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sohin-ace · 3 years ago

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Bucciarati - My little Seastar

Sister reader. Enjoy~

"Hey, Bucciarati! Can you help me for a sec?"

You turned towards the direction of the voice calling you and stopped in your tracks on the wooden docks.

"What do you want, Valentino?" You spat, a bit more harshly than intended.

The smug boy who was crouched on his zodiac chuckled at you. "Aw, come on, Bucciarati! Don't be like that. I just need some help to tie the rope. Your dad is a fisherman, right? You should know knots like no one else!"

Even though he had said this as a way to woo you and flatter you somehow, you couldn't help but hear it as a condescending remark. You crossed your arms over your chest and he pouted at the glare you sent him.

"Pretty please~? No funny business, I swear! Look, the guys aren't even here, I'm all alone. You can trust me!"

That's right. Valentino and his little gang took great pleasure in teasing you and bothering you at every corner and it pissed you off. No matter how much you insulted them, ignored them or avoided them, they never seemed to stop their stupid and useless bullying.

But sadly, oh so sadly, the Bucciarati that you were was kind. Too kind. You despised that you were so gentle-hearted, but in the end, this is how your father and brother had raised you.

You huffed and slumped your arms loose along your body, defeated. "Fine!" You dragged your sandals over the dock and approached him. "It better be quick."

The boy beamed as you embarked on the zodiac next to him, "Sure thing! Thanks a lot, girl. I'll make it up to you!"

He gave you the ropes as you crouched down at his place and got to work. But without you noticing, the boy had swiftly slid his leg over the vehicle and easily jumped back into the dock, leaving you behind.

Before you could even turn around and ask where he was going, the brat, now accompanied by all three of his little buddies that appeared out of their hiding spot, all kicked the zodiac off of the dock before you could even tie it.

"Waah-!"

You lost balance at the violent jerk of the boat and yelped, letting go of the ropes that could have saved you from your demise.

You couldn't even get back to your knees and try desperately to grab onto the dock's wooden planks. You heard the boys snickering and laughing at you as you drifted farther and farther away from the land into the water.

"I fucking knew it you disgusting piece of TRASH!" You yelled at them, angry with them obviously, but also angry with yourself for granting that bastard the benefit of the doubt. "You know damn well I can't swim!"

They all seemed to laugh even louder, obnoxiously. "Too bad for you Bucciarati! Maybe you shouldn't be so stupid next time! BWAHAHAHA!"

"YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE VALENTINO! SCREW YOU!"

Your curses and wails seem to fall into deaf ears as you drifted even farther away from the coast, with no way of even paddling back.

Looking around towards the much bigger boats parked along the docks, you could only hope 'he' would hear you.

"PAPA!! PAPAAA!!!" You called desperately. Surely he would hear you, he wasn't far after all, you did come all the way here to bring him his lunch. He must still be somewhere around the fishing boats.

After a few more vain attempts to call for your father, you settled to accept that he wouldn't hear you, nor would the other fishermen that were already far gone from their boats to bring their catches to land.

You sat on the damp zodiac and brought your knees to your chest, not even caring if your sundress slid down your thighs indecently and got stained by the salty water. Stupid Valentino couldn't even keep his tiny boat clean.

"Stupid, stupid..." Your voice cracked, threatening to break into a sob. "If he was a sailor he'd be dead before even sailing. That's how stupid this stupid boy is. Stupid."

With only your expletives to reassure you in your demise, you buried half of your face in your arms now craddling your cold knees.

Everything was so silent, the sea did a great job at muting every sound around the coast and you felt the loneliest and most scared you had ever been since you were a child.

You thought nobody would find you, and you'd be dead drowning because you could never learn to swim and since nobody even noticed your absence in minutes that felt like hours, nobody would cry for you if you died here either.

And so the stinging tears prickled at your eyes.

"Y/N?" You heard a familiar voice calling your name, but brushed it off as the wind. "Y/N is that you?"

You looked up towards the insistant voice in a sliver of hope and, like an angel fallen from heaven, you were met with the caring blue gaze of your big brother from the railings of one of the high boats right next to where you had drifted to.

"Bruno!" You gasped and got up immediately, almost falling over from the sudden sway of the boat under your weight. "A-ah! Bruno help me, I'm stuck!"

"Hold on!" The worried face of the male hesitated to leave you for even a split second. "I'm coming down. Don't move."

You nodded at his strict tone and waited for him as he disapeared. Your breath caught in your throat with stress, even though you were reassured to finally have a savior. And what a savior it was, your one and only big brother.

Barely a minute passed before you saw him come back and unravel an emergency ladder down to you. He made sure the ladder was all tight and secure and almost immediately after, Bruno jumped over the railing, to your grand fright, and started climbing down, your heart pounding with worry for him.

He finally arrived down and stepped into the zodiac, joining you, like a glorious hero, saving the day. You barely let him any time to react as you threw yourself into his chest and gripped viciously at the back of his shirt, scrunching it without care, scared to be alone at sea again.

Bruno wanted to scold you and yell at you for recklessly playing around all alone in the docks and ending yourself in such a dire situation. But when he felt you trembling and squeezing him like your life depended on it, which ironically it did, the elder couldn't help but sigh and wrap his long arms around your shoulders, a gesture of comfort.

"... What happened to you?"

"It's-" You choked a sob and Bruno tutted and shushed you softly, patting your head to calm you down, just like your mother used to do when you were a child.

"Shhh, it's okay bambina, I'm here now."

He felt you relax and you sniffled a few times before mumbling into his shirt. "It's Valentino! He tricked me! I hate him! He's such a coglione!"

"Hey! Language." He scolded and pinched your arm, earning a little 'ow' from you, "What would dad think if he heard you say such words? Bite your tongue, young lady."

"S-sorry..." You croaked a little ashamed of your outburst and lifted your head up at your brother. "They always do this to me... Valentino and the others... Why...? They know I can't swim and they throw me into the water all the time..."

Bruno let go of you to cup your face and wipe your tears off. He did not let it show to you but he was infuriated. There was only so much patience an Italian man could have when his family was being targeted. Especially his little sister and the only lasting woman of his life.

"Shh, stop crying now, mia stellina marina. I'll deal with them later, okay? Let's get you home for now."

"They'll see." You sniffled as your breath steadied, calmed by Bruno's soft tone, "When I'll marry a big, tall, goth policeman, he'll beat them up for me and then, they won't act so cocky anymore."

He huffed with amusement at your words before he let you go and laid a gentle hand on your back to usher you towards the ladder. Bruno, still with a bit of confusion, mumbled to himself without you hearing it.

"... Why goth, though?"

Only now had you noticed the zodiac had stopped drifting since Bruno found you, held onto the much bigger boat by a phantom blue and white arm and a golden zipper that you'd recognize from a mile away.

"Can we... Can we let the zodiac in here?" You asked hesitantly towards your brother who paid no mind to it.

"Who cares? It's not ours."

With thoughts of Valentino's expensive motorboat getting lost in the sea, you slowly took ahold of the ladder's ropes and started climbing, Bruno keeping it steady for you until he was sure you embarked in safely.

He then joined you up and lent you a spare jacket that he thankfully thought of taking with him in the morning, covering you from the cold of your drenched dress against the littoral wind.

"Thank you Bruno..." You softly uttered and hugged his warm jacket closer around you, "I always cause you trouble..."

"Nonsense, piccolina. I could never live knowing my sister is crying, cold and afraid somewhere." He squeezed your shoulder against him as you approached the stall your father and his colleagues were filling with freshly caught fishes. "I'll make sure you're the one that never gets troubled again..."

Fortunately for you, the day ended much more peacefully than it had started and your father was happy and relieved to find you safe and uninjured. He had specifically instructed Bruno to not get involved or make a scene, but of course, his son was a stubborn mediterranean who could not let anything just slide.

It was not the first, not the second, nor even the third time this boy, 'Valentino' and his friends, had taken offense towards you.

So, Bruno would make sure the zodiac Valentino had worked oh-so-hard to afford, part-timing as a waiter, cleaning after people's messes, scrubing disgusting shit-stained lavatories and cutting his hands off of plastic and metal scraps scattered along the beaches for a few cents per day, got thoroughly anihilated to pieces.

"NOOOO!!!! MY ZODIAC !!!! MY 50 000€ BAAABYYYYYY!!! WHYYYYY???!!"

The very next day, as you walked along the docks to bring some fishing materials to your brother, you heard the painful wails of a very familiar boy kneeling down and crying on the woodplanks, his screams echoing against the shore.

"SHUT UP BRAT! You'll think about your money after you pay for the fines I'm about to give you. You think you can get away with polluting the water with your gross ass wreckage?" A tall and burly policeman wearing purple lipstick growled at the kneeling boy, no signs of mercy in his baritone voice. "You'll have a reason to cry when you pay for the oil you spilled in here. You're lucky I'm not throwing your ass in jail right now."

"Officer please-" Valentino pleaded miserably, but the policeman did not hold back on pushing all fives of the different citations he had owned by having pieces of his zodiac scattered all around the precious ressourceful ocean.

"You have two weeks to pay up and clean all that shit." The officer fixed his shades over his nose before turning around to leave. "And expect to receive a salty lawsuit soon. Fucking whiny bitchbaby..."

The policeman left with a determined and impatient step as you witnessed the entire scene with wide eyes, not noticing your brother approaching.

"Oh no... That's horrible..." You gasped with sympathy and worry, "I hope the fishes and corals won't get impacted by the oil spill..."

"Oh don't worry," Bruno chuckled, taking the heavy loads off your hands, "I made sure to zip that out of the water."

You blinked, confused.

"...What?"

"What...?"

That fic was inspired by the very first scene of H2O, I love that show so much, and I can't wait to post my mermaid fics in store!

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calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

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Sixth Time’s the Charm [4]

(GIF credit: @teamfreewill-imagine)

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 6,107

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you. (Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone.)

Chapter Summary: You offer yourself as bait for a shapeshifter hunt. Things do not go as planned.

Warnings: canon level violence, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, huffy!sam, protective!sam, slight angst?, slow burn, fluff

A/N: i am SO sorry for the wait (story of my life) but to make up for it, look, 6k words! (yeah i’m sorry about that too, i don’t know what happened there.) written for @tvdspngirl314‘s birthday writing event with the prompt “You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone?” which is bolded in the fic. this also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo!

Square Filled: Rescue Mission

← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The fourth time was all you. Dean barely had to lift a finger. The result, however, was far more traumatic than he had planned and rather emphatically revealed the magnitude of his brother’s feelings toward you.

Much like the previous attempts, there was a case: a shapeshifter going after women who conveniently happened to fit your description. The strategy was obvious, and you’d leaped at the opportunity to both make yourself useful and hopefully take the place of what would have otherwise been the next innocent civilian victim. But of course, Sam resisted at first.

“No. Absolutely not! We don’t know enough about this guy for you to just jump into his waiting arms, Y/N!” The fervent indignation in his tone and body language was palpable. Sam was rarely one to raise his voice or sport much of a temper at all really, but lately these heated outbursts seemed to be occurring more frequently, and frankly you were getting sick of it. The false hope they momentarily granted you through the notion that perhaps he cared about you as more than a friend was one thing. What’s more, the way his voice lowered half an octave combined with the sight of his flared nostrils, puffed chest, and straining jaw always seemed to have a sideways effect on you, in that it was impossible to keep your attention on his words alone. But boy did you try.

“Sam, how many times do we have to go through this? I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself. And your wrist is still healing so it’s not like you can call the shots on this one anyway. Besides, I’m not going in alone. You and Dean will be there for backup the whole time, right?”

“’Course we will, eh Sammy?” In a strange turn of events, Dean often appeared to be the one with a more jovial outlook recently.

Sam merely nodded and continued his heavy breathing. He glared down at his bandaged left wrist, the result of skirmish with a couple of wraiths, as if it were the root of all his problems. Then he looked up and through densely drawn brows, those magnetizing multicolored eyes pierced yours, his countenance bearing a charged and sullen expression of pensive exasperation as his jaw visibly tightened. You swallowed and could not for the life of you find the will to look away.

“So it’s settled then,” Dean proclaimed jubilantly, “Unless… you’ve got another reason you don’t want Y/N playing bait, hmm Sam? Maybe something you wanna share with the class? Or, you know, I could leave…”

“Dean, stop it. You’re not helping,” you quickly admonished before steadying your gaze back on the taller Winchester, “Look, Sam, have I ever let you down?”

“No. Never.”

“And do you still trust me?”

“Of course,” he responded immediately in a ‘what-kind-of-a-question-is-that’ tone, at which you simply raised your eyebrow to send him a reciprocating ‘then-what’s-the-problem?’ look.

“OK fine,” Sam huffed out a big breath, “But you’re not taking any risks! Anything seems off at all, just… promise me you’ll wait for me and Dean and keep us in the loop?”

His pleading eyes were so earnest and you’d truly never been able to say no to the giant puppy before, so you offered him a little smile and said, “Cross my heart.”

Sighing, Sam rubbed his face, looking lost in thought for a moment until he spoke up again, much more reserved and hesitant this time, “Do you still have that uh… ring from… that time?” Dean muffled a snort at his brother’s expense but you both ignored him, completely accustomed to his nonsensical teasing by now.

“Uh yeah, I- I think so.” The uncertainty in your voice was a lie. Of course you still had the ring you’d once used to pretend to be married to Sam Winchester. You may or may not have tucked it away in a special place for safekeeping.

“Good,” Sam nodded curtly, “I want you to wear it. It’s silver. I’ll wear mine too and Dean already has his. That’s how we’ll know that we’re still… ourselves.”

“OK, yeah that’s a good idea,” you agreed, trying your hardest not to linger on the memories.

“Well look at you two! Getting hitched again so soon-“

“Shut up, Dean,” you and Sam cut him off together.

When the meeting was adjourned and you were about to part ways to prepare for the upcoming hunt, something inside you forced you to call out his name, “Oh and Sam!” He turned around at once, questioning gaze somewhat urgently searching yours for a sign of what might come next. You stuttered though, feeling suddenly self conscious, so the next words you uttered were not much louder than a whisper, “Be careful with your wrist.”

Sam smiled, his dimples making your fingers twitch with the need to caress them. “I’ll be fine. You just look out for yourself. Remember, we’ll be right behind you.”

Somehow you both didn’t hear the groan Dean emitted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whoever was listening, ‘Good lord, someone give me the strength to survive another day with these imbeciles.’

There was only one diner in the tiny Pennsylvanian town, and seeing as you were starving by the time you got there, the three of you were forced to make do with soggy fries and questionable milkshakes. As you ate, you went through your game plan once more, which essentially consisted of waiting until nightfall to visit the bar from where the previous girls had gone missing, while Sam and Dean shadowed you covertly.

Before you left, you took a quick trip to the loo and when you returned, Sam was stood outside alone, a broad smile upon his face.

“Where’s Dean?” you asked as you began to walk out the diner, expecting to find the older brother waiting impatiently in the parking lot by his precious car, but the Impala was gone.

“He went back to the motel, said he had something to take care of and that we should go scope the place out first.”

“But I thought we agreed to-“

“Yeah, well change of plans, you know how it is,” Sam replied casually with a shrug.

Little red flags started fluttering in your head, urging your eyes downward to locate the silver band on his finger. You frowned when you found it there untouched on his right hand; Sam almost never interrupted you, not even when he was absorbed in the foulest of moods.

Apparently sensing your hesitation, he added, “I mean, he made a good point. Maybe if you familiarize yourself with the surroundings first, you’ll be able to take the guy out faster.”

Sam was still smiling at you, but it felt all wrong. You couldn’t explain it, but there was something missing from his rainbow eyes. The colors were all there, but they lacked luster and warmth, a delicate twinkle that you’d learned to associate with the beautiful, heroic yet self-doubting giant of a man. Never had you seen that breathtaking magic replicated elsewhere, nor had you ever seen Sam without it, which was why you were almost completely certain that the man before you was not the real Sam Winchester.

But weaving within you was a thread of doubt, insisting that you couldn’t just pull a gun on your best friend because of something as trivial as… a feeling? No, you needed to test your theory. And so, bracing yourself with a deep breath, you slowly reached out your silver-equipped hand to do something you’d grown accustomed to resentfully abstaining from: touching Sam’s bare skin. You aimed for the large target of his hand, deeming it the most inconspicuous of places (given that he was wearing his hunters’ uniform and the only other visible option would’ve been his face or neck), but Sam was faster. Just before you were able to graze his skin with your ring, he caught your wrist in his much bigger hand and pulled it away, twisting your arm until it was locked painfully behind you.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” the shifter snarled with a flash of its eyes, moving in real close as he used Sam’s immense size and his own superhuman strength to easily constrain you.

Even so, you stared up at him defiantly, unafraid, “Sam and Dean will be back.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s sneering face and threatening voice were the last things you saw or heard.

You had no way of determining how much time had passed when you unceremoniously came to in what looked and smelled to be an underground sewer. As your senses sharpened and your muddled brain began to size up your current plight, you nearly scoffed at the clichéd style of your captor. Sat on a peeling wooden chair, manila rope bound your wrists together behind your back and tethered your ankles securely to each of the seat’s front legs.

Ignoring the ache in your head, you set about strategically testing the knots and the integrity of the wood. If only you could reach the silver blade in your boot. But your attempts were interrupted by the reappearance of the shifter, whose shoe hit something as he stepped before you. A metallic clang echoed through the confined space as a result and you followed the sound to find your coveted knife on the ground, far beyond your reach.

“Fucking hunters, always think they’re so clever, always one step ahead because it’s their game. Sure, we might be the monsters but you’re the predators! So let’s see how you like being the prey for once.” Shifter Sam’s upper lip curled up in a way that seemed so foreign to you as he leaned forward to rest his hands on either arm of your chair, caging you in.

The malicious glint in his eye left you with no qualms about affronting this being who, for all intents and purposes, appeared identical to the man you’d recently discovered you were in love with. Lifting your chin, you glared up at him brazenly, “If you’re so keen on being the predator then why am I still alive? What are you waiting for?”

“Why your knight in shining armor of course!” he exclaimed, backing up as he stood to his full height and gestured to himself with both hands. “You think it was a coincidence that all those women looked like you?”

The shifter’s narrowed eyes were alight with amusement and a ripple of fear surged through your body. You were in much deeper than you or the boys had anticipated, though years of practice helped you keep your voice steady and bold, “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, I gave them a fairly painless death, don’t you worry. They were just stepping stones on my way to you. See, the Winchesters owe me a girlfriend, so I figured I’d take the closest thing to theirs. But imagine my joyous surprise when I got into this big lug’s head and discovered that he’s in love with you! No, actually it’s more than that. He’s obsessed with you; you never leave his brain! Every other thought and memory is about you... Well, it’s either you or his brother, but oh, it’s gonna kill him to see you die before his eyes. I might’ve been able to replace my dead girlfriend, but I don’t think Sam here will ever come back from losing you.”

Stunned into silence, the stupid influx of misguided hormones pumping through your veins forced you to focus on maintaining a neutral expression as he rattled on.

“And you feel the same way, don’t you? So this really will be a double kill. It’s OK, you can let it all out. I might be a monster but I’m not one to deny the dying their chance for some last words. Besides, you can say it all while looking into the eyes of the man you love.”

“Fuck you,” were the only words you could trust yourself to spit out at him.

‘Sam’ laughed, but it was nothing like the laughs you normally pulled from him. It didn’t radiate like sunshine or replenish your soul with glee. Rather, it was chilling and conniving and despite the mimicry of Sam’s beautiful voice, you immediately decided that you never wanted to hear it again.

“Not feeling too talkative, huh? Or maybe you’d rather wait until he gets here in the flesh to make that anticlimactic confession of love? That’s alright, I can just tell you more about this dumbass’s feelings for you.” The shifter chuckled with delight, as if every word brought him nothing but pure joy. “Man, he loves you so much, it’s insane. I’ve never been inside the skin of someone so in love. And I thought I really loved my ex. Afterall, this whole revenge thing is for her. But I gotta tell ya, I’ve got nothing on Sam Winchester. Did you know he thinks you were made specifically for him? You ever feel like that? Like you were just destined for someone? Cause Sam does. That’s how he feels about you.”

