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yeojaa · 5 years ago

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( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. jhs x named f!reader makes a lil (big) appearance.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). angst. general.

tags / warnings. this starts surprisingly soft! and then it gets... sad. no real tags, though. just... mentions of butts? also kicking butts? jungkook is a bit of a manipulative dingus. the usual.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif and @periminkle! i would be nothing without them. 💛

wc. 2.7k

chapter two.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a question that doesn’t beg an answer. He already knows you aren’t - that there’s no way you possibly could be - but he asks anyway. He offers the words like a hand in the dark, a light on the horizon. A reminder that you’re not alone and he’s here.

He, with sunbeams in his smile and a dependable heartbeat. He, who is melted and never frozen, a calm sea to your raging storm. Jung Hoseok.

He holds you delicately, with utmost care, as if he’s worried you might shatter into the same pieces he’d found you in three years ago. Or worse. He cradles you to his chest, tracing stories into your skin; his fingers press against the brassy ladders of your rib cage, fitting care between the spaces and double checking your heart still beats there. Every beat reminds him that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for. He offers his support anyway.

“I’m…” The words don’t come. They’re barely realised, hardly tangible - sailors who’ve died with no names or wives.

You falter, just a little, where gold thread fails. There’s only so much someone can take.

It isn’t asked of him - it never is - but he does it anyway: catching the splinters in his hands. He pretends like they don’t hurt him just as much and the truth is, they don’t. He’s faced enough hurt that yours is nothing - simply a stroll through a rose garden, barely a blip on his radar. So he does this for you, because he can and he really doesn’t mind.

Where he’s able, he fills the cracks with the glory of his smile, with passes of his hands and lips and breath. He does his best to keep you from catching your hands on those sharp edges - turning them round with a trail of tenderness against your temple. Then another. Then one more. Touches passed in tandem with the tears that spill from your eyes, far too full to stop. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

He’s not going anywhere.

You apologise and hope the saltwater doesn’t rust your insides that he’s worked so carefully to scrub clean. The downpour continues, relentless and miserable. He waits and for that, you’re grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Not quite true. You’d expected it to be worse - an entire blackhole devouring your universe. It still hurts more than it should.

Hoseok laughs. It isn’t cruel. It exists only in sound and even then, hardly at all.

“Did you think it would be easy?”

“Not easy.” Different, maybe. A pain less sharp. Pressure on a healing bruise rather than a festering wound that’s been poorly, wrongly stitched together. You didn’t get it - you’d had time to heal. Why was there still this cut-out in the centre of your heart, shaped exactly like Jungkook and torn around the edges?

“Did you think he’d changed?”

It feels silly to say yes. It feels sillier to lie. “Maybe.”

He tries again. “Did you believe he would’ve changed?”

Had you hoped for it? Wasted wishes on pennies and stars? “Yes.”

“Vi.” So soft you almost miss it, coloured in melancholy and sympathy. You’ve heard it enough times to recognise what follows. From Hoseok and your brother and your best friend. “You need to let him go.” You know he’s right. More than that, you know he cares. He doesn’t want to see the same shell of a girl from years ago - a house without any lights on inside.

“I’m trying.” You are, truly. You’d left, hadn’t you? Not once but twice! Two whole times.

You’d never thought you would.

“I know.” Hoseok is kind - kinder than you could ever hope to be. Stronger, too. You feel it in the way he holds you, keeps you afloat when you’re so close to being pulled under. “Just know I’m here.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said it. You repeat it again, earnest and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” It means more than the words, more than it’s fine . It’s everything in between, unspoken but understood. It’s his way of reminding you that you - exactly as you are, a little broken and bruised - are everything you need. That you are exactly as you should be, with the people that love you most.

“What would I do without you?” You can’t quite picture it. You don’t want to.

The arms holding you tighten, warm grip holding you tight against his chest. His lips are dry upon your cheek, his breath ticklish over the shell of your ear. “You’d be fine,” he insists, so assured you can’t help but believe him. “Colder, probably, but you’d be just fine.”

You laugh for the first time since you’ve been in his bed, the sound still a little wet but far better than it was. More you, with sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

You peer at him from your periphery, reminded once again of how lucky you are. You might’ve had your heart broken but it was whole again, if not a little worse for wear.

His was gone - buried six feet under.

You can’t help yourself. “Really, Hobi. Thank you.”

“What’d I say?” It’s a little huffy - all for dramatic effect, you know.

“I know but—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“No buts!” You catch the look of mischief before you catch something else - a playful palm that lands with a quiet smack. “Unless it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re laughing, so who’s really the winner here?”

He might think it’s him, but you know it’s you. Because he’s everything you’ve ever imagined. Calm, cool, collected. Shoulders carved from boulders and a heart made of pure gold. He’s the solid foundation you’d never thought you’d needed but that steadies you now - a reliable foundation for the home you’ve been rebuilding. A friend who gives everything and asks for nothing.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to repay him.

Don’t bother, you know he’d say. It’s nothing, he’d insist. You’ll still try.

“Let’s eat.” You beat him to it, tossing whatever words he’d levied out the window as you extract yourself from the tangle of his limbs and linen sheets. His expression shifts - swings from pouting at the loss of your body to delighted at the prospect of food in the span of three seconds - and he’s kicking his way to freedom alongside you.

“Should I make pancakes? Or are you in a waffle mood?”

Truthfully, you’re in a drown-your-sorrows-in-wine mood but you figure at ten in the morning, carbs might be the better option. Especially if they come in the form of his chocolate banana pancakes, third on your list of favourite comfort foods. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”

The shirt he pulls on falls mostly into place before he offers a hand to you, one of his various hoodies - baby blue with Supreme emblazoned across the front - held in the other. “Put this on and let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.”

Your brother joins the two of you for breakfast, the temptation of free food too strong - even for him. He shuffles out of his bedroom, a sleepwalking zombie that only perks up at the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. He steals a piece before it’s even fully done, jumping out of the way of your wayward chopsticks when he nearly leaves a trail of pork fat over the counter.

Knives and forks clatter across kitchenware and steam curls out of ceramic. Caught in this little piece of Sunday morning paradise, it’s easy to imagine this is just another day.

“How’re you doing?” It comes around a careful mouthful of batter and chocolate chips, Yoongi’s expression soft and expectant across the table. There’s no hesitation in his question, even as Hoseok shifts in his seat beside you, free hand dropping to rest - inconspicuously - over your knee.

Yoongi notes the motion with an imperceptible tick of his stare but says nothing. It’s an unspoken agreement between the three of you.

If you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist.

“I’m…” The words fall short, yet again, but none of you are in a rush. The quiet sound of chewing fills the void until you’re able to, in your soft and measured way. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” That’s what matters.

He hums an acknowledgement before digging further into his plate, slicing through a perfectly cooked yolk with the edge of his knife. “You’re not going to see him again, right?” You can tell he’s trying to be conversational - ask without demanding, understand without judging. You know it’s hard for him. It’d be hard for you too, if the roles were reversed.

“No.”

It’s punctuated by a squeeze of your thigh and the tiniest nod from the corner of your eye. Hoseok knows it isn’t his place to butt in but he offers his support where he can, in the little ways you can’t miss. Like the sun in the sky, you can’t always see him, but you know he’s there.

“Good.” The relief is palpable, fully formed and bright as it pops off Yoongi’s tongue in a pronounced exhale.

You can’t help but smile, though you’re not entirely sure it meets your eyes. It’s hard to remain chipper when faced with your nightmares. If only you could leave them in bed, far away. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re my little sister - I have to.”

You catch the grin that forms across Hoseok’s mouth, heart-shaped and hidden behind the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll be fine, hyung.” It takes a lot for him to say it but you appreciate that he does. Sometimes, it feels like you and Yoongi are fighting over the wrong things; he recentres you both when that happens.

Feline eyes train on you, indecipherable in their depth. The bond you share with your brother is unparalleled, despite the oft forgotten fact that you aren’t actual siblings but a chosen family. You sometimes wonder if you’d be able to read him better if you shared the same coding - if his thoughts might slip into yours one day. Not that it’s necessary. He’s always been honest with you. “I know she will. She’s strong.”

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He nods - a short, curt thing that’s diffused by the way his mouth moves, lips curling into the peculiar gummy smile he’s had since he was a kid. “Just know if he comes within ten feet of you again, I’ll kick his ass.” With the laughter that sprouts around his words, it could easily be mistaken for a joke. A bit of nonsense between friends.

You know better, though. Yoongi would throttle Jungkook with his bare hands if he ever hurt you again. He’d told you enough times, drilled it into your mind that first year when he’d had to pick up all the pieces. You can’t blame him; they’d hurt him, too, just in different ways.

You’d lost the love of your life. He’d almost lost his little sister. It was hard to come back from that.

“I know you will.” Because while decidedly slimmer - a good, maybe, thirty pounds less than your former love - Yoongi would, with no doubt in your mind, obliterate the boy who’d done the same to your heart. It was a family thing.

“Does he know that, too?”

You’re sure Jungkook does. He’d be stupid not to, right? “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s a whole three days later when you realise how wrong you are and how stupid Jeon Jungkook is.

The familiar number flashes a total of four times, glaring up at you like a neon sign that demands your attention. Even when you blink, they’re seared against the back of your eyelids - a highlight reel of your worst moments encapsulated in a simple ten digits.

Letting the calls ring through, untouched, is almost impossible. You can do it, though. You know you can.

You repeat that over and over again until the vibrating stops and the screen is black.

That wasn’t so hard, you think.

Then the missed call reminders are replaced by a voicemail notification and all of your pride sinks like a weight to the bottom of your stomach. Unease bubbles up in its place, fizzles and snaps - a movie theatre fountain pop. You hate pop.

Deleting the message without listening to it is what you should do. Pretending like it never happened is what Yoongi would want you to do. Neither of those things happen.

You know you’re going to regret it the moment you press play and his voice fills your ears, reaching all the way into your chest as if that’s where it belongs. You only repeat it for a second time because you’re not sure you’ve heard right. You can’t believe the words he’s left.

But Jungkook is Jungkook and you really shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, he certainly isn’t when you swing open the front door. In fact, he’s almost smug, cheeks pressed into that heartbreaking smile of his. Even the cuts on his nose and his bruised eye do little to detract from the charm of it. He could wear a brown paper bag and he’d still, somehow, have your heart racing a mile a minute.

“Hi, Pumpkin.”

You barely react when he closes the distance and pops a sweet, chaste peck to your forehead. You don’t know how to react.

It’s like having a bomb dropped on you - a cataclysmic shift that tips your entire world on its side and leaves you scrambling for purchase on a tilted axis. All at once, everything returns to revolving directly around the boy standing in front of you.

Just as he had three years ago - how he almost had, only three days ago - Jungkook becomes the centre.

The realisation is sobering, startling you into action.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks once, twice, doe-eyed and adorable. It’s impossible not to see what he’s doing - see right through the facade he crafts so well, with such practiced hands. It’s even harder not to fall for it.

You’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him - not since he’d bumbled his way through his last lie, too guilty to even properly correct the mistake he’d made. You’d been certain that would be the final straw. Hoped it would be, with every last tired breath.

“I wanted to see you.”

He looks so pretty on the outside. A picture perfect dream come true, plucked straight from your afternoon fantasies. The boy you’ve wished for forever, wrapped up in hyperactive laughter and black silk.

But you know he’ll break you from the inside out, turn your heart to ash. He’ll articulate his love in the form of unnecessary bouquets and drunken voicemails that come too late. He’ll disappear for weeks at a time then come crawling back, begging for your help as if he hasn’t tripped over his own two feet. You’ll be too weak to say no, wrapping him in the bandages you should be keeping for yourself.

You know all of this - and yet you wait, hope, pray , that this time might be different.

You wonder if he can tell. If he can still read you in the ways he used to, between the lines and in the dark. You think he must by how he stares at you, relentless and restless, searching your expression for any sign of forgiveness.

“Pumpkin?” If words held weight, you’d be crushed beneath it.

“You can’t just… come here.” Where I have nowhere to run.

Jungkook shifts his weight, dances from foot to foot. He’s peering down at his shoes - Italian leather, polished within an inch of their life - mouth rounding in that pout you recognise so well. “You want me to leave?”

Don’t answer that.

“I’ll leave. Just tell me to go.”

Tell him. It’s one word. Hardly a feat.

“Vira, tell me to leave and I’ll go.”

You can’t. You can’t. There’s no anger now - nothing to spring you to your feet in a fit of rage. It’s only sadness, all-encompassing and blue, enough to swallow you whole and spit you out. It’s so heavy it aches in your bones and all the way through to your toes.

“Tell me to leave — or let me in. One or the other.”

author note. another short chapter but one that lays some important groundwork. further pain will be forthcoming! xoxo

tag list. @jalexa83 @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx

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c-e-gold · 4 years ago

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In light of recent events involving Damian in a certain DC Comic book, I have decided to revisit my proposed line up for a Teen Titans book that I would love to read. It’s going to be similar to the one I did before, but I’m going to try to go more in depth about it. If there’s any changes or additions you would make, please let me know. My knowledge on DC is limited. Especially now since I havent read them in awhile due to how annoyed they’ve made me lately.

Enjoy!

Core Team

Damian Wayne / Robin

Maya Ducard / Nobody

Suren Daga (He’s been staying at Carrie Kelly’s place since he’s had nowhere else to go)

Jon Kent / Super Boy

Kathy Branden / Beacon

This is the core team at the start of their tenure together. There really isn’t any designated leader among them. Instead, they opt for a rotating system where a leader is chosen for specific missions. For example, Maya be more suitable to lead a stealth mission than Superboy.

I know he would get brought up, by Colin isn’t included because I know nothing about him and haven’t read any of the stories he’s been in. I recognized that he’s popular among some of the fans, but I wanted this list to be as true to me as possible.

Team Mother

Talia Al Ghul

In this iteration, everything about her that was written by Grant Morrison is wholly ignored. Never happened. Talia, while not as involved in Damian’s life as she would like to be due to her work, maintains a healthy relationship with her son. She takes on the responsibility of training the team in combat, language, espionage, tactics, and assassination. She also does the mission briefings for them.

For those who are familiar with the Young Justice cartoon, she’s pretty much Batman. the events of R:SoB still happens, so her relationship with Maya and Suren are still rocky at best. Maya goes out of her way to annoy her and Suren just doesn’t like her. But the course of the story will have moments where, while not being a fan of eachother, Talia would definitely go out of her way to protect Suren and Maya and they would do the same for her. Perhaps their relationship develops from antagonistic to just playful ribbing.

Den Brother

Duke Thomas

Duke takes on Talia’s responsibilities while she’s not around due to her job and/or missions. His tasks normally include being the team’s “therapist”. Talia recruited him for this because she correctly figured that the team would be more likely to warm up to him since he’s closer to them in age. It also helps that he’s a bit better when it comes to understanding emotional children. While not being licensed, he listens to their problems and help work them threw it. On occasion he will tag along on missions with them.

