#but how else am I supposed to pretend he didn’t die in the show
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It’s actually a topic I’m quietly going insane over.
I will never be done with Eddie fics, please don’t let him die🎸
i’m not talking about the little blurbs no i’m talking about chapters long. if you find any good ones pls lmk !
#yes I know I’m being dramatic#but how else am I supposed to pretend he didn’t die in the show#I’m actually so sad over this#eddie the banished#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader
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curtain call
The Mechanisms are uncharacteristically quiet as they walk off the stage. Even Jonny doesn’t know what to say as the remaining eight space pirates file into the dressing room of the venue they booked for their last ever show on Earth.
The first one to break the silence is the Toy Soldier who sniffles, gasps tremulously, and then wails, “Is all that really going to happen? With the—the black holes and the bar fights and the octokittens and everything?”
Jonny stifles a groan. This is exactly why he’d locked it out in the first place. What’s going to happen is what’s going to happen, and they all might as well accept it.
To make matters worse, the Toy Soldier’s sniffling has set off some of the more sensitive Mechanisms. Ivy pats it on the shoulder with a forlorn look, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and Marius’ fragile expression suggests that if Ivy starts crying, he’ll follow suit.
Tim has his arm around Ashes’ waist, as if worried they might disappear, and though his metal eyes betray no sadness, the firm set of his mouth worries Jonny more than anything else.
“The odds of us changing the future now that it’s been written are over three hundred million to one,” Ivy says sadly. “It’s statistically impossible that we will live forever.”
“B-b-but we have so many more songs left to sing!” the Toy Soldier weeps. “Tales to tell! Wars to wage!”
“And we will,” Jonny says shortly. “None of us are instantly about to keel over, are we?”
“N-no?” the Toy Soldier says.
“Everyone seems in decent health to me,” Marius says quietly. He holds Ivy’s hand in both of his.
“So don’t worry about it,” Jonny says.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Marius says. “You’re not dying for another millennia. I could get eaten by octokittens tomorrow.”
Jonny’s stomach twists, and he wrenches his mouth open to retort, but someone interrupts him.
“No,” Raphaella says sharply. “You will not. We know for a fact that we each die alone. I’m not letting you out of my sight, and you’re certainly not going to check on the octokittens any time soon. I’m planning to have Ivy feed them when we arrive back at the ship.”
“It’s not the same now that I know they eat Marius,” Ivy sniffles.
Marius’s expression shatters. “Don’t hold it against them, Ivy! They’re just hungry! They can’t help it! Don’t be sad!” he pleads.
Jonny feels sick as Ivy starts to cry harder, expounding on the hunting habits of felines, which only makes Marius more upset. He throws himself into a chair and starts taking his makeup off with a wet wipe, trying and failing to ignore them as Raphaella attempts to comfort them both.
“You’re being awfully callous about all this,” Tim says, still with one arm around a stony-faced Ashes. Brian and the Toy Soldier have joined the fray, and Brian’s platitudes about everything coming to an end in time are almost as unhelpful as the Toy Soldier’s weeping and wailing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonny snaps.
“Well, you could at least pretend to be sad like the rest of us,” Tim says. “I know you’re all excited to die, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“God damn it, Tim,” Jonny snaps, throwing the wet wipe on the floor. “You think I’m not sad?”
“You’re not acting like it,” Tim replies. “Marius had a point. You’ve got a run-up and a death you’re looking forward to. Ashes here could go at any time.”
“Hey, babe, don’t bring me into this,” Ashes mumbles.
“Am I wrong?” Tim says.
“Yeah, you fucking are wrong!” Jonny shouts. “You think I want to die alone in some backwater asteroid bar centuries after the rest of you are gone? Yeah, I’m excited to die, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch the rest of you disappear first!”
The rest of the dressing room falls quiet, and Jonny realizes belatedly that he was shouting. Worse, he feels tears in his eyes, and he scrubs at them angrily, smearing the remains of his face paint.
“Oh,” Gunpowder Tim says. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“You choose how you go out,” Jonny says. “I have to wait until it finally decides to fucking stick. You know how many times I’ve been stabbed in the heart? I could go start a barfight on an asteroid tomorrow, but I guarantee it won’t stick.”
“All the same,” Tim says quietly. “I’d prefer you didn’t risk it.”
“And I’d prefer you wore your fucking seatbelt, but we don’t get to choose, now do we?” Jonny says.
Tim flinches, and Ashes frowns at Jonny who takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“I—I mean. I don’t want you to die either,” he says. “But we have to die s-sooner or later. And I don’t want to waste whatever time we have left crying about it.”
Despite this, tears are dripping from his eyes as he speaks, flowing faster than he can scrub them away. No one says another for a long moment, but he feels the eyes of several of his crewmates on him.
“C’mere, you mean ol’ bastard,” Ashes says. They spread the arm not curled around Tim’s waist and gesture for him to approach.
“What?” Jonny says, standing up and shuffling closer.
Ashes crushes him to their chest in a one-armed hug, and Jonny breaks and grabs both Ashes and Tim as best he can. Before he can recover, he feels someone else wrap their arms around him from behind, and before he can protest, he’s at the center of a tangled mass of weeping space pirates—colloquially known as a group hug.
It’s awkward with so much metal and wood and weapons, but Jonny can’t even pretend to be annoyed by it. He’s too focused on not breaking down into sobs. He’ll be damned if he lets his crew see him cry anymore than they already have.
“I love you all very much,” the Toy Soldier says happily. “Best space pirate crew ever.”
Jonny rolls his eyes and sobs silently. Hopefully, buried as he is in a mass of bodies, no one will notice.
“Well, now that that’s been dealt with,” DrumBot Brian says, “I would like to return to the Aurora. I am concerned our parking pass has expired.”
Jonny sighs. “Fine, but you stay away from the damn airlock.”
“Your concern is touching and noted,” says the DrumBot.
The Mechanisms disperse and hurriedly gather up their things. Jonny lovingly coils up his microphone and tucks it safely away, and the band of space pirates begin to make their way back to the Aurora and off to destinations unknown.
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Hey! I was pondering on why Lestat, with all the love he had for Louis, still kept his relationship with Antoinette. And then, rewatching 2x07, Lestat says “I couldn’t force him to love him so I broke him”, and another quote along the lines of “when the person you love most doesn’t love you”. So, basically, you’re telling me Lestat thought for all the 112 years he knew Louis, that Louis didn’t love him? I thought maybe after the drop something had changed, but that mf kept truly thinking Louis didn’t love him??? Then it makes an awful lot of sense for him to keep Antoinette around. She liked him. He knew she did. Maybe even loved him. While his husband “didn’t”, so he kept her around to feel loved while all his own love went on Louis and Claudia. I can’t even imagine how he must feel about this. And worse, I can’t imagine how Louis will feel realizing that he truly never clocked that he truly loved him when EVERYONE ELSE around them did.
Lestat 100% feels like his relationship with Louis is like “tolerate it” by taylor swift, while Louis is “fresh out the slammer” and “evermore” the moment he’s out of that penthouse, and “die with a smile” by lady Gaga the rest of the time. Lmkwyt!
... Lestat has a terrible self esteem... for reasons. Which he hides, behind all the pretended superficiality. The people supposed to love him betrayed him, hurt him, abused him... left him.
His family beat and starved him, verbally abused him, locked him up.
The being claiming to love him (Magnus) raped him into darkness.
The other being claiming to love him (Armand) tried to vampire rape him.
His mortal lover who claimed to love him secretly hated him and wanted them to die.
His mother/fledgling cannot return the love he needs and leaves him.
Like... Lestat nonetheless took that leap and laid his love out for Louis to take - and Louis did not return the words, in decades.
Louis has his own reasons for that, reasons I understand. And it has been deliberate on the IWTV writers part (screenshot in this post), before anyone comes for me. Louis withholding the "I love you" was deliberate. They called it "weaponization of language & the bluntest weapon is omission".
Lestat... needs to be hit over the head with that "bluntest weapon" in the bestest way... so that he believes it. He wants to. But not even hearing the words over decades, never, after what he said in that church and tried to show Louis, would, with the past he has had, nag at him, feed the doubt and the self-doubt, again and again and again.
And before anyone comes for me again, I am well aware this is no excuse. But it is the reason for fuck's sake, and I bet s3 will drive that home, with the proverbial hammer.
#Anonymous#ask nalyra#amc iwtv#iwtv#amc interview with the vampire#interview with the vampire#lestat de lioncourt#louis de pointe du lac#loustat#i love you
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Another thing that Wynonna gets right that Buffy didn’t. I say “right”. What I mean is it’s what I prefer to see. Moral greyness. Without stipulations. Just the simple “I’m a better person than I was before” even when they’re not technically a “person” anymore.
“I do what needs to be done ‘cause I’m a hero. And you know what, yeah, sometimes that makes me a killer.”
“‘Cause I would die to save my sister. Or kill. Anyone. Everyone… I just want to keep my family safe.”
“You can't keep doing this. Killing people and pretending like it doesn't affect you.”
“Right would’ve been shooting that thing and us running for it!”
“He wasn't always a thing, Doc. And if I'm gonna keep killing them and not go crazy, then I need more than revenge!”
“God damn it, Wynonna, they’re bad people!”
“So I’m just supposed to ignore that they’re people at all?”
“You would be dead before you drew.”
“This whole ‘fastest gunslinger in the west,’ that something you proud of? Shooting people who don’t have a chance to fight back?”
“Some people deserve to be shot.”
“Who decides that? ‘Cause the history books say one thing; my family says another. So you tell me, do you deserve a bullet or do I? Maybe, I’ll let fate decide.”
“Whatever side we fight on, the blood we shed to win the war, will damn us all.”
“It’s not a war, Holliday. It’s just a town filled with women who would have us both fight to the death.”
Moral high ground is annoying and preachy. And there’s nothing really to learn from it other than good vs evil. But real people who have experienced both sides know that it’s not that simple or easy. Not at all.
Buffy touches on this a few times. But the problem is they don’t really explore it properly. And they keep to the moral high ground of a hero is always the law. And what that does is it prevents any real moral greyness because the heroes are always the heroes and the villains are always the villains: it’s not how it works.
So in this way - I actually prefer ‘Wynonna Earp’ because they properly explore what should have been explored in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ but never is. They have the conversations - the conflicts - but they don’t have the “am I really a hero for killing them”? And the reason why they don’t is because the canon lore is “demonic possession” rather than demonic corruption. Yet the arcs themselves show otherwise.
Wynonna leans into what is shown in the arcs.
They don’t reinforce the canon lore when the canon lore no longer makes any sense because of the arcs.
With Wynonna I get good AND evil and the fluctuation and the questioning of which side is which…
With Buffy I get “I am the Law and that’s that” when the other characters are challenging the hero on this. But the hero doesn’t learn anything from that conflict.
Because the hero always has to be the hero in the end.
There’s a mountain of war veterans that will say this isn’t realistic. It’s not the way any of that ever works.
So in this way - yes, Wynonna is better than Buffy. And I would even say Wynonna is a better lead protagonist because her flaws are on display and are addressed as flaws rather than just qualities and skills that she has to have to win a supernatural war that she never really gave any true consent to be the collateral damage for. I don’t think anyone realizes that Buffy isn’t a militant. She’s not a trained professional like Riley and Sam are. And she gets a Watcher to “train” her who isn’t either. She pretty much learns to deal all on her own which is inspiring but isn’t realistic. And is - in reality - illegal.
And I don’t know. Maybe there’s some kind of appeal in watching that very nihilistic point of view. But I would have preferred it if this woman got to retire and let everyone else that could and would fight take over. And I would have preferred it if they addressed that maybe not everyone on the side of “evil” had to die ‘cause if you make that damning call then you’re not really on the side of “good” either. You just play god. And I’m not saying Buffy did that but there was no real exploration of whether that is how she’s ending up even when it was revealed that she was part demon. Made from a demon. Whatever. You know what I mean. Belonging to the dark as much as the light.
And so Wynonna did what Buffy was too afraid to do.
And in the end - for me - it just leaves it all empty.
The Chosen One is a difficult concept to work with. But it’s compelling to watch because it’s difficult.
And I just think ‘Wynonna Earp’ did it better in the end. I think it ended the “right” way that it should.
I think it comes down to the differences in the creators/showrunners. Joss Whedon VS Emily Andras. Whedon took the nihilistic approach because he is nihilistic man. Andras took the realistic approach.
So the point I’m making is nihilism is not realistic. And it’s not realistic because there is meaning in the world. It’s just that you have to be brave enough to make that meaning. To determine that reality for yourself without being the arbiter of everyone else’s fate or destiny. Otherwise you just end up being what did that to you. And in all honesty I just think Joss Whedon gave up. You can say that he was always a monster anyway - and obviously cast confessions have testified to this - but I think it’s more likely that he just turned into one because he stopped believing that heroes are corruptible and villains are redeemable eventually - which is the reality of real people. Real human people. And then you have Emily Andras writing the complete opposite to that. Showing the complete opposite of it. That morally grey is the nature of everything that exists. It is only our choices that define who we are. And we step into the role of either hero or villain depending on which it is we choose to do in the moment. It is never inherently the only way to be. And this same philosophy goes for whether human/mortal or not because conscious beings are still real people.
Good VS evil isn’t a good story to tell if there’s no point to it that is actually relatable to real people. Everybody loves the metaphorical unpinnings of Buffy. There’s been books and thesis after thesis written on the cleverness of the metaphors used to tell the story. The deeper aspects to the teen supernatural concept. And it is clever. Absolutely. I’m not denying that at all. But I just think it fell flat as far as the final season goes because Whedon and Co just seemed to stop caring. And it’s just sad to say that others have done it better precisely because it ended better because they cared.
Maybe Whedon drove himself to nihilism in the end 😔
youtube
#wynonna earp#melanie scrofano#buffy the vampire slayer#buffy summers#what I think wynonna did right compared to buffy#moral greyness#I guess a slayer is really just a killer after all#emily andras#joss whedon
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Final Ceremony - Chapter 4
Characters: Esu, Kanna, Fuyume, Raika, Nice
Translator: Mika Enstars
Proofreader: 310mc
❗️ This chapter was voice-acted live at the 4piece Final Ceremony Live Event! You can listen as you read along!
"? You’ve become a little goose, Esu? That’s so cute."
[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]
Season: Summer
Location: Conference Room
ES’ second year of establishment. Several days after the conclusion of 4piece…
Fuyume: Esu~, Yume’s come to see you! ♪
Esu: HE’S COME TO SEE ME!!!!
Don’t you know I’m already developing a fight-or-flight reaction to that “Yume’s come” of yours?! Look at all the bumps on my arm! Goosebumps!
Fuyume: ? You’ve become a little goose, Esu? That’s so cute.
Esu: There’s nothing cute about this!?
Anyhow, don’t pretend like you’re here to see me!
It’s because NiceP called you here too, right? So you haven’t come to see me, you’ve come here to the meeting spot!
Fuyume: Wha? Really?
Esu: Huh? Why are you here, then?
Fuyume: Because when Yume went to your room, you weren’t there, Esu.
