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fizzingwizard · 3 months

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Hi hi, I arrive with a little ficlet for prompt blueberry. Pretty PG stuff with a sweet indulgent dose of Snufmin :)

--- Blueberry Summer

"I want to go blueberry-picking," Snorkmaiden announced, sitting up.

"So go," Moomintroll replied lazily from where he lounged beside her.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"No." He had no plans of moving. The summer breeze was warm on his back, and he'd molded the soft, pliant grass into a perfect Moomin-shaped nest. He didn't feel like stooping among the bushes in the heat, getting his paws stained purple with blueberry juice. He closed his eyes, fully intending to doze off until the dinner bell.

For a few minutes there was no noise but the bird song. Still, he sensed Snorkmaiden waffling. She wanted the berries, but she didn't want to go alone. Typical Snorkmaiden.

Most days he would give in and join her. But… not today. Just now, he really wanted to prolong the peace and quiet. She could do this one thing without him, just this once.

"I heard Snufkin was thinking of picking blueberries this afternoon," she said after a while, sotto voce.

In spite of himself, his ear flicked.

"So you are awake." She sounded smug. Cheeks burning, Moomintroll slowly, slowly uncurled from his oh-so-comfortable position. He stretched his arms with a huge yawn.

"Well," he sighed, "if you insist on it. I guess I'll come with you."

—

They did find Snufkin in the blueberry patch. And not just him - Sniff, Little My, Snork, and Moominpappa and Mamma were there as well. There was no need to pick the blueberries either, as they had already filled several baskets to the brim.

Clearly this was some pre-arranged gathering of sorts, but the truth didn't hit Moomintroll until Moominmamma lifted the cloche off a frosted three-layer cake.

"Oh, it is my birthday," he exclaimed.

"Did you forget?" Snufkin asked in amusement.

"No! But since no one said anything, I figured there was a surprise waiting at home. I never expected the surprise would be in the blueberries."

"There was a reason behind it," Snorkmaiden explained, scooping up a handful of berries and placing them artistically on the top tier of the cake. "Your birthday cake is lemon-blueberry, so we thought why not some fresh blueberries to go with it?"

"Also Moominmamma is going to make jam later," Sniff added.

Moomintroll accepted a glass of raspberry juice from his mother as the others fussed over the cake. The picnic blanket was strewn with daisies. The wireless played cheerful music at a low volume. There were plates of sandwiches and salad, and his friends had set lanterns all around, predicting that the party would extend, as Moomin family parties were wont to do, long into the night.

"Snufkin, don't you have a blueberry-picking tune?" asked Little My.

"Hmm? No…"

"Why not? You have a tune for everything else."

"You should ask him to make a tune for Moomintroll," said Snorkmaiden. "After all, it's his birthday."

Looking for an excuse to hide the mounting color in his cheeks, Moomintroll dipped his head to take a big bite of sandwich. To his surprise, Snufkin seemed equally off-balance, stammering through a weak reply about not being good at composing on the spot. (Which was rubbish - Snufkin could compose melodies in his sleep to make Apollo jealous. Not that Moomintroll was any expert in judging music… or could sing or play himself… anyway, everything Snufkin played sounded wonderful, at least to him, and that must mean something.)

"I do have an idea for a blueberry-picking song," Snufkin went on in a hurry, shaking loose pebbles and leaves from his pocket as he drew out his mouth-organ. He played a quick scale to warm up before launching into a merry, staccato tune, which reminded Moomintroll of grasshoppers jumping in tall grass.

Although they'd picked enough blueberries to last all winter, Moomintroll, Sniff, Snorkmaiden, and Little My ran laughing into the bushes, impelled by the song. Snufkin trailed after them languidly.

There were no more empty baskets, so they competed to see who could carry the most in their paws (or, in the case of Little My, who refused to be left at a disadvantage due to her smaller-than-average paws, in their frock). The bushes still teemed with berries even after the earlier harvest. He picked and picked, cradling the berries in the crook of his arm when he could no longer hold them in a single paw.

Sure he was bound to win, he glanced up, only to spot Sniff tossing blueberries into his mouth.

"Sniff! You won't have a chance to win if you do that."

"What do I care about winning when there isn't even a trophy or a bag of gold? This is tastier."

"I concur," Little My said, and bit into a ripe blueberry still on the bush.

Moomintroll turned to Snorkmaiden in appeal. But he stopped short on seeing the tell-tale spots of purple dotting the edge of her mouth. She blushed and covered her face. "Well, they just taste so good!" she giggled.

"Sniff's right." Snufkin sauntered over. He nudged Moomintroll with his elbow. "Besides, instead of picking berries, you can have a blueberry-eating contest."

Little My's lip curled in a smirk. "In that case, you lot might as well forfeit here and now. No matter how much you eat, none of you will ever outdo me when I swallow this."

And she produced the biggest blueberry any of them had ever seen. It was easily twice the size of the largest they had gathered, and bluer than a cornflower.

"A mutant blueberry!" Sniff let out an awed gasp.

"Gosh, can you even eat that? It'll get stuck," added Snorkmaiden.

"Cut it in half like a cherry tomato," Sniff suggested.

"No way." Little My's bun jiggled furiously as she shook her head. "I'm eating this baby whole in one gulp."

"That's not a good idea, Little My…" Moomintroll said, but he knew trying to warn her off the idea was useless. Little My always did exactly what she wanted.

Sure enough - "Watch me," Little My said flippantly, and popped the blueberry into her mouth.

She didn't chew. They all waited with bated breath, but Little My had gone still as a statue, unmoving except for a twitch in her brow.

"She's choking!" wailed Sniff.

"How can you tell? She looks the same as always," Moomintroll said. But as he looked closer at her face, he thought her skin did have a strange blue tinge. Her eyes rolled back and her paws rose to her throat.

Sniff squeaked, jumping up and sending blueberries flying. "Now she's drooling! She's going to die! Who knows the Heimlich?"

"What's the Heimlich?" Snufkin asked. "Just give her a good smack, here -"

He pulled Little My in front of him, drew back his arm, and gave her a few sharp slaps between her shoulder blades. She made a gurgling noise, but nothing more happened.

"Let me try," Moomintroll said, switching places with Snufkin. As the heel of his paw came down on her back, she jerked forward and the blueberry shot out of her mouth like a marble.

Snufkin gave an approving nod. "Good work."

"You enjoyed that," Little My glared at him, her voice hoarse but strong as ever.

"Hitting you? Of course not," Moomintroll protested.

"I was hoping I'd get a turn…" Snorkmaiden looked away wistfully.

"Me too," said Sniff.

"You're a bunch of violent louts. But I don't care. I won at least."

There was a sudden uproar.

"You didn't win!" Moomintroll cried. "You didn't swallow one blueberry! We had to Heimlich it out of you!"

"Well, are you going to try to swallow it?" she demanded.

They looked down at the mammoth blueberry lying on the grass, soggy and deflated.

They looked at each other.

"... Like I said, there isn't even a bag of gold to win," Sniff replied with a shrug. "I'm going to see if Moominmamma's cut the cake yet."

"I'll pass too." Gathering as many unbruised berries off the ground as she could, Snorkmaiden followed Sniff to the picnic blanket. "We've already picked more than enough blueberries. Some bird or squirrel will be very grateful we left the biggest one for them."

Everyone knew what Snufkin's answer would be. That left Moomintroll to bear the brunt of Little My's dagger eyes all alone.

"Alright, alright!" he groaned. "You win, by virtue of being the stupidest of us all! Even though it's my birthday and if anyone should win for no good reason, it should be me."

She grinned, satisfied. As she strode away, Moomintroll took some small comfort in the conspicuous dark stain down the front of her dress. That would take some work to wash out, and Mamma would make her do it herself too.

He must have seemed rather forlorn, because after a minute Snufkin wandered over and slipped an arm around him.

"Purple's not really her color, is it," he offered.

Moomintroll shook his head. "No, it isn't."

"I prefer normal, non-mutant blueberries anyhow. But not the teeny tiny ones. They tend to be extra sour."

"Exta extra sour."

Snufkin gave Moomintroll's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Race you up the hill?"

It bothered him a little, to be coddled by Snufkin. He expected it from Snorkmaiden. But he wished Snufkin would see him brave and decisive and grown up - someone to respect, not pet. His tail stiffened. "I don't know…"

"Oh, I guess your legs are rather short for sprinting."

"What!" Moomintroll cried, but Snufkin had already taken off. He was laughing so hard it was a wonder he could still manage to run. The wind blew his hat off his head and right into Moomintroll's snout.

"I'm winning, Moomintroll!"

Moomintroll absolutely did not yell out what the others later claimed they heard him yell at that moment. Snatching up the hat, he dashed after the old green trickster, who was only less of an annoyance than Little My because he was worlds lazier, and one day Moomintroll was going to smack him for it.

Yes, smack him. And afterward maybe Snufkin would let him kiss it better.

… It was his birthday, after all. "One day" might as well be "today."

Later, Little My would swear she had never seen a Moomin move so fast, or a Snufkin go from unflappable calm to abject terror with such alacrity. It was a good thing there were so many blueberry bushes around to conceal them once Moomintroll got a fistful of Snufkin's smock. It was less of a good thing that they'd eventually have to return, exhibiting the proof of their little misadventure in the stylish form of numerous purple polka dots.

But after that neither of them could ever manage to eat blueberries without breaking out in laughter. Little My drew a picture to commemorate her enormous blueberry find that Sniff claimed was greatly exaggerated. And "the blueberry summer" became a point of reference for the Moomins whenever they wanted to think on a time when they had been particularly happy and particularly content.

#moomin #snufmin #moomintroll #snufkin #moominvalleycommunity #fizz writes

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nyxshadowhawk · 1 year

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The Ars Notoria!

This is one of the grimoires of the Solomonic tradition of ceremonial magic. The Ars Notoria is technically part of the Lemegeton, but sometimes it’s treated as a separate text. I was expecting it to be in Latin, so I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was in English — very readable English, and in beautiful handwriting! It’s a translation of earlier Latin versions, but it has the feel of a personal Book of Shadows. A human wrote this. There are lines crossed off, words squeezed into the margins or added with little carrots.

This book is a great example of the fact that there’s a very fine line between a prayer and a spell. It mostly consists of a series of prayers and psalms, but it has some “voces magicae”-esque recitations of sacred names or multilingual incantations.

Did you know that hydromancy, pyromancy, and chiromancy count amongst the Liberal Arts? The Solomonic grimoires really make it clear how much magic is intertwined with the Liberal Arts (i.e. mathematics, philosophy, theology, grammar, rhetoric, astronomy, etc.). Many of the demons listed in the Ars Goetia teach these subjects (no wonder Faust was a scholar). The Ars Notoria says that you have to study certain liberal arts on specific days, just as you have to perform rituals on specific days and during specific planetary hours and so forth. And recite long mystical incantations before studying philosophy. Just like folk spells, these long prayers are supposed to have specific magical effects, like improving your memory and speech.

The Ars Notoria isn’t nearly as exciting as the Ars Goetia. I only found two magical figures in it. It took me way too long to realize that the mystical figures that surround the second one are, in fact, the alphabet. I guess that’s what you get when your grimoire is in English? Well no, actually. That figure actually demonstrates a handy spell that uses a magnetized needle (that’s what the symbol in the middle is meant to represent) to communicate with a friend at a long distance, using a method similar to an ouija board or one of those pendulum boards that you can get. As the needle turns, it spells out the message that your friend wants to send to you. Kind of interesting that this book includes a whole magical operation for something that we can do with our phones in an instant, and with much greater accuracy.

I looked up who Bernard Zufall was. Zufall was known for his ability to memorize anything, and had the largest collection of books dedicated to mnemonics, which was then donated to Yale University. He was more of a stage magician than a ceremonial magician. I’m not sure how or why he acquired an Ars Notoria, but I’m grateful that he did, because that means I get to see it.

#Ars Notoria #grimoire #manuscript #lesser key of solomon #solomonic magic #ceremonial magic #magic #occult #occultism #rare books #beinecke rare book and manuscript library #yale university

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ghostsmybeloved · 2 years

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Fond Memories

Papa Emeritus IV (Copia) x Reader

Summary: Papa had no idea who you were, or how you came to suddenly be such an important thing in his life. He wasn't complaining though.

Words: 3.2k

Copia held his head down as he rushed through the Abbey towards the abandoned wing, tears threatening to fall as he could hear members of the Higher Clergy call out behind him. The Papa didn’t care though, he needed to escape away from his Papal duties.

As he entered the abandoned wing, the atmosphere almost immediately changed. He could hear scampering of nonexistent creatures, the wind whistling past him as he continued on his journey. Copia figured it was just his paranoia, his anxiety as the Papa ignored the feel of eyes on his back.

The Papa grew closer to the old practice rooms, used by Papa Nihil when the Ghost Project was first founded. The wing had been abandoned when Nihil tried to turn away from the spotlight of the stage. Copia had heard stories about the wing growing up, but none of them suddenly came to his mind as he continued his trek.

Slowly, faint singing reached his ears as he stopped. If his Ghouls were here, he’d deny that he was nervous, scared even, but in his moment of isolation, Copia thought of turning around. As the Papa remained still, he could slowly hear the lyrics more clearly.

As if his body moves on its own, Copia found himself following the sing as he came upon one of the practice rooms. Silently opening the door, he found himself in the presence of you, who hadn’t quite noticed the Papa.

Your singing of Life Eternal had both your and the Papa’s attention, sitting on the piano bench as your fingers grazed above the old piano. You weren’t playing it, your fingers barely above the keys as you sang. Copia started swaying to the song, smiling softly as he felt his worries from earlier slip away like they were swept up by the ocean.

“Can you feel me longing for you forever and ever?” you finished, opening your eyes to feel the mismatched eyes on your body, making you tense up and turn around. Copia jumped at your turn, clearing his throat.

“Ah so sorry for interrupting! I just- uh- heard your voce incantevole!” Copia stuttered, making you giggle as he cleared his throat again, “You are a- uh- beautiful- I mean great- singer…yeah.”

Your smile held even though your giggling stopped, “Well I am glad you enjoyed it Papa. It is one of my favorite songs from the Ghost Project. Your singing is so much better than mine, but I am honored that you praise me.”

“I am Papa- Copia, I mean. Per favore, chiamami Copia.”

“Well what brings you to my wing Copia?” You scoot over on your bench, offering the Papa to sit down with a bright smile on your face. Who is he to deny your offer?

Striding to the stage, he quickly gets up and sits down on the bench next to you as you both face the piano keys. Your fingers dance above the keys once again, like you were teasing both him and the piano of a performance.

