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glimmerglanger · 4 years ago

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out of his system - jangobi fic

ALRIGHT SO, the prompt for subobi week today is one of my squicks. BUT, I still want to post something and also I have too many ideas. This particular idea is a bit of an au I’ve been plotting for a while (thanks @mocha-bear). I don’t actually have any of the rest of it written! This is set pretty early on in it, though….

Anyway, this is Jangobi (is my first written piece of Jangobi stuff that’s more than a snippet going to be pure spice? Yes, it is.) AU where things went significantly worse for Obi-Wan during/after Bandomeer and he never got back to the Jedi. Technically an AU where things went slightly BETTER for Jango and he ends up free to do what he wants earlier than in canon after Galidraan. So, he’s working as a bounty hunter and has been for a bit. He’s….around 29 in this.

Technically, if this had a prompt to fill, it would probably be sex work? So, warnings for Obi-Wan being in a brothel (not capable of giving full consent to anything). Not safe for wizards. BJs. Spicy. This is the F+J of subobi week, in that it is eventually going to be a 60k fic, whoops.

~~~~~~~~

Jango knew well enough he had no reason to go back to Trolk VI. As far as shitty planets on the Outer Rim went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Most of the economy seemed generated by the fighting pits or the pleasure houses surrounding them.

Jango had little interest in either of those pursuits.

Most of the time.

He’d visited pleasure houses before, though mostly because the places seemed to draw his bounties in the same way that a wailing, dying thing drew the attentions of a starving predator. He’d bagged more than one bounty while they were in the middle of….their business.

His visit to a pleasure house on Trolk VI had not been such a success story. He’d ducked into the building in a rush to avoid the group that had already shot him twice - someday, he’d learn to stop walking into ambushes - and he’d barged into one of the rooms for the same reason.

His plan had been to hide somewhere, or go out the window again. But his pursuers had been close and there’d been someone on the bed already, stirring around in a loose, gossamer gown, and he’d thought, ragged-edged, that the people after him had no idea what he looked like, out of his armor.

His pursuers had apologized, moments later, when they opened the door to find him on the bed, stretched - miming the act of a good, hard fuck - over it’s first occupant, one of his hands over the kid’s mouth, just in case he got any bright ideas about screaming, even as dark spots had swam all across Jango’s vision.

He’d managed to avoid passing out until after the door shut again.

It had been a shock when he woke up again. Even more of a shock to realize that the whore had bandaged his wounds, neatly, and even applied bacta. He’d been a pretty thing, Jango had registered, but most whores were, and Jango hadn’t had the time to consider it. He’d left, dropping some extra credits on the bed, and never planned to think about Trolk VI again.

And he didn’t, really.

But he did find himself thinking about the whore, his copper-red hair and wide, surprised eyes, and the unusually thick and battered collar around his neck. His thoughts kept spiralling around to the boy - over and over - and distraction wasn’t something he could afford. Not in his line of work. Not in his life.

Obviously, he’d needed to get his fixation out of his system. And so he ended up back on Trolk VI, in the pleasure district. He walked into the house through the front door, sneering at the proprietor behind his mask, half-sure that the woman wouldn’t know who he was talking about - he hadn’t gotten the whore’s name, after all.

But they must not have had many other male humanoids with reddish hair to choose from. She tittered happily enough, told him he’d made a good choice by selecting Ben - evidently the boy’s name - and waved a hand to have him led up the stairs.

The house was well-off. HIgh-end. It didn’t stink of sweat or sex; instead some care seeemd to have been taken to ensure it was all pleasant scents, soft music, dim lights. Jango ignored the droid’s request for a tip when he was delivered to a door he remembered.

He stepped into the room quietly. Nothing had really changed, he noted. A bed predominated the room, covered in soft fabrics. There was a bench along one wall, a chair. Hooks, here and there, on the walls and ceiling. He could imagine a use for each.

And each use was connected to the only other figure in the room - the boy, Ben - sitting on the side of the bed, a container of bacta open by his hip, a gossamer robe slid off of one shoulder, revealing an array of fading marks, skin shiny from the bacta application.

He blinked over at Jango right away, eyes stunningly blue, his hair a tangle around his jaw - like someone had been playing with it - and his mouth reddened. His drooping robe did almost nothing to hide his shoulders and chest - there were marks there, too - or the traces of a flush over his throat.

Jango looked at him and felt a kick in his gut, almost shocking.

He couldn’t recall, really, the last time he’d felt directed desire.

He’d begun to think he just wouldn’t, ever again.

Ben recovered first, which was a lurching shock, and tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing just a little. He asked, his voice all wrong for a brothel in the Outer Rim - Jango heard that accent on his clients from the Core, and nowhere else, “Should I expect armed men to burst in after you, again?”

There was something satisfying to being recognized so quickly, but, then, he was sure he’d made an impression, last time. Jango shook himself, snorting, and said, “Not this time. Disappointed?”

Ben’s mouth quirked, just a little. He wasn’t….acting in quite the way Jango expected from a whore. Certainly there was no fawning about as he dipped his fingers once more into the bacta, spread a line of it across his shoulder, and asked, “Only a little. And you recovered?”

Jango remembered, clearly, blinking his way to consciousness with his head in Ben’s lap, the boy trailing gentle fingers over his brow, murmuring some strange lullaby that had seemed familiar from somewhere and--

He shook the thoughts away, taking a step forward as the boy closed the bacta jar and stood, carrying it across the room. “I’m well enough,” he said, looking at the fading marks across the boy’s back.

There were reddened marks, fading, long and straight. He recognized lashes, when he saw them. There were other imprints, on his shoulders and arms, fingerprints, perhaps, and the shape of a mouth, here and there.

And below those marks there was scar tissue, old and ragged. Uglier than he’d have expected on a pleasure slave. Especially one so lovely as this boy, who had to be worth more undamaged. Taken with the heavy, ugly collar around his neck - something Jango hadn’t seen on any of the brothel’s other….employees - it was leaving him with multiple questions.

He crossed the room while Ben arranged the bacta, apparently unconcerned, even when Jango touched one of the marks, with just one finger. “Better than you,” he added, and the boy looked over his shoulder, robe sliding a little further down his back.

“Apologies,” he said, “sometimes the bacta takes a while to work.”

Jango frowned, shaking himself again. He hadn’t come here to chit-chat with a whore. He’d come here to - to burn away his fascination with this boy, before it distracted him any further. Considering the sight of his glove on Ben’s skin wasn’t helping with that. It didn’t matter that, for whatever reason, he didn’t like the marks.

It had been a long time since he fucked anyone at all. That was all. Years, he thought.

His body had, obviously, had enough of waiting, and his head had fixated on Ben, because he’d been warm and pliant, when Jango stretched over him, because he had a red mouth and clear eyes, and legs a parsec long. He’d fuck the boy, get it out of his system, and move on.

Decided, he took a step back, and snapped, lifting his helmet off, “Do you waste so much time with all your clients?”

“No,” Ben said, agreeably, meeting his gaze evenly. “I’m very adaptable.”

Jango wondered, sudden and dark, just how adaptable he was. He said, voice getting thicker, “Help me with this.”

“Of course.” Ben had long, clever fingers, Jango noted, removing his armor quickly and steadily, setting each piece aside carefully. He was tall, too, all stunningly long legs and with a hint of coltishness still about him, not fully grown into his shoulders.

It felt...strange, to be out of his armor in front of someone else. But Ben had seen it all, already. He’d seen Jango bleeding out, and had decided, for whatever reason, to patch him up instead of leaving him to die and stealing the armor and the rest of Jango’s credits.

The beskar alone would have been enough to buy out whatever price the boy’s owners wanted for him, unless the boy was something really special.

It made no kriffing sense that Ben had kept him alive. People didn’t do that, didn’t just - help, for no reason at all. Especially not when it would serve them better to do otherwise. Jango caught Ben’s wrists, when he reached for the closures at Jango’s belt, and said, roughly, “You could have killed me, before.”

Ben looked over at him, down, just a bit. He didn’t slouch, made no effort to make himself look smaller, which--Jango realized he quite liked. “Kill you?” Ben asked, tilting his head to the side. “Why would I kill you? I don’t even know your name.”

“Is that a prerequisite?” Jango asked, and realized, with another hot lurch in his gut, that he wanted to hear the boy say his name. Maybe scream it, a few times.

Ben shrugged. He said, dry, “It seems a bare minimum to know, before killing someone. Don’t you think?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Jango said, and heard the appreciation in his own voice, unplanned, just...blossoming there. Alarming. He was supposed to be here to fuck this boy, to get rid of the thoughts that had plagued him. It was past time he made some progress in that direction. He released Ben’s wrists, handled his belt on his own, and said, “Maybe you should make better use of it.”

“As you wish,” Ben said. He raised an eyebrow at Jango and kept eye contact as he sank down to his knees, lovely and with that wisp of a robe still around him, half-obscuring his body before he hesitated and….shrugged it off, letting it pool around his legs.

He was lovely as Jango remembered; lovelier, perhaps, without Jango’s blood smeared across his skin. Jango bit his tongue, reached out, and fisted a hand in the boy’s hair, Ben still looking up at him, and said, “I expect to be impressed.”

Ben’s mouth curved, sharp, just for a moment as Jango jerked his slacks open with his free hand, just enough to pull his cock out and he didn’t know exactly when he’d gotten so hard. Maybe as soon as he’d stepped into the room.

“I aim to please,” Ben said, and before Jango could make a reply, the boy pulled forward just a bit against the hold in his hair, and licked across the head of Jango’s cock, and--

And it had been a long time since anything touched him but his own hand. He hadn’t even wanted to fuck his fist, for an age. He’d been….not content, really, but willing to just ignore erections until they went away.

He swore, tightening his grip and rocking his hips, sliding his cock into the hot, wet perfection of Ben’s mouth. The boy kept his eyes upturned, staring while Jango watched his cock slide past reddened lips, draw back again all wet and slick. And it was -- perfect.

Jango’s jaw clenched shut, hard, and he slid his other hand into Ben’s hair, too, the waves of it catching at his gloves - he hadn’t gotten as far as removing them - as he held the boy’s head just so, fucking into his mouth.

He could feel Ben’s tongue, rolling against the bottom of his cock, and the boy sucked, noisily, in time with each shallow thrust, loud, his mouth and cheeks getting wet, even before Jango swore and anchored him in place, pushing further.

Ben’s eyes fluttered, when Jango properly fucked into his mouth, into his throat. He felt the boy restrain a choke, watched his eyes get shiny and wet, cheeks getting blotchy with red, the color spreading each time Jango shoved forward, his breath hitching and wet, and still, he kept his eyes open, staring up and--

Jango blinked and jerked his head to the side, swearing viciously when he came, knowing, with a strange, twisting feeling, that he was never going to forget those blue eyes just watching him, the entire time.

He ground his hips forward and then pulled on Ben’s hair, dragging him back and off.

The boy gasped for breath, audibly gulping at the air, and Jango dared a look back at him, kneeling there on the floor, mouth and jaw wet with spit, mouth brilliant red, breathing so hard his whole body shook with it, one of his hands braced on the ground, apparently for balance, even as he glanced up and asked, his voice wrecked and hoarse, “Impressed?”

“I’m getting there,” Jango rasped back, taking his fingers out of the boy’s hair. He had - at least - another hour of time. He found he very much wanted to use it. Perhaps even extend the arrangement. He’d had a few very good jobs. He could afford an entire night, easily. He exhaled, want curling down his spine, and ordered, “Go on, onto the bed. I want between your legs again. Properly, this time.”

#jangobi #my writing #spicy #not safe for wizards #i don't even go here!#i guess i go here now #do i have this entire thing plotted out?#i do #omg

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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ao3 link

fandom: botw pairing: zelda/link rating: g notes: established relationship, post-canon, (pensive) holidays

Zelda stares at him. “What are you, a poet?”

“No,” Link leans against the table like a portrait of god splattered against an average household surface. “I’m Link.”

Hope runs a sharp course in a village like this.

He tries to eat the icing before they’ve started decorating the cookies like a dog jumping into a pile of leaves before there are leaves to jump into.

“It looked sweet,” he explains when Zelda asks him what in the name of Hylia he’s doing. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a blue streak the size of a scar on his face. Zelda frowns.

“Sorry.” He looks up at her from under his lashes, blinking innocently.

She contemplates pouring the entire bowl of icing on his head, then decides that it’s too much effort and returns to her berries. “It’s not my hand that’s dirty.”

The clock on the wall says it’s fifteen minutes past four. There’s a poisonous spider attached to the ceiling lamp. The berries she purchased from a passing merchant (one of the donkey variety, not the horse; the donkey merchants offer better prices and funnier jokes) are not the freshest, which says less about the merchant and more about the distance between Hebra and Hateno, but they’re sweet. Sour-ish, tangy, with bite. Zelda is very big on the culinary arts. Restoration is a holistic effort, after all.

Link seems to have finished having a long and very serious conversation with himself in his head. He emerges from his wintry stupor with a stupid look on his face while she continues to grind the berries into a pulp.

“But my hands are your hands?” he says, honest as the day he was born. The second time.

“What are you, a poet?”

He takes offense at this. “No,” Link leans against the table like a portrait of god splattered against an average household surface. “I’m Link.”

Zelda stops grinding the berries for long enough to realize she has outdone herself. The berries are not a pulp. They are not a paste. They are not the perfect texture for combining with three times the amount of white icing so that one can make a perfect batch of cookies dripping in blood-red sugar. They are a liquid.

She licks the mortar thoughtfully. Link makes an expression at the oven that suggests he wants to climb inside of it and see what it does. Zelda walks him into the table until he’s leaning back over the bowls and the berries and she’s staring at the underside of his chin.

“Yes,” she confirms, more for herself than the vaguely human-shaped disaster trapped in front of her. “You’re Link.”

Christmas in Hyrule is not a celebration of anything in particular. It probably was, at the beginning, but in the years since their ancestors’ civilizations rose and fell and rose and fell and then gave up on the rising and decided to stay in the earth until they sprouted into new trees with new names, the meaning has been lost. This seems like a fair thing to give up in exchange for the festivities themselves, which are silly and full of minor contrivances like turkeys filled with smaller turkeys and children running in blood-red clothing to the highest point in their village.

Christmas in Hyrule is not a celebration of anything in particular, but when Link wanders over to the table with a kitchen knife in one hand and asks her what she’s going to do to all these cookies, Zelda feels abruptly and inexplicably like it should be. It’ll be the harvest season again soon, but that’s not for a few months. No one’s birthday happens to be on the twenty-fifth, though her father’s is close. She stares at the table and tries to come up with a prophecy on the fly, something that will impress the boy with the sky stuck under his eyelids, but draws a blank.

“I’m going to eat them,” she says stupidly, feeling stupid, feeling suddenly like she might cry.

He puts down the knife and picks up a rolling pin. She loves him more than all the horses in the world combined.

“Sounds good. Can I help?”

Here’s what Link remembers. First of all, he remembers waking up in a blue box as the blue slowly drained out of the box and the ceiling wilted into view. He remembers meeting her dead father and thinking he was a hoot and stealing all of his shit regardless of whether it was useful shit or not-useful shit. He remembers having his own death narrated to him, atop the ruins of a temple that someone erected to time, while the land whose name he had forgotten reached towards the heavens (him) (he was heaven, at least for a while).

“Wasn’t that traumatizing?” Zelda asked him when he described it to her the first time.

Link thought about this. As he did so his hands in her hair stilled, her braids still half-done, his fingers clasped loosely around a few strands of gold. “It was,” he finally said. “But so was everything else.”

Second of all, he remembers the events of the calamity in thirteen fucked-up pieces. Twelve of these were given to him by Zelda, who had gone out of her way to document their demise in the hopes that one day someone might take notice and pull the shivering ghost out of the water. The last one was a gift from Impa, who had gone out of her way to make sure that he would be suitably guilted into wanting to save the world, and therefore, at the end of the times and in spite of all of his personal wants and needs, do so.