“Why should I believe you?” you challenged, growing tired of the inadvertent response his words were eliciting. Your heart was pounding in your neck, core trembling at the mere possibility of Sam genuinely feeling the way he’d described. But you knew better than to trust a monster, and one who was in pursuit of maximal vengeance no less. Still, those rose-colored thoughts resonated within you, and you stumbled to dismiss them as they bubbled up, one after another like a game of emotional whack-a-mole.

Shifter Sam smirked, “Yeah, you’re a cynical one, aren’t you? You know everything he said in that marriage counseling session was true. You kinda hurt his feelings when you just brushed it all off. Even big brother Dean’s been trying to get him to confess his love for you. You must’ve heard them arguing about it at some point? They weren’t exactly being discreet.”

Choosing not to respond, you simply scowled at him.

“No? Still in denial? Perhaps you need details… You ever notice how he always sits across from you whenever you’re doing research? It’s because he thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re focused, and it gives him an opportunity to admire you without getting caught. And why do you think he lets you call him Sammy, huh? Yeah, he might not let it on but he fucking loves it when you do, makes him feel all tingly inside. And you remember that cop who hit on you? Captain Anderson, was it? Sam wanted to break the guy’s nose just for touching you. Oh and why do you think he asked you to move into the bedroom closest to his? It’s so he can keep track of your nightmares. He likes to keep you close because it makes him feel like he can protect you better when you need it.”

By now, your ‘neutral expression’ must have surely mutated to betray your shock, and you couldn’t have answered if you tried. The shifter didn’t seem to mind either way. In fact, he appeared to be having the time of his life.

“And it’s not all pure thoughts, let me tell you! Oh man, buddy boy here has dreamed up plenty of X-rated scenes with you, ranging from obnoxiously romantic to just plain obscene. You name a position and he’s imagined it, in high-definition detail,” he embellished, tapping an index finger against his temple, “His mind is like a library of pornos starring the two of you, although he’ll never get to live out any of his fantasies, will he? It’s a shame really; some of these are really hot... Ooh, I’ll have to borrow that one,” he said with closed eyes, as if a figment of Sam’s imagination was playing through his head in that very moment, “Maybe my girl and I can re-enact it while we’re still in your skins-”

“Shut up, just shut up!” you finally bellowed in protest.

Sam watched the bathroom door attentively after you’d disappeared through it, unable to contain the upward jerk of his lips when he saw you walking back out of it. Heartwarming relief had become his body’s intrinsic response to seeing you safe and sound.

“You ready?” he questioned when you made it to his side.

“Yeah, I’m good.” God, even the sound of your voice made him happy.

Once you got back to the motel, Dean plopped down onto one of the full-size beds, exhausted from the drive. Within a matter of seconds, snores began to fill the room, and Sam chuckled under his breath as he sat down around a wobbly table with you to continue your research on the shifter’s victims, hoping to find something else that linked them together or a clue as to where they might’ve been taken.

It wasn’t long before you inhaled a revelatory gasp and abruptly clutched Sam’s wrist to show him what you’d found. But your grip was harsh, causing him to hiss in pain and do something he’d never before done: recoil from your touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” you asked nonchalantly, smiling up at him innocently.

Worse than the pain in his fractured wrist was what felt like sirens blaring in his head. You were always hyper-cognizant of his injuries and exceedingly careful around them, sometimes even more so than himself. Sam looked you over subtly, eyes landing on the silver ring still upon your finger. Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks on him and all that tender attention he thought you’d shown him was simply a mirage of his own wishful thinking?

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sam sent you a tight smile, to which you responded with a dazzling one of your own. It was beautiful but something about it felt off. In the past, you apologized profusely if ever you found yourself the accidental cause of his discomfort, no matter how indirect or insignificant the case, but right now there wasn’t a single speck of concern in your eyes. Indeed, the more he looked into them, the more he struggled to recognize the person staring back at him.

In a flash, Sam had you up against the wall, a silver blade held against your neck. He looked down to see the metal sizzling there, burning your flesh, and cursed himself for failing to notice sooner.

The noise woke Dean from his slumber and what he saw when he opened his eyes was equal parts shocking and amusing. “Whoa! At least wait till I’m out of the room! And isn’t that a little kinky for your first time?”

“Dean, it’s not her. She’s not Y/N,” Sam grit out, “She’s wearing the ring but she’s not Y/N.”

His brother’s brows knit together as he rubbed the sleep from his emerald greens. “Wha- How did you know?”

“She was acting… weird.”

Dean scrambled off the bed, making a quick call on his phone to ensure you really were missing. He paled when a robotic voice over the line told him the number he was trying to reach was no longer in service.

It was then the shifter decided to speak up, “You know, the real Y/N would have liked this, you pressing her up against a wall?” she murmured suggestively.

“Shut up. Where is she?!” Sam slammed her body against the flimsy motel wall once more and dug the knife in a little deeper. In his panic-stricken state, he barely registered her remark, being driven entirely by a one-track mind at present.

Shifter Y/N grimaced slightly, glancing down at the knife, “Maybe if you stop cutting into me with that, I might consider telling you.”

“How did you get the ring?”

“Oh, this little thing? You like it? It’s imitation silver, but otherwise nearly identical to the one on the real Y/N’s finger. You see, we’ve been following you for a while now.”

“Who’s we? Where did you take Y/N?!” he demanded incessantly.

“My boyfriend’s got her, but don’t worry, he looks just like you so I’m sure she’ll find her accommodations to her liking,” she retorted with a smirk.

Sam’s heart lunged in his chest and his mind began whirring with endless possibilities of escalating dread. Had you been deceived and captured by a shifter pretending to be him? Were you being hurt or tortured by someone who looked exactly like him? How would you ever be able to look at him the same way again? Of course, you’d know it wasn’t Sam but the damage would still be done. You would forever remember his face as that of someone who once hurt you, who tried to kill you. That is, if Sam could make it to you in time.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her one last time. That’s actually why I’m here, to take you to her when the time is right,” the shifter added casually.

“I will end your miserable fucking life! Tell me where she is right now!” Sam roared before pressing the blade further into her neck, the veins in his forearms ready to burst through his skin.

“Hey, hey! Sammy, ease up! We need her alive, alright?” Dean bounded over to his brother and after quite the struggle, managed to assuage him enough to release his vice grip and replace it with silver chains that shackled her to a chair.

“Sam, maybe we should also be asking ‘why’,” Dean mused as he fastened the end of a chain against one of the beds.

With a shake of his head, Sam avowed through grinding teeth, “I don’t fucking care. I have to get to her.”

“And what if it’s a trap?”

“Then I’ll find her myself.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief as he turned to his usually wise and level-headed little brother, “Oh yeah, and how’re you gonna do that? Where would you even start?”

“I don’t know!” Sam exclaimed in exasperation. Then, after a pause of desperate deliberation alleged, “Shifters like to make their lairs in sewers, right?”

Taking a step closer, Dean maintained his challenging tone, “So what are you gonna do, just wade through the entire town’s shit and piss until you find her?!”

“If that's what it takes, then yes!” Sam looked like he was about to eat his brother alive.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” shifter Y/N interfered from her seated position before them, raising her chin to meet Sam’s eyes, “Don’t worry, handsome, I can tell you she feels the same way. But unfortunately, by the time you get to her, I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you herself. In fact, you’ll probably hardly recognize her anymore… so you might want to keep me around, if only as a souvenir of your soon-to-be-dead girlfriend.”

Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Despite looking like a carbon copy of you, the evil gleam in the shifter’s eyes made her easily differentiable, and so Sam held back nothing when he lunged across the distance, knife in hand ready to do some real damage. However, Dean pounced with him, having predicted his brother’s violent eruption and felt his shaking wrath, knowing a little too well just how rash he could be when it came to you. Still, it took all of Dean’s strength to pull Sam back, sending him a stern but knowing look once he did.

“Sam, stop!” His low voice rumbled as he went into authoritative big brother mode, “Listen to me, you wanna save Y/N? Well so do I, but this is not how we do it! Now I know it’s hard, but I need you to calm down, alright?”

Sam’s massive chest was practically at his chin as he heaved ginormous breaths. Though his body language was still offensive, his hazel eyes were filled with fear and devastation when they looked toward his brother, “Dean, if I don't get to her in time, I’ll...” Clenching his jaw, Sam made a fruitless attempt to calm his tremoring frame and quell his tumultuous emotions. What would he do? Sam wasn’t even sure himself. All he knew was that every cell in his being was currently screaming at him to get to you, to make sure you were safe and soothe away any of your pain. There was nothing he wouldn’t give in that moment to simply know you were alright and to hold you in his arms. He knew you could look after yourself, but for once he had a terrifying feeling that even you were in over your head, that you might actually need him this time, and he’d be fucking damned if he let you down.

“Woah! Hey, hey! Sammy, look at me! That ain’t gonna happen, alright? We’re gonna find Y/N and we’re gonna bring her home in one piece, you hear me? We’re the Winchesters, man! We’ve faced the end of the world. What’s a couple of shifters got on us?”

‘You,’ Sam thought, ‘They’ve got you.’ But he appreciated Dean’s pep talk nonetheless and nodded in response as a fresh surge of determination swelled within him.

“Alright then,” Dean nodded as well, “Why don’t you let me give her a go?”

As Dean’s silver blade cut into the detained shapeshifter, Sam flinched with every moan and howl of agony. He knew it wasn’t you, but she still had your voice and your perfect face. Yet not a second was wasted on the feeling of relief when they finally managed to get a location out of her. Sam nearly tripped over himself in his haste as he snatched the Impala’s keys and his gun before flying out of the room with a jumbled order for Dean to stay with the monster.

“Well, if you’re not gonna admit your feelings for the giant lumberjack, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should stop yapping and get to prettying you up for that first and last date of yours, huh?” Shifter Sam prodded your cheek with a switchblade.

You said nothing. At this point, you had a sneaking suspicion that physical pain might be more bearable than the psychological torment your imprisoner had been so keen on. It was one thing for you to torture yourself by entertaining the slim possibility that Sam might return your feelings for him, but to hear such outrageous perceptions from a creature who could read the inside of his mind like a paperback novel, and conveyed with such tantalizing conviction… well, it just about broke you.

And knowing that the shifter was yearning to coax a confession out of you simply to cause Sam as much anguish as possible made you more resolute about your refusal to submit, beyond the need to protect your own sanity.

One shiner and a slash to the thigh later, however, you heard a loud clash. Shifter Sam paused his handiwork and began to turn around, “Could your knight be here ahead of schedule?”

‘Dammit,’ you thought. The Winchesters were usually capable of being stealthy when necessary but in case it really was the sound of them making a blunder or encountering some other form of resistance, you figured you’d buy them a distraction.

“Wait, wait! You’re right, OK? Maybe I do feel something for Sam, but even if I told him, I think you’re forgetting… This is Sam fucking Winchester we’re talking about here. He’s been tortured by the devil himself. You really think killing me is going do much damage?”

Your abductor had now given you his full attention, leering at you with a sly smile, so you continued, “Besides, you picked a fight with the Winchesters; don't expect to live to see tomorrow.”

Right on cue, a hulking blur of hair and plaid came barreling in, growling ferally as he grabbed the shifter and threw more than one brutal punch against what appeared to be his own face. The silver ring on Sam’s hand made contact with skin and his shifter counterpart groaned in pain.

You nearly forgot about your ceaseless work of untying the rope that cuffed your wrists together as your looked on in shock. Why Sam hadn’t just shot him with a silver bullet was beyond you. He was smarter than this. There was no need to drag out a monster’s death if a more efficient option existed. But as he continued to engage his clone in hand-to-hand combat, it appeared almost as if he was venting his frustrations on the shifter, as if he drank up every ounce of hurt he was able to inflict. But his high only lasted so long and shifter Sam soon regained his balance, making use of his supernatural invulnerability and superior strength.

“Sam!” you screamed as the shifter threw him across the room.

He tumbled up just in time as the shifter meandered over, “So nice of you to join us, Sam. You know, Y/N here was just telling me about-“

Sam didn’t wait for him to finish, choosing instead to tackle him to the floor with a loud grunt. While they wrestled on the ground, you worked furiously at the knots behind you, wincing with every hit Sam took though it was becoming hard to tell them apart.

When Sam finally drew his gun, the shifter was able to divert its barrel and a shot rang out futilely. Catching a subsequent elbow to the ribs had Sam falling to his knees and you watched in horror as shifter Sam once again gained the upper hand, sending the gun flying out of Sam’s grasp. The binding around your wrists was just about undone when Sam seized a stray rusty pipe and swung it against his counterfeit. Shifter Sam was incapacitated for a brief instant but quickly returned to form with some vicious hooks and a couple of well-placed knees.

With your hands finally free of their restraints, you staggered over to the gun, the chair still attached at your ankles. As you took aim, you shouted, “Sam, get down!” before you shot his mirror image through the heart.

Sighing, you slumped to your hands and knees whilst the real Sam sat up with his back against a wall, gaping at you with a look of awe. Yet before he even caught his breath, he was up and gliding toward you, cradling his left wrist at an awkward angle.

“Sam, your wrist!”

“It’s fine, are you OK?” he swiftly dismissed your concern, cupping your face with his good hand as he examined the darkening bruise around your eye.

You ignored the palpitations in your chest and placed a hand upon his wrist, “Yeah, I’m fine. He wasted more time playing mind games than anything. You know villains and their monologues,” you joked, trying to ease his tension and the deluded self-imposed guilt you knew he must’ve been brewing in.

As if to prove your point, Sam lamented, “God, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have gotten here sooner.”

“What? No! They were miles ahead of us, Sam. The whole thing was a set up; this was their hunt. How could you have known?”

Rather than replying, he released a breath and busied himself trying to help you out of your binding.

Back at the motel, after icing your eye and stitching up your thigh, you insisted on re-wrapping Sam’s wrist while Dean took care of shifter Y/N’s remains. But when the older Winchester returned and spied you and his brother sitting together on a bed through a crack in the door, he couldn’t resist the chance to exercise his espionage skills.

“How did you know she wasn’t me anyway?” you asked as you gently wound the ace bandage around Sam’s swollen forearm.

“I just…” He looked down at your nimble fingers upon his skin and smiled unwittingly at their tender touch, “had a feeling.”

Sam’s sunflower gaze locked onto yours for a frozen instant and something about his soft expression made you forget what words were, until he cleared his throat, “Did you um- did you know he wasn’t me?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling for some strange reason. Perhaps you were just glad to see his trademark twinkle return to those otherworldly eyes. “Pretty soon after actually. I… had a feeling too.”

Sam’s dimples made every ache in your body disappear as that twinkle glistened in full force, “And how’d you know which one to shoot?”

Well, that dampened your mood and brought you back to the task at hand, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you kept grimacing every time you used your left wrist?” Although your words had a bitter force behind them, the pressure beneath your fingertips never increased and Sam had almost completely forgotten about his pain.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of your struggle to reconcile with what had happened since his question prompted a restored and growing frustration.

It had been bugging you the whole time and you felt compelled to confront him about it because storming in alone with a bad wrist, ready to throw hands with an out-of-his-league monster was really not Sam’s style. Something must’ve gotten into him and with everything the shifter had told you, you couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, you were a little afraid of how he might answer, so Dean had to lean in closer to hear your next words.

“Why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“W-what do you mean?” Sam stammered out after a pause.

“Sam, you have a broken wrist, but instead of sending Dean or using your gun from the get-go, you came in like a madman and went after him with your fists!” Your voice was full of incredulity though it also carried an undertone of anger.

As Sam picked up on that reproachful tone, you could almost feel the telltale signs of his puppy dog eyes coming on. “He used my face to deceive you, to hurt you. They manipulated us. I had to- ...I mean, he killed those women just to get us here. He had it coming!”

Your hopes plummeted. Of course, Sam was ever the righteous man. Why would you assume his brashness had been purely born out of a need to avenge you? Though regardless of his reason, you were still upset about his self-destructing behavior, “Yeah, but you had to have realized you were in no position to be the one to give it to him, right? I mean, you might’ve looked the same but he was juiced up on monster superpowers, Sam… which meant he was stronger and faster, not to mention uninjured, in his own territory, and apparently the only one with a sound plan.”

A breath of laughter left Sam’s lips though there was no smile on his face. Here he’d been on a mission to save you, but you were the one who’d ended up saving him, again. You must’ve thought he was comically stupid and pathetically useless. How could he possibly think he was worthy of you? “I guess I should thank you for saving my ass again, huh?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean. Sam, you’re the one who saved me! And I’m beyond grateful for it, really I am. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself more in the process.” You finally finished up with his wrist wrap, securing the final ends with a clip, and letting your hands linger on his for longer than necessary, momentarily distracted by the disparity of size between them. Sam didn’t appear uncomfortable though, as his fingers twitched closer to yours and he made no move to pull away.

He couldn’t help but smile again when he noticed the sincere concern in your eyes that was previously absent in the shifter’s. “Yeah well, what was it you once said to me? ‘Your ass will always be worth it’?”

“And if I remember correctly, you once told me you don’t do things on hunts that make your injuries worse,” you quoted him back with an arched brow.

“Yeah well, I guess this is payback. Now you know how I felt.” A playful grin made his dimples deepen and you clenched your jaw to refrain from gushing over the ridiculous cuteness of this ‘giant lumberjack’.

“You’re an idiot.”

“As long as you’re OK,” Sam answered assuredly, and you nearly melted when his free hand caressed your cheek for the second time that day, big thumb tracing a feather-light path below the purpled skin.

‘You’re both fucking idiots,’ Dean groaned internally from the other side of the door. He knew he had no choice but to up his game.

thanks so much for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!

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artsninspo · 4 years ago

Text

Bubblebath (Erik x Reader)

Masterlist

Erik X Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: After some time a part you and your oldest friend Erik reconnect and reminisce before creating some new ones.

“Do you remember it?” You ask Erik smiling as the memory comes back to you. Only Erik could successfully rope you into something so risqué.

“Yeah I do, that nigga had you fucked up” he nods shaking is head. He breaths in licking his thick lips at the memory. “Can’t believe we fit in that small ass tub” he says examining the photo intently. Looking intently through the lenses of his gold framed glasses.

“Can’t believe we took that picture” you reflect. It was unlike you to do something so ... liberal? Free? Careless? But Erik had always been good at pushing you. Challenging you, getting your out of your comfort zone.

“Well it worked on ole boy you were trying to make jealous didn’t it?” He comments and there’s judgement in his expression.

“Broke his heart” you agree.

“You wouldn’t let me break his neck” he reasons getting up. His home now is something out of architectural digest. Decorated with purpose, adorned with ornaments and sculptures that represented Erik to the tee. Furnished with things that embodied his wildest dreams. A mix of dark and light like his personality, depth with the blue hues used and glass for a modern touch. Also because Erik never hid, not from anybody. He’d been gone a little over five years, doing top secret work - going through personal stuff on is own.

“You got all that out of you yet?” You ask

“What?”

“The rage?”you respond remembering how angry he used to be. First it scared you, then it was a mirror. You felt the exact same way but never showed it. Guess you both had different ways of coping - Erik hurt others. You let it simmer only hurting myself.

“Still working on it” he says motioning for you to follow. The stairs are floating and the walls house black canvased art. The geography of African States and different drawings. You follow him to a room that’s nothing short of a modern hotel suite.

“Bedroom, closet, bathroom” he comments walking around the large space. You both smile seeing the size of the free standing tub. A lot changed after that night. There was a distance between you and Erik. He’d filled the tub with water and bubbles while you sniffled sad about your ex who broke things off to see girls who didn’t have so much reservations. Your ex who wanted to be friends but really he just wanted in your pants. What couldn’t be seen through the bubbles was your biker shorts. Or your oversized off the shoulder top. Eriks boxers were unseen too.

Erik always had a soft spot for you, polite, smart enough not to fall for his games, an all around good girl. Opposites attract. While the other kids steered clear of his temper you were drawn to it. As kids it was sitting on park benches to cool off. As adolescents it was silently in his car while he fumed or you cried and I’m college it was over the phone or in each others space. He had every intention of breaking your exes neck. Then he had every intention of making him regret his actions. But the more tears that fell the worse things felt.