So, Yume came to find you all the way to this place. That’s all.
Esu: Just how many times have you come to find me so far this month? Isn’t it about time you’ve controlled yourself?
Fuyume: Don’t act so cold. This is only the third time.
Esu: Right, and you know what day of the month it iiis?! That’s right, THE THIRD!
That means you’ve been following me around every day! Your track record would impress even stalkers, you knoooow?!
Fuyume: Yume was once taught this lovely saying… “Persistence is key”. Yume will do Yume’s best. ☆
Esu: This… positivity! Positivity is supposed to be my specialty, so could you give it back pleaaase!?
Kanna: Is this a conversation that absolutely must be held at the doorway?
One minute and thirty-eight seconds… That is how long I have been waiting for your conversation to end.
It’s becoming quite the unproductive, meaningless, and useless waste of the time I have in my life.
Esu: Oooh, Kanna?! Could it be you were also called here by NiceP?!
Come on in, come on in! Make yourself at home! Though it’s quite the foul place here unfortunately, so I might not be able to provide any hospitality!
Kanna: Sagiri-san, this is a room under the ownership of ES, so you would not be the landlord.
The very act of showing such hospitality is unnatural.
Esu: That’s true, but! The words came out of me all ‘cause of an overwhelming desire to welcome you, you could say?
Fuyume: Esu. Why’re you bowing your head at this person and over again like some Chinese grasshopper?[1] Yume wishes you would bow to Yume like an insect… Yume’s so sad.
Esu: What, are you by some chance a hater of mine disguised as a fan?
Raika: Ooo–OOOhana-san?![2] For whatever reason are ya here?!
Never in my life did I think I’d be able t’meet Ohana-san in person! Am I due to die tomorrow?!
Esu: Ohana-san…? Wait, wasn’t your stage name “Ohana” when you’d cosplay, Fuyume?
Fuyume: What’s with this guy…? A stalker of Yume? So scary…
Esu: Don’t hide behind me~! And don’t make me your shield while you’re at it!
Actually, do you even have the right to criticize someone for that? Given you’re, y’know, my stalker.
Considering the fact he knows your past stage name, he’s probably a fan of yours, Fuyume. At least treat him politely.
Fuyume: ……
Esu: Why do you gotta be so bad with strangers? I wish you could just get along with everyone else.
Fuyume: Yume doesn’t need that. All Yume needs is Esu.
Yume hates being involved with anyone who isn’t you, Esu. It’s seriously, really, super duper—troublesome.
Esu: Yeah, ‘cause your social competence is reserved aaall for me… I wish you’d at least consider how much trouble it causes me.
Kanna: Hojo Raika…-san?
Raika: Heh? Aye, that’s indeed me, Hojo Raika, a petty little pickpocket—... Er, whose pockets are empty and just ended up in the audition, I suppose you could say?
Kanna: I had known that you participated in 4piece, Hojo-san, but… I didn’t expect to encounter you here.
It’s been a while. It’s Natsu Kanna—The one you saved in the past.
Raika: Umm…?
Ya must be mistaking me for someone else. There’s just no chance out there that a good-for-nothin’ like me is capable of savin’ anyone else!
Kanna: No. It was certainly you. There are no flaws in the data stored within my brain.
Raika: Data…? Natsu-sama, could ya be a robot or somethin’?
Wow…! Robots these days are just so well-made, huh! Looks just like a human!
Esu: Hey, Kanna?! A tragic misunderstanding is happening right in front of my very eyes ‘cause you said the word data, you know!?
Kanna: As long as I am recognized as “Natsu Kanna” to Hojo-san, what species I am perceived as matters not. It’s a common misconception, regardless.
Esu: Yeah yeah, um! How about we don’t avoid hassles and actually clear up the misunderstanding, yeah?!
Ermm, this guy might seem like a robot, but he’s a human who just talks like one! Don’t worry! (?)
Raika: Wha-haa?! So that was terribly rude of me! It’s my fault for bein’ a half-wit…!
Nice: Fufu, I see that all of you are already deepening your bonds. Nice exchanges are a good habit to make!
Esu: Ah, at last the person of interest has arrived!
So why did you call us here today, NiceP? What business do you have us gathered here for?
Nice: Fufu, no need to be so hasty. Before anything, I have a question I’d like to ask the four of you. What did you think of 4piece?
Esu: Of 4piece?
Ummm, I had fun with it just fine. And I got to challenge myself to the “showdowns” I had wanted to do.
Even though I didn’t win, I still gained something out of it, so!
Fuyume: Yume is filled with dissatisfaction. Yume wanted to wear a “princess” outfit, and have a pretty pink ball…
But it’s okay. Yume will forgive it. Because, at the end of the ball, Esu took Yume’s hand and offered Yume a dance… ♪
Kanna: I didn’t find it particularly interesting. Looking objectively at my current status quo, the results were exactly as I had expected.
Raika: I had a whole load o’ fun!
Everyone was so very kind to someone like me the whole time, it was like if a dream came true…!
Nice: I see. I am glad to see that it was a nice experience for each one of you, one that you could not have gotten anywhere else!
Nice: Now, allow me to get to why I gathered all of you here today.
While it is true that you did not win the privilege of being in the Nice Dream Unit through 4piece…
I sense an infinite brilliance coming from within you!
And it’d be such a shame to just let that gleam fade away without polishing it…♪
So how about I polish you myself, and make you into “idols” with the highest brilliance out there?
The four of you here today will be debuting in a unit underneath NEW DIMENSION!
The name of this unit is ��Special for Princess!”—better known as “Esupuri”, where you will aim to become the greatest of idols underneath my production!
Esu: HuuUUUUH?!
Fuyume & Raika & Kanna: ……
[ ☆ ]
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Fuyume names the “コメツキバッタ” (kometsukibatta), “rice-pounding grasshopper” here, a nickname for the Chinese grasshopper. If you hold the legs of a Chinese grasshopper, they bounce in a way that resembles rapid bowing, or pounding rice. See a video here.
お花さん, meaning “Flower”. It’s such a cute nickname, I considered “Flower-san”, but decided ultimately to keep it as-is.
#final ceremony#translation#event#kanna natsu#raika hojo#nice arneb thunder#esu sagiri#fuyume hanamura
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Misfits Chapter 2: Clown School
See Chapter 1: Reunion for a description and the full chapter index.
Chapter 2: Clown School
Despite his promise, Loki didn’t kill Jane that day. Instead, he spent a good deal of time showing her how to draw and properly hold a dagger, how to use it to block a blow without losing fingers, and how to quickly shift her grip on it without giving her opponent an opening.
Jane thought she was doing well when she used just one dagger, but as soon as she tried to use both at the same time, she inevitably lost one or the other. She quickly realized that two-handed fighting required an entirely different set of reflexes.
Loki sighed and rolled his eyes after he easily disarmed her and both daggers clattered to the ground.
“You’re thinking too much. Your mind has to be focused on tactics, not mechanics. These,” he held his daggers up, inches from her throat, “are an extension of you, nothing more. If you have to think about what you’re doing with them, you’re dead.”
“I’m already dead. So are you,” Jane snapped, though she was mostly disappointed with herself. I thought this would be easier.
Loki’s eyes flashed angrily. Jane thought for a moment that he was about to make good on his promise, but instead he grabbed her by the hair and hissed, “Do you think this is a game, my Lady? That we’re just here to play ‘let’s pretend’ for all of eternity? I hate to break it to you, but if — no, when — you die in the Final Battle, that’s it. You’re done. The curtain drops and you won’t be around to take a bow.”
He gave her a small shove and let go.
“Normally,” he continued, “I wouldn’t give a fig for what happens to you, but if you’re not ready to fight in a reasonable amount of time, Odin will blame me , and then I will be displeased.” His expression made it clear that his displeasure could make her afterlife extremely uncomfortable.
Jane swallowed her retort. She reminded herself that Loki was doing her a favor by teaching her — and apparently he wasn’t particularly happy about the arrangement either.
“Okay,” she said, holding her hands in front of her in a calming gesture. “I’m sorry. I’m as frustrated as you are. I just… I don’t have the muscle memory yet. I am trying.”
Loki nodded and took a step back. “I suppose you’re only human. Fine. Pick those up,” he replied, nodding toward the daggers lying on the ground.
Jane bent to grab them, but as her fingers closed over the hilts, they changed shape in her hands. She stood up to find herself holding two brightly-colored cloth balls that felt like they were filled with sand. Confused, she looked at Loki, who was now holding three more balls. He began to juggle them.
“Change of plan,” he said. “I don’t suppose you already know how to juggle?”
“Juggle? Um, no. That wasn’t part of my graduate program.”
“You’re going to learn.”
She spent the next half hour swapping the two balls between her hands and trying to keep them in an even figure eight, per Loki’s instructions.
One, two, stop. One, two, stop. Welcome to clown school, I guess. This better not be one of his little pranks. One, two, stop.
Once she had that down, Loki handed her a third ball and stayed until he was certain she at least understood the proper form. She eventually managed to do two or three rounds consistently before one of the balls went flying in the wrong direction.
“Keep going, and keep those with you. You’re going to practice tonight and first thing in the morning, every spare moment. Tomorrow, we’ll see if this enterprise is worth continuing.” With that, he left her, heading toward the battlefield, daggers in hand. He still radiated anger, and Jane didn’t envy whoever had the misfortune to be his first opponent.
Jane kept practicing. Somehow, knowing that someone else was depending on her to get this right helped her focus, even if that someone was the guy she’d slapped — for good reason — the moment she met him. She suspected he wasn’t lying about Odin potentially blaming him if she failed.
For the first time, she wondered what it had been like for Loki growing up in Asgard. Was Odin’s obvious preference for Thor due to Loki’s rebellious nature, as she had assumed, or did Loki only act out because Odin ignored him?
At any rate, it was clear that the relationship between father and son was still a thorny one, at best.
By the time the battle ended, Jane was able to keep the balls in the air for almost a minute before losing control. She walked slowly back to her rooms to freshen up before the evening meal, juggling as she went, trying to ignore the odd looks she was getting from passers-by.
Back in her room, she changed out of her sweaty tunic and into a fresh one. After a moment’s consideration, she left the balls on a small table near the bed. She was nervous enough about joining in the mead hall without having to explain why she was doing something so seemingly frivolous.
On her way out, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She thought she looked pretty good for a dead person. At least I’ll never have to worry about the damned cancer again.
She found her way down to the mead hall. The noise from hundreds of conversations bouncing off the walls and the clatter of plates and cups hit her almost like a physical barrier. Jane had never been a fan of crowded places, but she supposed she’d get used to it. She stopped just inside and scanned the room for any familiar faces. Not finding any, she started to make her way to an empty spot at one of the benches near the doorway.
The room was cavernous and seemed much larger than it looked from the outside. Long rows of tables and benches stretched from side to side. To one side and halfway down the length of the room, there was a raised platform with another, smaller table, but it was empty. Jane assumed that was where Odin and family sat when they deigned to eat with the riff-raff.
Odin really is a snob, isn’t he? Jane thought, remembering the time he compared her to a goat at a feast table.
“Jane? Lady Jane?” a voice called out from another row of tables. She turned to see who had hailed her and saw a Lycan waving to her, a werewolf-like refugee she knew from New Asgard, a fellow classmate from the “Intro to Asgardian Culture” class that Brunnhilde had set up for the humans and aliens living there. The Lycan had been by far the most enthusiastic student, wanting to know everything and anything about their adopted culture.
Which probably explains why they’re here instead of some Lycan afterlife.
They had been among the handful of people killed in Gorr’s attack. Relieved that at least one person here knew who she was, Jane made her way over, trying to dredge up a name from her memory. Zed? No, wait… Zev, that’s it.
Zev scooted over to make some space, and Jane sat down next to them. Lycans were polymorphic, with clear physical differences between males and females, but Zev fell into a third category that was somewhere in between, with hair on their head and body thicker and curlier than a female’s, but not quite as thick as a male’s. Their tusks were closer in size to a female’s but shaped more like a male’s. Apparently, Lycans like Zev were fairly common and had their own traditional gender roles. Many of them, including Zev, were soldiers.
“I heard you were here!” Zev told her, smiling. A Lycan smile could be alarming at first, but Jane had gotten used to them. “I’ve only been here a few days myself. Do you have any news? Is New Asgard okay? Who attacked us? The fight was so chaotic I couldn’t figure out what was happening, and then suddenly everything went dark, then I was in Valhalla! Can you believe it?”
Zev’s questions came out in an excited rush and Jane did her best to respond after they paused for a breath. “Um, well, we were attacked by this guy named Gorr who was going around the universe killing gods. He took all the children, but Thor, King Brunnhilde, and I went after him and got them back. We lost a few people, but the town and the kids should be okay now. I didn’t make it back.”
Zev’s expression turned serious. “Oh. I wanted to ask if Brita’s okay. She was right next to me when I fell…”
Brita was Zev’s Asgardian partner. Jane rushed to reassure the worried Lycan. “Oh! No, I saw her after Gorr left. She wasn’t hurt. Just, well, you know.” Jane gave Zev a sympathetic smile. “It’s hard to lose someone,” she added, suddenly wondering how Thor was handling things.
Zev nodded, eyes filling with unshed tears. “I hope she makes it here someday, but she’s not really a fighter, so probably not.”
A young Asgardian man across from them said, “You never know. Nobody ever expected me to be here.” He had a scruffy tuft of shoulder-length blond hair and an open, honest face that immediately put Jane at ease. He turned to her and clarified, “I was never a warrior, just a scholar. I was in the library when the dark elves attacked, trying to enchant a sword to make it hold its edge forever. When they came at me I tried to use it, but it just sort of drooped and flopped around.”
He made spaghetti motions with his arm to illustrate the point.
Jane felt a pang of guilt. If I hadn’t gone to Asgard, this poor guy might still be alive.
“I guess Valhalla still gave me points for trying,” the young man added wryly. “But Odin has me working in the library here, doing research, mostly — nobody wants me anywhere near the battlefield, for some reason”
“Oh, sorry!” Zev said. “Jane, this is Rune. He’s been showing me around. Most people here don’t know what to make of me, but Rune’s been great.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Jane. I saw you training with Prince Loki earlier.” Rune looked like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.
“ Loki is training you?” Zev asked in surprise. “That sounds terrifying. I heard about what he did in New York.”
They paused, considering, then continued. “Brita said he saved her life during Ragnarok, though, so I’m kind of grateful to him for that.”
“Yeah,” Jane responded. “He saved my life before, too. And he died trying to save Thor.” And he destroyed large sections of a major city, she reminded herself.
“Back in Asgard, I always wanted to talk to him,” Rune said, “You know, about magic, that sort of thing. He’s really smart and knew the library even better than I did. But I never worked up the courage. He’s a bit stand-offish and a lot of people were afraid of him, even before he went and attacked Midgard.”
“So how is it?” Zev asked. “Training with him?”
“So far, so good, I guess. He’s… teaching me to juggle.”
“What?” Zev laughed. “Seriously? I mean, I know he’s the God of Mischief and all, but shouldn’t he be training you to fight? Sounds like he’s just messing with you.”