“That one was traumatizing.” She didn’t have to ask this time. He had figured out by this point that she cared very much about his mental health despite him not knowing the first thing about self care (he had a tendency to launch himself from high places, which was perfectly fine until he realized he had left the paraglider at home) and was going to unpack all the dirty dishes in his head even if he was fairly content with letting them pile up.

This made her sad. Both Link’s response and the fact that his survival mechanism for the first three months had been to pretend he was not, in fact, sleeping in a burning building.

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching the side of his face. He turned into the palm of her hand, his eyes closed.

Conversely, here’s what Link doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember the first time he swam in the lake near Hateno (not the one with the frogs, the one with long reeds growing at the bottom that tickle your feet when you swim past), though he swears it must have happened. He doesn’t remember what his worst childhood fear is (his list of things to be constantly terrified of was overwritten when he woke up in the blue box; they’re still working on overwriting that new list now). He doesn’t remember how Hyrule celebrates Christmas, how they stuff the turkeys full of smaller turkeys and the children go diving from high places, and he doesn’t remember that they do all this for no reason other than that their ancestors did it, and their ancestors’ ancestors did it, and that their ancestors’ ancestors worshiped a legend, not a god.

“I’d like to deliver a batch to Kakariko,” Zelda sighs, looking out the window at the long shadow of the sun on the fields.

Link shuts off the water in the sink. “And I’d like to kiss you,” he says simply. “Is gift-giving part of tradition too?”

Zelda blinks at him. “Yes, but, how do you know that?”

He shrugs. “Magic.” He gestures at the poisonous spider in the ceiling who they’ve named Bartholomew. “A mistake.” She walks over to the kitchen sink and wipes her dirty hands on his shirt and then pulls him closer, smelling the cinnamon in his hair. “A miracle.”

They hold the annual Christmas dinner under Uma’s tree, between the bridge above the stream cutting perpendicularly through the village and the house that used to stand occupied, but now houses a respectable flower arrangement and several candles. It’s an intensely traditional affair, with the turkey emerging from the butcher’s at eight o’clock sharp to enormous fanfare and the children running up the hill a little after that to harass Purah and ask her for spare machine parts that they can use to build water guns. There’s dancing, because Hyrule has not and likely never will shake off the habit of celebrating anything it is given the chance to celebrate (mourning is a habit they will not let themselves sink into), but it’s slow and syrupy, the apple cider warm, the lights shimmering.

Zelda talks to everyone she can talk to. She never got the chance to do so a hundred years ago between the empty cycles of prayer and the long-standing never-quite-resolved feud she had with her father, and now the war is over and the Hateno of a hundred years ago is gone. It’s a name on a long list of regrets she can do nothing about, except this.

“I love your hair,” she says.

“Thanks.” Nebb sucks audaciously on a leg. “I hate it.”

Pruce, who runs the general store, is sitting in the grass with his guitar the way he was the last time Zelda distracted a trio of musicians and disrupted the flow of the universe. He’s playing a song which he says, when asked, was passed down to him from his great-great-grandparents, who in turn received it from their parents, who lived before the calamity. The notes are soft and melancholy, but it’s the kind of song you can dance to if you try hard enough. The residents of Hateno have been trying all their lives. Through the aftermath of the calamity, when the boy fell but the fort stayed standing and soldiers came limping up through the hills to ask for water; through the winter years, when the harvests were bad and they had to bury happiness in an unmarked grave; through an era of hope, when the boy woke up on the plateau, and wandered back to them with a sword in his hand and a legend on his tongue. The residents of Hateno know resilience like most people know to wash their face when they wake up. Give us this day our daily bread. Give us strength, and water, and miracles. Give us what it takes to keep going.

Merry Christmas, says Sophie from the clothing boutique, and Zelda is trying very hard to remember who is who and mostly succeeding but she wants to ask Sophie if she celebrates Christmas for a reason. Has she had a slice of turkey yet, does she like turkey? Has she ever been in love? The questions prick her skin like needles. Her grip on the stem of her wine glass tightens.

She says Merry Christmas back. The average Hylian does not live long enough to see a hundred. It is a blessing, then, that someone was willing to wait that long for her.

“I haven’t seen, uh, Link around,” Sophie continues, her hands knotted behind her back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh no, I mean, yes, I mean probably—”

Which is when it dawns on Zelda like a horse emerging from the brown earth that most of her anxieties have a name: his.

She checks the roof of the house in Hateno first because it seems like the obvious answer. When it turns out the obvious answer is wrong she checks the pond in the backyard, and then the pond slightly further away, outside of the village but close enough to be a scenic spot for sad people who need a place to go on Sundays. After walking around in circles for a while it occurs to her that she hasn’t looked inside the house, only around and above it, as if Link were a bird that can only be found in high, fast, free places. Strange. That doesn’t seem right.

She finds him on the second floor, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden. He might appear to be sleeping if not for the fact that his shoulders are too close to his ears and the interior of the house is shining. Someone went on a cleaning spree. Someone had something they wanted to hide.

Zelda feels her stomach turn sharply.

“Link.”

He looks up.

“Is it over already?” He turns to peer out the window above his head. “That was fast.” He looks back towards her, arranging his limbs so he looks less tense, so the tension bleeds into the floor and stays there. “I thought it’d take longer.”

“Link.”

Link blinks at her in the warm syrupy darkness like a stray cat in a town full of ghosts, tail upright, poised to run. Good, Zelda thinks. Be on edge. Think about things. She sets the wine glass she hadn’t realized she had brought with her on the bedside table. She sits down in front of him.

“You didn’t want to be there, did you?”

Silence unfurls between them. There’s not much space for it to move around. He’s close enough that she can track the precise trajectory guilt takes across his face. It starts in his eyes and slides down his cheeks and ends in the way he brings his hands together and begins to fiddle absently with his gauntlets. He bites his lip.

“I wanted you to be happy.”

Zelda groans and hides her face in her hands and then curls up on the floor and dies. Just kidding! She doesn’t do any of these things. She’s too busy staring at heaven’s imprint on his face.

There are a lot of things Link remembers. He has told her about a large number of them, in part because she always asks and in part because he seems to have a lot more to say now that everyone who placed the sky on his shoulders is dead. He remembers the important things, like how to swing a sword and how to defeat evil. He remembers the awful things, like dying.

Link’s head is a balloon with an infinite number of hallways. The inside is reliable and steady and whatever lives in there stays in there, but the exterior is frightening in the way that watching a child heave a snowman over the edge of a cliff is. What happens when the inside of the balloon and the outside of the balloon meet? What strange chemical reactions; what magic?

There are a lot of things Link remembers. To the detriment of Zelda and the world that she represents, he remembers how to die for people. Since the calamity ended he has had less cause to do this, which is a good thing, which is the only reason she can sleep at night, but the habit is a ghost on his left shoulder. He turns down things people give him in exchange for a higher purpose.

She sighs.

“Look.”

You wake up in a room full of strange blue light. Someone is speaking to you for the first time in your life. In that singular emerging moment in this new world, they have defined beauty for you.

She reaches for his hands. “You see, right, Link.”

You wake up and there is a voice in your head. She calls you Link. That must be your name. You must be real.

He doesn’t want her to touch him, not in this moment, not with Christmas hanging over their heads like a big bad moon which is going to crash into the earth, killing everyone instantly. He’s on edge and he doesn’t know why. He’s walked back into the burning building and he doesn’t know why. Maybe solitude contains fewer reminders of happiness. Maybe he’ll never get used to waking up beside the sun.

You wake up and you are afraid of everything. You wake up and you are everything. You wake up and everything is yours to save, or abandon, or leave to ruin.

Zelda holds his hands with gently herculean force. She leans into him, her eyes shining with bitterness and frustration and anger. “You can’t just decide what’ll make me happy, Link.” Glitter, stars, the voices of angels in his ears. “Your hands are my hands. Get it?”

He clears his throat. “That doesn’t seem like a very healthy relationship.”

Zelda doesn’t flinch. “I waited a hundred years for you to come back from the dead.”

“That’s true.”

When do they get to the part where the war is over and it starts to feel like it? When does the transition end and the aftermath become its own story, separate from the hundred-year-corpse of conflict, from the misery it birthed in its absence? She’s said all that there is to say. The rest has to be done, has to be acted out with blood and bone, rebuilt like the castle they rode away from on that second first day of her life as Hyrule stepped shakily off of the cold balcony of twilight. Zelda doesn’t know what it’s like to cry anymore, but she can tell you a thousand stories about sadness. She’s lived in it for so much of her life. For so much of the time since, she’s kept it pinned up on the kitchen wall.

“You’re a mess,” she says miserably. “Merry Christmas. There is no Christ. We made him up a long time ago to feel better about ourselves.”

He laughs.

“I figured.”

Figured what? Figured I couldn’t make up a prophecy about Santa? Figured the kids were all joking about the cliff? Figured I wanted you to like this country despite everything it’s taken from you, despite everything it made you give up?

Zelda exhales.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Have I ever said no?”

She frames his face with her hands. Idiot sandwich. Idiot boy. Idiot miracle. “Have you ever said yes?”

“Yes?” He looks confused for a moment and she has never wanted happiness for him more. “I think so?” He frowns nicely and she considers carving his heart out and hanging it on the wall. “Yes.”

She kisses him. Merry Christmas. Dress up in red and climb a cliff near the house you grew up in. Take a boy home and build him an altar. Go to a party and leave early and spend the rest of the night talking about how you’ll never get over the body in the attic, and then point at it and laugh. There will always be a body in the attic. There will always be wisdom, courage, and grief. But the first time he sees a pile of leaves and jumps headfirst into it with his eyes squeezed shut and his knees tucked to his chest, you will forget for a moment that you watched the world end from a tower in the sky, you will forget that hurt is the least dignified part of history, and you will think, instead, of the weightlessness of angels.

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #loz #legend of zelda #zelda #link #my stuff #my writing #dont really have much else to say i started wriitng this yesterday and accidentally finished it today. much to think about #its not very spicy because i used up my spice meter on existential angst in the last few pieces #all right ill see myself out now have a good one friends #i had a lot of cooked apples today #when i am living alone i will only need 2 skills 1) atm 2) cook apples #adulthood? i do not know it

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kalcia · 3 years ago

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Hello! What are your prices/process for getting commissioned art pieces? ❤️

Hello Dear Anon!

I'm sorry for the delay, but I wasn't sure how to anwser that since... I don't have fixed prices YET.

I was kind of hoping to make a proper commission prices sheet and then reply, but I'm busy and I don't want to keep you waiting too long!

Right now prices depend on how many characters, if it's greyscale, watercolour, render, if there is background and any extra details (like tattoos) AND the time how much it takes me. So the prices are fluid. But I do slowly start setting up a proper price sheet for everything and I hope to present it to you sooner than later!

And for the process - you tell me what you want - if it's based on the fic or just a general idea (you can send me references too). If it's a fic (I always read all fics for commissions) if you want an exact scene or if you decide to give me freedom of "what speaks to me". I will not copy other artists or their styles! If you commission me, you commission my style :)

I'm okay with drawing nsfw (very explicit nsfw too), some blood/wounds, animals and armour. I will not draw underage characters in sexual themed scenarios!

I draw a rough sketch to show poses and characters, send it to you to accept. If something needs changing, I will resend a corrected version. Then I draw a more detailed sketch (eyes, hair, clothes etc). If all is good I turn it into lineart, which I also then send to you to accept. Then I fill in flat colours and again send you an update. And then I start proper shading and finishing touches. I send you finished screenshot of the wip. At that point I can't change a lot without going back really far, but if there are small things I do adjust them if need be.

After that I give you a final price (this is one of the things I want to change, cause I would rather provide a full price ahead of time) and send an invoice via paypal. After payment is cleared you get the finished big file and if you want also smaller version to post on the web.

Ah, time frame - it generally takes me a few days, depending on how busy I am. Sometimes longer sometimes quicker (it also depends on how fast you are with your replies to my updates ^^)

That's how it looks right now. Not much will change once I set up proper price sheet, well, except the payment which will be up front, or half/half, not sure about that yet ^^; And with the price sheet you will have a better idea of how much something will cost <3

Thank you, I hope this helped a bit! <3

#commission #anon asks

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author-morgan · 4 years ago

Text

short drabble based on my Davy Jones AU for Edward from convos with @kvitravn

EDWARD KENWAY FEELS as though he is lost as the Jackdaw pulls away from the docks. His heart sinks like an anchor dropped into the abyss. One day on land, the witch’s words ring clear in his mind as a bitter reminder, ten years at sea. A heavy price to save his ship and crew from the locker. In recompense, he is doomed to rove the seas for eternity —ferrying souls who have been lost at sea.

He leans against the taffrail at the stern, watching as the solitary figure waiting there grows ever smaller. The lid of a silver music box cuts into his palm, but he feels nothing as the now melancholy tune plays. Telling her hadn’t been easy —leaving her crying on the docks with the taste of salt on her lips as the sun set had been even harder. We’ll see each other again, love.

But a decade is no small amount of time. The next time he sees her there will be silver streaks in her hair and soft wrinkles around her eyes. Edward closes the music and straightens —wiping the tears beneath his eyes before turning back to the helm, gripping onto the smooth, wooden spokes. The wait will not be easy, but for now, Edward Kenway has work to do and debt to settle.

Losing track of time is not an option. He keeps a blank book of parchment on the desk in his cabin and makes a dark tally for each sunset. Tonight marks eight hundred and eighty-two days at sea. Eight hundred and eighty-two days closer to being able to see her smile and feel her warmth. Lost in memory, Edward finds no rest and takes to the deck under the light of the full moon.

He looks into the dark depths below and in the silver reflection of the moon, a shape takes form —like a siren seeking to lure him into the cool embrace of the water. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he takes out the silver music box and carefully winds the crank before lifting the lid. The comb within begins to turn and the comb plucks the haunting tune, filling the silence on the deck.

“You thinkin’ ‘bout her again, ain’t you?” One of his mates asks, appearing at the captain’s side —he had been at death’s door after the Jackdaw braced against the rocks fleeing from a Spanish galleon. And he’d seen a witch rise from the sea and the captain seal a pact in blood. Edward still bore the scar in his palm.

Reflections of the lanterns hanging from the rigging flicker on the still black surface of the water —like a dozen small stars. Edward can still see the stars in the depths of her eyes when he closes his. “There’s not a moment that passes where she is not in my thoughts.” He had left his heart on that dock nigh three years ago.

Edward forgets to tally the day at sunset, but remembers to do so when he rises to the ruckus of the crew shouting above the storm. Two thousand two hundred and ninety-seven days. Soon, my love, he thinks to himself straightening his tunic and coat. Dark smoke billows into air masking the black-and-white sail of a sinking pirate ship. The day has begun and so has his work. The Jackdaw glides through the wreckage, pulling those from the water not already lost to the crushing depths. None are left alive.

“Look! In the water!” Someone shouts. Laying half on a piece of wreckage and bobbing in the sea is a woman. When they fish the woman from the water and lay her on the deck, Edward’s blood runs cold. The crew steps back and silence sinks its sharp talons into everyone aboard.

He falls to his knees, fingertips ghosting over his beloved’s cheek. She shouldn’t be here. Only the dead and lost may board and sail on the Jackdaw now. Gently, he opens her pallid hand and finds a silver music box, identical to the one he carries. Edward wraps his arms around her middle and pulls her into his chest, rocking with the swell of the waves —tears washed away by the downpour. “My love,” he cries, over-and-over again against her neck until his voice is hoarse, “oh, my love.”

