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writerunblocked · 1 year ago

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Bullet Proof Heart: I. The Agreement

Synopsis: After her idiot older brother, a man notoriously bad a counting, accidentally short-changes the Peaky Blinders for who their father pays for protection, Anya Rosenthal finds herself engaged to the much older and the most powerful man in Birmingham. The leader of the gang The Peaky Blinders and her now former employer, Thomas Shelby.

Trope: Arranged marriage trop. I know it's old, but I like it.

TW: Death and dying, antisemitism, drinking, drunkness, and smoking, swearing

WC: 3560

Read Part 2, Out of the Bag, here. Read Part 3: Acceptance here

It was a bleak late August morning in Birmingham, England. The people went about their business, dogs barked, and she could hear children laughing outside. Nothing about this morning could predict the day Anya Rosenthal would have.

Waking up, getting dressed, and running into the kitchen to greet her mother who had been up for hours, the 22-year-old was greeted by her mother mopping the floors and muttering things in Yiddish under her breath. Looking at her mother’s blotchy face and red eyes, she looked like she’d been crying. She walked over to where her mum kept the liquor, grabbed the bottle of Jameson, walked over to the tea and poured her mother a glass with more Jameson than tea. Placing it down on the table, she walked over to her mother who was muttering in Yiddish ‘no good piece of shit. Marrying her off without my knowledge. I thought he loved her. To him!’

“Mame, vas geyt far?” Anya asked. (Mum, what’s going on?)

Anya's blue eyes met her mother’s blue ones. And Anya could see herself in her mother. The two were practically identical. Both had curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that caught the attention of everyone. Anya was said to be the most beautiful woman in all of Birmingham. Except her family was dirt poor. Her father had been hurt during the war and the family of eight had fallen upon hard times. Her brothers had taken up jobs running for gangs while her father had started growing Cannabis, something that was still taking off.

Her mother stopped mopping and walked over to where the tea cup was. Anya followed. “Antshuldigt mir, Anya,” she whispered while taking a drink of the tea. Anya knew it was extra strong with no milk, just how her mother, and also Anya, liked it. “Bite visn az ikh keynmol gevalt dos far ir.” (I’m so sorry, Anya. Please know that I never wanted this for you.)

Anya was now terrified of her mother’s own words. In her 22 years on God’s Earth, she had never seen her mother cry. Her own mother, who’d raised six kids while her husbands and three oldest sons were off at war and raised Anya and her older brother Isaac while simultaneously running the family pot business. Many soldiers would flock to it after they came home from the war, her three oldest brothers and father included.

But her father was sick, they couldn’t afford to take him to a doctor, and he didn’t have much longer left to live. He struggled to breathe and he struggled to walk. With every laboured breath, the Rosenthal family knew that their father was close to death. Her oldest brother Abraham, better known as ‘Abe’, would take over the business.

“Vas tut zikh?” Anya asked her mother. (What’s going on.)

But her mother couldn’t even look her in the eyes. All she kept on saying was ‘sorry’ in Yiddish over and over and over again. She was worried her mother was on the verge of a mental breakdown and she’d have to be whisked away. She was hysterical and that terrified Naomi. Her mother had led the charge for their immigration from Krakow, Poland, to Birmingham, England fleeing the Pograms. Anya was only a little girl but she could remember their neighbours being murdered by the townspeople. They’d packed up and fled to England, the only country that was willing to take them. Her father and brothers would then sign up to fight for the Crown, not knowing if they would come back alive. They all did, but no one knew how or why. They were in the Somme and worked as tunnelers.

“ANYA!” her father roared. “ANYA ROSENTHAL GET IN HERE!”

With her mother’s silent sob, she got up and walked to her father’s office. She wondered who was behind the door as she smelt the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and her father only smoked cigarettes when he was meeting with someone. As she opened the door to her father’s office she saw the man sitting at the desk with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. But on the other side of the desk with his back toward the door was a man with a partially shaved head and a familiar cap that she saw every day at work. She nearly wanted to scream, for Anya recognised the man, it was Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders. No wonder why her mum was crying. No wonder why she was inconsolable. This man wanted her for something. And she hoped it wasn’t about last night at the Garrison, where Anya worked as a barmaid.

“Anya, you’re here,” Mr Shelby said, turning around to greet her. His electric-blue eyes looking into hers. She felt weak in the knees. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Is everything alright, Mr Shelby?” Anya asked tentatively, taking the only empty seat which was beside him. “Look, about last night, I didn’t know that Connor would try something like that—”

Mr Shelby cut her off. “What happened with Connor?”

Fuck. Anya thought. Fuck me in the ass and call me a bitch. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Mr Shelby said. “We have other things to discuss.”

“A raise?” Anya asked hopefully. “Controlling the creepy men? Finding my sanity?”

“Enough, Anya!” Her father grumbled though he did seem amused with his daughter’s antics. His warm and mischievous smile that he'd given to all six of his children coming through.

“You’re my new fiancée,” Mr Shelby said. “Your father and I made a deal. He got caught up in something and you are unfortunately caught in the middle.”

And though Mr Shelby seemed saddened by the fact she’d gotten caught up in their business. Anya didn’t know what to do. It felt like everything was falling to pieces around her and all she could do was watch it happen helplessly. Anya had no intention of getting married in the first place and was happily content with being the crazy single Auntie at every Seder who gave sweets to her niece and nephew. She wanted to travel, have fun, and go out. The last thing on her mind was marriage. Anya was pulled out of her thoughts by her mother’s violent sobs from the kitchen. Anya hated how powerless she felt with the whole ordeal. Her youngest getting married, her little girl growing up, and starting a family of her own. People usually married for love, but Anya wasn’t given that choice.

Anya felt numb, completely and utterly numb. As the world crumbled around her, she wondered if it was possible to melt into the chair. Not even her mother’s sobs could pull her out of this. Sure, she and Mr Shelby did know each other, intimately as they had started sleeping together recently, she didn’t love Mr Shelby.

Tears staining her blue eyes, she didn’t move, she didn’t say anything. As her world crumbled around her, she wondered if she could turn invisible. She wanted to strangle her father. And Mr Shelby as well. Her father passed her some vodka and she drank from it. “Who’s idea was this?” She whispered. “And what did you do, Dad?”

“A deal gone wrong,” he sighed.

“My idea,” Mr Shelby announced.

Anya rolled her eyes and glared at Mr Shelby, probably a death sentence to anyone else. “Don’t you see enough of me?” She asked. “I’m on your payroll.”

Before Shelby could respond, Abe barged into the room and nearly lunged at their father. The pure rage that could be seen in his brown eyes was something that startled Anya. “SHE’S NOT A PIECE OF MEAT!” He roared. “SHE’S NOT YOURS TO MARRY OFF!”

“I’M SECURING HER FUTURE!” Her father roared. “I’LL BE DEAD IN THREE MONTHS!”

The entire house went cold. Everyone looked at him in shock. “What?” asked Abe. The atmosphere in the house turned cold as everyone processed their father’s statement.

“When did you find out, David?” asked Mr Shelby.

“Last month,” he sighed. “I found out last month.”

Everyone knew that David Rosenthal would die and that he was on borrowed time. They didn’t realise it would be this soon. Her father had been going downhill lately, he struggled going up the stairs, he struggled to breathe, he struggled to even move. Her mother walked in, her eyes stained, her face puffy as she looked at her husband. Anya knew her parents had known each other for their entire lives. They grew up next to each other in Poland, they met the day her mother was born. They got married young and moved to England together with their family fleeing the Pogroms in Poland. She wondered how her mother would handle the death of the man she had no memories of without. Abe would become the head of the family and life would go on like nothing had happened.

“I have a condition to the marriage,” Anya gulped. All eyes turned her, her mother gasped another sob. “I’ll go through with it if and only if you take care of my mum for the remainder of her life. And my nieces and nephews are put through school.”

Mr Shelby nodded. “That can be arranged,” he said.

“And I want that in writing,” she stated. “If not, there’s no deal.”

"Anya,” whimpered Abe. “You don’t have to do this.”

Her mother was sobbing violently now, but she’d been crying for so long that no tears had come out. Anya could also see that her mother’s violent sobbing was getting on Mr Shelby’s nerves.

Mr Shelby got up and looked at her. “You’re no longer an employee of Shelby Co because you’re my fiancée.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll pick you up later tonight, Anya.”

Anya nodded her head, barely being able to look at her now fiancée. “See you later tonight, Mr Shelby.”

“You’re my fiancée now, there’s no need to call me Mr Shelby,” he said.

“You later, then, Tommy,” Anya responded in a shaky voice. He walked out of the house.

Anya got up and also walked out of the house. Grabbing her purse, she walked down the street and made her way to the nearest pub where she took a seat and took a drink. The bartender saw her and laughed. He had a moustache and a darker complexion similar to Abe’s and wore a Star of David, he looked over at her and smiled, “Hi, Naomi, what brings the most beautiful girl in town back?”

Anya rolled her eyes and scoffed at the comment. The bartender and owner, Sam Lebowitz, had always been a flatter, but he had no interest in her. And when the news got out, no one would dare touch her for fear of the Shelbys. Sam had been a friend of her dad’s for years and she considered the man an uncle figure in her life. “A pick me up,” Anya admitted. She needed it after the day she had.

He walked over to her with a shot of Irish whiskey and vodka. He handed them to her. “How’s your dad?”

She took a deep breath and gulped. “Three months,” she whispered. “It’s getting to him.”

She could see the horror in Sam’s eyes when he heard that. Sam had been her family’s first friend since they emigrated and also served in WWI. As tears threatened to spill from his chocolate brown eyes, he brushed a piece of black curly hair away from his face. “Are you guys planning on sitting Shiva?” He asked her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s a thing to ask my mum, she’s been a wreck all day. She’s been sobbing on and off. The poor woman can’t even cry anymore.”

The atmosphere between the two people turned melancholic. Sam kept on filling her glass and she kept on knocking them back one by one. She didn’t care that she was losing track of time. She just wanted to forget this horrible day. She’d found out that she’d be married off like royalty, she found out her father was going to die in the coming months, and her life would consist of her looking over her shoulder because of who her inlaws were.

She thought of herself looking out of Arrow House in Warwickshire, being arm candy to Tommy, being at his beck and call. She wiped her eyes from the tears that continued to spill as the alcohol flowed. The whiskey and vodka started tasting like water, but she just continued to drink and drink and drink. She didn’t care.

The pub turned quiet but she downed another glass. “Another, Sam,” she slurred. “I need another.”

“That’s all for you for tonight,” he said. “You’ve had more than enough, Anya.”

“My dad’s dying!” She slurred.

“And you’ve still had enough. Just because you’re immune to hangovers—” he stopped and then looked straight behind Anya. “Mr Shelby, is everything alright? I paid you yesterday.”

FUCK. Anya thought. Of course this pub’s under the Blinder’s protection.

“I just need to speak to Anya for a moment,” Thomas Shelby said grabbing me.

“Leave the girl alone, Mr Shelby. She’s had a rough day. Her dad’s dying,” he said.

“I'm only here to help,” he said. “Come on, love, Abe’s worried about you. Your mum’s a wreck. It’s past sundown.”

“It’s not Friday,” she grumbled. “Ikh viln vodka! SAM, PASS ME THE BOTTLE!” She hollered reaching for the bottle of vodka.

Sam looked at Shelby and then Anya who was looking hungrily at the bottle like it was her mother’s latkes with applesauce. Sam looked at Shelby, then back to Anya, then back to Shelby once again. With one arm on her, Shelby pulled out a tenner and put on the counter, “Here’s for her tab for your best vodka.”

Her ears perked up as she heard vodka. She reached for the vodka while trying to squirm her way out of Shelby’s arm, but his grip was tight. “I’ll get her home, Mr Shelby,” Sam said pushing the tenner back. “She’ll be safe with me. I’m her uncle and I need to go talk to Chaya.”

“I can do it, Sam,” Shelby assured with a glance to Anya who was now looking at Sam with a guilty expression.

The two men stared each other down. Sam had to be the bravest man in all of Birmingham or the dumbest. All Anya knew was that this could end badly if she didn’t say something. She was going to lose her father, she couldn’t lose Sam too. “I’m her uncle,” he said. “I’ve known her since she was born, I will take care of her until the morning,” Sam stated again.

“I can take care of my own fiancée, Sam,” Shelby said. “The engagement was today.”

The look on Sam’s face was one of pure horror like he’d just gotten the worst news in his life. The horror in his brown eyes, the hurt, the betrayal. “Let me speak to you in your office,” Shelby responded.

Reluctantly Sam went, and Anya and Shelby followed. Looking around the dark wooden room, the air smelt like stale cigarette smoke and booze, but there was no laughing, no talking, no dancing. Everyone except the three of them that is.

They followed Sam into his office filled with photos of Anya and her five brothers throughout different life stages. Photos of Sam and her father when they were growing up. And photos of her mother smiling and laughing. The black and white photographs would never be able to capture her mother’s beauty. The beauty that Anya had inherited. The desk was filled with papers and weights, a typewriter sat in the back of the room, and a leather chair where Sam sat.

Anya was laid on the couch by Shelby, who grabbed a blanket, pillow, and trash for her. “Get some rest, love,” Shelby said.

“You’re not my mum!” She snarled. The urge to throw up came over her and she puked her guts into the trashcan. She felt sober now. Sam passed her a towel and she whipped her face, he then passed her some water and she drank. She nodded and got up. “I’d prefer to stay with Sam, Mr Shelby. If you don’t mind.”

“Your parents are worried sick,” Shelby stated. “And don’t call me—”

She cut him off. “Then maybe my father should have thought of that before he sold me to you like I’m royalty. Yes, he’s sick, yes, he’s dying, but I’m still pissed at him for giving my life to you!”

“I’ll take good care of her, Sam,” he said. “I can provide for her and I’ll be setting aside money for Gal and Noam that will take care of them for the rest of their lives. Chaya will be taken care of after ”

“Is that what you said when you showed up to David’s place on Tuesday night?” He snarled. “He told me about your meeting. He was so horrified that he couldn’t even speak on the phone. I had to go over there. You’re taking advantage of a dying man, Thomas Shelby.”

“Sam,” Anya pleaded. “Sam, please. I need you here, I’m losing my dad, I can’t lose my uncle.”

“I’m not going to do anything to him, Anya,” he assured her. “What do you want with the Rosenthals?” He asked. “It can’t be because Abe saved your life in the trenches.”

Anya perked up. That was news to her. She knew Shelby was a war hero and so was Abe. Anya knew that her brothers and the Shelby brothers served together, but she didn’t know Abe saved his life. She was young when they’d gone off to war but she remembered it being just her and her mother while the men were off. She remembered her mother praying every night that her boys would return home. God must’ve said ‘yes’ and her brothers and father returned home. She’d been at the ceremony when she was eleven seeing her brother get handed the medal. But he told her that it meant nothing to him, most of his friends hadn’t come back, and he was still haunted by what he’d seen in the Somme and Verdun. She knew Shelby felt the same way about it as well. She knew he did opium to forget in his past. He’d bought it from her father after all.

“Don’t take advantage of them, Mr Shelby,” he said. “I was already terrified when I found out she was working in your brother’s pub.”

“I have no interest in hurting her,” he said. “I can provide for her. I know you have money set aside for all of them in the case of your death, but that won’t amount to much. I can provide for her.”

“How do you know that?” Sam asked shocked.

“Because I know all the information on everyone who pays for protection from the Peaky Blinders,” he stated. “I know that you care for her, but I can provide for her.”

“Is that what that Gypsy tongue of yours used on her ailing father?” he asked.

“He’s worried that she’s getting too wild and is in needing of marrying off,” Shelby responded. “Better me than someone else.”

“The most I do is get drunk,” she sighed. “I don’t go crazy, I don’t do coke.”

“You once went through half my vodka supply,” Sam said.

“I haven’t—”

“That was last week,” he said cutting her off. He turned to Shelby, his eyes now also filled with fear. This was his niece after all. “She’s out of control and you think you’re the one to pull her back?”

“I’M A HUMAN BEING!” Anya roared tears staining her eyes. Sam passed her another glass of water. “I’m a human being. I’m not to be brought, I’m not a prize to be won, I’m not a piece of land. I’m a human being. A human!”

Shelby led her back to the couch and put his hand in hers. “You are human, love,” Shelby said. “No one’s saying that!”

She jumped up and Shelby got up with her. “THE REST OF MY LIFE WAS SIGNED AWAY!” She hollered. “SIGNED AWAY TO YOU! RIGHT NOW, I’M THE PROPERTY OF MY FATHER, AFTER THE MARRIAGE, I’M YOUR PROPERTY. MY LAST NAME CHANGED, EVERYTHING ABOUT THE ROSENTHALS ERRASED AS I’M JUST KNOWN AS THOMAS SHELBY’S WIFE!” She pushed Shelby away. “Does anybody ever stop to think about me when they’re throwing my life to the wolves?”

Shelby looked at her and sighed. “I understand where you’re coming from,” he said. “You won’t be cut off from your family.”

She was shocked at what came out of Shelby’s mouth. He was assuring her that she wouldn’t be cut off from her family. She scoffed, she knew the answer. “You genuinely want this,” she laughed. Anya's laugh wasn’t one filled with humour that people called ‘infectious’. It was filled with shock and disbelief. “Good God, you want to go through with this. What happened, Mr Shelby, at the Pub that made you want this?”

“Your father got caught up in some business with the Blinders,” he told her. “You got caught in the crossfires.”

He grabbed Anya and led her out of the Pub. Uncle Sam was reluctant but didn’t object when she sent him a pleading look. And with that, she was on her way to her parents. Her mum was probably worried sick about her.

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #arthur shelby #finn shelby #john shelby

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semi-imaginary-place · 17 days ago

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dragon age veilguard live thoughts

varric better not die in the intro. Where is the inquisitor? Why is solas' ritual happening in minrathous and not skyhold where the sky was held back.

wow they are confirming fan theories in the first few hours including my own. that the Evanuris are connected to the blight and the black city in the fade. titans hiveminded dwarves and stone magic vs sky magic. Enchantment! i had sooo many elvhenan hypotheses. I am conflicted about the evanuris being proven evil in a series so dedicated to "both sides"ing EVERYTHING even when they shouldn't, like the mages are way more right than the templars. to be fair the blight has always been a morally black element to the series so by definitively connecting the evanuris to the blight they are painted as the villains. we'll see if that stays true or whether their morality is complicated later.

the crows are just the mafia or maybe the mexican cartel. absolutely brutal and violent and constantly murdering, torturing, or trafficking people. but also a major power system in the region and removing them leaves a power vacuum and more violence as small gangs war to fill in the space. oh and now they're nationalists hmm?

ah lucanis. dark brooding and tormented by demons (literal). ventori incubating demons in people. i won't say it i won't say it. also just noticed neve has a sick ass carved gold snake for a foot.

Having the ventori and evanuris be allied feels like the boring option. Just the 2 most blatantly rvil factions. Would be more interesting jf they hated each other because the venatori were racist or something.

would have expected the fade expert to be with the veil jumpers or those veil nuts in inquisition instead of a necomancer. i guess emmrich does both? or i mean there's no one probably more knowledgeable than solas. Gameplay wise this was probably to distinguish from bellara but it's janky and feels like emmeich was shoved into the role of fade expert.

It's been like 20? 30? Years since origins. Dog is dead! He was already not young in inquisition and even if mabari are long lived that's impossibly long for a dog. Really instead of d52 or whatever the year i think it would have been more interesting if the game took place 5 or 6 years ago. Solas makes a more interesting antagonist and having this during the antaam invasion is more interesting.

Hawk would have been useless anyways but this is perfect for the hero of ferelden more than the inquisitor. The blight, the blighted dragons, the wardens. But there was never meant to be a dragon age series, origins was meant as a stand alone. And as a stand alone close book story it fits pretty well that the warden dies. But as a series especially how relevant veilguard and origins are its glaring that they havent shown up. But of course they cant. World states.

Wow orlean conservatives would rather have the venatori than anything else. Guess they hate poor people and elves more than magic. They'd probably jump at the chance to have slaves. Looking at the foreign fascists thinking her they have the right idea.

The solas murals! Cole!!! My head is spinning. I'm a little worried about the implications. The fade is formed from perceptions of the world, the emotions of people, and thus so are spirits. That elves are descended from lyrium embodied spirits might be implying they were indirectly formed from other races. This combined with the dwarves being of the titans makes me worried as different race origins can be a slippery slope. That said this could be the begining of an "each race has it's own true creation myth". The other thing possible is that the two sides of the veil feed into each other and the evanuris making bodies happened before the veil and disparity. Who is to say the spirits weren't first. You can see the writers are favoring dalish elf origins. Also solas is the writers special little egg. His romance has so much unique content it's rather unfair really i would have rather he be unromanceable but oooh lore content. Fem dalish inqs eating so well. And while I love lore I do miss origins and it's presentation style where there was a more equal lore spread. Although part of that could be location. Orlais and ferelden are very chantry while the North with rivain, tevinter, and arlathan are less andraste focused

wow solas and mythal had history history. and that explains where she is in this game. he killed mythal/flemeth to restore his power after inquisition. the writers nerfed well of sorrows.

kieran should be like 20 right? imagine if he was a companion. the inclusions of taash and emmrich (as much as I love them) into the plot is super rough. like these two were bought on after the attacks on minrathus and treviso. but we don't go and hunt down those dragons at all. emmrich might be my favorite companion but his reasons for being here are the thinnest. Morrigan's like 50 now right, hilarious how she looks and sounds exactly the same as she did at 18. to be fair origins morrigan looked and sounded 35, but she did act like a moody teenager.

