.

He kissed the mess of scar tissue on my shoulder, breaking my heart amid all the pleasure he was subjecting me to. “Say it, love, say it for me.”

“Fuck me,” I spat through clenched teeth, any semblance of shame I once felt at my desires had shattered along with my first orgasm.

His breathing quickened against my own as he slammed into me harder, deeper, faster. His bruising fingers left my shoulders to grip onto my hips, holding me still beneath the snap of his hips against mine. The angle he set for us hit my g-spot just right, and that along with his thumb moving to rub harshly against my clit sent me hurtling towards orgasm much faster than the first. I rocked against him, holding onto him for dear life as I fought the waves of pleasure threatening to consume me.

“That’s it, love. Take everything from me,” he whispered, voice broken and hitching with each impassioned thrust. It was enough to consume me, stealing my breath and tearing a loud cry of ecstasy from me, and I bit down hard on his shoulder as I struggled to come back to reality. I vaguely registered his own deep, shuddering moan as his hips jerked into mine frantically and then slowed to a stop.

He collapsed onto his back next to me and I hissed as he slipped from my tender body. He discarded the used protection into the trashcan by my bedside and then reached over to me, guiding me to lay on top of him with my torso on his chest. He wrapped both of his arms around me and rested one hand on the small of my back, the other tracing nonsensical patterns on my upper back. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the moment, sprawled in bed with my lover, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

Because that’s what it was when you got down to it. That wasn’t some fling with a stranger from a bar, or a fuck to get it out of your system. That was more, as were most things when it came to Loki.

“How are your aches and pains now, darling?” he teased, his voice laced with exhaustion and contentment.

I reached down to pull the blankets over our bodies before stretching my arm across his chest, placing my hand over his slowing heartbeat. “Much better, thank you,” I yawned, snuggling deeper into him.

“I am pleased to have been of service. Rest now, love,” he said softly, kissing the top of my head before settling into the soft bedding himself.

“If you insist,” I cooed, already sinking into a deep sleep in the comfort of his loving embrace.

#smut #sex tw #smut tw #to keep you safe #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki/ofc #loki fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel

51 notes · View notes

darlingod · 6 years ago

Text

Jurdan Au

post wicked king, when jude comes back for cardans’s blood.

(can’t promise any grammar is correct)

I walk into the High King’s scattered room. It looks the same as it did a year ago, but it feels… different. Unfamiliar.

He’s at the end of the bed, head down as if disappointed, ashamed. Which he should be. He looks not like a king, but a boy. Something he never was. Never had the chance to be.

I wonder if he spends all of his time moping in his room like this. I hope he does.

He picks on the sides of his fingernails, a habit he may have picked up on from the time I’ve been gone.

I take an almost inaudible, but loud enough, step to show my presence. He doesn’t look up as he whispers, “Jude.” Not a question, a statement. After this long he knows it’s me. I do not know how he knows. And I also do not care.

I think.

“Hello, darling.” I mock what he once called me. I smile at him as if we were close friends. As if we didn’t hate each other. Yet he still doesn’t move. To see the High King in a state like this is odd, maybe even a little amusing. What has affected him this way? What could? He has his wine, his courtiers.

His crown.

What else more could he want and not have?

I’m suddenly hot with anger. The person in front of me has always had a gift of pissing me off all too easily. I hate myself for it. I hate him for it. My blood boils at the memories. Of the mere thought of him. “It’s been awhile,” my hatred is thankfully concealed. I cannot let him know the effect he still has on me. How angry he can make me. Any other feeling I had towards him is very, long gone. Not even the fae can see it.

His dark locks are dangling in front of his face, long but not too much longer than when I left. It seems Cardan never fails to take care of himself, no matter the circumstances.

What circumstances? He never cared. He exiled you because you are nothing to him.

I cock my head to the side, “Though, it wasn’t in any of my control since you exiled me,” he lifts his head up slowly, his hair naturally moving out of his face. His eyes drift to my finger, where the ring isn’t. His face is neutral but I can see the exhaustion. Good. “It was hard, however, nothing I couldn't handle.” I mention for no reason. I have nothing to prove to him.

Then why isn’t he in pieces on the floor already?

“You’ve always been able to handle anything.” A lie he believes. He truly believes that. I wish I could believe it too.

“You are not wrong, Your Unbearable Highness,” I don’t even attempt a courtesy, I’m too angry for dramatics.

As I said the words, his eyes lock with mine and I grin wider at the sadness I see in them. At the mess I see. He’s been terrible without me, this I know. This, I want to scream with delight.

“You won’t say my name.” he says and I fight a scowl.

“You don’t need a name,” I spit, “you have a title. One that I gave you and in return, you repaid in kind.” I say with laminated respect, still smiling. I lift my hand up and start picking at my nails, to act as though this conversation has no effect to me at all. “Banishing me was clever, more than I’d like to admit. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that you had become accustomed to playing High King, turning me blind to your talents, your desires. Well played,” I take a step toward him, our gazes still connected. I’m about to take another but his next words stop me short.

“I’m sorry.” My eyes go wide and my smile falters. I swallow hard, too shocked to do anything else. Those were the last words I thought I’d ever hear from his mouth. I almost wish he didn’t say them. Maybe I could start with cutting his tongue off. It would fix so many problems.

“What?” I question unbelievably, my voice coming out high.

“I’m so sorry, Jude,” He covers the right side of his face with a hand and wipes an eye exhaustingly and a bit dramatically.

“You don’t mean that.” I accuse and he scoffs.

“Of course I do. I cannot lie.” He snaps, obviously pissed off by the fact. He relaxes himself and drops the hand on his face. “I’ve thought about it every day since you left. I’ve thought about you every day since you left.” he quietly curses at himself.

“Since you exiled me.” I correct harshly. “Since you humiliated me in front of our court. You made me look nimble and insane. You made me look powerless.” He makes a pained face though continues.

“And you killed my brother,” I flinch as he snaps. I never intended to kill Balekin. I never intended to kill anyone. It’s not my fault the fae have a talent for underestimating me. “I had plenty of reasons to exile you. You forget, Jude, that I don’t forgive. You forget that I’m not the childish, naive boy I was a year ago,”

“And who made you who you are today? Who gave you the title you currently hold?” I question but we both already know the answer. I tell him anyway, to make him realize a mortal gave him something that he, himself, a faerie, couldn’t take. “I, a weak mortal, made the folk believe you are important. They no longer think of you stupid and foolish because of me; because of a mortal.” I push my words into his face, something I’ve always been so good at, especially with him.

He pushes back. “Does it nag at you that no one knows you are the crown?” He raises a single, dark brow. “True, they don’t see me as foolish, but they see you as that. I was not the one who was exiled, I was not the one who lost the crown. I was not the one,” he tilts his head to the side, “to lose power.” And he smiles.

The Devil smiles.

“I don’t have power? Who’s the one with the knife?” It’s my turn to grin. His black eyes start to glow. I try not to remember why.

“Beside those facts, I still hate myself everyday for what I did.” My smiles fades. “It was the most idiotic thing I have ever done, and I’ve done many idiotic things.” He admits and closes his eyes, hiding whatever he feels. If he feels at all.

“Then why’d you do it?” His eyes snap open. Now it’s his turn to be surprised.

“What?”

“Was it because I posed a threat?” I take a step closer, leaving two feet separating us. “To spare your feelings?” Another step. “Or did you always feel nothing at all?” I let my emotions get the best of me, I compose myself, empty my expression, which is something I have gotten too good at. I take my last step and lean closer to his face so we are only inches apart. He’s much taller than me but I feel as though we’re on the same level. I hope I make him feel small. “You said you had many reasons to exile me, tell me the most valuable one, the one that settled my exile.” He’ll tell me, I’m not worried about that at all.