Wind lashes the sails and thunder erupts overheard in a loud echoing clap —like cannon and musket fire. Edward cradles her in his arms as he rises, turning to his cabin. Around him stand his loyal crew, heads lowered, and hats clutched against their chests. He lays his beloved on the straw and rag stuffed mattress and kneels, his grief turning to anger. Lightning flashes through the glass panes at the back of his quarters, illuminating a dark figure Edward has yet to see. Thunder rattles his desk and wardrobe. “Captain Kenway.” The witch.

“Just take me and the bloody ship,” he shouts, staggering toward a half-empty bottle of rum. There’s nothing left for me in this life. Edward tips the rum back, finishing it all in a single drink. Blinded by emotion, he throws the bottle against the deck —shattering into hundreds of pieces like his heart had. “I’m done with this life,” his voice cracks, “please, let me follow her.”

The witch takes to her bedside and studies the fair face of the life she had just claimed. Many lovers rested in her care, though none of them had ever belonged to her guide. “Would you do your duty if she were at your side?” Eternity with the woman he loves, after more than eight long years it sounds like a distant dream. Edward nods. “It can be done,” the witch smiles, “for I am the sea, but you must swear your oath renewed to me, Captain Kenway.”

He reaches behind his back, pulling free a dagger and slices his palm along the same raised scar —offering the tribute freely. The witch presses her thumbnail into his beloved’s palm, drawing a line of blood, motioning for Edward to take her limp hand. Slick from blood and rain, he grasps onto her hand tightly, and as the witch chants, the breath is drawn from his lungs.

Another bright flash and rumble of thunder and the witch is gone, though now his beloved looks up blinking at him, disbelieving. Edward falls backward as if struck by lightning himself, but he pulls himself from the planks and clambers onto the bed. “What were you thinking?!” He asks, cupping her face —pushing the damp hair clinging to her rosy cheeks aside.

“I’ve been searching ever since you left,” she breathes, hand fisting into his soaked tunic and bloody hand caressing his scarred cheek. Seven years at sea spent praying one day she would see the Jackdaw’s sails on the horizon and her husband at the helm. “And I found you, Edward Kenway. We’ll always find one another. You promised.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “In this life,” she begins, reciting the vows they’d taken on a day when she wore white and he wore his finest coat.

“And the next,” Edward finishes, lips tugging into a smile. Eternity does not sound as daunting now as it once had.

#Edward Kenway #Edward Kenway Imagine #Edward Kenway Fanfiction #Edward Kenway x OC #Edward Kenway x Reader #Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Black Flag #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #my writing

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jaskiersvalley · 5 years ago

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I just started following you the other day and I just wanted to say I’m in love with your stories! You’re writing is amazing and I’m obsessively reading all of your stuff

Welcome, Nonnie! I hope you enjoy your stay! It makes me so happy you’re enjoying the stories I post up here. Hopefully there’ll be many more for you to read in the coming months. And, to bring you something new, here’s a little something to say thank you for reaching out with such kind words.

Heart’s Home

It wasn’t often that Geralt spent a lot of time thinking about other people beyond what they had to offer him. But there was something that really bugged him about Jaskier. They had been travelling together for years now and there was just some things that didn’t add up. For one, Geralt didn’t know where he was from, a single name of ‘Jaskier’ didn’t give any indication of identity. However, he seemed educated, claimed to have studied at Oxenfurt, had a knack for talking himself into and out of situations, knew how to brawl like any commoner, and his fingers were as light as any commendable petty thief’s. In short, he made for a curious conundrum of contradictions.

There were other things about him that bothered Geralt. Whenever they met up, Jaskier always looked skinnier somehow, already road worn and ready to drop everything in the name of an adventure. He moaned worse than a whore when presented with a bed for the night but didn’t grumble in the slightest when they slept on the hard, cold ground in some woods or other. And as much as Jaskier seemed to love the sound of his voice, not once did he whine or pester when food wasn’t as filling or as frequent as hoped for. Rain, storms, sweltering heat, he bore it all, fussing over his lute not getting ruined even if he never seemed to have the right clothes for the weather. He was adorned in the finest robes which he took meticulous care of. But not once had Geralt seen him in something suitable for travelling. No, Jaskier was always dressed as though he was about to perform in the finest court and nothing less.

Other, smaller things wouldn’t have made Geralt think twice usually, but when it came to Jaskier, he began to pay more attention. Namely, on all his travels, Geralt hadn’t even heard of Countess de Stael. Admittedly, it wasn’t unusual, he didn’t meddle or revel in the affairs of humans but no matter who he asked, she seemed as elusive as a fart in a sieve.

He and Jaskier had been parted for a good month now, Geralt off on a contract too dangerous and boring for a bard to accompany him. So he’d left Jaskier in a tavern and set off early one morning, confident that they would cross paths again soon. Except, they didn’t. Geralt kept taking contracts, traversing the continent as The Path took him. If he added a few twists to it, trying to return to places he’d heard Jaskier sing about, that was nobody’s business.

As it always was, Geralt’s luck changed when he stopped looking for Jaskier. He had shuffled into an inn, hood up to protect against the snow, on his way to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It had set in early and was going to be a bitter one. As luck would have it, the tavern also happened to be the very one Jaskier was singing his heart out at. He looked more gaunt, his doublet was loose on him and Geralt frowned. Obviously the last month hadn’t been kind to Jaskier. It made Geralt think of all the times they’d spent together, coming back after a spell apart. Where he could press kisses to Jaskier’s collarbone and feel his ribs under his skin. It seemed their reunion was going to be akin to those once more. Gentle because Geralt worried about how fragile Jaskier had become without a soft layer of fat to keep him whole.

Quietly, Geralt settled in the darkest corner, content to just watch Jaskier perform. The patrons of the tavern weren’t most forthcoming with their coin even as Jaskier obviously put his whole self into the performance. It was a rarity, to watch Jaskier without the bard knowing Geralt was watching - those times he would add in extra winks or draw attention to the witcher as he sang ‘Toss A Coin’. What was good to note was the empty plate and the tankard by the lute’s case. Obviously Jaskier gotten a good meal in exchange of his performance.

The singing ended, there was a smattering of applause and Jaskier collected a measly load of coins for his efforts. Packing his lute away, he sidled up to the counter and Geralt watched him wave his coin purse, trying to sweet talk his way into something from the innkeeper. However, his efforts were wasted, a firm shake of head had Jaskier glancing towards the door of the inn with a worried frown. One more try but he was quickly refused. Geralt got to watch as Jaskier walked to the door, obviously steeled himself and stepped out into the blizzard without a cloak or anything else.

“What did the bard want?” Geralt asked the barkeeper as he returned his tankard.

“Cheeky sod wanted to pay less than half the going rate for a room. After he’d already gotten a cheap meal and drink in exchange for a place to play.

Curious. Geralt wondered why Jaskier would try such a ploy, he usually wasn’t one to try and cheat his way out of an honest fare. And Geralt knew that the prices of the tavern weren’t eye watering, he’d paid for a room himself. Intrigue got the better of him and, once against pulling his cloak up, Geralt stepped out into the blizzard. It was coming down hard now, no doubt by the morning it would be a white blanket covering the village.

Tracking Jaskier down wasn’t difficult, Geralt could follow the familiar footsteps in the snow and also follow the wafting scent. If he had been one for guessing, he would have thought that Jaskier was walking idly, taking turns at random. So engrossed in his determination to not guess, Geralt almost missed the fact that the trail stopped.

There, on the stoop of a pigsty, a figure was huddled down, obviously trying to stay out of the worst of the snow but a lute propped into the deepest recess left a doublet covered back exposed to the element. Quietly, Geralt approached, stepping over the fence to get to Jaskier. He laid a hand on the thin shoulder.

“Fuck off!” The snarled words were ferocious and met with a dagger pointing at Geralt. “Oh, it’s you!”

The words were so sunny, Jaskier seemingly changing in the blink of an eye to his usual happy self.

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked, trying to figure out why Jaskier would be huddling on a pigsty’s stoop of all places. As if he had nowhere better to bed down for the night like some vagrant. The notion of that niggled at Geralt but he brushed it aside.

“I was just taking a nap! Been playing to a huge crowd of adoring fans this evening. My walk to my dear Carlita’s home is exhausting so I found a spot to rest before continuing to her stately home.” If Geralt hadn’t been at the inn, he would have even believed Jaskier. However, he’d seen the lacklustre crowd and couldn’t think of a single stately home in the area. Which meant Jaskier was lying to him. But why? Before he could ask, Jaskier was struggling to rise to his feet and making a show of stretching. “But, my darling witcher, if adventure calls, I shall let my beloved Carlita down and join you. It has been too long since we hit the road. Tell me, have you a bed at a tavern for the night?”

Allowing Jaskier to save face for now, Geralt only nodded and led the way back to the tavern they had left. The barkeep gave then a sneering look but didn’t say anything as witcher and bard walked up the stairs to the room they were now going to share. Getting ready for the night, Jaskier kept up a constant stream of chatter, detailing the last month and his great successes. However, Geralt wasn’t paying him much attention. Well, not his words at least. He could see things on Jaskier that were contradicting his great tales of banquets and standing ovations. The doublet he wore was getting a little threadbare, there were a few expertly hidden lines where tears had been mended. There was an air of weariness to Jaskier, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well of late and it compounded the visible weight loss. Even worse, there was no pack, no bag beyond a small satchel he’d deposited on the floor that couldn’t possibly contain more than maybe a single change of clothes which wouldn’t be thick enough to repel the cold of winter.

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen for the winter,” Geralt interrupted. “Where will you go?”

That brought Jaskier up short, his smile was still in place but it looked fragile.

“Are bards not welcome in Kaer Morhen? Am I not to adventure with you?” For the first time, Geralt smelled fear on Jaskier. And, like an intricate lock, all the pieces fell into place, the puzzle now a complete picture.

“You’re homeless.”

The scoff Jaskier sent his way was a worthy attempt at scorn but Geralt could see through it.

“You dare besmirch my good name?” Jaskier rallied, pulling himself up to his full height.

“I dare say the truth.” Because there was no doubt about it. No other explanation fit the evidence so well. They stared at each other, a silent game of waiting for the other to blink until Jaskier deflated.

“So, my plans for the winter weren’t as fruitful as hoped. Don’t suppose you could put in a good word for me at Kaer Morhen? I’ll sing for my keep and do whatever else I can.”

Defeat was not a good look on Jaskier. But before Geralt could promise such things, he needed the truth, from Jaskier himself rather than cobbled together assumptions and guesswork.

Haltingly, it all came out. Jaskier, or rather, Julian Alfred Pankratz, disowned son of the Viscount de Lettenhove ran away at the tender age of 17 to avoid an unfavourable marriage. Cut off from the family fortune, he made his way to Oxenfurt where, out of boredom and for lack of anything else to do, he sneaked into lectures. It was Valdo Marx who caught him and had him thrown out after 4 years of Jaskier doing that. He’d amassed enough knowledge in that time to be able to pass himself as a bard. And he had all the flourish of an Oxenfurt graduate so he told people he’d studied there. Technically, he had but not officially. Not that anyone ever bothered to check.

Jaskier learned the hard way about fighting, haggling, stealing. In order to keep up his appearances of a court bard, his money almost always went on clothes befitting someone of his assumed station. It left very little in the way of clothes to travel in, or a horse to help his journeys.

The Countess de Stael was someone he had made up. It made people see him as more desirable if it sounded like Jaskier was going to return to the court of some noblewoman, the pay was increased to entice him to stay. Meeting Geralt had been a stroke of luck, the witcher capable of feeding two on travels and was always prepared to share a bed for the night. Not that Jaskier was trying to use him, he had tried to pay for his fair share whenever he could. But coin was sparse. The times Geralt left him, Jaskier wandered aimlessly from town to town, trying to earn enough coin to survive. Sometimes, for the winter, a nobelman would take him in and Jaskier could sing and work in the kitchen in exchange for a room.

“No noble wanted you?” Geralt asked, not mincing his words.

“Not this year,” Jaskier admitted and silence stretched between them. They both knew that it was likely Jaskier wouldn’t survive the harsh winter without a benefactor. Crowds were less generous with their coin during winters, saving everything they could in case the cold months stretched out. And Jaskier, without an income, would have slept on the streets, getting ill which meant no playing and no coin. It was a rapid downward spiral that didn’t have a happy ending.

“Kaer Morhen will welcome you, on one condition.” Geralt held up a hand to keep Jaskier’s grateful enthusiasm in check. “You must promise me that you’ll repay their hospitality by keeping me company on The Path.”

It wasn’t payment as such, they both knew it. Geralt was giving Jaskier a permanent source of security. It probably wasn’t much but it was more than he had before.

Graciously nodding, Jaskier smiled as he settled across Geralt’s lap, basking in the heat the witcher exuded.

“I think I can be your barker, it seems like a fair price.” He leaned in for a kiss and, once again, it felt like coming home but for good this time.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #homeless! jaskier #tldr: jaskier is homeless but too proud to admit it #long post #cw: homelessness

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codevassie · 5 years ago

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i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride.

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all.

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe.

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater.

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater.

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat.

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing.

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn��t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love.

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one.

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined.

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst.

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there.

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas.

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning.

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing.

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste.

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire.

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved.

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything.

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother.

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved?

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness.

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed.

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place.

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself.

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore.

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him-

Virgil.

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible.

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets.

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all.

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him.

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated.

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said.

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep.

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze.

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts #tw weapons #tw trauma #tw injury #minor edits: realized the italics didn't copy over #but that's fixed #also i'm going to lose my shit if people don't stop walking behind me while i have writing on my screen #i have an allergic reaction to people seeing my writing when i'm not ready for them to #which for irl people is next to never #requests #tw angst #tw unhappy ending #ahhcc

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itzagothamcitysiren · 5 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Family

and here’s part two! I also kinda was wanting to start possibly taking requests for these fics? I’m not sure if this is something people are interested in? or how to go about it? let me know what you guys think!

PART ONE

I’m Just a Shot Away From You pt.2

“Are you sure we’re clear?”

Jason couldn’t stop the loud grunt exhaled from his lips as Halley asked him the same question for what felt like the tenth time since they left the manor. They had just arrived at the parking lot of Amusement Mile, Jason parking the motorcycle he took from Bruce’s garage and grabbing Halley’s hand before leading them towards the entrance. He had made sure the cost was clear, waiting until he knew Bruce and Dick would be far off into the city, starting their nightly patrol with Alfred locked away in the Batcave on monitor duty.

“Will you relax?” He said, slightly laughing at her flustered appearance. She’d been really stressing about sneaking out as soon as they started getting ready. Jason knew they’d get in trouble if they got caught, but he shrugged; if they got caught then they got caught. “You’re not going to have a good time if you keep being more paranoid than Batman.”

“Ugh, fine, you’re right, you’re right.” Halley repeated, sounding more firm the second time she said the phrase. As they walked up to the ticket booth, Jason quickly paying and grabbing their wristbands to enter the park, she shook off her nerves. The smell of fried dough and other carnival foods hitting her nostrils, causing her to hum. Looking up at Jason she smiled, feeling a lot more relaxed than she did seconds ago, “So where to first?”

Jason looked around and through the mob of people. They could go off and play some games, seeing a few not that crowded. Or they could also hit the rides first before the lines got too long. Or even grab some food, the smell that caught Halley’s attention know catching his. He tugged her off to the side towards the food venders, deciding that that sounded the best right now.

Between the pair of them they got two pieces of fried dough, Halley finishing hers quickly and attempting to steal bites from Jason’s while he wasn’t looking. They also grabbed some cotton candy and a bag of popcorn, knowing that they went overboard slightly right off the bat but didn’t care. It wasn’t everyday they could get away with eating like this and they let their eyes do the thinking over their heads.