“I don’t think so,” Jane said slowly, considering. “He wasn’t in a joking mood. Pretty sure it’s just to improve my coordination.”
Better be that , she thought darkly.
Their chatter was interrupted by a tall woman clad in a tunic, leggings, and light armor. Her long, light-brown hair was tied in a braid that fell to her waist. From a serving cart, she hoisted a heavy tray laden with several kinds of meat, fruit, bread, cheese, and nuts and set it on the table in front of Jane and her new friends. From the bottom of the cart, she pulled out a small keg and set it next to the platter, along with wooden bowl-shaped cups with handles, one for each of the diners.
Jane had heard much about the Valkyries from Brunnhilde, the last survivor of that famous sisterhood.
They were some of Asgard’s greatest warriors, and now they’re relegated to waiting tables in Valhalla? What a load of patriarchal B.S.!
The smell of the food distracted her from her annoyance — she was hungry.
I guess the revolution can wait.
“Thank you!” Jane called as the Valkyrie quickly moved on to the next group. The woman looked back over her shoulder and gave a quick smile and nod.
“That just doesn’t seem fair,” Jane said to Rune. “The Valkyries are warriors, not serving girls.”
Rune shook his head. “You misunderstand. The Valkyries are exempt from the daily practice battles. They’re wearing their armor because if we — well, you — get called up during a meal or at night, they’re the first line of defense while the rest of the warriors get suited up. They serve the meals because they want to, so that they can get to know everyone else, and vice-versa. They consider it an honor.”
The conversation slowly died down throughout the hall as the warriors turned their attention to the feast. Rune filled the cups with an amber-colored liquid from the keg and handed them to his companions. Jane took a sip — it was much sweeter than she expected. Oh, right. This is the mead hall, not the beer hall.
Jane took the opportunity to observe the people nearby. Aside from the Valkyries, there was very little armor in evidence; most of the crowd had evidently taken the time to change first. The scene reminded her of Asgard, but whereas Odin’s city had clearly visible signs of hierarchy everywhere, here there was nothing she could see to differentiate rank, other than the empty table on the dais.
“How often does the royal family eat in here?” Jane asked.
“Odin and Frigga join us once in a while,” Rune responded. “Maybe once or twice a month? I’m not sure, really. It’s easy to lose track of time here.”
“What about Loki?” Zev asked.
“Almost never. I’ve seen him at the high table a couple of times, but I think that was only because his parents insisted. It’s strange, though. Back before all the trouble started, he almost never missed a palace feast,” Rune told them. “Well, from what I heard — I was never invited to those things. But apparently he was always leading the songs, storytelling, dancing… trying to be the center of attention.”
Jane tried to imagine Loki singing, laughing, and generally having a good time. The image just didn’t fit with the angry God of Mischief she knew.
After the meal concluded, a few people drifted out of the room, but most of them stayed to drink more mead. The hall began to get louder and more raucous, and Jane decided it was time to say goodnight to her friends and excuse herself.
On her way back to her rooms, her thoughts returned to Loki. Clearly there was more going on with him than she’d thought.
Go to Chapter 3
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Omg, your mom tried to set you up?!!!!! With butch women no less?!!! Im so jealous idk if that would happene with mine 😭 recently she was ljke "oooo😉" at me about my sisters bf having a brother my age. I actually wanted to just go crazy insane bjork gif in that moment. ☹️ how dare you have men liking headcanons (?) about me. Idk whwtt would happen if she found out i was a lesbian. Like she also told me about how excited she was for me to have babies. When i was 13. :|
Also i live in gender capitol like we get taught gender identity spectrum in school and all. So thats why im not sure about there being butch women (or girls i guess bc .. im still a girl hezjnsjs) where i am and i keep feeling bad about having radfem? beliefs like is everyone going to hate me or is that just how it seems online xhxjd or. I dont know if that makes sense
I wish i could just fit in and go along w it but it feels so wrong to me, ... nopee even if i think youre cute im not going to affirm that youre not actually a woman bc your hair is short and you dont wear makeup or dresses it feels so demeaning for both of us. But then am i just making a big deal of nothing ?
Anywaays. Sending love bc peace and love on planett earth. :)
lmao since ive been out for quite some time now, my mom has gone thru the stages of grief and she reached a point where she’s accepted im a lesbian (she would try to convince me to get into a lavender marriage regardless for the sake of image but im not willing neither is my friend she keeps trying to set me up in a lavender marriage with) but she and my auntie have weird kinda homophobic beliefs on who im supposed to date. according to my mom & aunt, there has to be one “girl gay” and one “boy gay” ie one femme & one butch. they think if im gonna be dating women then they should be butch or otherwise masculine women bc it “balances” both parties of the relationship. they say im more feminine & shy & cute around butches and become more “womanly” so therefore i should be with butches 😭😭😭
SO basically yes my mom would meet butch lesbians in bahrain (they’re v recognisable in my country & have their own label too) and would immediately tell them about me and then exchange details w them. ive met 2 lesbians that way but ngl neither are my type and both have some major internalised homophobia to address. one of them was already in a relationship w a bi woman who’s going to leave her to marry a man (& just waiting until the day they must break up which was sad) and immediately started showing me her nudes (arab butches are the weirdest don’t even ask). the other one told me a fucked up story about how her bi ex left her to marry a man without telling her & when she got mad, her bi ex said “you’re just mad bc no man would want you with how you look”. a normal lesbian might’ve simply said “i don’t want men so idc” but the butch i met took it personally and married a man to prove a point. she got lucky bc he died within a few months of their marriage! he was trying to pressure her into sex and even complained to her family about it so if he didn’t die, who knows what trauma she would’ve faced…. also she told me she takes testosterone & steroids bc she’s a body builder and she has this kind of body smell that men often have (probs bc of the hormones) which were all big turn offs for me so. neither worked out.
my mom also still pressures me to have kids and has been since i was a baby 😭 but luckily she’s been overall supportive of me being a lesbian… hopefully your mom will be the same one day. heteronormativity is so annoying lol i hate how every gay person had to deal with our loved ones fantasising about us dating the opposite sex bc they assume we’d be OSA by default.
also no ur not making a big deal of nothing! it’s a big turn off for me having to pretend that a woman not being feminine means she’s not a woman. and it’s annoying having to pretend someone is my boyfriend or w/e else. i think it only becomes more of a turn off the longer you’re out too bc like damn too many of us already pretended to have boyfriends or to be interested in that stuff so being expected to do that to any capacity is just. bad feelings
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So… I am not okay.
The loneliness is getting to me, but I don’t have any close people. I have children (grown) but they are preoccupied with their lives.
Work… is work. I pretend to like it and sometimes I do, but it wears me out. Fucking how would you like to be interrupted agazillion times when you’re just trying to spit a sentence out.
I have trust issues and trauma, so I can’t be in a relationship.
Love myself… ah, yeah, sure. I love me eating by myself. Walking by myself. Doing laundry by myself. Sitting in my house watching TikToks by myself.
It’s not like I don’t have friends, but they aren’t all the time friends. One is, only sometimes when she is ALSO not exhausted by teaching. The other is someone who I call on the way to work.
I’m down to two friends.
Mr. Ewing spent a loving afternoon with me 49 days ago… I am sure I will never see him again. I keep asking. He keeps saying he’s too busy with the “real” people in his life.
I am not “real”.
People are too busy to be with me.
Me… I am only suppose to go to work and whatever outside of that… no one cares or knows about.
I am writing this in bed.
I’m tired and cannot sleep.
I long to be held… or just have someone call me… say hello… watch tv with.
I don’t have anything on me to make this happen.
And why would anyone want to be my friend?
I’m weird.
I seem to be only good for sex (in the dating world,) and no one wants anything else.
I seem only good to keep kids preoccupied until they can go to their more important classes.
I seem sad.
Take your meds and shut up.
Take your meds and disappear.
My kids… I don’t think they really like me unless I give them what they want.
I don’t understand this world and my place in it.
All of this… I just want to be fucking held. I just want to be held… and I can’t trust just anyone to hold me. I had a person, but I had to end it because he wouldn’t stop yelling at me. So be alone or get yelled at… it’s quieter alone, but sometimes he would at least hold me.
I’m crying in the dark of my bedroom. No one cares. I’m writing this and I don’t think anyone reads this… and if they did, so what? Would they show up at my doorstep? And if they did, they’d just leave.
Or maybe they’d show up and take me away until I lied and said I didn’t want to kill myself… only because the hospital was charging SO MUCH and I needed to get back to work… and they were not doing anything to help me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
All I want is my person… but I can’t have a person until I don’t need a person. How fucked up is that???!!!!
Fucking nothing is real.
This system doesn’t work.
And… you can’t escape it. I should have just died in the jungle then… I could have just haunted the jungle and lived in the trees and fucking delighted in scaring tourist.
Fuck. I just want to be held is that too much to fucking ask???!!!! Apparently it is… unless you don’t mind being held by some kind of dollar general kind of human who doesn’t understand you because he is dumber than dirt… or some dude who thinks wanting to cuddle is code for hooking up.
Yeah. 49 days.
No one has held me for 49 days either.
I’m bugging.
I’m not good.
And it doesn’t matter. No one can save me. Maybe I’ll be lucky and die in my sleep tonight. Natural death is better than suicide… and I won’t do that… maybe I’ll take something to sleep.
I’m rather glad no one reads this… I mean, I wish someone did. I wish someone cared, but it would just be pity and that never helps anyone. Like this self pity… pathetic.
😞
Maybe I’ll wake up in a better mood… or I could die… or wake up feeling shitty. So.many.options.
9/11/23
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I’m not gonna lie this would be the first time I requested something so if I do something wrong I’m really sorry,
Can I request Quentin, Leon, Steve, and Frank meeting a female reader who, before the entity took her, had already faced off her own killer?
And this made her kinda tough? Like she knows what she’s doing
oh my gosh thank you so much!! this is my first ever request to fulfill so we’re in this together :DD seriously i really appreciate you!
i decided to do a headcanon kind of format for this, i hope that’s okay! also these are my absolute favorite boys aaahhh this is so fun for a first request
the boys x tough f!reader (part 1) (part 2)
warnings: swearing, reader kicks frank in the shins
word count: ~700-1k each (sorry if it’s too long…i kind of got really excited and uhhh maybe i got carried away,, yeah. sorry)
(also i'll be honest quentin's is not my best. that was the one that got eaten by the tumblr abyss and i had to write all over again, and it just didn't come out the same way that i wanted it to at first :( i did the other boys hoping i'd get some inspiration to fix it afterwards, but i got kind of stuck. so it's not my favorite, but i hope you like it okay! i want to write better stuff for quentin in the future, he is my favorite sleepy boy <3)
𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇
when you arrived in the realm, everyone thought you would be the same as the others—frightened, confused, and overwhelmed. but you took this nightmarish challenge in stride, adapting to your surroundings quickly and learning far faster than anybody else had.
your past experiences had made you independent and sometimes distrustful, so once you had the gist of things, you didn’t need (or want) anybody to tell you what to do. and nobody was inclined to, either—your instincts naturally told you what to do and when.
the first time you met quentin was a little awkward, i wont lie. you were wary of speaking to the other survivors; you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again.
it was the beginning of a trial. the nurse’s fatigued shrills could be heard all the way from the edge of the wrecker’s yard, but you immediately started work on a generator, unafraid. a few minutes passed, when soft footsteps indicated someone’s approach. it was quentin—he started to work on the wires without hesitation.
you were a little surprised, only because the other survivors usually left you to your own devices. you got the impression that maybe they were intimidated by you, which you didn’t particularly mind. but you wouldn’t particularly mind some company now and then, either.
it was comfortably silent for a while, before quentin spoke up.
“what’s your name?” he asked, gaze still focused on the wires.
hesitating a little, you told him. then you said, “and you’re quentin, right?” you already knew most everybody’s name just from observation.
“that i am,” he replied.
then it was quiet for a while.
very quiet.
well, what were you supposed to say now?
the silence was deafening and very, very uncomfortable to you. normally you were okay with a quiet atmosphere, but it was the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, chewed at your stomach, filled the area as if it were something solid. man, what were you supposed to say—
it was then that you realized poor quentin had fallen asleep, his face smooshed onto the generator. his cheek was now covered in grease and grime.
it made you smile—only a little. you finished repairing the generator on your own, causing quentin to wake with a start and bang his head on the pole protruding from the machine. he swore like a sailor until he realized where he was, smiling sheepishly.
“sorry, i wanted you to have your nap. you looked really tired,” you said. you also couldn’t stop admiring the dark grease on his face—it was really quite funny. and no, you weren’t going to say anything about it. it could stay there a little longer.
you spent the rest of the trial running the nurse around the whole wrecker’s yard, only suffering one injury until the end. quentin had no idea how you had been here for such little time and already knew how to outplay the nurse, one of the most difficult killers to survive against. he still didn’t know how to do it well himself, so he was thankful for you.
however, once the exit gates were opened, you found yourself in a bad spot. the nurse had caught you in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide or predict her moves, and she downed you instantly. quentin cringed hearing your agonized scream as you were hooked.
there was no way you were dying on his watch. once he was sure the nurse was gone, he gently lifted you from the hook, pulling out his medical kit to begin patching up your shoulder.
despite the pain, you had enough energy to smile at him and say, “thanks, nap boy.”
quentin feigned offense with a wry grin, pulling out some gauze. “is that all i’m going to be to you? nap boy?”
you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “maybe you won’t be if you get me out of here.”
“that won’t be a problem," he smiled, quirking an eyebrow.
“show me the gates and then we’ll talk, nap boy.”
from then on, quentin became your go-to source for supplies and general comfort. you weren't scared of this place, but it was nice to know you had somebody who would really be there for you.
he would often fall asleep on your shoulder at the campfire--he really was a nap boy, and you would never let him live that down.
𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘
leon could not tear his eyes away from you the first time you arrived in the realm. your presence was strong; he could tell you weren’t one to back away from a fight.
most of the survivors had been (rightly) confused and disoriented when they popped into the realm, but you tried to accept it quickly. you didn’t like it, in fact all you wanted was just to go home, but you came to terms with it and jumped into trials headfirst like an insane person.
that was the courageous part about you—maybe you were scared, but you did scary shit anyways. in fact, you did scary shit to spite the fear, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to overcome it.
and leon couldn’t lie, that was cool as hell.
you had tunnel vision and didn’t pay much notice to the other survivors; you were too focused on learning about this place and getting out of trials. having gone through some real shit, being here hardly came as a surprise to you. if you were going to be here forever, what was the point in mourning? might as well just accept it and try your hardest to survive. maybe someday this sick game would end, but for now, you were prepared to fight for your life and that’s all you could really focus on.
your first trial was not the best. even though you were resourceful, you didn’t know what the objective was yet, so you weren’t sure where to start other than analyzing your surroundings. luckily for you, leon kennedy was one of your teammates.
after being downed immediately by bubba’s chainsaw and tossed onto a hook, you were amazingly resilient to the pain. leon was the one to lift you from the hook, and he took out his medkit to help patch your wound, but you flinched away from him before he could touch you.
he was puzzled. “what’s wrong?” he asked. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he wanted to help you.
you hesitated and looked him over before mumbling, “i’m fine.” and you tried to stand on your own, beginning to limp away. you didn’t want or need anyone’s help.
leon sighed, following after you. “let me help, that must hurt a lot.”