“Stop crying” he whispered softly, gently, and concerned with eyes attentive to every tear.

“Why can’t I just shut it off Erik? Stop thinking so much and just go with it? Dean is a good guy” you reasoned speaking stupidly.

“He’s a piece of shit and your head knows it.” He commented wiping away your tears. It always amazed you the way he turned into this caring man when the two of you were alone. “When you’re ready, you don’t need a jack-rabbit motherfucker, he can’t wait now I bet his foreplay is shit” Erik commented making you look up at him and smile a little. He smiles too leaning down to kiss you, the perfect picture for an intimate moment.

“Thanks for always being here for me, I mean it Erik” you admit looking up at him. You deeply regretted that it was as far as things went all those years ago. He was noble which was unlike him, he didn’t even take a peak at your goodies, kept his hands to himself and kept his other head calm. He only nods at your thanks.

“Nothing to thank me for, I’m about to head into the jacuzzi if you need me” he says disappearing down the hall and you take the opportunity to freshen up before exploring his mansion. He promised wealth would be apart of his future. Somewhere between the end of college and early adulthood the two of you had lost touch. You find him outside in the jacuzzi and get in beside him.

“This place is incredible” you admit and he nods in agreement. One day when the nostalgia was too much you decided to just give I’m a call. The two of you spoke for hours before he asked you to come visit and see the life he had built for himself.

“Check this shit out” he smiles pressing a button and a tv comes out of the floor. You shake your head amused with the little things.

“Did you really keep a box of all our memories?” You ask looking up at him and he nods.

“Yeah, you were the only good part about home” he swallows and you scoot closer giving him a hug. He holds you there against him. You rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“How long can I stay?” You ask

“You make the rules with your bossy ass” he chuckles making you smile.

“So you’re just going to listen to me?”

“Don’t I always?” Erik asks looking at you with his deep brown eyes. If rebellious was a person Erik would define it perfectly. But as you rack through your brain you fail to recollect one time where he didn’t do your bidding.

“I guess”

“You guess” Erik scoffs. “When haven’t i?” He asks defensively.

“What?” You ask surprised.

“You better not lie on me?” He sits forward closing the space between the two of you again. He’s right, you can’t think of a time he’s disappointed.

“You’re right, your record is spotless” you admit feeling stupid and excited at the same time. Your excitement builds its the perfect opportunity to test the waters.

“Be my first then Erik” your words come out more confident then you imagined. You’d been waiting 27 years for the right time that just never came. Your brain always did the same thing as always. Aborts any viable opportunities.

“First what?” He asks and his tone says he doesn’t believe you.

“My first first” you explain using the quintessential black form of description and he chuckles.

“When you gonna learn that you always turn chicken first “ he asks untying the top of your triangle two piece. It was true; from childhood to now you took special care trying to find Eriks limits only to realize he had very few. You feel the waters unrestricted tickle on your breasts and your toplessness. Eriks no stranger to the female form but he always averted his eyes to yours.

“Turn around” he demands.

“No” you pout too chicken to face him and the asshole chuckles ridding you of the back knot of the triangle bikini top. He pulls the swimsuit off and you hear it flap onto the poolside concrete.

“You done yet YN?” He asks sounding almost bored with the game of chicken. You swallow and so does he with concern in his mind. He had to shake the indecent thoughts of you out of his head too many times. “Hey, I don’t want to play with something like this” he cracks after minutes of silence. Possessed with want or maybe the night caps and nostalgia from earlier have done their damage. You take his hand and run it against your bare skin until his palms hold your breasts and he squeezes gently fondling them. He pulls you closer sitting you on his lap and kissing your neck. You can feel his heart racing as fast as yours.

“I’m not playing” you admit breathlessly and he kisses your shoulder before finding your lips.

“I’m bout to poke you in the ass, I’ll put you out topless of you playin” he snaps before going back to the soft kisses. But he never would, no matter how upset. He lifts you onto his lap in a straddling position made easy by the water to make the kissing more comfortable. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed. But it’s the first time it’s been so long. First time you’ve let yourself be turned on. He turns you back around removing your bikini bottoms wit rugged breaths.

You feel yourself throbbing with anticipation of it weren’t for the pool there’d be no hiding how wet you are. His fingers find their way inside your centre with ease. Both of you sighing in pleasure. He doesn’t go deep, teasing you with shallow strokes.

“I bet you have the prettiest pussy, you’re lucky we’re in the hot tub cause if we weren’t I’d put my face in it until you begged me to stop” he breathes as his carnal man takes over. But I gotta take my time play with all of you until your clit is nice and swollen” he whispers making you feel incredible. His words and his fingers gripping your breasts, sliding in and out of you while he kisses your neck.

“Erik” you moan trying to remember to breathe against him.

“Am I the only one you let touch you?” He asks nipping at your ear and stroking you a little faster a little deeper. Goosebumps cover your body the rush flows in. There’s nothing to hold onto but his arm so you do. He brings it up holding your neck as your heart beats out of your chest, his dick rock hard and ready to go. “Answer me” he urges gently despite being in full control.

“Yes” the words barely escape your mouth before he’s kissing you through your first climax. Your body trembles as the pleasure reaches its peak. You feel it everywhere -sensory overload in the best way possible. The kiss never breaks and his strong arms keep you close to him containing the orgasm and making it an even more of an unforgettable. You both pant breathlessly by the end of it, resting your head on his shoulder and his head on yours as your breaths sync.

“You gonna punk out and give me blue balls or go somewhere more?” He asks with a slightly cocky grin like it’s still a game. He’s big from what you can feel but literally no one could care for you like Erik. Your entire lifetime proved it. You spent your lives keeping healthy boundaries only for life to solidify there was a reason you’d become one atoners safe space.

“I’m not playing Erik” you admit and he swallows, his rough demeanour chipping away second by second until he nods with a triumphant smile.

“Waited long enough” he laughs stepping out of the hot tub and holding out his hand for you to follow. This time he doesn’t avert his eyes. He looks with your permission. His eyes are full of excitement like he doesn’t know what to do next. It’s your favourite part about him. A guaranteed good time.

He walks you to the poolside furniture in a sunroom taking off his trunks and stroking his length before shaking his head and leaning in for another kiss.

“I’m gonna eat it it until you come, until you’re nice wet and wide open for me. Then you’re gonna taste yourself on me. Throat might be sore from screaming and swallowing. Your pussy definitely will be and I’ll probably want seconds before I let you sleep” he says being the impossible jerk you’ve grown to love. “If you wanted something different you’d go to someone else” he says frankly knowing you best. A sense of mischief and confidence wash over you. His words are empowering, you feel like a woman, sexy and unstoppable.

You peck his lips in response daring to stroke his manhood at the same time. You can see the fire in his eyes as you lay back into a comfortable position.

“Let’s get started” you comment and he smiles upright with his knees at your feet. His defined abs brown eyes and that mind of his towering over you before he strikes fast grabbing your ankles. It’s startling when he pulls you closer to him so her perfectly between your legs. His eyes darken as he looks over your body biting his bottom lip before he gets started. His thumb swipes your fold feeling the wetness and his aura lightens from his daze.

“Let’s” he agrees.

_________

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy 💖feel free to send in requests, comments, questions & feedback. Look out for more stories - I am clearing out my drafts.

TAGS: @determinednot2fall @twistedcharismaaa @l-auteuse @chaneajoyyy @thickemadame @longpause-awkwardsmile @klaylakayblack @amelatonin @just-juicee @xo-goldengirl @ljstraightnochaser @itsjustyazz @soufcakmistress @nijajoha @iamrheaspeaks @4tprincess @justgetitoverwith0 @queenflaws @abeautifulmindexposed @coveredingodiv @nahimjustfeelingit-writes@champagnesugamama @heavensangelxo @bugngiz @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tip222u @keiva1000 @doublesidedscoobysnacks @shalynn-m @bakarilennox @tyees

#Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #erik x black reader #erik stevens fanfiction #michael b jordan #michael b jordan imagine

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

Note

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation. Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

#tma #tim stoker #fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #cw violence #cw implied torture #cw hospitals #hurt/comfort #the magnus archives

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missturtleduck · 4 years ago

Text

The Girls of Ba Sing Se - (Sokka x f!Reader) Pt. 8

Part Seven│Part Nine

“You, girl of secrets, may stay.”

The library was surprisingly easy to find, considering it was buried under centuries of sand. Watching Toph siphon it up as smoothly as Katara could shape water, Y/N stood pointedly ignoring Sokka and Professor Zei rambling to each other. Sure, she was as much of a nerd as they were, what with learning languages and arithmetic from a young age, but it wasn’t like she was about to drop Sokka’s attitude and divulge in ancient secrets with them.

They did sound like pretty cool ancient secrets though.

Trying not to pout, Y/N sighed and began to scale the tower freehand. Was it to spite Sokka, who had just thrown a grapple to the top window? Perhaps. Only beaten by Aang, who had the power of airbending on his side, Y/N sat on the ledge of the window, staring down at Toph, Appa, and Qin.

“You sure you’ll be alright, Toph?” She called down to her friend, who had a firm hand on Qin’s back.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Toph brushed her off. “Like I said, books don’t do it for me.”

With a nod, Y/N readied to descend. “Send Qin in after us if you get in trouble.”

Satisfied that Toph would be okay, she leapt from the window, Aang catching her in a swirl of air. It was fun, almost like jumping onto a bed laden with pillows, although she never remembered jumping on her auntie’s bed to ever be that dangerous. The inside of the tower was beautiful, even Y/N had to admit in her bad mood, decorated with mosaic depictions of owl, glittering dark onyx and blues as the sun filtered through the cracks in the old brick. Three guesses on what form the spirit of the library took, Y/N chuckled to herself.

Rustling interrupted her admiration as she pulled the nearest person behind a great pillar. Peering around it, she held the person close to her chest, listening for any signs of movement, praying to Agni that it was just one of those cute fox spirits.

“I know you’re back there,” A voice said, menacing and low, leaving goosebumps up her arms; it was pure adrenaline, a fight or flight reaction.

Eyes wide, she went to hiss at Professor Zei, who had stepped out from behind the pillar. A hand clamped over her mouth – Sokka. Nose wrinkled in disdain, Y/N fought the urge to lick his hand then and there, grossing him out enough to reveal him too. Maybe the owl spirit would keep him as a pet.

“Hello!” Zei said, the word Y/N had been stuck on finally coming to her head: naïve. “I am Professor Zei, Head of Anthropology at Ba Sing Se University!”

The avian monster leered down over the professor, who seemed unfazed in his thirst for knowledge. “You would leave the way you came, unless you want to become a stuffed head of anthropology.”

As much as she disliked the man, she wouldn’t let him die. Pushing off of Sokka’s chest, not thinking about how he felt under her palms and pressed that close in the moment, Y/N rushed forwards, bowing lowly. “Oh, great spirit! Are you the magnificent one who brought all of this knowledge into the physical world?”

“Indeed,” The spirit said, a tad less malicious than before. “I am Wan Shi Tong, ‘He Who Knows Ten Thousand Things’.”

“Oh, how marvellous!” Y/N exclaimed, coming out of her bow to look at Wan Shi Tong with as much respect and as little fear possible. “To grant the physical world, the world of humans with such a resource! You are far too benevolent.”

The spirit peered its head up as Sokka, Katara, and Aang came out of their hiding place. “Yes, and you are obviously humans, which, by the way, are no longer permitted in my library.”

“What do you have against humans?” Aang blurted out, not unkindly, but with a lack of respect that made Y/N cringe; surprisingly, she had no intention of being eaten by a giant owl spirit!

“Hmph!” Wan Shi Tong sneered, standing tall to look down on them all.

“Humans only seek knowledge to get an edge on other humans, like that firebender who came to this place a few years ago seeking to destroy his enemy. So, who are you seeking to destroy?”

“What?” Sokka said, stretching the vowel too long to be anything but suspicious. “No-no-no-no destroying of anyone! We’re not into that.”

Wan Shi Tong blinked with his great, owlish eyes. “Then why have you come here?”

“Um... knowledge for knowledge’s sake?”

His shadow loomed over the boy. “If you’re going to lie to an all-knowing spirit, you should at least at some effort into it.”

This was it then. Y/N steeled herself, ready to see Sokka eaten in front of her. He’d be sorely missed of course, the git, but what happens had to happen, right? Although, what would happen to the rest of them if he was eaten? Would they be resigned to the same fate? She knew Katara would never forgive herself, that Professor Zei would manage to turn Sokka into some sort of parable – a caricature of the person he truly was. Eyes widening at her sudden epiphanies, Y/N darted in front of the men making fools of themselves, offering her bō staff out in a low bow.

“Please forgive the indiscretion of my idiot companion,” She grovelled, ecstatic at the jibe she managed to fit in. “I offer one more bit of knowledge to your vast collection, if you’ll have it.”

Reaching with one fluid motion, the spirit practically absorbed the staff. “You, girl of secrets, may stay.”

Wan Shi Tong looked amongst the group, expectant. One by one, each of them gave away something precious; a scroll, a tome, and a poster were added to his collection. But what of Sokka? A special knot was offered with a grin.

“You’re not very bright, are you?” The spirit blanched, enough sarcasm to match the boy himself. “Enjoy the library.”

Flourishing out of sight, Y/N pushed down a snort, “He’s dramatic for a spirit.”

Falling back to walk with Katara, she allowed herself to breath in the atmosphere of such a grand place. Every tome had collected dust over what must have been centuries; it felt wrong, sinful, to touch them, let alone peruse through its words. This seemed to be a shared opinion of Katara, who avoided picking up every tome that seemed mildly interesting.

Aang and Sokka, however, were picking up works because they fancied the colour.

“Hey, look at these weird lion turtle things!” Aang said, shoving a scroll in their faces.

“Eh,” Sokka waved his hand, “I’ve seen weirder.”

Deeper into the library they ventured, the hallways growing darker and the tomes growing dustier – rarer – as they went along. Though, maybe it wasn’t dust. All colour flushed from Y/N’s skin as she saw the room marred with burn marks and ashes. A firebender had done this. They had committed an atrocity she didn’t think possible. This was the human that the spirit had so spitefully told them about.

“They destroyed everything to do with the Fire Nation,” Katara gasped.

That’s what they do, Y//N thought bitterly.

Taking a seat in the remains of such precious knowledge, Y/N watched with some amusement as her friends chased after a Knowledge Seeker. The little fox led them away swiftly, and what they may find could be vital, but she couldn’t bring herself to follow. Something about the room they had discovered made her stomach turn, waves of guilt rolling continuously, growing greater and more violent until she wanted to be sick.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, looking up to see the owl spirit stood over her. “I’m sorry on behalf of the evil person who did this.”

The spirit considered for a moment. “Would you indulge me with a secret? I find secrets to be the greatest knowledge of all.”

“Will it compensate you for the damage?”

“Not entirely,” Wa Shi Tong admitted, not nearly as menacing as he had been, “But enough for forgiveness,”

And so she spoke. She indulged the spirit in every secret she had in her soul, feeling lighter and lighter as every one left her lips. Y/N told him of the family she had lost, her lineage, her first crush, her greatest rebellion against her uncle. How much value could be put on her secrets, she wondered.

She didn’t wonder for long as a Knowledge Seeker came running up to them on four legs, propping itself to two as it communicated silently with its master. She wondered if the value of her secrets could pay the spirit for the insult that was just delivered to him. With a final look at Y/N, the spirit swept away with all the rage of a warrior.

It was when the ground began to shake that Y/N realised something was truly wrong.

Exchanging looks with the spirit servant, something that she would’ve never expected to happen, she sprinted out of the room. Following the creature, it led her through the maze of bookshelves until she recognised where they were. Back at the beginning, the fox gave a frantic little bow before scurrying away. With the open window filtering light, Y/N heard the desperate cries of Appa, Qin, and Toph.

Panicked and determined, Y/N clambered onto the bannister that prevented patrons tumbling into the abyss of tomes. It was instant death, she noted, but she needed to get to the rope hanging from the tower. Inhaling a sharp breath, she leapt across, hands burning as she struggled for a grip. Darting her eyes back to the library, she spotted the spirit tormenting her friends and the professor.

“Oh, great spirit!” She called to him, shimmying her way up the rope. “Let me be proof that not all humans carry evil, even if you cannot see it yet.”

The rage he carried was chilling.

“I’m coming Toph!”

The wails had subsided since, Appa now silenced above her. Making quick work of the rope – darting ever downwards to ensure her friends were safe – Y/N clambered through the window, narrowly avoiding Toph. Qin caught her with her tail, groaning lowly, wincing. A gash was open on her back, creating a storm of blind rage within her. Appa, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Despite what she may have said afterwards, Toph was crying. With all of her strength, she was preventing the spirit from killing them all. Once Katara, Sokka, and Aang leapt out onto the sand, Y/N made quick work of pulling Toph into a tight hug, whispering apologies over and over again until the words merged into numbness. Any spite she may have felt only hours ago had dissipated as quickly as it came. Y/N had hit her limit.

TAGLIST: @lunariasilver @maragreene

#atla #sokka x reader #sokka #aang #katara #toph #the library #wan shi tong #the girls of ba sing se #missturtleduck

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poormeowmeowcollector · 4 years ago

Text

Let me give you my life

Pairing: Loki x Tesseract

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism

Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.

Chapter 4: Bridge and Chorus

Chapter summary: the aftermath

Chapter warnings: Odin, Major Character Death, suicide

Chapter note: this chapter is dedicated to @lucywrites02 because she pretended to be a bad bitch yesterday.

Previous chapter AO3

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

The shackles sing as Loki walks towards the throne, fighting back a grin. Odin, on the other hand, sits on his high quality chair, believing to be intimidating.

"You have committed a grave crime against the-" Odin tries to speak, but Loki chuckles.

"I know what I have done, Odin. No need to repeat yourself," they interrupt, using a voice they've been hiding in their throat since they learned how to speak.

And it has so much to say…

"Has your mother taught you no respect for your king?" They yell, their favourite way of speaking to Loki. In all these years, Loki cowarded away at this voice, scared of a physical expression of the anger. This time, he laughs at it.

"Not my mother, and I have no king but myself," they smile, watching a new wave of anger flashing in the old charlatan's face.

"Silence! You never knew how to shut this mouth of yours!" Odin raises his voice, hoping to see the now natural cowering of Loki. The only answer is another laugh.

"Do you really want me to start speaking, Odin? To see who is truly guilty, with all these good dicks and whores listening?" Loki asks, a glow in his eyes as he gestures around as wide as the shackles allow. The harshness of their tongue makes the nobles who watch the "trial" gasp.

"Who taught you this language?" The old man spits, narrowing one eye.

"Apart from your anger? And that old warrior you ordered to teach Thor and me how to survive in a forest? And there are the guards, I can name a few but stitching is a worse crime than murder…" he mutters, acting if like he's chatting with a cup of tea other than being on a trial for murder.

There's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

"Enough with your games! Why did you murder Lord Gæirasson in cold blood?" Odin asks the "big question", as if the right answer will lift the charges from Loki's name.

"Because… one, because he was a racist and offended me, to which the punishment is death. Two, because he started a war-"

"You started a war, Loki," Thor interrupts, taking Odin's side, like every time.

"A war had been started. Let's not blame people, Thor. Now where were I? Oh, yeah, at how Gæirasson started a war. Also, he refused to pay his taxes and you know how seriously I took my responsibility of being in charge of the palace's finances. Did war crimes against my people, father would be proud the son of a bitch is dead. And lastly, but definitely not least, a dreadful sense of fashion. Have you seen what his grooms wear? I think I threw up in my mouth when I saw it…" they finish with the rumbling, not even thinking of answering seriously. Odin will execute him anyways, would some fun be so bad?

"I said, enough with the games!" Odin basically screeches, their face going red.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

"For the murder of a lord, cause of a war and disrespect towards the throne, I Odin Allfather sentence you to a life in the dungeons," he decides.

"Dungeons? Not axe? Did Frigga's ghost or this moron talk you out of killing me?" Loki questions, taking their turn to narrow their eyes.

"If you keep talking, I might change my mind," Odin sighs, rubbing his temple.

"And get rid of this perfect pawn to hold King Laufey from the balls? A shame, really," Loki poutes and shrugs, pretending awfully that he cares.