“You want to know why I really exiled you.” his eyes fall to my lips, then to my knife, then back up to my lips.

“The High King actually listens now does he?” He raises an eyebrow. I lean back up and cross my arms. “Of course I want to know. It’s been gnawing at me ever since.” I exasperate, flinging my arms in the air. As I do, he looks uncomfortable and moves his body slightly. His eyes are on my knife and I fight the urge to laugh.

He waits a few seconds to see what I’ll do, he doesn’t move until I put the knife back into my pocket. His eyes dart up to my eyes then he says, “I did it to protect you.” Impossible. So stunningly impossible I can’t believe it. I am not able to.

But he cannot lie.

For once I wish he had the ability to.

“You were constantly getting hurt, being threatened. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to offer protection, but I would not allow my true feelings to show. Not allow you to know how I felt.” True feelings? I thought he only knew what anger and hatred were like, in those ways we were the same. He goes on, “After the Under Sea made their move and took you their prisoner, I went mad. I blamed Madoc, then myself, for not protecting you at all.” I want to scream at the memories that surface from the Under Sea.

“I never needed protection. I’m no challenged. I’m a challenge.” I pride myself, almost smiling again. But smiling is hard to do when the person you hate most stands only inches from you.

“When you were brought back to the land, and I saw you, that state you were in, I…” He looks for the words. “Hate was never such a weak word for how I felt. I wanted to rip apart the sea bit by bit. To drain the waters, or freeze it perhaps. To destroy it all whole at least.

They kept you in that dress.” His voice softly breaks. “It didn’t fit you as nearly as it had used to, you were more of a hanger for it. So frail; your rib cage was sticking out too far, as if they never fed you. Which I doubt they did.” He says bitterly. “It completely and utterly destroyed me.” He glares at me. “You destroy me.” Distaste covers his face. “And that was it for me. I was so sick of everything terrible happening to you. Sick of people using you against me.

So I began planning,” He sits up straighter. “I thought of all I could, Jude. Trust me. I want nothing more for you to stay with me. I needed you by my side, especially then. But only one idea was the most reasonable, most effective.” Exile.

Words do not find their way to my mouth.

“I’m truly sorry. You killed my brother and I still cared. I even thought you’d be glad to be sent away to your home, to be rid of ever seeing me again. Then you cried and I acted like it didn’t affect me at all. Acting is very easy when you convince yourself it’s not an act.” I know that, I’ve done it plenty of times.

I take a step back. “Did you know how miserable I was?” I shout. “How horrifying it was to be forced to go back to the home that I witnessed my parents murdered? My memories had never been so frightening. I have never been more terrified in my entire life.

I never got to know them, Cardan! I never got to love them enough. Do you know what I did get?” I yell, not intending for a reply from him. “To know what it’s like to feel absolutely nothing at all,” tears start to fall from my face, I don’t don’t have the strength to wipe them. “I never got to experience what loving was like, to be loved. I never had the chance to be a child.” I cry. “The chance to be human. I’ve never had the chance for anything, my life was fated illy.” I stay quiet a few seconds, then, “I miss them so much, everyday. I think about how I could’ve stopped it. Yelled at my father to stop or to stop my mother. Or hurt Madoc. But I just stood there, not able to do anything.” I choke out. “In the end,” I inhale slowly, trying to steady my breath. “I am always powerless.”

I don’t realize I’ve fallen to the ground, Cardan in front of me, hand cupping my cheek, eyes filled with too much real emotion that I decide not to place. “Don’t touch me.” I swat his hand away and wipe my tears, only to see him crying as well.

Cardan.

Crying.

I’ve always been so delusional.

“Stop it.” I demand. Confusion strikes his devastating face. “You don’t cry. You don’t feel anything at all.”

“You’d be surprised how I feel.” He seethes, wiping his fallen tears.

“Well then,” I say, wiping all emotion from my words. We both stand up, Cardan eyes me suspiciously. I whip out my knife faster than he can detect and push him against the hard wall, blade to his throat. “Give me a reason not to kill you,” I don’t know if I’m begging him or not.

“Oh I have no reason, though, I feel as though I need to tell you something.” I shrug, lacking care. I think.

“It’s too bad I wasn’t planning on keeping you alive either way.” I make a move to cut him-

“I love you.” I jump back immediately, as if he was the one with a knife to my throat. My knife flies into the wall, where his head just was.

Cardan stares endlessly at me. As if he can’t believe his words either.

“No you don’t,” is all I say, all I can say.

“I wouldn’t allow myself have it be true. But when I banished you, the way I felt… I knew. I knew and I thought I was going to die.” I almost laugh. “No, I knew long before that,”

“You’ve found a way to lie.” I say, stunned.

“Oh dear Jude, if I had we would definitely not be having this conversation.”

69 notes · View notes

spookykittenwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Not Nearly Deserving Enough, Just Deserving Too Much

[Anduin Wrynn/Mathias Shaw - Explicit - Fluff, Rough Sex, Name-Calling]

Anduin hides from his 18th name day celebration, still mourning his father and reeling from the war with the Legion. Shaw finds him and comforts him in ways neither of them expected to come to be, but both thoroughly enjoy nonetheless.

- Read on AO3 - (see here for warnings and tags)

The evening-darkened halls of Stormwind Castle’s upper floors were, in Mathias Shaw’s professional and personal opinion, far too shadowed and easy to sneak through unnoticed. Currently, however, his need to go unnoticed outweighed his concern. The Legion was defeated, their homes and families safe once again, and the city was holding a festival to honor those lost, celebrate their victory, and congratulate the King on his 18th name day. And yet, for all King Anduin Wrynn loved his people, and had every reason to take a night to celebrate as a young man should, he was nowhere to be seen.

This had happened before, of course, when one of the Alliance’s heroes had brought Anduin his father’s broken compass that they had recovered from the Broken Shore, and then the young King retreated to the cathedral for a concerning length of time to try and find peace. This time, however, Shaw suspected Anduin had not retreated to a place so public where he might be recognized and asked to join the festivities, and was much more likely hiding in or around the castle observatory that had fallen out of use since Tiffin’s death. While he’d kept it a secret from his father, Anduin had been as fond of the stars as his mother and used to sneak into the observatory as a child. Since becoming King he had it restored, though rarely staffed, and often went there to escape his duties as King and the lingering ghost of his father when he couldn't bear either. Today, likely the cause was both.

Shaw approached quietly and paused at the door, listening for sounds. A loud crash from within and what sounded like a sob drew him in before he could think, breaking his stealth as he opened and closed the door and rushed to the weeping form of his King on his knees on the marble floor.

“What’s wrong, my Liege?” he was at his side in an instant and Anduin jumped at his sudden appearance.

“When did you get here, Shaw?” he asked, looking up from the floor with tears streaking his cheeks.

“Just now, I was worried about you so I thought I’d look for you here.”

Anduin huffed, “Of course you know where I’d go to hide from all that nonsense about my name day. I suppose I’d be disappointed in your skills as a spymaster if you didn’t, but I am irritated you didn’t seem to get that I’m here to be alone.”

“I’m more than aware that you seek solitude, my King. I’m here to remind you that your duty is to be with your people today,” Shaw informed him, but seeing his despair at the thought amended, “You need to make an appearance, anyway.”