Copia takes a deep breath as he begins to spill his Papal secrets, “Mi nascondo. The meeting with the Higher Clergy today did not go as planned, they doubt my abilities. They want me to be like my brothers before, while being nothing like them.”

Finally, your fingers grace the piano keys as you started performing a piece Copia had never heard before as you spoke, “Do not listen to them. The differences between Primo, Secondo, and Terzo is what made them shine so bright when they stood on those stages.”

The Papa does not reply, listening to the old piano as he closes his eyes. The piano was withered by age, yet despite the disoriented sound that was hidden underneath the music, it was still beautiful. It reminded him of one of the Ghoul’s lullabies, making Copia quietly hum along to the keys.

You two stayed sitting as you performed while he hummed. Copia had no idea how long time had passed, he didn’t care much, until your piece ended. Before the Papa could praise or ask for another, you took his hands and guided him back to the abandoned commons.

“What-”

“Papa! There you are!”

Copia quickly turned around at the mention of his title, seeing Aether rush over to him. The Ghoul looked exhausted, like had overused his Quintessence energy again. Though, he still was filled with joy to find the Papa.

“My Ghoul! Aether, this is-”

As he turned around, the Papa didn't see you behind him anymore, like you snuck away. Seeing this, Copia’s words died on his tongue as he looked between Aether and where you were standing.

"Are you alright Papa?" Aether asked, putting his claw on Copia's shoulder, making him look at the Ghoul, "Are you seeing things?"

"No, no, no. Giuro, qualcuno è stato qui!"

Aether looked at the Papa concerned, before nodding, "You can tell us all about this mystery person back in the Den, okay?"

"..okay."

* * *

Copia was restless in his seat, desperate to be free of another meeting with Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil. She was scolding him for rushing out of yesterday's meeting, but her words never reached the Papa's ears. He wanted to rush back to the abandoned wing to see if you were there again.

"Are you even listening?!" Sister Imperator growled, making Copia snap to look at her. She had a scowl on her face when he looked at her.

"Of course I am, Sorella. I am just tired."

It wasn’t a complete lie. He was tired, he hadn’t gotten much sleep because he couldn’t get you out of his head, your singing of his song and your performance on the old piano. You felt so familiar to the Papa, but he couldn’t understand why.

Papa Nihil went to say something, but Sister Imperator quickly glared at him, making him shut up with a quiet apology. She turned her attention back to Copia with a fake smile, her eyes glaring daggers. If the Papa wasn't so distracted by the thought of you, he might've been intimidated by her.

Sister Imperator rose out of her seat quietly, striding over to Copia's desk, "How about you get some rest, C? Your assistant can do the rest of your work today."

The Papa sighed quietly, nodding as Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil left the room arguing about something. Copia didn’t really care what they were arguing about, he cared that this was the perfect time to escape and try to find you again.

As he listened to the faint footsteps get fainter, Copia took this as his time to escape as he slipped out of his office and down towards the abandoned wing. Unlike yesterday, his anxiety and sorrow was replaced with excitement and a fluttery sense.

Creeping behind the wing’s large doors, he smiled brightly as he almost ran down the hallway. The small footsteps of creatures and the wind whistling didn’t bother the Papa today, he was too focused on seeing you again. You were like his most sinful dream, a gift from Lord Lucifer himself.

Copia entered the abandoned commons to see you sitting on the floor, noticing that the couches were far too dusty for anyone to sit on. In your hand was a book he was all too familiar with, it was an ancient Latin book that only the most knowable Clergy could read.

“Hello…” Copia squeaked out, mentally slapping himself for the sudden nervousness around you. Hearing his voice, you turned around with a big smile on your face, “Ci scusiamo per l'intrusione.”

“Oh no Papa, it’s no intrusion. Between us, I shouldn’t even be here, but I tend to get quite lost,” you chuckled, patting the spot next to you as another offer to the Papa, “Come, sit. I knew you’d be back.”

“You did?”

You made a quiet noise in response, nodding your head as he walked over to sit next to you. Once Copia was seated, you moved the book to rest on your legs to share it with the Papa next to you. It was senseless gibberish to him, but you looked like you understood it all.

The two of you made eye contact, making Copia blush and quickly look down at the book, “You.. uh… understand this book?”

“Ah yes. My father taught me when I was young. He told me it was going to be a great skill.”

“Your father? Is he a part of our church?”

You hesitated, opening your mouth to speak as you took a couple of seconds before answering, “No. My father… does not agree with my choices.”

“E tua madre?” Copia is quick to ask. A little too quick which makes him quickly speak again, “Sorry, nothing bad! I am just curious!”

You giggled again with a bright smile on your face as he stuttered over his words again. He felt like such a fool in front of you, but hearing your laugh was worth it. It warmed the Papa more than the deepest pit of Hell could.

“I never knew my mother, I don’t know whether she died or just didn’t want anything to do with me,” you explain, your smile turning sorrowfully as you looked up at Copia, “It was just my father before I joined.”

“I am an orphan,” Copia admits, making you squeeze his hand gently, “I was left on the Abbey’s steps one day with nothing. I was one of the few orphans to stay within the church though.”

“That must have been hard.”

Copia hums in response before turning his attention back to the book, “Can you tell me what it says?”

“Its written about our Lord, describing His kindness. Have you ever felt His presence, Copia?" You looked over at him, your hand still on top of his as you questioned again, "Have you heard His messages?"

Copia feels his heart to race, pounding in his chest like a cage. He doesn't know if it's racing because of your hand or your questions, but he quickly responds, "I haven't. I pretend to do so, I am Papa, but I have not. È vergognoso."

"I think those closest to our Lord don't hear His words because they are going down the right path."

Copia smiles softly as you start reading from the book, your voice soothing the Papa. He wasn't listening to your words, instead focusing on your voice. It sounded sweeter than any fruit of Eden.

As you ended the chapter, the Papa was so grateful you read to him. He hardly listened to the chapter, he knew it was bad since it was about Lucifer, but he couldn’t help himself. Copia loved your voice and your talent.

Looking up at the old grandfather clock, you hummed in disappointment, “It’s time for you to go Copia. Dinner starts soon.”

“Hm?” Copia looked at the grandfather clock and gasped, shooting up, “Oh no! I’m late! I promised to help set the tables in the grand hall!”

Before he knew it, he was rushing out the hall without saying goodbye to you, and without even getting your name. Copia only realized it as soon as he got to the grand hall, his frown apparent as he looked back in the direction of the wing.

Tomorrow, the Papa promises himself, tomorrow he’ll get your name.

****

Tomorrow came and went, along with many more weeks as he visited you daily. Every day the Papa sees you, you are doing something different. Copia then is mesmerized by what you have to say, he listens for hours and hours, which only feels like minutes, till someone finds him or he has another event.

Every time, he doesn’t get your name, and every day he promises himself the next day. Copia has told his Ghouls all about you, the way your eyes shined when you spoke, the beautiful laughter of yours.

Today was just like any other, the Papa practically skipped to the abandoned wing with such joy of seeing you again. As he reached the large doors, Copia couldn’t help, but push them both open to make a grand entrance.

Entering the commons, Copia noticed how you weren’t sitting on the floor like you have been a couple of times. He shrugged it off and went through the practice rooms with no sights of you. Slowly, anxiety creeped up the Papa’s neck as he opened almost every room to look for you.

When he came up empty handed, he glanced at the old summoning room as he gulped. You had joked with the Papa that the summoning room held a beast that could tear humans apart with no trouble. Your joke now didn’t seem so funny as he stood in front of the oak door.

With a great hesitation, his breath hitched as he slowly opened the door. Copia peaked his head in to see a fire within the circle reach to the stone ceiling. As he stumbled in, the Papa saw you standing in front of fire with a frown on your face.

“What’re you doing?” Copia asked, making you sigh with the flames dancing off of your face, “I asked what’re you doing?”

“I cannot stay, Copia, my time is over. I failed.”

“What do you mean?”

You looked over at the Papa, tears streaming down your face as you spoke, “You're not the son of Satan, none of the Papas have been or will be.”

“Step away from the fire, piccolo topo, let’s talk about this somewhere else,” Copia begs, slowly walking closer to you as you continue to cry, “Explain it all to me, please. We can go to the gardens.”

The flames quickly died as you stepped towards him, grabbing the Papa’s wrist as you stormed towards the exit of the Abbey in the wing and out into the cold October night. You dragged him into the forest, muttering something about it being your last chance. You finally let go when you brought him to a clearing.

“Do you remember this place?” you asked, facing Copia as you spoke, “Do you have any of your memories? We were right here! Years upon years ago!”

With a wave of your hand, the surrounding forest changed as someone who looked oddly like Copia stood in front of you. He had a beautiful set of white wings that protected him as you had the same. His voice was similar to Copia’s, but a bit deeper.

“Y/N,” he spoke clearly, making you almost take a step forward.

“Yes?”

He looked back towards the now changed forest, “I’m going to stay and fight for these humans. You don’t have to do this with me.”

“But I want to!” you exclaimed, finally taking a step forward as you tried to reach out for him. Copia saw your desperation and your pain in your eyes as tears fell into the grass.

“I know you do. Please please understand, if we lose, we’ll be killed, and if we win, we can never go home,” he explains, going to grab your hands, only to go through them.

You smiled sadly as you moved your hands like they were in his, “Why would I ever want to go home if you’re here?”

“My angel, you’re wonderful,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss you, but as soon as he was close enough, he disappeared along with the surroundings.

“Everything I ever did, I did for you.”

“I don’t understand…”

You turned to face the Papa as you grabbed his hands and held them close to your heart, “You aren’t the child of Satan, because you are Satan! You’re Satan and I’m your angel! Please please remember!”

Copia subconsciously took a step back, overwhelmed by your frantic words. You took this as a rejection, sighing as you let go of the Papa’s hands. Muttering a small goodbye, wings sprouted from your back as you took off, leaving him alone in the clearing.

“No! Wait!”

It was too late, you were gone by the time he called out. Copia was alone once again, with new memories.

* * *

It had been months since you left, every day for the first month he kept going back to the wing for you, but there was nothing. You had left a hole in the Papa’s heart he didn’t know was there. Even though you weren’t in the abandoned wing, he still found himself going there to process his new memories.

Copia had only told his Ghouls of his discovery with you about his true history, to which all responded with joy. They knew who he was, but it wasn’t their place to tell him. They asked about you a lot, knowing you as the ruler of Hell after Lucifer disappeared.

As his memories of Lucifer slowly came back to him in waves, he found himself missing you even more. The Papa started searching through books for a way to summon you back to Earth, but even with the Ghouls help, the search came up empty.

Until one day, Copia finally found the book you had read him all those months ago, which now thinking about it was almost two years ago. The final page had a ritual, a way to summon the ruler of Hell for those brave souls who were stupid enough to try it.

Copia was more than willing to do it.

The Papa gathered all of the Ghouls in the Abbey for the ritual, telling some to protect the wing and the summoning room as he prepared for it. Chatter was large as Copia grew the signs needed for the ritual with the help of Aether and other Quintessent Ghouls.

It was midnight now, the bell ringing through the Abbey to signal the time. Copia took this time to start the ritual, chanting with the Ghouls as the flame started in the summoning circle. The Papa almost cried at the sight as he heard your voice ring through the room as you sang.

Once the fire calmed down, he finally saw you again, just like the first time all over again. You were singing Life Eternal, your eyes closed as you stood in the circle. All Ghouls gasped, bowing as they quieted down.

“Can you see me longing for you forever?” you sang, slowly opening your eyes as you gasped at the sight. You turned around till you faced Copia once again, “Copia? What’s going on?”

“Ciao mio angelo,” Copia whispered, making you gasp once again as your hands found a home against your mouth. The Papa held out his hand for you to take, “I have missed you so much. I could not wait to see you again.”

“My Lucifer!”

You sob, rushing into his arms as Copia cradled you, running his fingers through your hair. He finally held you in his arms again, your Hellish warmth mixing with his as you two hugged. Slowly, the Papa lifted your head to look at him as he pulled you in for a kiss. Copia finally had you, and he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

So sorry for not posting for awhile! I got a little bit of writer's block. I hope you enjoyed this!

#ghostsmybeloved works #ghost x reader #the band ghost x reader #aether ghoul #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #sister imperator #papa nihil

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queen-of-writing-bad-things · 8 months

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Henry Danger Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 1

Episode 12: Invisible Brad

~Down in the Man Cave~

"Hey, hey Char?" Henry walked over to Charlotte from the back room. She was sat at the supercomputer, typing away on her PearBook.

"Yeah, what's up?" She asked him, not looking up from her screen, but giving him her attention.

"Have you..err--have you been noticing anything, like, weird about Ray and (y/n)?"

"Uhhh, every day. All the time. Why? Did you know he took her to Sotto Voce last week?" Charlotte told him.

"Wait? Really?" Henry couldn't believe what she told him.

"Yeah, but she insists it wasn't a date." The dark-haired girl gossiped, feeling the same frustration with the two adults that Henry did.

"It was totally a date, they're just too dumb to realise it." The boy said in exasperation.

"I know!" She agreed, but Henry realised he was getting off point.

"No, anyway! I mean, they've been talking... like, when nobody else is around." Henry told her what he'd been observing.

"You mean like, talking to themselves?" Charlotte asked.

"Yeah! Like, full-on conversations with people who aren't there." He said, but the girl wasn't convinced.

"Are you sure they're not just talking to each other?" She inquired, thinking that Henry had misheard them or interpreted the conversation wrong.

"No, they're talking and referring to someone else." Henry insisted.

"Okay, well, my uncle Rosco talks to his food before he eats it," Charlotte told him.

"What's he say?"

"Stuff like..."well, hello, hamburger, you're about to take a trip to belly town." Her voice deepened as she impersonated her uncle. As soon as she had finished speaking, the sprocket opened. Ray and (y/n) came out talking, but not to each other. Weird.

"Is that a serious question?" The woman asked, looking over to her left. Whoever she was speaking to, wasn't there.

"No, we can't go riding rollercoasters with you." Ray also said to thin air.

"'Cause we have jobs!" The woman swatted her hand, looking like she was insane.

"Stop poking me!" Ray looked behind him, also appearing like he was some kind of madman.

"Hey guys, you find out any more info on that motorcycle thief?" Ray approached the kids, (y/n) following behind him.

"Stop standing so close to me! I can feel you breathing on my neck!" A pale-faced (y/n) snapped, even though no one was close to her. She definitely wasn't referring to Ray, mainly because he wasn't that close to her, but also because she usually couldn't get close enough to him for her liking.

"Thank you." The superhero wasn't phased by her odd behaviour, but Henry and Charlotte were concerned.

"Why are you guys staring at us?" Ray asked when he noticed their expressions. (y/n) leaned into his side, moving away from whatever was bothering her.