“i told you, cop, i’m fine. i don’t want your help, okay?”
leon opened his mouth to insist, but decided against it. if you didn’t want his help, then he shouldn’t butt in. that wouldn’t keep him from watching over you, though.
but then leon called after you (perhaps a little smugly), “do you even know what you’re supposed to do?”
begrudgingly, you stopped walking. no, you didn’t know what to do. “i’ll figure it out,” you said over your shoulder. and you would; you had been through enough to survive any situation thrown at you.
but maybe one pointer couldn’t hurt.
“do a generator,” he told you, giving you a cheeky grin when you turned around to look at him. he was lucky he was cute.
the first part of the trial had been rough, but after that first hook you were doing a lot better. you managed to find your own medkit from a chest, and you learned how to fix a few generators. you found it came pretty naturally, and were satisfied that you hadn’t needed anyone’s help (except leon’s. but you didn’t have to admit that yet). when the killer came near, you skillfully avoided him and stayed hidden as much as you could.
you were also pretending that you didn't notice leon hovering near you. he was not very good at being subtle; he was obviously trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. it was cute. you didn't want to ruin his fun, so you didn't say anything about it.
it wasn’t long before the gates were powered and in the process of being opened. you saw a red glowing light in the distance, and assumed that must be your destination. you put all of your remaining energy into sprinting to the exit, adrenaline pumping through your body.
but then there was a heartbeat. a heartbeat so loud it filled your head, splitting your concentration. it wasn’t your own heartbeat--it was the killer’s.
the sound of the cannibal’s chainsaw roared in your ears and pain tore through your body; you collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony. shit, that really hurt, and you weren't sure you could ever get used to it. eternity sure seemed a lot longer than you had first anticipated. would you really be here forever? doing this over and over?
biting your lip until it bled, you tried to crawl towards the gate, dragging the lower half of your body with much difficulty. it was no use, though--you hardly got anywhere, and you could already feel the killer picking you up. just like that, you were going to die? you had been so close..
but as you were being placed on bubba’s shoulder, you saw a flash of a police uniform and a blinding light, and before you knew it, you had been dropped to the ground, the exit gate looking awfully lovely and much more desirable than a meat hook. you gathered all of your strength and began limping forward, when suddenly you felt an arm firmly wrap around your waist and your own was placed around someone else’s shoulder.
leon. when you looked up at him, all he did was give you a calm smile, which you felt inclined to return. with him supporting you, the two of you made it safely to the exit and began the long traipse back to the campfire, where you would find yourself spending a lot of time together.
from then on, you always remained quite unfazed by the events of the entity’s realm—the only thing that ever made you feel weak was being around leon. he was just so cute :]
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍
you had never met someone so persistent in your life. from the moment the entity stole you here, steve harrington was after you, and there was next to nothing you could do about it. he sure was living up to his self-proclaimed role of babysitter.
you told him you were fine, that you didn’t need him following you around, but the asshole did it anyways.
“how cool do you think you are?” you asked him at some point, to which he simply shrugged with that stupid grin on his lips.
“i can take care of myself.” “i really don’t need you to baby me, steve.” “steve, if you don’t leave me alone i’m going to break your kneecaps.” these were all things that had come from your mouth multiple times recently. you were seriously thinking about that last one now.
you knew you could make it on your own, and you only wished he would give you a chance to prove that to him so he would leave you alone. but it was like he had attached himself to your hip, and for some reason the entity seemed to really enjoy putting you in trials with him. great.
he was a dumbass and a sweetheart, and you weren’t sure which one of those took higher priority. you knew he only meant well, but god, you wanted to be independent for once. why did he think he had to protect you so much? you arrived here after running for your fucking life, fighting off your long-time pursuer, and living in awful, ever-changing conditions. you had seen your closest friends die, right before your eyes. you didn’t need to be sheltered or coddled, but you couldn’t seem to make steve understand that, no matter how much you fought with him.
steve would literally throw himself in front of the killer for you. he clicked his flashlight in the killer’s face if they were after you, and he would swear and cuss until they chased him out of pure annoyance. it got him killed countless times, and you didn’t know whether to call him stupid or selfless. probably both.
eventually you decided to just copy him and see how it worked out. you weren’t scared, you had no reason to be. you wanted to show him you could be just as flashy as him.
as you arrived into a trial, steve right across from you (of course), you smiled to yourself. you had brought your best flashlight, and you were prepared to use it. the two of you began to work on a generator together, making light conversation as usual.
“if the killer comes here, hide. i’ll take him away.” “fuck you, steve harrington.” “sure, if you really want to.” “why don’t you ever leave me alone?” “it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” “i could punch you right now.” “but you won’t. i’m too good to look at.”
you know, the usual friendly stuff.
you purposefully connected the wrong wires, making the generator spark and sputter. “oops. oh no, the killer must be on their way,” you dead-panned. steve gave you an unamused look.
and indeed, only a few moments later, you heard the sound of the hillbilly and his chainsaw roaring in your direction. the two of you split up, and the killer’s weapon collided with the generator, making an awful screeching sound.
and that was when the chaos started.
steve began hollering and flicking his flashlight into the sky as usual, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same. steve looked at you in astonishment, pausing, but then he started again, even louder. you tried to outdo him.
“HEY BILLY! FUCK YOU!” you screamed, ignoring steve’s attempts to get you to stop. “COME AFTER ME, SHITHEAD!”
steve started actually yelling, just yelling, while you continued to swear meaninglessly. the poor hillbilly looked confused and overwhelmed, and eventually he couldn’t take the noise anymore--he just left, opting to find the other survivors while the two of you sorted out whatever it is you obviously had against each other.
it was dead silent now that the killer was gone, and you and steve were both out of breath. but as soon as you made eye contact, laughter bubbled up from your chest, causing you to collapse against the tree and slide to the ground. your voice was hoarse from all the screaming.
and then he was laughing too, stumbling over to plop down next to you, and your giggling started up a whole new round.
after the laughter died down, you stared at your hands, ignoring steve’s gaze on the side of your face until you couldn’t anymore.
“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. he was smiling all stupid again. “what?” you insisted, fighting off a grin of your own. you hated when he looked at you like that, because it made you want to smile back at him.
“nothing,” he said coyly, laughing again. you punched his shoulder playfully.
“c’mon harrington, when have you ever held your tongue before? spit it out.”
he nodded, that was true. so he said it. “i just like you, that’s all.”
oh. oh.
realization dawned upon your face. “is that why you always--”
“yes,” he interrupted you. “i thought it was obvious. man, you’re clueless sometimes.”
oh.
huh.
you guessed…maybe…steve harrington wasn’t that annoying. maybe.
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍
to say you were feisty was an understatement. frank hated your guts at first because you were so good at evading him, which he would never admit. but the thing that made him really mad was that if he ever downed you, you would kick at him and try to trip him over, like actually bruise his shins. it hurt like hell.
this lead to his decision to constantly tunnel you, and he would laugh at you while you were on the hook, too. so you hated his guts just as much as he did yours. it was a mutual guts-hating situation.
your teammates always felt bad for you, but they also thought you were a badass and knew you could handle yourself. you hadn’t told anybody where you’d come from or what had happened to you, but they knew it was something interesting. there was a reason that nothing that happened here really got to you.
sometimes things escalated even further than shin-kicking. there was one time where frank had managed to grab the back of your shirt as you tried to vault a window, and as he pulled you closer to himself, you elbowed him in the neck and squirmed out of his grasp. while he stood stunned and lost for breath, you kicked the back of his locked knee so that he fell to the ground and bonked his forehead on the wall—the classic dead leg.
this was very funny to you.
not to him.
while you ran away, laughing to yourself, frank’s anger built and built. he was tired of letting you make a fool of him, and it was time to be serious about things.
he ignored you for the rest of the trial, forming a plan in his mind. there was something he needed to do after this, so he made sure to kill everybody else to please the entity—he couldn’t get caught up, it would derail his anger train. he also didn’t feel like getting kicked in the balls or some shit, so he let you out without a problem.
frank did some brooding at the ormond lodge before he was ready to go through with his plan. and his shins really, really hurt, so susie helped him ice them before he left.
the masked killer made his way to the survivor camp rather hastily. when he arrived, he saw you pacing around, deep in thought.
so he threw a rock at you.
it was just a pebble, really. maybe it could be considered a rather large pebble, but frank insisted in his mind that it was a pebble.
“ow, what the fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your sore shoulder and looking around to find the culprit. and then your eyes laid on him.
he looked so sultry standing there at the edge of the woods, arms crossed and mask smiling, you could almost laugh at him. he acted so serious, when really, he was just an angry and misbehaving twink.
you put on your best serious face, genuinely trying not to be amused by this, and strode over to the killer.
“what do you want?” you asked confidently, mirroring his body language and crossing your arms.
frank bristled at your approach, as if trying to make himself look bigger. he wished you were scared of him like everyone else, it would really make him feel better.
“i want a truce,” he said.
you almost burst into laughter at that. a truce? what the fuck for?
he said was willing to stop tunneling and camping you if you stopped beating the shit out of him with your sticky little hands. he didn’t say it like that, but you knew that was what he meant. you, a survivor, could beat up frank, a killer, and it upset him and his little ego :(
just to humor him, you agreed. and frank nodded.
“but,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, “you have to give me something else.”
he started to say “no, no way—“ but you interrupted him: “you’re asking me to stop fighting for myself and just give in when you catch me. i think i deserve something other than just not being tunnelled.”
frank glared at you under his mask, thankful that you couldn’t see. “okay. whatever. what do you want?”
“i want to see your face.” you thought this was a good choice, something you could lord over him forever. it was surely only a win for you. his face was something private, and you would be the only survivor to know.
of course you wanted to see his face, frank thought. everyone did; they wanted to find out if he was good-looking. which, according to him, he was. if you ever asked the other members of the legion, susie was the only one to actually respond. she felt obligated to compliment him as she was basically his sister. so she would say frank is handsome in a ruggedy, jess mariano kind of way. you wondered how she knew what gilmore girls was, since that came after her time, but susie would never give away her secret.
so with a sigh, frank agreed to let you see his face. he didn’t really care, all he wanted was to stop having bruises on his shins. it was kind of miserable, and the entity never did anything to help him.
when he said that you couldn’t do it here, and you asked why the fuck not, he said it was because some other survivor might see. you decided he had a fair point, so reluctantly you let him drag you all the way to ormond.
when he took off his mask, your first thought, whether you wanted it to be or not, was “wow! he really does look like jess mariano! but with tattoos! hot!”
you were lost for words. you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you sure weren’t expecting him to be that attractive.
he could tell your thoughts from the look on your face.
this had been per your request, and you were planning on this being something you could hold over his head, but the situation had turned into something that he could hold over your head.
oh dear. frank morrison now held pretty boy privilege over you.
and soon you would find out that he was going to keep tunnelling you anyways.
listen i've been watching a lot of gilmore girls and i just get jess vibes from frank, except our boy is more of a twinky idk shdjfhsf i love this guy sm
#so many notes!!!! thank u!! :]#dbd x reader#dead by daylight x reader#dbd fanfic#dbd headcanons#frank morrison#frank morrison x reader#quentin smith#quentin smith x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#fruggo writes#dbd#dead by daylight#requests
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Prompt: Wei Wuxian has achieved time travel! He's gonna fix so many broken things. Unfortunately, WWX has miscalculated a teensy tiny variable and instead of arriving in his original 15yo body in Lotus Pier, he's crash landed in MXY's tiny 7~8yo body at Mo Manor. But no problem, he can fix this if he can just find his real body. (Meanwhile, Yunmeng Jiang's head disciple is acting the wrong kind of childish, aka, Mo Xuanyu is having the weirdest day of his young life.)
Switcheroo - ao3
Mo Xuanyu thought that this Wei Wuxian person whose body he’d stolen must have been a really interesting person, mostly because he’d been here for three days so far and nobody’d noticed the switch yet.
Possibly it had to do with the fact that Mo Xuanyu still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d stolen the body – he’d just gone to sleep in the shed, same as always, and then he’d woken up in the softest bed he’d ever encountered in his life…no, softer than even his dreams! He’d thought it over and concluded that he must have died from cold out in the shed, turned into a fierce ghost out of resentment, grown powerful (somehow), then stolen some rich young master’s body when they weren’t paying close enough attention and, once he’d possessed the body, promptly lost all his memory of being a ghost.
It seemed like the only logical course of events.
He was very sorry about it, though. Wei Wuxian seemed like a nice, if very unusual person.
The first day, Mo Xuanyu had barely even noticed the body-switch, being quite so enamored of the soft bed he was in – he’d refused to get out of bed at all, declaring that he was going to lie in and sleep for a century or more, and the people who’d come to the door to get him didn’t beat him or anything over it, but rather just laughed or rolled their eyes and then left him to it. Luckily, at the time, he’d just assumed he was dead or something and proceeded to ignore everything in favor of napping.
He only acknowledged that he was alive later in the afternoon, when his stomach started growling – it seemed like a very unlikely thing for a dead man’s stomach to do.
Mo Xuanyu had by that point figured out that he wasn’t himself anymore, which was fine since he didn’t much like himself; he’d also figured out, through looking himself over, that he was old now. At least fifteen or sixteen, which was twice the age he last remembered himself being. That was fine, too, though: being older meant that he was stronger and faster and would be better able to handle it when people wanted to beat him or something. Most importantly, though, it meant he was old enough to enter the kitchen on his own!
Mo Xuanyu already knew that he wasn’t allowed to eat at the main table, being only the bastard son of the younger daughter, and the cook back at home was a fierce woman who didn’t allow anyone under the age of ten into her kitchen; as a result, he had to wait for his mother to bring him back some food, and it was always cold and not quite enough. Now, though, since he was older, he figured he might as well try to go to the kitchen and fill his belly that way.
Luckily, while his current body’s house was much bigger than the Mo house, all houses were generally built along the same lines, so it wasn’t hard to find the kitchen. Everyone there laughed when he showed up, even though he’d tried to be very quiet and sneak in and then screwed it up by tripping over his own feet – it seemed like everyone thought he was doing it on purpose to be funny – and then the cooks gave him a meal of his own that was hot and fresh and wonderful.
He'd wolfed it down.
“Honestly, Wei Wuxian, you eat like a hungry ghost, you’d think the Jiang clan starves you,” one of them scolded him, but with a smile, and from that Mo Xuanyu learned that the rich young master was called Wei Wuxian and that he lived with the Jiang clan. The different surnames confused him a little, but he didn’t dare ask any questions about it, so he just stuffed his mouth and pretended that was the reason he couldn’t answer.
No one questioned it.
