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delicrieux · 4 years ago

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—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”.

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing. word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie: y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!”

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

queen rly went from 🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing.

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.”

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall.

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets.

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout.

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #myso #make you say oh #imagine #imagines

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auramindedd · 4 years ago

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I Like You - SMAU*

Part 10

CorpseHusband x FemReader - Y/N

warnings: cussing

notes: uhhh,, idk where to take this series, but ima just go w the flow igs 😭 also,, i completely give up on adding the small details like the likes, comments, replies, and the times on tweets so i’m super sorry if it bothers you lmao

it’s also pretty long,, mostly writing rather than the smau, butttt i really like this one 🥺

——————————————————————————

“When’s Rae gonna be home?” Corpse asks, playing with his hands.

“She’ll be home tonight, I just don’t know at what time. Why?”

“Uh... I- I just... I don’t know? I’m kind of nervous?”

“Corpse, Rae is your friend. But if you don’t feel comfortable, I can get a hotel room for you not too far away from here?” You suggest, 100% willing to pay for a hotel room for him if he wouldn’t feel comfortable being here with Rae here.

“I wanna stay here- with you... If that’s okay with you, of course.” There’s a slight blush on his face, it makes you smile a bit.

“Yes, I want you to stay here, too. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” You grab his plate, stacking his on top of yours, taking them to the sink.

“No, no. I can be on the couch tonight, I don’t sleep anyway.”

“Corpse, I’m not gonna have you sleep on that uncomfortable ass couch. Come on, we’ll figure something out. Wanna watch a movie?” He nods his head. You grab his hand, or more so his fingers, leading him to your room.

You turn the lights off, turning your fairy lights on instead. You tell Corpse to get comfortable, fluffing pillows for him, letting him lay back.

You know Corpse would be a bit anxious and nervous, not something you’d ever blame him for. You’re surprised you’re not being awkward or nervous. You’ve been trying your best to keep Corpse comfortable here, making sure he isn’t getting too nervous.

“Can we watch High School Musical? I have the stupid ass songs stuck in my head, childish me is coming...” You ask, not wanting to torture him with such a movie. Well, it’s not a bad movie, but you’d understand if anyone’d want to shoot themselves in the head while watching.

“Of course, baby.” You can’t help the butterflies that erupt in your stomach from the nickname. You sit closer to the TV, wanting Corpse to be comfortable rather than you.

Suddenly, you feel a hand around your waist. Corpse pulls you to him, letting you lay next to him. He looks at you, smiling. You smile back.

“Corpse, can I ask you a question?” He hums, indicating for you to go on. “That one time, you didn’t answer me for two days... You told me it had been because I was too ‘pretty.’ I didn’t believe you, and I still don’t. Why didn’t you answer me, like for real?” You don’t ask this in a bad way either, you’re just genuinely curious.

“I- uh... I’m going to be 100% honest, Y/N, but I don’t wanna scare you away.” He says cautiously, hesitating to go on.

“Corpse, you could never. I’m too attached already.” He chuckles, letting out a sigh.

“I like you. Like, like like you... I liked you before even seeing your face, but after, wow.” Silence. Deafening silence. But honestly, you can hear your fucking smile. You don’t think you’ve ever smiled so hard in your life. “Y/N, baby, say something, please.”

“Corpse,” You look up at him, probably scaring him with your smile. “I like you, too. Like, like like you.” He chuckles, but it’s more of a chuckle of relief. If that’s a thing?

He pulls you close to him, letting your head rest on his chest. You listen to his heartbeat, his breathing, trying to match yours with his. You slowly drift off, your eyelids getting too heavy to keep open.

———

You wake up in Corpse’s arms. He’s gently stroking your side, looking down at you with a small smile.

“Good morning,” His voice is raspier and deeper than it already is. You didn’t know that was possible.

“Good morning,” You say, yawning softly. You bury your face deeper into his chest, snuggling closer to him.

“So fucking cute.” He mumbles, softly chuckling.

After a while of just laying there in Corpse’s arms, you decide to check social media and your messages. Already, Twitter is going crazy, assuming quickly that you and Corpse are dating. It’s not anything you didn’t expect, but it’d be nice if people didn’t jump to conclusions.

You decide to tweet a good morning, feeling good about today. And sadly, very unfortunately, you decide to text back the group chat - something you’ve been dreading to do.

Corpse is there, reading the messages, but you don’t mind.

You kind of, accidentally, and very stupidly put yourself out, but it’s all good, nobody said anything besides Brooke. You all have a drunk Among Us lobby to get to.

After getting ready, Corpse getting his laptop and mic ready in another room, you join the Discord call. Corpse joins quickly after. Surprisingly, nobody says anything about you two being in the same apartment while greeting each other. You don’t doubt that someone will say something soon.

“Let’s all take a drink - to Corpse and Y/N holding hands!” Alex exclaims, clinking his glass on his mic. The rest cheer, pretending to clink their glasses as well. You sigh and laugh a bit, but nonetheless, you’re gulping down a glass of champagne.

“Alex,” You say, catching his attention.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey. No fucking.” Karl says, and you can hear him slap his hand to his mouth after realizing what he just said. The lobby bursts into fits of laughter, but the one you’re trying to listen for, Corpse’s. It’s silent on his end.

“Karl, how much have you had to drink?” Dream asks, slurring his words. Didn’t this game just start?

“I had like 3 beers?”

“You fucking lightweight.” You tease. “Dream, you’ve been drinking too...”

“Yeah, we might’ve pregamed an Among Us game.” He admits shamefully.

“Didn’t expect less from you two,” Rae says, adding a disappointing tone to her voice for effect. She starts the game, despite the sad protests from Karl and Dream.

Crewmate.

You pout, wanting so badly to be Imposter. You’re a good liar to say the least, and people easily fall for your sweet, innocent voice. It’s funny, pathetic even, which is why you want at least one good Imposter round.

“Whaddup, baby,” Corpse greets you in Nav. Dream follows behind him, Karl coming in shortly after.

“Hey, my beautiful alcoholics!” You greet cheerfully, earning groans from them both. Oh, how fun it’s going to be teasing them.

“At least she called us beautiful.” Karl says, walking out of Nav with Dream, leaving you and Corpse alone again. You get back to doing your task, connecting the ship with the dotted lines and whatnot.

“Am I beautiful?” You can hear the pout in his voice, it’s cute.

“Gorgeous, stunning even.” You say before walking out of Nav, smiling to yourself.

This round is pretty uneventful, along with the next few. But after about five rounds, you’re all incredibly drunk after playing some drinking games.

“No balls,” Rae dares. You’re Imposter this round, and Rae’s made you her personal hitman. She’s telling you to kill Karl, but he’s innocently doing his tasks.

“I have three actually.” You defend yourself, not making any sense at all.

“Three what?” Sykkuno comes in.

“Three balls,” Rae answers.

“Okayyy then...” Sykkuno drawls, leaving you two alone. Corpse comes along, the second Imposter. Oh, how convenient.

“Hey, Corpseee,” You greet, making it so fucking obvious.

“Oh my God!” Rae exclaims. You sigh, facepalming yourself. “Corpse kill Karl, Y/N kill Sykkuno.”

“Woah, since when did we become your hitmen?” Corpse backs his astronaut up.

“I’m not killing Syk!” You whisper-yell.

“Okay, then you kill Karl and Corpse can kill Sykkuno.” You can hear her shrugging as if it’s no big deal, but literally, Karl and Sykkuno are the sweetest people to you.

“No, I’m not doing it, Rae...” Corpse still hasn’t said anything. He’s watching you and Rae go back and forth, whisper-yelling even though anyone would be able to hear you.

“I’ll call you two out.”

“You’d never,”

“The emergency meeting button is looking real sexy right now.” Ugh, fuck the stupid smirk you can just hear in her voice.

“Fine, we’ll do it.” Corpse says. He goes and kills Sykkuno. You hesitate killing Karl, but he already watched Corpse kill Sykkuno so, unfortunately, you have to.

You and Corpse run away, leaving Rae to report the bodies.

After you and Corpse vouching for each other the whole round, nobody putting sus on you two because well, you sound so innocent and sweet even while being shitface drunk, you two win, earning groans from everyone in the lobby except from Rae.

“To be fucking fair, Rae had me and Corpse be her hitmen sooo, you can blame her if you died.” The lobby starts yelling playfully at Rae.

———

After finally finishing streaming, Corpse comes into your room, plopping down onto your bed.

“Gosh, I’m gonna have the worst fucking hangover tomorrow.” He murmurs into your pillow, hugging it close to him. You jump onto the bed, sitting next to him, playing with his hair. He doesn’t mind, or you don’t think he does.

“It was fun,” You say, smiling to yourself. You love spending time with your friends. You can’t imagine how much fun it’d be if all of you got together in real life.

“It was,” Corpse yawns, looking up at you, smiling as you keep playing with his hair. He gets up, settling himself into your bed again, pulling you into him, letting you rest your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around him, snuggling yourself closer to him.

“We should probably eat something... And get ourselves some water.” You say, knowing that tomorrow’s hangover is going to be a bitch.

“I don’t wanna let go of you.” Corpse whines. You try getting up, but he almost throws a fucking tantrum. Quickly, you get out of his arms, running out of your room, giggling like a fucking maniac.

“Y/N! Please!” He shouts softly, trying not to wake Rae. He runs after you, following you into the kitchen. You run to the other side of the counter. He goes left, you go right - vice versa.

“Corpse, we need food and water.” You say, trying to grab pans out of the cupboards while he’s trying to get you. You can’t help yourself from giggling. Rae will kill you if you two wake her up.

“I wanna hold you,” Corpse pouts. Gosh, he’s going to be the death of you.

“In a sec, I can make us something real quick.” Drunk Corpse obviously equals Clingy Corpse.

“Fine,” He sighs dramatically, sitting on a stool. You grab pans from underneath the cupboards, pulling out some bread and cheese. Grilled cheese is easiest and it’ll take the least amount of time.

As you’re plopping bread into the toaster, Corpse snakes his arms around your waist, snuggling his face into your neck. There’s the slightest stubble, making you giggle.

“Corpse, I can’t cook with you on me.”

“Yes you can, I’ll help.” So stubborn...

You take the bread out of the toaster before it gets too toasted, putting it on the buttered pan.

It was a mission to finish the food to say the least. Corpse demands you eat in your room that way he can hold you. You put on The Promised Neverland, watching the TV as Corpse watches you. But honestly, you don’t mind.

You two fall asleep in each other’s arms again. And you don’t think you’d ever be able to fall asleep without being in his arms again.

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Taglist - comment or message me to be added.

Sorry for not updating, I have to go through a bunch of posts. I’ll update in the next post.

* if you’re name is in bold, i couldn’t tag you. *

@letsloveimagines @liljennyx3 @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @blackheartemojivibes @lo-manburg @walkingonchairs @strawberrydonkey @tayloryorkscurls @bluepancakemix @prettylittlealiengirl @yeetmymood @victoria-a567 @loraleiix @moonlightsimp @jades-bullshit @teenloves @greenie-of-shield @fanworrior @thefvckvp @bigdaddysatan @mirahg @rosy-feels @arossebyanyothername @kitsamii @lollipop0605 @happyyyandcrazyyy @maraudingmarauder @stickystrawberrysyrup @majasophieanna @ilovejjmaybank @starstruckllamapuppy @owl-llie @thurstyforholland @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @in-fucking-deed @a-dot-dev @rjsmochii @boiled-onionrings @neenieweenie @vvenusblue @bellomi-clarke @smiithys @londonskies @16marie @leah-0207 @officiallyunofficialperson @wineandionysus @fanficlover99

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Tags - ignore::

#corpse #corpse fic #corpse husband #corpse husband fic #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse husband smau #corpse husband social media au #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband scenarios #smau #social media au #imagine #among us #cute

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confused-stars · 3 years ago

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Kurogiri’s Nanny Service - Part Three: Monoma

(part one) (part two)

It's a comfortable rainy afternoon, and three kids are huddled over a pile of wallets, watches and jewelry on the floorboards of Kurogiri's bar.

Keigo's small wings are puffed up in pride as Himiko admires a bracelet, rhinestones shining in the dim light when she turns it this way and that.

Tomura seems more invested in the wallets, going over the business cards and such with interest, and piling off the money and credit cards separately from the rest of the treasures.

He pauses to stuff a bill into his pocket, and Takami, who is sprawled out in a nearby booth, pries one eye open. "If you wanna have sticky fingers, you gotta be more subtle about it, brat."

How he noticed is beyond Kurogiri entirely. But it's been a point of contention how terrible Tomura really is at stealing. Or any kind of subtlety. He was never trained for that, with his sensei always telling him to just take what he wants by force, but he gets frustrated that Takami seems to catch him every time.

Keigo pouts, even as Tomura puts the money back. "C'mon, To, that's my hard earned haul! You don't even need money."

Tomura rolls his eyes. "Neither do you, beakface. Kurogiri would take care of your stuff, too, if you asked him."

Keigo's hand flies up to his nose and he makes an affronted noise.

"Not how that works, baby bunny," Takami interjects, "Villains don't wanna owe debts. Even to their friends." He gives Kurogiri a glance. " 'specially to their friends."

Kurogiri meets his gaze evenly. "Does that mean I can expect you to pay your tab today?"

Takami throws his head back and laughs as if that was the funniest joke he ever heard.

The children giggle, too.

Traitors, all of them. How is he ever going to make honest villains out of them like this?

Kurogiri decides not to complain about it, because he's the adult here and he'll act like one.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He knows better than to ignore it, so he glances at the text he's received. It's just coordinates. That's nothing unusual. In fact, it's more common than getting sent actual words as instructions.

"I have to go," he says, already creating a portal in the air.

The children don't even react beyond small noises of acknowledgement. They're already more than used to this, too.

It's only Takami's eyes that bore into the side of Kurogiri's head as he steps through the portal, sharp and predatory. He's been asking questions about the man in charge of Kurogiri and Tomura recently. He's suspicious.

Kurogiri is not allowed to tell him more than necessary, but he understands the concern. Takami is bringing his child here, after all.

And the concern might not be unfounded - Keigo is passionate and clever, already skilled at pickpocketing, and his quirk is incredibly useful and versatile. If he weren't considered a possible future asset, Kurogiri doubts that All for One would be allowing this to continue. He's always been strictly against Tomura socializing with other children his age, or anyone at all. And now he's allowing both Keigo and Himiko. Not to mention the fully grown, dangerous villain. Tomura has never been happier, never been more stable. There has to be some kind of plan at work here that Kurogiri can't see yet. Some kind of additional angle.

The portal vanishes behind Kurogiri; that strange tension of using his quirk, of stretching it out like a well-trained muscle, dissipating at once.

He's standing in a nondescript room that he's been to many times to pick up objects to transport, or have a meeting with All for One outside of his main base of operations. Sometimes they keep prisoners in here.

This time, though, it's empty save for All for One and a small child.

Kurogiri immediately feels part of him soften, even as his guard goes up.

The boy looks to be maybe Himiko's age, six or seven, with neatly combed, blond hair and startlingly grey eyes that look awfully familiar.

"Introduce yourself," All for One says in that gentle tone he usually reserves for Tomura alone.

The child bows politely. "Hello. I'm Monoma Neito, it's nice to meet you." His words and tone are carefully formal, but there's a slight clumsiness in the way he speaks. It's, frankly, adorable. And nothing Kurogiri is used to. None of his children have manners.

"I am called Kurogiri," he replies, "It is a pleasure to meet you as well."

"Are you made of that stuff?" Neito asks pretty much immediately once the very basic niceties are done with. He waves his arms at Kurogiri's form to indicate what he means.

It's a good thing Kurogiri is used to Himiko. And the other children's bluntness, too, to some degree.

"... for the most part," he replies, and then gives All for One a questioning look.

"Neito is my grandson," his master explains, and Kurogiri can't find it in him to be shocked. They do look similar enough. "His parents are out of town on most weekends," All for One continues, "So I offered your services."

Kurogiri wants to sigh. He's not actually a nanny. Is he? If even All for One is treating him like one, he might as well put up a sign. (Tomura hardly counts, Tomura is his boy.)

"Of course." He bows his head. Neito seems well-behaved anyway, it shouldn't be much trouble.

___

Fifteen minutes later, there's a small boy hanging off of Takami's wing by his teeth, and Kurogiri has very little recollection of how they got here.

"I hate your job," Takami laments, shaking his wing with very little gentleness in an attempt to make Neito let go.

Kurogiri reaches out to hold his wing in place, and Takami freezes.

"I... apologize. I was under the impression he was a little better behaved than this." He gently nudges Takami to sit down, his wing spread out, and Neito ends up finally letting go once his only other option is to end up sprawled on the floor.

"You can't just bite people!" Himiko chides, "Even if it'll feel nice, it won't be nice for them."

Neito breathes, then shakes himself. "Your quirk is weird!" he complains.

Kurogiri nods in sudden understanding. All for One told him about this, before he left them to their own devices.

"Neito, you should not copy someone's quirk without knowing what effects it will have on you. Or at the very least you should test it in a safe environment."

Neito crosses his arms. "This is safe."

Kurogiri sighs. "Yes, it is, but you still didn't give a warning. The adults that are taking care of you need to know when you're experimenting, so we can keep you from getting hurt," he explains.

"Or ourselves," Takami grumbles.

Neito huffs. "Fine." He doesn't apologize. Kurogiri doesn't make him. He somehow doubts All for One would approve of that - he never apologizes for anything, after all.

The wing Kurogiri is still holding onto pushes against his hand.

Kurogiri glances at Takami, curious, but the thief is very pointedly avoiding his gaze.

He always tells Keigo he's 'too trusting' when he lets the other kids touch his wings, and Kurogiri has never dared to. Much less touch Takami's. It just happened on instinct this time.

The wing pushes against Kurogiri's hand again. The upper edge of it feels strong and warmer than Kurogiri expected. The feathers here aren't particularly soft when Kurogiri runs his hand along them. Not as soft as he imagines the down feathers to be, anyway.

Not that he's going to try to find out. That would be wholly inappropriate.

"You're cold as fuck," Takami complains, but he's not at all pulling away, and Kurogiri continues, trailing his hand down lower to the longer secondaries that make up most of the actual wing.

"My apologies. It's my quirk." Must be. His quirk is highly complicated and has more layers to it than he can count. Sometimes he gets strangely upset that he's not able to give Tomura warm hugs. Not that Tomura enjoys physical contact much, anyway, but Kurogiri feels like he should be able to give him some warmth, and his body under the ever-wavering vapor is cold as a corpse's.

"Your quirk sounds like a pain in the ass," Takami murmurs, "But at least it looks cool."

Kurogiri chuckles. "I'm flattered you think so."

"You got a real face under there somewhere?" Takami cranes his head back to eye Kurogiri skeptically. "Your hands feel solid enough."

Kurogiri gives a half-shrug in answer. "There's... something underneath. But I don't know what it looks like. The mist never fades."

"Mysterious... hey, can you pull out that crooked feather over there? 's itchy as all hell."

The preening thing is another family activity that Kurogiri has avoided so much as commenting on in the past. Now, he carefully tugs at the feather that's standing out from the rest of them, until it comes loose and Takami sighs in relief.

"Yeah, fuck, that's better."

"You said fuck," says Neito, behind them, and Kurogiri nearly jumps. He hadn't thought the children were paying any attention to them right now.

"Twenty minutes to corrupt a child, you're beating your own records," he says dryly to Takami, who cackles and reaches out out ruffle Neito's hair, but the boy steps back and frowns at him.

Neito is very well-kept, and Takami is kind of... well, grimy. And scary-looking. Kurogiri doesn't blame him.

"Aye, and I'll say worse words, so you better get used to it, li'l chompers."

Neito's nose crinkles when his frown deepens.

"Don't tease the child," Kurogiri scolds, feeling not for the first time like he shouldn't have to take responsibility for Takami, the thirty year old adult.

Then again, he somehow doubts that anyone taught Takami manners during his own childhood.

"Hey, why can't I be chompers?" Himiko complains, tugging at Takami's other wing like there's nothing to it. Her hands are probably sticky with something, as usual, but Takami doesn't move away.

Maybe he's not that terrible with children.

"Ah, 'cause you wanna be. It's no fun when you like the nickname," Takami explains, picking her up and plopping her down into his lap.

"I actually really like mine!" Tomura says from atop the bar.

Takami snorts. "Once we teach you decent thievin', next point of order is makin' you not be a shit liar."

Tomura huffs, crossing his arms. "I don't need to know how to lie. Sensei never lies."

That gives Takami pause. His eyes meet Kurogiri's, and he pulls his wing away, folding both neatly against his back.

"Yeah, I'm sure he doesn't."

#nanny service au #j writes #hawks tag #progress is being made #this is so slice of life that i have plot points planned that will be exclusively happening off screen #the ss kurokami is such a small ship that it's basically a rowboat but that still technically makes me a captain

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factorialsfandoms · 2 years ago

Note

So the pics may not be done for a lil while because I've literally never draw Time, Twi, or Wars (apparently I can't draw a lot of armour or fur well) so I'll have to look at their ref sheets and practice etc before I start their stuff, but for now have some ideas I did this morning.

Favourite one atm is Time because of the despair but also because I like to imagine he wrapped Hyrule in Sky's sailcloth so no one can see his corpse. Also because I don't wanna draw Hyrule in that specific pose tbh.

Okay, first of all, I love these and thank you so so much for sharing your sketches. Armour and fur tricky but I appreciate you so much. (And also yeah how the fuck do bodies work?!?!?!)

I honestly love the idea that the sailcloth was used to wrap him. I might steal that, if you're good with it? It's not like Legend would have really registered it at the time anyway. It would be such an awful show of love and affection, and I think Sun would understand. At the very least Sky believes she would. It was already a bit bloody from hugging Legend, so... It's probably the one item they'll bother to at least try washing the blood out of, but honestly... Just the idea of it is in my brain and making me a bit sad. They're trying their very best to love him, even if he's dead...

Now to gush about individual little doodles! Top left first, going like reading order. I'll try make it clear. Cut because... words.

Hyrule, Hyrule, poor boy. I know I'm the one who did this to him, but your little sketch is almost painful to look at. The way the one arm is out, almost like he's trying to reach but at the odd angle that looks like it's broken (he certainly couldn't have moved it out after he fell, but it falling to look like he's reaching? To just raise the hand slightly towards Legend? Oh that's heartbreaking and tasty). The other arm over the wound? Almost like he was trying to put pressure on it, to keep the blood inside, but his body is just caved away, there's no way he can? So its just lying in the gore of his wound? That's horrible in such a wonderful way. The mess of his everything - his face, his arms, his clothes, his hair - the massive dip where the bomb stole his flesh. And of course above all else the way his eye is still open and clear, looking out and straight at the person viewing? (At Legend) I can't quite describe it but his whole expression is just... Wonderful. But in a very horrible way. I would like to cup his cheek and somehow take the pain away, but I can't...

Injury map! Those are always fun. You did a real good job at translating what I said into actual physical things. The extent of the damage and everything... I know its probably just a little reference for you, but your choices in mapping it out are... not delightful, because horrifying, but something like that.

Then there is Hyrule and Legend, and /oh/. You may have swapped eyes, but that makes Hyrule look away, which really does hurt something more. Is this just after he died and Legend had just realised? It's make sense, given Wars folded the arm back over him and, well, that's where it is. And the more distant. Its just a scribble, but the awkward angles Hyrule is lying at... And then there's Legend. I can't see his face, I can't see any of him, but he's right there. I can see the tension in his shoulders, and cannot imagine him anything but shaking with sobs, either expressed or held in. The desperation, the way he's still clinging to one of Hyrule's hands... Those poor, poor boys. The both of them.

Then we have Warriors and Wind and Four and... Well, with their backs to us you can see how Warriors is holding them so tight, trying to protect them from the same fate no doubt. Wind's right at the back so it looks like he's trying to press into the hold and get comfort, while Four is trying to stay upright and strong and not need it, but those crossed arms say so much that he does. Warriors staying tall and alert, pressing their two youngest on so they don't have to look, taking point also to ignore his own grief to keep everyone /else/ safe. How tall he is, like he can't bring himself to crack.

And Time, Time, oh Time... I've mentioned the sailcloth thing above, but I still adore it. It's horrifying to use the sailcloth as a shroud, but its probably all they had to hand. Except their blankets, but most of them need those and, well... Hyrule's aren't really the best. And they want something kinder to wrap him in than those. But Time, poor Time, you did really good at displaying the sheer agony at finding the fairies too late, when Hyrule was too far gone for even a clutter of them to save. The way he's grasping his face with the agony, but still using the weight of his body and face to keep Hyrule's corpse safe in his arms, safe as he wishes he had kept him in life. The hand clutching the sailcloth, desperate and so very not okay... I love it so much, but ow... And then the little fairies! Shocked and upset with their little "!"s, desperate to help but there's nothing they can do. Time hunched in on himself, the agony, the pain... Then trying to help but there's simply nothing they can do. Time called for them so desperately, but they arrived too late, and that broke him. Hyrule could not have lived the extra few minutes it took, it just wasn't possible, but if he'd only looked better, been better, fought harder... And he failed his command, and you tied all of it all in so well. Also! Just the side not of the way Hyrule's feet are just... dangling there. Far enough from his chest they're probably bloody, but his boots and his feet one of the few bits entirely intact, and they're all of him you can see...

And then finally, Twi and Wild... Oh, oh this, all of them hurt and it doesn't hurt the most but just... There's not a whole lot to say about Twi. But Wild! The way he's clinging to Twi's hand on his shoulder, surely there to guide him as he's still struggling with the world. His head bowed, utterly despondent... He was saved, but at what cost? his other arm hanging limp, not knowing what to do, just... Walking. Clinging to Twilight and walking. Actually no with Twilight... Such a gentle arm around Wild's shoulder, keeping him from being separated but a quiet comfort all the same. He's grieving too, but for Wild for whom the hit was taken? He's doing his best to protect the scoundrel, just like Wars with Four and Wind, but different now. The two small ones seemed scared and desperately trying to hold it together, but Wild... Wild looks like he's just given up... The only people who look worse are probably Hyrule and Legend, and... Well...We know how that went. We can't see either at the moment in your doodles, but... Horrific times. So bad. And we know why Wild looks so bad! Why they all do! But oh it hurts.

And that brings me to the end of the rambling. I hope the rambles were all okay. May you have a lovely day, and so on and so forth, and my deepest thanks to you.

#ask and answer #how do i even tag this #death #blood #major injury #other people's art #odaahc #you drew me things again and ;-;#oh gosh I know I did this myself but these poor boys #all of them #I was half expecting you to mean the holding so tight to hyrule at the end of the chapter #or legend passing out from blood loss that nobody noticed because hyrule was dead #but like this...#my heart!!!#in the most painful but also best ways

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 3 years ago

Text

Alright. One last time. A list of stuff from Supergirl episodes 6x19 and 6x20, “The Last Gauntlet” and “Kara”

Let’s go.

SPOILERS!

Okay I have to start this list off with a disclaimer because usually, these posts are spaces for me to share positive reactions to the episodes, since the fandom tends to be overly negative and full of bad-faith takes on...everything. And I hate contributing to their yelling.

But this is a situation where...the list will get complain-y. XD

Like, I’ll be real. I was all set to just coast through these final episodes on good vibes, not caring about the weird plot turns that would come...

But then everything changed with the Fire Nation Attacked 6x18 aired.

It was a...really awful episode, actually. And soured my perception of the finale as a result.

Still! I wanted to give SG the benefit of the doubt, see where the chips fell...

And there was...some good chip-falling!

...But also a whole lotta like. Quite questionable chip-falling.

TL;DR, if you would prefer to leave the show with mostly positive feelings, it might be best to skip to the end of this post...or skip the post entirely.

Like, I have good things to say!

...But I’m also gonna complain. XD

Okay, enough stalling. Here we go!

(Oh, also, apologies in advance if I don’t hit everything/misremember something/misquote etc. I don’t wanna go back and watch both episodes and I tried to keep track of my thoughts as I went but. *shrug*)

So right off the bat, they remind us about the Totems in the recap (I think) and Mxy’s like, ‘they were scattered all over the known universe!’

But in fact, they were scatted all over...Earth. And mostly Europe?

I realize, for budgetary reasons, they had to be in locations on Earth. But why not make that a Thing? Why not say they were being hidden on a ‘backwater planet’ (Black Mercy!Alura’s words, not mine! XD) or something?

Also feels extremely weird that the Super Friends can just go in and take these artifacts? Reminds me of the Not Great medallion stuff from the Acrata backstory.

Anyways.

Love a Fort Rozz and Omegahedron mention! :D Good!

Hate the way William was just a covered corpse on the floor and no one seemed to care! BAD.

All of the William stuff was extremely bad.

Peak cringe: his funeral, where we didn’t really see...any of his family, or friends. It was just all the Super Friends, in a weirdly-shot scene, with an odd music selection and copious amounts of soft focus.

It was two seconds long, everything felt perfunctory, Mon-El and Winn didn’t even KNOW him and were there to just support Kara, I guess, but none of that was articulated because there was no time for it.

(Like, the last time Winn saw Kara and Will, Kara was tentatively considering dating him. The fact that there was no, ‘hey, Kara, how do you feel? Are you okay?’ was just. Ugh.)

Hated every moment of it.

It felt shallow and tacked-on and I’m gonna SAVE MY WILLIAM RANT for later.

Okay, back to the beginning-ish of the episode, I did like the conversation between Lena and Andrea when she first appears, it felt like something that should’ve come earlier in the season, and perhaps taken place between Lena and Kara.

Like, this was really all you needed, back in one of those earlier episodes where Lena is suddenly the Voice of Reason for Kara: “I’ve done worse, rationalized more.”

Instead, they spent most of the season couching it in Lena’s renewed mom issues.

Not great, Bob!

A thing I liked: Kara’s “It’s my job to keep my family safe.”

A core issue! (That was poorly articulated throughout these episodes and arguably this season but I’ll GET TO MY RANTS IN A BIT. XD)

Nyxly’s scenes with Esme were fun and I laughed at her story being so decidedly PG-13, like. We don’t mention throat-slitting to five year olds, Nyxly!

The location for the Prague stuff was pretty!

But HOO BOY THE KARA AND ALEX CONFLICT. MMMMMMM. Add it to the rant pile.

The whole ‘we’ll harness the power of the sun’ plot reminded me of several things!

Late 90s/early 2000s Sunny D commercials! “UNLEASH THE POWER OF THE SUN!”

Some imagery from All-Star Superman and Supergirl Rebirth wherein the Kryptonians literally merge with the sun/sunlight.

Here’s Supergirl one, which is an homage to the All-Star image.

I liked the shot of Lex staring into Nxyly’s orb, with the blue light reflecting on his eyes.

And as much as I enjoy seeing Lillian and Lex chew the scenery, I gotta say...here, in your last episodes, devoting what felt like...a lot of time! To the Lex romance drama, and a new Lillian conflict, it was just...

Trying. It was trying. I wanted to be seeing...literally anything else. XD

But hey, props to Nxyly for dumping Lex’s butt.

(Could we not have taken the time allotted to Lillian and Lex and instead done a last-minute Nxyly redemption??? I mean, Lena got last-minute mom closure! Certainly, you could’ve had a heel turn with Nxyly!)

(In an episode full of ‘...wha???’ I would’ve happily accepted that wha!!! XD)

Alex, on the bridge: Am I crazy for doing this?

Me, audibly, at my TV screen: Yes, Alex. You are. (ANOTHER FOR THE RANT PILE.)

Also Kara, GO. TO. THERAPY. PLEASE.

Loved Lillian’s weaponized heels.

Kara, Lex, and Nyxly with the AllStone fragments:

“They’re empowering themselves by disempowering everyone else!”

Subtle™ XD

Would like to note: J’onn had complete faith in Kara. “Give Supergirl a chance.”

SO C’MON, ALEX. GEEZ.

Oooh, the rant pile grows deep. XD

The monochrome/selective color effect was really cool!

LOVED Brainy’s Legion Crown, as that’s pulled RIGHT from the Bendis/Sook Legion book!

The score throughout was lovely.

Okay, time to admit that I didn’t actively have fun with the episodes until about 10-15 minutes into the second hour, when they started bringing in the guest stars and old villains.

Like. The thing that got the biggest, genuine reaction from me was Winn’s: EASY PEEZY LEMON SQUEEZY.

OUR BOY!!! OR TOYBOYMAN!

(Also I like to imagine that Nia’s concerned look when the big group of villains shows up is a little bit of: Okay, I have no clue who these guys are, I was still in school while you guys were fighting them?)

And then Jimmy! “Take ‘em, Sis.”

YEAAAAH OUR BOOOOOYSSSS!!!

I was even happy to see ol’ Wise-Beard himself, Mon-El!

Because man, it at least felt...fun. And enjoyable to watch.

And how could I forget, ELIZA WITH A SHOTGUN!?!?!!?!?!

Why is she there?!?! How did she know to come?!?! I don’t care, I loved it.

“Maybe in another life I was a Kryptonian.” “Only in the movies.”

Me: They finally did the thing.

“Ah, the two with the good hair.” Lex’s hair envy on full display, nice.

I also unabashedly loved all of the people of National City coming to back up the Super Friends, it reminded me of arguably the first big Super Friends outing, “Worlds Finest”, where National City showed up to protect Supergirl and help Flash stop Silver Banshee and Livewire.

Aaaaaand just when they’re setting up a cool big fight...it’s over! Phantoms show up and just. Remove the threat.

The big threat that was SO DANGEROUS and causing Kara to FLIP OUT for an entire season. Just. Gone. In under a minute.

.....

......

I say again: Hated William’s funeral. Hated. It.

Such a crummy way to handle his character, and his death.

Side note: I understand that they’re necessary for actor comfort/perhaps budget reasons but the green gloves they use for Brainy’s hands remind me of those toy Hulk gloves you can buy.

Another thing I love: CAT GRANT RETURNS?!?!?!?!

Oh, I missed you, Cat. You were an objectively horrible boss, but I appreciate the ‘let’s behave like rational adults’ energy that you bring to this group of adults in need of adultier adults.

I’m actually gonna save the Cat and the job stuff for my...what’s the opposite of a rant? Geeking out pile? Yes. That. XD

We got one single Danvers couch scene, in the span of two 40-minute episodes. Ugh.

And then the wedding, which takes up the back half of the final episode, and it had a lot of good bits but also, weirdly, apparently there were a lot of scenes that were removed from the American broadcast? To my knowledge, nothing huge, but then I haven’t really looked into it. I don’t have a strong desire to do so because it seems most of the clips are coming out of corners of the fandom I’d like to just. Ignore for the rest of time. XD

We end on a game night as is right and good and lemme tell ya, for as complaint-heavy as this post has been, I will admit to utterly warm, fuzzy feelings of happiness with that last lovely shot of Kara, being introduced to the world as Supergirl and like.

We’ve seen Kara without her glasses, dressed in civilian clothes often! This is not new!

But gosh, it feels new here. It feels wonderful and positive and hopeful and right and I wish more of the finale felt that way.

Like. The endpoints are good. We knew these endpoints were coming.

But the journey has been so...strange. And sometimes actively bad!

So yeah, time for the rant portions, I suppose. XD BRACE YERSELVES.

RANT #1: The Treatment of William

This show has never permanently killed off a character, not even characters played by actors who were leaving the show. James, Maggie, Mon-El, Winn, Sam, Cat--none of them were killed. The door was always left open for them to potentially return. It was a refreshing aspect for one of these CW superhero dramas, where characters are often killed off for the shock factor/drama when the actor wants out.

So to have your one big, permanent death be William, a character and actor who has received an inordinate amount of hatred and harassment for doing his job? No. No thanks. No.

And like. I kind of assumed they would use his death as a bigger springboard--flawed logic but logic nonetheless, by saying: well, we broke up him and Kara, and we don’t really know how to use him effectively...let’s actually make him really important. His death serves as the motivation the Super Friends need to unite and stop the bad guys!

That did not happen here.

No strong emotions from the Super Friends. Alex is more concerned for Esme’s safety than the fact that a man she knew personally died defending her daughter.

I understand they are pressing stakes! And that she’s very worried about Esme!

But this, along with some other stuff that Alex does, just makes her come across as calloused.

All of the Super Friends come across as calloused, since William’s death is not given any room to breathe.

(And like. They never unpacked any feelings from Kara re: the ‘break up’-- if you can even call it that since they barely developed the relationship--or like. Any aspect of her friendship with Will because there was no time. It was fridging but they didn’t even use the fridging well.)

RANT #2: Alex and Kara

So, we know that Alex can be a jerk. That’s fine. In fact, I love that about her. It often makes for interesting character conflicts.

But, wow. The narrative...sure did decide that Alex was justified in all her terrible decisions and behavior, huh?

Like. This didn’t come across as Alex spiraling (which I think is how we’re meant to view it?) mostly she was just behaving like an asshole.

I get that the show really wants us to be invested in Alex as The Mom and her relationship with Esme, but we haven’t really gotten much Mom Alex content?

(Which is why I laughed out loud in a not-fun way @ Eliza’s line about Alex parenting Esme with more wisdom than she ever had like. Did ya pull that from a fanfic on AO3??? I mean maybe, in time, Alex will be a better parent in that she’ll avoid some of the stuff Eliza struggled with but Alex and Kelly have had Esme for...a couple of months? Maybe??? And most of that has been spent like. In Crisis mode!)

We had nice solo-content with Kelly and Esme back in the outset of the season, but nothing like that for Alex? At least that I can recall? Nothing where the two sit down and just bond. Esme is very cute, and the actress did a really nice job with the material, but it kinda felt like they were just. Hoping we’d become attached to her through sheer cuteness alone without doing any work on Alex’s side.

I’m more invested in her relationship with Aunt Kara because they had those scenes about the powers, which is not good when you want to sell Alex’s MOM MODE, ACTIVATE.

So, yeah. Kinda hated the Danvers Sister conflict here. And while in the broadest of strokes, their actions sort of make sense...I don’t know. At the very end of six seasons, to have your characters slide back into old habits doesn’t feel like a response to trauma so much as just. Recycling old plots that they should’ve grown past.

Like! After six years of beating the odds, Alex really doesn’t believe Kara can save her daughter??? SERIOUSLY????

It doesn’t feel authentic. It doesn’t feel like ‘scared mom Alex’ it feels like Alex being an asshole and an obstacle to overcome because the plot demands it.

Also, I was waiting until the very end to see if they’d follow up at all on Kara and Alex being like, ‘we'll get through this and heal together’ and nope! Nope. Nothing there. Alex is like, ‘got your back!’ and then they have no scenes until 6x18 which was just. Full of weird, awful character stuff.

Speaking of weird, awful character stuff.

RANT #3: Kara

My darling sunshine girl.

So, I’ve actually felt like season six did a fairly decent job of balancing their huge cast while still giving Kara meaningful stuff to do in each episode, and as such, Kara felt way more present and attached to everything that was happening than in past seasons.

Was it perfect? No. But it felt like a decided improvement over season 5.

I also felt like Kara’s very obvious spiral into complete panic/anxiety over unresolved trauma was a pretty solid through-line as the season went on.

I was kind of expecting something similar to season 3, and season 5; the show has a habit of pushing off Kara’s emotional responses to the stress build-up until the last possible second (like the Mon-El stuff and the Lena stuff.) So I was like, ‘ah, yes! They will build this up until Kara has to confront it, and then we will get nice introspection.’

But uhhhh...no. Nope. That...that didn’t happen.

We got like. Fragmented, poorly-articulated ‘lessons’ that Kara had to learn across all the episodes, but it was really unclear because Kara would keep acting all stressed-out and panicked, even though in the previous episode there was supposed positive growth.

Also a lot of times they were lessons she already learned. Not just in this season, but in prior seasons.

I appreciate the show bringing Orlando back, but framing it like Kara, MASTER OF THE HOPE SPEECH, couldn’t figure out that she needed A HOPE SPEECH to inspire the masses, was very dumb!

It was like they were manufacturing flaws for Kara at the very last second. Like. ‘Oh no, we have a character who is too good and noble! Better make her act completely contrary to her firmly entrenched principles she’s had since day one.’

And the most frustrating thing about all of my ranting is that the writers did not need to do this. They had already established good, interesting character conflicts, that were rooted in stuff that has existed for the past six seasons!

Like, all the pieces were in place! Everything was RIGHT THERE!

But they chose to like. Go backwards??? And undo character growth and build new, weird ways for everyone to arrive at their endpoints???

It’s just very odd. IDK what happened.

The thing about season 5, as annoying as it was, was that everyone was painfully in-character all the time.

Here, in the 11th hour, it’s like. Characterization was tossed out the window to make room for some opinions on empowerment.

(WHICH THEY WERE DEVELOPING WITH MORE NUANCE AND GRACE LIKE, SEVEN EPISODES AGO! WITHOUT NEEDING TO SAY ‘EMPOWERMENT’ FIFTY TIMES!!!!)

Also, I get what they were trying to say here, that everyone can be their own hero, that Kara doesn’t need to shoulder all this responsibility. That’s a good lesson. And they were BUILDING THAT. And BUILDING IT WELL.

But at the end, instead of centering it on Kara’s very real, very obviously established trauma and season-long freak out, they were like, ‘Kara becoming Supergirl was built on a flawed premise!’ or whatever the terrible line was.

Kara became Supergirl to prevent a plane crash. No amount of self-empowerment was going to save the people on that flight.

Like. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a very lovely theme, and I like that Kara can conceivably take a nap now, if she wants, but. They didn’t have to tear down the idea of Supergirl/superheroes to do it.

AND ALSO. They covered this in season one. CAT GRANT was warning Kara about people becoming reliant on Supergirl to save them, and like...yeah! You probably don’t need to be out rescuing cats from trees, Kara. BUT YOU SHOULD MAYBE BE AROUND FOR STUFF LIKE PLANE CRASHES AND MAGICAL IMPS TRYING TO DESTROY THE UNIVERSE?!??!?!?!

It’s just weird! It’s just weird that they had all this set up and decided to use none of it.

But I guess it wouldn’t be a true season of Supergirl if there wasn’t solid, well-paced build up in the front half only to get rushed, weird plot-heavy nonsense in the back half, complete with wild swerves in the 11th hour as they hurry to tie bows on everything. XD

You were doing so well...

RANT #4: She who shall not be named.

Yeah I don’t like what they did here, with her, in this final season.

Basically: I get that they needed to sell the friendship, and I get that they were trying to give Kara another friend/person outside of Alex since they were building up Alex’s relationship with Kelly/plot with Esme. But making her the person to keep Kara in check, when they did not hold her one bit accountable for the nonsense she pulled for an entire season (not to mention she was gonna SKIP TESTIFYING AT LEX’S TRIAL and she was conveniently out of town for the blind spots and biases episode) was just. Unpleasant to sit through.

They never fixed/addressed how one-sided the friendship was, they never had any nice moments of just hanging out and genuinely talking as friends.

(Also I’m gonna say it, I’m gonna SAY IT: She doesn’t have the acting chops to match the Danvers sisters stuff. Like. The reason we love the Danvers sisters is the actors’ ability to sell that relationship; you cannot swap out Alex in the final season with a character who never actually sold the thinly-written friendship. IT DOESN’T. WORK.)

Add in the nonsense of the real world fandom built up around her and yeah, done talking about this one. XD

RANT #5: Pacing and Focus

There was such nice, deliberate pace at the outset of this season, and a slightly narrower scope that allowed for good character stuff.

And that...fell to the wayside, unfortunately.

Which is to say: Really loved the front half of this season. This back half...mmm.

I agree with what other folks have stated, that it felt like they took all of the trending topics for ‘Supergirl’ on twitter and built their big plot points around them. So these fanservice-y things don’t feel earned or organic, they just feel like the writers saying, ‘well, a lot of people mentioned this on social media, I guess we have to do it now.’

Okay, TIME FOR POSITIVES:

Peta Sargent as Nyxly. Honestly I think she’s my favorite SG villain. She was fun like Lex, but didn’t wear out her welcome. She could do the scenery-chewing, but also genuine, emotional beats. And her villain outfit was EXCELLENT. 20/10, wish she’d been redeemed!

KARA AS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF OF CATCO MAGAZINE! YES! YES! YES!

Folks who’ve read my Cool Aunt Kara AU (which, hey, Kara is now a Cool Aunt in canon! Woo!) may know that I’ve kinda always preferred Kara not so much in a reporter role, but more as an editor. Still in journalism/media, but in a way that is distinct/separate from Clark and Lois’ beat.

(...I think that’s in one of the one-shots? If not, then it’s in the notes somewhere, and will eventually happen. Spoilers for that ‘verse, I guess. XD)

Anyways I love this.

I love that she gets to be Kara Danvers, and Kara Zor-El, and Supergirl. I love that she gets to be all the things, in whatever way she wants to be all the things. And I love that the show is basically like: And they lived happily ever after, on this Earth, in this timeline, and continued to have fun adventures.

It’s exactly the ending I wanted for her. :) :) :)

...Just. Wish we’d taken a different journey to this point. XD

Listen. LISTEN. Given how hard they were going on, ‘Kara needs to be held accountable for her actions as Supergirl!’ I was legitimately concerned they were gonna do a Gold-K situation, so the fact that they left everything alone re: superpowers is a solid win, IMO. XD

CAT FREAKIN’ GRANT RETURNS ON GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS GREEN SCREEN TO BERATE KARA ONE LAST TIME!

I’m so happy.

Another thing I love? NOT A SINGLE SHIP SAILED FOR KARA.

Like, do I hate how they treated William, and do I think the writers are cowards for pulling the same garbage that they did with James in season 2? And somehow making it WORSE??? Yes.

Would I have been totally fine with flirty banter with Will, had he not been fridged? Certainly. William was a nice man, and Kara liked him, which was good enough for me.

But if I am being honest, as a woman who has zero desire to date/be involved in a romantic relationship ever, it is refreshing to see a female lead who is also in no rush to date someone, and ends the series happy and surrounded by dear family and friends and is not shamed for it.

No jokes made at her expense. No ‘woe is me, I’ll never find true contentment in life.’ Just. Chill with who she is and where she is in life. Maybe she’ll find love! Maybe she won’t! And either way is fine!

Also I know the fandom is gonna be a nightmare overall as the result of this finale, and I’m certain a lot of folks will claim it’s a complete failure, that the show is trash, the writers suck, etc. etc.

And, to be clear, the finale was a failure, yes.

They seemed to lose faith in their own lead at the very end of this endeavor. To go from Rovner nearly claiming that Kara’s the most heroic character in the Arrowverse (and she is, in my humble, definitely-totally-unbiased opinion) to being like, ‘The notion of Supergirl is inherently flawed!’ is...certainly a choice.

But I’ll never fully agree with the fandom, that the show as a whole is bad, or that they’ve ruined Kara/Supergirl.

Honestly? Even with all my complaints, and issues with season 6...I love what the show has done for Kara Zor-El.

I remember coming across those early 2000s comics as a pre-teen/teenager and knowing, but not being able to articulate it just yet, that these books called Supergirl were actually not for me. They were not for girls. They were for the middle-aged men writing and drawing them.

Like. Images from this run are still used in DC branding. The ‘Supergirl’ icon on the DC Universe app is a Mike Turner drawing.

THIS IS WHAT THEY POTENTIALLY HAD TO WORK WITH. (CW: partial nudity)

This image was not only a panel in the book but apparently was like. A LIMITED VARIANT COVER. THIS. THIS IMAGE. FOR SUPERGIRL’S BIG TRIUMPANTH RETURN AFTER BEING DEAD FOR 20 YEARS.

But then here comes this show. This show that says, ‘No, no. Look at these other comics. Look at who this character was originally. She’s a young woman who has lost so much, who has gone through such trauma, but she devotes her life to saving others. To doing the right thing because she can. She’s earnest and kind and a bit of a goof. She can also throw people into the sun, if she wants to. But she doesn’t! You’re gonna love her.’

I will always be so very grateful to the show for introducing me to that Kara Zor-El.

And Alex, and J’onn, and Winn, James, Cat, Eliza, Kelly, Nia, Brainy, and YEAH, EVEN YOU TOO, MON-EL. The whole cast, who made these characters real, and who sold some absolutely SAPPY, ENDEARING, DORKY STUFF. XD

So, in summary: 6x18 through 6x20? Bad. No thanks. Not a fan. But the show? Kara? And where she ends up? Love it. Love it so much.

...BUT NO KRYPTO, DAMN IT. HOW DARE THEY!?!??!?! XD

#SG post #supergirl spoilers #supergirl season 6 spoilers #long post

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wendimydarling · 4 years ago

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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feathered-serpents · 3 years ago

Text

I can’t believe in the year and half now that I’ve been in the TMA fandom including those four months post 200 that I’ve never tried to entity-align my favorite horror movies

…

So without further ado

Midsommar - This one is like 80% Spiral but there’s definitely some Desolation in there given the ending and arguably the themes and how Dani has her entire life ruined beforehand and also if you wanna reach some Flesh stuff going on cause of the cliff scene and that “bloody eagle” scene that I still don’t understand the point of and also the weird sex stuff that I’m grateful Jonny never did but also I have no idea where else it would go other than the Flesh ANYWAY

The Blair Witch Project - This one’s got some serious Spiral and Dark shit happening BUT I make a strong argument for the Eye given the found footage angle and the fact that they feel watched throughout the entire thing. ALSO if you want you can mayyybeeee claim that there’s some Hunt stuff going on given that they’re literally being Hunted by a strange, unseen creature the entire movie

The Conjuring - This one is tricky but I’m gonna say the End and the Slaughter HEAR ME OUT. Since the whole thing is about ghosts and death that gives it End aligned vibe AND since once particular ghost’s whole Thing is possessing people on order to commit murder than you’ve got some pretty strong Slaughter vibes coming off of that. I KNOW some of you are thinking “BUT THE STRANGER!! ANNABELLE!!(lmao)” and yeah Annabelle is there and creepy but can you tell me she has any effect on the actual main plot at all

Cabin in the Woods - Okay. You can’t really do this with this particular movie. But it’s so much fun I’ve gotta try. I’m gonna say Eye overall, and then the individual monsters belong to separate entities. The zombies that attack are Slaughter, and some of the others you see are Hunt, Stranger, Corruption, End etc. you could honest argue that this whole thing is some convoluted Eye ritual which it almost is but in reverse

The Witch - Okay. Listen. I’m going to say, End, Flesh, Spiral, and Slaughter SPECIFICALLY because of how it ends. All of those are pretty flimsy tho, this is not a movie that can be easily “entitied”

Hereditary - Saved this one for lasted because IT’S!! ALL!! HERE!! Father Burroughs who??? THIS is the family the Fears fuck up. Constantly being watched by a cult = the Eye. Weird shit happening at night = the Dark. A genuinely uncomfortable emphasis on ants = the Corruption. Starting with a death/Charlie’s death = the End. That one scene with the piano wire = the Flesh. All the goddamn creepy ass miniatures = the Stranger. The mother starting to doubt her reality = the Spiral. The father alienating himself from his family or just Charlie’s entire character maybe = the Lonely. Spontaneous human combustion = the Desolation. Constant manipulation so things go EXACTLY to the creepy cult’s plan = the Web. Digging up a corpse = the Buried with some more fun End bullshit thrown in. That scene at the end where the mom wants to kill her son and starts banging her head on the attic door (if you haven’t seen this movie I’m so sorry) = the Slaughter. Starting the goddamn Apocalypse = the Extinction. The Vast and the Hunt are the only two that did not show up to this party

The only reason Hereditary couldn’t be a complex TMA ritual is because it involved a cult that actually appears competent

(Feel free to add your own favorite horror media to this!)

#tma #the magnus archives

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lu-undy · 3 years ago

Text

Another Sniper/Spy fluffy “short”

Spy and Sniper are sent on a mission where Spy has to disguise himself as a woman. Sniper falls for him *even more* and when he catches Spy flirting with the bad guy, well, the Aussie takes it badly. But in the end, all is well ;) Follow this link!

"Hey, Miss Paulin'?"

"Hey Scout, d'you know where I can find Spy and Sniper?"

"Ya got a job for'em?"

"Yes, I do." Miss Pauling had barely arrived at the base that the young man was all over her, like a bee on a flower.

"I can do it. I'm sure I can do it on my own too, I'm pretty strong, see?" He flexed his arm and Miss Pauling rolled her eyes before looking away.

"Scout, I need those two to do the job, not you."

"I can do it with them, if that works better for you, eh?"

The young woman sighed and pushed living-room's door.

"Hey everyone."

"Howdy, Miss?"

"Mmh-hmm!"

Most of the team was there but as Miss Pauling scanned the room, she didn't find Spy or Sniper.

"Any idea where Sniper and Spy are?"

"You'll find Slim in his van I guess, and for Spy? I'd say give a knock on his door." The Texan answered from the sofa, a beer in his hand.

"Alright, thanks." The young woman spun on her heels and bumped on Scout. "Scout!"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You wanna do something for me?"

"Sure!" He excitedly answered.

"Get Spy and Sniper in the meeting room in 2 minutes."

"I'm on it!"

And a couple of minutes later, both mercenaries were in the meeting room with Miss Pauling.

"Alright, guys, I have a job for you two. I know, it's quite unusual for both of you to team up with anyone but unless one of you can split himself into two, you'll need each other."

Spy and Sniper were sitting face to face on one end of the long table, the closest to the screen. The Frenchman lit a cigarette and raised his hand.

"Spy?" Miss Pauling was surprised that he should have a question so soon.

"Is this mission only to be heard by Sniper and my ears?" He asked.

"Yeah, why?" The young woman raised an eyebrow. Spy stood up and went to the meeting room's door that he opened abruptly. Scout was trying to look and listen through the keyhole. "Ugh, Scout, if you don't leave right now, I swear I'm never giving you any jobs anymore!"

"You never do anyway!"

Sniper pushed his chair back to stand up but Miss Pauling put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"I did! I asked you to go and get Sniper and Spy and you did it brilliantly, now, please let me have this meeting with them."

"Does that mean you… were impressed by how well I handled it?" Scout's eyes shone with enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it does, now please…?"

"Alright then, I won't be far though, just in case you need anythin' eh?"

Spy looked at Miss Pauling and she nodded, after that, the Frenchman pushed the door shut on the young man's face.

"Ooh, sorry about this, I know neither of you like to waste your time…" Pauling grabbed a remote and switched the big screen on. "Now, let's talk about the mission. The Admin's got you two tickets for a ball given by this guy. Apparently, he has a bar of pure unrefined Australium that the Admin wants. One of you will have to distract him while the other retrieves it." She pushed a button and the screen showed a mansion. "That's his house, where the ball will be. I'm told that the Australium is in his bedroom, upstairs, right there…" She pushed another button. "It's on that shelf. I talked to Engie and we'll have the CCTV system and the security rigged off so it's just a matter of picking it up."

"Do we know anything about this gentleman?" Spy asked.

"Yup," Pauling pushed a button and the next image appeared.

"Bloody hell, how many sheilas is that…?" Sniper straightened his back on the chair and started counting them. The picture showed the man surrounded by women of all colour and all tastes.

"Five." Spy answered. "Those ones are in a group of five, admirable women and very helpful in times of need." Sniper's eyebrows jumped and he looked at his colleague across the table. "So he enjoys the company of women?" Spy asked Pauling, unfazed.

"Yeah, so Spy, you'll have to go as one, keep him busy while Sniper goes upstairs and takes the prize. Any questions?”

Spy raised his hand.

“Yes, Spy?”

“When is this mission due?”

“The party is tonight. Here’s the address.” Pauling took a piece of paper out of her pocket and showed it to Spy. The Frenchman took a second to look at it then nodded, and Miss Pauling showed it to Sniper.

“Y’know the area?” Sniper asked his colleague and Spy nodded, blowing the smoke of his cigarette between his thin lips. “Alright then.”

Miss Pauling took the paper and burnt it. “There, you guys have the address. Now, the Admin insists on doing the job cleanly, no corpses. Besides, there’s no respawn there, so try to not get killed, ok?”

Both Sniper and Spy nodded.

“Right, if you don’t have more questions, I’ll be on my way.” Miss Pauling went to the door, both mercenaries on her heels. Spy opened the door for her and both Sniper and her passed through before he went through last and shut the door.

The evening came and Sniper had spent his entire afternoon on his own. After the dinner that he shared with his colleagues, he retreated to his van again and prepared himself. Well, a fancy ball, huh? Good thing he had kept a suit in his stuff. It had been his father’s so it was old, out of any kind of recent fashion and a bit on the short side for the tall Aussie, but who cared. He was just going to steal something and he would be back before midnight no doubt. Sniper trusted Spy to offer whatever distraction was needed for him to take the Australium stick easily.

When the Aussie finished putting on his black, now dark greying, suit, he quickly combed his hair and looked at his reflection on his van's window.

“Well, that’ll do.” He concluded and exited his van to go and get his colleague out.

“Ooh, looks like Snipe’s goin’ on a date, eh?” Scout said and whistled at the older man. Sniper growled and bared his teeth on the side. “Who’s the lucky one, eh? There ain’t any lady kangaroos over here, eh?”

“Bugger off, Scout.”

“Pfff….!” The Bostonian snickered as Sniper disappeared in the corridor.

There was a knock on the Frenchman's door.

“Go to your van, I shall join you.” The voice with the French accent answered from the other side of the door with the knife symbol.

Sniper rolled his eyes.

“Alright.” He answered, and left. A minute later, he was in his van and the door on the passenger’s seat squeaked open. “Are you read-oh, wow…”

“I am indeed ready, now let us not waste time.” Spy answered matter-of-factly.

Sniper’s eyes lingered on his now very lady-like colleague. He couldn’t see much but the long hair and the shine on Spy’s lips was a change and a half.

“Jesus, that’s one hell of a disguise… You really look like a sheila…!” He started the engine and off they went.

“Thank you, I take it as a compliment on my make-up and disguise skills.”

“Yeah... How did you manage that…? I mean, I guess the long hair’s a wig, right?” Sniper cast a glance at his colleague. “No... Is it really your hair?”

“Non, you Bushman, of course not. It would never fit under my mask. This is indeed a wig.”

“And you put on make-up?”

“Oui.”

“You know how to do that?”

“Oui.”

“Wow… ‘M not gonna ask how or why.” Sniper said more to himself but of course Spy heard him.

“It is a skill, like shooting, you get it through learning.”

“And trainin’.” Sniper added. “You did that much?”

“Oui, not usually to make myself more feminine. Make-up can be used to hide your distinctive features, or create some that you do not originally possess.”

“Makes sense for a spook I guess.”

Spy raised a curious eyebrow to his colleague but of course Sniper was way too focused on the road to notice it. The Frenchman was surprised that his colleague did not mock him for his womanly disguise but instead chose to compliment him on his efforts. Hm, surprising coming from Sniper. Although anything that came from Sniper was a surprise. The man lived like a hermit in his van, he was almost as secretive as the Frenchman himself. Looking at him better, Spy noticed that Sniper had put on a suit. Well, something that vaguely resembled one. Even through the darkness of the night, the Frenchman could tell that this was no custom-tailored three-piece suit.

“And you have put on a suit?”

“Well, it’s an old thing, but yeah, I tried.”

“If you wanted something a bit more modern, I could have lent you something.”

“What? Seriously? You’d lend me one of your super expensive ones?”

“Well,” Spy answered. “I would have given it to you, no doubt you would have deformed the silk and cotton. But still.”

“You’re smaller than me though, so I don’t think anything would have been my size.”

“Hm, that is correct. Such a shame we had so little time to prepare or we could have gone to find you something a bit more appropriate.” Spy said.

“We?”

“Well I certainly would not trust you to find something adequate on your own, no offense.”

Sniper smiled.

“None taken, I think you’re actually right…”

They exchanged a glance and a smile.

“Still, it’s weird to hear you with your usual voice but see you with long hair, I mean… I can hardly see anythin’, it’s dark, but your silhouette’s like a sheila’s.” Sniper’s eyes went down to Spy’s chest and nodded to himself. The Frenchman definitely looked like a woman.

“And you have seen the gloss of the lipstick and the longer eyelashes because of the mascara. You have keen eyes.”

“Guess so.” The Aussie took the compliment with a smile.

“No doubt about it.”

“Alright, Spook, we’re in the city now so you’ll have to guide me. I remember the address but no clue where that bloke’s palace is.”

“Fair enough. Go straight until the natural history museum…” Spy started helping out his partner in crime. After a few turns and a few more minutes, both could see the palace.

“That bloke’ house is as big as my parents’ entire farm.” The Aussie queued after the line of cars to enter the mansion’s parking lot.

“I take your word for it.” Spy answered.

“I mean, seriously, why d’you need a house that big? Must cost ya a fortune to take care of… Plus you’re eatin’ out space for other people or animals, makes no sense.”

“Animals?” Spy asked.

“Yeah, imagine if he had a normal house, the rest could be a forest or something, you could have a bit of life there instead of marble and whatnot.”

Spy smiled. That was such a typical thought of Sniper, thinking of the wildlife almost before he thought of himself.

“The queue’s not movin’ that much…” Sniper said, drumming the steering wheel with his index and middle finger.

“Indeed it is not. Cigarette?” Spy took his cigarette case out of his purse and flicked it open between Sniper and him.

“Oh, uh, why not? Thanks, Spook.” The Aussie helped himself to one and Spy lit both of their cigarettes.

“Sniper?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I adjust your tie knot. It is not straight.”

“Oh? Uh, ok, thanks, mate.”

“No problem, it is inconveniencing me more than you, no doubt.”

“Well, I’m not seein’ it so yeah, I guess you're right.” Sniper stopped the van’s engine and turned towards Spy.

“Is there any light in your van?”

“Oh, sure, here.” The Aussie flicked a switch and his eyes snapped wide.

Spy raised gloved hands to his collar. But it wasn’t his usual dark, short pair, nah, those went up to his elbows, they shone shyly, in white satin. The Aussie realised that Spy was wearing a dark blue, bustier dress with thin sequins, revealing a shy, yet womanly chest.

“You may breathe normally, Sniper. And I am only adjusting your knot, no need to be so anxious. I can hear your heart beat through your breath.” Spy chuckled, not understanding why his colleague was so nervous, but he soon finished and raised his eyes to meet Sniper's. And that's when he understood. Sniper’s face was flushed as red as a brick. “Sniper?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, thanks, ahem…” Sniper looked away and gulped down hard. That split second that Spy had looked into his eyes had been so intense. The Frenchman sure did know how to put on makeup! As Sniper shut his eyes to erase that image, those eyes so light, they look like angel’s, that eyeliner highlighting their mellow, curvy shape, the mascara making his eyelashes look like butterfly wings, and his thin, red lips… To no avail. The image of that face was burnt into the Aussie’s memory.

“Are you alright?” Spy asked. “Is my cigarette too strong?”

“N-nah, nah, it’s fine, actually, they’re not strong at all.” Sniper started the engine again and followed the caterpillar motion of the line of cars.

“Indeed, if it were my cigarettes, I would have been surprised.” Spy answered. “I know that I smoke like a fireman as we say in French, so I keep to light, menthol ones. I do remember you smoke occasionally too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. But mine are cheap and taste like crap next to yours.”

Spy chuckled and Sniper followed him.

“I understand my appearance surprised you.” Spy said, blowing the smoke of his cigarette in a little cloud.

“Yeah, I mean, you really look like a sheila.”

“I have to.” Spy answered. “By the way, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For appreciating my efforts. I imagine that had I gone to complete this mission with any other one of our colleagues, my feminine disguise would have been almost blackmail material for them.”

“You mean they’d make fun of you for it?”

“Oui, I would imagine so.”

“Well, yeah, guess that’s true.”

“But you haven’t. Instead, you complimented my hard work. I appreciate it.”

“Hah, well, you’re welcome, Spook. And thanks for the tie. I never manage to get them right on my own.”

“An easy skill to learn, you just need more training.”

They eventually entered the property and found a parking spot.

“From now on, you do not know me and I do not know you.” Spy said when Sniper stopped the engine. The Aussie nodded. "You do have your earpiece on, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Good. Then we shall either communicate through that, or as we usually do."

Sniper nodded again. Over the months working together, Sniper and Spy had developed a form of wordless communication. It was useful ok the battlefield, when one distracted the enemy and the other took his chance to take them down.

"Anythin' I should or shouldn't do?" Sniper asked. "'M not exactly used to sneaking around and all."

Spy got flattered that Sniper should ask him for advice.

"Well, do not overdo it. The best way for you to go through people is to mingle with them. Those people are here to party? Well, you shall partake too, but reasonably so. Needless to say that a drunk partner in crime is a useless one."

"Yeah, o'course. How will I know when to go upstairs?"

"Keep an eye on me, you will know when you can go."

"Alright, ok." Sniper tried to store all these words preciously in his memory.

"Could you please switch the light back on for an instant?"

"Oh, uh, sure, here."

"Ah, I knew it. This isn't my usual brand of lipstick and part of it went away with the cigarette… I should have had some imported from France, I knew I was running low…" Spy looked through his white purse and took a tube of lipstick. The Aussie couldn't help but stare at his colleague fixing his make-up. "There…" Spy brushed his lips against each other to spread the red lipstick evenly. "This should do. How do I look?"

Sniper was speechless.

"Uh, I-I mean, great, I mean, for a sheila who isn't one, it's… I'd never guess you're a bloke, unless I hear your voice."

"And what about now?"

Sniper's jaw dropped, his colleague now sounded like a woman.

"Alright… You're a sheila alright…"

"Perfect, I shall exit the van first, you wait a few minutes and make your way inside."

"O-ok, yeah."

"See you, Sniper."

"Yeah, see ya…"

Sniper did as he was told and waited in his van, in the silence of his own mind. How the hell could Spy do that…? He looked like a sheila, sounded like one…! The bloke even had at least the upper body of a woman!

"Bloody hell…" Sniper leaned his head back and dived in his own thoughts. He closed his eyes and saw it all again, the feline eyes, the thin lips, the long mane of wavy black hair… "Gosh."

Spy looked attractive as a woman… too.

Sniper took a deep breath and sighed.

This was better than Christmas. He got to spend an evening with the ladykiller dressed and made-up like one himself. Even as a man, Spy was far from repulsive, Sniper thought even if his face was mostly hidden by his mask. His silhouette was exquisite, a bit shorter than Sniper, his shoulders slightly less broad, long, thin legs and he couldn't possibly dress more elegantly. The man was a candy bar for the eyes mounted on two skinny legs, and Sniper had nothing against skinny legs, far from it.

He remembered that one day he had seen Spy without his jacket, just with his white shirt, his tie and his vest. The Aussie had seen him from behind and only then did he realise that the Frenchman's trousers moulded his waist and thighs deliciously. Well, especially his waist from behind…

Sniper blinked and shook his head as if to land back on Earth.

"Right, anyway, time to go."

He exited his van and walked towards the house's entrance. Two massive bodyguards were standing there. He passed them without an issue and climbed the white stairs to the house itself.

Gosh, that's a lot of people…

Immediately, Sniper found himself swimming amongst the dresses and the suits, some waiters were coming and going with trays of thin, fancy glasses on them. One of them stopped in front of Sniper.

"Ah, thanks." He took one and walking through people to find Spy, Sniper kept close to the walls, melting with the wallpaper itself.

C'mon, Spook, where are you…?

The Aussie's keen eyes darted left and right, scanning the crowd.

Or I could find the bloke we're gettin' the Australium from, I'm sure Spy's not far from him.

Sniper looked left and right, crossing different rooms, some wider than others. Finally, he made it to the most spacious one. Along one of the walls were tables filled with food and drinks and opposite that, a jazz band was playing. The Aussie recognised the tune. He leaned back against the wall and sipped on his champagne while his eyes looked at each and every face. Without realising it, his foot was drumming the rhythm of the tune.

Ugh, there were so many people and they were dancing, swarming the place like bees around honey…

"You like this song? Maybe you'd like to dance?"

Sniper's eyes darted down to whoever the woman was who was talking to him. He gasped when he recognised him.

"I-I can't really dance, I mean…"

"Come on, it'll be fun and easy, follow me…"

Of course it had to be Spy. Ah, it had been too good to be true! The Frenchman had been too nice with Sniper and the Aussie had started to wonder if the mischief in his colleague was just something he put on with his colleagues and decided to turn off with him…! But no! Of course he had to play games like these…!

Spy had taken the Aussie's hand with his white gloved one and he pulled him to the dancefloor. The song in the background suddenly sprang to Sniper’s ears. The Frenchman put his colleagues’ hands on him, one on his hip and the other against his palm. Spy started moving left and right, gently rocking the both of them. Sniper looked down and his eyes shot back up when he saw Spy’s chest. Even though he knew it was all an illusion, make-up and some hard work, his parents had nonetheless not raised him to look down womens’ cleavages…

“Mh, not bad.” Spy said with his female voice. “You lead now.” He stopped moving and Sniper, still looking up at the ceiling as if it would burn his eyes to look at his dance partner, started leading. Well, leading was a big word, he was moving, rocking left and right. “Just follow the rhythm…”

Sniper’s heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage. Spy was leaning his head against his chest.The Aussie gulped down hard and looked down. The fact that Spy wasn’t looking at him eased him somehow, he relaxed and moved in rhythm now. His hips swung with the double-bass, and soon, without realising it, his hand slid from Spy’s hip to his back. The Frenchman smiled, his eyes closed against his colleagues’ suit, and he pushed his hands to splay them both on his broad chest.

“What’re you makin’ me do, Spook…?” Sniper had managed to forget the people around him to only focus on the warmth of Spy’s body against his. He spoke with his eyes closed too.

“You took your time to join me here.” Spy answered.

“Sorry… I just… Bah, whatever.”

“It is fine, as long as you are here now.”

Spy’s feminine voice just wrapped Sniper warmly in a fashion that only rivaled with his normal, male voice.

“S-Spook, we should be gettin’ to work…”

“Oh but we are.” Spy smirked before he raised his fair eyes to Sniper. “You see the man in the black and white suit over my shoulder? He is wearing a red satin scarf on his shoulders.”

Sniper looked in the direction indicated by Spy.

“Yeah, I see’im.”

“That is the man that I shall entertain. I tried getting his attention but I am afraid that the competition tonight is hard for me to match.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Sniper asked.

“Those women following him, he has eyes only for them. He is practically blind to the rest of the world. Arh, Miss Pauling should have told us earlier, I would have had time to dye my hair black….”

“What’re you talkin’ about? Your hair is already black.”

“It has some grey, too much of it. I couldn’t dye it so I had to use a wig with matching greying temples and front. It would have been odd to have long black hair but some grey roots.”

“I don't think your grey hair’s a problem. I mean, it’s beautiful as it is, I mean the wig, heh…”

Spy raised his eyes to Sniper again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome… But uh, so what’s the plan, now?”

“Now, I need to attract his attention in a different way. If my looks in this attire are not enough, then I shall try something else. You, keep an eye on me and wait for my signal, d’accord?”

[Understood?]

“Alright.”

Spy freed himself from Sniper’s dancing embrace.

“Spook?”

“Oui?”

“You… You be careful, ok?”

Spy gave him a smile, one that he had never seen before, it was a lopsided grin, his eyes were smiling too, his eyelashes bowing gently.

“You too.”

And just like that, Spy was out of Sniper’s arms. The Aussie’s eyes lingered on the Frenchman and that’s when he realised that the dress he was wearing had two long slits left and right, revealing his legs up to a half of his thighs. Spy was also somehow managing to walk with high heeled stilettos, black ones, that laced up his calves. The laces then dissolved into black stockings that hugged his leg in the most enticing way, up to his thigh.

“God, he’s somethin’...” Sniper said out loud, even though no one heard him. “Hold on, what is he - what the…?”

Spy walked to the jazz band and Sniper saw him talk to the leader. After a few seconds of Spy talking, the leader of the band nodded and the music died down. Sniper went to the table and grabbed a glass before he leaned on the wall next to him.

The music started again and Sniper frowned. Why was Spy staying there? Why was he taking the microphone? Why was - oh…

{To the reader, the song is “Dream a little dream of me” by Pink Martini and the Von Trapps}

“Stars shining bright above you,

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you",

Birds singing in the sycamore tree,

Dream a little dream of me.”

Sniper’s jaw dropped. The song was so delicate, the dancing area filled quickly, and as Sniper cast a glance over to the wealthy man surrounded by his harem of lightly dressed ladies, he noticed that the performance had caught his eye. Good old Spook, has more tricks up his sleeve than we imagine, Sniper thought. His eyes went back to Spy. He sang with his shining, satin, white gloved hands left and right from the microphone stand, his hips swinging deliciously, revealing in rhythm his left and right thigh. A spotlight switched on, right on him, and Spy pushed a lock of his fake long hair behind his ear. Sniper could definitely not agree with Spy, his greying hair at the front and on his temples was absolutely an asset, not a setback at all. It shone in silver under the spotlight.

“Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me,

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be,

Dream a little dream of me...!”

A man shoved Sniper as he passed by and the Aussie was about to say something when he realised that it was the man in question, the man they were about to steal the Australium from. His face then radiated in triumph. Go, Spook, go! You got him! That's it! And you were doubtin’ yerself, look at you…! Who in their right mind wouldn’t take a second to look at you now? I mean now and anytime! You’re just… Sniper bit his lip. Thinking those words was too much. He shall not even think them but keep them in their raw form, as a thought, not mould them into letters and sounds, no, he shall keep that warmth inside him and leave it as a flame.

“Stars fading but I linger on, dear,

Still craving your kiss,

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear,

Just saying this...”

Gosh, Sniper wished he could stay and listen to the whole song, listen to more of them even. How could Spy sing so well and with a feminine voice at that…? How…?

“Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you,

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you,

But in your dreams whatever they be,

Dream a little dream of me…!”

The plump man and his flock of sheilas was at the very front now watching the show. Sniper saw him and his eyes quickly darted back up to Spy, he did not want to miss anything of his performance. It was certainly the first and the last time that he would hear the Frenchman perform this way.

But the song ended and the guests applauded loudly.

“Thank you.” Spy said in the microphone. “I would like to dedicate this song to the one hunter brave enough to climb the stairs of my stone hard heart and steal the golden wand of love that he put there.”

Sniper took it as his cue. Without hesitating, he spun on his heels and went to find the stairs. On his way, he heard Spy starting a new song.

So I have about three minutes before the song ends… He thought to himself and climbed the stairs. Once he reached the first floor, he walked through the corridors until he found the right room.

He gasped. A guard was coming! Quickly, Sniper stuck his back to the wall at thecorner. Arh! He needed something to distract the guy away from his path, but he had nothing on him but that short suit and - oh!

The Aussie got an idea. He took one of his sleeves and tore a button of his cuffs off before throwing it on the hardwood floor.

"Huh?" The guard heard the noise and went to inspect whatever caused it. Meanwhile, Sniper snuck past and slipped in the right room.

Alright, let's do this…

He closed the door after him and looked around. The room might have been part of a museum. It contained all kinds of artefacts, statues, coins, paintings, knick-knacks of all sizes and shapes.

Ah, there ye are…

A stick of Australium not longer than a pen but quite thicker was under one of the glass panes. Sniper looked left and right before he got his fingers closer to the glass.

Please, Engie, tell me you disabled the alarms…!

The Aussie put his fingertips on the glass and taking a deep breath, he pulled the glass upwards very slowly, the sweat breaking on his brow. No alarm rang, there wasn’t a sound.

Hah, piece o’piss!

Sniper put the object in his inside pocket and made his way out of the room. He luckily found his button back and picked it up from the floor to put it in his pocket. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he melted in the people, looking for Spy to tell him he had what they needed; that they could leave that posh party.

“Oh…”

Sniper stopped sharp. From where he was, people walking around him, swarming like ants, he stood tall, his head above the average crowd and what he saw had an unexpected effect on him. Spy had indeed caught the guy’s attention, no doubt about that. Sniper found the Frenchman off the stage, a bit further were laid a few sofas for the VIPs no doubt. Spy was on one of them, well, not directly on the sofa, the Frenchman was on the guy’s lap, a glass of champagne in his hand, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, his stockings showing entirely on one leg. The Aussie was fuming. He wanted to go there, cover Spy’s leg with his jacket, take the Frenchman’s hand and drag him out. He frowned, furious.

At some point, Spy caught sight of him. He murmured something in the guy’s ear and Sniper couldn’t bear it anymore, he spun on his heels and made his way to his van. Well, Spy would understand that those parties weren’t really Sniper’s natural habitat and that he preferred to wait in his van.

So Sniper left the mansion, hurtled down the white marble stairs, retreated to his van, and slammed the door shut as he slumped down on his seat. He sighed and taking the steering wheel in his hands, he started drumming his fingers impatiently.

Impatiently?

The fact that the patient hunter lost his ability to behave professionally and wait made him blind with rage, boiling on his seat. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back to take a nap. He tried, but the frown on his brow kept him up, he could not possibly relax.

“Sniper?”

He opened his eyes. Spy had opened the passenger’s door.

“Do you have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect! Let us be on our way then.”

“Yeah.” Sniper waited for Spy to fasten his seatbelt before he started the engine, and off both of them went back to the base.

The drive back was mostly silent, if one ignored the rumble of the van’s engine.

“Sniper?”

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Spy frowned.

“What is it?” He asked.

"What's what?”

“This attitude of yours.” Spy answered. “I left you after the dance and come to find you another different man altogether, and not in a good way, what happened? Did you get caught?”

“No.”

“Did you have to kill someone?”

“No.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Spook, please.”

“What?” Spy asked.

“Get off my back.” Sniper coldly answered.

“I will not.” Spy replied, determined.

“For Christ’s sake…”

“What happened for you to turn so… furious?” Spy asked. “I demand to know!”

“Pfff, you demand nothin’, mate.”

“Yes, I do.” Spy answered and removed his wig. “I thought you were in a good mood up until I left you, what happened then?”

Sniper sighed.

“Was it something I did or said?” Spy asked.

“Leave me alone.”

“Non.” Spy started removing the padding on his chest and he sat back on his seat.

The rest of the drive back to the base was utterly silent up until Sniper parked the van in front of the base. He waited for Spy to get out but the Frenchman remained marble-like.

“We’re here, Spook, you can get off.” Sniper undid his seatbelt and hopped off. He went to the back of his van to get a change, but as he climbed up at the back, he noticed that Spy hadn’t moved, as the van hadn’t shaken on its tired suspensions. So the Aussie went back to his driver's seat and opened the door. As he did so, the lights came on inside the van. “Hey, you heard me? We’re back at the base.” Sniper wasn’t even looking at Spy.

“I know.”

“Well then get out, go to your room and do whatever your spooky arse does in the evenin’...!” Sniper said, looking at the base.

“Non.” Spy answered. “Not before I know what is driving you to speak to me in this manner. But If you do speak to me so, then surely I am responsible for your foul mood. So I demand you tell me what I did wrong.”

“Arh, for fuck’s sake, Spy, you did nothin’ wrong! Now just go, will ya? I’ve got stuff to do!”

“Oh, that you have, Sniper.” Spy finally uncrossed his arms and turned to look Sniper in the eye, the Aussie raised his head and with the lights of the van on, he noticed that Spy had removed the make-up somehow and the wig had gone too. He was… He was Spy again... minus the mask! “And the first thing you will do is explain to me what I did for you to become aggressive!”

A light switched on in the base and it lit a window brightly. Sniper looked at Spy who was still in his dress and himself, still in his suit.

“We can’t stay here.” Sniper said and hopped off, followed by Spy this time. Sniper opened the back door and hopped in, he turned and saw Spy extending a hand up to get some help. Sniper raised a curious eyebrow.

“Some of us are wearing high heels and a dress, Sniper.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sniper took Spy’s satin, gloved hand and pulled him in, as he did so, Spy climbed the high step as best as he could but his balance was fragile, so Sniper pulled him by the waist before shutting the door after both of them.

“Now, pray explain everything to me.” Spy said.

“There’s nothin’ to explain, I’m just… I’m just tired, is all.”

“Liar, and a very poor one at that.” Spy switched the light on inside the van and went to a jar containing some candy. He helped himself to one, which pushed Sniper deeper down in his anger.

“Alright, it’s you! I mean, me!”

“What did you or I do?”

Sniper sighed and Spy knew he had won.

“It’s just… It’s my fault, I got carried away…” Sniper sat on the bench and lowered his head, holding it in his hands.

“Carried away?” Spy asked, taking a seat next to him. “What do you mean?”

“The… The whole thing… You as a sheila, the party, the dance, your singin’... I put funny ideas in my head, is all.” Sniper admitted and immediately regretted it. It was Spy he was talking to, the man who used blackmail as butter to spread on his morning toasts…! “Yeah, alright, you can go tell the others or laugh at me, or whatever it is you wanna do with it.”

“Sniper…” Spy put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Do you mean that… you thought there was more to my performance than mere acting?”

Sniper silently nodded, still not looking his colleague in the eye, his head lowered.

“I enjoyed this evening too, you know.” Spy said. “And you surprised me with your dancing skills.”

“Spy, spare me your mockin’ and go straight to the point. You’re gonna ask me to pay you to not tell the others or somethin’? Well I don’t give a rat’s arse, you can tell’em, you can tell what happened and even more than what happened, I don’t care. I just…”

“I… I don’t follow you, Sniper.”

Sniper shook his head.

“I surprised you with my dancin’? Yeah, well I told you I couldn’t dance but you insisted. That’s what you get.”

“Sniper, I did not mean it that way, on the contrary!”

“What?” Sniper’s head jerked back up and he looked at his friend with wide surprised eyes.

“I… You were hesitant at first but when you finally let go, it was… divine.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow, he expected to see irony in Spy’s eyes, but either he was playing too well or there was really none…

“I didn’t really dance, I just, I just moved a bit, that's all.”

“Yet you held me close and…” Spy chuckled, hearing himself. “Pardon my sentimentality, it must come as a surprise to you.”

“That, or you’re really actin’ a part.” Sniper answered.

“I am not.” Spy shook his head. “Would I be sitting here with you, in a dress and face naked, to tell you lies?”

Sniper sighed.

“I don’t know.” He answered.

“But all that does not answer my question, Sniper. Why were you so tense, angry even?” Spy gently brushed his hand on his friend’s arm and Sniper turned to look him in the eye before he realised that Spy’s eyes were a lot to take in, and he averted his gaze instead.

“Well, I told you a bit, I might as well come clean with ya.” Sniper took a deep breath. “Look, I saw you today and uh… Well, I mean, usually… Uh… Arh, I’m sorry, I’m not the best when it comes to words.”

“Then, stand up.” Spy stood up and offered his still gloved hand.

“What?”

“Stand up, come on.”

Sniper obeyed, although he had no idea where Spy was going.

“Alright, now what?”

“Now close your eyes. Can you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Sniper asked with his eyes closed.

“The music, the same mellow tunes that we heard and danced to, a few hours ago. How were we, again? Ah, yes, just like so.” Spy put Sniper’s hands back where they were. “Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you see?”

“We’re back there and uh… I’m wonderin’ what you’re makin’ me do.”

Spy smiled when he felt Sniper’s hand slide from his hip to his back, exactly as it had done earlier. The Frenchman leaned his head on Sniper’s chest.

“Gosh…”

“Now, tell me what bothers you.” Spy’s voice was velvet like.

“I just… I held you there and you, you looked amazin’, Spook, you were… beautiful. Heh, as a bloke you’re not too bad either, but I don’t know, seein’ you like that, it was just… Gosh…” Sniper was talking almost to himself, out loud, forgetting that Spy was against him, even though he felt the warmth of his body, the comfort of his sweet embrace. He was rocking him left and right, as he had when they danced.

“What happened that made you so angry?” Spy gently asked.

“Seein’ you on that bloke’s lap.” Sniper admitted, his eyes closed. "I just… I don't know. I felt like… I saw you there, drinkin' and-and your dress…"

"What about it?"

"It…" Sniper frowned. "It was wide open and… You might as well've been naked, it was wrong, it was so wrong, the way he… He groped you and touched you… I felt like…"

"What did you want to do?" Spy whispered, and he felt Sniper tighten his embrace around him.

"Wanted to cover your legs with my jacket… Didn't want him or anyone else to see you like that." Sniper had now stopped dancing, he was only holding Spy dearly against himself. "I'm sorry, it's… patronisin' and pathetic, I saw you like a defenseless sheila even though I know you'd never let anyone play with you."

"It is not patronising, I appreciate the thought. Besides," Spy slid his hands on Sniper's chest and raised his head. "I thought I was clear."

"About what?"

"Do you remember what I said at the end of the song?"

"Somethin' about a hunter climbin' stairs and getting some gold, yeah, that was your signal, wasn't it?" Sniper was looking down at Spy.

"Oh oui, it was a signal, it was a lot of signals. Do you remember my exact words?"

"Nah, not exactly."

"I would like to dedicate this song to the one hunter brave enough to climb the stairs of my stone hard heart and steal the golden wand of love that he put there.”

"Yeah, poetic, eh?"

"It was a declaration, Sniper." Spy's tone of voice was serious.

"A declaration of what?"

"Of love." Spy answered. "I sang that song, Dream a little dream of me, as a declaration of my love for you."

Spy paused for a second, to let Sniper take the measure of what he had just said. He saw the shock in his wide open eyes and his cut breath. The Frenchman leaned against Sniper again.

"I enjoyed dancing with you so much that for a second I dreamt that we weren't there for business, that we could take our time, that I could have a dance with you. While I was waiting for you, the hesitation of the choice gnawed me on the inside: should I go and dance with him? Should I not? Well, although the answer was 'I should not or we could get caught together', my heart decided to ask you to dance anyway." Spy basked in the warmth of Sniper's body against him. "I wished that we could make that music last forever, I wished that I could prolong that song and that dance until the end of time."

"W-what…?" Sniper's voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

"But listening to what you felt now," Spy went on. "I have to ask you." He raised his head to Sniper. "Were you feeling… jealousy in your heart?"

Sniper closed his eyes and nodded.

"It's stupid but… I felt like, because of that small dance with me, I felt like we were, y'know, something. And when I saw that guy touchin' you and treatin' you like one the other sheilas, I lost it. Because you're not a sheila, and even if you were, you wouldn't be one of those. You're different."

"You know, in my long career and even longer life, it is not the first time that I have to disguise myself as a female. However, it is the first time that I felt natural doing so, all because of you, Sniper."

"What d'you mean?" Sniper looked down at Spy.

"You looked at me as if you were looking at a woman, you did not see a shred of masculinity in me and your eyes devoured me, not the Spy me, the woman, me. The jealousy you felt, was all because I looked like a woman." Spy took a step back from Sniper. The loss of warmth between them made them realise that the van was quite cold in fact. "Thank you for helping in that wordless way, my performance was enhanced by your faith in my skills." Spy removed the long, white gloves. "I… I shall not bother you any longer, it is quite late already."

As Sniper had been mostly silent all along, not once contradicting Spy, the Frenchman thought that the Aussie had only been attracted by the disguise, not the person under it. He sighed and walked out of the van, leaving Sniper alone.

The Aussie 's knees gave up and he sat on the bench.

What? He thought. He sang… To me? What did the song say again? Uhm… C'mon, it's a classic, I know it…

Sniper closed his eyes and pressed his brains. The lyircs came back to him.

“Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me,

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be,

Dream a little dream of me…"

Gosh. Sniper looked through the window. The lights were out in the base, at least the side of the building that he could see.

"I need to talk to him. He thinks I just felt jealous of the sheila he played, fuck!"

Sniper leapt out of his van and ran to the base, he entered and ran again through the corridor, he took a flight of stairs down, hurtling down, and stopped in front of the door with the knife symbol. He gave a knock. No answer. He knocked again and waited, looking at the keyhole and the whole door, wondering how he could enter even if Spy didn't let him in.

"Whoever is bothering me at this hour of the night, prepare your spine, my blades will kiss you goodnight!" A furious voice with a French accent roared from behind the door. Spy opened the door, in his pyjamas with a blade in his hand and a balaclava on his face. He stopped sharp and sighed, lowering his weapon. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

"I said all I had to." Spy answered and didn’t move from his door. "There is nothing for me to add."

“Spy, please…?”

The Frenchman sighed before he yielded and moved from the doorway, letting Sniper in. He shut the door after him and removed his balaclava and gloves, before he put his blade away.

“Can I…?” Sniper looked at the sofa.

“Pray do.” Spy nodded and took a seat on the sofa too.

“You were wrong.” Sniper said without introduction and Spy scoffed.

“About what, if I may ask?”

“Pretty much everythin’.” Sniper answered.

“Ah, well, in that case, please enlighten me at this advanced hour of the night where my heart and mind have suffered long and through, please add to my misery.”

Sniper looked at Spy in a way that meant that he had not come to him for an exchange of witty remarks.

“I didn’t just feel jealous cause you looked like a sheila and I somehow forgot you were a bloke. ‘M not stupid.” Sniper said. “I felt jealous anyway. I just didn’t like the way the guy touched you, regardless of what you look like.”

“Ah, charming and very gallant.” Spy’s sarcasm was a way to let his frustration go but it contaminated Sniper.

“Listen,” He answered and Spy could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I got jealous regardless, I got jealous because the guy had his dirty hands all over you, Spook, you.” Sniper pointed his finger at his colleague. “I didn’t care that you looked like a sheila, I didn’t care and I don’t care what you look like at all, cause before this evenin’ I had no idea what you looked like without the mask.”

Spy’s eyebrows jumped. He hadn’t thought of that.

“So… It wasn’t because of my disguise as a female?” He tilted his head.

“No, you idiot! I just… I loved the dance with you, it felt… normal. I’m not big on these things but it felt nice with you, even though I had no idea what I was doin’, it was almost like it didn’t matter. You were there and… And you were holdin’ on to me and… Me too. Felt nice, really nice.” Sniper crossed his arms on his chest.

Spy scooted over to Sniper on the sofa. He slipped one arm around the Aussie and hugged it while leaning on him.

“Spook?”

“Hm?” Spy had closed his eyes.

“Did you sing that song… to me?”

“For you, oui.”

“Did you… mean the stuff you sang?”

“Every single word.”

“Oh.” Sniper relaxed his arms and looked down to his left. Spy was clinging, breathing slowly.

“And you, were you really jealous?” He asked with his eyes shut.

“Yeah… Yeah, I was, for real. I’m a bit dumb like that. You touched me and I just… I just imagined things. Felt like a dream though, really.”

“The best kind of dream, the one that you make with open eyes.” Spy answered in a sigh, his heart swelling in his chest.

“Spook?”

“Oui?”

“Hold on…” Sniper pulled himself out of Spy’s embrace and the frenchman failed to hide his disappointment at the lack of contact. “It’s gettin’ late and uh…”

“You want to return to your van, I suppose?”

“Yeah, I mean… As much as I'd like to stay with you, uh…"

"Who said you couldn't?" Spy asked.

"No one, but… Even my bunk's more comfy than your couch."

“What about my bed?”

The surprise of the question made Sniper stop talking for a long moment. Spy smiled. He stood up and extended his hand to Sniper, the same way that he had done to invite him to dance. Sniper's eyes went from Spy's to his hand. He hesitated for a second, but raised his hand and put it on top of Spy's.

"Come on." Spy led him to his bedroom and shut the door after them. "I can lend you something to sleep with, although it might be a bit short on your legs."

"It's fine… I mean, I usually don't sleep with much but uh… Spy, you sure about this?"

Spy went to the other side of the bed. He satdown and gave his back to Sniper.

"I would love you to join me, please."

"A-alright." Sniper took the opportunity of Spy not looking at him to shed his clothes only to stay in his tanktop and boxer shorts. "You can turn, Spook."

"May I?"

"Yeah."

Spy turned and even in the low light of the night lamps Sniper saw his pupils blow wide.

"Uhm… So, you take that side?" The Aussie asked.

"The only side I take is yours."

Both slipped under the blanket and Spy latched on his lover. He put a hand on Sniper's chest, slithered a leg between his and rested his head on his shoulder.

"Woah…" Sniper said, overwhelmed by it all.

"If you would rather I faced the other side,-"

"No." Sniper cut Spy. "Nah, it's… you're alright."

"Sniper?"

"Hm?"

Spy raised his lips to be near the Aussie's ear.

"I am yours." He whispered.

"Gosh… c’mere…” This time Sniper wrapped his arms around Spy and hugged him dearly. He kissed his brow and the Frenchman moaned in thanks. “Oh, sorry, too much?”

“Non, on the contrary, please?”

Sniper kissed Spy on his forehead again and he felt the Frenchman’s legs stretch against his.

"Someone's happy, eh?”

“Delighted…” Spy purred and buried himself down Sniper’s neck, softly nuzzling there. He whispered words that the Aussie barely heard.

“Ah, wow… Spook, we’re never gonna sleep…” Sniper heard the soft sound of kisses, he felt the Frenchman gently exploring his skin. “Also, what’re you sayin’? Can’t hear you…”

“I am saying things that you know already, so you don’t need to hear them.” Spy purred.

“What? Nah, c'mon, tell me, I wanna know…” Sniper chuckled, Spy’s kisses were tickling him.

“I was saying…”

“Yeah?”

“Je t’aime.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I love you, Sniper.”

Sniper’s eyes snapped wide.

“I uh, me too, Spook. I… I love you.”

Spy pulled himself out of his hideout and looked down at Sniper, his cheeks red. He bent down until their foreheads touched, he gently brushed his hooked nose against Sniper’s. One of Spy’s hands was on Sniper’s cheek, the other was in his har, massaging his scalp.

“Gosh, Spook…” Sniper’s heartbeat filtered through his breath.

“May I?”

“May you what?”

“Do something that I have yearned to.” Spy whispered. “Please, I beg of you, Sniper, let me kiss your lips…”

Sniper’s breath hitched.

“I-yeah, pelase, Spook, I mean, yeah-mmmh…”

Spy did not wait for the end of the sentence and gently pushed his lips against Sniper’s, tightening the grip he had on his hair. Sniper rolled his eyes up in bliss and felt his entire body go limp. Only his heart burnt in his chest, and his lips too.

When Spy withdrew, they both took a deep breath and chuckled.

“Sorry, I’m…” Sniper looked away.

“Oh, please, don’t apologise you did nothing wrong.” Spy smiled and rested his forehead against Sniper’s again.

“Gosh, Spook, I can feel you breathin’ against me and… You’re layin’ on me… I love that, I mean, you’re warm and, I don’t know, it’s comfy.”

Spy chuckled.

“Spook?”

“Oui?”

“Can we do it again, I mean, pelase?”

“As much as you want.” Spy bent down to meet Sniper’s lips and the Aussie rolled on the bed to be on top of the Frenchman. He frowned as he took the lead and decided to kiss him better, not just pushing his lips. He gently grabbed Spy’s upper lip between both of his. Spy moaned low, like a pur, he hooked his arms up around Sniper’s neck and pulled his body down.

The night was spent. Sleepless, but it was spent.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

13 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 4 years ago

Text

It’s in the Walls

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy

Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader

Warnings: you got a whole ass man living in your house without you knowing, you’re a mom

Summary: There’s a large house up for sale on a massive price-cut, who wouldn’t take that deal?

~~~

“Mom!” the shriek was high-pitched and echoed through the winding walls of the maze the manor made itself out to be.

(Y/n) closed her eyes, pretending the scream didn’t happen for a few seconds of cheap bliss before breaking back into her mothering persona. She crept down the corridors, reminding herself to take down every painting on the wall, the eyes followed her. Eventually, she came into her younger son’s new room, leaning her body against the doorway.

The blond child was huddled in a box pressed against the right wall, his small body curled tightly into itself inside the cardboard. He looked to his mother, large blue eyes sprinkled in delight that she came. Pointing to his bed, he murmured, “I saw a rat.”

“What?” she muttered, the realtor said the rodents that only stuck to the yard, but of course, that was a lie, “Oh, sweetie, come here,” the boy stumbled out of the box and grabbed onto his mother’s extended hand, “I’ll take care of him, you go make sure Joey hasn’t lost in mind in the library, okay?”

“Thank you, Dylan,” she cooed, pressing a short kiss to his forehead before sending him off.

His pink lips, shaped nearly identically to his father’s, stretched into a large grin,

“Okay, Mama!”

As soon as her son was gone, the smile drooped and suddenly she felt the weight of her eye bags drawing on her face. (Y/n) carefully approached the bed before getting onto her hands and knees, pulling up one of the draping blankets to peek underneath. A squirming, round, fat little frame poked out in the darkness before it squealed and began scurrying away.

Her hand shot out and she squeezed the fatty body between her fingers, grimacing at the rat in her hand. She never hated the things, they just never piqued her interest in the best ways, either. It thrashed and scratched at her, a small hiss leaving the woman before she tossed one of the windows open and left the rat on the sill outside to crawl away. Shutting and locking the window once again, (Y/n) made another mental note to get rat traps. Unless there were already traps.

Exiting the room, (Y/n) huffed at every creak in the wooden planks of the floorboards. The manor was old, oh, so old, it only made sense that none of the wooden boards would be silent. Even so, it was annoying and she liked to think she had the right to complain.

Eyes drifting to paintings and peeling wallpaper, she tried to remind herself to be thankful. Divorce wasn’t easy, much less so when your ex was a greedy, manipulative joke that milked you for nearly all of your possessions - she was lucky to find the mansion. Especially at such an astoundingly low price - she doubted a typical house would be cheaper than what she got the place for. None of those houses came fully-furnished anyway. Admittedly creepy and strange, but you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you might not like what you see.

As (Y/n) scanned through cupboards and cabinets, a loud thud alerted her of a new presence in the kitchen. She shot up, banging her head on the interior of a cabinet, her hand settled on the tender curve of her skull, softly rubbing as she stood. At the counter was her elder son, black-dyed hair messy and glasses slipping down his nose.

“Hi, honey,” (Y/n) chuckled at his frazzled appearance, “just get done wrestling one of the stuffed bears?”

Joey rolled his eyes, thumping a thick, hard-cover book against the granite countertop, “No, actually, I was looking for my shoes. Where are they?”

The woman shrugged, “How am I supposed to know?”

“I left them by the door and they’re not there anymore,” the teenage boy scratched at the back of his head, “Dylan’s either lying or genuinely didn’t steal them so I came to you.”

“Did you check everywhere?” (Y/n) questioned, brows furrowing at the absurdity of the situation, “Shoes don’t just walk away on their own, you gotta have feet in them.”

“Yes, I checked everywhere,” the boy grumbled, no longer bumping the book on the hard surface, now content to flip through the pages and allow the smell of old parchment to fill their nostrils. What a lovely smell that was.

Shaking her head, the mother fumbled for an explanation to the whereabouts of her son’s shoes, “I don’t know what to tell you, you brought more pairs, right?”

Joey nodded slowly, eyes scanning through fragmented sentences before turning to the next page, “Yeah, I just really liked those ones.”

“Alright, well, I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually, don’t worry yourself over it,” she grasped her boy’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb into the flesh tenderly before letting go, “We have a rat problem, by the way, if you see any traps, let me know.”

“Oh fun,” he mumbled, forcing a wide smile onto his lips, “I think there’s some in the backyard if you haven’t been out there. They look like shit but they’ll probably get the job done.”

“Language, but thank you.”

“English and you’re welcome.”

Deciding it was better to just walk away at this point, (Y/n) headed for the back door. It was heavy to pull open and nearly slammed shut if she hadn’t pressed her foot into the thick wood, grunting at the responding pain. A trash bag was set out with a pair of gloves next to it on a quaint little side table with spider webs running between the beige wicker legs. As if somebody had put them out for a quick run but forgot they wouldn’t be using them after they left.

After that, what caught her eye was the glint of rusted metal in the thick, untamed bushes of the surrounding greenery. Upon closer inspection, she could see that grass had entangled with the metallic gate on a small wooden box, buzzing flies being the next eye-catcher. She crouched down, instantly picking up on the putrid smell of corroding flesh and dried blood, flies nibbling on the swiss cheesed corpse of a rat.

“Shit!” she gagged, backing away, rubbing her hands on her pants despite having not touched the cage at all.

Looking back up at the house, (Y/n) barely noticed the outline of a person in one of the second-floor windows. She blinked twice, shaking her head before squinting back up at the same window. Just a coat rack. Didn’t seem right - there were pants in the outline! - but then she realized how outlandish it seemed. If there was a secret person living in the house, surely it would’ve been mentioned by the realtor.

‘Forgotten’ rats were one thing, an entire person was another.

“Mom!” another soprano level scream ruptured her eardrums.

In turn, (Y/n) huffed, clenching her eyes shut before turning around and walking back towards the porch. What she first noticed was her seven-year-old, the second being the extremely off-putting, cracked porcelain doll in his arms.

It was half his size and looked to have been haphazardly put back together with some unnamed brand of superglue. Dark hair framed its head quite well with glassy, hazel eyes and pale, pretty pink lips. Grossly realistic and abandoned in a mansion, it seemed to be perfect fire material. Or it would be, if she hadn’t been told by the realtor, very explicitly, to not use the fireplace.

“Whole house could go up in flames,” Mindy had waved her hands about, “I’m not sure how that’d work, but just… don’t test it.”

Dylan held up the doll closer to his mother’s face, “Isn’t he cool?!”

“Yeah,” she lied through her teeth, carefully taking the doll, “Does he have a name?”

Leading his mother back inside, Dylan shrugged, but his loose limbs and lack of control made it appear as though he was trying to toss his shoulders off from his body, “Don’t know.”

“Hmm,” she quietly hummed, pulling back the tightly sewn collar of the doll to peek at a possible name tag, “I’m not seeing anything here, baby. You wanna name him yourself?”

There was another creak, easily dismissed as the manor’s old bones settling as the woman handed the fragile doll to her son. Dylan pressed his lips into a tight line, staring at the toy for a few moments before bursting out an answer, “I think he looks like a James!”

(Y/n) nodded to the boy’s antics, “I think that’s a great name for him.”

Before they could continue the conversation, a hard bang on the wall knocked a picture from its spot above the stove, toppling onto the rather shiny surface. Their heads turned, eyes wide and Dylan was suddenly shaking, grasping onto his mother’s shirt and huddling into her side. The woman settled a hand on her son’s shoulder, pressing her thumb into the tensing muscles before pulling away to inspect the wall.

It was a wall, obviously. Flat, leveled, wall. Nothing particularly interesting about it aside from the wallpaper’s collection of grime and peels. Looking down, she took notice of the framed picture. Three figures stood in front of the home (Y/n) now found herself in possession of. Garden controlled and clean with no windows boarded, cracked, or dirtied. A young woman not much older than (Y/n) herself was holding a four-year-old brunette boy to her hip with, who one could assume was, her husband beside them.

Glancing between the picture and the doll, she frowned at how similar the toy looked to the little boy. Not to mention that haunting family portrait at the foot of the staircase. Turning the frame over in her hands, she opened up the back before pulling the picture out of its frame. (Y/n) searched for a scrawled title of the photograph, quickly finding an answer.

Mummy, Daddy, and Brahms!

She replaced the picture just as quickly as she got it out, debating between putting it back and tossing it out before deciding to leave it on the counter. (Y/n) took her son’s chubby cheeks between her hands, planting yet another kiss on his freckled forehead, “I think his name is Brahms, sweetie.”

“Brahms?” Dylan muttered, almost as though he was testing for another bump. When there was none, he nodded, “Brahms.”

Running away and back up the stairs, (Y/n) was ready to force herself into forgetting the whole thing happened when her older son’s voice was heard.

“It’s funny, you little brat!” followed by a loud wail.

“Give him back!” Dylan screamed.

(Y/n) rushed out of the kitchen to see Joey holding Brahms out of Dylan’s reach, the older boy was visibly angry, “Funny, I could say the same thing to you!”

“Joseph Lowy,” the woman muttered, snatching the doll from her son, and giving it back to her pouting little blond boy, “Here, go play with Brahms,” as he ran up the stairs, she called after him, “Don’t get too crazy up there, you two!”

Joey shook his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, “Little asshole.”

“Hey!” (Y/n) looked over to the sixteen-year-old, “Don’t talk about your little brother like that.”

“He stole more of my shit,” the dark-haired boy tapped at the wall a few times with his knuckles, shaking his head, “Shoes I could deal with but now two of my shirts are missing.”

“Did you leave them at the house?” she tried to reason, leaning against the wall, “Dylan’s been with me for a while, maybe you’re losing it, sweetpea.”

Joey cringed at the pet name briefly before deciding to carry on with his point, “No, I didn’t leave my clothes at the house. I wouldn’t leave a single sock with that dick.”

“Don’t call my ex a dick,” (Y/n) breathed out, turning her son around and nudging him towards the den, “Only I can do that.”

“Unfair.”

“This isn’t a democracy, it’s a dictatorship,” (Y/n) waved off, standing there long enough just to watch the boy sit down on a leather chair and open the book in his hands. She’d have to go into town for rat traps, then.

She bit at her lip, turning towards the flight of stairs and beginning to go up the steps. Without the creeks flowing alongside her movement, the house seemed even more eerie - she didn’t bother to stop and figure out why there were no creeks. It didn’t matter to her at the time.

(Y/n) peeked into Dylan’s room, smiling softly at the sight of her little boy seated at a play table with plastic plates and cups and faux food set delicately on it. He was holding a small pink teacup with Brahms porcelain fingers using a hair tie to keep a similar purple one in his grasp. When the little boy noticed his mother in the doorway, he waved wildly, taking one of Brahms’ arms gently and copying the motion onto the doll.

Continuing down the hall, (Y/n) came upon her room, pushing it open and immediately seeing that her suitcases and bags had been peeled open. She was sure that she’d left them all zipped and sealed before leaving, but, of course, you can never be too certain. Going over to the luggage, she moved clothing around and peered through when she noticed how strewn about her things were.

The ‘fragile-minded’ female role after a heavy divorce was not something (Y/n) ever imagined herself as being. It was so played out and disgusting, she despised it with everything in her body. Yet, as she found that one of her dresses was missing, she suddenly felt as though it was depressingly truer than she’d hoped.

(Y/n) turned to another suitcase; her apple red-tinted skirt was gone. She dug deeper into the case, pulling out a few stray, tossed-around shirts in her endeavor to find her favorite skirt. She tossed a hand up, giving up on finding the articles of clothing for the time being. Not that she’d admit it, but worry was beginning to fester in the deepest crawlspaces of her gut.

Stepping over to a different suitcase, (Y/n) pulled out what probably wouldn’t make her look as though she just woke up and went over to the bathroom connected to her bedroom.

Mindy had made it abundantly clear that the two previous owners drowned themselves while on a ‘two-month’ vacation after leaving the house to a nanny. Who the nanny was or why she left wasn’t made clear to either woman, just that the house wasn’t right. Cryptic language, always appreciated.

Taking into mind the deaths and sudden missing clothing combined with bumps from the kitchen, it may be time to call the kettle a kettle. The home may be haunted. Not that she wanted a literal haunted house, but what other choice was there at this point?

Not even apartments were renting as low as the manor was selling.

As she finished getting dressed, (Y/n) began her way out of the house, stopping at her younger son’s room, “I’m going out for some things. Want me to bring you back anything?”

Dylan looked over to the cracked doll, “Do you want new clothes, Brahms?”

The doll, of course, was completely silent. Unmoving. Watching.

“I think Brahms wants new clothes, Mom,” Dylan beamed at the woman, holding up his plastic cup.

(Y/n) giggled, nodding as she pat the doorway, “Alright, honey, I’ll see what I can do for Brahms.”

“Thanks, Mom,” the bubbly little boy lowered his cup, settling his hand on the doll’s back, “Say thanks, Brahms.”

No words came from the toy, as one would be expected to expect. It sat still, not moving but still watching. Always watching. Unblinking, glassy, hazel eyes stuck on his flesh-and-blood blond friend.

“He says thanks.”

Nodding, the woman gave her boy a thumbs up, “I’m sure.”

The next son was still in the den, reading quietly to himself. Every now and again one’s ear would pick up on a small mumble of a word, small stutters slipping from the teenager’s lips. (Y/n) came up behind the boy, hands slamming onto the back of the chair loudly.

Joey jumped in his place, turning swiftly, “The hell, Mom?”

“I’m going out, bookworm,” (Y/n) teased, running a hand through the boy’s messy black hair, “Need me to pick something up?”

“Coffee grounds would be great,” he confirmed, “There’s none in this entire, literal, mansion.”

“Alright,” she gently brought her older son’s shoulders back so his head was laying against the chair, “Take a break sometime soon, okay? Stretch for a bit, make you and your brother some lunch.”

He hummed in acknowledgment but otherwise, there was no indication of him having even listened to his mother.

The next morning was just as drab and bland as the previous, and there was no doubt that the morning after this would be the same as always. (Y/n) huffed as she climbed out of bed, rubbing a hand over her droopy eyes. She stood, no longer remembering much of what had happened yesterday other than buying children’s clothes for a doll and coffee grounds for her son.

Not even the drill holes the previous owners must have never paid much mind to, which she noticed after dinner. They were strangely large for any typical drill she’d seen or owned.

(Y/n) managed to trudge into the kitchen during her dazed state, neither one of her boys was eating and so she correctly assumed both were still asleep. Scratching under her shirt at her stomach, the woman picked the coffee grounds from under the sink, laying the hefty tub on the counter next to the maker. Seemed a bit counterproductive to have a coffee maker and not a single crumb of grounds or even any beans to actually use. Not that she could say it to the owners’ faces.

“Oh, filters, right,” she mumbled to herself, immediately recalling the thin papers in the walk-in closet style storage compartment.

Her hand scanned over a few shelves, one arm crossed over her chest and the other still running along canned goods and cereal boxes. She tilted her head to rest on the raised shoulder, beginning to hum quietly to herself. The air was pleasantly crisp, oddly crisp for the interior of a house let alone a pantry. It had the same feeling as being inside an attic, if that made any sort of sense it didn’t matter to her at the time. Not much about the house mattered to her at the moment.

A few creeks and Joey was walking into the kitchen, the poor house was only getting older and with his naturally heavy steps, