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hope-to-hell · 4 years ago

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Because pirate Walker got into my head and wouldn’t leave.

When We Were Pirates, 1.6k words (how?). Warnings: dubcon/noncon, captivity, restraints, public sex, fingering.

Your senses filter in one at a time. The smell of salt air. The sound of waves. A gentle rocking motion beneath you. The heavy weight of manacles on your wrists.

Wait. Manacles? Your eyes fly open and he’s there, crouching down to lift your chin gently with one big, salt-rough hand. His eyes are deep blue and burning with infernal fire. “There you are, my pretty little thing. Wondered when you’d decide to join us. My name is Walker, but you can call me Sir.”

He tilts your head side to side, appraising. His fingers are warm, calloused, the tips digging into your cheeks just a bit too firmly for comfort. And he likes what he sees: you, disoriented. A little afraid. Your pupils dilating at his touch, betraying you. His voice is low and sweet, promising the darkest, most vicious pleasures. “I’ll enjoy ruining you, pet. By the time I’m done, your sweet little cunt will cry out to be fucked every time you see me.” And louder, so his men can hear: “This one’s mine.”

And to stake his claim he has you right there, cutting your clothes free, your nipples pebbling in the briny air for him to tweak between his calloused fingers; gooseflesh rises on your thighs as he kicks your ankles apart with a booted foot, as he plunges two fingers cruelly inside you. And oh how the crew murmurs as they watch, how they spit their jealousy at Captain Walker’s claim. Your cheeks burn even as you shiver, as you can’t help but rock your hips into his hand because his thumb is on you and fuck that’s good, somehow, the exposed nature of this act heightening all your senses. Walker�� Sir— keeps you trapped within his gaze, bound to him by the motion of his hand.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs as he’s pulling you apart with his thick fingers. Your eyes flick to his and you are caught, dragged under by that bright sea-ice stare. Your thighs are shaking and wet with need, and you can feel orgasm approaching like a wave, inexorable. “There you go, that’s my good girl. Come for me,” and to your shock and horror you do. Slickness coats his fingers as you clench around them; when he holds them to the light your need is evident. And he slips them into his mouth to lick them clean, to savor your taste on his tongue.

“Oh I am going to enjoy you.”

And with a hand firm on your chains he drags you to his quarters, binds you naked to the bed. It’s unspoken but it’s obvious: you’re there for him to use, however and whenever he sees fit.

Days pass in this way. He lengthens your chains so that you can walk about the room, so you can sit at the table to eat with him. No cutlery, he’s not stupid. But he brings you books now and again, and teaches you to read his charts and maps while he strokes a hand over your naked flesh and chuckles, “try again, pet. Focus.”

“Come here.” His voice is a rumble of thunder, his skin golden and striped with deep shadows in the lamplight. When he sits in his chair he is close enough for you to approach, to stand beside his chair and wait. Close enough for him to stroke a finger under the edge of your cuff, to feel where it meets your wrist. “Pretty little thing. I have a task for you.” He opens his flies and draws out his cock; it’s intimidatingly large, thick and veiny. And when he says “sit on it,” it makes you gasp.

And he laughs, the bastard, when you climb onto his lap and fail to get him inside you. It aches and burns and you could scream with it, but you are good (good girl, trying so hard for me, so pretty when you struggle. Your body doesn’t know me yet, but it will) and you do your very best. But he is not without mercy. He orders you to stand, and with tears of frustration still drying on your face, he sets to work.

Walker bends you over the desk, over maps and leather folios, little tchotchkes, detritus of a life at sea. “Hands on the desk, pet, and don’t move. Let’s open you up.” He strokes a big hand down your spine, over the swell of your naked ass. It’s warm but you still shiver at the touch. His thumbs stroke over the globes of your ass and inwards, til he can slip them into your folds, already starting to glisten. “Pet.” His voice is speculative as he considers the wetness there, as he sees the twitch and ripple of muscle. “You liked that, didnt you, trying to get me inside you. Why?”

“I—“ it’s mortifying, isn’t it, trying to put a name to that feeling, that dark thought that makes you burn with shame, even more than your exposed position does. “I thought about. About you. Forcing me down onto your cock. Being rough. Making it hurt.” Your cheeks are so hot, little fires licking over them and down your neck.

A hum, thoughtful. “No, sweet thing, never that. You’ll struggle with it, you’ll stretch and stretch until it feels like you’ll burst, but if I hurt you it’ll be with my hands. I take care of my things, pet. And this? This is mine.” And you scream then, because his tongue is lapping at you, it’s in you, as his thumbs peel you open and he licks into the very heart of you.

And this is good, so good; there’s still that fluttering strangeness of being considered, of being appraised, but his hands and mouth work together on your cunt, thumbs pulling gentle but firm while his tongue works you all over, sending your thoughts in a spiral that empties out into the stretch of his preparations. It’s not something you’d ever even considered a man might do for you. But he seems to enjoy it so much, breathing harshly through his nose as he seemingly tries to devour you.

He replaces thumbs with fingers, two at first with his tongue lapping between them. Then three, stroking your walls in the gentlest lover’s caress. And when he is satisfied, when three fingers slip and slide through you with ease and you’re gasping, it’s “you’re ready, pet. Up you go.”

And there you are, bracing your hands on his thick thighs. He strokes a hand down your spine on the way to close a hand around his cock, which if anything is even harder after all his preparation, already pearling with precome. He brushes the head through your folds, and with the barest twitch of his hips, he slips inside. It’s thick, so much, and all at once. The stretch is tremendous even now, even with all his preparation. He pulls you down by the hips, slow and inescapable, until he is fully seated and you’re gasping with the sheer size of him, with all the sounds you try to hold back but he catches them anyway. “Pet. If I wanted you quiet I’d gag you. Scream and cry all you want, it’ll end the same either way. I’ll fill you up til my come is oozing out around my cock, sweet thing, and you will stay there to warm me until I’m ready to have you again.”

Like this, he’s able to have complete control. With the way your thighs are spread open and draped across his legs, you have no leverage. It’s all you can do just to hold on, clutching at the arm barred across your belly. And you are soaking his thighs, oh you filthy little thing. And your cries rise above the other sounds of the room, above the soft scrape of chains and the creak of the ship as it rocks gently in the night. Each oh and please and I need drive him harder; he lifts you with all the force behind his hips and thighs. He buries his face in the side of your neck, teeth a gentle scrape, his free hand coming down to circle fingers around your pearl just right. He draws slickness from where he has you pinned on his cock, groaning at the feel of you stretched so tight around him, look at that, you take my cock like you were made for it and as your cries echo louder he pulls you closer against him, fucks into you harder, until he hears what he wants, hears that

“Please Sir, please. Let me come, I need—“

And he can hear it in your cries, can feel it in the way you ripple around him. Just a little push is all you need, just a little

“Now.”

And if you were racing to the finish, he was holding back by his fingernails because as you clench around him he pulls you down somehow farther onto his cock, fucks up so deeply into you it feels as though he’s hitting in your throat; he lets go with a roar and his teeth bite bruise-deep into the side of your neck. It’s enough to drive reason from your mind, to send you drifting in a haze of sensation. Everything falls away except the feel of his last twitching half-thrusts inside you and the softest, almost reverent words whispered into the side of your neck.

“Oh pet. So good, so perfect. But it isn’t over, sweetheart. Rest a moment, gather your strength. I still have so much I want to do to you tonight.” And in time, when you feel him start to twitch and swell inside you once more, he does. He shows you everything.

#august walker #my fic #mission impossible #mission: impossible fic #mission: impossible fallout #august walker x reader #august walker x you

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hypmic-translation · 4 years ago

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Don’t Pass The Mic

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic! (Gi-gi-gi-gimme the mic!)

Say what?

RAMUDA: Yo, say, say, say what? Diggity-do-do-don’t pass the mic Sorry to keep ya waiting out here long, ladies With complete control over candy and whip (1) I’ll sneak into your earphones with just a touch Fling Posse bespoke new coordinates Constantly cutting edge is Ramuda’s flow An all-you-can-eat naughty buffet My drops are Shibuya’s guidance

GENTARO: Mm, chrysanthemums blooming in one’s bedside dreams (2) As if within Dogra Magra, the world appears to be infinite (3) Like being dragged into an antlion pit (4) It’s so incredibly natural for the heart to invite abnormality Fragile, you’re so easily teasable The dreams I paint upon the town are all ghost stories, a sweet honey (5) It’s a secret (shh!), but that’s really just a lie

DICE: Three-seven, what the hell? From heaven Endlessly winnin’ pools of cash to jump into, wahoo! (6) I ain’t like the rest, I hate takin’ things slow (7) By the end of the night, all your cash’ll be mine Boom-shakalaka-boom-shakalaka-boom Full stack, raising bets on my luck Only half-serious, Dead or Alive Dice are what I’ll stake my life on, y’knyow? (8)

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic!

CHORUS: Wack MCs, get rid of them all Thrust out these daggers (say what?) Understand intuition, an instant conclusion Connect dots with my words East side, west side, lock, stock, barrel Scatter crowds, rule the stage Division Battle life, etched into our minds I won’t just pass my mic to you!

Oath be made! There’s no escape! Unbeatable thugs who can’t be shaken Now our words become machine guns Or a compass guiding us into the future, uh Three become one It’s showtime Carve it into history, our style Roaming life and death, genetic power Just put your trust into your instincts, say what?

ALL: What, say what? (x3) (RAMUDA: Don’t pass the mic!) (GENTARO: Don’t pass the mic.) (DICE: Don’t pass the mic!) Welcome to the division!

JAKURAI: Impropriety writhes and coils about all of these howling fools Blood and tears flowing throughout this city, caused by rampant verbal abuse Even the hope we tell ourselves to believe in has curled up and died in our throats Why does mankind rush towards death like the falling of cherry blossoms? (9) Helpless… A pomegranate trampled on a silent night (10) In this wasteland we build Matenrou’s paradise The words I breathe out are clear and serene Prepare to expose one’s self to a shower of taunts

HIFUMI: Hi, hi, hi! Can you hear the call? Bow, bow, bow! The excitement’s not enough If the princess can drink there’s no reason why the prince shouldn’t too! Champagne! (Bang!) Hugging kittens from behind will surely make them scream Eternally calling out for this yellow rose Tacky, ugly men are to be kicked out Gigolos and graceful women only in this jet bath

DOPPO: Aah, I really don’t want to do this anymore Getting caught in the automatic turnstile again (11) “Crap!” Power harassment, moral harassment, a painfully repetitive loop Being beaten to produce results is hip All those walking the city seem like hard workers But I’m a corporate drone, always gritting my teeth through loneliness I can’t do this much longer, my SNS is erased Let me run away and disappear into a parallel world!

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic!

ALL: What, say what? (x3) (JAKURAI: Don’t pass the mic.) (HIFUMI: Don’t pass the mic!) (DOPPO: Don’t pass the mic!) Welcome to the division!

JINPACHI: It’s Edo Asakusa, you ready to begin? (12) Infernos and fights, I’m good at starting both Master, leader, I’m Demon’s Fire (13) Onigawara Bomber’s Jinpachi (14) The hell’d you say! Shutting down geisha and ladles (15) Oi, dumbass! Sharp words cutting through thick bastards Trendy, stylish demons and lanterns Wash your face with miso soup, then never come here again! (16)

MASAMUNE: The perfect kind of saké is saké that’s cool The original drunkard has arrived (17) Recklessly drinking, this red-faced Bacchus (18) The drunker I get, the smoother my flow It’s scale is simply too big for you foolish amateurs You have good reason to fear, drawing back like an oaf I’ll be the one to sew your mouth shut Then celebrate victory with some high-grade booze

DOSHIRO: Carp streamers are flown in May (19) Yet somehow you don’t even know the flavour of soba (20) Expect a war if you damage Sensō-ji, ‘kay (21) The unrivalled NiHachi stands guard in Shitamachi (22) I, an efficient yet obstinate person Brazen with the force of blooming fireworks With confidence in my skill and pride in my work It is my duty to knock people like you horizontal

ALL: Don’t-don’t-don’t pass the mic!

RAMUDA: Big trouble is the price of life JAKURAI: It is inevitable that those who prosper will fall JINPACHI: The rebellion arrives, eliminating false things ALL: A revolution of words, don’t pass the mic!

The end is near The greatest conflict Roaring into my Hypnosis Mic Straight hit to your soul, self-customised These words that’ll burn up your synapses Three become one It’s showtime Carve it into history, our style Roaming life and death, genetic power Just put your trust into your instincts, say what?

ALL: What, say what? (Don’t pass the mic!) (x3) Welcome to the division! It’s kill or be killed, oi!

NOTES

“Candy and whip”, AKA carrot and stick. Basically, offering rewards to someone as an incentive to do good and punishing them if they don’t.

“Bedside dreams”, or the space where your dreams reside. The chrysanthemum is the imperial flower of Japan, but in hanakotoba white chrysanthemums usually mean truth/grief, and are incredibly common at funerals. Tldr, you aren’t dreaming, you’re dead.

Dogra Magra is a surrealist, psychological thriller book written by famous Japanese author Yumeno Kyūsaku (actually a pen name), in which a man wakes up in a hospital with amnesia. He might be a murderer, but he also might not be, and everyone else in the book might not be who they say they are or even as dead as they’re supposed to be. It is, mostly, a book about psychoanalysis.

The antlion is a type of insect that, surprise surprise, eats ants. The larvae, which is the more popularly known form of the antlion, achieves this by digging pits that ants fall into. Another name for the larvae of antlions is doodlebug, but that seemed out of character for Gentaro to say… you can pretend he does if you want to, though.

The literal translation of “ghost stories” would be “demon play” (鬼物), which is the fifth and last stage of an Edo-era Noh play.

Dice uses onomatopoeia here to signify the act of jumping into a pool, like he’s doing a cannonball.

More onomatopoeia here, read as chimachima, which signifies someone doing a task in a less effective, much slower way when it could be done far more efficiently.

Dice finishes this line with a very obvious “nya” sound, but he also phrases it as a question? So I merged the two and made a pun instead.

It’s traditional in Japan for people to get together during spring for “flower viewing parties” in which they appreciate the transient beauty of cherry blossoms, because of how quickly the flowers bloom and then fall away. That phenomenon is what Jakurai is referencing here.

I’ll be honest I have no idea what this means. The pomegranate is a symbol of fertility and femininity in Japan, however, so maybe it represents Chuuoku?

Automatic turnstiles/ticket gates, like the kind you’d find in railway stations.

Asakusa was a popular entertainment district during the Edo period, but has since been surpassed by Shinjuku and other districts/wards thanks to the damage dealt by bomb raids during WW2.

Jinpachi’s MC name. Just so I don’t have to do this every time, all of Asakusa say their MC names in English.

An ‘onigawara’ is actually the name for a type of roof ornament in Japanese architecture, which is a statue/tile depicting the face of an oni (demon), intended to ward away evil (and bad weather). They’re commonly found on Buddhist temples. The “bomber” part of the division name probably has to do with the aforementioned WW2 thing.

This guy has the thickest Edo accent. His “the hell” is an shortened version of an old retort/catchphrase of Tokyo citizens (“what the hell are you saying/talking about?”). “Geisha” and “ladle” are both references to cultural aspects of Asakusa, as it is currently Tokyo’s oldest geisha district, and in the Buddhist Sensō-ji temple located there (the oldest in Japan) you purify yourself with ladles of water.

The expression “never come again” stems from the more literal phrase of “come the day before yesterday” - essentially, a day that won’t ever exist again.

A reference to an old song from the 1960s by the Folk Crusaders. It tells the story of a man who dies in a traffic accident while drunk driving and goes to heaven, but gets kicked out and comes back to life for spending too much time drinking with beautiful women.

Bacchus, the Greek/Roman god of fruit, vegetables, ecstasy and wine. Also known as Dionysus.

A reference to Tango no Sekku/Children’s Day on May 5th in Japan, in which carp streamers are flown to celebrate. This is the last day of Golden Week.

Ni-hachi (Doshiro’s MC name) is a kind of soba. He’s essentially saying “it’s so late in the song, but you haven’t had a taste of me yet”.

“Sensō-ji”, or Asakusa Temple. It is the oldest temple in Tokyo.

Shitamachi is the name for the geographically lower half and (once) lower-class of Tokyo, which is considered more traditional than its Yamanote counterpart.

#Rule The Stage #Track 2 #Hypmic Translations

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years ago

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False (red) Colours

As far as situations went, Virgil was pretty sure his was unique.

Not because of the whole hunting vampires thing; apparently there were tonnes of those people scattered around the globe. Heck, Virgil probably wasn’t the only hunter to join the cause because he’d been enamored by a goddamn beautiful idiot who he couldn’t just walk away from. But if he came across another vampire pretending to be human to go on vampire hunting trips with said idiot, then he had to congratulate them, because keeping this shit secret was hard.

Not that Virgil felt bad for the vampires they hunted down. He and Roman only went after the nasty ones anyway, the ones who took their strength and longevity and used it for their own gain, to punish or control those around them. So no, Virgil didn’t particularly care about those vampires. They were just bloodsuckers who abused their power, they were practically asking to be staked.

Which was why he didn’t feel bad for what they were about to do.

“Anything yet?” Roman asked from the drivers seat. They’d parked in a shadowy junkyard to observe the comings and goings of an old, disused storage facility on the edge of town. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, now that you mention it, I saw a vampire earlier and decided not to mention it because I like sitting in a dark car in the middle of the night.” He drawled. Roman pulled out his sword to sharpen it lazily and Virgil hissed at him. “Put that thing away! You’ll end up stabbing someone.”

Roman snorted. “Kinda the plan, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, the plan to not stab me.” Virgil muttered. Roman, the gorgeous idiot, just grinned at him crookedly and rolled his eyes. The moment only lasted a moment, however, because his gaze sharpened and locked onto something through the window. The hairs on the back of Virgil’s neck stood on end. He quickly followed Roman’s stare.

Movement at the mouth of the building. A figure scurried through the entrance, shutting the door after them. They moved fluidly and disappeared inside within seconds. From their speed and coordination in the dark, Virgil was pretty certain he knew what they were, and it was just what he and Roman had come looking for. He tried to catch a further glimpse of the figure through the windows but they had all been boarded up.

“What’s the bet it’s a whole nest?” Roman said lowly.

“Well, boarded windows. They’re still young enough to be weak to the sun.” Virgil pointed out. “So our guy’s probably converting new followers and enthralling them while they’re still weak. That’ll be where all the disappearances are coming from, I guess. Another world-leader wannabe.”

Roman looked thoughtful. “Maybe. Either the missing people are already enthralled, or they’re dinner. No way we’ll be able to rescue any of them. We’ve gotta shut this down before they get anyone else.”

“Do we need to call Joan and Talyn?” Virgil asked. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be calling in more hunters, as nice as the duo had seemed when they met up for lunch the other week, and thankfully Roman shook his head.

“They’re already busy tonight. Besides, we’ve got this.” Roman ran a hand through tousled brown curls and grinned. “Least kills buys pizza tomorrow?”

“You’re on.”

Roman took the left wing while Virgil took the right. It was the best way to tackle newly-established nests – the sire would be resting, protected, in the heart of the building, sending his newly fledged underlings to act as guards on the outskirts. Virgil’s heart went out to the vampire standing guard in front of side door – she had obviously been turned only a few days ago at most. She flinched even at the soft glow of the moon as if it were the sun’s glare, and squinted around at her dark surroundings. Even her night vision must not have fully kicked in yet.

Virgil could remember what it was like to be newly fledged. He’d been scared, confused, hurt and hungry. He didn’t understand what was going on around him. It had taken weeks of hiding and feeding and adjusting to his new body for him to gather his mind enough to finally remember his own name. He’d recovered; eventually.

But Virgil hadn’t been enthralled by an elder vampire.

Which was why he didn’t hesitate to break her neck, as quickly and painlessly as he could before making his way further into the building. He encountered few fledgling on his way. It was a nest in its early stages, after all. Hunters had to make sure to close down any nests before they could be properly established and dig their roots in too deep.

Virgil’s anxiety levels rose the further he explored, knives at the ready. This place was quiet, eerie – it gave him the creeps. More so than the usual creepy vampire hangouts. And that was saying something.

A scrape. Virgil flattened his back against a wall, listening carefully into the quiet of the inner sanctuary. There was a muted rustling and rasp of voices. Virgil slunk towards the entrance.

No time to think, only act. As soon as the room came into focus, the gloomy concrete floors and the vampire hissing to its quivering subject, Virgil lunged.

The elder screeched and its eyes flashed – the fledgling jerked, against their will, into Virgil’s path. Virgil swiped them out of the way and found a pistol aimed at his face.

The elder vampire stared at him, and Virgil stared back. Since when did vampires need guns? This one apparently took no chances. Its face slowly split into a fanged smile as it regarded Virgil. At least Roman wasn’t here yet. They stood alone in a dark room that may have once been an office or a break room. Now it was torn up and water-stained. The air smelled mildewy.

“Nice place you got here.” Virgil drawled. The vampire’s head tipped.

“A hunter. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Virgil’s lip curled. “Yeah, yeah, speeches and all that shit. I get the drill.”

“You’re not going to ask me about myself?”

“I don’t fucking care who you are.”

The vampire shrugged. “That’s fair.” It said, and then it pressed the trigger and shot Virgil in the chest with a deafening crack. There was a sharp impact that hurt like a bitch, and he hissed, clutching at his shirt with sharp nails. It burned, already itching as it began to scab over. The blood dribbled over his hand. It was hot and metallic and the scent of it made Virgil’s fangs burst free with the need to rip tear rend.

The vampire’s eyes widened comically. “You’re-”

Virgil didn’t realize a familiar figure stood frozen in the doorway.

He didn’t realize as he lunged at the gun-toting vampire with a roar; sank his fangs into its neck and tore out its throat; latched onto the hot, life-giving pulse and gulped greedily as he dragged its twitching body to the floor. He wrapped his legs around its convulsing chest and sucked down deep mouthfuls of liquid. Contrary to popular beliefs, vampires could still bleed. They had heartbeats.

But not enough, not fast enough to sate his hunger. Virgil tore through veins and arteries and sank his fangs in once again, feeling the strong throbbing of his prey’s heartbeat nearly push bursts of blood down his throat.

And then a voice that shattered his whole world into pieces.

“Virgil!”

Virgil’s appetite dropped like a stone. He snapped his head up – too little, too late, for the human in the doorway. The human who had been here this whole time. Roman stood white-faced with his sword clutched in one hand, and when Virgil met his horrified gaze Roman lifted it.

“No.” The sound that tore from Virgil’s lips was rough, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. He clapped his hands over his blood-smeared face.

But the damage was done.

Roman stepped forward and Virgil slithered back with a frightened cry. The gleam of the blade filled his vision. He scrambled in reverse until his back hit a wall – pinned, trapped.

And still Roman advanced. Virgil pressed his back against the wall.

“Roman, please – walk away now, don’t come any closer! Roman BACK OFF!”

Step after slow step. Virgil dug his nails into the wall and screamed, “BACK OFF! I’LL KILL YOU!”

Roman didn’t slow.

“Leave me alone! ROMAN! I swear I’ll kill you – I swear I’ll–”

But Virgil couldn’t swear anything. He curled up into a ball and hissed half-heartedly at the hunter who loomed over him, sword in hand. Roman. He couldn’t hurt Roman.

Roman moved, and Virgil closed his eyes and hoped it would be quick.

Seconds passed and the pain did not come, nor the sound of Virgil’s neck being sliced. He peeked out from under his eyelashes, still expecting the blow to come.

Roman’s sword had been roughly, hastily shoved into its sheath. And Roman – Roman had dropped down to his knees with his hands palm-up and empty. Virgil stared at him suspiciously – what was the trick? The ploy? The knife to spear him through the heart?

“Virgil.” Roman rasped. “Virgil, please. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not.”

Not? Virgil tucked himself in tighter. He hadn’t felt his eyes well up but he did feel the hot blood track down his face in a vampire’s imitation of tears.

“Virgil, listen to me. You’re safe. I promise you you’re safe.”

Virgil bit his lip – but he’d forgotten about his unsheathed fangs and now fresh blood welled up, sliding down his chin.

Roman opened his arms. “It’s okay.”

It was probably a ruse – a trick, to get him to drop his guard. What the hell. Virgil would die anyway. He may as well pretend to be loved, just for a little while.

So he tipped forward and into Roman’s grip – allowing the hunter to hold him while Virgil wept into his vampire-blood-splattered jacket. Roman stroked his hair feverishly. He was warm, solid, and the contact made Virgil relax against him almost instantly like a tired cat. Everything might even be worth it for this moment.

“Oh, stormcloud. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Roman whispered. “I love you. We’re gonna be okay.”

Definitely worth it. Virgil took a deep breath and steeled himself for the jab of a blade in his unprotected back. It… didn’t come. Roman was getting slow.

Maybe he wanted to draw this out. Virgil didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. Whatever Roman had planned for him it was justified anyway.

He let out a whimper of protest as Roman started pulling away, and was answered by Roman’s arms tightening again.

“We have to leave, okay Virge?” He whispered. “Let’s go home.”

Well, that was morbid. Virgil nodded mutely against Roman’s chest. If that was where he wanted to do it…

Roman was deathly silent on the way home. Virgil pulled his knees to his chest in the passenger seat and looked out the window for the whole drive. The midnight city was alight – a collage of bright signs and dim alleyways and the stretch of charcoal sky. Occasionally Virgil would catch glimpses of his reflection in the window. His drawn face, the shadows under haunted eyes, bloodstains around his mouth and dripping down his chin. Looking every bit the monster he was.

Virgil tried to ignore that and focus on the view. After all, this was the last time he’d see it.

The drive ended all too soon, Roman pulling into a familiar driveway. The usually cheerful face of home now appeared dark and menacing. Virgil barely waited for the car to stop before he shoved opened his door and strode inside. With his pretense of being human blown, he didn’t need to turn the lights on. He did, for Roman’s benefit.

Virgil looked out the window and hugged himself as Roman’s footsteps followed him inside. Roman pulled off his bloodstained jacket and dropped it on a rack.

“Do you want the shower first?” Roman offered quietly. Jeez, he was really taking this seriously. Virgil shook his head. “Okay then.”

The hunter disappeared into the bathroom. He was being very trusting, assuming Virgil wouldn’t try to escape. Or maybe Roman knew that even if Virgil did run, he would just find him again. Roman always found his prey.

Virgil slumped bonelessly on the couch and buried his face in his hands.

It seemed like only a few minutes later that Roman emerged with wet hair. Virgil glanced up through his fingers, biting his lip. Roman was heading for the fridge.

“Shower’s yours. I’m gonna cook some ravioli, and then we should talk. Things always seem better after a meal, like Mama used to say-”

Virgil yelled, “Why are you doing this?”

Roman froze. Oh shit, Virgil hadn’t meant to say anything. But it was done now.

He stood jerkily from the couch. “I get that you want to do it right, or whatever. I’m a vampire. I get it. But – but now you’re just being cruel.” Virgil dug his fingers into his scalp, eyes prickling with bloody tears. “Why don’t you just get it over with? Do you want to set me on fire or something? Do you want to chop off my head? I don’t care Roman, just do it already!”

Roman looked horrified. “Virgil, what on earth are you talking about?”

“You need help? I’ll help you!” Virgil grabbed out his own dagger with shaking hands and pressed the tip to his chest. It pricked through his shirt and Roman paled. “Just do it already! Put me out of my misery, I don’t want – I don’t want to wait any longer.” His voice cracked. “Why are you making me wait?”

“Virgil.” Virgil winced up through a blur of red tears as Roman stalked forward. Roman grabbed the dagger from his hands and threw it away. It skittered across the floor. Virgil stared at Roman as the hunter framed his face, tears pouring from bright brown eyes. “Virgil, honey, please listen. I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear, Stormcloud. I’m not. You’re my Virge. We can handle this, I promise. Listen – listen!” He grabbed Virgil’s hands as the vampire tried to hide his face. “You’re safe, Virgil, I promise.”

Virgil shook his head and tried to shout, but his voice came out as more of a strangled sob. “I’m a bloodsucker. A parasite. I deserve to die, you know that-”

“No, Virgil, you’re so good. You’re so good. You don’t deserve to die and I’m not gonna kill you. Okay?”

There was no lie in his voice.

Roman was crying, and his eyes were so intense – Virgil couldn’t meet them. He could only nod mutely. Roman squeezed his hands.

“Now why don’t you go have a shower? You’ll feel better after that. And we can eat some food, and sleep, and talk tomorrow. Okay?” Virgil nodded again. “Do you wanna have a sleepover in my room?” Another nod. “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Roman kissed Virgil’s forehead before sending him to the bathroom. It was warm and full of steam. Homely in a way that Virgil didn’t deserve. He stood under hot water and scrubbed dry blood from his skin. He felt like he was in a dream.

When Virgil emerged Roman was making trips from the lounge to his room, carting pillows and – was that the fucking microwave? Virgil hesitated. When Roman wobbled though, instinct kicked in and he darted forward to catch the heavy machinery before it could drop.

“Thanks.” Roman wheezed, not flinching like Virgil would have expected. He was acting so… normal. Virgil would have been weirded out if he wasn’t so tired.

“Why the fuck are you taking the microwave?” Virgil asked quietly.

“Uh, because I want to make popcorn and it’s annoying to keep walking back and forth from the kitchen to my room? Duh. Hey, you’ve got that super vampire strength right? Can’t believe I’ve been carrying things for you all this time. Come on, we’re eating popcorn and watching movies and leaving all the knives and shit out here.”

Virgil blinked at the overload of information. “Um.”

“Are you coming or what?”

Virgil shifted the microwave to his hip and stared at the exasperated hunter, whose eyes were still pink from crying and yet rolling like this was any other day and he hadn’t just discovered his best friend was a fucking vampire. Seriously. Virgil had known Roman was an idiot, but he’d expected the hunter to have some sense of self-preservation.

“I have fangs.” Virgil blurted out. Roman frowned at him.

“Yes. I thought we already covered this? Now get your ass into gear, Big Hiro 6 isn’t going to watch itself.”

…huh. Either Roman or Virgil were stupider than he’d thought, because this was not playing out how he’d expected.

For the sake of his dignity, Virgil chose to believe it was Roman who was lacking in IQ. He shrugged and went to carry the fucking microwave into Roman’s bedroom. His idiot had decided to keep him, and like hell Virgil was gonna throw that away by being moody and dramatic.

He managed to not be moody and dramatic up until Roman cheekily suggested they watch Twilight. At that point Virgil couldn’t be blamed for throwing a pillow at his face.

#writing #my writing #my fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #tw blood #vampires #tw violence

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gffa · 5 years ago

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Every single time I do this, I keep thinking, “I’ll just add one or two more to the list, because they’re so good and that’ll be it, surely fandom won’t post anything else that I need to immediately read and yell about my feelings over!” And then every single time I’m wrong about that and STAR WARS fandom puts out more fic or, I don’t know, creates and Obi-Ken genfic exchange and I suddenly have a whole new pile of fic to read and crying about it. It’s the best worst problem to have because there are some absolutely stellarfics here and so many talented people and I need to yell a lot and shove them allat everyone who will listen! STAR WARS FIC RECS: TIME TRAVEL RECS: ✦ The Unreliability of Chronology by Felilla, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, time travel, 7.5k wip No. His Padawan died on Mortis six months ago and he was left without even a body to mourn. This was a trick. She hadn’t returned to him and she most definitely was not a decade older. ✦ Blades of Grass by zarabithia, obi-wan & shmi, time travel, ~1k Shmi is not yet five years old when the strange man falls out of the sky. ✦ A Future in Crisis by WolfMarauder, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, time travel, 45.3k wip Ahsoka has a vision that may change the course of the future. She just needs to keep her master from falling, keep his wife from dying, and the Jedi Order from dying out… That’s all. The first step is returning the the Jedi Order and she finds she has more friends than she thought. ✦ Warmth by Tomatosoupful, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & xanatos & tahl & shmi & cast, child endangerment, time travel, 59.8k wip Time Travel AU. Anakin has woken up in the past. Time to say hello to past friends, right? Only problem, Anakin is a walking talking human disaster and makes a lot of stupid decisions. Stealing a Jedi baby from the temple certainly isn’t the smartest thing he’s done. PREQUELS RECS: ✦ Trust by SingManyFaces, anakin & ahsoka, 1.2k Three moments when Ahsoka recognized Anakin in the Force. ✦ Room Arrangements by skatzaa, obi-wan & anakin, 2.2k Anakin has some concerns about room arrangements at the Temple. Obi-Wan does his best to reassure him. ✦ When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place by IllyanaA, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & kanan & ocs & cast, 94.9k wip After killing three of the Jedi Order’s best and brightest, Palpatine’s fight with Jedi Master Mace Windu goes shorter than expected. Afraid he’s lost his chance at recruiting a new apprentice, Sidious unleashes Order 66 across the galaxy, but, per their programming, the Clone Army is not to harm Anakin Skywalker. After witnessing the most painful loss he’s ever experienced and injured at the hands of his captors, Anakin is ready to die like the rest of the Jedi, though not before getting his vengeance. ✦ Waiting and Learning by otherhawk, obi-wan & ahsoka & cody & waxer & boil & cast, 2.9k During a brief period of time when Ahsoka Tano is working with the 212th under Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ahsoka takes part in a mission to obtain separatist codes. Unfortunately the mission involves a lot of downtime without much entertainment as they wait for an ambush. Along the way Ahsoka gets to know her grandmaster better and makes some new friends. ✦ Out of the Desert Storm by LazarusII, obi-wan & owen & luke & beru, 2.1k One day, a harsh desert storm suddenly kicks up, stranding Owen Lars and a young Luke Skywalker in the Jundland Wastes. Obi-Wan saves the day, takes them back to his home, and a friendship begins. ✦ And the Void Answered Back by Ghost_Owl, obi-wan & anakin & rey & finn & poe & ben & yoda & maz & han & cast, force ghosts, 110.6k (Follows the Force ghosts of Anakin, Obi Wan, and friends getting dragged kicking and screaming through the events of The Force Awakens) ✦ you’re safe within by stonefreeak, obi-wan & anakin, ~1k Anakin wakes from nightmares tinted red. The darkness of his bedroom seems oppressive, and no matter how many times he blinks red seems to seep into the edges of his vision. He wants to feel safe. He wants Obi-Wan. ✦ Imperfect Resolution by Nny11, ahsoka/barriss, 11k When Ahsoka Tano heard there was a possible Jedi living in the Outer Rim she could recruit, she didn’t expect to find Barriss Offee. She didn’t expect her stupid heart to bleed over this. It’s so much easier to forgive someone when you thought they were dead. ✦ The Spire by skatzaa, obi-wan & ocs, 2.4k The galaxy was on the brink of war, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been assigned a new room. ✦ We Push Away the Unimaginable by KeeperofSeeds, obi-wan & padme, 5.2k RotS AU: Padme survives. Weak from her injuries on Mustafar and healing after giving birth, she and the twins are taken into hiding by Obi Wan. Now they are on the run from the Empire and dealing with each other’s trauma, as they try to figure out what to do after your world falls apart. ✦ Swimming Lessons by devilinthedetails, obi-wan & anakin, 2.1k Obi-Wan decides Anakin must learn how to swim. ✦ In Pursuit by zinjadu, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & padme & adi & cast, 40k AU - The Jedi Who Knew Too Much. Rex decides to stay “in pursuit” of his Commander; he jumps. Now, with backup, Ahsoka navigates the lower levels and deals with Ventress. Meanwhile, Anakin takes the Order to task, finds a little more support, and things turn out a little differently for everyone. ✦ Of Progress and Promises by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & bant & yoda & cast, 6.2k Not long after joining the Jedi Order, Anakin Skywalker teams up with some of his Master’s friends for a very important mission: to get Obi-Wan Kenobi to smile and laugh again. ✦ Accidental Baby Acquisition: The Obi-Wan Kenobi Way by kitkatkaylie, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cast, 9.9k wip Obi-Wan Kenobi was just browsing the market, he has no idea how the baby ended up in his robe, honest. ✦ The Bad Day (Trademark Pending) by skatzaa, obi-wan & anakin & bant, 2k Obi-Wan is having one of his Bad Days. Anakin helps. ✦ Old Sins Cast Long Shadows by zarabithia, ahsoka & obi-wan/padme & anakin & cast, 16.6k In this universe, when Palpatine asks if Anakin is going to kill him, Anakin does. While Anakin ultimately wins, it costs him his life. In this universe, the twins are raised by Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan. ✦ Voices in the Dark by otherhawk, obi-wan & cody, 6.9k wip In the middle of the war Obi-Wan and Cody find themselves stranded behind enemy lines, deep in the old tunnels of a hostile world. Injured, alone and in complete darkness they have to rely on each other’s skill and strength. Fortunately there’s plenty to go around. ✦ Abducted by devilinthedetails, obi-wan & qui-gon, 1.6k In trying to rescue the kidnapped daughter of a planetary leader, Qui-Gon finds himself abducted and in need of Obi-Wan’s rescue. ✦ Wellspring by skatzaa, obi-wan & shmi, 1.9k Ben meditates, and meets a ghost. She’s just not the ghost he’s been expecting. ✦ Farewell There by DestielsDestiny, obi-wan & mace & cast, 1.4k It was a routine mission. In so much as anything was routine since the war began. Which was to say, it was a disaster from the word go. ✦ A Burning Why by Icarus_is_flying, jocasta & anakin, 1.1k Jocasta Nu understood many things–all valuable, obscure, interesting, well-known, and useless in turn–knowledge earned over decades. Some questions were easy to answer. Others take generations to decipher. ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, anakin & ahsoka & mace & rig & vokara, 1k Anakin Skywalker walks through the halls of the Jedi Temple, his padawan by his side. ✦ playing yourself like a red three by EclipseMidnight (EternalEclipse), obi-wan & xanatos & qui-gon, 7.7k As usual, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s mission has gone spectacularly sideways, this time before they even reach the planet they are meant to be helping. Luckily for them, they get some help from an unexpected source. ✦ Obitine Week 2019 by sunshineisdelicious, obi-wan/satine & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & korkie, 12.6k A little celebration of Obi-Wan and Satine. ✦ I Know: Or, How Ahsoka Tano Saved the Skywalkers by SianShanya, obi-wan & anakin/padme & ahsoka & cast, 12.5k In a galaxy where Ahsoka learns of her master’s marriage before leaving(because come on, Anakin is the least subtle person ever), Evil Plans are thwarted left and right. ✦ Rebirth by Emmeebee, obi-wan & padme & cast, 12.3k Padmé has never been one to run from danger, but it’s different when it’s her children at stake. A rewrite of the ending of Revenge of the Sith. ✦ Flash Flash Fashion Baby by Nny11, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, ~1k Anakin wears a crop top to show solidarity with his Padawan’s fashion choices and because Padme wears one. He didn’t mean to start a galaxy wide trend! ✦ Aliit ori'shya tal'din by TexasDreamer01, obi-wan & anakin & cody & waxer & boil & ahsoka & cast, 5.3k Reconnaissance missions are never easy. On a far-flung planet in the Outer Rim, Obi-Wan thinks, is not much better. His troops and friends, however, can make his work downright pleasant. ✦ Perpetual Parents & Padawans by BigFatBumblebee, obi-wan & anakin & mace & yoda & cast, 2.4k As is the case with all children, Jedi Padawans grow up. And as with all parents, Jedi Masters occasionally find this a rather difficult concept to get to grips with, and no matter how old, Padawan’s need their Masters. ✦ Force Ex Machina by BookGirlFan, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ahsoka, 4.3k Qui-Gon appears in the middle of the Clone Wars, and Anakin discovers some uncomfortable truths about his master’s past. ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, jocasta & yoda & cast, 1.1k Jocasta Nu has been the Head Librarian of the Jedi Temple for many years now. There is no one who knows the Temple library and its different ways of searching for information better than she does. ✦ Escapade by Shadaras, obi-wan & anakin, 1.3k Obi-Wan helps Anakin rescue himself from hawk-bats beneath the Jedi Temple. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ untitled by imperialvader, obi-wan/anakin, 1k Kenobi and Skywalker. Anakin and Obi-Wan. They’re a team. They’re the team. And they happen in every universe. ✦ This time we’ll fall together by liv_k, obi-wan/anakin & anakin/padme & yoda & bail & cast, 13.5k wip In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker’s miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who had thought he had lost everything to darkness. But darkness is generous, and it is patient. ✦ The Missing Part by Nightstar269, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & palpatine, NSFW, modern au (of sorts), suicide ideation, switching in the final chapter, 151.1k Anakin Skywalker, a student of mechanical engineering, has always felt that his life was lacking something, a feeling that was made much worse with the deaths of his mother first, and of the woman he loved some time later. Still haunted by the pain and heartbreak, he tries to go on with his life as well as he can. When an initiative of the director of the university has the students attending the classes of another degree so as to enrich their knowledge, he will meet someone that will turn his world upside down. ✦ Upfall by bell (belldreams), obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & satine(/obi-wan background) & padme & cast, NSFW, 41.5k wip Anakin is doing just about everything he can to hold himself together; it won’t last. ✦ The Devil’s Own by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin & cast, regency au, 16.2k wip Some whisper the Skywalker family is the devil’s own, and no tutors in the area will take on the orphaned Lord, a young man famous for his excessive drinking, riding, and dueling. The townspeople shake their heads at the arrival of the latest tutor, a London scholar out of money and other options, wondering how long it will be before this Kenobi is run out like all the rest. ✦ Mutual Acquaintances by Ghost_Owl, obi-wan/anakin & obi-wan/satine & anakin/padme & padme/satine & cast, 11k wip In which Satine’s distress call puts Obi Wan under Council scrutiny, Anakin offers to save her for him as a Totally Platonic Favor, Satine would like one good day, please, Padmé has everything under control, and Maul manages to cause an even bigger problem than before. ✦ The Garden by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin & rex & cody, a/b/o, 4.8k wip Nothing is ever simple with Anakin Skywalker. ✦ Tell Me Yes by SingManyFaces, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, mild d/s, 2.7k Anakin gets too worked up, Obi-Wan talks him down. ✦ Montreschere by Ralph_E_Silvering, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & dooku & cast, 9.4k wip Reckless, brilliant Anakin Skywalker is being hailed as the greatest swordsman of his age. In a city where the nobles hire swordsmen in their never-ending political games against one another, Anakin is always assured of a job and is beholden to no one and nothing except the sword. Until the day he meets the handsome, reclusive Duke of Montreschere, whose idealism threatens the very foundations of the city’s most powerful players, and Anakin learns the true meaning of living, and dying, by the sword. ✦ Beard by bell (belldreams), obi-wan/anakin, ~1k It’s the beard, Anakin thinks sometimes. But he knows better; the beard is just a symbol, a visual shortcut for something far more complex. ✦ For Everything by Diminution, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, 10.8k wip In which Obi-Wan owns a coffee shop and Anakin stumbles in early one morning after an especially terrible nightmare. ✦ not too particular, not too precise by AozoraNoShita, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & padme, modern au, 4.1k Obi-Wan and Anakin both run food blogs and they have Opinions about each other’s recipes. Then it turns out they live in the same apartment building and they have the same friends and when they finally meet? It’s like a cooking competition meets a rom-com. Kind of. ✦ The Seduction of Anakin Skywalker by DontCallMeShirley, obi-wan/anakin & anakin/padme & obi-wan/anakin/padme & cast, 16.5k wip Anakin is falling to the dark side. Obi Wan and Padme concoct a scheme to bring him back. ✦ Red Shift by Burning_Nightingale, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, fem!anakin, 4.2k Obi-Wan and Anakin decide to go undercover as a husband and wife bounty hunting team at a Black Sun casino to try and find crucial information about their ties to the Separatists. But when their host gives them a “gift” of aphrodisiac purri root, they get a little more than they bargained for. ✦ Would you teach me? by blurred_lines, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 3.8k wip Obi-Wan was… well, meditating, probably, but this was most definitely a form of meditation Anakin wasn’t acquainted with. Like, not at all. ✦ So I Love You Because I Know No Other Way by DontCallMeShirley, obi-wan/anakin, 3.3k Anakin and Obi Wan just need a little push to admit their feelings. ORIGINAL TRILOGY RECS: ✦ Binary by skatzaa, obi-wan & r2-d2, ~1k Old Ben has a talk with a familiar astromech. ✦ Challenge or Manipulation by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & luke & yoda, 1.3k Before going to rescue Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt, Luke Skywalker visits the abandoned home of Ben Kenobi in the Jundland Wastes. ✦ a crown upon my head by skatzaa, leia & poe & rey, 1.7k Poe finds her the morning after they escape from Crait at the dejarik table, though it she isn’t hard to find, with the Falcon as full as it is. ✦ Wizard by ASadHermitStory, obi-wan & owen & beru, ~1k Owen worries that Obi-Wan is lurking too close to the farm and will attract unwanted attention to them. With Beru’s help, he proposes a solution. ✦ Inviolable by glorious_clio, leia & deara & bail/breha, 4.1k Deara has a new niece to love and spoil, and teach how to smash things with hammers. Meanwhile, the Galaxy has gone to hell. REBELS RECS: ✦ The Starry Crown by bedlamsbard, ezra & kanan & sabine & zeb & chopper & cast, 17.4k wip Months after Ezra Bridger vanished into the depths of the mysterious Jedi temple on Lothal, he reappears – with Kanan Jarrus in tow. All Hera Syndulla and the other surviving members of the Ghost crew want is to retrieve their missing teammates, but a Jedi who can raise the dead is a prize too great for the Empire to pass up. Palpatine will do anything to get Ezra and the secrets he carries – secrets that may allow the Emperor to control reality itself. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE!

