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noladyme · 4 years ago

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La Cuervo - Chapter 18

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

18.

It was a quiet morning in the Teller-Reyes residence. Nina woke up to Angel’s beard tickling her neck, as he nuzzled up to her; still sleeping like a baby. His arm was locked around her in a vice grip, but Nina desperately needed to pee; so, she kissed his forehead, before scooting downwards in the bed, to get out from under his hold. He muttered something unintelligible, and Nina smiled to herself as she slipped on one of his flannels, and snuck quietly out of the room.

After handling her business, Nina went through the living room – hearing Angel beginning to rouse and get out of bed – and headed into the kitchen. She smiled through the serving hatch at the biker, who returned the gesture, and walked into the bathroom; rubbing his eyes. He’d put on a pair of sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, and Nina couldn’t help but think a couple of impure thoughts about what was hiding behind them.

As she began searching the cabinets for something edible, Angel got out of the bathroom, and headed towards the bedroom again. Nina found a box of pancake-mix, and turned to the fridge to see if there was any chance Angel had stored anything other than beer and stale pizza in there – preferably, milk. Something small, with long antennae scuttered across the floor; and she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Angel…!”, she squealed, and climbed onto the counter. “What the fuck?”, she heard Angel roar. He came storming through the house, and barged into the kitchen; his gun drawn. “Where are they?”, he growled, his eyes scanning the kitchen. Nina was shaking, and she pointed at the bug, which was calmly wiggling its feelers on the floor. “There…”, she croaked.

Angel let out a deep breath. “Fuck, I thought someone had come to…”, he began; before looking at her, as she sat, hugging her knees, on the counter. “Ma’… It’s just a cockroach”, he smiled. “Get rid of it!”, Nina demanded. Angel sighed, and grabbed a newspaper, getting ready to fold it up. “No, don’t kill it! Take it outside…”. “Are you…? Shit, whatever…”, Angel muttered, and gently picked up the cockroach. While Nina moved backwards on the counter, to get as far away from the bug as possible, Angel carried it out the back door; muttering to himself all the way. He came back a few moments later, and reached out to help Nina down to the floor. “Nuh uh. Nope. Wash your hands first”, she said. Angel rolled his eyes, went over to the sink, and washed his hands. Nina watched him, to make sure he was thorough. “Call an exterminator, or burn down the house. Those are your two options”, she growled. Angel rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s your fault it was in here. They like clean houses”, he said, and pulled Nina off the counter with a firm grip on her waist. His shirt rode up her hips, and he smirked at her. “No panties?”. Nina scowled at him, and pulled the shirt down to cover herself. “I’m gonna take a shower; and don’t tell me roaches like water, ‘cuz I’ll run naked out the front door; and you’ll never see me again”.

She went into the bedroom, and dug out some clothes from the drawer Angel had cleared out for her few belongings. Angel had followed her, and when she went to pass him; when he halted her with a light hand on her hip. “I could go in with you… Squash any little monster that tries anything”, he offered. “No thanks. But you can get me some coffee. Extra strong…”, Nina said. When Angel pouted, she relented, and gave him a small kiss. “I though you got enough last night…”, she smiled against his lips. “I never get enough, querida”, Angel replied, and moved his hand to give her butt a little squeeze. “I’ll go cook up your next high”. “Thank you, papi”, Nina said, and slipped into the bathroom. “That’s not fair. You know what it does to me, when you call me that”, Angel called after her. “I’m locking this”, she replied, and closed the door behind her.

When she’d finished her shower, Nina got dressed, and did her makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw that she looked well and fucked. Not in the bad way, though; quite the opposite. She was practically glowing, and had a brand new hickey on her neck. She smiled as she ran her fingertips over it.

Angel had left a mug of coffee on the table for her, and after having put on her shoes – she was not going barefoot before she was sure she wasn’t going to step on a stray roach – she grabbed it; before going to stand in the doorway to the bedroom. She nipped at her hot drink, and leaned against the wall, while watching Angel tying his boots. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt as usual, and she studied his tattoos, as his skin moved over his muscles. “See something you like?”, Angel asked, and stood up from where he’d been seated on the edge of the bed. “You know you look good. I don’t need to bolster your ego”, Nina grinned. He walked over to her, and nabbed her mug; taking a sip, before handing it back. His cut was hanging over a chair, and he put it on. “And now you look even better”. “You’re objectifying me”, Angel said in mock offence. “I’m just saying… That thing belongs on your back”, Nina chuckled. “I’m glad you still have it”.

Angel walked up to her, and placed a finger under her chin. “You just want me for my cut”. He leaned in to nibble at her neck, and Nina hummed in delight, when his hand travelled under her top, and began stroking her bare skin. “Do the patches turn you on, mami? I could kneecap Riz; get him off his bike for a while. They’d need a new secretario; and I’d get another one for the collection”. “That’s not funny!”, Nina chided. Angel chuckled. “I’m just kidding. Just thought you’d like to see me with a bit more flash”, he said. “I thought I proved to you that rank doesn’t matter”, Nina said, set down the mug, and tugged at his beard playfully. “If it did, it would have been Packer balls deep in me last night”. Angel looked seriously at her. “Now, that’s not funny”. “I could go call him right now… He could be here in about three hours”, Nina teased, and pulled out of Angel’s arms. “Two, if I offer him a blowjob for the extra effort”. Angel let out a sound between a growl and a hiss, and Nina ran to get away from him.

She managed to reach the kitchen before he was on her, attacking her body with tickles; and making her squeal from laughter. She was thrown over his shoulder, carried into the living room; and deposited on the couch. Angel stood over her with a hard look on his face. “Ain’t no one gonna be balls deep in you but me, mami”, he growled, and threw himself at her. Nina was almost crying from laughter, as he once again began tickling her. His hands moved between her thighs, and Nina tried clenching them together, but Angel was stronger, and forced them apart. “I’ll be good. I promise!”, Nina shrieked. “I know you will”, he smirked, and cupped her crotch; rubbing her through her shorts. “Only good girls get to…”.

His phone started buzzing on the coffee table. EZ lit up the screen, and Angel picked up the call with an annoyed grunt. “What? I was about to…”. His face dropped. “Yeah, man… of course… No, I’ll go do it myself. It was my fuck-up… Yeah… See you then”. He hung up, and sat back on the couch; sighing deeply. “What’s wrong?”, Nina asked, getting up to sit next to him. “Pap went by my mom’s grave. He saw what I did…”, Angel said gloomily. “I gotta go fix it”. Nina took his hand, and kissed it. “Do you want help?”, she asked. “Nah, you shouldn’t be out in the open… And I was the one who… I gotta do it alone”. He looked down at the floor. “I get it”, Nina said. Angel got up to stand, and pulled Nina with him. “I’ll take you to the yard, and then go take care of it”. “Ok. Then, maybe… drop by your pap’”, Nina said. “Just say you’re sorry”. Angel shrugged. “I’ve given up apologizing to the old man”, he said. “I’ve done too much shit. I’d be there for a year”.

Nina put her arms around him. “He loves you. And he’s proud of you”, she said. Angel let out a short scoffing laugh. “It’s true! I saw it, when he came by the clubhouse… And I know onething you did, that he’s happy about”. “What’s that?”, Angel asked. “Well, he likes me”, Nina shrugged. Angel’s frown turned into a bright smile. “And I did you…”, he said. “You make everything dirty”, Nina chuckled. “You know it”, Angel said, and patted her bottom. “Let’s go”.

Nina went to grab her helmet, when Angel frowned again. “What?”, she asked. “I know that thing has sentimental value to you; but I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s unsafe”, Angel replied. Nina chewed her lip. She knew Angel was right, but not using Jackson’s helmet felt like a weird betrayal. “I really don’t want to get another…”, she said. Angel sighed. “I’m gonna say something that you might piss you off”, he said. Nina looked at him warily. “If we get in a crash, you’ll end up just like him”. A jolt of pain went through Nina’s heart, and she blinked away a tear. “He wasn’t wearing it when… Maybe if he had…”. “He didn’t wear it, because he chose not to”, Angel said. “By wearing it, instead of one that fits you, your kinda choosing that outcome yourself”. Nina shot him a sad and slightly angry look. “Why are you so fucking smart?”, she asked. “Because my helmet fits, and my head is safe when I go down”, Angel said, and smiled softly at her.

Nina put down the helmet on the workbench, and picked up the one she’d borrowed from the club. “I’ll get you a new one like it”, Angel said. “Uh huh”, she muttered, and went towards the front door. Angel stopped her, and cupped her face in his hands. “Hey… Te amo, ok?”. “I love you too”, Nina whispered, and wiped her eyes.

She gave Jax’s helmet one last look, before they left the house.

---

Once at the yard, Angel kissed her goodbye; and went to take care of his mistake. Nina spent a little while keeping herself busy; both to get back in the groove of the clubhouse, and to keep her mind of Angel’s face as he’d driven away. He’d been glum, and she knew he’d need her once he returned.

Bishop waved her over to join him and Taza at their table. “What’s up?”, she asked, as she sat down. “I talked to Palo”, Taza said. “The handover is set for three days from now”. Nina swallowed thickly, and clenched her fists on the table. “Which means we’re in a rush to find the snitch”, Bishop said. He must have interpreted her expression as fear, because he reached over, and patted her arm. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you. I promise”. “I know. I’m still just feeling shitty about letting someone else take my place”, she said. “And what happens after that? Am I supposed to hide for the rest of my life, so Palo doesn’t discover that I’m still alive?”. She sighed, and shook her head. “We’ll keep working on finding something to use against Palo”, Taza said. Nina shot him a look of actual fear; though not for her own safety; but his. “Call around for your old acquaintances down south”, Bishop said. “Some of them have got to still be alive…”. “I’ll look in to it”, Taza said.

“Either way, we still have to plan the handover”, Bishop said. “Palo understands that we can’t do it publicly; because we’re breaking our rules of protecting family”. “So, what?”, Nina asked. “A dark van in an alley?” “Actually, we’re thinking another party”, Taza said. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”, Nina gasped. “Just once, I’d like to enjoy drinks and good times without having to fear for my life”. “You’ll be perfectly…”, Taza began. “Safe. Yeah; so you tell me”, Nina said. “We’ll have a full house of guests; meaning Palo won’t draw on you the minute he sees you”, Bishop said. “Then we do the deed somewhere on the yard, away from the clubhouse”. “Do the deed, as in let Palo kill some woman”, Nina said. “Basically”, Bishop said. “You don’t have to worry; you won’t be there for that part”.

Nina closed her eyes; as if doing so would make the two bikers disappear in front of her. It didn’t work. When she opened them again, Bishop and Taza were still there; looking at her intently. “Ok… In that case, I guess I have a party to plan”, she said, and got to her feet. “Any special requests?”. “No dried apricots this time”, Taza said. “I’ll buy an extra bag, just for you”, Nina smiled sarcastically. “Anything else?”. “Yeah”, Bishop said. “Lockdown is back on for you. Just in case VM tries anything before then”. “Great. I’m grounded again”, Nina said. “I’m not staying in that fucking trailer, though”. “Fine”, Bishop said. “But you don’t leave the clubhouse during the day, and it’s straight to Angel’s, and straight back, every day… And Angel keeps a loaded gun within arms-reach at all times, when you two are alone.”. “What else is new…”, Nina grumbled. Taza chuckled. “You’re lucky. We were considering having someone watching you when you sleep”, he said. “You wanna watch me and Angel in bed?”, Nina smirked. “Go ahead. We’ll give you a show”.

She got on her feet, and went back towards the bar. EZ walked into the clubhouse, lugging a case of beers. “Yo, prospect. Where’s your brother?”, Taza asked. “We got a load this afternoon with his name on it”. EZ put down the case, and shot Nina a short look. “He’s taking care of some family shit”, he said. Nina swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I heard about your mom’s grave. Someone seriously fucked it over”, Bishop said. “Do you need to go?”. The warmth in his voice was surprising. “No. Angel wanted to take care of himself”, EZ muttered. “Well, let me know if you need help finding who did it. Shit like that, we don’t let slide”, Bishop said. “Thanks… but we got it”, the prospect said.

Nina smiled thankfully at him. Angel didn’t need to add to his guilt, by being chastised by his president; EZ knew that as well as her.

---

Angel arrived at the clubhouse a little before noon, and gave EZ a short nod, before going over to put his arms around Nina. He stood upright, and tried to keep a cool demeanor; but Nina could feel the sadness and guilt stream through him. “Come on…”, she muttered, and pulled him by the hand, into the back room; where Angel instantly buried his face in the crook of her neck. Nina held him tight; stroking his back, and kissing his temple. “Do you wanna talk about it?”. Angel pulled back, and looked at her. “The place was trashed”, he said. “It wasn’t that bad. It was just a few bottles”, Nina said. “She would have whooped my ass, if she was there to see it”, Angel said. “No she wouldn’t. If she was anything like you, she’d understand that you were in pain”. She kissed his lips softly. “It’s like I let her down again". He was doing his best not to shed tears. “What do you mean?”.

Angel met her eyes for a second, before sighing. It was as if he had to force himself to tell the story, because it pained him so much. “The night my mam' died, I was supposed to help her lock up the shop". He paused for a second, as if gathering strength to continue. “I decided I wanted to go to a party instead, so EZ went there instead of me… He found her, shot". Nina let out a deep breath; her heart breaking slightly. “I was supposed to be there… I didn’t protect her, and I made my kid brother have to deal with what happened… He went to jail, ‘cuz he shot a cop; chasing after the killer… I did that". It was agony to hear Angel retell the tale, but Nina owed him to help carry the burden of his story; as he had helped her. “You couldn’t have known, Angel…”, she whispered in his ear, as he once again hid his face against her neck. “I was getting drunk and high, while some shithead killed my mam'; and EZ went to jail over it”.

Nina was beginning to understand the reason for Angel’s tendency to self-hatred; though she didn’t agree with it. He had an ego the size of a small country, sure; but when it came to how he thought of himself as a person, Angel had trouble finding any value there. This tragic event changed his life, and the life if his family, and Angel thought that he was the reason for all their woes.

She looked at the fragile man in her arms, and she wished she could make him love himself as much as she did. “Angel… listen", she said. “You didn’t kill your mother. You didn’t send EZ to jail. The fact that you weren’t there, doesn’t make you guilty of anything… Someone else decided to pull that trigger, and you could have just as easily been hurt, or even killed, if you’d been in the shop that night. Your father and brother would have lost both your mother and you”. Nina put her hands to the back of Angel’s head, and forced him to look down and meet her eyes. “You are not to blame for everything bad that happens around you". “I don’t know… It feels like it”, Angel sighed. “That shit with Dani… It put those kids in danger; made you leave… I’m a fuck-up”. Nina cut him off by pressing her lips against his. “Stop… Stop acting like you’re not worth anything. You mean the world to me, and talking like this about yourself… It’s insulting!”, she said. “What do you mean?”. He looked adorably confused. “Well… you’re talking shit about my man…”, Nina smirked. “Where I come from, you would get your ass kicked for that. And it’s such a cute ass; so, I reallydon’t wanna have to do that”. She slid down her hands, and pinched his butt.

Angel finally let a smile form on his face. “Te amo, cuervo”, he said, and kissed her deeply.

---

By lunchtime, Angel was in a much better mood. “I’m telling you, mano; she was sitting on the counter, like all crying and shit”. There was a roar of laughter from around the table at his story. “Over a fucking cockroach?”, Gilly grinned. Nina handed out a round of cokes, putting Angel’s bottle to her own mouth, before he could take it. “Get your own drink, hero…”, she sneered. “Where’s the beer?”, Gilly asked, staring at the bottle of soda in his hand. “You’re at work. Beer later”, Nina said; her voice reminding herself of a schoolmarm. Angel laughed, pressed a kiss to her temple, and went to grab a cold coke from the fridge himself.

Apparently, when he came back to the table, he wasn’t finished making fun of Nina’s encounter with the cockroach that morning. “You were hilarious, ma’. Angel, save me. Oh my god. Please, no. I’m so scared!”, he said, his voice high pitched and exaggerated. “I didn’t sound like that; and the thing was the size of a dog!”, Nina growled. She shuddered at the memory. “Haven’t you ever seen one before, up north?”, Ez asked. “Not this big. And not in people’s houses. They hang out in crack-dens", Nina said. “Then crack-heads keep cleaner houses than SAMCRO", Coco sniggered. “They like it…”. “Clean. Yeah, I got it", Nina grunted. “Which is bullshit, by the way. I googled it, and those little bastards leave shit all over the house; and they can cause asthma attacks…”. “I already called the exterminator; relax, ma'", Angel said. “I’ll relax when our house isn’t trying to kill me anymore!”, Nina snapped, and instantly felt her cheeks burning, at her use of the word our. She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have a load to get to?” Angel smiled brightly, and leaned in for a soft kiss. “Yeah”, he said, and looked at the others. “Let’s go”. The guys all got up, and left the clubhouse to get to work; and Nina got back to her own duties.