As they munched on their snacks they walked through the park, once their stash starting to deplenish deciding to stop and play some games. Halley nearly choked on the popcorn she was eating, falling into a fit of laughs as Jason failed at the strongman game, the puck only getting barley half way up the track. He felt a dig at his pride, handing the man running the game another five dollars to get three more chances. The second time he got a little over the halfway mark, but that had been the furthest he got. Before he could waste any more money on the game, Halley walked forward, leaning up and placing a kiss on his cheek and dragging him off.

After a few easier games, Jason stopped them in front of a shooting game. He’d always loved the game and was excited when they finally found it. He paid the man, grabbing the fake haunting rifle from the counter, lifting it up and taking aim. He took his first shot as the worker hit the button, making the duck’s on the wall in front of them start to move. It had looked easy enough, but when the ducks started moving faster he found his eyes darting to find a good target. He fired when he thought he had a shot.

“Tck,” Halley made a clicking sound with her tongue when he missed.

Jason side glanced her, noting how she looked like she wanted to say something but was biting her lip. He shrugged it off, taking aim again, still having two more turns. He quickly wiggled his shoulders, raising the rifle up again to aim. For a fake gun, it had a decent recoil he wasn’t ready for. Closing one eye to get a better look he pointing the gun slightly downwards he put his finger on the trigger, ready to pull back when Halley made that sound again.

“Yes?” Jason looked at her, not annoyed but with slumped shoulders.

“You hold it down like that and the butt of the gun is gonna come back up and smack against your chin.” Halley said seriously, throwing Jason off. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her posture somewhat mimicked Bruce when he was watching Jason do something wrong in training.

She quickly realized this and softened her stance. She let her hands slip into her sweatshirt pockets, somewhat stuttering as she corrected herself, “I mean, it won’t hurt. It’s not a real gun but- uh, er, never mind. Forget I said anything, take your shot.” She back tracked, waving her hand in front of her face, motioning him to continue.

Jason quirked his head sideways at her, amused and totally forgetting that she was the master’s marksman out of the pair of them. Going back to take his shot, he took the same position he did before only to falter as he heard Halley’s feet shift on the pavement. Side glancing her again, he saw her biting her lip even harder. This time he just chuckled, lowering the rifle and ignoring the clearly impatient worker.

“What am I doing wrong now?” He asked, not offended but amused.

“Nothing-, its fine.” She shook her head, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself as the worker stared at the two teens, not understanding why she was acting the way she was. It was just a game after all, it was meant to be fun; it didn’t need to be perfect.

She grunted when she saw Jason give her the look telling her he wasn’t buying it. Huffing, she placed the left over popcorn bag on the counter, moving to stand besides Jason. She raised his arms, moving the butt of the gun to rest properly against his shoulder. Her eyes trailed from where his path of sight was to the moving ducks, adjusting the barrel so he had a clear shot; only if he wasn’t so eager and impatience and trigger happy, he might actually hit one this time, she thought.

Once she was pleased she stepped away, blushing. “Sorry, I have- uh, a thing against bad posture. Dad drilled it-,” She paused, realizing that she was oversharing, not only to Jason but to the random stranger watching them. “Continue.” She nearly squeaked out.

Jason frowned, grasping now why she had been fussing. He didn’t even think about her past when he walked over to the game. He often forgot about it to be honest. She never really talked about Slade or her past anymore. She’d turned somewhat normal you could say and Jason now felt bad about making her bring it up. He decided to finish his turn quickly, doing better than last time, managing to hit one of the ducks down.

He placed the gun on the counter when he was finished sheepishly. He looked up at Halley intending on asking her if she wanted to head to another booth but saw her eying the gun. At first he got nervous, unable to read her expression as she stared down at it. He instantly thought that maybe he triggered some sort of PTSD episode and felt himself panicking. But he quickly calmed himself, noting how she didn’t look to be in distress. She looked at the rifle longingly, as if she wanted to try.

“You wanna turn?” He offered lamely, unsure if that was really what she wanted.

“No, no it’s okay.” She clearly lied, waving him off again.

He rolled his eyes at her, uncertain as to why she was being so hesitant. She was completely fine with telling him she wanted to try every other game so he had no idea why she was being like this now. Pulling out the right amount of bills he paid the worker for another turn, handing off the rifle to her without a word. Stepping back, he gave her space to take her turn.

She was hesitant at first, not sure that she was comfortable holding the weapon again. The last time she held a gun she was on the edge and willing to kill her father. She swore to herself secretly she’d never use a gun again or in fact never kill again. She was still haunted by her past even though she was in fact doing a lot better than she had been. The nightmares hadn’t come in a while and she hadn’t felt like she was walking on eggshells when it came to feeling guilty about her previous life.

But this wasn’t a real gun, it was a toy, and she could feel the shiny plastic instead of cold metal as she felt herself robotically raise the rifle up. She took a deep breath, closing one eye and aiming as the rig moved back to life. Exhaling, she pulled the trigger.

“Holy shit,” Jason gapped along with the worker as she fired all three shots one after the other, as rapidly as the toy allowed, hitting the harder to get targets.

She let the gun lower, smiling. Even though it was just cheap plastic balls shooting out, she couldn’t help but feel the rush she used to love when firing an actual gun. She laughed out, reaching into her own pocket and pulling out more money. She slammed it on the counter, making the awestruck boy behind it scampering to grab it and restart the machine.

Within the next couple of hours the pair had their hands full of prices after hitting stall after stall that involved any type of shooting game. Once Jason realized how satisfied she look after nailing each target, game after game, both laughing hysterically as the carnival workers grew more and more frustrated with each price they snagged, he pressed them further into the park. Time flew by, Halley now juggling a giant teddy bear plushy she won herself at the throwing darts game and the smaller plush that Jason wished she hadn’t picked out when he won in ring toss. It had been a cutesy looking version of him as Robin and his cheeks were so red when she exclaimed how adorable it was and that he had to win it for her, or else, she had said.

Once their hands were full enough with treats and prices, Jason led her over to the Ferris wheel, claiming his feet hurt from walking. It wasn’t a complete lie, he’d also just wanted to spend a couple of moments alone with her away from the clutter of people littering the park. Jason wouldn’t consider himself a romantic, but he was constantly finding himself wanting to do things he normally wouldn’t do for anyone else for Halley.

He felt himself smirk when they waited in line, Halley noticing a little blonde girl staring up at the teddy bear she held in her arms. Halley gave the little girl a smile before leaning down and handing it off to the girl, giving up the plush. The mother thanked Halley, insisting that she hadn’t had to do that but Halley insisted that it was fine, smiling back at the little girl who hugged the bear tightly. When they were next, Halley waved goodbye to the little girl who had started babbling to them while they waited in line.

Jason hadn’t said anything about the little exchange, but felt himself smiling at the girl now sitting next to him. She leaned back into the seat, looking out into the city’s skyline, taking in how peaceful it looked from where they were. Jason followed her gaze, he too loving how their city looked from this view. He scooched closer to her, ignoring how rickety the passenger car was when he moved. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he let out a sigh when she pushed herself into his side, leaning her head onto his shoulder.

“This is nice,” she said softly as he started playing with a loose strand of her hair. She hugged her little Robin plush to her chest, afraid she’d drop it otherwise. “Thanks for making me come out, Jay.”

“Jay?” his eyebrows raised at her, having never heard her call him that before.

“Sorry, it just came out, I-,”

“Its fine,” he laughed, pulling her in tighter. “I like it.” He smiled down at her, giving her a soft kiss on the top of her head.

Part of him wanted to smack himself for being so soft but the other part of him was stronger and he found himself growing to not care about being ‘soft’. He was thanking himself as well for making her come out, haven’t felt this carefree and relaxed in while. There was no stressing over being caught, no stressing over school and no stressing over protecting the city. It was just them and he wished he could freeze this moment for as long as he could. Just for tonight he didn’t mind not playing the hero and for once just being a kid.

#jason todd x oc #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd robin #jason todd x reader #Jason Todd #Jason Todd as Robin #dick grayson #dick grayson x oc #Dick Grayson x batsis #batman fanfiction #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #batboys x batsis #dc comics fanfic

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years ago

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The Boys Season 1 Review and Comparison

This was so cathartic.

In an age where we’re inundated with superhero media on all fronts with their bright colors, cheery jokes and positive outlooks, it’s easy to slowly become sick of it, feel the “superhero fatigue” as it were. Where Marvel ruins some stories with far too many jokes (looking at you Thor: Ragnarok) and DC is far too dreary and serious for its own good with a lack of levity, where can one turn to for a GOOD happy medium?

Well, in comes Seth Rogan and Evan Gold, the brilliant minds behind the amazing adaptation of Preacher with yet another brutal and slightly more cynical series. The Boys absolutely stuns not only by being a genuinely compelling series, but also by being one of the few adaptations that improves on the original medium in a few aspects.

Story

The story centers around Hughie Campbell and the titular Boys as they work to expose the horrific deeds of The Seven, a collective of the world's greatest superheroes, and the company that sponsors them, Vought American.

In this world, superheroes are everywhere. They're on breakfast cereals, TV shows, movies, pretty much every piece of media and entertainment imaginable while also protecting America from crime. Sounds familiar, huh? The kicker here is that, much like every asshole celebrity that lets the fame and fortune go to their heads, these heroes are massive cunts. They take performance enhancing drugs, routinely cause accidents that hurt or kill people, sexually harass people left and right and just lie to their adoring public like they’re children.

Unlike the books, however, The Boys team isn’t the well oiled machine that’s been taking down and blackmailing superheroes for years and the first four episodes are spent introducing the different team members.This is likely due to wanting to give people time to care about them individually and the limited number of episodes in the season. This definitely works in also retooling the characters themselves for TV since they may not have seventy-two issues of character development ahead of them

For the most part, the show follows the initial story beats of the comics with a few select differences before splintering off in an entirely new direction. Hughie’s girlfriend still gets blown apart by A-Train, he denies Vought America’s hush money which draws the attention of Billy Butcher and Starlight joins the Seven after the “death” of the hero Lamplighter.

This also means that there's less time to focus on smaller plotlines and teams that are referenced to in passing dialogue like the Teenage Kix, a pastiche on the Teen Titans, or Payback, the number two group of superheroes to The Seven. While seeing the team take these guys down on the small screen would have been fun, I like the idea of keeping the plot focused on just the core group of antagonists. This way, we don’t have to slog through three or four seasons of small fry and get the big bads in the last few.

After the first half, fans of the comic may start to feel a little bit of the familiar, but then things start to take a drastic turn when Billy's pride and the rest of the teams sloppiness gets them all burned and branded wanted criminals. This never happens in the books because The Boys are funded and protected by the CIA, but here they’re just another group of concerned citizens that are completely in over their heads, adding to the tension and keeping everyone guessing as to what will happen for the rest of the season and in Season 2.

Themes

The original series was written during the latter years of the Bush Administration. Tensions were high and America was still embroiled in the Iraq War. The president was a simpering fool and companies were fucking people over left and right in the name of patriotism. Reality TV and the awful personalities on our screens were on nearly every channel and all of this only fueled the anger that is Garth Ennis’ pen and Darick Robertson’s pencils. It was a product of its time and it was perfect.

We’re now in the Information Age where superheroes and social media are the only things that matter in everyone’s mind, where women’s empowerment is stronger than ever and our leaders speak bombastically with shit eating grins full of lies. Rogen and Goldberg have kept the series modern and take everything to task.

Media. Marvel and DC are everywhere nowadays with some indie companies managing to scrape up their own part of the pie. The Boys makes fun of the seemingly endless cycle of sequels and the goody-two-shoes images of America’s favorite heroes. Everything is carefully managed and curated by a media team, similar to how Disney micromanages even the smallest details of their properties to make everything so sickeningly squeaky clean.

Not only do the heroes stop crime, but they star in their own movies about themselves as well, some have sponsorships for shoes and have to compete with each other for everything. Almost everything is done for the cameras, even intimate moments whenever Vought can find a way to make it work. The heroes are never too far from the spotlight even when they want to be and oftentimes their acts can go viral without them knowing.

Sexual Assault. In the comics, Starlight is sexually assaulted by Homelander, Black Noir and A-Train in a gross scene to establish that there’s nothing good in that world. It was good for its time in its own dark way, but today there are absolutely consequences to such things as there should have been back then. In the show, Starlight is assaulted by The Deep, her childhood crush, alone.

It’s dark and makes use of the imbalance of power as The Deep threatens to have her kicked off of the team. Soon after, Starlight comes forward with what happens to her, not allowing herself to let what happened stand and unlike in the books, The Deep gets his comeuppance. Though this also unfortunately leading to him getting assaulted as well. It’s powerful and allows for Starlight to move what could have been an image of weakness, though Vought uses this to their advantage as well, painting her a feminist icon. Best for business right?

Politics. While not everything has to be an allegory for Trump, it’s hard to say that Homelander isn’t just that. He’s what the president thinks he is, a strong, blonde haired man that the entire country loves. Homelander has the people eating out of the palm of his hands and he’s only feeding them shit. He hates the common man and will just as easily let many die if it can somehow serve his interests. He’s not above a little sexual harassment himself and he is just an evil bastard.

There’s also a subplot of military application of superheroes that I feel mirrors the discussion on the use of drones in war. Drones are absolutely deadly and have caused the deaths of hundreds, even innocents when things have gone really wrong. Even President Obama was criticized for how reckless and dangerous their use could be. The world could only imagine the hell that would rain down if superheroes were allowed to duke it out over national security.

Characters

The Boys as a comic series was an unrepentantly cynical take on the superhero genre in an established universe of heroes. The creator, Garth Ennis, didn’t grow up with many superheroes and actually felt disrespected by a few of them, like Captain America. He brought on the amazing Darick Robertson and other artists to realize this horrid world of drugs, hardcore sex and brutal violence. Many of the stories are fun and hilarious, but with the unfortunate feeling of a lot of them feeling one note due to the one dimensional nature of a lot of the “heroes” and the ever escalating level of black humor to the point of being cartoonish.

Our main character cast is absolutely fantastic. Jack Quiad’s Hughie is much like his comic counterpart, aside from being like six feet tall and not Scottish. He’s surprisingly smart with a lot of awkwardness about him. He has a good heart and doesn’t see ALL superheroes as being evil, but does have a slight sense of justice that wants to see The Seven and Vought taken down.

Karl Urban’s Butcher was the absolute perfect casting choice. He’s got that wry British wit, the fury to capture Butcher’s rage against supes and can play a manipulator like nobody's business. His character arc is one of the few regressions that I can actually appreciate for how it's done, especially as things become more fucked because of him and how he chooses to blame everyone else.

Everyone else is a slight bit of an improvement over the comics versions. The Frenchman, played by Tomer Capon, is similar to his comics counterpart, but we’re given reason to care about him and The Female. In the comics, Frenchie and the Female knew each other prior, but I don’t think it’s ever revealed how they met or became close. In the show Frenchie frees The Female, played by Karen Fukuhara, from thugs that had been keeping her prisoner and he slowly gains her trust over the course of the next few episodes after her introduction. We see their friendship grow, learn a little bit of her backstory and get a better understanding of what she wants versus just following Frenchie around and being terrifyingly adorable.

Annie January aka Starlight, played by Erin Moriarty, is probably the second best change in character in the series. She starts out as a bright eyed, bushy tailed hero looking to do good, but after being sexually assaulted on her first day in The Seven, decides that it will never happen again. In the comics, Annie stays around in The Seven and takes the abuse for a little while before speaking out and fighting back against the rest of them. What makes things even better, not only does she challenge her uber Christian beliefs during an event sponsored by Vought, but she does so while also getting Vought to force her abuser into giving a public apology at the mere thought of her causing their stock prices to crash.

Consequently, Mother’s Milk, portrayed by Laz Alonso, one of the most layered characters in the comics isn’t made better, but the more ridiculous aspects of is character have been toned down. We don’t hear of his disabled mother and his addiction to her breast milk that fuels his own superpowers, nor is his wife a crack addict that makes pornos with their daughter. He’s simply a reliable member of the team that loves his wife and will give Butcher the truth when he’s acting like an asshole.

