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cartooness · 4 years ago

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Mystery March Day 10: Mistake (Her Name?)

Alright my dudes: I know. Tis I, Cartooness, posting a ficlet of sorts. Which I never do lmao.

BUT!

I had ideas OWOWOWOWOWOW

Warning this portrays Mystery in a negative light so if that’s not ya jam, go ahead and skip.

**I START HERE, I’M USING THE READ MORE FOR A DIFFERENT TIME >:3**

SO @nemesis-is-my-middle-name and I were chatting and this is what came out of it XD

In my AU (that’s where my Lavender Grey character comes from lol), since I first made it I thought “omg what if Mystery was like. ‘Afraid’ or just weary of her because of how powerful she is” but now that The Future is out, I’m all “holy fucking shit what if Mystery is almost *jealous* of her because the gang doesn’t want him around her��. They say it’s for her sake (but it’s also for their sake) because they don’t want her to be scared.

He’s both [weary and jealous of Lavender], he’s all “okay. This girl comes LITERALLY out of nowhere and I’m glad they’re giving her a place to stay, she is a child. But this is a very powerful child, one that overwhelmingly outranks me in that field. Why aren’t they afraid of her? Why is it ME that they’re keeping her away from?”

I guess he knows what he’s done in the past was shitty, but he doesn’t know why this random ass kid owns their heart now when he’s the one who was there first. Ya know, like an asshole.

I wanna say that he makes her cry because he just lets all the negativity loose and he’s caught mid rant by ARTHUR.

So. Mystery has basically been fending for himself for a little while, no big deal. Except he can't stop thinking about that damned girl. What has she done for them? How has she won them all over so easily? Only Lewis was the type to be soft for children, but Arthur? VIVI? Being parental figures? The world has gone mad.

He saw them time to time in that mansion of Lewis's, and they all looked so happy without him. Vivi hadn't seemed to be going on missions anymore, which was beyond shocking. Why not, that child is so powerful any threats would back off if they had a single brain cell.

Not to mention Shiromori was now on the girl's side; he spotted her occasionally checking up on her and putting small blooms in her hair, typically while she slept. It made the child look more innocent than she actually was in his eyes. He remembered when he was the one getting flower gifts and such when Shiromori was on his side. And with a protector like her, the child was practically untouchable.

Mystery flirted with the idea of that girl getting hurt and them coming back to him for help. But he didn't let himself ponder too long, that would be cruel. But he couldn't help but think about it.

What *would* happen if harm came her way?

Would they mourn her if such a fate could happen?

Would they come crying back to him?

Or would they blame him for a tragedy he didn't cause. They just *loved* to blame him.

...

He couldn't stop himself anymore. He trotted his way to that stupid little happy home and sniffed out what room belonged to the girl, the unmistakable scent of raw power and flowers filling the air. He peered into her window, in his dog form, and lo and behold she was there. He yanked the window open and sat on her bed, not caring about getting that sickeningly "cute" comforter dirty with his mud covered paws.

"Oh! It's you, Mystery. Can... I help you?" She was a bit puzzled as to what he needed her for, she thought he was fine being on his own.

Actually my dear, you can.

"Oh?-"

Get out of their lives. You don't deserve anything they've given you.

Her pupils shrunk, taken aback from his remark. "Did I do something wrong? I don't-"

Don't play stupid with me, girl. You are the reason I'm not allowed to be with them anymore, that I've been scorned to never return. You just barged your way into their lives, into MY life and took everything I've worked so hard for away. They're so worried about their 'little princess' that they don’t realize how damn DANGEROUS you are!

Don't they feel that power you possess? Aren't they afraid of you?

She looked like he ripped her gut out, her eyes welling with tears, irises ever so slightly tinting blue with sadness.

Don't you DARE cry, he growled, you won't get a drop of pity out of me.

"Mystery”, she started, sniffling as she tried to speak, “please tell me-"

I'M ALREADY TELLING YOU, YOU IDIOT! HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE? YOU RUINED EVERYTHING FOR ME AND YOU’RE ACTING LIKE YOU DESERVE THIS LOVING LITTLE FAMILY? WELL YOU DON'T. *I'M* THE ONE WHO PROTECTED THEM, *I'M* THE ONE WHO KEPT THEM OUT OF HARM'S WAY, THEN YOU SHOW UP AND RIP IT ALL AWAY!!

WHAT ARE YOUR INTENTIONS? WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE YOU'RE HARMLESS? NOBODY WITH POWERS LIKE YOURS STAY IDLE. WHERE DID YOU EVEN COME FROM?! I KNOW YOU'RE NOT HUMAN, SO DON'T TRY AND LIE TO ME. YOU THINK YOU'RE *SO* SPECIAL DON'T YOU?

She was sobbing now, eyes visibly baby blue and tears running down her face.

FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHUT UP WITH ALL THAT CRYING AND-

"Mystery if you don't leave right now I SWEAR I will chop every God forsaken tail of yours off."

Shit.

A-Arthur I-

"Why the fuck are you here? What made you think you were welcome?" His fatherly instinct had kicked in as soon he heard noise from his child’s room and ran over in an instant.

"Lav, baby, go to the bathroom” he started with a kiss to her nose, “so you can go wash your face. I have some business to finish", directing his gaze towards the intruder.

I'm here to open your eyes, Arthur. What has she accomplished while I was gone? What’s been going on with you... five? It seems her army grows every day.

"That is PATHETIC, Mystery."

What is? I'm just stating-

"I don't give a shit about your opinion, you broke into a child's room and you're YELLING AT HER because what, you're fucking....”

He pondered why Mystery was here spreading grief. They did tell him to piss off so that Lav wouldn’t be in danger, and honestly they didn’t need to be so stressed with him in the house all the time either. It’s not a good idea to welcome back a recently possessed kitsune into their home when they were all recovering from the trauma he inflicted. Old and new...

New... is he...

“Are you,,, jealous of her?" he asked, tone on the verge of shock.

Good lord, this boy.

Arthur, I am here because I care and I worry about you, Lewis, and Vivi. And it concerns me that you've thrown all my help away for some MUTT that doesn't belong-

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" Arthur shouted, trembling and trying not to scream so he wouldn’t scare Lav a few doors down.

I will NOT, I'm not done yet-

"YES YOU FUCKING ARE.”

The look of pain and anger was so clear on his face, and Mystery shut his mouth instantly.

"YOU *ARE* DONE BECAUSE YOU JUST RUINED THE VERY MINISCULE CHANCE WE WERE GOING TO GIVE YOU TO PROPERLY MEET HER. YOU’VE MADE ONE TOO MANY MISTAKES."

His voice was cracking, he wasn’t the type to do all... this. Just how much had this girl influenced them?

Arthur, please-

As if on cue, Lavender returned from the bathroom. "Mr. Arthur, am I in trouble?” She asked, big brown eyes looking up at him. “Mystery kept telling me that I did something wrong by being here and it didn't make sense to me."

"What exactly did he tell you, love?" he asked, eyebrows slightly softening just for her.

Oh FUCK. ((A/N: YEAH U DONE FUCKED UP YOU ASS))

She looked almost scared to answer; she was aware the kitsune could be merciless, and didn’t want to be attacked in the mansion Lewis had worked so hard on. Mystery was so angry at her and she didn’t understand why.

"Well... he told me that I ruined his life because I guess I took his place or something. He said I'm dangerous because I'm more powerful than him, and.. he said mean things about me in general.”

Arthur’s metal hand flew up, ready to attack.

“Mr. Arthur! W-what are you doing?-"

And Arthur hit Mystery as hard as he could.

There was an excruciating scream of pain, one that caused Lewis and Vivi to abandon the groceries they were bringing in to see all the commotion.

ARTHUR, YOU BASTARD! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!

"YOU MADE MY CHILD CRY BECAUSE YOU HAD YOUR PETTY FEELINGS HURT? FOR SOMETHING SHE NEVER DID? YOU HAD THE GOD DAMN *BALLS* TO BREAK IN, YELL INSULTS AT A KID, MAKE HER CRY, AND THINK THAT YOU WERE IN THE RIGHT?"

Lewis rushed over, trying to calm his boyfriend down. "Arthur, mi amor, what- MYSTERY?! How did HE get here?!”

S h i t.

Vivi felt her heart drop to her feet at the mention of her ‘dog’s’ name. "WHAT IS HE DOING HERE? I THOUGHT WE KICKED HIM OUT!" she exclaimed, her stomach filling with dread.

Lewis, Vivi, if you just let me EXPLAIN-

Arthur almost made a hole in the wall with the pound of his fist. "So this little FUCKER broke into Lav's room to yell at her because she lives with us and he wasn't invited. I come over to see who's in her room yelling at her, and she's crying uncontrollably while he keeps going at her, spewing a bunch of BULLSHIT, and he thinks he can explain himself and why he's in the right."

"....what?" said Lewis and Vivi, shocked by Mystery's audacity.

Lav started to cry again, thinking she would be punished for this, and Lewis quickly pulled her into his embrace. "Mi florecita preciosa, you did nothing wrong-"

REALLY LEWIS? Mystery growled, feeling patronized, especially as Lewis tightened his grip. SHE'S NOT A BABY-

"Shut your snout right now", snapped Vivi. "Get the fuck out of our house and you BETTER not come back. You have ONE chance to apologize to her and that's it."

Can I come back if I do?

"YOU DON'T DESERVE TO COME BACK" growled Arthur, his flesh hand placed gently on Lav's head and his metal one pointing at Mystery, Lewis glaring so hard it could kill.

Nobody was on his side, and the look on the girl’s face almost made him feel bad.

Almost.

Very well then. I'll be on my way and hope that your ignorance won’t become your downfall.

"Hey Mystery, one more thing", Lewis started. "If you ever come back with bad intentions, we will kill you ourselves. I swear on anything and everything that you will not come here with a DROP of malice towards her. Do I make myself clear? And don’t you dare try and act smart, we are giving you a LOT of mercy when you don't deserve it."

...then I bid farewell. What is her name?

"My name is Lavender Grey."

Thank you. Goodbye, Miss Lavender Grey.

#mystery skulls #mystery skulls animated #cartooness writes sometimes #I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY OWOWOW #IF U HAVE QUESTIONS MY ASKBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!!!!!!!!!#mystery #lavender grey #arthur kingsmen #vivi yukino #lewis pepper #shiromori is in here for like 5 seconds

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paws-and-claws-au · 6 years ago

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Prologue: Two Sides, One Coin

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4

Summary: In a kingdom where practicing magic is outlawed and mythical creatures are being hunted, one boy is caught in the crossfire between the two sides of the fight. Only an act of pure, selfless love will lift his curse and return his life to normal...but who could ever love a monster like him?

Warnings: Mentions of minor character death, knives, curses (the magical kind), parental neglect, body transformation, sadness/crying, Morally Grey Deceit.

Pairings: Royality and Analogical

Word Count: 3,061

AU Creator: @thegremlinprince

Fic Author: @ironwoman359

Available on AO3 here

Song for this chapter: Waiting for Love - Avicii

––––––––––––

If you were to ask Desmond, he would say his actions were perfectly justified. Cruel? Perhaps. But thanks to the King’s decree that all magical creatures in the land were to be hunted down and exterminated, the Belmont couple had exacted plenty of cruelty of their own. As far as Desmond was concerned, they deserved everything they had coming to them.

Remy, of course, didn’t agree, but he and Remy had agreed on so little since they’d been forced into hiding alongside the rest of the magical community that Desmond found he didn’t really care. Not that that stopped his old friend from trying to talk him out of his plans.

“Des… I know you’re angry. But this… don’t you think it’s a bit extreme?”

Desmond clenched his hands into fists, making no move to take the hot beverage he was handed in the secluded witch’s cottage.

“Yes, Remington, it is extreme,” he huffed. “That’s rather the point of the gesture as a whole, you see. After all, isn’t hunting down every magical creature and slaughtering them regardless of whether they are an actual danger to humans a bit extreme as well?”

Remy sighed, and fiddled with the handle of his own mug.

“I mean, of course it is, but–”

“But nothing!” Desmond growled, his eyes growing dark. “Joan is dead, Remy! They died right in front of me, because those damn hunters didn’t see a person, all they could see was a dragon. Nothing but a horrible beast that needed to be destroyed.” He grit his teeth as his hands shook with anger. “I’m going to show those bastards exactly how wrong they are.”

“Des–”

Desmond stood before Remy could say any more and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.

“We’ve suffered too much at their hands, Remy. I won’t let it go unpunished anymore. I won’t let Joan’s death mean nothing to them. They’re going to pay.”

––––

Dear King James,

While we regret to inform you that our mission to slay the Dragon Witch was once again unsuccessful, we have not returned from the forest in total defeat. The witch’s familiar is dead; one less dragon plagues our skies. In this hunt we also have vanquished a manticore, taken out several members of a pack of werewolves, and successfully destroyed a fairy circle. The explosives that you provided also proved effective in disposing of the jackalope den discovered at the edge of Black Oak Ridge. We will send another report after our next hunt.

Your faithful servants,

Gareth and Cadence Belmont.

Gareth nodded to himself as he looked over the letter, then slid the parchment into an envelope. As he sealed it with a few drops of wax, his wife came up behind him and placed a bowl of stew on his desk, and he grunted appreciatively.

“Has Patton gone to bed yet?” he asked as he began to eat.

“He asked for you to come tell him a story about five times, but I told him you were busy and would do it tomorrow,” Cadence answered, and Gareth chuckled.

“Alright, I’ll make sure tomorrow’s story is extra special.”

Cadence laughed, and tucked her chin over his shoulder.

“That’s a pretty tall order, coming from you. What are you gonna tell him?”

“Hmmm…” Gareth pretended to think. “How about the daring tale of how mommy and daddy slayed a terrible dragon and saved their village?”

“I like it,” Cadence replied, before giving her husband a peck on the cheek. “I’m gonna check on him one more time, then I’m heading to bed. And you should do the same,” she added, nudging him with her elbow. “We just got home. No more late nights for now.”

“Oh, alright,” Gareth agreed with a good-natured sigh. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

He turned back to the stack of papers on his desk, mostly reports of monster sightings in the nearby areas that they were going to tackle next. He and his wife had been working for the King just shy of a year, and were quickly developing the reputation of the best monster hunters in the kingdom. He smiled to himself at the thought. If he and Cadence kept this rate of success going, their son would be able to grow up in a world completely free of the dreadful creatures that lurked in the forests.

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream came from the bedroom, and Gareth’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Cadence.

He drew his dagger from his belt, not his strongest weapon by far, but what was closest on hand, and rushed towards his wife.

Gareth burst into the bedroom to find Cadence pressed against the wall with a knife to her throat. Wielding the knife was the being who was without a doubt their worst enemy.

“Dragon Witch,” he growled, stepping forward, but the witch pressed the dagger closer to Cadence’s throat.

“I would not come closer,” the witch hissed. “Or you may find your child motherless.”

Gareth froze, but he did not let go of his dagger, gripping the handle as tightly as he could.

“You dare to come here,” he spat through gritted teeth. “You come into this home, you threaten this family–”

“You have come into our homes!” the Dragon Witch interrupted, his voice venomous. “You have threatened our families, torn down our places of safety, decimated our lives. You have allowed yourself to be deceived, have allowed fear and hatred consume your life. And you have been praised for it.” The witch’s face was twisted with grief. “You have taken everything we love and brought it to ruin, and your people hail you as heroes! I say no more.”

The witch closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and when he opened them again, they were glowing yellow with power.

“You leave destruction in your wake, Our homes you burn, our lives you take. You’ve ravaged all that we hold dear, So now you must confront your fear.

Now upon you this curse I place, Your greatest fear you now shall face. For the magic seal to break, You must truly love the thing you hate.”

The Dragon Witch shoved Cadence towards Gareth, and as he rushed to catch her a puff of yellow smoke exploded where the witch had been, and in an instant he was gone.

“Cadence!” Gareth cried as he held his wife. “Are you alright? Did he–”

“No… no, he didn’t hurt me,” she gasped. “What… what did that mean? What he said?”

“I believe it was a spell…” Gareth said, frowning. “Though I must admit, I have no idea what the meaning could be.”

“I have a feeling that we’ll find out very soon,” Cadence said with a grimace.

Gareth opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get out a word, the sound of crying came from the other room, and the two froze.

––––

When Patton was a small child, his mother and father had him pack everything he owned into a trunk and hired a carriage to the countryside. They rode in silence most of the trip, his parents occasionally sending each other glances over his head they thought he didn’t see. At the end of their journey, they pull up in front of an old fortress in the countryside that Patton remembered hearing his parents talk about before, in hushed tones. They spoke in hushed tones around him a lot, but he was sure it was just because there were a lot of grownup things they had to talk about, that they didn’t want him to worry about.

His mother and father had carefully helped him bring his trunk up to the tallest, biggest tower of the fortress, which had a few simple furnishings set up around the room. They’d carefully explained to him that he’d be living here now so that he’d have more room for his...outbursts, and that he’d be there until they could find a “better way to help you.” They showed him the pulley system that would bring him food and explained that he mustn't eat everything at once, because more food would only arrive every two weeks. Then they’d given him a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the head, and left, locking the tower door from the outside.

Patton had happily unpacked his toys and set about exploring the nooks and crannies of the room. He hadn’t been worried at the time. His mommy and daddy were the smartest people in the world! They’d figure something out soon and he’d be back home; in the meantime, it was like he was on some sort of adventure! It would be fun!

Patton couldn’t remember when he stopped believing that. But when one month, after years and years of no contact and constant, aching loneliness, food didn’t arrive on schedule for two whole cycles, he found that he wasn’t even that surprised.

That somehow hurt more than anything, that he wasn’t even shocked at being completely abandoned. He’d known...he’d always known, really, that that’s what they’d done. Why deal with your cursed child when you could just lock them away in a tower so they wouldn’t be in the way?

Hot, bitter tears began to fall down his cheeks, and as they did, he felt his body begin to change.

He had grown accustomed to the sensation over the years, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. His limbs bulged and his back arched, tough leathery wings popping out and spreading across the room. His soft smooth skin grew white and blue scales, and his teeth elongated into fangs while his jaw stretched. The tears that slid from his eyes were hot and steaming, dropping the ground with a slight *hiss* as Patton, now a large, shimmering dragon, curled up in the corner of the tower to cry.

That was how the Dragon Witch found him.

“Patton Belmont.”

At first, Patton was so startled at hearing another person’s voice that he snarled, but the man in the black cloak seemed unperturbed by the outburst. In fact, he was smiling a slightly sad, wistful smile as he took in Patton’s appearance.

“Patton Belmont…” he repeated, eyeing Patton up and down. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“Who...who are you?” Patton asked warily, pressing his back up against the wall and curling his tail around himself.

“My name is Desmond Atwood,” the man said, lowering his hood, and Patton was startled to see scales covering one side of the man’s face. “Though there are many who call me The Dragon Witch.” Patton’s eyes widened, and Desmond nodded. “Yes,” he said before Patton could speak. “I am the one that cursed you.”

A million thoughts ran through Patton’s head, a dozen questions, a hundred demands, he almost had half a mind to attack again, but all that managed to come out was one, half-choked word.

“Why?”

Desmond sighed, and even though it’d been years since Patton had had even a short conversation with anyone besides himself, Patton could tell that the man in his tower was truly sad about something.

“It was not so much a curse on you,” he explained, “as it was a curse on your parents. You see, many years ago, a new king took power in this land, and he decreed all magic to be a horrid, evil thing. He banned the study and practice of magic, forcing witches such as myself into hiding, and he commanded that any and all magical creatures be hunted down and killed indiscriminately.”

“In-discrim-inately?” Patton asked, sounding out the word slowly.

“Yes.” Desmond grimaced. “It means that the king wanted the creatures and witches killed, whether they’d done anything to hurt anyone else or not.”

“That’s awful!” Patton gasped, his eyes growing wide.

“It certainly is,” Desmond agreed. “And your parents are– well, they were–”

“Monster hunters,” Patton recalled.

“Some of the best in the business, unfortunately,” Deceit growled. “They killed several of my friends...including my old familiar. A dragon, like you, though as a familiar they could control their transformations.”

Desmond appeared lost in thought for a moment, and Patton shifted uncomfortably. It was sad to hear about Desmond’s friends, but it still was odd hearing his parents talked about with such hatred.

“I thought to teach them a lesson,” Desmond said after a pause. “Of all the creatures they fought, dragons were those that they feared and hated the most. I laid a curse on them that they must face their worst fear, and come to truly love the thing they hated.”

Patton’s eyes widened.

“So that’s why I–”

“I thought that by turning their only child into one of us, I could show them that magical creatures are really no different than humans.” Desmond folded his arms and looked around the tower. “In all honesty, I thought the curse would break within a year. I had no idea this would be their solution.”

Patton nodded, then frowned, and tilted his head to the side.

“Wait...you said they were monster hunters...not are monster hunters.”

Desmond looked up and grimaced.

“That’s...why I came here,” he whispered. “When I heard that the Belmonts had been killed...I knew I had to find you.”

Patton’s eyes widened in shock, but somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to be sad about his parents’ deaths. He felt almost worse that he didn’t feel more grief...shouldn’t a child mourn the loss of their parents?

“I assumed the curse hadn’t been lifted, since they fought against magic until their dying day,” Desmond continued. “I found out that they paid a man to bring food to this tower every fortnight, and I knew it had to be where they’d kept you.” He looked up at Patton, regret shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Patton. I had no idea until now that this is where you were all these years.”

Patton opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a whimper, and all of a sudden more tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was sobbing outright, which seemed to take Desmond by surprise.

“W-why?” Patton choked out through his sobs. “W-was it me? W-was I not good enough? Why c-couldn’t they...why did they just leave me?”

Desmond’s gaze softened, and he made a soothing sound, reaching up and gently ran his hand across Patton’s face, wiping the tears away. Patton shuddered a bit and leaned into the contact, and Desmond sighed.

“I wish I had a better answer for you,” he murmured. “But I truly don’t know. I am sorry, though, Patton. You didn’t deserve this curse, it isn’t right for you to bear their punishment.”