“Why, Shaw? What the fuck is the point? Of any of this?” Anduin just shook his head, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “They’re all out there celebrating my 18th name day as if we didn’t lose our King, as if we didn’t lose so many of our forces… as if I didn’t lose my father . How am I supposed to celebrate finally being an ‘adult’ when I’ve had to be one through so much tragedy already?”

He sounded heartbroken, and it was killing Shaw inside to have to insist that he leave this small bubble of peace he had built for himself. Carefully preparing something to say that would comfort him and convince him to leave, Anduin interrupted him before he could even speak, “I was supposed to do this with him, Mathias, how the fuck am I supposed to do it alone?”

“Genn’s here and Jaina’s even come for the festival. You’re not alone, my King.”

“But they’re not here. And don’t call me that, I am hardly fit to be King right now.”

“You are fit to be a King, and you're a good one at that. You know how to take advice and listen to council and that is in my experience the most important skill a King can possess,” Shaw replied, trying despite the intimacy of the gesture to wipe the tears from his King’s face.

Anduin recoiled from his touch, “We won this war with the Legion but at what cost, Shaw? And if it wasn’t for Illidan’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have won anyhow. So what use am I to my people?”

“No less use than Sylvanas is to hers, seeing as she could not achieve any more for the Horde than you could for the Alliance,” Shaw hoped the sentiment would comfort him, but it just seemed to set him more on edge.

“I understand what you’re trying to say, Shaw, but I don't want to be compared to her.”

“I’m sorry, my King.”

“Don’t call me that!” Shaw was almost as shocked by the tone of command in his voice as he was by the immediate sobbing he fell into afterwards.

“I’m sorry.” Shaw quickly calculated, and took a risk, “I’m here, Anduin.”

He reached out slowly, the way one does to a scared stray animal and felt the tension in his chest release when Anduin leaned into his touch this time. Wiping the tears from his cheeks he was briefly struck by how much this “boy” was turning into a man, what was probably a day of stubble scratching against his bare palms, and his jaw and nose were more pronounced in close proximity than they seemed from afar.

“You’re beautiful,” the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them but with the way the man’s pupils dilated and his cheeks flushed, Shaw doubted Anduin cared.

“Mathias,” Anduin murmured, and then he was grasping the front of Shaw’s armor and tugging him into a kiss.

He should stop him, must stop him really, but the thought was secondary to the warmth of Anduin’s lips pressing against his own, the slick heat of a tongue sliding along his bottom lip and the soft sigh the man made when he did it, and Shaw found himself powerless to resist. Moving his hands, which still rested on the sides of Anduin’s face, around to the sides of his neck he angled Anduin’s head to kiss him deeper, slipping his tongue between the young man’s lips when he opened them at his prompting. Fuck he was barely a man, just coming of age that day, but he was also his king, his ruler, and who was he to deny him this, or anything really.

Almost as if reading his mind, Anduin pulled back just a hair, swallowing audibly, “Mathias, I want this, I want you. But I need to know you don’t think I’m ordering you? You… you can leave, if that’s what you want.”

“I should… we can’t do this, Anduin, it’s not right,” but he didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want to give up the warmth and weight of the man in front of him.

“I didn’t ask if it was right, Mathias, I asked if you wanted it. Do you want me? Do you want to be here with me?”

“Yes,” came his immediate and entirely truthful response, because he did want this, wanted it more than he could fathom for all its absurdity, and he knew he could never lie to Anduin. Then, a thought occurred to him, “And what do you want, Anduin?”

“I…” he bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed, “I’ve never…”

That, Shaw knew, but he could tell the man was uncomfortable talking about it and he didn’t push the issue, “Doesn’t mean you don’t want things.”

“Heh, yeah I guess not,” Anduin paused, as if trying to find words. “I want you to fuck me.”

Shaw suddenly felt dizzy from how quickly the blood from his head rushed to his groin. Oh, but he wanted that, and he wanted it desperately, “Yeah, yes, Anduin, I can do that.” He peppered kissing along the column of his throat, “Anything else?”

“Yeah but I’m… I’m not sure how to ask without sounding crazy?” Anduin’s eyelids were fluttering beautifully at the small kisses but he still seemed nervous and tense.

“Try, and I won’t judge you if you sound insane. I promise.” He suckled a little on the skin over his rapid pulse and Anduin whined high in his throat. Beautiful, Shaw thought, and pressed the word into the soft flesh in front of him with this teeth.

“Hurt me? Please?” Anduin asked, small and shy sounding around the little moans he kept making.

Shaw pulled away to look at him, unsure, “What do you mean by that? I want to understand so I don’t do something you don’t want.”

“I’m not really sure I just… I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I don’t know how to explain it,” Anduin seemed to consider for a moment, “Sorry I know that isn’t clear.”

Resisting the need to sigh, Shaw pulled away and positioned them sitting with just a little distance between their crossed legs, “Do you mean you want me to be cruel to you? To mock you and laugh at you?”

A flash of hurt, genuine and unrestrained, crossed Anduin’s face and Shaw knew he’d missed the mark even before the man was shaking his head, “No, no. Please don’t do that, I don't think I could take you being well… I suppose I did ask you to hurt me but, no, I don’t mean emotionally.”

“So nothing verbal then? No name calling or humiliation?” Shaw waited for him to shake his head again, but he didn’t, seeming to pause at something. “What is it Anduin?”

“Name calling?”

“Yeah. Some people like being called derogatory terms in bed.”

“Like? Could you give me an example?”

“Well, the first thing that comes to mind would be whore , but it could be anything that would be considered offensive really.”

The blush that had been fading from his pale cheeks returned full force and Anduin’s eyes went just a little glassy, “Um.. right. That might, um, might be good for me. Please. But I… I think I want to be, I don’t even know if this makes sense, but good .”

Shaw cocked an eyebrow, lowering his voice just a hair to a deeper timber, “Do you want to be a good little whore for me, boy?”

And maybe the ‘boy’ part was a bit much, but it felt right when he said it, and if the way Anduin’s lids fluttered and he whined high in his throat was any indication, he liked it too. Anduin nodded vigorously, “Please.”

He was leaning forward, one hand reaching out for him but Shaw stopped him, “Wait.” Authority laced his words and Anduin’s whole body froze in response, “We aren’t done discussing this yet. Okay?”

“Okay,” Anduin replied, sitting back and knitting his hands together in his lap. He seemed impatient but like he was paying attention. Good enough.

“You said you wanted to be hurt but not verbally. Did you mean physically then?” He asked.

“Yes please,” and wasn’t that something, to have this beautiful young man asking him so politely to hit him.

“How? Do you want me to bite you? Scratch you? Pull your hair?”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes please.”

“Hmm,” Shaw considered for a moment whether it was more than he wanted to offer, “And your thoughts on spanking?”

“ Please ,” Anduin wheezed, leaning forward a hint before correcting himself and sitting back up straight, looking almost pained at the distance between them.

“Good. Good boy, come here,” Shaw praised, guiding him into his lap and pulling him into a kiss.

He let his hand thread through soft blond hair and, just as Anduin tried to deepen the kiss, tugged just hard enough to give him a jolt. Anduin moaned, full voiced and trembling, into the space between them, and Shaw slipped his mouth down to nip at his jaw. Every nip, every gentle bite hard enough to feel but not enough to bruise, every tug on his golden locks had Anduin shaking in his lap, and as he trailed his lips further down his neck to where the collar of his shirt would hide a mark and bit down hard, the younger man’s hips jerked.