Future additions to the team

Mia “Maps” Mizoguchi and Olive Silverlock

(Anyone else remember in Robin War where Damian left supplies for the Gotham Academy kids and nothing came of it? I do.)

Maps- who is by far the most excited about the prospect of joining the team- she begins early training at the insistence of Damian, much to Talia’s chagrin. Talia tries to discourage her threw tough conditioning, but Maps perservere, showing her heart and that her desire to help people isn’t just surface level. Eventually she does join the team part-time.

Olive partakes in the practice concerning the usage of metahuman abilities in order to master her pyrokinesis. Duke and Kathy helps her navigate her training and slowly teaches her to be able to call upon her abilities without losing herself to the flames. I’m on the fence about having Olive join the team, so I’m open to suggestions on that front. I’m leaning more towards no, though.

Detective Chimp

Why not? He’s not really doing anything in the comics that is worthwhile. And I think his presence would add an air of brevity. He would be in charge of teaching the team proper investigative tactics. He even has a few tips and tricks up his sleeve that even the most seasoned detective wouldn’t be privy to.

Also I want to see him and Maps interact. Not to mention the potential for a fun side adventure with Detective Chimp and all of the pets teaming up.

Temp Join/Team-Ups

Batfamily

Not having the rest of the Batfamily interact with this team would be a crime in of itself. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan, Batgirl, Spoiler, Blue Bird, Batwoman, Batwing, and Alfred. I want to see all of them interact with the team. It doesn’t even have to be serious! Maybe Stephanie shows up with Cass and kicks all of the boys out and has a girls night with the female team. Or Jason regales the team with totally not made up stories about all of the times he saved Damian and all the favors that he owes him.

Harley Quinn

I don’t know exactly the circumstances that would make this work, but I think this would be a cool and fun crossover. They would just kinda run into each other and decide, for the sake of the mission, to work together to get the job done.

Justice League

I mean, they HAVE to have their “Now do you take us seriously” moment. It doesn’t have to be a situation where the League is brainwashed or anything. Maybe it’s just a test. Or a friendly competiton. Or an excuse to get Wonder Woman and Maya to interact and have a proper passing of the touch and make the Tiny Trinity a for sure thing.

Robzarro and Boyzarro

They obviously like hanging out with Jon, Kathy, and Maya. So them popping up every now and then should be a given. Also I kinda wanna see how Damian and Talia reacts to Robzarro. There is so much comedy potential there.

Base of operation

The Fortress of Attitude

The base has an official named that Talia had given it upon construction, but Superboy called it the Fortress of Attitude. The some of the team just started calling it that out of being easier to remember while others (read: Maya) does it because she wants to annoy Talia. It’s very sleek with cutting edge tech rivaling Batman’s own tech. But as the team gets more and more accommodated to the hideout, they start adding their own flairs (stickers, posters, beanbag chairs, animal dens, dolls, figurines, and magazines).

It’s equipped with a central computer that monitors the coming and going of the members, the registry, and mission files. The AI is programmed into the teams phones, offering the same protection to their personal phones that the foretress has. Using technology similar to the Watchtower and threw studying Beacon’s powers, they can beam themselves to the fortress whenever they please.

Main villains

Slade and the Hive Academy

I put Slade and not Deathstroke because I’m not really a fan of comic book Deathstroke. But Slade is Bad. Ass. Methodical. Calculating. Brilliant. Powerful. Coniving. He would make a perfect overarching villain for this team. I wouldn’t have him want Robin as his apprentice though. That can stay exclusive to the Teen Titans cartoon. In that place, he would just be the headmaster of the Hive Academy and use the team to test his students.

The Court of Owls

While theyre largely Batman’s villains, I feel they would meddle in the affairs of anyone they deem a significant annoyance. Their Talons would prove such a huge obstacle for this team to overcome. Of course it wouldn’t be the entire court after them, though. Just a small team that is assigned to keep an eye on them and steer them in the direction that best serves the Court.

Blockbuster

I think 2 syndicates is enough for one title. Blockbuster is a departure from the cold, calculated, machinations of both Slade and the Court. He’s pretty much an immovable object that would be built up to be able to even withstand hits from Superboy.

Manchester Black

I think being trapped inside of a cow would make anyone thirsty for revenge. Also, a cow that is hell bent on revenge could be both terrifying and fun to read. No one is going to punch a cow, so the team would have to think of other tactics to take him down. Maybe Detective Chimp and the pets would have a hand in bringing him down!

I literally typed this out while working off of 3 hours of sleep the previous night and it is currently 12:37AM. That’s the excuse I’m going to go with if something is wrong here. I would want to include more villains that challenge the team both philosophically, physically, and mentally. But the longer I work on this, the more I go blank. So I’m putting a pin in this here.

If anyone has any ideas or suggestions, feel free to leave them! This is my own personal take on what I would like to see from a hypothetical Teen Titans/Young Justice book.

#Damian Wayne #Superboy #Maya Ducard #Kathy Brendan #Talia Al Ghul #Teen Titans

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nomimits7 · 6 years ago

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Undefeated ~ Drabble

Title: Undefeated

Pairing: Ot7 x reader

Genre: Well it’s about karate and I don’t really know where I was going with this

Warnings: Ummm… I don’t believe there’s any except BTS being kinda invasive and sort of rude… Reader is a sarcastic and doesn’t back down from any challenge

Summary: Being the only female black belt to EVER compete doesn’t scare you, but that changes once you try and make peace with your opponent and his teammates. Yet, life hasn’t been kind to you and you just can’t seem to back down from ANY type of challenge

•Δ•

Breath in, breath out. Relax, you’ve got this. You are the best and you know it! There’s a reason you made it this far! Focus Y/N.

Opening your eyes, you take in your surroundings. The red and blue mats litter the length of the floor. Eight blue 8x8m squares represent rings were all the action will take place. People cheering for their champions, loud shouts of anger from the karateka and simple chatter fills your ears. This is what you use as your source of energy.

You were one of the first, no one of the only female black belts at this event. You were a ‘special case’ of sorts. Your sensei literally dragged you into the club on a very stormy night. The man just found you and decided you needed some form of self-protection, taking your hand with no explanation and dragging you away from your hiding spot.

That night your whole world changed. You went from a scared street dwelling girl with a black eye, scared cheek and fractured rib to one of the best karateka in your club. You quickly made your way up the ranks to your black belt. Being the only female doing a full contact sport had its pros and cons. Pros being you got excellent training against the boys in the club, not like the boys would have gone easy on you. Their jealousy being a bit of a ‘small’ inconvenience. The cons on the other hand being you had NO friends. The club was a family, you being the least favourite among your ‘siblings’. The boys all believed you needed to ‘prove’ your worth before they would consider you as equal, even if this ultimatum went against everything the club stand for.

This competition was you ticket to acceptance. If you could prove you weren’t as weak as the female gender were classified, then you would earn the respect of those people you look up to.

The chatter continued as you started your warm-up. Not one soul in the stand has noticed you as of yet, and you would like to keep it that way. The less attention you grab the better. Unfortunately, as soon as your name was called to the floor the entire stadium went dead silent. All eyes were on you. Every single eye that could blink was zoomed in on your form. Even the other floors had stopped to watch you. Not intimidating AT ALL.

With a final deep breath, you made your way to the floor. As you stepped onto the mat, you felt a hand on your arm. “No one is watching you. Take a deep breath and only, and I mean it Y/N, ONLY look at the head judge” your Sensei whispered into your ear. Nodding, your eyes zoomed in on your target. The head judge was a rather odd-looking man. He had thick rimmed glasses on, little to almost no hair and one big, and by big you meant enormous stomach obstructing his movements ever so slightly.

Bowing to your opponent you make your way onto the mat and to the assigned mark. You don’t even acknowledge your opponent as you focus all your energy and focus into your limbs.

“Kata?” the main judge asks.

Shouting in union you and your opponent announces your chosen combination of movements.

As he gives the signal you immediately spring into action. Your face is neutral and focussed as you shift from position to position. Every movement is sharp and exploding with power. Your muscles are tensed as you spin and punch at the same time, landing on one of your knees and blocking a ghost kick. Letting out the strongest of shouts you spin into a kick as you try and disarm no one in particular.

Flowing from one move to the next you keep your eyes focussed on the round judge staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Turning into your final stance you shout with as much energy you can muster. And then you freeze, knowing that you needed to wait for the judge to call the end, you force your muscles to halt all movement.

With a final look to your side he calls for the end. You stand up, bow and wait to see the results. As the whistle is blown and the flags are raised your heart stops.

All the flags are blue, all five of them.

You. Were. Blue.

The first emotion to filter into you is relief, the next is surprise and then fear. Fear in the sense of not knowing why this happened. Where you truly THAT good or was this a trick.

Glancing over to your opponent you immediately lock eyes with a rather enraged looking boy. If this was some elaborate prank, they certainly got one of the best actors to do the job. Before you could even go and shake hands with your, now fuming, opponent you were engulfed by more than one set of arms.

“Y/N!!! well done!”

“OMG! I can’t believe you beat his ass”

“How did you manage to look so perfect”

One after the other the complements came from none other than your ‘brothers’, whose trust and acceptance you desperately wanted. In conclusion you were beyond happy.

“Y/N, do you realize how good you had to be to beat that kid? You literally had to be perfection reincarnated. And guess what. You qualified to go to nationals! The kid also got in, so I’d go make peace if I were you. He looked pretty down to be the first to lose to a girl!” your sensei beamed with pride as he said this. You couldn’t blame him, he did manage to create the impossible.

After your teammates finally released you, you made your way to the opposite side of the arena. Navigating your way through the small crowds next to the rings, you finally made it to your opponents’ team. Surprisingly there were only seven and they were more than surprised to see you coming towards them.

“Uh, Hi. I’m Y/N… uh I just wanted to congratulate my opponent on making the team for nationals” You awkwardly bowed as you awaited a response.

Upon looking back up you saw seven pairs of eyes staring back at you. They neither looked happy nor mad at you, they were surprisingly neutral. That was until your unnamed opponents stood up and slowly stalked towards you. His neutral eyes taking on a predatory gleam. You would be lying if you had to say he didn’t intimidate you at all. This intimidating mass of muscle stopped a few centimeters from you, completely dominating your personal space, yet you didn’t move.

“That’s quiet brave of you to come and request a handshake babe. I’ll give it to you, you were good with every single eye in this arena on you. I must say I am quite surprised, and I’ll admit, when they told me I was going against the first EVER girl, I expected an easy win.” He said cocking his head to the side, another shot at further intimidation.

A shot he missed by far. You smiled up at him. A playful, yet serious, gleam entered your eyes as you made direct eye contact. Your body taking on a challenging aura as his small attempt at intimidation slowly failed away.

“Clearly one of us underestimated the other. Anyway, congratulations kid.” You sarcastically responded.

If his ego was bruised at you winning, it was nothing compared to what his body language were conveying at this moment. Anger entered his eyes, along with curiosity. Taking a step forward, you simultaneously forced him backwards. His anger turned to surprise as he watched your every movement.

“See you around kid” you simply said before turning around. You were about to make your final exit when a hand grabbed you. Turning you around, you came face to face with the same unnamed boy.

“Hey sweet cheeks, the names Jungkook. And trust me, I saw your reports card and I’m no kid to you. I’m looking forward to our next meeting. Stay alert babe, we like a challenge and the one you had thrown at us might happen sooner than you think.” He said as he released you with a wink.

Returning to your team, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ll come face to face with them sooner than you wanted to. Yes, your sensei trained you well, but these kids, well men, where way stronger than you were. You were fast and accurate, but they could also be. You had never gone against more than two opponents at a time, let alone seven. If they decided to ambush you, you were done for.

•Δ•

The day went by slowly and you were beyond exhausted when you could finally return to your hotel for the evening. Being the only girl certainly had its perks when it came to sharing rooms. You had your very own room seeing as the boys weren’t all to enthusiastic to share a room with a girl.

You hopped into the shower as soon as you entered the room. Taking your time with your hair as you scrubbed of todays victory sweat.

It was as you exited the bathroom in your towel that you heart a series of frantic knocks on your door.

“Who is it?” you called

“Y/N? I need your help with something… urgent can I come in?” a muffled voice resembling one of your teammates came through the door. Sure, this was unexpected but hey, you did manage to win their respect.

“Just a second! Uh… come in the door is unlocked. I’m just going to dress quickly.” You said as you re-entered the bathroom. You decided to go casual, so you settled for a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

As you exited your bathroom for a second time you come face to face with, not one, but seven very familiar looking men. Again, all of them had neutral expressions because breaking into a girl’s hotel room was normal. Okay technically they didn’t break in, but still.

“What the hell are you guys doing in my room?” You said as you backed away from them.

“Oh, now come on little dove. We just thought it was unfair that only Kookie over there got to introduce himself. So, we had to get creative to get the chance.” A very tall man said as he leaned against your door. A.k.a. your only escape.

“Okay, so get on with it so you can leave.” You, not so friendly responded.

“Right, That’s Yoongi at the window. Seokjin is the one currently on the right side of your bed. Hoseok is on the left side. That’s Jungkook as you already know, Taehyung is on his right and that’s Jimin on his left. And I’m Namjoon. We’re all black belts of different degree, but all you should know is that Jungkook is the youngest of the club and that I own the club.” Namjoon said as he gave you a dimpled smile

None of them made a move to indicate that they were going to leave. You shifted your feet to a more secure stance, just in case one of them decided to make a move.

“Okay, you said what you wanted to say. Please leave.” You said as you eyed each of them.

“Oh yes, we will as soon as you agree to meet us tomorrow at our club downtown. We’re curious to see what you are capable off” Yoongi says as he turns from the room to stare out the window.

“There’s no way I-“you begin

“I don’t think you understand us babe. This isn’t a request.” Hoseok cuts you off as he gets up. The rest following his movements as they start towards you.

“FINE, fine. Just tell me when and where. I’ll be there. “You say in a rush. The space around you slowly decreasing.

“Good girl” Taehyung and Jimin simultaneously say as they retreat to the door.

“See you there, little dove…” Seokjin says as he kisses your cheek on his way to the door.

As Namjoon and Jungkook leave they each send you a wink accompanied by a smirk.

What did you get yourself into…

Authors Notes: So, this is another one of those type of drabbles… I was sitting me in gi, waiting for my karate class to start when this idea popped into my head…. I recently started a new type of karate and although I can keep my belt level, that being first black, I need to be reasserted and its not been easy learning the new style. Oh well, all in good time…. Hope you enjoyed!

P.s. This drabble is NOT EDITED so please excuse any mistakes …

#nomimits7 #nomimits stuff #nomimits drabbles #bts #ot7 #bts x reader

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steves-on-a-plane · 6 years ago

Text

Right There

Avengers Endgame Challenge Words: 2921 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Guest Staring: Brother!Clint Barton x Sister!Reader Requested: Anon Prompt: Bucky Barnes & #18: “Sometimes, the thing you’ve been looking for your whole life is right there beside you all along.” (Guardians Of the Galaxy Vol 2) A/N: This story was one hell of a journey. It took me almost the entire day to write and while the beginning is a little agnsty, the ending is worth it. At least I think so.