Camille came in a little while after. Since she had started helping out behind the bar, a lot more drinks were being spilled; and quite a few beers met their end on the floor, before she could serve them. The red-head was enthusiastic about her work; but she wasn’t truly cut out for it. Whenever she poured shots, she’d get more liquor on the counter, than she got in the glasses. In spite of this, Nina was thankful for the help, as well as the company. Nina hadn’t seen Letty or Gaby since she came back, and was seriously lacking some feminine conversation. Nina liked Camille. She’d been through hell and back, but was still standing, and not letting a bad experience get in her way of trying to be happy, and finding a place of her own to thrive in. Before long, they were laughing and sharing stories about club life; and though Nina could have done without the details about Camille’s sexual escapades with the Mayans she had come to see as brothers, she spent the next couple of hours in a good mood.

“They really like you around here, huh…?”, Camille said, after Riz and Hank had come in, and both of them came over to give Nina the welcome back hug she hadn’t gotten the night before. “I guess… I like them too”, Nina smiled. “It’s just crazy… You haven’t been around that long, but you’re like family to everyone”. Camille looked at her inquisitively. “I pretty much grew up in a club like this”, Nina said. “I guess being here just comes natural to me; and they sense it”. Camille chuckled, and nudged her with her shoulder. “Come on… You have to have a secret”. Nina thought about it for a moment. “I don’t treat them like gods, like some women around here do”, she said; and instantly felt her cheeks burn. “I mean… present company not included”, she lied. Camille shrugged. “I don’t know… They are pretty awesome. It’s like, when they put on their cuts, they become… They’re just so amazing”. Nina laughed at this. “Camille; they’re just men”, she said. “Give them their favorite beer and tell them their bikes are rad, and they’ll think you’re heaven-sent”. “Really?”, Camille said. She began wiping down the counter for the third time since she’d arrived, and Nina left her too it.

Coco peeked in through a half open door, and looked at Nina hesitantly. “Yo, niña? We finished work. Can we get some beers now?”, he asked. “Sure, Coco…”, Nina laughed. “I got it!”, Camille smiled brightly, and quickly grabbed a round of cold ones for the bikers returning from work. “Be my guest”, Nina shrugged, and went to check on the bathroom situation. Gilly had been in there, after gulping down a large serving of chimichangas – extra cheese. To her relief, the damage wasn’t that bad; but she still set up an extra air-freshener. Camille hadn’t returned by the time she came back to the bar, and Nina decided to go check she hadn’t dropped the beers all over the porch.

Once outside, she found no beer on the porch, only Coco and Gilly smirking, and shaking their heads. They were looking in the direction of the row of bikes, where Camille was leaning against Angel’s bike, talking with an enthused expression about something; and he was smiling and nodding casually, his beer in hand. Camille licked her lips, and pushed out her breasts. It was like a flashback to the day after the party, where Daniella had been trying get it on with Angel; and Nina had to stop herself from running over and hiss at the woman to back the fuck off. “He might need some help”, Coco muttered at Nina. “Yeah…”, Nina said.

She walked as calmly as she could towards Camille and Angel. Camille hadn’t noticed her coming, and kept up her flirting. “I noticed that’s your favorite, so I thought I’d bring it for you”, she said. “Thanks. That was nice of you”, Angel said, and locked eyes with Nina; looking relieved. “I’m just gonna…”. Camille walked towards him, and put her hand on his lower arm. “I really like your bike, Angel. Maybe we could go for a ride some time…”. “Camille, can I talk to you?”, Nina called out. Camille turned around, and looked at her with a confused expression. “Is something wrong?”, she asked. “I’m gonna go… over there”, Angel said, and edged away from Camille; moving towards the porch.

Nina walked all the way over to Camille, and blew out a deep breath; trying to remain calm. “I’d really appreciate it if you stop flirting with Angel”, she said. Camille frowned, and shook her head in puzzlement. “But… you said…”. “He’s off limits”, Nina declared. Camille laughed a little. “I know you guys were together, before you went away for a while...”. "You saw us together last night!", Nina exclaimed. "Yeah; but just last week, he was with Daniella...". “Angel is mine”, Nina said. “I’m not gonna repeat myself again. If you want to hang around here, you keep away from him”. “So, you’re like his old lady?”, Camille asked. “Yes… Now, go inside. Bish’ and Taza need refills”. Nina was surprised at her own ability to keep her voice as level as it was. Camille nodded. “Yeah, sure. I didn’t mean to…”, she said. “It’s fine. We’re good. Just don’t do it again”, Nina said. Camille walked back towards the clubhouse, avoiding eye contact with the three bikers who had watched the interaction. Once the door closed behind her, Coco and Gilly made a show of slow clapping at Nina. “Fuck off”, she sneered, and went back towards the porch herself.

Angel came down to meet her, and Coco and Gilly went inside the clubhouse. “You know I didn’t…”, he began. “No, I know”, Nina cut him off. “I was just… marking my claim”. She shot him a sly smirk, and Angel put his arms around her, pulling her close; so that her could whisper in her ear. “That was fucking hot, mami”, he said, and kissed her neck, before leaning back again. “And thanks. She was getting butt prints on my bike”. “Only my butt gets to leave prints there”, Nina grinned. Angel’s eyes lit up. “That gives me an idea…”. “We’re not having sex on your bike”, Nina said. “At least not on the yard. Too many eyes”. “Then let’s take a ride somewhere…”, Angel said with a smirk. “I can’t… I’m on lockdown again”, Nina groaned.

They walked back towards the clubhouse, Angel’s arm around Nina’s shoulders; when he spoke again. “Do you think my bike would fit through the front door of the house?”.

---

Tags: @cole-winchester @doloreschanal

#angel reyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x oc #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #ez reyes #coco cruz

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 112

Whew! Okay. Happy last-chapter-of-Spooptober! I hope we all made it through okay.

This chapter is dedicated to @zazen-rabbit and our pumpkin carving antics in the past. I love carving pumpkins, and this chapter is the payoff to the month-long references to enormous jack-o-lanterns. You want to know what they look like, right? Right. And thanks, as always, to @baelpenrose for your beta-reading and input. It made this chapter so much fun to write, and it always makes writing so much more fun to have someone to bounce ideas off of in real time.

Before anyone objects, @charlylimph-blog also beta-read this chapter and gave full approval. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, even after reading the chapter, then thank you ;)

On an serious note, since this is the last chapter before the big day: if you live in the United States, go vote by November 3. Too many people have fought and died for the right to vote in the U.S. for any of us to decide not to vote. And there are too many people in this country who have lost the right to vote for unfair, racially motivated reasons for us to dare skipping out.

At some point, the pumpkins were finally scooped completely free of seeds and stringy goop, all of which was carefully stored to be used later as ingredients. Finally, those of us who dared were set loose with sharp objects and abject glee to start carving, in our own unofficial competition. Conor, Maverick, and Coffee took a well earned break and drank cocoa that had manifested from somewhere probably-Charly-related.

Arthur and Grey each took on their own enormous squash, carving with various implements in complete silence. Tyche and I, on the other hand, were tag-teaming one at a time, moving with a similar precision to when we cooked together - she would carve the bulk of the spaces, while I focused on finicky tricks of the light and filigrees. I couldn’t see Charly over her pumpkin, but she was suspiciously quiet and I could see Simon eyeing her with worry.

Two hours later, I was seriously concerned with how anyone was carving these on their own. My hands and shoulders were cramped into knots, and I had help. A soft tune was drifting over from Charly, who was apparently humming while she just kept carving away. Tyche had very, very carefully climbed/been lifted out of the first pumpkin and was working on the second one. Grey and Simon looked finished, while Arthur was studying his with a very serious expression that confused the hell out of me.

Especially considering that this side of his jack-o-lantern was untouched. Curious….

Eventually, I was done and trying to shake and massage feeling back into my fingers. Charly was still going, but spoke as she saw me stand up. “Almost done!” she promised, one hand bracing herself and the other carefully cutting away a few final bits. I shook my head with a laugh and wandered back over to our ‘fire’. Before we started our carving, we promised that each person who finished had to wait and face away from any pumpkin but their own, and everyone looked like they had kept their word. As tired as I was, I was nearly twitching to see what everyone else had done.

Finally, finally Charly came bouncing over and didn’t even bother sitting down while we all stood and turned to look at the finished products.

I had just enough time to take in Simon’s - surprisingly, a werewolf-Riding-Hood howling at the moon from a cliff - when Arthur started swearing. “Are you fucking serious, Reids?”

I smothered a grin and turned, doing my best impression of Charly’s most innocent face. “What?”

“They’re…lace…” Grey answered, much more calmly. “All the way around… You two turned them into… lace.”

“A bit sturdier than that,” Tyche corrected. “But, yeah.”

Bravely, Simon ran a hand over the closest one. “There’s actually more here than you think,” he pointed out, almost confused. “Some of this isn’t cut all the way through.”

“Nope,” I grinned. “That’s how you get different shading. Some of it is solid, just really thin.”

Grey nodded in understanding and I soon saw why: they had carved an optical illusion for their lantern. When standing on one side, it was a beautiful young woman. But look at it from the other side -

“Holy rabies, it’s The Phantom of the Opera,” Paden half gasped, half squealed.

“And Christine Daae, yes,” they smiled slightly. “I never was allowed to carved these when I was a child, so it became my favorite thing each year after I left my parents’ home.”

Charly let out a low whistle. “That is some serious carving skill.”

“Let’s see yours,” Simon turned eagerly, followed quickly by the rest of us.

Not to be outdone, Charly had carved an entire flower garden full of butterflies, birds, and fairies. There was even a….

Oh. Oh hell no.

Before I could stop myself, I let out an ear-piercing shriek and turned to run. Conor and Maverick, confused as they were, quickly caught me and held me despite my struggles. I was sobbing hysterically when I heard Charly’s voice speaking in a confused tone, although I could not make out the words. Soon, I felt a small, familiar hand on my elbow.

“Sophia, it’s just a carving of a bunny,” Tyche explained slowly. “It’s not even real.” A brief pause. “Oh, you two better not say a damned thing, I mean it. She’ll explain later, she just needs to calm down.”

Arthur’s voice trailed in. “I knew about the bunnies, but I have some serious questions later.”

“Oh, noooo…” Charly practically shouted in what I could now realize was an entirely insincere tone, followed by a wet thud. “Simon tripped and kicked my pumpkinnnnn… the rabbit is now a rock…”

“But I didn’t - “

“If you don’t shut the fuck up,” she hissed. “I had no idea about the rabbits.”

“I really hope no one is afraid of aliens or werewolves,” Simon sighed wearily. “Especially… Charly are they making out?”

“Yep!”

“Seriously you two,” Tyche sounded like she turned away. “That’s not even remotely…. A… Joke, apparently? You actually carved that...” She shook my elbow. “Sophia. Seriously. Alien making out with werewolf.”

I had calmed down just enough that my curiosity was peaked. Slowly, I turned away from Conor and Maverick and back to the Pumpkin of Lapine Doom. Sure enough, there was a hole where the rabbit had been, and as I followed around to what everyone was staring at… Yep. Alien. Werewolf. Kissing.

“Huh.” I was actually shocked out of any remaining anxiety I had. “That’s pretty cool, actually.”

“At this point, I feel like mine is rather anticlimactic,” Arthur sighed as dramatically as I had ever heard him - which wasn’t much, but it was at least noticeable. “There is no murderous mammal, or filigree lantern, or optical illusion.” Without further words, he flung his hands toward his lantern in a ta-da gesture.

“Oh, wow,” I whispered, echoed by nearly everyone.

Instead of any tricks or intricate patterns, his pumpkin was a straightforward, three foot tall face. A cross between a skeleton and a smile, it was eerily familiar. The eyes were enormous - easily half the entire face - and just wide and empty spaces. Two vertical lines made up the nose, while the mouth curled up and around cartoonishly until the corners stretched beyond the outside edges of the eyes.

“It’s Jack Skellington,” Tyche said, doubtfully. “From that really old movie. But… something is different. I can’t put my finger on it.”

It was Conor who figured it out first. Leaning over, he tapped gently where the cheeks would be on the face. “These symbols. I don’t think they were there originally.” Sure enough, both ‘cheeks’ were covered in geometric patterns.

“They look Terran Muslim,” Grey guessed.

Arthur shook his head, however. “Celtic, but I can honestly say you weren’t as off base as it sounds. Muslim art uses a lot more intricate geometry, though.” Clearing his throat, he stared through the pumpkin. “One of my students, Before, used to make a jack-o-lantern like this every year. When I decided to carve one, I figured… hell, why not?”

After a moment of silence, it was Simon who finally threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, nothing special he says… anticlimactic he says… Let me just show up lace, and illusions, and smooching cryptids by casually carving a memorial to a student. No big deal….”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Simon dangerously, prompting me to step in between them. Before I could say anything though, Arthur shrugged the comment off. “Why not? We’ve decided it’s October, so it would be the time of year for ghosts, and Halloween was always her favorite holiday. I know at least a few of my former students are somewhere on board the Ark, and we all carry her spirit with us.”

“You come pre-haunted,” Tyche nodded seriously. Somehow, it didn’t sound that ridiculous.

After all, weren’t we all?

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queenpersephonesgarden · 4 years ago

Text

together through the dark (dawn is still a long way off)

Dream SMP, Rated G, 3.4k, chapter 1 of ??

Summary: Fundy's family is messed up and painfully complicated as it is, with betrayal and heartbreak and death separating them on too many sides of too many wars to count. He should be grateful the attempt to revive his father failed, that Wilbur isn't here to make things worse.

But he isn't. And that pitiful heart might just be their undoing.

Or: Phil tried and failed twice to bring Wilbur back himself. Fundy succeeded without even wanting to try.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Accidental Resurrection, therapy arc let's go, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, it's gonna take a bit for Phil and Tommy to get involved in this ngl, if the CCs ever have a problem with this let me know and it'll be gone, bro do you ever start writing a fic only for canon to start stealing your ideas, Canon-typical swearing, Brief description of injury, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit are Not Biological Siblings, but that doesn't mean Found Family doesn't exist, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF)

Can be read on AO3 (link will be in the notes)

The moon and the first of the stars had begun to peek over the horizon by the time they’d finally admitted defeat.

The mismatched crowd that had gathered for the spectacle of an attempted resurrection had begun the long trek down the Prime Path back to the Greater SMP, chatter finally respectfully subdued where before it had been badly contained manic chaos throughout the entire afternoon. Everyone seemed to have noticed the somber mood that had engulfed Philza, and had reined themselves in appropriately.

Fundy had lagged further and further behind, jittery with some unexplainable emotion.

It had failed.

The resurrection had been a waste of time all along, so-

He should be happy, right?

He was. He was glad Wilbur wasn’t coming back. He was glad to be spared from his father’s tumultuous presence for another day.

Hell, he was relieved.

… right?

But – But walking back, watching Ghostbur smile and murmur something comforting to the silly little sheep trailing beside him, seeing Philza’s melancholic smile, feeling the weight of Tommy’s pointed silence – it’s all suffocating.

If he follows for one more step, he’s going to end up saying or doing something he’ll regret.

No one notices when he stops tagging along – which is just typical, a nasty little part of his brain thinks – no one at all.

No one except for Eret, who darts a glance over their shoulder and almost doubles back, expression plainly worried.

Fundy quickly shook his head and shrugged, reluctant to disrupt the dejected parade and draw attention to himself.

Eret, Prime bless them, seems to understand without a word. They smile, nod, and carry on after the others.

Their door will be open later for him, he knew. If he came back soon enough, he’d even have someone available to rant to if need be.

Just the knowledge of that is a huge relief to Fundy. Eret always seems to get him when he’s in these moods, and even when they don’t, they’re always at least willing to listen.

Which is more than could be said for the rest of Fundy’s family.

And that wonderful thought is an excellent segue way into an immediate downward spiral. Fundy shakes himself hard to rid himself of the impulse to follow that down the rabbit hole. He predictably fails miserably.

Focus, dammit.

Except what else is there to focus on? The botched attempt to bring his crazy dad back to life?

Oh, hey, that’s not good for his mental health either. Great.

Fundy spins right around and starts stomping back up the Path without a single care how immature it might seem or who might see it, headed straight back where they’d come from.

He walks steadily across the glass carefully immortalizing the greatest disaster that had befallen the SMP so far, making sure not to look down for longer than a few seconds. He makes it back to the bizarre little revival shrine in record time without a host of noisy spectators slowing him down, just in time to avoid the slight drizzle the cloudy sky had been threatening the entire latter half of the afternoon.

He steps very carefully onto the blue and yellow brickwork, eyes trailing over the uncomfortably familiar little offerings placed all over like the world’s worst interior design project, before he reaches the middle and has to bite down hard on his cheek to prevent the litany of swear words wanting to escape his mouth.

Philza hung the sword on the wall, before he left.

Just- just put it up there, like it’s no big deal, like it’s a fucking prop, like it isn’t the sword he used to stab his son, Fundy’s father.

Nope. Nope, nope, Fundy isn’t okay with this.

He grabs the handle and pulls it down, and that’s as far as his planning goes. He’s left standing there like a fool holding his father’s murder weapon, heavily debating the pros and cons of either putting it down on the floor so it at least doesn’t look like a reward, or giving up entirely on composure and screaming and throwing it down into the ugly scar in the earth outside. Let it rot in the bedrock with the rest of his father’s legacy where Fundy will never have to look at it again.

But before he can decide which is the option less likely to leave him crying his eyes out to Eret later tonight, a gentle voice echoes behind him. “What are you doing, Fundy?”