Rather than a pocket spirit all I was looking from Mythal was some advice on how to stop elgarnan and gilhinain

the old god dragons were always enslaved high dragons of the evanuris that they could puppet around. eh i don't like this idea overall. this does explain why the darkspawn seek them call to them between the evanuris using the blight and the blight being the corrupted and severed malicious dreams of the titans. but it goes against that plurality spirit present in dragon age origins where multiple different myths/belief systems are plausible. haven't heard about andraste in a hot second but maybe that's because we're in the north. where as veilguard is giving single definitive answers. so definitive this sort of feels like the finale for dragon age stories which I would be fine with. This would be a good ending point for the series, focus on new projects. like remember how origins was all about killing one archdemon, well now we have 2 to deal with a continent wide super blight and the gods who were puppeting them all along. this also in a way makes the dragons less cool. before dragons were specifically associated with mythal and not the pantheon as a whole and that fit well as mythal was the matriarchal mother figure and dragons are female that was the whole thing with the associated animals, halla raven wolf. making the archdemons slaves of the evanuris takes away dragons as gods in their own right, again the plurality thing. and why have dragons if they aren't going to be cool. like imagine the old gods were like nature spirits (given the strong elemental affiliation like ice lighting fire dragons), and a neutral party to the evanuris shenanaigans originally. but they were deemed a threat and sealed and now that the evanuris have become corrupted the darkspawn seek them out to turn them. like that's only 1cm off of canon but it's cooler. Or maybe the old gods existed before the evanuris just like the titans and it's a greek titans olympus situation where the dragons were too powerful to kill so the evanuris had to seal them. And it's only after they gained the power of the blight that they had an edge over the old gods but by then they were at war with the titans and then solas went against them. Well in general I have mixed feelings about the evanuris being revealed to be super evil. I'd much rather they were gray like solas just a darker shade. or maybe more emphasis given on before they were blighted. Like that they dalish myths were kinda true they just didn't paint the full picture vs. canon where the dalish are mostly wrong (which is actually pretty interesting for the dalish but not for the evanuris)

Weisshaupt time. Uuuhh doesnt davrin die if he kills the archdemon, the whole thing about needing a grey warden to trap the soul. If the archdemons are evanuris thralls then whose soul was mythal/flemeth trying to yoink into morrigan's baby? And just what was she trying to do with it.

i need to introduce emmrich to buddhist philosophy. I went and watched Emmrich's romance on Youtube and it got me thinking. First, ahem, "BOONNEE!" Wow even as a skeleton in a coffin rook is wild. His questline is mainly about his "whining about his mortality" as Hezenkoss says. "The sound of the Gion shōja bells echoes the impermanence of all things; the color of the sōla flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline." Bro could use some buddhist existentialism and anika. He just worries about it so much and he's my favorite of the companions. Even if he becomes a lich that probably wouldn't be an eternity. Nevarra isn't eternal and neither will be the necropolis whether that's 100 or 100,000 years. And assuming real world science applies the sun is going out in a few billion years and heat death of the universe atoms will eventually decohere into a soup of uniformity. Although maybe he'll have it figured out by then. Thinking about persona 3 whose main repeated motif and theme is memento mori.

Spite is not very spiteful

Taash is great and all but hello?? Their mom??? She's so immigrant mother it's perfect. Extremely hardworking tough love tries to take care of her kid but also doesn't quite get it. The main thing im disappointed with taash's story is that you are forced to choose between rivain and qunari culture in a story that is otherwise about defying boundaries and binaries. I get that it's a formula and all the companions get a 2 fork choice but it's just thematically inconsistent for taash. (Griffons to forest or wardens, harding normal or titan, emmrich lich or manfred, neve kingpin or detective agency). So much outrage at taash being nonbinary wow we do live in the transphobia age. Like tassh's story is a very direct and straightforward queer narrative so I can understand why people might find it too in your face. I was rewatching all of dragon age and dragon age was always like this. people didn't nearly have this many problems with krem and his transness is just as direct as taash's like there's several dialogue options with him and bull asking what his deal is and each time the game reaffirms krem is a real man. So dragon age hasn't changed it's that games have somehow gotten even worse. Dorian's story was in large part about the stigma of being openly gay and the pain of his father trying to change him with blood magic conversion therapy. Also marveris is right there if you want in the background transness or even rook. A story with multiple trans characters presenting different aspects of the trans experience from questioning and defining identity to just living it, love to see it. People need to get over themselves, your life experiences are not universal, people different from you exist and their stories are justcas worthy of being told.

Wow companions actually die. This is stressful. I'm willing to sacrifice davrin but not assan.

I'm disappointed wolf solas isn't fluffy. He barely looks like a wolf more like a dog with mange. They should have leaned into the shadow wolf thing. Also i cant be the only one who finds elgarnan boring. I wish there was an option to let solas merge the fade nf the physical world. Veilguard geels like a finale anyways might as well do something irrevokable. Like the origins of the blight have been revealed and dealt with. we've traveled the continent. The extinction of the griffins has come to light. Solved the secrets if arlathan. It all tied back to the evanuris. Mythal. I do like we get the option to just beat him up or trick the god of trickery i feel like he's admire that. Convincing him is good too since he's been twisted from his original purpose wisdom to pride. Why didn't solas part the veil at skyhold it's weak there and that is where the fade was held back.

Overall great game I had a fun time watching. There is a weirdly high amount of hate, people talk about this game like it's the worst thing ever and really none of it was bad. I liked origins more but but this is still good. But Origins cant really be beat one of the best games of all time. it's not a bad game people are hating way out of proportion, I'd put it on da2's level. Not as good as origins but still pretty good despite the (different) flaws. Both are good games but have more flaws and less highs that dai and dao. I like all of Dragon Age it's like asking me what flavor of ice cream I hate I love them all.

Inquisition though has the best characters love the cast and character writing even if i despise some of them (vivienne, sera). Given how solas is a major character now in 2 games his romance should have been for all genders. I mean it's already elf locked it, did they really need to gender lock one the most important characters in the series and pretty important characterization and lore. Yeah i get that they wanted solas to be a problematic straight guy but he's too important to be straight.

Of Veilguard my favorite character is emmrich, devs commited to the bone. I expected harding to be my fav but liked harding better in inquisition and i cant figure out why. Imagine if emmeich joined the inquisition, in veilguard he talks about wanting to adventure and really inquisition in some ways is more appropriate what with the rifts dragging spirits out and demoning them, that would motivate him. I wonder if solas would like or hate him. Vivienne would continue her trend of not liking any other mage besides herself. Dorian would get to see his foreign exchange professor. Cole would help. Cassandra doesn't even like nevarra and hates the dead stuff. Would bull adopt manfred? Sera would hate emmrich he's like all her least favorite companions combined.

Outside of emmeich and assan I didn't feel all that strongly about any of the characters, maybe because i was sometime half listening while doing other stuff. Loved bellara and neve's friendship

#Dragon age #Dav

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chichi-the-treetea · 7 months ago

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My OC

Here is one of my favorite OCs that I have made:

This is an OC of mine. Please do not use character.

Name: Nadia Vladimirovna Landowska Aliases: N/A Age: 19 Birthday: Wednesday 14th March 1922 Gender: Female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Straight Race: Human Ethnicity: Russian, Danish, Luxembourger Nationality: Russian (Currently part of the USSR) Religion: Atheist Social Class: Lower Middle/ Working class Wealth: Poor Appearance: Hair: Long and blonde. Her hair is down to her hips. She always keeps in braids which has forced a small permanent wave in it. Eyes: sapphire blue Skin tone: Fair During the early 1930s, she wore flower patterned dresses a lot and black boots. Her family could not afford new clothes or shoes, so growing up she always wore hand-me downs from her older sisters and boots from her older brothers. In the middle 1930s, one of her Danish aunts came into some money and had dresses made for her favorite niece, Nadia. In 1939, her second oldest brother was killed. One of his friends managed to bring back his uniform trench coat. Nadia being so much shorter than her brother, the trench coat is nearly down to her ankles. She wears it very often now. When the Germans invaded in 1941, she lost her home and belongings and now wears pants that belonged to a dead Red Army Soldier, a very stained white button up(men's), and a brown, long sleeve men's shirt over top of that. She used rope to tie both the pants and shirt so that they stay on. She still wears one of her brother's old boots. Image of appearance: Personality: Kind, caring, strong, stubborn, approachable, nervous (Always on her toes and looking out for dangers.), Talents: She has a talent for art, although since Germany has just invaded and she has no access to any art supplies, she hasn't kept up on it. Hobbies: Since the war is going on and she has no home, she doesn't really have any hobbies. She and her sisters used to collect pretty rocks. Likes: Snow, cozy fires, the idea of travelling, skating, polar bears, Dislikes: Nazis. She really hates them because they are the reason (in her view) that she has no home, her brother is dead, and she cannot find her family. Potatoes, her family has always been poor and thus is was a major food for her growing up; almost every meal had it. Habits: Chews the inside of her lip when she is anxious, worried, or bored. Pet peeves: When people spit in public. Strengths: Stubborn, sneaky, she can speak Danish, good eye sight Weaknesses: She can't read or write, is stubborn Fears: Rats. It doesn't matter that she lived in an area full of them and saw them everyday, she still fears them gravely. Maybe the fact that she lived so close to them and had seen them kill babies and sick people in the streets and eat the dead. The Nazi Einsatzgruppen. Nadia had heard what they did as they made their way forward into the USSR and she fears them greatly. Mental disorders: Night Terrors (Mostly of rats and dying family.) Physical disorders: Because she is without home, work, and the war is going on, she does not get a lot of food and good water and therefore is underweight. Relationships: Ivan Braginsky (Love interest.) Ruth Benowitz (Jewish woman who Nadia befriends.) Anselm Barfuss (Nazi commander who has sworn to kill Ruth and everyone dear to her, including Nadia. [Yes, Barfuss is a real German last name and was chosen for comedic effect.])

Family: Vladimir Landowska(Father; missing) Matilde Landowska (Mother; missing) Six brothers (One dead the rest missing.) Six sisters (All missing.) Love interest: Ivan (EEVAHN) Braginsky Pets: She had a pet dog, Lina, when she was growing up but the dog had a seizure when Nadia was ten and thus passed away. She hasn't had any pets since. Residence: Currently, Nadia does not have a home. She wanders around from ruined place to ruined place, village to town to Red Army camp as she looks for her family. Description of residence: N/A Occupation: Before the war, her sisters worked on a farm while she stayed home to take care of their sick younger brother and their mother who had gone crazy after her sister (One of Nadia's aunts) had been killed in Germany after marrying a Jew. Backstory: Nadia was born to a father who was Russian and a mother who was half Danish and half Luxembourger in 1922. The second youngest of thirteen children, she was often the baby and was clearly her father's favorite while also being her mother's least favorite child as she was born the same year her aunt was murdered. In 1939, her second oldest brother was killed in Poland and her mother's mental stability left her. She left to go buy eggs, and never came home. One of her sisters left shortly after that and following were all her brothers who joined the Red Army. In 1940 Nadia, her younger brother, and her father were the only ones still living in their house. By 1941, Nadia's brother was too sick to leave and her father insisted that he was not going to run from an evil he could fight. Nadia was out helping Soviet soldiers escape when the Nazis reached her village. She hid out in the woods for three days with three Red Army soldiers before she left them to go home. When she got there, the house was ashes and burnt stone. She spent a week looking through it all for any sign of her brother and father, but no sign was found. Two of her sisters lived in the village with their husbands and when she went to find them, she found that they too were gone. An old lady told her that she had seen the Nazis take away her sister's family because they were Jews. (Her sister had converted to marry the man.) When Nazis started rounding up civilians and bringing them out to the woods, and returning without them for more, Nadia ran. She ran from place to place, hiding and literally eating roadkill more than once to survive. Everywhere she stopped, she looked for her family until winter hit, which now left her where she was, currently huddled up in a wreaked building as the first big snowstorm of the Russian winter hit. Theme song: Ghost Town by Layto & Neoni Quote: "We both know you can't stop me from leaving." -Nadia "I think you don't know the power I hold over you." -Ivan

#Hetalia #OC #my ocs #digital art #Character #USSR #War #Story

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harrison-abbott · 9 months ago

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Susan

Susan was laid off from her work. This was back during the aftermath of the pandemic. When the company she’d worked for for eight years hadn’t been able to rebound following the lockdown. Susan never thought that something like this would happen to her; she thought things like that only happened in newspapers: small black digits that you didn’t need to worry about yourself. ///// On the journey back home she was numb. Susan didn’t want to tell her husband Barry. Because, when Susan was in trouble or when she got ill or when she made a mistake, Barry would get very mad. There was one time when she fell over in the park after it had been raining and she sprained her hand bad. She thought she’d broken it, and came home with the dog, upset. Barry saw her wrecked appearance and his face changed. “What did you do! Did somebody hurt you?” She explained what happened. “You shouldn’t go out when it’s raining,” he reprimanded her, “you already know you have shit balance! What’s the point in risking the park when it’s slippy?” ///// When Susan got home the house was silent. She was supposed to make the meal for tonight; and Barry would be back in an hour. Pie, gravy and potatoes. As she chopped at the potatoes with the radio on it gave her something to focus her mind on. But then the radio was blaring about war and sleazy politicians; another few hundred civilians tacked on to the death toll four thousand miles away: another rude, inflammatory from the prime minister that had irked so many people. It made her sick so she quit the radio. Again: she didn’t usually pay notice to such things. Because she wasn’t a civilian, or politician. But, right now, these messages were just making her nervous. ///// Barry arrived. He was singing. Barry was one of those folks who love music, even if he only knew four or five songs as his favourites. He was tone deaf. Susan had never pointed this out to him in over twenty years or marriage because she thought it would be mean to say anything. He got into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. “Ah,” he said, “pie and potatoes. Good stuff, Sue!” ///// They ate at the table. Barry was telling her, again, about this new employee who was younger than him and yet had gotten the promotion. Barry wanted that promotion role too and he was still miffed that they’d given it to the younger guy. She listened to his rant. It was almost identical to the one that he’d said last Tuesday. And she went through the muffled, calm voice, saying things like, it will get better, it won’t last long, it's about him and not you, don’t take it personally. When he’d finally gotten his wrath out, Barry asked, “So what about you? Anything happen at work today?” She shook her head and smiled and she hoped that he wouldn’t notice the ice in her lips. ///// That night she took her dog down to the park. She passed that spot on the grass where she had slipped, a while back. That happened maybe fourteen months ago and her wrist still got sore now and then. Before that slipping incident, she hadn’t fallen over since she was a girl. And she’d never understood why Barry had accosted her for her poor balance. ‘Because, I don’t have a lack of balance. I’m quite a balanced person. In several ways.’ It felt good to be out of the house and away from him. And in the park there were old trees that stretched into the sky. Susan wished she could be a tree. They certainly lived far longer than humans and were way more beautiful. But, she was fine for now being content with the simplicity of nature.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #prose #stories #tumblr writers #short fiction #fiction #short story #spilled ink

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ceruleanchillin · 3 years ago

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When You're At The Function F***in It UP And Your Man Walks In (Mayans)

Warnings: Implied sexual content, language, fighting

Characters: Angel, Coco, & EZ

You’re on thin ice as it is sis. The little forest-green dress with the the deep plunge front and slit sides, the one that ended up purchased after your friends hyped you into it. That’s supposed to be in the trash according to one Angel Reyes. That, or reserved for private nights in.

Currently, it was wrapped around your form, helping you grab envious/admiring glances from around the room.

Your hips twisted to the layered bass, using the random behind you for stability. Your friend next to you cheered you on, her inner hype man on full display. There’s a breakdown in the song, and you lose yourself in the rhythm. Suddenly, you hear a familiar voice telling you “Superstar mama, say hi for the gram!”.

Your eyes zone in on Gilly, eyes wide. Everyone knew the Mayans rolled deep when they went anywhere. Where there was one, there was the rest. Especially when it came to the three musketeers and their wrangler, EZ.

Like you were busted sneaking back into your room as a teen, you froze. You narrowed your eyes at your friend who shrugged and mouthed sorry before disappearing.

“Gilly fuck off!” You hissed, moving away from the random. Your eyes scanning the crowded den.

Gilly laughed, tucking his phone into his kutte. “Ayy, don’t get mad at me,” he fluttered his eyelashes and fake coughed into his hand. “I don’t feel so good baby, I’m just gonna stay in tonight.”

You narrowed your eyes at his high-pitched mimicry of your last conversation with Angel.

He wasn’t even supposed to be there. Your friend swore she nixed all Mayan related invites, just for that night, on your behalf. All you wanted was to be able to turn up like you did pre-relationship. Normally you could at clubhouse parties since Angel trusted everyone there with his life. Any party outside of that was a gamble, and Angel could referee like he got a check for it.

Your eyes finally met said man’s across the party and a chill and went down your spine. Angel was propped against the wall across the way, eyes on you.

The rest of party fell away as you made your way over to him, schooling your features into your ‘what did I do daddy?’ pout.

“Nah, don’t come over with that lip poking now.” He shook his head, speaking when you were in range of him.

“And what are you doing wearing this fucking pillowcase out here? What did we talk about?” He pinched the thin strings of your dress.

“Nooo, don’t be mad. I was walking through my closet and it fell on me. Besides, you liked it when I modeled it for you.”

Angel scoffed, refusing to even entertain your comments. Coco chuckled from his spot next to his friend as he lit a cigarette.

“I thought you had club shit, I didn’t even know you’d be here.” You cringed as soon as the words left your lips, the shots you’d taken earlier still putting in work.

“I didn’t know you’d be here either. I thought you were sick. There’s some soup in the car that thought it was getting dropped off. Apparently wrong thoughts is the theme of the night.”

Petty by Angel Reyes.

“Soup? Baby, that’s so sweet.” You tried to pet his cheeks, but he was keeping you at bay.

“You aren’t even sick! Imma give that shit to Gilly.”

“Nooo.” You whined again, still trying to get him to let you touch him in some way.

“Get that bitch you were dancing with to buy you soup.” It was his turn to pout, but there was fire in his eyes as he tracked the guy you’d been dancing with. “It’s all he’s gonna be able to fucking eat in a minute anyways.”

“Sorry I blew up your spot ma, I just wanted to see my plug and get out.” Coco opened the palm of his hand not holding the cigarette and revealed a small bag of weed.

Angel snapped his head towards him, expression incredulous. “Don’t apologize to her, she lied to her man! She gave some puto hope! Get on code!”

“I love you hermano, but this is your guard dog-ass fault.” He pointedly ignored his friend’s heated glare as a girl in the doorway caught his interest, slipping away when she positively returned his gaze.

Angel’s attention was claimed by you once again when you pulled his head down towards you. You smothered his cheeks in kisses, to which he was physically unresponsive.

“I don’t know if I want you kissing on me querida.”

You rolled your eyes. Petty or not, everyone knew Angel’s life force depleted the longer he went without touching you. Even in your tipsy state you could see his fingers literally twitched with the need to take their rightful place on your hips.

“I just wanted to dance like I used to, and you don’t dance. Then you beat down guys who want to. You left me no choice, so let me have kisses.” You locked your arms around his waist, successfully avoiding his half-hearted attempts to push you away.

He scrunched up his face. “How the fuck am I catching strays in this situation? I’m the victim!”

“I’ll make it up to you later if you stop being a hatin’ wallflower and let me grind on you.” Your hips found the rhythm of the slow wind song thumping through the room.

His hands encircled your throat, drawing you closer to his person. Your pupils blew at his darkened expression, your lower half squirming with interest. He pressed his lips to yours, and the party faded to nothing again. His fingers flexed around your throat before closing just enough for him to draw the subtlest gasp from you. He felt it more than heard it over the noise, but it was enough.

He pulled away, licking his lips as you tried to remember where you were and if sin always tasted so good.

“You’ll make it up to me right now in the traitor’s car.” he held up keys you recognized to be Coco’s.

You started to protest on principle, but your body was going through withdrawals from a lite touch (for Angel). He could see the wheels turning, but you were letting him lead you out of the room, palm openly covering your ass.

“Who are you texting?” You asked, more annoyed with how his hands were no longer possessively roaming your body than a real answer.

He quickly pocketed his phone and returned his hands to you. “No one baby.” definitely not telling his boys via group chat to handle the random for him. “Stop worrying about anything other than how you’re gonna get around at work tomorrow.”

--------

It was bad enough you couldn’t make it to New Orleans due to work, and Old Lady “responsibilities”, but this petty fight you were in with Coco was the kicker. You couldn’t even remember how it started, but it escalated back and forth until you weren’t speaking and were back staying at your apartment.

Poor Letty had been reduced to messenger girl, especially now that she had a car. A tug of war with your point being “she was my girl first, that’s how we met” and his point being “she’s my kid, blood first ma” had broken out. You didn’t know what was going to wear through its welcome first, your lack of Coco, or Letty’s patience, but they were competing. It wasn’t like Coco was doing any better if your daily updates from Letty were any indication. He was impatient, tense, chain smoking, and was getting closer and closer to going through with the apology call he was openly fighting.

It wouldn’t be long before you were back to getting your back arched out of shape if that was anything to go by. Not a moment too soon if your own miserable habits were anything to go by. You wanted to use the party to distract yourself, hoping Coco would break first the following day. If not, it was sure to be you.

You spent the whole day throwing your frustrations into decorating your best friend’s backyard. It looked like the French Quarter threw up its best years, but it was the perfect backdrop to lose yourself to some bounce music.

Normally, you could goad Coco into being your twerking post, and that resistance (plus his turned on bi-lingual hypeman compliments in your ear) was everything missing at the moment.

You pouted and weaved your way out of the crowd to your friend who was busy playing good hostess.

“Ah ah, no whining. If you wanna really make it Mardi Gras, shake your ass on a dude.”

You narrowed your eyes, annoyed she shut down and solved your problem before you could whine about it. “Coco hates that shit! Plus he’s spoiled me, it won’t even be the same.”

“Coco isn’t here, and it doesn’t have to be the same, it just has to do.” She turned away from where she’d filled two shot glasses for the two of you. “Besides, we both know your ass is gonna be all in his neck crying about how you miss him tomorrow. Do your thing before you go out sad.”

She clinked shot glasses with you, pleased at her accurate assessment and your sourpuss face.

“Fuck you.” You laughed, voice rough from the burn of the shot.

“Save that for Coco.” She smacked your ass, draped one of the many beaded necklaces hanging off her shoulder around your neck, and sent you on your way back to the crowd of writhing bodies.

It was nothing to find dudes to grind on, and you fell into the synergy. You couldn’t count how many fast paced songs you’d thrown it back to, or how many guys you’d danced with. The stack of beads you’d acquired gave some idea though.

Meanwhile, Coco’s skin was alive with the kind of anger he felt. He’d been seriously contemplating coming to your place and forcing out admissions of how his life wasn’t right without you in it. He couldn’t remember who or what started it, but it didn’t even matter when your scent was starting to fade from his pillow, and his touch starvation was acting up.

All of that went careening out the window when he stumbled upon a pouty Letty, huffing and sucking her teeth at her phone. Turns out you, and “everyone in the goddamn world but me” according to Letty, were at your friend’s blowout Mardi Gras party. Coco knew it was your favorite holiday, but it was news to him that you had any plans since you couldn’t officially go this year. News he didn’t welcome at all, since all of the videos he saw you in you were throwing (his) your ass on multiple dudes. Did you think he wouldn’t fight everyone???