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #ahsoka tano #obikin #fic recs #star wars fic recs

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years ago

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Everything Has Its Price || Montgomery and Kaden

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @therealdeville and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Just some friendly hunter bonding time.

The wind was still tonight. Not a good sign in Montgomery’s opinion. Even the worst hunter knows that you always stay upwind of your prey, that way they can’t catch your scent when you’re stalking it. When there’s no wind, the wind can change direction at any moment. A guttural howl was released into the night, followed by screams as the Pricolici that they had been hunting tore one of their party in two. Bloody fangs sinking into the neck of the creature as it’s razor sharp claws rended flesh from bone and dragged their torso apart with a visceral squelch. Montgomery didn’t even blink, merely pulling a silver stake from their belt and tossing it to Kaden with a smile that was perhaps a little too excited for the moment. “It’s time to really hunt,” Montgomery said all but stopping himself from licking his lips in anticipation as they watched the two other hunters that he’d brought along drive the Pricolici further down the alleyway that they had trapped it in with silver tipped spears that seemed to do little more then irritate it.

When Berger told Kaden he had a job for him, honestly he was a little shocked. Kaden’s sudden exit from the Bullet the other night had all but been forgiven or maybe just forgotten, who knew. Pricolici, didn’t see those every day; he could hardly turn it down. Not a fight that good. Even if he might have considered walking away if he knew who he’d be working with. The fuking asshole who killed his friend only a few weeks ago and was keeping her head somewhere. If there wasn’t a monster in front of them, he had half a mind to take the stake and ram in through the fucking hunter that tossed it to him. As Berger’s bones crunched and flesh twisted under the monster’s teeth and claws, it was clear there was no time for squabbles or any question what side he was on. This was hunter versus monster, no matter how much he might want to see the head ripped off of one of the hunters in question. The only way to survive was to work together. His fingers wrapped around the stake in one hand, gun full of silver bullets in the other. “Let’s go,” he said, a trace of a smile on his face as he charged into the hunt.

Montgomery had been itching to hunt a Pricolici, but they weren’t exactly common. So when word that one of them was haunting the forests and alleys of White Crest had reached him he had set about contacting those he could trust. Berger had brought in Kaden and so far the younger hunter had proven himself more capable then Berger. Shame the way his spine crunched in the darkness. Montgomery pulled a stake from their belt and moving forwards, Montgomery watched as the Pricolici darted forwards and snapped one of the spears with ease, swiping at the hunter in front of it. Donovan darted backwards? Was that her name? Montgomery couldn’t be sure. Either way she dodged just fine and Montgomery scooped up the broken end of her spear, jabbing it into the Pricolici’s bicep. It let out a guttural howl of pain that reverberated through the close confines of the alley. The noise bouncing from one wall to another. “Keep it busy, keep wounding it, don’t let it focus on one of us, it’ll pick us off.”

There was nothing to focus on other than the hunt. Personal feelings had to be set aside. Kaden would make sure his anger found a target either way. He let off a shot or two at the beast as he ran in towards the action. Too much movement to hit the heart or even a decent artery somewhere, but the Pricolici still twitched at the pain all the same. Gun hastily holstered as he got closer, he slipped past Donovan and stabbed at the monster’s leg by it’s knee. Its claws lashed out at Kaden’s head but he twisted away to avoid them. The howls of pain were fine but they weren’t enough. As Donovan darted in for another attack, Kaden took a second to reach for his silver knife, Slicer, before lunging around at the creature’s back. He could see a glimpse of the other hunter’s silver hair out of the corner of his eye as he reached up and pulled himself onto its back and dug the knife in, twisting the blade as he pulled it out and drove it back in, gripping tight as he could at the creature’s shoulders. There’s no way he’d be able to hold on for long, not with the snarls and teeth turning back towards him, but he’d get in as many fucking hits as he could until then.

Donovan darted forward, aiming for the heart. But Montgomery watched with a cruel indifference as the Pricolici snapped at Donovan and caught her in the shoulder. She collapsed against the wall with a yelp of pain and Montgomery darted forward with their stake, driving it up and through the creature’s rib cage and into it’s heart. They had used Donovan’s demise as a distraction, but they were also now more then sure that they were going to have to dispose of her. The Pricolici tried to move, and Montgomery looked at Kaden who had gotten on the beast’s back and helped keep it still. “Do you want to do the honours?” Montgomery asked. It was always interesting to see how a Hunter completed their kill.

As the stake drove into the beast’s heart, Kaden felt the monster go limp and still below him before it collapsed to the ground. He wiped a spot of blood beneath his eye, smearing it surely but getting most of it out of the way. That was done. Good. They could go home. Call it a day. Collect whatever money might be in this if someone had actually posted a bounty. Kaden was a second away from congratulating them when Montgomery locked eyes with him. Do the-- His brow creased. “Do the honours? Of what?” he said as he used the toe of his boot to kick at the limp arm splayed on the ground. There was a little twitch but no real response. “Thing’s dead. You took that, already, old man. Too late for me.” Revelling in a kill wasn’t really how Kaden approached a hunt, anyway. Sure, hunting a monster, fighting it, taking it down, killing it and knowing the world was a little better off, that was a hell of an adrenaline rush. Nothing like it. But rarely was he angry enough to languish over the killing blow. There was no need to prolong death. Unless he meant… Putain. Of course this asshole was taking a trophy. “Don’t tell me you’re fond of keepsakes. Isn’t that a little trite or something?”

Shrugging gently, Montgomery set about quickly and expertly skinning the creature, the claws and fangs went too and Montgomery looked up at Kaden. “I’m a trophy hunter,” he replied as if this fact should have been obvious, “of course I am fond of keepsakes it is a good proportion of my income.” The hunters nowadays didn’t have the same spark as they had once. They were too oblivious to the going’s on of the world in Montgomery’s humble opinion. Turning to Kaden Montgomery quickly packed their keepsakes away. “We can’t leave the body here for some local bumpkins to find and tell the cops about, I’ll need a hand getting it out of here and someone needs to take Donovan to see someone who can stitch up that wound, Langley you’re with me, Griffith get Donovan some help.” Montgomery turned to Kaden, help me get this in the back of my truck, I’ll burn the body in the furnace at my cabin.”

“Good for fucking you. Some of us just get day jobs.” Kaden looked on as the other hunter collected his kill. It’s not like he didn’t know this shit happened. Having a fucking day job was a recent development for him as it was. Hell he knew the people paying the bounties got the money somewhere. And he knew ful well the hunters over they years who’d been able to pay him for assistance only were able to do so by collecting fucking trophies. Didn’t mean he planned on participating. And it didn’t quell any of the rage boiling inside of him as he watched. It would be so easy to just take his knife and ram it right into the hunter’s back while he bent over the beast. Sure, he’d have to deal with two other hunters after but who fucking cared. The moment was gone before he could take it. Probably for the best. If he killed Montgomery now, he may never know where to find— Kaden rolled his shoulders back and nodded, gathering Berger’s body just as he was told. Easy enough to follow orders and fall back into his training. It could almost be comforting in a way. If the circumstances weren’t quite so fucked. With everything ready and loaded, he climbed into the truck and did his best to memorize every detail on the drive to Montgomery’s cabin, every street sign, every road, and every twist and turn. “I’m guessing you have an impressive collection all your own. Does it rival the Bullet?”

Raising an eyebrow gently, Montgomery laughed in reply. “Why have a day job if you’re so naturally good at something like this? You could make a lot of money just by hunting things that you would take care of anyway.” Montgomery didn’t understand why the others didn’t take up the hunt. He had been born to do this. It made sense. Not just the supernatural either, anything that could be prey, the thrill of the kill invigorated him. Slipping behind the wheel, Montgomery drove without much concern. After all the major danger of the night had been dealt with and it was time to relax, a little at least. “I’ve been hunting for many years, I’ve had the pleasure of doing so on six continents, my collection isn’t as impressive as I would like, but it’s a work in progress and it is starting to get there. This will be my 453rd trophy, though those aren’t all unique trophy’s. Hunting sometimes requires that you repeat your work. Not every kill becomes a trophy either, some of them aren’t worth it. It’s only the memorable ones.” Montgomery had given instructions for Griffiths to join them after attending to Donovan, Montgomery planned to share a drink with their fellow Hunters. “We’ve got a bit of time before Griffiths will return, would you like to see the collection?”

Kaden shrugged. Getting paid was nice but the whole sacred duty bullshit always made demanding money feel pretty fucked up. At least that was how he saw it. “Well I’m animal control so I managed well enough.” Without making it some kind of fucked up sport or competition or cash cow, whatever the fuck this guy saw it as. “Four hundred and what?” Shit. That was-- Hell, even if he did have plans to try and steal Bea’s head while he wasn't looking, he’d never fuccking find it fast enough to get away with it. Though to be honest, if he really sat and thought, decades of hunting, it might have added up to something of the same. More than enough to lose count, at least. Shit, why did that leave a pit in his stomach? “Guess you’ve settled in well and good in one place, then. Enough to keep a collection like that anyway.” If he’d had any plans to kill this connard or just find the head and take off running, that was gone as soon as there was mention of Griffiths returning. Putain. “Sure, I’ll take a look. See if there’s anything I don’t recognize.”

“At least you work in a similar field to your strengths,” Montgomery had never felt a duty to do what they did. Maybe others did. But the truth was that they did what they did because of the pleasure of it. He enjoyed his work and he was good at it. That was why people paid him top dollar for his wares when he decided to part with them. “If I didn’t hunt I’d be a doctor,” Montgomery said eventually, “but the medical profession was too restrictive for me to really flourish.” Medical ethics and Montgomery’s morals didn’t exactly run in parallel. “I’ve been doing this for a number of years, I’ve been successful enough to set up homes across the world. I’ve got the cabin in White Crest, the old family home in South Africa near to Durban and a lodge in the Black Forest in Germany. But this is where I keep most of my prized possessions, after all, White Crest is well stocked with exotic prey that are usually more than willing to die.” Leading Kaden through their house, they paused to collect glasses and fill them with single malt before leading Kaden through the cabin. Cabin was an understatement of course, but Montgomery had never liked to call this place anything less. He headed down to the basement, taping in a code on the large metal door that protected his basement before letting Kaden into a room devoid of windows. The basement was full of glass cases, stands, racks, hooks and shelves. Trophies from decades of hunting decorated the room and Montgomery couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in his stomach.

A fucking doctor? This guy? A guy with seemingly no empathy in a position meant to help people? The thought sent shivers down Kaden’s spine. Not nearly as many as seeing the trophy room in its full glory, though, he could count on that. “Fair enough. I’m from Lyon so I’ve been through most of Europe, a little bit of Africa and the Middle East but not much. Only found myself stateside rather recently. This town is something else. Lyon has a lot of monsters, but nothing like this.” He really hated how easy it came, being this friendly and on some sort of similar grounds as anyone this morally bankrupt. The room was worse than he could have imagined. Contained, in a basement, with a large metal door. He noted the security system but there was no way he’d be able to track or remember that code. He’d have to warn Nell. One quick glance around the room, he’d have to warn Nell about a lot of things.

Kaden tried not to go slack-jawed but he figured it might be preferable to a look of horror that matched all he was feeling. He practically ran into a life-sized siren, mounted and posed as if in the heat of battle, fully transformed and covered in feathers. Not far off was a sword with feathers wrapped around it, likely shriken. The far side was lined with cases full of teeth and fangs, different sizes and lengths, some tusks and claws, too. The back had a very large skull with three eye sockets, likely from a biess if the antlers were any indication. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a section full of pinned wings and tried not to visibly wince. He’d expected at least one set, but that was… If there was a pair that looked like Regan’s, he didn’t know, he refused to spend enough time staring at them to know. Nearby were all sorts of fae related keepsakes. Lungs, nails, tongues. Kaden gravitated towards the section with all the horns, it seemed distant enough from anything or anyone he knew. There was no way he was approaching the rack full of selkie pelts. Maybe he would just ask Nell to bring those back with her, too. The spot he chose had been a mistake. He caught a glimpse of a case lined with shelves. Jars and jars of heads. Kaden felt the bile crawling up his throat and darted his eyes away back to what looked like lampade antlers. And a set of eyes just below. Killing monsters was one thing, but this? He had to play along. “Impressive collection, not sure I could see it all in one go if I wanted to.” And he sure didn’t fucking want to. Nor did he ever want to come back here unless it was to rescue what he could and burn the rest to the fucking ground. “Got a favorite?”

Studying the younger hunter, Montgomery had to admit that he wasn’t entirely convinced that Kaden had the stomach to see the full collection. Perhaps he was one of those hunters who was somewhat selective about what he killed. “Yes,” Montgomery turned and headed to the back of the collection, pulling down a perfectly shined silver urn. “This is the ashes of an elder vampire that I put down in Prague.” Montgomery had been much younger then and it had been the first trophy that they had actually felt truly proud of. “It was nearly six hundred years old,” Montgomery replied with a shrug, “when I put him down I collected the ashes, unfortunately the other hunters that I pursued him with weren’t as fortunate as me, but survival of the fittest and all that.” Montgomery placed the urn on the shelf once more and smiled. “Though there are perhaps more exotic pieces, that one has sentimental value.”

“Elder vampire, nice.” Kaden’s eyes kept drifting towards the rows and rows of heads across the way. Was Bea there? Stuck on a fucking shelf? Intended to be some part of a morbid museum forever? Fuck, how many loved ones were hanging here on display? How many people out there somewhere mourned over what these proudly displayed keepsakes represented? He blinked it away. They were monsters. For now, for his sake, every single one of them were very dangerous monsters. Even Bea. “Good thing you brought a dust pan with you on a hunt,” he quipped, turning to walk through a bit more, trying to keep the wings out of his line of sight. “I’ve only ever assisted on hunting one, briefly. I usually leave those to the slayers. Give them their big moment, all that.” The more he walked through, the more he noticed stuffed wolpertingers littered throughout the place. It was almost possibly endearing. Only really not. “Elder vampire is far from the rarest thing here, though. Didn’t take you for a sentimental kind of guy.” Not while looking around the collection, that was for sure.

“A hunt is -- as I’m sure you well know -- a very visceral experience and one that can be truly shaping of lives,” Montgomery couldn’t help but think that his statement were true on more then one level. “Either way, whatever my reasons this is my favourite, I’m not sure I can entirely explain it myself, but I have a gut feeling. Always been drawn to this one.” Looking fondly at the collection around him, he led Kaden deeper into the room. “Of course, it makes sense to let those who are best suited to hunting the undead do their work, I’ve never been satisfied hunting a single thing that’s all. I’ve always believed,” Montgomery raised the whiskey to his mouth and swallowed, before licking his lips and continuing, “well I believe variety is the spice of life.”

Looking at the urn one more time, Kaden was reminded of the first vampire he was shoved into a room with, forced to stake it or die himself. At age ten. Sorting through what hunting meant to him used to be simple. Not so long ago, he was proud of how young he’d been when he’d accomplished that. Now he questioned what in the hell his parents were thinking. As he turned the corner, he saw what originally looked like a preserved human body. Only not quite human. A werewolf in partial transformation. “Shit,” was all he could manage at first. “Must have gotten her at the exact right time. Looks like a clean kill, too.” It was hard to see a wolf right as they transformed let alone kill it. Kaden took a small, unsure sip of the whiskey in his hand. He should be in awe. He could look like he was in awe, right? There was no reason for him to feel horrified. She was just a werewolf. “Griffiths is probably going to be back soon, right? Probably shouldn’t keep him waiting too long.”

Nodding, Montgomery decided that it was best that they head upstairs. After all, Griffiths would be joining them shortly and there was something about a mystery in Montgomery’s collection that he liked to do his best to preserve. After all, the mystery of the hunt was what had kept him hooked for so long. Would he succeed or would his prey prevail over him? Montgomery nodded. “Aye, that was a difficult kill, she’d ripped out three other hunters throats before I collected her bounty, was down in a small town in El Salvador, the locals claimed she was a chupacabra but honestly it was clear that she was just a wolf that was out of control. It was a mercy really.” A painful mercy, but mercy nonetheless. “Please, head upstairs, Griffiths will certainly be joining us soon.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #writing #montgomery #therealdeville #everything has its price

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7-wonders · 5 years ago

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Shatter pt. 12

Summary: The end. Or, alternatively, the beginning.

Word Count: 2,834

A/N: This is it! The last chapter of Shatter. Depending on feedback, I may or may not do an epilogue, but the story ends here. Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always appreciated, as are likes and reblogs. If you enjoyed, I have a lot more writing that you should check out on my masterlist!

The sun shines high in the sky, a stark change from the smoke-filled, ashy skies that dominated the original timeline. Those that still inhabit the Earth (most of them), however, have no memory of that timeline. For them, this is their only timeline. This is all that they know, and all that they will know. Only a privileged few are privy to the knowledge of how this timeline came to be.

Cordelia Goode is dragged through the desert by the guards that once swore their lives to protect her. She refuses to scream, remaining silent and defiant as she’s thrown onto her knees in front of what will be her demise. Her white robes become sullied with the reddish-brown dirt below her, nearly being pressed into the ground by one stoic guard as the other gets the ropes ready to restrain her to the stake. The worst part about this method of killing her, Cordelia thinks bitterly while she’s hauled back up and marched directly to the stake, is that she knows exactly what’s going to happen.

Michael had made good on his promise to make Cordelia watch as the world came to an end, making her painfully aware of every little thing that happened throughout the course of the apocalypse. At first, she had tried to just ignore the television that was constantly turned into the news and the newspapers that were in her prison everyday. For a while, it had worked as well as desensitizing oneself to a stream of droning voices that never shut up can be. Eventually, Michael had gotten bored of letting her think she was winning, and had much more fun manipulating her dreams so that she had no choice but to know everything that was happening outside the four walls she had come to know as her home over the past three years.

Cordelia tilts her head to the side, watching as her beloved mentor, Myrtle Snow, is dragged to her own stake. She’s dressed in the same white garments as Cordelia, not having been allowed the concession of picking her death robes like she had for her second burning at the stake. Unlike Cordelia, Myrtle refuses to remain silent, questioning “why must you be so brutish towards a lady?” and if “there will be refreshments provided prior to our executions?”

They file in slowly when the bell tolls at noon, all dressed in their finest black attire. Some of Cordelia’s former students, such as Coco and Queenie, refuse to look their disgraced Supreme in the eyes. Whether it’s because they can’t bear to face the thought of possible betrayal or because they won’t look at someone who attempted to murder one of her ‘girls’ in cold blood, Cordelia can’t be sure. Other students, like Madison, stare smugly, triumphantly at Cordelia. Still others, like Mallory (sweet Mallory, who was supposed to be the one to save the world, to defeat the great evil that is Michael Langdon), look at Cordelia, but only hesitantly and when she thinks nobody’s looking. The idle chatter of those who will observe the executions stops, and Cordelia knows that can only mean one thing: the Antichrist has arrived.

Cordelia senses him before she sees him, can feel the heavy air that accompanies his presence. If she listens closely, she swears that she can hear the agonized screams of souls being tortured in Hell with every step the son of the Devil takes. When she does see him, she has to fight to stop the shudder that threatens to wrack through her body.

Michael Langdon makes his triumphant entrance clad in all the finery that one would expect the ‘king’ (Cordelia refuses to actually refer to him as such) of this Hell on Earth to have available to him. His red suit jacket and black shirt give Cordelia an odd sense of deja vu, but she’s not sure where it comes from. The luxurious red-lined black cloak that’s draped over his shoulders is fastened with two ornate pentagrams, the silver perfectly contrasting the onyx crown that sits atop his golden locks. His bright blue eyes, only accentuated more with the deep red eyeshadow that highlights his inner eyelid, twinkle with mirth as his full lips pull up into a smirk.

Michael takes his time swaggering up to his chosen position in front of Cordelia, standing mere feet away from her. She wants to punch him, kick him, scratch him, hurt him, but she can’t. Even if she could free herself, it would be impossible for her to use her magic. She hasn’t been able to use her magic since the night she was imprisoned, Michael locking up her abilities just like she had been planning to lock up (Y/N)’s soul.

Idly, Cordelia wonders what’s become of you. She had managed to get the knife in deep enough that you were bleeding pretty heavily; maybe Michael was too late? She doubts it, but she doesn’t see you, which gives her hope. Surely, if you were alive, you would be right by Michael’s side as his ‘queen.’ There’s no way that he wouldn’t take the chance to rub it in her face that she failed.

“Myrtle Snow,” Michael says teasingly, relishing in the sweet taste of victory, “Cordelia Goode. For the attempted murder of your queen and fellow witch, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and conspiring to commit treason against the new world, I, Michael Langdon, Antichrist and king of this new world, sentence you to death by fire.”

Two of the guards pick up cans of gasoline, emptying them onto the condemned women. Cordelia coughs and sputters as some of the gasoline gets into her mouth, but Myrtle refuses to even look down at them.

“Our people have long stood by an agreement that no warlock...or other male magic user,” Michael smirks, knowing as well as everybody that he’s no ordinary warlock, “may kill a condemned witch. Only your sister may light the flame. I do not intend to break with that tradition today.”

Bitterly, Cordelia realizes that he’s reciting the speech she had given before the attempted execution of Ms. Mead. She looks expectantly at Mallory, assuming that the girl she’s trained to become the Supreme will light the flame that consumes her.

That assumption goes flying out the window the moment that you appear via transmutation, your darkly-painted lips turned up in a sickeningly misleading smile. Your black dress, long and form-fitting, flows behind you in the wind as you take Michael’s outstretched hand. A matching black crown, daintier than Michael’s, is perfectly placed on your head. You look everything like the queen Michael has proclaimed you to be, and Cordelia notices with a sinking stomach that the power seems to almost visibly spark and crackle around you.

“I’ll allow you to do the honors,” Michael says softly to you, stroking the hair that surrounds your face and smiling at the sight of you in a crown.

“Are you sure? I know you’ve been waiting years for this.” It’s not that you’re hesitant; actually, you’d be more than happy to end the life of the woman who’s manipulated and ruined your life for the past five (has it been five? It could be less, but it’s felt like a lifetime has passed since that day Michael stormed into Miss Robichaux’s with an AI machine gun). You’re worried that you’re stealing Michael’s magnum opus right out from under him, the thought of which you almost can’t bear.

Michael, sensing your unease at possibly upsetting him, smiles reassuringly. ��Nothing would give me greater joy than seeing you, my dear, take what’s yours.” With that, you nod and turn your gaze back to the two women in front of you.

Myrtle Snow can see the fire building in your eyes even before it begins to catch on the gasoline that she’s bathed in. You shoot her a pitying look, “don’t worry. Your death will be quick compared to Cordelia’s.” With only a tilt of your head, the fire quickly starts.

Myrtle’s screams echo across the sparse landscape, neither you nor Michael making a move for Cordelia until long after the red-haired witch has become merely a smoldering pile of remains. You both want to be absolutely sure that Cordelia feels the enormity of her looming death.