Shaw suckled the skin near his collarbone, rejoicing in the way Anduin shook, the way his hips ground forward against his own groin needily, the way his voice pitched and broke with every moan that escaped his lips. He was beautiful, stunning, sublime in his lap, a holy thing more than worthy of worship and oh, did he intend to bathe him in his love. Pulling away elicited a desperate whine from Anduin, but it ended when Shaw shifted them to lay him down on his back. “I’m going to undress you now. If you want me to stop at any point you tell me, alright?”

“Yes, I will,” Anduin nodded at him, mussing his hair against the plush rug he was laid out on.

“Good boy,” Shaw smirked at the little groan the praise made rise from his lips, and began undressing him.

Trying his best to go slow was torturous, but he wanted to give Anduin time to back out of each garment being removed just in case. Starting with his boots, unlacing them patiently and slipping them off his surprisingly delicate feet, he placed them off to the side along with his socks. He placed a kiss to the arch of each foot, earning him a giggle from the younger man.

“Your mustache tickles,” he half-whispered, voice mostly relaxed but for a small hint of tension underneath that sounded like nerves.

“Sorry,” he wasn’t sorry, really, and did it again, smiling when Anduin full on laughed and tried to pull his leg away. Shaw let him and moved forward to start untucking and unbuttoning his shirt. Focusing on the buttons one by one and keeping the tremble of excitement out of his fingers with the practice only one so skilled in lockpicking might possess, he slowly divested Anduin of his shirt and pulled him up to a sitting position briefly to pull it away. Anduin leaned forward and kissed him while he was sitting up and Mathias allowed it, returning it with fervor.

He put his palm to the warm bared skin of Anduin’s chest and pressed him back, “Lie back now, boy. Let me take care of you.”

Anduin whimpered and did as he was asked, and Shaw kissed a line down from his sternum to the softness of his lower belly, nipping and biting the skin as he went. He nuzzled into the soft flesh as his fingers pried the button and laces of his pants open, biting down and sucking hard right above the hem of his trousers hoping to leave a bruise. Laces undone, he drew away to tug them down and felt like he’d been shocked at the sight of the man naked beneath them.

“Well, aren’t you the little whore, not even wearing underwear? Did you hope someone would stumble upon you and punish you for evading the festivities with a cock in you? Is that it, hmm?” He reached out and pushed one of his thighs toward his chest, running his thumb over the wet dampness of curls between his legs. “And so wet and eager for me already, what a good whore.”

Shaw flung the pants away somewhere to the side, then went right back to where he’d settled himself between the man’s lean legs, enjoying the musky, salty smell of his sex. He spread him with one thumb and leaned in to dip his tongue in to taste him. Anduin jolted, voice pitching into a whine and thighs tensing, “Oh fuck please.”

“Patience, whore,” he commanded, then carded the fingers of his free hand through the thick blond hair around his cunt, tugging lightly just to watch Anduin squirm, and using his thumb to draw back the hood to his cock. This time he licked all the way up from his entrance to the hard, engorged flesh and drew it into his mouth, smirking around it as Anduin shook, hands fisted in the rug and voice cracking as he moaned.

So fucking sublime, he though to himself, watching Anduin fall apart as he repeated the action, then again, before settling himself down a little further and thrusting his whole tongue into Anduin, feeling his own cock twitch in his pants when he clenched down on the intrusion. He kept the thrusts slow but deep, curling his tongue to find the one spot that would make him scream and thumbing over his cock at the same slow pace, and Anduin’s sounds rose in pitch and volume rapidly, leg physically trembling against Shaw’s shoulder as he got closer to orgasm.

Not wanting to pull away, Shaw released his grip on Anduin’s leg and searched around on the ground for the other man’s hand, placing it on the back of his thigh, hoping he would understand what he meant for him to do. He did, thankfully, and when Anduin’s grip on his own leg tightened Shaw moved his hand away and plunged two fingers inside him along with his tongue. Anduin screamed, a cracked, shrill sound that made Shaw’s cock absolutely ache, and gushed into his mouth.

Mathias continued though gentled his ministrations through the aftershocks and pulsing of his cunt, enjoying the heady, musky taste of Anduin’s pleasure, not letting up until the man whimpered and tried to nudge him away with his free leg. He pulled back, satisfied with himself at the wrecked state the younger man was is, hair tousled from where he’d been gripping it and scratches on the back of his thigh from where he’d dug his nails into the flesh.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck Mathias.”

He chuckled and used the hand that wasn’t covered in Anduin’s come to lift his free leg to his lips and kissed the inside of his knee, watching him carefully, “Ready to keep going?”

“I… Soon, just give me a few seconds,” Anduin’s eyes strayed to the way Shaw’s cock strained against the front of his leathers, looking almost apologetic.

Shaw placed a finger under his chin and raised his face to look him in the eyes, “Don’t worry about me, I’ll get mine, I’m sure.”

“Right… Okay. I think I’m good just be gentle?”

“Okay, but I have a question for you first.” Anduin looked at him curiously and he leaned down to cover the smaller man’s torso with his own, damp mouth brushing his ear and voice returning to a huskier timber of command, “Does it make you hot that I have you spread out on the floor naked like a common street whore during Midsummer when I’m fully clothed?”

Anduin choked, “I… I, oh fuck yes, yes, it does. I like being your whore.”

“You like knowing you’re just a pretty little toy for me to pleasure myself with?” he asked, digging his nails into Anduin’s hips as hard as he dared and dragging them along the skin, raising welts as they went. “You like feeling powerless in my hands? Knowing that I can do whatever I want to you if it makes me feel good?”

“Yes, I… please, please just fuck me. Please.” Anduin was panting, eyes screwed shut and back arched from just that simple touch. Clearly he liked pain more than Shaw had anticipated. Interesting.

“Needy little whore, aren’t you? If you need my cock so bad you’re gonna have to work for it bitch. Turn over.” He slapped the outside of his thigh and backed away enough that Anduin could reposition himself on his stomach, which he did with eagerness, “Good whore, keep it up and I might just let you come again.”

He let his hand fall a little more harshly than he normally would have dared on one of his asscheeks and smirked when Anduin arched his back and moaned in response, “Up on your knees, boy, I want that cunt on display for me.”

Anduin did as he was told, propping his weight up on his knees and arching his back in a sultry display of want. Mathias reached out and massaged his ass roughly with one hand, spreading him so that his other hand could slip two fingers in with ease. The younger man was soaked and he squelched around his fingers as they pumped in and out of his body, which probably should have been gross but instead it only served to remind Shaw of just how much he wanted him and how ready he was for his cock. He added a third finger, spreading them wider to stretch him as they left his body with each thrust of his hand, and watched how the boy quivered under his hands with rapture.

He took the hand off Anduin’s ass to squeeze himself in his leathers, hips jolting forward without his full consent, then worked to release his cock from the confines of his clothes. After a moment of uncharacteristic fumbling he succeeded, and pumped his cock a few times to spread the precum gathered at the head over his shaft and brought it to line up with Anduin’s entrance. Pulling his fingers out of Anduin and spreading the slick on them over his cock as well, he paused with the head pressed against his body, “You sure you want this, Anduin? You can’t take it back once it’s done.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I want it, Mathias, please. Please fuck me?” he was trembling but even still reached his hands back to spread his hole open, managing to slip Shaw into his body just an inch with the position he was in but he moaned loud against the rug nonetheless.

Mathias shot his hand forward to catch Anduin’s hip, holding him in place, “If you’re sure.” And then he started to enter him properly, slow and steady despite every instinct telling him to just fuck into him with abandon. He was hot inside and so, so slick. “Perfect, you’re perfect, Anduin. Fuck. So good for me, such a good little whore. My good boy.”