He was already on his bike before he’d even registered leaving the house. He sent a quick summoning call in his boy’s group chat, your friend’s address the destination.

The party was louder and wilder than the videos let on. He’d already spotted his boys by their kuttes, mingling in their respective ways, but didn’t seek them out. They’d find him if he needed them to. Coco on the other hand, needed to find you.

His eagle eyes picked apart the crowd until he spotted you twisting yourself to the rhythm. Coco didn’t know whether to shoot the asshole behind you, or take you away to deal with the feelings you were bringing out of him.

You knew he loved when you brought the South to the West Coast with your hips and ass.

He charged into your space, his hands immediately going for the guy’s arm and snatching him towards him.

“Make a choice cabrón. Get the fuck out, or be an expensive bill and sad memory for your moms by morning.” He pressed his kutte to his person, emphasizing that he was strapped.

The guy raised his palms and quickly exited the scene. Unwilling to test what clearly was a warning that Coco would happily make good on.

You tugged on him, trying to get him to move away from the crowd. Scanning those around you to see who saw or heard, you noticed more than you would’ve liked. They wouldn’t make a fuss, noting his kutte, but still.

“Stop it. What are you even doing here?” You hissed, tugging his arm harshly for his attention.

He turned his gaze, wild with adrenaline and arrogance at his victory, on you. “You should’ve stopped yourself before throwing it back on random fuckers for the internet. This is on you.”

“No, this is on you. If you hadn’t done what you did or said what you said…”. You trailed off remembering that you couldn’t recall what had happened, just the frustration.

“What did I say or do (y/n)?” He noted your visible annoyance that he’d chosen to use your real name instead of a pet name, and with a smirk, he walked you backwards until your back gently hit the fence.

Between not recalling what started the fight, and your man looking amazing, you settled on a pathetic. “You remember.”

“No I don’t, and neither do you.” that familiar prickle of intensity sparked between the two of you.

Everything between you and Coco felt like a live wire dancing back and forth. High energy moments usually ended in either great sex, or separation (sometimes by the force of your friends) to let things cool down.

“I know you’re gonna catch a case if you keep moving like that Johnny. Is that what you want?”

“Nah mujer, that ain’t what I want. I want you home where you belong, but you’re out here playing me instead.” Slender fingers tugged sharply at a few of the beaded necklaces in your stack.

You sucked your teeth and turned your head, ignoring the warm cheeks and butterflies in your stomach at his on-brand admission of missing you.

He placed a hand on the fence next to your head, grasping your chin to turn your attention back to him.

“You’re being a drama queen. I thought I was talking to Angel for a second.”

He threw his head back as laughed, and you got an almost overwhelming urge to kiss him. Or at least bury your fingers in his soft curls, they were begging for it at this po-

“Fuck that, he’s still got me beat. Wait til you see the tantrum he’s saving for you for not getting invited tonight.”

“He was, I just told her to can it because of you. He should be mad at you.” You pouted, but your tone was teasing.

“I could put in a good word for you…you know, if you’re done being petty.” He leaned in, running his lips over the shell of your ear.

“Or I could just offer to throw it back on him to make him forget.”

It was your turn to laugh when Coco tensed, and pulled back from where he’d been teasing you with light touches. You didn’t love him no longer touching you, but faltering him made it almost worth it.

“Or you could take me home and we could both forget…” you clutched at his kutte, leaning into him.

He pulled your hands away by your wrists, his thumbs rubbing over your pulse points.

“Nah, if dancing is this fucking important to you, come on then.” He pulled you after him.

“Cocooo,” you whined, more interested in getting him to touch you again. “Take me home already.”

“My lady wants to dance.” He sat on the outdoor wicker couch and patted his lap. “So dance.”

You stood there in confusion for a second, before what he meant became clear. “I’m not doing that here!”

“You didn’t have an issue earlier, move those hips ma.” He looked between you and his lap again.

Could’ve been the way he was biting his lip, or the laid back way he rested against the couch, but that coupled with lack of access to him, had affirmative words running through your mind.

You playfully rolled your eyes, faking like his request was that expensive. “Only because I want to get you home, and I know you’ll never quit whining if I don’t.”

You slipped onto his lap, the action already drawing attention from partygoers just for the potential of what was to come.

He grasped your hips to still you before you started to move, his palm pressing you back to him by your throat. “And don’t half-ass it yeah…or I might do the same when I get you home.”

--------

It wasn’t until Creeper hit his shoulder and informed him of how hard he was smiling that EZ realized his cheeks ached. He couldn’t help it, he loved watching you dance more than anything.

As soon as you heard a melody you liked, you came alive to it, and stole everyone’s attention. You could find the beat on anything.

That wasn’t his sole reason for cheesing so hard though. Tonight had been the first night you brought your closest friends around the club, and he knew it took great trust in him, his brothers, and your relationship to do that. Your family was on the East Coast, so your friends filled that role for you. Coupled with EZ, they were your world and he thanked you everyday for letting him in.

“Gonna stop calling you boy scout if you keep enjoying the show this much.” Creeper took the seat across from him, half blocking his view.

“Oh you didn’t know how EZ gets down?” Angel’s lips formed that mischievous grin, his eyes taking on the same glint. “You should’ve seen him begging me for tales from Angel’s crib.”

“She and her girls look good out there. Might be too much for you junior.”

EZ rolled his eyes at the ribbing from his brothers, his grin still intact. “At some point I’m gonna be patched, I’m happy to make a cage date for that day. Pretty sure I can take both of you.

Creeper and Angel exchanged exaggerated incredulous expressions.

“See what happens when you go easy on the help?” Angel scoffed. “You sound like you’re hurtin’ for work prospect.”

“Could use some more water.” Creeper shook his water bottle at him, just barely missing splashing him.

EZ rose from his seat, empty beer bottle in hand. “Just remember that day is coming.”

Angel and Creeper laughed raucously at that.

“Don’t get your ass beat in front of your woman lil bro!”

EZ shook his head, choosing to ignore his dumbass older brother. and tossed his bottle in the trash. Slipping through the moving bodies until he was near you, he gently patted your friend who nodded and stepped from behind you.

You jumped, surprised at his sudden appearance, but settled back against him.

“Hey baby.” You gently encouraged him to follow the sway of your hips as he placed his head on your shoulder.

“Hey. I’m back on the slave clock, you want anything?”

You turned to him, his arms instinctively encircling your waist. “Hard tea please.”

“I gotta go to the trailer for that, and get the variety hour table over there a drink. I’ll try to be quick.”

“Don’t rush, but remember, you owe me a dance.” You cupped his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his lips.

He grinned goofily, his attention solely yours until he felt your girls draping themselves over him.

“Can you get us some too Zeke? Thanks.” “Preciate it Z.”

You giggled pushing them off him, but you knew he didn’t mind. You guys were a package deal and he’d take whatever you came with. At least their requests came with pleasantries.

“Sure ladies, not a problem. Don’t let anyone take her while I’m gone.”

They laughed, giving affirmative replies while you rolled your eyes pushed him towards the side door.

Once he began his drink fulfillment quest, it was like every brother wanted something from him. It was a full house that night and he should’ve known once he was no longer under Angel’s break protection, he was back to errand boy status.

Every task he completed was met with teasing about how his rushed pace clearly pointed to him wanting to get back to you. He didn’t argue the fact, just moved faster every time you were mentioned.

Finally, he was able to to focus on your request when he stopped being flagged down.

He was heading to the trailer when one of your friends stopped him.

“One of the other charter’s guys is annoying our girl. She doesn’t wanna make a fuss cause’..you know.” She gestured to his vest to signify his prospect status. “But I know she’s not feeling it.”

He could feel the the muscles in his jaw flex in anger, feet carrying him across the crowded yard. People moved before he could plow through them, which was just as well, because he wasn’t fully in control at that point, and didn’t think he could slow down enough to sidestep them.

The clubhouse had filled considerably since his absence. He scanned the room for you, finding you in a crowd of moving bodies. Your friend was right, you had a good poker face, but your man knew you.

He didn’t waste time physically separating you from the Yuma patch member. He gently put you behind his person, feeling your small hands press against his back through his vest.

“I’m good baby. He agreed this was the last dance.” Your voice belied your annoyance despite your words.

“I’m guessing he said that more than once.”

“I don’t mind, I know clu-“

Yuma interrupted you. “See, she doesn’t mind. Go find something to do with yourself prospect.”

“I’ve got a project in mind.” EZ pushed you back a little more to give himself room to work with.

“Be smart bare vest.” Yuma smirked, his eyes saying how much he’d love for EZ to make the mistake he was thinking about.

In the span of the next few seconds, Yuma’s vest and shirt was covered in beer and Coco had appeared at the same time. If the obvious way he was holding the bottle didn’t give away he did it on purpose, his dry “my bad” and shrug did.

Yuma swung on Coco who anticipated it and dodged it, before firing back with a successful punch of his own. A sea of Mayans of mixed charter filled the space and EZ quickly pushed you behind the bar before he lost you in the shuffle.

Understanding what Coco had done, he got in the middle to give the Yuma patch what he’d been asking for while he was covered by the chaos.

It didn’t last long before the presidents stepped in, but it didn’t have to. He was happy to take the few licks he’d received, because he was pretty sure he’d broken Yuma patch’s nose, and would get away with it.

His brother’s words against theirs, and the presidents didn’t feel the need to make it a drawn out issue. He pretended to have played bouncer instead of active participant, and it all ended with a basic chewing out.

His only thoughts were of you once his rage had subsided, and he could think clearly again. Had he scared off you and your friends? Embarrassed you?

He was happy to find that hadn’t. Your friends couldn’t help but fawn over him and how “perfect for you” he was. He especially enjoyed reveling in the jealousy of Coco, Angel, Gilly, and Creeper. Coco slightly less salty when he got praise for his efforts.

He got his admiration from you later when you patched him up in the trailer, soft voice telling him how sexy he looked to you, and how you appreciated him thinking of you in his position. You held his face and gently went over everything you could find, while he said on his makeshift bed content to let you.

He couldn’t stop grinning, the one that always got him mercilessly mocked because it was now associated with him thinking of you.

“Seriously EZ,” you dabbed at the final cut you hadn’t attended to. “Thank you.”

“I want you to feel safe with me, it’s only fair if you can accept all this shit.”

You grinned down at him, hair framing your face, and he had to remind himself to breathe at the sight. “I do, all the time.”

He cupped the side of your face, unwilling to fight the urge to kiss you any longer.

You laughed speaking between kisses. “I’m not done.”

“It’s ok, I’m good.” He chased your lips, unashamed to want you so badly.

“Ok,” you returned his kisses, your fingers dancing down the nape of his neck. “But I’d like to cash in that dance you owe me…you know, before we get too busy.”

He rose to full height, hands finding both of yours. “I can do that.”

AN:

I don’t speak Spanish, so if I made a mistake feel free to hop in my messages and let me know and how to fix it please. You’re more than welcome to.

1.) I remember seeing a meme vid about this years ago, and finding it hilarious. I could see this happening with these dudes and their personalities. That, and I just really wanted a lil southern culture in a Mayans drabble. 🤷🏾‍♀️

2.) I did a rewatch of the whole series (including the original), and I’m back on the obsession train. Just tryna to be happy before S4 kicks my shit in.

3.) I kept telling myself I wouldn’t end up writing for these fools and here I am in my Ringling Bros. best🤡.

#mayans mc #mayans imagine #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #Coco Cruz #Coco Cruz x reader #ez reyes x reader #ez reyes #reader insert

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the-slasher-files · 4 years ago

Text

WHAT A KILLER

BO’S S/O REVEALING THEY ARE ALSO A SLASHER (Vincent is also kind of in this)

TW: blood, gore, killing, swearing (that’s inevitable with Bo)

THIS has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS and idk why I'm so iffy on posting it but hopefully you guys in enjoy this! It's different from a lot of what I write and I do like it, it's just specific lol.. Also the s/o in this, was the bare bones of what Amaria (my oc) started as... hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

Bloodcurdling screams could be heard through the normally silent town of Ambrose as dusk fell. Crimson painted the skies and the asphalt, almost mirroring each other in perfection. Crows calling for the wasted souls Bo obliterated and Vincent could not fix.

Shuttering at the sounds heard you could not sit there on the old couch any longer, just playing with your fingers trying to push down the urges you felt deep down. They beckoned you like the crows did for flesh. You tried so hard to hide this side but it was only a matter of time you knew, the demon had to rear it’s head eventually if you really wanted to stay in Ambrose forever, and you did. You found the man of your twisted dreams here.

Before you were held in Ambrose against your will; well in the beginning it was against your will but that quickly faded and you fell madly in love with your kidnapper and the town he held so close; you were a drifter. A wanderer of gypsy’s blood. Never managing to hold in one place for more than 6 months, the only time you had a home was when you were growing up, but having a disgusting home life you left at 16. Fleeing home and trying to run from your growing desires you instead made a treaty with your urges, running towards them, allowing them to show when you were safe and comfortable.

Bo never knew, all these months as you played the part of his defenceless little housewife it was growing harder to tell him. Of course you wanted to tell him but you were scared of him not trusting you, and terrified of what he would do to you; pretty ironic when you considered doing the same things to him.

Casually you would throw a joke out there about killing someone or dreaming of snapping someone's neck, however they weren’t jokes to you. It was your wicked reality. Bo was none the wiser, but Vincent, in his quiet embers saw something beyond your delicate eyes, something he saw within himself perhaps. He started to believe your jokes and comments, carefully watching you. Wondering if for once there was a different kind of evil in the town, or if he was becoming the hunted instead of the hunter.

Climbing the stairs and reaching the bedroom you paused, pulling in a large breath and exhaling, closing your eyes. You sank to your knees against the hardwood, pulling a long black, locked plastic box from under the bed, methodically you played with the lock and swung the top open. Placing your eyes upon the weapon your body tensed but your soul relaxed, a sick war inside your head divided.

Running your hands along the cold metal of the black blade, you felt home once again, blood could almost be felt on your hands and screams faded in your ears. Hunger grew. A deep pleasure surged through you.

It was your 18 inch steel black machete; with ridges menacingly flaunting themselves across the top, like a dragon’s spine. The grip you had customized to fit your hand perfectly, needing it to act like an extension of you. It was adorned proudly with a thin rope of bright red fabric tied around the end of the handle, ripped from your first victim’s shirt, it’s tails would drift gracefully in the wind juxtaposing the damage the weapon could do.

Shaky hands picked up the weapon and it seamlessly melting into your grip, your eyes darkened as you rose from the floor, feeling your demons begin to yip and howl like a pack of starving wild dogs ready to feed. Giving yourself another deep breath in and out you kicked the box back under the bed and started down the stairs and out the front door with purpose.

The hot sticky Louisiana air hit you, flowing in your hair and the tail of fabric on your machete. Screams begin to reach you in swells, coming closer flooding you like the rising tides as a younger woman was running towards you. Under the dim streetlights she could not see what you held, for the black blade melted into the shadows perfectly, as intended. To her you were hope, a way out of her hell, maybe you could help her. The poor thing could not have been more wrong in her panic-stricken judgements.

You could smell her blood pouring from her injuries Bo inflicted and her desperate cries, it was all too much to you, it was just like blood in the water to a shark, your twisted instincts began to take over. Eyes darkened on the prey that was heedlessly bounding towards you and with one swipe, that was it. Blood was spilt. You had killed again and it felt so damn right. Looking down basking in the sight, she was slit ear to ear, the gash threatening to show the tips of the vertebrae at the back of her neck. The demons were lurching beside you pushing you forward for more. More blood. More affliction.

Studying the surroundings, Bo was nowhere to be found, unusual for him to let his prey escape his hunt. It was quiet now as you walked on down the street, yellow fluorescents guided your path, and the homes were just barren shapes acting as blinders leading you onward for the man you dreaded seeing at this moment, the demons couldn’t care less about your emotions or feelings, they just carried your body to more gore.

Rounding the corner, the gas station lights gave up a tangled mess on the ground. Two men were wrestling for some sort of weapon that glinted in the lights above them. Cursing yells, threats and grunts spilled out of both of them, one more than the other of course. Bo always had a mouth on him and no one could ever shut him up, it made you smirk as you approached, but suddenly there was a sharp yell and the stranger was on top of Bo. The man had his back to you and just had eyes for the greasy mechanic, beating him with the weapon you could now see was a wrench. You could feel a burning anger rise from your core and Bo’s howls were just fuel to the fire.

Steadily making your way up to the two wrecks of people, now standing behind the stranger you forced your long rigid blade through the core of the man, impaling him right under the sternum. Loud clanging of metal rang through the street as the man dropped the wrench as his body went limp, heaving over the weapon within him. With your boot you carefully directed the corpse off your machete and on the asphalt next to Bo, leaving your face sprayed with red from the spine of the blade.

Your eyes met with saucer wide baby blues causing you to let out a silent breathy laugh licking your lips of blood, sickly savouring the unusual copper. Bo laid on the ground a moment longer just taking in for sure what he saw from his precious angel. Just as you were about to speak but Bo beat you to it.

“I FUCKIN’ KNEW IT!” he gloated hysterically, leaving you more than a little shocked. “I KNEW IT!” Bo got to his feet and almost looked like he was going to do a little dance, you just stood there in the streetlight beginning to laugh, relived but worried as if he had hit his head or something. It was never a dull moment with Bo that’s for sure.

“Are you ok? like seriously, your beginning to scare me” you puzzled as he sauntered his way up to you cocky as ever.

“I’m fuckin’ fantastic... I knew there was something in you” he held you against his chest and put his head on yours “something awful behind those beautiful eyes, my little angel of death” you laughed against him as he kissed your crown, then pulled away looking you dead in the eyes. “Why did you think I kept you around all these months? you made me wait a while... and you know how much I hate waitin”

The words burned in your skull, was that really the only reason? Bo was still unpredictable to you in ways, especially with his dark side. Maybe he was just going to kill you now, maybe he didn’t love you, it could’ve just been the wicked charm he carried effortlessly.

Something came alive in his blue eyes, scaring you slightly but trying to play it off when you cupped his strong jaw, breathing slowly.

“People are my specialty baby” he drawled, then pulled you roughly into a kiss. Sweat, oil, cigarettes, and blood coated the kiss leaving you breathless as he often did.

Bo was right, people were his perfected craft; charming, seducing, lying, playing up the sob story about him and Vincent being in foster care after both parents died. Hell, he could speak French Cajun so he could be more versatile, and charm his way out of any situation in any part of Louisiana. Bo always knew everything you were feeling even before you said it, now that you think back on it.

“Bo? you still love me?” you hesitating in your question not sure if you wanted the answer.

This caught his attention as his jaw tensed and eyes hardened “What would make you think I don’t?... sure I would’ve liked to know earlier, sure, but this just makes you better,” he looked you up and down like a predator before coming close to your ear and purring “and hotter.” You yelped as you were suddenly tossed over his shoulder and carried down to the basement of the garage.

Fidgeting with the lock for a moment he swung the door open and placed you in his chair. “Oh, Sinclair there is a special place in hell for us, and I will meet you there” you laughed as Bo climbed on top of you, clashing his lips against yours, hungry and lustful.

#my writing #horror #slasher #slashers #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair #imagine #slasher x s/o #slasher fanfiction #slasher fandom #x you

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 years ago

Note

Damn Enji and Kotaro are literally the worst fathers

Hmm, the worst father is AFO.

Kotaro has some trauma that doesn't excuse him, but it explains some things.

Enji at some level at least was trying to reach something good? And he is right now in some arc of redemption.

But AFO is just– I still don't know how people look at what AFO did to Tomura and doesn't feel at least a little sympathy. It personally makes me physically sick to think about AFO sometimes. Let's review the reasons why AFO deserves the award for worst parental figure :

All his love was replaced with obsession. A need to control people at any minute, a need to know everything about them, to make them act like he wants to.

He was heavily obsessed with his younger brother. We all know how the first user ended. He's still obsessed over him.

AFO has a hunger for power and possessions... And in this one I mean PHYSICAL possessions even. This is the stuff horror stories are filled with.

We don't know if AFO knew about who Tenko was before or after he took him in from the streets. We don't know if he tracked the Shimuras, we don't know how exactly everything turned out so perfectly for him.

His took his obsession with his younger brother and the OFA users to Tenko. It was never about the kid, never about the human. Tenko has never been better than another body to be controlled like any nomu. The modificationa Tenko needed where not physical, no, but psychological.

Grooming, gaslightning, psychological abuse...

He made a five years old use the dead hands of his family all over his body and watched as the kid threw up from the extreme distress he was under.

He told a five years old he should never heal. I repeat, he took an already abused kid who had already many reasons to hurt and suffer that healing was bad and raging was the solution. He wanted Tenko to stay forever trapped in the bleeding.

He commanded the kid to go and kill people. "Tenko said he wanted to kill them" yes, kids say that type of stuff, they are kids that are supposed to be guided and taught. And AFO did it in the worst way possible.

He knew Tenko had no memories, he was like a blank canvas filled with hurt and rage– and guilt. What AFO did was making Tenko like him a little, people without remorse that would destroy the world for their twisted version of love.

Have you ever heard of those stories where people spend their whole lives locked in a basement because their abusive father make them do it so? Tomura was isolated from society. The only three figures in his life were a doctor who wanted to experiment with him, a half zombie who had strict orders and the demon who trapped him. No other kids to play with and learn how to act in society, for example. He had no friends, he couldn't go out that much, he got a pc and videogames and probably lessons but if we compare the room AFO gives Tenko in the beginning and Tomura's room in the bar, it's probably the same. All his life lived between four walls. Alone. Isolated. With the constant pain and rage and feeling you need to destroy.

If you think quarantine was hard, imagine this.

We also know Tomura was lacking self care when we first met him on the manga. I'm talking about some levels of hygiene and basic routines. We know Tomura is used to not sleeping in days, eating so little, and other things that shouldn't be normal at all, unless people are being negligent with you or you're living in a war or something.

Or– you're poor. This fucks me up each time because there's no way AFO is poor. And yet we've seen Tomura's situation.

Also imagine being around people who only tells you "do it for him, do this to please him, be like him, follow his lead, become him, listen to him". What type of brainwashing is that.

I still hold that Tomura's itching comes from emotional and psychological stress. And since AFO told him to never heal, you can imagine why his scars looked so bad and full of blood in the beginning of the manga.

Tomura didn't have a normal childhood or teenage years. He lost both to the trauma. What Tomura likes to do beside destroying? Playing video games, and because that was the only possible scape he had. Being on the internet lying about his identity and his life.