"I will not stand your disrespect any longer! I had granted you your life, Loki, more than once! You will learn to respect me for it! Take them to the dungeons!" Odin speaks the final order. Four guards grab the chains that lead to Loki's shackles and push him away, forcing him to walk with them

Only then I am human / only then I am free

On the way to the dungeons, Thor stops the guards and demands to speak to Loki.

"Just tell me why, brother. Please. What didn't we give you to make you care so little?" they ask, grabbing Loki's shoulder, just like they always used to do.

"A family. That's what you didn't give me. And that's what I've earned," Loki answers, staring right into his no-brother's eyes, the blue in them and the pale lines that resemble his lightning. They know they won't see Thor from this close ever again, and they deserve a proper last memory.

"Then, I'm sorry. It's late, I know, but remember this, please… I shall visit, whenever I can, Loki. I swear. You shouldn't be in prison all alone," Thor promises. Loki gives only a nod, enough to make Thor dismiss the guards and let them keep walking Loki to his future and last chamber.

The only sign of emotions they allow themselves to show is a sigh, only out of sympathy.

For he knows that his freedom just begins.

Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

The moment the guards put Loki back into the white vacant cell and take their eyes off them, they cast an illusion of them settling on the floor and staring at nothing. The real Loki is walking up and down the room, waiting for the Tesseract to speak.

"Now?" he asks, feeling it close.

"Now, you need to learn who your family is. Not Odin, not Laufey, your true family, Entropy," they answer.

"What with this name? After all this, can't you call me by my name?" Loki groans.

"I am. You have many names. Entropy, the Chaos Stone, the Death Stone, the Knot… the last one, actually, is the name you're most familiar with, translated to Old Jötunn tongue," they speak, all matter-of-factly.

"You're lying, the Chaos stone is a myth," Loki brushes off the answer.

"It does exist. A black gem, created by billions of ropes, strings and threads tangled together. The hardest one to wield and command and impossible to find. The Jötnar had found it and worshipped it. And when Laufey found out that his son is nothing but a dead baby, he sacrificed the infant for the infant. And Odin found the baby crying in the altar, the gem gone,"

"So I own my life to an imaginary stone, apart from an old piece of shit. What a surprise…" Loki throws their hands in the air.

"No. You are the imaginary stone. In order to give life, the Chaos gem entered your body and never left. You are the flesh of a corpse and the mind of an infinity stone. And it's time to leave the corpse and join us,"

The aimless walking stops, and Loki's heart skips a beat

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

"You made me kill a man, for this?" he asks, glaring at nothing. They don't answer.

"You made me kill a man! Just so I could die!" boiling hot tears streaming down their eyes and slither into their shirt as burning red eyes stare at the empty room for something. "I trusted you! You promised me a family!" he yells between his sobs.

Their feet cannot support them, and they kneel down, turned into a crying sobbing and yelling mess. A hand, created by mist, grabs his shoulder, trying to provide comfort.

"I hate you," they spit, flaring their nose drills as they stare into the blue eyes of the illusion they use to pretend they're close to them.

"I'm sorry, hurting you was… if I could prevent it…" the stone says and gives him a small squeeze. And they mean it. If there was a way to do it without any pain, they would. But it's too late, Loki is already hurt…

Offer me that deathless death

Loki throws themselves into the tightest embrace they ever had, weeping like a baby. "I don't want to die. Please, I don't wanna die. Anything but this, anything, please!" he whispers, diving his head into their shoulder without a thought of holding back the tears.

"Shhhh, you won't die. Not truly. Your mind is the stone, as long as it exists you exist. And the body will stay intact until you need it again. You will be fine, I promise," they whisper, hoping of making them feel better.

"I'm scared, Tessie. I'm so scared, I can't," for a prince, Loki sounds so small, almost like the small child they used to be. Tessie starts playing with his hair, hoping to calm him down, even for a bit.

"It's alright. Everything will be fine, no matter if you do it or not," they shush them.

"If I do it or not?" Loki repeats, sniffing quietly and breaking the hug only to look at the misty blue eyes of Tessie.

"I… you're in so much pain… if you decide that you had enough, you'll be left alone," they explain. Loki nods, still quivering from the crying, but determined.

"No. We got so far. I-I-I'm not giving up," he lets his voice get louder, and then stands up. "What do I do?" they ask, collected once again.

"Get comfortable in a position. And once you're ready, make the ropes appear and let them wash over you," Tessie explains, holding this sympathetic voice. Loki nods and sits back down against the white wall, moving to get comfortable.

Then, with just a thought, the ropes appear and fill him with this calming sensation. Tessie walks closer and cups their cheeks. "See you on the other side, Loki," they smile and kiss their forehead before vanishing.

Loki takes a deep breath, and looks around the cage. He remembers a field day he had when little, a good day. Odin was sleeping on a bench and Frigga was yelling at them and Thor to not get into trouble as Thor dragged Loki, who was just above six, on an expiration of the forest around a castle in Vanaheim. Of course, they returned after the sun was down, with scraped up knees and dirty clothes and Loki had traces of tears in his cheeks because a bug scared him. But it had been, and still is, the best time they ever had with Thor.

He holds tight into the memory as he lets the ropes cover him and closes his eyes.

Good God, let me give you my life

The guards don't know how this happened. One moment, Loki was gazing at nothing and the next…

How does one say this to the Allfather?

The healers walk out of the cage when Thor storms in the dungeons, on the verge of panicking. "Is he alive?" It's all they ask.

The healers won't answer, it's enough to know.

Thor walks in and sits beside what used to be Loki, holding their cold and deformed hand and letting tears run down his face.

Loki doesn't respond, how could he?

He's a statue, as if made from black stone, and his hands covered in stone black ropes, with a faint glow where his heart should be being the only sign that there was once life there.

Loki's face doesn't have the signature smirk, and there's no gleam in their closed eyes. But he does wear a peaceful smile. A smile Thor regrets he had to see this body in order to know that his brother knows finally peace.

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petitommo · 3 years ago

Text

re: (not so) small rant about Theo, Liam and season six of Teen Wolf

(original post by @livingbythewords, you can find it linked here. i originally wanted to reply to the post, but replies are turned off. i’d reblog it, but it’s pretty long, so i wanted people to get to choose whether or not they wanted to read it...)

i saw this post in the liam tag when i woke up yesterday, and i kept sporadically thinking about it and discussing it with people (and in my own head), and i definitely have some thoughts about it, not gonna lie... still, as i said, absolutely feel free to ignore this if this ain’t your cup of tea at all, but if you wanna hear my thoughts about 1. livingforthewords’ post and 2. theo, liam and season six of teen wolf, feel free to look under the line break :)

(i’ll be posting some of the lines from the original post for context to what i’m saying, but if you do wanna read my answer, i recommend reading the original post as well! let me also preface this by saying this is in no way meant as hate towards the creator, sceo as a ship, or scott mccall as a character. i found some parts of this post had traces of what i’d consider to be a harmful way of thinking about fandom and shipping, and i wanted to adress it.)

the post mentions early one that liam brings theo back to use him, and that as soon as he finds out theo no longer has josh and tracy’s abilites, he wants to send him back. that the only reason he doesn’t is because theo remembers stiles. with this, you say that you see thiam shippers claim that liam does it from the goodness of his heart.

personally, i’ve never seen claims that that was the reason liam did it. i have, however, seen (and personally think this myself) that theo coming back from the hell he’s been put in by the hands of liam, might make theo quick to develop a bond or feeling of gratitude towards liam. there’s no doubt in my mind that theo understands why liam did it — but even then, it still got him out of there. in canon, no other pack member but liam even entertained the idea of getting theo back — i think theo is very aware of this, as well — which in itself automatically makes liam the safest pack member for theo to latch onto, from the get go.

Liam distrusts and despises Theo – and it never changes throughout the course of the show.

again, with the basis of liam and theo’s developing aquaintance in season six (heavily conveyed through non verbal communication - both in the form of touches/glances/body language and the things written between the lines; the things not specifically worded, but definitely said through their dialogue), there’s a lot that can be up for interpretation.

when i watched the show, i saw two characters who, yes, clearly had a shared hatred towards each other, learn how to work together and develop a tentative trust (that only grew throughout the season). i saw two characters that shouldn’t work together, work together insanely well, to the point where no verbal communication was strictly necessary.

my point is, thiam as a ship is heavily influenced by interpretation of what you see in their dynamic, and i find it troublesome that you look at other people’s interpretation and publicly say;

However, shipping someone and having fun with it is not the same as twisting into knots to try to prove that canon supports something, when it doesn’t.

especially when you follow this up by saying;

Yes, there is a person who acknowledges that Theo has changed. Who trusts and supports him even when they have no reason to. Who is always there for him and tries to treat him fairly even after being incredibly hurt and betrayed.

But that person isn’t Liam.

because you and i watched the same show, and we clearly have majorly different interpretations of season six; of theo’s relationship with people post-hell; of liam dunbar as a character.

however, i am not gonna claim that you’re wrong, and i’m right. your interpretation is entirely different from mine — and yes, based on what i saw, i do personally think you’re wrong, but here’s the thing; i understand that interpretation of this is just that; interpretation. theo isn’t canonically linked with anyone, therefore i cannot say that thiam is right and sceo is wrong — even as that’s my personal view of it.

back to the theo and liam and thiam shippers adressed in this post;

i want to preface my response to this with the fact that i myself have been/are in healthy BDSM dynamics. i have also jokingly said that theo ‘probably enjoyed it’. i have online friends who have joked about theo enjoying it. and here’s the thing; none of the people i know seriously think theo, in that exact setting, enjoyed it.

a great thing about fandom and shipping is the exploration and discovery of one’s own sexuality. we often talk about it openly; we discuss it with people, we’re ‘horny on main’, we learn from fellow shippers, we read fanfiction. we joke around with stuff.

there’s no doubt in my mind that people do not think theo raeken got pulled back from hell, chained up and forced to follow liam and hayden around, and actually enjoyed it at that moment. however, can i personally see theo as a character that would enjoy being chained up in other situations? yes. a lot of us do. and so we joke about it.

joking about certain aspects of a BDSM relationship when you’re looking at/reblogging things from canon does not undermine how important a proper and healthy BDSM dynamic is.

the post also touches on theo being a traumatized kid with unhealthy coping mechanisms. this is, without a doubt, the core of theo as a character. however, by putting it in the context of why it’s wrong to joke about him being a sub/rope bunny, feels so misplaced to me. a lot of kinks develop from the trauma we have (talking from experience). a lot of kinks develop at — seemingly — random (talking from experience). being traumatized doesn’t automatically mean we develop kinks, sure, but it also doesn’t mean we do not develop kinks.

without a doubt - chaining him up and dragging him behind them was not a kind thing to do; i don’t think anyone disagrees with that. but at the end of the day, these are characters. theo is a character we’ve barely gotten to know, especially post-hell theo, so he develops in our mind, we have headcanons, we think of personality traits that weren’t shown in canon. some of those pertain to his sexuality, and that’s okay.

this also pertains to your gripe with people looking at canonical depictions of thiam and seeing it as love. again, even in the thiam shipping part of fandom, we have majorly different interpretations of certain scenes, and that’s okay. i’ve touched upon the importance of acknowledging that thiam as a canonically hinted at couple is all up for personal interpretation of their canonical depiction; this also means that people will see things very differently.

the original post was mainly aimed at theo and liam as a ship, so i won’t get into the comments about liam as a character that much, but i will say this;

even you yourself mention that liam absolutely has reason to resent theo. but, you go on to claim that liam doesn’t have as much reason for resentment as other characters.

liam might not have been personally wronged by theo in season five as much as other characters, i will agree with that. but, he did watch theo’s actions and influence in the things done to mason, to hayden, to scott. all people he loved. this, in itself, is reason enough to build resentment towards a person.

it’s also important to remember that theo lessened liam in his mind to the beta with anger issues, stripped away every complex part of liam and simplified him into this one trait that liam himself has struggled with and tried to distance himself away from.

liam struggling with being depicted as a monster — pre supernatural; because of IED, supernatural; as a werewolf — has been canonically shown so many times. it’s gotten us the line of «you’re not a monster. you’re a werewolf, like me.». we’ve been showed, time and time again, that liam has a complexity within him that is constantly undermined — by brett, by stiles, and yes; by season 5 theo.

sadly, i also see liam simplified and put into the box of beta with anger issues by the fandom. this also, from what i’ve read on your blog and from statements about liam in this post, includes you.

how does that change in season six? let’s get back to the claim at the start of this post; of thism shippers claiming liam is the only one who trusts and supports theo, and look at it this way; theo — previous homicidal maniac out to ruin the pack (put simply; we’re both theo apologists, we know there’s more to him than that) — is one of the first people to look at liam’s anger and not let it be his only character trait.

the post mentions glances in the truck scene; this is what the truck scene (in my mind) is really about. theo acknowledges — even if not explicitly stated — that the anuk-ite’s ability to raise fear in people, raises anger in liam. he sees that liam’s anger is a direct consequence of the anuk-ite; he sees that the fear instilled in liam translates into anger; because of IED. this lets liam be a character that has IED, instead of just liam - the angry character.

this, again, is my interpretation of this scene. you might not have seen it that way. once again proving that this is a ship based on interpretation.

claiming that interpreting scenes is twisting canon until it fits your idea of it, is such a harmful way of looking at shipping. i have never interpreted anything romantic between scott and theo in canon, and could, in turn, claim that you twist canon until it fits what you want. but i’m not going to, because your interpretation of things doesn’t have to fit mine.

you can’t write a rant about thiam as a ship, state that you don’t want to tell anyone who to ship and that certain ships are wrong, and then undermine every interpretation anyone has had about liam and theo as a ship.

we’ve all seen the same season of teen wolf, we’ve all seen the exact same scenes (there are no version of the show you watched); but we’re all very different people. we interpret things very differently.

AND THAT IS OKAY.

do not undermine people’s ship. if you hate thiam, just stay away from it. don’t expose yourself to it. ignore it for all it’s worth.

it’s that easy.

#feel free to ignore this ppl :)#just had to get it off my chest #thiam meta #of some sorts?

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shortkingzuko · 4 years ago

Text

title: helpful hands and tender words

relationship: bato/hakoda

warnings: mentions of canon injuries/death

summary: 5 times bato and hakoda spoke their own love languages and the 1 time they spoke each other's

for the @bakodafleetweek prompt love languages (a day late lol)

read under the cut or on AO3 for full list of tags/notes

-5

Bato had always been praised for being a helpful child; always helping his mother chew on leather so that it could be sewn, always carrying rope to and fro his father’s ship when asked, would always offer to help his older sister braid her hair. Once everyone, including himself, realized he was a boy, his helpfulness was taken out to the sea and out to hunt, and he proved that he could assist in knot tying, in packing supplies and their spoils, and in flaying the different animals that they caught. And at the end of the day, he and his brother and father would return home, tired, slick and shivering with sweat and sea spray, and as his father and brother collapsed by the fire, he would go up to his mother and ask if she wanted him to help stir the boiling pot of stew so that she could rest before dinner. Bato would never be accused of being an overly expressive person, and many of his loved ones described him as guarded and private. But every time he offered to help his mother, she would smile, place her wind-chapped hand on his face, before leaning down and whispering, “I know when you offer that you’re saying you love me.”

Bato had always blushed and swatted his mother’s hand away, before grabbing the spoon and dutifully stirring. But sometimes, when he rolled out of bed, hours earlier than necessary, pulling on his boots and coat before sneaking out to meet Hakoda, Bato wondered if his mother was right. Maybe he was trying to say something when he stayed up late repairing fishing nets, before going out on a canoe with both of them trying to tamper down their excitement as they hunted an octopus in the light of the early morning. Perhaps when he stood behind an igloo, trying to make his voice as scary as possible, he was trying to say something besides vague, spirity threats, in the hopes of frightening Kanna.

Maybe he was trying to say something every time he helped Hakoda play a prank on his family, every time he agreed to go out fishing with Hakoda instead of focusing on his own chores, every time that he stayed up late to help Hakoda study the ‘Chief Lessons’ that his dad had given him.

Bato heard his mother and father saying that they loved each other all his life, he heard his sister and her girlfriend whisper it to one another with pink cheeks, and his brother say it to more than a few girls and boys than their village really allowed. Bato could probably count on one hand how many times he had said those words himself, the words getting stuck in his throat in embarrassing ways. It seemed that Hakoda had no expressing it to others, always throwing affection around so casually, always so flippant with the words that seemed to choke Bato.

Never towards him, of course, but what else did he expect? Bato could never say the words that he was certain he felt, but he could still show Hakoda, he thought. He could get up early to go fishing, and he could help him on hunts, and he could lie to their parents so that Hakoda wouldn’t get in as much trouble as he really ought to have. Bato would lighten the load that pressed down on Hakoda’s shoulders. And maybe one day, Hakoda would understand what it meant.

-4

Hakoda could never keep his hands to himself. He was forever reaching out to touch weapons, jewelry, animals and furs that everyone had to swat his hands away from. Every week he would come home, hands red and chapped, because he took off his mittens outside to handle something and got too distracted to put them back on. His mother would tut, before smoothing balm onto his tender, dry skin, berating him for being so childish when he was almost a man! and for never learning to keep his gloves on and his hands to himself.

It never seemed to stop him though. Every time Hakoda saw something pretty or saw something that made his heart quicken, he yearned to hold it, to pet it, to gently cradle it in his hands. It was such second nature to him, that he barely realized when he was slipping his mittens off to brush a loose strand of hair out of Bato’s face, as they were leaning over an ice fishing hole.

Bato startled at the sudden touch but his expression returned to one of pleasant neutrality when Hakoda tucked the loose hair behind his ear, making sure not to jostle the newly implanted bone piercing that poked through the skin.

“Thanks, Koda,” Bato said, before looking back at their unmoving fishing poles. Hakoda nodded and though he looked back at their poles as well, his eyes kept flickering back to Bato’s face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, and the plumpness of his lips. Hakoda left his hand out of his glove, and though the cold bit at his skin, he just held it in his lap, as he waited for the strands to fall out of their tucked hiding place again.

As they sat there for the next few hours, catching just enough fish to consider the trip successful, Bato’s hair fell out of place a few more times, just infrequent enough that he couldn't be bothered to retie it. Each time Hakoda waited a few minutes, before casually reaching up to smooth it back. Bato’s hair was thick with just a slight wave to it. Hakoda couldn't tell whether the roughness he felt was from his own hand or from his friend’s salt-dry hair, but it felt comforting, grounding, and had a familiar coarseness that Hakoda found ever so pleasing - so similar, and yet so different than Kya’s smooth curls.

It’s only when he gets home and his mom is berating him for removing his gloves again - without even a thank you for the fish! - that Hakoda realized that he was perfectly capable of touching Bato's hair back without removing his mittens, and questions why he didn’t just leave his gloves on.

He thinks he knows the answer, but he doesn’t much feel like dwelling on it.

-3

Sokka and Katara were a handful; a joyous, beautiful, and well-loved handful, but a handful none-the-less. Sokka’s was at the age where it seemed like he’s always awake, always trying to put things in his mouth, and is always full of energy (until he was tired, at which point he would simply flop to the ground, taking naps in the most inconvenient of places). Katara, on the other hand, had only just started her feeble attempts at crawling, to the absolute excitement of Sokka, and to the pride and fear of Kya and Hakoda. Often, though, after a few minutes of scrabbling around on the floor, unable to make any headway to her desired destination, she would pout and cry, pointing at where she wanted to be until someone helped her there. Kya and Hakoda often left their igloo with bags under their eyes and smiles on their faces, with Kya holding one of their children in the back of her amauti, and Hakoda hiding the other in the front of his parka, their tiny face barely visible through the neck hole.

Bato had never felt so much happiness as he did when he saw his friends lovingly hold their children, and when Hakoda and Kya first passed their swaddled up babies to him to hold, whispering in their children’s ears, “This is Bato, sweetheart, this is Bato, he’s going to take care of you.” Bato wasn't afraid to admit he did shed a tear.