Fundy straightens involuntarily upon recognizing that voice, and turns automatically. “Wil- er, Ghostbur?” He almost moves to hide the hideous thing behind his back, but Ghostbur is already floating there staring and that really would be the end of his dignity, so he just lets it hang awkwardly from one hand. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

Never mind the tiny stupid feeling in his chest, fluttering in excitement at being noticed.

Ghostbur hummed curiously, carefully shaking water droplets from the rain off of his steaming hands. “Hmm? Oh, no. I mean, I noticed you were gone and all, but I didn’t know you’d be here. I just came back myself, that’s all.”

Hope squashed. Fundy nodded with a hum of his own, face carefully neutral.

“So what are you doing?” Ghostbur repeated, and suddenly having an audience just makes Fundy feel very, very stupid.

His ears flattened against his skull as he stuttered a reply, “W-well, you know, I just thought, well I mean it seemed, it was just, I. Uh.”

Ghostbur tilted his head innocently. Fundy wanted to sink into the bricks under his feet.

Fundy holds out his free hand and gestured emphatically. “What are you doing here?”

Master of changing the subject, he is.

Luckily, with Ghostbur, it doesn’t really matter how dumb the change of subject is, he just rolls right along with it. “Oh, well, Phil and Tommy both went back through the Nether Portal to head home, so I didn’t really know who to follow. They were both a bit sad, so I gave them some blue, but Phil still looked upset so I- I thought maybe I’d come back here one more time, just to see if I could remember anything else that might help.”

Fundy didn’t even bother trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice when he snorted. “Well, that was a nice thought, but I doubt any memories you have of this room could make Phil less upset.”

Ghostbur smiled emptily, pulling a bit of blue out of one pocket to cup in both hands, and immediately Fundy feels awful. Being sassy to Ghostbur never feels satisfying or rebellious, just cruel.

Grimacing, Fundy glared down at his own bit of blue, too large and shaped like the world’s ugliest sword, tamping down on equally ugly feelings in his chest. “But you can do whatever you want, I won’t stop you. I’m just, glad you’re not planning to go through with an unannounced midnight resurrection to surprise us all in the morning with, or something.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Fundy blinked and looked back up. “Huh?”

Ghostbur shrugged and smiled nervously. “Oh, you know. Things change, given time. Places, people… decisions… you know? People change their minds all the time! Especially when it’s a really important or dangerous decision! And it usually works out just fine!”

It took a second for his meaning to get through. When it finally did, Fundy suddenly felt rather cold

“So, wait. You’re saying you… don’t want to be revived anymore?”

Ghostbur worried his tiny bit of blue between his fingers, shoulders slowly inching up towards his ears. “N- well- I don’t- I don’t think so? No, I don’t think so, Fundy. I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Really?

“Why would you need to be sorry?” Fundy asked, voice a bit too loud even in his own ears.

Ghostbur grew even more tense, his hands kneading the blue even faster as he ducked his head. “I just- well, I know Phil was disappointed, even when he didn’t say anything. He gets this look on his face when he- Anyway, Tommy was, was saying some things about Wilbur, and- that place I fell into was just awf- And, and I just- I just thought that-”

The ghost’s stammering became more and more incomprehensible, slowly fading out in that way it usually did when Ghostbur was starting to forget something.

Watching his expression become quietly distressed was painful in more ways than one, so Fundy cut him off. “It’s okay Ghostbur, you don’t gotta explain yourself if it hurts.”

If anything, his attempt at consolation only made Ghostbur more upset, dammit. “But that’s just it, Fundy! If, if it hurts for me, it must hurt so much more for everyone else!” He cradled his head in his hands like it hurt.

“Everyone was so excited today, everyone was working together, even after you and Phil had that falling out-”

Fundy flinched. He wouldn’t exactly describe being banished at sword point from Philza’s Arctic base without even a chance to try and explain himself as a simple ‘falling out’-

“-you still both came and no one was arguing and, and Eret was going to apologize and finally talk things over with Wilbur, and it was perfect but-”

Ghostbur’s face was wretched as his hands dropped, the picture of abject misery. “But it didn’t work, and that place was so empty, and I- I just don’t think I can do it, Fundy. I don’t want to go back there. I’m so so sorry.”

Fundy swallowed hard.

“That’s fine, Ghostbur,” and fuck, why was his throat so tight, why were his eyes stinging, “Nobody’s gonna force you if you don’t want to.”

The little ghost looks so pathetically grateful in that moment that Fundy has to turn away, has to look anywhere else lest something mortifying comes out of his mouth.

But his brain is a dirty traitor, so his eyes land back on the shitty sword, and all he can do is try to process.

Should he be angry to hear that?

Should he be relieved to hear that?

Fundy isn’t sure. He never really knows how he should feel, when Ghostbur is around.

On one hand, that’s his father, and a good day with his father back when he was alive was a day where talking to him – or arguing with him, more often than not – didn’t make Fundy angry enough that he couldn’t think straight for an hour.

On the other hand, Ghostbur can’t remember many of those days, good or bad. From what he’s said in the past, his memories of Fundy are all the scattered bright spots of their lives together; the day Fundy was born, the day they chose his name, their days in L’Manburg, little snippets here and there of jokes and teasing that had still been lighthearted, before a war and a presidency and a betrayal made all of their casual jabs carry jagged edges they hadn’t before.

Ghostbur is kind, and cheerful, and always wonderfully, terribly happy whenever Fundy is around to visit and talk to. A stark contrast to Fundy’s memories of the last few months of his father’s life, where the man was sullen, snappish, giddy and half-crazed one moment, menacingly calm and collected the next.

It’s an incredibly disquieting thing to think about, so Fundy doesn’t very often. Now, of course, he can’t help it; standing here, in this macabre, borderline cartoonish little shrine filled with all of the things that slowly drove the man into the grave, it’s impossible not to think of all the things that make the ghost of him so much better. And so much worse.

Because Ghostbur isn’t his father, and that is equally both a blessing and a curse.

Every conversation he has with Ghostbur just leaves Fundy feeling frustrated and a bit guilty, the two emotions spinning a waltz right in the middle of his guts until they’re twisted into knots.

Ghostbur’s entire existence is frustrating, but even in Fundy’s worst moods, he’s never wished ill on him.

In the end, all of these feelings of betrayal and heartbreak and anger are all Fundy’s alone to remember.

And that’s totally fine.

Yep.

Ghostbur was never actually involved with any of Fundy’s worst memories, so it wasn’t his job to try and fix anything between them.

It’s just on Fundy to deal with it.

And he can definitely do that.

Definitely.

Just, maybe some other time or somewhere else, far away from the stone that had once been stained with his father’s blood, with his literal murder weapon not in his hands.

Staring down at it right now is not doing Fundy’s emotional state any favors, thanks.

He breathes out unsteadily, holding the damn thing out horizontally with both hands, rather tempted to do- something unpleasant to it.

“Fundy?” Ghostbur asks from too close and very far away, voice echoing with confusion and worry. “Are you okay?”

But Fundy isn’t really listening.

He doesn’t want to accuse Ghostbur of anything when he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. Arguing with Phil accomplishes diddly-fucking-squat.

But maybe-

He’s not really sure what he intends to do in the moment his grip tightens – the loud, stupid traitor part of his brain that always insists he yells louder during an argument to get his point across (as if anyone would actually listen) is clamoring for him to snap it over his knee like a twig, never mind how impossible that is with literal diamond – but it doesn’t really matter.

He is abruptly reminded why it is a rather bad idea to grab a sword by the blade end without reinforced gloves.

“Ah! Hell!”

Fundy curses vehemently under his breath, relaxing his grip quickly before he can do something even more stupid.

And then-

“Oh.”

He says it so softly.

Not scared, or sad, or panicked.

Ghostbur approaches and sees blood welling in between Fundy’s fingers, and he blinks like he just took a wrong step in a dark tunnel, and finally realized which way home was.

Blood drips down Fundy’s fingers and on to the sword, carving a path down where his father was run through, and drip-drops onto the ground still stained blue with evidence of a failed resurrection.

“Oh,” Ghostbur repeats quietly, and blinks out of existence.

“Wha-?!” Fundy jolts in surprise, which, ow, fuck, nearly slices his damn fingers off. He flings his empty hand further away from the diamond blade’s razor edge-

-just in time for Ghostbur to flicker back into view.

“Jesus Chr- dude! Hasn’t Tommy ever told you not to go invisible without warning like that?!” Fundy has to remind himself not to yell, because the ghost of his father he might be, he doesn’t actually want to start a fight right now.

Ghostbur doesn’t start stammering apologies immediately, doesn’t rush forward with a little bit of blue bandage to help Fundy feel better, doesn’t mumble in worry about forgetting something again because someone got hurt.

Maybe any of those should have been the first clue.

But Fundy doesn’t notice those clues right away, grimacing down at his bloody hand and looking for somewhere to put the damn sword that isn’t on the rack like some terrible trophy or on top of a stack of dynamite (why would they choose dynamite of all things to symbolize his father his traitor brain demands, why did Philza allow that, he should know better than anyone that guitars and books and warm sweaters would have done the trick of luring Wilbur in, that they had always made dad happiest back when he was younger and happier and not clawing at the walls of a tunnel and threatening to blow up the home he’d founded and built for himself and his friends and Fundy-).

“What?”

Fundy half spins, still looking for a suitable place to put the stupid fucking sword, looks up-

- sees a tall silhouette and his vision blurs for just a second; he blinks hard, shakes his head-

- does a double-take and freezes.

At the first glance, he was exactly the same as he was before; bright yellow sweater stained blue in a gruesome approximation of the fatal wound that took his last life over plain black pants, hair hidden by a beanie older than Fundy has even been alive, pale like snow with circles dark enough to be bruises underneath his eyes.

He was the same as he always is, except not anymore, because Fundy can actually see him. And he’s standing.

Not see through him. Not at a dull, washed out copy of the man that made a rather poor show of raising him. Not floating just slightly above the ground like he should be.

That’s not Ghostbur at all.

Fundy sees Wilbur, eyes wide and face entirely slack with shock, with skin flushed just slightly with color rather than lifelessly white.

He’s standing right there where Ghostbur used to be, not transparent, not desaturated, not- not dead.

Is he dead? He should be. Why is he not-?

For one silent moment the world stands frozen on the edge of a knife, the two locked in a disbelieving staring contest.

Fundy blinks first. The man that should be a ghost is still not see-through, and full of more color than he should be.

The world has utterly ceased to make any sense.

Fundy’s fingers went numb.

Metal clanged unnoticed as that awful, ugly sword bounced off a brewing stand and hit the ground, splashing unremarkably into a puddle of mud.

Dead silence is left in its wake, broken only by the patter of rain that is suddenly so very far away.

Wilbur swayed a little on his feet. His face slowly contorted, warping Ghostbur’s final expression of gentle surprise into quiet, pained horror. His hands rose to press shaking fingers against his middle, where the appalling reminder of his violent end had always freely dribbled blue down his front like paint.

Fundy gaped back in response, ears ringing, heart pounding too fast and painful in his ribs, black spots eating at the corners of his vision- what is- why-

A slow, startled inhale became a choked, ragged gasp.

The specter that might have been a man stumbled.

Hurt and betrayal, anger and hatred; it all tumbled right out of Fundy’s spinning head.

One unsteady step forward-

- Wilbur’s knees buckled-

-and Fundy ran.

-.-.-

Miles and miles away in a place too dark too small too quiet, the walls glittered sickly in the light of magma sluggishly dripping over the only exit; a sticky, uncomfortable heat flooded the room only to be sucked away by the volcanic glass encasing it.

The room was utterly barren except for two things; a chest, and the resident seated upon it.

A lone young man sat hunched forward in the not-light of the lava-reflecting obsidian and stared blankly at the dark, dark walls around him.

Too still.

Too stiff.

Too quiet, quiet, quiet for far, far too long; all day, every day, ever since his favorite visitor had escaped and he’d been left all alone with nothing to play with again.

If someone were to look in at him, they might not even think he was breathing. Perhaps they would question, then, what the point was of such an elaborate cell for nothing more than a corpse.

But then-

-cold diamond slice through skin, warm blood drip-drip down, death become life again-

a movement, finally.

The young man’s blond head jerked upright, like a shock, like it was the first time in a long time that he had blinked awake.

His hungry green gaze swept his cell and fixed on the death trap that should have been a door, beyond even that, past weeping obsidian walls and wide empty fields, past the broad stretch of a long, long road to a country now lay in ruin, to a room of broken walls painted with the hope and suffering of the fathers and sons of one particular family.

For the first time in weeks, the young man’s eyes came to life with something beyond sheer boredom.

For the first time in an age, the god hidden under his skin did the same.

Dream and the shadow that shared his name stared wordlessly at the strange family reunion for one long heartbeat, then two.

Neither blinked.

They just tilted their head, curiosity personified; the closest either would come to admitting some semblance of surprise.

“Huh.”

#Dream SMP #Wilbur Soot #ItsFundy #fanfiction #my writing #in progress #fanfic rec #multi chapter

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cobrakiin · 4 years ago

Text

I Wouldn't Fall For Someone I Thought Couldn't Misbehave

Cojeel | Mentioned Lulev + Stingue | Rated: M (Nothing Super Explicit but ends with Very Spicy Fluff)

When Gajeel signed on for helping re-stabilize the Magic Council after the bombings, he didn't expect all the redundant paperwork, nosy coworkers, or the smokin' hot redhead that likes to play dangerous games with him.

And he should really learn to lock his front door... but why should he? He's practically rewarded for leaving it unlocked!

Aka the post-Rhodonite/Road Knight oneshot that my brain decided to inspire me to write by repeatedly chanting "COBRA SHOW HIS LEGGY" repeatedly until I finished writing it.

[AO3] [FFN]

________________________

"Everything okay?"

"Nn?"

"You've been quiet," Levy reiterated.

"'Course I am, I've got all these bullshit reports to do," Gajeel grumbled, motioning to the mess of papers on his desk. "If I'd known helping clean up after the Council was gonna involve so much goddamn paperwork, I would've told 'em I can't read and saved a hundred trees."

"That's very noble of you," Levy said, unconvincingly flat. She leaned her elbow on her desk, resting her chin in her hand. Her honey brown eyes narrowed, watching him suspiciously. "I meant that you haven't seemed to be your usual self recently. You've been way more distracted lately."

He snorted dismissively. "I ain't you. Sue me for findin' never-ending paperwork boring."

"Come to think of it," Levy ploughed on, "It started right after that mission to recapture that Oracion Seis member." She tapped her index finger against her chin, feigning thought. "And he got away…"

Gajeel sharply eyed her.

His position in the New Magic Council was… unique. Gajeel was only handed cases regular Rune Knights couldn't handle - he was a Dragonslayer whose magic made near-unbreakable iron objects and also happened to be an expert tracker, so he became the guy who could track and capture the more elusive, difficult targets.

An escaped, dark mage Dragonslayer? Right up his alley.

Officially… Gajeel had found Cobra, but the sudden issue of an active child trafficking ring took precedence and Cobra 'got away' in the mess of it all.

Unofficially… Gajeel had found Cobra and they'd exchanged blows at first. Testing each other until Cobra's real target had revealed itself. Then the two Dragonslayers tore those kidnappers to shreds. Once the kids were safe with Council forces, Gajeel had managed to track Cobra down again a few remote towns over. (Gajeel tracked him; Cobra didn't 'let' Gajeel find him again - nope! Finding him again was all Gajeel!) And that's where everything got a lot messier and a lot hotter… and a lot stickier...

Dragons were very much creatures that abided by the Universal Law of the Four F's - food, fight, flee, or fuck - sometimes there was a Fifth F in there, too… something about "Friend" or whatever.

Gajeel meeting Natsu? Fight on sight.

Meeting Laxus? Yeah, there was a Fight, but Gajeel was a little more honest with himself these days that he had actually wanted to Flee the Thunder God.

Wendy and Rogue? He guessed that's where "Friend" came in. Maybe also Food somewhere mixed up in there; they both really needed to eat more. That counted, right?

That blonde idiot mated to his brother? Well… if Sting weren't practically plastered to Rogue's side every waking minute of the day, Gajeel wouldn't mind a Fight with him. (Besides, the guy reminded him too much of Salamander.)

But meeting Cobra? That was the first time his inner dragon skipped past all the other F's - looked right at that cocky little shit-eating elf - and decided on Fuck. And it soon became apparent that Cobra's inner dragon had come to the same conclusion about Gajeel.

It was not at all what he had expected when he'd been handed that case file. He'd expected a Fight and not a Fuck. And while he got both - he was getting plenty of the second one. Even now.

He wasn't stupid: Cobra would do a lot more good out there slaughtering slavers than locked back up for, what? Crimes he committed as a teenager? (Following that mission, Gajeel had checked what was left of Cobra's file after the bombings. While he was sure the redhead had done much worse than what was in there, legally all they could hold him on now was "association with dark mages" and a couple of assassinations they "suspected" him of.) Killing traffickers the Council couldn't (or wouldn't) go after was basically community service, in Gajeel's opinion.

An added plus to all that "community service" was that Cobra sometimes showed up after Gajeel was done with a mission. Always approached him alone, always knew where they wouldn't be seen, always teasing so many somethings without saying anything directly. And sometimes whispered somethings led to somewheres - like the bed of a shitty inn for the night or a tent deep in the woods... or that alley behind that diner that one time.