"Uh...." Charlotte didn't want to appear rude.

"Because you're talking to nobody." Henry, on the other hand, didn't care.

"Shhhh!" The girl next to him tried to quiet him down.

"It's got to be said!" Henry said to her firmly.

"Right, you guys don't know Brad." (y/n) could see why they were so weirded-out. When Ray first brought Brad home, she thought he'd gone crazy.

"Brad, this is Henry and Charlotte. Guys... this is Invisible Brad." Ray clicked his fingers to the space next to (y/n), feeling fairly certain that's where the guy was stood.

"Hiii, Brad."

"Looking good, Brad." The teens said hello to the air, not believing that the two adults actually had an invisible friend.

"Brad, say hi," Ray said when the man didn't answer immediately.

"They think we're insane." (y/n) whispered in his ear, so they began to feel the air around them

"Brad? Ugh. Come on, Brad." Ray grumbled as the teens kept staring.

"He does this a lot." The woman said with a nervous laugh, as Ray felt around the room.

"Brad? Where are you? Come on, this isn't funny anymore, man. Brad!" He was wiggling his hands everywhere and even (y/n) thought he looked funny.

"This is so sad," Charlotte said to Henry, as the woman began searching too. They certainly made an entertaining sight.

"They're not okay." They watched the friends swatting around the room until Ray finally grabbed onto...something.

"Ah, gotcha!" He wrestled with the thing in the air and then threw it into a tool trolley, knocking it over. At least it proved that they weren't lying.

"Now, say hello to those kids." (y/n) pointed to Ray's fist.

"Hey, guys. I'm Brad." An unknown, masculine voice said. Henry and Charlotte's mouths fell open and then they looked at each other in surprise.

"There's no such thing as an invisible person," Charlotte exclaimed, her strong belief in science not wanting to acknowledge something not real outside of comic books.

"Tell that to him." (y/n) gestured at the 'man' Ray was holding.

"Okay, what would you believe that Brad's real?" Ray asked the teens, who still thought it was all some kind of trick.

"Let's see him slap Henry." Charlotte challenged them.

"Yeah. Come on, slap me, Brad." Henry scoffed, not fearing a smack from a man he didn't think was there.

"Right here on my--" The boy's cockiness was literally slapped out of him, as the sting across his cheek was so brutal, it made him fall to the floor. He stumbled and slipped around as he stood up.

"Okay, that was a bit hard." (y/n) cringed, but once the kid got back on his feet, he and Charlotte looked at each other and then at Brad.

"Heeeyyy, Braaaad." They said in small voices, believing that Ray and (y/n) were telling the truth.

(y/n) had set up lunch, consisting of chicken, fries, corn, chips, dips and many other tasty snack foods. Brad was sat next to Ray, who was squashed up next to (y/n), Charlotte and Henry.

"Hey, can you pass the ketchup?" Henry asked, holding his hand out for the bottle.

"Sure. Here you go." Brad made it look like the bottle flew across the table, and it still fascinated the teens. Ray and (y/n) however, were starting to feel like he was outstaying his welcome.

"So, Brad, I have a question. Did something make you become invisible or were you just born this way?" Charlotte asked the guy, making (y/n) suck in a breath of air sharply.

"Sore spot." She coughed out, as she felt Ray tense beside her.

"Nah, nobody's born invisible." His voice seemed to have moved to behind where the kids were sat, confusing everyone at the table.

"Wait, I thought you were sitting right there," Charlotte said, looking around the air.

"I was, but...my leg was cramping up so I'm walking around." He excused himself, his poor manners irritating Ray and freaking (y/n) out.

"How do we talk to a guy we can't see?" Henry looked at his bosses.

"Here, Brad. Put these on and sit down." (y/n) said and lifted a pair of sunglasses behind her head.

"Yeah, okay, sweet stuff," Brad said, the smirk in his voice evident. Ray bit his lip and curled his fingers into a fist as the woman next to him shuffled closer to him in discomfort. He took a sip of water to calm himself down, the dainty hand on his knee helping too. Brad put on the glasses to let the kids know where he was.

"So, you turned invisible, like, when?" Henry asked the glasses.

"Five years ago. It was all Captain Man's fault." Brad told them bitterly.

"Here we go again." Ray sighed and put his arm around (y/n) so she could lean into his chest.

"Well, what happened?" Charlotte asked.

"Okay, see, I was being chased by this insane criminal, who wanted to turn me invisible." Ray began his story.

"Why?" Henry butted in.

"Probably 'cause he hated him and knew how much he loved being visible." (y/n) answered, looking up at Ray with a grin. He smiled down at her, the pair of them making a perfect, romantic image.

"Yeah, like I used to be." Brad complained, killing the happy mood.

"It wasn't my fault." Ray protested at the invisible man.

"Yes, it was!" Brad snapped back at him.

"Just tell us what happened," Henry begged, like a child desperate to hear the end of a bedtime story.

"Okay, so this evil dude was firing at me with his invisiblaster, right?" Ray continued.

"I was just riding my bike, minding my own business," Brad growled, thinking back to the fateful day.

"When I dove out of the way, the invisiblaster's beam missed me and--" Ray explained, but Brad rudely cut him off.

"HIT ME! And that's how Captain Man ruined my life." The glasses looked at Ray, who took another chicken leg.

"How was I supposed to know you'd be riding your bike right behind me?" Ray asked him, bringing his right arm over (y/n)'s head so he could rest them both on the table.

"You owe me!" Brad barked at the superhero, who just dropped his chicken leg on the table in frustration.

"He lent you 4000 bucks so you could buy a damn hot tub!" (y/n) slammed her hand on the table, her voice harsh. She knew Brad had taken advantage of Ray's kind heart when she wasn't around, using his accident to guilt him into buying him stupid things like hot tubs.

"And, we let you stay here in the Man Cave for two months after your girlfriend dumped you." She reminded the man. That time had been horrible for her. Living with an invisible man had put her on edge because she didn't know when he was watching her, eat, change or sleep. She had locked her door every night and even slept in Ray's room a few times, her nervous nature falling to pieces with an unseeable man creeping around.

"And who paid for that nose job, huh? This guy." Ray piped up, appreciating how the woman next to him stood up to the man he knew frightened her.

"Great. Now I have a beautiful nose that no one can ever see." Brad didn't care about all the things the two had done for him, he just hated Captain Man.

"Their relationship is really complicated," Charlotte commented to Henry, seeing how Ray hated the man who unnerved (y/n), but also felt a sense of duty to him since it was he who facilitated the accident.

"What do you want from us, Brad?" (y/n) asked in a strained voice, refusing to look at the floating glasses. The invisible man took them off and threw them onto the table, freaking her out and confusing the others.

"I want to be your sidekick!" Brad said to Ray.

"What?" Charlotte exclaimed.

"Hey, hey, whoa, whoa, hey! Ray's already got a sidekick, me." Henry said, his hand on his chest. (y/n) was clutching Ray's arm like a terrified child. She couldn't have Brad living in the Man Cave again, she just couldn't.

"You're just a kid, who's visible." Brad mocked him.

"Oh! So you're better than me just 'cause I'm visible and you're not?" Henry started to argue with him.

"All right, guys, come on. Let's not play the visibility card." Charlotte stopped them before the woman next to her hyperventilated.

"Brad...I think it's time for you to go." Ray started shuffling along the couch and pushed the invisible guy off of the seat.

"Think about what great sidekick I'd be. I could sneak up on bad guys, and then..." Brad started to say, then punched Ray across the face, the woman and teens on the couch fliching at the sound the collision made.

" Ow! I'm okay." Ray quickly recovered.

"See, you never saw that punch coming," Brad told him.

"Look, he already has an excellent sidekick and that's Henry." (y/n) said, her hand gesturing to the boy.

"Thank you." The sidekick replied.

"Don't be like that, babe. What if Henry quits?" The masculine voice sent shivers down her spine, and Ray stood up a little straighter.

"I'm not quitting." Henry insisted.

"He's not quitting," Ray told the invisible man sternly.

"But what if he does? Then what?" Brad wouldn't drop the subject.

"All right, Brad. If Henry ever quits, you can be my sidekick, okay?" Ray had his back to (y/n) and couldn't see her head snap up in pure terror. Charlotte grabbed her hand and looked at her in concern.

"Are you all right?" She mumbled to her, feeling her rocketing pulse on her wrist.

"He can't be his sidekick. If he lives here, I'll never sleep again. He watches me shower, he watches me eat, he follows me around, I hate him!" She ranted, trying to slow down her racing heart.

"Does Ray know about this?" Charlotte asked her. The woman looked down in shame.

"He knows some of it, just not the full extent." She revealed. Ray didn't know how deep her fear ran since she knew how guilty he felt in regards to Brad's invisibility. She thought that he'd send her away instead of the creepy dude.

"You have to tell him." The girl told her, as they focused on what the two men were saying again.

"Anything else?" Ray said to Brad.

"Yeah, I want your shirt." The guy had a strange request, but (y/n) knew he just wanted Ray to be humiliated as he had been.

"You can't have my shirt," Ray told him, but Brad just tore it straight his body, revealing his toned chest and abs. (y/n)'s cheeks superheated to a deep red blush. She tended to avoid seeing Ray naked, feeling like it was an invasion of his privacy. She let out a small squeak as her heart rate picked up again and a fire burned in her lower belly.

"Hey! Brad! Give me my shirt back, Brad!" Ray tried to grab the material, Henry and Charlotte watching with confused faces.

"Guys, don't...don't look at this." Ray covered up his naked torso, feeling exposed in front of them. (y/n) kept looking down, but the image of skin over hardened muscles would never leave her mind.

"Okay, seriously, though, it's not funny anymore, so...okay." Ray kept reaching for the red shirt, but Brad kept pulling it back. The half-naked man was so close to his best friend that she couldn't help but look at him, committing every freckle, bump and perfect blemish on his skin to memory. He tugged on the material, his abs flexing in her face.

"Brad. Brad! You don't wear clothes anyway!" Ray and Brad ran off across the Man Cave, leaving the kids and a starstruck (y/n) on the couch. Charlotte passed the woman her water, which she gulped down rapidly. Her mind tried to process the rollercoaster of emotions that she had just been on as she fanned her warm cheeks.

~Henry's house, later that night~

Henry was tucked up in bed asleep. After a long days work, he had crawled under his sheets and snuggled down for a good night's rest. Sadly, he didn't hear the door open, or notice how Invisible Brad sneaked into his room. Ignorant in his bliss, the boy carried on snoozing, unaware of what was about to happen.

The door shut quietly, and Brad used all his strength to flip over the mattress Henry was on, tipping the poor boy out of bed.

"Oh, what the...what's going on?" Henry woke up with a start, his fight, flight or freeze instincts kicking in.

"Quit your job," Brad told him simply, before running away and exiting via the window.

Piper entered her brother's room, having been woken up by the noise. She gazed over the mattress and her brother on the floor with a puzzled face.

"Uh...did you feel that earthquake too?" Henry asked her, trying to find a believable reason as to why he was on the floor with half his bed destroyed. Telling her that an invisible man with a grudge against him had done it just wouldn't cut it.

~The next day, in the afternoon~

Ray and (y/n) were sat close together on the Man Cave's couch, playing a game as Henry ranted behind them about everything Brad had been doing to him. The woman was trying to find a good time to tell Ray about how much of a violating weirdo Brad was, but there was never a suitable moment.

"So, I'm sound asleep in my bed and Brad sneaks into my house and flips my bed over," Henry said angrily.

"Ah, this game's impossible. I can't get all these ants in this little pair of pants." Ray complained.

"I feel like you're not listening to me," Henry said to his boss. (y/n) had stopped playing a while ago, as she chewed her lip in thought, wondering how to tell the man.

"Look, I know Brad's kind of obnoxious," Ray said reluctantly, not wanting to admit to himself that Brad was way more than obnoxious.

"Kind of? He snuck into my school, put a bucket on my teacher's head, splashed water on my area, and then he spanked my teacher with a mop." Henry told him what had happened in school that day, and (y/n) could fully believe it.

"Yeah, that's Brad." She sighed.

"And every time, before he runs away, he goes, 'quit your job.'" Henry mimicked Brad's voice into Ray's ear, but he was too busy with the game.

"Hey! Another ant... in the pants." Ray looked at them both with a proud smile, but then they saw a metal pipe floating in the air near the elevator.

"Hey, what is that?" Henry asked.

"I don't know, looks like a steel pipe," Ray explained, and (y/n) knew exactly what was going on.

"Oh my god! He's here!" She yelled, wrapping her arms around herself in fear.

"Brad!" Henry realised that she was right.

"What are you---" Ray was cut off as Brad hit Henry sharply in the shin with the pipe, making (y/n) scream as he bent over in pain.

"Brad!" Ray knelt down next to Henry, who was clutching his throbbing leg.

"Quit your job. And (y/n), I love you," The voice said, before running off.

"This has to stop!" Ray called after him, not realising how obsessive the invisible guy was over the woman who ran to Henry's side with her first aid kit. In an emergency, she could swallow her fear and help her friends with an impervious attitude.

"Oh, why, why, why, why?!" The boy cried at Ray, his femur bone possibly cracked, fractured or broken. (y/n) took out her splints and began to immobilise the limb as Ray looked on in horror.

"I think it's just badly bruised." She sighed after a few minutes of assessing the damage.

"You're very lucky, but your leg's gonna hurt like hell for a few days." She told him and Ray helped him up onto the couch.

"What do I do now?" The teen looked at his boss, who looked both worried and guilty.

"I guess, we're just gonna have to wait and see what happens next." Ray breathed out, and (y/n) knew that it would take something serious to get him to act against Brad.

~The next morning~

Henry took a frozen leg out of the freezer and rested it against his swollen eye, another piece of Brad's handiwork.

"This better work," Henry said to Charlotte, as she worked on her PearBook at the kitchen table. He'd called (y/n) a few minutes before to ask them to come to his house and she'd recommended a cold compression to bring down the swelling. What she meant was like an ice-pack, but all the Hart's had was a turkey leg.

"What is that?" Charlotte looked at him.

"Turkey leg." He told her, before taking the leg off to show her his injury.

"How's my eye look?" She gazed up and winced at the deep, purple bruising.

""Put the leg back on." She gagged at the gruesome sight. The doorbell rang, announcing that his bosses were here.

"Finally," Henry sighed and limped over to the door. His legged was still in agony from the beating it had taken yesterday.

"Your parents here?" Ray asked as he and (y/n) walked into the living room.

"Nah, just come in," Henry said, and everyone gathered in the sitting area.

"What's he done now?" (y/n) looked at Henry from her place on the couch and knew that Brad had struck again, and judging by the turkey leg, she could guess where.