The series actually brings a lot of grey to most of these characters. A-Train never once shows remorse for his actions in the books, but in the show he's painted as kind of sympathetic, while still being seen as a monster for what he does and the reasons behind them. The Deep could go either way after his actions with a redemption arc or a full turn to villain, but is shown to be knowingly aware of how little regard there is for him. He calls himself a "diversity hire" and acknowledges his own ineptitude, but he's still an absolutely terrible person.

Queen Maeve may be one of my favorite changes that manages to be even more sympathetic than her already pretty great comic counterpart. She, much like Starlight, did want to change the world, but she let the apathy and jaded nature of the job take her over. She's an alcoholic that sees a bit of herself in Starlight. The change comes in how she reacts to what I think might be Homelander's most heinous act in the show. She shows far more remorse and guilt over what happens than she does in the comic, showing us a side of her makes you want to root for her and to see her get better.

The best character… dear Lord, is Homelander, played by Anthony Starr. Homelander is a bastard. The worst thing imaginable because of his sheer strength and power. He’s a sociopath with all of the powers of Superman and none of the goodness. In the comics he’s simply just another asshole.

He’s the most powerful of the Seven and absolutely revels in the hedonistic lifestyle that he’s accustomed to while also hating being under the rule of Vought. In the show, he’s shown as being supportive to Vought, especially it’s current Senior VP of Hero Management, Madelyn Stillwell. He has something of a mommy fetish as shown with his interactions with her and later in the series actually expresses emotions over learning of his own tragedies, but instead of trying to change for the better, he doubles down on his hatred and anger to become an even bigger monster than before.

In the comic he just wants all of the superheroes to conquer the world, but here, he just wants to hurt everyone who hurts him. He plays games like a child, threatening and revealing secrets to toy with people before absolutely breaking them. He's horrible in a very personal way and his sneering smile only makes him so much more hateable. He knows there isn't a damn thing you can do to stop him and he revels in that fact, I love it.

Pacing and Direction

Coming in at an hour for each episode, the first two to three can feel a bit slow. Getting all of the story elements to sit just right can take time, especially as new things are introduced every few minutes. This slow burn approach easily helps to build the tension before things get really crazy by episode four. By that point, the story is unfolding at a perfect rhythm, the team is mostly together, they’ve made their plans of action and it’s all so smooth.

Thankfully each episode is directed by different people to avoid each feeling so similar. The common humor and tone is kept the same, but some episodes are very hopeful almost before being met with one that absolutely makes you hate certain characters and the actions that they take. In particular, the episode where Hughie and Butcher visit a group therapy session and Butcher flies off into a rage about the weakness of the attendees as they basically lick the balls of the heroes that have maimed them was amazing. The director pulls so much emotion out of that scene and continues on as the episode moves along in a far more dramatic fashion than some of the others.

Some others lean heavier on the debauchery such as the episode where Hughie and Butcher venture into a superhero sex club and watch as these guys do some pretty amazing feats with their abilities in some really gross ways. There’s a good balance of levity and drama that makes neither feel too overwhelming.

Overall

With a great cast, impeccable acting and an unpredictability that I actually enjoyed, The Boys absolutely blew me away. I was wholly prepared to rip it apart if I felt like it didn’t do the story justice, but Rogen and Goldberg are fans and knew what we all wanted. It’s unabashedly a comic book show, but still has enough to it that people who have never heard of the series will be floored by how much they can find to enjoy.

It’s for the nihilistic and jaded comic book fan. It’s for the casual watcher who’s gotten enough of Marvel’s colorful displays of happiness and it’s absolutely for the happy person who just wants to have some fun with what they watch.

I thoroughly enjoyed this season of The Boys. So much so that I’m aching with anticipation to re-read the comic series in preparation for Season Two. It’s unlikely that it’ll follow the plot much, if at all after the ending, but with Stormfront (as a woman) being announced as the new Hero joining the Seven in the next season, I’m excited as to who else they might pull. This first season absolutely earns a high recommendation from me.

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tsarisfanfiction · 5 years ago

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Price (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Warnings: None Characters: Shachi, Law, Penguin, Bepo, Heart Pirates, Kuzan

There were many perks to their captain being a Shichibukai. The frozen bounties were one although, with so few members of the crew with a price on their heads at all thanks to their preference to work in the shadows where Doflamingo's strings didn't reach (the lack of Marine presence was just an added bonus), it largely made no difference to their lives. Civilians still fled at the sight of their grinning Jolly Roger, and other pirates still wanted them dead. Unlike most of the Shichibukai, Law had not laid claim to an island as a base, and the Polar Tang was still undeniably home.

Another perk was access to information. While he in no way had full clearance, Law could get at some files unavailable to the general public (and certainly unavailable to pirates). That was how the crew came to learn of the existence of Punk Hazard, and Law quickly put together the puzzle to realise that it was a keystone to Doflamingo's influence. Clearly, they needed to get there to investigate the links properly, but therein lay an issue. While Law had clearance to learn of the island's existence, there was absolutely nothing about where the island was located.

Asking anyone in the Marines would have been stupid. Neither Marines or pirates were permitted onto the poisoned, half frozen and half molten island, and an inquiry in the wrong place could have disastrous consequences. The kindest would likely be an expulsion from the Shichibukai, but with Akainu in charge, the kindest option was rarely the one taken. A trip to Impel Down was not high on their list of things to do.

There was one man that might be convinced to tell them. Aokiji, now known solely as Kuzan, was no longer bound by any code of conduct the Marines were, and indeed if the rumours were to be true had affiliated himself with a pirate (and not just any pirate, but the new Yonkou). It was a long shot, but it was also their only avenue and Law – they – needed the information. Tracking the man had been no easy feat. After his defeat and defection from the Marines he had obviously gained an impressive bounty of his own and like any sensible individual with a high bounty (a rare group of people, all things considered) had chosen to lie low.

However, months of determination had paid off, and they had finally caught up with the man. In a gesture of peace, Law had declared that he would go to speak to the man alone, leaving his anxious crew to wait on board the Tang, praying that Kuzan wasn't interested in a confrontation and would give the knowledge away without much of a fuss.

"I don't like this," Shachi said, not for the first, or even fifth time since Law had firmly ordered them to stay put and disembarked with only Kikoku for company as he went to find the elusive man on the island. Reports implied that he'd be found on the beachy coast, so of course Law had chosen to dock the Tang on the opposite side of the island. He'd been gone half an hour by that point, and tempers were wearing thin.

"None of us like it," Penguin snapped, vigorously cleaning his spear and cursing as his hand slipped, earning itself a shallow gash from the bladed edge. "Stop whining."

"Captain will be fine," Bepo said firmly, his pinned back ears and excessive fidgeting betraying his own reservations. Shachi pushed himself off of the railing he'd been slouching over, his momentum first leading him to fall heavily into a sitting position on the deck, and then toppling him over backwards to stare at the sky forlornly.

"That's not what my gut says," the ginger grumbled, earning himself a vicious whack with the butt of Penguin's spear.

"Shut. Up," the older growled. Whatever retort Shachi started was drowned out by a pained howl from inside the submarine, and the crew's heads all turned simultaneously as Clione burst out of the door, from where he'd been on communications duty, waiting by their den den mushi in case Law made contact.

His frantic countenance prompted everyone to start speaking at the same time, demanding answers and overlapping everyone else's voices until there was nothing but a single cacophony of sound.

"Enough!" Jean Bart rumbled, his voice carrying clearly over the noise. His tone expected total obedience and received it, a throw back to his days as a captain himself. "Clione, talk."

Clione didn't say a word, instead mutely holding up a burning piece of paper. No-one needed to be told what it was as shock descended over the crew, freezing them all in place.

Shachi was the first to speak, shattering the stillness as he hefted his katana onto his shoulder, letting the sheath clatter to the deck.

"What are we waiting for?" he demanded, words clipped short. "Let's go."

With a war cry, he launched himself off of the Tang, landing on the ground lightly before sprinting for the beach. The others followed him, their booted feet thumping against the ground and producing a quiet rumble. Getting closer, Shachi's observation haki confirmed their captain's location, and that his companion was indeed the former Marine Admiral.

"It's nothing personal," Kuzan's unmistakable laid-back voice drawled as they entered earshot. "Although your escape from my Ice Age at Marineford was a nuisance. But I'm afraid I have no interest in aiding you in your search." Law made no reply, and as they crossed the final ridge between them and their captain, it was clear to see why.

Law resembled an ice sculpture far more than he did a living breathing human. His limbs were frozen in place, left hand extended in the familiar position he used when summoning a Room and right preparing to draw Kikoku from her sheath while his legs were secured to the sandy beach below. His chest rose and fell heavily, not yet encased in ice, and only the lower part of his face was frozen, rendering him unable to talk but still conscious as his golden eyes bored into Kuzan with thinly veiled frustration. No fear, because Trafalgar Law never showed fear, even as the former admiral gestured with a hand, ice streaming towards the Shichibukai to complete the job.

Jean Bart got there first, planting his body firmly between the attack and his captain, unflinching as the ice collided with his back and the impact forced blood from his lips, crimson drops landing on Law's hat. The shorter man's eyes widened, and the previously-absent fear blossomed at the sight of his crew charging Kuzan, only for another wave of the man's hand to freeze half of them in their tracks. Barring Penguin and Bepo, who had diverted towards their captain's side and therefore fell under the protection of Jean Bart's bulk, only those of the crew with awakened observation haki managed to avoid their feet being frozen to the ground.

Shachi's katana swung out as the ginger landed from his evasive manoeuvre, slashing straight through the ice man. Unsurprisingly, it passed straight through him, the ginger's armament haki too weak to negate the logia powers. It worked to catch Kuzan's attention, however, and those of the crew still able to move crowded around their captain as Penguin and Bepo carefully detached him from the ground.

"Retreat!" Shachi ordered, briefly disappearing as ice crashed over where he'd been standing before reappearing next to it. The command was repeated by Penguin as the crew hesitated, seeing their captain now safe in Bepo's arms but Shachi now the target of the former admiral's attacks instead as he dodged, ducked and rolled away from ice, occasionally managing to bring his sword up in time to make another ineffectual slash.

A third rumble of the word from Jean Bart, who managed to shift himself with a gargantuan effort – none of the attacks that had hit him had been tailored for him, so where a smaller, weaker man may have been subdued he was only hindered – got them moving, picking up those of their nakama who couldn't move and bolting for the Tang.

"You're not going too?" Kuzan asked Shachi as the others fled. The ginger grinned humourlessly, slipping sideways in the blink of an eye and slashing apart the ice as it hurtled towards him.

"If I go too, who's going to stop you following?" he asked, panting lightly. His stamina was hardly poor, but the constant high-speed evasion was tiring, and despite himself he couldn't stop the trickle of cold sweat down his back.

This was not a fight he could win. He'd known it before he'd jumped in. If Law had been neutralised so quickly, then it was only a matter of time he succumbed to either exhaustion or the ice – or both – and became little more than melting icy rubble on the beach. To save his nakama, his captain, it was a price he'd gladly pay. That didn't make the prospect any less terrifying.

"Your observation haki is impressive," Kuzan commented as Shachi once again evaded, although he felt himself already slowing down; the ice had barely missed him that time. The ginger's only response was a pained chuckle, sorely regretting his incompetence with armament haki, before he pressed in for another attack. In the back of his mind he wondered why Kuzan hadn't just slammed him with a large-scale attack he couldn't dodge before going after his retreating nakama, but the thought only lasted a split second. He couldn't afford any distractions if he wanted to buy as much time as he could.

Every second he bought them they used to get further and further away, hobbling along as best they could. With ice cubes for feet, more than half of the crew needed supporting by their nakama. Jean Bart, his back frozen with icy tendrils reaching down his legs and up his neck, needed three people to help keep him upright, even as he charged along with the rest of them. In Bepo's arms, Law's eyes had slipped closed as tears slowly gathered in the corners before starting to trickle down his face. He wasn't the only one; Penguin's cap was pulled low over his face and his mouth was set in a stony line as he stumbled along, despite being uninjured, and the general air hanging over the crew was a solemn one.

They made it back to the Tang without further incident, Kuzan yet to follow them. How well that boded for Shachi was questionable, but the crew forced it from their minds for the moment. Many of them, and especially their captain, needed defrosting and so they made their way en mass to the bathroom where Law was given pride of place directly under a lukewarm shower. Jean Bart stood by him awkwardly, unable to sit until the ice retreated, so that the water caught his back on the way down. The other afflicted members of the crew situated themselves as near as possible, crammed together in the too-small area.

Those who had escaped the ice gathered on the deck in a nervous huddle, continuously glancing back at the direction they'd come as they debated what to do next.

They should set sail. It was a miracle Kuzan hadn't pursued them yet, and there was a very likely possibility that he was freezing the sea so they couldn't leave the island, but setting sail meant admitting they'd lost Shachi. Penguin's hat was in his hands, wrung so tightly it was a wonder the stitches weren't breaking, as he stared at the horizon, unblinking.

"Penguin?" Ikkaku asked, because he was the most senior member of the crew active. He dashed glistening tears from his eyes with his sleeve, only for them to return almost instantly. They had to set sail. He knew that. He knew that if they didn't, they'd lose more than just Shachi. But it was Shachi, his best friend, his brother, and he slowly sank to his knees, quivering as he clutched his hat to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he gulped, the tears beginning to fall freely. "I-I can't."

A large paw landed on his shoulder, Bepo tugging him against his side.

"Why do we have to leave him?" the mink asked. "Let's go."

Penguin looked up at him, eyes wet.

"But-" he started, torn between his responsibility to the crew, to get them all out alive, and the childish belief that somehow Shachi was okay, because he had to be, never mind that he'd been facing down a former admiral that had taken down their captain in seconds. Shachi had to be okay, because he was all had Penguin had left, and it felt so cruel to think that when several of his nakama were surrounding him.

"Go get him," Uni said, clapping Penguin on the back hard enough that he rocked forwards. "We'll get the Tang ready to leave." Bepo slipped his paws underneath his arms and hauled him to his feet before dragging him off of the ship, and back the way they'd come.

"You should stay with the ship," Penguin protested when he found his voice past the lump in his throat. "I… I should do this myself." The mink shook his head as they ran.

"You're not doing this by yourself," he said firmly, and secretly Penguin was grateful, selfishly so. The mink should be helping to get the ship ready to go. As the navigator, they couldn't set sail without him. The log poses in the New World weren't as simple to use as in Paradise. But they were probably running towards a corpse, and Penguin didn't think he had the strength to face that alone.

The silence that persisted, beyond their own frantic breathing, as they headed for the final ridge once again, did nothing to dispel his fears. The added uncertainty of Kuzan's location forced him to slow and look around, Bepo doing the same beside him.

"He's gone," the mink said after a moment, puzzled. Penguin didn't ask after Shachi and Bepo didn't volunteer the information as they picked up their pace again, cresting the ridge to see what was in store for them.

Shachi was still in one piece. Sadly, that was where the good news ended. Penguin slipped in his haste to reach him, sliding down the slight incline to the beach on his backside before clumsily floundering to his feet and stumbling over himself as he approached the beautiful ice statue that was once his best friend.

The ginger's face held a triumphant expression, that cocky grin Penguin knew all too well, and he wondered how much of it had been an act to throw off Kuzan, and how much of it had been pride at holding out however long he had. The rest of his body held no hesitation, frozen in a headlong charge with his katana slashing through the air. If it was just a copy of him, it would have been perfect. As it was…

"Shachi," Penguin said, his voice cracking as he laid a gentle hand on his cheek. There was no warmth at all under his palm. If he didn't know this was Kuzan's power, the ability to turn flesh to ice, he would never have thought it was a real body. "Shachi." The tears came back, Penguin once again falling to his knees. His hand dragged down, from cheek to neck to shoulder to chest.