"It's okay to give yourself some slack, you know," Levy's voice dragged him unwillingly out of his thoughts. "Sure, you didn't catch him. But you saved twelve kids and stopped more from being kidnapped. That's an accomplishment, too!"

Gajeel rolled his eyes. He 'hasn't been himself'... tch, yeah - 'cause he's been getting regularly fuckin' laid! He wanted to brag and practically had to bite his tongue to force himself not to.

"I don't really care that much about catching him," he half-lied. He did want to catch Cobra - to keep chasing and catching him, over and over - he just didn't want to arrest the poison dragon. "I ain't beating myself up over that. I've- Look. It's somethin' else, okay?"

The short bluenette blinked her surprise at him before her mouth widened into a smirk. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay," she said, pretending to go back to her own stack of reports. "I thought you might have been upset about the Cobra situation. But from that reaction, I'd almost guess you were seeing someone."

Gajeel forced a scowl in an attempt to squash the heat rising to his face. "So? Even if I was - and I'm not sayin' I am - it's not a fuckin' crime." Except that in his case, it most certainly was. He snorted indignantly. "I didn't bother you half this much when you an' cosplay girl went away on that gal-pal trip to that couples-only hotspring."

Levy's eyebrows immediately arched at that. "Gajeel, you sent me a text message that contained a book, a bunny, and a scissor emoji. Fourteen times." She shook her head. "Lucy saw it and almost passed out from embarrassment because she doesn't know what a kind, supportive asshole you are."

He spluttered. "Don't remember, didn't happen."

"If you ever start dating someone, just know I'm going to have my revenge. Tenfold."

TWUNNNG.

The sound of a lone, reverberating guitar string being plucked played as his lacriphone buzzed in his pocket. (With his tough skin, he couldn't always feel when his phone vibrated. When he had first started using it, he had the notification sound set to an annoyed cat's meow, but Pantherlily refused to go out on missions with him if he didn't have his phone set to silent. Reluctantly, he'd change it to a guitar twang to appease his friend.)

The lock screen showed he had two messages from a number he didn't recognize.

The first message was an image. Taken from a bathtub... his bathtub! In his house! A leg - warm chestnut skin dripping wet as soap streaked down the exposed, toned thigh - casually hung over the side of his bathtub, suds and the shimmer of the overhead light on the water obscuring anything more tantalizing lurking below.

Light, faint purpling could be seen on the inner flesh of the thigh, and Gajeel's mouth went half-dry at the memory of suckling and pinching the soft skin there between his fangs.

The second message flat-out taunted Gajeel: [You should really learn to lock your doors, Mr. Councilman... who knows what kind of criminal could break in?]

Gajeel could practically feel the blood rushing from his rapidly blanking mind to somewhere much, much lower. He managed to hold back the approving, dragonish purr that threatened to rumble from his very core.

"So you are seeing someone," Levy troublesomely commented over Gajeel's shoulder, causing Gajeel to jolt and nearly fumble his phone onto the floor. That sneaky little shrimp! When the fuck did she even get there?! "You know, you don't have to hide it, we're friends. Who is she?"

Right. The pic was only of a leg. (And it was a fuckin' nice leg, the guy had a great pair of them with a perfect, shapely ass to match.) All Levy had seen was a leg. Sent from a burner phone, not that she'd know that just from the quick peek. Nothing identifiable.

Taking a few calming breaths, Gajeel grit his fangs in a friendly yet dismissive frown. "It's a he, Shrimpy. Don't go makin' assumptions 'bout who I bed." Despite how they picked on each other, she was his friend, and he'd toss her that one bone. "And he would prefer if my work life didn't go poking into our personal life. As a matter of fact, so would I."

Levy feigned thought for a moment. But the teasing, troublesome glint in her eyes remained. "You mean to tell me that he doesn't want to be seen with a grown man that collects Hello Kitten merchandise and refuses to lock his own front door?"

________________________

It was impossible to ignore the other male's scent in his home, warmly dampened by a recent bath. Gajeel tossed his uniform coat on the hook by the door and kicked his boots off in a hurry. The scent carried into the kitchen, where it was obvious a certain home invader had definitely helped himself to the contents of Gajeel's fridge, and he followed it to the living room and to who he knew was waiting there for him.

Gajeel knew who he was dealing with by now: Cobra went where he pleased, when he pleased. Nothing could hold him in one place for long and, knowing how much Cobra valued his freedom, Gajeel didn't care to try. Besides... the redhead was just as enticing whether he was standing in front of him or walking away - neither was a bad view.

And it wasn't a bad view that waited for him at all.

Freshly bathed and stretching the length of the couch lounged a certain redheaded poison dragon. His hair was still damp and… and Gajeel had to blink a few times, because Cobra was wearing his clothes: a loose black t-shirt and pair of gray sweatpants, both a little big on his lithe frame.

"What," the lounging elf playfully sneered, "Did you stop for flowers?"

Gajeel crossed the space between them in two strides and practically dove into the arms of the smaller man. Their mouths met and the battle for dominance began. And Cobra pulled, fought back in their embrace; he didn't lay there passively. Cobra was flexible and could move with ease, but Gajeel had more mass on his side and used it to his advantage as he rolled them both off the couch and onto the carpet.

He managed to pin Cobra beneath him, settling his hips between Cobra's legs, and almost losing all rational thought as he rutted against him.

The iron dragon's lips parted as a husky growl rumbled from his throat and slipped out past his fangs: "So ya broke in, used all my hot water, stole my clothes, and cleaned out my fridge? And you expect me to let you get away with that for free?"

Gajeel was far from mad. Cobra being in his house, seeing Cobra wearing his clothes, knowing his mate was sated by food he provided - it was all pulling right at that primal, possessive side of him in all the right ways.

"Not breaking in if you don't lock your doors," Cobra replied cooly. "You were practically asking for it."

Gajeel wanted to fuck him through the goddamn floor right there and then.

"Let's play a game," Cobra said, mouth still so close that their lips brushed with each word, single violet eye glinting up at the man above him.

"Yeah? Since when do you wanna play games...?"

Smirking, Cobra pulled back, knowing just how to egg Gajeel on: "If you're afraid you'll lose, I could always-"

Gajeel silenced him with a kiss, pressing him firmly against the floor with his body. "I like winning games," he rumbled, "'Specially against you."

"If I can pin you to the couch, I get to fuck you," Cobra explained the first part of the game.

The iron dragon immediately perked to attention. He loved when Cobra spoke dirty, and loved the sound of this game - just as much as Cobra knew he would. "That sounds kinda one-sided," he said, though he shifted his weight in anticipation anyways.

"Let me finish," the redhead scolded him, enjoying the way Gajeel's breath hitched as he pressed himself flush against him. Cobra's hand slid between them, sliding down, and his palm paid special, gripping attention to a growing bulge in Gajeel's pants. "If you can get me upstairs, you can tie me to the bed and do whatever you want to me."

Gajeel clenched his eyes shut as Cobra's hand squeezed suddenly, firmly, as a faint groan escaped him. "Really, you're s-sure?"

"Yeah," Cobra confirmed. It hadn't been too long ago that the thought of being tied up and fucked would have made him recoil, but he trusted Gajeel. He knew Gajeel had a thing for bondage and trusted him to not take things too far - and Gajeel wanted to show him that trust was not misplaced.

Iron claws surfaced and flexed, hungry fangs peeked out of Gajeel's mouth in barely contained urge. "Funny, you gave yourself the closer spot."

"You've got more muscle on your side."

"You've got fancy ears, you know what I'm gonna do," Gajeel pointed out.

Cobra gingerly traced a finger down Gajeel's jaw, fangs glinting in a devilish little grin. "When's that ever stopped you...?"

________________________

"Hn?" Gajeel cocked a studded brow, noting how easily his fingers had gone in.

The tied-up redhead under him still somehow managed to scrape up enough cockiness in his voice: "I was ready for either of us to win tonight."

"Ya mean ta tell me that you were up here pleasing yerself in MY bed and you just let me sit at my desk ALL FUCKEN DAY?!"

#fairy tail #gajeel redfox #erik cobra #cojeel #fanfic #cobra #i can now say that i've titled a fic after a hozier song so i'll cross that off my bucket list #no beta bc my mind would not stop going LEGGY until i posted this please let me have peace now

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willow-salix · 5 years ago

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This is an unedited scene I've yet to place in a chapter I've yet to write, but I've seen a lot of posts knocking around lately that I feel this little snippet can address better than my words can. So I'll let John tell you.

"I never thought I'd see the day that John Tracy found someone stupid enough to take him on," he laughed, gulping back half of his beer. "She's not bad looking either, you must have had to put in some serious work to bag her, that or you lied."

John shifted uncomfortably not knowing what to say to that. Obviously he'd thought it himself, been plagued with those thoughts of not being good enough, coming with too much baggage and family commitments, but to have someone who was supposed to be his friend saying it, well, that was just a kick in the teeth. He glanced down at the drink in his hand, finger running lightly around the rim, distracting himself as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Actually, she made the first move."

"Woah, really? I guess your money helped, I mean, you aren't the easiest person to deal with, are you? So there had to be something in it for her," Gary plunged on, regardless of his feelings. "I remember in college, we'd have to drag you out of the dorm just to get you to interact with the outside world, let alone talk to anyone. How'd she fix you?"

It was that last line that did it, that gave him the kick he needed and the confidence to lift his head, look his 'friend' dead in the eyes and let the truth fly.

"She didn't do anything but love me for who I am. I didn't need fixing, I wasn't broken, I was just different to you, I just didn't fit in with your version of what was normal or expected. A relationship isn't a band aid for your mental issues, it shouldn't be down to your partner to be responsible for your wellbeing."

"Yeah, but you had to have changed for her, I mean, look at you, standing here in a bar, having a bachelor party like a normal person."

Beyond pissed off now, John slammed his drink down on the bar and rounded on his old friend.

"She didn't do anything but accept me for who I was. If I've changed at all it's been because I feel comfortable enough to do so, to relax and be myself, something I could never do with people like you in my life judging me, pushing me to be someone I wasn't just because I made you feel uncomfortable. That wasn't my fault, that was on you. I didn't act how you did and therefore you deemed me wrong or broken when really and truly, the broken one here is you."

"Hey! Now wait just a sec-"

"No, you wait. You have the audacity to invite yourself along to my bachelor party and then feel you have the right to judge my relationship when you have never kept a partner for longer than three months without chasing them off. The number of places you have docked your rocket does not equal successful relationship experience. And I thank you not to bring your negative views into my life again if you know what's good for you."

"Did you just threaten me?" Gary's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Yeah, I think I did, and you know what? It felt good to do so. You don't get to judge me anymore, you don't get to make me feel bad about myself. She didn't need to fix me, I changed myself because I was wanted by someone who actually took the time to get to know me and understand me more than you, as my friend, ever did. I think it's time you left now."

Gary's nostrils flared and he let out a snort of disgust not unlike that of a bull, but a quick glance around the bar had him reassessing. Defiantly he knocked back the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the bar top.

"Good luck, Tracy. You're going to need it, because someone like you won't keep someone like that for long, just make sure you don't give her a credit card, yeah?" he laughed nastily before turning and presenting John with his broad back to watch him walk away.

John huffed out a relieved breath, wondering where that sudden spark of bravery in the face of a friend had come from. It was the first time he'd have spoken up like that or stood up for himself, but he was glad he did. He'd only spoken the truth as he saw it.

Every other relationship or friendship he'd had they had tried to change him, tried to push him into their way of thinking or acting, all for 'his own good' not accepting that he was already good as he was.

He and Selene worked because neither saw the other's personality, likes, dislikes or experiences as issues that needed to be fixed, they saw everything as something that they accepted and loved regardless. He'd found that it was only when he had felt truly comfortable and loved for who he was that he'd been able to make positive changes for himself. That was the key really, he had changed for him, not for her, changed to make himself feel better and more comfortable in his own skin and that was all that had mattered.

She hadn't seen him as a pet project, as something to mold and forcefully squash into her version of perfection, she'd thought he was perfect as he was. She hadn't like the idea of having a Tracy, of bagging the one they never saw, she had never seen him as something to conquer and own. She had just wanted him, not the concept of him. It had taken him a long time to truly believe her, to accept her unconditional, non judgemental love and trust in her but now he wouldn't trade what they had for anything.

Gary would never know that joy, that comfort you could have from feeling truly wanted just as you were, because he couldn't give that himself, he couldn't see that a partner wasn't there to do your bidding.

"Hey, John, are you okay?" Gordon asked, appearing as if by magic at his side. "I saw that big douche storm out of here, he didn't say anything to you, did he?" the look on Gordon's face said he'd be down to pound ten tons of shit out of Gary if John would just say the word.

"Nope," John answered, a small smile catching the corners of his mouth. "He just had to go."

No one needed to know what had been said, it didn't matter, John knew the truth and those who knew him and Selene knew it too, it was clear for anyone to see. And that was all that mattered to him.

#john tracy #selene tempest #relationshipgoals #relationship #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years ago

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1043.

Does your middle name begin with letters A-G? >> No, it begins with S.

What is your state's largest city? >> I’m going to go ahead and assume that’s Detroit.

Pick your three favourite vegetables. >> Broccoli, carrots, squash. I really just pick three random vegetables every time I get this question, because I like so many.

Have you ever broken a movie or game disc? >> Probably. They’re pretty breakable.

What colour are your brother's eyes? >> ---

What are you feeling right now? >> Tired, kind of. Not as tired as I’d expect to be at this time, but tired enough, I guess.

Do you watch Law & Order: Special Victims Unit? >> No.

How many flights of stairs are in your house? >> There are two flights of stairs to get to my apartment.

Have you ever played a drinking game? Which ones? >> I’ve played Quarters. It was, of course, a very bad idea, but I wasn’t aware of the dangers at the time.

Do you often feel excluded? >> I often feel that way because I have a fair amount of social neuroses thanks to, you know -- [gestures to the past 25-plus years of my life] all these negative social experiences. I’m aware that feeling that way is usually more of an intense emotional hallucination rather than a rational interpretation of anything that’s actually going on around me, but that doesn’t make it any easier to override.

Are you good with managing your finances? >> I don’t have enough finances to require management. I just get this paltry bit of money and then immediately give it all up to my monthly expenses. But yes, I do have a knack for budgeting that I rarely get to use.

Do you have an accountant? >> HA! No, dude.

Did you ever play Neopets when you were younger? >> Nope.

Have you ever been to Mexico? >> Nope.

How big is your bathroom? >> Neither of these bathrooms are of any respectable size. But, I mean, getting one and a half bathrooms in an 800 sq ft apartment is amazing in itself. Of course they’re not going to be big, but at least there are two of them. (Regardless, I would prefer not to feel claustrophobic in my own bathroom. One day...)

How many friends do you have on Facebook? >> Like 15.

Do you regularly check anyone's profile online? >> I check up on certain blogs I follow on here, but that’s all.

What is the closest pizza place to your house? >> Hmm... Jet’s Pizza, I guess?

What age did your mum stop helping you clean your room, if she ever did? >> ---

What colour is your toothpaste? >> A sort of... soft minty green.

Have your parents ever worked in medicine? >> ---

Do you have any silly nicknames or pet names? >> No.

Are you any good at drawing? >> Well, I’m not absolute garbage at it -- I still have some skill left over from when I used to do it religiously.

Is there anything unusual about your house? >> Not that I can ascertain.

Can you maintain a text conversation or do you run out of things to say? >> I can maintain a conversation...

How old will you be turning in 2020? >> I turned 33.

Have you ever met anyone with Multiple Personality Disorder? >> I know a few people with either DID or OSDD. I know more people who are plural in a way that does not qualify for a DID/OSDD diagnosis (like myself).

What is your favourite type of cookie? >> Ginger snaps, lemon, snickerdoodle.

Do you spell things the way I do? (colour, favourite, flavour etc.) >> Yeah.

When was the last time you painted your nails? >> Oof, it’s been a long time. It’s so much effort for such a short-lived reward.

Do you like word or picture tattoos better? >> I don’t have a preference...

Does taking surveys make you sleepy? >> Nope.

How many vowels are in your mother's full name? >> ---

Do you find it hard to talk to strangers, even people who work in stores? >> I don’t find it difficult, I’m just not always in the headspace to do it.

Have you ever tasted goat's milk? >> Yeah.

Are you a fidgety person? >> Not especially? I’m more fidgety than a neurotypical person, but not nearly as fidgety as a lot of other neurodivergent people.

How many serious relationships have you been in? >> Hm.

Did you ever take classes for a musical instrument when you were younger? >> No.

Is there anything going on outside your window? >> Probably. There’s always something going on in the parking lot of this complex, it seems. Much to my aggravation and overwhelm, I should add.

What was your favourite board game as a child? >> I don’t think I had one.

Do you listen to Rise Against? >> I listen to one song, lol.

When was the last time you congratulated someone? >> I don’t remember.

Have you ever taken care of a newborn baby? >> No.

How old were you when you got your ears pierced? >> I was a baby when my ears were pierced.

Do you snore when you sleep? >> No one has ever said I do. I think the only time I’m prone to snoring is when I’m congested, which is rarely.

Have you ever been 10-pin bowling? >> No.

Do you have your own bowling ball and shoes? >> No.