Anduin whined as he entered his body, spine arching so much it looked painful, but the way he clawed at the rug beneath him and the way his toes curled told Shaw that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Once fully seated, he gave himself a second or two to calm the racing in his blood and get a better hold of his inhibitions, but then he started to move and it slipped from his grip like dry sand. His hips moved of their own volition, nails digging into the fat at Anduin’s hips and raking harsh lines that felt like ownership on the pale skin, and leaning over him somewhat precariously to dig his teeth into the flesh of his neck.

He moved one hand to the floor next to Anduin’s head to steady himself and fucked into him harder, each thrust loud and harsh in the quiet observatory, and when it still didn’t feel like quite enough he laced his other hand through the boy’s hair and pulled him up from the floor at an arch that tightened his body around his cock deliciously. Anduin put a hand down to help support himself, using the extra support to gain enough leverage to push back into each of Shaw’s thrust, and suddenly he found himself dangerously close to the edge.

“Touch yourself,” he grunted, tugging on Anduin’s hair sharply and smirking at the way he gasped in response.

He did, and something about feeling the way his shoulder flexed with the movement against his own bicep where they pressed together was absurdly hot and Shaw felt himself stumbling toward orgasm faster and faster. “Come on whore, come for me.” A solid tug on his hair, “ Come.”

And with a cry that broke into silence as his whole upper body, voice and all, gave, he did. Anduin shook, whole body trembling and pulled taut as a leather band ready to snap, and the rhythmic clenching of his cunt around Mathias’s cock sent him right over the edge with him. He had half a mind to pull out, but he couldn’t control himself well enough in time as his body threw itself into pleasure, and he collapsed forward onto Anduin with a shout that faded into a wheezy groan as his cock twitched and unloaded into the smaller man. His King , his brain reminded him suddenly, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care as Anduin’s body quivered and shook around his cock and in his arms.

He let himself down as slowly as he could with muscles that felt half-liquid and came to rest on his side next to Anduin on the rug, pulling his still-mostly-hard cock out as he went and they both groaned at the feeling. Anduin collapsed onto his front, then looked over at him and dragged his body over to drape across Shaw’s chest.

“Thanks,” he muttered, almost seeming embarrassed.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Shaw replied, bringing a hand up to run through Anduin’s hair. “You were incredible Anduin, fucking incredible.”

Anduin hummed, running his hands along the lines of the front of Shaw’s armor, “Is it weird that I wish you were naked now that we’re not fucking even if I liked you being dressed when you were railing me?”

“Not at all. Do you want me to undress?” He meant it fully, of course. He would do anything Anduin asked of him right now, and if he was being honest he was missing the skin on skin contact too.

“No, I think I’d rather get dressed to even us out. It’s kind of cold in here actually, now that I’m not distracted,” he laughed a little, more of a huff than anything, but Shaw felt endeared nonetheless.

“Fair enough, let me help you,” he sat up and reached out for the younger man’s shirt, handing it to him before tucking his own dick away and going in search of his pants. He found them draped half over a table in the corner, and carefully extracted them without knocking anything on said table over. When he returned with them Anduin was finishing buttoning his shirt closed and he took the pants with a smile but no words, getting dressed silently from there.

As they both finished fixing their appearances their eyes met in the dim room and something bubbled in the room that tasted like the last remnants of pleasure and good humor, and they both started giggling like children. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve done since I let Edwin talk me into giving him a blowjob under the stairs at the Pig and Whistle,” Shaw admitted, and Anduin smiled at him softly.

He approached and pulled him into a kiss that was far too gentle and attached for what this should have been left as, “I know we shouldn't have, and definitely shouldn’t again, but…” he looked away for a moment, “But I don’t want this to be it. I’m sure I’m just being sentimental because it’s my first time and all…”

“No, you’re not. There isn’t much I want more in this world right now than an easy retirement and to keep you as my own. I’m… I’m sorry that can’t be real, Anduin,” Shaw tipped his face up and kissed him all soft and meaningful again, just enough heat to show him how much he still wanted him despite the fact that it couldn’t be.

“I suppose you have to drag me to this damn carnival now, don’t you?”

“Genn will get suspicious if I don’t,” he explained only half apologetic.

Anduin sighed, “Well, at least I’m more relaxed now.” Then he smiled at Shaw, through his lashes and looking coy as hell, “Thank you for your service, spymaster.”

He choked, “Always a pleasure to service the crown, my Liege.”

Anduin laughed, leaning up to kiss him one more time before heading to the door, “Let’s get going then. If we’re lucky we’ll make it there before Genn starts interrogating people about my whereabouts.”

Shaw chuckled, and followed behind, unable to help the way his eyes were drawn to the King’s ass as he walked.

#world of warcraft #world of warcraft fanfiction #anduin wrynn #mathias shaw #trans anduin wrynn #trans smut by a trans author

1 note · View note

hysterialevi · 6 years ago

Text

When the Devil Cries pt. 6

Author’s note: The gang’s first robbery! Enjoy :)

From Eddie’s POV

SAINT DENIS, RYAN RESIDENCE

THAT NIGHT

“Don’t think too much about it,” Arthur’s gentle voice replayed in my mind. “Just aim, breathe in, and...”

A smile crept onto my face at the sweet memory whilst I sat at the piano, examining the gun he bought for me earlier.

Arthur was kind enough to gift me a beautiful Schofield revolver that had been decorated with a sleek rosewood varnish, brass frame, and blue-steel barrel. I also decided to purchase a carving of a buck on the grip, just to give it a personal touch, and hadn’t been able to stop staring at it since.

It truly was a gorgeous weapon, and it would always bring me pleasant thoughts of the day I got it...but even then, I hoped I’d never have to use it. Things were crazy enough for me in Saint Denis, what with all the chaos in my life. The last thing I wanted was to be forced to shoot someone.

But I supposed Arthur was right in the end: it never hurt to be armed.

“Oh God, Eddie...” I muttered to myself in embarrassment, thinking back to when Arthur taught me how to shoot a gun. “...You absolute moron.”

The man actually had to hold my arms in place because I was just that clueless.

He was so kind during the process, and showed no signs of impatience, but I didn’t even want to think about how much of an idiot Arthur must’ve thought I was.

I mean, it didn’t take much to see that he was insanely experienced with firearms. He handled guns better than an author handled a pen...and to see someone like me attempt to shoot one -- Arthur probably wanted to use me as the target.

Well, no. He probably didn’t.

Arthur was genuinely kind, unlike most of the other people I’d met. I could see it in his eyes, even though he spoke so lowly of himself.

He claimed he was a bad man, and yet he offered me help every time we ran into each other. I’d never seen him commit an immoral act, and he seemed to actually care about people, despite how much they might’ve annoyed him sometimes.

Deep down, he had a heart of gold. And I didn’t know what Arthur’s idea of “bad” was, but it certainly didn’t match mine.

Putting the revolver away, I returned to the piano and flipped through my notes, hoping to get in some last-minute practice. It wasn’t my first time performing in front of a large crowd, and I had been through this before, but I still found myself rather nervous about the show to come. After all, the entirety of the audience’s focus would be on me, and I just prayed I wouldn’t screw it up under the stress. I couldn’t afford to.

Relaxing my hands, I began to play the same melody I performed for Arthur the other day as my fingers danced across the keys, causing me to think back to the portrait the man had made of me.