"This." The boy removed the leg and the two adults gasped at the state of his eye.

"Who gave you the black eye?" Ray asked, even though he knew the answer was Brad.

"Invisible Brad," Henry said, his voice soft but deadly serious.

"He punched you?" (y/n) looked at the boy with concern. She knew Brad was a scumbag, but she didn't think he'd stoop as low as beating a child like that.

"Worse. I was in gym class today, and I was standing in front of Mitch Bilsky." Henry began to explain.

"So what'd Invisible Brad do?" Ray questioned him.

"He pinched Mitch Bilsky on the butt! To make Mitch think I did it." Henry growled.

"Ooo, yeah guys don't like that," Ray said in a low voice.

"No, they don't." Henry reiterated in an angry voice.

"Uh, girls don't like that either, just so you know."Charlotte piped up from her laptop and (y/n) agreed with her. That kind of behaviour was unacceptable to any person.

"We gotta do something about Brad." Henry looked at him, but Ray wasn't sure. Charlotte saw the way he hesitated and realised that he didn't know all the facts regarding Brad.

"You still haven't told him, have you?" She said to the frozen woman on the couch, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. (y/n) felt her stomach drop, as Ray looked from Charlotte to her in confusion.

"Told me what?" He asked her, and she felt the tears starting to come.

"Uh---" She couldn't find the words, and hot, fat tears started to roll down her face. Ray saw how terrified she looked, and knelt down in front of her, as Henry and Charlotte moved to the kitchen to give them some space.

"(your/nickname), you can tell me anything." He spoke to her softly and took her hands into his. Her face screwed up, and she bit back a sob.

"You know how Brad followed me around and wouldn't leave me alone when he lived with us." She croaked through the tears, and Ray nodded.

"Yeah, he has a crush on you." He told her what he thought, but she shook her head in despair.

"No, he's obsessed with me. He watched me sleep, he followed into the bathroom when I was showering, he looked at me when I changed." She listed off everything Brad had done to her five years ago and watched as anger built in Ray's eyes. His large hands covered hers completely, as she finally looked up at him.

"Please don't be mad at me." She pleaded in a small, fragile voice, and Ray felt his heart shatter. He had been blinded by his own guilt and it had gotten her hurt, something he had always tried to protect her from.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm not mad." He pulled her into a hug on the floor, and they just sat there for a while, her glad to be safe and truthful in his arms, and him glad that she was still around for him to hold.

"You don't have to keep things from me. You're my best friend," he whispered into her hair, and she sniffled as her tears started to dry up.

"Okay." She pulled back from the hug slowly, her mind and heart feeling so much lighter.

"What do we do now?" She asked him, as they stood up from kneeling on the floor.

"I'm going to rip that bastard's head off." He replied, making her giggle at his fierce protectiveness. Ray kissed her forehead and brought her into another hug, as he gestured for Henry and Charlotte to come back over.

"So, what are we gonna do about Brad?" Henry asked as they all sat on the couch together.

"Don't worry, we're gonna get him," Ray reassured the boy, but a voice behind them said otherwise.

"I doubt it." They all jumped up in fright, (y/n) especially. Ray instantly curled around her, as she kicked at the air around her.

"Quit your job," Brad said to Henry as he knocked the boy off his feet. Henry groaned on the ground, as the invisible man left the house.

"You have a beautiful home." He called out as he slammed the door. Henry ran after him and started hitting his frozen turkey leg against it in anger.

"How do we beat a guy we can't see?" Henry asked.

"Uh, we fix it so we can see him." Charlotte told him, and (y/n) was starting to see what she was driving at.

"How?"

"Yeah, how?" The superhero duo asked, annoyed that this guy was terrorising them and they had no obvious way of defeating him.

"We could use paint." (y/n) looked at them, and Charlotte gave her a high five. Great minds think alike.

"Oh, come on, how is paint gonna..."

"I don't really think paint is the answer that we're..." Henry and Ray started but then it clicked into place for them.

"Paint!" They said together, leaving the girls to smile at how slow they were sometimes.

~Later, in the Man Cave~

Henry, Charlotte and (y/n) were setting up the trap for Brad. With Ray out to lure him back to the Man Cave, it was up to the woman and two teens to get the paint ready.

"Okay, is the tripwire set?" Henry called out to the two girls from his position up the ladder near the elevator.

"Just about," Charlotte replied to him, as (y/n) tied the wire to the leg of a machine.

"Oh, this is going to be so great. Invisible Brad's going to get covered with red paint, so then we'll be able to see him, and kick him about fifty times, right in his invisible---" Henry told them angrily as he filled up a tub of paint, wanting revenge for himself and his older friend.

"Okay, I get it," Charlotte told him to calm down. They didn't need any accidents from flaring tempers.

"Don't forget the 'ripping off his head' part." (y/n) shouted up to him, and he smiled down at her.

"Yeah, that too." He said, as the tube came down and a pale-faced Ray entered the Man Cave.

"Ray?"

"You weren't supposed to come down the tube," Charlotte exclaimed, thinking that everything had been ruined.

"You were supposed to walk out of the elevator with Brad." Henry looked at his boss in surprise. This was not part of the plan. The large man stumbled down the steps to the couch, worrying the three that observed him.

"I...I need to sit down." The superhero mumbled out and (y/n) helped him to the couch, recognising the signs of shock.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" She asked as brushed a hand over his forehead, feeling his clammy skin.

"Is Brad in here with us now?" Henry asked, and the three looked around the hideout with outstretched arms.

"He'll never be in here again," Ray said in a quiet voice. The woman next to him looked at him in concern and took his hand in hers, much like he had done for her earlier.

"Tell us what happened." She told him gently, even though she was almost jumping for joy at the idea of never having to deal with Brad again.

"Everything was going according to plan. I told Invisible Brad that Henry quit and that he could be my new sidekick." Ray said to them.

"And did he buy it?" Henry asked.

"Ohhhh... he bought it." The superhero said. The memory still burnt brightly in his mind.

"What does that mean?" Charlotte inquired, not understanding what Ray's cryptic words meant.

"Well...we were finishing our root beers. We took a selfie; I paid the check, and then we were walking across the street together on our way here..." Ray continued, leaving them all in suspense.

"And?" (y/n) looked up at him expectantly.

"Brad got hit by a bus. I guess the driver just didn't see him." Ray finished, sending them all into reels of shock. Henry and Charlotte patted his shoulder sympathetically as (y/n) gave him a hug.

"At least it's over now." She said, and they all agreed. It wasn't the way they wanted it to go, but it was done nevertheless.

"Yeah," Ray said, still finding comfort in her embrace.

"You kids can go home, I think we've done enough for today." The young woman gave them a tired smile, and they both knew that Ray wasn't in the mood for any more fiascos.

'Yeah, all right. See you tomorrow." Henry and Charlotte waved goodbye, as they left in the elevator, leaving the two adults alone.

~Later that night, (y/n)'s PoV~

I felt exhausted after such an emotional day. My arms and legs ached and begged for sleep but my mind just didn't want to be quiet. I had let go of one worry, in that I thought Brad was history, but now I knew that Ray would be the one to carry the burden of his death. Poor Ray, I knew he already carried the weight of the world, despite his childish exterior shielding it from view.

I let out a long sigh and stood up from my bed. After tossing and turning for hours, I knew that sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. I glanced at the luminescent numbers on my clock and they told me it was 3AM. Running my eyes, I groaned and sat up. The eeriness of the pitch black made me shiver a little and I knew there was only one place I'd be finding any rest tonight.

Throwing back the blankets, I wandered out of my room and down the corridor to Ray's, hoping that like me, he'd be awake.

His door slid open, and I could see a large lump under the sheets on his bed through the darkness.

"Ray? Ray!" I whispered and sneaked in. The lump didn't move, so I gave it a small prod. Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I poked his shoulder hard so he groaned and turned over, his blurry vision probably seeing me like a blurry lump too.

"(y/n)? It's three in the morning." He looked at his clock and then back to me. His rough voice sent shivers down my spine, but I ignored them in favour of telling him why I was prodding and poking him in the middle of the night.

"I can't sleep," I murmured through the dark, and I could faintly see him budge up to the right side of the bed to make a space for me. He acted as though my question bothered him, and gave a small sigh that made me wince for a second when I remembered the time and how I'd rudely disturbed his slumber. But then, he sighed and pulled the comforter back, welcoming me in.

"Come on." I grinned and dived into the space, snuggling down into the warm, familiar scent of Ray. I was intent on just staying on my side of the bed, but Ray was a huge nighttime-cuddler. He pulled an arm around my shoulders and held me against his bare chest. I was frozen for two minutes before he finally spoke again.

"Your feet are cold." He grumbled when my icy toes brushed his leg.

"Oops." I smiled into his neck. My heart had never felt lighter and I wondered if I should tell him. If it all went wrong, I could just put it down to careless, middle-of-the-night mindlessness, and hope that he'd buy it. 'Yeah, I'm gonna say it.'

"Hey, Ray?" I said in a quiet voice, gathering all my courage.

"What?" My heart was in my mouth, which suddenly felt very dry. It was now or never, just say it, three little words...

"I--I...did you know that cows have best friends?" I stammered, changing my mind at the last minute. I couldn't. Even though I wanted to with every fibre of my being, I just couldn't. I wasn't brave enough.

"Go to sleep." He mumbled into my hair, and I settled down into the plush pillows. I sighed against the skin of his chest, annoyed with myself since even with every ounce of courage I could muster, I was still falling flat.

My panic began to dissolve as the lull of his heartbeat echoed under my ear, soothing me better than any lullaby. His gentle breathing played in time with it like a duet and it finally pulled me to sleep.

Maybe one day.

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 1 year

Note

Animorphs / Yellowjackets crossover?

• The night of the 25th Reunion of the Claremont High Class of 1998, Marco is waiting on the curb when Cassie’s car pulls up. He looks the same as anyone else, tonight. Not like a movie star.

He pulls her into a firm hug. Cassie holds on hard.

And then, shoulder-to-shoulder, the only two real survivors of the 1996 Air Penn disaster push open the doors and walk into their school’s gym.

• They’re not friends, not really. But tonight they need this. Marco because of the unsubtle glances of their former classmates, Cassie because of the whispered notes of concern as people watch her walk through.

“Where’s Ronnie tonight?” Marco asks, sotto voce, as they make their way to a table near the back.

“At home with Shelly.” Cassie pulls out a chair for him, then for herself. “I know kids are invited, but she didn’t need to be here. T’Shondra?”

“Same story.” Marco gives his public smile for a classmate’s husband who’s even now pointing and whispering their way. “Out with friends.”

Before Cassie can say anything else, they both clock the woman approaching, a copy of Marco’s autobiography in hand. Marco’s smile widens another inch, edging toward feral, even as he pulls out the pen.

• See, a while back, Marco was in a movie. He got the role as a press gimmick, but he’d done pretty well with his minor part and there was talk of his getting a recurring role in an upcoming Netflix series.

• A while before that, Marco wrote a book. The most-quoted review called it “a tell-all that tells none,” which isn’t even wrong. There are plenty of anecdotes about his life before the plane crash, his life after being rescued 18 months later, and even a few isolated descriptions of their mock-prom and their pretzel-sharing system while out stranded in the mountains. He cottons to having eaten an entire bottle of Rachel’s foundation when hungry enough, but that’s as scandalous as it gets.

• A while before that, Marco did a speaking tour. It was half inspirational, half comedy show. He perfected the art of answering questions without actually answering them.

When asked the worst thing he did to survive: “Breathing in Jake Berenson’s stank eighteen months out from his last shower, hoo boy.”

When asked how Rachel died: “Uh, hello? There was a plane crash and we all spent a year and a half without real food? You’re the one who bought tickets to this event, lady, you can’t tell me you didn’t already know that.”

When asked why Cassie claimed Rachel was alive until a few months before rescue: “Dude, I wouldn’t trust anything I said after all the isolation and hunger. I went full-on Tom-Hanks-talking-to-a-volleyball out there, only my volleyball was a friggin’ rock, and let me tell you on the bad days my rock friend Mr. Balboa started talking back.”

When asked whether he’d left anything out of his book: “The shit bucket. We do not speak of the shit bucket.”

When asked how David died: “Seriously, you did buy tickets for this event on purpose, right? You are here to see guy-who-was-in-a-plane-crash voluntarily? Because if this is, like, a hostage situation, then blink three times...”

• In retrospect, the crash itself would seem so clear. Practically inevitable, as one Reddit commenter puts it. It was a crappy charter plane that they’d booked last-minute because the commercial flight had been canceled for weather. It was overloaded with luggage and equipment from the baseball team on board. It had one pilot battling a long illness, and one who still held trainee status. Rumors of a bribe to allow a too-fast inspection were never confirmed, but they were never denied. Wing, meet downdraft. Nose, meet mountain.

• For over a year, everyone assumed that was the end of the U.S.’s third-ever coed Little League team. The news outlets ran beats of the same story: Rachel Berenson showed up to tryouts alongside her cousin, knowing perfectly well this was the boys’ team. The unusually progressive coach let her at least give pitching a try. She struck out five batters in a row. She struck out a hell of a lot of other teams too, throwing a no-hitter that got her team into Playoffs and then giving them a shot at the Little League World Series.

Then the storm. Then the crash.

The other girls on the team — Cassie, Collette, Kelly and Elena — got mentioned as well. Sometimes the reporters even remembered there were boys, that Jake was their main slugger and team captain, that Aximili could clean up the bases on a hard hit and steal anything he didn’t bat in.

If you look long, you might even catch one of the broadcasts that remembers the pilots. If you’re really lucky, you might catch the one segment — just one — that mentions Gafinilan and Mertil without immediately blaming them for their own deaths.

• Melissa was almost on that plane. Nowadays she’s fond of telling people that: she missed being on that flight by a matter of sheer luck. The Yellowjackets’ shortstop, she would’ve been traveling with them except she took a hard line-drive to the face less than a week before playoffs. Concussed, barely able to see out of her left eye, she was forced to miss the rest of the season while Marco took her place.

“I was almost on that plane,” Melissa says, on the stage of their school gym, the night of the 25th Reunion. She’s looking straight at Marco over the top of the mic stand. “It was almost me.”

I was almost as famous as you get to be, it sounds a little like she’s saying.

“Never forget what we lost.” Melissa clicks the remote in her hand and that stupid Goo Goo Dolls song starts playing. Cassie feels Marco stiffen next to her as the first image of Rachel fills the projector’s 40-foot screen.

• Back then, Tobias shouldn’t have been on that plane at all. He was just the coach’s son, just the pitcher’s nephew, just the batboy. Not a Yellowjacket. And yet.