“S-so...can you lift the curse then?” Patton asked, a faint spark of hope shining desperately in his eyes. Desmond’s expression grew pained, and before he even replied, Patton knew what the answer would be.

“The spell was very specific,” he said quietly. “For the magic seal to break, you must truly love the thing you hate. I cannot lift the curse myself, it would take…” he trailed off, his eyes widening.

“What?” Patton asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“I...I cannot lift the curse. But perhaps…” Desmond closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Patton shrank back in fear. They were glowing an eerie yellow, and his voice was deep and layered as he chanted:

“Love in its purest form alone Could all the parents’ sins atone. But where they’ve fallen short and failed, Another being may prevail. An act of love that’s pure and whole Will heal the cursed child’s soul.”

Desmond closed his eyes again, and opening them, they were back to their normal color.

“What...what did you just do?” Patton asked, amazed.

“I gave the curse a...well, let’s call it an update. It no longer relies on your parents for the act of love that the magical seal requires to break, it can come from anybody.”

“Really?” Patton’s eyes widened, and as the thought filled his mind, he felt himself twist and shrink until he was a human again. Desmond was now a few inches taller than him, and he stared up at the witch hopefully. “So...what happens now?”

"If you love someone, and they love you for who you truly are, without any selfish intentions or ulterior motives, then an act of pure love from that person will lift the curse," Desmond said simply.

“Okay!” Patton cried, then he frowned again. “But...I’ve never left this tower…” he said slowly. “And there’s really nowhere else I can go to stop my dragon form from hurting anyone by accident.” Patton wrapped his arms around himself, and Desmond hesitantly placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Where there are towers and dragons and souls in need of saving, adventurers and knights often may follow. With no one left below to tend to this building, its ownership falls to you. I can ensure you are still fed and kept comfortable, and you may remain here until someone who is capable of lifting the curse comes for you.”

“Oh, thank you!” Patton exclaimed, rushing forward and flinging his arms around Desmond.

The witch stiffened, but he awkwardly placed his arms around the boy’s shoulders. When Desmond pulled back, Patton’s eyes were bright and shining, and Desmond felt another stab of guilt. The poor thing was barely a teenager, still only a child, really. He didn’t deserve to suffer like this. Anger towards the Belmonts once again stirred in Desmond’s stomach, and he almost wished the pair were still alive just so he could curse them again, this time for leaving their son to such a fate.

“Very well then…” Desmond said, holding back a sigh. “Good luck, Patton Belmont.”

“Thank you!” Patton said again with a large smile.

Desmond nodded, then he raised up his cloak, and in a puff of smoke he was gone.

Patton stared at the space where he disappeared, almost in disbelief. After a moment, another puff of smoke rose up, and a basket full of food appeared, which Patton descended on eagerly. As he ate, he felt a tiny spark of hope reignite in his chest. For so long, he’d been alone; sure that he’d be trapped like this forever. For the first time in years, there was a chance he wouldn’t be.

All he needed was somebody who could love him.

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3

A/N: And with that, our story begins! If you are a typical reader of my writing, you know I am incredibly inconsistent with updates XD, but I’m going to TRY to be a little more consistent with this story! The next chapter will have more familiar faces in it, but in the meantime if you have questions about this au or have headcanons to share, this blog’s inbox is open! If you want to keep updated on this story, follow this blog, as there will not be a taglist. Hope you all enjoyed! -Taylor, aka, Iron.

AU Creator: @thegremlinprince

Other fics by @ironwoman359

#sanders sides #sanders sides au #patton sanders #roman sanders #royality #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #deceit sanders #morally grey deceit #remy sleep sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #paws and claws au #story #prologue #claw marks

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kylorengarbagedump · 6 years ago

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Little Bird: Chapter 13

Read on AO3. Part 12 here. Part 14 here.

Summary: You can't do this anymore. You won't.

Words: 2200

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Another chapter! Look at me, mom! I'm writing!!

I'm trying to inject plot into this story. Please let me know what you think? I'm honestly, for the first time, looking for feedback on the turns I'm making the story take, because I feel like it needs more stakes! More excitement! A direction! An arc!

Anyway, thank you SO much for your feedback on the last chapter, I love you all so so so much. I'm so lucky. <3

“Something’s off with you.”

Was it that obvious? Ofarmitage was not one to comment on how you looked or felt, or to really even chat about anything, ever. Unfortunate that your main companion in Handmaid-dom was dedicated to maintaining a barrier between the both of you--but you supposed that everyone coped with this trauma differently. More unfortunate still was that you were realizing that your instinct was to try and dig your claws into any fleeting connection, no matter how dangerous or stupid.

I want you here.

That bastard--toying with you like that, tugging--

“Hello? What’s going on?”

Shaking your head, you fixed your wings. “I need to get out of here.”

You hadn’t expected the words to leave your mouth, but when they had, you met Ofarmitage’s eyes, her face dark red, a mirror of your own. Both of you turned back to the path.

It had been on your mind all night--how you were going to get out. You knew there were organizations out there, stealing women away in the danger of night, sneaking them through state lines and over borders to lands where red, blue, and green were colors on a wheel. Part of you felt almost guilty for considering it--after all, what would happen to the Marthas if you left? You also, strangely, worried about Johana, how she’d respond to another loss, another person abandoning her to loneliness.

“Ofkylo.”

“Oh!” Your head snapped forward. You’d been in another reverie. “Sorry. What?”

“Be quiet.” Her pace had slowed to a crawl, enabling you to murmur before the next checkpoint. “I said I know people who can help.”

You blinked, heart skipping. But you said nothing.

“They’ve been bugging me forever to go,” she said. “They might finally leave me alone if they know you’re trying to break out.”

You frowned. “Why do you want them to leave you alone?”

Ofarmitage snorted. “I don’t want to leave.”

“What?” you asked. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you want to leave?” she spat--but then lowered her volume. “I thought you said you could handle yourself.”

Wincing, you recalled what you’d said all those weeks ago when she had warned you about your Commander. She’d been right to warn you--but you hadn’t anticipated any of this.

You also recalled she’d said I know how you feel. “Why don’t you?”

She drew in a quiet breath. “My Commander wouldn’t like it.”

“That matters to you?”

“He’s my Commander.” A pause. “So yes.”

Your final worry: the quiet voice within you wondering about the Commander, wondering about the person you’d sworn you’d seen the night before. Wondering if you’d be like every other Ofkylo to him--and pathetically hoping you meant more. Gilead hadn’t destroyed your instincts entirely. There’d been something in your conversation last night, something intimate, some mutual acknowledgement of knowing trapped behind the glass walls of your roles. Roles he’d determined.

He was the exact reason why you couldn’t continue to stay, balancing your actual life with this desire to know and be known. You couldn’t continue to tempt this strange, disgusting ache to truly need him, beyond physicality. He’d brought this upon you both, and to suffer while your survival dangled in the balance was now intolerable.

But you couldn’t say all of that.

“I see.” Your differences were greater than you’d initially thought. “Ofarmitage,” you said, “you have to tell them about me. Please.”

“I will,” she said. “I will.”

The rest of your walk was quiet, the shared burden of your positions silent between you. You focused on wanting to leave--if you wasted another minute ruminating on your Commander’s feelings for you, you’d end up with a broken neck. Either from hanging, or from his dick (given the past couple days, it’d probably be from his dick).

Walk finished, you escaped into the home, sequestering yourself in your room, as if the scent of deception had stuck to your skin, afraid that if you even glanced in the direction of Ren or Johana, they’d smell it on you, they’d know your plans. More guilt, though: didn’t Emma deserve to escape? Didn’t Rose? Yet if you revealed anything to them--and something went wrong… No, that wasn’t worth their lives.

The next morning, Ofarmitage met you again. Her wings hid a sheen of sweat at her brow, her hands twisting back and forth over the handle of her basket. This made your own palms sweat, but the thought of investigating was even less appealing.

“Blessed be the fruit.”

She nodded, words tumbling out like curses. “May the Lord open.”

Chest tight, you kept your eyes low. Had she been caught? Were you about to get taken? Your pulse quickened by the second. You cleared the distance from your home before she hissed between heavy breath, “They’ll meet you tomorrow. You’ll know them.”

Breath caught in your own chest. “Oh.” For some reason, you hadn’t expected such a quick turnaround. “Well--”

“Sorry.” Her whisper was hoarse. “I just. I don’t like being pressured.”

“Oh,” you said again.

“I know you must think I’m an idiot,” she said, “wanting to stay with my Commander--”

“Ofarmitage, I don’t--”

“--but it’s much safer, and, really, he’s been so kind to me, I don’t want to disappoint him--”

Her voice was rising. A checkpoint was closing in. “Ofarmitage, please--”

“I even think I might be getting pregnant soon, so, obviously I want to stick around for that, and to leave the Wife--”

“--could you--”

“--you know, it’s just unnecessary, and it’s, it’s, well--”

“Shh!”

She stopped, hands shaking, lips pinched. Silent, she sucked in a long breath through her nose, lids closed, and you watched her, attention darting between her and the upcoming checkpoint. The Guardians observed you from yards away, heads craning to discern the issue--but two breaths, and she moved forward, gaze to the ground, grip firm. When the Guardians stopped you, you explained that in the weather, she’d overheated, lost her balance. They didn’t question you.

Ofarmitage remained that way, hidden breath drawn into her lungs every few minutes until you returned to your home. Before she left you there, you pinched her wrist, and she turned to you, dark eyes meeting yours, drowning in panic and shame.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” you said. “But it’s not too late.”

She shook her head. “I’m…” Her face twisted in a grimace. “I’m scared I’d miss him.”

That desperation for connection tingled. You wanted her to feel safe with you, your arms ached to grab her, wrap her up in understanding. But the surveillance of your front entrance loomed. Instead, you whispered back, “I’m scared too.”

A smile--sad--ghosted her lips. She turned and walked on.

Inside the home, your heart raced with the possibility of freedom. The thought terrified and exhilarated you. It was only a decision you’d made a couple of days ago, and now it was it happening. Part of this was a blessing: there was no time to second-guess yourself, only time to coast forward on pure adrenaline and instinct. That also meant there was no time to plan, no time to anticipate, no time to practice. You had one shot at this. Or you’d die.

Then again, if you remained here, in your Commander’s cage, you’d also die. So.

Johana’s softening had enabled you more freedom--so after anxiety boiled in your chest throughout dinner, you stayed stuck to your chair, after your meal was cleaned, after the sun descended into the clouds. Time moved without you, echoes of sunset gleaming over your eyes and across the stained oak table, the stillness of the air seized in rays of peach-yellow light. At the window across from you, a tiny grey bird flitted along the sill, its reedy beak poking at the glass.

Your lids fell in a slow blink. It wanted to come inside. Maybe the bird knew something you didn’t.

Footsteps in the kitchen startled you alive--and the source of them made you wish you weren’t. Shoulders shrinking, you folded in on yourself, hands hugging each other in your lap. Commander Ren approached, standing at the head of the table. It was as if you were transparent under his stare, as if your thoughts were broadcast on a marquee for him to read, as if he could peel you into flaky, trembling layers with his mind.

Thank God he didn’t have a power like that.

“You seem tense,” he said without irony.

The bird by the window was gone. “It’s because you’re here.”

Ren cocked his head. You stole a glance at him, a glimmer of sunlight in his honey irises. His beauty was inhuman and unfair. The anxiety in your chest tangled as you followed the line of his pretty nose to the soft pink fullness of his lips. What had he done before Gilead? Who had he been?

He sat, leaning over the table, examining you. “Tell me how you’re doing this.”

Mind and blood racing, you halted all physical response, instead choosing meet his gaze, like you were hiding nothing. “What do you mean, sir?”

“You’re no idiot,” he said. “Neither of us are.” His voice was molasses--slow, thick, and dark. “You’re playing a game.”

If your anxiety had been a tangle, now it was a snarled mass. You glanced around, convinced you were about to be torn from your seat. “I don’t…”

“The more I speak to you, the more furious I become,” he said. “Do you understand? You impair my judgement. You threaten my power.” His brow drew low. “Tell me how you’re doing it.”

“Commander,” you said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not!” All of your interactions had ended in him silencing your complaints with sex. Was he mad that you’d sworn off susceptibility to that tactic? “Please, sir--”

“Tell me!” His fist slammed the table. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

Shaking your head, you sunk into your chair. “I don’t, I don’t--”

His knuckles were white. “I should have you killed.”

For some reason, you weren’t afraid. Well, not some reason--it was the reason you were still alive. The same reason he’d come to you at night--the reason he sought out Johana, the reason he’d returned, vulnerable and aching. It was the reason he didn’t know why he wanted you to stay, the reason you scared him, the reason he sat in front of you now, demanding answers you didn’t have.

Jaw tight, you replied, “Then do it.”

Ren’s face grew taut. “No.”

“Why not?” you asked. “It’d be so easy.”

“You…” He paused, searching the room for words. “I…” Breath left his nose in frustration. “I don’t want that.” Growling, he stood, crossed to the window, his size eclipsing the pane. There was a long moment of silence, the sun casting him in a golden aura. “I don’t want that.”

Guilt again--you’re really going to leave? But only a whisper of it. “There are plenty of Handmaids to take my place, sir,” you said. “Maybe one who wants to be here.”

“No.” He turned to you. “Not one like you.”

In his stare was a presence you’d seen two nights ago, a magnetizing wish, a pull toward the impossible and unspeakable. Ren held you there for what you knew to be seconds but what felt like infinity, like you could reach out into this empty, breathless space, see birds with their wings mid-beat, catch motes of dust suspended in light.

“You enrage me,” he said. “You haunt me.”

Fingers trembled. Sweat beaded. “Commander…”

“How have you done this?” His jaw tensed. “Why?”

Fumbling with your hands, you shook your head, teeth worrying your lip. The guilt was gnawing, now, but you ignored it. This was not your fault. It was his. “I can’t answer that for you.”

“Now is the time you refuse to tell me what you think?” There was a desperate edge to his tone.

You pursed your lips, back straightening. He was not asking for a testimony. He was asking for your opinion. But you imagined that saying this is exactly by design, for us all to dangle here, hanging ourselves by our own humanity would not be well-received.

“Sometimes,” you said, “I wonder what you were like. Before Gilead.” Ren was motionless. “Maybe you wonder that about me, too.”

“Before Gilead,” he murmured. His eyes, appraising you again. “Before Gilead, this world was chaos.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But I’d call a Commander confiding in his Handmaid chaos, too.”

Ren was silent, scrutinizing. In deliberate steps, he moved toward you, until he towered, and you inched back in your chair, heart jumping into your throat. How horrifying that the heat of his body made your thighs clench, made your lips tingle, even while you conspired to escape his spell.

“You almost had me,” he said, dipping low to your ear. You shivered, biting back a whimper in your chest. “But you do not own me. I own you.” He brushed his mouth over your skin. “I will keep you in this home as long as I need. I will figure you out.”

He captured your lips with his own, and you melted, tension pouring out of your feet, a sigh pouring out of your chest. It was brief and blissful--he pulled away and tucked an errant hair behind your ear.

“Remember that,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left you there, flesh on fire, and you collapsed, crumbling into your chair. See you tomorrow? It seemed like a promise. You could only hope that he wouldn’t.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo trash #handmaid au #little bird #WOW!#another chapter #more kylo content (photos gifs etc) to come soon

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itsediadmlove · 6 years ago

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Endgame................

I’ve never believed I had any right to be angry at GRRMartin for the endgame he was going to provide us, nor about the time he took on writting, I’ve always believed ASOIAF to be his creation and should be so until the very end, and I still do. I’m neither writting to put any blame on the Ds about such a thing as the endgame. Yet, despite of the direction the story finally took I believe I can put some blame on them, again not for the outcome but for the shit they have made beyond that.

D&D: There are several things I’m more than willing to blame them about.

1- The way they spent HBO money and OUR time. Again this is not about the story itself but the way they organized this season. We all knew there were only 6 episodes left and a full lot of shit to do, so things being rushed coud be anticipated. Apparently (cause I don’t know) they were given the chance to make a 10 episodes season and they choosed not to because they thought it wasn’t needed, and they were maybe right and still what they did was absolutely unsatisfying. Why? For me it’s pretty simple, they didn’t gave themselves enough time to build up things the right way. But the truth being said, even if they had 10 fucking episodes they would have messed up. The problem was not the amount of minutes this season but how they used it, at some point they missed the concept of the show they were running. GOT/ASOIAF can be setted in a medieval fantastic world, it can be an epic story, but what it has always been is a political thriller. Yet those dickheads choosed to spend 1/3 of the remaining onscreen time (and probably 2/3 of the budget they were trusted with) in fucking long battles (if KL destruction can even be called a battle). As far as I remember, the longest battle that have taken place in the books was when Stannis attacked KL, in the books I remember it took like 6 chapters (3 of them were Sansa’s who wasn’t even in the battle), readers felt disappointed about how shitty the battle of the blackwater was back in season 2, yet we understood the show’s timetable needed to be done with it quickly and the budget was the one of a TV show with a huge amount of characters so we wern’t very bothered by it. GOT/ASOIAF have never been about battles, those are things that just happen and it’s awful yes, but have never been the main core of the story and yet they spent such a huge amount of time on them when the show had so little time to get a closure,I REPEAT MYSELF 1/3 of our time, I believe the most of the money for what? Two fucking long battles which were not amazing at all (Drogon blowing up KL was beautiful yes, but never worth 45 minutes of my time). SO NO, IT’S NOT THINGS WERE RUSHED BECAUSE OF THE TIME LEFT, THEY WERE RUSHED BECAUSE THEY BETRAYED THE ESSENCE OF THE SHOW THEY WERE RUNNING BY SPENDING TOO MANY TIME IN SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T MOVE THE STORY LINE FURTHER AND EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER ARC PAID FOR IT.

2- The broken trust. This 2 morrons were given the chance by the very GRRMartin to be the first to deliver the endgame of the most intriguing and complex story I’ve ever watched or read. They had a responsability toward him and again they failed. THE FUCKING FINALE WAS ACTUALLY LEAKED. I mean, this on itself is an insult to the kind of show they were supposed to do, a treason to all the time GRRMartin spent on writting his books. It’s not what the endgame was, to be frustrated about how life works it’s granted on GOT/ASOIAF. But letting it to be leaked, not just one episode, but all of them... Letting the more discussed, argued, especulated show in history end to be leaked is something I can’t forgive them for.

3- Setting things up that never paid off: I just felt that every single camera focus, political conflict... Was set for nothing... GOT has never been like that, the truth was hidden by the scrypt but told on how the show was actually plaid. Never got a Sansa/Cersei/Dany display and, no matter who of them you stand, just that was frustrating. Non epic dialogues, instead we got 10 minutes of council unimportant small talk (not even about politics) and brothel joking (THE FUCK???). Even if someone tries to say something of the like that it was all to subvert expectations all of that was ruined because they let the fucking endgame to be spoiled. It felt that it was all for nothing but fuck us, and if it was that way well, then it was all for fan disservice which is even wworse than fan service because no one gets satisfied about it. Tenth of minutes of threats, angsty looks, anticipation, political moves, drama, plot, build up made garbage which actually means that the most true moments to the show were battles which is just..................................................................................... ehem. This season battles became what were never meant to be and the rest of it was just nothing at all.

Now, enough with the D&D criticism, I don’t want to go any further and the cast was amazing: Emilia really got me this season, she is way better of what I ever thought her to be, magnificient work for you, Sophie as good as always, Kit you did all that could be done with just as little as they gave you (your BoW sequence while running in the courtyard was amazing and never expected less since the BoB), Lena my only complaint is that I missed you as much as Jaime missed Cersei (Cersei may be the one character that was better in the show than in the books; the scripts plaid their part but so you did)... And so on. You did amazingly all along and YOU can be proud; you all were the best part of it.

Let’s go to GRRMartin. As I said above I’m ok with the ending being such, not the one I would have picked but well, I dont get to chose, isn’t it? I’ve always been amazed by just how realistic the story was, how cynical you are yourself, how complex every character you designed has been and how you brought it together to make a story that made sense, a story that was always able to make you expect things that never happen and yet, with the given time, would reveal to go in a far more logical way making you understand, accept and keep going with it... Maybe I am wondering because I know I would never get a further explanation, clue or hope, but for someone who have always remained true to pracmatism, realism and individualism of his characters there are a few things I actually can’t understand, not as a reader/watcher, nor as a political scientist.

Things I can understand:

-Jon going to the wall: I guess Grey Worm demanding it was true to Grey Worm’s character, he did bullshit for 2 seasons, and actually doing the very same mistake as Robb or even worse (he fell in love with a dangerous and unstable mass murderer who was ready to burn his family alive, or at least, that is what the show told us). He deserves it for knowing nothing and yet managing to forget the half of it. Yet, if Grey WWorm leaves with the unsullied... Why would he carry on his sentence... This is GOT but well, as the show putted it, it makes some sense for him to carry his sentence to the end, but George, book Jon is not this kind of honorable man who goes for honor but a dutifull bastard able to betray every single oath he once took for the greater good. Good luck pulling that off.

- Dany dying: Again, Dany falling to her extremely dark side has been very foreshadowed in both the books and the show, she has done horrendous things, a lot of people has, my personal problem with her is that, half of the times, such cruelty was absolutely unnecessary. Yet Dany stans do have a point; Dany suddenly falling for that side of her coin just because a few persons that were close to her died and people not cheering for her was extremely poor. That woman who (unwillingly) killed her husband and unborn baby, led a bunch of ill, old people as well as children through a dessert while watching them die... Going nuts for such childish reasons is pittysome for her character. Most of your character have always been grey, even the ones we perceived as evil were given the chance to prove their humanity, even while doing terrible things, they had the chance to be sympathetic to us, and we were given the chance to know the most of them and agree even with some of their worst accomplishments. This season Daenerys (who I repeat I haven’t liked for 4 seasons already) was definitely going to go dark, but she was deshumanized while doing it, in a way that was impossible to understand and yet hard to call madness. I hope you do better about her because I want to think that it was all Ds’ fault (I’ve had a hard time deciding who to blame about this) giving her to much screen time and yet being unable to make us understand wtf was going on with her so suddenly (there is a huge difference between being sad or angry and burning small folks from a dragon for 45 minutes, maybe 5 mins of it until realizing what she is doing, 5 mins on a dragon back is more than enough time to burn a huge amount of people, and that is reason enough not to support her as a queen). The problem is not that build up, anticipation, foreshadowing, that was done, but just how much of a villain she became to just not give a frikking damn about all this innocents life, or not expressing a single regret (what she did in the books after randomly eviscerating and crucifying alive 163 defeated persons in the main square of Meereen in front of their families until the rot enough to fall apart, yes mates, it was just that cruel).