What was the last type of burger you ate? >> A veggie one.

Have you cried in the past week? >> Oh, absolutely.

#surveys #survey #random survey #not for reblogging *glare*

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fsouth-park-is-imaginative · 6 years ago

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THE ANGELS ARE WATCHING CHAPTER 4: ROTTEN ON THE INSIDE

We are all candy covered on the outside Peel away the shell and we're rotten on the inside

We are all angry, angry on the inside Peel away the shell and we're frightened on the inside -lollirot

Her skin was purple in the light. A halo of light surrounded her like she was the Virgin Mary. The Bullet Hole, a bar famous for a shootout back in the seventies, was not very busy. I could hear the small chatter of the drinkers at tables. I chose, perhaps, the most depressing spot I could think of. The bartenders have a sense of humor, they joke about sex and death. The regulars go there because nobody they know will walk in on them drowning themselves in alcohol. Everyone comes in drunk, they leave close to alcohol poisoning. The alcoholics and sex fiends flock to the Bullet Hole to milk out the blood from each other, and the sorrow from themselves.

“So uh, what’s up with this place?” She asks.

“Its a fun place to get a drink at,” I say, “it’s called the Bullet Hole.”

“Why?”

“About ten ish years ago it was the site of a triple murder-suicide.”

“Gnarly. Why are we going into it?”

“Because it’s a fun place to get a drink at.” I repeat

“You sure? Because it looks like a place you’d go to because there are no kids within a ten mile radius.”

“Don’t worry you’re safe. I’ve been here tons of times. It’s just sad divorcees and old war veterans. They won’t bother you.”

“I’m not worried about that, I can handle myself.” She retorts.

“Of course you can, you’re what? Five feet in socks? Terrifying.” I joke. She rolls her eyes playfully.

“More like five foot one and a half inch, mister.”

“Oh, even scarier!”

“I am, yeah!”

“I could crush you by resting an arm on your head. You’re fragile like paper.”

“Am not.” She argues. I raise an arm and place in on her head like she’s a countertop.

“Huh, how’s the weather down there echidna?” I say in an aloof voice.

“Hey!” She laughs. I’m careful not to apply too much pressure.

“Hmmm I think I hear a voice, but it’s…. so low down…. I can barely hear from so far away…” I take my arm off her when she makes an annoyed noise.

“Shut up.” She says. And after a moment she continues. “Echidna?”

“Yeah, it’s uh,” I struggle to justify my reasoning. “A small animal.”

“Oh. Is it cute like I am?” She asks, teasingly.

“You’re cuter. Your junk isn’t on your chin.” She laughs

“Echidnas sound gross.”

“They are. They look like genitals with necrosis.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” I hold open the door “shall we?” She nods and walks into the bar.

Each chapter part two

———————————

Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes Passed from him to the strong men that were whole. How cold and late it is! Why don't they come And put him into bed? Why don't they come? -disabled, Wilfred Owen

“So you’re saying you’ve never heard of Oscar Wilde.” She states incredulously.

“Nope. Not a word. Why, is he an actor or something?” I ask. She shakes her head, fully astonished.

“No! He is only THE best writer in the entire WORLD” She says.

“Oh yeah? What did he write?”

“Many things! He wrote the picture of Dorian Grey, The decay of lying, the importance of being Earnest, a story about a nightingale and a rose…” she trails off. “You’ve seriously never heard of him?” I revel in her shock and subsequent attention.

“Nope. He any good?”

“Yes! He’s super good- he’s the most influential and important person ever. He is the most beautiful man-“

“Wait. Cuter than me?” I tease

“Well, no, I guess not. He kind of looked like a Columbine shooter, but that doesn’t matter. He’s beautiful purely by virtue of existence.” She says, as if she had memorized her lines ahead of time.

“By virtue of existence.” I echo. I had, in fact, heard of Oscar Wilde. I had read a poem his a while ago, after I read the last few lines in bright yellow graffiti under a bridge.

“Yeah. Anyway, not to make you jealous or anything,” She laughs. I smile.

“Never.” I lied.

I take another sip of alcohol. I have a higher tolerance, I’ve been drinking since fourteen. The little miss love of my life hadn’t drank a drop before her birthday last month. I’m in the clear, she’s slurring her words. She laughs.

“Anyway, isn’t he beautiful?” She says. The alcohol is making her brain fuzzy, and I slip something into her drink while she isn’t looking.

“The one that looks like a columbine shooter?” I ask, teasing.

“Yeah. Him. I don’t like school shootings, I don’t like murder. It’s morally wrong and makes me feel all icky. But I’d love to watch something die at some point. I want to be there to see the light leave their eyes. Death intrigues me.” She says.

I chuckle darkly, looking away at the dirt-caked floors and cockroaches.

“You might just get your wish.” I say dryly.

“What? Oh, look! Fire!” She points over at the corner, where indeed, there was a fire. It was very small, but in the minds of several drunks, it rivaled the twin towers. Several patrons ran out screaming, while others seemed to have caught the suicide train and stayed in their seats, sobbing for the flames to take them. I flinched, imagining my blackened skin curling like paper under the deceptively beautiful golden flames.

“Fuck.” I say. I grab her hands and lead her out the door. There are three exits, I use the one with less frantic drunk people going through it. She laughs

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” She claps, laughing like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“Yeah, fire. Fire.” I echo.

I hope she’s not a necrophiliac.

The fire was instantly squashed out, apparently it happens a lot there. The owner of the Bullet Hole came out in the cool night air and addressed the crowd of disgruntled drunks and divorcees.

“Listen,” he said, old hoarse voice full of annoyance. “Apparently one of you drunk idiots decided it would be a good idea to start a fire in a cup of alcohol, despite the fact that there is a strict no lighter policy in the bar.” He pointed at a sign outside the door. Sure enough, there was a picture of a lighter with a cross over it. “If nobody listens to the signs, what’s the point of them? I’ve got THIRTY FUCKING TWO SIGNS OVER THE ENTIRE JOINT” he starts yelling. “SO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP LIGHTING THINGS ON FIRE.”and with that, he took a deep breath, let it out, and went inside the bar. The door locked and the fluorescent open sign turned off. I turn to Alice.

“You okay?” I say. She nods.

“Fire is scary. But it’s also… hot. Fire is the whore of agony! I love it! I love it! I love it!” She starts laughing again. I shake my head.

“It’ll start to kick in soon.” I say.

“What?”

“Yeah. And you’ll run, right? Because you’re afraid? It’ll happen. It’s the chemicals in your brain. Thirty minutes in.”

“You’re funny.” She said.

I took out my phone. 8:17. The day was blue with the setting sun. The night sky gets dark early now. I look at her. Her face looks loopy. Her hair is tangled. She’s got dark circles under her eyes. She looks like someone that got tuberculosis in the Victorian era. She looks like someone thought her dying form was so beautiful they put her picture in every newspaper to commemorate the tragic beauty. She looks like if Simonetta Vespucci was born in the 20th century, and people treated her the same. She looks like people treat her like she isn’t a person, she’s just that beautiful. I don’t, I know that she’s alive. I know that she has thoughts and feelings. I know that she’s so intelligent she could look like absolute shit and it wouldn’t matter. I know her. I know her. I know her. And if I wrote a book about our love I would write her name over and over again for the prologue.

Alice. Alice. Alice.

She looks alarmed.

“Have you decided I want to kill you? I don’t. That’s just the drugs” I say, “and you can be afraid all you want. But I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe forever.”

“I-uh-“ she stammers, award of the sudden danger I possess to her. That’ll be a side effect of the drug, I assume. Intense fear. She takes off running and I stay back to watch her suddenly retreating from. I’ll give her a head start.

#the angels are watching #no trigger warnings #kenny mccormick #alice #tw drugs #hows that #yandere #chapter 4 #simonetta vespucci #oscar wilde

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themurphyzone · 8 years ago

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Mystery at McDuck Manor Ch 1

This story is a huge change from my usual writing style. I thought I’d mix it up and have a little fun.

Ch 1- The Scene of the Crime

Tonight I venture out of my home turf and into the unknown, trailing the path of crime wherever it may lead. I find myself standing in front of the imposing gates of McDuck Manor, an ominous creak sounding from the rusted bars. I was requested most highly by a certain...DWDbiggestfan1991 on an Internet forum to solve a matter of utmost pressing concern to his boss.

The message is highly classified information, which I will not disclose to my narration lest the night wind carries it to eavesdropping ears.

As I survey the grounds with a keen eye, I spy a dark figure sneaking out the front door with a square object tucked under his left arm. He rounds the corner and breaks into a run.

I follow him to the back side of the property, where a tiny, damaged houseboat stays afloat in a pool. Judging from the blackened edges of several planks, it was safe to assume the engine had been hotwired.

The figure dashes into the boat, tossing assorted knickknacks around as he searches for that unknown object. The time has come for my dramatic-and dare I say-daring entrance.

“I am the terror who flaps in the night!”

“Where’s all that smoke coming from? Show yourself!” The other duck demands in a near-unintelligible voice. Boy, he should really consider speech therapy.

“I am the miscalculation which costs you millions of dough! I am...DARKWING-YIPE!” I duck a thrown snow globe, the glass shattering on the wall behind me. “What was that for?”

The other duck balls his fists. “You barge into my home and expect a warm welcome from me? Well, you’ve got another thing coming, pal!”

“And you expect an explanation from me when you rudely interrupted my introduction?” I say. “Now, explain what you plan on doing in this destroyed dump.”

“GET OUT OF MY HOME!” The duck screeches, leaping towards me.

My honed senses enable me to expertly evade his enraged attack, and I point my trusty gas gun at his bill. “Yep, yep, yep,” I say. “Now will you be good and tell me what purpose you had for sneaking into a houseboat at 10:37 at night? Nothing good ever comes out of tiptoeing around.”

Before he could reply, something whizzes by my head, knocking the gas gun out of my hand. When I look back, a cane had embedded itself into the panels, my gas gun hanging from the end by its handle.

“Who are you and why are you attackin’ my nephew?” An old duck barks in a most peculiar accent. He stands on the edge of the boat, glaring at both of us with more rage than I would have thought was possible for an old geezer. “Curse me kilts, Donald! I turn my back for two minutes and ya already land yourself in trouble.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Uncle Scrooge,” Donald mutters. “I was only putting away a photo album.”

“Ah, so you must be DWDbiggestfan1991′s boss,” I say. “Scrooge McDuck, an honor to meet you. I am the caped crusader, he who flaps in the night, Darkwing Duck. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, what seems to be troubling you?”

Scrooge storms over to the planks, pulling his cane out of the wall and letting the gas gun clatter to the floor. “You have ten seconds to take your fancy gadgetry and theatrics off my property,” he growls. “As for you Donald, couldn’t this have waited til morning?”

Suddenly a large, rather dopey fellow rushes on board. “Darkwing Duck! You’re here! You’re actually here!”

I fold my arms. “What kind of a hero would I be if I didn’t answer the calls of a needy populace in an orderly fashion?”

He picks me up and crushes me in a giant hug. My lungs are on fire and I savor all the precious air I possibly can. One time the malicious miscreant Megavolt mangled the circuits of St. Canard’s power grid for his own nefarious purposes. Being tangled in his wires was preferable to this behemoth’s death hug.

“So....” I gag. “Are you DWDbiggestfan1991 by...oof my organs...any chance?”

He finally lets go, and I wheeze for breath.

“That’s me! Launchpad McQuack, mind getting me an autograph?”

Well, it would be rather rude of me to refuse. I sign his hat with a black sharpie. I even leave him a smiley face.

“I’m never washing this baby again!” he exclaims.

“Launchpad, may we talk for a moment?” Scrooge says in a dangerously calm voice. He pulls him to the side of the boat. I’m left with Donald, who glares at me.

Well, it was certainly nice to know one duck in McDuck Manor had manners.

“When I said you could bring someone who would help us figure out where the painting went, I did not mean use the Internet to hire A MASKED CLOWN!”

“If I said he didn’t demand payment, would you be a little more welcoming?”

“Why do I even-wait a moment, Launchpad. Did you say he doesn’t demand payment?”

I clear my throat. “That’s correct. I do not accept payment for my services. Though a bit of gratitude would be nice.”

Scrooge sighs, shaking his head. “I’m goin’ to regret this later. But as long as you work for free, I suppose there’s no other choice. Follow me to the garage. And don’t touch anything!”

Now I see why some call him the cheapest duck in the world.

But if he would kindly stop calling me a masked clown, that would be much appreciated.

I stay behind him as I keenly take in all the details of dusty old relics that have fallen prey to neglect over the years. Strangely, there were green post it notes on some of the objects. I rip one off as we pass by a podium.

I stow it in my pocket so I can examine in a better lit area. It could be a very important clue.

“This is where I kept the painting,” Scrooge says, stopping in front of a stack of crates. “It has a picture of a pirate ship, and there’s a tear in the upper left corner.”

I thoroughly scour the area for clues with my magnifying glass. There was a faded rectangular area free of dust where the painting once sat, as well as several light footprints that led into the interior of the manor.

“It appears that the perpetrator has made their way into your mansion,” I explain. “And I found these green post it notes right by the scene of the crime! Whoever pilfered the painting did a poor job of covering their tracks. Mr. McDuck, if you would please gather all the occupants of your estate so we can figure this out quickly.”

“Wait, Uncle Scrooge!” Donald yells. “The boys are asleep!”

“Nonsense, Donald,” Scrooge says with a dismissive wave. “Nobody is sleepin’ tonight until we figure out who stole that painting. I’ll wake up Webby and Beakley. Grab the boys and bring them down to the parlor. Launchpad, help this clown search downstairs.”

Lightpack salutes, his entire body stiff. “Aye, aye, Mr. McDee! Er, or was it sir, yes sir?” Scrooge taps him with his cane, and the larger duck falls to the ground, almost squashing Donald under his weight.

The Darkwing does not have a need for a partner. I work alone! I have done everything by myself for years, and I most certainly have no need for a dopey duck who looks as though he can’t tell a triangle from the square root of 254.

However, I feel generous today. “Come along, Lunchbox,” I say in an authoritative, heroic voice. “Let us begin our search...” I pause for dramatic effect as I figure out where to begin. “...in the lobby!”

“Cool! Mind if I show you wear I crashed the limo one time? Mr. McDee’s face turned this funny shade of red after I did that!” he exclaimed.

“Later. Duty calls,” I reply.

I poke my head into the empty fireplace. “Find anything?” Limbobar calls.

“Nope!” I cough. “Nothing but...ack...soot and brick! They did not use the chimney for this.”

“Well, geez, I wouldn’t really expect Santa Claus to be the stealing type.”

Before I could yell at him for that remark, I bang my head against the brick as I crawl out. My suit is covered in ash, so I dust it off, coughing the entire time.

Hope Scrooge McDuck didn’t mind a little ash on his nice looking rug.

Next I continue my search into the kitchen, looking underneath the sliver platters for a crumb, a wrapper, or any piece of food that the thief might have eaten while committing this heinous heist.

Another valiant effort, wasted.

“Letterpen, we shall now head to the parlor.” I must carefully construct my statements so that nobody is aware that my search has so far yielded nothing. “I have allowed a sufficient amount of time to pass for everyone to be brought to order.”

“Okay, DW!” he nods. “Check this out!” He holds out a pair of aviator goggles in his palms. “Found it by the front door. I’m always misplacing my stuff. Lucky this was in an obvious spot.”

“Let me see that,” I say, examining the material under a magnifying glass. “Hmm...bought from somewhere exotic it appears. I will be holding these goggles as possible evidence.”

Lechepond shrugs. “Maybe one of the kids lost it. That Webby is always sneaking up on the boys with dart guns.”

At this point I was getting bored out of my mind with the speculation. “That’s quite enough. Darkwing Duck shall begin questioning in the parlor momentarily. Who is the thief? Did they know each other previously? Why would the thief choose a painting and not the money?”

“Is it my turn to ask a question?” Lumberpack asks.

“Make it quick,” I mutter.

He nods eagerly. “Why are you asking all these questions out loud?”

“For the drama! What kind of superhero would I be without a few cliffhangers?” I protest.

I’m sure it will be a long night.

#darkwing duck #crossover #ducktales 2017 #launchpad mcquack #fanfiction

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canyouhearthelight · 6 years ago

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The Miys, Ch. 35

Here we go, Chapter 35! Any mistakes are purely my own - Due to an absolute ton going on, @parisconstantine had way more important things to worry about than proof-reading this chapter.

Please send positive energy her way, and I hope she enjoys this chapter (even though Tyche isn’t in it very much).

Trigger warnings below the line for severe depression. For anyone reading who is lucky enough not to live with this level of depression, this is what it feels/looks like from the inside. And, while Sophia’s reaction is pretty atypical for being pulled out of a spiral, this is actually something my best friend did to me once to pull me out. So, yes, this is a very real reaction.

In the days following the trial, everything changed. Just walking through the corridors of the ship back to the medical bay had been agonizing; Tyche was jumpy and suspicious to a nearly feral degree, Conor tried to put himself between me and anyone who came within arm’s reach. Not that there was any concern about that – the air held a tense feeling of suspicion. The normally jovial and social people I saw every day were instead huddled closely in pairs and small groups, speaking in whispers or hushed tones. I didn’t have to imagine what they were thinking about, since it was haunting my mind as well. Who else on board could be a Baconist? What if they weren’t all discovered?