• Back then, when Rachel swam awake in the first seconds after the crash, her whole body aching, Jake was crouched directly in front of her. “Move!” he shouted in her face. “Rachel, we have to move!”

She widened her eyes, trying to clear her vision. Jake was filthy with ash and blood, blooming with red marks that would soon be bruises, and even over the ache of her whiplashed neck she couldn’t ignore the sharp pain of the seatbelt-jerk bruise across both hips.

“The plane” Jake shouted “is on fire—”

And that got her on her feet.

They moved so fast that the world would’ve blurred even without her battered brain: Cassie was the first person they ripped from a seat, then David. Collette was bent up all wrong, body folded around the seatbelt in a way that made her scream breathless as Rachel dragged her loose. They got Marco under both arms and heaved him out into the snow. Jake got as far as grabbing Kelly, and then he jerked his hand back from cold bloodless flesh. No time for discussion, with smoke thickening the air; they moved to Elena and shoved her out as well.

Tobias was the hardest of all, crouched over his father. Coach Alan was upright in his seat, but he wasn’t breathing to disturb the smoke and didn’t react when Jake jabbed him hard in the eye. Both arms around Tobias, Rachel dragged backward, holding him against her body until she was able to tip him onto the emergency slide. She turned back to the nose of the plane.

Jake met her coming the other way. He shook his head, pointing for the exit.

“Timmy!” she shouted, coughing. “Craig and, and—” Their basemen were all still up there, hidden in the opaque smoke. She tried to shove past Jake, but he blocked the aisle.

“We have to go!” He had to shout too, in order to be heard over the roar of the fire.

“Craig!” she screamed, fighting Jake, but he was shoving her backward. “Liam!”

And then they were falling, down the slide, tumbling in a heap into the snow below.

Rachel punched Jake in the face. The fuselage exploded.

• Then, the headcount over the next few hours contained more bad news than good. Jake’s older brother, their third-base coach, was dead. So was Tobias’s dad. So was their chaperone Mr. Hamee. Timmy, first base; Liam, second; Craig, third; Jesse, reserve. All had been sitting together near the front.

No sign of the emergency beacon. Collette, Pedro, and Elena all injured. Enough bags of trail mix and pretzels to get them through maybe four more days out here.

It would’ve been five, but David was bouncing around the wreckage talking a mile a minute and pouring peanuts into his face. "Do you guys see this shit?" he was shouting. "Like a movie! Like an action movie! It’s wild!"

“I think the bleeding has stopped,” James said quietly, where he and Cassie were bent over Elena. There wasn’t blood anymore, but it’d been coming out of Elena’s ear. There was no way that was good.

“We’re fucked.” Marco said it first, staring at the burst-open fuselage. “We’re totally fucking fucked.”

“They’ll find us.” Jake spoke even louder than David. “There’s a search party going as soon as any plane goes off radar, and...” He pointed to the huge swath of downed trees the plane had destroyed in its last seconds of life. “We’ll be easy enough to spot.”

Tobias had been sitting on the ground, staring into space, but at that he lifted his head. “How far were we blown off course?” he asked. “Do we have any guarantee they’re even looking in the right place?”

There was a long silence from everyone, even the injured and panicking kids. Rachel broke it when she jerked the trail mix bag out of David’s hand, which was the second time in their first day that a conflict came to blows.

• Now, Marco drives through the night, after he leaves the reunion. He didn’t have a drop of alcohol — paying for Tobias’s third and fourth trips through rehab turned him off the stuff — and his relationship with sleep has been somewhere between on the rocks and it’s complicated for the last two decades. He keeps to the speed limit, making three left turns to be sure no paparazzi are following, and he keeps his eyes on the road. Once he catches himself humming “Iris” under his breath, and in response cranks the car’s XM metal station to eardrum-damaging levels.

• Now, the sun’s coming up by the time Marco makes it to Seattle. He checks his hair twice in the rearview mirror, smoothing it back and then ruffling it into an attempt at nonchalance. The shop’s exactly where he remembers it being, the last six times he drove up here and lurked across the street without ever going in.

This time, he gets out of the car.

“Welcome to Wash World, how can I...”

The guy behind the counter trails off. He’s a big man, full beard and long hair sprinkled with gray. In the flannel shirt and fleece-lined jeans, he looks like a typical Seattle hipster. Even the California accent fits.

“Hi Jake,” Marco says. It feels like an understatement, all things considered. It’s been fifteen years since he last spoke to his ex.

“You a customer?” A small woman in a brightly-colored headscarf appears at Jake’s elbow before he can say anything.

“If you’re not a customer, you have no business here.” A different woman, albeit with the same Eastern European accent, has emerged from behind Marco. She crowds close to Marco, backing him away from Jake.

“Our Yakob has no business with anyone and you can have your shirts pressed or you can leave.” The third of the Eumenides has gone so far as to pull the front door open and gesture.

Marco holds up both hands in surrender. Cassie told him to call ahead, and apparently she wasn't kidding.

“Ms. Zivojinovic,” Jake says, to one of them. Possibly to all three. “There’s no harm. He’s my brother.”

Marco’s eyebrows go up at that, but sure. He won’t argue. It’s simpler than the truth, and more likely to go down easy with this group.

The one closest to the door sniffs loudly. “If he’s not a customer, I don’t care if he’s Jimmy Hoffa found at last. He can —”

“I prefer to think of myself as Amelia Earhart.” Marco shrugs out of his 5000-dollar leather coat, dropping it on the counter. “There, dry clean that.”

“It’ll take three to five business days,” the woman behind the counter says. “You going to stick around for three to five business days? Or are you some fly-by-night, ne’er-do-well, love-and-leave...”

“He’s my brother,” Jake protests, louder.

“I have a brother,” the one by the door mutters. “You have never met him, Yakob, and do you know why?”

Jake sighs. “He is garbage?”

“He is garbage! Would you like a receipt?”

Marco takes a second to recover from the abrupt turnaround. “Yeah, I want a receipt. How would I get my coat back without one?”

“If it comes to that,” one of the Misses Zivojinovic says ominously, “we will find you.”

• Jake extracts himself from the Eyrenies at last, promising to be back within the hour. “Come on,” he says to Marco. “There’s a café a few doors down.”

Marco follows until they’re just outside the plate-glass window, and then he stops. “Good to see you, bro.” He waggles his eyebrows at their reflections.

Turning, Jake follows the direction of Marco’s gaze. He doesn’t laugh, but he does an almost-smile. It’s obvious why Marco’s amused: Jake’s stopped growing at six-foot-three, two-fifty pounds. Between that and the beard, they’ve never resembled each other less. “I’m sorry,” Jake says. “It was just...”

Marco flaps a hand in the air, dismissing this. “Like I’ve never told someone you’re my cousin or team captain or very good friend.” He doesn’t have a dead brother, so he’d never dare to pull out the line Jake just used, but he gets it.

It’s too cold to linger on the sidewalk without a coat. Jake pulls open the door to the café, ushering them both inside. Marco pays for their coffees and Jake lets him, because neither of them talked about it when it was Jake paying for Marco’s arcade passes and cheeseburgers.

“So the beard.” Marco gestures, tilting the rim of his mocha latte. “That’s different. I had wondered how you’d managed to avoid notice all this time.”

Looking down, Jake fiddles with his paper cup of hot chocolate. “I don’t own a phone or computer. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh, I’m sure and the Kindly Ones using the bodies of nosy journalists to compost their garden have nothing to do with it.”

Jake shrugs. “They’re good people. And they don’t watch the news.”

“Yeah,” Marco says. “Speaking of which.”

All at once, Jake’s whole body goes still. It’s the kind of tension, readiness for violence or flight, that Marco hasn’t seen since the last time he watched Jake drive a knife through the chest of a struggling rabbit. “Something came out,” he says.

Marco shakes his head. “Nothing like that. Not yet, anyway.” Lifting his butt halfway off the chair, he fishes out the scrap of paper Cassie gave him last night.

I know what you did. I won’t keep silent unless you make me. That’s all there is to the note, other than the rough symbol scrawled underneath. It looks like an odd little insect: six limbs on an elongated torso, two extra eyes on stalks, a scorpion-like tail.

• Back then, Tobias was the first one to find the symbol carved into a tree trunk. “Look,” he’d said, voice rising in excitement as he pointed up at it. “Guys, look.”

“What is it?” Rachel squinted at the symbol. “Some kind of alien centaur-thing?”

“Who cares what it is?” Tobias spun in a circle, looking for more marks. “It wasn’t carved by a moose, I can tell you that much. It’s a trail marking, or a property boundary.”

“People,” Rachel breathed.

“Exactly.”

They’d set off crashing through the woods before Jake could point out what a bad idea it was. “Hello!” Tobias had been yelling, when they’d disappeared from sight. “Hello, whoever you are!”

• Then, Cassie had watched them go, had watched Jake go chasing after. It was probably safe enough, as long as they realized they could follow their own tracks back through the mud and slush. Instead she went back to what she’d been doing: tearing their spare jerseys into strips to make bandages. There were a lot of wounded, and not a lot of clean cloths.

Rachel and Jake and Tobias weren’t back when the sun started to go down, and she did her best not to worry.

“We should eat something, right?” That was James, standing on a fallen tree to address them all. “We should each have a small snack.”

That was one of the first moments when they looked around, hoping for an adult or at least someone with some kind of seniority. One of the first moments they realized just how on their own they were.

“Yeah.” Cassie spoke up then. “We should.”

James became the one to divvy up the little bags, that first time, with Marco following as an informal enforcer. (“Two hundred calories per bag of pretzels,” Marco said, “and we can get by on seven hundred a day. We get a pretzel bag or half a trail mix apiece for three meals, and that’ll last us for five days’ worth of food.”)

“Hey,” Cassie said, sitting next to Ax. She’d seen him peering close at the back of the bag of trail mix he’d been handed, frowning at the ingredient list for the chocolate candies. “You’re vegan, right?” His family were religious, even if Tobias tended to eat meat.

He shrugged. “It’s not worth insisting on right now.”

Gently, Cassie took the trail mix out of his hands and handed him her pretzels instead. “It can still matter,” she said. “For now. We’re not giving ourselves up yet.”

Ax had smiled weakly at her, and selected a pretzel. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m not giving myself up.” She leaned back against the log, chewing slow to make the M&Ms last. “We’ll get through this. Even if we have to walk back home.”

There was no answer. Ax was looking at the plane, at the place where his brother’s body was unlikely now ever to be recovered.

“Ax...” Cassie said, feeling like a fool.

“Even if we have to walk.” Ax bit down hard on a pretzel. “We will survive.”

• Then, Tobias had come crashing back later that night, still glowing with good news, to announce the hunter’s cabin he’d found. “There’s a dead guy in the attic,” Rachel had said, as if no big deal, “but I doubt he’s using the place anymore.”

That first night in the cabin, Jake had gone up to the attic alone. It smelled rancid, it had that horrible desiccated corpse watching from the corner, but it was the only place that had privacy away from the cold.

Marco followed, because it was what Marco did; he couldn’t help it.

“I got you, man.” Marco had wrapped firm arms around Jake, had held him too tight. “I got you.”

Jake had crumpled then, but only as far as his knees. Only as far as burying his face in the juncture between Marco’s shoulder and his neck, their skin wet everywhere it intersected. Disgusting, beautiful, whatever.

• Now, Jake agrees to pack a bag and go with Marco for the next few days, even though the Weird Sisters are clearly displeased that he’s conceding to someone who knows about his past. He mumbles a greeting as they pick up Tobias outside a motel that’s really more of a flophouse, and keeps his hands in his pockets as they walk up the front steps to Cassie’s beautifully decorated front parlor.

• Now... “Hi,” Ronnie says to the others, in the kind of voice people use when they’re trying hard to sound casual. “I’m Cassie’s husband.”

It’s pretty clear Tobias has been sleeping rough; he mostly stands in the corner staring at Ronnie. Between his dad dying in the crash, what later happened to Rachel, and Ax’s disappearance, they all tend to agree that he has every right to be even more messed up than the rest of them.

More messed up is saying something — Marco knows why Jake kept the long sleeves on in the San Diego heat, he had Cassie calling him at 4AM last week claiming there were wolves in her backyard — but Tobias can’t help it. They know. It’s why Marco keeps paying for his rehab stints, why Cassie keeps offering her couch for him to sleep on.

“Jake.” Jake becomes the one to shake hands. “Thank you for having us.”

“So this... note.” Cassie gestures to the scrap on the table. “It could be nothing.”

“It could be Ax.” Tobias, of course. He has a tendency to ascribe everything from robocalls to weather patterns to Ax.

“Your relief pitcher?” Ronnie asks.

“Our friend,” Jake says, but there’s no sting to it. “We haven’t seen him since...”

• Then, it’d been six weeks since the plane crashed. Six lonely, cold, hungry weeks. Marco was walking on eggshells around David, Collette around Rachel. They’d eaten the last rabbit Tobias had shot, down to the skin, down to the marrow. Ax, of all people, had quietly suggested taking apart the taxidermied deer head on the wall to boil the skin off that as well.

Jake had floated the idea of doing their own take on Prom because... because the date would soon be right. Because they all had their formal outfits for the banquet anyway. Because it was something to do. Because they all needed a pick-up, with winter coming on. Because they were about to be out of food, again.

Rachel had seized the idea with both hands, of course. She’d gone wild with her makeup kit and the tatters of everyone’s formalwear, tying Jake’s tie and then — laughing at them, much-needed laughter — Marco’s and Ax’s and Tobias’s as well. Cassie was in jeans because she’d already sacrificed her gown to make bandages, but she looked more comfortable that way. Collette’s dye job was grown out several inches (she continued to insist she was a natural blond) but Rachel braided it so that the brown and gold wove together into a pattern.

They’d been beautiful.

• Beautiful or not, once they reached the torchlit clearing they’d stood around in silence for so long that Rachel was about to call the whole thing off.

It was James of all people who’d cleared his throat and started singing: “And I’d give up forever to touch you, ‘cause I know that you feel me somehow...”

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,” Jake sang along with him, Rachel taking up the melody a second later, and by the time they were at the chorus, there were six or seven voices in the clearing.

“What?” James said, when he finished and everyone was staring at him. “I’m only a badass thrash-punk six and a half days a week.”

That got another laugh, so very needed, from the clearing. Pedro made a circling motion in the air, and James turned to look at him.

“Another?” James asked, flushing but looking pleased, and Pedro made a humming noise of agreement.

“Baby’s black balloon makes her fly,” James sang, game enough, “Almost fell into that hole in your life, and you’re not thinking ‘bout tomorrow ‘cause you were the same as me...”