“Hey relax. They’re gonna love you.” Your brother, Clint, nudged you playfully. You were walking up the path to the Avengers Compound’s front door together. It was your first day in your new, probably temporary home. A home that Clint had found for you.

“Of course they’ll love me! I’m the better Barton.” You teased.

“Huh, I always thought that was Laura.” He joked with you. “But honestly kiddo you’re looking a little green.”

“It’s probably the morning sickness.” You explained, rubbing your distended abdomen. “Plus it was a long car ride and it’s a pretty winding driveway. I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

“Alright, let’s get you inside. Then you can rest.” Clint swiped his ID badge through a reader adjacent to the front door. He typed a six digit code into the corresponding keypad and the door responded with a pleasant chirp. “Tony told me the others would be waiting for us in the conference room, but we can stop and get you some crackers or something first if you want.”

“Are you sure they’re on board with this? I mean I know you said they were nice people but no one is letting a pregnant stranger live in your high security base of operations nice.” You bit your lip. Clint blinked down at you. Biting your lip had been a nervous habit of yours since you were kids and sometimes it was hard for him to remember that you weren’t that helpless little girl anymore. He just wanted to hold you and tell you everything was going to be all right.

“Listen, [Y/N], you know I’ve never been one for kumbaya or drinking the kool-aid, but we spent a lot of our lives looking for a place where we would belong. It took me marrying Laura and meeting these guys to understand that sometimes, the thing you’ve been looking for your whole life, is right there beside you all along.”

“Are you saying that I should get married and by a farm?” You asked him playfully.

“No.” He offered you a playful smirk back. “I’m saying you have a chance at a fresh start here. Don’t miss out on being happy because your afraid to trust the people around you. People who already accept you for who you are.”

“did you get that off a greeting card or something?” You questioned, jabbing his ribs with one of your index fingers.

“No, that was all me. C’mon they’re waiting for us. Conference room is this way.” He said, waving you towards an offshoot corridor.

It was your third day living with the Avengers. So far the entire team had been nothing but hospitable to you. Each of them tactfully asking you questions about the baby’s due date and if you had any names picked out yet. They were all kind enough not to ask about the baby’s father or the exact details of how you’d come to live at the tower. All they’d been told was that you needed a place to live and with Clint’s three kids, the Barton family farmhouse was a little overcrowded these days.

While you were grateful to have a roof over your head, the idea of living at the compound rent free and responsibility free had not been sitting well with you. Even though the team had all adamantly insisted that you should be getting plenty of relaxation, you couldn’t help but feel restless. You wanted to do something to feel like you were contributing in some way. Even an insignificant way to thank them for helping you out so majorly would make you feel better.

You found your opportunity on Monday morning when you walked into the kitchen to find it looking disastrous. If you hadn’t know the facility was completely secure you would have suspected a battle had occurred in the room. There were coffee grinds everywhere. Across the counter, in the sink and even in the garbage disposal. A mound of dishes was piled from the sink to the nearest counter top and there seemed to be pancake mix cemented onto one corner of the counter island.

After scouring around for a little while you found all the cleaning supplies you would need and set to work. There was a dishwasher, so luckily that meant you didn’t have to scrub all the dishes by hand. You set to work unloading and reloading the dishwasher before doing anything else. The sink had to be empty of dishes before you could exterminate the coffee grinds.

“Do you do laundry to?” Your back was turned to the door and you hadn’t yet learned to identify the individual Avengers by their voices yet, so you turn around with a smile.

“I could get started on that once I’m done in here.” You offered. When you pivoted, you could finally identify the voice owner. “Sergeant Barnes.” You nodded in friendly greeting.

“The formalities aren’t necessary.” He waved you off as he slid into a seat at the breakfast bar. “Just Bucky will do. But I’m afraid I owe you an apology, I didn’t realize it was you, [Y/N]. Stark has maids that come four times a week, I wanted to see about signing up for their laundry service I know they do Steve’s and…”

“It’s all right Bucky.” You assured him. “I meant what I said, I’d be happy to do your laundry. I’ve been looking for things to do for these days.”

“I thought you were supposed to be resting.” He said. “At least that’s what Steve and Stark said when we had the team meeting the day you arrived. Now Rogers I could still take in a fight, but I’m not looking to get on Stark’s bad side or further onto his bad side I should say. He doesn’t like me very much.”

“So, you don’t need someone to do your laundry?” You asked, leaning back against the counter.

“Let’s not talk about me anymore. Tell me about you.” He suggested.

“There’s not much to tell.” You insisted. “What do you want to know?”

“How’s it going, kid?” Clint draped himself in your doorway. He was there for what had by this point become a regularly scheduled visit. You’d been living with the Avengers for a few weeks not and had settled in quite nicely.

“Wasn’t the whole point of me staying here to keep me out of your hair?” You pointed out to him. “You’ve been by three times already this week, Clint. I’m fine.”

“I’m not here just to see you!” He protested. “I’ve been in the area…a lot.”

“It’s nice that you worry about me.” You thanked him. “But these people are your friends and they’re slowly becoming mine too. I’m safe here with them.”

“That’s what you told me about that no good ex-boyfriend of yours too.” He scoffed. “And where is he now?”

“Nice.” You huffed, suddenly hostile. You didn’t like having your mistake tossed back in your face.

“[Y/N], I’m sorry I didn’t mean…” Your brother clearly didn’t know you would take his joke so personally. He tried to apologize but you cut him off.

“Oh, I think you did.” You snapped at him. “Never miss a chance to take a shot do you, Hawkeye? Doesn’t matter if the target is a paper bullseye or your own sister!” You pushed past him and stormed out of the room without giving him a chance to backpedal. Wanting to put as much distance between you and your brother you stomped through the labyrinthine halls of the compound. You quickly wiped away tears as they brimmed over in your eyes, but still your vision became blurry.

“[Y/N]?” You blinked several times trying to place the face of the figure who’d just appeared in the hallway. “I heard you crying, what’s wrong?”

“Bucky.” You sniffled once your vision was cleared enough to see his handsome face properly. “Don’t mind me.” You pleaded.

“Don’t mind?” He repeated. “I can’t ignore my very pregnant friend who’s running down the halls crying.”

“It’s stupid.” You insisted. “Clint just said something he didn’t mean and I’m so emotional these days that it set me off. I’ll be alright.”

“Do you want me to beat him up for you?” He offered with uncertainty.

“That’s very kind, but unnecessary.” You chuckled.

“But I got you to laugh, so that’s something.” He smiled back. “Why don’t we take a walk, it’ll give you a chance to cool down. A nice trip through the garden always works for me. Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t even know there was a garden.” You told him.

“Then let me be the one to show you around, but it’ll have to be our secret alright?” He said. “Otherwise everyone else will catch on and it won’t be quiet anymore.”

“Secret’s safe with me, Buck.” You promised.

Over the months that followed, you and Bucky continued to develop a close friendship but unlikely friendship. It was unlikely because prior to your arrival at the compound Bucky had made it clear to his fellow Avengers that he wasn’t one for socializing. Yet for some reason he enjoyed your company more than his chosen loneliness. As the two of you grew closer, the others started to take notice. Some were glad that you and Bucky both had someone to talk to while others, like your brother, began to worry.

“Hey, Cap, can I talk to you for a minute?” Clint approached Steve one afternoon while the super solider conducting his afternoon training session.

“You really want to do that right now?” Steve asked before delivering a deft uppercut to the punching bag in front of him.

“Sorry, but you’re a hard man to track down.” Clint shrugged.

“Yeah,” Steve smirked. “I guess I can be. What’s going on, Barton?”

“I want to talk to you about [Y/N] and Barnes. Be honest with me, how worried should I be?” He waited patiently for Steve’s answer.

“You know I forget sometimes, how Buck must look to everyone else.” Steve’s eyes glazed over as he thought of the past. “To me he’s still that kid from Brooklyn, fighting the fights I was too stupid to get myself out of. I think Bucky’s intentions with your sister are entirely honorable, Clint. The Bucky I know, the real Bucky, he’d do anything to protect the people he cares about. And I can tell just by the way he looks at her that she’s special to him.”

“I hope so, Cap.” Clint frowned. “It was just the two of us for a long time, then I met Laura and we had kids. Things happened so fast, I’m afraid I let [Y/N] down in the process.”

“I don’t think that [Y/N] feels that way at all.” Steve shook his head. “Since she’s been living here all she does is talk about how supporting and understanding you’ve been with her situation. She’s grateful to have you in her life Clint, but since you asked my opinion, I think it might be time you stopped treating [Y/N] like your kid sister.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Cap. Thanks.” Clint nodded. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“It’s a nice day.” You said, casting your eyes to the sky. The sun was out. The temperature was warm but not too warm. There were clouds in the sky, but only enough to shield from the sun’s strong rays. It was a beautiful day. You and Bucky were sitting together in the rose garden, you usual hangout these days.

“It is.” Bucky agreed, stretching his long legs out. “ Not to put a damper on the mood, but have you given any thought to what you’re going to do once the baby is born?”

“Honestly?” You said, rubbing your very pregnant stomach. “No. The thought of bringing a living thing into the world is terrifying enough that when I think about any future plans, I only make it about as far as the delivery before panicking.”

“Well, I have an idea that might help relieve some of that terror.” Bucky pulled his legs back towards himself so that he was sitting straight up. He turned to look at you, his expression very serious. “Why don’t you move in with me? We could get a place you and me…”

“Buck, I don’t even have a job.” You countered.

“You don’t need a job.” He promised. “I’ll take care of you. We could buy a house near your brother and his family if you want or on the other side of the country. I don’t care, I just know that I don’t want you to go away.”

“Bucky, it’s a very generous offer but It’s not your responsibility to take care of me. It’s not Clint’s job either. I need to take responsibility for my own actions.” You told him.

“I’m sorry.” “Bucky apologized. “I’m not saying that you need someone to take care of you. Of course not. I know how important it is for modern women to feel equal in a relationship and the truth is, [Y/N], you take care of me. You do my laundry. You clean my room. You take walks with me. You talk to me. You understand me and you see me, Bucky Barnes. You don’t look at me and see my metal arm or my scars or any of that. I’m not the Winter Soldier to you. To you I’m just Buck, and I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until the other day when I thought about how I would feel if you went away.”

“I don’t really want to leave you either, Bucky.” You told him. “You’re pretty much the best friend I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to screw that up. I’ve screwed up every relationship in my life except for Clint and his family. And let’s be honest they’re all kind of contractually obligated to love me.”

“Your brother and his family love you genuinely.” Bucky insisted. “And so do I, [Y/N]. I’d do anything for you, because I want you to be happy.”

“Like I said, it’s an extremely generous offer, can I take some time to think it over?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Of course.” Bucky nodded. “It’s an open offer for the rest of your life.” He said very seriously. You quickly thought of a way to graciously excuse yourself from the garden and left Bucky alone on the bench. When you turned to look back at him, he had his head in his hands.

“Ugh not now.” You groaned to yourself. On your way back into the compound your spotted your brother walking out.

“Hey, [Y/N], Nat said you were probably out in the garden with Barnes but here you are.” Clint greeted you with a smile. “Listen I know you’re probably tired of me coming to visit but…wait what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You sniffled, holding back tears.

“[Y/N], what happened? Was it Barnes?” He demanded.

“No, no!” You jumped in front of him to grab his attention. “listen for a minute.” You then proceeded recount the conversation you’d just had with Bucky.

“I don’t understand what the problem is.” Clint confessed. “He’s been nothing but great to you. Why wouldn’t you say yes?”

“Because I like him. Hell I probably love him.” You explained. “So much that I don’t want to screw it up. It’s bad enough that this kid is stuck with me for the rest of its life. Is it fair for me to drag someone else in?”

“By the sound of things, you’re not dragging anyone anywhere. And you know, it doesn’t have to be some dramatic thing, I’m sure you can stay here. Far as I know, no one has any plans to kick you out any time soon. Do you remember what I said to you when you first came to stay here?” You thought for a minute about what Clint was saying.

“You don’t need anyone else’s permission to be happy, [Y/N].” He added.

“We might not have had an easy life, but I got really luck having you as a brother.” You said, gently elbowing him.

“You sure did.” He agreed, ruffling your hair. You groaned, but he only shrugged. “It’s not cool to elbow a pregnant lady. You’d better got catch up with Barnes before he changes his mind.”

“Don’t joke about things like that!” You shoved him hard. Clint, taken by surprise, fell to the ground as you sprinted towards the garden.

“Buck!” You panted as soon as he was within your sight again.

“[Y/N]? What’s wrong?” He jumped to his feet.

“Nothing.” You tried to wave him off, but he was already at your side, escorting you back onto the bench. “I’m an idiot.” You huffed still trying to catch your breath.

“Don’t be silly, I’m the idiot.” He crouched down so that he could look at you eye to eye. “I should have never sprung something like that on you an expected an answer.”

“Shhhhh.” You pressed a finger against his mouth while you gulped deep breaths. Once you were respirating normally, you explained yourself. Sometimes, the thing you’ve been looking for your whole life, is right there beside you all along. I love you, but I was afraid. Afraid that I’d ruin things afraid that…” You were cut off as Bucky leaned forward, firmly pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you too!” He promised before going back in for another kiss.

*Please feel free to play along and send me some Endgame Challenge Requests!*

#james buchanan barnes #James Barnes #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky Barnes FF #Bucky Barnes Fan Fic #Bucky Barnes Fan Fiction #Avengers Endgame Challenge #Request

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kierarutherford · 6 years ago

Note

For the DADWC: “Why are you so nice to me," with the pairing of your choice!

I had hoped to have this finished sooner but I had to start from scratch. SO, a smutty/angsty Cullen x Clara Hawke. Enjoy :) 2140 words of words lol @dadrunkwriting Under cut for smut

Clara pushed Cullen back against thestone wall, her lips against his in a hungry kiss. He in turn returned her heat,gripping her about her hips. “Miss me?” She purred, his bottom lip between herteeth. “Mmm,” he smirked, as he squeezed her rear. “Seems you missed me.”

“Since when did you get sassy, Commander.”Working the buckles to his breast plate Clara was breathing heavy. “Almost likeKirkwall.”

“Almost.” Cullen chuckled as his armorfell to the floor. “Not as much armor.” Once his shirt came over his head, hespun her, pressing her against the stone. “This doesn’t mean anything has changed.You are…”

“You talk too much.” She wrapped herleg around his hip, linking her wrists behind his neck. “Way too much.” Toyingwith the hair at the back of his head, coiling it about her finger she lickedher lips. “I preferred the Knight-Captain who knew what he wanted. And went forit. I think this Commander Curly is a bit softer.”

“Soft?” Lifting her up he caught the gaspcome from her. “I’m more than aware of how you like it.” Ripping her shirt offwith one hand he chuckled, deep and low. “Unless things have change.”

“Just get on with it.” She wormedunder him, eager for more. “You’re a tease.”

“Never.” Running his hand over her chesthe tore the bra band from her, reveling in the playful bounce of her breasts. “Ican stop.”

“No.” Pulling him down into her, she kissedhim, eager to get things moving. “You weren’t this much of a tease in Kirkwall.I like it.”

Kirkwall. It had been some time sincehe’d been there, furthermore since his first time with Clara. He remembered itwell. She’d invited him to the Hanged Man, to speak in private. He’d gone,heard her out and left. Less than a week later she’d sent another summons andagain he went. Again, he listened, sharing one drink with her before leaving.This went on for a month, the letters coming more frequently, the talks more in-depthand less about her ideas. Eventually he lowered his guard, seeing how she dealtwith the issues of Kirkwall, helping aid in many of the problematic areas.Areas a templar couldn’t go. This time the letter was less formal, the requestto come at night, not during the day. One simple, new request, to come without hisarmor.

He’d thought about it all day, teasingthe idea back and forth. Hawke had earned his trust, there was that fact and itwould make his movements easier. Throwing caution to the wind he decided tocomply, if only to gain her trust. At least, that was his rationalization. Throwingthe cloak over his shoulders and lifting the hood over his head he slipped outof the Gallows and into the night.

Making his way through the quietstreets he was certain he was alone. He hadn’t come unarmed, the swordconcealed at his hip a comfort as he headed to the more dangerous side of town.Arriving at the Hanged Man he knew well enough where to go and that she’d bewaiting for him. Knocking on the door he was greet by her usual charm. “Come onin Knight-Captain. Drink?”

“Sera Hawke.” Dipping inside he untiedthe cloak and laid it upon the chair. “What did you wish to discuss tonight?”

“All business tonight,” Clara grinnedwide as she poured a second cup. “It’s been a hard day Captain, share a drinkwith me.” Waving him to the couch along the wall she brought the cup over to him.“There’s a bit to talk about tonight.”

“As I’ve stated before Sera…”

“Clara. Call me Clara.” She eased ontothe couch beside him, handing him the drink. “I would prefer to drop the titlestonight. Champion of Kirkwall, Sera Hawke, Mistress Hawke, it’s all so much forthe mouth to wrap around.” Taking a sip from her glass she rolled her neck. “It’smuch easier to relax and speak plainly. Come to. A consensus if you will.” Swirlingthe glass her eyes were trained on him. Judging and mitting out every littleinflection.

“A consensus? I believe I have informedyou I am unable to...”

“I know what you cannot do, Cullen.But it’s what you can do that I am interested in.” Downing her glass, shereached for the bottle, across his lap. Slowly, more so than needed she archedher back, rounding out her back half. “Maker, I’m thirsty tonight.”

“I see.” Cullen swallowed hard. Clara Hawkewas something else. Her hourglass figure was sumptuous, thick thighs, heavybosom and nearly hip length ebony hair cut the figure of a sultry heiress, notthe powerful elemental mage hero. Especially how she’d chosen to dress tonight.More like her pirate companion, less like the mages he was used to seeing. Theblouse she wore was loose, the black leather cinch barely holding it up, occasionallyexposing the lush pale mounds bound in a bra band. She’d even worn a skirt thatwas well above her knee. Boots that came up to her thighs completed the look. “Maker,”he uttered before knocking the drink back in one gulp. It burned and tingled asit slid down his throat. Stronger than what he was used to but welcome at themoment.

“Refill?” she was on her knees, bottlein one hand, glass in the other. “Please.” He held the cup up, perhaps moreeager than he intended but it was becoming harder to ignore the urge buildingbetween them. An undeniable tension that had been building for some time. Pouringhim another and herself she waited for him to bring the cup up to his lips beforeshe moved. Stradling his hips she placed the bottle down on the table. “Cheers.”Tapping her glass to his she downed it in one go.

“Clara.” Cullen paused finding it hardto focus. “Yes Cullen.” She wore a wolfish grin as she flipped her hair backover her shoulder. “I think you’ll find.” Seeing his eyes widen, she let the shoulderof her shirt fall down. “That we have a great deal in common.”

Unsure what to do with his hands orhow to react he stumbled over his words. Much to the enjoyment of Clara. “Oh Cullen.”Looping an arm over his shoulder lazily she leaned up, pressing her chestagainst his. “Have I ever told you, that I like you. You’re different than theothers. More sensible. Charming even.”

“Cl…Clara.” Her shirt pooled low leavingvery little to the imagination. His voice cracked as he felt his mouth run dry.There was more than enough temptation, staring right at him and he had to admitthat he wanted it. Would have been more than content to lose himself in her.With her. Struggling to keep himself in line he tried again, “you asked me hereto talk. To, come to a consensus.”

“All business.” Clara frowned. “Fine,straight to it then.” Reaching for her waist she pulled her shirt up and overher head, tossing it back behind her. Seeing his pupils widen to slits of coppershe we amused. “I see we won’t have any issue coming to a consensus.” Takinghis glass and placing in on the table she took his hands and placed them on herhips. “Unless you wish to argue.” Gauging his reaction, she pressed on, pullinghis hands up her sides towards the hook and eye closure of her bra band. Runningher fingers over his she undid the clasp with practised ease. Cullen flinched,the reaction to catch the material more instinct then want. But Clara wasquicker, retaking his hands in hers she placed them on her hips, beginning theslow pull up her body again. “Mhmm, yes.” Guiding his hands over her ribs she broughtthem to rest upon her exposed breasts.

He was on fire, his whole body a flameas she leaned closer to him. Glancing down at her lips he prayed, hoping this wasn’tsome cruel joke, something Varric would tease him about later. When his lips pressedagainst hers, he let go. Her hands released his and he was free to act, hersoft whines and deep gasping moans more than enough to fuel him. Deepening the kisshis hands kneaded the soft flesh, his thumb encircling, teasing out more sinfulsounds.

Slowly she began to grind against him,her hands working to free his tunic. Breaking their kiss, she wrenched it overhis head and cast it away before diving back in again, eager for more. She doubledher effort to untie his pants, something he was eager to remove as well. “Takethem off.” Breaking away again she kissed his neck, nipping a few times, enjoyingthe grunting moan he uttered.

Barely backing away from each otherthey pulled off the remainder of their clothing. Clara paused, licking herlips, “damnit. If I’d know you were this perfect, I’d have asked for a consensussooner.”

“Come here.” Cullen grinned as he crookedhis finger towards her. “No more talk.” Rising from his seat he looped his arm aroundher, bringing her in close to kiss her again. His hands roaming over her bodyas she melted against him. Breaking the kiss, he nipped at her neck, her sighsedging him closer. “Sit.” She gasped as she pushed him back. Tumbling down tothe couch with him she laughed as they jostled for control. Cullen ended up onhis back, Clara beaming as she straddled his hips. Running her hand down hisabs she took him in hand, loving the way his stomach clenched, the air rushedfrom his lungs. Easing herself down, feeling him stretch and fill her, she slowlyrocking back and forth growing louder. Cullen eagerly touched her body, encouragingher to fuck him harder, faster. “Clara,” he moaned feeling himself getting closer.

“Fuck,” Clara’s movements becamerushed, the steady rhythm abandoned to a mad dash to the end. She half crumpledforward, the climax draining her energy as she mumbled, “Cul… Cullen… I…”

“I can’t…” Cullen was right there withher, the sensation of her orgasm, the clenching drag about him bringing him tohis end. She didn’t move, another shuddering wave slamming over her. Bothgasped as they collapsed into one another. Clara, toyed with the fine hairs pepperinghis chest, running her finger along the scars that flecked his skin. “I thinkwe have a consensus.” He couldn’t argue her point; the sex had been amazing andhe wasn’t going to turn it down. But there was one thing; it wasn’t anything more.There wasn’t some magical feeling of butterflies, or instant love. Nothing likethe stories, just satisfaction. A sense of complete satisfaction.

“Cullen.”

“Yes Clara.”

“We could, come a consensus more often,if you would like.”

“I have to be honest.” Rising to hiselbow he looked her in the eyes. “This is all it could ever be. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Clara laughedas she rose to clean and dress. “You could have lied and sold me a story. Iappreciate the honesty, it’s so rare in Kirkwall these days.”

“Maybe one day that will change.”

Snapping his hips forward a few moretimes Clara was keening out, her orgasm washing over her. Gripping her tightlyhe sped his movements up, his own end close behind hers. Burying himself as deepas he could he grunted as he spilled, hot and thick. “Fuck.”

“Mmm. I missed our little meetings.”Clara sighed as she pressed back off the desk. Cullen flopped back in hischair. “It… It doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.” Shrugging she pulled her clothingback together. “I leave in the morning.” There was an unspoken sadness he couldfeel coming from her. “Crestwood.”

“I know.” He nodded, brushing his handthrough his hair. “You can stay the night if you want.”

“Thank you.” Wearing a faint smile,she looked to the ladder. “It’s late, think I’ll go get comfortable.”

“Of course.” Cullen tied his pantsback on. “I’ll be up in a moment.” Watching her strut across the room and riseto the ladder he was aware that this might be the last time he ever saw Clara Hawke.Blowing out the candles he locked the doors. She’d come to him, one last timeand part of him wondered if it was the old habit or her way of saying goodbye.Trying not to think too much about what was to come he went to the ladder. “Onelast consensus.” Mumbling to himself he began the climb to his loft.

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tiny-maus-boots · 6 years ago

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Wild West AU pt 3

A/N: I dunno why. Blame @lilhan . There is Bechloe and there is Staubrey. If you’re not into one or the other or either please run far away. Thank you. I own nothing. Generic disclaimers. Please enjoy.

A/N: Parts 1 and 2 can be found on Ao3 thanks to my amaze bff @chloes-yellow-cup

Chloe reached out blindly in her sleep, her hand seeking the soft warmth of Beca’s body. After a moment she opened her eyes with a sigh and sat up to scan the darkened cave lit only by the gray glow of predawn coming from the fissure that made a fair enough window in the wall. Chloe pulled the Navajo blanket over her shoulders and padded the few steps to where Beca stood staring out at the horizon. Her skin was chilled when Chloe pressed their naked bodies together, wrapping them both in the blanket.

Beca immediately relaxed into her and Chloe nuzzled into her neck as her hands roamed over Beca’s belly and ribs. Her fingers traced the swell of Beca’s breast in a delicate caress. “You’ll catch your death standing in the chill like this.” The chuckle was barely more than a soft rumble but Chloe could feel the current of worry in it.

“I don’t know if it matters much Chlo. Either the law catches up to me, or I lose a fight, or I fall down dead of the pneumonia. Either way I’ll be finished.” It hurt something deeper than her heart to hear those words. Chloe stopped her hands from roaming, her breath caught in her throat.

“Don’t talk like that Beca. You know I don’t like it.” It wasn’t that she didn’t know this type of life would bring a very quick and likely bloody end. She had known that all along. She just didn’t like to hear Beca talk about what would happen if there was no reason to yet. “You’re just a lil shook is all. We’ve been caught before and we’ll probably be caught again if we’re not careful. But we ain’t been caught any place we couldn’t get out of so far. It’s not time to worry love.”

Beca turned in her arms and Chloe traced the line of her spine with calloused fingertips. Beca’s nose grazed along her jaw. The tension easing out of her slight frame with each deep inhale of Chloe’s scent. “What would I do without you, Beale?”

“You’d probably have a bunch of bullet holes in ya. Still be stuck in jail somewhere maybe.” Beca’s laugh tickled her neck and she sighed happily. This was everything, this was what she risked a nasty death for. Every blessed second with Beca Mitchell. She pulled back and rested their foreheads together, noses brushing lightly. “Bec…this is it. We don’t have to live this life anymore. We got what we needed, more than. Let’s just go Mexico and live like Queens.”

“That’s the plan baby. You me, Stace and Bree. But it’s the gettin’ gone that worries me. That Sheriff wasn’t planning on giving a fair trial. He wanted gold, all of it, and not because he wanted to return it to its rightful owners if you know what I mean.” Chloe gave a slow nod of acknowledgement and sighed. “Cox is gonna be after us for sure and I don’t want him to get his hands on you.”

Chloe brought a hand up and traced the bruised and lacerated skin at Beca’s temple. “I see that Sheriff again he and I are gonna have a talk about him putting his hands on you. And I promise he won’t like what I have to say about it.” Chloe meant it too. She’d just as soon shoot him dead as look at him. But Beca was right, he would be after them for humiliating him in his own jail alone but he had double incentive because he wanted the gold too. They were safe for the moment but eventually someone would find them, and everyone in the Caverns would be just as caught. Beca turned her head and kissed Chloe’s palm.

“Can’t argue with that. Son of a bitch wanted to cut me with my own knives.” Beca’s grumble of annoyance was damned adorable and Chloe leaned into a soft kiss, her lips brushing against Beca’s until they were both left just a little breathless.

“It’s too early to think on that. Let’s get dressed and see if we can get something to eat. The girls should be up soon.”

Beca gave a tiny snort as she extricated herself from Chloe’s arms and reached out for her soft buckskin leathers. “Not if Stacie has any say in it. You could hear ‘em clear across the chasm.” Chloe laughed as she buttoned up her rough cotton shirt.

“You know what it does to Stacie when she gets to blow things up. Besides, did you see what she got for Aubrey? A girl gives you a gift like that, you thank her for it. Repeatedly.”

Chloe watched Beca buckle on her knife rig as she buttoned up her pants and slipped her suspenders up to her shoulders. Beca laughed and leaned against the rough wall as she waited for Chloe to finish getting ready. “You know I’ve heard most women are partial to jewelry and pretty lace and silk fabrics. Since when is stealing a horse wooing a woman?”

“Since those particular women rob trains and appreciate explosives and guns.” Chloe finished buckling on her gun belt, her fingers trying the leather thong to each thigh quickly. Beca handed her a pair of worn boots and she sighed. She would admit that she might want a new pair soon enough. They could afford it. She stuffed them on hastily and stopped her feet a few times to settle them just right. Her thumbs hooked into her belt and she strolled along the behind Beca with an easy rolling gait. Beca stopped them at the rough cut stairs carved right into the cavern wall and pulled her close.

“We get across the border and I’m gonna get you everything you ever wanted Chloe. I promise I won’t make you regret choosing me.” That had never even been a thought in her head really. She had chosen Beca and never once looked back on what could have been. Chloe smiled gently at her mate and curled a lock of dark hair around her finger, giving it a playful tug.

“I never have and never will regret walking out of that church. Cutter was a good man, rich even but he wasn’t my heart and soul. You’re everything Bec, dirt poor or filthy rich you’re everything to me.” She loved the way Beca’s usually reserved smirk faded into a real grin at her words. The warmth between them doing a lot to ease the doubts they both felt about getting the hell out the territory. Chloe gave Beca a gentle nudge and started them down the stairs that lead to a larger open cave that branched out into several smaller side caves like one they had made a room in. “Besides, you promised me excitement and baby there is never a dull moment with you.”

They ducked down a long corridor lit by a few hanging lamps that flickered as they passed. Beca gave her hand a squeeze as they stepped into the main hall. Aubrey was already at a table cleaning her rifle with military proficiency, her tools and weapons all laid out just so as she worked. Beca slid into a chair keeping her back to the wall and Chloe dropped into the seat directly across from the blonde. “Morning sleepyheads. About time you got down here.” Chloe gave her amused grin and sagged back into her chair, casually hooking an arm over the back.

“We might have been up before dawn if we could get any sleep.”

“Sinners.” Aubrey gave them both a snide glance and set her Remington .22 to the side and picked up a pearl handled revolver, giving the loose cylinder a good spin, her lip curling slightly at something she didn’t like about the action.

“Oh most definitely but I was talking about you and Stacie keening like wildcats in heat.” A bright red flush crept up Aubrey’s neck and face and Chloe’s grin widened. “I didn’t know you still sang by the way. Stacie must really be something special.” Beca ducked her head and bit her lip to avoid laughing at Aubrey’s utter mortification. The second Beca let out even a hint of a giggle they would both be dead where they sat and they both knew it. Aubrey’s tolerance only went so far and that was changeable on any given day. The blonde opened mouth but shut it just as quickly, her head ducking so that a sheet of straight golden hair covered her face.

“Who sings?” Stacie deposited four tin mugs on the table and sniffed at the hot bitter coffee with a grunt. “Jesus, I swear I’m chewing on last week’s grounds.” They all looked at her and Stacie blinked back at them. “What?”

Beca cleared her throat as she reached for a mug and raised it up in thanks. “We were just talking about getting an early start today. You wanna fill us in on this plan of yours?” Chloe watched as Aubrey gave Beca a small shoulder bump of thanks and kept cleaning her guns. It made her heart tug with the sweetness of it. Stacie dropped into a chair next to Chloe and sipped at her coffee. A few other people shuffled into the room going about their business. The more people that came in the straighter Aubrey drew her back up until every movement and every breath was intensely aware of their surroundings.

Stacie watched the transformation letting her usually easy smile fade into a pensive frown. Chloe raised her brows wondering if maybe she wasn’t the only person that mourned the change in Aubrey around other people. The tall brunette shook off whatever she was thinking and leaned forward so they could keep some semblance of privacy. “You all know as well as I do that there is no way we’re moving that much gold in carts across the border. A load like that and we’ll be easy targets. A whole team of 4 to 6 horses will get there faster for sure but the weight on the cart going that fast on that kind of terrain is asking for a broken axle or two.”

Beca gave a slow nod having come to that conclusion herself and Stacie took a breath and went on. “I say we take a train. Safer from most bandits.” Themselves not included. Aubrey snorted softly at that and loaded her revolver, sliding the cylinder home with a final sounding click. It definitely wouldn’t stop the four of them from taking over the train.

“That won’t stop them from putting up a blockade when then realize what we done.” Aubrey was right even though she didn’t want to admit it out loud. The train would be the best way to move the gold but it was problematic in its own way. “Telegraph is even faster than the train, love.”

Stacie sighed and gave a nod. “I thought of that. But I think I have a half assed plan that might actually work if we can get the Swanson Boys to lend a hand.” Chloe groaned and sat back in her chair again. Of all the people in the world to need help from, the Swanson Boys were the worst. She hated every last stinking one of them, most especially Jesse.

“When you said you needed help I thought you meant from our girls. Not…them.” It was petulant and she knew it. They all did but they all cut her slack, Aubrey giving her a quietly understanding slight smile. No one at the table liked the idea of inviting the Swansons along and that was at least something.

Beca stayed quiet and brooding and Chloe wondered if she was just trying to process that. “We do need the girls. There’s no help for it. We need a team to do some distractin’ and we need a team to clear the train. I’d rather my own team doing the train work. We already know how we work together, done this before a dozen times at least. But we still need someone to keep that Sheriff off our asses while we do it. Katherine says she caught sight of a riding party a few miles out circling the ridge when she sent Emmy to town for some supplies.”

“That’s getting too close for comfort. If they see Emily coming back with the wagon they’ll follow her right to the Caverns.” Beca put her mug down and glanced at Aubrey who considered a moment before nodding.

“I can pick them off but if the horses bolt, and they will, they’ll carry the bodies back to town and if the Sheriff knew where they were searching then they’ll know where to start looking. Could kill the horses but that’s a waste of a good animal. And harder to clear and hide.”

Chloe grunted and shook her head. “Let’s try not to hurt the innocent.” The horses weren’t the problem. The posse party could get pretty close without ever discovering the entry to the Caverns, that was what made them such a good hiding place for people in their line of work. The Caverns were a semi-permanent installation because a person could search for years and never find just the right set of caves. But she didn’t want to test that theory with so much riding on them staying hidden for a while. “Maybe we can lead them away from this side?”

Stacie gave a nod and gestured to herself and Aubrey. “We can do that easy if they get too close. But they won’t even see Emmy coming. That’s the other part of my idea. I wanna show you guys something but I think it’d be best if we went our own ways and met up in a bit. At our spot.”

Beca and Chloe met each other’s gaze before giving a slight nod to Stacie. She was being intentionally vague in case anyone had overheard them. There were only four people in the world that knew what ‘our spot’ meant. It was the spot their lives changed forever. Their crew had gone their separate ways after things had gotten a little too hot a few years back, but the four of them had stayed together, choosing to work towards something bigger. They made a vow to each other, where one goes they all go. This was the life they had chosen together and in a way it bound them closer than anything else ever could. It made that location special and unforgettable to all of them.

Chloe nodded and knocked idly on the table top before standing and jerking her head toward the cook station. “I’m gonna go get something for us to eat. Sounds like we’re in for a bit of a hike. Bree?”

Aubrey slid her guns into their holsters at her hips and pulled her Stetson low over her eyes. “I think I’m gonna climb the tower and see if I can spot those riders. She nodded agreement and let her gaze drift to Stacie.

“What about you?”

Stacie leaned back in the stair and stretched all of her long frame out looking more like a large cat than a person for a second. “I gotta check my stock and take inventory. If Cox thought the jail was bad he ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” That left Beca. Chloe was loathe to let her out of her sight for too long. She wasn’t normally this clingy but despite what she said to Beca earlier, getting caught was a little too much. Beca had only been in jail all of three days but it had been the longest three days of her life. Her mate seemed to understand Chloe’s silent question and raised her head.

“I’ll help you get some grub together.” Beca stood and took a few steps toward Chloe before turning to face Stacie. “If you say you need them then I trust you. Just…keep him away from me. Or til death do us part might be sooner than we planned.” She turned and took Chloe’s hand, leading her through a few tables and chairs and as far from the idea of Jesse Swanson as she could get them. Chloe understood and didn’t push it, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. If worse came to worse…well…Chloe always suspected that Beca would make a beautiful widow.

#wild west au #pitch perfect #bechloe #staubrey #wlw #chloe beale #beca mitchell #stacie conrad #aubrey posen #i blame gay hands

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boycottphil · 7 years ago

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Sweater Frustrations

This is literally just something I wrote because I wanted to and adored the baking video.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1587

Contains playful banter, mild irritation because of an article of clothing, and some cuddling because why not.

It was orange, a colour neither of them liked. It was supposed to be. Pumpkins are orange, the sky in the late evenings is orange. Halloween is orange. Said offending item looked hideous. It wasn’t quite perfectly stitched together and one of the sweaters was a little bit wayward. But that’s okay, there was no shame in being a bit different, is there?

Dan stared at it with mirth glinting in his eyes. “We’re actually doing this, huh.” He said, more to remind himself than to remind Phil about what they plan to do in a few minutes. “It’s strangely beautiful. Kind of like the stuff we’ll be baking.” He added to his own rambling train of thought.

Phil picked the sweater… or is it supposed to be sweaters?... up and held it- them?- in front of himself to examine it a bit better. “It fits the theme we were going for with our kitchen.” Phil concludes, then proceeds to name the two spiders (or was it, technically, four?) that could be seen on the design of the sweaters. He doesn’t voice said names, as he is sure that Dan would not be too happy to hear “Maverick” and “Susan” as his chosen names. He didn’t tell Dan that every spider in their kitchen had a unique name.

Dan already knew, of course. It was hard not to hear Phil mumbling names under his breath as he put up the plastic decorations.

“That’s true. But also beside the point. How are we actually going to… you know? Get into it?” Dan picked up one of the sleeves, laughed in a muffled way, and let it fall back limply. “I mean I get the concept, but it’s gonna take a lot of awkward wiggling.”

“Yup. I hope you’re ready to be a bit too close to me for the next hour or so.” Phil teased, glancing briefly over at Dan with the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his lips. Dan would later remind him that he looks like a bratty ten year old whenever he does that.

Dan rolled his eyes, deciding that not replying to that would be better than to keep adding to what they might or might not experience. He took the sweater from Phil’s hands and slipped into his own half- the left side, because the challenge was not the “not-my-dominant-hand challenge” but the “using-less-hands-than-what-is-convenient challenge”. A brief thought flashed through his mind. What an oddly, oddly good thing that he is a lefty. For once in his life, he might not be the only one struggling, or causing the struggling.

Once Dan slipped into the sweater, he waited for Phil to get the hint that he would very much like to get this over with as soon as possible. “Well?” The younger asked, extending his right hand to keep the right side of the sweater from falling onto the ground.

Phil blinked owlishly, lost and confused for a mere second before he realised what he should be doing. He was spacing out, just a bit. He looked at the rather tight space he should fit into and wondered if this was a good idea. On one hand, he does not mind being this physically close to Dan, but on the other hand, they will be handling a stove and hot marshmallows and whatnot. If one of them goes down, they both go down. Or something equally dramatic.

After a bit of strange maneuvering (“Phil, duck- no, I told you to-” - “I’m sorry I just got a bit stuck and-” - “get your bloody arm through the sleeve, it’s not that hard!” - “yeah but I have literally no space to do anything!”) they finally had the horrific item on.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Dan swore, then ran his left hand through his already slowly damping hair. He would not look great after they were done filming. God. “You literally elbowed me in the ribs like five times there, dude.” He reminded the other, glaring at him with vicious fury that honestly might have been a bit of an overreaction.

“It’s your own fault for putting the thing on first! I think I told you that it would be smarter if the less coordinated of us put on the first part-” Dan groaned in protest, but ultimately did not add anything else to the argument. Phil was kind of right. “-and besides, you said you were afraid of putting it on second because you thought you would get stuck and suffocate or something.”

“That is not true at-”

“And I’m pretty sure you also mentioned being afraid of getting stuck in the dark.”

Dan shut his mouth. He might have hinted that morning that he dreamt of getting tangled in his own sweater and dying, but hey. That is just a normal Dan dream for ya.

“Whatever. Let’s just go film this thing.” He grumbled, leaving a rather satisfied Phil to awkwardly try and keep up with his stomping, child-like pace.

Around an hour to an hour and a half, they were done with baking. They were sweaty, sticky and they had elbowed each other so much and touched butts accidentally that if it happened any more, they wouldn’t even care. The next challenge would be taking the damned thing off. Honestly, who thought that making such a thing would be a good idea?

Although they wanted to blame their fans for suggesting such a thing, it was really only themselves they could blame for even thinking that that would be even a remotely good idea. Sure it was funny and it was a lot of fun trying to navigate the kitchen while one of them had too much energy and the other hardly knew how to walk without being tied to another person.

Next challenge: getting out of the sweater without causing more bruises to appear on either of their bodies. There’s enough on a regular basis without them even trying. Because they are too tall and run into furniture a lot, of course.

“Let’s actually do this with some sort of plan. So first… I take my arm out…” Dan said, trying to do exactly that and finding it rather impossible. “All right, let me try to…” he crouches down, but he only manages to tug Phil down along with him. “Okay seriously, how the hell…?”

“Should we just tear it apart?” Dan asked, tone serious, and it took everything in Phil’s entire body not to gasp and try to protect their sweater. “Okay, fine, no tearing apart.” He thought for a moment. “Your shoulders are less broad than mine, you try to go first.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work.” Phil said and tried to do so, he squished himself as close to Dan as he possibly could, but the material of the sweater was not stretchy enough or they were both a size too large for this abomination.

“No? Okay, maybe if we… sit down?” Dan slowly backed up, Phil following, and then lowered himself down onto the couch. “And now.. Dip your head underneath and…” Dan did so too, but really all they managed to do is look like a headless two headed person. Dan snorted, looking at Phil through the orange-ish glow that the sweater produced. “At least it’s warm?” He asked the older male, looking at him with a tired but rather happy expression.

“I mean, it is soft and cozy.” Phil agreed as he, too, leaned back on their couch and just stared at Dan for a moment. Such physical closeness did some things with his brain. They were both no strangers to cuddling, or the occasional… more-than-cuddling activity. This, however, was different. They were close whether they liked it or not, and something about just relaxing, his shoulder and arm brushing against Dan’s, made his chest flutter.

Dan must have felt the same way, as the brunette’s fingers found their way between Phil’s, a rare but content smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Dan rested his head on Phil’s shoulder, realising that in a moment or two, it would become really hard to breathe for both of them under the thick material, but he didn’t care enough. He was happy with how their video turned out, with how much fun they had, despite the stress of that week making it difficult not to sometimes hate each other.

“You didn’t fall off your chair.” Phil said in a gentle tone, eyes closed, the same sort of fond smile dancing on his lips as well. He could feel Dan shaking slightly with a laugh he tried to mask as anything but a laugh.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” was all he could add, finding it equally as amusing. “I think I like it better this way. They’ll have less black-mail material in the future.” He added as an afterthought. His thumb began to rub small circles into Phil’s palm.

“I think this entire video will be black-mail enough.” Phil added with yet another chuckle.

Dan could only snort and nod weakly in agreement. Phil turned his face to peck Dan’s forehead. Dan left a kiss on Phil’s left shoulder, lips lingering only enough to sweeten the moment. They stayed like that for a while, in their little cocoon, basking in each other’s presence.

“...We still have to figure out how to get out of this thing.” Dan reminded, looking up at his partner briefly.

“Shut up, we’re having a moment.” Phil whispered and gently scooted even closer to Dan.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #daniel howell #phil lester #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #fluff #mine #fanfiction #short #dnp

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 7 years ago

Text

Dead Men Tell No Tales, Part II

Long Live the King

It is on his thirteenth birthday that the lessons begin.

Sweat, thick and hot, sticks to his back, clings to his shirt and mats his hair. He charges forward again, wood thudding against wood as he circles his instructor. The man’s face is stern, unhurried; his body relaxed. His gaze flicks down, appraising him, checking his stance, and Izana can hear the Stand straight. Don’t let your opponent know that you are tired.

He corrects and then surges forward once more. The man side steps easily, knocking his blade down and almost glancing his ribs with the edge of his sword.

Tsk. Careless.

Gritting his teeth, he spins on his heel and pulls his torso back in time to dodge a strike at his belly. Izana glances at the space between them, the distance favoring his instructor’s larger reach. Holding his blade close to his body, he runs forward, stepping into the circle of his opponent and feigning a strike before moving in tight.

The tip of his sword presses to the soft underside of the man’s chin.

The slow sound of one man clapping echoes through the room as Lord Haruka’s lip twitch, dropping his sword and holding both of his hands up in surrender.

Izana pants, exhilarated, and looks up at the man for approval, but Haruka’s attention is no longer on him.

Haruka disengages, bowing deeply at the waist. “Your Majesty.”

Izana spins, eyes wide and he twists his sword behind his back. “Father!” he bows.

King Kain smiles benevolently, tucking his hands behind his back and Izana drinks him in. It’s been such a long time since he saw him this close and his memories lack the luster of reality. The King’s clothes match his hair, sharply tailored and so pristinely white that it hurts his eyes; a single gem dangles from his ear, glinting in the light.

“My, my,” he begins, his words wrapping around the room, commanding the very air as a monarch’s voice should. “It feels like only yesterday you were but a seed I tucked away in your mother’s womb. Look at you now.”

Izana’s chest puffs and he bows deeper, his arms straight at his side. “Thank you, father.”

“Your Majesty,” Haruka begins and Izana deflates at the tone. “What brings you here?”

Kain laughs. “Can I not come see my son the day he becomes a man?”

And just like that, the ire is gone, replaced once more by bubbling pride.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He can hear the rustling of clothes and Izana comes to standing, shoulders thrown back and eyes politely forward.

“Tell me,” Kain rumbles, looking him up and down. “How fairs he with the blade?”

“He is progressing well,” Haruka replies and Izana starts. From the way the Marquis scolded him, one would have assumed he thought the opposite. “A little too impulsive still, but soon he will be one of the best in the country.”

Kain hums, scratching at his beard. “One of the best, you say?”

Izana bites the inside of his cheek, if only to hide the immodest smile threatening to crack his lips.

“While you are here, Your Majesty,” Haruka’s voice has taken on a slightly harried tone. “About our issues on the Northern borders-”

“Not now,” Kain replies, waving him off. He motions to one of the footmen hiding in the shadows. “Bring me my sword.”

“Of course, Sire,” a soft voice replies.

“My Liege,” Haruka presses, “we have only recently reached a standstill between our two armies and the relationship with Sama is still tenuous. I propose that we send ambassadors northward to--”

“Yes, yes,” Kain replies, shrugging his overcoat from his shoulders. His footman is at his side, taking it from him and placing his sheathed sword in his outstretched hand. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Izana stares at the gleaming metal gripped in his father’s palm, encrusted with jewels and inlayed with mother of pearl. Such a beautiful thing hardly looks battle ready.

At his side, Haruka lets out the slow, tempered exhale; the type of sound that only shows itself when he was particularly vexed with his or his brother’s behavior. Izana frowns, tilting his head to look up at him out of the corner of his eye.

“The Marquis just gave you high praise indeed,” Kain grins, leisurely stepping closer and Izana’s turns his attention back. Kain gestures dismissively and he can feel the Marquis pause before leaving his side. “Are you proud, boy?”

Izana nods once and hopes that the heat he feels on his face isn’t showing. “Yes, father.”

Kain laughs, pulling the steel from the scabbard. It is smooth and shines like rippling water. “Of what?”

Izana’s eyes go wide as metal flashes, quick as lightning. His body reacts before he does, tucking and rolling away. When he lands on his hands and knees, he looks up, his heart pounding and scrambles out of the way just as a second strike comes for his head.

“Sire!”

“Your Majesty!”

“Silence!” Kains booms, and then his voice lowers again; becomes gentle, cajoling, almost playful. “I’m trying to teach my son.” He smiles at Izana, signaling towards his blade with the tip of his. “Raise your sword.”

Air moves violently out of his nose, but his hands obey, shakily twisting the practice sword in his hand from behind his back and entering a defensive stance.

His father is too fast. Izana raises his blade skyward, blocking a high bow so strong it rattles his bones. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the sharp edge of his sword imbedded in the wood of his own.

Kain leans in close, so close he can see his pores, so close he can smell his breath. “What good is being one of the best if there is one better?”

Izana’s heart skips a beat and he raises a foot, levering his father off of him with a strong heft and Kain laughs, smiling as he stumbles backwards. He raises his blade again.

“Sire!” Haruka breaks in between them, his naked hands held up in supplication. “You cannot do this. He is your heir and your legacy.”

The sword flies again, coming to a stop right at Lord Haruka’s neck. A thin trail of blood stains the collar of the Marquis’s shirt. “If you cannot follow orders, you will be too headless to worry about Samese advances let alone my legacy,” Kain growls.

Haruka stands with such absolute stillness, Izana is not sure the man is even breathing.

“I am honored that the King has chosen to educate me in these matters,” he steps forward, his voice cracking under the terror as he pulls the Marquis back by his sleeve. He glances meaningfully at the blade in his father’s hand. “Although rules of swordsmanship say that I should be met by equal force. This is- it is unfair.”

Kain chuckles, but lowers his weapon. “You are to be king one day. Nothing about your life will be fair.”

~ ~ ~

It was on the night of his thirteenth birthday that she began to visit his chambers.

The steam rolls out of the baths as he enters his main room, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Groaning, he looks out the window into a clear night sky and rotates his shoulders, grimacing at the way it stings.

“You shouldn’t move it like that.”

Izana starts, turning on his heel and his hands reach towards his hip instinctively. Across the room, a woman, adorned with a white jacket and cropped blonde hair, sticks her hands in her pockets and looks upon him thoughtfully.

“Who are you?” he demands, crouching, ready for an attack.

She smiles, and he sees now that she is a bit older, her eyes more cunning than the women he was used to. She graces him with a brief bow of the head.

“My name is Garrack Gazelt, Highness. Her Majesty sent me from the pharmacy to check on you.”

~ ~ ~

It’s a week later when he next enters the training room, stretching his arms skyward as he looks around the empty space. He drops his limbs and frowns. It was unlike the Marquis to be late.

“Lord Haruka won’t be joining us,” a far more familiar voice echoes through the room, and dread pools where once joy elated.

Izana’s hand clenches around his sword, but he scans the area carefully until he finds the King in a restful repose against one of the columns.

“Why?” his voice shakes. “Is he busy?”

His father smirks, pushing himself forward. “You might say that.”

“Where is he?” Izana questions, his eyes locked on the naked blade resting in the King’s hands.

“I sent him on an errand up north,” Kain replies. “Seeing that he was so concerned the last time we talked.”

The air flies from his lungs. “That was- that was unnecessary. Surely he is of more use here.”

The King smirks, raising his sword to the light, twisting the blade to and fro and making the metal gleam. “Tell me, boy,” he asks lazily. “What does it mean to be King?”

Izana blinks, his mind racing towards his readings for the right answer. “You serve the people,” he recites. “You protect them as if they were your own children.”

The King grunts, dropping his blade from the light and pivoting towards him. “Which people?”

He pauses, thinking it over. “All of them.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Kain replies, his face openly skeptical. “You are proposing to save all the murderers, liars, and traitors with the same hand that saves clergy, scholars, and diplomats?”

“Yes! Well, no,” Izana shifts, suddenly unsure.

“Spare the rod,” Kain croons.

“…spoil the child,” Izana finishes reluctantly. But then he steps forward, earnest. “But I hope to be a King that—”

“Hope?” Kain laughs, and Izana flushes. The King advances, raising his sword once more. “How is hope going to stave off the armies of the North or prevent the nobles from fixing the market so that the commoners starve for lack of grain? How is hope going to negotiate trade with Tanbarun or catch you a good match for a bride?”

He clenches his fists. “I think--!”

“Better yet,” he interrupts just as the hilt of his sword catches him in the center of his chest, hard. Izana doubles over, gasping in pain, feeling as he’s been cracked open. The room spins and he falls forward, catching himself on his knees but his torso hitting the ground. Kains shadow looms over him. “How will you protect this kingdom if you can’t even protect yourself?”

Izana stares at the stonework, wide eyed, and flinches when he feels the tip of a boot nudging his ribs.

“Pick up your sword, son. You have much to learn.”

~ ~ ~

She’s pretty, he decides as Garrack leans in close to wrap the bandages around his ribs. Her hair is short like a boys, and her clothes are thick and baggy, but there is no hiding the grace of her feminine curves, the sparkle of her eyes when she smiles. Plus, she smells good.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

Her eyes flicker to his. “Further west,” she replies. “A little hamlet just this side of the Tanbarun border.”

“Is that your story then?” he inquires, glancing down where her shirt gapes when she stands astride him to grab the bandage and pull it around once more. “You left behind everything for a life in the big city and a chance at seducing the eldest prince?”

Garrack pulls tight on the bandage and it feels like his ribs are crushing his lungs. She smiles brightly at him. “Something like that.”

She’s also ruthless.

He glowers. “Which part?”

Garrack is quiet for a moment. “I wanted to follow my dreams,” she admits, and even she must know how ridiculous that sounds for a twinge of pink graces the tips of her ears.

He snorts.

She glares at him. “Don’t you have dreams, Highness?”

“They’re stupid,” Izana mutters, watching her hand wrap around his forearm. “And a waste, besides.”

Garrack rolls her eyes, twisting his limb at an awkward angle until he feels the muscle pull pleasantly. “To you, maybe.”

“And what was this dream of yours?” he asks. “Don’t tell me your nursed every farm animal in town and decided you wanted to help people, too?”

She surprises him by taking his question seriously. “That is part of it,” she replies with a nod, adjusting her hold to press more firmly. “But everyone nurses livestock back home. I became interested when I realized that I was good at figuring out what caused it.”

“Then why did you not stay at your place of birth? Run a clinic there?”

“Not challenging enough,” she grins. “I would have been on my second child by now if I stayed, and I much prefer puzzles to screaming babes.”

“Sounds nice, though.” He rotates his bandaged wrist when she releases his arm. “More comfortable than this place. You should think about going back.”

Garracks expression is sober when he looks back at her and in her eyes he sees steel stronger than any weapon that came from the royal forge. “I want to follow my own path. I wouldn’t be in this place if I didn’t wish for a different life.”

~ ~ ~

It’s raining outside, but they are warm, cloistered in the corner of his mother’s sitting room. A fire crackles behind the gate of the fireplace, light flickering onto carved marble scenes of woodland creatures amongst evergreens. A fawn stares at him from behind the trunk of a tree, its eyes wide and innocent in a world set ablaze.

“Brother, you’re not listening,” Zen complains, tugging at his sleeve. “What is this word?”

Izana blinks slowly, dragging his vision back to the boy seated upon his lap. He follows Zen’s small hands, past the illustrations of fire breathing dragons, endangered princesses and valiant princes to the delicate scrawl of a calligrapher’s pen.

“Honorable.”

Zen scrunches his nose. “What’s that?”

Izana sighs, running his hands through his hair and thinks. “It’s a person who does the right thing even when the right thing is not easy.”

Zen perks, seemingly taken with the idea. “And the honorable prince saves the kidnapped princess from the bad guy?”

Izana smirks. He can only imagine the trouble that he is going to cause his nursemaids armed with this knowledge. “It would appear so.”

Zen looks up at him, his face bright and enthusiastic. “Then that is the type of person I’m going to be when I’m a man!”

Izana stares down at his little brother and feels… irrationally angry at such a stupid idea. He would be dead by twenty if he followed such a path. Izana opens his mouth to tell him such, but finds his words stuck between his teeth. Taking a breath, he tries again because he wants- he wants to tell him how foolish that goal is, how unwise. He wants to tell him that the world has no place for idiotic men who risk their lives for people with no value and he doesn’t even know.

And yet…

And yet.

Izana pulls Zen close and rests his chin on his crown. “I’ll do what I can to help you reach that goal,” he promises.

Across the room, his mother catches his gaze over the edge of her book. She doesn’t say a word.

~ ~ ~

Wood splinters off of steel, cracking and splitting. When his sword finally snaps, flying across the room, Izana doesn’t have time to follow it. He dodges, rolling and grabbing the abandoned scabbard of the King’s sword. Turning, he braces it between both of his hands and holds it high. The clang of metal rings in his ear.

He backs away, using the sheath to block another blow. It is much easier to defend himself with this dented metal than it is a wooden stick. Coming up onto his feet, his stance becomes firm and unyielding, the scabbard a shield that saves him again and again, sparks flying as easily as flower petals.

Izana sees an opening and pushes forward with all of his weight, driving his father’s own sword towards his neck. His offense, however, leaves him too open.

Kain drops one hand from the hilt of his blade and Izana realizes his error when he sees a gloved fist inches from his face. This time, he doesn’t have time to feint.

It’s what he imagines getting kicked by a horse must feel like, here one moment and across the room the next. His teeth rattle, bruise ribs jarring from the impact, and his head hits the stonework of the arena’s ground with an audible crack. The taste of copper is cloying on his tongue.

Distantly, he hears laughter. Peeling himself off the ground, he touches the tender point on his scalp and it comes back bloody. Wetness drips from his nose and down his front, and his hand closes into a fist. He glares.

This only makes the laughter louder.

“Very good,” the King smiles, hovering above him. “You finally got the nerve to look me in the eye.”

For the first time since these lessons began, he feels himself burning, not with the fear of failure or the terror of disappointment, but with rage. He looks away.

A large hand strikes out, gripping the hair at the top of his head and yanking. Izana grits his teeth, scowling, but doesn’t speak. His mouth is too filled with blood.

Kain whistles. “Your eyes. They are very clear. Like your mothers were when I met her.” He releases him with a shove. “Let’s see how long they stay that way.”

~ ~ ~

“Open your mouth a bit wider,” Garrack says, reaching in a cloth swab to touch a foul tasting gelatinous mess to the length of the cut along the inside of his cheek. When she is done, she gently touches the bottom of his jaw, signaling that he can close it once more. “Try to not eat anything that requires too much chewing for the next few days. I don’t want you irritating your mouth any more than you already have. And put ice on it regularly.”

She looks worried. She’s been worried since she arrived, fussing over him when she is a woman that does not fuss. He does not look forward to looking in the mirror. “You could find another way to heal my mouth,” he grins, his words sounding odd around his swollen tongue.

She graces him with the flattest look he has ever seen. “I don’t play with little boys.”

He face falls. “I’m not a little boy,” he protests, his hand raising to prod a sore spot on his face.

She stops him. “Yes you are,” she replies, pushing his hand down to his lap. Her palm is soft. She removes it far too soon, turning to collect her supplies and his heart sinks a little.

“One day I’ll be the most powerful man in the land,” he replies, eager to pull her into a fight, to keep her here a bit longer. “I could gift you with anything your heart desires.”

She snaps the closure of her leather sachet shut. “You think you have something I want?”

“I know I do,” he snaps. “Anyway, is that any way to speak to your future king?”

Garrack raises her brow, tossing his shirt towards him as she heads to the door with a careless wave of the hand. “If you keep it up with these injuries, you won’t make it that long.”

~ ~ ~

The force of the blow knocks him to his knees and he looks up. Kain hovers above him and smiles, all teeth.

“So,” he pants, his voice lilting in a friendly manner that bodes no good will. “I hear you have a pretty little blonde friend visiting your chambers these days.”

Izana’s eyes widen – a tell, he knows – and he quickly averts his eyes, locking them blankly on the space over the King’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he replies, letting himself fall back out of the range of a strike.

Kain’s gaze follows him, his smile becoming sharper. “No need to be shy. You are at the age where you should get started on that.”

“I would prefer to keep the matter private,” Izana responds, coming to his feet.

Kain’s blade circles, flashing dangerously. “Dresses a little oddly for my taste, but she looks like she would be quite a pleasant fuck with those long legs of hers.”

“I thought we were fighting?” Izana says, his stomach rolling as he moves in to strike.

Kain deflects it easily. “Tell me, is her cunt as tight and sweet? It must be for her to be tending to you so often.”

He swallows down the bile that wants to rise up. “It’s nothing,” he replies as they circle one another. “She provides a service. That’s all.”

“Indeed?” Kain grins, his voice lowering. “Maybe I should call her to my chambers one night. Ask for a demonstration of how thoroughly she cares for my son.”

Izana swings hard.

“O-ho!” he yells, excited. “That’s more like it.”

They advance on each other, fast, vicious, hard, and splinters fly in his face. Izana feints, the flat of his blade reaching for his father’s belly.

But his father feints, too, closing in and meeting his knee deep to his gut. Vomit spews from him, the sword falling uselessly from his hands.

Before he can crumble to the ground, stunned by pain, Kain catches him. His breath tickles his hair.

“Careful, son. Don’t let people get too close.”

~ ~ ~

It takes several minutes after the King leaves for Izana to roll over onto his back. It takes several more for him to gather his wits enough to peel himself from the floor, to use his practice sword as a crutch to pull himself up.

Should it hurt to breathe so?

He leans against a pillar, looking down at the splattered mess he made on the ground and experiments with standing up straight if only to get away from the smell. Taking test steps towards the door, he lets the sword clatter to the ground. Let others pick it up. He just wanted to get back to his chambers without causing any alarm.

The hallways are empty, servants swept aside and into the shadows, but he can feel eyes on him. He is grateful, at least, that his clothes are relatively unstained this time, his face blessedly unmarked. Clenching his teeth, he moves silently, carefully, schooling his face as if this was normal. As if everything was normal.

He makes it halfway to his chambers before he pauses, winded, and takes a moment to collect himself by a bust of one of his glorious ancestors. He can’t remember how this one died; was it by disease or war?

There is a rustling noise and he turns his head slightly to see a tuft of white peeking out of the bushes on the other side of the balustrade. He would laugh at his brothers poor attempts at espionage if it didn’t hurt.

Gingerly, he makes his way over to the other side of the hall, slowly lowering onto a sun warmed bench. Settling himself, he lets his weight fall on his wrists and he leans his head back on his shoulders, studying the space where the ceiling begins and the sky ends.

“Why are you following me?” he finally asks.

The bushes are silent.

“I suppose if you don’t wish to come out, I could always call for your nursemaid. I’m sure she’s looking for you.”

Vegetation rustles and snaps as Zen pulls himself up over the railing and landing with a thud at his side. Izana’s jaw twitches, the jarring of the seat jarring him. Maybe he should ask Garrack to check his ribs tonight. When he looks down, his younger brother’s arms are crossed, cheeks flushed and a petulant frown puckering his lips.

Izana sighs, bringing one of his hands to rest atop Zen’s head. “Why are you hiding? Did mother scold you again?”

Zen twists out of his grip, pushing his hand away for good measure, and mumbles something under his breath. He’s a quarrelsome thing today, it seems.

“I couldn’t hear you,” Izana presses, patience thinning. “Speak up.”

Zen picks up his head, turning towards him with angry, tearful eyes. “Why does father only see you?”

Izana’s eyes widen, and for the first time in his life he finds himself at a loss for words. “H- he wants to teach me… about being King,” he replies eventually, not knowing what else to say.

Zen’s pout becomes more pronounced. “It’s not fair.”

At the edge of his vision, there are stars. He takes a deep, steadying breath. “It’s best that he does not call for you.”

“Why?”

Because he will break that tender heart of yours.

“Father is… not well,” he says instead.

Zen shoots up to standing, hands clenched into fists so tight that they shake. “That’s a lie!” he accuses. “You only want to keep him to yourself!”

It’s an empty feeling that fills him, leaving his chest cold. He reaches for his brother. “No. Zen. You don’t understand. I-”

Zen takes off running, the sound of his boots echoing through the hallways.

Izana can only watch.

~ ~ ~

“You’re quiet tonight,” Garrack murmurs, wrapping his wrist with a bandage.

He carefully studies the paneling of his windows. “I’m just… tired.”

She hums, sympathetic, tying off the end. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll finish here and leave you to rest. Don’t wash off that poultice until the morning and I can stop by before I head to the pharmacy to show you how to hide the bandages.”

His chest feels hollow as she reaches for her bag to pack up. He doesn’t want her to leave. He wants her to stay here, to tell him about her potions and poisons and whatever pandemic she was studying as if he were a small boy being told a bedtime story. Without thinking, he reaches out, wrapping her wrist in his palm. It feels so delicate under his hand.

She goes very still. “Highness?”

His thumb runs across the inside of her wrist, marveling at the way her pulse jumps under smooth skin.

Maybe he should keep her here. He could protect her if he kept her here.

Tsk.

Izana starts laughing, bringing his free hand up to hide his face and he lets her go. What a wretched thought. What vile, selfish poison had been unleashed in his blood?

“This is ridiculous,” he laughs, shaking his head. He tilts his head towards the ceiling if only to soothe the stinging of his eyes.

Garrack expression is bewildered when he looks at her.

“I am to be King one day,” he says as if that explains anything. “I am to be King and yet I hold no power.”

Her face softens and she reaches out, fingers as gentle as the brush of a birds wing resting on the curve of his bare shoulder.

“You do,” she replies quietly. “You’re just not wielding it.”

~ ~ ~

It’s as if he is walking to the gallows with each heavy step towards the training room, his ribs still aching beneath his heavy vests and the overcoat that he could not be bothered to wear properly. His father’s arm is overbearing where it drapes his shoulders.

“The Lords of the South, along the island chains: you should not trust them,” Kain instructs, steering him. “They have never truly assimilated into the heart of this country.”

“What should be done about it, then?” Izana inquires weakly.

“Nothing. For now,” he replies. “They’ll come crawling to us once the pirates that vex Tanbarun decide to expand their territory. And once they do, we can upset the people’s confidence in their leaders to establish more friendly nobility.”

Izana frowns. He finds that highly doubtful. “But are the people of those islands not capable sailors and warriors?”

Kain smirks. “If they were, would they find themselves under the Clariness flag?”

His misgivings deepen. While it was true that the Yuri’s had fallen under superior fire power, they had also lost few of their fighters in comparison to the devastating casualties dealt to the Clarines army. He suspected that their surrender had less to do with incompetence and more to do with strategy.

“That one,” Kain mutters, his voice becoming displeased. “He’s always watching me.”

Izana looks up just in time to see the flash of burning white and royal blue in the sunlight before it disappears around the corner. He sucks his breath through his teeth.

“I don’t trust it.”

Izana would be frozen still if he wasn’t being pressed forward. “Zen is simply curious about you,” he manages.

“Curious or scrutinizing?” he inquires, staring at the path his youngest son just took.

“He’s a child.”

Kain glances at him, reaching up to fluff his hair roughly. “He’s a child now, but I see the way he considers me. There’s mutiny in his blood.”

Izana’s heart pounds violently in his chest. “He has no desire for what you have, father. I promise you.”

“And what about what you have?”

His breath leaves him in a nervous rush. “I assure you, what he wants of mine cannot be stolen.”

Kain laughs. “My son, I assure you that it can. It is impossible to claim that one isn’t mine when he looks like that.”

Izana bites his tongue.

“One day that child shall grow up to be a man. And that jealousy in his heart will take hold.”

He shakes his head. “Zen has no desire to rule this country.”

“He is, as you say, a child,” he murmurs, his voice dropping low. “But a man’s desires are different. I found that out myself when my own dear brother tried to take a knife to my throat while I slept.”

Izana’s brain stutters. “He tried to kill you?” he chokes.

“He claimed it was for the good of the country,” Kain continues conversationally. “I strangled him for the offense with my own two hands. Dragged his body and tossed him out the window to save him the embarrassment of losing to his kid brother. He had always been a sensitive thing, crying easily and charging into situations without thinking—it took little to persuade the investigators that it had been an accident.”

It is a conscious effort to keep breathing.

“I did it for the good of us all in the end,” he nods. “You will find that there comes a time when every monarch must learn what it is to put their country above themselves.”

Izana looks up at him, wide eyed. “How was that good?”

“Two sons cannot be allowed to become a men at the same time,” the King comments blithely. “Therefore, you must leech the bad blood before it infects the rest of the body.”

His vision darkens around the edges, breathing tight. He- he killed- his father killed— His father wanted him to—

Kain tugs at the end of his ponytail, lifting his arm to walk ahead.

“You should to cut your hair,” he remarks idly as he disappears into the training room. “You look like one of those heathen Kings from your mother’s country.”

~ ~ ~

A cool breeze comes from the north, signaling the intended departure of summer. He feels numb to it, lifting his teacup to his lips and tasting the bitter ash on his tongue. In the garden, Zen chases a hummingbird under a perfectly clear sky, his fretting nursemaid following closely behind.

In his heart, there are a million blights.

“There will not be many more days like today,” Haruto murmurs, her eyes fixed upon the delicate stitching of her embroidery.

Izana turns towards her and feels something like softness warming his chest. At least he has these moments for now; Zen awash in his innocent laughter, safe and sound; his mother wrapped in her serenity, hair spilling over the back of her chair and coiling on the ground like liquid gold.

“It is a shame that all of these flowers will soon wilt,” he replies.

Haruto’s hand pauses before pulling the stitch in a smooth movement. “All things must come to an end, my son.”

Those were odd words coming from his mother. Her love for the year round beauty of the Lyrias hothouses was unparalleled. “Won’t you miss them though?”

A smile graces her lips. “Sometimes flowers need to wither and rot away to come back stronger and more beautiful in the next season.”

“What flower are you hoping to thrive in the coming spring?” he inquires before grinning with a cunning thought. “The wisteria, perhaps?”

She doesn’t laugh like he hopes. Instead, a frown creases her smooth brow.

“Tell me,” her eyes flicker, a butterfly’s wing of shimmering blue before darting away. “What do you know about wisteria?”

He blinks. “It’s… a flower?”

She smiles faintly, working her needle through the linen. “Yes, and a beautiful one to look upon. But the gardeners despise it. They do everything in their power to ensure that it does not take root.”

Izana frowns, his eyes dragging from her to scan the gardens before them. Not a single purple blossom cascades from a lattice or overhanging branch. “Why is that?” he asks, absently reaching for a cucumber sandwich.

“Because it kills everything it touches,” Haruto replies, the sharp silver of her needle disappearing once again. “It takes hold of everything. Flowers. Bushes. Giant Oaks. And it strangles them once by one.”

His hand freezes. When he looks again at his mother, her face is serene as ever.

“It’s an affliction on the land,” she continues casually. “It is so hungry that it is never satisfied; constantly reaching out, wanting more space, more land as its own. So great is it’s selfishness that it will destroy the very thing that feeds it in order to gain its goal.”

His mouth is dry so he swallows, but it does him no good. “Is there anything that can stop it?”

“You have to rip it out at the root,” she replies, snipping the thread. “Scorch the Earth from whence it came.”

~ ~ ~

“Call me Izana.”

Garrack pulls a face. So undignified. He’s never met a woman like her in his life. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t appreciate that, Highness.”

“My father doesn’t have to know what you call me behind closed doors,” he replies, hissing when she dabs a cut above his brow with alcohol.

“I would rather not,” she replies, keeping her eyes averted as she reaches for her pouch once more.

He frowns. Following her movements, he watches as the collar of her shirt stretches for a moment and just catches the edge of yellow haloing a circle of purple and red on her fair skin. Without thinking, he reaches forward, pushing her lengthening hair away from her neck and tugging at her shirt. Her hands, firm and unexpectedly strong, push him back in surprise and he looks up to meet her wide, almost panicked, eyes.

His voice does not shake. “Where did you get that?”

Izana watches as she washes her face of her shock, once more becoming immovable stone. “It’s nothing, Highness.”

“Where did you get it?” he demands again.

She is silent.

“Garrack. Please tell me.”

She doesn’t look away. “You know where. And you needn’t ask how.”

He feels sick again. “I- I-”

“Don’t go making that face,” she says, rising up and tugging at the hem of her shirt to right herself once more. “I’m not a foolish girl that came into this Palace without weighing the risks. This world expects women of knowledge to pay their way with more than innovation.”

He looks up at her. “I won’t let it happen again,” he swears.

Her shoulders dip and she gives him a crooked smile. For a moment, he thinks she might be laughing at him if her expression wasn’t so soft. “What else is there to be done? As long as the King breathes, my will is his.”

Steel takes the place of the last soft dwelling in his heart. Taking a deep steadying breath, he tilts his head to look upon her once more.

“…and what if I were to wield my power correctly?”

~ ~ ~

It is dawn when he sees them off, Zen cradled and half asleep in their mother’s lap. Izana draws the curtains of the carriage shut so the bright morning light doesn’t shine upon his face.

“I have been in communication with Lord Haruka,” Izana says quietly, reaching beneath the seat opposite to draw out a blanket. He fans it across them both. “He says the way to Wilant is clear of snow and they have hardly any reports of bandits. It should be a relatively pleasant trip.”

Hurato gazes upon him, placid. “Will you not come with us?”

He can’t meet her eyes, cannot show her how he might waver if he stays in their presence much longer. “I have much to tend to here.”

She takes a deep breath and Zen stirs before nuzzling close to her once more. “We could delay a day or so more,” she says, softer. “I have long wished to show you the libraries.”

Izana shakes his head. “The task I have before me is too great. It is best if you go ahead.” He smiles, but it is forced. “You can show me the libraries next time.”

Her hand reaches out from under the blankets, cool and seemingly frail as it falls upon his face. “And what task might be so arduous that your face has clouded so?”

Izana meets her gaze, his blood chilling the marrow of his bones. Her eyes are clear as a winter’s night, entire universes shining in their depths.

“Gardening.”

~ ~ ~

He waits.

He waits until a day has passed, and then two. He waits until the hallways grow silent and heavy with their absence and then he waits a day more.

Patience. For them. They had all been so patient.

They had been waiting for him.

Waiting for him to grow up.

Waiting for him to learn.

Waiting for him to look upon this world with eyes not of a child.

Izana draws the scissors across the across the base of his scalp, a strange sense of finality washing over him when the weight of his hair falls into his hands.

They needn’t be patient any longer.

~ ~ ~

The heavy doors of the office part easily and the cold chill of an autumn morning pours in through an open window, cutting through his clothes. Izana looks upon a room he scarcely knows, towers of leather bound tomes casting shadows upon the great maps tacked upon the walls.

At the center of it all, the King is bowed over his overcrowded desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal thickly veined forearms. Ink stains the side of his hand.

“What brings you here, son?”

It’s odd. Like this, his father seems almost like what he would expect. Like this, he seems almost the man he once wanted to be.

Izana takes a deep breath and steps forward, laying a pillow with his shorn hair in the center of the desk before the King’s work. Kain’s hand stops mid-stroke, bushy eyebrows rising and he glances up, his face slowly brightening as he takes in the gift and then raising his eyes further to confirm.

He drops his pen and leans back, clapping once. “That’s my boy!”

The praise still thrills him and he is sickened by it, but Kain is too busy glowing to notice. He pushes himself from his chair, coming around the desk to clap him on the back. Izana smiles vacantly at him.

“Now you are starting to look like a King of Clarines!” Kain proclaims with a hearty laugh, ruffling his now short hair. “I’m glad that you are taking my words seriously.”

“Of course,” Izana doesn’t look away, keeping his face still and pleasant. “I am but your dutiful son.”

Kain’s laughter trails off, staring down at him curiously. He sucks his teeth. “But surely you are here to do more than just show me your obedience?”

He heart thumps once, loud and deafening in his ear. “I was wondering if we might have another lesson, father.”

~ ~ ~

((Garrack’s voice is low, quiet enough that not even the walls could not hear if they deigned to listen. “You must do this very carefully. It is easy to turn it against you.”

“Of course.”

She reaches into her bag.))

The training room is blessedly empty, the sound of their boots echoing off the high ceilings. Here, too, it is chilled, the doors and windows left open nearly year round and their breath fogs in the cavernous space.

Kain shrugs off his overcoat, hooking it on the corner of a door. “Have you given much thought to what we spoke of last?” he inquires, rolling back his cuffs.

Izana grabs his practice sword and then goes to the store where they keep the King’s sword. “I wish only to do what is best for the nation.”

Kain laughs.

Izana crosses the room, holding the weapon by its scabbard and extends it with a formal bow.

He watches the moment in which his father’s hand wraps around the hilt.

((“It’s extracted from Melrose spiders,” she informs him, holding the clear vial up between gloved fingers. “For it to be effective, it has to come into contact with bare skin.”

He reaches for it and she slaps his hand away.

“Be careful!” she hisses.))

Metal flashes and chips at the wood, large hunks already carved out of his only defense. He flies, circling fast, and Kain chuckles, breathless, attempting to keep up.

“Is this a match or a game of catch?” he jokes.

Izana smiles, eyes remaining steadfast on the King’s face. At the edge of his vision, a dark splotch slowly spreads over his father’s hand.

“I thought I would try a new technique.”

((“It will cause localized necrosis,” Garrack continues. “You will notice it immediately. He will not. Hopefully. The poison numbs the skin at the point of contact in most cases.”

“Most cases?”

Her lips twitch. “On rare occasion the poison burns.”))

“You’re… you’re getting fast,” Kain pants as Izana easily dodges a blow.

“I’ve been studying a great deal in my spare time,” he replies, deflecting the King’s blade far too easily with his own.

“I see that,” Kain coughs, pounding his chest with his free hand before surging forward.

Izana steps out of the way and Kain stumbles forward, his cough turning into a loud and wet retch. A ragged groan echoes through the room and he rests his hands on his knees, panting.

((“It will enter the bloodstream quickly, going straight for the heart.”

He nods.

“It will not be an easy death.”

“Good.”))

Kain pulls his undamaged hand away from his mouth and it is stained black.

Wheezing, he turns slowly, blinking to clear his vision and Izana feels the first hints of winter having slipped into his chest.

He smiles.

“Son,” he gasps, voice hoarse and dry. “What have you- what have you done?”

“Is this too strenuous for you, father?”

((“Won’t the pharmacy notice this is missing?”

She smirks. “Who said this is from the pharmacy?”))

Kain falls to one knee, his sword clattering to the ground and he sways violently. Izana rushes forward to catch him, cradling his head as he leans back to settles him on the ground.

The King’s breath is violent, gasping. Slowly, he reaches his hand towards Izana’s shorn hair and he winces away from the wretched stench of decaying flesh. The skin is sloughing off, revealing muscle and he thinks the edge of a bone. Kain sees it, too.

“Little coward,” he grins, staring at his outstretched hand. His teeth are black now, too. “Coming at me with a woman’s weapon.”

“I do what I must for the good of the many.”

Kain’s breath becomes faster, diseased hand clutching at his vest and staining the fine embroidery. “You… truly are… your mother’s son.”

“I’m glad,” he replies quietly.

Kain laughs, a hysterical sound between gasps of air until the poison finally closes his throat, and he chokes, eyes bulging and hands clawing fruitlessly at the air before him. Izana watches, petting the edge of his father’s hairline as veins stand out on his forehead, face turning red, and then blue, and then purple. Vessels burst behind glazed eyes, his body twitching, turning, smothered by his own cursed flesh.

And then he makes one last horrific noise before going still, a monsters smile on his face, staring blankly at nothing.

Izana lets him go, running a palm across his father’s face to close his eyes for the last time.

It’s over.

It’s just begun.

He calls for help.

~ ~ ~

The cry rises up across Wistal Palace, across the Capital, through the mountains and down to the sea.

The King is dead.

. . .

Long live the King.

#bubbleswrites #akagami no shirayukihime #murder muffin series #izana #triggers:#graphic violence #abuse #death of minor character on screen #vulgar language #reference: i'd put Zen at about 7 years old in this fic #ans #fanfic

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cishetuppermiddleclasswasp · 8 years ago

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World Building June #9: Religion & Cosmology

Welp, this is a bigg’un, which is why it’s under a cut! :D (written in collaboration w/ @aitu)

Church of the Hanged

The original major faith in Ortstreit believed that their royal line was descended directly from gods and were, thus, gods themselves. At a certain point, the people forgot their heavenly gods and began to believe that their kings and princes were the only gods worth worshipping. When the army of the Church of the One killed the last King and his son, this was taken as proof to many that they were never gods at all, and maybe the new religion was worth looking into.

The Church of the One, also known as the Church of the Hanged, is founded on one very simple tenant: there is only one god, known as the One, and anyone who claims otherwise are either deluded or lying. Each year, a hundred or so children and young adults come to the independent Holy City at the center of the four states to offer their lives to the Church. There, they might be trained to be priests, sent martyriums to become monks, taught to be scribes, or else enlisted into the Order of the Noose, a holy order of knights and soldiers dedicated to the defense of the Faith and all of Ortstreit. Before the great War of the Faiths ended, the Order of the Noose (whose members are often known as Hangmen while civilians are known as Ropers) had a lot more to do. Nowadays, they are most often sent to the uncertain borders between Yachssid/Altamesa and the Elven Empire to fight off the encroaching elvish threat. They are heavily monitored by local forces because, while the elves are obviously the biggest threat to the various nations on the continent, the War of the Faiths is only barely outside living memory.

There is a little controversy that springs up sometimes; while it is very common for people to beseech their patron martyrs for help in earthly matters, it sometimes comes a little too close to prayer for the comfort of most priests. The martyrs are meant to be intercessors, not gods in their own rights.

Blood Cult

In the northerly snow-covered badlands of Yachssid grows day by day a religion dedicated to their god of blood, Hemos. While they are not of any mind to dismiss other gods outright like the Church of the Hanged does, they do very much believe that Hemos is the one most worth worshiping. They see him as the god of blood, obviously, but attendant to that are other titles: the god of life (including birth and, ahem, menstruation), the god of love, the god of passion, the god of joy, the god of war, god of anything that can even be remotely connected to the very concept of “blood”. Consequently, the members of the Cult of Blood are more well-rounded and well-adjusted than one might think when the phrase “Cult of Blood” is uttered. The priests of their faith are the best medical professionals one can find, especially concerning bloodborne illnesses or problems involving the heart or circulatory systems. The holy texts of the Cult of Blood, the Sancto Sanguinis, is not available to outsiders, and even within the faith priests are the only ones to handle the sacred pages. As such, some skeptics have posited that the texts are in actuality advanced medical tomes, explaining the priests’ high level of medical expertise, though the priests themselves maintain that it is naught but the holy powers of Hemos flowing through their lowly earthly flesh.

Priests of the Cult of Blood are readily identifiable. Each one wears russet-colored plate armor under a surcoat of white with a crimson border around a red teardrop shape. The armor is often covered with large spikes, as deterrence. When asked why a priest would need to be armored, the response is something to the effect of, “to let none of our most holy bodily fluids escape from our imperfect, penetrable skin.”

As a religion centered around blood, they have very strong opinions regarding anything involving blood or bloodshed. Death by exsanguination is the worst way to die, in their view, as those who die of blood loss are cut off from Hemos’ holy fluids; thus, it is often used as a punishment for only the most dire of crimes. And while there has never been a verifiable report of a vampire, the superstitious belief in them is widespread throughout Yacchsid due to Blood Cult priests raising hell over the very concept, seeing evil bloodsuckers around every corner. Though on that note, deaths due to disease carried by parasites such as mosquitos, leeches, or ticks are often much lower in areas with high Blood Cult membership, as vampires aren’t the only bloodsuckers the priests despise.

Death Dyad:

In years gone by, there were probably many, many gods ruling over the Côte d’Rois. However, over time, all were forgotten but two: Lord Warren and Lady Mortimer, the mated god and goddess of death. While they remain primarily death gods, they have each absorbed some aspects of the wider forgotten pantheon as a matter of course. Lord Warren is a bipedal boar-man, like a minotaur in body makeup but with a human torso and arms. His body is battle-scarred and muscular, with one eye clouded over from an old injury. Lady Mortimer is a tall skeletal woman with the head of a vulture. She once had two wings and two arms, but her lover, Warren, tore off one of her wings and arms in a fight; in the same fight, she clawed his eye out. While her body is without flesh, there is some meat within her rib cage, everything else being bare bone. These two gods are paired in that each of them reigns over an afterlife dedicated to a different kind of death. Lord Warren is King of Violent Death. The people of the Côte d’Rois believe that, if one is murdered, a victim of manslaughter, or killed in battle, that person will go to Warren’s afterlife where they are free to fight without consequence or to feast without guilt, warm in eternal sunshine. Lady Mortimer, for her part, is Queen of Nonviolent Death. If a person dies of illness, of old age, in an accident, in childbirth, etc., then they go to Mortimer’s afterlife, where they are given eternal rest and relaxation in cool, comforting darkness.

Though recorded accounts are few and unverifiable, there is a belief among the faithful of the Côte d’Rois that if one dies before their time with an act or work of great import left undone or unfinished, that the god and goddess of death may see fit to grant the deceased a second, temporary lease on life as an undead revenant; this is called “The Last Dance”, because once the revenant has fulfilled their purpose for their undeath, they’ll return to death. Now, this gift is believed only to be granted in extraordinarily special circumstances, and Warren and Mortimer are said to require an agreement between them both that the cause is indeed noble enough to have earned it. While the gods were once deeply in love, it is theorized that the loss of their other godly compatriots, caused by a mortal loss of faith, pulled them apart. Now it is difficult for them to come to a decision together. This means that one ‘trial’ for a soul’s return to earth could, potentially, last years, decades, or, if one legend is to be believed, even centuries. Revenants are, as such, usually depicted as well-dressed skeletons or half-rotted horrors.

Orc Goddess Triad:

The basic tenants of the Threefold Temple are that the earth, sea, and sky are each controlled by and manifested by an orcish goddess with four arms. The earth goddess is eternally pregnant, warm, and maternal; her animal aspects are the cow and the bear. The sea goddess is raucous, playful, and unpredictable; her animal aspects are the dolphin and the shark. The sky goddess is the oldest and wisest of her sisters, but can be stormy and cruel at times; her animal aspects are the dove and the eagle. The Threefold Temple is named thus because each temple is led by three priests, each dedicated to a different goddess. These priests (or priestesses--the triad can come in any combination of genders) are bound together for life as siblings, and romantic/sexual relationships between members of the same triad is strictly forbidden. That being said, if a sea priest from Village A wants to marry a land priestess from Village B, that isn’t a problem. It’s only within an individual triad that these things are problematic. The priests’ main purpose is to intercede between their congregation and the goddesses; they pray to the sky for rain when it is dry; they pray to the earth for a good harvest; they pray to the sea for safe passage across her body.

There is a faction group of the Threefold Temple known as the Elementarians, who abhor the personification of the land, sea, and sky. They believe the faith should go back down to its base elements; rather than worshipping a goddess who CONTROLS the sea, they choose to worship the sea ITSELF, and so on. They are iconoclastic by nature and generally seen as poor sports and wet blankets. While virtue names such as Grace, Chastity, or Service are common enough to most Aetherrackian communities, Elementarian influence can be felt in the more… “unique” names, which often incorporate whole phrases. “Fear-The-Sky’s-Holy-Wrath Smith” is more likely to be from an Elementarian family, than “Charity Jones.”

As previously mentioned, the Threefold Temple (and the Elementarians, as a result) believes in reincarnation. The mainline Temple believes that the cycle of reincarnation can stop if one lives extremely morally; if one does enough good, their chosen patron goddess will select them after death to live forevermore in their respective resplendent queendom. The Elementarians, on the other hand, see an end to the cycle of reincarnation...through sin. If one is immoral, or sinful enough, they shall be plucked from the cycle of reincarnation by the land, sea, or sky and punished accordingly. The sea will make them into a grain of sand at the bottom of the deepest oceanic trench, the pressure of the ocean pressing down upon them. The sky will turn them the sinner into a single droplet of rain, trapped in the water cycle to be endlessly dropped, drunk, pissed out, and evaporated again. The earth will make the sinner into a rock to be trod upon forever. The Elementarians are a rather dour, judgemental folk as a result of this outlook.

Dwarves/Dark Elves

The dwarves say they have a thousand gods. This is inaccurate. They have a god for every kind of rock or mineral, spanning from precious diamond and gold to humble talc and flint. What these gods actually DO is anyone’s guess. Dwarves are a self-sufficient folk. They probably just like being able to say they have a thousand gods.

Elves:

The Elves of Enduria have a somewhat foggy sense of faith. If you asked an elf on the street what elves worship, they might answer, “Elves,” and you still wouldn't know where they stand, exactly. That is because some elves, usually rural or older, practice ancestor worship. This was once the status quo. If your crops wouldn’t sprout or your wife wasn’t becoming pregnant, you would you would pray to those who came before you for guidance, peace of mind, and luck, because they had gone through it all before and had usually survived just fine. Usually you would pray to your grandmother or grandfather, or else to a famous relative in your line. However, more ‘modern’ or city-dwelling don’t see the point in worshipping those who have died because, supposedly, there’s no good reason for elves to die at all. Instead, these elves worship elvishness itself--they see their very being as the utmost of grace, beauty, wisdom, longevity.

Altamesan pantheon that we haven’t covered

Boy. Those Altamesans. They got gods. They’re pretty mysterious, though. So mysterious even we the writers don’t know who/what they are.

General nature worship (fauns and satyrs + nymphs)

#worldbuilding june #world building june #the parkererin dnd project #dungeons & dragons

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