- Grey Worm: all in him made sense; leaving (why would he stay???) wanting some punishment for his queen’s traitors... But the fact he was actually believing one of those traitors to actually carry out his sentence because said traitor promised? Because his family promised not to give him any shelter?

- Bran being king; well... I understand and I don’t. The truth being said he knows how to fucking play the game without getting his hands any dirty, when he told Tyrion that this was the main reason he went down south I just thought that he actually could do a nice job there, that is Bran for us all people.

- Democracy... bullshit: I didn’t like how it was pushed away as an option, it was almost like a joke which makes sense from a feudal lord perspective but the actual truth is quite different. Democracy never works in a non posmaterialist society; desinformation, lack of stability or knowledge, extreme supersticion... Who would believe the people from the bread riot were worthy of having a vote that would decide the future of the realm, such people are extremely manipulable as it happenned with the high sparrow, or how it is remembered Baelor the Saint, one of the worst kings the seven kingdoms ever had.

Things I can’t understand:

- BRONN AS MASTER OF COIN: Being true I don’t believe it to be your fault George, you were upset about his fate and it makes sense ( SO Ds THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING BY GIVING THE MASTERSHIP OF COIN TO A MAN WHO LITERALLY SEEMS TO NEED ALL OF HIS FINGERS TO COUNT UP TO TEN, THE SEEMINGLY MORE COMPLEX AND TECHNICALLY DEMANDING MASTERSHIP OF A RAVAGED AND BANKRUPTED REALM, I DON’T KNOW WHAT STAR WARS BULLSHIT YOU ARE APPARENTLY RUNNING RIGHT NOW BUT IF I WAS THE PRODUCER YOU WOULD GET FIRED TODAY JUST BECAUSE OF SUCH BULLSHIT).

- Northern independence... and Bran as a King: Why would the north be independent? I come from the Jonsa fandom to all of you and they were a huge amount of people there wanting it but it made no sense. It has been the very first fucking time in seasons that I’ve felt like beating Sansa. One king is peace, and in future generations, moreso with the crown working as it does now, wars between the north and the suth will start again, leading to more disasters, come on George... Does the north really deserve independence? Have they suffered more than anyone else? Some people seem to believe so but it’s not true. During Aegon conquest the north was the part of the 7kingdoms which suffered the less because Torrhen Stark kneeled on time before any battle took place. There have been 2 cultural groups that have suffered Targaryens far more than northerners and just as culturally differentiated from the andals as northerners are. Those are Dornish (Rhoynars), who are famous for resisting Targaryen rule for centuries until Daeron the good succeeded in diplomacy by marrying a dornish princess and giving princess Daenerys in marriage to the prince of Dorne. They have their own succession system (far more advanced that the rest of Westeros). Have they recently suffered less George? Because, if you are going to go with some random prince of Dorne which was never introduced (I expect you not to) that would mean that all prince Doran, Arianne, Quentyn (already happenned), Trystan, Oberyn and Sandsnakes would all be dead by then. And finally the Ironborns: they are first men, they have their own religion and culture, they suffered the first attack from Aegon the conqueror (King Harren the Black was the king of the Iron Islands) remained independent even longer than Dorne (the hedge knight short stories and their mention to Dagon Greyjoy prove me right) and their family has recently fought 2 wars in order to get it back (Balon rebellion and the five kings war). In such wars both of Balon’s oldest son died and Theon was taken as a hostage for his whole life, and in the second, castrated and tortured because of it. So George... And Sansa, why should the north remain independent while the rest doesn’t? Sansa is Bran fucking sister, she is related to him in a closer way than any other fucking lord and yet she is the only one not to accept him as King? THE ACTUAL FUCK? I mean why would anyone else remain in the 7 Kingdoms if the north doesn’t? How can any lord accept such bullshit when they are not related to him and his bloody sister doesn’t? How can anyone defend Bran as a King when he accept such a thing and still say he is unbiased or fair? His actually best lordship support comes from the fucking north! How can Bran first act as a King be accepting his authority to be jeopardize in such a way? I need you to explain it way better on the books George, I really do, because right know it feels like an experiment that would last 2 days and end with Bran and his council heads on spikes.

PLEASE PEOPLE, I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE, WHO YOU STANNED, WHAT ENDGAME YOU WOULD PREFER, IF SOMEONE GETS ANY CLUE, PLEASE JUST ANSWER THIS CALL OF HELP BECAUSE... WELL ALL OF YOU KNOW ALREADY.

#got #got ending #jonerys #jonsa #jon snow #Sansa Stark #daenerys targaryen #bran stark #arya stark

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realityhelixcreates · 6 years ago

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 20: Rising Conscience

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Mild violence, drunkenness Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Brunnhilde(Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Here Comes Self-Reflection Summary: When something ends, the only option is to begin anew.

You dreamt of bars and panes of impenetrable glass, layer after layer of shielding, of safety. Layer after layer, hiding you away, hemming you in, keeping everything else out. Far away, through the many, many layers, you could just see a faint blue light, surrounding the form of a person. They pushed on the glass, pounded on it, trying to get through. You could just barely hear their voice, but you couldn’t make out any words. That was fine. You were safe behind your many layers, and even as they fell to their knees, you still couldn’t hear them.

You woke, wrapped so tightly in blankets that you could hardly breathe.

*****

“Your Majesty.” Andsvarr said with a deep bow. “Um, I don’t meant to bother you, but I feel it may be important to report that nobody came home last night. I understand that there are many things that are none of my business, but is everything all right?”

“You can stand.” Thor said wearily. “It’s easier to talk to someone who is facing you. Yes, everything is…eh, it’ll be something. The prince was with me, and will probably return shortly. The mortal is with General Brunnhilde. I don’t know when she will be back. Don’t worry about it too much, just send the maid to the Generals rooms for now.”

“Thank you sire.”

*****

“What happened?” Saldis demanded.

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t say.” Andsvarr said, wringing his spear. “Just that you should go to the Generals room instead.”

“Should I move all her things there?”

“I don’t know! I guess things have changed now. It’s too bad. I’m going to miss seeing you every day.”

“That’s sweet, but don’t be pessimistic. This might not be permanent. Now, it’s not our job to fix this, especially since we don’t have any details. It is our job to carry on as normal. I’m going to take her clothes to her, and test the waters.”

*****

“Soooo. How’s he doing?” Brunnhilde asked. Thor had come out to the Valkyrie’s training area, alone and exasperated, and just watched the women train for a while. Sometimes he offered to help out on the field, but today he was keeping to himself.

“Not as badly as I’d feared.” Thor grumbled. “But not very well.”

They left the training grounds together, swiftly surrounded by various aides and officials. Thor dutifully took the papers that were handed to him, signed what he needed to, called out information and answers to questions that were asked of him, and gave or denied permissions as he was presented them.

The hounding ceased as soon as they reached the residential area of the building; one of the only places where privacy was to be had.

“Look, he might not be exactly personable right now; I don’t know what state he’s in.” Thor said, as the guard let them into his rooms. “Frankly, I hope he’s asleep.”

But the strong smell of alcohol, and the sound of mumbling greeted them upon entering, and Thor groaned. “Nope! Still pity-drunk.”

“Still?” Brunnhilde asked. “Like constantly? Since last night? He hasn’t slept at all? I’m impressed.”

Thor shot her a look; she just shrugged.

Loki was sitting at Thors big oak desk, several empty bottles lined up on one side, several full bottles lined up on the other. In between, Loki leaned, holding his finger out to a tiny illusion of you, who danced around on the desk and hugged his fingertip.

“Don’t worry!” The little image chirped, it’s voice slightly garbled. “It’s just a misunderstanding! I’ll come back!”

“Um, Brother?” Thor said quietly. The tiny image wavered, fuzzed at the edges, and disappeared.

“Wait!” Loki called. “Don’t go! Aww.”

“Loki. How are you feeling?”

Loki threw himself dramatically onto the desk, jostling the bottles.

“Oh, I’m a wretched creature, Thor!” He exclaimed. “Wretched, wretched! Utterly wretched!”

“So you’re feeling wretched, then?” Brunnhilde suggested.

He jerked his head up and stared at her suspiciously. “Who told you? It doesn’t matter. It’s true, it’s true! What prince? What god? I am a wretch!”

“Sad sack is what you are. Is he always like this when he’s drunk?”

“He doesn’t usually get drunk.”

“Well he’s not going to impress her with this kind of display.”

“Herrrr…” Loki purred. “I would have held her little face in my hands.” He cupped his hands together in demonstration. “I would have fastened the cloak of office around her shoulders. I can’t touch her anymore! It’s bad.”

“Well, you're supposed to ask first, if you want to step outside of the polite touching.” Brunnhilde pointed out. “You were starting to get a bit overbearing.”

Loki jumped up off of the desk. “You're right!” He exclaimed, and rushed for the door.

Thor hooked him with one arm and tumbled him onto a sofa. “Not like this, you don't. You stay in here until you've calmed down a bit.”

“I can't go anyway.” Loki pouted. “_____ hates me. She's scared of me. She punched me really hard!”

“Yeah.” Brunnhilde chortled. “That was pretty great.”

Thor shot her another look. She shrugged again. “What do you want from me?”

“Magic.” Loki said. “She can strike with magic. She's so great. My amazing protege. My...my...aww, she hates me though. Who will teach her?”

“You will, ya big goof. She doesn't hate you. She was very relieved to hear that she was wrong. It wasn't something that one would want to be right about.”

“Really?” Loki whispered, looking up pleadingly from where he lay, sprawled on the couch. He looked remarkably soft and vulnerable like this, Brunnhilde thought, and it was a good look for him.

“Yeah. She said she might be willing to come back to her room eventually, but she doesn't feel right about it just yet, so you'll have to wait. You can remodel in the meantime, maybe put a rug or a plant in there or something. Anything to make it look less empty and...temporary? I think making it look like a more permanent home will help her mindset. If you're serious about appointing her seidkona, and it isn't just another prank, then you have to be serious about making this place a home for her as well.”

“You're riggght.” Loki slurred. “You're right, I have been remiss. How could I miss so many details? I guess...I just wanted things to go right so badly, that I only saw what I wanted to, not what really was. I can fix the room. I can make it wonderful! Does...will she really come back?”

“I think so. But you'd better not be like this when she does. You really need a bath.”

“A bath?” Loki said, aghast. “I can't take a bath! The bath is cursed! I can never bathe again!”

Brunnhilde yanked him off the couch and shoved him towards the bathroom. “Get in there, and don't come out 'till you're sober.”

*****

“Can you do it though?” Loki asked. “I need only a single audience with the man, and it is for his daughter's sake. Surely he would be willing to speak to me just once, even if it is just to call me kidnapping bastard.”

“You joke, but a lot of people still think that's what you are.” Steve said.

“They aren't entirely incorrect, it's just that there were extenuating circumstances-”

“Yeah, yeah. Magical medical abnormalities. Whatever. I can try to get in touch with the guy, but he might be busy. He's a trucker; his schedule isn't predictable.”

“What is a trucker?” Loki asked.

“You serious? Huh, what would they call them on Asgard? You ever seen one of those big semi-trucks? Eighteen-wheelers? No? One of these?”

He brought up a picture, and Loki brightened with recognition. “Oh! Yes, of course. Those bring our building supplies to the nearest settlement, and we use the bifrost to bring them here. He is a caravan driver. Respectable profession; I wonder why she was so poor.”

“Eh, it doesn't pay much, but it's usually steady work. Everybody needs supplies delivered. You telling me there's no road connecting New Asgard to the next city?”

“Not yet. Why would there be? This area was wilderness before we settled here. We would not have taken occupied land. There will be a road, someday, but it isn't a priority right now.”

“But talking to this woman's father in order to make her room more homey is?”

“Yes.”

“I like hearing that kind of talk from you. I'll try to get him. I can't guarantee anything past that.”

“Neither can I.”

*****

“-And your pencils, and notepad, your knife, and your hygiene set.” Saldis said. “I couldn't carry any more by myself, but I don't mind making multiple trips. Do you want your pillow and blanket? Your books?”

“Um,” You said, fastening your knife on your belt. “I'm fine with the pillows and stuff here. But the books...No. Thank you, but not the books. I think I'm going to spend the rest of the day with the Valkyries.”

“I'm sure that will be educational. Is there anything else you would like, my Seidkona?”

“Yes, actually.” You took your pencil and notebook. “I'd really like for you to explain to me what that word means.”

Saldis looked very confused. “You don't know?”

“I don't know that many Asgardian words yet. I need a dictionary or something, but those don't exist yet, do they?”

“I don't think so. But, well, a Seidkona is basically a woman who performs magic. That's the literal translation, at least. But they're more than just that. They are specially appointed women who work for nobles or important businesses, or they can be attached to the military as well.”

“So it's a job?”

“And a title, yes. Not every lady mage gets to be a Seidkona, it's a special title that can only be appointed by the Crown. A Seidkona supports the people she is appointed to with magic and advice, and is usually very close to them. She is favored.”

“I...really don't understand. I can barely do magic at all. And I'm not Asgardian; why should I be given an Asgardian job? Who am I appointed to? Loki? He's already a wizard, he doesn't need me! When did this happen? I wasn't told.”

“Then I am confused too.” Saldis said. “This news has flown like a bird. Everyone knows. Unless this is some baseless, popular rumor, I can't imagine why you would not have been informed.”

“Well, I have been pretty isolated lately.” You suggested. “That's why I want to hang out with the new Valkyries. Meet some new people, you know? Since there aren't that many people here I even can talk to. I've really got to do something about that.”

“I think, among the new Valkyries, that Borgljot can speak some English. I' am not familiar with the others, though. None of them strike me as unfriendly, but some might be disapproving of you. If anyone causes you trouble, do not hesitate to report it. As far as anyone knows, you are seidkona, and deserving of respect. Disrespect towards you is disrespect to your appointed, and since your appointed is the Crown Prince, that would be a very bad move on their part. Do not accept it. Although, if any of the Valkyries trouble you, I wouldn't pick a fight. Just tell the General, she won't stand for it.”

“Do you think any of them will?”

“Probably not. The Valkyries may be an elite group, but they come from all backgrounds. It's possible that there might be a human Valkyrie someday. And since Thor Allfather prefers to protect this whole realm, they will no doubt ride out to protect humans as well.”

“Is it true their horses fly?” The book had said so, but the book had been wrong. Well, wrong enough.

“Yes! On ivory wings. But there's only one right now, so the stablefolk are trying to cross her with other horses, in hopes for a new line. It's probably going to take a while. But maybe if you ask him, His Highness will take you to see her?”

“Oh, Eh,” You fidgeted with your pencils. “Maybe in a while? Well, I should probably go to the training area. Maybe I can learn something by watching. But thank you so much for doing all this for me. I know I'm being difficult.”

Saldis laughed. “Try working for the royal family for five minutes.”

*****

You lunged forward, ferociously jamming your knife as deeply as you could into your foes face, toppling it over into a lifeless heap.

“Ah. That is good, in its way.” The Valkyrie Borgljot set the straw dummy back up and retrieved your knife. “Fierce. Swift. Personal. But perhaps not the best technique for thee. The head makes for a tempting target, if thou can reach it. But thou'rt small, and many opponents would not present thee an easy strike. For one so little, there are more-oh, the word, what is it-ah, strategic targets.

Depending on how thy enemy is outfitted, thou might prefer to strike upward, under the ribs.” she demonstrated. “This knife hast the length to reach the heart or lungs. But if a breastplate is involved, this shan't work. In this event, 'tis best to aim under the arm, as so.” She showed you. “This is a vulnerable area, but few think on it.”

“How often do you think I'll end up in combat?” You asked, taking your knife back.

“One may hope not often, but one cannot know. Thou shouldst be learning magic to protect thyself, but if ever thou finds thyself in such a situation that thou cannot, then this is a good fallback. Of course, shouldst thou truly wish it, thou might always slash here-” She pointed to behind the dummy's knees. “And cut the tendons therin. This renders the leg all but useless, and brings them down to you. Then they may present their heads to thy blade!”

“How is she faring?” Brunnhilde called, approaching across the field.

“Okay-ish? I think?” You said.

“She is very game, General. Straight for the kill, no hesitating. Very like she hast done it before, though she claims not.”

Brunnhilde looked at you questioningly. You just shrugged, but felt almost certain she could see the guilt in it.

“Her body requires strengthening, however.” Borgljot continued. “I know not the mortal standard. Her spirit hath strength, but her body lacks.”

“She's been sick for a long time.” Brunnhilde explained.

“Yeah. I'm just now getting better. That's why I was brought here in the first place.”

“I hast a brother among the Einherjar. He tells me thou hast a mark on thy hand? A magic mark? Might I see it?”

“I guess so?” You extended your left hand, palm up. Borgljot very carefully cupped it in her own large hand, as if worried she might damage you. She might just; her hands were rough and callused from many years of holding a sword.

“I was the guardian of a prosperous business, before my true nature was revealed.” She had told you earlier. “They were saddened to see me go, but justly proud to claim they hadst me at all.”

The Valkyries were a unique type of Aesir, all possessing very similar qualities. They had heightened battle capabilities, and many-though apparently not all-could see and communicate with the recently slain, to some degree. There were an unpredictable amount of them born every generation, though this entire, most recent generation had been all but skipped, due to the terrible tragedy that left Brunnhilde as the last survivor of the previous group.

Only a Valkyrie could recognize another Valkyrie, and with the loss of all the others, and Brunnhilde's absence, the ability to find and train more had been lost. Now that she was here, she was finding Valkyries of all ages, even young children. They gathered around to observe the mark with Borgljot, chatting among themselves. One of the young ones asked something in Asgardian, but all you could make out was 'are you', and 'Loki'.

Brunnhilde snickered.

“I didn't quite catch that.” You admitted.

“She asked if you were going to marry Loki, since Odin married his own Seidkona.”

“Uh...” Warmth blossomed across your face. “Too soon. Um, can you tell her I've got to learn how to be a Seidkona first, before I can begin to think about marrying anyone?” The kid didn't need to know about the problems between you and Loki. And you'd just gotten a tidbit of information about Loki's parents, that hadn't been mentioned in that treacherous book.

Brunnhilde obliged, and the girl looked satisfied with your explanation.

“What brought this mark about?” Borgljot asked.

“That's one of the great mysteries of my life.” You replied. “I don't know what caused it, but I know some of the nasty effects it can have on me.”

“Is it a curse?”

“I'm told it isn't, but sometimes it sure feels like it. Otherwise, it's just a complete mystery. I don't know anymore about it, except that it apparently can't be removed by any means.”

“And that's all anyone knows.” Brunnhilde said. “So how about, instead of looking for answers that aren't there, you all get back to work?”

With a chorus of “Yes, General”, the Valkyries all went back to their training.

“You've been out here most of the day.” She said. “You want to wash up and find something to eat? My bath has a lock on the door.”

“Best bribe I've heard all day.”

*****

Brunnhilde's bath was an actual above-ground tub, which you soaked in, grateful for the soothing warmth on your sore muscles. You hadn't done much physical activity for the past few months; you were definitely out of shape.

Magic moves easier through a fit body, does it? Well, you could certainly use the exercise. You had to think of it as a suggestion, not as suggestive. You had to go back and rethink all those interactions with him, re-contextualize them, without all the fear and suspicion.

He hadn't asked all the questions that he had needed to, but you hadn't provided answers either. All the things he had done, aside from the flights of temper, had all been for your sake. Looking back, he had really tried. He knew nothing about you, probably nothing about your culture, but he had tried for you. When was the last time someone had gone so out of their way?

The last time had been during the Event, when your benefactor had turned out to be a madman, bent on replacing his losses with you.

That was the real poison. That was what curled inside you and sprouted into paranoia; a past that you alone remembered. But Loki had nothing to do with it. You had to end its influence over you. If you wanted any real future, you had to overturn that false past.

So what did you really want from the future? For the past few years, you hadn't been able to bring yourself to think of that at all. After the Event, your mind had remained clouded by the habits of survival, living day to day, unable to conceive of future plans.

But it was over now. It was over and done with, and it would never be again. It was safe now, to think about tomorrow, the next week, five years from now. You would be here. Here would be here.

Maybe what you had needed was to be brought away from your old, familiar surroundings. The place where all the bad things had happened. When you looked out your window now, you didn't see vast expanses of dead fields. You saw plants and landscapes unlike anything back home. You saw a sun that acted strange, and people who dressed outlandishly, strangers all.

They didn't know you as a poor, sad, insane baker. They knew you as a seidkona.

Why shouldn't you become that?

#loki (marvel)#thor (marvel)#brunnhilde (marvel)#valkyrie (marvel)#Steve Rogers #captain america #loki x reader #marvel fanfiction

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huilian · 6 years ago

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Shopping Is Therapeutic, Just Not With An Eleven-Year-Old Assassin

Characters: Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne

Summary: Steph and Damian went Christmas shopping. While they were at it, maybe Steph can teach a thing or two to Damian. Maybe.

A/N: Always love Steph and Damian being Steph and Damian! Hope you enjoy this, @sqoiler !

(part of Batfam Christmas Stocking 2018 @batfam-christmas-stocking)

"Come on, Damian! If we don't go now, we're going to be stuck with the mob! Come on!"

"All right, Brown. I am ready to go."

Steph looked up to Damian coming down from the stairs. The grand staircase, because Wayne Manor is a freaking Manor. And boy, it was grand. The boy walking down, however, was not.

"Okay, no. No way you're going out with me dressed like that." She pointed back to the stairs. "Get back up, change out of that suit."

Damian had the audacity to glare at her. Seriously, what kind of eleven-year-old dresses in a two-piece suit just to go out to buy Christmas presents?