Note how we don't have a good memory of Tomura in those years. It's always AFO rescuing him. The last real good memory of Tomura was about Hana, his sister, and Nao, his mother, both being gentle to him.

He started really living with the League. " Why does he care about them ", even when he was a child, we have no records of Tenko having close friends. The closest thing was Hana, his sister, and Mon-chan, his dog. The League are the first real friends he ever had. Of course he doesn't know how to be a friend at first, he has never seen people around his age so close to him in at least 15 years.

And note how AFO doesn't care about them either. He sees everyone as toys to play with. He never tries to protect Tomura's friends.

AFO doesn't even see Tomura as a person, like I said before, because he saw Tomura as a body he could later posses to keep existing. A recipient, a vessel, whatever you want to call it. He only cares about Tomura's feeling because he need his hatred to take OFA.

We saw that when Deku started hurting himself from using too much his quirk, everyone worried. Deku was the only who worried about Tomura when the AFO quirk started destroying him.

AFO practically killed Tomura by relegating his consciousness to the bottom of his mind, taking over the body. Yeah sure, Kotaro tried to kill Tenko and Enji is responsible for Touya's dead, but nothing as brutal as this.

AFO gave his own last name to Tomura not as a parent-son link, but to mark that body as his.

He gave an identity to Tomura to mark him as he possession. He is so proud of that.

Besides, Tomura looks a lot like AFO's younger brother and Nana Shimura, two of the people AFO obsessed with, a lot. He also was compared before to All Might, when he was Tenko and share many similarities with Deku. Basically he sees in Tomura everything he wants to posses and destroy.

He used Tomura in almost every way.

He destroyed Tomura in almost every way.

And do it because he wanted to do it, not for some type of justice or self-righteousness or twisted parental feelings.

He enjoys destroying Tomura, he wanted to destroy Tomura, to break him.

No other character should be compared to AFO. Even Kotaro and Enji, that would be a grave mistake. At least Enji and Kotaro were humans, complex and abusive humans, but AFO is something straight out of a nightmare.

Yes, he's definitely the worst parental figure of bnha / mha.

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thespamman24 · 3 years ago

Text

So, I know this is really long, but I worked very hard on it and I think that it might just be the best thing that I have ever written, so I would really appreciate if you read it, thanks.

I wish that I was a dog.

If I was a dog then I would sneak into my owners fridge and eat all of their bananas. All of them. I would keep doing it, over and over again. They would have to start keeping their bananas in secure places, but I would always find them. They could put the bananas in a locked safe and store it on the highest shelf, but somehow I would still manage to get those bananas into my big dog mouth. They would probably take me to the vet and ask the vet “Why does our dog keep on eating bananas?” but the vet would have no answer. The bananas didn’t seem to be making me ill, in fact I was more healthy than ever. Despite being a corgi, I had the strength of a rottweiler.

Eventually, they would just stop buying bananas. But that wouldn’t stop me. I would break into neighbors houses and steal their bananas. My hunger for bananas would consume my every thought, my every desire. I would grow and grow until I was twice the size of an English mastiff. Eventually, they would tie me to a stick like one of those naughty dogs but that wouldn’t stop me. I would still manage to break free, and then in a mad rage I would destroy the entirety of my owners furniture.

My owners would have no choice but to take me to a pound. “It’s such a shame.” they would say “He used to be such a good boy, but then he just got really into bananas for some reason.” But no pound could be able to hold me. I would escape, and run all of the way back to my owners house. I would smash right through my owners door. My owners would scream as I snarled and raged and dashed across their house. Then I would plant myself in the middle of the living room and snarl.

What could they do? They would rush off to the grocery store and grab as many bananas as they could. But that wouldn’t even be enough to satisfy me. They would have to start getting bananas in from the truckload. Spending thousands of dollars shipping in hundreds of bananas in, just to feed my appetite. I would get bigger and bigger, till I was 5 feet tall. “Surely, he’ll get sick of them. “ they’d say “either that, or he’ll die.” But I wouldn’t die, I would just consume and consume. Eventually, my owners money would start running dry. They would have to move out as my appetite grew. They would have to sell their house, which they worked so hard to afford to a woman named Patty so she could turn it into a thrift store. But I wouldn’t mind, all I wanted was bananas. Eventually, they couldn’t afford a home at all and they had to move to a large junkyard where they slept by snuggling me for warmth. It was in this junkyard that I would spend the entirety of my days, consuming more and more bananas. I would grow and grow till I was 8 feet tall. Then 10 feet. Then 20 feet.

Eventually, my owners would run out of money. “Please,” they would say “please buttons” (buttons would be my name of course) “We can’t get you any more bananas, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” but that would not sway me, and in a fit of rage I would swallow my owners whole. Then, I would leave my home city of San Francisco and make my way South, stopping at grocery stores to get my fill of bananas. I would sleep seldomly, with my only stops being to consume more bananas. I would run and run till I arrived in Costa Rica.

Oh, what a sight that would be. A group of poor Costa Rican banana farmers toiling away, when suddenly from the horizon appears a 25 foot tall Corgi. “?Que Carajo?!” They would say “!El Perro Es Gigantesco!”

Then I would snarl and they would run away in fright and I would gourge myself on the bananas. I would gorge myself on all of the bananas that Costa Rica had to offer till I was 40 foot tall. I would indulge myself ina feat of bananas never seen before and then eventually the government would hear of this and they would be enraged! They would send helicopters to shoot me down but I would bat them out of the sky. They would tanks and planes and all sorts of weapons of war but I would squanch them without hesitation.

Eventually, the american banana companies would get worried, because their sales were dropping, so they would lobby for something to happen. They would obviously be successful, and then for the first time in history the united states government would declare war on a single dog. They would send the finest weapons that the world had to offer, all sorts of fighter jets and helicopters. They would send wave after wave after squandron of men and machines armed to the teeth. They would launch missiles and drop bombs and rain down everything they could on me save for a nuclear bomb. They would throw all of their military might at me, but they would fail.

At this point I would have become almost a hundred feet tall. I would tower over buildings and skyscrapers. People all over the world would begin to worship me as a god. The banana workers of Costa Rica who had slaved for so long began to see me as a savior, someone who had come down to rid themself of the oppressive yoke of the banana industry. But, I would be no savior, I would just be one big corgi that wanted bananas.

I would gorge myself on all of the bananas that Costa Rica had to offer, until there was no more. Then, I would move to Nicaragua, then to Honduras, then to Belize,then back to Nicaragua, then to El Salvador, then back to Costa Rica, then to Panama. I would scour my way through all of Latin America, devouring every bananas I saw till I was 150 feet tall and growing.

Eventually, the U.S. government would have no other option then to build a giant robotic mecha corgi.

This mecha corgi would be deployed, with some sort of trained pilot inside and me and this mecha would have the fight of the century- possible even the decade. We would pounce and fight and tear at each others throats- and then- we would lock eyes and something would take over me. Something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. My owners had previously neutered me but all of my banana eating had them grow back. Next you knew, the mecha would become pregnant with my son- a half corgi- half mecha corgi. A cycorg, if you will.

But, I would not be around to see his birth, because I left my mecha girlfriend. I loved her, but I loved bananas more and so I left. I journeyed to Colombia and Venezuela and all throughout South America, always on the hunt for bananas, no amount of that sweet yellow fruit could ever quinch my eternal hunger.

The U.S. government would send more mechs after me, and I had some close encounters but, whenever things got to bad I would run. Eventually, things got so serious that I had to dog paddle my way to Africa. Thankfully, I managed to end up in Cote D’Iviore which was a country that the U.S. didn’t have any treaty or whatever with. I was safe. I gouged myself on bananas for many years sometimes I would think about that one true love I had, but my bananas kept me destracted. I didn’t even know that I had a son, or that he was growing up in a secure facility in Nevada.

I grew and grew. At first, the government tried to stop me, but then they stopped. Eventually, they started to like me, they would bring me bananas and in return I increased tourism by 2,000%. In fact, I actually helped the economy of Cote D’Iviore. This allowed for many schools and hospitals to be buildt, massive reforms were passed in the government, infrastructure improved massively. Eventually, Cote D’Iviore became one of the most successful countries in the world and all it took was one giant dog.

People would come from all over the world to see me, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was bananas. When I wasn’t eating bananas I was sleeping or killing people who were trying to kill me. Sometimes I would eat them, but people didn’t taste as good as bananas.

Cote D’Iviore started to run out of bananas so they had to ask Ghana and Cameroon for help in exchange for economy. This eventually lead to all three countries becoming one country, and this country became a prosperous nation. I quickly became the national animal of this nation. I was on the state flag and all of the coinage. Massive statues were buildt of me and the countries name was Terre De Chien Geant (land of the big dog). I payed no notion to this. After all, I was a dog and I didn’t even understand politics. All I understand was bananas. And now, the country was working very hard to get me as much bananas as I could eat because the tourism money was huge. I feasted on bananas until I became 400 feet tall.

However, across the sea storm clouds were brewing. The United States government had no interest in killing me anymore. However, my Cycorg son was a rarity and of great interest to them. They figured that they could use him as a weapon to take on foreign threats. They got people to pilot him. I don’t know how it worked but the Cycorg needed a pilot.

Many years passed. Eventually, I grew till I was over a thousand feet tall. My Cycorg son did the same.

My Cycorg son gets deployed on his first mission, destroying a military base in Libya. However, the U.S. government was foolish in thinking that they could control him. He turns away from the military base and instead goes in search of me. The pilot that is inside my Cycorg son is helpless to control him as he moves through Africa in search of me.

He eventually catches on the hiff of corgi and bananas and follows it through the Sahara desert till he arrives at the Northern tip of the country I live in. There he travels East, till he finds me. I’m laying in the field I usually am in when I hear the sound of extremely large paw prints and cock my giant corgi head. Then, I meet his gaze. He growls at me. I am the man who abandoned him. His worst enemy. He leaps forward and pounces on me.

Needless to say, I kick my dumb furry sons butt. I stand over him, my paw pressed on his metal exoskeleton. Then I sniff him and I realize who he is. And in that moment, I realize I was fighting my son! I have a son! I never even knew! But… I don’t care. All I care for is bananas. Why? I do not know. All I know is that I crave bananas, and I am a two thousand foot tall corgi so no one gets to challenge my authority.

I pick him up by the ear, and in a feat of corgi strength I carry him to the ocean and drop him in.

My son paddles away, ashamed.

Then the Romulans show up. “Oh shit! It’s the Romulans!” Says everyone.Then the Romulans leave because the only reason why they were there was because they got their directions wrong.

Anyways, I go back to my usual resting place and my son, ashamed, dog paddles away. But, this feeling of shame quickly turns to anger and this anger quickly turns to rage. And so, when the U.S. helicopters show up to collect him he swats them down. My Cycorg son then goes berserk. He swims over till he reaches Florida. There, he goes ona mad rampage.

First he arrives at Orlando, where he rips through the city. He reaches Disney World and Mickeys and Snow Whites turn to bloody pulp within his jaws. He journeys to Miami, and to Jacksonvill, and to Tampa Bay, and to Inglis. All fall before his wrath. Millions of people are slaughtered and billions of dollars are lost in property damage and thousands of cheese shops are destroyed. Mozzarella and blood lines the streets of multiple major metropolitan areas, and it’s all because of one kaiju cyborg corgi.

The U.S. government throw everything they can at my Cycorg son, but they do not succeed. Eventually, they realize the only way to defeat him is me. But, how do they get me to come over to the U.S? First, they try a massive dog whistle. This does not work. Then, they figure it out.

I am chilling out in my field. When, suddenly in the sky I see the most beautiful sight that I have ever seen. A giant cat, made out of bananas. I leap up and run after it. Truly, this must be the most delicious thing ever created.

I dog paddle after it till I reach the coast of Florida, only to then realize that it was not real, but actually just one of those Macy's thanksgiving day parade floats. This enrages me immensely. I am about to go back to my home when suddenly I am tackled from behind. It is my Cycorg son! I don’t even have time to react before my Cycorg son chomps me directly in the paw. We tussle, and I could easily win but he has grown stronger and one of my paws is hurt.

We fight and fight, our fight taking us out of Florida, to Georgia, and then to South Carolina. Eventually, after 78 days I stand over my son. I have won. But, right before I am about to make the killing blow, I hesitate. This is my son after all. And, in that moment of hesitation my furry son does a hecking chomp. I fall off a cliff and into the Atlantic.

I float through the Ocean, till I eventually reach the South pole. There, the water around me freezes and I am trapped in an iceberg, still alive.

Meanwhile, my furry son has won. He howls victoriously. And then continues his rampage, going north. He knocks over the Empire State Building and shits on the Washington memorial. He humps the leg of the statue of liberty and pees on the white house. He demolishes the Sears tower and destroys Cleveland, Ohio. All fall before his wrath. All is helpless before my massive Cycorg son. Millions upon millions are killed. The U.S. lies in ruins. Meanwhile, I am literally chilling inside a block of ice.

My Cycorg son continues West, and some strange desire compels him to go to Los Angeles. He arrives there and moves towards Hollywood. There, right in front of the Hollywood sign. He digs. He digs and he digs till he reaches an underground chamber. There, in that chamber he finds Al Capone, the inventor of movies.

Meanwhile, at this very moment I am being discovered by scientists. They find my body and put it on a plane. They then take my body and put in a giant truck. This truck is currently carrying me to a museum, which just happens to be in San Francisco, the place where this all started.

My son finds the body of Al Capone, spread on a massive movie projector. He then picks him up in his jaws and bounds out of the chamber with Al Capone in tow. However, this ends up causing The Job Apocalypse, where people become abstract representations of their jobs. Lawyers turn into law books, doctors turn into medicine, and politicians turn into the flags of countries that they represent. And, the driver of the truck that I am on, turns into a truck. This leads to the truck I am on having a massive truck sticking out of the driver's seat, with one of it’s wheels on it’s pedal. This causes the truck to keep on moving forward, towards its destination of San Francisco, with me in tow.

But, my Cycorg son doesn’t have a job, so he is unaffected. He takes Al Capone's form and bounds up North. Eventually, he makes it to San Francisco, where he lays down Al Capone and lays down beside him. He then falls asleep, Al Capone right beside him.

Meanwhile, the truck I am in enters San Francisco from the East while my son sleeps soundly by the side of Al Capone.

Then, in the middle of the night comes Patty. Patty was there when it all began. She was the one my owners sold their house to, and thanks to that she turned the house into a thrift store. So, when The Job Apocalypse came she turned into a whole bunch of knick knacks in the shape of a human form. Patty makes her way towards my son and Al Capone. Then she sticks out what could be called an arm, and wacks Al Capone. But then, right as she does it she gets run over by the truck that is carrying me.

Or, in other words: knick knack Patty wacks EVA dog's Al Capone, his old man's come rolling home.

#long post #tw dog #tw death #tw blood #tw violence #writing #short story #fiction #humor #joke #jokes

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 4 years ago

Text

Surprises

Surprises of all kinds, found after a shopping trip goes wrong. Content warning for coarse language, sexuality, threats of violence, mentions of suicide and incest, and copious amounts of headcanons.

As always, there is more in my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag, and send me a message if you liked it, I crave positive feedback.

~*~*~*~

TXT: where the fuck are you guys it's already quarter past

After a few minutes, you got a ding.

M: idia doenst want t leave something about a person see you aftr he needs freind

Oh goddammit, it's so fucking hard to get him out and about. At least Mal was with him.

You looked to Grim at your feet. "Looks like it's just us, buddy."

~*~*~*~

It was just you and Grim browsing through the dollar store, when a boy in a ratty shop apron came up to you. "Ma'am?"

You turned to him, and he coughed. "Uh, Miss. You're not supposed to have pets in the store."

Grim bristled at him. "I'm not a pet!"

Poor kid, he looked so startled. And you decided to make it worse, because yanno, why not. "How dare you refer to my son as a pet! Does he look like a pet to you?"

He looked between your face and Grim's, confusion growing. "Wh-"

"I know the resemblance isn't the strongest, but honestly! How could you say such mean things about him!"

Grim, bless him, actually caught on and decided to play along for the chaos of it. "Why are you being so mean to me? My mom works hard to keep me happy! She said I could pick out a toy today!"

The confusion had turned to anger. "That's not your kid! You're too young and he's an animal!"

Grim looked up at you, mock tears in his eyes. "I'm your kid, right? I'm not adopted like the boys at school say?" He started sniffling. "I'm not adopted, right?"

You clapped your hands over Grim's ears and glared at the now horrified shopboy. "Look what you've done! I hadn't told him yet!"

He just fled in horror, and it was all you could do to keep from laughing.

~*~*~*~

The village on the island wasn't the worst appointed. Being equidistant between two prestigious magic schools, it had a few places worth going, and after hitting up your personal favourite, you went to a small park, settled down on a bench, and started unwrapping your prizes.

You have a love for gashapon machines that bordered on a serious problem. In your biweekly trips to buy snacks and supplies to stock up your miserable, beautiful dorm, you easily fed 3000 madol (which you think was about thirty-five dollars or so at home, but couldn't be sure) into the long rows of machines in the drug store, coming out with tiny keychains, figures, and various useless but wonderful little totchkes that you kept lined up in rows in your bedroom. The joys of tiny presents! And the containers were useful too; for a creature who heavily insisted he wasn't a cat, Grim lost his shit like one every time your rolled a ball with a bell inside across the floor.

You were marveling over a tiny, perfectly realistic jellyfish on a phone strap as someone sat down heavily beside you. "Is that," they pointed to Grim poking his way around the cattails by an ornamental pond, "yours?"

"... Yes?" You turned to examine your seatmate. Charmingly strange looking, they sat impeccably robed in forest green velvet and squinted at you from behind perfectly round sunglasses. Flat-faced and thin-lipped, they reminded you of a toad, with their roundness and severe expression.

"Ah, then you are the one I am looking for. You're the pet of the prince."

"I'm a friend of his. Is that a problem?" You decided to keep opening your prizes, and pulled out a heavy ball from the bottom of your bag.

"His Highness does not have human friends."

"And yet, I am." This one, unwrapped, was the chase in the set: a tiny cauldron the size of a thimble that seemed to be actual cast iron. The chill of it was pleasant in your hand, and instead of returning it to your bag, you left it in your lap.

This presumptive stranger leaned in. "You're a diversion. A distraction from what he should be learning. Instead he plays with mortals and lets them forget their place."

"If it was so important that he didn't play with mortals, then why was he allowed to attend here?" You got a cheap set of rings on a goldtone chain in this one. Boo. You'd wanted the miniature necklace of the set for your doll. "He's very happy with the company of us all."

"Too happy. He forgets his place." The toady eyed the glittering paste gems before looking away. "Above you. Instead he crawls into your lap and serves you like a dog."

You froze. "Now, where did you get that idea?"

"We have sources." They leaned in further, smiling. A barely perceptible line of triangular teeth, sparsely placed and translucent in tone. "Foul things happen to the unwanted lovers of heirs, don't you know?"

"I am a wanted friend."

"You're a parasite who should flee."

You realized something, and turned to face your strange benchmate. "Why are you threatened by me?"

They scoffed. "Why would we be threatened by you?"

"If you weren't," you said, dropping your voice as your leaned in, "then you wouldn't be here trying to put the fear into me." They leaned back, glasses slipping off their nose. The eyes in their face were exquisite, shining gold and black speckles with a ring of gold around an oval pupil. You could help but laugh. "Pretty eyes. You really are a toad. Who sent you? The Thorn Witch? Can't be, I'm not worth her time and if I was, she'd've sent a fucking letter."

"We're a concerned party, preventing our future king from making the mistake of dealing with filth."

Well, that one pissed you off. You grabbed their wrist, feeling bumps and warts on their skin through the fabric, and pressed the tiny cauldron to the back on their hand as they started screeching.

"You," you looked them dead in their impossibly lovely eyes, "You go back where you came from, tell them I'm not a threat to whatever stupid bullshit they're worried about, and never bother us again. Or I will make you swallow this and you'll beg the precious prince you're so damned worried about to burn you alive to stop the pain."

You'd never seen anyone run so fast in your life when you let them go.

"Hey, Grim! We gotta go."

~*~*~*~

TXT: MAL SOMEONE SENT ME A TOADY SAYING I CAN'T BE AROUND YOU ANYMORE

TXT: MIGHTA BEEN YOUR GMA BUT I DON'T THINK SO

~*~*~*~

"I'm gonna kill that fucker."

"Killing them might start an international incident. If one hasn't happened already. You burnt them with iron, Yuu."

"I should have done worse! Whoever the fuck they were, that's two friends they've tried to threaten to stay away from you! That we know of!"

It turns out that the mystery toady had been the person to scare the piss out of Idia the night before. Not that they'd gotten far into their leave-the-prince-alone spiel, Idia had simply kicked them square in the stomach and fled, assuming another kidnapping attempt.

"It wouldn't have been my grandmother. In the last letter I got from her, she said it was very nice that I was making friends. She said to keep making them, even."

"She'd probably care if she knew you were sleeping with said friends." Idia was curled into the corner of his bed, and from the looks of it hadn't slept since his own encounter.

"No she wouldn't."

"You sure about that?"

You'd said that that was only going to happen once. Everyone agreed. But when all three of you settled in to play a game or watch a movie, hands moved and bodies flushed and you all seemed to find yourself tangled and gasping. And it didn't seem to require all three of you - you no longer had the strength to say no to Mal's obvious advances, and you'd walked in on your boys more than once. At least you were still friends? Really, really close friends?

"She wouldn't."

"Could they be worried about heirs?" That seemed logical. Even if no accidents were happening, they might not know that.

"That's not possible."

You raised an eyebrow. Everything worked right, and you all knew it.

Mal looked back at you. "Yuu, I hatched from an egg. I could have you both five times a day for a decade and all there would be to show for it is you couldn't walk. I cannot have children with either of you without magical intervention."

Idia made a truly impressive death rattle before mumbling something about the end of his bloodline, and you just nodded. "Makes sense."

"It's quite interesting, really, it requires numerous spells and potions, that if not kept up on, the babe will-" Malleus placed his hands together, back to back, and mimed the motion of tearing something open.

You flinched. "That's awful, goddamn."

"I have a direct ancestor who took a great deal of human women as breeding stock and simply let them be eaten from the inside out. That's what started one of the earlier human/faerie wars."

"... Wow."

"I am not proud of her."

"Can we please talk about anything else?" Idia looked ready to be sick. "I don't want to think about any of this."

"Sure, let's grab one of your doujins."

~*~*~*~

"So you're already engaged?"