Surprisingly, the time he was able to spend with Hakoda barely decreased, as Bato started to offer his assistance in taking care of the kids and helping Kya and Kanna around the house. Some of the other men in the village looked at him with strange yet knowing glances, eyebrows raised, as Bato threw himself into helping another couple’s children instead of focusing on getting a husband and having children of his own. Bato knew that if he made himself available, if he stopped deflecting any conversation that led to the question of ‘ Would you allow someone to court you’, if he stopped spending all the time that he didn’t have at Hakoda’s, then he probably would be able to find someone that wanted to date him, love him, who would want to try and have kids with him, biological or not.

Bato knew this and still choose to tell Hakoda and Kya that he was able to watch Sokka and Katara for the night, so that they could get some rest, instead of going and drinking around a bonfire with men who looked at him with desperate eyes.

He bathed and fed and rocked Katara - and then Sokka because he felt left out, even though he was getting a little too old for it - to sleep, tucking them underneath his warmest furs, before making sure that their clothes were clean for tomorrows wear. Both of them woke up multiple times in the night, and each time demanded Bato’s full attention until they drifted off to sleep. (Bato allowed himself to have a moment of selfishness, as he imagined a future where his own children could be sleeping next to Sokka and Katara, a child with his nose and height, with hair slightly lighter than his own and a sense of humour that-

Bato cut the thought off before it could go too far. It wasn't worth it to dwell on impossibilities like that, and while many men in the village could relate to Bato's angst of being the last of his family line - now that his older brother had passed in one of the recent raids - he knew that that wasn't the drive of these fantasies.)

The next day Bato emerged from his igloo with tired eyes and a soft smile as he passed Katara and Sokka back to a well-rested Hakoda and Kya. They laughed as Bato told him about his evening, and Kya gave him a side-hug in thanks. Hakoda reached up to place a mitten covered hand on Bato’s arm, gave it a squeeze, as he proceeded to tell Bato about their plans and duties for the day. Bato nodded along, waved vaguely at Kya as she led her children away, listening intently to Hakoda, until he finished speaking, at which point he removed his hand. Bato didn’t care if his feelings for Hakoda were never returned, or even noticed by the man. Seeing Hakoda smile without it turning into a yawn for the first time in weeks was reason enough to push past any feelings of sadness and help him, seeing Kya’s delighted reunion with her children - even if they were only separated for a few hours - was enough to solidify his feelings of friendship and respect for her.

Bato knew that his reasons for his servitude for Hakoda were selfish; they were driven by his own hopes that by helping him cook just one more meal, helping him tie one more knot, helping him catch just one more fish would commune what he felt for him, with no illusions of reciprocity. It never did, but at some point, Bato stopped being disappointed and just started looking for the next opportunity, without any expectations.

-2

Hakoda always found a reason to touch Bato, now that they were off at war. Whether it was on the ship, with him placing an unnecessary hand on his back to steady him, or at a campfire, where he would squeeze next to Bato on a log that was much too short and bump knees with him, or when they shared a tent and Hakoda would pile all their belongings up to one side so that when he moved in the night, his hand would eventually find Bato’s chest, feel it rise and fall in steady motions. Sometimes when Hakoda would wake up before Bato, he would leave his hand there for a few more minutes, basking in the warmth of his friend’s body on the palm of his hand, the muscle underneath strong but relaxed, as he watched the slightly rounded outline of Bato’s chest move, shallower and faster until he was almost awake, before removing his hand. Hakoda knew it was irrational to be scared of Bato dying in the night, something much less likely than Bato dying in battle, or falling overboard or any other number of horrible ends that could befall on him. But seeing his companion sleeping, seeing the worry lines of his face smooth out, his hair flopping over his eyes, and body in such an open and calm position, made Hakoda smile, but also stressed him out. Sleep was when they were their most vulnerable, even with the multiple warriors keeping watch at all times, he couldn’t shake the worry. He knew that if the Fire Nation attacked during the night, if they managed to take out the guards, and if they managed to set the camp ablaze, there was little he could do, just waking up from sleep. But if something were to happen to Bato in the night - whether it was an ailment or nightmare - Hakoda would be able to feel it, would feel the shutter in his chest, or the rapid beating of his heart and he could do something to ease Bato back into a pleasant slumber.

Hakoda knew that Bato must have been aware of his tendency to reach for him during the night, as Bato often arose before Hakoda, but he never brought it up. Hakoda didn’t know whether to be relieved that he was saved from the embarrassment or disappointed at being robbed of the chance to speak about his reasoning.

Hakoda was almost sure of what his reasoning was, after so many years of pondering. But Bato never asked, never pushed, never reached over to join hands with Hakoda, and though he always smiled and was pleasant in the face of Hakoda’s affection, he never initiated or returned it with such gusto.

Hakoda allowed himself to have the few minutes of the morning, with his hand on Bato’s chest, his evenings pressed against his sides, and his days with steadying hands on his back.

-1

The scars on Bato’s arm and torso limited his mobility. Though he could get the joints and skin to loosen up with the help of copious amounts of salve and massaging, they would soon tighten, leaving him slightly off-balanced as he tried to learn his new limits, and how to push them.

It left him with objects being continuously being taken out of his hands, with people always trying to ferry him away from the hard manual labour needed to rebuild their village, and with people much shorter than him constantly stretching up to reach things for him that he placed on the tallest shelf for a reason. It left him angry and huffy, annoyed at how his fellow tribe members saw him after his return from prison and war. It reminded him of being a child, before his growth spurt, before the village, outside of his family and Hakoda, took him seriously as a man, always smiling in a condensing way before plucking weapons out of his hand.

“I want to help,” Bato said to Hakoda, frustration clear in his voice. “There’s plenty I can do, even if my arm seizes up.”

“I know, Bato-”

“If you know, then you’ll let me do something.”

Hakoda met his glare with a raised eyebrow. After a few seconds, Bato huffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, ignoring the slight pulling sensation it caused. Hakoda grinned as if he won something.

“I know you want to help, Bato, and I’m not trying to stop you from helping, but it’s clear that you’re trying to bite off more than you can chew.”

“How?”

“You tried to go seal-bass fishing yesterday, by yourself.”

“So?”

“Supposing you caught a fish, would you have been able to carry a hundred-pound fish, plus your gear, back?” Hakoda levelled his gaze. Bato huffed again, letting his arms drop from their crossed position.

“I just hate not being able to do anything.” Bato looked at his friend. “I hate not being able to help you.”

And that was as close to an outright confession as Bato could bring himself, with him and Hakoda growing, not necessarily closer, but more intimate. Despite Bato’s igloo being rebuilt, he still spent many nights at Hakoda’s, ate dinner around his table, and still found himself close to his side any chance he got. The freedom of being home had resulted in Bato growing more attached to Hakoda, instead of relishing in the distance that ships and tents and camps did not allow.

Hakoda looked at him, and his smug look dropped slightly and was replaced with one of affectionate worry.

“There are ways to help me besides hurting yourself,” Hakoda chided, playfully. “You are not the only hunter in the village, Bato, others can catch fish for both of us. You can help me by taking care of yourself.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Bato replied. Hakoda sighed and beckoned Bato to come closer. He complied, lowering himself to where Hakoda sat at his kotatsu. Hakoda pulled him so that his face was pressed against Hakoda’s strong shoulders. Bato sighed into the warm skin of Hakoda's neck.

“Fine, if you want to do something besides take some time off - which some people would kill for, by the way - you can help me read over all these trade proposals.”

Bato pulled himself away from Hakoda, looked at him for a moment, searching for any condensation or pity, before nodding and situating himself at the table, adjacent to Hakoda. He felt Hakoda bump his knee with his own.

“Get a load of this proposal,” Hakoda said after a few minutes of silence, shoving a scroll under Bato’s nose. “Aren’t all these taxes tariff- ful!” Hakoda barked at a laugh at his own joke. Bato groaned. “You know it would help me if you laughed at my jokes.”

“Maybe I don’t want to help you that much after all.”

In the months since Bato and Hakoda began their official 'courtship', more tentative and slow than anyone expected of them, considering their long friendship and history, they found that while they were often on the same page about nearly everything, they had a more difficult time in expressing their newly actualized romantic feelings for each other.

While Hakoda was prepared to hold Bato in public, wrap his arms around Bato’s slim waist, to pull him down for kisses and caresses, Bato was more reserved in public, happy and most comfortable when they limited their affection to simple handholding and the occasional cheek kisses. Even bunny kisses reduced the taller man to a blushing mess, often shoving Hakoda away forcefully in his flustering.

They never seemed to need long conversations about most aspects of their lives - be it work, dinner, whose house they were going to move into (Bato had pretty much already moved in with Hakoda and his children) - yet they both still found themselves stuttering over the words that they both knew they felt for each other. Privately, Hakoda felt that he had a decent excuse - he hadn’t had a relationship or had said those words in a romantic setting since Kya.

Privately, Bato thought his excuse was better since he hadn’t said the words in a romantic sense at all, since he was always saving them for Hakoda.

So, they fumbled their way out of conversations were those words would crop up, though they tried desperately to make the other understand anyways.

It was a summer morning, the sun had already been out for days, when Hakoda found Bato sitting cross-legged, fumbling in front of a mirror on the floor, his right hand tangled in his hair and making noises of frustration.

“What’s up?” He asked, watching at Bato turned slightly, his hair not yet tied up and slightly knotted from his fight with it. Bato held up a thin leather cord.

“I can’t tie my hair up,” He said simply, not bothering to mention why. Hakoda already knew that his arm had been stiff lately, the slight increase in sun exposure making the skin tender and making him avoid massaging his joints.

“Want some help?”

“It’s fine, Koda, I’ll figure it-”

“Let me help.” Hakoda interrupted, already walking towards him. Bato fell silent as he looked up at his partner, turning to face the mirror and watch him through that when Hakoda sank to his knees behind him. “I want to help you.”

“Okay.” Bato’s voice came out soft and gentle, as he held up the hair tie. Hakoda took it and placed it on the floor, reaching over to grab a comb instead.

Hakoda raked it through Bato’s thick hair, revelling in the feeling of the strands passing under his fingers as he smoothed over them after each stroke. He worked carefully, undoing the knots that Bato’s previous attempts caused, and admiring the streaks of grey that were scattered throughout the otherwise dark mass.

He looked in the mirror and saw that Bato had closed his eyes and that his cheeks had taken on a slight flush. As he ceased his movements to admire his partner, Bato opened his eyes again and made contact with Hakoda’s through the glass. They stared at each other for a few moments, and slowly Bato reached towards Hakoda’s free hand and held it. He gave it a tentative squeeze and Hakoda smiled.

Bato smiled back, letting go and closing his eyes again. Hakoda resumed combing until Bato’s hair was a silky curtain. Instead of just tying it back, as Bato often did as of late, he began to braid a few strands together, holding the finished pieces between his pinky and ring finger, before gathering the rest of the hair needed to complete Bato’s wolf tail. When he was done, he ran his hands over his work, making sure everything laid flat and that it wasn’t too tight, and to relish in the feeling of intimacy that the two had garnered.

Bato reached to grab Hakoda’s wrist, pulling him down so that Hakoda was giving the man a loose back hug. Hakoda buried his face in the crook of Bato’s neck, feeling him lace his fingers with Hakoda's, lifting one hand up to place a soft kiss on the rough knuckles.

He looked up into the mirror again, smiling when he caught Bato’s eye, and both of them knew what the other was trying to say.

#m #bakoda #bakoda fic #hakoda #bato #once again trans bato as a treat #bakoda fleet week #my fic

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

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What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 6- The Day That Wasn’t

Summary: Eyyy another family meeting, and let’s see if you can get Klaus sober again.

Masterlist - where all the other chapters are⚔️

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes @winterboobear11

You’ve been summoned yet again for another Hargreeves family meeting, you’re not even a legit Hargreeves either. But alas, you’ve known them since you were 12 and this is kinda Diego’s family so, even a bigger reason to be here. You’re all positioned in various spots around the bar area, as Allison kindly hands everyone a coffee while her and Luther talk about what Five said earlier. Diego’s sitting on your left while you lean into his side, the both of you sharing a cup of coffee since Allison’s container only held four. Klaus is sitting on the floor in front of the other chair-type-couch opposite of you and Diego, Luther is seated on a barstool while Allison stands next to him, leaning herself against the bar.

“Three days?” Questions Allison, at the literal bombshell of learning that the apocalypse is coming.

“That’s what Five said.” Replies Luther taking a cup from her.

“The old bastard did mention the apocalypse, come to think of it. He just left out the part about how soon.” Says Klaus, taking a small sip from his cup.

“But can we trust him? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Five’s a little...” Allison makes a circular motions to her head as she whistles. Klaus chuckles, “Our little psycho.”

“He was pretty convincing. If he wasn’t trying to stop an apocalypse, those lunatics wouldn’t be chasing him.” Explains Luther. You give a small nod while Diego hands you the half empty cup with his non injured arm.

“Yeah.”

“What did Five even see?” Allison asks Luther, the rest of you staring intently, listening to the crucial information he’s about to tell you next. His face seems to fall a bit, like he doesn’t really want to reveal any details. “Uh....apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible.” He pauses, looking at all your faces, clearly still hiding something. Now this information you hadn’t had a chance to hear yet, so you’re all ears to learn how the world ends. Luther then gets up off the barstool, “Okay. So, here’s the plan. Uh, we go through Dad’s research..” The four of you all start speaking at once, definitely not interested in searching through any old papers. “Hold on, hold on.” “Wait a tick, wait a tick, wait a tick.” Diego and Klaus interrupting each other.

You finally speak up, gaining everyone’s attention, “Luther, we’re missing a...oh I don’t know... a minor detail here, what happened the first time around? What did Five see?” He looks at you nervously, well that can’t be good. “Yeah. What are you not telling us? Come on, big boy, spit it out.” Adds Diego. Luther’s eyebrows furrow, he looks almost scared. For a good five seconds he stares back at the four of you, then he looks down at his coffee cup before taking a sip he says something you almost didn’t catch, “We died.” He whispers as he takes a long sip, your nerves prick, you definitely heard that right.

“What was that?” Wonders Allison wanting to hear it louder.

Luther brings his cup down, clearing his throat for a second, “I said, uh, we died.” He says louder this time.

Everyone’s faces morph into that of complete shock and evident surprise. Just hearing him tell you everyone dies again, still sends your nerves into hyperdrive, a wave of fear washing over you instantly, and it’s only Wednesday.

——

Some time passes and more squabbling ensues, now your all sitting around the bar practically interrogating Luther about the apocalypse, he’s doing his best to answer your rapid fire questions. You suddenly hear the sound of Vanya’s light footsteps roaming around the Academy with someone following her? They don’t appear to be of any threat either. Huh. “No, outside the house. Everyone died.” “You don’t say” “That’s terrible.”

“Hey.” Says Vanya, finally revealing herself and her less then suspisous looking friend, who’s smiling oddly at the five of you. The others look up from their conversation. “What’s going on?” She wonders.

All of you shift around awkwardly, “It’s a family matter.” Replies Allison, you cringe inside, eh probably not the best thing to say to Vanya right now, considering no one invited her.

“A family matter. So you couldn’t bother to include me.” Scoffs Vanya, disappointed but not surprised at her family’s tendencies.

“No, it’s not like that. We were...” Starts Luther, apologetically, “Don’t let me interrupt.” Vanya cuts in turning to walk away.

“Wait.” Says Allison rushing over to a retreating Vanya, “I’ll fill you in later when we’re alone.” She pleads, trying to make amends.

Vanya waves her off, “Please, please, don’t bother. And I won’t either.” Snaps Vanya turning to face Allison.

“Vanya that’s not fair.” Jabs Allison, uh just leave the poor woman alone, you think. Vanya’s face falls, “Fair? There’s nothing fair about being your sister. I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad’s fault, but he’s dead.” She turns angrily to look at the rest of you by the bar, “So it turns out you’re the assholes.” She sourly ends with, turning away and walking out of sight, her friend trailing behind her.

“Ouch.” Comments Klaus, you raise a glass to that, downing the whole thing in one gulp. Allison turns around to face the rest of you, “I’m gonna go find Vanya and explain.” She says, not feeling right about what just happened. “No, wait, there isn’t time. We need to figure out what causes the apocalypse. Now there are loads of possibilities.....Nuclear war, asteroids. But I’m thinking this is about the Moon. Right? Dad must have sent me up there for a reason. And I was giving him daily updates on the conditions, I sent field samples.” Rambles Luther, you share a bored look with Diego, then to waste time you stick your tongue out at Klaus, who returns the favor. “The first thing we need to do is find his research.” Klaus suddenly cuts in, “Hold the phone. We all died fighting this thing the first time around. Remember?” Points out Klaus.

“That actually makes sense, surprisingly. What gives us the upper hand this time around?” You wonder, hoping this meeting will end soon, you’ve got assassins to hunt.

“Five. Last time we didn’t have him. We weren’t all together.” Answers Luther as Klaus gets off the barstool holding a hand up to his mouth like he’s about to vomit. Luther continues oblivious, “This time, we’ll have the full force of the Umbrella Academy. That’s what we need.” States Luther ever so confident in his leadership skills.

“Okay, little problem. Five’s MIA once again.” You add bluntly, leaning yourself against the bar, raising your eyebrows at Luther who’s on the other side.

“Well, he had a plan to change the timeline. He’ll be back soon.” Answers Luther, only a tinge unsure of himself, you roll your eyes at him. “I’m going after those masked motherfuckers.” You growl, not wanting to waste anymore time. Luther looks at you in slight confusion, Diego speaking up to clarify, “Hazel and Cha-Cha.” You push yourself up off the counter, walking around the bar and past them as Luther questions why, “What, right now?” Diego follows you turning to answer Luther, “Hell, yeah.”

Luther then does his best to stop you, “I know you wanna avenge your friend, but we got bigger problems here.” You swiftly twist around walking in closer to Luther, if he didn’t know any better he’d probably be a tad bit afraid, “She didn’t deserve to die like that, neither have countless others. If I’m gonna die....and I mean actually die. I want to know it was me who killed those fuckers.” You hiss, fed up with being forced to listen for 20 boring minutes about the apocalypse and how we’re gonna stop it. Five’s not even here to help, so what’s the point. You needed more information first. Not caring for an answer from Luther, you turn around and head elsewhere.

——

After a bathroom pit stop cause lets be real coffee does that to you, you walk into the hallway, not hearing a single sound. Alright where did Diego go? You close your eyes and listen, hyper focusing on the world around you, searching in the darkness for a sliver of sound. Your ears prick at the creaking of floorboards up above you and the familiar thump of Diego’s boots along with Klaus’. Got em, they’re in the attic.

Silently walking up the wooden staircase you turn to your left, walking into the room to see Diego tying Klaus up to a chair. “If I see a boner, I’m out.” Grumbles Diego, who’s walking around Klaus in a circle while tightening the blue rope. You snort, “Is this a bad time?” The two of them shoot their heads up to look at your amused face. “Oh, hello there Y/H. I’m gonna get sober.” Says Klaus casually, his face scrunching up as he starts to laugh. You smirk, folding your arms together, “Interesting. End of the world and you wanna get clean? I mean, you go Klaus, but I’d guess you’d wanna pop every pill in sight.” You wonder, truly puzzled as to his true motives. “Oh, the thought did cross my mind, believe me, but there’s something I need to do, and the whole pesky thing doesn’t seem to work unless I’m sober.” Explains Klaus as Diego gets on his knee to tie down Klaus’ legs. “Is this about conjuring the one you lost?” Asks Diego, Klaus just sighs sadly. “What was her name?” Diego wonders, still working on that knot.

You notice how Klaus’ face shifts from sad to happy to sad again, “His name was Dave. We soldiered together in the A Shau Valley...in the Mountain of the Crouching Beast.” He let’s out a shaky breath, you feel for him, the way he talks about Dave and how his body language changes with different emotions, the way he smiles adoringly at his sweet memories. It’s almost like how Diego looks when he’s complimenting you on something. Your heart hurts for Klaus, you couldn’t imagine a world without Diego in it, life would be so much more dull and quiet. “He must have been a very special person to put up with all your weird-ass shit.” You tell him while smiling, he snorts breaking out into a large grin, “Yeah. Yeah, he was...He was kind, and strong, and vulnerable, and...beautiful. And I was foolish enough to follow him all the way to the front line.” He explains, his voice changing with every emotion. Diego looks up in surprise, “You fought in the shit?” Klaus looks at him, “Oh yeah, war couldn’t take enough bodies. Please. Including his.” Klaus’ face darkens, but only for a moment, “Hey, look at us. Logging in some quality bro time before the end of the world.” Cheers Klaus, Diego gives a slight chuckle, finishing the last knot and getting up to walk towards you.