Adding to the oppressive atmosphere was the unmistakable fact that Noah was everywhere. Prior to the sabotage of the ship, they had placed most of their bodies in suspension – a sort of hibernation to conserve space and resources – and allowed humans to fill as many roles as we could teach ourselves. Now, however, I couldn’t turn my head without seeing lumbering bodies traversing the corridor.

“Noah,” I asked aloud. “Did you bring all your bodies out of suspension?”

“Yes, Wisdom.” I turned to see the one I originally thought of as ‘Noah’ approaching from behind. It gestured at its body with one small-hand. “I know you prefer to speak to this particular part of me,” it explained to my unvoiced surprise.

Tyche shook her head. “I still don’t know how you can tell,” she muttered.

“I – “ I started to answer the question, before realizing something. “I don’t know if it would be considered rude to explain how I can tell,” I admitted, glancing at Noah.

“Smooth path, Wisdom,” was the only response I received. While it probably seemed cryptic to anyone else, the phrase came from a series of very badly written novels I had enjoyed immensely back on Earth. He was telling me it was okay to explain, essentially.

“This body has a crooked finger on the right small-hand,” I gestured. “And one of the sensory spots is different – it isn’t shiny like the rest.”

To my amusement – and Tyche and Conor’s astonishment – Noah used the finger I mentioned to actually point at the sensory spot in question. “Very astute,” it buzzed. “The finger did not harden as quickly as the others as this body matured, and that particular sensory spot is damaged.”

“It’s barely crooked,” my sister whisper-shouted at me. “Barely. How the actual – “

I held up my hands defensively. “I notice that kind of stuff, okay? Now, can we please continue walking toward the medbay so I don’t have to be carried the rest of the way?”

“You could use a transport,” Miys complained as we resumed our journey. “I will never understand why injured humans persist in moving under their own power when they are injured.”

Before I could respond, Conor patted the massive alien’s lower right arm. “It’s the first act of independence in most of our lives, mate. As long as we can walk, we generally insist on it. It’s a human thing.”

“Idiots,” was the honked response. “But yes, to answer your question, I did bring all of my bodies out of suspension, including the ones that were suspended before I arrived on Earth.”

“Why?” Tyche asked, confused.

“Largely, to manufacture the replacement sensors, and to install them. Secondly, to help keep peace on the Yjq. The general population of the ship is very suspicious, and you seem to like rioting in such times.” The last was stated in such a calm tone that it may as well have been speaking about the weather.

A thought occurred to me, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Are you certain that all of the Baconists have been found?” I asked, trying to keep a neutral tone.

“Yes,” came the response, although it sounded awfully cagey.

Did you read everyone’s thoughts to make sure? I subvocalized angrily.

“Yes, Wisdom.” If a twelve-foot-tall mushroom with no vocal chords could sound ashamed, that is exactly the tone Noah had. My sister and Conor looked perplexed at the answer to my unvoiced question.

“Here’s a tip, Miys. Read 1984 and think about how humans may perceive what you’re doing,” I spat. “I’m going to bed. You stay here.” Without looking to see if it listened, or if my sister and Conor were still following me, I stalked back to the medbay. Thankfully, I arrived safely: I didn’t remember the journey.

I had been assured that an audio-only recording of the trials would be made available for the general population of the Ark, but not for several more days to allow time to complete them. Due to my still-healing injuries, I was exempted from attending the other trials – Simon would sit in my place, as my predecessor. There was a vague part of me that was glad. After all, while I refused to look at the list of accused, I had not missed the faces that were not present while I was walking to and from the Council Chamber. I should have walked twice past the lady who kindly made by favorite boudin, but where her cooking area normally was located, nothing remained but an empty alcove and the smell of disinfectant. The passing crowds had studiously avoided an area that had, only two weeks ago, been notorious for blocking foot traffic as people crowded in for hot, sizzling morsels. In addition, Eino’s assistant had been someone I was unfamiliar with, and two different living quarters that had previously been occupied were vacant. Ghosts, I thought miserably.

I insisted on being left alone to handle the knowledge that Arantxa had never been my friend, had used me and my family. I couldn’t bear to look into my sister’s face, knowing what danger she had been in. Even Conor left me alone, although I could hear him outside my door, his newfound protective urges leading him to enforce my self-selected solitude.

Within thirty hours, a standard ship’s day, Arantxa and all her known conspirators were sentenced and summarily executed. I refused to ask, wonder out loud, or even let anyone tell me how it had been carried out. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone, even via data screen or intercoms, leading to Tyche forcing her way into my room. But, even when my sister and Antoine spent hours in my medical bay staring at me and exchanging concerned looks, it was all I could to just to keep from screaming uncontrollably. At night, I was haunted by fragmented nightmares and an accented voice taunting me.

“Humanity is a plague…”

“…can we not just die properly!?”

“Ridiculous woman just adopts people….”

The analytical side of me understood the logic behind the… sentences. To protect Derek from any charges, the Council had decided to try Arantxa under Galactic Law, and when they decided that, execution was immediately on the table. There weren’t facilities on the ship where we could safely imprison the group, and it wasn’t safe to let them interact with other people on the ship. Even if we had the facilities, we still had an estimated nine years before we reached our new home. Where would we keep them once we arrived? The only way to address the danger they posed was to get rid of it, entirely.

The human side of me was not mollified in the slightest by the logical arguments.

Each time Miys came to check on my status, I shut out the buzzing concern at how much weight I’d lost, how haggard I was looking. My eyes shut tightly, I just turned my head toward the wall and focused on thinking about nothing. If I didn’t think, I didn’t have to acknowledge that all of this was more than a terrible dream. Maybe, eventually, I would wake up. When I got desperate for distraction, I would sing song lyrics in my head – the most annoying, catchy tunes I could think of, as loudly as possible.

After weeks, Simon came by in person. Still, I refused to speak to him or subvocalize responses to Noah, and by this point, I had been placed on intravenous feeding and restrained to prevent pulling the tube out. At night, Noah would sedate me to quiet the nightmares. “Sophia,” he sighed as he sat in my sister’s chair by my bedside. “This isn’t you, and I know it.”

I just stared at the ceiling, trying to recall each and every tillandsia in my quarters. Tyche already told me they were being cared for by either herself or Conor. I imagined how happy the little plants were. Raindrops are falling on my head…and just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed….

He just puffed indignantly at my lack of response. “You know, Miys offered to come in here with me and tell me what you were thinking about. I felt that wouldn’t be fair, so I asked them to let me try this solo.” I heard him take a deep breath. “I know you feel betrayed. I feel the same way, though probably not to the degree you do. She was my assistant, at one point, you know.”

I felt a quirk of interest at that bit of information, immediately trying to squash it back down. Nope, no real world, thank you. Nothing seems to fit…those raindrops –

“Some of the things they did, I know she learned from me,” he continued blithely. “After all, you took my place on the Council. But there were things she knew, systems she was familiar with, that you had no reason to be aware of. The layout of the ship, for starters – at first, I was the one responsible for giving ships tours to all the new arrivals, until we reached about five thousand people on board, I believe. Every time I walk through the corridors, I want to vomit. I was the one to tell her about the sensors, too. She asked me one day how I was able to know where everyone was most recently, and I was all too excited to show her how the corridor sensors track our data bands….”

Why was he telling me all this?

“I think we all try to take the blame onto ourselves,” he sighed. “If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t have been able to keep you in the dark for so long. You’re too keen for that; Clarity. Conor feels like he should have noticed something, but his Amity clouded his Perception, and that’s one of the best parts of humanity, even if he doesn’t realize it: our desire to see the best in people rather than the worst. Tyche wants to heal you through sheer force of her Will, and by God if anyone could do it, she could.” He chuckled before sobering. “But I think what we all seem to be missing is what makes humanity so unique. I mean, sure, we can see, but we’re also individuals. Each and every one of us is a completely different person, with our own minds, and our experiences. Somehow, we manage to work together, even to understand invisible queues from each other that enable us to throw and catch, work silently together, act in tandem.

“But that’s just our subconscious minds – our lizard brains – reading miniscule clues from each other. Some people, like Xiomara, are like predators and can see just enough to work in a unit but not enough to avoid stepping on people’s toes or rubbing them the wrong way. Others, like you and your sister, are more like prey animals and can read queues from an entire room without realizing it. But, no matter how well we can read those queues, understand each other without words, we are still separate people. We still have our own unique passions and tastes, and process information differently enough to have stimulating conversation and reach a multitude of discoveries faster than a single person could. It’s absolutely fascinating.”

Would you just get to the point and let me go back to sleep? I thought grouchily.

His neck popped as his head whipped to face me. To my horror, I realized I had subvocalized that thought and that Noah likely relayed it to him. “My point, Sophia, is that we are not a hive-minded species like the Hujylsogox is. Which means Arantxa Bidarte was her own person, and the only person responsible for her actions is her. None of us could have prevented it, and I know you’re aware of that because you told Conor as much the day before her trial. Take the time you need, but you don’t get to lay down and die. You survived a ten-year apocalypse, and I watched you come back from someone’s determined craving for rare roast-beast. There is no way the Sophia Reid I know would let a ghost kick her ass.

“After all,” he smiled smugly. “I didn’t.” With that, he stood and left the room.

For the first time in weeks, I took a voluntary drink of water in an effort to wet the dry and sore tissues in my mouth. I thought about what Simon said, about reading the room, and hive minds. His last comment stuck out in my mind – even knowing the intention was to antagonize me, he was right. She had been his administrator as well, and he was dealing with a lot of the same guilt I was. But Simon had been able to walk down here from his cave, bathed and fed, and speak to me. Was I really going to let the memory of someone who betrayed me push me into a death-spiral of depression? I hadn’t even let the memories of beloved people that I longed to join do that. Why did she deserve the privilege?

“Fuck,” I muttered emphatically.

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#the miys #humans are weird #science fiction #original #humans are space orcs #apocalypse #aliens #earth is space australia

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finallymothman · 8 years ago

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Girlfriend ask tag

@icelandicandamess <-- My lovely girlfriend

1. Describe how you met each other.

OK so she runs a Nightcrawler ask/role play blog and someone I was following was following her. And (oh my GOD!) she is such a good writer and a great artist and does such a good job portraying Nightcrawler. I was extremely intimidated by her. I kinda stalked her blog for about a week before actually following her. And then followed her for about three weeks or a month before talking to her.

2. What did you first notice about each other?

She’s an amazing writer and I think that’s what intimidated me the most about her, because I’d always prided myself on being a good writer and she was so far out of my league talent-wise (and with everything else, let’s be real.) that I was extremely intimidated.

3. Who first asked the other out?

She asked me, but we’ve been romantically interested in each other for a while. And I think she might have initiated that too? I don’t remember honestly

4. Where was your first date?

(We haven’t had it yet but when we see each other I’m taking her out to an Italian restaurant and we’re going to hang out on the steps of a local monument by the river. I have it all planned out.)

5. Who was first to verbally say “I love you”?

6. How did your first kiss happen? Who initiated it?

It hasn’t happened yet…

7. When is your anniversary?

September 3rd

8. How long have you been together?

We’ve been friends for over a year, been interested for seven months and she only asked me out for real this month.

9. What made you realize you were in love with her?

I loved Anna before I was in love with her. She was my friend first, so affection was already established there. But I think… My day didn’t feel right without talking to her. That was when I realized I’d fallen for her.

10. Were you friends before you became lovers?

Yes. And she’s still my best friend.

11. Were either of you out before getting with your girlfriend?

I was. Kinda. My parents and I kind of had a rough relationship about that kind of thing. I wasn’t about to pretend to be something I wasn’t- that’s just not in my nature. I also wasn’t in a dangerous home situation, it was just uncomfortable with me being queer. Anna’s still not really out yet. She’s talked to her parents about it in theory, but there hasn’t been a bit thing about it yet.

12. Have either of you dated a girl before getting with your girlfriend or is she your first?

I had three girlfriends before dating Anna. I’m Anna’s first.

13. How does your girlfriend define her sexuality?

She’s asexual and biromantic (I believe…)

14. When is your girlfriend’s birthday? Who is older?

Anna’s older than me. Her birthday is January 13th, mine is in August.

15. Do you live together?

We will one day

16. Have you met your girlfriend’s parents? If so, what was that like?

I haven’t but from what I’ve heard they’re great! (I’ve talked to her mom on snapchat once and she seemed really friendly)

17. How many people are in your girlfriend’s family?

She has two sisters and a brother and they live with their parents.

18. Whose family do you hang out with more?

We live in different countries for right now.

19. What nationality is your girlfriend?

She’s Icelandic!

20 What is a typical date night like for you and your girlfriend?

Watching Young Justice or a movie on Rabb.it

20. How do you usually spend your time together?

Aforementioned date night, writing together, sending each other memes.

21. Have you ever been mistaken for sisters?

I have her as my background on my laptop and one person thought her picture was an old one of my mom… I don’t even know.

22. Have you ever experienced any discrimination or prejudice because you are a same sex couple?

No, not together anyway. But I went to a conservative Catholic school, so…

23. Does anyone you know disapprove of your relationship?

I, um… haven’t told my parents we’re dating. They had a hard time grasping the concept of me having a friend in Iceland. And I think telling them will be easier because I’m in college now.

25, How much PDA do you do?

We’re both snuggling FIENDS but being over 3000 miles away kind of impedes that.

26. Have you ever been on your periods together?

Yes, yes we have. But not while we were dating. It was actually like a month into knowing each other.

27. What is your girlfriend’s middle name?

Halldóra

28. Who usually pays when you go out to eat?

I get the feeling that will be a point of contention once we’re around each other more.

29. What is your girlfriend’s number labeled as in your cell phone?

Baby Girl

30. Do you have any pet names for each other?

I call her baby girl, angel, angelface, Anna bobana (which is also my tumblr tag for her), sunshine and cutie pie. She calls me Princess and Princésa. She also calls me Cas a lot and most people just call me Casper?

31. Does your girlfriend have any pets?

No, I’m the one with the cute pet

32. Have you ever worn your girlfriend’s clothes?

I cant wait to see her in my leather jacket cuz it’s roomy on me and she’s going to swim in it

33. Who is more likely to cook a meal?

Me, probably? I’m always snapchatting her “HEY BABE LOOK WHAT I MADE”

34. What is your girlfriend’s favorite food? Least favorite food?

I recently found out she likes tomatoes. (And I had to ask her what her least favorite food is, it’s Icelandic bratwurst called bjùga)

35. Who is more likely to cry for no reason?

Me. Absolutely me.

36. Can your girlfriend play any musical instruments?

Nope and neither can I

37. Who is your girlfriend’s favorite musical artist?

Andy Grammar holds a special place in both of our hearts

38. What is your girlfriend’s current favorite song?

“Build Me a Girl” by Andy Grammar

39. Do you have a couple song?

“Crazy Beautiful” by Andy Grammar

40. Do you have a couple name?

Those Gay Nerds

41. What is your girlfriend��s best physical feature?

I LVOE HER FRECKLES SO MUUUUUCH

42. Who is more likely to forget where they put things?

……….that’d be me

43. Which side of the bed do you each sleep on?

I sleep by the wall

44. Who hogs the blankets/sheets more when sleeping together?

We’ve never slept together but I know I’m a blanket hog

45. What do you argue/fight about the most?

We actually don’t fight? We didn’t even when we were friends.

46. How do you usually get over a argument/fight?

N/A

47. Does your girlfriend have a “look” (i.e. an angry/mad/annoyed stare)?

Yes. It’s usually not aimed at me, but she pouts a little and she has this adorable little rosebud mouth and it’s so freaking cute.

48. Who is more likely to refuse sex?

Anna, but she’s asexual, so I wouldn’t even offer.

49. Does your girlfriend play any sports?

50. Does your girlfriend root for any sports teams?

Not really. Neither of us are that into sports

51. Does your girlfriend have any quirky habits?

She chews on stuff when she’s stressed so she got herself a chewable necklace off of a stim site.

52. Who takes longer getting ready to go somewhere?

raises hand

53. Who is more likely to remember an important day (i.e. birthday, anniversary, etc.)?

Anna

54. What is your girlfriend’s eye color?

Brown

55. What is your girlfriend’s shoe size?

I’m not sure how it translates to Icelandic sizes but I think she’s an 8

56. What is your girlfriend’s dress size?

I… don’t know. I think she’s a 12 or a 14. Again, sizes work a little differently in America vs. Europe.

57. What is your girlfriend’s favorite TV show?

She likes Young Justice and Voltron

58. What is your girlfriend’s favorite movie?

Moulin Rouge, I think. She had me watch it awhile ago with a friend of hers.

59. Who is your girlfriend’s #1 celebrity crush?

As far as I’m aware, she doesn’t have one. I don’t really, either.

60. What is one item on your girlfriend’s bucket list?

We both have seeing each other at the top of the list

61. Who is more likely to utter a curse word?

MEEEE

62. Does your girlfriend prefer coffee or tea?

Coffee

63. Is your girlfriend a morning or a night person?

We’re both night people

64. Is your girlfriend more likely to save or spend money?

I mean, compared to me, save ^_^

65. Who squashes the bugs?

I try not to kill bugs unless they pose a threat (like they’re a venomous spider or something), and I’m not big on people doing it around me.