"As soon as it was clear I would survive to adulthood, yes. Idia, what is this series?"

"Nyan Neko Sugar Girls. It's not that great storywise, but it has great gags." He reached over and grabbed the next one in his pile. "It's not that unusual. My mother wanted Ortho to marry my cousin Alecto when they grew up, before..."

"Before he made a lifestyle change?" That seemed the politest way to put it.

"Before she went to the criminal ward."

You shut your book with a soft thump. "What?"

"I remember the trial." Mal sighed. "Strychnine in the sugar bowl at Sunday dinner. I made sure to get the newspapers sent to the palace."

"Mother was heartbroken over it, until she realized that the wealth of that entire Shroud branch defaulted back to us." Idia shrugged. "It's sad. She was just eleven. I still send her emails."

"Idia."

"Mm?"

"Why the fuck would an eleven year old poison someone?"

"My uncle said she couldn't get a puppy until her grades went up."

"What the fuck." You'd lie down if you weren't already doing so.

"It's the curse." He sighed. "We thought she might've been from an affair? But that proved it."

"My dearest Shroud, you can't guarantee it was from the curse." Malleus turned a page. "It might have been trauma from her mother's death."

You could see more bad history incoming. "Oh no."

"Alecto was from Uncle Jo's first marriage, to my dad's cousin Alita. She had a sister, but when her mother drowned herself, she only took-"

"Is this normal for your family? Or is that just some exceptional bad luck?"

He leaned in, lamplight eyes flashing. "Out of all the Shrouds of my generation that are still capable of inheriting, I'm the most mentally sound."

Both you and Mal had to stop and really consider the implications of that.

"So, Mal. Yours isn't that closely related?"

"Fifth cousins at most when they're finally born."

You sat up. "What?"

"I'm supposed to marry the third grandchild of the Hollyoak Baron. They're a well-respected family, and of snake fae descent so little aid will be needed for conception. His eldest child is in..." He had to think about what words to use. " I believe the term is 'middle school'?"

"They really planned it that far ahead?"

Mal shrugged, the movement rolling down his whole body. "I cannot complain. It gives me a very long time to learn how to be a husband before I have to be one."

"But what if you don't like them?"

"Marriage is chiefly a contract to produce heirs. I'll learn to like them, and ideally love them."

"And if you don't?"

"I'll still treat them as kindly as I can."

"And I suppose you'd take a lover."

"Maybe. They can too, as long as all the children are mine. For legal reasons," he added.

Idia, snapping out of his thoughts, tapped Mal's shoulder. "Does the Hollyoak Baron have any friends who are toad faeries?"

It was Mal's turn to sit up. "That... He could be worried that if I have favourites at school, I'll resent my betrothed for not being either of you. Or that I would attempt to break it off entirely."

"That still doesn't tell us how he found out about..." You gestured around the room.

Idia rolled his eyes. "All that would have to happen is any one student from the Valley of Thorns writing a letter home."

"But -"

"Malleus, you're not shy in your affections. At all."

"Yes I am," he bristled.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Mmph?"

"You have to put me down. I have class."

He made a slightly different mmph and shook his head.

You tried to pat his head, but your arms were securely pinned to your sides. "I know they're fantastic, but you have to stop."

He still refused to remove his face from your chest, making a noise that could have been purring if it cane from anyone who was a proper mammal.

"Mal, we're blocking traffic."

He still wasn't putting you down, instead swaying slightly in place.

A familiar long-fingered hand with dark nails reached from behind you and tugged at Mal's lapel. "Malleus, please stop, it's ten AM and everyone is staring."

Mal finally put you down - only to switch targets, wrapping his arms around Idia's waist and pulling him flush, fixing him with such a look of besotted fondness that you immediately felt like you were intruding.

"You look beautiful today."

Idia immediately burst into a ball of pink flame.

~*~*~*~

"... Perhaps I am a bit obvious."

Idia stared up at his ceiling. "You'd be at home in my otome games."

You chimed in. "What would be obvious, in your mind?"

"Very easy. I finish the paperwork declaring you Lord and Lady of the Bedchamber and have you officially ensconced as Court of Thorns royalty, ensuring you're both taken care of for the rest of your days."

"... Finish?"

"It seemed the easiest thing to do if either of you chose to visit my homeland."

You swatted his leg. "And you didn't think to ask us first?"

Mal was starting to clue in that he had once again overreached himself. "... Surprise?"

"I'm okay with it."

You glared over at Idia. "That's not the point."

"Look, if I ever get disinherited, I have a place to go. He won't make me go outside if I don't want to. I'll bring Ortho. It'll be great."

"They don't even have dial-up over there, Idia. Lilia told me he had to get all this stuff installed to play his MMOs."

Idia pointed at Mal, easy smile turned to outrage. "How dare you try and trap me!"

It honestly seemed like Mal and Idia had switched expressions, the look of worry on his face so strange. "It's a protective measure! If you're titled, people will get in trouble if they try and remove you!"

"That's still... wait." The gears were turning in your head. "If you finish that paperwork, whoever sent Mixter Toad is going to get in so much more trouble."

Everyone went silent as they considered this.

"... As soon as I get the official permission from my grandmother. She won't like it very much, but if I explain..."

Idia turned to Mal. "You were going to make your human fucktoys official members of the Court of Thorns without telling your grandmother, the queen. Who has a notable and often justified dislike of humans."

"No?"

"Mal."

"I simply prepared ahead."

"Mal."

"I - "

"Malleus." You leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're so goddamned stupid. Love you."

He didn't say it back with words, but you got the message loud and clear.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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fyeahmeninroyalnavy · 3 years ago

Text

#horatio hornblower/archie kennedy modern AU

Rain and Puffy Shirts

Dedicated to and prompted by my dear friend @professorlehnsherr-almashy

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Archibald Theo Kennedy, but my friends and family all call me Archie. I'm 27, a Critical Care flight paramedic for the NHS, and significant other to Horatio Edward Hornblower, also 27. He's an artist, and a very good one I might add. Everyone loves his paintings of tall ships and anything to do with the Napoleanic War.

He does allright for himself, well enough that he works from home. He can also sing and play the guitar, which he does for fun. And also to impress me.

We've been sharing a flat for the past three months but we've known one another for about a year. Most of that year we spent just as friends …

No doubt friends in serious denial.

I'm going to be sharing snippets of our life together, but don't worry, you'll be hearing from Horatio too, even though he’s extremely shy.

And now on to our story.

On a chilly Spring evening in London, Horatio and I attended a costume party given by a close friend, William Bush, or Liam as we call him. His home is just around the bend from our flat which is a good thing as we never drink/drive. Horatio looked incredibly gorgeous in his 18th century Royal Navy uniform. I wore one as well and our costumes were the center of attention that evening.

When Horatio had had enough of the party "he can only bear so much of them" we began our walk home. Rather I walked while he staggered. "I should have kept a closer eye on my boyfriend's alcohol consumption that evening but I was having too much fun playing with Liam's new dog Styles. As a result of my distraction Horatio had more to drink than he could handle, which isn't much at all.

"Come on Ratio, watch your step now."

"Horatio knitted his brows looking puzzled. "I am washing it, Arshie. Ekzacly why am I supposed to wash it?”

"So you don't fall, of course." The last time that happened I ended up playing Paramedic while off duty. You were quite the pathetic mess, as I recall." He smiled ruefully.

Horatio appeared puzzled for a moment before answering. "Ah yes, I merember now.

That really hurt! My nose looked awful and I was humilitated, all covered in blood and dirt. Ima bloody klutz!”

Archie snorted. "And you had only had a pint that evening too."

"Like I shaid, Ima bloody klutz!"

"You're my bloody klutz though." He squeezed his mate's shoulder fondly.

"Arshie, he responded, pulling his mate close and nuzzling his nose into a warm neck. Am I? Truly?"

"You know you are my darling, and while I don't mind if you're a bit unsteady I do mind if you get hurt." he answered.

"M'not going to. You won't let me."

As soon as he spoke Horatio tripped and nearly fell flat onto the pavement.

"Whoa, careful there! I can't have that sweet face spoiled by the footpath! He steadied him in strong arms. Since you definitely went over your limit tonight, I doubt you’ll be very happy come morning, my poor lamb.”

"But I'm reeeally happy rish now, my Arshie Bear, he slurred, an arm draped affectionately over his boyfriend’s shoulder. C'mere, you lil' snugglebunny, and give me a kish!”

He complied readily, never able to resist kissing those soft full lips. Even when completely sloshed, his Horatio's kisses were always like heaven. And Archie loved when Horatio was so open and unguarded, a very different man than most people knew him to be. He was a cheerful, snuggly and affectionate drunk.

He kissed the soft sweet mouth slowly and tenderly, making both of them hum with pleasure. When at last they parted he was rewarded with a happy, goofy smile that warmed his soul.

"I do love you sho very much my dearest,"he sighed.

"And I love you my sweet Horatio. I can express no kinder sign of love than this kind kiss.”

"Don't make me cry, Mr. Kennedy. I have a repu, repustation to uphold."

"Your reputation is safe with me. I'll never reveal what a sentimental fellow you really are, he replied as he brushed curls away from his mate's forehead. Archie glanced up at the gathering clouds anxiously. C'mere. I can smell rain and we need to get home."

Suddenly Horatio felt himself being hoisted over Archie's broad shoulders, his head upside down so that he was looking at the ground. He burst into peals of laughter. "Arsheee, put me down! I can waltz just fine, an I'm much too heavy. Wait a minute. What is thish we have here?"

He jumped suddenly and squeaked. "Ratio, leave my bloody arse alone!" There was another flinch and a squeal, followed by hysterical giggling from the offender.

"Can't. Ish really cute and ish right here where I can pinsh it!"

"You're incorrigible when you're drunk, you know that, right? And damned adorable as well."

"Can't help it if your bum ish so nice and pinshable. Ima pinsh it again!"

"Owww! That hurt! You're truly living up to your nickname tonight Honey Badger. Not caring and all that. And since you won't play nice I'm trying things a different way."

He swiftly shifted positions so that he was carrying his love in his arms, protecting himself from his cheeky offender.

Horatio merely grinned and wrapped both arms around his neck just as a cool rain began falling.

"Arshie, you can't possibly carry me like this!"

"I already am, my darling, long legs and all!"

"Have I ever told you just how much I love being held by you? "He nuzzled Archie's neck and kissed it.

Archie swallowed hard as a deep feeling of warmth and affection for the man he loved took his breath away. He stopped and stood still, just holding Horatio tighter and staring into those soft brown eyes, wet lashes impossibly long. He knew they should get moving soon, but the moment felt to precious to waste.

"And I love holding you." Pressing their foreheads together, he sighed contententedly, then began moving purposefully towards home.

Eventually they made it to their flat, completely drenched but happy.

Archie put Horatio down but kept one arm tucked around his waist for support as he unlocked the door to their flat.

"Let's get you into some dry clothing before you catch a chill."

On queue, Horatio began to shiver and his previously cheerful demeanor changed abruptly. His lips turned down into a pout, his brow furrowing.

"How'd I get sho drunk Arshee? Someone must of put a tot of rum in my Coke! Was it you?"

He snorted. "I would never."

"Will you help me? I can't make things work and there's two of you now. I’m going to regret this later, aren’t I?”

He smiled sympathetically.

"Probably. But I'm going to take very good care of you, so no worries, okay?" He helped Horatio to their bedroom, grabbed some towels from the cupboard and wrapping him in one helped him lie down on the bed. "I'll be right back."

He went into the kitchen for a glass of water and some aspirin, took dry boxers and a tee shirt from a drawer and returned to the bed.

"Here, take these aspirin and drink all the water. Archie lifted Horatio up and helped him drink. There we go. Now, let's get you into some dry clothing." He began tugging at the wet garments.

"Achee, you're taking all my clothes off! Horatio began to giggle. Take yours off too!"

"Another time my darling. You're a bit too inebriated for anything but cuddles I fear.”

"M'not. Please?"he whined.

"Let's just concentrate on getting you dry before you catch cold. I won't have you getting sick under my watch.”

A cross between a growl and a groan was heard but Archie just smiled and concentrated on his task. He was at his best as a caregiver; it was an integral part of his profession after all. But being allowed to care for his partner so intimately was everything to him. It had taken some work to get to this point in their relationship. And now that they were there, he cherished it.

"There we are! I think that's dry enough. Fluffy."

"I'm not Fluffy!" He playfully batted at his mate, smiling impishly.

"No? Perhaps if I brought you a mirror it would change your mind." He ruffled the dark brown ringlets affectionately.

Horatio shivered. "Will you hurry and get changed? I'm cold and I need you to keep warm. My Achee Bear, he mumbled sleepily. Love your cuddles."

"Of course. I'll be back in a flash.

Archie quickly undressed, dried himself, and changed. Horatio was chilled and his teeth were chattering, so his mate was in a hurry to join him. He pulled back the covers, got in bed, and wrapped his strong arms around his shivering partner, pulling him close.

"Is this better?"

Horatio sighed contentedly. "Much." He nuzzled into Archie's neck, murmuring nonsensical phrases.

"My poor Horatio, you're still cold as an ice lolly." He began rubbing his hands up and down his partner's back to generate warmth.

"Mmm, a melting one now. There's nothing in this world I love more than your hugs, my dearest. Or hearing you say my name. He smiled shyly and ducked his head. Well, almost nothing!"

Archie grinned in delight, blue eyes sparkling. He licked his lips and jutted out his chin in a cheeky little smirk. He kissed the tip of Horatio's nose, then pulled his head to lay against his broad shoulder. "Sleep now, darling. I worry that tomorrow will be a long day for you." He stroked the soft curls, relishing the silky texture.

"Mmhm, love you, Bear," he answered sleepily.

"And I love you. I'm here if you need me. Always."

The next morning:

Archie was cheerfully humming while making coffee, tea, and toast. He was still dressed in his boxers and a v neck tee-shirt, his feet bare. His handsome face was clean shaven, his golden hair neatly brushed, and his blue eyes bright and clear. The previous night's party and being caught in a downpour had not affected his mood and constitution in any way.

Horatio could never understand this as he hated mornings with a passion, needing his coffee and toast to begin functioning normally.

But today wasn't even a normal day. Horatio had had way too much to drink last night and along with Archie had gotten caught in a downpour.

His hair had gotten very wet and had been towel dried by Archie. As a result his hair was extremely fluffy and his curls were out of control. He had dark circles under his eyes and the beginning of a cold. Add to that a headache, nausea, and no coffee and you get one very grumpy Horatio Hornblower. He groaned loudly upon hearing his mate in the kitchen.

"Acheee, why didn't you stop me last night?"

Hearing his partner's distress call, he immediately made his way to their bedroom.

"Bad morning, Ratio darling?"

His mate huffed and scowled, his brow furrowing. He blinked his eyes, squinting.

"Looking for these, Honey Badger?" Archie asked cheerfully, handing his glasses to Horatio.

He accepted them grudgingly, placing them on his face as he mumbled "Damn your eyes, Mr. Kennedy."

Archie couldn't help but laugh. "Oh Horatio, what can I do to help, my love?"

The grumpy expression softened a bit. He slowly stood up and groaned.

"Just kill me now and get it over with please, he whined, wrapping his arms around his mate and slumping against him. I feel as if my head might explode."

"I truly hope that won't happen. I'm very fond of that beautiful head myself. Will rubbing it help?"he crooned, massaging the back of his neck gently.

"Mmhm, that's nice Bear" he mumbled into Archie's shoulder.

"Do you think you can manage some toast and coffee? You might feel better with some food in your stomach."

"Ugh, don't want to think of food right now, he groaned dramatically. Might puke!"

"Well, we can't have that. Let's go into the lounge and you can put your head in my lap while I have my tea. Yeah?"

He nodded, allowing himself to be led to the sofa. Archie settled him, carefully covering him with a soft blanket. "There. I'm going for my tea and I'll be back straight away."

"Okay. Don't be too long, Achee" he whined as he removed his glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

"Oh, Horatio. You're so incredibly lovable when you're needy," he whispered to himself as he assembled a tray of toast, tea, marmalade, and butter. He decided to include coffee in case his mate changed his mind and a small beaker of ginger ale to help soothe a queasy stomach.

Setting the tray on a table he sat down and Horatio wasted no time plopping his curly head in his boyfriend's lap.

Archie smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"Bear, will you, ahem, would you mind running your fingers through my hair?"

"You need not even ask, my darling."

As Archie ran the fingers of one hand through Horatio's curls, he took sips of tea and bites of toast with another, occasionally feeding small bites to his boyfriend. He knew he could get him to accept some food this way.

"You're like a baby bird, you know that don't you?"

Horatio blushed, smiling shyly. "C'mon Achee!"

"Don't go all coy on me now, my darling. It's only the two of us here and no one else. We can and should be totally ourselves, agreed?"

He nodded, reaching up to touch Archie's face.

"You make every part of my life all better. In every way imaginable. Even feeling as miserable as I do, I'm just... at peace I suppose you could say." There was a look of pure bliss on his face as he gazed up adoringly at his mate.

"Umm, I. Archie cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had formed. I... love making you happy, Horatio. Being here when you need me. Comforting you when you're upset or sick. Making you laugh and smile. He paused, grinning. Even dragging your drunk arse home in the rain and putting you to bed. That's all I ever want." Blue eyes stared into brown. Both had grown misty.

Horatio reached up and gently pulled Archie's lips to his, giving him the sweetest of kisses, telling him without words the depth of his feelings. When the kiss ended, he stroked Archie's cheek gently, still looking into his eyes.

"I'm the happiest I've ever been, babe. And I love you. So much." He caressed the lips of his mate slowly, tenderly.

"And I love you, my darling. My sweet, sweet Horatio." He took his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it reverently.

"Ahem, er, Archie?" A blush began to color his face as he smiled bashfully.

"What? Something you wanted, Ratio" he asked cheekily.

“There is. Let’s go back to bed.”

Archie wasted no time granting his wish!

Later that day

"Please tell me I didn't embarrass myself to the point of never being able to show my face again!"

Archie pursed his lips to keep from smiling as he patted his mouth with his napkin.

"Go on, say something at least! My lunch is sitting in my stomach like a lump of clay. I thought you loved me." Horatio scrubbed his hands across his pale face and groaned.

Archie couldn't help himself any longer and burst out laughing.

"You think you're so clever. Are you having me on about last night and what I did?"

"I wish I was but I'm not! It was, it was so unlike you, I just can't! My sides are hurting." Archie was wiping tears from his flushed face.

Horatio scowled and huffed. "You just wait Mr. Kennedy. Don't think me incapable of getting revenge."

"Listen, Horatio. You really did do everything that I said you did."

Brown eyes stared into blue.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Popping the buttons from your puffy shirt?"

"Mhm."

"And the comment about your Cutlass?"***

"Yes, especially that!" Laughter bubbled up again.

"Noooo! Achee? I don't think I care to know what else I said or did last night. I may actually die from embarrassment!" Horatio rose from his chair and began pacing.

Archie got up from the table and began clearing the dishes from lunch. There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"Are you certain you don't want to know?"

Horatio froze and stopped pacing, rolling his eyes.

"Yes! No. I don't know! Damn't!"

"Everyone loved the pet names you have for me, by the way."

"Which ones?"

"Well, there was Archie Bear, Snugglebunny, and Sweet Cheeks."

"Noooo, why did I ever accept that second drink on an empty stomach? Horatio’s eyes suddenly went wide. What about the other name? The naughty one? What must everyone think of me?”

Archie decided his poor partner had had enough ribbing by the look on his pale face and crossed the room, taking him firmly by the shoulders and leading him to sit down on the couch in the lounge. Then he sat next to him, put an arm around his shoulders and made direct eye contact with him.

"I got the distinct impression that everyone thought you funny, adorable, relaxed, and having fun. And probably in love. It's a good thing Horatio. Everyone is happy for you. And for me. You don't have to worry about a thing, okay? He pulled him into a tight hug. I’m sorry for teasing you.”

"S'okay. Not your fault. I already felt sick, then I started overthinking things. You know how I get." He returned the hug affectionately.

"I do know, but next time I won't tease when you're hungover with a cold coming on."

"It's fine. Slowly a sweet smile replaced the frown. You can't help being the most cheeky man in the Uk if not the entire world. I love you anyway."

Archie beamed with delight and plopped himself on Horatio's lap.

***And I love you. My Honey Badger."

“Wait, did I call you the name? The naughty one?”

“I’ll never tell!”

#horatio hornblower #archie kennedy #modern au #fan fic #archie/horatio #hornblower #fluff #my fic tag #horatio/archie

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felassan · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Dark Fortress #2

(This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

So late with this one! some stuff irl was keeping me really busy and hyper-distracting me lately, but it’s finally over now so I’m back on my bioware bullshit. :D

Overall there were a lot of beautiful or awe-inspiring scenes in this issue, and a lot of great, meaningful / poignant character interactions and moments between characters. It’s pretty impressive actually how much was able to be packed in. I posted some of my favorite panels here. also omg! the action sequences! the big reveal! the ending!! woww

cool scene-setting, panned out shot of Neromenian and behind it, the Dark Fortress, to immediately pull you back into the world and ‘where we left off’. the combination of ruined dead trees, red lights, lightning and fire/smoke is very atmospheric and hints at what’s ahead

“From this... city, if we can call it that” is a sick burn and reminds you that the Qunari are technologically more advanced than most of the rest of Thedas, from their cannons to their aqueducts

more individually distinct Qunari soldiers, sth I again appreciate

! last issue there were big ‘You haven’t seen the last of Tractus!’ vibes, naturally, but I didn’t expect him to escape by stabbing and killing the Qunari using a chair-leg..!!

the last panel on the first page of Karasten is really good. the way it’s colored, the way it’s lit, the light and shadow, the fiery backdrop, cinders floating, the details of his expression.. 👌 it also makes me think to the possible future, to DA4 when mainland Thedas may be continuing to face the entirety of the Antaam

in Vaea’s acrobatics scene on the bridge, I know rationally that she’ll be fine but couldn’t help but worry for her. again I like how they don’t shy away from showcasing Vaea’s specific abilities. also the attention to detail - you’d think some rocks are just some rocks, but it highlights the risk she’s undertaking that if she falls it’s into rough seas which could dash her against the jagged rocks :’S. Vaea, gooooo!