No one questioned it when he went wandering all around instead of doing whatever chores or duties he’d been assigned, either. Someone had actually seen him hovering by a door and asked him to bring back a pheasant when he returned, so out of lack of better options he’d headed outside to try to go find one.
He had a pretty good time walking around the forest, then remembered what he’d been asked and chased the pheasants for a while, without success . Fortunately, he then got lucky and stumbled over an old snare that had three pheasants caught inside, so he’d picked up the whole box and carted it back home.
“Three,” one of the boys in purple-blue marveled as he saw Mo Xuanyu walking towards the kitchen. “You know, people say that the birds around the Lotus Pier have gotten too smart to be caught easily, but look at our da-shixiong; he makes it look easy!”
From this, Mo Xuanyu could figure out that Wei Wuxian was (apparently!) part of a cultivator clan, apparently located at a place called the Lotus Pier, and that he was the oldest or at least head disciple, to boot. He knew all about cultivator clans from his mother, since apparently his father had been a sect leader, and that meant he knew enough to call the other boy ‘shidi’ as he passed, making the other boy beam happily.
It also meant that when he chanced a guess and called the young woman in a pretty pink dress who waved at him ‘shijie’, she smiled and nodded, which meant to him that he’d done the right thing.
“I heard you slept even more of the morning away than usual,” she told him, but didn’t seem too upset about it. “I bet that means you’ll be skipping dinner and staying up all night, hmm?”
Mo Xuanyu had no intention of skipping dinner if it was anything like what the kitchens had given him earlier, actually, but while he was still trying to figure out a way to say that, she said, leaning in close to whisper, “It’s probably a good idea, anyway – Mother and Father are fighting again. Just go to the kitchens to grab something…I promise I’ll make it up to you with some soup tomorrow, pork ribs and lotus roots, your favorite. All right?”
“Shijie, you’re the best,” Mo Xuanyu said effusively, willing to die for her at once, and she laughed and tousled his hair.
“I am,” she said, looking happy. “And if my little A-Xian stays good and obedient, I may even feed him.”
She did, too, the next day when he finally tore himself out of the beautiful wonderful soft bed and went to go find her. She’d made him soup, just as he’d promised, and laughed and laughed for some reason: apparently, she interpreted him being quiet and not talking too much as his efforts to be ‘good and obedient’, which was apparently so out of the ordinary as to be a deliberate joke.
From this, Mo Xuanyu concluded that the young master he’d possessed, Wei Wuxian, was a jackass.
Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh. Arrogant and self-centered, talented and brave and probably brilliant, definitely charming and maybe even kind, but also spoiled and inclined to step on other people to get where he wanted to go, if Mo Xuanyu had to guess – why else would everyone constantly react as if him not being obnoxious was the world’s biggest stunt?
No one seemed to expect anything of him at all: he didn’t do any chores, and no one batted an eyelid; he didn’t go where he was told, and everyone just sighed…at one point the sect leader himself came and patted him on the head, scolding him in a joking tone that he hadn’t seen him leading any of the training the way he was supposed to – but when Mo Xuanyu quailed, he’d burst out laughing, telling ‘Wei Wuxian’ to stop pretending to be a scared little rabbit, that it was fine if he’d gotten distracted by some clever new invention or whatever, that someone else would handle it, that he should take as long as he needed.
Mo Xuanyu had pasted a great big smile on his face through force of effort and agreed cheerfully.
The sect leader had accepted it.
Probably a jackass, but clearly a beloved one, Mo Xuanyu thought to himself as he packed up clothing and a few small treasures that no one would miss, a little wistful. The scare of the whole encounter had put things in perspective – he wasn’t going to be able to keep up this sort of façade for long. In fact, he was shocked he’d managed it so long already; surely, no matter how many pranks this Wei Wuxian played, no matter how childishly he behaved, surely someone should’ve noticed that he was actually an eight-year-old masquerading as a sixteen-year-old?
Mo Xuanyu couldn’t decide whether it was sad that no one paid too much attention or something that this Wei Wuxian fellow had brought down on his own head by being so consistently annoying.
Either way, there was nothing for it – he was going to have to leave.
Now that part was really sad: he’d never in his life had such good food, or such a soft bed, or even so many people that just seemed plain old happy to see him as since he’d arrived in this place. But he wasn’t the one all those things were for; he was just a sad ghost possessing a person, and if he stayed, the cultivators would eventually figure out something was wrong and exorcise him.
Probably violently.
Mo Xuanyu probably deserved it, too, but despite that he wasn’t willing.
So he packed up what he could and headed out.
He got all the way to the gate before a new purple-clad disciple – about his age, if he had to guess, and holding a pack like he’d just come back from a trip, with a scowl on his face – called out for Wei Wuxian.
Mo Xuanyu waved a little, hoping that that would be enough.
For the first time, it wasn’t.
The boy’s face settled into an even deeper scowl.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “Wei Wuxian! You’re acting all weird – hey! Where are you going?”
Mo Xuanyu was running away, obviously. He wasn’t about to get tied up and exorcised, no thank you.
He didn’t think he’d make it, but it was still worth trying.
Sure enough, the purple-clad boy who was probably called Jiang Cheng, based on what everyone was calling out as they ran by, got tired of running and jumped on his sword, and there was no way Mo Xuanyu would be able to outrun a sword, not even if he tried as fast as he –
Someone picked him up.
It wasn’t Jiang Cheng.
Mo Xuanyu turned his head and stared.
It must be some sort of yao, he thought. Humans were definitely not that pretty.
“Lan Wangji!” Jiang Cheng howled. “What are you even doing in the Lotus Pier?! Put my shixiong down!”
The rescuer, Lan Wangji, frowned a little at Mo Xuanyu.
Mo Xuanyu didn’t know exactly what expression he ought to be making in return, and was a bit too dazed to even dare to guess. He’d just noticed that they were flying – flying! on a sword! – and he was clutching onto this Lan Wangji’s shoulders for dear life.
“You are not Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded very definitive.
“Uh,” Mo Xuanyu said. “Sorry? Please don’t drop me.”
“I will not. What is your name?”
“Mo Xuanyu,” Mo Xuanyu admitted, and Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as if that meant something to him – except it couldn’t, of course, because Mo Xuanyu was sure he’d never met anyone even remotely like this Lan Wangji fellow in his life. “I don’t remember taking his body. I’m sorry. Can you not exorcise me? I don’t want to die.”
Lan Wangji was silent for a long moment.
He was still flying very fast, and Jiang Cheng was still following, shouting out curses and demands that he stop, not that Lan Wangji was listening.
“There will be no exorcism,” he finally said, and Mo Xuanyu exhaled in relief. “We will, however, fix this.”
“…we?”
“Wei Ying and myself.”
Mo Xuanyu nodded. That sounded more likely than anyone relying on his participation.
“Where are we going?” he asked. Jiang Cheng was falling further and further behind.
“Mo Village.”
Mo Xuanyu tensed up at once.
“You will not be left there,” Lan Wangji clarified, and – how did he know that Mo Xuanyu didn’t want to be left there? “But we must collect Wei Ying, who I suspect is currently in your body.”
“In my…I’m still alive?”
Lan Wangji was quiet again, and then said, “Yes. And you will remain so.”
That was reassuring, mostly.
“Okay,” Mo Xuanyu said, and found that he mostly felt relieved. He’d be very happy to have his normal body back again, if possible, especially if he didn’t have to stay in Mo Village…“Wait, if I don’t have to stay there, where will I go? I don’t have anywhere else to go, unless my father comes back for me. He's a sect leader –”
“He will not, and even if he did, you should not go with him. Once Wei Ying returns to his body, you will be able to stay at the Lotus Pier. If you do not wish to stay there, I will bring you back to the Cloud Recesses – that is my home – instead.”
“Oh,” Mo Xuanyu said, feeling bewildered. That was an awfully nice offer, even if Lan Wangji was feeling guilty about Wei Wuxian stealing his body by accident – which seemed like what had happened here rather than Mo Xuanyu being the one who did the stealing. Maybe he should go with Lan Wangji instead, he seemed much more responsible than Wei Wuxian was, rushing over to rescue him and explain things instead of throwing him into a body and leaving him all alone in a strange place. But on the other hand… “Is the Cloud Recesses…I mean…no offense, but…does it have…”
“Yes?”
“Does it have soft beds, too? And – and hot food?”
Mo Xuanyu didn’t need much, not really. He looked eagerly at Lan Wangji, who had an odd expression on his face briefly before wiping it back to neutral and nodding in confirmation.
“Okay,” Mo Xuanyu said, and curled up in Lan Wangji’s arms. “Then I’ll stay with you. You can take care of me.”
“I will,” Lan Wangji said, sounding strangely serious. “In return for the gift you last gave me – I will.”
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Dean Winchester be like:
I hate myself because it’s what my father taught me to do. I hate myself because it’s a defense mechanism. I use sarcasm to cover up the fact that I believe I am worthless. I raised my brother into a good man, that’s the only good I’ve ever done. I’ve saved some people, they don’t say thank you, but that’s okay. I wish I could have been the man my father wanted me to be. I break everything I touch. All the people I love I end up killing or leaving me. I am broken. I don’t do romantic love, it’s asking for me to get my heart broken, more broken than it already is. I sold my soul to a demon so I could save my brother, because he’s the best thing I ever did, the only good thing. I’m afraid to go to Hell, but I pretend I’m not, because what’s the alternative?
Hell proved that I was the person I always knew I was, a bad person, willing to torture to get out of pain. I met an angel, he’s not like I thought. He’s a soldier, like me, he’s taking orders from a father he can’t see. He starts out as an ally, but he’s different than the others, they say he likes me. He’s awkward, he stands too close to me sometimes. I started the Apocalypse because I wasn’t strong enough. My brother is going down the wrong path, and I don’t know how to stop it. The angels tell me Lucifer has to rise, but the one that pulled me out of Hell disobeys to help me stop it. I think I should consider him a friend. Lucifer rises anyway.
The angel is on the run from Heaven, he’s a good guy, I like him a lot, more than I think I should. I don’t know what to do, if I say yes to Michael, we can save some people. Maybe I’ll get to know peace, maybe my father will be proud of me then. The angel and my brother are angry at me, but I’ve always been a coward, they just don’t know it. But they know me best, I can’t say yes to Michael if it means disappointing them.
My brother goes to the cage with Lucifer and Michael, the angel disappears, and I’m left to pick up the pieces, living a life I feel like I stole from somebody else. I always sleep with a gun and holy water under the bed, even though I know every entrance is secure. My brother comes back, but he’s different now, he’s not the same, I should have looked for him. I feel guilty. We found out his soul is gone, his soul, his soul. The angel is back, but he’s no real help. I kill myself to speak to Death, who brings back his soul in exchange for me playing Death, where I learn a few hard lessons.
I find out the angel has been working with our enemies. Why does it feel like my heart is broken when he won’t meet my eyes? I leave him to the demons, but not before one last look. I’m not sure why. The idiot, he ends up dying trying to get souls from Purgatory, desperate to win his war in Heaven. Why does everyone leave me? The Leviathan are out there, a new threat. At least I know how to kill, so I won’t have to think about the muddy trenchcoat in the trunk of my car. I lose the closest thing I have to a father with a bullet to the brain. I feel like I’m spinning out of control. My brother loses his mind. The angel comes back, he doesn’t recognize me, that hurts. When he does remember me, I tell him we need him, but I really mean that I do.
I get sent to Purgatory, I meet a vampire turned ally turned new best friend, but I won’t leave without the angel, I can’t leave without the angel. We find him, he was running from me, why does everyone run from me? We make it out of Purgatory, the angel gets left behind. It turns out my brother didn’t look for me. Why am I so dispensable? The vampire is the only one I can trust now. I dream about the angel, about the way I couldn’t save him. I feel like I can’t save anyone these days. I see the angel in the air around me, am I going crazy? But then he shows up behind me, why do I care so much about him? I don’t even care where he came from, as long as he’s here. My brother takes on trials, they start to hurt him. We find a place to call home. I’ve never had my own bedroom before. The angel is distant, I wish I could reach him. He doesn’t answer my prayers. He and I find the angel tablet, he hits me. I tell him I need him, never able to tell him that I think I might love him too. He snaps out of it then walks out of my life again. I wish I was lovable. I almost lose my brother to the trials, he has to know I can’t lose him, he’s all I’ve got. The angels fall, I wonder about my angel, if he’s alright.
My brother is dying, and I make a deal with an angel to save him. My angel says he’s a good guy, and I’m too desperate to vet him properly. I watch my angel, now a human, die in front of me, the angel in my brother saves him, it’s one of the only times I’ve ever put someone else over my brother. I feel guilty about that. I have to kick my angel out, it tears me in half to do it, but I have to protect my brother. I watch the angel from a gas station window, I try to find the courage to go see him. I use humor to hide how much I miss him. My brother finds out about the angel, which cost the life of a kid I was supposed to protect, he’s so angry at me. Well, I deserve it this time. I take the Mark of Cain to defeat Abaddon, it can’t be all that bad. I start to lose my grip on myself. My angel gives up an army for me, and it’s the closest I feel to being me in months. My brother and my angel try to stop it, but it’s too late. I die in my brother’s arms.
I wake up with black eyes. I don’t care about anyone, anything. There’s a tiny part of me that’s screaming to wake up, but I drown him out easily enough. My brother finds me, says he wants to cure me. I don’t want it, I don’t want to be me, not feeling is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. They do cure me though, my brother and my angel, and waking up from the blackness is like surfacing from deep water. For a while, I feel loved. But after what I did, I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’m still not me, and when my friend, who I loved like a sister is taken, I go off the deep end again. It’s too easy, but violence is all I know. The angel tries to stop me. I have him where I want him, a blade to the heart and this is all over. But I still can’t kill him, I still can’t kill the angel. Death tells me I have to kill my brother. I almost do it. But killing Death releases me, and I’m me again. Sometimes I still wish I wasn’t.
I have this connection to this Darkness. It scares the hell out of me. I wish I understood it, I wish I could stop it. Am I pulled towards the Darkness because I, myself, am darkness? Is it because I am, because I’ve always been bad? I lose the angel to Lucifer himself, how did I not notice until it was too late? Why would he leave me like this? Will I ever get him back? My head is foggy around the Darkness, but not when it comes to him. I just wish I could get through to him. Lucifer taunts me, my heart rips in half. We get the angel back, but nothing good can last in this life, can it? God himself returns, I have to sacrifice myself to stop the Darkness. I’ll do it, because of course I will, if I have an opportunity to do some good, I’ll take it. The Darkness doesn’t kill me. She thanks me.
My mother is alive. It’s everything I’ve always wanted. I have to learn fast that she’s not what I thought. That’s hard. Me and my brother end up in prison for trying to kill Lucifer, and we find out this girl is going to have his kid. How will we kill someone innocent? I can’t think about that, I’m a killer, I’ll kill if i have to. The angel kills a reaper to save me, but what will happen to him? We start looking for this kid, but do we even want to find it? The angel nearly dies for me, he tells me, my family he loves us. I wish I could tell him the same, but the words won’t work right in my brain, so I do what I always do, I look away. The angel finds the girl, but the kid inside her gets to him, and he runs away from me. Why does everyone run from me? We find them just in time to find a rift to another world, and my brother has to drag me away from the angel, who is going to sacrifice himself to kill Lucifer. He comes back, but before I can say the words I’ve been holding onto for so long, he dies in front of me, only this time, it’s real. My mom is taken from me too, and I’m left by the angel’s side, staring up at the sky, wondering why, why me?