“As for you, Miss Cordelia,” you spit vehemently before flicking your wrist. Immediately, the Supreme cries out in agony. It feels as if the blood in her body has been replaced with molten-hot lava, a torturous heat coursing through her veins. If your power’s anywhere close to what she believes it to be, then she wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually the case. “You’ve spent years dictating how my life plays out. You prevented me from seeing the love of my life, attempted to have my memory wiped, and not to mention the time that you almost killed me.”

“Everything I did, I did for your benefit!” Cordelia calls out, screaming when she feels deep cuts spontaneously open on the soles of her feet. With no way to sit or relieve the pressure, she’s forced to stand and exacerbate the wounds.

“No, everything you did was for your benefit.” You stalk closer to the stake, Michael more than happy to let you have your moment. “I used to idolize you, you know? You were everything I hoped to become. And then I saw you for what you truly are: no better than your greedy, vain, power-hungry, bitch of a mother.”

“You can’t kill me,” Cordelia starts to laugh, “I’m your Supreme, you insolent girl. Do you truly believe that the coven will let you get away with this?”

“We already have,” Michael says haughtily from behind you. “Look around you, Cordelia. Your ‘coven’ has long-since accepted their places in this new world order: as our loyal subjects.”

“You attempted to murder one of your own. Who’s to say that you wouldn’t do the same to any of them?” You shoot a false-sympathetic look at Cordelia, almost pitying her for her naivety towards this situation.

Cordelia looks around, sure that, at any moment, her girls will rise up and free her. Surely, this must be some elaborate ruse, some long-conceived plan to save their Supreme? All Cordelia finds in the faces of the girls she once called ‘hers,’ however, is varying looks of disdain, apathy, and disgust.

A whine slips past her lips before she can catch it, and she closes her eyes tightly to avoid seeing the faces of those she once mentored as she’s burned alive. Her eyes are, of course, then forced open by your magic. She can’t even look away from you, frozen on your face as you smile softly and lean in so you’re mere inches away from her.

“I want my face to be the only thing you see as you die,” your voice drops to nearly a whisper, your smirk evident as you back up and rejoin hands with Michael. You hold up your hand, poised to snap into existence the spark that will end Cordelia’s life. “Anything else to add?”

“Mallory will put an end to this. When I die, she’ll assume the role of Supreme and rise to her destiny, which is to defeat the Antichrist,” Cordelia spits. To her shock, your laugh peals through the air.

“You really haven’t figured it out? I am the next Supreme. I would have thought that the raw power flowing off of me was enough of a clue, but I guess not,” you shrug. “And I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Michael.”

“I do have one other thing to add, my love.” Michael smiles at you, before resuming his stone-cold demeanor to face Cordelia. “Give my regards to my father.”

The snap of your fingers seems to reverberate across the plane, Cordelia’s wailing following soon after. You can both feel it the moment her soul leaves her body, only yours is due to the influx of powers as one Supreme falls and another rises. Michael catches you in his arms as your knees buckle, your nose bleeding as your body taking a moment to get used to the immense power that flows through your veins. Michael smiles reassuringly when you look up at him, kissing you and taking pleasure in licking the blood off of your lips.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks.

“I wanna leave,” you mutter, eyes conveying just how difficult it’s been for you to put up this facade.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” Michael would move the stars for you if asked, so fulfilling your request to leave this environment is far-too easy. With a curt nod to some of his followers, conveying that it’s their job to see the execution through, Michael takes your hand and disappears with you.

Michael doesn’t bring up the day’s events until much later, when you’ve both had a chance to decompress back home at the Sanctuary. You’re sitting at a vanity in the corner of your room, combing through your hair after your shower. When Michael comes in, holding two glasses of what you assume to be celebratory champagne, you smile.

“Hi,” you say quietly, turning your head to kiss him.

“Hi. I’m sorry about today.” You can hear the pain in his voice, and you frown.

“Don’t be, I’m the one who asked if I could do it.”

“Still, I should have known that this naturally would have been difficult for you.” Michael grabs your hand, pulling you up from your seat so that he can be sure you’re listening. “I’m proud of you, though.”

You can’t help but to scoff. “For what? Killing people?”

“No,” he says patiently, “for facing your demons.”

“Cordelia wasn’t--” even after all she’s put you through, you still find yourself automatically jumping to her defense. “How do you do it so effortlessly? Even in the Outpost, when I killed Ms. Venable, I still felt bad. She had done nothing but abuse me for eighteen months, and yet I was remorseful after I snapped her neck.”

“It’s because you have a conscience. You have a soul, that’s so bright and beautiful and complicated and you. Killing, my love, isn’t in your nature. Of course, you can do it when need be, but you’re not a monster like I am.”

“Don’t,” you say sternly, “you know I hate when you call yourself that.”

“Is it not true?” Michael retorts. “I’m a killer, (Y/N). I kill these people, and I feel nothing. Maybe some relief, or a sense of satisfaction, but nothing more. I killed almost all of the world’s population without blinking an eye, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. That’s what makes us so different.”

“But it’s also why we work so well together, isn’t it?” Taking the glasses of champagne from him, you place them on the table as his hands go to your hips.

“It’s why you’re my queen,” Michael concurs. A smirk spreads on your face, all thoughts of death and destruction gone in a mere second.

“Mhm, say it again?”

“My queen. My sweet, beautiful queen whom I adore to Hell and back again.” You giggle as Michael sweeps you into his arms, tossing you on the bed. “Nothing can harm us now, my queen. We’re unstoppable together.”

“We’ve conquered every obstacle we’ve faced, and we’ll continue to do so”

Michael begins to crawl towards you. “We won. This world is ours now, to see to it as we please.”

“There’s only one thing I want to see to right now,” you say suggestively, leaning back on your arms as he begins to lay over you.

“Why, you couldn’t be insinuating what I believe you are?” Michael says in mock-shock, and you bite your lip.

“Maybe...we christen this bed?” Michael’s lips finally meet yours, both of you humming contentedly.

“And after that, we christen the bathroom, and the other bedrooms, and my office…” With each new location, he kisses a different part of your face.

“The kitchen, and maybe the balcony as well,” you suggest, earning a kiss to your cleavage.

“Excellent ideas, but I feel as if those locales will have to wait for tomorrow.”

“Shame,” you muse quietly, allowing Michael to start tugging your dress off.

“A true shame,” Michael agrees lowly, nearly ripping your dress off of your body. In this moment, as you’re here with Michael and with no responsibilities, is one you’d like to bottle up and capture forever. “First…”

He gets up from the bed, leaving you frowning as he grabs the forgotten glasses of champagne and hands one to you.

“Setting the mood?” you tease.

“I believe a celebratory toast is in order.” Michael raises his glass, trying to think of a proper toast for this occasion. “To…”

“To…” you murmur as well, thinking for a moment. “To us, and the rest of our forever.” Michael nods, his wide smile making it almost impossible to kiss you.

“To the rest of our forever.”

Tag List: @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @girlycakepops @sebastianshoe @pastel-cloudz @nana15774 @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @omgsuperstarg @nsainmoonchild @mrsnegan25

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #ahs #michael langdon x reader #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagine #american horror story #american horror story imagine #michael langdon imagines #american horror story apocalypse

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lifblogs · 4 years ago

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It’s Time We Had the Talk

ACT FOUR Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel Pairing: Destiel Summary: While Dean is dealing with the Mark of Cain, and Sam with his own trauma, they are drawn to a hunt in Elkins, West Virginia, where they join up with Castiel in solving the deaths of two partially eaten college students. DLSV TEASER | ACT ONE | ACT TWO | ACT THREE A/N: Get ready for HBO-level shit.

ACT FOUR

FADE IN:

INT. MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Lightning STRIKES, alighting the motel room. The broken furniture, the obvious struggle, the bit of blood. Rain POUNDS, soaking Dean and Castiel.

Dean starts pacing, getting worked up into a stupor.

CASTIEL Dean, we can get him back.

Dean KICKS a chair so hard it FALLS over.

DEAN Fuck!

Castiel's face falls, etched with pain and upset. Going over to Dean, he grabs him by the jacket, and then grips his jaw, making him face him.

Angered, afraid for his brother, Dean struggles.

Castiel holds him tight.

CASTIEL Dean, we will save Sam.

DEAN How?

Castiel and Dean "eye-fuck," sharing their desperation.

FADE TO:

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT

Occasional flashes of lightning burst across the dark basement Emily, and now Sam, are being held in. Thunder BOOMS. Rain POURS in through the grate, flooding the cold stone floor in an inch of water.

Emily stands in the corner. The wound on her arm has been wrapped with the bottom part of her shirt.

Sam -- bleeding from multiple wounds on his face, jaw and temple swelling, neck red -- wakes as the Fertility Goddess finishes CHAINING him.

He struggles, GASPS, GRUNTS. Bare feet KICK at the water on the floor. Sam quickly takes in his surroundings. Though weakened from the beating, a fight still resides in him.

The Fertility Goddess smiles. She PATS his chest, making him flinch.

She turns to leave.

SAM Since I'm your prisoner, can I at least get your name?

Beat.

FERTILITY GODDESS Fawn.

FAWN (Fertility Goddess) leaves.

Beat. Emily builds up the courage to approach Sam.

EMILY She got you good.

SAM I've had worse. (nodding at wound) What'd she do to you?

Emily frowns, blushing.

EMILY Cut something out of me. Cauterized it. I bandaged my arm so the burn wouldn't get infected.

SAM Smart.

Sam puts two and two together.

SAM You had an implant. Birth control, right?

Emily hugs her arms to herself, looking down.

EMILY Yeah.

SAM Fuck. (beat) I'm Sam, by the way.

EMILY Emily. So why'd she take you?

SAM I don't know.

Emily tears a strip from her shirt. Sam is perplexed.

EMILY Might as well clean you up.

She's dipping the strip in the water.

EMILY Probably as clean as it'll get.

She approaches, wet cloth in hand. Sam tries to pull away.

SAM No, I'm fine.

Emily hesitantly cleans the wound on his brow. Sam WINCES. He pulls back, shying away, chains CLANKING as she reaches for his lip.

SAM Maybe you shouldn't be touching me.

EMILY Why not?

Sam gapes, unable to come up with an answer. Emily reaches out to him again.

SAM Look, it doesn’t matter. If we don’t do what Fawn says, she’ll kill us. She’s not human.

EMILY How do you know all this?

SAM I’m a hunter.

EMILY I do not need to think of Bambi's mother getting shot right now. Thanks.

SAM No. No! (beat) Emily, there are things in this world that can't be explained. Things that most people think aren't real. Vampires, werewolves... Monsters. Supernatural creatures. (beat) Me and my brother, we hunt those things.

Emily, unhinged, LAUGHS, throwing down the strip of her shirt.

She strolls about the room, water SLOSHING.

EMILY Great. I didn't just get captured by some psycho killer. I got captured by a monster.

(to herself)

Way to go, Emily!

SAM Look, it happens. It doesn't matter how prepared you are, how smart you are, if you know how to fight... Being in this situation -- you can't blame yourself for it.

Emily, somber, leans against the wall beside Sam.

EMILY So what does she want?

Beat.

SAM I don’t know. (beat) Do you have a hairpin on you?

Emily searches her pockets.

EMILY I have a paperclip.

FADE TO:

INT. IMPALA - NIGHT

Rain PATTERS against the windows. Dean and Castiel sit in the front seats of the Impala, going through Sam's notes.

DEAN You'd think Brian 'The Brain' would've left something useful.

CASTIEL He did, just not anything on how to track her.

DEAN Can we summon her?

Castiel flips through the old annotated book bulging with papers and covered in Sam's handwriting on his lap.

CASTIEL Possibly.

DEAN Then let's do it!

CASTIEL If we kill her, we won't find Sam.

DEAN We'll torture it out of her!

Dean's sleeves are rolled up. Castiel eyes the Mark. Dean follows his gaze, and then looks at his arm.

HEARTBEATS.

Dean locks eyes with Castiel.

DEAN I'll be okay.

CASTIEL No, you won't. I won't let you do this.

Dean grabs the book from Castiel.

DEAN I'm not asking permission.

He flips through the pages; angry, desperate.

DEAN And god damn it, can't you track her, or something? You found her before.

Castiel's face falls. He is failing his family.

CASTIEL She was using her powers then. Now she's -- well, she's quiet.

Dean tosses the book aside.

DEAN Well, we won't get anywhere without some wooden stakes. What's say you and I go get ourselves a Christmas Tree?

CASTIEL Merry Christmas.

Dean turns, GUNNING the engine. The Impala PURRS. He CLAPS Castiel on the shoulder, face grim, jaw tight; eyes hard, and focused.

DEAN That's the spirit.

He backs out of the motel parking lot, and turns the wheel fast, heading for the road.

FADE TO:

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT

Emily's legs are wrapped around Sam. She has climbed up him to reach the padlock. He's uncomfortable. Emily focuses on what she's doing, now-bent paperclip shoved into the lock.

SAM Jiggle it a bit. No! Not too much.

EMILY Stop backseat driving.

She slips on him, and falls. SPLASH. CRY.

Emily GROWLS, frustrated. She gets back up, and jumps on Sam, making him GRUNT at the weight. She climbs up him.

EMILY Sorry.

SAM Don’t worry, just--

FOOTSTEPS. Fawn approaches. Emily extricates herself from Sam and hides behind him as Fawn enters. She glares.

SAM You don’t have to do this.

FAWN Oh, I don’t, boy? As if you could understand.

SAM I do. You want power, But that’s gotten hard, hasn’t it? What with birth control and all. That’s why you cut it out of them.

EMILY (whispering) Sam, I don’t like this.

Fawn glides over to him. Ignoring Emily, she grabs Sam’s face, and runs her other hand over his chest. She slides it underneath his shirt.

Sam GROANS, and refuses to look at her.

FAWN I felt you. In that motel room. Filled to the brim with lust, body so eager to let go. And yet, even locked in here with a pretty thing like her you haven't convinced her to sit on that cock of yours.

Beneath his shirt, Fawn tweaks one of his nipples. Sam WINCES. She withdraws her hand and PATS his chest.

EMILY Sam, what’s she talking about?

FAWN Sex, dear. Intercourse. Love. Fucking.

With a SNAP of her fingers, the chains release. CLICK.

Fawn begins to beat Sam before he can get his bearings. Trying to fight back proves futile, especially once she pulls a knife on him. Straddling him, she slices into him a few times. He SCREAMS. The bloodied knife rests against his throat now.

Sam’s chest heaves, nostrils flaring.

SAM Go ahead. Good luck getting what you want with me dead.

FAWN I could just... (dragging the knife lower) ...eat you.

She grinds against him now.

SAM If that’s all you wanted you would’ve done it by now. You need me.

FAWN I hate when they’re clever. Fine.

She reaches out a hand, and Emily flies across the room, SCREAMING. Fawn holds her over Sam, grip tight in her hair, knife against her throat. SOB.

FAWN Do as I say, or I kill her.

SAM No. No! You don’t have to do this.

The knife presses in, drawing blood. Emily WHIMPERS.

LUCIFER (V.O.) You're my little bitch...

SAM Fine! Fine! All right! I’ll do it. But you let this girl go after. You can keep me. Use me.

LUCIFER (V.O.) ...in every sense of the term.

Fawn sees the upset and determination on Sam's face. She releases them.

Tears are in Sam’s eyes, jaw clenched, he sits up. Emily falls into his arms. Sam BREATHES heavy. Disgusted. Yet he rubs Emily's back, trying to soothe.

SAM It’s okay.

He pulls Emily's face towards him. Terrified, wanting to live, she kisses him. Sam strains, but then he KISSES back.

He pulls Emily into his lap, and takes his shirt off. Hers comes off before he undoes the clasp on her bra.

Emily shivers.

Their kisses are desperate, violent, LOUD, and wet.

Unconsciously, Emily grinds against Sam. He GROANS, hard now.

By the door, Fawn smiles.

FADE TO:

INT. IMPALA - NIGHT - TRAVELING

Dean drives fast, wooden stakes in the back seat, Castiel beside him.

Suddenly, Castiel winces, putting a hand to his head.

DEAN Cass?

CASTIEL Go back! Turn around.

DEAN But that’ll take us to the college.

CASTIEL Sam’s there!

Dean makes a U-turn and speeds down the wet road.

FADE TO:

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT

Sam and Emily BREATHE heavy. Their pants are off. Sam shields her from Fawn.

SAM I’m sorry.

EMILY (tearful) Just save me, Sam.

Sam kisses her, and his fingers go in between her legs. She GASPS. MOANS.

Sam tries to pull away from Emily, but a flick of Fawn's finger has a deep slice CUTTING into his back.

Sam SCREAMS, arching into Emily. His hand has paused. Emily grinds against it, kissing his face.

EMILY (murmuring) It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay.

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, and he CRIES. Emily is stronger than him.

She slips Sam’s boxers down, and firmly grasps him.

Sam MOANS, trembling.

Emily's arm moves up and down.

SAM No!

He shoves her off of him, and puts himself away, charging at Fawn. She slices and slices, knife not even needed. Sam writhes. SCREAMS. Emily rushes over and holds him, CRYING.

EMILY Stop! Stop! Please!

FAWN Do you want to be next, girl?

Emily trembles. Sam GASPS. Blood soaks into the water.

FADE TO:

EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS - NIGHT

The rain has stopped. Dean and Castiel walk past education buildings, wooden stakes in hand.

CASTIEL This way.

He leads Dean down an obscure path.

FADE TO:

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT

Fawn slices into Sam at his sensitive inner thigh.

FADE TO:

EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS - NIGHT

Sam’s SCREAM rends the air.

Beat.

DEAN AND CASTIEL

they rush to the sound

Castiel spots the grate. Peers in.

SCREAM.

DEAN (O.S.) Over here!

ON Dean. He’s found the way in.

Dean BANGS against the door.

It won’t budge.

Castiel shoves him aside.

CASTIEL Let me.

Hand glowing, he has the door flying off its hinges.

DEAN AND CASTIEL

they descend the steps

FADE TO:

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT

Emily desperately strokes Sam’s hair, tears falling onto him.

EMILY Stop! Stop! Stop! Please!

Racing FOOTSTEPS.

SAM’S P.O.V. - DEAN AND CASTIEL

vision blurred with pain, heart POUNDING, Dean and Castiel rush in.

BACK TO SCENE.

Dean GROWLS, immediately going after Fawn.

Castiel is over by Emily and Sam. He gives Emily his coat to cover herself.

SAM Cass?

Castiel puts a hand to his head, hoping to soothe him.

Dean easily gets the upper hand with Fawn. Heart BEATS as the Mark of Cain burns on his arm.

The brutal fight lasts minutes. Eventually, Fawn falls to the floor. Dean CRIES out, and STABS her through the stomach with the stake.

She lets out a STRANGLED cry.

Dean STABS her again.

Again.

SCREAMING.

Castiel rushes over, holding Dean, pulling him back. Dean SCREAMS, struggling.

CASTIEL It’s over, Dean. It’s over.

Sam sits up. Emily clings to him. Looking at his brother, Sam sees the demon lurking inside.

FADE OUT:

END OF ACT FOUR

#Supernatural #Supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfiction #Destiel #Destiel fanfiction #tw: non-con #non-con #tw: graphic depictions of violence #graphic depictions of violence #nsft #It's Time We Had the Talk

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beatlesqueen1960s1970s · 4 years ago

Text

Frain: Take Me To Chruch

Tw: Homophobia, Faggot Used, Attempted Murder, Cult, Violence

Freddie lays on the hill Brian cuddled against his side, "You know this is wrong.." Brian whispers feeling Freddie's hands roam over his body.

"I love being wrong then." Freddie whispers softly passionately kissing him roaming his hands on the younger man's backside.

Brian felt his body shudder as he kisses Freddie back the older man pulls him closer as the stars shine bright but clouds were slowly rolling in. He touches his cheek and sadly pulls away, "I'm only a field away." Freddie whispers standing up as they heard a noise.

The town of Shiloh, was entirely Anti LGBTQ+ they had to hide their relationship heavily. They have little safe moments together which are becoming fewer and fewer.

"We were born sick." Brian whispers putting a cold hand against his cheek not wanting to leave his love behind. He felt Fred's heated breath against his face, Brian grabs Fred by one of his suspender strap and kisses him passionately. He felt the roughness of his beard rub against Fred's bare cheek.

"The only heaven I got is when I'm with you." Freddie whispers forcing himself away wanting to feel more of Brian wanting to keep him in his arms.

Brian works for the church and Freddie attends the church even if he isn't the same religion.... a new poison each week.

It was hard being in a homophobic town and being a immigrant. They make sure to blend in by worshiping heavily and "dating" women..... Aka paying a few women to be their girlfriends. The two bought houses that were a field away from each other and they worked on their farming. Everything was going smooth no one suspected any thing right?

Freddie was waiting to be dragged away he had been caught dating a white woman named Mary. He didn't stick to his own race and he knew that was sinful enough but lord if the town ever found out about him and Brian? He would have to flee the very same hour while a huge ass witch hunt would conduct. He can almost feel the burn of ropes dig into his skin as stones hit him and it makes him shudder to think such a thing but he knows what the town is like.

Freddie and Brian part ways like they've been doing each night since they started dating five years ago with linger eyes and a yearning for each other. Freddie assumes it will be like any other night they kiss goodbye and head back to their homes, only a field away never too far apart. Freddie greets his cat, Chester as he kicks the door behind him closed.

"Hey buddy. Did you miss daddy?" Freddie asks.

Loud intense purring comes from Chester and Freddie laughs as he gets dinner started, "My lover's got humor..." Freddie whispers then frowns, "She's the giggle at a funeral...Knows everybody's disapproval. I should've worshiped her sooner....If the Heavens ever did speak.... H- She's the last true mouthpiece." he tells his old cat scratching behind Chester's ears.

The stew almost smelled heavenly the sign of a good cook was in the kitchen or complete luck. Freddie got a cutesy little flowery designed bowl down for his stew and prepared to get a nice beer from the fridge when he heard the commotion of a century happening outside his house. Freddie peers out as the rain sprinkles gingerly down a small bonfire was a blazed, two men guard it, Father Daniel and his son Abel he has a older brother but Freddie doesn't see him anywhere. They had a bonfire going in the centre of the field.

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

Freddie rushes out there his boots almost slipping in the mud, "Father! Father what is the matter?!" one of his straps was dangling off his shoulder now, Chester his beloved kitty was at his feet mud covered now.

"There's a nasty disgusting faggot right under our noses." Father Daniel sneers, "We're going to get rid of him." a big smirk comes onto his face, "Wanna joi-"

Freddie's already running to Brian's house it would be too dark to see anything but the young man's house was engulfed in flames the poor boy was being dragged out by his hair he was kicking and scream while trying to protect his body from the rocks being pelted at him some of the men still held molotov cocktails in their hands, some had their faces covered by masks. Freddie could hear the town's words, all the screaming and wailing.

"Pedo!" a big hulk of a man screams crashing their boot into Brian's nose, "You're going to burn in hell!"

"He's mental ill!" a woman yells fanning herself with a church flyer.