Even though I had my suspicions Arthur was somewhat of an artist, I didn’t expect him to be that skilled. The portrait had a surprising amount of detail in it along with a rough but beautiful technique of shading, and it almost felt like I was staring at a mirror.

He even scribbled down a few words underneath the drawing with a type of handwriting I never thought I’d see from a man of his background, and wrote out the words I said to him when he came to my house.

Arthur truly was a marvel. The kind of man that only appeared once in a lifetime.

I just never thought it’d be during mine.

“...Ah, there you are.”

Jumping at the sudden voice, I instantly retreated my hands from the piano as if I were touching a hot stove, whipping around to see who had paid me a visit at this late hour.

A sense of anxiety began to inflate inside me upon seeing my guest’s face as I slowly dragged down the piano’s lid, clearing my throat in an awkward manner before greeting them.

“...Thatcher,” I said, averting my gaze from the man. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Evidently not,” Middleton replied, prowling into the room. “I wanted to discuss the matter we were talking about earlier, when your...friend interrupted us.”

I glanced out the window, peering into the night’s blackness.

“...Now? Isn’t it a bit late?”

Thatcher helped himself to a glass of wine before having a seat in the same chair Arthur used, his lifeless, smoke-colored eyes never leaving me.

“Well, I would’ve come earlier, but seeing as how you were out gallivanting all day, I didn’t exactly have the chance. Did you have fun with Mister Morgan? He certainly seems like...quite the riveting character.”

I hesitated to answer.

“...What do you want, Thatcher?”

Middleton took a sip, studying me for a moment with an astute glare before responding.

“...I want my money, Edward. The money that you said you’d repay ages ago. The money that I can easily get from Rose if you aren’t around anymore. Only...he won’t give it to me if he finds out you’re still alive.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “For someone who claims to be his own man, you certainly are loyal to that rat.”

I rested my elbows on my knees. “Look, I’m trying my best here, Thatcher. I said I’d pay you back and I will. But you keep asking for money when I have none to give. I just need some time. And patience. Fortunately for the both of us, the profit from tomorrow’s show should pay off the debt. And then our business will finally be concluded.”

Middleton lightly drummed his fingers against his wine glass, emitting a series of soft but sharp clinks.

“Good,” he said, his calm yet guttural voice rumbling in his throat. “Because I’m done waiting, Mister Ryan. If I don’t get my money soon, I might just have to finish the job, and bring Atticus Rose the blood he paid for.”

“I understand,” I reiterated. “Just...please. Give me some more time. I don’t have the money yet, but I will soon. All I need is a while longer. I beg you.”

I actually felt ashamed saying those words, and frowned upon myself for behaving in such a manner.

Good god, I hated begging like this. It made me feel so weak. So helpless. It was humiliating. And all for what? The empty promise of survival? For all I knew, Middleton could’ve been planning to kill me after collecting my debt anyways. He’d never have to tell anyone about our little deal, and he’d get double the reward from Atticus just for bringing my head.

I had lured myself into a trap like the fool I was, and as far as I could tell, there was no way out of it.

What the hell was I supposed to do next?

Considering my offer, Thatcher furrowed his brows in thought as he downed the rest of his wine, afterwards setting the glass down and silently heading for the door.

The man didn’t say anything, and the only thing that could be heard at the moment was the soft thud of his shoes hitting the floor, but I could still tell there were about a thousand different thoughts tangling inside his head.

I didn’t know why Thatcher was bothering to show me any mercy. He could’ve just put a bullet in my head here and now, and put an end to this...game. But for whatever reason, the assassin had decided to spare me in exchange for money, and pretend like I never even existed so long as he got the reward he was promised. It made me wonder if there were any ulterior motives behind his actions, and frankly, I was terrified to find out.

Middleton took one last look at me before showing himself out, pointing up a single finger.

“...One day,” he settled. “That’s it. One more day to live, or to pay. The outcome depends on you entirely, Eddie.”

I reluctantly agreed with the extension, silently cursing Thatcher for his endless cruelty. I wanted more than nothing to break out of the leash he had around my neck, but I knew I was powerless to do so. After all, I was no match for a man such as Middleton.

He had killed dozens of people in the past, and if I even attempted to fight back, I knew damn well that Thatcher would easily send me to an early grave.

Good lord...part of me kind of wished I had allowed Middleton to kill me back in England.

A defeated breath escaped me. “...Very well,” I replied. “One more day.”

Thatcher seemed pleased.

For now.

“Good. Otherwise, you know what happens. Until then, farewell, Mister Ryan. I’m glad we could come to an understanding. I just hope you can come through with it. ...For your sake.”

From Arthur’s POV

THE NEXT EVENING

SHADY BELLE

“Well, well, well!” Dutch exclaimed in an impressed tone, eyeing me up and down as he waved a cigar around. “Look at you, big man! You know, you don’t look half bad when you’re not covered in blood. Half of you is all I can see most of the time. Hah!”

I adjusted the ascot tie clinging around my neck, attempting to give myself some room to breathe as I squirmed in my suit.

A noose would’ve honestly been preferable at this point.

“Is this really necessary, Dutch?” I questioned, feeling like a pompous idiot.

“We want to grab as little attention as possible on this heist,” he reminded. “That means we have to fit in. Especially you and Mary-Beth. So yes, it is necessary.”

I shrugged. “...Fine. So, is the plan still the same?”

Dutch nodded. “Most of it, yes. The only thing I’ve decided to change is your role in this. Instead of pretending to be a couple out to see a show, you and Mary-Beth are gonna wear some masks that Charles and I snatched. The same masks that the actors will be wearing.”

I felt my heart stop. “The actors? Oh lord, Dutch. Please don’t tell me...”

He let out a guffaw. “Have no fear, son. You won’t be going on stage. I just need you and Mary-Beth to pretend like you’re a pair of actors who were...late to the show or something. Just keep the clerk distracted. Meanwhile, Bill will sneak into the ticket office from behind and...‘convince’ them to hand over every single dollar sittin’ in that register. When that’s done, the three of you will meet Charles outside. He’ll have a stagecoach ready to go once you’ve got the money, and then all of you will get the hell outta there.”

“And if somethin’ goes wrong?” I asked.

“Then we do whatever we must to escape. But the ideal outcome here is: no one dies, and we’re out of the theater before anyone even figures out what happened. If the law does somehow get alerted though, do not head straight back to camp, and split up. Understand?”

“Got it.”

Dutch patted me on the shoulder. “Then I wish you good luck. Oh, and put this on.”

Handing over one of the most flamboyant accessories I’ve ever seen, Dutch presented a porcelain mask decorated with bold jewels, paint, and feathers...as if to rub salt into my wounds.

I took the hideous thing into my hands, observing it with a face of fear as it stared back at me.

“If I had any good luck I wouldn’t be wearin’ this as a robbery mask.”

“Oh, just wait ‘till you see what Mary-Beth has to wear. You’ll be forgiving me later.”

I slipped the mask inside my overcoat. “The money will be forgiveness enough.”

He chuckled. “That it will. Well, be careful today, Arthur. And keep your wits about you. This job should be easy enough to pull off, but you know what they say. Expect the unexpected.”

I waved goodbye to Dutch, heading out to find Mary-Beth.

“That’s all I expect.”

ONE HOUR LATER

Squeezing myself into the stagecoach while Charles climbed up top, I found myself sharing a bit too much room with Bill as the both of us were forced to practically touch knees, barely able to fit in this box with wheels.

“And people say I'm grumpy.” I remarked, noticing the less than happy expression on Bill’s face.

“Shut up, Morgan.” He snapped back.