Tobias held out his hand for Rachel, smooth as you please, and they became the first couple twirling across the clearing in each other’s arms, both still singing along. But James had pulled Collette into his arms, he and Elena together holding her up.

And then Marco seized Jake’s hand. Jake jerked back automatically, but Marco thrust up his chin and stared hard challenge into his eyes. The kind of look Jake could never back down from, and Marco knew it.

Jake was a terrible dancer, but that was all right; Marco was a good lead. And if anyone stared, if anyone whispered, then they were looking too hard at each other to know about it.

They’d all felt a little strange, floaty-headed and bobble-eyed. James’s words slurred a little, and none of them were quite balanced. But they were hungry. That had to be it.

Time got vague. Half of them could hear the music, even after James stopped singing.

• Then, there was a scream echoing through the clearing. Instantly Jake had a branch in hand, Ax producing the hunting knife.

It was Rachel who emerged into the clearing, dragging David behind her by a fistful of his hair. She threw him to the ground in the middle of their circle, driving a kick into his side.

“Tell them!” she shouted. “Tell them what you just said to me!”

“Jake.” David rolled to his knees, arms over his head. “Jake, help me, she’s losing it!”

“Okay.” Jake kept his voice level. Anyone else, and he might’ve believed Rachel really had snapped from the stress. But out here David had revealed a side of himself that scared Jake almost as much as the snow and the hunger. He’d started talking about no rules ten minutes after the crash, and hadn’t stopped since. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened. Rachel first, then David.”

“He was talking big.” Rachel spat. “Trying to impress me. And then he said...” She leaned close to David, snarling. “Tell them. Go ahead. Tell them.”

“David?”

“I didn’t, I didn’t, I was just, I was lying, okay?” He hadn’t dropped his arms. “I was just making it up, it was just a joke.”

“What did he say,” Jake said.

“He found the plane’s emergency beacon.” Rachel’s fists shook, but her voice was steady. “The first day. He found it — and he smashed it with a rock.”

Jake felt his whole body go cold. He’d been expecting something sexual, something pressuring and gross, but... but this...

A body slammed Jake on its way past. Marco, screaming, wild with rage. He’d taken off running at David, who’d dragged himself to his feet and sprinted into the woods. Rachel was half a step behind Marco, and Tobias keeping up with Rachel. No sign of James, or of Pedro, but there were more bodies out rushing through the trees after David. David was crashing away, and then he was screaming, and then he wasn’t.

Wait, Jake considered saying. Stop. Only he didn’t. He and Collette looked at each other, and they listened to what was happening in the clearing on the other side of the ridge.

• Now, Cassie pours them all coffees, examining each of their faces. Marco’s unreadable under the makeup and big hair. Jake looks healthier than she thought possible: full-faced, broad-bellied, laugh lines starting around his eyes. Tobias is loose-skinned and skitter-eyed, but at least the track marks she can see all look old. What do they think of her, she wonders, with broad hips and grey in her braids.

“Ronnie,” she says quietly.

He pushes to his feet. “I’ll give you the room. Nice to meet you all.”

This is a reason she loves him: that he understands there are things he’ll never understand. That there are things she can only talk about with her boys, her fellow survivors. Like how, her first hot shower after getting rescued, she orgasmed so hard it felt like a panic attack. Like how she can’t stand the sight of supermarket meat, fragments of body parts sealed in plastic, but she’ll butcher and cook any livestock who die under her care.

But then, there are things the two white boys and the Latino movie star standing in her kitchen will never understand either. Things only Ronnie can appreciate.

So Cassie’s been complete. She’s been good, all things considered.

And now this. One damn thing after another.

• Now, Tobias doesn’t care what they think about him when he says again, “It could be Ax.”

“Ax has been in a funny farm in Germany since I don’t know when,” Marco says.

“Switzerland,” Jake says, at the same time Cassie murmurs, “That’s rude.”

Marco rolls his eyes, smudged day-old eyeliner exaggerating the motion. “Fine, Mom and Dad, he’s in a mental health facility in Switzerland.”

“Why would Ax blackmail us?” Jake asks, more pragmatically.

Tobias doesn’t have an answer for that one. He looks away, out the window at Cassie’s sprawling backyard. Seems like they only went two ways after rescue: soaring to success in politics (Cassie) and media (Marco), or going to ground. Tobias self-medicates; Ax pays other people to medicate him. Ax’s way probably works better, but Tobias’s is faster.

• Then, Jake had hiked back out to the site of the plane crash six months after it went down. In case some remains of the signal beacon were there. In case there was a bag of pretzels, a single solitary gummy bear, that they had missed. In case...

Coach Alan’s body was the one he saw first. Coach Alan’s skeleton, rather. The flesh had been cut away in gouts and chunks, pulled loose from the limbs and torso to expose lengths of rib and femur.

Jake staggered back, hand coming to his mouth. Craig’s body beyond looked intact, but. He couldn’t— he couldn’t— Tom—

There was a crunch from outside, and Jake spun around, hot bile in his throat.

“Hi.” James stepped into the fuselage through its torn-off front end, expression carefully neutral. “I figured this conversation was coming sooner or later.”

“You.” Jake looked from the stripped body — Ax’s brother, Tobias’s dad — to James. “You...”

“I chose to keep my friends alive.” James shoved his hands in his pockets. “Just like Rachel did.”

“Don’t say that!” Jake snapped. “David might’ve doomed us all, and Rachel didn’t have a choice.”

“We had a choice about eating him,” James said levelly. “And we chose right, didn’t we.”

Jake shook his head, shook it again. None of them had been in their right minds that night — something in the soup, something in the air. That was a mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.

“Jake.” James took a step toward Jake. “We have to talk about this. I know you’re hoping for rescue, and so am I. But we have to make it that far, first.”

“We?” Jake said coldly. “Where’s all this...” Again he pointed at Coach Alan. “Been going, James? Because if any of it has made the communal soup pot, most of us haven’t seen it.”

“You’re right.” James shrugged. “I’ve been coming here, harvesting, and giving it to my friends. Your little clique seemed fine with getting first crack at every rabbit Tobias brings back.”

Jake was shaking his head harder, ears ringing. “We have to live with ourselves. We have to act like human beings. Not— not sharks eating their own. If nothing else, we have to all be together on this.”

“I’m keeping my friends alive,” James said. He took another step toward Jake. The hunting knife was on his belt. “I’m doing what it takes.”

Jake didn’t move. “Listen to me!” he shouted. “Listen to me, we are not doing this. Or at minimum, we’re putting it to a vote, and we’re discussing it as a team.”

“Thanks, captain,” James said. “But no thanks.”

Jake shoved him hard in the chest. James stumbled, taking a step back. “We keep everyone alive,” Jake snapped. “We act for the good of everyone. You want to lead? Fine, lead. But just because you’re hungry, that doesn’t mean you get to be selfish. Call for a vote about what we do while we wait.”

“Hungry?” The contempt was stronger now, twisting the corner of James’s mouth. “Of course I’m hungry, you fool.” He planted both hands on Jake’s chest, not shoving back, just applying pressure.

“So are they. A vote—”

“Let’s just acknowledge the elephant in the room here, Jake.” James dropped his hands. “The good of everyone is going to end with all my friends dead, well before yours kick it.”

Jake opened his mouth. “That’s not—”

“Pedro’s my roommate. Collette’s my best friend, and Elena’s with her. I was...” James pointed to the seat to his left. “Sitting there. Pedro next to me, Collette and Kelly across the way. I’m supposed to be in the same boat as them. And you know what they all have in common?”

Of course Jake knew. Collette was paralyzed, Elena couldn’t see. They weren’t sure how the hit on the head had affected Pedro, partially because he was having trouble talking enough to explain his symptoms to them.

“If it comes to a vote, to waiting for rescue, they lose,” James said. “If we’re going to be all equal and civilized, then...” He shrugged. “My money’s on Cassie to be the last to starve. That catcher’s bulk has served her well so far. But maybe it’ll be Marco, since he’s smaller and needs less. Heck, Tobias could probably provide for himself forever if he was only catching squirrels for one.”

Jake shook his head, shook it again. “That’s not...”

“You’re trying to save your friends,” James said. “I’m trying to save mine.”

• Now, Tobias leans against Cassie’s island. “Guys,” he says, “there’s something you should know about Ax.”

He’s back stateside. He reached out to Tobias a few weeks ago. Something about a compound where a lot of people like them — damaged, not quite right — are gathering to support each other. Ax has been talking to it, he said in that call, and wouldn’t say how.

“He said he can help us settle,” Tobias tells the group. “He said he knows what it wants, and—”

“It.” Marco’s whole face twists with the force of his sneer. “It. What, the fucking mountain? Last I checked, we left that out in the Canadian Rockies where we found it.”

“Not the mountain,” Cassie says. “You know that’s not what he meant.”

“Fine!” Marco throws up both hands, drops them to his sides. “Then it doesn’t exist. The One is a fucknugget, just on the off chance it does.”

“Don’t think anyone said it wasn’t a fucknugget,” Jake says. “But might still be worth to find out what it wants.”

• Then, Ax had known what Jake hadn’t said, what Jake had found — and not found — out at the airplane.

“The wilderness provides,” Ax said, because it was the only way to make sense of it all. “The mountain has taken so much, and there’s nothing saying it won’t give something back occasionally.”

Jake stared in stunned silence, the small bundle of desiccated flesh limp in his arms. Like a man who’d braced so hard for impact he had no choice but to fall when the impact didn’t come.

“Okay,” James said. “Okay. I’ll get some water boiling.”

• Then, it’d lasted another eight months. What they’d taken from the airplane. What they’d taken from David. Tobias brought back a squirrel a week, sometimes two, sometimes even a pair of rabbits. But two rabbits among ten people stretched to less soup than would fill an eight-ounce coffee cup, and squirrels stretched less than that.

• Then, at first thaw, Marco had been the one to suggest they hike for it. A smaller team, a dash down the mountain and straight east as far as they could go. East because it was easier to keep track of, with the sun rising nearly dead-on that way now that spring had come. East, because they had to go some way. East. Until they found help, or until they couldn’t go further.

• Ax and Tobias made the first attempt. Two weeks they’d been gone. And they’d made it back to the cabin, eventually. Barely. They’d been limping, injured, so exhausted and hungry that their steps were a staggering line even as Tobias half-carried Ax to join the others.

“Fuck this,” Rachel had said, around the fire that night. “Seriously, fuck this. We’re not getting rescued, we don’t have the strength to walk out, and we don’t have anymore fresh meat. We’re all slowly starving to death.”

“So what do you suggest?” Jake said, weary and hoarse. “We sent Tobias because he can hunt, and Ax because...”

Because Ax knew more than anyone wanted to admit it was possible to know, about the whims of the thing keeping them here.

“You know.” Rachel looked at Jake, fist clenched around the knife, teeth bared. “You know.”

“We’re all still okay,” Jake said. “We’re still—”

“We’re skin and bones,” she snapped. “Our fucking teeth are falling out, Jake, and our nails are coming off. James is dying. Collette will probably go next. We need to act, now, or—”

“No.” Jake pushed to his feet, which took effort. His knees hadn’t worked right in weeks. “No. We’re not discussing this.”

“Damn right we’re not.” Rachel was on her feet as well, and she had Tobias’s gun in her hand. Now everyone was standing, all shouting, Ax trying to pry the rifle away and Marco grabbing at Rachel’s arm. She wrenched loose of them all, and raised the gun before anyone could react.

“We are not,” Jake shouted, “drawing lots!”

“Agreed.” And then Rachel swung the gun around, and she’d hooked the toe of her shoe through the trigger guard.

There was a gunshot. So loud, that none of them heard her hit the ground.

• Cassie was the first to react.

Ax was crying, Collette too. Marco was gagging like he’d throw up if he’d eaten anything at all this week. But Cassie didn’t hesitate, grabbing the knife where Rachel had dropped it on the ground.

“We do not waste this sacrifice.” She spoke loud, over everyone’s ringing ears. She was crying too, but her teeth were bared. “We do not. Now, all of you, help me.”

• Then, they’d split up a second time. James’s prediction was coming true: Cassie and Jake, Tobias and Marco and Ax, were the strongest ones left. Cassie and Jake for their fat reserves before the crash, Marco for his small stature and slow metabolism, Ax and Tobias because they knew the most about survival. They were the natural team to go down and east, down and east until they couldn’t anymore.

But Cassie stayed. To cook, to be medic as much as she could. To get the last of Rachel’s marrow where it could do some good. Jake begged her to come, but Cassie had stayed with James and the wounded ones.

• Then, they’d walked, the four boys, for another month. The tips of their toes had gone black, later to be amputated, as had the littlest fingers of both Jake’s hands. Tobias had shot until he ran out of shot, had brought back a decaying fox that writhed with maggots and had boiled the maggots into a nasty stew because the fox itself wasn’t safe to eat. Marco cried with hunger, and cried again with joy when Ax had come across the batch of fiddleheads. He didn’t care who saw.

Ax cut himself, every night when they stopped. He let blood he couldn’t afford to lose, and at some point Jake stopped trying to get him to stop.

Tobias settled for thanking the rabbits, the birds, the fox and even the maggots. He thanked the fiddleheads and dandelions, when those were what they could find.

He thanked Rachel.

• It’d happened anticlimactically: the forest ended. First on a clear-cut, then on a logging road, then on a suburban backyard.

“Who the fuck are you,” said the homeowner, when they stumbled and shuffled up to his back porch. “And what the fuck do you want.”

He had a pistol on his belt, the kind that people who didn’t know shit about guns bought just to have. He wasn’t shy about pushing his coat back to show it, but then there was the rifle slung back over Tobias’s shoulder.

“We don’t mean any harm, sir,” Jake rasped. “We were in a plane cr—”

“Get the fuck off my lawn.”

Holding up their hands, they went. Behind them, the guy made no secret about dialing 911 and loudly starting a conversation with the cops.

Good, Jake thought. That was what they needed, anyway.

• Now, they drive, Cassie at the wheel this time because no one trusts Tobias and Jake claims not to have a license. Tobias has the pair of coordinates from the text he received, and Cassie’s GPS app is wiling to take latitude and longitude as input. Marco sleeps at last, but only because Jake is there. (“Hold me,” he muttered, so soft the others can’t hear. “I don’t know what’ll happen.”) Jake does as he’s told, and so nothing much does happen.

• Cassie finds the place easy enough, because although it doesn’t have an address as such, it does have a road. Maybe Ax is up there, she thinks, looking at the gate. Maybe it is. Maybe just a bunch of hippies with soola root and too much spare time. Maybe something a hell of a lot weirder.

“We doing this?” It’s Jake, coming around the side of the car, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“I’m not right,” Cassie says bluntly. “You’re not either. But maybe we can figure it out, if we... I don’t know, if we listen carefully enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake says.