"He's been vaccinated!'' someone else wails in the crowd sounding like a banshee.

Freddie hides behind some shrubbery he has to come up with a plan to rescue his love, Chester rubs against his knees and meows. Freddie covers his mouth, "You're right, Chess."

The town released all their pent up rage using Brian as some toy as they beat him, stone him, toss him around. He's being dragged towards the bonfire he's screaming for his life. His eyes are so full of fear and he's starting to choke on his own blood. They are literally going to burn him at the stake if Fred doesn't stop this.

"Stop!!" Freddie screams bolting from the shrubbery lifting his hands up a blueish glow seems to emerge from them as a crack of lighten happens and the rain gushes down, Chester stands by his owner meowing louder, more than comes down.

"Witch!!" Abel yells lifting up his shotgun at Freddie.

"I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies!" Freddie screams, "I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

Offer me my deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life. Please spare him!''

"Cain no!" it was Father Daniel's voice.

Cain fired his shotgun and hit his brother instead the preteen falls to the ground and a woman's cry can be heard,

Freddie raises his hand and sends Cain flying back into his father sending both men barreling towards the bonfire, "Witch! He's a witch!" the town stampedes around tramping each other leaving a dying Abel and a dying Brian.

Freddie steps over Abel guilt fills him but he can't help, Chester rubs against the boy's face. The boy looks already dead anyway and he just hopes Brian is still alive. Freddie kneels the mud soaking through his jeans freezing his legs more, "I don't know how they found my little secret out." the words come out with a twisted giggle, "Maybe I wasn't that safe."

He saw Brian's dulling hazel eyes search his face, "There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin," he cups Brian's cold wet face with one hand,

"In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene." he presses a chaste kiss against Brian's chapped lips.

He raises his hand the blueish glow returns he grazes the tips of his fingers against Brian's temple making the younger man cry out and arch his back before collapsing into his arms his white dirty dress shirt sticks to his thin body, "You truly are a witch." Brian rasps out a glow among his eyes.

"I'll leave, Brian. I understand." Freddie says getting ready to stand.

Brian grabs him weakly and kisses him feebly, "I love the mad ones."

Freddie gingerly picks up Abel and brings him inside the crumbling church Brian following at his heels he still has some bruises peppered on him, Chester meows following after flicking his big fluffy tail trying to get water out. Freddie lays Abel on a small table and heals him, "In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit. I heal you, amen." it was bullshit Freddie spewed from his mouth but he knew faith would most likely help ease Abel as he gets healed.

"Lets leave." Freddie says taking Brian's hand dirt was still caked in his nails and fingers from where he fought for his life only a little bit ago, "A train will be leaving soon."

"Take me with you." Abel speaks up struggling to sit up he holds his head.

Now that Freddie can see him in the light better he realizes the boy is no older than 9 years old. He's malnourished and missing a good bit of teeth.

Brian pushes past Freddie and grabs Abel putting the boy on his hip, "Lets flee before they get brave."

Freddie picks up Chester and snuggles into the kitty's ginger fur, "Come now."

And the walk to the train station under the cover of darkness, they manage to get tickets to the farthest town away from Shiloh, Mulberry. It was was a tiny small town perfect to hide and blend in to. The four leave town on a train around late 5AM, leaving the cult like town of Shiloh behind them. They watch out the train window as the fire from the bonfire spreads engulfing the cursed town like a hungry serpent.

#frain #maymercury #brian may #freddie mercury #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #tw homophobia #tw faggot #tw attempted murder #tw cult #tw violence

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reidandweep · 6 years ago

Text

The Frozen Lake

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader (female)

A/N- This was requested by @path-of-fire. Prompt: Daenerys and the Reader are lovers and the Reader joins Jon Snow at the Battle on the Frozen lake. Presumed dead, it comes as a shock to the Khaleesi, when her lover appears in Winterfell.

Word Count- 3252 words

Warning- Blood, presumed death, kissing, angst, fluff, and all that jazz.

“You don’t have to go with him?”

“I know. But I am choosing to do this. For you my Queen.”

Daenerys rolls her eyes at Y/N’s reply. A small smile gracing her face. The pair watched as Jon and his men prepared the boats, ready to go beyond the wall.

Turning towards her Khaleesi, Y/N gently grabbed her face. Feeling the worry roll off of her in waves, Y/N leaned in to kiss Daenerys. Her lips moved across her lovers, as Daenerys’ arms encircled the woman’s waist. Pulling her as close as possible.

“Are they always like this?”

Jorah laughed at Jon’s comment.

Walking to stand next to the young man, he clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“That woman has travelled farther and wider for Daenerys than even I have. Than anyone has. They always get a little more affectionate before she goes to fight.”

Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“I’ve come to guess it’s some form of good luck or stay safe.”

Pulling her lips away from her Khaleesi, Y/N smiled.

“I’ll be fine. I always come back don’t I?”

Daenerys didn’t laugh.

She squeezed her lover’s waist.

“The stakes are higher this time Y/N. The people need you to come back. I need you to come back.”

“And I will come back.”

Taking a glance at the boats, Y/N could see that they were almost ready to board. Giving her Queen one last smile, she released her grip around her waist. Heading towards Jon and his men. Y/N threw her bag into the boat, sitting across from Jon and next to Gendry. She watched Daenerys as the boat was pushed into the water. Their gaze never breaking until she and the men were a speck in the sea.

They rowed and rowed and rowed.

Y/N watched as the man steered the oars across the water.

“You’re quite good at this, aren’t you?” Y/N stated towards the Baratheon bastard next to her.

Gendry laughed.

“More than you know.”

Y/N kept mostly to herself. These men all knew each other. She was an outsider to them. She may be with the Khaleesi, but right now she only had Jorah, surrounded by boats overflowing with testosterone.

“How long have you been with the Mother of Dragons?”

Raising her head at the voice, she looked at the man next to Jon Snow. His hair and beard unruly, but they were as bright as the fire spit from the Khaleesi’s dragons.

“We met when she gained control of the Dothraki after Khal Drogo’s departure. I was made her maid in waiting.”

The man smirked.

“Ah. So, you were fucking her whilst she was with the Dothraki king?”

Leaning forward in her seat, Y/N’s eyes pierced into Tormund’s. Like daggers made of dragon glass.

His smirk fell.

“Unlike you, horny cunt, I have control. I would never have disrespected the Khal in any way. Not that it is any of you fucker’s business. But we were not together, until long after the death of Khal Drogo.”

Leaning back, placing her hands on her knees, Y/N licked her lips.

“I have worked my way from maid in waiting, to warrior, to commander-in-chief. I command all armies under the reign of the Khaleesi. I command the Dothraki, the Unsullied, the Iron Islands, The Westerlands, The Vale, and so much more. And if I wanted to, I could have command of you. You’ve pledged support to the Khaleesi and you are a part of the army of the North. I could order you to jump overboard right now. And you would have to.”

Gendry began to laugh at the woman’s words, and at the fear across Tormund’s face.

He continued to row.

Jon could not help but smile also.

A smirk once again settled on her face.

“But I won’t.”

Gendry ceased his laughter, disappointed taking over his features.

Y/N looked to Jon, smiling at the man’s reaction.

With silence falling upon the four once more they continued their journey.

They spent hours rowing. Days even before they got to their desired location. Once they had arrived the group had accumulated more men. Beric Dondarrion, The Hound, and other members of the Brotherhood. All ready to face the whites.

The group walked for miles.

“We need to rest. Stop for a short while.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Jon’s words.

“Were beyond the wall. If we rest, we die.”

Jon grew agitated.

“Yeah. Of hyperthermia. We are stopping. That’s final.”

Of course, Y/N’s prediction was right. As once the group ceased moving, the whites emerged.

They had rowed. They had walked. And now they had run.

Narrowly escaping, Jon had ordered Gendry to run back to the Eastwatch. They needed Daenerys to know what they found. To know they were in danger.

They had successfully killed and caught one white. But now they were surrounded; swarmed by hundreds. With the breaking of the ice the only thing separating few whites from themselves.

Standing between Jon and Clegane, Y/N watched as a single white walked towards them, dragging his sword along the ice.

“Pick up your fucking sword, you cunt.” She shouted.

The men all turned to her, bewilderment across all their features.

She looked back in confusion.

“What? The sound goes right through me.”

As more whites began to approach, the men and woman took their stance; ready to fight.

As quick as lightning, the whites began to attack. Swinging her sword, she sliced through as many as she could. Trying to not get over powered. Throwing punches, kicks, and anything she could to kill as many as possible. But they were overpowered. For every member of their group, there was hundreds of whites. And not all of them had the Lord of Light lighting their swords on fire. They were greatly outnumbered.

Pushing her sword through the chest of a white, Y/N turned to the sound of Tormund screaming. Racing towards him as he was being buried by the undead creatures, much like Jorah, Y/N pulled her dagger out of its sheath. Stabbing those closest to Tormund with one hand, whilst using her sword to skewer many more surrounding them. Her actions gave enough time for Tormund to gain his footing. The pair standing back to back, decapitating those that came their way.

There was still too many.

Tormund could see that Jon and the others had climbed onto the raised rock in the middle of the frozen lake.

Turning around, he grabbed Y/N’s hand.

“Come on Commando, the Dragon Queen will kill me if you die by my side.”

Running with Tormund, Y/N continued to swing her sword.

“It’s Commander not commando, you fire child!”

Tormund’s boisterous laugh rips through the cold air.

“I know!”

The successfully arrived at the rock.

Standing next to Jon, they could all see that there was no chance of them winning.

Not until the piercing screech of a dragon was heard.

Out of nowhere, Viserion, Drogon and Rhaegal appeared through the sky. Daenerys instructing her dragons to burn the whites. Trying her hardest to save Jon, his men, and her love. The men watched in astonishment as fire flooded the ground below them. Y/N smiled at the Khaleesi’s abrupt appearance. She was always there when needed.

Landing one of Drogon near the group, Daenerys watched as Y/N helped the men climb on to Rhaegal. Viserion flying high in the sky, flames still pouring out the dragon’s mouth; drowning the whites. As Jon was about to climb onto Rhaegal, a white appears out of nowhere. Before it can reach the King of the North, Y/N raises her sword to block the attack. Pushing the white back as much as she could. Until her vision catches that of the Night King.

Staring straight into her soul, she watches as the frozen man walks through the fire. He walked through the fire. He walked through the fire. He walked thr-

“Dany go now! GO NOW!”

Daenerys turned at the sound of her love’s panicked voice. Aiming her own gaze at where she was looking.

As Y/N continued to push whites back, Jon ran to help. Slaying those that she could not see.

Before Daenery’s could act on the woman’s words, fear struck her heart, as she watched the Night King pierce his spear through Viserion. The dragon’s body hurtling towards the frozen water. Blood falling through the sky like torrential rain.

Y/N’s body froze at the sight.

“Go.” She whispered.

Her voice grew louder.

“GO! GO! GO!”

Jon repeated the woman’s words. The pair turned to run towards the Khaleesi and her dragon.

Just before either could reach the group, a pair of whites appeared out of nowhere, hurtling into Jon. The force of their bodies causing the ice beneath them to break.

Y/N could do nothing as the ice below her began to crack, as so did the majority of which surrounded her. With the force of the stampeding whites hurtling her way, the ice below her feet split. With her last few moments above the water, Y/N caught the Khaleesi’s gaze. “Sōvegon!” (“Fly!”)

She screamed.

As she fell into the freeing depth below, Drogon and Rhaegel lifted towards the sky and away from the Frozen lake. Heading back to the Eastwatch.

Daenerys’ stared down at the broken ice. Her body just as frozen. Shock coursing through her system in waves. Her heart and mind wept, but her body did not.

Under the ice, Y/N tried to calm herself. She could already feel her lungs start to lose air. Her body drifting lower and lower into the water. She watched as Jon swam back to the surface, pulling his body back through the hole in the ice. Her own body refused to co-operate. Exhaustion and hypothermia already taking over. She had accepted her fate. For her death would be honourable. Dying to protect her Khaleesi. Her Mother of Dragons. Her Daenerys.

As her body sank lower and lower, she closed her eyes, succumbing to the darkness.

Her whole body ached. Her head pounded as though rocks had been smashed onto her skull.

Wait.

She had a headache. Y/N was alive.

Opening her eyes slowly, she blinked to clear her vision. Carefully scouring the room in which she laid, it felt familiar. Y/N quickly turned her head to the sound of a door opening and closing. Watching as a young man entered the room. He was dressed in northern clothing. A dark black cape, with light brown trimming sat across his shoulders. His matte black hair laying softly on his head.

Y/N had not realised she was lying in a bed until his arrival. Pushing herself to sit upwards, the man’s head rose at the unexpected noise. It seemed he had not realised she was awake.

“I’m sorry m’lady. I did not know you had awoken.”

She stared at the man. Her mind filled with questions.

“Who are you?”

The young man shuffled towards her, a tray of food and a glass of ale in his hands. He placed them onto the bed, taking a step away, he folded his hands in front of his body.

“My name is Podrick, m’lady.”

For some reason, her body told her to trust this man.

“Pull up a chair Podrick because I have a lot of questions and, you are going to answer them. No scoot on over here. Do you want some ale, not a big fan, to be completely honest with you?”

Podrick chuckled at the woman’s brash behaviour. Grabbing the empty chair, near the window adjacent to the bed, Podrick sat near the woman. As Y/N scoffed down the bread before her, she took a sip of the ale, passing the cup to Podrick to drink straight after.

Wiping the food from her mouth, Y/N wasn’t caring to be lady like. She was starving.

The pair sat in silence as Y/N ate the rest of the food. Drinking the last of the ale offered back by Podrick.

“Thank you, Pod.”

“You’re welcome m’lady.”

“Call me Y/N. I’m no rich woman.”

She smiled at the squire.

Pulling the blanket closer to her, she sat up straighter, ready to ask the questions she needed answering.

“How did I end up here?”

Podrick licked his lips as he fiddled with his hands.

“Were not certain. Lady Sansa was called to the ground a few days ago. The guards had found your body at the gates, unconscious but breathing. Lady Sansa rushed you into the chambers where you were kept warm and on rest.”

She nodded her head.

“The last thing I remember was falling into the ice, and then the face of a man. As blue as the cold, but he sounded like a Northener. I can’t remember anything after that.”

“How did you fall in the ice m’lady? I mean Y/N?”

Y/N looked towards Podrick. Her face turning sour.

“I was battling the Night King and his whites.”

Shock took over Podrick’s features.

“With Jon Snow and his men?”

The woman slowly nodded her head.

“He fell through the ice as well. I would be surprised if he is still alive. I am surprised I am.” She laughed.

Her laughter grew quieter as Podrick’s head began to shake. The look on his face turned her stomach queasy.

“Jon Snow is alive.”

Confusion fell over Y/N.

“How do you know that?”

Podrick gulped, fiddling with his hands once more, he answered Y/N’s question.

“He arrived earlier today with the Mother of Dragon’s.”

Y/N stared at Podrick as the words left his mouth.

Daenerys was here. She was in the castle.

Shuffling the cover’s off of her legs, Y/N sprung from the bed. Happy to see that she was in some form of clothing that covered her. She would question who dressed her later. But now she needed to get to her Khaleesi.

Seeing the woman’s frustration, Podrick pointed towards the table.

He turned around to give her privacy, keeping his eyes closed as she changed.

“Lady Sansa and Lady Arya left you some items on the table. You seemed similar in stature to Lady Arya. There should be some clothes, a cloak, and a sword. Lady Arya said you looked like a fighter.”

As Podrick was speaking, Y/N quickly got dressed, impressed at how the garments fit her perfectly.

At the sound of her sword being sheathed, Podrick turned around. Stunned at the sight before him. She looked ethereal. She looked powerful.

Y/N tied her hair in an intricate braid. Putting her hands to her sides, she looked at the squire.

“Lady Arya was right. I am a fighter.”

Podrick and Y/N smiled at the woman’s words.

“Now Pod, can you show me where the Khaleesi will be?”

“Of course, Y/N.”

He escorted her towards the door, closing it behind them.

The pair twist and turned down the corridors until they approach a large, heavy-set steel door.

Muffled voices could be heard as they approached.

“The Khaleesi is very important to you?” asked Podrick.

“Yes, and I would hope I am important to her as well.”

They stopped at the doors. The voices on the other side had become increasingly louder. She could hear loud chattering and disgruntled voices.

“Why is that?” Podrick questioned.

Y/N smiled, gesturing him to open the doors.

As the doors creaked open she spoke.

“Well, I am her wife.”

Ignoring the shocked appearance of Podrick she strolled into the hall, Podrick not far behind her.

The noise was still very loud. So loud they had not even heard the doors open and close.

She could hear the voice of a women/

“What do dragons eat anyway?”

Another replied.

“Whatever they want.”

Ah. There was her Daenerys.

Rolling her eyes, she tried to push through the crowds of lords; to no avail.

She looked at Podrick. Pulling out her sword, she laid the tip on the ground.

“Follow me and cover your ears, Pod. This sound will go right through you.”

He did as she instructed.

Y/N began to scrape the sword across the stone floor.

The arguing of the Lords ceased, only to be replaced by their groans of pain. For all covered their ears at the piercing noise, moving out of the way of its direction. Y/N’s path was now clear as she walked through the group of men, her sword still trailing behind her. The lords stepping out of the way, watching as she walked into the centre of the room; with Podrick close on her tale. Once she had arrived to the centre, she pulled her sword in front of her; ceasing the noise.

Silence embedded the room. Jon and the Khaleesi could not believe their eyes.

Y/N pointed at Jon. A smirk on her face.

“Told you the sound goes right through you.”

All eyes fell to the Khaleesi at the sound of her standing from her chair; the item toppling to the floor.

The pair stared at one another.

Daenerys slowly walked around the table, standing a few feet away from Y/N.

“How did you survive? Jon said he saw you drown?”

Y/N laughed at the Khaleesi’s words.

“I did. But some blue Northern bloke saved me.”

Jon knew she spoke of his uncle Benjen. For he had saved Jon as well. Y/N turned her gaze and body to Sansa. Kneeling down quickly, she arose soon after.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa for providing me warmth, shelter, food, and clothes. For not turning me away in my hour of need.”

Whilst Sansa held a grudge against Daenerys, she could not help a small smile appear at Y/N’s gratitude.

Daenerys watched the exchange.

Quickly looking towards Podrick, with the man still standing close behind her, she smiled.

“Thank you, Pod. You have been amazing help. I have made a friend for life in you.”

Podrick could not help but blush at her words. Moving towards the side, Podrick smiled back at the woman.

Finally turning back towards her queen, Y/N stepped forwards.

A serious expression took over Y/N’s face.

“I am sorry to have worried you. I should not have left Dragonstone. I should have stayed with you.”

Daenerys shook her head, stepping closer as well.

“No. You fulfilled your role as Commander of the Targaryen armies. And you fulfilled your promise of coming back to me.”

Y/N smiled.

“I always come back, don’t I?”

Daenerys rolled her eyes.

“Oh hush.”

Daenerys slammed her lips onto Y/N’s. Their last kiss being all those months ago, when she had sailed to fight the whites. Now she was back, in Daenerys’ arms, read to fight them once more.

The pair broke apart at the sound of the hollers of the lords.

Stepping away from the Khaleesi, Y/N turned towards the room, unsheathing her sword as a warning. Her glare piercing through many of them men. The room quietened once more. Turning back to her queen, she put away her sword.

The Stark siblings could not help but smile at the woman’s actions. Whilst Arya and Sansa held resentment towards the Queen, they could not help but admire the ferociousness of her partner. Jon was happy to see the woman alive. For he knew she would be an important asset towards the oncoming battle.

Winking at the Khaleesi, Y/N bowed towards Jon and Sansa, moving to stand by Podrick. He elbowed her side, making the woman laugh.

Daenerys smiled at the interaction. Moving back towards her seat, she sat down. The Khaleesi addressed the room.

“Time to prepare for war.”

A/N- I hope you enjoyed it @path-of-fire If anyone has anymore requests feel free to send.

#game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game thrones #jon snow #jon snow imagine #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen imagine #Theon Greyjoy #theon greyjoy imagine #game of thrones x reader #daenerys targaryen x reader

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pitterpatterpot · 5 years ago

Text

Lion’s Pride: Chapter Twenty-One

23.

Aedion breathes in shakily, his head pressed against the cool stone of the dungeon walls. The flames flicker in his mind, holding no mercy or passion. Just the brutality of hell itself. He can hear the screaming, can hear other children his age squeal and sob as they’re dragged to the stakes.

Yet they keep him in a cell. The boy that took down five grown soldiers.

Weeks of sitting in darkness and hearing the screams of his people as the butchering occurs. Even when things go quiet, so quiet, he can still hear them. No longer are nightmares and reality polar opposites. The two have become indistinguishable. Everything melts together in a gruesome scream.

And like a puppet, Aedion is forced to sit in his box with his strings tied. Unable to move without a hand holding him up.

“So you’re the brat.”

The words are accompanied by the squeal of hinges as Aedion’s cell door is kicked open. The boy offers a bright grin, ignoring the blood that bubbles from his split lip. They've promised him pain and hell. But they haven’t seen hell yet. They don’t even know the meaning of the word.

The men are unrelenting.

~~~

(Present day)

“So Gavriel is taking Evangeline to the theatre,” Lysandra hums from the bed. “Our weekend is also free, I made sure of it. So I was thinking that a trip was in order.”

Grinning, Aedion collapses next to her. “A trip. It’s not exactly the best weather to swim in. Terrasen’s beaches tend to always be a bit frosty unless you’d like to go south-“

“I was thinking,” the shifter cuts in, “that we could go into the city.”

Aedion raises a brow in question.

“I want two days in a suite with you,” Lysandra lays a hand flat on her chest, teeth bright. “Two days with no interruptions.”

“Two days,” Aedion presses just a bit closer. “I think we can fit that into our schedule.”

“Good,” Lysandra noses his collarbone, voice lowering. “I want to get you out of here for a few days.”

“Thank you,” Aedion closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

~~~

“No.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Aelin scowls, waving a hand around to gesture at the hall. “Look at this place! I found a feral bird in my bath this morning!”

“That’s a bit mean,” Aedion grins, leaning against the arm of the throne. “Rowan isn’t that bad looking.”

The king doesn’t even look his way, continuing to carry boxes across the room. “Says the male that has made multiple comments on how handsome I am.”

“That was when I first met you,” Aedion dismisses. “I didn’t know what a bastard you are.”

“I’m your king.”

“Don’t be insulted, I never treated Dorian or any other king any differently.”

Grumbling, Rowan continues on.

“Are you done with your gossip session?” Aelin sighs. “Aedion, I need you here to help with renovations.”

“One bird means nothing!”

“It means that there’s more!” Aelin throws her hands up. “This place is still a mess. The staff can’t help, they’re taking the weekend off for…”

Aedion finishes what she chokes on. “The anniversary of the first burnings.”