I bury the angel, my brother insists we can’t kill the kid, even though it’s his fault my mom is gone and the angel is... I beg God to bring him back, please, bring him back. You owe me this, please bring him back. He doesn’t listen. I’m alone. We burn the angel, and I try to learn to live with regret and grief and crippling pain all at once. I hate the kid, this is his fault. I kill myself again to save some souls, but also because I want to die this time. I can’t take it anymore. Death tells me I have work to do, but how much more work can there be? How much more can I take? It’s like the Universe reads my mind, because my angel comes back, and it’s like the last few weeks haven’t happened. I still can’t say the words, but maybe this time I’ll get there. Maybe this time. We go to the other world, we save some people, I find my mom. I let another Michael from the other world possess me to defeat Lucifer, but then I can’t expel him. Before he shuts me in my memories, I am desperately afraid.
My brother and the angel find me in my own head, the snap me out of it. I should have known this bar was too good for me, I knew I didn’t deserve it. I shut Michael in there, but I know I won’t last long. I think I’m too weak to hold him, so I build a box designed to hold me forever. I dream about it, claw the sides of the wall until my nails are bloody, but if it’s my eternity or Michael’s rule? I’ll take the ocean every time. The angel will always try to save me, I still can’t say the words. The kid, my kid, he destroys Michael, but something is wrong, and I don;t realize until it’s too late. My mother is dead, at the hands of the kid, and I have never been angrier. I hate the kid again, I hate the angel too, I hate myself more. I pull a gun on the kid, but I still can’t pull the trigger. Sometimes I wish I could put it to my own head. God comes back, turns out he was the villain all along. Typical. He kills our kid. I can’t let myself feel.
The angel tries to convince me that we’re real. How can I believe that? Is everything I am just a story? Have I ever chosen anything? Does the angel really care about me? Do I really care about him? Another one of our friends dies. I blame the angel, I push him away, because I can’t look at him if I think what I feel for him might not be real. I meet up with someone I loved. He’s a monster now, I have to kill him. He dies holding me. I wish I was dead sometimes too. My brother is sick, he gets kidnapped by God. I’m spinning in circles. Me and the angel end up in Purgatory again. He gets taken from me. I’m so alone, so scared, I break down in the one place I could get lost in forever searching for the angel, I don’t want to leave him, please, don’t make me leave him. I have to keep looking, get back to the real world to save my brother. How will I choose? Thank god, or, whatever, I find the angel. I’ll tell him this time, but he stops me. He must know. He doesn’t want me, no one wants me. Why would they? Chuck has taken everything from me. I have to kill him, no matter the cost. The cost is gonna be our kid, raised from the dead by Death. I guess the one thing we have going for us is we don’t stay dead for long. I’m ready to let my kid die for my freedom. My brother stands in the way, I pull a gun on him. He talks me down, he’s the only one that can. I decide to take it out on Death, my pain, my anger, my rage. I take the angel and we find her, she chases us. Another trap. I realize that I’ve trapped us both. Why am I so worthless?
The angel looks at me. He smiles. He tells me how worthy I am, that I’m good, that I changed him. How can I tell him how he changed me. He tells me he’ll die for loving me. Then he shouldn’t, I’m not worth his life. Don’t leave me, please, I can’t lose you, you don’t know what it does it me when you leave me. He tells me he loves me. I try to tell him a fraction of the things I feel for him, but it’s too late. He’s taken before my eyes, and this time I know there’s no getting him back.
I’m left on the floor, unable to move.
This time I know, I’ll never let myself love again, because my heart is so shattered that it’s powdered, there’s no repairing it now. I’ve always been broken, but this time I’m not just broken: I’m destroyed.
#so uh yeah idk what this is#dean#spn#my writing#supernatural#dean winchester#destiel#im so sorry????? idk where this came from#I have never loved anyone the way I love him
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Cats | Eddie Munson x y/n
if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it
Word count: 1k
summary: Eddie munson “doesn’t want a cat”
You never ever took advantage of Eddie and the fact that he would find a way to get you everything you ever wanted (especially when you threatened to stop having sex over it, which you’d only done twice in the 4 years you’d been together). You knew he struggled to get buy and would never make him spend unnecessary money.
However, with both of you making a few extra bucks lately and your new promotion at work, you two could totally afford a cat. It’s not like you’ve wanted one for years and your parents said no and you’re now living with your boyfriend so you could totally do whatever you want and get a cat.
“Absolutely not,” Eddie said and you scoffed putting your hands on your hips. He chuckled at your cute little pouty face as you said “come on…we can afford the little fluff ball and I’d be even happier. Don’t you want your loving girlfriend to be the happiest girl in the world?”
“Yes but-…babeee I don’t want a cat” he said and you whined, crossing your arms. You sighed and said “but they are so cute…please?” “Babe” “please?” “No” “pretty please?” “No cats. You can have anything else besides a cat” he said and you groaned.
He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head. “Tell you what, no more sex till we get a cat” you said and smirked pulling away and walking off to the bedroom. He stood there, jaw dropped as he said “wait- wait, hell no! That is not fair! Come on, baby, I get hard every 5 minutes. How am I supposed to go the rest of my life without ever being inside you again?”
“I don’t know Ed’s. You know there’s a simple solution, whether or not you realize how easy it is, is on you” you said and he groaned. He sighed and grabbed his keys. “I’ll be back” he said and you chuckled.
You thought he would come back 10 minutes later with a stuffed animal cat and eventually you’d get over it. But to your surprise, he showed back up an hour later with a tiny little black cat in his hand. Yes, his hand.
“Ahh! Oh my god, baby, I was kidding. You shouldn’t- honey, if you don’t want it we should find someone else to take care of it” you said and he shrugged. He sighed and said “I mean she’s kinda cute. And she screamed everytime I put her in her little carrier thingy so I had to hold her the entire ride home. We are both gonna die inside if I give her away”
“What’s that? You like the cat?” You asked and he cleared his throat, shaking his head. You chuckled and you gently took the cat, petting its little head and body. She meowed and you gasped. “What’d you name her?” You asked and he having the biggest, shit eating grin ever.
“Ozzy” he said and you rolled your eyes. You kissed him softly and said “you’re the best boyfriend ever, you know that?” “Mhm. I better be. I expect crazy, amazing, mind-blowing sex once she falls asleep” he said and you smiled, giggled as you ran to the bedroom, little Ozzy held tight to your chest until you gently set her on the bed and started to bond with her.
“Ok I got her food and water over there by the bedroom door and she has her own little bed but I’m not gonna let her use that until she can't be held in one hand anymore. Oh and I got her toys!” He said, showing you the huge bag of cat toys.
“But you don’t like her?” You said and he cleared his throat, throwing the toys in a cardboard box. You chuckled, tickling the small kitten's belly.
He really tried to pretend he didn’t like her all that much but her little persistent self constantly climbed onto his lap, rolling onto her back and pawing at his chains or necklaces, trying to chew on his rings. He couldn’t but fall in love with that little fluff ball.
6 months later, that was his new best friend. He did everything with her. To their surprise she didn’t mind baths and showers so she’d sometimes jump in mid-shower with Eddie. She would sit on his shoulders all the time, and would eat a little piece of every meal he ate.
He even made her a collar out of a chain and made a leash too so he could bring her to hellfire and so she could tag along with the friend group. She had him wrapped around his finger. When she was still a kitten she would curl up on his shoulder and nuzzle into his neck when you two went to bed.
“Babe. You can’t be serious” you said as he offered to sleep on the couch because Ozzy had fallen asleep on his side of the bed. “I don’t want to disturb her. She needs sleep too” “honey, I know you love her a lot but I’m sure she’ll be happy to move so you can get and bed and you two will probably cuddle up” you said, you still were quite upset about the fact that your cat stole your boyfriend but you know it is what is.
He gasped as scooped her up, holding her as you waited for him to climb in. You chuckled as she meowed and licked your face a few times. He got into bed and said “I’m so sorry sweet girl. I won’t ever let mommy wake you up in the middle of your sleep ever again. Poor girl, she’s so mean to you, huh?”
She purred loudly as she curled up on his chest. You rolled your eyes and said “she’s your new favorite, huh?” “No, baby you’re still my favorite girl on the entire planet” he said, petting Ozzy and kissing her head.
You sighed and said “I just wonder what’s gonna happen when we have kids” He blushed, chuckling. You kissed him, and then Ozzy’s head before going to sleep next to him. He hoped those kids came soon enough that they got to meet Ozzy too, and she could cling onto them too.
Eventually I’ll be writing for
Eddie Munson
Joseph Quinn
Jamie Bower
Maya Hawke
So just dm me the taglist you want to be added to and I’ll add you :)
#eddie munson#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#eddie munson fanfic
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instead of you [part seventeen]
pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader
summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.
warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol +sex
word count: 1.5k
series masterlist
The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two and a half hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Sam. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.
You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Sam and Harry bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Tom flicking them off.
But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Sam noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits.
You almost wished the Hollands hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that.
If Sam noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care.
“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Harry asked, stretching his arms above his head.
You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Tom had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status.
“Y/n,” Tom answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”
You rolled your eyes. “Like England has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”
“At least we didn’t-”
“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Harry interrupted.
“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”
Sam shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Whatever,” Tom continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”
-
“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?”
You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hollands. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.
Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.
You were glad you’d worn a sports bra underneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Tom’s polite smile.
He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours.
You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time.
“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.
“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”
You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Tom’s legs down.
“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Tom said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”
“Okay,” you squeaked back in response.
You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Tom. Sam was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward.
The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Tom outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.
“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit.
“Nope, you?”
“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”
“Man, what’d they get you for?”
“Identity theft,” you sighed.
“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Tom replied, false sympathy rolling off his words.
He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you.
“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit.
Tom made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”
“Aren’t you an actor?”
“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“No, you’re definitely the guy!”
“You’re thinking of Tom Hiddleston,” he insisted.
“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”
“That’s not how it works!”
You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”
“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”
“Nope!” You smiled happily.
“Well that’s on me, so...”
You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hollands were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance.
“It’s about time!” Harry yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you.
Sam grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hollands were all looking at you expectantly.
“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked.
Tom nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”
You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Sam.
“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Sam hissed back.
“I had a bra on this time.”
“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Sam’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”
Sam’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience.
“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at... this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”
“What?” Sam asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”
“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Tom chimed in.
“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.
“How?”
“The entire website was in Japanese, Sam. I don’t know Japanese!”
“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Harry groaned.
“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”
You traded a look with Tom, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.
“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Sam tried, forcing a smile.
“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”
sorry she’s short this week :( but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!
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#instead of you#iou#tom holland series#tom holland x reader#tom holland x bi!reader#tom holland x you#tom holland x y/n
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Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬5/end
Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse, blood, violence/death, fucking.
This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Note: Another finale! Hahahhaa, hope you like it!
Thank you. Love you guys!
As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3
You went to bed with shame burning in your cheeks but the heat quickly travelled to your loins as you thought of the scene at the drive-in. When you closed your eyes, you felt Arvin’s weight on you and his hand between your legs. You rolled onto one side, then the other, tossing and turning as you couldn’t escape the memory or the lingering sensation of his touch.
He was already downstairs when you woke up, a lazy Saturday morning as the garage was closed for the weekends. He was at the counter, boiling water for the coffee as you came down in a plain peach dress and flats. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you, urging you to sit.
“I’m gonna make you breakfast, honey,” he announced as he filled the coffee press, “you know, my ma was a waitress. Worked down at this greasy diner when she met my dad. Before she died…” he stopped and his throat bobbed, “I dunno, I just remember the smell of her cookin’.”
“I’m sorry, Arvin,” you said as you took a seat at the table, “about your mother.”
“Why? It was so long ago, I hardly remember,” he shrugged as he searched the cupboards and pulled out the cast iron pan, “you know, I can barely even see my pa in my mind. Even when I really think. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes already.” He put the metal to the burner, “but I think I found the one I want.”
You ran your fingertips along your throat nervously as you leaned your elbows on the table. You felt the void left by your missing wedding ring. You clapped your hands together and lowered them to the wood.
You watched him work in the kitchen. When you tried once to get up and help, he bid you back down tersely and you obliged. You felt restless sitting there as someone else did everything. He put a cup of coffee before you and sipped from his own between flipping the eggs.
Finally, he presented you with a plate of hash, egg, toast, and bacon. You thanked him as he sat and you picked up your fork and knife. You weren’t very hungry, the anxiety squeezed your stomach as you watched his hand. He buttered a slice and you recalled the tingle as his fingers sank into you.
You dropped your fork and apologised for the loud clang. You picked it back up and pushed the potato around. You were trying to think of what to say. Of how to say it. Arvin wasn’t volatile like Roy but he showed glimmers of anger that troubled you nonetheless.
“Last night…” you began.
“You liked it?” he perked up and swallowed, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Arvin,” you uttered.
“I just… you’re so wonderful and warm, I never known a woman like you,” he ranted, “and I… I never been with a woman, you know? I hope I didn’t leave you wanting--”
“Arvin,” you said more firmly, “I’m married.”
His face fell and he leaned back in his chair. He looked down as he scooped up some egg and hash and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed tight-lipped. His steely silence was worse than any punch. You shoved some yolk in your mouth and chewed.
“I…” you began, “I’m not meaning to upset you but we can’t just pretend--”
A deafening bang sounded and shook the house. Your breath caught as you looked at Arvin with wide eyes and he cleared his throat as he stood.
“Where is ya, boy?” Roy hollered as another blast came and you heard the door jolt. You rose and looked down the hall as slivers decorated the floor below the holes peppered in the wood. “I heard about you and my wife…” footsteps clamoured up the steps of the porch, “you think you can pull a gun on me? Well, I got a bigger one, boy!”
“Shit,” Arvin pulled you back as another gunshot blew out the handle, “go, hide.”
He shoved you away and turned back to the table. He tossed the butter knife and hurried to the counter. He pulled out a drawer and took out a steak knife. He shook his head and glanced over at you again.
“Go on,” he snarled.
“No, you,” you ran to him and touched his arm, “go, I’ll talk to him--”
“He’ll kill you,” he whispered.
“No, he won’t,” you assured, “he woulda done it years ago, Arvin, go.”
You pointed him to the back door and he shook his head. You met his eyes as he glanced back at you and you nodded.
“It’ll be fine, I’ll get him gone and come find you when he goes,” you promised, “Arvin, I can’t see you die because of me.”
His eyes searched your face and he touched your cheek. “Alright, honey,” he breathed, “you know I’ll do anything for you, don’t you?”
“Go,” you insisted as the door flew inward with a heavy kick.
Arvin scrambled away and the back door creaked in his stead as you turned to near the doorway and peer past the staircase. Roy kept the double barrel level as he pointed it at you. You quivered but tried not to show your terror.