(Damian, her mind supplied. Shut up, mind.)

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"There is no reason for me to change, Brown. At least I did not find any."

"Oh, for god's sake, Damian! Dress like a real boy for once, will you?" Steph threw her hands in the air.

"Tt." Damian, the little bastard, glared at her. But then he said, "And how does one 'dress like a real boy'?"

Oh no. Now that urchin made her sad. Okay, breathe, Steph. You can do this. "Sweaters, jeans, sweatpants, or even a hoodie, Damian! Come on, you have gone out with Dick before, haven't you?"

"Tt." Oh, Steph was going to break him of that habit one day. But that day was not today, because today Steph was breaking him of the habit of dressing like he was going to go to a board meeting. One habit a day was enough, thank you. "Fine. I will return shortly."

While Damian went up to change into 'real boy clothes', Steph re-read the list both Babs and Dick have given her. Apparently, both of them were 'too busy' to go Christmas shopping, so they tasked her and Damian to do it. Too busy, her ass. They were probably having a good time without having any distractions. Distractions, as in Damian. Their solution? Making her babysit Damian. Her! The horror!

But they did give her the Wayne credit card to go shopping with, and they practically gave her free reign to do with it what she will, so. Maybe she'll do it, just this once.

A coffee machine, a camera set, a pair of boots, oh damn it. They were going to have to spend the day at the mall, weren't they? This list would take her from one end of the mall to the other. Damn it.

(Maybe Babs and Dick did it on purpose? Oh hell. Maybe they did.)

"Damian!" She hollered up after a few minutes. "Are you ready yet?!" The kid couldn't have taken up that long to change.

"Tt. I am ready, Brown. Now shall we begin this trip?"

At least now he had a hoodie on, instead of that suit. He still had the suit pants on, though. Oh well. One thing at a time.

"Sure, kid. Let's go." Is it futile to hope that this trip won't be a disaster?

***

"Damian! Come on, squirt!"

No answer. They were just here to get the coffee machine, but it was not that easy with Damian, was it? The kid had to go off on his own and make Steph scour the store for him.

She should have guessed. That kid was in the knife area of the home improvement store. She really should have guessed. It was Damian.

"Damian! Stop ogling the knife!”

“I was not ogling the knife, Brown. I was creating plans to use them in a defensive situation.”

Steph very pointedly did not roll her eyes. No, sire, she did not.

Steph started to drag the sulking kid -He was only sulking now, instead of screaming revenge. How far they have come. Can you catch the sarcasm?- away from the knife section of the store. Then she heard singing.

Christmas carols. It had been years since she actually heard someone singing carols. They brought up memories that Steph preferred not to remember. Going door to door, singing carols to ask for donations for the Girl Scouts. Going to the mall with Mom when her life was still intact. Having an actual Christmas celebration with her parents. It was heaven. It was hell.

“What are they singing?” Damian asked. The question hit Steph in the face. It reminded her that the kid probably never heard of Christmas carols before coming to Gotham. Growing up in a military compound out in the desert was not really a supporting environment to being exposed to Christmas songs.

God. The kid probably did not know anything about Christmas traditions.

Steph may have had a terrible childhood, what with having a villain for a dad, but the kid probably had it worse. Steph decided then that she was going to teach Christmas traditions to the kid, whatever the cost. And knowing Damian, she may probably end up being maimed or worse. Oh well. Worth it.

“Come on, kid. Let’s listen to them singing. Maybe exposure to kids your age will be a good thing.”

They were already going to have to spend the entire day at the mall anyway, no harm in taking a few minutes to listen to kids singing carols, right? And if Damian spent the next fifteen minutes listening to the carols with a thoughtful expression, it was only Steph who knows.

***

“What is that commotion near the elevators?”

“Hmm?” Steph took a moment to look up from the list. “Oh. It’s the Santa thingy.”

“Santa thingy?” Steph could hear the frown in the kid’s voice. Right. Raised in a military compound. The kid probably never even heard of Santa.

“You know Santa, right?” It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Of course I know Santa. I’m not an imbecile, Brown.”

“Uh huh. So. Who is Santa?”

Silence. Of course.

“You’ll probably need to fact-check this, or ask Dick for further information. And I’m not going to repeat myself, okay squirt?” Steph looked at Damian. The kid was not meeting her eyes. Oh well. Dick could answer any questions the kid might have after her very brief explanation about Santa. “Santa Claus, I think he was actually a saint? He gave presents to some poor family, I don’t know. The point is that he would bring gifts and presents to kids on Christmas, but only if they were good the year before. A myth, I know. But kids these days still believe in them, so what can I say?”

“Tt. A worthless myth.”

“Nah, not really worthless. It kept kids in line. I know it worked, ‘cause it worked on me.”

A huff of amusement came out of Damian. “Do not tell me you believed in Santa, Brown.”

“Hey!” Steph pretended to be outraged. “He gave me presents. It would not do to doubt people who gave you presents.”

“Tt.”

“Oh, come on. Like you would doubt it when you were little.”

“Unlike you, Brown, I was raised to be logical. A strange man bearing presents? Highly illogical.”

“But having a grandfather who is at least a thousand years old is logical?” Steph deadpanned.

“I have proof of his age, so yes, it is logical.”

“I have proof of presents on Christmas mornings!”

“Tt. As I said, illogical.” Damian did that thing with this face that he looked every inch the spoiled prince he was. And that he looked every inch the child soldier his mother trained him to be.

This would not do. So Steph went to the most effective weapon in her arsenal. Teasing.

“So you don’t want presents for Christmas? After all, presents on Christmas mornings are ‘illogical’.”

“I did not say that!” Ah, now that face was gone. That was better.

“Wait in line with the other kids, Damian. You’re getting the whole American experience of Santa Claus today.” While saying that, Steph pushed the kid towards the commotion, as he so called it.

“What?!”

“Go on. Or I’ll tell Dick you’re not being a good kid, and you know he believes in the whole ‘Santa only gives gifts to the good kids’ thing. You might not get your presents.” It was an empty threat, because Dick would give presents to Damian no matter what, what with him never experiencing Christmas and all, but it was a good threat to make. Damian wouldn’t know.

“I will get you back for this, Brown.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your revenge for this, blah blah blah. Now get in line.”

If the photo of a sulking Damian in Santa’s lap ended up in the family’s photo album, Steph’s album for blackmail, Babs’ album for ridiculous things, and Alfred’s private album, well, that was not Steph’s fault. No sire. Not Steph’s fault at all.

***

“So, what will you give Dick for Christmas?” It was an innocent enough question. The kid loved Dick, even though he showed it in a weird way. But who didn’t in this family?

“Am I supposed to give Grayson a gift for Christmas? He did not ask for one.” What. Is this kid for real?

“He’s not going to ask for presents, Damian!” Steph tried to raise her hands, but found that she couldn’t due to the abundance of shopping bags hanging on her arm. She settled with giving Damian an incredulous look. “You’re supposed to give it to him!”

Damian frowned at her. “I did not know that.”

“You still have, let’s see, five days until Christmas Morning. Think up of something.”

It was a while before Damian spoke up again. “And what would you suggest I gave him?”

Shit. Steph was not prepared for this. This is way, way, beyond her pay grade. She just wanted to teach the kid some Christmas traditions, for god’s sake, not helping him sort out his feelings towards his brother-slash-parental figure.

“What does he enjoy?” Something Dick enjoys should be neutral territory. Neutral territory is good. Yes. This is good.

“He… Actually, I do not know. Other than the trapeze and ‘flying’, in his words.”

Steph did not know either. She had never actually interacted that much with Dick outside the whole capes business.

One thing she did know about Dick Grayson, though. He loved his family, either blood, adopted, or the people he considers family. And he loved this little bastard more than just about anything in the world.

“Well, what can you do that can create presents?”

“I can… solve his cases?” Christ. This kid. He’s really Bruce Wayne’s son, wasn’t he?

“No, that’s not it, Damian.” A memory sprung up on Steph’s mind. “Hey. You draw, don’t you?”

“Yes?”

“Draw him something. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You made it. He’ll love it.”

Damian ducked his head. For once, Steph decided not to tease him about the blush forming on his face.

***

“Can we go back, now? We must have bought all of the items in your list, Brown.” It was times like this that remind Steph that despite all his posturing, Damian really is just an eleven-year-old kid.

“Okay, Damian. Just one more thing to buy.”

“One more?”

“Yup. But you have to wait here.”

The confused look on Damian’s face was priceless. “Why do I have to wait here, Brown?”

“Because this one’s for you, kid.” Okay, she was wrong. The face Damian made now is priceless. “I don’t want to have to go back here just to get your present.”

For once, Steph managed to get Damian speechless. Sweet, sweet victory. Now to make this occurrence happen in a regular basis…

“Why can’t I know it now? I’ll found out anyway.” Ah, there’s the bratty voice again. Well, that was nice while it lasted.

“Presents are opened on Christmas morning, Damian. I can’t believe Dick neglected that part of your education.”

Damian looked at her as if she had insulted him. Knowing Damian and his ‘bond’ with Dick, he probably thought Steph’s remark a mortal insult to Dick, and thus, being a good brother, Damian would have to avenge him.

“Just stay here, okay? Only for a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.” Then Steph ran. Couldn’t have the kid spoiling the present.

“Brown! Come back here!” Damian’s screams could be heard echoing across the halls of the mall. But he didn’t try to follow, so Steph considered it a win.

She would make a real boy out of Damian, eventually.

***

#stephanie brown #damian wayne #fic #lian writes #dc #batfamchristmasstocking2018

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alwaysalreadyangry · 7 years ago

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i can’t stop thinking about s1e4 of slings & arrows - specifically all of the scenes of geoffrey in the jail cell.

thoughts behind the cut. a lot of talk of mental illness & the way people talk about it, look at it, treat it, criminalise it. also cw for suicide.

he’s in that jail cell long past the time that everyone else who was arrested with him has been let go. why? because somebody from the theatre (richard) has called the local jail to tell them that geoffrey can’t be let out because he’s “crazy”.

we know it’s richard, and not darren or anyone else. nobody else who was at the theatre that morning would have any motive to do such a thing -- and darren claims that geoffrey could be outside the theatre waiting for him with a gun. he has no idea where geoffrey is, he has no self-awareness or interest in what other people are doing. it’s richard who tells him “geoffrey isn’t going to hurt you, or anyone. i’ve made sure of that.”

later on, we get confirmation. it was richard, at holly’s suggestion. and didn’t that “i’ve made sure of that” sound ominous? richard didn’t think geoffrey was going to cause harm -- he just wanted him out of the way. it was convenient.

the... jailer (? i don’t know what this dude’s job title is) claims that they can’t let geoffrey go because “he was found drunk, in tights, trying to stab people with a sword.” but it was a prop sword, other people who were arrested were also drunk, and wearing tights is not actually illegal. the actual reason they can’t let him go, is: “we have to keep him for observation... we’re gonna have to keep him until a doctor says it’s okay to release him... mr tennant’s recent display was something more than an actor’s tendency to deal with powerful and conflicting emotions in a theatrical manner.”

the reasoning behind this? “is he crazy?”

“no,” anna says. but then the kicker: she says “well, he was at one time.”

“thank you,” the jailer says. “you’ll get him back after the doctor sees him.”

so. anna is widely thought of as like, the most likable, most understandable slings & arrows character. she has fewer pretensions of grandeur than darren or ellen, she is not soulless like richard, she is not a ghost, and unlike geoffrey, she’s not obnoxious, self-righteous... or, i guess part of the subtext of this is. she’s not mad.

so to run up my flag and state my position here: i do not believe that anna, in this episode, is somehow more likable, or understandable than geoffrey. he is being held in jail, and she gives them ammunition to use against him. she is reluctant to, but she tells them that he used to be “crazy”. it’s what they need to detain him; and so he’s detained.

it’s darkly funny, in a sense. but... like a lot of this show, especially with geoffrey, it’s only funny because i think. oh, god. and feel a horrible sense of recognition. and then... so... if you view it from geoffrey’s point of view... there’s a lot more there. this whole show so far, ever since he’s returned to new burbage: nobody can forget that they think he’s crazy. they expect him to be mad. and none of them have any idea what that’s like. think of claire, and her idea that being mad must be like being stoned. “it’s not,” geoffrey says.

and so... it’s darkly funny in a horrible way because we’re viewing it from the perspective of someone who has been given this impossible position, but in a complete devil’s bargain -- nobody trusts him, nobody believes he’s capable, and nobody would have an easy time adjusting to such a stressful, dysfunctional environment. and to top it all off? he’s started to see a ghost. who could also be a hallucination. he’s not sure. and i don’t think it matters: either way, the show uses the device to show us how, to people who aren’t geoffrey, he appears to be talking to himself. muttering to himself. yelling angrily.

otherwise... he’s kind of pissy, kind of pompous, but much less so than darren, the director he kicks out in order to take over hamlet. geoffrey is smarter and more committed to theatre than richard, and he has more of a spine. richard’s machinations all come about just because holly knows exactly how to play him. he’s not only a conniving bastard, but a weak one. we know that the duel with darren is not exactly a great and noble act, but it’s essentially a callback to their youthful rivalry that got out of hand -- they did the same thing as students. it’s a prop sword. the joke is that darren was not hurt; and the arrests took place because of the riot (which we didn’t see), rather than an assault. “he was thwacked on the arm”, even richard says. it was a prop sword. the skin wasn’t broken. it’s all theatrics.

all of which is to say: why is geoffrey in prison? because he is mentally ill, and it has been decided that this poses a risk. anna is complicit with holding this up, while richard is actively using the machinery of law enforcement against geoffrey here.

what’s almost the first thing the jailer asks him when he wakes up, after letting him know that he can bring him juice? “are you a suicide risk?”

we understand the question in one sense, when he tells richard that he can’t “take any more suicide spectacles in my memory. that gallery is full.” sure, nobody wants to see that. but why hold him instead of letting him go? in a fucking jail cell?

and so, geoffrey, who is our point-of-view character in this scene... when asked if he’s a suicide risk, he sees it for an absurdity, and says “isn’t everybody?” refusing to buy into this way of categorising and dealing with prisoners. he then doesn’t want to hand over his belt or shoelaces when he’s asked to -- he wants to keep what little dignity he has. when the jailer calls for back-up (which... what, what does that mean? a threat of force? of two against one? we’ll make you give up your shoelaces and belt?) he starts to plead. he really doesn’t want these small things to be taken away.

“i can see that this is upsetting for you,” the jailer says. he is using the distress that he is causing... as more ammunition for his cause. and his back-up arrives. “we can do this the easy way...” the jailer starts. implying that there is a hard way. there are two men behind him, as back-up. it could get physical. they could take them from him by force. geoffrey gives in. “christ. CHRIST.” he says. the kicker? the jailer tells him to turn to christ. that’s the answer for his situation: god. god, and jail.

in geoffrey’s next scene, he asks the ghost if he’s speaking to -- an actual ghost. or if he’s insane. “i do not want to be insane,” geoffrey says. “i refuse to be insane.” the problem is the phenomena but more than that, it’s how the phenomena is categorised. it’s much more acceptable for this to be a supernatural apparition, than a mental break -- as this can be used against him. as this is a category that is used to harm him.

he then asks the ghost what death is like. “is it a relief, though?” he says. “it must be a great relief... being dead.” and here’s the truth inside his grim joke earlier. “isn’t everybody?” he says, when asked if he’s a suicide risk... it’s hard to tease this out, put these two things next to each other. but... there is a longing in the way that geoffrey asks about death here, the way he imagines it. and we think back to the previous scene... and all that it was about was -- removing ways that he could kill himself. it’s about not wanting to witness it... it’s not about preventing it, or treating the impulse, or giving him any reason to live. it’s about not wanting to offer an immediate method. it’s not about care, or compassion, or anything else. whereas here? when he’s talking to the ghost? geoffrey is allowed to think about it. consider it. compare it to his own life. he asks what it feels like. “i feel forgotten,” oliver says. “like an old phone number. like i’m barely here at all. does that make sense to you?”

“oh yes,” geoffrey breathes. geoffrey, who’s come back to a place that used to be his life 7 years before, that has moved on without him. who has done his best to alienate everyone, and is being purposefully left out of everything that’s going on (by himself, and everyone else -- think of ellen moving the cast drinks to her house, just to make sure nobody can drink with him). geoffrey, who thinks that being dead sounds like a relief -- and that the actuality of it does not sound that different to his own life. and geoffrey, who has just had the very idea of suicide put into his head by the guard.

“death really isn’t worth the effort.” this is the best argument oliver can give to him to stay alive. it’s a low point... but it’s something. it’s an argument. it’s a reason. it’s saying no, not yet. this is more than anyone else has given geoffrey this morning. and for now, it seems to be enough. sometimes, a lukewarm answer, a lukewarm reason to keep going -- is all you’ll get.

and it’s more than anyone else is giving him at this moment in time. law enforcement doesn’t care; the state does not care. it’s a horrible, honest moment. and we hear in oliver’s voice, a truth: he doesn’t want geoffrey to die, and this is all he can think of to stop it. nothing artificial, nothing about what he does or doesn’t want to see. no taking away his shoelaces. just: you don’t want this, it’s not worth it. and i don’t want you to die. god. it’s a shocking, sad moment. it’s rock bottom, and a small hand up.

the moment is punctured. we’re brought back to the cell. “lunch,” the jailer says. he gives geoffrey a plastic black box and then leaves again. geoffrey is splayed on the floor. he doesn’t care. he’s done his job. it’s the opposite of help.

in the next scene with geoffrey in, the jailer comes through and they have this discussion:

jailer: how are you feeling, mr tennant? geoffrey: peachy. jailer: there’s a doctor in my office like to come and have a little chat with you. geoffrey: does he want to have a little chat, or is he employed by the city to evaluate the mental state of violent detainees? jailer: (pause) take a couple of minutes to prepare yourself and then i’ll let him in. geoffrey: danke schön.

and this is maybe the dialogue that gets at the point the most elegantly. they both know exactly what the point of this is. it’s not about health, it’s not about having “a little chat”. the jailer is doing his best to seem casual (and it comes out as extremely patronising), while geoffrey gets more precise and pretentious than usual. the german. he is letting the jailer know that he is capable; that he understands exactly what is being done to him, and what the risks are. that he is not deemed mentally safe on his own say -- and that he will not be allowed his freedom until he acquiesces. it’s also notable that he uses the phrase “violent detainees”, despite not being violent -- sure, there was some (theatrical) violence involved in the incident that led to his arrest, but since then. nothing.

it’s all a sham. it’s all about control. it’s about this violent system, which criminalises, imprisons, hurts people... and offers no solution, no real way out, no treatment, no help. and it can easily be weaponised against people who are vulnerable, people who are ill, people who have a history of mental illness. geoffrey instigates a drunken playfight with prop swords, and then takes part in a playfight (and an offscreen riot) that he is not alone in: i keep going back to this because i really want to be clear about what exactly it is that has led him to be treated in such a different manner than everyone else. the episode starts with us seeing cyril and frank being freed and discussing whether their agents can help them out with legal advice or not. what has set geoffrey apart, is a history of mental illness that can be weaponised against him. and even anna, who is -- as close as geoffrey has to a friend in the main cast of the show at the time -- kind of unwittingly does this, or allows it to happen. because she doesn’t understand the system. because she’s willing to use crazy to describe a person. crazy is not a medical diagnosis; it’s an insult.

“oh god, they’re coming to take me away,” geoffrey says. we have only had glimpses, so far, of what happened to him before. but: this has happened before.

but they don’t take him away. how does geoffrey get out? what does he depend on for his freedom? the doctor is a fan of his work. “thank god,” he says. it has nothing to do with his health, his mental state: the doctor likes his art. he’s free.

all of the talk about craziness, death, delusion, psychosis... in this episode. it’s problematic in the sense that it is a problem, that it contains a lot of problems. and so i think, i choose to read it as -- it is piling these problems up to show how they can act on a vulnerable individual, and the confluence of factors that it can take to be crushed by them or set free. somebody less privileged, somebody without the profile or vocabulary of geoffrey... would they have been so lucky? if a colleague and the uncaring machinery of law enforcement/the state were out to get them?

anyway this is absurdly long but this is apparently... how i think things through now. hey friends. let’s talk about slings & arrows.

#slings & arrows #overlong meta #suicide talk cw

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okimargarvez · 7 years ago

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HURT- open wounds

Original title: Hurt.

Prompt: Luke’s dark thought, destiny, contrasted love.

Warnings: sexual content, dark thoughts.

Genre: angst, drama, romantic, smut, dark, mistery, frienship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, BAU team, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈🔦🐶❗🎈👻.

Song mentioned: La tua vita intera, Tiziano Ferro.

Hurt- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

Chapter 5-

Yet she insists on going to the Quantico headquarters alone. She doesn't want others to know. -Not yet-. For him it's indifferent. He doesn't care what others think. Although he quickly became attached to the team. Or so he believes. Because as soon as she leaves her home and gets on the subway, his head starts to spin at full speed. And the ghosts visit him. It had been too good. It had lasted too long, the fun's over.

It's tremendous not to be able to be himself. Not being able to touch her. Smile at her. I'm screwed. Completely fucked.

Then she arrives one morning with bags in hand. She stops in front of his desk. He must hold himself back so as not to stretch his hands towards her body.

-It's just a little something.- he smiles at her, confused. There is hardly anyone. It's still early. He chose to get there first, hoping that filling out some paper would help him divert his attention from his fixed point. From his obsession. But it hadn't been like that, as he could readily imagine.

-For me? - he asks, hoping for a positive result. She shakes her head.

-No! Not for you, it's for Roxy. But you have opposable thumbs, so you can open it for her.- his face widens into a smile as he peers into the smaller bag and discovers some... biscuits. Which turn out to be unfit for his dog's diet. And telling this to her is a titanic enterprise. How badly this gets him, seeing her so sad because she was wrong. Fortunately, there is a second gift: a sweater. Pink. He would see it much better on her. It would exalt her forms. Then her damned phone ring -We have a case.- he can't avoid turning his head towards her, following her until she disappears in the meeting room.