"Penguin!" Bepo said, and it sounded urgent, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Shachi. "Penguin, look." A paw thrust a piece of paper in front of his face, and he blinked a few times to readjust his focus.

It was a map. A crudely drawn map clearly scribbled as an afterthought, depicting several islands. Penguin knew the names of one or two. Raijin Island. That was that lightning fuelled one that had tried to fry the Tang. And then, another name.

Punk Hazard.

This… this was what they'd come for. This was why Law had met with Kuzan in the first place. Anger surged through Penguin. If Kuzan was willing to give them the information, why didn't he do it earlier, before he turned Shachi into a fleeting work of art? Why did they have to lose Shachi to gain it?

"Why..?" he asked, his voice thick with grief. "Why would he do this? Wasn't he a Marine? Why did he have to ki-" He couldn't say the word, and flinched when Bepo tapped his shoulder insistently.

"Look at the bottom," the mink said, and Penguin didn't want to, didn't know what else they'd had to sacrifice Shachi for to get out of the former admiral. But he did, because Bepo sounded almost keen, which sounded so wrong in their current situation.

Ice Time does not kill immediately. If you found him in time he can be defrosted. He's an interesting one.

Penguin stared at the words, uncomprehending their meaning for several long seconds, before it struck and he leapt back to his feet, reaching for Shachi. If there was a chance, any chance at all…

Like he had done with Law, Bepo picked him up, cradling him in his arms as if the ice could shatter at any time – and maybe it could – before the two of them set a fast but steady pace back to the Tang. The crew on deck, multiplied from when they'd left as some of those with only minor freezing had seemingly finished defrosting in the shower, made noises of fear and sadness as they got on board, Bepo careful not to jostle his burden at all. They made a beeline for the bathroom, pushing everyone except Law further from the centre so Shachi could rest there.

They were going to be totally out of water by the time their last nakama defrosted, but it was a small price to pay. Most of the crew had graduated to massaging their feet, the ice all but gone, leaving just Jean Bart, Law, and now Shachi, under the running water.

"Shachi," Law said quietly, the same break in his voice that Penguin had had. "You idiot. You total, utter, idiot." He didn't move anything except his head, which rested on Shachi's frozen shoulder lightly.

"Kuzan's gone," Penguin reported, seeing that his captain was at least in a condition to respond, even if he was still mostly immobile. Law sighed.

"I see," he said. "I'm sorry, this didn't work." Penguin shook his head.

"It worked," he said, and Law's eyes snapped to him. "Kuzan left a map to Punk Hazard behind." It was still stowed in his pocket, but he didn't dare bring it out in such a humid room. The price had almost been too high.

He refused to consider the idea that they'd been too late to save Shachi.

The tension seemed to drain from Law as he slumped under the running water. Bepo slipped in to support him, beginning to rub at the thawed limbs gently.

"We did it," their captain breathed, sounding torn between regret and excitement. From the way his eyes flickered to Shachi again, the source of regret wasn't hard to identify.

Penguin left the room only long enough to place the precious map safely with Bepo's other things, before returning to the bathroom to wait out Shachi's fate. Law had just finished defrosting when the colour returned to Shachi's cheeks, and Penguin lunged for him, almost knocking his captain over in the process, to feel for a pulse.

He cried when he found one.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #trafalgar law #penguin #shachi #bepo #clione #ikkaku #uni #jean bart #aokiji kuzan #the 100th chapter!

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viria · 6 years ago

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Hey viria! I'm an artist interested in starting taking commissions. however, I have no clue of what to actually *do* and i was hoping you could give me some advice... like, should i write up a contract? should i post the drawings i make? if i do, should i use huge watermarks? where's the best place to handle all the messages? should i send sketches to the commissioner? should i charge before or after giving the piece? i'd appreciate it a LOT if you could give me some tips :) thanks a lot!!

Hello!

You can always state your commissions status somewhere on your page, as well as making a dedicated post on how your pricing works, attaching the examples for waist up, full body, colour/sketch, etc etc!

Writing up a contract is really all up to you! It’s probably the safest way to do it. Or you could make up an invoice, or something. I haven’t yet needed such a precautions, and I feel like if I ever do get scammed I can always out the scammer publically for other artists to be aware of them, so far so good though!

Then, about posting the drawings - you should discuss it with each commissioner individually. Some people might commission personal works and wouldn’t want them to be posted, some just want the commission to be all up for themselves because they do pay money for it to be made, some don’t mind you posting the commission at all and would actually prefer their commission to be shown. There are commissioners who post the commission you made on their page, crediting you, it’s like a feedback! There are many ways to do it and you should always ask your commissioner first, and be understanding with whatever their decision is.

Personally, I don’t use huge watermarks. I use my standard in the corner one. But that’s all up to you! I feel like for a commissioner it would be the best to receive a signed commission, but without a huge watermark on it. Like, if you decide to go with a huge watermark over your work if you post it, you might want to do a smaller one for a commissioner, a special version fo them. But, that’s all up to you!

For me the best place to handle the commissions is twitter for now, since it’s quite organized and I can find all the info I need in there. But I always use my sketchbook to control the @ of my commissioners. I have the list of my current row in order I should be doing it, and special markings on commission status. I usually do sketches for everyone in the row, and once the sketches are done I finish, just so people don’t wait too much without knowing how it’s going.

You can always go for email as a place to handle it, it’s quite organized too! But I would advice to still have this sketchbook or notepud just for commissions so you don’t lose something in the asbox. I wouldn’t advice tumblr for discussing the commission though, since messages here often either don’t get delivered at all, or get lost. (you can work through tumblr, but communicate through email for example).

I do think you should always send a sketch to your commissioner! Both because fixing a sketch is way easier than fixing a finished artwork, and because this way your commissioner isn’t left in the dark on what to expect of you. Sometimes they can ask for changes of expression, some changes in pose or features, so I think sending a sketch is totally necessary! I know some artists set a standard number of changes allowed, and then once that number is surpassed they charge some extra. I had only one case of a big number of changes, that did require a bit of extra payment, but other than that I work around it just fine:3

Also I can advice to not take any of the changes you can be asked to make too personally! Usually it’s not because the artwork is bad, but because it’s quite hard to read someone’s thought on what they envision in their mind.

Therefore I always ask for detailed descriptions of the characters, both their personalilty and appearance, if there are a couple of them I need to know how they interract, general quirks of each of them, some people have quite a clear image on the pose, some only have the vibe (like I just want them to be happy! Or to cuddle!) etc, so I always ask for all of this:3

I work with prepayment, I take half of the price before I start a sketch, and another half once I am done with the piece. But, also keep in mind to never send a high resolution of the piece before you get paid fully. Many people don’t even think about scamming you, but there can potentially be someone who will try,so that’s an extra step of precaution. I always send a photo of the artworks in an angle, like from the side or from above, just so it’s seen that the piece is done, and that’s when I require the second part of the payment.

I also always ask if there are any changes to the final piece, (though minor ones at this stage, I wouldn’t re-draw the piece completely after it was approved..at least not for free). The commissioner can not notice something through a bad angle and lighting, so I always give a chance to fix it after the second part of the payment is made and they can see a high resolution version. Don’t just get lost if someone asks you for a change if they already paid you.

I always send a high resolution file through the email after the second part of the payment was made.

Always be polite and nice, and listen to your commissioners! (as long as they don’t “ride” on you), which is very very rare. It’s a common courtesy, but I always thank everyone who commissions me, too:3

Phew, I think that’s pretty much it! Hope you can find it helpful

#viriasanon

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 5 years ago

Text

Price to be Paid - Chapter 12

Treasures, Big and Small (AO3 Link)

Words: 6,140

Warnings: THAT SLOW BURN IS PAYING OFF FOLKS

Arthur was right, the first location was just south of Flatneck Station a short ways.

The conversation was easy on the ride up and turned to the old days and how things used to be. How John joined years after Arthur did, which of the girls had the stickiest fingers and which one tried to rob Hosea but ended up staying for years.

Once Arthur had the free reign to be himself, he opened up to you about his past a bit more than on previous trips. You had heard stories of robberies gone wrong or saloon visits that took three days, but those had been in the company of others. The two of you hadn’t gone out alone since the day you collected debts and it was nice to just enjoy the day with ease.

He had even brought up Mary for a moment, before shutting down and clamming up for a good five minutes.

You approached the rock described in the map. It must have been two stories tall, with ledges all over making it easy to climb. Luckily it didn’t come to that, the map detailed a small opening that had to be explored in depth to find the first of three keys.

“I can squeeze in there, though it’ll be tight. Just hold a few things for me.” You handed Arthur your heavy coat and gun belt, which left you in a thin shirt and long skirt. The opening was dark which you didn’t like, but you shimmied into the cave after jumping to catch the ledge and pull yourself up with shaking arms.

Thankfully the cave opened into a larger area that let you breathe again. You called back that you were okay, and continued in. Intricate drawings covered the walls, images that spanned back hundreds of years. Retellings of bison hunts covered the wall to your left while the right was different patterns of the local flora, smudged and elusive after all this time. You ran your hand over a particularly pretty drawing, and imagined being the one to put it there originally.

A lock box sat on a rock at the back of the cave and you approached it, ready to find the first piece.

You pulled out your kit that would help you open it and began ticking away. Finally, you got in and grabbed the round metal piece resting on a red cloth. Alone it made no sense but maybe the other clues would add up to something worthwhile. You rolled it over in your hand, the weight substantial for such a small thing. Cogs and wheels covered the base, so you thought this must be the biggest piece and the base that others would attach to. Hopefully you and Arthur would be able to find all three pieces, your curiosity was incredibly peaked.

“Coming back! I got it.” While you wiggled back out, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. You swung your legs over the small ledge and jumped down, handing the piece to Arthur while you brushed dust off your skirt.

“Look at this, I can’t figure out how this will all go together. Can you hold it this way?” He held still while you twisted the sides left and right, trying to imagine how it would look.

Arthur couldn’t take his eyes from your face while you worked, concentration pulling your eyebrows together and your mouth making a little pucker that caused his stomach to flip.

“Let’s get going, I want to see how this plays out.” You quickly moved to Eclipse while Arthur looked over the map, trying to find the second location.

“Here! Right next to Bard’s Crossing and the river. Ain’t too far from here.”

The ride was quick, but when you arrived you weren’t the only ones. A small group of ten people were temporarily camped out where you needed to head next and didn’t look too friendly. They had built a makeshift shelter and a guard patrolling the area.

“Should we just ask to get by…?” You asked innocently. Maybe they would understand.

Arthur stared with amusement on his face. “No, darlin’, I do not think we should just waltz on in there. Look, there’s a ridge up that way, maybe the map was saying we should go up there? We can sneak up there once it’s dark and see if the second piece is hiding in that cave, but I hate to ask you to go up that high if you don’t want.”

“I’m fine with heights, don’t worry. I know it’s silly but this treasure map is the most exciting thing I’ve done as an outlaw.”

You watched Arthur cover his smile with his hand and try not to laugh. “We gotta get you on a robbery, or something if this is the most exciting thing. Don’t count for much outlaw work.”

He suggested walking a ways away so the group couldn’t see the light from your fire while you waited for the sun to set. Nothing needed to be unpacked except fire starters and you sat on the ground against a tree, relaxing for a little while before you had to start climbing and finding a real life treasure.

“You gonna fall asleep on me?” Arthur asked while he made a cup of coffee.

“Just resting my eyes is all,” you mumbled quietly in reply. Your head bobbed against the wood and you tried to focus on staying awake.

Arthur sighed and reluctantly patted his lap. You stared confused, and he blushed slightly while saying, “Don’t put your head against that tree, you’ll wake up with a crick in your neck. You can…put your head on my knee, if you want. At least it’s softer."

The blue folds of your skirt bunched up as you scooted to sit next to him, and you smoothed them out before laying down and resting your head on his knee. While a bit awkward, he was right. He was much softer than any tree would be.

As you drifted off to sleep, Arthur made sure your breathing slowed to an even pace before moving. Your hair was long and wavy and loose, and shining in the midday sun. His hands brushed a flyaway piece off your cheek, curiosity finally getting the better of him. For months he had watched it bounce around or be tied up on top of your head and longed to run his fingers through to see if it matched the softness of your heart, and he was not disappointed. He moved a few more bits before finding a gentle rhythm of running his whole hand down your head over and over while you slept.

Truth be told he was buzzing inside with conflict and sheer happiness.

While his left hand blissfully ran through your hair, his right pulled out his journal and he started to sketch, the scene before him too compelling not to immortalize it. Drawings of you littered the pages of his journal. Sometimes it was nothing more than your eyes or your profile, but Arthur loved taking reminders of you with him like a secret he dared not breathe about.

Little moments he never had to share with anyone but himself.

A half hour after sunset, Arthur shook you gently.

“YN? You ready to get going?” You awoke from a dreamless sleep and rubbed your eyes, the chirping of evening birds bringing you back to the present.

“Hope you weren’t too uncomfortable, Arthur. I apparently needed that.”

He patted your shoulder and agreed he was fine, then headed back to the horses.

With the light from the sun all but gone you had to rely on his sense of direction to find the small camp again. The folk staying in the area had left. It hadn’t been a great place to defend and the two wagons full of people had dropped plenty of evidence behind of their stay. Rusty cans and indents in the dirt showed they had headed south, then followed the road until the trail was no longer visible. It was strange to stand in someone’s old home and reminded you of Horseshoe Overlook. You wondered what it looked like in the autumn, and if someone else had taken up residence in the place you once slept and called home. It left you feeling a little bit hollow and melancholy.

Standing at the bottom of the cliff, Arthur called you over.

“YN! Think you can jump that high?” He craned his head back to see up.

“Arthur that ledge is higher than you, so no, I do not think so. Might be able to jump down to it though, the top ain’t too far around if I hike up.”

You both agreed that you would walk and jump down in search of piece number two of the wild chase Sean had sent you on. It took nearly ten minutes to hike and you were out of breath by the time you arrived, but tried to hide it from Arthur who was still standing down below.

“This about right?” It was sure hard to see with the little light left, so you lit your lantern and leaned over the edge. Standing above the cave entrance, you sat down and moved as close as you dared to the edge. Your toes were a good foot above the ledge, and Arthur nodded.

There was a terrifying moment as you fell through the air before landing, but you stood up and turned to face the darkness with your lantern held up high.

This was different than the last cave. Filled with twists and turns, the sounds from the forest were quickly replaced with drips of water, and a strange fluttering that echoed and caused panic to strike through your bones. But you keep pressing on. Hopefully this cave was smaller than it felt. Eventually you reached a flat wall with three holes. One had a painted red X across the edges so you ignored that. One had a blue circle around it, and the other was untouched. You cursed out loud as you remembered Arthur had the map tucked neatly into his journal and you had no easy way to reach him, so any hints or clues lay back in the small clearing. You debated for a moment which option to choose, and finally settled on the painted blue circle. A sigh of relief passed your lips as you pulled out a lock box. The cold metal was at least familiar and you popped the lid with no trouble, grabbing the second piece from inside.

You turned to leave after placing the box back into the hole, but something made you turn back and face the third, untouched spot. Curiosity got the better of you and you hesitantly stuck your fingers in inch by inch to see what lay inside.

At first, there was nothing. Then, something spindly and wiry stroked the back of your hand, and you yanked it back to make sure whatever it was hadn’t stayed on. Panic pumped through your heart and you screamed, running back towards the entrance and away from whatever hell demons resided in that wall.

Arthur bolted up from his spot on the ground when he heard your voice rip from the cave, and was on his way towards it when you came bolting out and nearly toppled over the edge. You were shaking your right hand over and over, with your eyes wild and desperate to find an escape. The drop wasn’t too far, but more than you should have managed by sitting down and pushing yourself forward.