Fenris’ “Enterprising girl” line has big “Clever girl” meme energy :D

my heart can’t take Fran and Autumn leaning over the edge after Vaea in worry ;; or Aaron looking back in concern over his shoulder ;; or Fran’s tender reassurance ;; or Autumn’s Worried expression ;; the care and bonds which have grown between this group of characters ;;

notice Aaron starts drinking when Vaea’s away from them and they’re beginning to grow worried about her safety. the poor man’s nerves and stress levels

Fran touching the vegetation while she’s considering if she could use her magic to open the entrance from the outside is a nice touch

did Marius leap in front of Fenris and Fran there when the entrance opened?? damn, he’s quick. and the three of them look all scary and formidable here ready for combat. notice how the curve of the door and the spikes that go into the ground, and the composition of this panel, make it look like they’re standing in front of an opened dragon’s maw? ‘teeth’, a rumbling ‘roar’.. some nice foreshadowing here.

the reunion panels are so cute. Autumn’s lil tum as she jumps and Fran and Fenris’ lil smiles of relief and at Autumn’s reaction to seeing Vaea, then a rare happy beam from Aaron.. feel.. the love ;__;

red lighting in the tunnel sets a dangerous, dramatic build-up mood

👀 more info on Fenris’ past, on the specifics of the process which gave him his markings. in the panel where he says that it took a long time, his shadow on the wall behind him reminds me of the shadow of his past that has dogged him for so long :(

Fenris and Marius height difference

discussion of the process shows the power difference between blue and red lyrium. blue lyrium took a long time, red lyrium is almost instant

Autumn is such an intrepid little explorer and alert scout, tail and ears up, head forward. good girl!

“I just... worry about you, my girl” ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚ I’ll be so sad if these are death flags for Aaron and he doesn’t make it out of here. also note Fran in this panel, who recently had to kill her own father and is still dealing with that, watching the strongly paternal moment between Aaron and Vaea :(

love Vaea’s faith in Aaron and her sense of humor. also I don’t know why, maybe it’s because Vaea met Sebastian, but her “Maker, no!”, although in a completely different and light-hearted context, reminds me of Sebastian’s “Maker nooo!” at the end of DA2 hh

the reference again to Hawke, who Fenris saw haunted by what they tried to do - save their mother - and couldn’t :’(. also with the shadow in this panel, here’s another person struggling with the shadow of his past qq. this is later emphasized again in Aaron when he continues to talk about his past and in the panel is a chain and manacle. smart visual metaphors, a must in the comic medium with limited space

mushroom skull 💀🍄

“It isn’t about what I’ve done. It isn’t about my failures. Or my choices. It’s about their impact” - he’s misty-eyed here as he thinks back to Ostagar.. does this line btw seem almost meta to anyone else btw? :D it feels like a meta reference to the experience of DA players and PCs, who are always having to deal with the impacts of their choices

I wanna point out that I was right on reading issue #1, when I said “I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die” ;;

So Aaron is also a veteran of the Battle of Denerim

reference to the Hero of Ferelden - “Those were someone else’s battles”. I’m being captain obvious here but I can’t help but [heart pitter-patter] at any and all references to the HoF

I like the.. parallel? is that the word? Aaron’s stories were him trying to inspire people to make a change, or him trying to convince himself of that. and now here’s Vaea, inspiring Aaron with her words in these panels. the little guys can make a difference! in the world of Thedas, you don’t need to be a big bombastic hero or a Player Character to have an impact

lmao Fenris right on cue. the moments of humor/light-heartedness are nice because they break up the tension and are sprinkled throughout without derailing build-up or taking away from dramatic story impact. yknow?

yeah Aaron!! leave it behind. leave it to rot with mr mushroom skull (and hey the mushroom skull was there for a reason). again tho if this is a death flag i

Fenris straight down to business with the tactics

its cute how close Autumn has been sticking to Fran

Tessa checking in on Fran again, as she did in issue 1

Could Vaea’s “Well, shit” be an homage to Varric? :D they have met

I also wanna point out that I was right on reading issue #1, when I said “My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar”

the poor dragon :’( big dragon the Qunari had in Trespasser vibes

the sword has a really cool design, kind of reminds me of something a samurai might be depicted wielding

👀 lore-drop! so ancient elven arcane warriors used lyrium-infused swords. this seems to confirm the sarcophagus is an ancient elven artifact, no? makes sense, wasn’t it said that the sarcophagus’ design was based on the architecture/outfit-design type elements of a specific faction, and that this was done intentionally? it looks kinda ancient elfy in make, right? also about the lyrium-infused swords of the arcane warriors, well well well.. remember that the Evanuris and the ancient elves mined the bodies of Titans for lyrium, for power and to use as a resource. here’s an example of that use

as I read through this portion I became increasingly concerned for my boy Shirallas.. we really are in it now aren’t we 😭

the Qunari are launching STRAIGHT-UP ROCKETS ohhhh

pretty ‘lightshow’ over the wall in the “Let’s hope the fortress is as secure as Danarius boasted” panel hh

protective older brother Fenris, impish younger sister Vaea. love that dynamic, we love to see it. sheepish and exasperated Fenris is so cute

the Bone Pit dragon fight with Hawke and co reference!

I wonder how long the dragon has been captive here, and how Danarius/Tractus was able to capture it

lore-wise what are the implications here? when Fenris’ ritual was being undertaken, the sword and the sarcophagus were bombarded with magic, fire spells. in this one they aim to have the dragon bombard it with fire-breathing. is it just fire that makes it work/powers it, or is there magic in dragonfire, in dragons? it reminds me of “Your heart beats with the old blood, as well. Where do you think it comes from? It sings of a time when dragons ruled the skies. A time before the Veil, before the mysteries were forgotten. Can you hear it?”

purple color for the dragon’s growling sounds/typeset is a great idea

lets.. goooo!!!!

Marquette is such a nerd. later on when he activates the sarcophagus he has mad scientist vibes

the dramatic reunion face-offs begin!! as the prophecy foretold!!!!1

true to form, Marius DOES have nothing to say ahahaha, even at this, his personal climax. maybe Marius dies in the next issue, but Tessa lives and gets to go back to Charter

these Venatori look almost Star Wars

Shirallas my boyy.. nooo... don’t do it 😭

ah ah ah! try casting magic with no ARMS

Francesca a beacon of blue light and goodness

the splash combat page is masterful. everyone playing a part, so much going on, everything happening at once. a thing that sticks out to me about it is Aaron’s outstretched hand and alarm as he watches Fran fall

Autumn with her lil hackles raised

“The Venatori have returned” dun dun dunn

goodbye Shirallas 😭😭😭

the composition of the second to last page with triangle/diamond-shaped panels and the framing of dragon wings is awesome

the Dread Wolf rises, “the Tevinter Imperium will rise again”.. on-point on-point cohesion

there he is, the red wraith

Super Saiyan Shirallas

what a note to end an issue on

wow wow wow!!

and separate to the above, some speculation based on the cover of Issue 3: the piece of metal looks like a broken collar coming off Shirallas, like the one there was on the cover of Issue 2 coming off the dragon. also he’s all bulky now with draconic talons/claws (reminds me of in-world legends of Reavers who dug too deep of their own power after drinking dragon blood and whose bodies consequently began to manifest subtle reptilian traits actually). I’ll be interested to see what results of this allusion between Shirallas and the dragon!!

#dragon age #BioWare #dark fortress spoilers #dark fortress spoiler #spoilers #spoiler #dragon age: dark fortress spoilers #dragon age: dark fortress spoiler #video games #gore cw #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #feels #fenris #the Fenaissance #long post #longpost #alcohol cw

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thehoneybeast · 4 years ago

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Reconnecting

Ok sooo.. I have been a little obsessed with this great show and had the inspiration to write and actually finish! a fanfiction because apparently I am n love with a stupid cartoon monkey called Hugo.. so here we go! Maybe some find a little joy in this.

Warnings: mention of death, maybe trauma, stupidly dramatic

Pairing: Hugo/Scarlemange x Reader because why not

Okay a little rant from me first. Spoiler! I couldn't just accept that Hugo dies at the end of the series so I had to come up with a stupid way in which we could save him. This came from the same storyline in which he wouldn't die. If my motivation is big enough, I might continue this, but for now this is all I have. Also, the story is a little straight forward, no gentle start or anything. Enjoy!

He smelled the sweat on your skin, mixed with the earthy note of dirt before he recognised your own scent underneath. He let go, held your head between his hands and smiled widely. Your hair was a mess, dull and mixed with leaves but it held the same beautiful colour that he remembered you with. Your eyes stared at him with confused happiness and he felt his heartbeat quicken. It had taken him years to find you, to finally see you again. You had grown, your features had become more firm and you were confronted with the same sense of astonishment as him. Last time you had stood in front of Hugo, he had been the same hight as you. He always looked a little shy with his rather small frame. Now you stood in front of a mandrill the size of a gorilla, his shoulders broad and hidden underneath a fancy costume of the old France. You could feel the enormous strength in his arms as he held you, the intimidating strength of a mute.However, you couldn't comprehend the fact, that he was alive. After what felt like forever, you finally found a known face and one that you held a special place for in your heart. It brought tears to your eyes, which caused his grin to falter, instantly letting go of your head. "Are you hurt?" the question came out quiet as he let his eyes search your body for any signs of a wound but you just shook your head smiling, wiping your tears away. "I'm so happy to see you are alive-" was all you could say, before a wave of emotions hit you and you let your head sink, ashamed of causing a scene, but he just went to embrace you yet again. "No need to shed tears, you are save now." His words were quiet, just loud enough for you to hear. "Nothing will hurt you as long as you stay with me." You held each other, enjoying the familiar company. When he let go this time, he made a few steps back suddenly filled with energy, spreading his arms. "You are now part of my kingdom! Everyone will know not to touch you, unless they wish to face the strength of my army! " he announced, proudly taking in the view of the humans behind you. He felt his heart flutter as you watched him with big, beautiful eyes.It brought him on a high he hadn't experienced in a long time. He turned around and motioned for you to follow him before he stalked ahead. "Let me show you around!" he more or less ordered and you needed a second to get of the ground and hurry after him. While rushing to his side you couldn't help but notice the people behind you. You didn't recognise them because of their masks but you felt something was off about them. He tangled his arm with yours as soon as you reached him, grinning and leading you through his place. It was way bigger than you would have imagined, overgrown by nature in many places while still holding a sense of luxury. You understood immediately why he had chosen to stay. He was obviously proud of his home and trying to impress you. He had to slow down a little for you to appreciate what he was showing you and it took him a little self control. You were overwhelmed by the new surroundings and even more by him. It was odd seeing your sweet and gentle childhood friend so very proud and outgoing. You felt a little arrogance in the way he acted but you didn't really care for now. Just being around him made you feel younger and filled you with more energy than you had have since the breakdown of the borrow. It was good to see him healthy and all grown up and you really embraced the warmth which whom he met you. His enthusiasm was infectious and while he was rambling about the great meaning behind paintings and decorations, you listened with wide eyes, completely forgetting about your confused feelings and the rush of fear that you had experienced before you had recognised each other. You didn't think of questioning anything over your joy, until you reentered the great hall you started from. He lead you to his grant piano which was placed on a platform in the middle of the room and as he talked about the music he adored, your gaze shifted trough the room, coming to a halt at the group of humans standing perfectly still. You tilted your head irritated. "What's the deal with them?" You asked Hugo who had paid no mind to your audience. You realised that you didn't really ask yourself why none of them had introduced themselves or even bothered to say anything when you were brought in or after that. Were they even real beings? "They're my peasants." He answered nonchalantly sitting down, starting to play a walz on his piano. You looked at him in confusion, wanted to ask him where they came from, what was going on but as he snapped his fingers, you began to understand. To your horror, the motionless people started to dance. They didn't speak, they didn't laugh or sway mindlessly, they danced as if hanging on strings, as if programmed just to dance. Hugo laughed while you could only stare, slowly processing what was going on. You remembered why they had kept him in a cage back then. You remembered when your father had told you to stay away. It was his sweat. That hypnotic influence it had on primates. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, the easy feeling of home coming disappearing behind the maniacal laughter of your friend. There was nothing odd about the humans dancing in front of you, it was Hugo. He had changed more drastically than you could ever have imagined. He continued his play joyfully, not taking notice of your uneasy expression until you carefully put your hand on his, stopping his movements. Confused and angry he glared at you before he saw the way you looked at him. You tried to smile, suddenly scared of angering him. "You play beautifully, but please don't make them dance." Your voice was gentle but he must have heard the trembling underneath. His grin grew back, this time more evil than welcoming. "Oh you don't have to pity them. This is one of the only things they're good for anyways." You didn't know what to say. There was hatred in his eyes and you bit your lip nervously, looking back and forth between him and the people. His hands were still hovering over the keys of his instrument, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for a reaction. "Please don't-" was all you could mutter before he turned to the people and waved one of them to step closer. Hugo watched with amusement as the man walked over, a wide and unsettling smile on his face. He enjoyed it. When the stranger arrived Hugo snapped his fingers again and the poor guy started to uncontrollable stepdance. You made a step back, feeling sick watching him. "You don't have to worry, you are my guest. As long as you follow my orders willingly, there is no need for this." He motioned at the man his voice filled with pride and authority. You stared at him. Your breath became short and your heartbeat fastened. He watched his peasant do as he pleased. He didn't know why he had felt the need to demonstrate you his ways, after all you had never made any attempt of running yet, but as soon as he had seen your curiosity for the other humans, he had felt anger. You had been separated for so long, he didn't know you anymore. Maybe you had never missed him, maybe even forgotten him until now, maybe you had even become like them. There was jealousy in his veins but he chose to not let you see that. After all, who knew what your motivation was at this point. It wouldn't hurt to show you, who was in control. Better to introduce you to his new world in a way that you wouldn't dare to question him. When he turned to you again you had brought quite a distance between the both of you, your body reacting to the fear rushing trough your bones. You had lived quite some time out there, all alone. Your instincts had saved you most of the time but you felt your scars tingle as they reminded you of the times it had not. He could do the same to you. You felt hatred crawl into your eyes and run over your cheeks. The hate wasn't directed onto him but rather onto the entire world. This world had made him like this. Your heart ached, wondering what had scarred him so deeply that he felt the need to put others under his control. You realised, that he had most likely wanted to put you under his spell as well until he had recognised you. Hugo, or what he would soon teach you to call him, Scarlemange, watched the war behind your eyes. He managed to look unscathed on the outside while inside he was slightly scared of the decision you would come to. He wouldn't let you leave, he couldn't loose sight of you again. Part of him regretted his little show but he reminded himself, that he could not just trust you to know your place. He wouldn't put you with the rest of them, maybe even let you wander around once he trusted you enough to not try and flee. He yearned for your acceptance of the situation so he could try and rebuild the connection the two of you had shared so many yeara ago. You wiped the remains of your tears of stress away with the hem of your dirty clothes and he instantly wished that you hadn't. It made you look more like a dirty dog and he only realised now how wore down you were. You had been a little chubby as a child, not overweight but a healthy amount of flesh on your bones. It occurred to him, that you might have had to fight for food, maybe falling asleep hungry sometimes. Over all, your body looked strained, he could see muscles under your skin but also bone where he didn't want to see it. He felt himself getting softer by watching you, now more alert than you had been before. "How about something to eat? If you're done throwing a tantrum. " His voice was weaker than he had intended it to be, but he couldn't help himself but worry about you. Of course you weren't allowed to know about that, after all you could use it to your advantage. Your shoulders were stiff your eyes narrowed, trying to see the intention in his eyes. It was sad how quickly the atmosphere around the two of you had changed. It now seemed like a short dream where things had been how they used to be. The reality had hit you hard and brought your mind back into a state of survival. You stood a few feet away from the monkey, meeting his glare unimpressed. "Well?" he tried again, his tone now harsher and more demanding for an answer. You sighed heavily before nodding scared that your voice might break if you tried to speak. He smiled grimly offering you with a gesture to walk beside him. Of course it wasn't really an offer and rather a demand. You looked up at him more disappointed than angry and let him lead you to the other hall where you had come along the giant table. You felt naive for hoping he would be the same and you struggled to decide whether it made you want to leave or stay. He clearly had lived through something that made him like this but you weren't sure if you had the strength to put up with his very dangerous new side in order to help him find back to a healthier view on the world. You had been through quite a lot yourself and thought it unfair that you would have to suppress your own happiness and safety for his sake. So far he hadn't put you in too much of an inconvenience but rather just scared or threatened you. To your surprise he didn't lead you to the dining room but made his way up the stairs to the second floor. It occurred to you, that you could probably run from him, try to escape but you decided that if you were going to do it he shouldn't be expecting it, what he was surely doing at the moment. Instead you followed him slowly, taking in the view of the room while getting higher. Your hands slid carefully over the old wooden stairhandle and you noticed a bitter feeling of hope in your heart when you turned your head in Hugos direction. He was waiting at the end of the stairs and smiled. It was almost charming if you just could have brought yourself to forget what just had happened. "You will change before we eat. I will not have you smelling like a wild animal while dining." He didn't leave room for an argument but you didn't feel like you had the strength for that anyway. "There is a bathtub in there, ready to be used. It was meant for me but you can have it. Clothes will be brought in when you're done." He already headed off, leaving you in the doorway of a lightly lit room which was filled with the smell of flowers. "I hope you don't expect me to wear something like you..?" You asked, facing the big old bath but he was already back on the stairs throwing you a confident grin before he stalked away while you slowly entered the bathroom. A warm bath sounded rather appealing and would maybe help you relax again. The water was hot, a comforting feeling on your skin and even though you couldn't stop feeling sad about your experience with Hugo, you did enjoy the feeling of the dirt getting of your skin. You washed your hair, your face and looked carefully at yourself when you were done. There were scars you didn't recognise and others which causes you would never forget. There was a big towel hanging at the wall, big red and fluffy and you curled yourself up in it. A content sigh passed your lips when you sat down on one of the puff chairs which stood around the room. You didn't want to face him again. Not when he had become like a possessive tyrant. You burried your head under the towel and thought back to a better time. A safer time. You jumped slightly when the door opened before a big wooden box was pushed into the room and the door closed again before you could see who had brought it in. You stared a few moments, debating whether you should play along or not. Sighing yet again, you slowly walked over and lifted the top so you could take a look at the the fabric inside. Of course he hadn't brought you normal, simple clothes. No, it had to be the same old school fashion that him and his 'peasants' were dressed in. You rummaged through the box on the search for something more comfortable than that and found a rather normal looking leggings with ruffles on the outside but decided it was good enough. For your upper body you took one of the white dress shirts two or three sizes too big so that it would hang loosely over you chest. As happy as you could be with your outfit you walked over to the mirror again and took in your form. Your scars were hidden, your hair clean and after you had found a brush and forced it into a more presentable look, you were surprised how good it felt to feel like a human again. The door was opened again, this time all the way and a gorilla peeked inside his hand covering his eyes while he asked in a deep voice: "If you're dressed, please come outside. Scarlemange awaits you. " You frowned hearing that name. You had nearly forgotten who it was you were brought to. Not Hugo, whom you had mistaken him for but the monster you had heard many mutants talk about. After debating with yourself if you should insist on calling him Hugo, you made the decision that it wouldn't bring you anything good to be stubborn right now. So instead you answered with a gentle "I'm coming!" and followed the gorilla out the door. He brought you to the Hall as expected and upon seeing the giant table, now with plates of fruits and fancy dishes, you felt your body scream for food. Hardly keeping yourself from rushing over to eat with your bare hands, the gorilla seated you on the other side of the long wooden table so now you were facing Hu- no, Scarlemange a few feet away. You could see his eyebrows narrow as he took in your new look. "You could've picked something fancier." He scolded loudly to reach your ears over the distance but you just shrugged your shoulders. "I didn't feel like dressing up. Comfortable is better than pretty." You answered nonchalantly, trying not to stare at the meals in front of you. Scarlemange noticed the hunger in your eyes and laughed slightly to himself. "Please, be my guest and treat yourself." He motioned over the table and that was all the invitation you needed. You devoured every bite you took, enjoying the feeling of your stomach being filled to the brim. When you were done, your belly hurt a little but you felt happy and content. Sighing you leaned against the back of your chair. Scarlemange, who was used to eat regularly, took his time, eating with elegance and you couldn't help but smile over the way he was so serious about looking pretty while eating. You had grown a little tired but also braver. Deciding that you didn't want to scream for him to hear you, you eased out of your chair and made your way over to his end of the table. He stopped in his movement watching you through squinted eyes. You reached the chair to his left, pulled it out and sat down, smiling sheepishly at him. "So now you aren't scared of me anymore?" he asked bitterly and you rested your head on your hand, still looking at him. "Surely you understand why I am a little cautious after your little show off with that man. You did it to scare me, didn't you? But you are rather nice to me. You let me clean myself, you feed me. You also tried to intimidate me. I'm not quite sure what you want with me, but I'm willing to give you your time to express it." He raised his eyebrows unimpressed and continued eating while you watched him closely. He had earned some scars himself. Tho they made his colourful face even more interesting. You hummed to yourself as you took your time taking each of them in, wondering what may have caused them. He looked older, more masculine. "You've become rather handsome." It left your mouth without intention and as you noticed what you had said, heat crawled into your cheeks. To your surprise he just laughed evily and glared at you. "What, do you think flattery will make it easier for you to fool me?" There was mistrust and anger in his eyes and you realised that he didn't believe you, which frustrated you. "Nah, I think a poor peasant like me couldn't fool a majesty like you, since you are oh so great and scary!" You huffed angrily. Your anger reflected in his eyes and you took a deep breath, trying to calm the situation. "Seriously. Even though I don't like these clothes on me, they do look good on you. It fits the colour of your fur." He just stared at you, now more confused than angry, which made you continue. "You found your theme and it compliments your personality. I'm just being honest here." You saw his look shifting uneasy and knew that you had flattered him, probably the first to do so in a long time. Maybe now he would answer some questions. "Look Scarlemange, I don't know what happened. I'm pretty sure you don't want to tell me so I'll leave it alone. But I will not just sit and wait, so please do tell me what you are planning to do with me. Am I your prisoner? Your pet? Will you kick me out when you are bored by me? I just want to know what to expect. " For a moment he was quiet. He put his dish aside, keeping his eyes on you, his glare unbroken. "You are a human. You belong to me. I will not let you leave." That was what you had expected but it made you shiver, once he had said it out loud. "However," he continued in a generous tone, ignoring your nervous gulp, "you have the privilege of good memories being connected to you so I will give you the chance of earning the right to keep your own will, just like I told you before. Don't misbehave. Don't betray me or you are going to join the others of your kind in serving me." His tone was firm and emotionless. He wanted to stand up but you stopped him. Your grip wasn't harsh but he stopped in his movements. He wasn't angry with you this time, just wanted for you to say what you had to. "I understand that." You looked down at your hand now covering his and had to fight the urge of getting too upset. "But you get that it is a lot to ask to just demand that I stay here, right? You treat this as if it should be obvious when I have hardly even told you how I feel about it. This has been a very onesided interaction so far and as much as I am happy to see you, we can't go back to being friends if you're not willing to listen as well. You changed your name, your personality. I as well have nice memories of us two playing silly games and spending our time with each other, but the way we lived then was different. Our world was different. We changed a lot. You are not the shy little body I had befriended back than and neither am I the stupid little child." You raised your gaze, afraid of his reaction but he didn't seem upset yet. Instead he took his hand back from yours and talked in a voice like he was teaching a child. "You are right, we lived in another world back than." Now he raised from his chair entirely, walked a few steps and turned his back to you, locking his hands behind his back. "I realised that the world wasn't as we saw it. I had to wake up from that fantasy world of a 'family' and did what helped me survive in the real world." His voice had become spiteful and you felt pain in the words he said. You felt you chest tighten and stood up as well. "Yes, this world is scarier than in the burrow." You interrupted "I had to face that fact as well when the burrow was gone. The life on the surface is hard. It left it's scars on me too." He looked over his shoulder at you, doubt and mistrust in his eyes. " Why did you leave the new place then? If you think the surface is so scary, why come out? To explore it? Are you telling me you had no choice? Do you think I am that stupid?"He stopped in his rant when he saw your eyes go wide. "New..New home? What are you talking about?" He saw genuine shock in your eyes and he was taken a little aback by that. "The place you flet to? The place you all took of to when the burrow broke down?!" There was a heavy silence between the two of you before you could talk again. "So.. That is why I never found anyone after that. I thought-" you stopped yourself sinking back into your chair. Scarlemange squinted his eyes watching you, trying to decide whether you were lying or not. Your performance was pretty believable. "Why would they leave you behind?" he questioned and your heart ached thinking back to that day. You didn't have anyone to talk to about what happened that day so you chose to push it into the back of your head, ready to be forgotten. The trauma would have prevented you from surviving, you didn't have the room for a breakdown when you had to be on guard all the time. But now someone wanted to know, someone knew what had happened and the memories flooded back. You burried your face in your hands, shaking it, trying to stop the emotions from overrunning you. It had been suppressed for so long. Scarlemanges face softened, seeing you react so emotionally. Maybe you were telling the truth. He came closer, not really knowing how to calm you down but also wanting to know. "Please, tell me what happened. " His voice was gentle and more quite than before while he slowly placed a hand on your back. Your words were small, chaotic and he had trouble understanding what you said. "The day the burrow broke down..My father- He was hit by the collapsing roof... The bricks burried him underneath them and he... He was still alive. I couldn't reach him.. Everyone rushed to leave, they were all in panic.." You paused to take some heavy breaths and he felt your body beginning to shake. "I couldn't leave him.. Some tried make me leave with them but... I stayed with him for two days until.. Until he stopped answering me-" You hick uped and your throat was too thick to continue. Images of the chaos flashed into your inner view and the sickening screams of your father. Your whole body started to stiffen up and when Scarl reached over your shoulders for comfort, you turned and clung to him for dear life, crying heavily into his shoulder.There you were again, hugging him, now out of grief instead of joy. He didn't know what to do so he just let your small frame cling to him, carefully wrapping his arms around you. He could only listen to half of your story, though he felt that the rest was rather easy to guess. You had stayed behind for your father and once he was dead you had been left alone with nowhere to go. Even if they had noticed you missing, they most likely assumed that you had been killed like your father. No one would have risked it to come back and search for someone presumed dead. He felt guilt for having brought back those memories and anger as he realised that you as well had been left behind. You must have felt even more lost and scared than him, he at least had been somewhat capable of defending himself. He vowed to himself to try and trust you a little more, especially now that you shown yourself so vulnerable to him. It was the first time that He had embraced someone since his life in the burrow and the fact that it was you filled him with gratitude. Maybe there was a chance for a new friendship between the two of you. If only you were going to understand that he was in control. After all, Hugo was no more. He kept you in his arms until your body started to calm down. The shaking disappeared and your breathing softened. As he looked at your face he saw your red puffy eyes and nose, tears still running down your cheeks. It made his heart ached that you searched for comfort in him and he tried to accept the fact that he wouldn't be scaring you any more. You looked much more exhausted and weak than when you had entered his home this morning and he felt a biting feeling that it was partly his fault. He decided that you had been through enough for today. Not saying a word he heaved you into his arms bridal style and passed through the dining room, up the stairs and to the end of the hallway where his bedroom was. When his servants, the mutated ones, looked at him questioningly, he motioned for them to leave. You didn't move much, your head was hurting and everything felt dull and heavy. Only the heartbeat against your ear and the warmth of his body gave you comfort and when he moved to lay you down and leave you whined like a child. He had put you down onto his king sized bed with comfortable red sheets. "I think you deserve some rest, don't you think?" His eyes were back to the way they had been when he first recognised you. There was no fear, anger or mistrust, only worry and warmth. You reached out for him, taking his hand and pulling it in. It felt mesmerising to be wanted by your side but he looked at You uncertain. "Are you sure? I take up a bit of space." The grin on his face was gentle and you felt a piece of hope return to your heart when you nodded. "I don't want to be alone. I think I have enough of that for quite some time " your smile was sad and your eyelids felt incredibly heavy. He gently pulled the blanket up to your neck and walked to the other side of the bed. He thought back to the Times you two had have sleepovers where you would stay in his little room when your father would allow it. It were some of his most treasured memories, innocent and pure. To think that he could relive them someday was incomprehensible to him. When he layed down you were already at his side again, having turned around under the sheets and cuddled up to him, your body heat welcoming him under the sheets. He felt blood rush to his face and he was glad that your eyes were closed while he returned the embrace once again. No, he wasn't reliving memories, this was different. There was something new within him and he realised that maybe, just maybe he didn't only want a friendship anymore. He listened to your peaceful breathing and found himself relax in your arms, a feeling of comfort and home that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