66. Who’s better at telling when the other is lying?

I don’t lie to Anna

67. What is your girlfriend’s favorite color?

Blue (daboodidaboodie). She also likes red

68. Does your girlfriend collect anything?

Not really, actually.

69. Who is more likely to randomly burst out into a song?

That’s a solid “both”

70. Who is more likely to randomly start dancing?

I mean I guess Anna because I don’t really dance.

71. Have you ever taken a vacation together? If so, where to?

No…. pout

72. How tall is your girlfriend?

5’4’’

73. Is your girlfriend religious at all?

Not particularly. She’s spiritual and was raised Christian, but she doesn’t take it too seriously.

74. Who is more likely to spontaneously be romantic?

We’re bot total saps

75. Who’s laugh is cuter?

Anna’s

76. Who is the better driver?

(I have no idea)

77. Who is the better singer?

…me, I think? But I started smoking so that kinda went to shit

78. Who is the better dancer?

Anna. Anyone is better at dancing than me

79. Who is better at math?

Neither of us are particularly good at it, but Anna’s better than me

80. Whose handwriting is better?

Anna’s

81. Who has a better sense of humor?

Anna and I have pretty much the same sense of humor (i.e. BAD puns)

82. Who is more likely to sign a card or a note from the both of you?

Honestly probably me because I’ve done that for my sister for awhile

83. Does your girlfriend smoke?

Nope, I’m the cancer stick sucker

84. Does your girlfriend drink alcohol at all? If so, what is her drink of choice?

We both drink and she had this licorice liquor hidden in her room for a while (but she’s also Icelandic so… vodka’s up there too)

85. Have you ever discussed marriage?

We did a few times and then it just became a given. It was a “when” and not “if”.

86. Have you ever discussed having children?

We both LIKE kids, but we don’t want any. And if we do end up adopting, it’ll just be one and we’ll solidly middle aged.

87. What is one thing your girlfriend does that you don’t like?

I don’t like that she puts herself down a lot

88. Is there anything about your girlfriend you think most people don’t know?

She’s extremely sensitive. And I don’t mean overly emotional. I mean she picks up on how I feel without even needing to see my face and she knows exactly what I need to hear to be helped when I’m upset.

89. Choose one word to describe your girlfriend. Why that word?

Stable- I can be pretty wild and she’s my rock. If I’m upset, she calms me down in a way no one else can.

90. Pass on one piece of relationship advice.

Communication is key. Never leave anything unsaid. If they upset you, tell them. If you know that the other person is upset, reach out. Keeping your mouth shut so you don’t stir the pot can actually do you more harm than bringing attention to something you’re upset about.

#wlw #anna bobana #lgbt+ couples #girlfriend tag

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gyromitra-esculenta · 8 years ago

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Hatemates. This is r76valentines AU to Crack!Au. Welp. Last crack masterpost.

I Hate You More

A lot of the people never got their Marks. Most got only one Mark. If two Marks appeared on one’s skin, it was considered the luckiest outcome in a way, because they were sure to meet their soulmate. Then there was Jack Morrison, fifteen going on sixteen.

It happened one day, in a shower, when he felt a sting on the inside of his arm. Both symbols were the same. “For fuck’s sake!” Came the agitated scream. And a crash when his fist made a contact with tiles. It all summed up in a visit to the hospital, five broken bones and a hole in the wall. * For Gabriel Reyes, it came as no surprise, considering how the rest of his life was turning out. He just took a look at his shin, raised his eyebrows and took another sip of coffee. Maybe the fact had something to do with how he just decided subconsciously he was going to join the military after graduating. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath, returning to his homework. * Their romance was every bit as volatile as one could suspect. Or a smoking keg of repressed issues. Or ‘the monster in the closet that was going to bust out one day and fuck everything up’, as Ana used to say. Neither man ever considered showing his Mark to the other, and they were okay with that. Besides, the Marks were considered something extremely private, and with how they were, giving up on finding a soulmate wasn’t that bad of an idea. Not to mention, with their chosen career path, a bond would complicate everything. * Out of people that knew both Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes the best, no one was surprised it all culminated in an explosion that left the two of them very dead. * Somehow it turned natural that every time the vigilante known as Soldier 76 and the mercenary called Reaper turned up on the same field of battle, they both singled out each other. No one questioned it. They had some kind of personal vendetta going on, and at least kept each other occupied, both to Talon’s and the new Overwatch’s relief. * It often got very personal, with both Soldier and Reaper coming to physical confrontation rather than trading shots over the distance. When Soldier’s jacket got torn and Reaper lost his glove in the scuffle, exposed fingers moved over the Mark. They froze in shock with the electric feeling of the both bonds settling in place. Reaper stared stunned and didn’t notice the right hook that sent him reeling back. He didn’t give a chase after. * Next time they met Reaper was very aware of the fact that the vigilante was leading him away from the fight, his position easy to pinpoint with the bond. He was positively sure he would fuck this little shit this time and then blow his brains out. Both literally. No matter the fucking consequences. He wasn’t surprised when he rounded the corner and came face to face with a barrel of the rifle. “My, my, aren’t you a feisty one,” Reaper observed mockingly. “The mask, take it off,” Soldier was not amused. “You first.” “Rockets are loaded and my finger is a bit twitchy right now.” “You’re going to blow yourself up too.” “Don’t mind if I do.” With a sigh, Reaper complied. He wasn’t prepared for a string of screamed curses that came after he slid his mask off. “Fuck! I should’ve seen this fucking coming, you fucking arsehole! I’ll fucking fuck you up, you…” As it continued, something clicked. “…Jackie?” Reaper asked with his voice strangely hitching and breaking. Later, he conceded that, in fact, he did fuck that little shit and blew his brains out, although the second one definitely figuratively. * Tentatively, they did agree, somehow, in-between trying their damnedest to kill each other from a distance (no, neither of them was trying to avoid coming too close to other, perish the thought), to meet in a very public place to at least attempt talking the clusterfuck over. Or attempt attempting. Gabriel certainly didn’t rent a room in a close by the hotel. He might have reserved it for personal use, though. “The fuck you looking at?” Jack moved the chair as away from the table as the wall let him. The bottle of vodka was still within his reach and he decided apparently to forego using a glass as he chugged straight from it. “A fucking boy scout,” Gabriel relished the feral growl that made Jack’s throat vibrate so fucking sexy… Not thinking about that, no, not at all. “Says the fucking traitor,” the blonde smiled, his teeth bared, and Gabriel thanked the gods for the restraint that didn’t let him jump over the table and strangle the little shit sitting in front of him, no matter how much he wanted to. “You have no idea…” “Working for Talon?” A fair point then, not just Jack being difficult, as he usually was. Which didn’t change the fact he was such a fucking shit about that and should already know what Gabriel was doing because that was their plan before it all went to shit. “Like you are one to say, Jackie,” Gabriel sneered, his fingers almost splintering the wood of the table. “You fucking little…” “Um,” the waitress that was standing there for the last five minutes finally decided to speak up. “Can I take your order now? Please?” She added in a small voice. “Another bottle of this,” Jack waved to the vodka. “I’m going to need it to deal with this bloody traitorous arsehole and his fucking shit.” “I will take the special. And something you scrap from the back of the fridge for him because I’m not getting embarrassed by this little fucking shit when he throws up on himself because he decided it’s a fucking great idea to drink himself into the stupor with an empty stomach, again, little fucking ingrate.” Gabriel recited in one breath. “Oh, okay,” the waitress eyed them warily and fled. “For fuck’s sake, it happened only once, you fucker!” “This time I’m leaving you in your own pool of vomit.” They spent next ten minutes silently glaring at each other. * Next day, Gabriel made sure to leave a very generous tip, to make up for all the furniture they, no, scratch that, the little shit broke. The fact that Jack tried to strangle him with the curtain cord only once during the whole ordeal brought a beginning of a fond smile to his lips. He squashed this feeling with extreme prejudice. * “Dude, isn’t it, like, a bit, you know, extreme?” Lucio eyed Jack as he hefted a pretty big rocket launcher onto his shoulder. “Nope, not at all,” the man drawled pleasantly, taking the aim carefully. Though, one could say that with the yield, aiming wasn’t really that much of an issue, as long as you tried to point away from your own position. “Bastard had it fucking coming for a fucking long time now.” Ensuing explosion took out a half of the building, but the preemptive victory cheer of ‘fuck yeah’ proved to be for nothing as Reaper repositioned to a roof adjacent to them. And then, slowly, taking his sweet time, presented exactly one taloned middle finger. The tip of the claw gleamed dangerously in the sunlight. “Fuck,” Soldier threw away the launcher. “Like, dude, are you two, like, having a hate quarrel?” The vigilante didn’t even spare him a glance as he reloaded his rifle and jumped down to the street, accompanied shortly after by Reaper. More explosions followed. * “Wot happened to you?” Tracer stood with her mouth agape at the sight. Soldier just shrugged, the jacket falling off his left shoulder where the sleeve was missing – simply torn off. “You look like ye got yerself mauled by a bear… Wait, are those love bites?” “Fucking certainly not,” came the hissed reply as he passed her on the way to the transport. * Widowmaker lined the shot, waiting patiently. “76 is on the ground,” she noticed. Reaper growled, his attention switching immediately to the matter at hand. “Shoot him.” “But the target…” “I’m not fucking repeating myself, you fucking French tart, shoot him, that’s a fucking order!” Widowmaker rolled her eyes and shifted the focus. She pulled the trigger. “He’s still fucking standing!” Another shot. “Still not fucking dead! You are supposed to never miss a stationary target!” “I didn’t miss! The bullet, it disappeared!” Amelie sneered at him. Ah. Reaper saw that wisp of black. Treacherous fucking nanites. “And now the window for our primary target is closed!” “Right, because the prima ballerina can’t shoot the stationary target, I have to do everything by myself,” Reaper snarled, disappearing. * “Reaper.” The mercenary stiffened under Widowmaker’s scrutiny. “What?” “Your sex life is even more complicated than mine, it seems.” She gestured with her head to a stain on his coat. One he apparently missed somehow. “Target was eliminated. Not a fucking word.” * They had tried to address the issue again a week later. Reaper had to admit that it definitely was not his most shining moment, not when he stood brandishing a table lamp and trying to threaten Jack with it. Of course, the little shit found it funny enough and just doubled over laughing hysterically, but he was being completely serious. Which is how he could now claim the title of a person that knocked someone out with a fucking table lamp. But then, it gave him a satisfaction of leaving the little shit tied up for the room service to find later. He just hoped the headboard was capable of withstanding super soldier strength. It kind of did earlier. * “Gabe,” Sombra half-whined over the communicator during one of his private endeavors. “I told you to stop calling me that,” Reaper grunted while sidestepping a swing from the automated mech. “But your friend is here.” “I don’t have friends.” She was planning something, he could tell. “Oh, sorry, Gabe, your ‘boyfriend’ is here.” In retrospection, snapping at her was not the brightest idea he ever had. “He is not my boy…” Because taking your attention off a very big mech you were trying to disable was never a good idea, and his ribs happily agreed. More so, if it was to try and focus on checking if you actually could feel the little shit in the vicinity. “Tch. I might end up having to call him, Gabe.” “Don’t you fucking dare,” he grunted, trying to get up with the mech looming closer. “Oops, my finger slipped,” Sombra gleefully laughed. “You fucking little…” The explosion made him snap back to the mech that now wobbled on its legs. It almost looked like a chicken dance. “Mierda. In my defense, Gabe, uh, I swear that I really didn’t call him, he just was here.” “What?” “I was bluffing.” The mech fell forward with a terrible screech of metal bending. “Like, Gabe, you gotta believe me.” “What?” “I mean, your ‘boyfriend’ really must be good to actually pull off stalking you.” Great. His goofy sidekick was making a very bad joke that turned out to be true. The universe still hated him. At least that one thing was a constant in his life. “Fuck off,” Reaper narrowed his eyes, and really, really wasn’t sure to whom he was addressing the words now. His dislike was now divided between Sombra, and Jack standing over him. “Both of you.” The little shit just plopped down by his side, back to the wall, and placed a biotic emitter between them. “This doesn’t change a thing,” Jack growled unclasping his mask so he could glare, in person, at him. “I still fucking hate your guts, you fucking arsehole.” “The feeling’s mutual, you little shit.” “So I’m not letting any fucking Helix goon fucking shoot you up before I kill you.” Jack leaned closer, showing teeth in a hateful grimace, which was not doing his face any favors. “And I’m definitely not fucking helping you infiltrate their motherfucking base.” “Oh, perish the thought.” Reaper slid off his own mask, so the eye roll was visible. “Like you were ever the helpful one.” “Said the arsehole that blew me right sky-high.” “And the little shit obviously deserved it.” And no, they did not start making out like two horny teenagers. Definitely not. “I don’t want to ruin the mood, but they are coming to check up why the mech went off the grid, los amantes.” Right. There was that other thing too. They did try to avoid the eye contact for the time being. * It was only during the next Talon assignment he took only because of the price tag attached that Reaper – with considerable defiance – did decide that his priorities did, in fact, need a full overhaul. Because the sudden frantic panic that seized him out of the blue had no explanation, at least not until Widowmaker broke the radio silence. “76 in on the ground again. Wounded him. Relaying coordinates.” Right. As usual, it was all the little shit’s fault. The fact that he was on the verge of going into full blown hysterics with an undercurrent of glee. What the actual fuck? “On target,” Reaper ground out, trying very hard not to sound too eager. Or fucking panicked. Which he without a doubt was at the moment. And a little bit happy. This fucking bond thing was confusing more than ever now. “Sombra, cut the communications,” he barked into the coded channel when he found the blood trail. “Worried about the boyfriend, Gabe?” She quipped over the clicking keys. Yes, he fucking was, Reaper admitted, but at the same time suspiciously elated. Everything aside, they really had to sort out this whole fucking mess. “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Reaper growled, ghosting between the metal cargo crates and following the track of decidedly too much blood for his liking. “Not even a…” “Shut it.” Of course, the little shit spat blood on him and rasped out ‘fuck off’ before fainting. * And the next day they (yes, he was using the plural now) broke the bed in the little flat Reaper kept off the grid. The little shit made pancakes for lunch. Then they broke the table and put a hole in the ceiling. Later Reaper got a frying pan to the face after he had voiced his disapproval of the fact they were having pancakes again. That small detail that the pancake mix and milk were the only things he had stocked was inconsequential. * When it was the fourth time that the pancakes loomed over the horizon they went out for the groceries and had a screaming match in the produce aisle. Reaper nailed the little shit with a well-thrown zucchini. * Three days in, the apartment was just beyond the point of being recoverable without a full renovation. “Fuck off,” Jack almost kicked his teeth in – not entirely on purpose this time – while curling between the blankets on the floor. “I’m tired. Your fucking turn to cook.” “Right,” Gabriel yawned and stretched. “Pasta?” “Garlic sauce.” “Are there any tomatoes left?” “Fridge.” “Right.” * “Dios mio,” Sombra muttered when she got an eyeful after breaking in. “How are you both still alive? It stinks here like a cathouse! And who the fuck managed to rip off the sink? And why is it stuck in the ceiling?” “So many questions, so little answers,” Jack shrugged. * A week off took a little explaining. What made it better was the knowledge the little shit got it worse. But then, a month later, Reaper decided that he finally had his priorities straight. Whatever Jack thought about that, was his own fucking business. “We’re switching to the other team.” “Came to your senses, Gabe?” Sombra giggled. “Missing the boyfriend’s polla that much?” He did not dignify that with an answer. “Hope you’re all packed up, running the Talon protocol.” * The Talon protocol apparently involved calling the motherfucking Jack who still packed a mean punch even without the frying pan. The kiss made it bearable. “Took you long enough, you fucking arsehole.” “Well, Jackie, not everyone is a regular psychopath just like you.” “Los amantes, we are on the schedule here,” Sombra tapped her wrist. Jack shut the door in her face. “Soulmates! Who needs them! We’ve got fifteen minutes to spare!” She shouted at them through the wood. Twelve was enough. Exactly three minutes later Talon agents converged on their position. First, the whole building went up in flames. Then the continuous fire from fusion cannons took out most of the stragglers and the rest fell under well-aimed pulse shots. “Since when did you both have this planned out?” Gabriel shook his head. Not even that surprised. “Oh, I don’t know, Gabe, about…” Sombra looked to Jack. “A month,” Jack finished for her while beckoning the pink mech closer. “You crazy son of a bitch.” “And you love me exactly because of that,” Jack rolled up his sleeve to show that there was now only one Mark in red. Gabriel chuckled. “That I do, Jackie, but that’s in spite of, not because of.” “Whatever makes you sleep better at night, babe.”

#R76valentines #sometimes i write #r76 #reaper76 #what is this even #crack it's crack #it's a simple idea really #and i'm not a good writer #good reading to you #waifu #day 3 #soulmate #R76 valentines #maybe i'll get to sleep one day

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cumberlokitty · 8 years ago

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Close your eyes - Chapter 9

Finally my lovelies, I decided to finish my Fanfiction “Close your eyes” :) There will be two more chapters until the finale in chapter 12. Please please enjoy chapter 9 and have fun reading :)

IX.

"Did you hear that Rakith? Battle! Me! Can you imagine me clumsy on a battleground?", doubting I looked at the bird flying next to me while I walked down the corridor back to my room.