“What in the hell was that? Are you alright?” Your eyes were huge as you stared, still visibly shaken by whatever happened in the cave.

“I got it…but there was something else in there, too.”

“What was it, YN?” His voice cut the night air hard and deep, afraid someone had met you inside and intended to cause harm.

Checking to make sure the back of your hand was clean, you took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself. Your voice came out in a shaky breath and you shuttered at the memory.

“Spiders.”

You had never seen Arthur laugh harder.

At first he was bewildered, but that only lasted a few seconds before what you said really clicked into place and shocked him into a fit. He was doubled over, grabbing his knees for support. You watched him wipe tears from his eyes thinking bandits or the like were responsible for your terror. But no, just little bitty spiders.

“That funny to you, Mr. Morgan?” Your arms were crossed and you looked down with fake resentment.

“Oh, we’re back to that now are we,” he chuckled again, still not able to stand up straight. Laughter still rippled its way out as he repeated the scene in his mind.

“They were horrifying! Stop laughing. Ugh they crawled up my hands, they must have been everywhere. I nearly dropped the piece on the way out, and I could have died! Arthur, I said stop laughing.” You shoved him, unable to contain your own hysterics now too. The two of you enjoyed the moment, realizing that nothing was truly the matter. Eventually the laughter died away and you pulled out the second piece, motioning to Arthur to hand you the first.

A loud click rang out when the pieces finally went together. “Only one more!” The excitement overtook you and you danced a little with the key in front of you. Arthur laughed once more, then snapped open the map to have a look.

“Celebrating might have to wait until tomorrow, last place is a bit of a ride. Heartland Oil Fields, least half a day away and it’s already night.”

“Fine, fine. Where should we camp tonight then?”

Arthur rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Let’s get closer to the train tracks, then we can follow them up North and over to get to them oil fields.”

You agreed and mounted up on Eclipse. Zeus followed as you took the lead out of the area and headed back to the trail.

People were friendly here. Not that you passed many this late at night, but they all smiled, tipped their heads, and said hello while riding by. A rumor about the O’Driscolls being in the area wasn’t proving itself true that night as no trouble came across you on the road.

“Let’s head up here, turn left YN.” Another small clearing greeted you as a makeshift camp.

There was no fire set up this time as it was late, and Arthur was exhausted. He unrolled his sleeping mat and started snoring before you were even adjusted sitting on the ground. The short hour you had gotten earlier made you feel great, and sleep was the last thing on your mind.

The connected key pieces sat together in front of you, but you wanted to know more. The map was tucked away in Arthur’s journal, and you knew he would hate you for snooping but you only wanted the additional page.

“Arthur?”

His lack of response was all you needed to tip toe over to Zeus and rifle through his saddle bags to grab to book.

“Gottcha,” the journal fell open to the page holding the map, but something else caught your attention.

“Is that…?” The angle from which the art was drawn showed a face turned away, and long wavy hair like yours. Just like how you were laying in Arthur’s lap this afternoon.

“Oh my god…” you breathed while flipping back a few pages. Images of you were everywhere. Arthur could somehow capture your eyes, how happiness spread across your face, and even moments of intense concentration with his pencil drawings. And you loved it.

So everything Charles had said was true. Arthur did harbor feelings for you, and you finally had the proof that validated your own heart too. Holding the journal to your chest, you walked back to your spot on the ground next to your lantern, and slowly flipped through page after page. Reading his innermost thoughts was too invasive, so you only looked at the drawings to get to know this man better. He was so much more than the person you thought you knew, and all of it was contained on the pages before you.

A particular drawing caught your eye, and you ran a light finger down the cheek. Well, your cheek. Somehow you didn’t know the woman in these pictures, so much had changed with you over the past few months.

Arthur muttered something softly, and you panicked and sat on the journal to hide it out of sight. He was just sleep talking, and you let out a sigh of relief. Time to put what didn’t belong to you back, and go about like nothing happened.

As you fell asleep a warm ball of hope and happiness settled on your chest.

The next morning you arrived at the oil fields earlier than you had expected. Arthur wanted to get back to camp soon so he woke you just as the sun crossed the horizon. You had slept little the night before, thoughts of the man beside you keeping you awake.

“Want me to head inside this time? You look real tired, YN.” You nodded and stood above the ladder that descended into darkness. The pair of you had been contemplating where this damn map was leading and the only logical place left was the drop down. After your spider experience yesterday you were secretly relieved not to be leaving the sunlight anytime soon.

Leaning against the wooden legs of the oil rig, you watched the wind ripple across the plains ahead of you. Bursts of dry plants stuck out of the dirt, and small animals scattered around in packs. Every once in awhile a chill bit the exposed skin of your forearms and neck, making you shiver and pull on your sleeves. What was taking him so long.

“Arthur? You alright down there?” A thud and a string of curses was your reply. After checking that the horses were tied up well, you began down the ladder to join him.

“I got this, don’t need you coming to save me.” His voice was gruff and he hastily dropped his hand from the top of his head. From the short height of the cave it looked like he had stood up too fast when you called out and smacked the back of his head. The grumpy look on his face didn’t last long though as you neared to him.

“Is it down here? Been long enough I could have solved it and left for camp by now.”

Arthur took a deep breath and his shoulders bobbed. “I can’t find the damn box. Should be somewhere over to the left, but I looked and ain’t nothing there.”

You held the map closer to the lamp and chuckled when you realized he was holding it wrong. “Arthur. Turn it this way, so we should be looking right.” You pointed and he headed that way silently, the frustration etched into his face. He held the lamp up over your head, but there was little space for the two of you to fit.

“I’ll go, just keep that light up.” His arm held steady, and you found the box. The top didn’t open as easy this time, so you handed it back for Arthur to try. He studied it for a moment while you took the lantern and allowed him to try.

“Ain’t so hard, just gotta-” the top flew up and spooked you both. The final piece was inside, and he handed it to you for safekeeping until you could get back to the surface.

“Please, YN, get up that ladder so I can leave this blasted hole in the ground.” You giggled and started climbing upwards into the open air, and breathed a sigh of relief. You’ve always had a weird fear of small, dark spaces.

“Arthur…this one doesn’t fit. Look here, the other two clicked in so easy but I can’t find how to connect them all. Are we missing one other part?” You took the map out and compared the sections to what the whole should look like. “Something must have broken off…Damn.”

A round green orb was missing. In fact, it was the most important piece, the one you would look through while standing in the oil field to find the treasure stash. It had special markings on it that was supposed to reveal the spot after all three pieces crossed in front of it, connecting to create a web like structure in your hands.

“Maybe we can use something else?” You started looking around to see if anything was dropped, but no luck.

“This drawing makes it look like a marble.” Arthur pulled his satchel around and produced just what you were looking for. A green marble.

“Forgot I was playing with Jack last week and he hid these in my bag. Think this’ll work?” He placed the small shape into the socket, and it clicked into place. Excitement filled your chest as you held it up and looked through the finally assembled key.

“Oh, this is stunning! Whoever put this together must have been incredibly intelligent, look at how it plays off the rays of the sun and how the clouds are…should we wait until there’s a certain coverage?”

Arthur grunted in reply and took the object out of your hands. “Darlin’, we do any more waiting and I am gonna starve to death. Let’s find whatever treasure Sean had built up in his mind and head back to camp. I ain’t really in the mood for hunting.”

You took it back to locate the place you would be hiking up to. The hill was too steep for the horses so you two would be climbing up on foot, hopefully not taking long to locate something you had no clue was even still there. The green marble shone in the sunlight, and the circles of metal lined up when you stared at the peak of the rock. “Arthur! Up there, that’s where we gotta look. It matches the crazy designs on the back of the map.”

Once turned over, swirls and circles covered the back of the paper around a cut of rocks shaped like a face. The nose was broken, and in the crack was the red line indicating the location of the treasure.

It took nearly half an hour to climb up that damn rock. At first it seemed easy and you entered the task full of false confidence and expectations. But those were built on a weak foundation and fell apart as soon as you got more than a story off the ground. You were open and exposed, climbing the side of a mountain with a man who was clearly more comfortable with this kind of thing than you were, and he watched you sweat and curse every time your foot misstepped and you imagined yourself careening down to your death.

“I, I don’t know how much higher I can go, Mr. Morgan,” you panted up at him. He looked down surprised. “You alright down there, Ms. Moore?”

The rocks around you were suddenly slippery and your palms felt like the surface was too smooth to get a good grip on. “You continue on up, I am not going anywhere but down from here.” Arthur offered you a hand up but you swatted it away quickly, afraid to have your hands away from the stone for more time than necessary.

“Please, just hurry.”

He chuckled and climbed up the last bit. “Sure is a pretty view up here, YN!” Arthur rested his hands on his hips and drank in the view before him. You silently cursed whoever made that map and buried treasure up in the middle of a cliff. Albeit, they did pick a good place if they didn’t want anyone finding it.

“Shame. I found the box, I’ll bring it down to open though,” Arthur made quick work of climbing down to you and found you pale faced and pressed hard against the wall.

“I don’t think I can move. It’s terrifying.”

The next step down was luckily a ledge, and Arthur jumped down. “Here, if you need to jump I’ll catch you.” His hands were held up towards you and judging by the size of his arms he would have no problems if you actually jumped.

“Jesus Christ.” Your boot scooted closer to the edge. Right before you moved to him you saw how high you truly were, and felt a bit dizzy. Your legs gave out and you fell right into Arthur’s open arms.

He caught you easily, of course, and once you regained your balance you had no desire to release his jacket from your grip. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He chuckled lightly. “C’mon, girl. You telling me a little cliff is going to do you in? You can do this, just focus for a moment. Look at me, focus.” Gently, he placed a hand on either side of your face and locked his eyes with yours. You concentrated on his chest rising and falling, breathing along in time to settle your nerves.

Once you felt better, you had no desire to pull back from how close you were standing with Arthur. His breath fell gently on your cheeks, and his eyes were such a pretty shade of blue when contrasted against the sky behind him. You smiled up at the outlaw, and his eyes crinkled around the edges in a gently response.

“You okay there?” It came out as a whisper, Arthur still not breaking your gaze.

You nodded, but still clutched him tight incase you had to look back down at the journey ahead. Arthur’s mouth was parted just slightly and was incredibly inviting, but you knew if you kissed him you definitely would never make it down this cliff. Finally you pulled back and began the descent to your waiting horses.

The last jump to the ground was short, and when you landed your skirt poofed around you. Arthur landed next to you and placed his hand on your back leading you towards Eclipse and Zeus who lifted their heads as you walked up.

“I’ve never been so happy to be back on the ground, thank you Arthur.”

He tipped his head, and reached into his bag. “Let’s find out what we won, eh?”

This time the box was easy. Wasn’t even locked, and after all you went through to get it you were thoroughly relieved. Just a plain, rusted lock box that opened easily.

“Woah…”

Three gold bars stared up at you from inside. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up higher than you’ve ever seen. “That is a lot of money. At least 500 each.” An awkward beat passed as you mentally debated what to do with the bars. Keep them? Split it?

“Here. You take one, I’ll take one, then the gang gets the third. I almost care that Sean gets one but he did nothing except try to lose this map instead of chase anything. I would be careful about cashing that in, YN, maybe hide it at camp for awhile.”

You gingerly lifted your gold bar out of the box. It was beautiful, but what it meant for you was even more so. If there was ever a time that you needed to run, you were set for a good while without having to do much. You stood up on your tip toes and laid a kiss on Arthur’s cheek while muttering a quiet thank you. A blush ran up his face and he mounted Zeus with a smile on his face.

“Now, please. Can we get back to camp?”

The pair of you arrived in the late afternoon to the sleepy homestead. Kieran was on guard duty and waved you both in while holding a shotgun. You could see Hosea leaning in and discussing something with Charles and Karen that looked serious, but they didn’t see as you walked towards the stew.

You scooped a bowl for Arthur first as he complained the whole ride back about how hungry he was, and he gratefully took it and found seating near the fire. The heat from the midday had worn off and you grabbed a shawl from your tent, wrapping it loosely around your shoulders. It was an old one of Abigail’s that she had given you as a gift.

“YN! Glad you’re back, I’ve got a plan I want you in on.”

Hosea called to you from the table and you walked over to the trio. Charles had a paper in front of him and Karen was keenly looking at the drawings.

‘How would you like to head out on a mission with us?” Karen smiled up and patted the seat next to her for you to sit.

“There’s going to be something called a Governor’s Ball in Rhodes this month at the town hall. Dancing, drinking, schmoozing with the highest of society that this shit hole has to offer. Should be an easy haul and an excuse to get all dressed up.” Hosea’s eyes were lit up while he talked, the full plan laying out easily in his mind.

“I heard about it from a stable boy in town jealous his employer is going, but he isn’t. Anyways, I’ll need you as a distraction point woman and for pickpocketing those lame bastards dry. I still need to run it by Dutch but would you be interested?”

“Of course!” You were ecstatic at being included in a real mission with the gang. It wasn’t a train robbery but hell, being able to produce some kind of contribution would be a win. “Those are some things I’d be good at. Used to go to hall dances all the time back home.”

Hosea nodded at you approvingly. “Good. Should be easy. Won’t need more than those of us here, too many and we attract a lot of attention. Charles will be manning the wagon, and we can pose as a little family of three, not that you and Karen bear much resemblance, but I’m sure these backwards farm folk won’t ask too many questions. I can spin a sob story on the spot that will make them leave us be.”

He chuckled, and Charles even managed a small smile at the thought of Hosea making those bastards sad.

“We’ll iron out the details soon. Just wanted to make sure it was something you were up for.”

An excitement hummed through your body at the thought of wearing a nice dress and heading to a dance, and getting to rob some fools on the way. It’s too bad it was a full week away.

“You sure you want to take these folk with you, Hosea?” Arthur had crossed the camp and was standing behind Hosea’s chair, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Must be a few of us more suited for that.”

All four of you exchanged a look, then turned to Arthur. “What do you mean? We got some fine people-”

Arthur laughed and cut him off. “Oh, I know you’re fine folk. That ain’t the problem. Just don’t know if you all can be trusted to pull this off. Have to see what Dutch approves, won’t we?”

Charles scoffed and stood to leave. He and Arthur had always been close so this was an awkward conversation and a low blow. “Don’t know what’s in you today, Morgan. Leave it alone.”

Hosea rolled his plans up slowly, thinking his next move through. The man was calculating, but never cold in his actions towards Arthur who he considered a son.

“Would you like to be included, Arthur?” Hosea’s tone was condescending as if he were speaking to Jack, not a fully grown man.

“No, that ain’t -”

“Should I have run this by you before uttering a word to anyone else?”

Hosea stood tall, and what he lacked in height he made up for in his aura. He may not have been the most loved by Dutch, but he was his most trusted. And in this camp that held a lot of weight to it. Arthur shirked back and rubbed his neck.

“Hosea, I just meant the women.” You sucked in a breath as if you had been hit. He didn’t trust the two of you for a simple robbery mission?

“What in the hell does that mean, Mr. Morgan?” Karen was standing now, too. Her eyes were full of anger and she glared hard at Arthur, unafraid of him in the slightest. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and suddenly it clicked.

“Karen, it isn’t you he’s worried about.” Your voice was quiet, but everyone turned to look as you finished. “It’s me. He’s afraid I’ll find a way to mess this up.”

You stood and placed your hands on the table. “Mr. Morgan, can I talk to you? In private?”

For the past two days, Arthur had been the only person you had been around. Maybe he got fed up with you and never said a word. Maybe he really didn’t trust you after all of these months. Or maybe he just didn’t think you could pull off a robbery. Either way the dice fell it made you boil with anger that he said something in front of the others who clearly thought you were up to the job.