#scarlemagne x reader #hugo x Reader #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts

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3pirouette · 4 years ago

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Fic: 40 Weeks (1/1)

Title: 40 Weeks By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: First Avenger, that’s it. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 4601 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Rated teen to mature due to content.

Story Summary: Every week farther away from him is a week closer to a new beginning.

A/N: For Steggy Bingo Bash Sentence Prompt: “I have eagerly been awaiting the day I could finally meet you… and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.” Also, I’m sorry. Set during CA:TFA.

TW: while I hate to give away the plot, this story is about Peggy dealing with an unplanned pregnancy while believing Steve is dead after going down on the Valkyrie. This may be a sensitive subject for many, please read or skip accordingly for your own mental health.

I have never been pregnant. ALl info is from the internet.

Also, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. This made me cry. You’ll probably need tissues.

~*~ Week 0

He’d almost died.

It was all she could think of as she pressed her body into his, their lips meeting with force, battling to be dominant, the air charged with lust and fear and relief as they shed their clothes as quickly as they could.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw it: she saw the way the tank aimed at him, how his shield barely made it up in time to deflect the load from the great barrel, how it exploded and pushed him back in a way he didn’t expect, how he landed near the great rotating treads, shocked, and his head just an inch away from disaster as the tank rolled forward before Dugan slid in and pushed him farther under where the treads could do no damage.

He couldn’t hear her when they finally triumphed, blood slipping from his ear. He looked shocked, dazed. She’d never seen him like that before.

Even small, before the serum, he’d seemed invincible to her. This reminded her that even Captain America could die.

He could hear her now as she moaned his name, his lips slipping against the flesh between her legs, licking and nipping and biting as she fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him up to her. That realization had made her feel lost, broken, and she needed him in a way she’d never needed anyone before. The touch of his hand was too little, the wrapping of his arms around her in a simple hug not enough. She’d slipped them into an empty supply room, locked the door, and pressed him against it. “I won’t let either of us die without knowing what it’s like to love one another.”

He’d held her face in his hands, gentle, and tried to reassure her. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t let that happen.”

She hadn’t argued with him, didn’t have it in her to play devil’s advocate. Instead, she kissed him. Surprising him, it took a moment for him to kiss her back, for him to let them melt together, but slowly his body started to vibrate on the same frequency hers was, it started to pick up on her need and desperation and it left them as they were now, him clutching her shoulders, sliding inside her sloppily as she balanced on the edge of an old desk, her legs wrapped around his hips and her lips marking him at his collar bone.

It was quick and frenzied, sloppy and amateur, but Peggy couldn’t help but feel a little more put together, a little more reassured as they lay on the creaking table, his head pillowed on her breasts, the both of them gasping for breath.

“I love you, Peggy Carter,” Steve whispered, kissing the flesh closest to him, “and I’m never letting you go.”

“And I love you,” she croaked out, her voice raw. She tangled her hands in his sweaty hair, her heart pounding in her chest. “But you and I both know that neither one of us is in control of what happens during this bloody war.”

He pressed up on his arms, hovering over her, his dog tags cold against her skin as he pushed a curl behind her ear. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself. Instead, he kissed her gently. He pulled away softly, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. “How am I supposed to go back to that lonely tent without you now?”

She let her hands slide over his shoulders. “Needs must, you know,” she whispered, letting him gently help her to sitting. “I suspect my own bed will be quite disappointing.”

Steve bent, kissing her thigh as he picked up their discarded clothing. “Peg, we should…”

“We shouldn’t,” she stopped him as he stood, eyes serious. “if we want to keep working together, no one can know. They’ll toss me out of here in a second and you know that.”

He kissed her gently, handing her her slip. “I hate keeping us a secret.”

“I’d hate even more not knowing if you were alive or dead.”

~*~ Week 3

She hadn’t managed a night’s sleep since he went into the water. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him drowning, saw his hands reaching up for her. Saw his lifeless body floating away.

She wasn’t his widow, she wasn’t his anything, not officially. His belongings were put in storage and his name was mourned. Only the men that knew them best, the ones that saw the snuck kisses and hand holding, gave her any real sympathy.

Dugan sat with her, Pinky said a prayer with her, and Phillips had even hugged her.

There was no body, no funeral, no remembrance beyond that given to any other soldier when there was still so much more work to be done.

She could barely eat, couldn’t sleep, felt sick and tired all the time, and yet, she knew she had to march on.

There was a war to win. She was going to win it for him.

~*~ Week 6

She was shaking, and only partly due to the fact that she’d just thrown up most of what she’d eaten today quite violently. She held the phone to her ear, trying desperately to slow her heart rate.

She didn’t want it to be true, and yet she desperately did.

And if it was, she was absolutely beyond terrified.

There was another long ring before a polite English voice she’d never heard answered.

“I need to talk to Howard, please. Peggy Carter calling.” She was proud that her voice sounded almost steady. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest, the seconds it took Howard to get to the phone felt like hours.

“Peggy!” he called, excited. “It’s good to hear from you. How can I be of service?”

She took one shaky breath, then another. She’d never been ashamed of what they did, would never be, but the impact it was going to have on her life, the way it was going to change everyone’s opinion of her… she wasn’t ready for that.

She heard her mother’s voice in her head, criticizing the women at church who work skirts that were too short and who flirted to shamelessly. Harlots, Margaret. Girls like that give smart, determined women like us a bad name. All for what? They should be on their knees for praying, not for…humph!

“Peggy? You there?” Howard asked, his tone softening.

She wasn’t ready to lose them all. She didn’t know how she could avoid it, though.

“Howard. I… I need your help.”

~*~ Week 7

He met her in London, his eyes tight and worried as she disembarked the troop transport with her usual aplomb, not a hint of the desperate woman he’d spoken to on the phone about her. He watched her closely as they got in his car, as he introduced his new butler, as they drove far away from the base and to a small house he’d rented.

She managed to keep her composure through lunch, telling him how she and Steve had shared one moment of unrestrained passion, how neither of them had thought anything could come of it, and how, three weeks after he was pronounced KIA she realized that he’d managed to make sure she’d never be alone, even without him.

Though she hadn’t taken a test, Peggy Carter knew with certainty that she was pregnant with Steve Rogers’ child.

She swallowed, looking at Howard frankly, her eyes clear. “I don’t mind being called a whore or a harlot, that I can take and have brought upon myself as my mother would say,” Peggy quickly relayed. “My job is lost, I’m sure.” She steeled herself, but it didn’t quite work. “But I can’t…” she teared up, wrapping her hands around her still flat belly, “I don’t know how to protect it. The Army… they’ll want…”

She dissolved into tears, sending Howard to his knees beside her. “I’ll help you, Peg. You don’t have anything to worry about.” He took her hand in his, waiting until she wiped the tears from her eyes to look at him. “Nobody’s going to touch that baby, ok? If I have to marry you myself, no one is going to touch that kid.”

~*~ Week 10

The guest house at Howard’s New York home is more than suitable for her, and she takes to wandering it aimlessly as it is quite large.

She resigned her commission, citing personal reasons much to Phillips chagrin.

How am I supposed to win this war without you, Carter? Phillips’s voice echoes in her mind.

Once, she would have bristled at that, would have rethought her decision to leave and felt the pull of duty.

She had only one duty now. It had been easier than she thought it would be to say goodbye.

One day she’d tell them the truth. Phillips, the Commandos, they were her friends, too. She still was barely thicker around the middle than she had been, not enough to show and not enough to be suspicious. But right now, she held the only living genetic sample of Steve Rogers, and there were nations that would kill for that, including her own. For now, she could still hide in plain sight.

Their baby’s safety was all that mattered to her.

She made another round, checking the windows and doors and making sure the gun by her bedside was loaded and ready to go if need be. She’d already pulled it twice on poor Mr. Jarvis, but he seemed to be getting used to her paranoia.

~*~ Week 12

Ana is a godsend.

She’s funny and quick-witted, and thankfully good with a needle and thread. Peggy’s clothes all need letting out at the seams now, and Ana entertains her with silly stories of her day and tales of the farmer’s market in town as she makes alterations.

She’s become her only close friend, and Peggy is ever grateful that not once did she see pity or judgement in the woman’s eyes.

Her mother continues to refuse to speak to her.

~*~ Week 16

Howard has proposed no less than three times since he’s been back from the front.

His simplest solution is to not give the Army any reason to believe the child belongs to Rogers. While Peggy can see the wisdom in this, she can’t quite seem to get on board with the idea of denying the man she loved his only true legacy.

“I’m thinking about it,” she would tell him nearly twice a day.

And she was thinking about it.

~*~ Week 18

She’s glad the doctor Howard has found her is knowledgeable and discrete. She knows, because Howard refuses to lie to her, that they take an extra vial of blood for him at each visit, and he runs his own tests.

She’s relieved that the midwife Ana finds her is sweet and kind, and that the woman simply holds her hand when Peggy breaks into tears when the woman asks about the baby’s father.

“I’m so sorry my love,” the midwife whispers gently. “So many young women have lost so much in this war.”

If her midwife believes her to be anything other than a war widow, or notices the lack of a ring on Peggy’s finger, she never says.

~*~ Week 20

Ana has to take Peggy shopping for maternity clothes now. She’s showing and can no longer get by with letting buttons stay undone and letting out seams. The lacy frocks and pastel colors turn her off of the small section in the department store.

She can’t help but watch the women around her, some barely showing, some looking ready to burst, and wonder what their lives are like.

Do they have doting husbands at home? Indifferent husbands? Men overseas who may never see their child’s birth?

Are they like her? Lost and alone and so very, very unsure of how even tomorrow will go?

Ana gently guides her through the store despite her daze, and helps her choose some sensible tops and dresses.

She doesn’t plan on leaving Howard’s estate other than for doctor visits any time soon, so the design matters little in the long run.

~*~ Week 21

Lying in bed she can feel it.

Little flutters.

They’re easy to ignore during the day, but at night they’re positively maddening. She rubs her stomach, hands gliding over the tightening flesh, closing her eyes and imagining they were Steve’s hands.

Tears come to her eyes.

Would he have been happy? Excited? Scared? She’s imagined each emotion a million times over. She’s never really been able to decide.

Some days she barely knows how she feels about it.

The flutters get more insistent, no real kicks or punches yet, just little backflips. She imagines a little boy, lithe and graceful as his father, or a little girl, smooth like a ballerina.

She smiles.

“Bide your time, little one,” she whispers, and the movement calms down. “You’ll be out here with all of us soon and there will be little time for rest.”

~*~ Week 23

Her days are the same now: mornings to herself to prepare for the day, afternoon tea with Ana and a rousing walk along the grounds with Mr. Jarvis. There’s the occasional doctor appointment or meeting with the midwife thrown in, but dinner is steadily at 7 and she indulges in warm baths and a book before bed.

Lying in bed is when her day turns.

She’s never really quite sure what’s going to happen after she turns the lights out.

Some nights she talks to her baby, having decided on calling him or her simply “My Little One” for the time being. If her child’s restless she knows her voice will calm it: stories, lullabies, or just rambling about her day.

Some nights all she can do is cry. Usually, it’s gentle streams of tears falling from her lashes quietly as her mind drifts to the man who will never know his child, who she imagines never understood how much she loved him, who had plans for a life after the war with her…

Sometimes she sobs; big, heaving sobs that seem to come up from the depths of her soul. This happens often after the nightmares. She has the nightmares less and less, but they’re no less dark, no less graphic for the time that’s passed. She wakes up, gasping, feeling like she’s drowning herself, and lets the tears come.

Some nights she sleeps, deep and dreamless. Those are the good nights, when she can rest and rejuvenate, when she can wake up the next day feeling like she just might be ready for whatever will come next. They’re few and far between.

Most night she simply misses him. She’s started talking to the darkness, telling Steve, who she desperately needs to believe is watching over her and their child, of all she’d done that day, even though she like to think he’s seen. Sometimes she balls up the quilt, imagining the weight of the fabric is his body behind her, wrapped around her, holding her close and keeping her warm, running his hand over the swell in her belly and whispering in her ear as he kisses her neck.

She whispers into the night, wondering what she should name their Little One.

She doesn’t get an answer back.

~*~ Week 25

Peggy’s indigestion keeps her from enjoying dinner more nights than not, and it has both the Jarvises and Howard worried.

Peggy reminds Howard that he should be less worried about her indigestion and more worried that if he asks her to marry him one more time she will literally punch him. He opens his mouth to make the proposal, but stops when she simply raises her eyebrows at him, the challenge clear.

The midwife tells them all it’s perfectly normal, and stays with Peggy to talk about where she wants to give birth.

Peggy and Howard both agree the main house will be the safest, and neither is willing to risk a hospital.

By the end of the week, Howard has one of the downstairs wings converted to a hospital wing: a birthing room and a fully equipped surgery ready and waiting.

~*~ Week 27

“Howard says he’s officially put me on the payroll as a security consultant.” Peggy sighs into the darkness. “I asked him what that means and he said it just means I don’t need to worry about anything ever again.”

She rubs her belly, looking up to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth, I almost punched him again. He still has a bit of a bruise from the last time he proposed.” She chuckles. “But he did promise that when I was ready, he thought Stark Industries could use someone like me, and that my pay was merely a retainer fee.”

She turns on her side, pulling the quilt up around her shoulders. “Nearly two-thirds the way there, my love.” She squeezes her eyes shut, pretending his arms are wound around her. “Ana wanted to throw me a baby shower, but I couldn’t think of anyone to invite. We’re going to go shopping for the bassinet and such tomorrow, instead. She and Mr. Jarvis have already bought me more than enough bottles and diapers to last well until the Little One is walking.”

Her voice cracks, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I can’t believe you won’t be here for this.”

~*~ Week 30

She doesn’t fit into her bras anymore, and Ana has never been more of a godsend. The woman brings her a bag full of options from the department store and sits with her, chatting calmly as she sews little cotton pads to go in them while Peggy sniffles, unprepared for the leaking and the soreness that’s accompanied this new stage in her pregnancy.

Even when feeling her lowest, with washcloths stuffed in her slip and her face red after bidding Ana a soft farewell, the back of her mind tells her that Steve would have gathered her in his arms and held her close, telling her she was beautiful and amazing and carrying a new life.

She wraps her arms around herself, weeping, and sinks to the floor, crying for all she’s lost and the things her child will never know.

~*~ Week 32

Her mother still refuses to speak with her, and she’s resorted to letters.

She hasn’t said who the baby’s father is, or that there is a good chance her grandchild will be the genetic carrier of an abundance of useful information that could cure disease or lead to another generation of super soldiers.

She mails what she tells herself is the last letter, the contents telling her mother that, should she care to know, Peggy has found a wonderful group of friends that will make sure her and her baby are protected and cared for no matter what happens.

Peggy sits, staring out the window of her guest house, rubbing her belly and thinks it’s a shame that the baby won’t have a grandmother to bake it cookies.

She laughs when she realizes Mr. Jarvis can fill that role very well, and that his cookies are far better than anything her mother managed to cook from scratch.

~*~ Week 35

She wakes up the whole household at three in the morning, convinced she’s having the baby too early.

Jarvis resorts to making tea and a full English Breakfast despite the time.

Ana holds her hand tightly, sitting by her bedside in the birthing room in the mansion as they wait for the midwife.

Howard paces a rut in the floor outside her room, smoking like a chimney and muttering to himself.

“Braxton Hicks,” the midwife tells her cheerfully despite the ungodly hour. “That baby isn’t quite ready to come out, yet.”

Ana sits with her for hours after the midwife leaves, never letting go of her hand.

~*~ Week 37

She sits with a list of names. She tries to imagine his reaction to each of them, but can’t.

Howard has become insistent that she put him down as the father, he notes that it won’t spoil his reputation any and that him as the legal father will afford the baby a comfortable life and there will be far fewer questions.

She thanks him, then threatens to punch him.

She’s already decided that the father’s name on the birth certificate will stay blank. Better no father than the wrong man, she thinks.

The baby will have her last name.

The rest, she hopes, will come in the next three weeks.

~*~ Week 38

She paces the halls of the big house through the night. Howard and Jarvis, much to her and Ana’s amusement and chagrin, have become insistent on her staying in the mansion. They want her close as the big day nears.

She tries to picture what Steve would be like, tries to guess which pieces of her friends he’d put together: Jarvis’ anxiety and preparation, Howard’s determination and excitement…

Steve was always a very tactile person, and she misses every hug and touch she knows he’d have given her. She can feel them burning on her skin in their absence.

The Little One is active and low, ready to come any day now.

What was once fear and confusion is starting to transform in her belly into excitement.