The animal just cocked his head and eyed me suspiciously. Well at least it looked suspiciously to me.

"See, I can´t either..", I sighed and opened the door to my room when I suddenly spotted something lying on my bed.

It looked like a wooden box with ornaments carved into.

Carefully I sat down on my bed to examine it with Rakith watching my every move.

At first I couldn't find the clasp but after running my fingers over it fumbling for irregularities I was able to make it out.

"What on earth could that be and who put this here..", mumbling I opened it.

My heart stopped for a split second.

In the box was the most beautiful item I had ever seen in my entire life.

Covering my mouth with my hands I stared at it in shock.

The delicate golden ring was topped with an emerald green rose so sparkly I couldn´t believe my eyes. Gingerly I lifted it up and touched the thin material as if it was to fall apart any second. Never had I seen such beauty before.

As I looked closer, something seemed to move inside of the rose ornament like a tiny, pulsing shadow causing me to flinch. At the second look I realized that it was more like a fog circulating through the green rose seeming as if it wanted to get out of the shell it was kept in.

Instantly I knew who placed it there.

There was no doubt that it came from Loki.

But why a ring? Did it have the same meaning in Asgard as it had in Midgard?

Was that some sort of hidden proposal?

That couldn't be..

My heart started racing viciously.

And what exactly was that thing wafting around inside of it. Suddenly I realized that I still hadn't tried the piece of jewellery on. Something about it made me feel much more than uncomfortable, I was almost scared to touch it again.

Suddenly Rakith crowed loudly sitting at the windowsill looking down to the inner courtyard. I sprang up and bolted over to him almost knocking him out of the window. The warriors were already leaving!

"Damn", I hissed and jerked open my wardrobe. There was nothing that would really fit for battle but thin pants and a woolen, dark green tunic.

Sighing I slipped into the clothes. "Better than a ballgown, right Rakith?", I adressed the bird still staring out of the window. Just in case I would need it I also pinned the brooch to the inside of my tunic right over my heart gasping as the cold metal touched my skin.

I had to go, fast.

At the door I turned around again, the ring was still lying on my bed.

Again my heart started to pound intensely.

What if I take it with me? I should, it would be rude not to try it on at least.

Quickly I took it out of the box again und slipped it on my finger when suddenly my world started swaying as if I was on a ship in distress at sea.

"Oh dear...", I mumbled trying to steady myself by clinging to my bed.

My right hand seemed to get hotter and hotter, almost burn where I had put on the ring. Gasping I sank down on the carpet. My whole hand was covered in green mist sinking slowly into my skin floating through my veins. Suddenly it felt as if hot lava was pulsing through my entire body and I couldn't help but scream in hurt and despair. Rakith crowed loudly and took off. "Get...help...", I clenched my fists in pain. I didn't know how much I could bear it anymore when all of a sudden everything stopped, all the sounds were gone and every thought drawn from my brain. Through a greenish shadow I could see Thor and Victoria and the others riding in front of me discussing battle tactics. I blinked as hard as I could but the scenery wouldn't go away. "Are you okay?", Thor stopped his horse and turned around looking concerned. "No, no Thor! Help me please!", I shrieked but he didn't hear me. "Sure, I am fine..just tired..", a male voice answered instead. A very familiar male voice.

Then everything turned black.

"So it started..." he whispered into the darkness.

"Elodie? Elodie wake up!"

Blinking I opened my eyes discovering Queen Frigga right next to me shaking me furiously. "I am awake, I am..awake..I guess..", I tried to get up but my head almost killed me so I sank back down. "Slowly, child. Tell me what happened", she took my hand eyeing me anxiously. "I have absolutely no idea...I must have hit my head somewhere. Actually I wanted to get down and follow the others, that's the last thing I remember", I still regret lying to her but I had to protect Loki because I had no idea what was going to happen if I'd spilled the beans. His intention was to build up another, visual connection between the two of us but what for?

I had to find that out and to do so I desperately needed to follow him immediately.

"Queen Frigga, I have to go", standing up I smoothed down my clothes and headed for the door.

"Elodie stop", she still held me by the wrist, "you need armour and weapons, girl."

Silently I nodded. She was perfectly right, I almost forgot to take at least a sword with me.

She led me down a couple of stairs and shoved me into an almost hidden chamber next to a huge statue of the Allfather himself.

"Put these on", she handed me a pair of silver spaulders", ..and the breastplate here and of course you need gauntlets.." In the blink of an eye I was a fully dressed swordmaiden.

"Here, you take my dagger with you, strip it to the inside of your boots, there is a small sheath. It will protect you in grave danger, that's its purpose! Now you've got to rush, girl. Take the grey horse, it's name is Fulla. Pat her on the head twice before you mount her and she will know that I sent you and therefore you're trustworthy", my heart almost shattered at her words. Frigga looked truly concerned and her eyes were glistening with tears of fear for her son and what might happen to him if I couldn't reconnect out powers.

"Everything will work out, do not worry", I bowed deeply, thanked her and hurried to the stables making sure not to cross paths with any of the staff that might recognize me.

When I arrived outside I nodded at the stable boys trying to look sure of what I was doing and followed Friggas instructions. Fulla nuzzled at my hand tickling it lightly which signaled me that I was allowed to get on her back. "Come now, quick! We've got a stubborn prince to find", I whispered in her ear hoping she would be fast.

And I wasn't disappointed. The horse was more than fast.

Riding her felt like flying by the grassland and past the fields and hills outside of the palace. Rakith was following us by soaring above in circular motions.

Now it wasn't only the Queen worrying, I was also concerned about Loki which was not only caused by our bond. I felt half without him near me. And I wasn't sure what to think of the ring and the insights it had given me.

I could see what Loki saw that was for sure but why should I see this?

What were the meanings of this?

Something inside of me started doubting that it was truly him who put the ring on my bed. Maybe someone wanted me to see with his eyes making it easier to watch him.

Or maybe it meant something more, something a lot darker.

Suddenly I felt all the power circulating through me, pulsing through my veins mixing with my blood. Involuntarily I shivered at the mere thought of what it could do if I wasn't careful.

When twilight turned the sky a dark shade of blue I finally caught the first glimpse of the bivouac the soldiers had built up and the fires glimmering like a firefly in the approaching darkness. Soundlessly I got down from Fulla whispering her to get closer and mix in with the other horses to have food and water provided.

I myself put on a hooded cloak, Frigga gave me before I dashed away, and tried to approach the tents. Watching my every step I dug beneath piles of supplies getting closer and closer to what I assumed were Thors and Lokis accomodations.

"Who are you? Say your name now or die!", the moment I touched the fabric of the tent the tip of a shortsword touched my back causing me to shiver.

"Please don't hurt me, Victoria..it's only me..Elodie..", I raised my hands slowly and put down my hood revealing my apologetic face.

"Elodie? What are you doing here? This could turn into a full grown battle tomorrow, it's not a playground for curious girls!", she grabbed me by the arm and yanked me down on the ground putting away her sword.

"That was most certainly not my idea, believe me! Queen Frigga wanted me to find Loki and reconnect our powers.."

"The Queen knows??", Victoria gasped.

"Shhh..", I shushed her, "yes she knows about us and well, our problem.."

Victoria shook her head in disbelief: "This situation is starting to get insane, you've got to do something and I mean both of you. Until now it was basically you trying to find a solution, we need that little brat of an asgardian prince to get a grip."

"Well well well..what do we have here?"

A well known voice behind of us startled Victoria so much she drew her sword in reflex blushing heavily at the sight of Thor grinning down on us.

"You girls weren't talking about me, were you?", he squeezed his muscular warriors body inbetween us almost squashing me.

"Nope..actually..we've been talking about Loki...", I sighed in defeat.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #loki #thor #norse mythology #tom hiddleston #chris hemsworth #close your eyes #chapter 9 #story

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xivu-arath · 8 years ago

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It feels like she’s alive like never before, power and anger and duty all finally falling into place, and who could care about her origins or what she’s left behind with such conviction bearing her forward?

The question of her origins is one Rkorya is surprised to suddenly start fielding, after she becomes Sith. Before, it was never something to be considered. She remembers vividly one of the many political outings her family took part in, small gatherings to make connections and assess like-minded allies, and the double-edged compliments that flew back and forth. “You’ve done quite well for yourselves,” one noble had said, smiling thinly. “Given where you came from, of course.” She – protected by her potential in the Force, the weighing interest in each message to the overseers – butted in, blunt and guileless and protesting that they came from their holdings on Dromund Kaas, where else?

Later she would learn all the delightfully myriad ways that one could say Zabrak without saying it outright, or worse, alien. Even though she had never set foot on Iridonia, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that it was where she was really from, her bloodline be damned.

And then suddenly, it isn’t. Korriban changes everything, is the crucible in which all the acolytes are poured into like seething molten metal. So many of them end up as slag, cooling and dead, and the rest are... reforged. Part of her is born there in the sand and amidst the tombs, drawn out of the dark whispers thick in the Force. This is what it means to be Sith: statues etched away by centuries, power that has seeped into every stone, names that make the air tremble with dread. This is her birthright, and at first she wields it like a hammer, flares her power because it must be acknowledged.

From Baras she learns restraint, patience, cunning. He sends her across the galaxy, and it is on one of those seemingly unending journeys that the question comes up, after Vette has finished singing bawdy songs to try and make Quinn blush.

(To his credit, he’s buried himself in some reports and has proven immune.)

“I can’t believe I didn’t ask this before, but... you have family, right? You didn’t just... I don’t know, walk out of a Korriban tomb sometime?”

“Of course I have family,” she says, surprised and uneasy. It takes a moment to pin down why – she almost hasn’t thought of them since Baras took her as his apprentice. She’d sent a message, of course, but... well, it had been brief, and that had been months ago. “Back on Dromund Kaas – a minor holding in the city, and a private compound.”

“I thought so,” Quinn says, breaking his vow of long-suffering silence. “You have the refined eloquence of a Kaas noble, my lord – I thought that was where you were from.” And where else would I be from, she wants to ask, but knows the answer – Iridonia lives on in the mere glimpse of her tattoo or horns.

“Who cares what she sounds like? You didn’t say a word about it when we were there! I mean, not that I want to be dragged around to some Sithy noble house but... you really didn’t want to stop in and see your family?”

“There wasn’t much time,” she says, and even she can tell that’s a stalling tactic. Vette scowls, turning to fully face her.

“Yeah, I’m sure you couldn’t take a break from going into ruins and squashing jungle rebellions, right?”

“Vette,” Quinn says, tone sharpening – a warning of edging on insubordination that Rkorya doesn’t care to wave off. She takes a breath, and when she speaks again, she’s softened, if not quite respectful.

“Sorry, I just... family is important. And I bet they’re really proud of you, for being an apprentice, and killing like, ten Jedi yesterday...”

“Six were padawans,” she points out, letting herself be soothed.

“They don’t have to know that.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard, my lord,” Quinn adds. “I’m sure Darth Baras wouldn’t begrudge a few days of leave.”

It sounds weighty and terrifying and tempting. Rkorya considers it, tasting fear and letting it unravel.

“Very well – after Taris, maybe I’ll return to the capital. For a short while.”

Of course, she never does. At first, it’s the war looming, her own need to prove herself mingling freely with a desire to strengthen the Empire. Baras’ orders are easy enough to follow, even if she chafes beneath his command, finds herself wondering how long before his pawns need to be replaced. When she does return to Kaas City, it’s a harried back and forth to kill Darth Vengean, and then she has to lay low lest the rest of the Dark Council think she’s bragging about her feat.

There is no shortage of excuses, especially once Baras tries to kill her. And then there is truly no time. The Emperor has spoken, and what is family or fulfilling her pledge to them when the Empire is in danger? Events cascade, blurring from one hasty victory to the next. She doesn’t regret any part of it, not after Voss. It feels like she’s alive like never before, power and anger and duty all finally falling into place, and who could care about her origins or what she’s left behind with such conviction bearing her forward?

Until, finally, she returns to Korriban. For all that she only spent a short, rushed time as an acolyte, the familiarity of coming back and setting foot on the sands hits her like a hammer blow.

“I’ve missed this place,” she murmurs, and Vette – who, despite her nightmares, had insisted on coming to ‘see this through, and maybe laugh at old maskface’ – scoffs behind her.

“That makes one of us, at least.”

“This is home, in a way. To a part of me – the promise of what I could become, if I survived.”

“You know, if you weren’t terrifying, you’d be cute when you get sentimental. Come on, greatest of Sith Lords – let’s fulfill that promise. I bet your weird Sith buddy will mope if you make him wait too long.”

She kills her master. It is everything she could have hoped for, and nothing she expected. It is a burden relieved, a weight dropping away – a grudge that can be cast aside. When she leaves Korriban, she feels she must be floating, unsure of her purpose, wanting to wait for another crisis to arise. But her crew has been pushed to their limits by the lengths they’ve had to go, the betrayals they’ve endured, and she can think of no truly safe place for them to rest.

Except, maybe, for one.

“There’s a message for you, my lord,” Quinn says, painstakingly precise as they pull into the Dromund Kaas spaceport. “It’s from... ah, Darth Vowrawn. A congratulations on your recognition in front of the Dark Council.” He pauses which, even considering his diminished standing, is surprising – he’s done his best to be even more faultless, to atone for his betrayal. “He... also says he went ahead and made some arrangements for you to take Darth – Baras’ old quarters in the Sith Sanctum. Until you have time to adjust and move whatever you wish in, however, he’s sent some gifts to your hereditary holdings.”

The clever old man. As the new Wrath, information on her was likely at a premium – Vowrawn hadn’t needed much time to dig up who she was related to, and where they lived. “Some gifts?” she repeats warily. “Does he specify?”

“Only that it’s what anyone of your rank should possess. I’m afraid I’m as in the dark on this as you, my lord.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out what loot he sent, right?” Vette chimes in, undaunted by the flat look it gets her in return. “What? You know me – always willing to go look at some weird Sith treasure.”

“Treasure that just so happens to be in my family’s holdings. I’m sure that has no bearing whatsoever on your desire to go see it.”

“Weeeell, it’s better than sitting around a Kaas cantina all day while Pierce mopes about not shooting things and flirts badly with everyone.” A pause. “No offence, Pierce.”

“Only some taken, Vette,” he shoots back, leaning on the back of a chair. Quinn looks wearily put-upon and Rkorya, for once, wishes she could join him. But the banter is sharper than it should be, even Vette, irrepressible as ever, is a little too brittle and quick with her words. She’s pushed them hard, for her goals.

“Seriously, my lord,” she breaks in again, perhaps sensing the change in her mood. “It’s just... you don’t talk about it at all – where you’re from, your family. You... know all about us. You’ve helped us, saved us... you know all our stories. And we barely know yours, in some ways.”

Sentiment, Baras had told her, is weakness. Surely it must be hers, to be so swayed by words alone.

“It’s not anywhere near as important as you must be imagining,” she says at last. “I grew up on Dromund Kaas. I’ve never been close with my family – they knew I would either become Sith or die in the attempt.”

“Cheerful,” Vette mutters, raising her hands when Rkorya glances at her. “Sorry, I get it. No interrupting.”

“I know you... value your family, Vette, and you cared deeply for your parents, Jaesa. That was always impossible for me. Duty to the Empire always came first – especially when, despite my bloodline, there still was... much to prove. I was pushed to test myself, to be stronger than all who had come before. To proclaim, without a doubt, that we were worthy.” She allows herself a dry smile. “I don’t think they ever thought of what would come afterwards, and... neither did I, until you started pestering me.”

“Well... sorry. Unless you’re... glad to be here, in which case, nope, not sorry at all.”

“Glad we cleared that up,” Jaesa says, crossing her arms. Her impatience flares through the ship and Rkorya shrugs it off like a momentary surge of heat. The others barely twitch, by now. With two Sith onboard, they’ve grown rather used to the occasional display of temper. More sentiment, but she can’t help feeling proud of that. They are a ragged group, more bloodthirsty than disciplined, but they are hers, loyal to the last, and toughened by the battles she’s led them through. “So are we going or not?”

“We’re going. Quinn, get a shuttle, and send word ahead that the Wrath –” Her title still feels new to her, and to say it so firmly, know it as truth, is a little like a killing blow. A taste of victory. “– will be arriving shortly. The rest of you make yourselves presentable.”

“Of course, my lord,” Quinn says, making himself scarce. Pierce and Vette follow after, only lingering long enough to make it clear that they’re not leaving at the same time as he is. Quinn will still have an opportunity to be smug – he’d been after Pierce to tend to his armour for weeks.

“...That includes cleaning your claws, Broonmark.” The Talz grumbles, aggrieved.

“You do it because I’m telling you to. There’ll be enough battles to bloody them again soon enough, I promise you.” That certainty calms them both, and he lurches away with only one last grudging rumble. She isn’t sure of what to do with herself when resting, even when she can’t deny that they all need it. Time to regroup, to arrange her affairs...

Past time, perhaps, to see just what she’s earned with her struggles. To realize that, here, at least, she has nothing left to prove.

#my words #eyyyy this got rambly and diverged a lot from my initial plans #but I'm cautiously happy with it anyways #dud u kno I love crew dynamics even when I can't balance everyone talking #I still need a tag for my swtor fics rip #swtor

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