“Ah, shit.” Whines Klaus loudly, both of you turning to see what’s the matter.

“What?” Asks Diego.

“I need to pee.”

You roll your eyes looking around the room, spotting what you had in mind, “Okay good, here’s a bucket.” Walking over to it, you pick it up, setting it down next to Klaus. “Piss, shit, throw up, whatever you need to do. It’s your multipurpose bucket, have a blast.” You tell him sarcastically, giving him a kind smile. He looks back up at you with an unpleasant gaze, wanting to argue but knowing to well that you’d just harass him more. Diego turns to leave, you following right behind him, “No wait, come back. Come back! Come back you pricks!” He shouts defiantly, you don’t want to but it’s for the best, so you ignore him. Trailing Diego down the stairs.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, you just need a moment to chill, maybe a ten minute break. With that in mind you walk towards your old bedroom, Diego silently following your lead.

Walking inside you stop and stretch, taking in your surroundings, “Damn, this room is nicer then the one back home, er...well...we don’t exactly have a bedroom.” You tell him, walking over to the large bed, where you jump on it, laying sprawled out on the whole thing. Ugh, you forgot how comfortable it was, and so soft too.

Diego stands in the middle of your room, fiddling with his arm brace, since he did get shot and all. He suddenly looks up at you smiling, laughing to himself, “What’s so funny Hargreeves?” You call out to him, still staring up at the ceiling. He chuckles again, “Remember when Luther burst through here, cause he thought we were doing something else. When we were really just jumping on the bed, smacking each other with those foam swords you bought at the dollar store.” You smile at the memory, letting out a breathy laugh. “I honestly can’t believe none of them ever actually caught us in the act. That was a true miracle.” You mutter. Diego starts walking over to you with a hint of something new in his eyes, your face falls into a frown when you hear the oddly familiar humming of, Grace? But that can’t be, how is she?

Noticing your abrupt change in mood, Diego stops, confusion and a bit of disappointment flashing through his dark eyes. You make eye contact with him, “This is gonna sound crazy. But I can hear Grace humming downstairs.” You tell him, his eyebrows furrow, he definitely was not expecting you to say that of all things.

——

The both you walk cautiously down the stairs and into the main living room where Grace is dusting the head of a warthog. Humming to herself as casually as ever, you stand in the doorway, letting Diego walk up to her. He questions how she’s able to walk around like nothing bad ever happened to her. Grace answers cheerfully, smiling brightly. You decide to let them have their peace, so you turn around and wait by the front door.

Diego and Grace walk aimlessly into the front room, it appears that Grace would like to go for a walk in the park this evening. With nothing better to do and no clear idea where Hazel and Cha-Cha could possibly be, you follow along.

By the time you all make it halfway through the park, it’s dark out and the night air is cool, your personal favorite time of day. Not a lot of people are walking around, the world is quieter, and there’s no sun to blind you when you forget your sunglasses. Grace suddenly stops, a look of concern melted onto her smooth features, “There’s something else that needs to be said, Diego. Pogo and I...we’ve been lying. Lying to all of you.” She states, you walk in closer to her, “What do you mean Grace?” You ask her, perplexed as to what she might tell you next.

——

The six of you gather around the bar, all conversing about how the apocalypse could start and how we might be able to stop it. From your spot behind the bar, next to Diego, you get the oddest feeling of deja vu. When a flash of blue unexpectedly appears, bringing Five with it. He falls onto the table in front of you, landing hard on a black briefcase. The rest of you, jumping back in surprise, definitely not expecting Five to randomly teleport from out of nowhere.

“You guys, am I still high, or do you see him, too?” Asks Klaus bewildered, as Five rolls off the side of the bar.

“Five, where have you been? Who did this?” Demands Luther as he and Allison go to help Five up.

“Irrelevant.” Snaps Five, on to more important things.

He takes a coffee cup out of Luther’s hand, and downs the whole thing. As you all watch, completely dumbfounded as to what’s even happening right now. Five finishes his drink, turning around with a hard look on his face, “So, the apocalypse is in three days. The only chance we have to save our world is, well, us.” He explains.

“The Umbrella Academy.” Says Luther, stating quite the obvious.

“Yeah, but with me, obviously. So if y’all don’t get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we’re screwed. Who cares if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us? No. And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I’ve come back with a lead.” Five says, holding up a white folded piece of paper, “I know who’s responsible for the apocalypse. This is who we have to stop.” Allison takes the paper from his hand, the rest of you gathering around her to see what it says. “Harold Jenkins?” She wonders aloud.

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?” Questions Diego.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x you #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you #number two #tua #tua season one

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tears-and-lilies · 4 years ago

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Chapter 11 – respect

Managed to finish this chapter on my Birthday!

Some context: Glorien was brought to Berta and her colleagues again. Now he’s in the bathroom next to the dorm room.

Tag: @whumpfigure; @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi; @green-eyed-whumpster; @liliability

CW: whump of minor (17 y/o), creepy whumper, physical abuse, restraints, forced to kneel, dehumanizing language

***

Glorien could cry. His hands – shaking – reached out to grab the sides of the standing mirror in the bathroom. Berta and her colleagues had done their best to decorate him. He had liked the golden bracelets they had slid all the way up to his upper arms and similar bracelets around his ankles. It made him feel as if he was wearing at least a little more. The make-up felt weird, the paint and powder sticky on his face. No matter how long he stared at the face in the mirror adorned with red and yellow, he never got used to it. This wasn’t his face. And this certainly wasn’t his hair. His hair was black.

He touched the locks for what must be the twentieth time. His heart sank once again as his fingertips brushed over the familiar texture. No. It couldn’t be. Why was it red?

He tried to remember what the make-up artists had said. He did recall one of them going through his hair, praising the black waves. Everything made Glorien so dazed. He had been overwhelmed by their carefulness and the way they painted his face, he hadn’t really been listening to what they were saying. He didn’t care.

He cared now. Surely they wouldn’t keep his hair this way? He looked ridiculous! Nervously he looked around the bathroom. Maybe he could find something to wash the dye off with? What had they put in his hair anyway? He grabbed a rag and started scrubbing his scalp. The colour wouldn’t give. He stared into the mirror once more, defeated. Tears were welling up in his eyes and he blinked. He knew he was overreacting. This shouldn’t get to him as much as it did.

But it did. Of course it did. In the span of a few months, he had lost a brother and his father, he had lost his friends, his home. They had taken everything from him, deciding whether he was worth keeping alive, where he should sleep, when he should eat. And now they decided what he should look like as well. Suddenly, he could no longer stand the mirror. The image it showed felt too wrong, as if the sleek surface stopped showing reality. An unsettling feeling crept up to him, making a shiver go up his spine. Glorien suppressed the urge to look over his shoulder. He rushed out of the bathroom.

Two steps into the dorm room, he froze. Lady Triban was standing there, in the middle of the room, between the two rows of beds. She clasped her hands together and smiled.

‘Oh, look at you! That yellow paint under your eyes goes so well with the red eyeshadow!’ She stepped closer.

‘But I thought we specifically requested brown hair? They must have made a mistake there.’ She reached to tuck a lock behind his ear. Glorien flinched and instinctively took a step back.

‘Oh well. They can fix that later. Maybe dye the tips a golden yellow, to go with the paint? What do you think, dancer?’

He looked at her, warily. What did she want from him? She had spoken at the execution, and if he could believe Jespen, she had convinced the Emperor to keep him alive. But why? He barely knew anything about her, except the things everyone knew. She was wealthy. She owned a bank and a fort in the east. Some people say she killed her stepbrother, but that was a rumour spread by her enemies.

And she married Loui. But even though his father and Loui had been friends, Glorien had never met Triban. He took a deep breath.

‘What do you want from me? Why do you care?’

‘If you want to be a dancer, you have to look the part, don’t you think? I only want to help you.’ She lifted her chin, looking down at him with fierce eyes.

‘I don’t want to be a dancer’, Glorien hissed.

‘You’d rather be dead, then?’

He pressed his lips together. She knew what he meant. He didn’t want to play this game.

Triban tutted. ‘You really don’t deserve my help. But I can’t let you die from your own pride.’ She shook her head. ‘We should crush it. Let me give you a few rules to work with.’

As she took a step forward, he took another step back.

‘Firstly, you should be grateful. We spared your life, when you deserved to die. Therefore, your life is worth nothing.’

Glorien took another step back, hitting his back against the closed bathroom door. He was tired of hearing that. He knew she was wrong.

‘I am the son of a noble-’

‘Secondly,’ Triban interrupted, ‘you are what we tell you to be. You owe us your life, and you should spend every second of it paying us back. We were even so kind to give you a place to sleep and eat, when we had no reason to. You can show us how grateful you are by obeying us.’

Glorien snorted. You took everything away from me.

‘And lastly, whenever you are in the same room as a member of the Imperial family, you’re supposed to kneel. That should be basic knowledge.’ She crossed her arms and waited.

He wasn’t going to give in. If he couldn’t run, he could at least fight. He looked up and said: ‘Like I said, I am the son of a noble. You took everything away from me. I won’t kneel for you.’

Triban chuckled. ‘You seemed so frail yesterday. Only a day and suddenly you think you’re of any significance. We’ve been too kind to you.’

She turned towards the double doors and called for the guard to bring ropes.

***

The guard forced Glorien to his knees, in front of his bed. Before he could struggle, his hands were grabbed and bound together in front of him. The guard wound rope around his ankles too, tying them tightly together and fastening the rope around one of the legs of the bed.

Triban walked around the bed and stopped in front of Glorien. She cleared her throat. He refused to look up at her, keeping his eyes locked on her blue dress instead.

The guard kicked his side and he gasped for air.

‘If looking up is so difficult for you, why don’t you try to get up?’, Triban asked sweetly. ‘Go ahead. Get up.’

Glorien sighed and lifted his head. Another kick landed in his side and he caught his balance before falling.

‘I said. Get. Up.’ Triban’s tone had shifted.

He tried to get onto his feet, but the rope was bound to shortly to the leg of the bed. No matter how he twisted his legs, his ankles were kept in place.

The next kick caught him off guard and he fell on his side. He groaned as he shuffled to sit up again.

‘Poor dancer. It’s sad how you struggle to obey even the simplest order’, Triban said. There was noticeable enjoyment in her firm voice.

‘You even lack the respect to thank me.’

Glorien flinched and looked up when he felt a hand going through his hair. Triban took back her hand and smiled.

‘Well? I’m trying to help you to be obedient. What do you say?’

The silence that followed was interrupted by another kick. Now she grabbed his hair firmly and held his head up. Tears welled up in his eyes from the sudden stinging pain.

‘What do you say, dancer?’

He swallowed. ‘Thank… thank you.’

Triban pulled harder. ‘Where are your manners? I thought you said you were a noble boy?’

Glorien pushed his eyes closed from the pain. He whispered: ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He let out his breath as his head was dropped.

‘So stubborn. I hope you’ve learned some respect by the time practice starts.’ She walked away, the guard following her. Suddenly, she halted.

‘I think it starts in less than an hour, right?’, she asked the guard. He nodded.

‘If he’s still learning how to kneel when dance practice has ended, I think a very bad punishment will follow.’ She opened the door and said loudly to the guard: ‘Oh well, we’re not going to stop him from learning, are we? He can go to his practice whenever he feels ready.’

A loud slam sounded when she shut the door. Glorien’s heart beat faster. He turned at started picking at the knots that tied his ankles together. He didn’t want to know what they would do to him if he didn’t show up to their damned dance practice.

***

His hands were shaking. His sides hurt from being turned so he could untie the rope at his feet. It seemed impossible to do. The rope around his wrists wasn’t helping his case either.

A lot of time must have passed. Had the practice already started? He had been sitting here for quite a long time. He almost jumped as he heard the doors open. The other dancers walked in. They were looking at him, not sure what to do.

Glorien decided to ignore them and turned his attention back to the rope. Tears fell down his cheeks as he kept struggling.

‘Hey.’

He looked up. A girl – Aurora, he remembered – was standing in front of him. She was frowning. Glorien blushed and made himself small.

‘I’m.. I-’, he squeaked.

Aurora crouched down. Her hands moved gracefully, untying the knots around his ankles with ease. When she was done, she moved on to the rope around his wrists.

Glorien wanted to thank her, but she looked coldly at him, as if he was a burden. Or at least, that’s what he could make of it. It was impossible for him to read her expression. Instead, he rose to his feet and ran out of the dorm room while drying his eyes with the back of his hand. In his haste, he almost bumped into the guard. The man snorted.

‘So you’re finally done?’

#whump #oc #my writing #glorien #triban #whump of minor #restrained #forced to kneel #hair whump #creepy whumper #physical abuse #dehumanizing language

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herding-octokittens · 4 years ago

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The Difference Between Angry Chanting and Actual Singing Is Less Than You'd Expect

Mechtober out of order!!! Days 25-27: The Bifrost Incident

@mechanismszine

ao3

“I’m sorry, Ivy, but what the fuck?”

“You are going to need to be far more specific, Jonny.” Ivy didn’t even bother looking up from her book. She was the picture of calm, despite the rather large pistol being waved in her face.

“I read through the first draft, and there is no way anyone but you could have written that. So, again, what the fuck?”

“Which part? I wasn’t actually all that involved this time. Marius and Brian had a blast with it, though. Go talk to them. Stop interrupting me.”

Jonny threw his head back, groaned loudly, and snatched the book from under Ivy’s nose.

~~~

“What the fuck, Ivy?”

“I surely don’t know what you’re talking about. You really need to be more specific, Jonny.”

“Fuck you.”

“Take me to dinner first.”

Jonny dove for Ivy’s book, pulling his knife out as he went.

~~~

“For fuck’s sake Ivy!”

“You know, I gave you a 40.3% chance of learning after the first time. Evidently spending sixty years in prison with Marius and Raphaella makes an optimist out of me. That being said, I’m currently running a 72.11% chance you will make the same mistake a third time in a row. Please prove me wrong.”

“Just fucking-”

“No thank you.”

“Ugh!”