On the jet, he continues to rethink the information he has acquired on previous nights. The way she had stripped completely naked before his eyes, her sincerity. Totally exposed. Vulnerable at the highest level possible. If he had wanted, if he had been a sadist, a madman, a wicked person, he could have made her what he wanted. It was as if she had given him the opportunity to hold her palpitating heart in his hands, crystal, both for the transparency and the fragility of this material. The responsibility she had given him, unwanted and unexpected, had completely stunned him. She had left him numb.

Then some particular episodes come to his mind in random chronological order. She had told him that on public transport she never sat down. She always carried a book with her, because you never know, if the environment around her was dark, if the world tried to suck her down the drain, she would let herself be carried among the clouds on the balloon of fantasy; and then it was the only way to endure the noise of the crowd, the confusion, without really becoming estranged from the real context in which she found (and so it would not have been if she had listened to music with headphones). And at the same time, she had tried to explain to him how much in those moments, crushed between men in suits and ties, briefcase in hand, cheeky ruminant little girls, indifferent of their half-open backpacks, old women stubborn to not sit because "The next stop is mine", how often she lost herself to think how beautiful, varied, vast the world was. How many occasions, how many people we don't have the possibility to meet. She had felt a sense of loss towards something that had never been. And perhaps never would have been.

So, she had stared at him intently, making him understand that it could also have happened between them. Thanks to that criminal, only thanks to Daniel Cullen, to the escape organized by Mister Scratch, their paths had crossed. So, he owed his happiness to the bastard who had almost killed his best friend and had ruined his life. A beautiful paradox. And now this asshole was comfortable in a psychiatric hospital and there was even the risk of freeing him, because he was no longer the Crimson King, he was a rind of a man, the one who had left Lewis; he was any person he didn't know, he didn't feel he had committed any kind of crime. Always that he wasn't pretending.

Luke remembers the question Hotch had asked him. Do you want to kill Daniel Cullen?

And his answer: I took an oath to uphold the laws of this country. So... Yeah. Yeah, I want to kill him.

How much of these events had influenced in his first "approaches" with Penelope? He had not unloaded all his tensions on her? It wasn't just the shadows of his past or a desire to be "healed", as he had told himself until now. It was much more. He needed to throw, fling on someone else all that weight, which bent his back, prevented him from thinking rationally. And poor, little Penelope, she had found herself in the wrong place at the right time. And now that mistake had proved to be the greatest miracle that could ever happen to him. But he didn't stop feeling guilty, wrong, horrible, thinking about how he acted. How much he had used her, and yes, it cost him to admit it, even ill-treated. And to what he had received in return: love, tenderness, understanding, total availability.

The screen turning on interrupts his thoughts, more or less: it's the face of his woman, the one that occupies the visual rectangle entirely. -My crime fighters- she begins, as she usually likes to define them -I have some news for you: Amanda Berxtrom awaits you at the police station upon your arrival.- while providing important data, he is attentive and in "operational" mode. But as soon as the screen goes black, as if someone has pressed a button in his head, he re-starts from where he left off.

If only he could tell her. If at least he managed to get rid of this extra burden, this sword of Damocles, before it fell between them, definitively separating their lives. Because until he had said nothing to her, the "thing" would continue to grow, to incorporate him, drag him down with it. And there was the usual problem: there were other things that she should have known, before she could think, hypothesize a relationship with him.

And Luke realizes it while they're starting the landing maneuver. He wants that. He wants a serious relationship with her. And he can't have it. But he can't do without it. And so he's a hundred percent messed up.

She cares about everyone, each of the members of behavioral analysis unit. Just as she wanted a deep good to anyone who had been part of it, even in a very limited way, like Jordan Todd. But for the first time since Derek said goodbye to the Bureau, she rehearsed that feeling of amplified anguish, at the thought that there is someone who she loves in a special way, out there to fight against the contemporary dragons of our society.

Well, it's useless to make fun of herself. She's in love. Wretch world!

Worse than a teenager. She is in the phase of the Little Prince: "If, for example, you come at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to feel happy. As the time passes I shall feel happier and happier. At four o’clock, I shall become agitated and start worrying; I shall discover the price of happiness!". She does her job, she researches possible connections to identify the bad guy. But she does so with the knowledge that first they'll catch the unsub and first she'll see him again.

Oh my God, I'm so ruined.

And he, what does he feel? He didn't say anything to her, but the way he made her feel that night, the attention he gave her, the way he looked at her all the time, as if he were contemplating something precious, to be treated and protect with nails and teeth... it gives hope her. It's a while she doesn't see those shadows obscuring his already dark eyes. But she doesn't be fooled that they have disappeared forever. And she doesn't want that he censors anything in her presence. She wants him in integral format. Full package. Full price. Evil and good. In sickness and in health.

Till death do us part.

Amen.

Why the hell that phrase does come to his mind right now? What does that have to do with what Spencer has just said?

When I was five, no, maybe they were already six... Zorba, my kitten, my first pet, was hit. My parents tried to sell me the story that he was gone, and indeed it was true, in a "better place" or so-called. But I saw it. I saw his body deformed by the impact with the car. He was agonizing. He was still alive. Mom didn't want that I knew it. But I discovered that a neighbor had to go there to "stop making him suffer". I have done absolutely nothing. I know I couldn't, I was just a child. But this is one of the things that still haunts me today. And when I went to Alaska with the team, one of the few times I was in the field, it happened that the signal was gone, I was talking to my boyfriend... I went down to check and I heard a cry. Human, though hardly recognizable as such. I was afraid, I would say a lie if I asserted the opposite. But I couldn't stay there, doing nothing. Why I didn't go call someone who would be able to do a better job than mine? Because there was no time. I knew he could no longer be saved. But I didn't want the last thing he saw was the face of his killer. Whose had taken his life from him... how it could have happened to me.

She had continued, adding the details of her exit, the frightening noises amplified by the fear, the wind that hissed, freezing every limb, the ferrous smell of the gushing blood, of the life that abandons the body of that poor man, the grass that crunched beneath her feet. But he interrupted her, because he wanted an explanation. What do you mean with "it could have happened to me"?

Penelope had sighed. And then spat everything out, exactly as he would have done with her own saliva or her own phlegm.

About ten years ago I went out with a man. I don't want to make this too long. He was attractive, at least for me. I had repaired his computer and he asked me out. I found it strange. I'm not the girl men see across a smoky bar and write songs about, I told Derek at the time when I told him about it. And just because of his answer, don't get me wrong, I don't want to least to blame him, it was only my responsibility, my naivety and stupidity. However, almost as a consequence of his sentence, I decided to accept the invitation. Just... this man was a policeman with the killer hero syndrome and he was convinced that I was identifying him. As a result, he shot me, hitting me very close to my heart, on the stairs of my apartment. And he also bent down to make sure I was dead, that his plan was successful. I had to hold my breath. In those conditions. As my head thundered, the forces faded, I heard David Bowie calling me, I thought I saw Mom, Dad and even Zorba, who made me a sign of reaching them... and I managed to deceive him. I don't know how. I don't know what I was holding onto. But what I know, and that I knew even then, is that I never wanted my last look to be occupied by my killer. That his indelible image remains forever on the retinas. I don't know if you've ever seen See No Evil...

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #criminal minds #cm

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sammysflannels · 7 years ago

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Full Moon

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader (Romantic)

WORDS: Approx. 3 200

WARNINGS: Suicide, Canon Divergence, Main Character Death

TYPE: Challenge. One Shot.

ABOUT: My first time writing for a challenge! Still getting into fic writing and thought this would be fun to try!

Leaves crunching under your boots, crisp air taken in to your nostrils, the full moon hanging overhead. You may have appreciated the scenery had you not been running for your life. Your chest was heaving as you continued down the forest path, trying to get away from the werewolf that you heard trailing close behind. You should’ve been able to handle it, you’d done dozens of werewolf hunts, but this time, well this time was different. This time the werewolf was someone that you’d cared about. Someone that you’d loved.

The first time you’d ever been part of a hunt you’d been thrown right into it. You weren’t ready for the situation you had been put it into, but hell if you weren’t going to put up a fight. You worked behind a bar in a little place on the corner, giving drinks to sad people who clearly needed a real therapist rather than a whiskey, neat. You provided them anyways, it was your job. You would say you felt bad for them but you had gotten used to it by now. One thing you weren’t used to however, were the two tall men who had just entered. That was the first time you ever saw Dean Winchester. They were clearly too well dressed and way too attractive to be spending their time in a place like this. As they approached the bar you knew they weren’t there for drinks, but you asked anyway,

“How can I help you boys?” you set down the glass you’d been drying and leaned forward. Your eyes widening as they flashed their FBI badges, trying hard not to seem impressed.

“FBI, huh? Cops were kicking around here earlier today, too.” you mentioned, though you figured they would already be aware.

“Yea, we think this might be an FBI matter so we’re going to ask you some questions as well. I’m Agent Lennon and this is my partner, Agent Hendrix.” The taller one spoke without fault, as the shorter, Hendrix, just looked at you with a smirk. Clearly trying to flirt with you. You made the choice to ignore him and focus on the, arguably more handsome, agent.

“Go ahead.”

As they asked questions, you answered just as fast. Maybe the strange questions they had asked you should’ve been your first red flag that things were a bit weird, but you figured it was just some weird FBI shit. You told them about Robert, the creep you suspected was behind the missing girls. Told them about how he frequented the bar, where he lived, his drinking habits, other rumours you’d heard about him. The three of you had talked for about an hour before the agents told you they had enough info. Agent Hendrix, chanced a wink at you with those bright green eyes on his way out, and you shot one back, never expecting to see them again. This didn’t go unnoticed by the taller, soft eyed, agent.

Three hours later and your shift was finally coming to an end. You said goodbye to some of your usual patrons and slipped your coat on before heading out the side door. As you walked down the sidewalk your shoes clicked against the pavement, the full moon hung overhead and you popped a headphone in your ear, humming along to your music as you made the trek home. When you think back on it, you should’ve known better than to limit your senses like that. Maybe then you would have heard Robert sneaking up on you, knocking you out cold as he dragged you away.

When you finally came to, you woke up tied to a chair. Instant panic filled your body but you tried to stay calm and take in your surroundings. Light coming in from a large shattered window, cement walls and floors, a single door about ten metres away from you. Yep. You were definitely in a creepy kidnapping situation. You were now one of the missing girls. Before you could throw yourself into a full blown freakout, you heard steps coming towards the door, and so, you tried to stay quiet. The door opened and of course, it was that bastard Robert. God he was a creep. He had tried to hit on you at the bar multiple times but you always turned him away with a slightly rude remark.

“Morning sleepy head.” his gravelly, deep voice filled your ears as he came closer and closer towards you. You tensed up and struggled as he took your face in his hand. In this moment you decided there was no way in hell you were gonna be some damn damsel in distress. It took all your courage but you did it, you spat right in Robert’s face. Hitting him in the middle of his reddish, round nose. It took no time at all for his soft grab to turn into a hard smack across the right side of your face.

“You fucking bitch.” he growled, as he wiped his face. You ignored the stinging, keeping your face straight. Unwavering in your decision to be brave. He took notice.

“Yea, you’re brave now. You won’t be real soon. You know what you will be? Dead. I saw you talking to those agents today and I know they’ll be coming for me. Figured I’d get in one last kill before they got here. Imagine my joy when I saw you walking down that street. So distracted, and so perfectly vulnerable.” as he finished his monologue he opened his mouth revealing fangs. Like a fucking vampire. Again, you tried not to look shocked. So this man was a vampire. A twilight style vampire. So maybe area 51 is real. It didn’t seem like that much of a stretch for you to believe, in all honesty. A universe this big, there’s bound to be weird stuff. So you regained your composure, remaining silent and staring him down. As he walked around the room, droning on about, the joy of murder or something equally as insane, you took the opportunity to further assess your situation. In this time you found your legs weren’t tied down to the chair. You formulated a plan in your head, ready to act as he got closer.

“You’re gonna taste so sweet” he moaned creepily as he got right in front you, exposing your neck for him to bite. In the millisecond before he made contact, you kicked him in the crotch, rendering him dazed and giving you a few seconds. You managed to force your hands out of the rope that had held you down and tried to make a mad dash for the door. However, Robert was larger than you and caught up to you easily. So, you did all you could think of, turned around and punched him right across the face. This provided you with the time you needed as you swung the door open and began your mad dash. However you quickly realized, you wouldn’t beat this guy in a footrace, and you weren’t just gonna let yourself get caught. So you searched the rooms of the place of what seemed like a warehouse, trying to find any sort of weapon.

For some reason, it must’ve been your lucky day. You assumed this room held a stash of things the other victims had on them. You found your coat, your phone, and some… stranger things. Guns, machetes, but you weren’t going to question why they were there just yet, all you know was you were grateful that they were there. You didn’t trust your ability to shoot a gun and so you picked up the machete. As you turned around, Robert was close behind you. You did the first thing you could think of, as per usual, and sliced his head clean off. As it fell to the ground you dropped the machete to the ground and stood in silence unable to take your eyes off his body. You’d just killed someone. A vampire sure, but it was still someone. You couldn’t even process it. Robert had a wife. What would she do now? You’d just ended a life. A real damn life. It felt like there was a storm going on in your brain as you ran through all these thoughts and feelings. When you heard more footsteps your attention was drawn to the agents standing in the doorway, machetes in their hands as well.

“Well I’ll be damned if that ain’t the sexiest shit I’ve ever seen. How about you Sammy?” Agent Hendrix spoke, all though you started to doubt that was his real name. ‘Sammy’ just scoffed, embarrassed yet used to his partner’s insensitivity, as he walked forward, seeing how scared and dazed you were.

“Hey, you’re the girl from the bar right?” he spoke softly, and quietly, as though you could run away any second. Honestly, you were thinking about it. But all you were able to do was just nod, as you took in his large frame coming towards you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Sam spoke as he saw tears forming in your eyes. He felt like he had to keep you safe, and so he did what just felt right and pulled you into a hug, holding you close as you cried. That was the first time Sam Winchester hugged you.

After the run in with the vampire the boys had given you their numbers, explaining everything about the supernatural and hunting. Then they continued on their way. After coming to terms with what you had done you couldn’t deny that it had felt good to end the life of a monster who had been hurting people. You became addicted to hunting. Your life had gone from a poor bartender to someone who saved innocent people like some kind of superhero. You loved it. It had been a few years and you and the Winchester boys had worked a few hunts together here and there. You and Sam had even stayed in contact between them, talking about things that weren’t even related to what goes bump in the night. But one night you got a text that was just a little bit different from the others.

“Want to go out to dinner sometime?” you read out loud from your phone. You couldn’t even believe it. You and Sam Winchester on a date. Going out together without ending the night covered in blood and monster guts. You quickly typed back a yes and arranged a time and place.

The night finally came and god, you were excited. You decided that both of you being hunters, you didn’t need to dress up too much and so you just wore a nice top paired with some jeans. As you waited inside the restaurant you finally saw the impala rolling up outside. You were surprised that Dean had deemed the date worthy enough of Sam borrowing his baby. When you saw Sam walk in you waved him over eagerly, excited for your first official date. By the time he got to the table and sat down you were already flustered. You were amazed how that man could make a plaid shirt look so good.

“Hey (Y/N).” he spoke first. You smiled.

“Hey Sam.” You both chuckled at your awkward greeting. However once the dinner got underway, both of you found it easy to talk to each other. You talked about hunts that you’d been on, your favourite colours, your favourite songs, anything and everything was discussed. The two of you flowed seamlessly together. As the night wound down and you’d finished eating Sam cleared his throat, struggling to say something. You just waited patiently, watching how adorable he was when he was ruffled.

“I was wondering if you wanted to make us, uh, well, official.” he finally stammered out. You stayed silent for a few seconds and before he could panic too much you answered back.

“God yes of course Sam. I was starting to think you’d never ask.” you saw him let out the giant breath he had been holding as he was able to relax again. This answer gave him more confidence to ask his next question.

“Dean and I both think you should move into the bunker with us. I mean, you don’t have to stay with me or anything, or, or, you could if you want, I mean-”

“Quit rambling Sam, of course I will.” You grinned as he let out yet another breath that he had worked up.

Five whole years you’d lived in the bunker now. Sleeping in Sam’s room at night, eating a “healthy” breakfast of greasy bacon with Dean in the morning. You’d gone through everything together. Every up and down was shared by all three of you. Sam was always terrified of something happening to you. It served to make him extra protective and physical with you whenever the two of you were together, and you weren’t complaining. You constantly craved his warm hugs and loved wrapping yourself up in his plaid shirts. But everything wasn’t always great. To be honest, most of the time it was terrible. The brothers were close yes, but entirely dysfunctional. Throwing you into the mix had made their dependencies even worse. Dean would yell at you if you did something that put Sam in danger, Sam would yell at you if you did something that put yourself in danger. There were constant arguments. More than you thought were healthy. But everytime that Sam held you close at night and whispered in your ear that he loved you, you would forget all about it. Pushing all your issues back again to be brought up another day.

Soon enough, you were back on a hunt. A werewolf in a small town in Texas. You’d all fought werewolves before and so you went in cocky. Unaware of what might come. After a night at a bar, you and Sam got ready to walk back to the motel, as Dean had already run off with some blonde. You should’ve noticed the irony of it. You and Sam walking out of a bar, your shoes clicking off the sidewalk, the full moon overhead, each of you sharing headphones and humming along to music. You weren’t ready for them. What you thought was one werewolf turned out to be a whole pack. Sam had no chance as he yelled at you to run. You looked back as you watched him try to fight off the five or so werewolves. You should’ve gone back to help him. But as you made eye contact with him you just saw him shake his head at you, a tear running down his face as he mouthed the words, “just run”.

Back at the motel, Dean was livid. Screaming at you, throwing things. Telling you that you were worthless, that you should’ve helped Sam. You tried to explain that Sam had wanted you to go but Dean wouldn’t listen, just forcing you into the impala and racing away to go find Sam. The ride was silent and awkward. Dean would constantly send you angry glances, and in that moment you wished you could just fold into yourself and disappear forever.

When you arrived at the place Dean suspected to be the werewolves den, Dean stormed out of the impala. Grabbing weapons for himself without even sparing you a word. He just trekked inside, leaving you to fumble through silver bullets and jog inside after him. You mowed through the wolves that were inside, Dean tearing through them with an anger you’d never seen before from him. However, anger alone couldn’t keep him going and by the time the two of you had gotten through all the werewolves in there, Dean was knocked out cold. You leaned him up against a wall in an attempt to keep him comfortable before you began searching for Sam. You just hoped you would find him alive.

You did find Sam Winchester alive. But you didn’t find him human. That damn pack of werewolves had turned your Sam into a fucking werewolf, and he was trying to kill you. And so here you were, the leaves crunching underneath you as you ran for your life. You knew you had your gun, you knew it was loaded with silver bullets but you just couldn’t do it. Thinking about killing him made you want to vomit. Then he finally caught up to you, tackling you to the ground and in the commotion, you gun went off. Shooting him right in the heart as he fell, lifeless beside you. Hitting the ground with a loud thump. All you could do was scream. Sam was dead and it was your fucking fault. Sam Winchester was dead and you would never forgive yourself for it. You watched as the blood leaked out of the wound, a wound you wouldn’t just be able to patch up. With tears streaming down your face you hugged him. That was the last time you ever hugged Sam Winchester.

A few minutes later a man came running down the path who would never forgive you either, Dean found you crying over his dead brother. One look at his face and you knew, given the chance, Dean Winchester could have killed you in that moment. So you walked back to the impala, leaving Dean to mourn.

You were sitting in the passenger seat when Dean got into the drivers side. He had no emotion on his face.

“Get out.” He spoke harshly.

“What..?” you stammered. He looked over at you and you instantly knew that he meant it. You got out of the impala and started walking. That was the last time you ever saw Dean Winchester.

It was a few months later. You sat in an old dirty truck that you’d stolen. Blasting your music over the speakers as you sang along. You tried to live, but life wasn’t worth it without Sam Winchester. You mourned the loss of any chance at a normal loving life with him. Where you would make him breakfast in the morning, as he came down the stairs of your white picket fence property and kissed you on the cheek. You would never get to have that, so what was the point? You tried to focus on the lyrics of the song as you sang and drank,

“Should’ve brought you coffee in the morning light. Something about your t shirts always fit me just right. Should’ve paid attention when I had you by my side.”

You wished the two of you hadn’t fought as much. You wished the two of you had spent more time cuddling in the mornings, more time holding each other when you were tired. As the song ended you picked up the pistol you had sitting on the seat next to you. Dean had once told you he was going to die with a gun in his hand, and you’d decided you’d go down the same. Sam was in purgatory, and you knew you were going to hell. Maybe you’d get to see him again. As you pulled the trigger, nothing mattered to you anymore.

#Sing It Supernatural Challenge #Supernatural #One Shot #fanfiction #Fanfic #Fan Fiction #Supernatural Fan Fic #Supernatural Fan Fiction #Supernatural Fanfiction #Sam x Reader #Sam Winchester x Reader #Reader Insert #Sam/Reader #Sam Winchester/Reader #Supernatural/Reader

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petite-neko · 7 years ago

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Boyhood Blues - 13

Fanfiction: Boyhood Blues Story Summary: Actions, and inactions, have their repercussions. It may not be immediate but somewhere down the line, the effect will be seen. Chapter Characters: Law, Luffy, Garp Pairing: LawLu Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, Universe Alteration, angst, A/N: Finally! Again, my apologies for the long hiatus. Thank you all for your patience and get wells.

In case any of you were wondering: Well, after my arm went out on me, and with my girlfriend visiting and lawlu week occurring, well, I fractured my leg a week later. It kind of killed my inspiration, on top of being doped up on painkillers and exhaustion. And I also couldn't really sit for prolonged periods of time. My life pretty much was: Wake up, go to work, get home and go back to sleep.

I'm back now -- although my posts might still be hit and miss because I'm still having trouble with inspiration. I'll try to get back to weekly updates however!

.xxx. > Time/scene skip

.+++. > PoV change

Check the source for Ao3 Link!

Chapter 12 || Chapter 13: Determination|| Chapter 14

“Torao!”

Law started up at the stars that lit up the night sky as Luffy’s voice reverberated in his mind.