Arthur followed you back behind one of the wagons. As soon as you were both out of sight of the others, he was met with the full force of anger that was harbored inside of you.

“What in the hell, Arthur, was that.”

The speech that passed your lips was pointed and cold. You were mad, and you wanted answers.

He at least had the audacity to look embarrassed while he spoke. “I don’t know, YN, I just don’t want anything bad to go down. I’ve seen what happens when folks are inexperienced.”

“You don’t know that I’ll mess it up, Arthur! It could be great, I thought you woulda trusted me by now. I go hunting, I pickpocket folks, hell, Sean and I even had that side of the road scheme for a few weeks!” You were exacerbated as you blew air through your lips and ran a hand through your hair.

“Why are you really so hard on this plan?”

A few moments passed as he thought. Finally he replied, “Because.”

You snorted. “Because! That ain’t no answer. Look at me, Arthur.” You moved closer to him to see his reaction, and his eyes locked onto yours as you continued. “I may not be the greatest outlaw, but I’m good. I’m gonna ask you once more now, why are you so set on me not going?”

“Jesus, YN. Because -”

In one movement, Arthur pressed you back against the wagon, his lips meeting your for the first time. Utter shock ran through you, but was quickly replaced with elation that started warm in your belly. His hands were in your hair and on your waist while you pulled him in closer by his shirt, and he eagerly responded.

The world swirled around you, but Arthur was the anchor in a storm you didn’t see coming.

His mouth moved against yours gently. It was a feeling you could live in forever, but Arthur eventually pulled back slowly. His face was still close, and you could see his dilated pupils and flush ridden cheeks.

“Hope I didn’t, uh, overstep anything there.” Arthur’s voice was thick and low.

“No, Arthur. Think I’ve been hoping you’d do that for awhile.”

He chuckled and twirled a lock of your hair around his finger. “Me too. And I wasn’t worried about you messing anything up, YN. I was worried you might get hurt if something goes wrong.”

“It ain’t even a high stakes mission, you fool. No trouble around.” You laughed and slapped his chest lightly, your high still buzzing through you. “I didn’t know you truly cared, Mr. Morgan.”

“‘Course I care, I’m just not too good at showing it.”

Before reluctantly separating, Arthur kissed you gently twice more as if he couldn’t get enough of what had been up until now had been simply a fantasy. As far as camp went there was little privacy and you were worried someone would come around the corner and see what was going on.

Arthur left first. But before he got too far, he turned back and called one last thing to you.

“You may not find any trouble on that run with Hosea, but dammit, woman, there’ll be trouble for sure if you call me Mr. Morgan again.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #price to be paid #the price to be paid #fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #writing #sean maguire #sean macguire #red dead fanfic #I LOVE WRITING THIS #I appreciate feedback #let me know what you think #:)#rdr2 fanfic

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boneshine · 6 years ago

Note

You know I love your characterization and smut (and you)! Would you please write for me something about everyone’s favorite Goblin man facing up against a fem!character that’s hunting him down for his parts to sell? Kollector vs Collector! Smut encouraged but not required.

I’m always up to give love to Kollector! I hope you enjoy the kinks that I laced into this one, since you let me play around with the idea. I kind of left it simple and made the Reader from Earthrealm, with no special powers except incredible sass. NSFW.

Fandom: Mortal Kombat

Pairing: Kollector x Fem!Reader

Includes threatened dismemberment, non-consensual fingering, forced orgasm, humiliation kink.

“Greed”

“Your feet may be light, but aNaknada hears everything.”

You couldn’t hide the smirk onyour face as you strolled around the tree where you had been hiding, hands upin mock surrender before they fell to your sides. “I’d be impressed if you hadsaid that to me three hours ago when I started tracking you,” was yourresponse.

Your target, a tall and slendersix-armed goblinesque man—a Naknada, apparently—stood unimpressed as he watchedyou. “I knew when you arrived from the very beginning, Earthrealmer,” he hissedin his strange, slithery accent.

“Oh, really?”

“You cannot hide that stench.”

“Sharp tongue. Strong nose. Ican’t tell which part I want to take first.” You hummed and reached into yourcloak to pull out your trusty dagger, flipping it a bit to catch the light andhis attention. In the fading light of the realm, his eyes looked like two topazgems melted into ruby pools. You were sure they would fetch a nice price,considering who they belonged to. “Lots of profit to be made from a man of yourstature.”

“I am an invaluable asset to theKahn.”

“Best mind your own assets whileyou’re out and about collecting tribute.”

That got his attention. His facetilted into something more feral, practically snarling at the implication thatyou could steal from him. “And who dares to threaten me, urchin?”

“You can call me a… collector ofsorts,” you shrugged.

The Naknada huffed out a noise,and his shadowed face gave a hint of a grin, amused. “Ah, quite a bold thief toattempt to steal my own name.”

You paused. “… Your name is Kollector?”

“It is my occupation. Therefore,my name.”

This realm is full of weirdos…

That wasn’t the issue, anyway.You couldn’t care less about the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’. What mattered was that yougot what you came for, and that would be this “Kollector” and how many piecesyou could keep intact for the black market. A nice price was out for thisstrange-looking gremlin, and you wanted to be the one to cash in.

“How about this. I’m not nearlyas interested in that satchel you have as I am in, well, what’s holding thesatchel.”

“Ah… a meat-monger.” His armsflexed and both dominant sets were posed in front of him, although he did notdraw his weapons. “You’ve crossed the wrong Naknada.”

“Hey, let’s play nice. I’m areasonable woman. You have six arms. You can spare one or two,” you reasonedplayfully.

His orange eyes never left yourface.

“You have one tongue, yet I feelit must be removed for your audacity,” he spoke as he took a step toward you,and you immediately jerked your entire body to face him, taking your own stepto the side as you began to circle.

“This one?” You stuck it out athim, and you had to laugh at his blank expression. “Come and get it.”

His eyes narrowed and his armflexed as he reached into his pack and chucked a chakram at you—which you dodgedand charged at him, leaping and sliding gracefully across the dirt as he threwanother, aiming for his ankles.

A well-placed kick had himstumble with a growl, his arms recovering from the fall and swiping at you.

You evaded his swipes and blockedhis arms, slipping between them to aim a punch right for his face, only for himto block the next one and swing you away from him.

Landing with a grunt, youlaunched forward again, aiming for his right, only to spin and dart to the leftwhen he thought he would catch you. With his back exposed, you grinned and leaptonto him.

Thrusting down his hood over hiseyes to blind him, your dagger swung toward his throat, but a sudden punch tothe side from one of the smaller arms cradled around the satchel made you flinchand he used that one second of hesitation to grasp his long fingers around yourthroat and flip you.

Your body flopped in front of himwith a hard, painful twinge to your neck, thankfully unbroken, and tried tostab the arm holding you, but he squeezed, and the world blacked out around youas your eyes nearly bulged from the pressure.

Through the fog, a voice rumbled.“Afraid, Earthrealmer?”

“Of what? Y-You?” You managed tolaugh through a particularly harsh squeeze, although it sounded more like agurgle at this point.

“Your bravado is wasted. I haveclearly won.”

“It’s not that clear–” Another squeeze had your eyes rolling back slightly, yourcaught hand flexing and clawing at the air. “O-Okay, it’s clear! It’s clear!”He released your throat to hold your wrists instead and you coughed; theswallow nearly as painful as your wounded pride.

“You’ll need to do better thanthat, urchin. Now…”

With one arm holding you, theother three began to poke you. Prod you. Slide over you…

“Let us see what you can part with.”

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimedin confusion. Why hadn’t he delivered the killing blow? If you had him in thisposition, you’d have been reorganizing his internal organs by now.

“Allow me to assess you. There isa chance you may be worth more alive than dead.”

With that surprising strength, hehoisted you up to his gaze and those glowing eyes flickered over your face,trailing lower.

“Yes… Feisty… Strong… Sturdyfigure…” He clicked his tongue as you twisted your arm out of his grip andtried to swing your dagger once again, only for him to catch your hand and tiltyour wrist just so in order to make you drop the weapon that clattereduselessly beneath your hovering feet. “Not very clever, but…”

You held back a gasp as two ofhis hands slipped under the cloak and drifted over your sides, sliding intentlyover your hips.

“Full hips… Yes, very valuable,” he growled out, pleased.“You would fetch an agreeable price as breeding stock.”

“Like hell!”

“You are in no position to argue,my failed Collector.”

His fingers clasped your face andforced you to look into his eyes.

“I have had my fair share ofexperience with… assessing Earthrealm’s females. And you are a prime specimen.You would serve many men exceptionally and breed with many soldiers.”

“Is that your idea of acompliment?” you hissed.

“I don’t flatter when I can just take.”

A wince pulled at your lips as hesqueezed your wrists hard enough to where you felt the bones grind together.Your leg kicked out and managed to strike him upside the head, but your victorywas quickly doused as his other arms snaked around your waist and legs, holdingyou still as you cursed.

This guy was too strong. You werefor close combat, but you seriously underestimated this target. For fuck’ssake, he was holding your entire body up with ONE arm! This was the first timeyou had ever felt this vulnerable.

The strike obviously pissed himoff, but after a moment, Kollector’s head tilted, and an idea appeared to crosshis mind.

“Although…” he trailed off.

“Although what?” you bit back,glaring.

“I’ve just realized that it maybe too much trouble to bring all ofyou back to my slavers. I have more tribute to collect, and time spent haulingyou to them would be wasted profit,” he sneered.

You heard a shing of metal unsheathed and froze as the cold, sharp blade of ashotel delicately cradled your throat.

“Though I may bring back a pieceor two for inconveniencing me.”

Silence filled the void as yourmind raced with ideas to escape, each more stupid and incomplete as the last.

Damn it, I’m so screwed…

Long fingers grasped a thigh andyou jerked, only slightly, gritting your teeth as he clutched it hard. “Yourlegs have been quite restless since we’ve met. Following me. Kicking me.Perhaps we should remove them.”

“Perhaps we should not.”

He smirked at your fire, and hereached up to trace his claw lightly around your pulse, pressing into the pointunder your chin and increasing the pressure and pain until you were forced tolook up into his monstrous smile.

“Well, then. As I stated before…Allow me to assess you.”

The arms released your legs, andthe gropes continued, your disgust growing as his hands traced across your bodylike you were a piece of newly discovered treasure being polished and ready forsale.

You scoffed as his wording. “Assess,my ass…” you muttered.

“If you insist.”

“Huh?” You felt his hand slidepartly into your pants and you immediately tried to thrash in panic, but it wasuseless with three other arms holding you in place and a blade that threatenedto decapitate you if you so much as sneezed. “WAIT, no, I didn’t mean it likethat, there was a comma in there! A comma!”

The rush of cool air on yourlower half silenced you.

Kollector’s voice was smug, a lowpurr grazed your ears nearly as roughly as the palm that grasped your ass.“Hmm… Not displeasing at all.”

You felt your face burn withembarrassment and rage. If he had balls, you were taking those first. Slowlyand painfully.

“Now, let us see how the frontlooks.”

Fear violently washed over youranger and you hitched a breath as you felt those claws trail over your sidestoward your crotch, and you squeezed your thighs shut.

“NO!”

The ground suddenly zoomed in toyour face when you were slammed into the dirt, and you cried out in pain as theworld spun around you as you were flipped over, arms up but restrainedinstantly as the Naknada slunk over you with a vicious snarl.

“Silence! Be thankful I have notdismembered you, urchin,” he hissed, his eyes searing with a predatory shine.

The sword returned to pressedagainst your racing pulse.

“You should be grateful.”

He kneeled over you and pinnedyour leg with his weight, grasping the other by the knee. He pushed your leg tothe side, spreading you wide open.

“Ah…”

Your heartbeat in your ears wasloud but not enough to drown out how sickeningly pleased he was with what hesaw. He was toying with you, it was obvious. It wasn’t enough that you wereliterally as good as dead, he had to do… this to you!

Mindful of his nails, as itwouldn’t do to damage his freshly acquired property, Kollector teased your softouter lips, listening for a noise. When he got none except the hushed breathyou attempted to keep quiet, he bared his fangs at the challenge and pressedtwo fingers to each side, spreading them and revealing your velvety pinkinsides and the shy peek of your clit from under the hood.

He noted the shake to your thighsas he teased you further, the tips of his fingers dipping in, watched yourmuscles flex around to try and close them, and the textured pad of his thumbcaught on the edge of your clit.

Your body jerked and betrayedyou.

“Oh? Responsive after all,Earthrealmer?” his rough voice slid over you and you wanted to slam your feetinto his smug face until his fangs littered the ground.

“Don’t expect me to moan just becauseyou decided to feel me up—"

Two fingers sank into you unexpectedlyand you stifled a noise of surprise as the feeling seemed to spark heat up anddown your spine, eyes wide as you stared up at the sky, dumbfounded.

Why did it feel so… good?!

It was just from the length of his fingers, your mind argued. That was all it was. Just his strange, inhuman, gross spider-fingers that were disgustingand—

Curled against the spot that hadyour body tense and warmth flooded you in a pleasurable wave.

Dextrous…

His fingers suddenly picked upspeed and began to thrust into all the right spots of your pussy and your toescurled, fingers uselessly grasping at the air.

This was not happening!

How many females did he ‘assess’to get this kind of skill?!

That damned thumb joined to twirlexpertly around your tingling clit, and you huffed out a breath, fogging theblade that danced in front of your eyes as you tried to hold in howunfortunately exceptionally you were being molested.

“How pathetic,” he husked, andthe sound made you tremble for some unknown reason. Fear, maybe? “A would-becutthroat… brought to the edge of release from a total stranger. A stranger whocould easily tear them limb from limb if I so desired…”

“Sh-Shut… up…”

The filthy reality of what washappening sank into your stomach like a white-hot weight. It was humiliating,it was unwelcome, completely mortifying…

And you had never felt more turned on in your life.

The shock made you whimper.

His fingers paused and curledlanguidly inside of you to rest in your warm, silken depths, teasing the softwalls with gentle scrapes of his nails. “What was that, Earthrealmer?” hemocked, and the arrogance in his voice made you want to look away, but the stingof the blade on your skin left you immobile. His thumb pat at the swollen nub ofyour clit playfully.

“N-Nothing,” you murmured outquickly.

“Your protest has little credibilityconsidering how wet you’ve become. Do you enjoy my words?”

“Fuck o-AUGH!” your yell cut off as his fingers sunk into your mouth.The fingers, you realized with horror and a not-too-subtle jolt of heat betweenyour soaked thighs, that he just had inside of you.

“How does it taste, Earthrealmwhore?”

The heat of his breath on yourear, the condescension, the taste of yourself melding with the coppery tang tohis skin made your core quiver.

“Mmmnnph…”

As you were preoccupied, two newfingers filled you, and you nearly bit down on the ones that pinched and playedwith your tongue, saliva dripping down your chin as the tension began to coil inyou, and your squirming, however limited, increased from the waist down.

You felt the sword being lifted,and a hand grasped your face and your eyes shot open to stare into Kollector’swicked orbs.

“Come, pet.”

Red and orange and blue meldedtogether as your head flung back at the force of your orgasm, thighs tremblingand insides clenching around his fingers in delicious, wet pulses.

When the pleasure faded, yourtongue tinged with copper and your own juices, you found yourself left alone onthe ground.

With a foot, Kollector nudged youto your side, and you watched through sated, lidded eyes as he walked over andscooped up your dagger, which disappeared into the depths of his satchel.

“Consider this to be collateral. Youowe me, Earthrealmer. And I do not forget debts.”

#Kollector x Reader #Kollector x Female Reader #Fan Fiction #Mortal Kombat #MK11 #Kollector

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