He knows why she really wants him to stay. Why she fears to have him out of her sight. Gods be damned if Aedion himself isn’t terrified by the idea of leaving her side.

But he can’t stay above the dungeons.

He needs to be further away.

“I’ll just be in the city if you need me,” Aedion promises. “I’ll give you the address.”

“Have you told Gavriel yet?” Aelin eyes her cousin.

“No, and you can’t convince him to get me to stay,” Aedion scoffs. “He won’t be swayed by your bribes.”

“Old stories about you as a child aren’t bribes,” Aelin narrows her eyes. “They’re blackmail.”

“So you do want me to tell Rowan about how last week you got drunk and bought that special thing?”

“Go ahead,” Aelin crosses her arms. “He doesn’t care.”

“I really don’t,” Rowan’s voice calls out. “But Gavriel won’t get Aedion to stay if he doesn’t want to.”

“See?” Aedion sits on the arm of the throne. “Besides, he’ll love a weekend with Evangeline.”

Scowling, Aelin leans to the side. “Get off my throne.”

“I think you’re forgetting who built it.”

“It was a gift,” Aelin whacks his arm. “You said so!”

“That I made,” Aedion stands and stretches. “I’m going to go find Gavriel.”

“Get him to teach you proper court etiquette,” Aelin growls, slumping back.

“You’re just as bad as me, cousin,” Aedion calls back. “You can’t complain if you break the lock to my room to talk to me!”

“You do the same!”

“Exactly!”

“I wish he didn’t,” Rowan mutters.

~~~

“I don’t think you should go,” Gavriel frowns as he shifts through his clothes.

Aedion blinks from where he sits on the end of his father’s bed. “I thought you’d want to spend some time with Evangeline.”

Gavriel sends him a bemused glance. “So I’m not supposed to worry as my son disappears during one of the country’s worst anniversaries in history?”

“You can worry a little,” Aedion shrugs. “Lysandra and I need time together.”

Gavriel sighs, straightening. “Are you sure you’re not just running away?”

Crossing his arms, Aedion stares out the window. “I can’t stay here.”

“What happened,” Gavriel asks, plain and straight.

“I was put in the dungeons for the burnings,” Aedion shrugs. “In a way, it was better than watching from my window.”

Without a word, Gavriel walks over, sits next to his son and wraps his arms around him. Breathing in deeply, Aedion leans into the embrace, basking in the scent and warmth that wraps around him. Then he pulls back and smiles at Gavriel’s soft look.

“Just make sure to find me if something happens,” Gavriel squeezes Aedion’s shoulder.

“I will,” Aedion smirks, standing with his father. “I never imagined the great Lion would be such a scaredy-cat.”

Gavriel rocks back on his feet, sucking in a breath and blinking. He has a sudden flash of a woman with blond hair and the same eyes saying that exact phrase, her head tipped back and laughing.

Put off by the reaction Aedion frowns, preparing to apologise. Before he can, Gavriel pulls Aedion into another tight hug, Aedion’s head resting on his father’s shoulder as Gavriel’s arms hold him close and tight. Shocked by the sudden warmth Aedion stands in the embrace. Gavriel simply holds his son tighter, inhaling his scent deeply with joy.

“Are you alright?” Aedion lifts his arms to hug back. “I’ll only be gone for two days.”

“I love you.”

The Wolf of the North freezes in his tracks, bones locking up. Only one parent has ever said those words, and she’s long gone. Cold in the earth while her soul dances somewhere far away.

He can’t say those words. He should be able to, but something in him shakes and lodges in his throat.

“I-,” Aedion pauses, drawing in a trembling breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be,” Gavriel murmurs, a hand cupping the back of Aedion’s head. “It’s alright.”

“I can’t say-“

“I don’t expect you to,” Gavriel closes his eyes at the way Aedion trembles, tears dampening Gavriel’s shoulder. “I just need you to know how proud I am to be your father.”

He receives a choked sob at that, Aedion falling more solidly into Gavriel’s hold.

“Fuck you,” Aedion gasps. “I was having a good day.”

Gavriel tips his head back, laughing. “Language.”

“Don’t keep saying this kind of shit and I’ll watch my language,” Aedion sucks in a breath, closing his eyes. “Are you sure you can’t take Evangeline somewhere away from the palace?”

“We’re going to the theatre, Aedion,” Gavriel murmurs, carding one hand through his son’s hair. “We already have the tickets. I doubt she’ll be happy with me suddenly whisking her out of the city.”

“I don’t want what happened to me to happen to her.”

Gavriel clenches his jaw, tightening his grip. “I swear I’ll protect her.”

Aedion breathes in deeply, hands fisting the back of his father’s shirt.

“Are you alright?”

“Just… could we wait a minute?” Aedion forces the words out, throat burning with them.

“Of course,” Gavriel murmurs. “As long as you need.”

~~~

“Gavriel!” Evangeline knocks on the door. “I’m ready!”

The Lion opens the door to his room, dressed in formal clothing. He smiles at Evangeline, the young woman dressed in a simple green gown with gold clips in her hair to draw attention to the rare colour of her eyes.

“How do I look?” Evangeline smiles as Gavriel closes his door.

“As lovely as ever,” he offers his arm to her. “Ready for a lovely night out?”

“Yes,” she links her elbow with his. “I heard the singer is phenomenal.”

“Then let’s attend a lovely evening out.”

~~~

Gavriel and Evangeline collapse in the carriage, slamming the doors behind them before turning boneless in their seats. Gavriel tips his head back and covers his face with his hands. Evangeline stares at her feet, brows drawn together and lips pursed.

“How did the light fall?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you tackle her?”

“I don’t know.”

Evangeline waits a moment. “You’re quite a bit like Aedion sometimes.”

Gavriel starts in his seat, hands dropping from his face. “Gods above, Aedion. Do not tell him about tonight.”

“That you tackled a singer or almost got hit by a stage light?” Evangeline blinks. “Or that I nearly fell off the stage following you?”

“All of it,” Gavriel stresses the point. “Let’s… let’s just get back to the palace.”

They sit in silence, the clopping of the horse's hooves as it pulls the carriage the only sound.

“She was pretty.”

“Evangeline.”

“She was!”

~~~

Aedion pauses, eyes narrowing as he gazes out the wind.

“What’s wrong?” Lysandra eyes him from where she lounges in the bath, one leg hooked over the side.

“Something’s wrong.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. But someone in my family has done something stupid.”

“Stupid enough that you have to skip bathing?” Lysandra raises a brow.

Aedion turns to look at her, about to respond. His gaze catches on her leg, slowly climbing up her calf, then her thigh, following the appendage to where the rest of her body disappears under the water.

“No,” Aedion removes his jacket, “not stupid enough to skip bathing.”

~~~

“Aelin, what are you doing?” Rowan stares at the female sitting on their bedroom balcony.

“I’m painting.”

Rowan eyes the canvas in front of her. “That’s a lot of red.”

“I guess.”

“It’s a nice apple,” Rowan admires, coming to look over her shoulder.

Aelin pauses, frowning at him. “It’s you.”

Rowan blinks. “Why is there so much red then?”

“That’s the sun! That’s you!” Aelin gestures to the painting.

“The silver blob with two dots of green?”

“It calms me,” Aelin snaps, removing the canvas from the easel. “I don’t need to be good at it.”

“Alright,” Rowan tries to fight back a smile. “Any particular reason you’re trying so hard to calm down?”

“Gavriel told me something yesterday,” Aelin stands, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

“Was it the theatre incident? Because we’ve all made the pact not to tell Aedion. We don’t think his heart could handle it,” Rowan places his hand on the small of her back, a comforting touch.

“No, but I have taken the pact,” Aelin flashes a grin. “Aedion can’t take much more this week.”

“If it wasn’t the theatre conundrum then what?” Rowan watches as Aelin washes her hands of paint through the bathroom door, the fea sitting on the edge of their bed.

“Gavriel is going to ask Aedion if he wants to take his father’s last name,” Aelin stares at her hands, picking away at the paint.

Rowan pauses, blinking. “That is… unexpected.”

“Aedion is one of the last in Gavriel’s family,” Aelin briskly dries her hands. “So Gavriel and his brothers were wondering if Aedion would take the family name in any way.”

“How do you think Aedion will take it?” Rowan sits further back, his eyes far away as he himself thinks of the possibilities.

“I don’t know,” Aelin pauses in the middle of the room, tangling the towel in her hand. “Knowing him he’ll have no idea either. At best Aedion will ruminate on it for days and not be able to come up with an answer. At worst he may get indignant at being asked such a thing as a defence.”

“Gavriel must be terrified,” Rowan frowns. “Why did he choose now to do it? This is a very difficult time of the year.”

“He had no idea the burning anniversaries were coming up,” Aelin sighs, rubbing at her face. “In all fairness, none of us have been speaking about it. He found out the same time Fenrys did when the kitchen staff explained why they would be gone for the three days. Gavriel was mortified.”

“He would have been,” Rowan grimaces. “To suggest such a thing to Aedion on such an anniversary…”

“I don’t know what Aedion is going to do,” Aelin blows out a breath, collapsing on the bed.

“Is that all you’re worried about?” Rowan lays beside her, green eyes concerned.

Aelin swallows, voice hollow. “I didn’t see the burnings. Not like they all did.”

“Fireheart-“

“I saw them,” Aelin’s voice begins to shake. “I saw so many of them. But not the same way everyone else did. There were so many, Rowan.”

“I know,” Rowan wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “You’re here, Fireheart. You’re back.”

She blows out a breath, clutching at him. They spend the rest of the night like that, wrapped around each other with the mourning of the city washing over them like a sullen blanket.

~~~

Aedion huffs, dropping a second bag on the bed. “Why did we take so much luggage for such a small trip?”

“Because you insisted on bringing multiple knives,” Lysandra raises her brows at him, dropping a significantly smaller bag on a chair.

“You never know, Lysandra!” Aedion scowls, shifting through the weapons. “There’s no issue with being prepared.”

“Darling, I can turn into any creature.”

“But I can’t,” Aedion glares.

“Sweetheart,” Lysandra sighs, walking up to him and patting his chest, “we both know I have enough claws and muscle mass for the both of us.”

“You have no idea how attractive that is,” Aedion places his hand over hers, leaning closer.

“I think I have some idea,” Lysandra murmurs as their noses brush. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Thank you, I needed to get away these last few days,” Aedion’s smile turns gentle, his eyes closing. “I feel much better now.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Lysandra smiles back. “Now you can relax and think about Gavriel’s offer.”

“What offer?” Aedion hums. “Is it to take Evangeline camping? Because I already said no to that. Who knows what’ll happen to them.”

Lysandra’s eyes flick away. Aedion notices and frowns.

“Lys? What’s Gavriel’s offer?”