“Roy,” you greeted through your tight throat.
“You whore,” he cocked the gun and you flinched, “I oughta shoot your fuckin’ head off too, but I just want the boy. Where is he?”
“I… I dunno, he just went out front, I thought you woulda seen him,” you lied as you filled the doorframe with your body, realising the table set for two would give away your deception.
“Don’t you be hidin’ him from me, you’re still my wife,” Roy snarled as you came closer, trying to keep him from the kitchen, “and I’m gonna put down that punk and remind you who I am. Who you are.”
“I am your wife, Roy,” you said evenly, “I can never forget that, now please, lower the gun, I’ll help you find him.”
“I ain’t believe you, you let him beat me--”
“What was I supposed to do?” you touched the metal muzzle, “he been keepin’ me here. He has a gun too, you know that.” You slid past the barrel and hesitantly reached to touch his chest, “I been so scared without you here, you’re my husband, Roy, and I love--”
He sputtered and flinched suddenly. The gun sagged and fired into the floorboards beside your shoes. The metal slid from his grasp and fell down smoking as a red splotch stained the dingy fabric of his shirt. The cascade spread as he staggered and you saw the wooden handle of the steak knife stick out from his side.
Arvin pulled the blade out as you tripped over the gun and toppled to the floor. Roy slumped to his knees as the younger man brought the knife down over his shoulder and sank it into his heart. Your lungs puffed with panic at the sickly crunch as the blade twisted between his ribs.
Your eyes widened and blurred with tears as bitterness filled your stomach. You opened your mouth and screamed as Roy fell onto his stomach and gasped out his last breaths. You felt a slickness on your cheek as a hand touched you and an arm wrapped around you. You blinked and Arvin came clear as he held the knife against your face and pulled you into his lap to cradle you.
“Wh--wh--wh--” you babbled as your eyes found your husband, completely still across the floorboards.
“He can’t hurt you no more,” Arvin cooed as he rocked you, “I heard him, he said he was gon’ shoot you. I told you, honey, I’ll do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.”
🚬
The porcelain was cold against your body as you sat in the tub, the hot water slowly rose around you. Arvin shoved your bloody clothes in a bag and took off his own. He tied up the sack, his hands still tinged scarlet. He put the bundle in the sink and neared the wall of the footed tub.
You watched him step over the side, his stomach tightly muscles, his figure much more slender than Roy’s, though his arms were thick and his shoulders wide. He lowered himself across from you as he sat with his back to the flowing faucet. The water deepened and scalded your skin.
He took a cloth and scrubbed your face, your neck, your chest above the surface of the water. You were numb as you felt itchy, as if bugs crawled over every inch of flesh. He stood you up and finished washing you. He was gentle but firm, lingering around your curves as his brown eyes drank you in.
He took a new cloth for himself and after wiping off the droplets across his face and rinsing his body, he scratched the red from around his nails. You shivered as he helped you out of the tub and hugged you in a towel. He led you to the bed and laid you down under the quilt.
“Gonna drive out and find a ditch,” he said as he dressed. “Finish cleaning when I get back. Probably need another bath then.”
You said nothing as you stared at the ceiling, a searing white.
“Honey,” he neared and pressed his hand to your forehead, “I know you’re shook. He tried to kill ya. We both heard him say it.”
You looked at him and your eyes dampened. He bent and pecked your lips and retracted his hand reluctantly.
“I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised and pulled on his denim jacket.
He left you and you listened to his footsteps fade. You closed your eyes and saw Roy’s blood spilling forth like a tainted river. You could hear the scraping as he was dragged across the wood, Arvin’s grunts as you watched him struggle to roll your husband’s large body in a sheet.
Your lashes flicked open but the picture is painted vivid in your mind. You hear the car and the engine fades into the soft sway of trees and the noise of critters in the grass. You don’t have the strength to do more than lay there. Time passes by your stagnant eyes and the shadows set in from the corner of the room. The windows darkened and deepened your gloom.
Arvin startled you as he appeared at the door. You didn’t hear the approach of his car or his footsteps on the stairs. He neared and kissed you again. He pulled the chain on the lamp and it cast a yellow haze over you.
“You’re awake,” he said as he stood straight, “I needa wash up again.” You hummed and stayed as you were, “you want tea?”
You shook your head and he watched you. He clamped his thin lips together and backed away.
“Found his truck, just down the way,” he pulled his grey tee over his head, “looks like he drove out to the river, walked up here. Make sure it was seen so he can’t be traced up here. Smarter than he looked.” Arvin bent to untie his boots. “I left it in the water, put it into gear and let it drift off.”
You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket to your ear. He quieted as you listened to the rustle of his clothing as he stripped it away.
“Anyhow, they won’t find him,” he said, “likely he told whoever, if anyone even cared, that he was goin’ fishin’.”
He waited for an answer but didn’t get it. He went into the bathroom and you heard the pipes rattle as he twisted on the faucet. You felt the dampness cross the hallway and seep into the room. When he returned, he gave a sigh and tossed his towel over the old chair sat by your vanity.
He folded the blanket back and you closed your eyes at his nudity. He slid in next to you and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. He circled his arm around you and brought your body against his. Suddenly, you felt everything as you were set alight by the heat of his flesh.
“Honey,” he said softly as he framed your face with his hand, “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”
You quivered and pushed your hands to his chest. You’d never been naked with another man, never seen another man naked. In the tub, you hardly figured what was happening but then, it was all too real as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.
“Didn’t I save you? He would killed both of us,” he rasped, “honey, I know, I’ve met so many men like him…” he rubbed his nose against yours, “and killed every one of them.”
You winced and your fingers curled into his shoulders. He smothered you with a kiss as his hand trailed down and he cupped your chest. He groaned as he fondled you, tilting his hips to rub his dick against you. He rolled your nipple under his thumb as he dragged his lips down your cheek and chin.
His hand crept around your side as he slipped lower to nibble your breasts. Roy never touched you like that. Early on he was clumsy but impatient, and after a while, he was thankless and cruel. Arvin was gentle, doting and diligent. He suckled at your bud and the tugging plucked at your core.
“Mmm,” he left a path of spit down your stomach as he nudged you onto your back, “honey, you’re so beautiful,” he disappeared beneath the blanket and pushed your legs apart as he nuzzled your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your patch of hair.
He purred as nosed your cunt and his tongue dipped between your folds. You murmured and reached down to grasp his damp hair. You brought your thighs against his head and arched your back as he tended to you, slow and scintillating as he filled you with a yearning you’d never known before.
You didn’t think as you tangled your fingers in his locks and tilted your pelvis against his lapping. You shouldn’t feel this way, should feel so good. Your husband was dead and there was another man in your bed. You were a whore, just as he said. But it felt good and he wasn’t there to tell you again.
Arvin moaned as he devoured you, his hands hungrily groped your ass as he lifted you slightly from the bed. He pushed a finger against your entrance and eased into you. You gasped and he dipped another inside of you. He moved his hand in time with his mouth, his groans rumbling through you.
You hooked your legs under his arm and cried out as you came. Your body spasmed and jerked and you rode out the shattering ascent. You shook as you stilled and kissed your thighs with his wet lips, smearing your juices across your flesh.
You panted as he pushed himself up and the blanket fell down his back, leaving both your bodies bare to the soft glow of the lamp. His hands roved over your body and he bent again, kissing every inch his fingertips danced over first. He brought his lips back to yours and you tasted the sweetness as he forced his tongue into your mouth.
He pushed his thighs to yours so your legs bent around them, wide and welcoming. He parted and stared down at you, his deep brown eyes swallowing you up.
“The moment I saw you, I knew,” he said as he caressed your cheek, “and I haven’t stopped thinking of this ever since that moment.”
“Arvin,” you sighed and touched his wrist.
“I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reached down between your bodies as he planted and elbow into the pillow. He ran his tip along your wet folds and his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you…” he pressed against you until his tip was inside you, “forever.”
“Arvin,” you gulped and gripped his muscled arms, “I…”
“He’s gone,” he sank further into you and kissed you again, “and you’re mine.”
You moaned and he bottomed out with a gasp. His body tensed and he shuddered as he wiggled his hips.
“God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “so warm, so… sweet. Oh, honey.”
“Please…” you croaked as your eyes watered.
You didn’t know if it was the bloodiness of the day or that you’d never felt anything so pleasant, so gentle, so caring. You didn’t know why you were crying or why your body buzzed like cicadas under the moon. You pushed your head into the pillow as he pressed his fingers to your clit and rubbed in time with his steady thrusts.
“Honey,” he droned and kissed your wet cheek between each stroke, “oh, you’re so nice.”
He tilted into you over and over. You brought your legs around him and hooked your arms under his as you clawed at his back. Your body contorted with his as your eyes rolled back and you succumbed to the stolid heat coursing through your veins. You cried out and let your hands fall down as you groped his ass, begging for more.
The bed quaked as he grew more fervent in his appetite, the pain was dulled by the sheer bliss and you sang out your delight. There was nothing but his body and that radiating pulse in your core. You came again and again as you whined ravenously and dug your nails into his flesh.
He jerked into you with a fluttery breath. His hips stuttered and he fell limp over you. His head hung over your shoulder as he huffed. His cum coated your walls in a salacious heat and you ran your hands up his back. He turned his head to kiss your temples, tears still rolling down to your lobes.
As your nerves stilled and the afterglow dimmed, reality shrouded you once more. The body over yours felt heavier as you were paralysed against the bed. Arvin drew you with him as he rolled onto his side and held you. It was nice but tinged with the horror wrought by his hands.
You didn’t miss Roy but you didn’t feel free either.
🚬
Arvin rolled out the rug over the bloodstain in the hall, the whole covered over with a thin board of scrap. You watched and clutched your purse then checked the clock. He stood and neared to fetch his jacket from the small square corner table. He pulled it over the button-up that once belonged to your dad and the tie that was Roy’s.
His hair was combed back tidily and he wore a carefree smile. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand and gestured to the door. The frame was curtained with a sheet as the shredded wood was removed and another would be ordered from Tim’s Hardware. He clung to your hand as he followed you out into the Sunday sunlight.
“We don’t have to go,” you said as he swung your hand and led you to the Chevrolet, “I know you don’t like it.”
“Nah, we should go to church,” he smiled and spun you to kiss you. He held your face between your hands as his lips lingered overly long. “Let the lord and all the other holy people see me and my girl.”
“Arvin,” you shied away.
He reached past you and opened the door. You sat and he gripped the metal as he looked down at you.
“I will keep my hands to myself before the lord,” he avowed, “I only ask his blessing for what I know to be his work.”
You considered him and wrung the short strap of your purse, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”
“I didn’t, not before,” he said with a smile, “not ‘til I met you. His most precious angel.”
You chewed your lip and turned your face down. He chuckled and closed the door. He got in the driver’s side and the engine rolled over. His hand wandered over to your lap as he steered with one hand. You looked out the window and stared up at the pale blue sky.
You didn’t believe in God. You couldn’t. Just like your father said, a benevolent lord would not gift such suffering to his creation. There was no all-knowing being sitting in the clouds, no glorious purpose for you or any other. There were only devilish men and their dark deeds.
#Arvin Russell#arvin russell x reader#dark arvin russell#dark!arvin russell#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#Of something beautiful but annihilating#the devil all the time
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break up with your boyfriend, i’m bored
+ pairings: um… armin x reader…. but, spotlight on jean—just... read it to understand, please
+ genres and warnings: college au what’s new, fluff… you’re just going to have to work with me and trust me on this one alright
+ notes: free colt he ain’t do nothing wrong i just needed someone outside of their immediate friend group to blame i am so sorry justice for my boy colt and falco too
+ more notes: longer levi fic still in progress, so have jean thee comedian in the meantime
“I think I have a crush on someone.”
Jean crosses his arms and makes it a point to huff even louder than before so that you can accurately assess his annoyance at moment; going so far as to slump back into your not so comfortable couch to really sell it.
“And that is why you manhandled me all the way to your apartment on a Tuesday afternoon?” he asks, voice flat and eyes hooded.
You groan and roll your eyes. Jean’s eyebrows are pinched together with more judgement than confusion at your current state of distress when you sit next to him on the sofa, a knee bent in his direction.
“Jeanie, I don’t think you’re understanding the severity of my issue.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” he drawls, “But, please, do enlighten me. It’s not like I have an essay to write or anything.”
“I have a crush,” you reiterate, hands mapping out every syllable in your sentence, “On someone who is not my boyfriend.”
“I see,” he nods, but his voice remains flat, “And, pray tell, what exactly is my role in all of this?”
“You’re supposed to use your philosophical psychoanalytical bullshit to tell me what’s wrong with me and how to fix it.”
“Philosophy and psychology are two different disciplines.”
“They sound the same to me.”
“That’s because you’re a single-celled chem major.”
“I think it takes more than a single cell to study chem.”
“Oh, is that what they tell you guys, now?”
“You’re not fucking helping.”
“Yes, I am,” he tuts, “It’s called talk therapy.”
“It sounds like you’re just taking shots at me.”
“Best friend talk therapy allows for a few digs here and there.”
“Jean,” you pinch his arm. He flinches, and yelps loudly, immediately raising the affected arm to counter with a flick to the center of your forehead. You glare, the palm of your left hand covering the sting on your skin, but concede, “Well played.”
“Thank you,” he nods, “I learned from the best.”
“Okay, now that you’ve gotten your ego boost for the day, can we worry about my problem, please.”
He shrugs, crossing resting his left ankle atop his right knee, “Sure.”
“Thank you.”
“What exactly is the problem, again?”
You sigh, and lean your head on Jean’s shoulder, “I have a boyfriend—”
“We’ve been over that.”
“—and the person I have a crush on is not my boyfriend.”
“Okay,” he pauses, “Are you going to do anything about this crush?”
“Well, I… no,” you ponder, “I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” he repeats, “So, then why are you so worked up about it?”
“Because!... Because… I don’t know, it’s… wrong? I’m in a relationship with someone else—isn’t this, like, emotional cheating?”
“Maybe,” he says, “I don’t know a whole lot about relationship psychology.”
“Come on, Jean.”
He sighs, “I’m serious, I don’t know, (_____).”
You whine, sounds muffled by the fabric of Jean’s sweater where your cheek lay pressed against his shoulder. “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?”
“You’re not, stop it,” Jean answers firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “You’re not horrible for having emotions that are difficult to work through.”
“Okay, then, I’m just a horrible girlfriend.”
“Maybe.”
“Jean.”
“Sorry,” he winces, patting your head for extra encouragement. It’s meant to be comforting, but it makes you feel like a patronized six-year-old, at best. It’s quiet for a while, with you mulling over Jean’s words, and him trying to pull you into the worst side hug in all of existence.
“Do you think,” you break the silence, “Maybe I should I break up with him?”
“Yes,” his answer comes too quickly, and much too enthusiastically.
You lift your head from his shoulder, unamused, but Jean doesn’t even try to hide the glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”
“No,” he pauses when he catches glimpse of the disbelief on your face, “Okay, yes, I don’t like him. At all.”