“About?” But she knows, and that’s why her tone is sharp even though she doesn’t mean it to be.

“That week.”

Cassie looks away. She knows what week; they’ve had this conversation before. “Let’s go, okay?”

• Then, it took a week — seven full days and nights — for the search party to find the cabin. Jake had described its location the best he could, and Tobias even drew a rough map, but it wasn’t enough to narrow down an entire mountain range all that quickly. One entire week, to find the other half of their party. This, after over a month of walking to get out.

Collette was dead, by the time they got there. James was dead, Pedro, Elena. Only Cassie left. She’d kept them going as long as she could, had stretched the meat and had resorted to boiling bark, boiling grass. Boiling Collette, when it came to that.

It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough.

Cassie didn’t talk about those weeks that she’d waited, or about what happened to the others. She didn’t talk much at all, those first months back. But of the survivors, she was also the only one to finish a college degree. To get into vet tech work full-time, animal welfare activism on the side.

• Now, Cassie puts both hands on the right gate, and Jake on the left. Her boots slip in the mud as she struggles for purchase, but Tobias is there shoving next to her. Marco gets a shoulder next to Jake’s end, and together they force the door.

The plan was to load back into her car and go up the hill, but there’s a figure standing on the other side, backlit by the sun. Ax. Or someone who looks like Ax. Or something who looks like him.

“You have done well, to come this far.”

#animorphs #yellowjackets #animorphs fic #long post #crossover #animorphs au #yellowjackets au #very long post #cannibalism #gore #character death #self harm #body horror #it's animorphs AND yellowjackets y'all #it gets grody #seriously long post #even by my standards #i recommend switching on auto readmores if you follow me

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antigone-ks · 2 months

Text

Spoils of the Avvar

Summary:

After visiting the Avvar, Quiz shyly admits to Cullen that she'd like to see him in nothing but his furry mantle and a loincloth. He opts to surprise her with a full-throttle, bride-stealing Avvar roleplay one night.

Originally written for dragonage_kink, 2015

Warnings: consensual dub-con roleplay

Tags: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan; Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford;

Roleplay; Sexual Roleplay; Virginity Roleplay; Explicit Sexual Content; Established Relationship; Avvar Cullen; Sexual Fantasy; Roleplaying dubious consent; But not actual dubious consent; Furry Mantle fetish; Cullen is game for anything apparently; really cliched speech; sex is better with barbarians; Oral Sex; some people are better at roleplaying than others; dominant cullen;

Chapter One

“They’ve read his books?” Josephine looked delighted.

“Well, one of them has,” Evelyn said, grinning. “He only mentioned Hard in Hightown, though. Nothing about . . . the others.”

“They’d hardly need something like Swords and Shields, though, would they?” Josephine asked. “Somehow the Avvar have always seemed so, so naturally bodice-ripping.” The women ignored the sotto voce “Maker’s breath . . .” from the other side of the war table.

“There is more to romance than tearing off one’s clothes,” Cassandra objected. “And they wear so much fur, it cannot be easily done.”

“Oh, the Avvar understand romance, Cassandra,” Leliana replied, a little smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “There may be less bodice-ripping, but there’s enough dashing warriors and swooning maidens and bride-stealing in any good Avvar tale to satisfy even you.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“I can picture the dashing warriors,” Evelyn said, thoughtful, “they’re all very tall, and their weapons are massive; I – “ she broke off at a choked sound from the final advisor.

“Can we decide on a strategy for this issue, or should we table the discussion?” Cullen asked, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Leliana turned to the door. “Some scouts have recently returned; I’ll see if they have new information. Josie, find out if we have anything useful to trade. They do enjoy Orlesian spices; it could open another door for us.”

Evelyn leaned against the war table as the three women filed out, Cullen fiddling with one of the map-markers. He looked up suddenly as the door shut. “Massive weapons?” he grinned. “How did you see any of their weapons?”

“Well, they wear them right out in the open. Big hammers. Swords made for just the right sheath.” She smirked at him. “Your ears are red.”

“You’ve been gone for two bloody weeks, and before you even say hello you’re talking about hammers and, and bodices. And ripping bodices.” His arm snaked around her as he bent his head. “I never knew you had such a filthy mind,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his lips, when at last they parted.

“Surrounded by dashing Avvar warriors, and you thought of me?” His lips traced a path down her neck as he slid a steadying arm around her waist.

“I thought of you a lot,” she confessed, sighing against his cheek. “Especially you in your furry mantle. Sometimes in nothing else.”

His warm breath huffed against her neck as he chuckled. “What, really?” She made an affirmative sound and he straightened, looking into her eyes. “Just the coat?”

“And maybe a loincloth. Sometimes paint.”

“I only wear loincloths on very special occasions.”

“We could go to my chambers and see how special today is . . .”

The blare of a horn signaled the return of Bull’s Chargers from their latest task. Evelyn sighed. They would want to debrief as soon as possible and move on to their celebratory drinking. “I think we’ll need to make it special very quickly.”

Chapter Two

The water hit her aching muscles, almost too hot to bear but instantly relaxing her. The scent of crushed embrium filled the steamy air, and Evelyn leaned back against the tub. Another long journey, nearly a month this time. A month of cold splashing baths and no tea and no Cullen.

Still no Cullen. He’d stood beside her at the war table as she gave her report, his fingers brushing against hers (quite brazenly, she’d thought, which was unlike him when he was on-duty), and hadn’t done more than murmur “that sounds like a good idea” when she’d mentioned going to the baths. She’d rather hoped he’d join her, but she was turning red and wrinkly and there was still no sign of him. Sighing, she wrapped a robe around herself and headed toward her chambers, hoping it was late enough to shortcut across the Great Hall without being noticed.

The Hall was utterly empty; not even Varric sat by the fire. Evelyn stared down the length of the room, a tense feeling creeping over her. Even in the evenings Vivienne would often be up researching and crafting, usually – if it wasn’t too late – with a young courtier dancing attendance on her. But all was still, as if the world held its breath.

Unsettled, she pushed open the door to her corridor and closed it decidedly behind her. A prickling feeling at the back of her neck made her spin around, peering into the shadows. Her heart pounded painfully as she heard a breath, a movement, a –

“Cullen?” She collapsed against the door, pressing a hand to her chest. “Andraste’s flaming hairy damned . . . things, why are you lurking in the dark?”

“I was waiting for you, lady.” His voice was different, deeper, darker, with an edge and an accent not his own.

Evelyn pulled her robe tighter and tried to look indignant. “I . . . I waited for you, in the baths.”

“Your men might have seen me, lady. I couldn’t let myself be thwarted beforetimes.”

“Um.” He stepped out of the shadows, the pale light from the windows shining on his hair, twinkling off the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. Strapped to his back? He wore it at his side. She’d made him choke on a frilly cake once, running her fingers over the pommel during an endless meeting with nobles. But now he had it – the sheath was – her cheeks flamed almost painfully as she realized that his sheath was missing because his trousers were missing because he wasn’t wearing trousers because he was naked – blessed Andraste, was that a loincloth? – under his mantle. His furry. His mantle. The mantle with the fur. The furry mantle she wanted to see him in and nothing but a loincloth and

“Paint?” she asked tentatively.

The light struck the side of his face and she saw swirling kohl markings down his cheek, around his eye. He looked wild, and dangerous, and somehow bigger than usual and oh, Maker, he moved like a prowling lion as he approached. If she pressed any closer to the door she’d leave an Inquisitor-shaped hole in it, and anyway this was Cullen, and she’d asked for this. Something like this, anyway.

His breath whispered across her face, his eyes hooded as she looked up at him. “Is this for me?” she murmured.

“I would do anything for you, lady.” His body pressed against hers, his hands sliding to her waist. “Let me claim you. Let me have you.” Her breath hitched as his lips traced the shell of her ear. “Submit to me, my pretty lowland maid.”

Evelyn felt giggles, unbidden, threatened to erupt from her throat. It wasn’t funny, she wasn’t amused, she was – she was nervous, just as if this were real. Well, two could play at this game.

Wriggling ineffectively, she threw her head back (a bit too hard, it bonked against the door and Cullen winced for her) and exclaimed “owOh, oh no ser, no! I must not!”

Even in the dimness, she could see his grin. His hold tightened. “Don’t fight me, lass. You shall be mine.”

“Unhand me, you barbarian!” His mouth twitched, then he swooped down and claimed hers. His lips, usually so soft, were hard against hers, demanding. He pulled her body tight against his, his muscled thigh slipping between hers. She mewled against his mouth as he rocked them together.

“Barbarian, am I?” he growled, tangling his hand in her hair. “A barbarian would take you here, against this wall, and let your people hear you scream. Let the men who want you hear your pleasure and know that a barbarian has given it to you.” Stooping, he swept her up into his arms. “I am no barbarian, lady. You will beg me lay claim to you.”

He started toward her chambers, stopping at the first flight of steps to rearrange her weight while she tapped her fists against his chest, protesting quietly. “No, you mustn’t! Let me go! Put me down – No, really, Cullen, put me down, these stairs are tricky.”

Setting her down, he looked momentarily stymied, then – “Will you walk to your fate, lass, or must I force you?”

“I needn’t be carried like a babe, ser. But, but you will not have me, brute!” she flung at him, marching up the stairs. As he followed, Evelyn was certain she heard him snickering.

Chapter Three

The fire was blazing, furs were piled into a nest before the hearth, and Evelyn took a moment to appreciate how much effort Cullen had put into this night. She gazed at him warmly as he approached, skin golden in the firelight. He smiled lopsidedly and reached for her, brushing the hair from her face and gently pressing his lips to hers.

“All that I have is yours, lady.” Cullen leaned his forehead against hers, eyes softening for an instant, before turning predatory. “If I may have all that is yours.”

“I have nothing, ser,” Evelyn said, looking down modestly.

He pulled her closer, provoking a gasp as his hardness pressed against her stomach. “No, lass, you have everything I desire.” One finger traced the line of her throat down, down, following the edge of her robe and dipping between her breasts. Evelyn squeaked and pushed at him, drawing a grin as he held her tight.

“I warned you not to fight.” Cullen’s smile turned hungry. Evelyn had only a moment to brace herself before his leg swept behind hers and he bore her to the ground atop the furs. His body radiated heat, and the scent of him, the warmth of the mantle cocooning them, made her feel as if the world had disappeared and there was nothing left but the two of them. She craved the caress of his naked skin against hers, the slick of their sweat as they moved together. Her legs parted, cradling him in the center of her being. His eyes glazed as the heat of her brushed his still-covered cock.

Pinning her wrists in one large, calloused hand, Cullen raised himself enough to force open the robe. “Conquering you will be so sweet,” he murmured, cupping her breast with his free hand. She arched beneath him as he flicked his thumb against her nipple, her cry swallowed by a punishing kiss. Trapped beneath him, she could do no more than gasp when his mouth followed his hand, suckling at her, nipping and teasing. Pleasure arced through her veins and she struggled against him, needing to touch him, to stroke him, to pleasure him as well as he did her.

“Please . . . please, Cullen-“ she gasped, and he released her, lifting her enough to pull the robe from her body. Evelyn wrapped her arms around him, fingers running through the fur at his neck and up into his hair. Her lips sought his, and she felt him tremble and for a moment thought the games were over and he would take her then, hard and needful.

Instead he nuzzled at her neck, seeking that sensitive spot below her ear, murmuring softly as he unwound her arms and laid her back into the nest. The fur beneath her was soft, smooth against her bare skin. She wanted to writhe against it, against the fur and against him, trapped between them until she could feel nothing else. She reached for him as he leaned over her and he caught her hand, brought it to his mouth.

“Lowlander,” he whispered, her pulse jumping as his lips brushed over her wrist. “Open yourself to me.” He kissed the tip of each finger, then guided her hand down his chest and lower, lower to the straining hardness still hidden in the loincloth. “You see that I need you. Let me give us both pleasure, my sweet maiden.”

“Ser, I cannot.” Evelyn gazed at him through her lashes, schooling her face into what she hoped was a wide-eyed innocence (but feared was just simple-minded). She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. “Please, ser. My maidenhead is all that I have, and it belongs to my husband.”

She wasn’t sure how he would react – was it too much? – but she got her answer when Cullen ground against her, eyes black with desire. He was so hard, and he knew exactly where she was most needy. She gasped and arched beneath him as he thrust again, then loomed over her.

“Your maidenhead,” he scoffed. “You writhe like a cat in heat, lass; you’re ready to be taken. You need it. And,” he lowered himself until his weight pressed her into the furs, his lips against her ear, “when I’m inside you, you’ll call me husband.”

How could something so staid and . . . and socially acceptable sound so unimaginably filthy? Evelyn whimpered and bucked helplessly against him as he sucked and bit at her neck, his hands leaving trails of fire as they roamed her skin, cupping her breast gently, then giving a bold squeeze. He swallowed her gasp, stole her breath with his kiss, and descended lower. He stroked the tender flesh of her thigh, watching her face with heavy-lidded eyes. As his fingers brushed through her curls, Evelyn gasped and reached for him.

At once, he gripped her wrist. “Be still, lass,” he whispered. “Let me please you.” She pulled against his grip, twisting against his strength, needing to touch him, to stroke his hair, to show him how very much he did please, but she could not break free. “I said lie still,” he said, his voice harsh. “Else I will bind you, and you will be at my mercy. Do you want that?”

“Oh Maker, yes,” she whispered. “But not now.”

“Not now,” he agreed. “Later, I’m going to fuck the air from your lungs. But for now,” he kissed the back of her hand, “be my good girl and let me love you.”

“Yes, ser,” she breathed, as he dropped her hand and slid both of his along the crease of her thighs, cupping her mound between them. He pressed a kiss, almost chastely, to her plump mons, then his thumbs parted her lips and he gently kissed her hooded pearl. Evelyn held her breath, held herself still, as his breath ghosted over her, his thumbs stroking along her lips. If she’d thought herself wet before, it was nothing compared to the moisture gathering as he toyed with her. He kissed her again, and she sobbed in need.

“Like a cat,” he whispered against her, so softly she didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it, but she felt it crawl inside her skin, sparking against her nerves and setting her aflame.

“Please. Please, ser.”

“Please what, darling?” He kissed her again, just a touch of his lips to her, and her thighs quivered.

“Please kiss me there,” she whimpered, lifting her hips to show him.

Cullen chuckled. “I am kissing you there. Do you want more?” Before she could respond, he licked a long line up the seam of her lips, dipping deeper to flick against her clit, and she wailed.

“Yes, yes, Maker, yes please pleasepleaseCullen!”