Jonny grabbed an octokitten off the ceiling and pulled out his newly jury-rigged gun-knife, and stalked forward.

~~~

“You know, Jonny, if you actually tell me what you think I did to mess with you, this would be a much more productive conversation,” Ivy said, curled up on the couch with her book nestled safely in her lap.

There was only muffled groaning in response.

“Hmm. I speak 1659 languages fluently, but I couldn’t really catch you there. Please speak up?”

The groaning resumed, this time with some distinctly implied curses upon the Alexandria family name. Ivy turned to the last page of her book, and with a satisfied hum, closed the tome and set it on the table next to her. Sitting up, she turned towards Jonny.

“Alright. I finished reading. What was your question?”

He glared and let out a muffled shout.

“Ah. I suppose I would need to remove the gag.” And with millennia of experience at avoiding angry teeth, she did just that.

“What the actual, unmitigated fuck?” Ivy suppressed a snort. It was difficult to be intimidating when you were hanging by your ankles from the rafters. It was made even more difficult when the person who had hung you from the rafters had killed you three times within a fifteen minute window. Jonny, like almost anyone else who would find themselves in this situation, was not succeeding.

“Which part?”

“You just killed me!”

“Yes. Three times, if I’m not mistaken. You were interrupting the best part.”

“You little- no. You know what? Not important right now. The lyrics, that’s what I need to murder you over.”

“Hmm. Good luck.”

“Yeah, whatever, fuck you. What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“Narrate? That’s what you normally do.”

“No! I mean yes! Just- that song with the chanting!”

“Red Signal?”

“No! Maybe? I don’t remember.”

“Definitely Red Signal. That one, I did help with.”

“Yeah. I know. Which is why I want to ask, how do you expect me to pronounce that?”

“The chanting? Well, it’s less singing and more angrily screaming, which should be easy for you, but it goes something like “Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO”.” Ivy finished with a light cough. “We couldn’t use the actual chant, of course. Too much chance of accidentally waking an eldritch power. But this was a rather direct translation to an old Earth-based language that retained the general necromantic message and complete terror associated with being on the receiving end of such a series of words, while avoiding the less fun interdimensional rift-tearing and summoning of elder gods.”

Jonny stared at her, at a loss for words. Ivy hummed happily. It was a good day when someone could make Jonny shut up.

“It really isn’t that hard. You’ll get it in no time,” Ivy declared, before picking up her book and walking off. As the door shut behind her with a hiss, Jonny began to yell.

“Wait! Ivy! Ivy Alexandria! Get back here! Argh!” With a shout, he began to squirm in the rope, but the knots were tight.

With a resigned hmph, he let himself hang freely. After a few minutes, he began to mutter.

“How did it go… Y'ai something something Yog-Sothoth, something something Ogthrod…”

#the mechanisms #the mechs #the bifrost incident #jonny d'ville #ivy alexandria #mechtober #mechtober2020 #mechtober 2020 #my fic

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boymeetsweevil · 5 years ago

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SS3 - MYG, Fluff, 1791w

You’re not even supposed to be on the pay roll anymore because you’re supposed to be phasing yourself out of work entirely. There’s a new intern that you’ve been training a few days a week to take over for you until he’s competent enough to let you fully withdraw from your position as secretary to the CEO of Min Corp.

Said intern has just called you with what sounds like tears thickening his voice to inform you that Min Yoongi, said CEO, is terrorizing the employees.

“Jungkook,” you use the same tone you might use to calm down a lost toddler in a grocery store. “Take a deep breath for me please.”

A shaky breath crackles through your phone speaker.

“Good. Now tell me what Yoongi’s doing. What do you mean he’s terrorizing people?”

“Yoongi—I mean, Mr. Min has made three separate IT workers cry because of jammed printer and he sent the head accountant into a panic attack with a request for a two week advance on the quarter reports.”

You sigh and lift a hand that was submerged in the fragrant bath you’d drawn to pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“Did you read the 3rd section of the binder I gave you? There should be stuff in there for when we need to increase speed in specific departments. There’s outside agents we can enlist—”

“I called them, and they’ve agreed to come help out and I’ve gotten the paperwork for their payments ready.”

“Okay. What about the printer?”

“I unjammed it myself. It s-seems to be working fine.”

“Good! So just tell him and I’m sure that’ll solve things.”

“I don’t—I don’t feel super comfortable talking to him right now.”

“Jungkook, I told you that Yoongi is normally very rational. If you tell him the problem’s solved, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Sorry, you’re right.”

He’s quiet then. The sound of paper small clinks in the background grab your attention.

“What’s that sound?”

“It’s nothing!”

“Jungkook.”

“It’s not a big deal. I just...he also,” Jungkook sniffs a meek little sound, “knocked over my lego replica of the office. It was an accident though—”

“I’ll leave in 5 minutes. Don’t let him leave his office, barricade the door if you have to.”

It’s defeated tone of voice that makes you get out of the tub you were soaking in. Water gets everywhere and the calming atmosphere you had painstakingly set up so you could have a lazy morning and afternoon is long gone.

Jungkook barely has any time to protest or beg you not to mention him calling you before you hang up.

Normally Yoongi is all bark and no bite. There’s no need to bite when his reputation as a former gangbanger preceded him so well. Too well, in some cases. Yoongi came from almost nothing and turned to illegal activities as a child in an act of desperation to care for his ailing mother. He’d learned about (legal) business after one of his elderly bosses took a liking to him and showed him some of the ropes.

Even after he started getting out of the gang and getting interested in business, it took years to get past the fearful glances and rejections that so many people in the industry sent his way. It was only after a lucky investment that he was able to start building his business from scratch.

Now, he’s able to care for his family and provide means for his employees to do the same while running a successful head hunting firm. When you were fresh out of college and looking for work anywhere, he was the only one that took a chance on your meager application. He was ruthless back then, but so were you.

So in 9 years of acting as his right hand, it was inevitable that you would learn about his past. No one else at the company knew that it nearly cost him his life to start this new chapter. He has the scar on his shoulder to prove it. Sometimes when it gets close to a certain time of year the memory of what he almost lost creeps over him.

When you finally arrive you find Jungkook gnawing on his thumb as he eyes the door to Yoongi’s office unblinkingly. The walls of the office are soundproofed to protect the confidentiality of his clients when he has important meetings and phonecalls, but you can still hear the way he snarls into the phone.

“How long has he been like that,” you ask as you hang up your coat behind Jungkook’s desk. The lego office lies in a heap of probably more than a thousand pieces in a pilfered custodian’s bucket. You can’t help but frown.

“About 20 minutes on the phone. Maybe a few hours today in general.”

“Alright. I'll go in.”

“Is that safe,” he eyes you with poorly hidden awe as you move towards the door.

“Is a zookeeper safe when they enter a tiger’s cage?”

“No?”

“That’s your answer, I guess.”

“Seokjin, I don’t give a flying fuck about the new cases. I gave those to your team weeks ago. Bring me an update on the Simmons case, or I swear I’ll come down there and pull it out your ass myself.”

The sound of the door to the office closing has him rushing to end the call so he can redirect the yelling. He tosses his phone back onto the glass surface of his desk with a harsh crack and turns to face the skyline in the window, his back facing you.

“I thought I told you I don’t want any more of that shit you call tea. It’s doing fuck all to calm me down so why don’t you—”

“Mr. Min, please take a seat.”

The line of his shoulders, already grimly hunched, shoots up further. He clearly wasn’t expecting you. It’s your day off. Technically.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is still low and tense, but the volume is significantly softer.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Min.”

There’s no need for pretenses when the two of you are alone. You could curse him with the foulest language you have for being an ass to the people who keep his company functioning like the well oiled machine that it is. But you know that your message is that much louder by using your professional voice with him.

He turns then, dark brows set heavy over stormy eyes. It would be incredibly intimidating if it weren’t for the slight turn in his lower lip giving him a subtle petulant expression. Someone’s having a bad day.

Grumbling the entire time, Yoongi takes himself to the long leather sofa that rests off to the side of the office. You make your way over to the couch as well after peering at his desk. It’s covered in papers as if he dumped onto the table one of the folders that he normally organizes with great care. The collection of expensive fountain pens that he’s received as gifts from various successful deals lay strewn about as well. And there’s a hairline crack running through the surface of the ornate globe he received as a birthday gift from one of his old bosses.

When you finally come to stand behind him, the grumbling has been replaced with silent fuming. His arms are crossed and his silk tie hangs like a dead snake around his neck after being roughly undone.

With no words, you reach forward and slide the shoulders of his jacket down his arms.

“You don’t have to,” he sighs a moment later. If you listen closely you can already hear the embarrassment from letting his emotions get the best of him.

Ignoring him, you dig your fingers into the meat of his shoulders. He jumps and lets out a hiss as you drag the pads of your fingers over the raised skin of his scar beneath the fine cotton of his button down. A low curse leaves his lips but nothing more comes out as you continue to untangle the muscles that had somehow knotted up impressively during the few hours of the day that had passed. You can only imagine how painful the actual injury is despite it having healed a little more than a decade ago.

It takes a while and your hands cramp up with the amount of force you’re using to massage the pain away. When there’s merely a phantom ache, he raises a hand to grasp one of yours. The action has you freezing up this time. He turns his head so the soft skin of his cheek brushes against your wrist. His cheeks are damp from a few pained tears he shed. His lips press dryly against the back of your palm and he turns more so he can pull your hand forward. It’s awkward but he doesn’t care. So long as he can pepper small kisses against your hands.

“Come back to work,” he says finally.

“No.”

“Marry me, then.” There’s no flair, no drama. He says it like he’s asking you to run an errand with him.

“No. And stop always asking me that.”

“I’ll stop asking when you stop saying no.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well, you’ve never given a reason. I deserve that at least.”

He turns to face you then with eyes that are just a tad bit shiny. All of the sharp, feline essence gone when replaced by frustration that’s still plenty fond.

“Because I don’t feel like it yet. And it’s fun to tell you no.”

From this angle, you can see the very top of the tiger tattoo he got when he was not yet a man. It peaks out of from underneath his collar. You pick up his tie and loop it back around his neck while he’s distracted.

“Have pity on me” he lays his cheek back on your wrist as you finish up a simple Windsor knot. “I’m just a simple man who wants to settle down with the love of his life.”

“How about you go apologize to everyone for your outburst,” he winces but looks properly ashamed. “And then maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Fine.”

“And make sure you give a special apology to Jungkook for ruining his replica.”

“To the temp, are you kidding me? The kid put it on the edge where it was begging to get broken. I’m pretty sure the tail of my jacket did it.”

“Just do it, Yoongi.”

He leans in then, nose brushing against yours. “Say yes and I’ll even hire someone to rebuild it for him.”

“Go apologize already.”

He huffs but strides to the door with purpose.

“Promise you’ll think about it?”

“I’ll think about it.”

#bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #yoongi.net #btswriters #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bangtan scenarios #yoongi imagines #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff

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something-tofightfor · 5 years ago

Text

Ransom - two

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (Ink AU)

Word Count: 7834

Rating: NSFW (Talk of kidnapping, actual kidnapping, language, violence, physical abuse of a female, death)

Trigger Warnings: Kidnapping, physical abuse

Author’s Note: I debated on whether or not to go dark with this one, but I needed to in order to truly set the tone. You’ve been adequately warned, and it’s not my fault if you choose to ignore the warning or the tags and you read something you don’t like.

Summary: You’ve been taken... but by who? Will Logan figure it out - and can he find a way to get to you in time?

Though you didn’t appreciate the way the Host’s chest was pressed to your back, or the way it felt to have his arms settled against your sides as he held the horse’s reins, you tolerated it. It’s part of the narrative, meant to keep me off guard, focused on that instead of… “You know where we’re goin’?” He leaned in, speaking into your ear. “Boss is lookin’ forward to having a conversation with you.” That… You frowned, eyes darting over to where the second man was, his horse a few yards ahead and to the left of you. “Lost Spring’s a great place to go, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, it was…” You swallowed, shaking your head and glancing down at your bound hands. “I like it.” You took a deep breath, chewing on your lower lip. Get him talking, you want to learn more about this narrative, you need to… “So, aren’t there usually three of you? Sheriff told me…”

“Three? Nah. It’s just me an’ O’Conner over there.” He gestured with one hand, and your frown deepened. “We work alone, ‘seasier that way.” He must have been wrong when he told me, but…

“And the horses? He said that you guys always have gray -”

“This has been my horse since we robbed that rancher in Sweetwater couplea months ago, and that one’s been O’Conner’s since the same night.” Sweetwater? But the … The Abernathys? There’s not supposed to be a connection, these are new Hosts. You felt uneasy, but maybe the Sheriff had fed you incorrect information, maybe it was meant to not make it as easy to be rescued. Logan will find me.

“How much longer do we have until we get to… wait, what’s your name?” You turned your head to the side, teeth digging into your lip. “Gotta know what to call you, right?” The man stayed quiet, so you continued. “We’ve been riding for hours, and I don’t -”

“Tanner. You can call me Tanner.” He sighed, flicking his wrists and urging the horse faster. “An’ we’ve got a couple hours til we get to where we’re goin’.” Couple hours? That doesn’t make sense. You scanned the horizon, eyes moving without turning your head. We’re not going into the hills, we’re going… You glanced up, looking for the sun, and finding it behind you. That’s wrong, it should be overhead or to the left, it… we’re going into the desert. Heart beating faster, you stayed quiet, but you were no longer at ease. What did I get myself into?

---

Two hours later, you were still keeping pace with the sun, and if your memory served you correctly, you were headed for the Lowlands, toward the sea. What’s this way? There’s no way the Lost Springs Sheriff would come out here, this isn’t… Tanner had sidled up with O’Conner, the two men talking quietly, and though you tried to listen, you were focused on the way the sun was beating down on you, your bare shoulders on fire. I wish I had my hat. You’d thought that you and Logan would go back to your room before the narrative started, giving you a chance to pick it up, but things had happened quickly, and you’d been taken without anything covering your head. I’m going to be so burned. “We’re stoppin’ for a minute.” Tanner spoke again, pulling his horse away from the other man. “Gonna let you use the facilities if you need to before we finish this.” Finish? But you were grateful for the break, grateful to get off of the horse and stretch your legs, even if only for a few minutes.

“Thank you.” As your feet his the sand, you groaned, closing your eyes. “You don’t have any w-”

“Don’t test your luck.” Tanner was unwinding the rope from your wrists, undoing one of the knots that Logan had tied to give you use of one hand. “I’ll give you enough slack to go into that grass over there, but if you try anythin’, I’ll shoot you in the foot.” Inhaling sharply, you nodded before you moved. “Go.” You stepped quickly away from the man, though once you reached the end of the rope’s length, he followed. At least he’s giving me that, even though he said he… You thought as you squatted down, the grass reaching your shoulders, trying to come up with a solution. Though the two men hadn’t said much else to you, you knew that you hadn’t been abducted by the Hosts that you were supposed to have been taken by, which meant that someone had taken you purposely. But who? No one knows I’m here, and… I’m no one.

You would have understood if they’d taken Logan, but you? It didn’t make sense. I could take one of them down. They’re Hosts, even if they shoot at me, it won’t… But you knew that it would hurt, and if both of them shot at you at once, you’d go down to the ground, letting the other get to you. You had no weapon, no way of defending yourself aside from your hands, and you were in the middle of nowhere. Tanner called out to you and you popped your head up, letting him see that you were still where he wanted you, and then as you stood up, buttoning your pants, he pulled the rope roughly, leading you back to him. He switched places with O’Conner, and while Tanner turned away to relieve himself, you studied the second man. “You don’t talk much.” I need to figure out who sent them and why. “Tanner said -”

“Tanner knows what’s good for him, he won’t keep talkin’ to you, little lady.” The second man’s voice was low and slightly more threatening, even though his build was smaller. “We just gotta get you to the Boss and then you won’t -”

“McCray?” You stepped forward, eyes widening. Maybe. Maybe I was wrong. “You gotta get me to McCray?” Silent for a few seconds, O’Conner stared at you and then laughed, the sound harsh in your ears.

“Ghost? Nah. We wouldn’t give you over to him, he’d try an’ keep you for himself. Boss has somethin’ different planned for you.” Different? What… “He said he could give us whatever we wanted ‘s long as we made sure he gotcha.” Tanner reappeared, and you watched as he glanced upward, looking at the sun.

“Time to go. We’re supposed to be back at the campsite before dark, and we’re barely gonna make it as it is.” He looked at you, one eyebrow raised beneath the brim of his hat. “If I leave your hand free so you can hold on better, you gonna give me trouble?” You weighed your options quickly, looking between the two men, and realized that you were indeed at their mercy. I need to figure out who these people are before I …

“I won’t.” You swallowed, throat dry. “You sure I can’t have some water, though? I’ve been sitting in the sun and -”

“You’ll get water when we get to the campsite if he wants to give it to you.” Tanner pulled on the rope and you stumbled after him, swearing under your breath. “Just get back on the horse.” You did, hoisting yourself up and onto the saddle, hands going back around the knob in front of you. You felt him settle behind you again, knees digging in against your thighs as you started moving. “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?” No, I don’t… I… “You’ll know soon enough.”

---

The sun was starting to sink ahead of you by the time Tanner slowed the horse down, a series of low whistles leaving his lips. After a few seconds, an answering whistle carried to your ears, and Tanner signaled O’Conner forward, the horses moving faster. Someone’s there. You broke through a small strand of trees, catching sight of a single figure sitting with his back to you, a small fire in front of him. “Is that -” You closed your eyes swallowing hard. “I -” They can’t hurt you. They can’t hurt you, they’re Hosts, they can’t do anything worse to you then they already have, they…

“It is.” Tanner was leaning forward again, talking quietly into your ear. “And we got you here early, so he’s gonna be happy.” The horses stopped moving, and Tanner cleared his throat, unwinding the rope again and tossing it forward. You’d stopped again, Tanner retying your wrists together so that when you arrived to their boss, you had no possibility of getting free, so the length was shorter, but it still reached halfway to the seated man, the knotted end resting on the ground in short grass and a few sticks. In the silence between you, there was only the crackling of the fire and the soft whinnying of the horses, but then Tanner spoke after clearing his throat. “Got her here to you, Boss.” He leaned in again, speaking to you. “Don’t move.” You nodded once, still wanting to see where things were headed, and felt the man dismount from behind you, though he didn’t step away from the horse.

As O’Conner moved to the ground, too, you looked between the three men, the new one still seated and facing away from you, staring at the fire. Maybe I can run, maybe I can get a gun, it’s getting dark, and… But then the third man stood and slowly turned to face you, and your blood ran cold, all thoughts of escape disappearing. “W… William?” What is he doing here? “Y-you -” The man took three steps toward you, his eyes focused on your face before he bent down, picking up the end of the rope and closing his fingers around it above the knot. As he stood back up, you watched as he smiled at you from beneath the wide black brim of his hat. He kidnapped Logan and now he’s got me.

“Surprise.” As he said the word, he yanked on the rope, and because you were caught off guard, you tumbled off of the horse, barely able to brace your fall with your forearms, and unable to keep your head and elbow from knocking against the ground. What the fuck? “You know,” William said as he pulled you across the ground by the rope, your bare arms scraping against the underbrush as you moved, head spinning and your feet dragging behind you. “This was the perfect opportunity, you coming here to catalog this new narrative, Logan having to stay behind…” He doesn’t know Logan’s here. You widened your eyes but didn’t say anything, staring up at William through watering eyes. Do not cry. “Bet I’m the last person you thought you’d see here, hmm?” William knelt next to you, finally removing his hat and setting it on the ground next to him, his hair hanging over his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about why I’m here and why you’re here. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” He leaned in, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, one hand reaching out to touch your cheek, but there was no warmth in it. “Tanner.” William looked up, fingers still on your face. “When you took her, who saw? Was she wearin’ her hat when you grabbed her?”

“Ah, Boss, she was on the street in Lost Spring, like you said she’d be, walkin’ back from breakfast.” Your eyes moved to Tanner, and you noticed that he looked a little worried, one of his hands rubbing at the back of his neck. “She was with a man, dark hair, all in black, real handsome. No hat.” You heard Willam swear, and though Tanner continued, the blonde man’s attention was back on you, his lips pressed together.

“So he is here, and he knows you got taken.” William cocked his head to the side, stroking down your cheek and to your neck with the pads of his fingers, nothing gentle about it. “Wonder how long it’ll take him to realize that you’re not where you’re supposed to be.” He probably already has, it’s been hours, he would have gone to the Sheriff, he… But why would he, you thought as you stared up at William. O’Conner said not to come til sundown, so if Logan waited, he won’t… and we’re not in the hills, he’ll never find me… “You’re figurin’ it out, aren’t you?” William grinned, his fingers closing around your shoulder. “I’m doing to him what he did to me, except …” William sucked air in between his teeth, shaking his head. “Except they can’t rebuild you.” What the fuck is he talking about? “Now.” He settled down onto both knees next to you, removing his hand from your skin and reaching into his pocket. “I figure, at the very least we have abut two days before he even comes close.” William pulled out a handkerchief and a small bottle. “And I think this first part will go much faster if you’re not awake, don’t you?”

“No, William, I -” You watched as he tilted the bottle over and onto the cloth, shaking your head back and forth. “Whatever that is, you don’t need to, it’s fine, I won’t…” But William only laughed, setting the bottle down and pulling the bandana around his neck up and over his nose, leaning in over you.

“I don’t believe you.” He shrugged, nose wrinkling. “And I’m not ready to hurt you… yet.” You screamed once before he covered your mouth and nose with the dampened cloth, closing your eyes and not even trying to hold back your tears as William pressed down. Logan, help me. Please. The last thing you saw before you lost consciousness was his face, his words echoing in your mind. I’ll find you. I promise.

---

He followed the Sheriff down the street, his hands jammed into his pockets. That wasn’t the right kidnapping, that wasn’t … she… “We have to ride out after her, we have to…” Logan could barely get the words out. “She got taken, and -”

“Son, I know she did, but we’ve got our own to worry about, and only two deputies plus myself. The McCray gang took Marilee, we’ve gotta go after her and…” They have to help her, they can’t just…

“No. You have to go after…” Logan groaned in frustration, hands moving to his hair. “You know where Marilee will be, but my… she got… you have to…” The man sighed, looking up at Logan from behind his table.

“You can see if any of the townsfolk will ride out with you and look for your woman, son, but -”

“My name is Logan Delos!” Logan slammed his hand on the table, shaking his head back and forth in anger. “And I need you to help me, now because the woman I…” He swallowed, taking a breath. “I don’t know this area, I don’t know where to…” I don’t know where to look.

“Do you have any enemies? Does she?” The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, one hand stroking his beard. “Maybe it was a kidnapping, and there’ll be a ransom note. Someone might want something -”