~*~ Week 39

“Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy calls from the hallway just after dinner on a quiet Tuesday, “I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess.”

He moves out of the kitchen, his usual placations ready to spill from his lips until he sees the sight of her: puddle below her, legs dripping, one hand gripping her belly and one holding the sideboard to keep her standing.

Peggy thinks, as she watches Jarvis and Howard turn into tornados of commotion around her, that perhaps Steve would have been the calm one. He always did manage to have his head about him in a battle. Jarvis is slipping in her mess as he tries to get her over it without incident, Howard is on the phone, yelling incoherent sentences at the midwife.

Ana, thankfully, takes her hand and helps her leave them behind, guiding her back to the birthing room that had become her bedroom for the last few days.

Yes, she imagines, as Ana helps her into a dry nightgown and pull her hair back, he would be calm and certain, slow and deliberate, making sure she had everything she needed. Ana’s helping her into the bed as the midwife arrives, and like before the woman stays by her side, talking softly as the midwife examines her and declares that they’ll have a baby sooner rather than later.

Peggy thinks it might be the pain, but as she’s enduring the worst of the contractions, she swears she can hear his voice in her ear, telling her to keep going, that she’s strong, that she doesn’t need him, or anyone, to do this.

When they sit her up to push, she imagines it is Steve’s strong form behind her, not pillows and a bedframe holding her up as she yells with each effort, the midwife between her legs and Ana at her side.

When the baby slips from her body she imagines he catches her as she falls back, limp, his strong arms holding her up, his lips at her ear, his cheek next to hers.

But when the midwife hands her the baby, swaddled tight and eyes opening gently, any ghost of Steve is gone. Her heart pounding in her chest, she hears the words over and over in the back of her mind, and she’s wondering if it is him, if he was with her. If he’s left her this gift and this knowledge.

You can do this.

“A little boy,” the midwife says as she hands Peggy her son. He squeals a bit, lets out a soft cry, then settles, opening his eyes.

Peggy smiles at him, eyes filled with tears. She presses the blanket back from his chin, taking in the radiant blue of his eyes, the tiny eyelashes that surround them, the strong set of his still barely there jaw.

She knows, one day, there will be no question about his parentage.

She presses a soft kiss to his head, cradling him close as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a cry, her heart more full of love than she could have ever imagined. She can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying as she speaks. “I have eagerly been awaiting the day I could finally meet you… and I am not disappointed. You are beautiful.”

She gazes at her son as the midwife finishes her work, feeling but not registering the passing of the afterbirth and the older woman’s gentle washing of her legs and thighs. Ana gently cleans the child as she holds him, unable to look away. Finally, the midwife sits by her side, papers in her hands. “I’ve filled out everything else. All that’s left is his name.”

Peggy gulps, hard, undecided for a moment, but his eyes gaze up at her and she knows. “Michael Steven Carter.” She expects tears when she says it, but they don’t come, and that’s how she knows she’s made the right decision. “For two important men that I wish he could have known.”

The midwife sets a caring hand on her arm as Ana turns away, sniffing. “A beautiful memorial.” The older woman fills out the paper and leaves it at Peggy’s bedside. “I can bathe him for you, if you like?”

“No, I don’t think I can bear to let go just yet,” she whispers, still in awe of the small movements he’s making. Each stretch, each wiggle she can almost feel coinciding to a movement she felt from the outside. To have him in her arms is a blessing she won’t overlook.

“Then perhaps we should try feeding him?”

Peggy nods, smiling up at the woman. “Please.”

~*~ Week 40

She stares at him, asleep in his little bassinet. He’ll be waking soon, she can tell from how swollen and tight she feels that he’s due for another feeding, even if she hadn’t looked at the clock.

When she woke, she could have sworn that she saw Steve standing over the bassinet, his form strong and stoic in the moonlight.

She blinked, and he was gone.

Peggy didn’t have time for fantasies of lost loves any longer. She still wondered at how Steve might react, what he’d say, but she’d been too busy to wonder too much, or miss him too deeply.

Michael was her whole world right now, and keeping him safe was her first, and only, job. Howard said it was for too early to know if he’d exhibit any of the traits his father had been endowed with, but any and all tests they’d run showed that he was a healthy, normal little boy.

She still hadn’t figured out how she’d tell him about his father, or what they’d do if he was stronger and faster than all his peers as he grew, but every time it popped through her mind she reminded herself that was a problem for years down the line.

Tonight, when she held him tight to her breast, she could tell him unedited stories of the bravery of his father, knowing that the boy would never remember her words.

Tonight was all that mattered.

Tonight, and her beautiful boy in her arms.

#Steggybingobash #Steggy Fic #Angst #tissue warning #3P's Fic

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years ago

Text

The Girl in Red

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Just because Lilith lived at the Owl House now didn’t mean that she had to give up on everything.

A big one of those things was Amity Blight.

It had taken a little while to settle in, but the young witches training would not stop simply because Lilith lived elsewhere now. And barely had any magic left.

Alright, so maybe there would be a few complications.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Eda wondered, poking her head in from the kitchen as Lilith gathered as many books on magic she could find.

And though she still didn’t understand it, she had stashed a few of Luz’s spare glyphs into them as well.

“I’m to meet my p rotégé soon.” Lilith said, fumbling as a glyph fell out of one of her pockets. “I arranged to meet her in the woods for some...outdoor training.” She said, clearly unsure of her own words.

“You mean that Blight kid?” Eda raised a brow. “You still train her?”

“Blight?”

Luz suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking around like she expected to see something exciting.

“Do you mean Amity?”

“Of course I do. I still train her.” Lilith snorted.

“Oh, oh! You could train her here!” Luz suggested, looking positively delighted at the thought. “We could train together! Eda’s still teaching me about wild magic, even if she can’t use it anymore.”

“My teaching method is far different than whatever Edalyn has been showing you.” Lilith said, giving Eda a side-eye.

“Yeah, and it works!” Eda stuck out her tongue.

“We could learn from each other,” Luz said, pacing the room in that way she did when she had too much pent-up energy. “It could be a fun training session! Please, please can Amity train here?” Luz begged, facing the witch and clasping her hands together.

“I’m not so sure…” Lilith hesitated.

Luz gave her puppy-dog eyes as she begged, and Lilith had to admit, she was good at it. She couldn’t tell if it came naturally or if Eda taught her that. Probably Eda.

“...very well,” Lilith sighed, shoulders sagging.

"WOO!” Luz pumped a fist in the air. “Training with Amity! Oh, I need to grab my glyphs!” She exclaimed, racing out of the living room and up the stairs.

“Don’t break anything!” Eda warned right before a loud thump and a faint ‘I’m okay!’ could be heard.

“I’ll have to check with Amity herself,” Lilith sighed, pulling out her scroll. “Though I take it she’s been here before?”

“Oh, yeah, the kid visited twice.” Eda nodded. “Once when she erased, like, all of some kids' memories and the other time was when she busted her foot about a week ago.”

“She erased someone's memory?” Lilith gasped, almost dropping her scroll.

“Kid said it was an accident and fixed it up, no big deal.” Eda shrugged casually. “Guess there are some things your protégé doesn’t tell you, eh?”

“Don’t patronize me.” Lilith grumbled. “How she became friends with your apprentice of all people, I’ll never know.”

“Mm, I have a few guesses.” Eda said, glancing off.

Training Amity with Luz and Eda was...a challenge.

For one thing, the way Eda taught Luz was rather...barbaric. Luz didn’t seem super thrilled about it either, though she did as Eda told. Amity was very confused at their antics, and possibly a little concerned.

Luz suggested Amity try it once, and that’s when the lesson first fell apart.

Luz and Amity quickly divulged into a mock-war of the two throwing mushrooms and pine needles at each other. To Eda’s credit, she tried to gain some sense of calm.

For the first twenty seconds.

She began egging Luz on soon after, doing nothing but encouraging the two.

Lilith gave up on the lesson for the day and went inside to make some tea. Amity stuck around for a few hours after the fact, and Lilith mentally noted how red she seemed every now and again.

The next lesson was done inside the Owl House. Eda had (grudgingly) allowed Lilith to inform the girls of how to cast larger illusion spells. Of course, she didn’t know how Luz was going to accomplish it, but the human insisted on listening all the same.

Multiple times Lilith would turn around and find the girls either whispering to each other, trying to stifle giggles, or staring at whatever Hooty or King were doing. Which ranged from eating bugs off the floor to getting stuck in a cardboard box.

Lilith swore she aged at least ten years in that house.

“I think we should stop the double training,” Lilith mentioned to her sister one day. It was while she was on Hooty-cleaning duty. Normally she wouldn’t, but Eda had the high ground. Also known as; bringing up the curse that still haunted them both.

“What? Why?” Eda inquired, leaning in the doorway as Lilith scrubbed a mop just above one of the first-story windows.

“Amity can’t pay attention with that human around.” Lilith said, snapping angrily at Hooty as he tried to come over and ‘help out.’ “She’s done nothing but cause trouble.”

“Maybe you should change up your teaching, then.” Eda said simply. “You’re teaching Amity the regular type of magic while Luz and I are teaching each other about wild and glyph magic. Those two don’t exactly mix well.”

“Amity is in the abomination track, I am not teaching her wild magic to become a criminal like you.” Lilith growled. “I’m happy teaching her other forms of magic, but that’s just in case she--”

“What? Joins the Emperor’s Coven?” Eda cut in, crossing her arms. “Lily, do you seriously want her going to that place after all that’s happened?”

Lilith opened her mouth to argue before slowly closing it again.

“The Emperor tricked you, kidnapped me, tried to kill Luz, and is apparently trying to find a way to the human world. And you want her to join?” Eda demanded with a glare.

“...it’s what she always wanted.” Lilith said quietly, setting down the mop. “She was always so excited to be able to learn other types of magic…”

Eda relaxed with a sigh and walked over, placing a hand on her sisters shoulder and gaining her attention.

“Well, I have a feeling she isn’t so keen on it now.” Eda said simply. “She’s still friends with Luz, you know. Besides, have you asked her what she wants to do now?”

Lilith looked away, almost mad at the shame she felt.

“And anyway, I think she’s having fun.” Eda said, turning her head to look through the window of the Owl House.

Lilith looked up as well, seeing Luz and Amity messing around with King, who was still a little angry at Amity for a previous grievance involving a cupcake. Amity was smiling and laughing as Luz was tackled by King and wrestled on the floor with him.

Lilith couldn’t name any recent time she’d seen the young witch so happy. Not since the last covention.

“And having fun is the important part.” Eda said, patting Lilith on the back.

“Well, if the great and powerful Eda says so.” Lilith rolled her eyes.

“I do say so.” Eda grinned. “Now get back to work! I have a house that needs to be cleaned.”

In the second month, training came to a screeching halt.

In that time, Luz had found zero ways to make it back home, like she thought she would.

As soon as September first had rolled around, Luz had been near inconsolable. The poor girl was frantic, sporadic, sleep-deprived, and unconsciously snapping at everyone the longer the minutes ticked by.

Amity was worried sick. Almost literally.

And Lilith would admit, she was concerned for the human as well. Luz, while definitely as chaotic as Eda, was a sweet, well-meaning kid. She was happy to work with and train by Lilith, and was full of life and excitement, even after all she had done.

To see her so panicked and on the verge of tears made her heart tear.

For nearly three months there was an almost non-stop search. Lilith swore they turned the whole town upside down looking for any clues on how to make a portal to the human realm.

They couldn’t find anything.

Luz had calmed in those three months, but not for the better. She was laying about, unmotivated, and in a general slump.

Lilith remembered when she was like that. Back when she had first cursed Eda, and had to live knowing what she had done had all been for nothing.

She did her best to comfort the human, and in a few weeks, she was getting better. Amity and their other friends all helped cheer up Luz, too. And slowly, the old Luz they knew was coming back.

As did the constant redness from Amity.

Lilith had noticed Amity’s red face during the first two months of training with Luz. At first she thought it was the heat, the circumstances, or that she was just sick.

But, no. Amity was fine...presumably.

It had vanished during the close-to three months of worrying over Luz, but once she started to come back, it arose once more.

Lilith would wander into the living room while Amity was visiting and she’d find the two of them sitting on the couch, talking about unimportant things. Luz would be leaning against Amity in some fashion, or just draped across her lap a couple of times.

Each time she’d find a faint heat in Amity’s cheeks. But as soon as Amity noticed her mentor had arrived, she’d light up and grow stiff.

At first, Lilith thought it was because Amity thought she was being caught doing something wrong, like not training. So Lilith made sure to smile and nod at her p rotégé before continuing with whatever she was doing.

It didn’t help. And in some cases, it appeared to make things worse.

Lilith would also note that Amity was incredibly distracted by the human, particularly when she was focusing on magic or doing something outrageous.

Amity would stare at Luz for quite a while if gone uninterrupted. To the point where she would fumble or crash into things if she was busy doing something beforehand. Quite a few items had been broken that way, and even Eda was getting a little annoyed.

Once, on a hot day, Amity had tied up all of her hair and in turn showed off her undercut. Luz had noticed and complimented the young witch on it. Mentioning how she had wanted to get one, too.

Lilith almost thought Amity had accidentally eaten a bloodshroom by how fast the Red™ had come to her cheeks.

During one of their training sessions, Amity had been practicing her natural fire magic. She had both of her hands in front of her with a small magenta flame. Luz had been sitting on the floor and awed at the sight.

When Amity turned to face her, Luz had sat up on her knees, face illuminated by the glow, and acted like she had seen the most incredible magic in the Boiling Isles. Which was saying something, for someone who had faced Emperor Belos.

Amity’s fire had ignited into a very sudden flame, sprouting upwards and nearly nicking her in the nose, causing a mild panic among the house when she set the carpet ablaze. Which Eda later made her pay for.

Any form of physical contact seemed to bring a flush to Amity’s face. She’d avert her eyes, stutter, sweat. The works.

Usually not all at once, but it was still noticeable. Especially for such a well-coordinated person as Amity.

After weeks of silently observing, Lilith decided it could go on no longer. Amity appeared to be in distress, and Lilith was not about to leave her student high and dry when she could do something about it.

So, she came up with theories.

Her first theory was that Luz was warmer than a regular witch, and that’s why Amity looked so red. There wasn’t much information on human biology, so it’s not like it was out of the realm of possibility.

But that theory was shot down almost immediately. Lilith had been around Luz before, and she was no warmer than any other witch. Maybe Amity was extra sensitive? Allergic to humans, maybe?

Her second theory was that Amity simply didn’t know how to react to Luz. Sure, the two were friends, but Lilith had heard about Amity’s horror-story ‘friends.’ Perhaps she just didn’t know how to deal with having a real friend like Luz.

That theory was torn when she’d watched Amity’s interactions with her other two friends, Willow and Gus. She didn’t act nearly the same way with either of them as she did Luz. And while they definitely weren’t as eccentric as Luz, she figured Amity would’ve shown some similar signs.

Her third theory worried her greatly.

A curse.

Granted, not one nearly as severe as the one she’d given Eda, but a curse nonetheless. Perhaps one of her old friends had cursed her to be distracted or embarrass herself in front of Luz. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Though she felt like Amity would’ve talked to her if she was concerned about such a thing. She decided to put a pin in that idea.

Her fourth theory was one that confused her, and yet almost seemed to make sense.

Amity was angry at Luz.

The idea seemed preposterous. Amity didn’t hate Luz. She didn’t even dislike Luz. They were best friends, were they not?

Yet, all the signs pointed to the opposite. Amity was known to go as red as a tomato when angry, it made sense. Amity was always going red when Luz was around, and would look anywhere but at her when it was bad enough.

The constant watching, the aversiveness to sudden touch, the stuttering, the ranting she’d hear Amity go off on now and again, the seeming unease.

Amity was furious at Luz. Or at the very least, uncomfortable with her being around.

It made no sense and so much at the same time.

She wondered if maybe the anger was caused by a curse, but that couldn’t be it. Amity would notice then. She must not have forgiven Luz for the humiliation at the covention and the library. That had to be it.

Right?

With this theory in mind, Lilith attempted to keep Amity as far from Luz as possible. Taking her to the marketplace, training in different areas around Bonesborough, instructing Hooty to be a little more aggressive in guarding, things like that.

Amity transitioned from politely confused, to annoyed, to...well, drained.

Luz made a similar transition. She would always wonder aloud where Amity was, to asking Lilith to train back at the Owl House, to the occasional moping on the couch when Lilith left for training.

It seemed keeping them apart had only made things worse. And Lilith hated seeing either of the girls down.

She suddenly went right back to training at the Owl House again, and the cycle resumed. Maybe even stronger this time.

Lilith was confused, worried, and perhaps a little desperate. What, in the name of the Titan himself, could be the problem?

She decided she needed help, as much as she hated to admit it. And she knew just who to ask.

“Edalyn?” Lilith said, looking up the stairs to where her sister was retreating to her room for the night. “May I speak with you?”

“Uh, sure?” Eda blinked, stepping back as Lilith made her way up the steps and stood across from her in the hallway. “What is it?”

“I’m...worried,” Lilith admitted. “About Amity.”

“Is it her parents?” Eda asked quietly, face softening.

“No, no, thank goodness it’s not.” Lilith shook her head. “I meant...about her and Luz.”

Eda stared at her owlishly for a moment. Lilith had to stop herself from curling her lip at her own accidental pun.

“About time you noticed!” Eda snorted before quickly quieting herself down. She really didn’t want to wake anyone in the house.

“You knew?” Lilith gaped.

“Course I did. That kid of yours isn’t exactly subtle.” Eda chuckled. “It’s nothing to be worried about. Luz is a bit oblivious, but I’m sure she’ll catch on eventually. She’s still worried about herself.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Lilith shook her head in disbelief. “How can it be nothing to worry about? It’s interfering with Amity’s training!”

“So? I think the kids got something good going, if you ask me.” Eda shrugged. “Why are you so worked up about this?”

“Because I care about the well-being of my apprentice!” Lilith hissed quietly. “How can you let the two of them continue to be around each other when it’s so obviously causing Amity distress?”

Eda frowned and opened her mouth to retort before pausing. She appeared thoughtful before looking Lilith up and down.

“Just to make sure we’re on the same page; what do you think is going on?”

“What?” Lilith flicked her pointed ears down. “Amity is annoyed by Luz, isn’t she?” She said, tilting her head. “I mean, I didn’t think it could be true, but with all the evidence--”

Eda let out a loud, vaugly distressing, wheeze.

The Owl Lady covered her mouth with her hand and tried to smother her laughs, wheezing all the way so as to not disturb any of the other residents who were fast-asleep.

“What’s so funny?” Lilith demanded, taken aback.

“You think Amity doesn’t like Luz?” Eda whisper-laughed. “Are you dense?”

“Wha--no! I’m concerned!” Lilith snapped, remembering at the last second to keep her voice down. “What are you on about?”

“Lily, you poor, poor moron,” Eda heavily dropped a hand on her shoulder and looked up, still hunched over from her laughing fit.

“That Blight girl has a crush on Luz.”

Lilith blinked, once, twice. She stared at Eda as the gears in her head slowly began to turn and shift.

“...wait, really?”

Eda had to smother another laugh, visibly shaking with the effort.

“I’m serious!” Lilith whispered. “A crush? Is that what this is?”

“Obviously! Kids head-over-staff!” Eda stood up, leaning against the wall as she raised a hand near her chest to smother any further laughs should they come up.

“Honestly, Lily. I knew you weren’t the smartest tool in the shed, but this is ridiculous.” Eda teased. “I thought after years of watching me fall for those kids in Hexside you would’ve been able to recognize this.”

“You were different!” Lilith huffed, crossing her arms and turning her body away slightly.

“You would go out of your way to show-off. You’d do all you could to be near them while laughing at any stupid jokes they made and had the most absurd face when you’d see them across the--”

Lilith paused, thinking over what she said as the smile on Eda’s face grew.

“Wait... wait,”

Eda covered her mouth again and wheezed, turning her head away to avoid laughing harder at the shocked face Lilith was sporting right now.

"See-see my...my point?” Eda wheezed out.

“Great Titan, you’re right. As much as I hate to admit it.” Lilith muttered. “And I tried to get them apart.”

“Yeah, not your smartest move.” Eda giggled. “Still think it’s going to interfere?”

“Of course it is. But I’m not going to stop it.” Lilith said simply. “What do you take me for?”

“A woman who curses her own little sister while she’s asleep?”

Lilith gave Eda a deadpan stare. Eda returned it with a smug one of her own.

“Fair, but still.” Lilith relented. “I’m honestly surprised Amity could get so flustered over, no offence, a human.”

“I was surprised, too.” Eda agreed. “But, honestly? I think it works.”

“What makes you say that?” Lilith wondered.

Eda waved her hand and drew Lilith further down the hallway. She stopped outside of Luz’s room and gestured for her sister to be quiet.

Slowly, Eda cracked open the door and peered inside before stepping back to let Lilith see for herself.

Luz and Amity were leaning upright against the back wall, both of them asleep. A discarded The Good Witch Azura book laying in Amity’s lap.

Luz’s head was resting in the crook of Amity’s neck, mouth half-open.

Amity was laying her head across Luz’s, looking far more peaceful.

They each had a hand resting beside them. Amity’s fingers were brushing Luz’s, having looked like she was going to hold her hand before either chickening out or falling asleep.

“See what I mean?” Eda whispered gleefully as Lilith stepped back and quietly shut the door.

“Alright, yeah, you have a point.” Lilith admitted. “I have a lot to make up for,” She mumbled.

“Eh, you can start now.” Eda shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time you messed up.”

Lilith made sure her sister saw the irritated face she gave her.

“Now go to sleep already before we accidentally wake up Hooty. He’ll never shut up if we--”

“Did someone say Hooty?”

“There he is,”

Lilith sat on the couch in the living room, reading a book on glyph-magic. It was early morning, and the rest of the household had yet to rise after the rude awakening from Hooty last night.

Lilith knew that whenever Amity stayed overnight at the Owl House, she would either go home early or very late in the day, depending on if she had informed her parents beforehand.

This time, she had forgotten to tell them.

Lilith wasn’t surprised when she heard the soft footsteps of Amity hurriedly walking down the stairs.

Lilith lowered her book for a moment and turned towards the doorway as Amity stepped through, gazing around nervously. She froze when she saw Lilith, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“So,” Lilith stared awkwardly, sharply closing her book. “Luz, huh?”

Neither of them moved, or spoke, for a good few moments.

“Seriously?” Amity groaned, giving Lilith an exhausted stare. “I didn’t even do anything yet!”

“This happens that often?”

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