“Torao!”

Ever since the little discussion they had, Luffy hadn’t left his side. Like it had been on Amazon Lily. Pestering him. Laughing. Smiling. Calling his name and once attempted to drag him away until Law tore his hand away. (Although he still followed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be shown things, but he hated the physical touch. And, no, that damned pout on Luffy’s face had no influence on the matter.)

“Torao!”

The guy was such a clingy bastard – even if he finally seemed to understand that he couldn’t physically be clingy. (Well… most of the time.) In fact, Luffy had given him the grande tour of the ship. From the observatory to the workshop. Although, there was one room that he hadn’t been shown. (Law had noticed that they had skipped over it at first. And apparently Luffy had noticed that he had noticed before babbling some nonsense about Nami. From that, Law was able to understand that that was probably their treasure room. Although… there definitely had been something Luffy was being elusive about. His transparency hadn’t changed in the last two years – although should he have expected it to? It hadn’t changed in twelve years either.) Law didn’t pry however. In fact, he only really allowed the tour itself because Luffy had been so insistent on it, and that it was a way to pass the time.

And, eventually, the sun had set. But not without yet another insistence from his new ally.

“We have an extra bunk for you to sleep on!”

Law declined the invite of joining the crew in the men’s quarters however. The aspect of sleeping around so many other strangers was daunting in of itself. Certainly, yes, Luffy didn’t fit into that category, but the others? Most definitely.

Probably, he could trust Luffy’s crew, considering that his crew seemed well mannered and respectful of their captain’s wishes and happiness. (Which, going against him would certainly negate those two things.) But the fact remained: he didn’t know them. And sleeping in such close quarters with people he didn’t know unnerved him.

Not to mention he was far too accustomed to sleeping in only his own company. Back on the Polar Tang he had his own room. Punk Hazard, too, was a private room, even if it was more than likely recorded by the security cameras.

(And, hell, if it weren’t for the obvious connotations and if Luffy had his own quarters, Law wouldn’t have been too opposed to sleeping in the same room as the other captain, trust wasn’t an issue at all here. But, he’d still rather have his own area, or in this case, an area open enough that his personal space wasn’t invaded. Not to mention, Luffy would have probably done something stupid or ridiculous – like wrap his entire fucking body around ‘Torao’. Already, the younger man was pressing in on his space far too much for comfort. Who knew what the idiot would do while he was unconscious of all things?)

So yes, while he trust Luffy and knew Luffy well enough, Trafalgar Law would much rather sleep on the bench under the tree.

…Although, just how well did he know Luffy, truly?

(His mind rewound to when that idiot tackled him back on Punk Hazard.)

Certainly, he hadn’t been expecting that. It was new. Or, at the very least different. Because back on Sabaody when they had reunited, Luffy hadn’t been that exuberant. (Well… he was pretty excited but, obviously not enough to tackle him in the Auction House. Just enough to blab on and try to take his hand.) Maybe an excited wave, some laughter, and some attempt at a hand shake. Not to be tackled while he was battling Marines.

That in of itself was baffling.

And so while yes, yes they had history with one another, yes Luffy told him about his adventures as a pirate, and yes it was he who saved Luffy and his brother’s lives when they would have otherwise, it was not as if he really knew the other captain. As children, he didn’t bother to really interact much with the child Luffy had been. (The child he had simply been stuck with.) And even though they had been together for awhile on Amazon Lilly, it was Luffy who did most of the talking and story telling. It wasn’t he who said things, while Luffy reacted. No, he had just nodded and hummed in response. Not to mention that while, sure, he had taken an interest in this particular pirate’s career, it wasn’t as if he exactly studied it.

If anything was to be reassuring however, was that there wasn’t much to Mugiwara no Luffy. He was transparent, and, aside from the few things here and there (which, in all probability, was miniscule in nature) he kept no secrets. Nothing about Luffy spoke of major secrets or plans or schemes. That if he wanted to do something, he would just do it. And if he didn’t? Well, he refused to do it.

“You’re a guy who will do anything to get what you want, aren’t you Torao?”

Law resisted rolling his eyes as he remembered Luffy stating that. It wasn’t as if he had influenced Luffy’s behaviours. No, that was something that Law had begun to realise all those years ago about Luffy. That was just who Luffy had been his entire life. In fact, imaging a Luffy who wasn’t like that was…

“I don’t want to!”

The young child was seemingly hiding behind Garp’s legs, sticking his tongue out defiantly. And while the action was, well, immature the child – Luffy – seemed to be unmoving. A determination shining in his eyes.

“Luffy,” Garp sighed and placed his hand behind Luffy’s head, ushering him forward, “this will be good for you.”

And Luffy was fighting him, clinging to his legs as he was being pushed forward. There was something… off about it but Law was quickly distracted by the expression Garp was wearing.

It was torn. Sad even. There was a pain behind his eyes as he looked down at Luffy. “Luffy, you need to start interacting with other kids again…”

Law’s gaze switched back to the kid. While, at first, he had just been trying to look as if he was paying attention, the ever-changing expressions on Luffy’s face had indeed caught his attention. And now? Now that defiant, proud expression had faded. Those shoulders had fallen and his head had faced the ground.

“…Okay Gramps…”

The way that the boy had just easily gave in unsettled his stomach in a way he didn’t quite understand, but Law pushed that away and knelt a bit, deciding to just finish this up.

“I’m Trafalgar Law.”

Law closed his eyes and shook his head.

…Okay, maybe he knew Luffy – or at the very least, a side of Luffy – in ways not very many people did. But that wasn’t the entire story. That wasn’t the whole of who Luffy was. It wasn’t the smiling, bubbly, spontaneous side of the captain that he had only begun to realise two years ago. And, sure, okay, Law had a general understanding of who that was. Of how unpredictable and crazy he was. Of how Luffy and plans mixed as well as oil and water did. But there were still those few peculiar things, those things that Law still had yet to learn about his ally. For one, he didn’t know how affectionate Luffy could be. Or clingy. (And, in his opinion: it was annoying as hell.) And then there was that whole idolisation thing that Ace had shocked him with. (Even now, it was still baffling.)

At the very least, they still seemed to get along, and Luffy still seemed to enjoy his company…

And him? Well, Law was glad to have somebody he could trust. Could have that somebody help him achieve his goal. (Even though he wasn’t exactly willing to tell him that this was his goal. The one he fought for. The one he lived for.) It was nice to have somebody from his past not triggering horrendous memory after memory. It was refreshing to have somebody treat him as an equal. Not look down or up at him enough to put them on different levels. Especially when he was about dive deep into the pile of shit that had, quite literally, shaped his life.

(The Marines. Cora-san. Doflamingo. His disease. Flevance…)

And, sure, yeah, he didn’t tell Luffy the entire truth, and was misleading him as to the objectives of what they were going to do, but as he said before: Luffy and plans did not mix. Nor did Luffy and secrets. (And the last thing he needed was for Doflamingo to figure out just what he was up to.) And he didn’t exactly trust Luffy fully. He couldn’t. (It wasn’t a fault of Luffy’s – no. It was one of his. He had been fed lies and betrayal his entire life.) So while Luffy was so obviously trying to help him and be friends with him, Law couldn’t dive in head first as the other did. And hence the guise of bringing down Kaido. Luffy desired to be the Pirate King after all.

As he thought back to their discussion about their alliance, Law found himself almost chuckling. It had gone in a strange direction due to Luffy’s outburst. He hadn’t intended on making Luffy appear responsible for the apparent loss of his title, because he, quite frankly, couldn’t care less. (Because he was just using the Government. Fighting fire with fire. Just like he had with the Marines.) In fact, retrospectively speaking, it was actually quite hilarious that Luffy was impacted in some way for both events involving the Government or the Marines. (Although being the cause for the latter and an effect for the former.)

Law sighed and looked up at the stars again, not realising that his gaze had wandered over towards the door leading into the men’s quarters.

A lot had changed in two years, hadn’t it? And yet, many things still seemed to stay the same. Back then, it was Law who was Luffy’s saviour, and now – he supposed that in a sense it was Luffy who was helping him, even if he didn’t truly realise to what extent. Their roles reversed, although he truly didn’t mind. Even despite what had happened during the War of the Great, Law did not view Luffy as weak or helpless. (In fact, it was the complete opposite. Not anybody would go to challenge the world alone like that and come out alive – even if severely injured in the process.)

(And, of course, there was the situation with Sabo – but Sabo was a different story. They were still very much green behind the ears, not even knowing about the New World until days before the war, while Sabo was far more experienced and accomplished than they. A man who had survived in the chaos that was the New World, a man who had access to abilities they had only just begun to grasp at the concept of…)

Along with the tentative trust Law held for Luffy, respect was beside it. A healthy dosage that told him: Luffy as an enemy would be a very, very, bad idea. But Luffy as an ally? Well, that was an interesting prospect indeed.

(One which, given his personality, could go very wrong, very fast. But Law was willing to take that risk.)

And now, now Luffy was his ally.

“…So, why did you ally yourself with me?”

As he remembered the expression on Luffy’s face and his tone, he found himself staring at the hand that the other captain had clung to. Why? Even now, he couldn’t quite understand just what was going through Luffy’s head at that moment. (Yet another thing he did not know.) Why had he looked that way?

��Whatever, it wasn’t something he should be concerning himself with anyway. Because, despite the respect he held for Luffy, his own goals still came first.

He was a selfish bastard after all.

#monkey d. luffy #trafalgar law #lawlu #one piece #fanfic:boyhoodblues #petiteneko:story #onepiece #tlaw #luffy #garp

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geekmama · 8 years ago

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Plus One -or- Amanda By Moonlight

Set after Rosie's birth in 'The Six Thatchers', this is written for the First Date prompt for May 15th of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017

“Mum, this is Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said, with what could only be termed a proud smile.

Mrs. Amanda Hooper smiled slightly, too, but only to mask the disapprobation -- no, fury! - that rose in her breast at the sight of her daughter’s nemesis, a man who, for all his purported intelligence, had for years failed to see what was right in front of his nose, effectively ruining Molly’s chance to live a happy and fruitful life -- and by fruitful she did mean grandchildren, damn the man’s ice blue eyes straight to hell!

Apparently he was perceptive enough to realize there was something amiss, for there was a wariness in his expression as he said in a smooth, deep voice, “How do you do,” and shook her hand.

That voice, that unusually handsome face, the slim, yet powerful physique, now clothed in a perfectly cut bespoke suit that was probably worth more than Molly’s entire wardrobe -- well, it was obvious why her daughter found him attractive. Mrs. Hooper’s ire increased, though she allowed her smile to grow broader -- perhaps a trifle on the sharky side. She said, breezily, “You’re Molly’s plus one tonight, I take it? How kind of you to step into the breach, since she and Tom are no longer… well...”

“Not at all,” Holmes murmured, looking even more wary.

“Mum!” Molly protested. “It’s been months since… since Tom and I--”

“--agreed you should not suit after all, yes, yes, I know,” Mrs. Hooper gave a sad sigh and allowed her smile to turn wistful for a moment, but then said to Sherlock, “So, do you like weddings? This one has gone very well so far, I think -- but Molly’s cousin was always a perfectionist, and her mother is the same, and has such good taste. Every detail taken into account, just beautifully planned.”

“It certainly seems… er… an exemplary function thus far,” Holmes managed.

Mrs. Hooper gave a bark of laughter, startling Molly and alarming Holmes. She said, “Oh! Oh, forgive me, but what a wonderfully insidious swipe!”

“Ummm…” Sherlock said, apparently bereft of words.

But Molly slipped her arm in his and said pointedly, “We’re both enjoying ourselves, and Sherlock is very fond of dancing, so it should be lots of fun, later.”

“Are you, indeed?” Mrs. Hooper exclaimed. She looked up at Sherlock and said innocently, “Do you often take Molly to trip the light fantastic?”

He looked somewhat horrified, for of course he’d never in five years asked her out at all -- ‘Our relationship isn’t like that’ my eye! thought Mrs. Hooper viciously -- and Molly was little less affected.

Mrs. Hooper pursed her lips.

Holmes, however, seemed to detect her vindictiveness, and turned a trifle grim. “I haven’t had a chance to take Molly out dancing as yet, which is one reason I was happy she asked me to accompany her to your niece’s wedding.” He glanced at Molly and gave her a comforting smile.

Molly returned the smile, and actually made sheep’s eyes at the blighter. Mrs. Hooper ground her teeth. However, before she could say more, dinner was announced.

“Oh, dear!” said Molly, quickly. “Mum, you’d better go lend your support to Aunt Betty, I can see she’s flailing a bit, over there by the ice sculpture. Sherlock and I are seated at one of the lower tables, but we’ll see you again, before we leave, at least.” She tugged at the man’s arm. “Let’s go get a cup of champagne punch before we sit down.”

“Punch?” Holmes blurted, with loathing.

“Come on!” Molly said, briefly looking daggers at him.

Holmes muttered something unintelligible, nodded to Mrs. Hooper, and allowed himself to be hauled away.

Mrs. Hooper sniffed, her expression turning stony. She might have been temporarily balked of her prey, but If Sherlock Holmes thought he would escape her wrath that easily, he could think again.

It wasn’t until after the dancing had been going on for some time that Mrs. Hooper found a chance to corner the posh, overgrown schoolboy who’d cast his bizarre enchantment on her poor daughter. After Molly’s cousin Bitsy and her new spouse, Harold, had completed their first dance as husband and wife, Holmes led Molly onto the floor and Mrs. Hooper had the questionable satisfaction of watching them move gracefully about for some half an hour, looking quite as though they were meant to be together. Holmes was indeed a very good dancer -- probably had lessons as a boy. She gave a snort of laughter at one point, imagining him as a stroppy teen, all arms and legs and sulky expression as he’d led out some spotty chit with braces and baby fat. If Amanda ever chanced to meet the boy’s mother she would ask for the amusing details.

Finally, however, nature called, Molly excused herself to the ladies’, and Holmes slipped out one of the glass doors leading to the terrace.

Mrs. Hooper followed him.

It was a cold evening as spring had barely begun, and the terrace was virtually deserted but for the two of them, a circumstance that Amanda considered to be proof that Providence had blessed her mission. As she crossed the marble expanse, Sherlock was at the balustrade, lighting up a cigarette, and Molly’s mother chose to make this execrable habit the subject of her opening volley.

“Another of your addictions, Mr. Holmes? Not as reformed a character as the tabloids would have us believe, apparently.”

He had turned as the sound of her footsteps had reached his ears and now, as she approached, she heard him swear under his breath as he straightened to his full height and looked down his nose at her in a way that seemed a composite of a whole roomful of portraits in the National Gallery: rich, entitled, and a complete bastard.

Well… not complete, perhaps. Molly would hardly have given her heart to one wholly given over to selfish depravity. But still…

“Mrs. Hooper,” said Holmes, stiffly, “I am not entirely certain why you’ve taken me in such dislike--”

“Indeed, Mr. Holmes? And here my daughter has described your powers of deduction in such extravagant terms -- but of course anyone may be taken in by a handsome face.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since we are being frank, perhaps you will explain to me precisely what you were doing the morning of June 2nd last year?”

He frowned, but for a moment only. “Your... birthday?”

“Indeed. My birthday. Molly and I were to go to breakfast and do some shopping, and I arrived at her flat just a trifle earlier than originally expected.”

He scowled. “Yes. I remember. I suppose you saw me?”

“Indeed. I saw you climbing out of my daughter’s bedroom window, and in a state of undress that she might have found gratifying but that I certainly did not! And this when she was still, to my certain knowledge, engaged to Tom Blakely.”

She could not be sure in the moonlight, but she thought he might be flushing.

“Ma’am, I assure you--”

“There is nothing you can say that will assure me, Mr. Holmes. I know my daughter, and have no doubt that it was you who led her astray, you who took advantage of her kind heart, you who rose from the grave and swooped back into London, effectively destroying her relationship to one who was not only willing but eager to make her happy!”

“I did nothing of the sort -- and anyway, it was a ridiculous match! They were entirely unsuited.”

“Because he wasn’t you?”

“Because she was too good for him!” And then he added, in a much quieter tone, “Just as she’s too good for me -- which you would do well to remember.”

Amanda gaped. “You can’t possibly ask me to believe--”

“--I want you to believe I have Molly’s best interests at heart! Because that’s the truth.”

He sounded not only sincere, but regretful, and for a moment Amanda’s wrath faded. But no. Molly’s happiness was at stake. She drew herself up. “It will not do. Molly has told me little of your relationship, save that you and she are friends as well as colleagues, and are now co-Godparents to the daughter of Dr. Watson and his wife. Yet one thing is certain: Molly has determined that, in spite of your many shortcomings -- and I have no doubt that they are legion -- you have somehow cast every other man of her acquaintance into the shade! It doesn’t matter a particle whether her single state is due to her strange predilection for your uncooperative person or to your own dog-in-the-manger attitude toward any man who dares to enter her orbit -- very likely it’s a bloody perfect storm of both! But there is one fact that is undeniable: you have compromised my daughter, Mr. Holmes, and it will not do!”

“Compromised! I swear--”

“Her heart, idiot boy!”

He stared.

So she went on. “I will give you one year. You will either find a way to free her, or you will alter time and space, or do whatever else it takes to be a man worthy to join my daughter at the altar. Is that clear?”

He now looked exasperated. “Setting aside the absurdity of that entire sentence, have you ever thought that she might not wish to marry?”

Amanda snorted derisively. “Ask her Mr. Holmes. But of course, you’ve never even asked her out to dinner, have you?”

He was effectively silenced, and, she thought, at least somewhat shamed, but then he suddenly looked up and said quietly, “Here she comes,” and a smile of both relief and welcome lightened his expression -- and undeniably increased his already considerable good looks.

“One year, Mr. Holmes,” Amanda said, firmly, and wished for approximately the millionth time that her dear husband was still alive. If ever a young scoundrel needed a thrashing...

Holmes glanced at her impatiently. “Yes, all right.”

“What about one year?” asked Molly, coming up to them.

Amanda said, mildly, “We were just considering how much can happen in a year, weren’t we, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock did not reply, but took Molly’s hand and tucked it in his arm. “Come, let’s go in and dance some more. It’s bloody freezing out here.”

“I know!” Molly exclaimed. “Mum, you’re like to catch your death without your wrap!”

“Oh, no,” said Amanda. “There’s far too much to look forward to. But it is time to go in -- Bitsy will be throwing her bouquet any time now, and you won’t like to miss your chance to catch it and be the next one married.”

Molly’s laughter at this was rather subdued, and Sherlock gave Amanda a look over Molly’s shoulder.

Amanda pulled a face at him and silently mouthed, One Year!

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Amanda Hooper rose from her bed the following morning. The reception had not ended until the wee hours, though Molly and Sherlock had taken their leave well before midnight, having the long drive back to London before them.

In the clear light of a new day, Amanda did wonder if she had been entirely wise to confront Sherlock in such a manner. Molly’s happiness was all, of course, but if it was dependent upon the erratic consulting detective, a favorable outcome was far from a certainty. Still, what was done was done. Amanda thoughtfully poured herself a cup of her favorite tea, stirred in some milk and honey, and took a sip.

Heaven!

And there was the sound of her mobile phone.

With a groan of annoyance, she went into the sitting room to fetch the device, but she brightened when she discovered that it was Molly calling.

“Hello, dear!” Amanda said, cheerily. “I thought you had to work today.”

“I do!” Molly replied. “I’m at work right now, though it’s slow enough that I thought I’d give you a call. Late evening?”

“I didn’t get home until past three! But your Aunt was so pleased with the way things turned out last night. I must say, it all went splendidly. Did you and Mr. Holmes have a good time?”

“Oh, yes! We danced and danced.”

“And looked lovely doing it,” said Amanda with complete truth.

Molly said, archly, “Sherlock is very good looking.”

“Now Molly, you know what I meant.”

“Yes, all right. But… Mummy…”

“Yes?” Amanda stiffened, suddenly nervous.

“You didn’t say anything to Sherlock, did you? I mean... well…”

“What on earth am I supposed to have said?” Amanda asked, her heart beating appreciably faster.

“I don’t know but… he’s asked me out! To dinner -- and we’re going dancing after. It’s unprecedented, I assure you.”

“Then it’s about time, isn’t it? It’s probably because he’s discovered what a good dancer you are.”

Molly laughed. “But I’m not!. Not ballroom dancing, at least. It’s just so easy dancing with him. He leads so well, it feels rather like floating on a cloud.”

“That’s just how it should be. And you two do make a lovely couple.”

“Thank you, Mum. I must say, I never thought… but just lately… I mean...”

“Molly, dear, sometimes things just take a little longer than one would prefer. That doesn’t mean those things aren’t destined to be.”

“Perhaps,” Molly said, a smile in her voice. “I suppose time will tell. Thank you, Mum.”

“I’m not sure why you’re thanking me, but you’re more than welcome, my darling. But really, Molly: don’t you feel it’s about time your Prince Charming was roused from his long sleep?”

“Prince Charming! Oh, he’d hate that!” Molly exclaimed, genuinely amused.

And Amanda, calming herself and newly confident that time would tell, chuckled and took another sip of her tea.

~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly #Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017

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aingealcethlenn-archive · 8 years ago

Text

Why

Characters - Rhionnan (OC), Bucky, Steve

Pairing - Bucky x OC

Summary/Request - A rough night of memories, Rhionnan lets her guard down for the first time in a very long time, thinking no one would find out. But that wasn’t the case.

Word Count - 2,258

Warnings - Angst, Fluff, Feelings of sadness, regret, loss, Bucky cuddles (yes, that’s a warning now :P deal with it) (If you spot any other warnings I should add, please let me know so I can edit this post to include them!)