He buried his face between her thighs and devoured her. His lips closed around her clit and he sucked, hard, as his long fingers teased her entrance, opening her gently. The contrast made her writhe. Evelyn covered her face with her hands as he stroked her slowly, invading her patiently, inexorably.

Cullen pulled his mouth from her with a gasp. “Maker’s breath, you’re so wet,” he said, sounding awed. “You’re dripping.” His finger curled inside her, and she mewled as he added another, sliding in a little more quickly, curling to match the other. His thumb pressed against her nub, the tips of his fingers found that perfect spot, and as he lowered his mouth to her again Evelyn sent up a prayer of thanks for this man and his hands. And his mouth. And his – and his – his hand thrust harder, his tongue flicked against her, and suddenly she was bucking and shaking, sounds like a trapped animal coming from her mouth. Cullen pushed her through it, not stopping until she twisted away and closed her legs. He chuckled as her thighs trapped his hand; he cupped her gently and let her ride him until the final throes dissipated.

Chapter Four

A warm drowsiness spread through her, limbs too heavy to move. Her eyes blinked slowly at the shadows on the ceiling, hazy and sinuous. Cullen gathered her into his arms, nuzzling her ear, his lips moving slowly along her neck. She could easily fall into sleep in this moment. She might, actually. It would take huge incentive to keep her awake. She shifted against Cullen.

Ah, there it was.

Evelyn cuddled close and rocked her hips, smiling lazily at his hiss. “Oh, ser, what have you done to me? I have thrown away all modesty for the sake of a few kisses!”

She felt his lips press against her temple. “Sweet maid,” he murmured, voice achingly low, “how can modesty stand against such delights of the flesh?” He seized her thigh, pulling it up over his hip, rocking hard against her. A bolt of pleasure shot down to her toes, and she gasped. His thumb caressed her lower lip. “And now you shall show me the same delights.”

Evelyn gasped theatrically, as heat spread through her body. “I cannot!”

Cullen smirked at her. “You don’t fight like an outraged maiden any longer, lass. Do not speak like one.”

Evelyn jerked out of his grasp and sat up, drawing a fur close around her body. “How dare you! It’s not my fault that a barbarian has kidnapped me and ravished me – “

“I haven’t ravished you yet.”

“ – threatened to ravish me, and made me feel such unmaidenly things – “

“And squeal such unmaidenly things.” Cullen was grinning outright, his grin, not his Avvar-predator smirk. Evelyn leaned forward, pecked her lips against his scar, and gave him a shove. It was like pushing a boulder.

“You beast!”

She surged upward, almost reaching the stairs before he caught her in his unyielding arms, pulling her tight against his chest. “Unhand me, or I will call the guards!”

“Do you want them to see your shame, lass?” He tugged the fur loose, baring her to the cool night air. Her nipples hardened, her skin flushed. “I will have you. I do not care who sees.”

“I could have you here where we stand,” he whispered, his hands moving down her body. He thrust against her, his heart thumping unsteadily against her back. “Would you like that, sweet? Do you want me to mount you, here, like a stallion covers a mare?”

Oh, Maker’s fucking breath yes.

Maker, he was still clothed. Well, still loinclothed. And furred.

His hand slipped between her legs, through the dampness that lingered, and parted her folds with an obscene sound. “That is no way for a maiden to be claimed, but I will do it unless you yield to me.”

Evelyn shook her head, gasping as his fingers drew circles around her bud. His other hand pressed against her back, gently but inexorably bearing her down against the railing. She rested her cheek on the cool stone and rocked against him, against his hand and against the thick weight that thrust against her core. He could almost push into her, just enough to make her thighs tremble and head swirl, and her breath caught on a sob when he removed his hand from her and pulled away.

“Cullen. Cullen, please,” she whispered as he caressed her back. “I need you. Maker, please fuck me.”

A rustle of cloth, and his cock slipped between her folds. Evelyn braced herself to push back against him, to take him deep, but he held her in place with more control than she’d known he possessed.

“Sweetheart, if you do what you’re thinking our evening will be over far too soon for my pride to bear.”

Her answering chuckle turned into a groan as he thrust so very slowly into her, shallowly as he would a true maiden. He was so careful with her, so gentle she felt overwhelmed with it, overwhelmed with the fullness of him moving inside her and with the fullness in her heart. He stroked her tenderly, running his fingers through her hair, whispering soothingly to her, until at last he was buried completely inside her. Bending over her, Cullen kissed her shoulders, her back, the hair at the base of her neck.

“Cull . . .” her voice choked off, unable to squeeze past the feeling of her heart lodged in her throat.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his own voice thick. “Darling. Evelyn.”

At last he moved, pulling back until he lay just within her, thrusting forward slowly until the tip of him touched her womb, repeating until she writhed beneath him. She felt him smile against her shoulder.

“Lass, are you ready?”

“Oh yes . . . yes.” Evelyn braced herself as he straightened and began to move in earnest, his hips beating out a quick rhythm against her buttocks that matched the pulsing in her blood. She began to arch against him, and his hands pressed her down again, against the railing, holding her a still vessel for his lust.

“That’s it, sweet, take me deep, let me fill you, let me – ah – let me have you,” his voice broke and he gasped, hips stuttering. Evelyn gripped the railing and pushed back, forcing him deeper, to the barest instant of pain. Her breath came in sharp staccato moans, her cunt aching with need. She was so close, Maker, give her only a moment more and she’d –

She jumped as his hand swatted across her backside, then squealed in outrage as he withdrew from her.

“I did warn you,” Cullen said, more teasing than reproachful.

“You absolute bastard,” she hissed, turning on him. He laughed and caught her hands, pulling her against him and capturing her mouth with his.

He spun them toward the bench that rested by the railing and sat, pulling her into his lap, guiding her legs to cradle him, his cock nudging her entrance. “I need you like his,” he whispered against her lips. “Need to hold you.” She shifted against him and took him inside, took him fully as he took her mouth again. “Need to see your face as you come apart on my cock.”

His hands fell to her hips and lifted her, guided her, settled her into a rhythm that had them both crying out. His hot breath ghosted across her breasts, his mouth suckling her until she arched back, running her hands through his golden curls to hold him against her. She had no words now, only mindless mewls that fell from her lips with every thrust of his hips. One arm wrapped around her hips, moving her quickly; the other hand slipped between them. At the press of his thumb against her bud, Evelyn hissed and Cullen raised his head to look in her eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered, pulling her hips down hard. “Look. At. Me. I need – “

Her body quaked.

She saw only his amber eyes,

felt her cunt clench,

heard an animal moan,

(is it me? Is that me?)

felt warmth filling her,

bathing her core.

When at last she returned to her body, her own body, the body on Thedas and not in some desire demon-wracked corner of the fade, her head lay against Cullen’s chest, his heart pounding in her ears.

She smiled and cuddled closer. “That was the nicest welcome-home-from-a-bog gift anyone has ever given me.”

“I certainly hope so.” His voice was rough and breathless, his lips soft as they grazed her forehead. “I’ll carry you to bed in a moment. Or, no, we need to. Um.”

Maker’s breath, that he could blush after what he’d just done to her.

“We need to clean the barbarian seed from my freshly-ravished thighs?” Cullen made a noise, half-laughing, half-choking.

“Just so, my pretty lowland maid.”

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #cullen rutherford #cullen rutherford x female inquisitor #cullen rutherford x female trevelyan #my fanfiction

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chocottang · 2 months

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forgot to add these in the bunch of questions from before so i hope u dont mind an ask........... and i also hope u dont find it weird that i ask this but !! do you by chance happen to have any voiceclaims for your shadows,,,, maybe?

it's something i love about character making and since originally the shadows (except fred) have the same vas as the character i was wondering if you had anything in mind for their voices (or even just a general idea of what theyd sound like) now that theyre humans and separate ppl??

(again.. hope this isnt weird !! just think voiceclaims are aewsome)

heyyy!! ofc i dont mind i love asks!! not weird at all lmao i dont have voiceclaims though :( idk, when i think of scenes i dont usually think of how the characters sound like?? if that makes sense?? i can tell you how they talk though. like, gold speaks in a very monotone tone, and very painly. no big words, nothing that makes him sound fancy. he doesnt even make a lot of gestures or…moves… when he talks. very plain. jay…picture a stereotypical mean girl. she makes way more gestures and uses modern phrases and such, and her voice is very uhm emotional? shows a lot how she feels from her voice, i guess. s.fox (im thinking abt naming him fennex or fennec, btw, like the fennex fox. i saw somewhere that it was a name but when i google it it doesnt appear anymore so im not sure lmao) im not entirely sure,, i picture him as having a deeper voce than fox, but not like super deep either. and he usually speaks in a mocking tone, because hes usually mocking people lmao. also makes a LOT of gestures, hes basically jumping around as he speaks jhjahd. tath's voice would be much more high-pitched than cami's, because she's much younger, and i imagine she sounds like shes about to cry all the time. she's very shy, so she doesnt gesture a lot when she speaks, shes usually grabbing onto something or someone and hiding.

i hope this makes sense???? also since we're here im gonna answer all the others questions here if u dont mind!

@thedumbestfuckingpersonyouvemet yea! JDHSFKJ he usually doesn't do it himself anymore though, because jay scratched him a bunch and kicked him so bad he had to let go the first time, he only does it when joy asks him to. jay can sometimes be quite nasty to her sister, or be nasty to other people when they're out doing something, so when joy has enough of her bratty attitude she just… asks gold to pick her up and leave with her. and he does so, until jay inevitably kicks his stomach and he has to let her go out of pure pain. joy is the kindest to gold, but she is also not immune to "ask the guy who does literally anything to do something for you"

yes! joy and jay are sisters from the same parents

yea!! he's dead LMAO. both golden's parents are dead and that does play a role in the whole ordeal. golden's dad died before golden was born, and his mom died later, when he was around 7 or 8, so his grandpa became his primary guardian. and.. he's basically his dad. he's the only father figure he has. and that's also why he's much much more annoyed at gold…well….existing. golden feels like his grandpa loves gold a lot more. golden is the heir of the company (family drama time: grandpa and joy/jay's dad have a badddd relationship, to the point he's not even in the will, they still keep contact becaue joy/jay's mother asked his husband to, and she actually gets along really well with her father-in-law lmao) so he put him under a Lot of pressure and lots of expectations, which gave golden the feeling that he had to earn his grandpa's love. after all, his grandpa never chose to take care of him, he was legally forced to. golden feels like a burden to his grandpa, so he has to do everything well to prove himself. buuuut at the same time he reaaaaally resents his grandpa for, well, being an asshole. not only did he put him under a lot of pressure, but he never validated him. he always told him about the things he could've done better. golden's grandpa sees this as pushing him to be the best he can be, ensuring his future. he truly thinks his grandkid can be better than himself. but he just. keeps. pushing.

and then gold appears! who's actually, biologically, grandpa's son. but well, he was an accident! that surely makes golden feel better! wrong! because even if gold wasnt planned, golden's grandpa still actively decided to be a part of gold's life. he could've just given gold's mother a bunch of money to stay silent and then dip. but no, he constantly risked getting found out for 14 years just so he could be at least a little bit of a decent dad for the kid. time he could've spent wth golden. and now he's taking him in, risking absolutely everything. and everytime he interacts with gold, he's way more patient and warm than he has ever been with golden. and grandpa never asks gold to do anything. gold started working in the company because he wanted to. grandpa doesnt push him to do or be anything, he just loves him the way he is. golden doesnt feel like he has that unconditional love, he feels like his grandpa will only love him for what golden can provide. from golden's perspective, gold has nothing to prove, he's undeniably the favorite child form the 2. the only one, technically. of course, gold doesnt feel like that at all. he's an illegitimate son, he doesnt even have his dad's surname. he was a mistake. his dad wanted to hide him forever. he didnt want anybody to know he was his son. he doesnt expect anything of him, because gold was never meant to be anyone. from the moment he was conceived, he was unfit to be the son that his dad needs. but he tries his damn hardest to be what his dad would expect if he was his legal son. its uh a complicated mess between these 2. sorry about that long tangent. anyway. yea. goldens an orphan and his grandpa is basically his dad and it driving him insane.

yesssss itd look something like ths

its just an ideea, not definite outfit. soo fred likes to dress with a more alt style but he doesnt…actually do it? he´s like half way there. think of an eboy. mostly bc he has to follow the uniform rules (he doesnt have the golden family priviliges of showing up dressed in whatever u want) and freddy is annoying about it + their mom wouldnt let him. so he uses a white shirt to go with the school uniform and then a black one on top for the cool guy vibes. he wants to be cool soooooooooooo bad but mostly fails. he dyes his hair black also to be cool and emo and he keeps his hair short. meanwhile freddy keeps it longer, a little bit to hide his face. both of them have some acne but fred covers it up with makeup, he also uses some eyeliner to make his eyes more.. pointy? like feline. idk how to describe it. also fred likes to go out at night and wakes freddy up whenever he goes away or comes back (they share a bedroom), and sometimes even drags him along which is why freddy has eyebags lmao. freddy is still boring ol freddy using the normal uniform. he wants to look normal and not stand out soooo bad and fred HATES that

@loopscereal (i know this isnt a question but the tag made me go neuron activation mode. hope u dont mide me tagging u) she actually doesnt! because in the au, gold is completely aware of what the villlains are up to! since there are no shadows, there is also no magic (because i hc that all magic in the series stems from the shadows… ignoring the camp arc magical creatures bc i can) so the villains plan is just to rig the event to make owynn win. why is gold ok with this? he doesnt really think he's going to win lmao and he just saw joining the villains as a way to make friends. he didnt have any friends in his previous school, so when owynn approached him (with intentions of using gold's sudden media attention and resources to get HIM attention) to join he took the chance. besides, hes only there as an assistant with paperwork, and he likes paperwork! hes good at it. hes also mostly there for cami. when they met they became interested in each other because of how similar they are, so joining the villains is a good way to spend more time with her. and he just grew fond of them over time, even owynn. he really didnt like owynn at first, hes the kind of slimey opportunist golden warned him about, and is generally weird, mean and selfcentered. but hes also undeniably fun, just from the wacky things he does. so yeah, no ulterior motives, gold is in on the evil (he just doesnt care)

i do want to keep cami being a witch though, but in a more real world way? like, whether or not she has magic powers will depend on whether or not you believe witchcraft exists in the real world. she does the herbs and the stones and all that stuff. le hizo un amarre a gold, te lo aseguro

uhh ahhh i think thats all!!! thank u for the ask and the questions and the nice comments and being interested!! it makes me very happy!!! and thanks everyone for being so nice!!! i love you so much mwa mwa mwa !!

#fnafhs #fhs #mine #ask #anon #fhs human gold au

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