“Jean—”
“But maybe this is your subconscious telling you that you don’t like him either, and that you should, instead, go after your crush.”
“Oh, so now you want to use your psychobullshit on me?”
“If it means I don’t have to pretend to like Colt anymore, then yes,” he replies, a stupid, shit-eating grin on his lips.
You scoff, arms crossed against your chest, “You don’t even pretend to like him now.”
Jean shrugs, “I pretend to like him to his face.”
“No, you don’t,” you insist, “You’re probably the worst at it, in fact.”
“I’m not worse than Connie.”
“You called him an asshole. To his face.”
“Connie poured tequila on him.”
“Connie was drunk. You were completely sober.”
“Connie would have done it sober and you know it.”
You open your mouth to refuse, but the words fall silent in your throat. Connie probably would have done it sober. “Okay, fine, whatever, you don’t like him,” you wave away the subject, “Do you really think this crush is my subconscious telling me to break up with him, though? I mean—it’s just, crushes are kind of fleeting right?”
“Sure, but—”
“What if I break up with him, and then I get over my crush, and realize I made a mistake.”
“Then you learn and grow, and find a new crush.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” he insists, “You’re beating yourself up pretty bad over this mystery guy—”
“—It could be a girl.”
“Is it a girl? Oh, is it Mikasa? Are you still hung up over her—you know I’m sure she’d make out with you asked. I think you both could relieve a lot of tension that way, actually.”
“You’re the worst person to walk this planet, you know that?” you sneer, annoyed by the smug grin on Jean’s face. So what if you had a tiny crush on Mikasa? Most people did, Jean included.
“Look,” Jean continues, “You and I both know you’re not a cheater, but you and I also know you’re just like Eren when it comes to things like this.”
“Just like Eren?”
“Falls too fast, too hard,” he clarifies, “I get the feeling you’ve had these feelings for a while, and that they’re not fleeting.”
You pout, and Jean knows that he’s right. “Okay, so say I do break up with Colt—”
“Which you should do, regardless.”
“—If we break up, then what? I still won’t know what to do with my left over grief. It’s not like I can just... go ask this guy out right away.”
“Yes, you can,” Jean presses, “In fact, you should.”
“No, I can’t,” you insist.
“Why not?”
“Well for one, I’ll look like a heartless whore.”
“You’re not a heartless whore for asking a guy out.”
“I am if I do it right after breaking up with my boyfriend.”
“Your internalized misogyny is showing,” he sing-songs, “Come on, you’re not a whore for doing what you want with a guy, you know that.”
“Okay, fine, not a whore, whatever,” you roll your eyes, “But I still couldn’t ask him out.”
“It’s the twenty first century, just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you can’t ask him—”
“Not because of that, dumb goose,” you glare, “I meant because—it’s, well, it’d be really sudden and kind of… awkward?”
“It’s not like he’d know you just broke up with someone, unless that’s one of your conversation starters.”
You sigh, a hand on your forehead. “Yes, he would, Jean.”
“How could he possibly—oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” you mock, a heavy sigh leaving your chest as you resume your previous sulking position, head leaning against his shoulder with your right cheek squished against his sweater.
“(_____), I’m honored, but you’re not really my type. I’d be willing to help you get over him though.”
“It’s not you, you fucking long-necked pigeon, it’s Arm—,” you cut yourself short, hands clamped over your own mouth.
“Oh my god!” Jean all but screams, propelling his body away from you with just enough distance to extend his arm, finger pointing directly at your chest, “You like Armin!”
“Shut up!”
“You have a crush on Armin!”
“Shut up, Jean!”
“You have a big, fat crush on Armin!”
“Shut up! I said shut up, you pasty fucking giraffe looking ass bitch!”
“Oh my—okay, you have to break up with Colt, immediately,” Jean rushes, “I can’t believe this—if you think Armin wouldn’t go out with you, then you really do have the intelligence of a single celled organism.”
“What in the ever loving fuck are you talking about.”
“We’re talking about the same Armin, right? Armin Arlert, about this tall,” Jean raises his hand significantly lower than Armin’s actual height, “Studies astrophysics, follows you around like a lap dog—”
“He does not,” you scoff.
Jean guffaws, “Didn’t he take you on a tour of, like… the NASA museum for your birthday? With the super high-tech planetarium that people die to get into?”
“Actually, it was their headquarters, but it’s only because he gets special privileges for being an intern.”
“Didn’t he name a star after you?”
“Anyone can name a star after anyone,” you roll your eyes, “It’s really not that hard.”
“People do not fucking go to NASA and ask for stars for just anyone!” Jean screeches, hands flailing wildly.
“Armin does!”
“Yeah, for you!” Jean emphasizes, “Come on, do you think if anybody else called him right now and asked him to get a star in their name, or even just fucking take them to headquarters of the most renowned space organization in the country, that he would actually do it?”
“I mean, maybe, if like… Eren asked.”
Jean opens his mouth to refute, but freezes half way with a head-tilt and pursed lips. “Okay, yeah, maybe—whatever, doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell him.”
“I don’t need to tell him shit.”
“You’re seriously choosing Colt over Armin? Who willingly stays with some greasy prick with the world’s most annoying younger brother, over a handsome, straight-A astrophysics student with a penchant for marine biology, and, like, really clear skin.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know Bertholdt was studying astro.”
“I wasn’t talking about Bertholdt.”
“It sounded like you were talking about Bertholdt.”
“I mean, Bertholdt’s got great skin, but it’s no where near as clear as Armin’s. He glows.”
It’s quiet again, as you eye Jean with a raised brow that’s all too familiar. “Are we sure that you’re not the one with the crush on Armin?”
“Shut up, you’re avoiding the point.”
“What’s the point, exactly?”
“That you’re in love with Armin, who is miles better than your current boy toy, so you should ask him out immediately.”
“I have a boyfriend, not a boy toy.”
“Ah ha!” he yells, “You didn’t deny that you’re in love with him—oh my god, you’re in love with Armin!”
He’s standing now, practically bouncing off the the walls at the revelation. You take to smacking him with the nearest pillow. “I’m not in love with him! I just—just really like him, okay!”
“Very convincing.”
“Shut the hell up, you’ve been pining after you know who for seven eons at this point.”
“You bitch,” he growls, “We’re not supposed to bring him up.”
“Well, you keep bringing up Armin!”
“We never established that Armin was on the list of he’s who shall not be named.”
“Well I vote that he should be.”
“Your vote has been vetoed,” he grins, “Look, I’m completely serious when I say that Armin is just as in love with you as you deny you are with him.”
“That sentence hurt my head,” you pout, resuming your signature brooding position.
“It’s okay, your single brain cell has been through a lot in the past fifteen minutes,” he pats your head again, earning him a glare that he simply chuckles at, “All it means is that you love Armin, and I assure you that he’s equally, if not more, in love with you.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. Now, up, up, up,” he tuts, pulling at your biceps until you’re standing, only to immediately start ushering you to the door, “You have a shitty boyfriend to go break up with.”
“What—Jean, come on, I didn’t mean right now!” you exclaim; but he’s stronger than he looks, and continues to propel your body out of the open door.
“No time to waste!” he insists, “Every hour you stay with Colt you lose another brain cell.”
“I thought I only had one to begin with,” you say, sarcasm evident in your tone.
It makes Jean’s grin triple, “Exactly, so go, not another hour to waste!”
“Jean, wait, I—,” you begin, only to be silenced by the silver door shutting in your face. The lock clicks soon after, and it’s only then you realized what he’s done.
“You knobby kneed bitch, this is my apartment!”
#aot x reader#snk x reader#jean x reader#jean kirstein x reader#armin x reader#armin arlet x reader#jean smut#eren smut#armin smut#eren x reader#aot imagines#snk imagines
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A continuation of this poor rebel x royal pair from here, though I do think this snippet stands on it's own. Thanks to @gingerly-writing for the original prompt!
After the stuff the enemy medics had forced down the protagonist's throat, there was no clear line between sleeping and waking. But eventually the ache in their muscles and bruises cut through the fog of the sleeping draught. The protagonist swam sluggishly to the awareness that they were slumped on the cold ground, feet bound together and hands tied tightly to the tent pole. No mystery whose tent it was.
"Back with us at last?" The antagonist's voice seemed to float in the heady, hazy atmosphere. "You were out a long time."
"'S'it smokey in here?" the protagonist groaned. "Or izzat the drugs and the, mm, concussion?"
There was a dry hmph. The protagonist's vision was clearing slowly, and they could just see a lean streak of black standing over them, dark against the gleaming reds and golds of the imperial tent. The antagonist. Their old childhood friend and their new crown prince - thanks to the protagonist's removal of the prior occupant from that position. And from the earth.
The protagonist carefully rolled their neck, loosening the muscles and grounding themselves. The tent was not spinning. Their heart was not pounding. Their friend was not their friend. Not anymore. "Is the part where I'm oh-so-grateful you've placed me in your personal custody?" the protagonist drawled. "For my own protection, I'm sure - "
There was a flash of dark and the crack of a palm across the protagonist's face. Again. They swallowed and breathed through the new pain.
"You're getting good at that, your highness," they said, and spit out red flecked saliva on the carpet. "But may I suggest, for next time, a backhand? With a couple big rings, you can really do some damage-"
The antagonist made a strangled scream. "Stop telling me what to do!" they yelled. "Gods! I used to wonder what would make you shut up. Now I know: literally nothing short of death."
They flopped into a chair, and glared at the protagonist. The protagonist could see their face more or less clearly now, making the expression they always did when they wanted to look cold and foreboding and definitely not scared shitless. Despite the wardrobe, it was a shock how little the antagonist had changed when everything was so different.
"What am I supposed to do with you, [protagonist]?" said the spare-turned-heir miserably.
The protagonist shrugged. Their throat burned with thirst, their shoulders screamed with ache. They pushed it away. Never show weakness. The antagonist had taught them that. "Take me to your father to stand trial for treason, revolt, etcetera. How is the old man these days?"
The antagonist propped their chin on their fist, twisted their mouth. "Not great," they drawled back with vicious understatement. "Better than my lady mother, though. She hasn't left her bed since you had my brother assassinated."
The protagonist flinched. It was a bad habit, a weakness. Of course the antagonist recognized it and twisted the knife. "She took you in," they said, sliding out of their chair to loom over the protagonist. "You were starving in the gutter and she took you into our household, gave you a royal education, treated you like her own child-"
"Her child? Your mother took me in to be your pet," the protagonist spat. "Your own personal peasant for you and your brother to practice ruling on. I guess she thought you were too big for a puppy."
"I- what?!" the antagonist sputtered. For a moment they were genuinely struck dumb. "No! You say what you want about the rest of us, but my mother-"
"She saw which way the wind was blowing with your brother," the protagonist said, rolling their shoulders and subtly testing their bonds. "Maybe she thought putting a face on the faceless masses could turn him around."
"Too bad she picked you then," the antagonist snapped.
The protagonist smiled sourly and the antagonist bit their lip and flushed, realizing they'd conceded the point.
"The irony hasn't escaped me," the protagonist said, hitching themselves up a little higher. "If all of this, all the blood and death as you put, if all I accomplished was removing your brother from the line of succession, I'll have done the empire and your family a greater service than your mother ever dreamed-"
"She thinks I put you up to it," the antagonist blurted out. The protagonist's mouth opened, and then shut again. The antagonist dropped down into their camp chair, somehow making despair look regal and elegant. "The rebellion, the overthrow of the Southern lords, the disruption of the sea trade, my..." They swallowed, reached for another bottle of wine on an overladen table. "The former crown prince's death. Then you just... walk straight into an ambush a day from my camp. She hasn't said, but her letters are... She thinks I..." They made a face, yanked the cork loose. "Father thinks the same, but he actually has more respect for me now," the antagonist added bitterly. "He wasn't so blind to my brother's faults as he pretended to be."
The protagonist let out a low whistle across their split lip. "Well. Now you definitely can't give me a merciful death."
The antagonist put the bottle of wine back down with a shaking hand. "Did you?" they whispered, so quiet the protagonist had to lean forward.
"Did I what?" they asked.
The antagonist started down at their hand pressed flat on the folding table. "Did you do this for me?" they said under their breath.
The protagonist rocked back, hard enough to thunk their head against the pole. They barely felt it, overwhelmed as the antagonist handed themselves over, heart and soul. "Oh, my," the protagonist breathed out. "Oh, your highness. Is that why I'm in your tent? You want me to pat you on the head before you hand me off to be tortured to death and tell you not to worry, that you're one of the good ones?"
"Stop it. Stop talking," the antagonist hissed, face going an angry, ugly red. "I should have known you weren't capable of any loyalty at all."
"Do you remember when your brother beat that housemaid to death?" the protagonist asked, settling themselves more comfortably.
"That was an accident," the antagonist said automatically.
The protagonist shrugged. "Fine then. You remember when your brother accidentally hit a housemaid hard enough that she smashed her skull open on the nursery fireplace? For what, for being nice to us? For slipping us sweeties after he had me whipped again?"
"Stop it, I'm sorry I asked!" the antagonist yelled.
"And I sobbed and sobbed and you comforted me, you remember what you said?"
It was the antagonist's turn to flinch. "Damn you, I was a child. I didn't know better!"
But the protagonist wasn't going to stop. They couldn't now. "You held me in your arms and you said, 'Don't cry. She was only a housemaid. We have more.' Over and over. I still hear that in my sleep."
"So that's it?" The antagonist wrapped their arms around themselves, turned away. "I was a scared, fucked-up nine-year-old who said a bad thing so now none of the rest of it matters? I'm going to die with everyone else?"
"Die?" The protagonist cocked their head and sneered. Their heart was not pounding in their chest, the room was not spinning, their friend was not their friend. "I'm your prisoner. You're taking me to the capitol, to your father for trial."
"Bullshit." The antagonist turned pleading eyes down on the protagonist, bound and bloody. "What are you planning? Why do you want me to bring you to my father? What are you going to do to us?"
The protagonist breathed in and out, reached within themselves for the stone walls the antagonist had taught them to build, oh so many years ago.
"I'm doing what I was taught," they said evenly. "By your mother, your brother, by your father, by you. To serve my empire, even unto death. Difference is, I draw a distinction between the empire and the fucked-up, inbred family that for some reason thinks they were sent by the gods to rule everyone else."
In the silence that followed, the protagonist could hear the distant shouts of the commanders, the jingle of horse bridles and the sounds of hammers and waxed linens flapping to the ground. They were breaking camp. Thirteen days to the capitol.
"All right then," the antagonist said softly, face bloodless against the stark black of their jacket. They put down their untouched wine cup and turned away, never meeting the protagonist's eyes. "Let's play this out. Can't wait to see your endgame."
They walked out and the protagonist sagged limp against the tentpole. Thirteen days. They could stay alive that long. They just weren't sure they could stay unbreakable when they felt so very, very close to breaking.
#my fiction#heroes and villains#heroxvillain#rebel x royal#hero x villain#royals#friends to enemies#protagonist said no divine right of kings#100
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