A/N - So..Uumm..This wasn’t going to be posted. It was written to try to ease my mind. BUT, my sister convinced me to finish it & stuff, so I did. And it was crap, so she worked her magic, capturing me perfectly..which is a little scary LOL, and made it so magnificent that it made me cry! (honest! it did!). SO..Thanks @wrenwritesometimes!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 This is about me..basically. My name isn’t Rhionnan, & obviously I’m not an Avenger (duh), but the details about the death and traditions and such are my personal details. The feelings, the demeanor, the attitude, the emotionlessness (is that a word?)..even the bit about feeling like emotions are wrong..all those little details and shit...yep, that’s me! *waves* As I said, it was written to ease my mind after March 17th passed. Basically...welcome to my St. Paddy’s Day traditions -.-

Tags (Want on or off? Send a message/ask!) - @serzhantjamesbuchananbarnes @buckyywiththegoodhair @theimpossibleg1rl @hushothermuses @grooveandshit @blondekel77 @xfirespritex @i-stole-rudolphs-nose @thepalaceofmelanie

Story -

While sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the television, I could hear the other Saint Paddy’s Day parties thrum around the city below. My legs were crossed under me, with Bucky’s sweatshirt wrapped tightly around my body. I watch as the little leprechauns dance on the screen of my television.

It may sound fucking weird, but the longer I looked at those little fuckers, tears began to sting my eyes and nose.

Maybe it was the Jameson sitting on the coffee table, I don't know. Nursing a small glass one too many times always brought me to tears on days like this... Me, sitting on my own legs, sipping from the cup in my hand, half full of the whiskey… trying to will the tears away.

The rest of the tower had all gone to their rooms about an hour ago. I had made sure that they were all gone before I made my way to the common room.

Though... it felt more like a trance. I had Buck’s sweatshirt on with the bottle and movie in my hands. I put the movie’s disk in the player, and turned it on before grabbing a glass from the kitchen. Once I got comfortable on the couch, and poured my first shot, I lifted my glass, staring blankly out the window to the dark sky above.

“Lá fhéile Pádraig sona dhuit,” I mumbled to myself, taking the shot quickly. I swallowed slowly.

It always felt cathartic to force the liquid to slow down as it made its way down my throat.

Now, here I sit, a fair bit into the movie, and I… I am next to blackout drunk.

I had no idea what was going on. Other than I had definitely had more than one shot. Knowing the movie like the back of my hand, I knew how long I must have been sitting, but my head was… somewhere else. Call it an out of body experience.

I felt my hazy brain turn on the rose colored glasses… I felt and remembered the emotions I felt when I was just an eight-year-old watching the television with my dad behind me. A hand on my shoulder as we watched it together.

Curled up, with a dazed smile on my face, I started paying more attention to the screen, as if something new might appear.

It had been the same way every single year... March 17th rolled around, dad would buy a bottle of whiskey, take a single shot, and give away the rest to a friend.

The man hated whiskey. But tradition was tradition.

We’d sit on the couch, and watch movies like this all day. Usually, it was whatever we could find, but it was always a guarantee that Darby O’Gill would grace the screen.

So there I was, watching that beautiful movie, but instead of a simple shot, I was drinking the entire bottle of that damn whiskey.

Why?

Because it was the only damn thing that could get my sorry ass through this holiday anymore.

The one time I could be close to my dad despite the… distance.

My mind had already taken me back to when I was younger, watching with my dad. Listening to him say the lines in that perfect Irish brogue. Singing the songs along with the television... Or even rambling on about different things, like telling me what a banshee was.

Sure, I’d heard it all before… but why would I deprive us of the tradition? No matter how I wanted to fill in details that he either forgot or glossed over, I would always lap it up like it was brand new.

I couldn't ignore the happiness I felt from being so drunk that I could actually hear his voice as I sat alone.

I hadn’t noticed anyone else enter the room. I was lost in my own world; tears falling silently, sipping on whiskey, lost in my fantasy. It wasn’t until I felt the surprising yet familiar cold of his metal arm wrap around me that I even realized someone had been trying to talk to me.

Looking over into those damned concerned blue eyes, I shook my head clear of my haze and snapped myself back to reality.

“B-Bucky,” I mumbled, my voice weak, slurred, and still a little confused.

“What’s wrong, Rhi?” I heard him ask. The concern was evident in his voice.

Bucky had never seen any... hint of emotion like... this. From me.

Hell, none of these avenging bastards had. To them, I was strong. To me… I was frail.

Sure, I had emotions. Everyone does.

But no one had ever seen me weep like a baby. No one had. It wasn’t something I ever did.

I couldn’t.

Tears, meant weakness. If not to anyone else; to me.

I had to stay strong. Everyone counted on me for something or another. Family, friends - hell - even the general population looked to me, and the rest of the Avengers, in times of crisis.

I needed to stay strong for everyone else. Screw me having a moment of slack...

I didn’t have time to back off. I didn’t have time to break down.

I guess this could possibly mean I had never given myself a chance to grieve...

Sure, I may have done it my way, but it wasn’t the right way. Wasn't complete.

I must have been silent too long, because Bucky gently but forcibly took the glass from my hand, setting it on the table next to the now nearly empty bottle. Pulling me into his chest, he just held me.

I didn't know I was still crying until I noticed Bucky’s warm chest was wet and uncomfortable against my cheek from my own tears soaking in his shirt.

Feeling immediately ashamed and guilty, I wanted to move away from him, but I felt fatigued when my eyes fixed on the TV again.

“Rhionnan?”

I shook my head ever so slightly against his collarbone. Waking myself from my odd trance.

“Why does it still hurt so much, Bucky?” I heard myself ask; my voice weak, shaky, and… resigned. “After five years, please,” I whimpered. “Explain to me why it still hurts?”

“What hurts, doll?” He murmured into my hair. “How can I help?” His voice was still laced with concern, though he was trying to hide it.

From my position, I had to look up at him through my lashes, but I needed to look at him.

I had seen Bucky scared before… but this was different.

His eyes shown with a mix of emotions I’d never seen from him before. Fear, concern, sympathy, pain...

I’d never told anyone about my past. Nothing that wasn’t already in my file, anyway.

I’d never talked about my family - my siblings or my parents - because though I trusted these people with my own life, I didn’t want to burden them with the knowledge of my personal life.

“What happened, doll,” he mumbled lowly but warmly. The way he usually spoke. His voice was home for me. “What’s got you so--”

“--Weak? Broken?” I offered indignantly. I sat up slightly, still leaning against him, my head now on his shoulder.

“No,” he objected, slightly surprised. “I don’t see either of those right now, or ever.” His voice had softened by the end of his objection. I felt his lips press against the top of my forehead. “Talk to me Rhi,” he said with a steadfast nod. “What happened?”

“Five years ago,” I said after a long pause and a deep sigh. The whiskey was leaving my system so fast, and I could just feel my heart return to its natural resting heartbeat. “Five years ago was the last time I celebrated this stupid holiday with my father,” I mumbled petulantly (not all the drunkenness had worn off). “A mere four months later was the last time I ever heard his voice.”

My voice had cracked and I felt the water in my eyes give way again, soaking through yet another spot on Bucky’s shirt. My head was throbbing, though I don’t know which made it worse, the alcohol or the crying.

“Two months later, he was gone. I never saw him. Never went to see him in the hospital, never called him on the phone again, nothing,” I said. “Instead, I offered to stay at the house and watch all the little kids while everyone else went to be with him.”

Bucky was silent.

Upon a quick and fleeting glance at his face, I could see it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Not a ‘I wish you didn't tell me this’ silence.

In fact, from the look on his sharply angled face he wanted desperately to say something comforting.

I could tell that the words eluded him. I could understand that.

He silently pressed a kiss to my hair and pulled me into a tighter embrace.

“When I got the call, I just…” my voice cracked again, “nodded… and hung up. I made the calls to family… since I was the only one who could actually still speak… I then helped with arrangements… because I could keep my composure.”

I shook my head vehemently, settling my face in my hands. “I couldn’t show how bad it… how bad it hurt. Everyone needed someone who was holding it together to turn to.”

“And… that was you,” he mumbled, his breath hitting my neck.

“Yep,” I mumbled into my hands, rubbing my stale eyes. “Though I was the one who lost the most. I still knew that I couldn't break down. I just… I just couldn't.”

“That’s why you never seem phased by anything during missions, isn’t it?” Bucky’s voice was still low and rough despite everything. “You think we all need someone to keep us afloat when things go wrong…” Bucky mused. “Or why you’re always the first one I see when I wake up from a nightmare? You’re trying to be everyone else’s foundation, while your own crumbles.”

“When you say it like that it sounds horrible.” I said, trying to laugh a little through the tears, but it just came off as pathetic and… sad.

“You think no one sees that chip on your shoulder…” Bucky mumbled to himself. “It doesn’t make you weak or anything else. You can’t just keep it all… bottled up inside of you. Aren’t you tired of having to stand so tall?”

I sat up and looked into his eyes with a cold stare. “I break down every once in awhile,” I defended petulantly. “It’s just behind closed doors, screaming into my pillow, so none of you can fucking hear me.”

“Doll… “ He smiled a small smile before pulling me back to him. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Bucky, it’s just not the way I am,” I retorted. “I can’t show that to anyone. I've… I guess I've convinced myself that it's wrong.”

I took a deep, haggard sigh and I could smell the whiskey on my own breath.

“Hell,” I grumbled. “You're literally the first one who’s seen this side of me. Probably ever. And the only reason you did, was because I was so out of it… and, well, drunk... I didn’t hear you come in the room.”

“Well,” Bucky replied softly, seriously. “You should trust me enough to see it again... Let me be the one to catch you when you fall.”

“Buck I--”

“You’ve been a solid rock for me since I arrived, Rhionnan. Let me return the favor, huh?”

I tilted my head and looked up at him for a very serious and long moment. “Only if you promise to never say a word about it to anyone,” I conceded.

“Deal,” he murmured resolutely, kissing my forehead again. “Now, let’s get you to bed. It's late.”

“Can we watch the movie just one more time?” I asked suddenly, catching his arm before he detached himself from me.

“Sure, doll,” he said with a wide and brilliant smile - the one that mostly shone in his eyes more than his lips… “Anything for you.” He reached for the remote on the table, and restarted the movie.

I sat up so he could lay across the couch, settling myself between his legs. Resting my head back against his chest, I took a deep breath, unabashedly taking in his scent. Feeling my body relax, I nuzzled as close as I could.

Bucky wrapped his arms around my shoulders easily, and placed another gentle kiss against my hair. Smiling as he felt me relaxing against him.

I closed my eyes, and let this new feeling take me over. The feeling of contentment, the feeling of safety… the feeling of home.

The next morning, Steve walked into the common room looking for Bucky. Finding the both of us on the couch, he gently tapped Bucky’s shoulder.

“Buck?”

I felt him shift behind me, but not enough to wake me completely. His arms tightened around me, and I relaxed again.

“Yeah?” He looked up at Steve, still half asleep.

“Everything okay?”

“Everythings fine, but I think I’m gonna skip our run today,” he replied with a croaky and quiet chuckle.

“That’s fine,” Steve responded, glancing at my still body, still wrapped in Bucky’s sweatshirt. Steve nodded toward me, asking carefully, “Is she okay?”

“She is now, I think,” Bucky responded, shifting me so he could properly look up at Steve.

“Good,” Steve nodded slightly. “She needs you Buck. Take care of her.”

“Til the end of the line,” Bucky murmured sleepily, grinning knowingly up at Steve.

#fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #marvel #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x reader #reader insert #steve rogers #bucky one shot #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #personal

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creativeashproductions · 8 years ago

Text

Heat of the Moment [Part 1]

Prompts #20: “Let’s have some fun. A little truth or dare never hurt anybody” and #26: “Wait, where are my clothes?” #28: I wasn’t listening, I was undressing you with my eyes...?” and #5: “Damn you are a kinky motherfucker...I like it.”

Author(s): Caitsy and Ash

Warnings: Swearing, use of sexual words, Nat being sexy, Stucky,

Disclaimer: We do not own marvel or any characters. We also do know any gifs, images, jokes or songs that appear in this prompt.

Summary: Things get heated when Peter Parkers older sister comes for a visit when Peter’s never talked about her. Things get heated between reader and Scott. Bucky and Steve land themselves in an uncomfortable situation with each other. What really went on that night?

Requested: Yes. Anonymous

A/N: This is the first time Ash and I have co-authored something because we were stumped individually on how to take this so we did role-play lol. Enjoy.

Masterlist

Prompt List

Give is how we co-authored this shit out of this.

You weren’t that well known to the Avengers mainly because you were the older sister of a bug. Peter Parker was your little brother but he refused to let you anywhere the superheroes at the beginning because he saw you as the cool sibling. Actually Peter finally relented on not telling the Avengers about you so here he was was shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“I have a secret.” Peter said drawing in a deep breath. Everyone dropped what they were doing to watch the bug boy talk.

“Did you murder your brothers Spider-boy?” Sam questioned leaning back into the couch.

“No that’s to be expected, I think Spidey is hiding something way more intriguing. I bet he’s secretly plotting to unleash a world of spiders. Maybe even a spider Godzilla.” Scott said. Everyone just looked at him wondering how this genius had a degree in electrical engineering.

“As cool as that sounds that’s not what I’ve come to confess.” Peter took in an even deeper breath. He went to speak only to be interrupted by a voice coming from the back.

“You still haven’t told them about me, have you punk?”

“Hey! That’s my nickname for Steve!” Bucky exclaimed not expecting it.

Peter face palmed as his older sister, as per usual, barged in when he was trying to do his thing. Everyone looking at the newcomer had a hard time grasping his Peter knew someone like this woman.

“How did you get into my building?” Tony questioned climbing to his feet in worry.

“Better yet how did the bug get her in his life?” Sam joked looking at the newcomer with a grin.

“Y/N Parker at your service.” You smirked taking a seat in the open chair crossing your legs, “By the way Tony, you’re technology isn’t all that strong against someone like me.”

Tony muttered pulled out his tablet with a glare towards the woman as he tried see just how she had gotten in without an alarm going off. Finding nothing he sat back down and emotionally isolated himself.

“Excuse me. I have to go reprogram and strengthen my security.” Tony huffed storming towards the elevator.

“Everyone, this is my sister.” Peter said reluctantly but with a bit of pride in his voice. He walked over and leaned down grabbing her around the neck. He whispered something in her ear making her laugh.

“Wait, just wait a minute.” Scott threw up his fingers not sure if he actually believed what was going on. He was secretly waiting for Ashton Kutcher to show up and let him know he was Punk’d.

“She’s your sister? I mean … you’re a bug. She’s hot. How does that work? You’re adopted aren’t you?” Scott moved his finger accusingly between the two of us. Peter and I just sat kind of dumbfounded before shaking our heads and laughing.

“We came from the same womb and parents.” You chuckled, “You blind there or does your mind stay the same small size?”

“Oh you have jokes, funny. Your jokes are as bad as his, you guys are definitely related.” Scott just shot you a wink and a sly smile. This guy was going to be trouble.

“My ‘bad’ jokes are better than your flirty words.” You rolled your eyes stretching your legs out, “I mean are you compensating your small dick or something?”

Scott seemed a bit taken back unsure of how to respond you. He’d never met someone so..feisty. If he was being honest, he rather liked it. “I don’t have to compensate for anything, my dick is quite the prize. Maybe you’ll find out at some point.”

“Um. No. I prefer men with...well not someone like you.” You chuckled as Peter made a sound is disgust.

“My sister’s practically a nun thank you very much.” Peter sniffled crossing his arms.

“Oh baby brother. Don’t you remember my boyfriend? We closed the door and we sure as hell weren’t play board games nor having a tea party.” You laughed as Peter gagged and shook his head.

“Oh (Y/N), you’re just full of surprises. Aren’t you?” Scott said in a coy tone. I could feel him looking me over and I knew ideas were just rolling around in his head. This weekend was going to be an interesting one to say the least.

“Well you know since you are new here and we barely know you. I think we should change that. A few drinks and a welcome to the tower party are in order.” Scott noted.

Steve groaned along with Bucky because they both knew that they would have to babysit drunk Avengers once more. Last time they played a drinking game Steve almost lost an eye when Scott decided to try Clint’s bow and arrow.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.” Steve calmly said, “Remember last time? Scott you-”

“Oh what did the little nuisance do?” You pouted, “Ants are such strange and unneeded creatures.”

“Strange, yes but unneeded … that’s a big no.” Scott said walking closer to where I was sitting. “And for the record, let’s just say tequila and archery don’t mix.” Scott said as he mock wiped the conversation over with his hands.

“Besides, who says bug boy’s sister could even keep up with us?” Scott scoffed. “She’s probably one drink and done.”

“Oh jesus.” Peter groaned collapsing onto the ground beside the chair, “Can we not talk about my sister’s life?”

“You’re just sad that you’re a lightweight.” You shot back at your brother before turning towards Scott again, “You’re looking at the current record holding in drinking games. I’m so legendary at college that Peter’s child friends know all about me.”

“It’s true! She drank so much she almost had alcohol poisoning.”

“If drinking was a career I would be fucking rich and the best. I can drink the strongest vodka straight vodka only.”

“Do they know all about you for your drinking or because of the tea parties you like to throw behind closed doors?” Scott said narrowing his eyes at me and running his eyes over me. Oh, that cocky bastard.

“You did not just accuse my sister of being a whore!” Peter shouted almost in rage and turning red.

Steve and Bucky grabbed the seething young Parker holding him tightly as to ensure the oddly strong boy from swinging. The team shifted uncomfortably at the entire time Y/N and Scott were bantering.

“Holy shit the sexual tension has grown.” Tony said as he made his reappearance, “FRIDAY informed me the words ‘drinking games’ was used at some point.”

“Of course alcohol would bring you back.” Bucky said rolling his eyes.

“Feels like a frat party with the sexual tension. Impressive given it’s only two people.”

“I need alcohol.” You moaned before opening your backpack to pull out a bottle of vodka. Everyone in the room froze at the sight before you looked down at it, “I was taking it to a girls night but I’m going to need it here.”

“Oh god, my sister is an alcoholic.” Peter muttered under his breath while shaking his head.

“I’ll grab the glasses and three more bottles.” Tony said whisking away to the bar that sat in the back of the room. You saw Steve and Bucky share knowing glances “we’re in for a long night.”

“Did that Thor guy leave any of that strong alcohol from wherever he comes from?” You asked getting looks from everyone. Peter had to take another glance at you in slight shock.

“How the hell?” Peter, “You drink alcohol like water. Holy fuck”

“Like a wise man once said, ‘that’s my secret, I’m always mad’”

“Wait you’re drunk all the time?” Steve exclaimed.

“No. I just like the quote.” You laughed, “I’m tipsy like forty percent of the time.”

“So you are an alcoholic. This explains a lot of things actually. “ Peter said kind of just shrugging it off.

“Alright children. Now we know everyone here is either a drunk, a pansy or just a weirdo we can get down to the important stuff. What game are we playing?” Tony asked coming settle back between all of us.

Scott’s hand shot up. “Really Scott, none of us are in pre-school” I quipped back.

“Ok alkie, I say we play something that’s a little unconventional and a little old school. For all the old people in our presence. Cap and Bucky I’m referring to you.” Scott said as he flashed a pointer finger their way, “Let’s have some fun. A little truth or dare never hurt anybody”

“So did that hot guy leave his magic drink here?” You questioned tilting your head, “I want to see a tipsy Stucky.”

“Stucky?” Majority of the room questioned while Tony held up the bottle of Asgardian liquor. You gestured over to Bucky and Steve. They awkwardly looked at each other with disgust before shuffling away.

“Why do you look disgusted punk?!” Bucky exclaimed looking quite offended at his best friend, “I’d be the best lay you ever had, everybody wants a piece of me. I can do wonders with my-”

Most of the room wrinkled their noses and quickly shook their heads make Bucky even more offended.

“I wouldn’t mind a piece.” You said taking a swing of your vodka while bringing your eyes over the supersoldier slowly, “Actually a Stucky threesome...mhm.”’

“JESUS CHRIST!” Peter screamed.

“Damn, you are a kinky motherfucker...I like it” Scott said giving me a thumbs up while looking over at Cap and Bucky. “Actually that would be pretty interesting to see. Could I take photos? I think Tumblr would have a field day?” Scott asked pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“I feel objectified.” Steve trailed off looking towards an equally awkward Bucky, “Bucky and I would never have a threesome.”

“No.” You sighed, “You two like the world thinking you’re clean missionary boys. I see the truth. You two are dirty freaks in the sheets. With each other.”

“OMG! Y/N SHUT-UP! I CAN’T...JUST...WHO ARE YOU EVEN?” Peter asked completely mortified. I should feel bad turning his childhood hero into some raunchy soccer mom’s fantasy, but I didn’t feel bad. I rather enjoyed it.

“Who wouldn’t want to see that? Two super soldiers having kinky super sex. That’s porn gold. I agree with (Y/N). There are hidden secrets there. Which means we are playing truth or dare, no objections.” Scott pronounced as if a lightbulb went off. It seemed like a grand idea. Peter was red in the face, Stucky was mortified but not completely objecting.

“Y/N I’m going to need that alcohol.” Peter groaned reaching towards the bottle. You literally hissed pulling it closer to you.

“Get your own bottle.” You glared taking a another swig of it, “Did you think I was going to share with my friends?”

“Oh have pity on the poor kid, I think you’ve emotionally scarred him.” Tony said passing a bottle of vodka and a glass to Peter. Peter grabbed the bottle silently thanking Tony. As he poured himself a glass he looked back over at you. You silently mouthed the words “I will kill you.” You made a mental note to slap Tony later.

“So now the question is who wants to go first?” I asked in a sauntering tone looking over at Steve and Bucky. Silently begging them to go first.

Steve facepalmed not wanting a minor drinking but if he was Peter he wouldn’t already drunk by chugging a bottle. He looked over to Bucky as his eyes slowly up up and down Bucky’s body. Feeling a gaze Bucky glanced over making both the men awkwardly shift and look away.

“Stop it.” Bucky grunted glaring away. Steve nodded before gluing his eyes at the group. He didn’t even look when he felt Bucky’s eyes give him the once over.

“Seeing as you’re the guest and a female, it’s only appropriate if you go first.” Steve said trying to remain calm, cool and collected. You could see him trying to keep his eyes focused on anything and everything. You were taking mental notes of the glares and once overs Bucky kept passing his way.

“Alright we’re going to play it the way my friends and I do.” You announced as everything sat on chair in a circle, “We mash it up with Never Have I Ever-”

“What’s that?” Steve asked.