“Hey,” I replied with a chuckle, “at least you got the honors of wavin’ a gun around. Dutch wants me to keep mine holstered. All I get to do is stand there...and let the clerk gawk at me.”

Williamson rested a hand on his knee. “I’m surprised Dutch even let me take the money on this one. Usually, he always puts you in charge of emptying the register. Or the vault. Or pockets. Or whatever it is we’re stealin’ from.”

I leaned back in my seat, doing my best to get comfortable for the ride ahead.

“Well, Dutch did say the best way to pull off this mission is to fit in. And no offense, Bill, but...you kinda scare the shit outta people.”

Bill scoffed. “And you don’t?”

I let out a sigh. “Oh, I will once I put this mask on. Looks like someone skinned the devil.”

Williamson crossed his arms and stared out the tiny window. “At least you’ll have no issues fittin’ in, then.”

“Heh. That I won’t.”

Opening the stagecoach’s door, Mary-Beth joined the conversation as she plopped herself next to me, showing the most amount of excitement out of all of us. There was a certain spark in her eyes that made it look like she hadn’t stepped outside for ages, and she certainly seemed much more relaxed. Well, at least one of us was happy.

“Hello, fellas.” She greeted, tidying her gown.

“Hey there, Mary-Beth,” I responded. “You seem eager to get to work.”

“Oh, I am. This is the first big heist I’ve done in months. I’m just so glad Dutch chose me to come along with you boys. If I had stayed in camp for another minute, I might’ve lost my mind.”

Bill adjusted his suit. “You’ll lose it much faster out there.”

I smiled at Mary-Beth. “Well, I look forward to hearin’ your retelling of this one at the campfire.”

The young woman smirked. “It was just the three of us, sneakin’ our way under the moonlight’s dreamy gaze as we prepared to rob the grandest theater in all o’ Saint Denis...”

Bill grumbled. “...and we looked like fuckin’ idiots.”

We all chortled at that as the stagecoach began to move, prompting us to put our gear on.

“Alright,” I said with a soft laugh. “Enough of that. Get your masks on, people. The theater ain’t far from here.”

Mary-Beth followed my instructions and slipped hers on, causing my eyes to widen out of surprise.

“Jesus -- Dutch weren’t kiddin’ about your mask.”

She sighed dramatically. “I know, I know. First heist I get to go on in forever...and this is what I have to wear.”

I pulled my mask out of my coat, strapping the thing around my head.

“Perhaps I’ll forgive Dutch, after all. Anyway, good luck to both of you. Stay calm, and stay alert. No one has to die...and ideally, no one has to figure out what we’re doin’ before we’re gone. ‘Cause otherwise, I don’t feel like puttin’ on a second show for these folks.”

Mary-Beth gave me a firm nod. “We’re ready, Arthur.”

“...Then let’s do this.”

SAINT DENIS, THE RÂLEUR

Walking up to the theater once all the guests had already purchased their tickets, Mary-Beth and I approached the front doors together just as the show was starting to begin, giving us the perfect opportunity to slither in.

There were plenty of empty stagecoaches and horses waiting outside, and the closer we got, the more we could hear the muffled cheers of the audience enjoying the performance. Judging by the volume, there was going to be a hell lot of money just waitin’ for us to snatch. I only hoped that everything went according to plan.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Looks clear. Bill, find a way into the ticket booth. Quietly. Mary-Beth and I will distract the clerk in the meantime. Once you’re inside, we’ll grab the money from the register and meet Charles back here afterwards. Then, we get the hell outta this city before anyone even knows what happened. Got it?”

Bill pulled up his bandana. “Got it.”

I turned to Mary-Beth. “And you?”

She grinned. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good. Then let’s get to work.”

Breaking off from the group, Bill went on his own path while Mary-Beth and I hurriedly strolled towards the front doors, both our hearts pumping rapidly in our chests despite our calm exteriors.

It had been a long while since anything went right for the gang, and if I was being perfectly honest, I weren’t too confident about the this robbery either.

There were next to no cops around, even less witnesses...and the amount of money being promised to us almost sounded too good to be true. Part of me wanted to believe this was just a good score and that we were lucky enough to seize it, but my better judgement knew this wasn’t going to come without consequences.

Well, whatever storm was headin’ our way, I had faith that Dutch and the gang would be prepared for it. We survived Blackwater, we survived the mountains, and we sure as hell weren’t dying now. We had gone too far to go back.

Pushing the glass doors open, Mary-Beth and I casually sauntered in as the ticket clerk’s head perked upwards, greeting us with curious eyes.

“Ah, are you more of Abbington’s actors?” He asked, recognizing the masks. “Well, the show’s already started, but you should have enough time to slip in before anyone notices. Don’t wanna be late to a performance this big. Especially not with how many people are in the audience. Y’all have really planned something special tonight, haven’t you?”

I spotted Bill sneaking in from a side door as he stuck close to the walls, gradually inching his way to the booth.

I approached the clerk, keeping his attention away from everything but me.

“You have no idea,” I replied. “But actually, we’re lookin’ for a friend of ours. He’s another actor. Mighta seen him stumblin’ around here? He’s about this tall, always has a sour look on his face. A clumsy feller, but he knows what he’s doing. Just has a...a habit of being late, sometimes.”

The clerk shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone like that, friend. Have you checked with Abbington? Or perhaps Miss Marjorie?”

I decided to drop the subject. “Nah, we already asked them, but no harm done. We’ll keep looking for him. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere--” I paused in the middle of my words and pointed in the distance, letting out a chuckle. “Ah, never mind...there he is.”

Following my gaze, the clerk froze when he suddenly heard the sound of a gun being cocked behind him, not daring to move a single muscle as Bill nearly nailed the barrel into his head.

“Don’t scream,” I immediately warned, keeping my voice low. “Don’t cry. Don’t even breathe. Just give us the money in that there register. Otherwise, Benjamin Lazarus ain’t gonna be the only one catchin’ a bullet tonight.”

Bill applied more pressure with his rifle. “Do what he says.” He demanded.

The clerk held up his hands in surrender, whimpering out of fear.

“O-Okay, okay! I’ll give you the money. J-Just, please...don’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh believe me,” I threatened as the man desperately opened the register, “we don’t wanna hurt nobody. But we sure as shit will. If you give us enough of a reason to.”

Fumbling through the register with trembling hands, the clerk hastily gathered all the money clips and handed them to Bill while the show carried on inside, entrancing the crowd as they clapped and cheered, completely oblivious to the fact that their money was being taken away.

“That’s it...” Bill urged him. “Keep the cash coming.”

Mary-Beth whistled out of amazement, staring at all the green now sitting in Williamson’s bag.

“Whoo, would you look at all that money? I guess you boys was right about this job.”

“Just don’t let your guard down,” I reminded. “We ain’t outta here yet.”

Tossing every coin he could find into Williamson’s bag, the clerk threw his hands up in the air once again when he was finished and stared at us with a horrified, bewildered expression.

“Is that all the money?” I questioned.

“...Y-Yes!” He answered. I didn’t believe him.

I decided to bluff. “Alright, well if that’s the case...I guess we’ll just finish you off and search the rest of the place ourselves.”

“What?!” The clerk yelped.

“It’s nothin’ personal...” I reassured. “Just don’t wanna leave behind any loose ends. I’m sure you understand.”

“W-Wait!” He exclaimed. “There’s no more money, but there are some very valuable props backstage. Made out of gold and silver, they are. Jewels, too. You could sell them for a fine price, I imagine.”

“That so?” I asked. “I’ll go check. See if he’s tellin’ the truth. Mister W, you stay and make sure our friend here behaves. Miss G, why don’t you go on and bring the money to where it belongs? I’ll meet up with you two later.”

“Sounds good.” Mary-Beth agreed as I began making my way backstage.

“Be careful back there,” Bill warned. “Never know what you could run into with these freaks.”

I chuckled mischievously, throwing a glance back at him.

“Which freaks we talkin’ about here?”

BACKSTAGE

Roaming quietly through the clutters of props, mannequins, and furniture stored in the back of the theater, I cautiously searched for the valuables the clerk spoke of as I did my best to avoid any of the staff who could’ve been wandering around.

Right now, it seemed like most of the people involved in the show were on the other side of the curtain, and so far, I hadn’t seen any other actors backstage. Still though, I wanted to leave as soon as possible. I could sneak around well enough, but I didn’t want to push our luck more than we already had.

Sifting through the multiple boxes and crates scattered around, I picked up a few things here and there that I thought we could sell to a fence, constantly checking behind me to ensure no one crept up while I wasn’t looking.

Even if I didn’t manage to take everything though, we had stolen more than enough money for one night. I knew Dutch said there’d be loads of cash for us to lift at the theater, but I had no idea just how many people were actually gonna be pourin’ through the doors today.

We must’ve collected a few hundred dollars. At least. And that was without all the stuff I found back here.

Maybe Dutch wasn’t quite as lost as I expected. Maybe the old man had been right all along, and I was the one changing. Not him.

I just wanted what was best for the gang. Sure, there was a lot of rotten people within our big, dysfunctional family...but we also had good people. Those who deserved a better life. A life that we were capable of giving to them. All we needed to make that happen...was one last score. And then, we were free.

“Don’t...move.”

Halting in my tracks, I came to a stop when I heard the unmistakable sound of someone pulling down the hammer of a gun, and a series of gentle, yet unwavering footsteps coming from behind me.

Shit.

“Throw your weapon away.” They ordered.

Careful not to provoke them, I steadily turned around to face the confronter as I left the props on the floor and complied, never taking my eyes off them.

“Listen, boy...” I said, slowly rotating my body. “I didn’t come here to shoot no one, but that don’t mean--”

Cutting off mid-sentence, I felt my skin turn to stone when I finally laid eyes upon the stranger’s face, suddenly regretting ever coming here in the first place.

Pointing a Schofield revolver directly at my head, Eddie stared me down with a frightened but unbreakable strength in his forest-colored eyes as he tried to calm his own breath, clearly terrified by the whole situation even if he didn’t show it.

Well...if there was a god above, he certainly had a unique sense of humor. I couldn’t believe it.

I was being held at gunpoint.

By my own student.

In a theater that I was trying to rob.

“Look,” Eddie said, his tone shaking slightly, “I don’t know who you are, but just...go. Leave everything you took behind, and don’t come back. Please. No one needs to get hurt.”

I took a few, subtle steps forward, trying to remain calm.

“Easy there, partner...” I murmured.

Eddie gulped out of anxiety and mindlessly clenched his jaw, unable to move due to the terror holding him down.

“I-I mean it,” he reiterated. “Leave.”

I continued to approach him despite his commands, whispering softly in an attempt to ease the boy’s nerves.

“...Now, I ain’t gonna hurt you...” I reassured. “I just came here for money. Not blood.”

The pianist fell silent at that, his arms quivering as he kept the gun aimed at me. I could tell he was scared, but not scared enough to pull the trigger. Eddie didn’t strike me as the type to shoot someone out of panic, and I certainly prayed that I was right.

“...That’s it...” I encouraged. “Nice and easy...”

Eddie stayed in place, his breath still somewhat quick, but not quite as fear-driven as before. It was working.

My lord, I could only imagine what I was doing to this poor kid. He weren’t gonna be able to sleep for the rest of the week, and I’d probably be in every single one of his nightmares from here on out.

Though, I couldn’t deny that Eddie certainly had a pair of stones on him. He had a bravery I’d not seen in very many other people, and I didn’t even want to think about how much hell he’d raise if he had the same gunslinging skills as Dutch.

Just as I was about to defuse the tension however, Bill himself suddenly snuck up behind Eddie and bashed him in the back of the head with his rifle, knocking the boy out cold before he even hit the floor.

I glared at the attacker, instantly rushing over to Eddie’s unconscious body as Bill grabbed the props.

“The hell, Williamson?!” I practically growled through gritted teeth.

“What?” He exclaimed, hauling the sack over his shoulder. “Dutch said no killing. He never mentioned anything about hittin’ people!”

I sighed in irritation. “That’s not the point-- oh for Christ’s sake, forget it. Let’s just get outta here. C’mon, Charles and Mary-Beth will be waitin’ outside.”

“Who’s ridin’ shotgun?” Bill asked, following me to the front of the theater.

“I will,” I answered. “You just worry about keeping that money safe. We got a lot sittin’ in those bags, and we ain’t losing ‘em now!”

Escaping with Williamson, the two of us ran like hell as I unholstered my own guns and kept an eye out for any lawmen that could’ve been lurking about, still feeling incredibly guilty over what happened with Eddie.

The boy was only trying to protect the money that he earned, and not only did I sweep it out from right under him, I also put him through what would probably be one of the most terrifying moments of his life.

Unlike everyone else I knew, Eddie had never killed a man before or lived the life of an outlaw. He had grown comfortable with the safety of a city’s walls, and to end up being stuck between two robbers like he did tonight...I was gonna have to make this up to him somehow.

But I’d worry about that later. Right now, my only concern was getting out of Saint Denis as fast as humanly possible. For the first time in a while, things actually went mostly according to plan, and we just stole a more-than-decent chunk of cash. Dutch was going to be pleased.

“There’s Charles,” I announced as we came through the entrance. “Quick! Get in, and let’s go!”

Climbing onto the stagecoach, Bill took the sacks of money and stuffed himself inside with Mary-Beth, the four of us taking off as soon as the door was closed.

Even though there were no lawmen chasing us at the moment, neither Charles nor I wanted to take any chances and urged the horses to gallop faster as we bolted through the city’s streets, almost floating above the cobblestone with our speed.

I had to admit: despite the encounter with Eddie, I was feelin’ good for once. It was about time a robbery went right...but I still couldn’t help wondering how this was going to affect the pianist’s life.

I mean, now that I thought about it, every time I talked with the man, he was always mentioning how much he needed more money. He mentioned it at the saloon. He mentioned it after we ran into Miss Powell...

I didn’t know if he was in some sort of trouble, or what was going on in his life, but...Eddie did sound a bit desperate.

Jesus, what had I gotten myself into? Even when something finally worked out for the gang, I still had my doubts about our victory.

Sure, we were a huge step closer to buying our freedom, but at what cost? The freedom of another?

To be honest...I didn’t know if it was worth it.

I mentally slapped myself across the face, snapping back to reality.

No, I couldn’t afford to think like that. Empathy got you killed out in these lands, and compassion betrayed you. My place was at Dutch and Hosea’s side, and that was where it’d always be. No matter what. And I’d just have to accept that.

I liked Eddie. I really did. Hell, maybe I even had the potential to love him...but not in this life. I had already pursued love enough times to know how it ended, and I couldn’t bear to put the boy through the same fate.

He was a kind soul, built to lift those around him.

As for me -- I was nothing but a ghost walkin’ among men.

And regardless of what I felt for Eddie...

...None of it was gonna change a damn thing.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #eddie ryan #oc #fanfic #story

10 notes · View notes