“We don’t know anyone here, we just got here yesterday, we…” Logan’s eyes widened, one hand going up to his face. “We barely left the room, and…” He shook his head. “There’s no one.” But there is one person. He took a breath. “Unless…” Logan snapped his fingers, tapping the tabletop. “I need a map, I need…” He shook his head. “I’ll be back.” Without another word, Logan turned and left the Sheriff’s station, nearly sprinting back to the saloon. What room? What… “Hey.” He stopped at the mail counter, the young woman behind it eyeing him intently. Not fucking now. “Yesterday, a… a woman and a man came here, rented rooms.” He paused, licking his lips nervously. “She had tattoos on her back and shoulders, and he would have been… blonde, probably about my height… I just need to know what room he was in, he’s my sister’s husband and…” The girl smiled, reaching beneath the counter and pulling out a logbook, one finger moving down the page.

Logan saw your name and then William’s, and he felt his heart beating faster. “He was in room four, but it looks like he checked out yesterday evenin’, says there’s a …” She turned away, reaching back into one of the mail slots. “Left a letter for a Logan?” He did? She held out a small envelope, the smile on her face returning. “You Logan?” Logan nodded, hand reaching out for the paper and sliding his finger beneath the back side and tearing it open. There was a single sheet of paper inside, folded around a small object, and as Logan shook it out into his hand, he felt himself freeze. “What’s it say?” The Host behind the counter leaned forward, but Logan couldn’t respond, his eyes locked on the paper and the circular disc in his other hand. Motherfucker. “Good luck?” She laughed. “Good luck with what?”

“What is this?” Though he knew what it was, Logan held up the metal, finally speaking again. “What is it?” Biting her lip, the woman shook her head, green eyes moving up to Logan’s dark ones.

“I don’t know, Logan. Doesn’t look like anything to me.”

---

Fifteen minutes later, Logan had gone back to the room, grabbing his hat and yours before going to the general store and buying two canteens, filling them both with water, and stocking up on a second pistol and extra ammo. Won’t do any good on William, but the Hosts… He led his horse out of the stables and down the main street, eyes landing on people one after the other. I can’t ask them for help, this is personal, this is… “Hey!” He stopped, raising his voice and turning in a slow circle, hoping that someone that saw him was one of the people that had been present earlier. Please. “I was with a woman earlier, and she got taken.” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. “I’ve got $100 for anyone that can tell me anything about those men or those horses, or -” He pulled the bills out, holding them in the air. “One hundred dollars cash to anyone that can help me get her back.” He stopped, waiting, and as Logan gulped in air, he closed his eyes. She’s gotta be ok, he won’t…

“Mister?” Eyes snapping open, Logan turned toward the sound of the voice, seeing that a young man had stepped off of the porch of one of the stores. “I don’t know who those men were, but the horses? They had a brand on ‘em.” His eyes went to the money and then back to Logan. “Didn’t see it up close, but it looked like… like the Abernathy brand.” Dolores? Fucking Dolores? “From Sweetwater? Those horses are some of the finest around, and they reported a couple missin’ a few months ago.” The man stepped closer again, voice stronger. “If it’s the same men, I heard that they robbed a couple places down near Las Mudas and the old plantation.” That helps. Logan let out a breath, lowering his head. “I can show you on a map if you want, I know you’re a newcomer, so…”

“Thank you.” The two words spoken with a gratitude he didn’t know he was capable of, Logan stepped forward and toward the man, handing over the money. “You’re tellin’ the truth, right?” The man nodded. “Not just doing it for the m-”

“Of course not.” The man shook his head, folding the bills and sticking them in his pocket. “I can use it, sure, but I wouldn’t lie about somethin’ like this when a woman’s been taken.” Oh, thank fuck. Logan reached into his pocket and pulled the map that the Sheriff had given him out, and for the next few minutes, he stood in the street, the man explaining where things were located, where likely hiding spots were. “There’s not much to the west, and unless you go far south first, all that’s north is mountains and cliffs, and they’re damn near impossible to get up.” So he went south. Logan’s eyes moved over the map, and though he knew it was unlikely, they traveled southeast to the unclaimed territories, to where William had set him off into the sunset. He wouldn’t do that again, he tried it once, and it didn’t work, he knows that’d be the first place I’d look.

“Thank you.” He met the young man’s eyes again, and Logan hoped that he could tell how grateful he was. “I didn’t even know where to start, and now I…” He nodded, pointing. “I’ll head down to Las Mudas, and then see what they have to say.” Maybe they’ll have names, then I can… Logan took a deep breath.

“You’ll find her.” The man smiled at him, nodding twice. “Go.” He mounted his horse, turning it around and riding out of town. He said it’s about a day’s ride to Las Mudas… I’m gonna make it in half that.

---

You woke up when it was fully dark out, head pounding and throat dry. What the fuck? You were on the back of another horse, but this time, you weren’t sitting up on your own, you were strapped to the saddle, stomach pressed against it and your body bouncing with every step the animal took. Oh my god, I’m going to puke, I… Even as you had the thought, you felt your stomach seizing, and the next thing you knew you were getting sick, barely able to lift your head in order to make sure you didn’t cover your arms in vomit. At least my hair’s still tied back. Still coughing violently, you tried to look around, but couldn’t lift your head for too long because of the pounding. He fucking chloroformed me, how is that legal, how… There had been incidents in the park before, you knew, where guests like William had tried to harm other guests, and that was why Delos had implemented the Guest Tracking System, allowing people to alert security through the device if they ever felt that they were truly in danger. But your hat was back in your room, which meant that you didn’t have your device, and though William had his hat, you knew you’d never get to it to press down on the hidden button. Maybe… But you also knew that keeping you disoriented was part of William’s plan, and while it wouldn’t make you any less angry, it would make you more manageable. But why is he… because of Logan?

Your mind went back to the conversation you’d had the night Logan got his tattoo - when he’d told you what happened with William. You knew that Logan and William’s first trip to the park together had ended badly, and you knew that it was bad enough that Logan didn’t talk about it to anyone else, but you didn’t know why William would have taken you to prove a point. I didn’t do anything, Logan told me not to worry about it, he... From your position on the horse, it was difficult for you to tell what direction you were moving in, or even what time it was. I need water. I need food, I need… But you knew that William wouldn’t give you any of those things, and if he let you off of the horse at all, it would be a shock. “W-william.” Your throat scratchy, you gritted your teeth and tried again. “William.” After a few seconds, the horse you were on stopped moving, and you heard footsteps on the ground heading toward you.

“Yes?” He spoke from right next to you, voice low. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.” Determined not to do anything to piss him off, you attempted to raise your head, trying to meet his eyes.

“I’m dizzy, William.” It came out as a whine, and you couldn’t help it. “I need to sit up, I can hold on, I -” I need to see where I am. “Please, William, where am I going to go?” You knew that you looked, smelled and sounded terrible, but you needed to get through to him. “Let me sit up, William, I -”

“Fine. But if you try anything, I’ll -” He gripped your chin in one hand, fingers closing tight against it and forcing you to look up. “You won’t get a second chance.” You could hear that he meant it, and though you knew that the gun at his waist wouldn’t harm you, you were sure that he had another plan. You nodded weakly, and only a few seconds later, felt the binding on your arms getting looser. “If I pull you off of there, are you gonna be able to get back on?”

“I think so.” You swallowed, and then William pulled you forward, this time not letting you fall to the ground before you got your footing. “Thank you.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, but you were so happy to be standing on solid ground that you couldn’t help it, and William actually laughed from next to you, his grip on your elbow tight. That’s going to bruise. “Give me a second, please.” You lowered your head, staring at your feet and trying to take deep breaths to clear your mind. Get it together. You finally raised your head and looked around, surprised to see that only one of the men - Tanner - was still with you. Where’s O’Conner? Turning your head, you saw that the horse you were riding was the one that the second man had been on. What happened to him?

“Our friend O’Conner’s no longer with us.” William was whispering, mouth close to your ear. “Had to get you a horse somehow.” Your lip curled, but you didn’t respond. “Get on, we need to go.” It was difficult but you managed to get back onto your horse, and soon the three of you were back on track, making your way over the flatlands, the moon shining brightly above you. So we went south. We’re not near the hills anymore. The hours passed and finally, when you were so exhausted that you thought you’d fall off the horse, William allowed you to stop just as the sky was beginning to lighten, the three of you setting up camp beneath a few scrubby trees. Even as he tied you to the trunk, allowing only a little play in the rope so that you could halfway stretch out, you were thankful for the respite, for the chance to close your eyes. “Enjoy this sleep, because tomorrow, the fun starts.”

---

You woke up to the buzzing of flies, and as you attempted to use your hands to wave them away, you were reminded of your predicament. I’m tied to a fucking tree. Eyes opening all the way, you struggled into an upright position, lifting your hands as much as you possibly could, drawing your knees up toward your chest. What the fuck am I going to do? You looked over the camp, seeing that William was nowhere to be found, Tanner leaning against his bedroll and staring up at the sky. “You can stop strugglin’ now, you aren’t goin anywhere. Boss tied those knots well, an’ he knows what he’s doing.” You swallowed, deciding that you were going to try speaking, even though you didn’t know how your voice would sound.

“How long have you known him? William, I mean?” Throat scratchy, you winced. “You said you’ve had the horses for a couple months, and…”

“They met me the night I helped ‘em rob the Abernathys.” William spoke from behind you and you closed your eyes. No. I needed more time, I… “I find myself out on that farm most trips to the park, you know.” William appeared in front of you, glancing over his shoulder. “Take a walk, Tanner. I need to talk to her for a while.” The Host stood, leaning down to pick up his canteen before he walked off. That doesn’t make sense, they aren’t supposed to be that obedient, it would ruin the game, they… “Anyway.” William settled down on the ground in front of you, legs crossed and canteen on his lap. “We’re gonna have a conversation, and if you give me the answers I want, I’ll give you something to drink.” It had been more than 24 hours since your last drink, and your tongue was still coated with the taste of your vomit - water sounded like the answer to everything. What do you want, asshole?

“I don’t know what you want to hear, William, I -” You shook your head, closing your eyes. “Why are you doing this, what -”

“The first time I came to this place, it was supposed to be a bonding trip between me and Logan. He was going to be my brother in law, and Jules… she wanted us to get to know each other better. I’d heard stories about the park, stories about... “ William shook his head. “L… he promised me that after the trip, I’d know who I was, and he said he wanted to meet that person, wanted to see what I was really like.” That doesn’t sound bad, it’s what he told me, too… “But he just wanted me to do what he wanted to do - fuck and drink and kill, and when I finally…” William laughed, looking into your eyes. “When I finally played the game how he wanted me to, the war and the plotting, and the … he didn’t like it much.”

“William, I don’t -” You coughed, trying to sit up straighter and also trying not to drag the burned skin of your shoulders against the tree bark. Play this off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you do, because…” William leaned in, eyes cold. “He’s getting closer, he’s up to something, and he wouldn’t tell anyone else, only you.” What? “What has Logan fucking Delos told you about what happened here and what he’s doing now?” You shook your head, hearing his tone of voice - unlike you’d ever heard it previously. What is wrong with him? I don’t… “Tell me!” William moved forward, fingers closing around your shoulder and shoving you backward, slamming your back into the tree trunk. “Tell me what that piece of shit told you about me.”

“He didn’t tell me anything, William!” You screamed the words without thinking, your arm throbbing where he was gripping it. “He just told me that it didn’t end well, and he ended up in the desert and they didn’t find him for days, but…” William’s grip loosened slightly, his hand sliding down toward your elbow. “He only said that the two of you didn’t really get along, and that the trip was…” You closed your eyes, trying to remember the word Logan had used. “Illuminating.” You opened your eyes again, not wanting to but forcing yourself to look at William. “He told me about the drugs and the sex and the alcohol after he came back, because no one believed him, how he didn’t want to feel anything, and how he almost offed himself multiple times, but he doesn’t talk about you, William. Not to me, not unless we’ll be seeing you and Juliet and Emily.” You gritted your teeth. “But now I’m…” Shit. Shut up. “He doesn’t talk to me about you, William, we’re together, but we don’t…” It was a lie, and both of you knew it. He was protecting me. He didn’t want me to be involved, that’s why he never… “I don’t know anything else, William, I don’t, I …” You lowered your head, fighting back the tears that were threatening. “I’m so thirsty, I…” What is Logan doing? What does William know?

“Now you’re what?” His voice low, William leaned in, lips again close to your ear. “What have you figured out, hmm?” He laughed, fingers tightening again. “Tell me now.” Lie. You could almost hear Logan whispering into your ear. Lie to him. Make it convincing. “I’m waiting.”

“Now, William, I’m thinking that there’s a lot more to you than…” You swallowed, closing your eyes. “More to you than people know.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t what you were thinking, either. You sent him out into that desert. You tried to kill him. You…

“You know what?” He let go of your arm, sitting back and staring at you again. “You’re right about that.” He reached over, picking up the canteen that was sitting next to him and unscrewed the top. “And you’re going to find out just how right you are soon.” He leaned forward the canteen in one hand. “Open your mouth.” Eyes flying all the way open you pulled away from the tree and tilted your head back, doing as he asked. Thank God. You felt the cool metal touch your lips and then William tilted the canteen up. Gulping, you managed to swallow twice before you coughed, shaking your head violently back and forth. What… whiskey? What the … Coughing harder, you didn’t pay any mind to the fact that William was emptying the remainder of the canteen onto your face and chest, letting the whiskey soak your skin and clothing. “It’s his favorite, so I thought you’d want to have some.” You turned your head to spit, trying not to start screaming at him, because you knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“What are you going to do with me, William?” Finally catching your breath, you looked up at him, swallowing before you squeezed your eyes shut for a few seconds. “You’re not going to give me water, not going to…” You coughed again. “Not going to give me food, I’m sure. I didn’t have a blanket, so…” You smiled at him, wrinkling your nose. “You going to nearly kill me and then find me, William? Make yourself look like the hero, so if Logan ever says anything, he’ll look like an asshole?” William shifted onto one knee and paused, squinting at you before he answered.

“Nah. Logan’s going to be the one that finds you. But when? How? What condition you’re in?” The man laughed, head shaking back and forth. “That I haven’t decided yet.” He stood, one hand on his hip. “The thing about Westworld is that you can’t take anything out of here, not really. So no matter what, there’s no proof. And…” He pulled his hat off, turning it over so that you could see the inside of the brim. “These trackers are so handy, aren’t they?” William ran his fingers over a small tear on the inside of the hat, shaking his head. “That’s why I took mine out and left it at that saloon. I’m sure Logan’s found it by now, so he knows that I have you, and he knows he can’t just call into security and track me.” Dick. He paced in front of you, and you heard genuine giddiness in his voice, even though your head was spinning from the combination of the sun, lack of sleep, the fall you’d taken and the whiskey you’d swallowed. This isn’t good. “You don’t have a tracker on you, and when I picked those two idiots? I made sure he’d never had any contact with them before, so he won’t know who they are to… Hey.” He stepped back toward you, reaching down and grabbing the shoulder strap of your vest, yanking you toward him, the rope biting into your wrists. “Listen to me.”

“I’m listening, William.” You were, it wasn’t a lie, but you couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm you were sure he wanted. “I hear you, loud and -” Your words were stopped by the sting of the back of William’s hand as it made contact with your cheek, your head whipping to the side. Crying out, you struggled to raise your arms to protect your face, but the rope stopped you, the knots digging deeper into your wrists as you tugged, the tears finally falling freely. “What do you want from me, William? What?”

“I want you to tell me the truth, you miserable little bitch.” William slapped you again, laughing as he stepped away from you. “You will. Maybe not right now, but … soon. You’ll tell me what you know, and then I’ll know exactly how to stop him. I’ll know what I need to make him quit.” William turned and walked away from you and you slumped back against the tree, shoulders shaking. He already wants you gone, William, and this is just going to make it worse.

---

He’d ridden out of Lost Spring and down to Las Mudas as fast as his horse would allow him to, and when the animal had tired, Logan leaned down, whispering one of the fail safe commands into its ear, returning it to full strength. Convenient. The initiative had been implemented after Logan’s own trip to the edges of the park, and worked on all Hosts - animal and human alike. Some commands would just give them extra energy, others would alert the Mesa security team to an exact location. Though it wasn’t common knowledge and was still in the process of being beta tested - “We can’t ruin the illusion, Ford had said with a single shake of his head. “We give technicians the codes, that’s one thing, but Guests? No.” “Fuck you, Ford.” Logan gritted his teeth, eyes on the horizon in the gathering twilight. “She could have…” But Logan knew that you wouldn’t have used it until it was too late, still determined to do your job, and if William was involved, he wouldn’t allow you to use the words. I’m going to fucking kill you, William.

As the sun rose in the early hours of the next morning, Logan finally rode into town. He scanned the people milling around in the early morning twilight, trying to get a feel for the place with exhausted eyes. It wasn’t somewhere that he’d spent a great deal of time previously, so he didn’t know where to begin. The law, start there, this place has to have some sort of… “I need the Sheriff.” He stopped in front of the saloon, still on his horse. “I need to talk to him about the robberies, the men with the black horses.” Two of the women standing on the steps pointed in unison, and a few minutes later, Logan had dismounted and was sitting in a small room, his hands folded on the tabletop in front of him as he explained what he was looking for.

“Look, Mr. Delos.” The young Sheriff was shaking his head. “I’ll tell you what I know, but it’ll take me some time. Why don’t you let me get you somethin’ to eat, let us feed your horse, take a few hours to get some rest.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’ll accept the food and the information, but I can’t wait a few hours, she doesn’t have them.” He was sure of that, sure that any delay from him would put you in more danger. “The men that took her might just be thieves, but the one they’re taking her to?” Logan sighed. “He’s bad news.” Faster than expected, Logan had a hot meal in front of him, the lawman talking about the bandits that had been in the area.

“Never hurt anyone, but they’ve done some damage. Stole a bunch of silver, killed a few cows and some sheep, took the horses.” Sounds run of the mill for these parts, but it doesn’t make sense that they’d be with William. Why? “They’ve been in and out of the area between here and Pariah and Sweetwater, never stayin’ in one place. Pariah’s one thing; lawlessness there is how they operate, but here? Here we -”

“Alright, but do you know who they are?” Logan chewed and swallowed, wondering if William was feeding you, what he was saying to you. “Names? Nicknames? Where they’re from? What they might want?” The man leaned back in his chair, thinking.

“Nah, they’re just like Hector Escaton’s posse, tryin’ to cause trouble when and where they can, but…” The Sheriff sighed. “Think one of em’s name is O’Conner, he fits the description of a man from down near Avalon, the other one we don’t know, and it’s why we ain’t caught ‘em yet.” Of course it is. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, thinking of the way you were likely feeling and hoped you still thought he was coming. I am, I’m just figuring it out. I swear… “My best guess? They takin’ her to meet someone, they prob’ly headed south from where you all were, and then they headed…” He squinted, lips pressed together. “Toward the canyons.” No he wouldn’t take her there, he wouldn’t repeat it, that’s not it. “Could also be headin’ toward the sea, that’s a shorter trip, but there are fewer places to hide on the way, unless they’re followin’ the river.” He leaned forward, pointing on the map. “If it was me, an’ I was tryin’ to get somewhere quick?” He tapped a finger on the map where the rivers converged between the lowlands and the old plantation fields. “I’d stick to the river, cuz it’s easier to follow it straight to the end. The edge of the park. I’ve seen it, but he hasn’t. He’d want to see …

“Thank you.” Logan shook his head, deciding what he was going to do. “I’ll follow the river west, see what that turns up, there’s people out near the plantation that might be able to…” Wait a minute. I don’t have to ...

“Sure are. Lots of ‘em, but a lot of ‘em don’t speak English, so you’ll have to find someone that…” He laughed. “That can talk to you.” The man pushed back from the table, glancing at the watch he pulled from his pocket. “You look exhausted, are you sure that you -”

“No. I have to go, I can’t wait.” Logan stood, reaching a hand out to the other man. “I appreciate your help more than you know, but I need two more things from you, and then I’ll be on my way.” The Sheriff nodded, gesturing at Logan with one hand. “I need a pair of handcuffs, and I need you to show me the yellow brick road.” Please work. He swallowed, waiting, but after only a few seconds, the man turned away from Logan, stepping further into the room and spinning the dial on the safe behind him on the wall.

“I’ll leave you now.” No more accent, no more … shit. He’d never seen the Hosts affectless, and the first time would have been much more interesting if your life hadn’t been on the line. Logan stepped past the Sheriff as the man placed a set of cuffs on the desk and reached into the safe, pulling out the bagged items from inside. They were standard issue first aid items - bandages, over the counter painkillers, alcohol wipes - and, Logan saw, relief flooding his body, an EPI pen along with a few vials of liquid that were marked “adrenaline” along with a jet injector. Perfect. He slung the small pouch over his shoulder and then reached in again, picking up the final item in the safe: one of the tablets the behavior analysts used. Alright, Delos. Find her. Logan returned to the table, sitting down, and after logging in, he was able to access the park map, and in turn, all of the Host and Guest locations, tiny moving dots on the illuminated screen.

He knew it wasn’t worth a damn, but he quickly typed your name in anyway, closing his eyes when your location came up less than fifteen yards from him. I wish. He typed in William’s name, too, but that one was literally on top of him, and Logan thought of the tracking device he’d stuffed into his pocket, lip curling into a snarl. Look up O’Conner. He did so, limiting the results to Hosts, and was surprised to see that there were two of them, one showing up as being in the Ranchlands to the east, and the other’s marker blinking slowly nearly due north of Las Mudas. Blinking? That means…. He clicked on the name, bringing up a picture and was presented with the image of the man that had held the gun on him. Got you...but you’re dead? He tapped again, bringing up playback of the final moments of the Host’s life, and didn’t see much; just a fire, the second kidnapper laying next to it, and a prone body on the ground. Wait, that’s a rope, that’s her, that… Zooming in, Logan saw that your head was turned to the side, eyes closed, hands still tied together and resting against your abdomen. What did he do to her? But Logan didn’t dwell on it , instead zooming in on the second Host’s face and tapping, bringing up information on him. Tanner. Alright. That Host’s location was not blinking, and Logan breathed a sigh of relief. He’s nearly a day away, I should have… fuck, why wasn’t there a stockpile in Lost Spring? He’d tried the same code words on the Sheriff there, but there’d been no response, and though Logan knew that he simply should have immediately asked upon arrival in Las Mudas, the truth was that he needed the rest and he needed the food. I need to sleep, I need… But she needs me more, she needs help.

Logan stared at the screen, finger hovering over the button that he could have used to call security in. They can be to her in fifteen minutes or less, they can save her, they can… But Logan knew William, and knew that the man had given up. There was no way out of it for him after taking you and leaving evidence behind - and though Logan didn’t know if he’d actually kill you at the merest glimpse of intervention, he didn’t want to risk it. Whatever he’s got planned, he wants me to be there, wants me to see, wants me to… Logan glanced down once more before turning the tablet off and slipping it into the bag with the medical supplies, pulling out the jet injector and one of the adrenaline vials. I’m going to crash, but at least I’ll… Swallowing, Logan twisted the vial into position, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

He hadn’t injected himself with anything in nearly two years, but you were worth it, and he pressed the trigger without another thought, the release point tight against the inside of his forearm. I’ll crash hard, but at least I’ll be closer to you when it happens. Logan took a deep breath and stood, already feeling more awake and alert as the injection took hold. “I’m coming.”

---

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