The shifter hesitates. “You know what? Why don’t you ask him yourself.”

~~~

“What do you have to offer me?” Aedion asks as soon as Gavriel opens his bedroom door.

The Lion blinks at his son. “Excuse me?”

Aedion scowls at his father’s confusion. “Lysandra said there was something you wanted to talk to me about.”

Gavriel sighs, running a hand down his face. “Nothing can stay secret in this palace, can it?”

“Have I done something?” Aedion’s eyes linger to the side, his arms stubbornly crossed. “If it’s because I left with Lysandra even though you didn’t want me to-“

“Aedion, no,” Gavriel claps his shoulder with a bemused smile. “We’ve talked about this. You’re allowed to say no to things or do things I may not necessarily like. I’m not going to be mad if you do.”

“I know,” Aedion scowls.

“Good,” Gavriel has to resist grinning, nearly loosing. “Now come in and sit down. I do actually have something to talk to you about.”

And damn if that doesn’t spike Aedion’s nerves more than anything. The demi-fea walks into his father’s room, surprised when Gavriel leads him to sit on the end of the bed. Normally Aedion just throws himself down on that spot with little regard, much to Gavriel’s delight at the idea fo his son being more comfortable around him. But this time, instead of standing at his desk, Gavriel drags over a trunk in front of Aedion and sits on it. At that level he looks up into Aedion eyes, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together.

Aedion has to resist fidgeting, the new positioning and change in stance setting off his defences. Gavriel is looking at Aedion the way a parent looks at a child to tell them their pet is dead. Oh, gods. Pat. Pat the cat that Gavriel adopted a little while ago. Something happened to her. That’s it.

“I did want to talk to you about something,” Gavriel admits, golden eyes soft.

“Oh gods the cat is dead,” Aedion blurts the words before he can stop himself.

Gavriel blanches. “What?”

“That’s what this is, isn’t it? Gavriel, I’m so sorry, I know you loved her and-“

“Aedion, Aedion slow down,” Gavriel huffs a small laugh, leaning forward slightly and placing his hand on Aedion’s knees. “My cat is fine. That’s not what this is about.”

“Right,” Aedion tries not to focus on the warm weight of his father’s hands on his knees. “Of course. What is it, then?”

He wishes his voice wasn’t so gruff. That he didn’t feel like he was a child every time his father so much as looked at him, being folded into the warmth of his gaze in a way he so rarely has been in his life. The way Gavriel’s touch makes him feel like a small boy that curled up by a fire while someone reads a story to him and runs their hands through his hair.

(He assumes that’s what parents do to their small children. It’s what he would do. It’s what he watched Aelin’s parents do).

(It’s not something he’d ever expect Gavriel to do. That may be one step too far for the famous Lion).

“Just know you don’t have to give an answer to this,” Gavriel keeps his voice steady and warm. “I don’t want you torturing yourself over the need to give me an answer. If you want to not say anything and walk out of the room you can.”

Aedion swallows, his fear welling up. Gavriel’s hand scorch is skin through his pants.

“As you may know, I am the youngest of three,” Gavriel takes in a deep breath and blows it out. “Neither of them has children, and most likely never will. At least we don’t believe so. And we have no other relatives to speak of.”

Aedion narrows his eyes. “Are they moving here?”

Gavriel chokes, wincing. “Gods, no. No, they’re not moving here. I would be eternally exhausted if they did.”

“Alright,” Aedion’s lips twitch up. “So what is it then?”

“You don’t need to say yes, or even decide,” Gavriel’s voice drops, something nervously soft entering it, “but how would you feel about adding my family name to your name?”

Lungs freezing and heart jumping, Aedion stares.

“You could hyphenate it into your name,” Gavriel clears his throat, removing his hands. “Like Aelin does with her name. Or you could add it in as a middle name if you’d prefer. Of not take it at all.”

“What,” Aedion’s voice comes out strangled, his eyes already burning. “What is-“

Gavriel’s face falls, fear flashing across his face. “Aedion, please, breath. You don’t need to-“

But Aedion vehemently shakes his head, hands balling into fists in his lap. “What is it? Your name?”

“It’s Stonengale,” Gavriel purses his lips at Aedion’s pale complexion.

“Stonengale?” Aedion’s voice comes out small, smaller than he would like it to be.

“Stone-n-gale,” Gavriel’s brow bunches as he pronounces it slowly. “It’s an old, classical name, like Whitethorn or Moonbeam…” Gavriel trails off as he takes in Aedion’s distraught features. “Aedion-“

“Ashryver-Stonengale?” Aedion’s clenches and unclenches his hands. “Stonengale-Ashryver? How- do people know that’s your last name? Do I- do you want me to-“

“Hey,” Gavriel reaches forward, grasping Aedion’s hands this time. “Aedion, Aedion stop. It’s alright. You don’t have to even think-“

“But it’s your name,” Aedion murmurs, chest heaving. “It’s, it’s a part of you and-“

“And you’re my son,” Gavriel interjects firmly yet gently, rising off the trunk to kneel in front of Aedion. “A name doesn’t change that or prove that. I was only offering because I wanted you to know that it is an option. I wanted you to know that I was willing to offer it to you.”

Aedion swallows, hands still shaking in Gavriel’s grip. “I- I don’t…”

“If you don’t want to then that’s alright,” Gavriel squeezes Aedion’s hands. “Aedion, just stop for a moment and breath. Remember that I’m not asking you to take it, just that I’m offering it.”

Aedion sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Gavriel murmurs, pressing his thumbs into Aedion’s palms. “I can tell, Aedion.”

Aedion resists wincing at that. Gavriel can tell, something he has come to understand yet not enjoy.

“We don’t have to talk about this anymore,” Gavriel mutters, squeezing Aedion’s hands again. “Breath for me, Aedion. Just like that.”

“I’m fine,” Aedion withdraws his hands, suddenly frustrated with himself. “I just- it’s your name.”

“It is,” Gavriel watches him patiently.

Aedion shakes his head, as if angry at Gavriel’s answer. “It’s yours.”

Gavriel nods slowly, swallowing his sticky words down his throat.

“I don’t…” Aedion growls under his breath. “You don’t understand. It’s your last name. Not mine.”

“Alright,” Gavriel keeps his voice low. “That’s fine. There was no pressure for you to take it.”

“It’s just…” a muscle in Aedion’s jaw twitches as he clenches it. “You’re still here. She’s not. I need to… to carry that part of her.”

“Oh, Aedion,” Gavriel places his hands on Aedion’s shoulders. “You already carry so much of her. Sometimes I see nothing but her when I look at you.”

“You keep saying that,” Aedion looks away, “but I didn’t know her. She gave me my life and my name.”

“I know,” Gavriel closes his eyes at the memory of the that bright, happy female that gave so much love to the world. “I’m sorry you didn’t know her, you have no idea how alike you two are. I wish there was some way to make you believe me when I say that she would be proud of you.”

Aedion presses his palms against his eyes, sucking in a breath. “Right. I just… What does it mean? Stonengale? Does it have a meaning?”

“Well,” Gavriel gladly takes the tangent by the reins, “the ‘stone’ part usually symbolises strength and resolve. The word ‘gale’ usually symbolises force-“

“I don’t have a middle name,” Aedion’s eyes cut to the side, voice still shaking.

Gavriel pauses, analysing Aedion. “You don’t?”

Aedion shakes his head, swallowing and removing his hands from his face. “She never had time to give me one.”

“Right,” Gavriel feels his own eyes prickle at the fact. “She didn’t.”

“She…” Aedion pauses, sucking in a breath, “she would have wanted me to have some connection to you. In some way.”

“You only have to take on my name if you yourself want to,” Gavriel reminds his son, moving to kneel in front of him. “This is solely your decision.”

“It won’t break the alliteration,” Aedion shrugs one shoulder. “Not between my first and last name, anyway.”

“Alright,” Gavriel blinks, eyes widening slightly. “Alright. If that’s something you’d like. I can get a certificate declaring the addition to your name.”

Aedion frowns slightly. “You can? Don’t you just… I don’t know, change it and be done with it?”

“Yes,” Gavriel reaches under his bed and pulls out a box, “but I’d like a copy to put with your birth certificate.”

“My birth-“ Aedion stares at the piece of paper Gavriel removes from the box. “Where did you get that?”

“I got your family to send me a copy,” Gavriel shrugs. “Gallan was happy to comply.”

“Of course he was,” Aedion mutters. “I just… you don’t need to get stuff like this and you don’t- is that my old stuffed toy? The lion one?”

Gavriel blinks at the contents of the box. “Oh, yes. Stuff from your old room. You wanted none of it so I collected it. I also have a few drawings you made as a child. Items were scarce, but I managed to drag a few up since your room was nearly untouched.”

Aedion can almost feel his eye twitch. No, it twitched. “So you just… collect stuff to put in that box?”

“I’m your father, I’m allowed to do things such as this,” Gavriel places the items back in the box with great care. “I know you’re a grown male but that doesn’t neglect the fact you are my child.”

He places the box back under the bed, standing and brushing himself off. Then pauses as Aedion tips forward slightly from where he sits, pressing his face against his father’s stomach and wrapping his arms around his waist. Gavriel starts at the action, at the sudden contact, before wrapping one arm around Aedion’s shoulder and cupping his head with his hand.

“Everything now is your choice, Aedion,” Gavriel’s voice is a deep rumble, his hand carding through Aedion’s hair. “Everything.”

“Aedion Stonengale Ashryver,” Aedion murmurs, closing his eyes under the gentle touches. “What a mouthful.”

Gavriel chuckles, the sound vibrating through his stomach to Aedion, to smile slightly at the laugh. “Oh, it is. But that’s your choice now.”

Aedion snorts, pulling back. “Says the male with a creepy box under his bed.”

“It is not creepy! It’s paternal,” Gavriel scowls.

“Oh, gods, never use that word again.”

“Says the male that just willingly hugged me… Aedion no, wait, I liked it you don’t have to leave-“

___

FIVE DAMN WEEKS OF WRITER’S BLOCK AND I AM BACK. GUESS WHO WROTE THREE ESSAYS AT SCHOOL TODAY?! AND HAS ALREADY STARTED THE NEXT CHAPTER??? I’M ON THE MOVE, PEOPLE.

#aedion ashryver #gavriel #lions pride #lysandra #evangeline #court #fluff #family

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metamorphicrocky · 5 years ago

Note

prompt: why proms take gary to a dark place

oh you really had to give me a good one, didn’t you?

Gary can't remember how they met. Was it at the park? The mall? Oh, wait, he passed her by while riding his new hovercycle. He had just stolen it, and she said he looked cool. So, obviously Gary had to give the first girl to talk to him in years a ride. It made perfect sense, and now he has a girlfriend. It all worked out nicely. He still has the bike, too. Cops never caught him, which was an amazing stroke of luck.

Now, Gary is sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, kicking his feet idly as he waits for her to come back with popcorn. They've been together for a couple of weeks, and it has been amazing. It's been so long since Gary last spent time with someone his own age and enjoyed it.

"I got the goods!" Sam screams as she kicks the door open, her curly hair flying everywhere. Her arms are stuffed to the brim with snacks, and without warning, she tosses it all at Gary.

The force of the snacks pushes Gary down onto the mattress with a small, "Oof!"

Sam snorts. "For a self-proclaimed badass, you don't really act like one."

Gary shoves the snacks off of him and sits up, an offended look on his face. "Oh, I am such a badass. Look at this jacket. My bike? Badass. Therefore, I am badass."

"I don't think badasses use the word therefore," she says, sitting down next to him. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and Gary feels his face heat up intensely. Sam laughs, a light sound that makes his heart flutter. "Or blush when they get a kiss."

"Well–I, uh," Gary stammers, "I was, um, caught off guard by, uh, that.

Sam rolls her eyes and hums. "You're losing your status as my kickass boyfriend with that. Wanna try to reclaim the kickass part?"

"Your deep, burning desire for me was felt physically, was all." Gary places one of his hands on her cheek, bringing her in for a quick yet passionate kiss. When they pull away, Sam is blushing.

Nailed it! Gary smirks. "Who isn't a badass? Hmm? Because sweet heavenly fire, I think I just kissed the hell out of you."

"Okay, you win this one. Now, let's watch the hell out of this movie!"

Sam rips open the bag of popcorn and digs in while Gary takes the remote and plays the new action movie they wanted to watch. Throughout the movie, they lean into each other and make ridiculous comments about whatever is going on. By all standards, it's the most cliche movie they've ever seen, but Gary hasn't had fun like this in years.

It's nice, to have someone who only wants him because she likes him, not because he's better at fitting into smaller spaces. He hopes this warm feeling in his chest never goes away.

During the last fight scene, Sam slips her hand into his. "Hey, you wanna come to my prom?"

"Prom?" Gary's eyes flit to Sam, her eyes still glued to the screen. "Heck yeah I would. When is it?"

"Next Saturday at eight."

Gary feels a pit form in the bottom of his stomach. Everything was going so well, but now it could all fall apart.

"I have a family thing then," Gary says, his voice clearly displaying his disappointment.

"Boo!" Sam moans. "Your family is always keeping you busy, can't you get out of it?"

"I don't know...," he trails off.

But then he notices Sam's pleading eyes. He can't break her heart like this. She makes him happy, and he wants to be happy more than anything. Scratch that, he needs to be happy.

"You know what? It doesn't matter what my parents say. I'll be there."

Sam's smile as he squeezes her hand makes whatever consequence of this worth it already.

----

Gary walks into the dimly lit garage, tossing his helmet onto an empty bench. A car is propped up in the center of the room, old and rusted, but still useful as a source of parts.

"Kid, grab me another beer and a torque wrench. The big one," a gruff voice demands from underneath the car.

Gary rolls his eyes and does as asked, swiping a beer and a soda from the fridge before grabbing the wrench. He tosses the wrench carelessly towards the waiting hand and plops down on the dirty cement floor next to the car.

He hears a mumbled noise of thanks among the odd noises of car parts shifting around. Gary takes a sip of his soda and tries to ignore how the ground is freezing despite it being the middle of May.

"There it is."

Tom pulls something out from underneath the car and slides out, sitting up and sipping his beer. Gary has no clue what it is, but Tom looks even grosser than usual. His salt and pepper hair is greasy, sweat slicking it back in a messy way. The scratchy beard he has is coated in oil. His white shirt is covered in stains of all sorts, and Gary has to restrain himself from cringing.

"If you're sitting there, it means you want something. Spit it out," Tom orders.

"You know that job we're doing? Next week? On Saturday? The one with the–." A growl cuts off Gary's rambling. The blond clears his throat nervously. "Right, well, you don't absolutely need me for that, yeah? I mean, anyone could sneak into the vents and be a lookout, right?"

Tom stands, so Gary does the same. The man towers over him, a brute of a man, but Gary tries really hard not to let that intimidate him...even though he can snap Gary in half if he really wants to.

"If you don't come, you won't get paid."

Gary swallows a lump in his throat. "Fine."

"And you're out."

Gary's eyes blow wide, his heart stuttering in his chest. He has to be joking, he has to be.

"What?" Gary splutters, his arms gesturing frantically. "We had a deal! You can't do that!"

Tom laughs, loud and booming in the empty garage. There's an icy glint in his black eyes that sends chills down Gary's spine. He advances towards Gary, causing the teen to back up until he hits the wall. Tom painfully shoves a hairy finger into Gary's chest, leaning in close to his face. Gary can strongly smell the acrid stench of motor oil and alcohol that clings to Tom all the time.

"I'm the boss. I make the rules, boy. Don't you forget that," the man sneers, growling in anger. "Get the job done and you can do whatever the fuck pleases you, but I won't be this kind if you ever try to cross me again."

Before Tom walks away, he slaps Gary, leaving a stinging red mark across the left side of his face.

He waits, shaking against the wall, until he hears the slam of Tom's bedroom door to go to his dingy room. The blond collapses onto his bed, not even bothering to change his clothes. Gary hugs his pillow to his chest and wishes for life to go back to the way it was before...everything.

----

The day of the job rolls around. Gary has let Sam know that he's going to her prom, but he'll most likely be late. He has a stolen tux that matches her dress prepped and ready for the moment the job finishes. He'll make it, no matter what.

Gary is currently sitting in the back of a van, surrounded by men who are significantly bigger than him. It isn't crowded at all, nope. And Gary definitely doesn't feel more and more nervous as the drive continues, that would be ridiculous.

His knee is bouncing, and he knows that it's pissing off the guy next to him. To avoid thinking about it, Gary looks through his jacket's pockets for the fiftieth time to check and make sure that he has all of his tools. Of course they're all there. The gun resting awkwardly on his hip doesn't ease his anxiousness in the slightest. Gary is used to simple thieving, not high stakes robberies.

Damn it, he just wants to go to prom with his girlfriend. Does everything have to be so complicated in his life?

All of a sudden, Gary is roughly shoved by the guy he was annoying. Oh, so the car stopped. Great. It's showtime.

Gary hops out and walks to the dumpster next to the bank, jumping on top of it to reach the grate that leads to the ventilation system.

"Don't fuck this up, boy," Tom snarls.

"What a nice vote of confidence," Gary mumbles under his breath. "Okay, no buffer or warm up. You've got this, Gary."

He quickly makes work of the vent, unscrewing it and sliding in. Gary begins crawling through the vents, following the set of instructions he memorized to get him to the room he wants.

Within a couple of minutes, Gary kicks open a grate and drops down into the security room. He only has a few minutes until the guard comes back from his break, so the teen quickly disables the security systems in the safe room and sneaks back into the vents, putting the grate back in its place.

"All set to go in," Gary says into his earpiece as he makes his way to their target.

He's thankfully small enough to move fast in these things, so he reaches the safe room with time to spare. He glances at his watch to see the time, and everything is going according to schedule. If this goes well, he can be at Sam's prom at nine.

Gary lays in the vents and watches the moment the guys burst into the safe room, attacking all of the guards and knocking them out quickly. Once everyone is down, Gary hops out of the vent. Tom gives him a hard pat on the back, and that's as close to a "good job" as the teen will ever get.

Gary takes out his never-before-used-by-him gun and holds it awkwardly as the men work on breaking into the safe and stealing everything they want.

He's the lookout. Easy job. Just standing there. And looking. Easy peasy.

Until it isn't.

The men are finishing up and stealing the last of the money and valuable items rich people keep in here when Gary sees him; one guard is waking up.

"Um, hey, one of them is waking up. Do something!" Gary whisper-yells at the group.

Tom turns around to see and just shrugs his shoulders. "Shoot him."

"What?"

"If you want to live, just kill him. Now, shoot, you fuckin' dumbass!" Tom yells.

That really wakes the guy up, and the guard snaps to attention and sees Gary, shaking with a gun in his grip directly next to him. The guard snatches Gary's ankle, dragging him down to the ground. He moves to get on top of Gary and subdue him, probably attempting to rip the gun away from him and shoot the group, but the moment he starts wrestling with Gary, the trigger is pulled.

Gary cries out as the body falls on top of him, blood splattering all over the teen's body. He scrambles to get out from underneath the corpse, smearing his hands in the blood in the process.

The guys are finished, and Gary stares at them blankly as their mouths move, clearly giving him orders to get moving. But he can't hear them. He keeps moving anyways, running after them and trying to keep his breathing steady.

He doesn't know what's going on beyond that he's moving and there's blood on his hands and oh god he killed someone holy shit someone is dead because of him—

All of a sudden Gary realizes that they're back in the garage already as Tom slaps him on the back.

"Haha! Your first kill! Wasn't it fantastic?" Tom is cheering along with the other men, beers in their hands and bags of riches surrounding them. They all look happy, celebrating a successful job. Gary stands there in shock, his bloody hands shaking violently.

He runs to the bathroom and rips off his blood stained clothing, tossing them as far away from him as possible. He turns on the sink and scrubs viciously at his hands because there's so much blood and god he did this, it's his fault that a man is dead and no one except him is upset about it—

Gary can barely see anything through the tears except red, red, red, yet he distantly wonders how his dad would feel if he could know that his son just killed a man.

----

"Gary? Where's your tux?" Sam questions as she raises an eyebrow at Gary's navy Infinity Guard hoodie and jeans. She seems mad, and Gary can barely even process it at the moment.

He knows that everyone from her school—the school he would have gone to if his life hadn't gone to shit—is staring, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters to him anymore, except her, but he can't even keep that one thing.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go. I wish I could stay, Sam."

Sam cups his face and wipes away tears he didn't know were there. "Gary, what's wrong? You can tell me."

She looks so beautiful in her black dress, pink flowers adorning the bottom of it. Her hair is in a neat bun, some curls framing her face and the freckles dotting her dark skin. He wishes he could have enjoyed tonight, but the universe just won't let him be happy.

He doesn't dare touch her, fearing his previously stained hands would ruin her beauty.

Gary kisses her, forcing himself to remember this moment and what love feels like before he has to leave her and never come back. He must have always been destined to live a life of loneliness.

Sam pulls away first, tears ruining her perfect make up. "Bye, Sam," he whispers.

And then he runs, slipping between the crowd and launching himself at his bike. He puts his helmet on and slips his backpack on, and then leaves it all behind.

Gary is sixteen when he kills his first man and leaves his hometown. And he doesn't look back once.

#this was FUN to write #coming up with all of this was great #final space #final space season 2 #final space spoilers #fs spoilers #gary goodspeed #john goodspeed #fs fics

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ganglylimbs · 7 years ago

Text

Golden Waste

Summary: Gavin has been trying to right a wrong for centuries now. He's been alone for that long. But one invitation to a mix match crew may change the view he has of the world.

Notes: The ever popular Midas! Gavin with various demi-god crew members. There's no pairing per say but I did write it with the mindset of pre-freewood, so take that what you will.

Like this? Maybe support me on my patreon? Or tip me at ko-fi?

When you kill your daughter, the first thing you do is change your name. Then you get on a boat and leave. You never look back. With your greed, you’ve taken the fall, the drop, and all you can do is hope. Hope that the ground is soft when you reach it.

Gavin steps into the vault. It is big and cold and dusty. A hole has been blown in one of the sides. He takes his time, searching for safety deposit box 21AA. He hums as he walks. If he felt like it, he would have sung loud and clear, let his voice bounce around the vault and out the hallway. There was no one there, after all, but him. Instead, he listened to the sound of his footsteps clicking against the concrete floors.

21AA looks like the rest of the safety deposit boxes, the only difference being that while the rest have been thrown open, this one is still tightly closed. Gavin stares at it for a long moment. He hates having to do these kinds of things. Hates moving. But it is time.

Los Santos is big, a place where Gavin had felt, once upon a time, that he could get lost in. Thousands of people crammed into one area, a grimy city succumbing to the high crime rates. There isn’t a day that went by that sirens didn’t constantly wail, a police force spread thin as they zip up and down the roads. The buildings are tall and imposing, gray as the sky on most days, the people are suspicious of every little move from fellow citizens. Almost everyone deals in blood of some sort and the whole city is held together by the rich and powerful crime lords that ran everything in the shadows.

Unfortunately for Gavin, it is more profitable for children to learn their lessons on the streets, which makes for poor school attendance. The Los Santos school district can’t afford to keep him working. No one wants to learn from history anymore. But Gavin figures that this is a sign. He’s lived here too long (a hundred years now, far longer than he had dared anywhere else).

This bank had been leveled the other day, a bank robbery gone right, taken down in a blast of explosion. The lobby is destroyed, and everything inside is taken. But 21AA has been left closed. It is mostly undamaged, except for scratches along the lock, where someone had tried to pry it open. At least he knows that his security measure still works. No one but him can get this door open.

Gavin takes off one of his gloves, letting the golden thing fall to the floor. With only the slightest hesitance, Gavin places his hand on the lock. At his touch, the lock begins to turn gold. It is slow going, smooth lines of gold creeping their way across the steel surface. Gavin steps back and watches. The gold spreads like flowing water, uncontainable as it engulfs the safety deposit box, and then keeps going. From experience, Gavin knows it won’t stop till the vault is covered. If he really wills it, it can spread to the entire building.

But Gavin isn’t here for that. He opens the box. Inside are papers, golden too though they had been gold long before this. Papers Gavin had gathered throughout his lifetime. Passports and identities, a few coins. Some photographs. A map and a letter. Everything that reminds Gavin about the hell he continues to live.

“Man, you’re a sad looking guy.”

Gavin whips around. In the doorway of the vault stands a man done up in a suit. He has shaggy black hair and sleepy brown eyes stare back at him. He is leaning against the vault, relaxed. Behind him stands another man, this one much taller and broader than the first. This one is dressed in leather, his muscular arms are crossed in front of his chest, his blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes are two different colors. One green. One blue. While the man in the suit is smiling, the muscular man is scowling, lips pull back to show off his teeth.

Gavin takes a step back, eyes glancing to the side where the gold is still creeping across. Memories play in his head. People screaming, beatings, burning at the stake. No one reacts well when they realize what he can do.

The suited man chuckles. “Relax. I already know.” He tilts his head. “We’ve been watching you.”

Gavin finds his voice. “Well. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

That gets him another chuckle. The man pushes off the wall, strolling towards Gavin, hands in his pocket. “My name is Geoff. Geoff Ramsey.”

Gavin freezes. Ramsey. Fuck. No meeting with Ramsey ends well for anyone. He swallows. “Gavin Free.”

Geoff nods. “See. We can be civil.” Gavin isn’t so sure that the gang leader has a civil bone in his body, but he isn’t about to say that. “So. Gavin.” His name is said mockingly. “I have a proposition for you.”

Gavin has a pretty good idea where this is going. “I’ll turn whatever you want to gold, enough to tide you over, but I have a plane to catch tomorrow. And I would really like to be on it.” He pauses for a moment. “Please?” Never hurts to use manners.

Geoff throws his head back, his howling laughter echoing around them. Gavin can hear the soft huffing laugh of the other man too. Gavin shivers at the sound. When Geoff looks at him again, his eyes are green, shinny in the dimming light. “I don’t want your gold. I’m offering you a job, Free.” He smiles wide, sharp teeth bared. “Or should I call you Midas?”

No one ever thinks about the fall when they wish to fly. You suppose there might be some freedom to it, but all you are aware of is the fear curling in your gut as the wind goes flying past. You can’t stop. Your arms are flailing, your legs are kicking. But there are is no stopping. Not till you go splat.

Gavin slinks through the penthouse he had been dragged too. A few weeks here and he still doesn’t feel that comfortable. The rest of the gang is nice, he supposes. You know, for a criminal syndicate that thrives on violence and chaos. Jack, the second in command, is friendly. Michael isn’t but is polite enough for a guy that likes to blow up stuff. Jeremy is curious, and Ray stays out of his way. Ryan, the muscular man that held guard at the bank with Geoff, is as silent as ever. It’s Geoff who pushes the interactions.

He doesn’t’ seem to get that a closed door means do not enter. He probably doesn’t as locks don’t seem to deter him. He just pops into Gavin’s room and starts talking.

“Hey, which do you do like more; chocolate or vanilla?”

“I hate both. Get out.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Gold. Obviously.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” Geoff pouts at him. “Come on. You’ve been moping around long enough. Get a little lively here.”

Gavin brushes him off and goes to get something to drink. Geoff follows.

“You know, you haven’t taken your gloves off the entire time. Afraid of something?”

“Unless you want your whole place to turn gold, they stay on.”

“That would be pretty cool.”

Gavin doesn’t have an answer for that.

The rest of the gang is in the living room. Their chatter stops when Gavin appears. Gavin stands straight, sets his shoulders back and keeps his chin up. He can feel their eyes on him but does not turn. Geoff is close on his heels.

“How about dinner? I haven’t seen you eat anything since you got here.”

“I don’t eat.” It’s been a long time since he last had a meal-he thinks of the rations he snuck, deep in the trenches as the war went on around him. There’s nothing to food anymore that appeals to him. It is all very hollow.

“You’re kidding.” Geoff frowns at him. “Well, no wonder you’re such a grouch.” He bypasses Gavin, going deeper into the kitchen. Gavin watches, sipping on his cup of water, as Geoff starts to bring out pans. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ryan get up and leave. The others are still staring at him.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asks the room.

“I’m going to cook you a feast”

“Why?” Didn’t Gavin just tell him that he didn’t eat?

“I wouldn’t turn down Geoff’s cooking,” Jeremy advises from the couch. “It’s legendary.”

Gavin frowns at him before turning around. He starts to leave. “It’d be a waste of effort. I’m not eating it.”

Geoff snaps his fingers and Gavin falls to the floor. His legs feel weak, like newborn deer, and Gavin struggles to pick himself up. Geoff passes him, running his hand through Gavin’s hair. “See? You need to eat. Rebuild your strength.” Gavin can hear the smirk in Geoff’s voice.

Gavin scowls after him and refuses the help the others try to give him. He forgets, sometimes that no one in the room is exactly human. He crawls his way to the couch, at the farthest point from the others, in time for Ryan to arrive back with a large piece of meat. He sets it on the counter. Geoff and he set to work on it.

Gavin takes the time to observe the others. Jack has taken the form of a woman today, though they kept the beard of the man they were yesterday. They talk to Ray, who stays slouched and unblinking the entire time. Next to them, Michael and Jeremy talk, their language unknown. It’s deep and forbidding, like thunder made into words. Their voices hold a melody to them though that Gavin finds soothing.

When dinner is ready, and the table set, Gavin finds he can walk again. He does not embarrass himself by trying to run away. Instead, he takes a seat, back straight and chin high. The others are talking, about their day, about the news and Gavin reminds himself that this is the most feared gang in the city, pretending to be domestic. For the most part, he pushes his food around the plate.

It’s pork, cooked so tender, and potatoes. Gavin thinks again of his last meal-the rations, the trenches, how his toes had started to turn black, and the next second when a bomb goes off and for one blissful second he hadn’t existed anymore. He stares at the plate. His mouth remembers the taste of mud and death and blood and the dry hard rations. Hesitating for only a second longer, he takes a bite.