“Let me explain.” You glared over at him, “What you do is when a player decides truth...everyone else takes a drink if they’ve done that the player is asked.”

“Oooh I like this.” Tony approved.

“If Peter said truth and I asked him if he’s ever pissed himself all the others players who have will take a drink.”

“I get it.” Steve nodded understanding.

“Nat the every quiet spy...truth or dare…” You smirked.

“Truth.” She cooly answered.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever given head.” You said, “Was it less than ten minutes.”

“A minute longer. He was average.”

You picked up your drink and took a swig causing Peter to shudder and nearly take a swig but he didn’t want to accused of doing...that. He was straight. You were surprised when Scott took a swig.

‘What?” Scott asked, “It was college! It was a dare that gave me a thousand dollars. I needed it!”

You just shot a smirk Scott’s way as you leaned back in the chair. He had peaked your curiosity. You felt Peter’s eyes shift to you as he shook his head. He waited for the next person to speak before taking a huge swig of his drink.

“Ok, Peter ...the innocent and golden boy, Peter Parker.” Nat smirked and you could see a devious glint cover her face. You saw Peter turned red and you just prepared yourself to take a big enough swig to get past whatever was about to come out of your younger brother’s mouth, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Peter practically squeaked out.

“Have you ever thought about being a stripper?” Nat questioned leaning back against the couch.

“NO!” Peter shouted. You took a swig of your drink along with Wanda.

“What?!” Steve exclaimed staring at Wanda. You could tell that he saw her as a daughter by the parental tone of voice, “Wanda!?”

“Times were hard for my brother and I!” Wanda defended herself.

You pursed your lips understanding exactly why she had to do it following the death of her parents and just before she volunteered to that HYDRA thing.

“I actually did it a couple times.” You shrugged, “It was the month that Uncle Ben died and it hit Aunt Mae hard that we almost lost the electricity. So until she got back on her feet she thought I got a waitressing job.”

“That’s why you came home in sparkles.” Peter nodded to himself. He set his sights on Sam, “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare. Bring it it bug.” Sam glared at him.

“Stand outside naked for three minutes.” Peter announced.

“WEEEAKK.” Scott shouted along with Sam and Bucky. Sam stripped before strutting out the balcony wiggling until he was leaning against the wall beside the door.

You didn’t happen to miss the way Steve and Bucky both watched Sam strip and walk out. Then turn back to each other and quickly divert their gaze.

“Scott, truth or dare?” Tony asked holding up his glass of scotch and taking a huge swig. Scott looked at you giving you a once over before turning to back to Tony. He stood up taking a deep breath before taking a long swig.

“Truth. You metal man. Hit me!” He exclaimed, he made it no secret that the liquor was starting to hit him. You just giggled watching the antics.

“When you first had sex, did you suffer from premature ejaculation?” Tony just sat there as if his question was every bit normal. Everyone looked at Scott. There was a unanimous yes that filled the room and you noticed Tony, Steve and Bucky all taking a swig of their drink.

“For the record, No I didn’t. That has never been an issue. But nice to know all the big men in the room have to compensate.” He scoffed and just mumbled something under his breath.

“Y/N...truth or dare sweetcheeks?” Scott smirked looking over at you. You chuckled before leaning forward.

“Dare...bitch.” You laughed returning his smirk.

“Kiss someone of the same sex.” Scott grinned. You shrugged before looking towards Nat.

“You single?” Nat hummed in response, “Wanna make out like teens?”

Nat laughed before coming over to you swaying her hips as she walked over. She leaned down placing her hands on either side of the back of your chair and whispered in your ear. You could feel her lips running over the shell of your ear, down your earlobe and softly but barely across your jaw. She pressed her body a little bit closer to yours before straddling herself on top of you. You took her hands and pressed her face closer to yours. “Let’s give em a show” you whispered and she happily nodded, “Peter go to the kitchen for a minute, we both don’t want to have this happen with you in the room.”

Nat ran her fist in your hair while you kissed with furiosity. You let a small kiss escape your lips as you battled for dominance and Nat took that moment to slide her tongue inside. Both of you exploring and devouring each other. You could feel her hands sliding down your chest and above the hem of your pants. You moved your lips to her neck biting, teasing, sucking while your hands made their way to her chest. You felt Nat starting to grind against you. She let out a soft moan and you gave her neck one last bite before capturing her lips once last time.

Pulling back you saw the shocked expressions on everyone along with all the men besides Tony looking mighty tighter in some areas. You straightened your shirt as Peter walked back into the room without looking at you or Nat.

“I had a girlfriend in college.” You waved off the questions, “Bucky...dearest Bucky. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.” Bucky said giving you a look.

“I’m not even sorry about this.” You shrugged before fixing your eyes on Steve too, “I dare you to...lick Steve from his neck...past to his navel and just slightly above his the elastic band of his boxers. Make it like you’re seducing him.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. You could see both of them tense up and squirm a little bit at the dare. “Guys, we don’t have all night the clock is ticking.” I said teasingly.

“I’ve never been one to shy away from a dare and I damn sure won’t start now.” Bucky said as he stood up. “Trust me pal?” He asked Steve placing out his hand for Steve to grab it.

“Always” Steve said as he started to take off his shirt. “No let me.” Bucky whispered.

Bucky gently placed his hands against Steve’s and pushed it back down to his side as he softly smiled. He snaked his hand down his chest playing with the hem of his shirt as he started to kiss on his neck. “Just enjoy” Bucky whispered in his ear, just a bit loud enough for everyone to hear.

Steve’s eyes closed shut, almost uncomfortably. It took both of the men a minute to let go of the tension. As Bucky started to kiss on Steve’s neck you saw his eyes become less tight. His hands made their way into Bucky’s hair gripping at the chestnut strands. Bucky was biting Steve’s neck just enough to feel a little pressure. He ran his metal arm underneath Steve’s shirt. The cold metal was a nice contrast against Steve’s boiling hot skin. He felt Bucky’s fingers dancing on the waistband of his pants … right above where things were starting to get a bit to tight. Steve and Bucky seemed to forget about everyone in the room as Bucky ripped open Steve’s shirt. He ran his hands over Steve’s chest teasingly over his hardened nipples which made Steve moan slightly.

“Fuck Bucky” Steve moaned out as Bucky started to lick and kiss his way down. He stopped at Steve’s nipples taking a moment to kiss, suck and lick. Steve’s grip on Bucky’s hair tightened and you heard a moan escape the brunette’s lips. Bucky dropped to his knees in front of his best friend and Steve looked down at him through lust blown eyes. Bucky kissed and licked his way down from Steve’s nipples to his navel dipping his tongue inside. He made it a point to trace the outline of each ab...nipping and biting. He made his way to Steve’s pants tugging them down just enough to expose that glorious v-cut and make you wonder how much more he needed to pull down to expose Steve’s cock. Bucky took his mouth and traced the v-cut on each side. He teasingly and softly kissed right above the line of Steve’s pants. He bit it softly, sucking just a tiny bit. He only pulled away when he noticed a purplish-blue mark forming.

“Told I could do wonders” Bucky smirked into Steve’s ear as he stood back up and went to go sit down.

“Sweet jesus fuck.” You choked out shifting in your seat, “Nat they made us look like inexperienced school girls. It was hot as hell, I think I need shower...or a man.”

“I cou-”

“I said man. Not Ant.”

“Man is in my n-”

“Mhm. We’ll see.” You trailed off taking him in before deciding if it could happen, “So is Stucky going to happen?”

“I think it is.” Peter said staring harshly at the wall, “I’m not innocent anymore.”

The night turned into a long drinking game with two bottles of Asgardian liquor was finished by the drunk supersoldier. Clint waved to everyone, nobody was sober enough to notice, as he felt a rather large need to video chat his wife. Everyone was really drunk.

“Scott...t-ruth or daaaree?” You asked not knowing who was left in the room. You could see him staring right at you and not looking like he was going to answer, “Scott are you listening?”

“I wasn’t listening, I was undressing you with my eyes…? See you in my dreams sweetheart.” Scott answered before he passed out on the couch.

That was the last thing you remembered until you woke up in the room surrounded by people but nothing really woke you up until you noticed you were cuddling with Scott and liking it. Suspiciously Steve was absent from the room but Bucky was crashed still on the couch he had take to.

“Wait, where are my clothes?” Sam asked looking down at his chilled naked body.

DO YOU WANT A PART TWO? WHERE THE AFTERSHOCKS FOR STUCKY HAPPENS?! LET US KNOW

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kloxbian · 5 years ago

Text

You’re my Little Secret Chapter Four

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/F

Fandoms: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan

Relationship: Clarke Griffin/Lexa

Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake, Anya (The 100), Mountain Men (The 100)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Forbidden Love, Secret Relationship, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Sort Of, Opposite of slowburn, More tags to be added

Language: English

Words:11603

Chapters (as of 1/28/2020): 5/?

Previous Chapter: Clarke went on to tell her about her experiences on the Ark, feeling relieved that there was finally someone she could complain to that wouldn’t immediately report her to some higher authority. Perhaps it was still too early to make judgments, but Clarke trusted the grounder girl. She just seemed so authentic. Clarke couldn’t help but admire her.

She was something new. Something she’d never seen before.

Clarke wanted more of her.

“Clarke!”

Clarke smiled at Monty’s excited exclamation, happy to see that what looked like everybody had survived the acid fog. “Monty! Is everyone alright?”

“One dead. Harper saw it coming from the distance and everyone got inside. The hunting party found caves to hide in. Only Atom died.” Monty hugged her tightly for just a second. “We were worried about you. Where did you go?”

Clarke’s mind wandered not back to the bunker but to Lexa, her partial smiles and the one half-hearted laugh she’d managed to get out of her. “I found an old bunker. There wasn’t much in it of use, but it’s well hidden.”

Monty was about to reply before Clarke heard her name called again. Octavia grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth. “Where the hell were you?”

“I found a place,” Clarke replied vaguely. “Do you have any idea what that was?”

“Some sort of poisonous mist,” Monty replied. “It burns the skin. Atom had blisters as big as a dinner plate on him after laying in it for the entire time. It didn’t kill him, but it would have after a few hours. The way it reacts to flesh reminds me of a chemical reaction.”

“Is it radiation?” Wells asked, coming up behind Monty. Clarke’s lips twitched down and Wells’ face looked like a kicked puppy.

“I don’t know what else it could be. There was never anything like this in old-world texts. We’ll have to watch out for it in the future.”

Clarke nodded in agreement. “So we will.”

“Clarke.” Said girl turned to Wells with a frown. His eyes were on the ground, his face downcast. “Can we talk?”

“About what?”

Wells flinched at how much venom was in her tone. “Mount Weather.”

Clarke did not want to deal with his bullshit right now, but she supposed she would have to at some point. “Fine. We’ll talk.” She stalked into the dropship. Wells trailed behind nervously.

He walked in to Clarke facing him, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently though it hadn’t even been a minute. Wells took a deep breath. “We need to go to Mount Weather.”

“We’ve had this discussion already.”

“I know, but we need those provisions. Yes, it’s a three dozen mile walk, but we won’t survive another week at the rate we’re going. An occasional rabbit isn’t enough to keep a hundred people fed.”

“Then maybe they should get their shit together and actually get some food,” Clarke scowled.

“Clarke-” Wells sighed heavily. “Listen, I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but if it will get you to hear me out, then I will.”

“Tell me what?”

“I didn’t kill your father.”

Clarke was taken aback, not by the statement, but by the abrupt change of topic. “No. Your father did you that after you betrayed my trust.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean I didn’t tell him.”

“Then who fucking did?” She hissed. “Who else knew?”

Wells’ sad look made her pause before it hit her. Only one other person had known. If not Wells, then…

“No.” Clarke stepped back, her eyes widening. “No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.”

Wells moved closer, hesitantly resting a hand on her shoulder, and she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his shoulder. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Why would she do it?”

Wells rubbed circles on her back. “She was doing what she thought was best for her people.”

“By killing her husband?”

“She thought my father would convince him to stop, not float him.”

Clarke snarled, pulling out of Wells’ hold. “Your father’s a bastard.”

Wells nodded sadly. “I wish he wasn’t, but… even I can’t deny that he is.”

Clarke heaved another breath, the sadness replaced with a raging fury. At her mother, at Jaha, at Murphy and everyone else who didn’t understand that they are going to die. Not just the hundred on the ground, but those on the Ark as well if they don’t come to the ground.

Clarke pushed past Wells toward the door to the dropship. He watched her, confused. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving for a bit. I need to be alone.” Her face softened just a bit looking at Wells. “And, just so you know… I’m happy to have you. Thank you.”

Wells didn’t have time to respond as Clarke slipped out of the dropship and strode into the woods she’d come from not ten minutes prior.

Clarke paced the woods outside of camp, careful not to stray too far after earlier events. Her mind was reeling. She felt overwhelmed. After spending the first half of the day with Lexa and then being told that Wells had let her hate him just so she wouldn’t hate her mother? She felt a swirl of emotions flooding her mind: anger, at her mother for killing Jake, at Wells for keeping it secret. Sadness, at her father being slaughtered by his wife. Confusion, at why Abby had killed him. She’d loved him. Of that Clarke had no doubt. Yet she killed him.

Clarke rested her forehead against the bark of a tree, her breath coming in quick gasps as she struggled to rein herself in. She knew she should go back; there were things to do after being stuck inside all morning. She took a minute, breathing deeply under she felt her racing heart calm down. With a last heaving sigh, she pushed herself off the tree and headed back to the dropship.

As she got closer to their camp, a commotion caught her attention. She sped up, half jogging back and pushing through the crowd of people hovered around the entrance to the ship. Miller and Harper were keeping everyone back best they could but neither stopped Clarke from walking right between them.

Finn and Monty were crouched on the floor while Bellamy was trying to calm down a raging Octavia, who had a knife pointed at Murphy. Murphy was leaning against the wall, hands up in surrender but not seeming at all bothered. Jasper was hovering in the corner, unsure. Monty looked up at her and breathed in relief. “Clarke! Thank god, you have to come quick.”

“What is it?” Clarke rushed over to him and almost collapsed as she saw Wells, lying on the floor in the same spot she’d left him standing before she’d left, with blood leaking out of the side of his neck. “What the hell happened?”

“Murphy,” Finn answered. “Stabbed him in the neck. He’s alive, but…”

Clarke scrambled to his side, pressing her fingers to his pulse. She could feel it’s beat, but it was so faint Clarke knew it was hopeless. Wells’ breath came in stranged gasps, his body convulsing slightly. Her face contorted in pain. “He… he won’t make it. We should…”

Finn nodded. “I will.” He touched her shoulder lightly, leaning over. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

She shook her head. “I should. Just do it.”

He nodded, pulling a knife from his belt. Clarke slipped her hand into Wells’, holding onto her friend tightly. She’d never get the chance to reconcile with him, to ask him why he’d let her hate him when it hurt them both. To thank him for everything he’d given her.

She had to force herself to watch as Finn slipped the knife into his neck, hitting point. He died within seconds.

Clarke had to keep a sob from forming. She could cry later. Now was not the time.

She let out a shaky exhale. “Dig a grave and bury him with the others.”

Finn, Monty, and Jasper began to comply with her orders as Clarke went over to the Blakes and Murphy. She grabbed Murphy’s shoulders and slammed him against the wall. “Why? Why the hell did you have to murder him?”

Murphy smirked. “Princess is angry I killed Junior Chancellor. How surprising.”

“Is that why you did it? Because of his father?” She snarled, releasing him from her hold. “You’re sick, do you know that?”

Murphy smiled lazily. “I know.”

“What are we going to do with him?” Octavia asked, prodding him with her blade.

“We could kill him,” Bellamy suggested.

“No,” Clarke said firmly. “We are not the Ark. We are not going to kill people, even him.” Clarke looked Murphy dead in the eyes, her face cold and expressionless. “I say we banish him.”

Clarke was eager to escape camp the next day. The whole atmosphere was tense, wary of everyone after Wells’ death. They were surrounded by criminals. Who knew if anyone else was out for blood?

Clarke moved as silently as she could toward her and Lexa’s usual spot. They’d claimed a small section of the southern woods for their own use, and the trees there were all filled with the marks of Clarke’s knife. She rested her hand on the hilt of said knife, feeling reassured by its constant presence at her side. It was all the protection she had, and these woods still made her a bit nervous.

To her surprise, Lexa was waiting leaning up against a tree, sharpening her dagger on a whetstone. She usually had to wait until Lexa dropped from the trees somewhere (because no matter how hard she tried, Clarke could never find where she came from) and yet she now stood in the open.

Lexa saw her before Clarke could get a word out. “Clarke. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Since when do you wait for me?”

Lexa let a small smile grace her face for just a second. “Since today. You have your knife, yes? Throw it at the target.”

Clarke did as she asked. The knife struck dead center.

Lexa nodded approvingly. “Good. You’re a natural at this.”

“Surprisingly.” Clarke whirled around at the unfamiliar voice, startled to find another woman behind her. Her hair was brown, more chestnut than Lexa’s chocolate. Her eyes were narrow, a feature commonly attributed to what the old-world had called ‘asian.’ She held the same steely, emotionless mask Lexa normally showed. “I had thought all skai people were horrendous at weaponry.

Clarke snorted. She was right. “And you are?”

The woman tilted her head. “You should learn to respect your superiors, skaigada. I am Anya, general under the Heda.”

Heda. It was a familiar term, one she’d heard Lexa bring up in passing a few times. “Heda. Your… leader, yes?”

“Yes.” Anya’s eyes flickered to Lexa for a moment before coming back to Clarke. “And you are the Skai Heda.”

“You could say that.” She’d rather not tell this unknown of her and Bellamy’s competition for leadership.

“Clarke has offered her support against the Maunon,” Lexa said from behind her, moving to stand at her shoulder. “I would like to know your opinion on this.”

“Has she?” Anya’s eyes shone with interest. “And what can this singular girl do for us? From what I know, no one else has noticed us. I hadn’t known you were aware of our presence.”

“You’re right, no one else knows you exist. And it will stay that way until I think my people can handle the news.”

“You are afraid they will act rashly.” Anya nodded. “A sound decision, as long as you can handle them.”

Clarke chose to ignore that. “You are here to discuss the mountain.”

“Sha, I am. The clans have tried many times to fall the mountain. What makes you think you can make a difference?”

“Tech.” Clarke explained to Anya what she had told Lexa. “We understand the Mountain’s workings. You say it’s impossible to get close? We can help you with that.”

Anya leaned forward, a malicious smirk forming on her face. “Tell me all you know about tech, Skaiheda. Their eyes in the trees. You know how to close them?”

“I know what they are. We call them cameras. They’re small cubes that have a recorder and transmitter inside them, and the maunon can watch you through them. If you can locate the cameras and destroy them, they can’t see you.”

“And how would this help? The door is still the only way in.”

“I don’t think it is. From what Lexa’s told me, the maunon or their reapers will periodically leave the mountain. If they don’t go through the doors, then they must have another way somewhere else. You’d be more skilled in that area, so that would be your job. I can’t tell you much more with how little we know, but if we can get inside or just close, maybe we can see more of how they operate.”

Anya nodded. “You have covered most of what we know. The only other information I can give you is what we can see from where we stand. One of those is large metal platings stood up on the peak. What of those?”

“Satellites, probably. We had them on the Ark. Where I came from,” Clarke added at Anya’s confused look. “They can pick up signals and send them back to the source. That’s how the cameras work. The cameras send a signal into the air that the satellites can pick up and send into the mountain.”

“It enables long-range communication?”

“It would, yes.”

Anya hummed thoughtfully. “The only other thing we can observe is a large wall that pours water in from the rivers.”

“A dam. In the old world, they used dams for many things. To block out water, to provide a source of water, or even to provide energy.”

“Energy?”

“Electricity. What we use to power our tech. We’ll have to look further into the purpose of the dam.”

“You offer a promising relationship, Skaiheda,” Anya said. “Your information can be beneficial to us. But how do we know you will not turn to the mountain? You are more alike them than us.”

“Lexa told me what they’re doing to your people. I would never side with someone who would condone that,” Clarke scowled. “Though I would ask something in return if we were to ally our peoples.”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You think you can demand something of us?”

“If you want us to give you something, I want something in return,” Clarke answered. “It isn’t anything that should be a problem.”

“What is it you ask, Skaiheda?”

“Help.” Anya tilted her head at Clarke’s request. “As you may know, we don’t know how to survive in this new world. All I ask is that you help us live. Help us along until we can manage ourselves.”

“And say this plan does succeed and the maunon do fall. What of our alliance then?”

“How do the different clans keep an alliance?”

Anya shot a knowing look at Lexa, one that left Clarke confused but didn’t speak up on. “Our Heda forged that alliance. She brought all twelve clans together peacefully, a feat no other commander has done. The clans keep the peace through Heda and through trade agreements.”

“Could we offer the same trade agreements?”

“What would you have to trade?”

Clarke shrugged. “Tech, maybe. If not, I’m sure we’d eventually grow skilled enough to sell what we catch.”

Anya looked at her with a look that Clarke thought was respect, though with this woman it was hard to be sure of anything. “Very well, Skaiheda. You shall have this alliance, but only when you organize your people. I believe Lexa wishes to continue with your… meetings. She will inform me of when you are ready to begin negotiations.”

Clarke nodded, and Anya sent one last amused glance toward Lexa before slipping into the foliage.

She sighed heavily, dropping her back against the trunk of a tree. “She’s… intense.”

Lexa couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Indeed.”

“I’m guessing she’s your general, then?”

Lexa’s smile dropped. “In a sense.”

She didn’t elaborate. Clarke knew she wasn’t going to.

“So… are we training or what?”

Lexa snorted in amusement. “Yes, Klark. We are.” Her eyes moved down to her legs. “You have no muscle.”

“I lived in a metal box my entire life.”

“Yes, you did.” Lexa met her eyes once more. “We need to fix that. Try and keep up.��

Clarke’s legs were going to hurt like hell when this was over.

Chapters 1-5 up on ao3 here.

First chapter on Tumblr here.

#clexa fic #clexa deserved better #clexa #fanfiction #you're my little secret

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