It’s overwhelming at first. His taste buds are screaming and his stomach cramps. But he forces it down and looks up. Meets Geoff’s eye.

Neither of them mentions that by the end, Gavin’s plate is completely clean.

“Get your coat. You are coming with us.”

Gavin knows an order when he hears one. He doesn’t disobey because he’s pretty sure Michael can break him in half.

They drive to meet Ray and Jeremy, miles outside the city, in an empty field. There are logs piled up, the two dowsing them in gasoline. At Gavin’s questioning look, Michael tells him “We’re going to have a bonfire. Maybe tell ghost stories.”

The fire burns brightly into the night. Michael and Jeremy do most of the talking. It’s clear to Gavin that Ray runs on his own time. Once, Michael had asked him a question and it took the other man five minutes to respond. Michael hadn’t seem put out by it.

Michael and Jeremy tell stories of a wild youth. Their voices take on a particular note, their eyes glaze over. They touch at old scars.

Gavin can’t help but tell a few of his own.

It’s Ray that asks. “I never see you use your gift.”

Gavin startles. Then he scowls. “That’s because it’s not a gift. Only a curse.”

Michael takes over questioning as Ray takes that in. He shrugs. “I guess it depends on how you look at it, yeah?”

Gavin turns his scowl towards him. “How can I look at it any other way?”

“You turn things to gold. What’s not to like about that?”

“I can no longer hold anything in my hand. Anything soft turns hard. Anything hot turns cold. I dare not hold another person. I’m forever stuck looking at gold .” Gavin spits out that last part.

Michael and Jeremy look at each other. “And?” Jeremy asks.

“And what?”

“Well, what are you doing about it?”

Gavin blinks at them. “Doing about it?”

“Yeah. You hate it so much, right? What are doing to get rid of it?”

Gavin takes a moment to think about that. “The Gods placed this curse on me for my greed. If I can prove I have changed, then maybe they will take it away.”

“And how’s that been going for you?”

Gavin draws his knees up to his chest. “Obviously, I haven’t tried hard enough.”

“Or maybe you’re trying too hard.” Jeremy shrugs.

Gavin has no answer to that. He stares into the fire as the two go back to talking. He looks over at Ray, who is staring at him, eyes completely black.

“Is there a difference between a curse and a gift?” He asks.

Gavin turns away from him.

Jack is standing outside his door. They’re a young child and when Gavin looks closer, he can see wrinkles around their eyes and mouth. There are gray hairs mixed in with the black.

He likes Jack. They don’t push him and can tell when he’s had enough, helping him escape the others when he wants to be alone. They smile at Gavin and wave him out of his room. “The others are out at on deal. Ray went back to his realm to deal with some things. Want to play some games?” They tilt their childlike head and give Gavin a wide smile.

Gavin follows them.

There is a game console set up in the living room, a racing game on the screen. Set around them are chips and soda. “It’ll be like a party.” Jack claps their hands.

Jack absolutely kicks Gavin’s butt at the game. And in the next. And in the next. “Wow, you suck at this.” They comment, after winning once again.

Gavin sighs, placing his controller down. “Yeah. It’s been forever since I played…well any sort of game.”

“What have you been doing all this time?” Jack wonders.

“I haven’t really had time to do anything of that sort,” Gavin said.

“Why?”

“Well, the curse-“

“Has done what?” Jack breaks in. “It turns things you touch to gold. How does that affect your ability to have fun?”

Gavin opens his mouth. Then closes it. He looks down at the controller. “I’ve been busy.” He finally answers.

“Too busy to have fun? What a life that must be.” Jack replies. They sip at some soda, watching Gavin.

Gavin just stares back, hopelessly.

There are three Ryans that Gavin knows of. One has blue eyes. Blue-eyed Ryan likes to stick close to the crew, looming over them. Watching. When Gavin mentioned it once to Michael, Michael told him it was an old habit of Ryan’s.

“He likes to protect things.”

Green-eyed Ryan is chatty. He talks about computers and likes to drink Diet Coke. He stays a safe distance away from Gavin, talking to him over countertops or with furniture between them.

Red-eye Ryan scares him. He saw red-eye put a bullet between someone’s eyes and stick a knife at the base of someone else’s spine.

Gavin can’t help but watch Ryan switch between the three. Red turns to green then bleeds to blue before turning back to red. They all must get their opinion in.

Ryan also likes to sleep outside Gavin’s door. Gavin had assured him, after the first time, that Gavin wasn’t going anywhere. Ryan had just stared at him with blue eyes. Gavin brings it up with Geoff. Geoff just pats him on the shoulder and tells him that means Ryan likes him.

Ryan makes sure that Gavin continues to eat, shoving plates in his face and not leaving till he feels that Gavin had eaten enough. When he is green-eye Ryan, he will read out loud. His voice is smooth. The books he read are long, things Gavin had never read himself. There had never been enough time.

Gavin doesn’t usually go on heists or deals. It feels wrong. To be spending all this time trying to right a wrong and here he is, stepping in line with criminals. He refuses the gun they try to give the first few times. But after almost being shot, he takes it, promising himself he will never use it unless for self-defense.

But sometimes he does go and just watch them work. Jack is great at getting into places-of course they are, they can be everyone. Jeremy carries a club like it’s the only weapon he needs and really, when he swings and the force of it plows through concrete like butter, it probably is. Michael and Ryan are there, raining down bullets or standing menacingly in the back.

Geoff is the one orchestrating it all.

Once at a deal, when they had been negotiating with a wannabe drug dealer, trying to decide if he would be allowed to sell on their turf, Gavin noted the way that Michael and Ryan would look at Geoff before talking. Little side glances. Geoff had been in the back, lent against a wall, half covered in shadows. He would tilt his head from time to time, some secret code that meant something to the others. His eyes never left the increasingly agitated dealer. Gavin watched him watch the dealer, watched as Geoff pulled his gun before the dealer could reach for his and shot at the man’s hand. He watched the way Geoff just grinned and shrugged, leaving the dealer to Ryan and Michael to do with as they please.

The third time Gavin goes with them to a heist, he stands in the corner and watches as everything goes wrong. The teller presses the button before they can stop her. They can’t get the money fast enough. Cops are busting down the door, civilians are running around, and they can’t get anyone under control.

He watches an officer gun down Jack. He moves forward, ungloves one of his hands and touches the officer’s shoulder. The man had had his back turned towards him, but he spins around upon Gavin’s touch. He brings his gun up and Gavin can see the fear in his eyes. But the gold works faster. It spreads from his shoulder and up his neck. The man screams, dropping his gun in favor of reaching up to scratch at his neck, fingernails scraping across the gold.

Gavin stumbles backward, watching with wide eyes as the gold overtakes the man. A young girl flashes across his vision, pleading for her father to make it stop. His hands are trembling heart pumping. His breath is coming in short.

“Father, father, stop!”

But he can’t stop it. Never could. And it twists his stomach, sends tears to his eyes.

Everything has gone silent. Gavin isn’t sure what was going on with the others, if they have stopped shooting or if everything is still descending into chaos. He doesn’t really care. Just watches the man before him be forever froze in gold.

He reaches down to grab the gun attached to his hip. He makes sure it is loaded. Then he puts it against his head.

Strong arms wrap around him, pinning his arms against his side. He twists his head to look back and meets the red eyes of Ryan. Gavin makes sure to keep his hands as far away from the other man as he can.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Geoff appears before him, a forest green robe replacing the suit he had moments before. He walks up to the now completely golden officer, lightly rubbing his fingers against the man’s shoulder.

Gavin swallows and looks around. Jeremy is beating his club against a figure that probably once was a human. It looks like a fleshy mess, guts strewn around it. There is wind whipping around Michael. Lights are flashing, in storm clouds that surrounded him, mini lightning that strikes out and catches a piece of paper on fire. Another bolt strikes a hole through another officer. He falls to the floor as Michael laughs.

“It’s so pretty.” Gavin’s attention is drawn back to Geoff, who is now laid across the officer’s back. His smirk is wide. “Good job.”

Gavin’s cheeks are wet. “I-I didn’t mean to, I swear. They killed Jack and I reacted without thinking and-“

“And look what you did.” Geoff cuts in. He brushes his hand across the officer’s cheek. “Amazing work. And you were protecting the crew? You did well.”

“He’s dead.”

Geoff shrugs. “He would have died anyway. But you made him beautiful.”

Gavin stares at the officer. His face is frozen in golden horror, mouth opened for a scream that has been cut off. His hands are curled into claws, one wrapped around his throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Didn’t you? Seemed you were moving with intent. And what does it matter? He killed Jack. Doesn’t he deserve this?”

“You protected the crew.” Ryan’s gruff voice spoke near his ear.

Geoff walks forward. With every step, his appearance changes. Long green robes, with yellow accents flow around him. They reach the floor. A helmet sits on top of his head, with long, curved horns sticking out of it. His eyes are pure green, glowing neon with power. He ruffles Gavin’s hair as he passes by. “You did well.”

Later, Jack reappears at the penthouse. Bloody but alive and the crew celebrates with cookies.

Gavin locks himself in his room.

You expect to hit the ground. You expect there to be a splat. You expect your brains to be all over the hillside, an explosion of body parts and blood.

You do not expect there to someone to help you slow down. For arms to wrap around you and hold you close and tell you everything will be fine.

With them, you’ll either survive. Build your life back up. Maybe one day, you won’t see your daughter’s face in your dreams, pleading for it to stop.

Or maybe you’ll still go splat. But at least this time, you have friends.

Gavin is in the process of turning a mug gold when Geoff appears again. Gavin startles, fumbling with the mug before it crashes against the ground. “Get out of my room.” Gavin snarls.

Geoff just smiles and sits on Gavin’s bed. “You called it your room.” He points out.

“So?” Gavin huffs.

“You’re really starting to fit in here,” Geoff says as he lays against the headboard.

Gavin considers him. Then he looks that golden pieces, scattered across the floor. “Do you usually do this? Force other immortals to join your gang?”

“Actually, Jack found me. As did Ray. I like to think they’re the ones to force me into this life.” Geoff tilts his head. “To be fair to them, I was causing mischief before. Now it’s more organized at least.”

Gavin laughs. “So you all, what? Followed each other around like lost puppies.”

“Hey, we’re very dangerous puppies.”.

They stay silent for a moment. Then Gavin asks. “Why are you here?”

“In this room? Because I wanted to let you know dinner is ready.”

“No. Why are you here, on Earth? Instead of your own realm?”

Geoff lets out a sigh. “I don’t think they’ll take me back if I begged them. Not that I would. But still. To them, I represent death and betrayal. Who would want that around?”

Gavin looks at Geoff. Sees a lot of things in those eyes that he’s sure are reflected in his own. Then he grabs a nearby pen, watching in silence as it turns to gold and hands it to Geoff. “Apparently you have a whole crew that wants you around.”

Geoff takes it. He spins it between his fingers. “Yeah, I guess I do. With maybe one more?”

Gavin smiles. “I can’t guarantee that. But I’ll stick around for a while.”

#fake ah crew #midas! Gavin #various demi-gods #mythology au

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years ago

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Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But...

By Grace Undone: Chapter Three

A devastating betrayal and an arcane ritual leave Castiel fighting for his life...his human life. When his grace is brutally torn out of his body and he's left to die on earth the only thing the Winchesters can do is try to pick up the pieces.

(I'm just doing one story for the entire month, so please enjoy the thirty-one chapter beginning of the flare 'verse. You can read other stories in the 'verse here, and you can read this fic on AO3 here.)

Images twisted through Castiel’s mind. His brothers and sisters, their true forms singing the praise of the infinite, mingling with the empty vessels they’d left behind when he killed them. It had been life or death at the time, but the blood on his hands was so heavy and thick there was nothing he could do to wash it away. He deserved this. Whatever Naomi had planned, he deserved every moment.

He barely noticed when the car stopped moving and Malachi wrenched the trunk open to drag him back out. It was raining, the world tinted to long shadows from an autumn sunset.

“What did you do to him?” Naomi demanded somewhere above. But it was Theo’s face interposed over hers that seemed to speak, blending and blurring until he couldn’t discern any real features of either.

“He needs to pay.”

There was a huff of annoyance and another touch to his forehead, but this one wiped away the images Malachi had left behind. Castiel sagged in his chains, grateful for the silence inside his own head.

Naomi had shed her jacket and rolled the sleeves of her blouse up to expose her arms. “Bring him into the circle. I’ll finish the preparations.”

Malachi grunted, but the moment Naomi’s back was turned his hand was around Castiel’s throat. “You’re lucky we need you unbroken for this,” he snarled. “If it were up to me, you’d already be in pieces for what you did.”

“Malachi!”

He glared in Naomi’s direction for a moment before grabbing the chain and dragging Castiel toward an old, rickety barn. The chains that had sealed Castiel’s powers hadn’t limited his self-healing, at least, so the split in the back of his head and the crack in his ribs had already mended. Malachi’s mental onslaught was harder to shake off…and there were so many more that the anarchist angel hadn’t even known of. All of Raphael’s followers. Zachariah’s men. Inias. Rachel. Bartholomew. Hael. Balthazar.

If he craned his neck Castiel could just see Naomi at one end of the barn, standing behind a circle drawn on the floor in blood. There were strange sigils and markings in the circle that he couldn’t quite identify, and the symbols themselves almost seemed to swim in and out of focus.

Naomi had draped a sky-blue scarf around her shoulders, with silver embroidered Enochian script spelling out her names and titles. His eyes caught on one line of text…confession and constancy…and he looked away with a shudder. She was moving around the edge of the circle with a glowing ember held in a set of tongs, lighting bowls of holy oil and fragrant wood that hung suspended from the rafters of the barn.

Malachi rolled him over onto his belly and started unwinding the chains around his body. “Jedaia!”

Hesitant footsteps marked the approach of a fourth angel. “Y-yes?”

“Help me.”

Small, trembling hands eased one of Castiel’s arms out from under his body. He twisted to look at her, getting a glimpse of a face that seemed far too young for this sort of work, and the tell-tale stain of tears on pale cheeks.

“That’s the last censor,” Naomi announced. “Do you have the stakes?”

“By the door,” Malachi replied with a nod.

Castiel had been passive, almost resigned to his fate, but he flinched away from Malachi’s hands when Naomi asked about the stakes. He could see her picking something up, just beyond the edge of the firelight. Something long and twisted and barbed at one end.

They were going to crucify him to the barn floor.

“No!” as Naomi turned back toward the circle Castiel lashed out. He was still dazed from Malachi’s mental attack and his legs were still bound together by sigiled chains, but he managed to twist around and catch Malachi under the chin with the palm of his hand.

Jedaia gave a panicked cry and backed away, and Castiel flung himself at Malachi. He slammed his elbow into the anarchist’s neck and brought up both knees to strike him in the side. If he could get out of the chains he might be fast enough to get away, even in a wingless vessel.

But Malachi recovered too quickly and caught Castiel’s wrist before he could land another blow. He twisted until something gave in Castiel’s elbow with a crack, then seized a handful of hair and slammed his head down onto the floor of the barn until Castiel felt his cheekbone snap. Then Malachi was on his feet, rolling Castiel to his back, stomping viciously with feet encased in heavy steel-toed boots. Skin bruised and tore, bones creaked and broke, and the anarchist lined up a cruel kick to the uninjured side of Castiel’s face.

“I said stop it!” Naomi shouted, grabbing Malachi by the shoulder and hurling him away from Castiel. “No broken bones! Jedaia.” She snapped her fingers at the fourth angel and pointed down at Castiel. When the girl hesitated Naomi took a step toward her and let her voice drop to a growl. “Now.”

Jedaia hurriedly knelt beside Castiel, shaking hands resting on either side of his face as her healing grace poured into his body. “I didn’t know,” she whispered in a trembling voice. “They said…I didn’t know it was like this.”

He had no time to reply, or even consider her words, before Malachi had rolled him onto his stomach again. This time the anarchist pressed one knee into Castiel’s back to keep him still as links of sigiled chains were wrapped around Castiel’s wrists and ankles so Naomi could drive a spike through the chains and into the ground below. His arms and legs were stretched out away from his body, just tight enough that the chain bit into his skin.

It wasn’t crucifixion, but he was starting to realize it was something much worse.

“We have one chance,” Naomi stated. He heard the rustle of paper as she handed something to Malachi. “Don’t screw this up.”

Cruel hands tore at Castiel’s clothing, baring his back to the cold, damp air. Then he bucked against the pain, screaming into the tape that still gagged him, as an angel blade bit into his flesh. Malachi kept his knee on Castiel’s tailbone and pressed his hand to the back of his neck to hold him still as he carved runes into his back. He could feel the blood pouring from the wounds, running down his sides to soak into the rags of his shirt and coats. He went limp from pain and exhaustion long before Malachi pulled away and could barely manage a shudder of relief when the other angel took a step back to admire his work.

It felt like there were three sets of runes: one on each shoulder and one in the middle of his back, just below where his ribs joined his spine. Malachi had connected them with three deep lines that had cut all the way into the muscle, stopping just shy of the bone in places.

“He’s ready,” Malachi called up.

“Good. Jedaia?”

Castiel managed to twist his head enough to see the fearful angel approach with a silver pitcher. “R-ready.”

“Prepare the oil of anointing,” Naomi commanded. She picked up an angel blade and drew it across the palms of both hands and down her forearms, then held her arms up so that her blood streamed down her arms into the white fabric of her blouse.

She began to sing.

Her voice was lower than he’d expected, and for a moment it sent a chill through his body. Then the words Naomi was reciting activated the spell in the circle and he could feel the runes on his back pulsing in time with her voice, burning as the magic carved into his vessel began to fuse with that of the sigils on the floor around him.

“Arp oi lansh ar ol trian coazio! Quansb a pash de ag! Ar a ne canse torzu od a ge ne iaial!” Naomi’s voice rose in triumph as she reached the end of her song, her arms almost glowing in the light of the burning holy oil.

Then everything was a swirl of fire and darkness and agony as his grace ignited.

(Yes, that is actual Enochian, I used an online translator so I had to go through synonyms for a lot of words and I don't know what the actual syntax would be so it might actually be gibberish.)

Other chapters: (1) (2)

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #sticks and stones may break my bones but #supernatural #fic #castiel #malachi #naomi #hurt castiel #ritual #sacrifice #cutting

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tipsycad147 · 3 years ago

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Tarot myths debunked! Nine "rules" of Tarot you can (mostly) ignore

by Michelle Gruben

As soon as you delve into the world of Tarot, you encounter a bunch of do-this, don't-do-that warnings and prescriptions about how to use the cards. (Why, it's almost as if we were dealing with something magical, not just 78 pictures on cardstock!) Some of these superstitions undoubtedly have a grain of truth in them, while others are just baloney dipped in snake oil. Now, for your amusement and your edification, Madame Michelle will feed each “should” and “shouldn’t” into the Truth-O-Matic Machine (i.e., her brain!) and declare a verdict.

You shouldn't read Tarot for yourself.

Mary Greer put a stake in this old truism with her groundbreaking 1984 book, defiantly titled Tarot for Your Self. Her Tarot method is based on the premise that Tarot is a mirror of the human psyche, and that relying on a reader to interpret your cards makes no more sense than asking someone else to explain your dreams.

These days, Tarot has become as mainstream as the Mississippi—we have weekend workshops, decks to suit every persuasion, and shelves of tarot books that owe more to 1970s self-help literature than to the Western esoteric tradition. The more accessible Tarot becomes, the fewer people believe that reading the cards is the provenance of a gifted few. And even professional cartomancers have to learn somewhere—usually, by reading for themselves.

That’s not to say that it’s easy to do Tarot divination for yourself. The potential for self-deception is high. Accurate readings call for a clear head and an impartial attitude—easier said than done when it’s your burning question on the table. But with some practice, you can cultivate the necessary detachment to be your own best Tarot reader. Learn to distinguish the whining voice of worry and desire from the subtle whisper of intuition. And be ready to get a second opinion when your well-calibrated bullshit detector starts beeping.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Yeah, but…no.

Using Tarot cards is dangerous.

Well, it depends on what your definition of danger is, doesn’t it? If you believe that opening a deck of Tarot cards is going to unleash a frenzied horde of demons that will drag you kicking and screaming into the dark world of the occult, then you need a reality check. If, however, you're worried that diving into Tarot will change your perceptions, scramble your priorities, and launch you into a lifelong obsession, then your fears are entirely justified.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Maybe.

Don't let anyone else touch your cards.

This warning is based on the assumption that a Tarot deck collects and stores the psychic energy of the reader. When another person handles the deck, according to this idea, their energy scrambles, contaminates, or wipes away this accumulation of energy, making the deck less attuned to its owner.

Most readers I know do have a “professional” deck which many clients will handle, and another deck(s) reserved for their personal use. But their concerns are usually mundane—germy, grimy, or clumsy hands fondling a treasured deck, or cards going missing during a long evening of giving readings in low light. Bad vibes are really a non-issue. A Tarot reader who is skilled enough to detect psychic imprints left on their deck will easily be able to give it a good cleansing before the next use.

Not only that, but readers who allow the querent to handle their cards give better readings than people who bogart the deck. Passing the cards back and forth facilitates the exchange of energy that allows information to flow more freely during the reading. Not only that, allowing the querent to shuffle, cut, and/or draw cards is a great way to keep the person actively involved in the reading. We've all experienced the client who wants to sit passively on their side of the table while the all-knowing Tarot reader tells them exactly what fate has in store for them. Blech. Letting the querent choose their own cards from the deck gives them a greater sense of control over their destiny, and perhaps encourages them to take positive steps after the reading is over. Also, many people are nervous about having their cards read, and keeping their hands busy helps allay those jitters.

On a side note, my permissive attitude about Tarot-sharing doesn't go for other magical tools. I'll let any curious person thumb through my Tarot cards, but I'm choosy about who, if anyone, gets to see my scrying crystal or athame. To make an analogy, I'll happily lend a sweater or scarf to a friend, but not my lucky undies. (And shame on you for even asking, Mark.)

Truth-O-Matic reading: Nah.

Don’t buy a used Tarot deck.

A corollary to the above, this caveat is also based on worries about psychic contamination. There’s nothing wrong with buying a pre-loved deck (as long as you make sure all the cards are there). Just cleanse the used deck according to a method you trust, dedicate it to your purposes, and have fun reading it. Shunning used cards makes trees sad!

Incidentally, I’ve found that plenty of readers actually prefer vintage decks. They’re usually easier to shuffle, and may have acquired a patina of incense smoke and hand crud that newly-minted cards just can’t match. (And, if you’re seeking a rare or out-of-print deck, you may have no choice but to acquire it secondhand.) Of course, if you favor a crisp deck that’s never been read by anyone else, that’s fine too.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Whatever floats your boat.

You should “reset” the deck by putting the cards back in order after each use.

This myth must be perpetuated by those folks who mistake their OCD for some kind of special magical sensitivity. I’m pretty sure the only people who follow this rule are Tarot dilettantes who read the cards once a year on their birthday. A pro would never undertake the Sisyphean task of “resetting” the deck after every spread. Sorting the cards and placing them back in their proper sequence can be a relaxing, meditative activity—but it's by no means necessary. A good shuffle or two to mix in the cards from the last reading is all the maintenance a Tarot deck requires.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Oh hell no.

You can't purchase your first Tarot deck—it has to be received as a gift.

Try as I might, I haven't been able to track down the origin of the idea that it’s somehow improper or inauspicious to buy your own Tarot deck. An acquaintance of mine who comes from a Romani (Gypsy) family tells me that this is one of their customs. To wait to be given a deck for card-reading exemplifies patience, humility, and a true calling—while buying one for yourself signifies vanity.

The prohibition against buying your own deck may also be a legacy of the 19th-century occult societies. Before the publication of the Rider-Waite deck made the Tarot images widely available, knowledge of the Tarot would have been mainly conveyed from initiate to aspirant. In the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, for instance, the Tarot Trumps and their “true” meanings were treated as a powerful secret. Members built on their knowledge of the Tarot in stages, as they progressed from grade to grade. Each initiate was expected to make his or her own Tarot deck from a master copy (probably painted by Moina Mathers) upon achieving the grade of Adeptus Minor.

These days, of course, there are few secrets left in the occult world, and self-initiation is the norm. So, go ahead and buy your own Tarot deck—I’m sure the powers that be have better things to do than to hang out at Barnes and Noble punishing Tarot interlopers. Besides, if you’re a Tarot beginner waiting for someone to guess that you want a Tarot deck and to buy it for you, you might be waiting for a long time. Just choose a deck that appeals to you, as long as it’s Rider-Waite (Kidding! Sort of.), and dive right in.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Piffle.

Beware the Death card!

We can thank Hollywood for this one. It’s a B-movie cliché that any character who gets this card won’t live until the credits roll.

As every single beginning Tarot book points out, drawing Death does not necessarily portend someone’s impending demise. It signifies change—often positive change. But let’s not be tempted to de-fang (de-scythe?) this card completely. The change it speaks of can still be dramatic, scary, and presently unwelcome. When drawn, it’s a wake-up call to embrace the flux within and around us, and to face the inevitable. In recent years, with the trend toward Tarot for self-development, the pendulum has arguably swung too far the other way. Now, instead of “Death” we get “Transformation,” “Renewal,” “End of Cycle,” and other polysyllabic affirmation-speak. O Death, where is thy sting? Why dost thou blatherest on so?

Truth-O-Matic reading: Don't fear the reaper (but don't ignore him, either).

Don’t ask the same question twice.

“Does this shirt look okay on me?”

“Mmmph.”

“No, really, how does this shirt look?”

“It's a little tight—”

“Aw, c'mon, don't you like my new shirt? I got it on sale.”

“It looks fine.”

And then, because you asked the same question too many times, you leave the house looking like a stack of donuts wrapped in Spandex.

The danger is not that the Tarot will punish you for your impudence—that's superstition. No, the danger is in finally hearing what you want to hear, rather than what you need to hear, and making poorer decisions because of it. It's hard enough to keep your hopes and biases out of a reading without giving yourself multiple spreads to choose from. Didn't get a clear answer the first time? Some readers will keep the spread in place and draw additional cards for clarification, but even that practice has its pitfalls. (Do you really not understand the answer, or are you just angling for cards you like better?)

You may have also noticed that the cards are, for lack of a better term, impatient with persistent needling on one question. Ever try for a re-do and get the same answer phrased a different way? Or even the same exact cards? That's the Tarot gods trying to clue you in—the answer you've received is the right one, so take it or leave it. Persist in fishing, and the tone sometimes turns a little nasty.

Of course, there are times when you may want to do a follow-up reading on a question that has been asked in the past. But that's recommended only after some time has elapsed, and only then if the situation is actively evolving.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Mostly true.

Sleeping with your Tarot deck under your pillow will enhance your bond with the cards.

Now isn't this just like one of these lazy-ass New Age fluffy-bunny ideas: “To become a Tarot master, all you have to do is take lots of naps!” No, sorry. I’ve tried the osmosis method, and it doesn’t work. The only way to become familiar with the Tarot images is too look at them, read them, read about them, and read them some more—preferably at regular intervals, and across several decades. If exploring the cards in dreams is your objective, you’ll probably have more luck if you to choose an image to meditate on before bed. However, if you happen to like the corner of a cardboard box poking you in the cheeks all night, then be my guest.

If it’s a bond with the physical deck that you crave, the best way to connect with your cards is to handle them—handle them a lot, until your cards smell like your hands and your hands smell like cards.

Bend ‘em and scuff ‘em up until the edges are all soft and you can shuffle with your eyes closed. Mentally acquaint yourself with the texture and dimensions, so that picking up your deck feels as comfortable as sliding into your favorite T-shirt.

Will taking your deck to bed imprint it with your personal energy? Yeah, I guess so, a little. But folks who practice psychometry (the art of reading vibes from objects) generally agree that paper is a poor conductor of psychic energy, compared to non-organic materials like metal or stone. So the energy clinging to a Tarot deck may not feel as potent or last as long as with other tools. Still, if you want to infuse your cards with your personal energy, you can do that with a ritual or visualization. I recommend charging them purposefully and consciously, rather than soaking them in the psychic equivalent of pillowcase drool.

Truth-O-Matic reading: Hmmph.

This article is excerpted from the book Tarot Tangents, or Little Essays Toward Thoth.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/77236103-tarot-myths-debunked-nine-rules-of-tarot-you-can-mostly-ignore

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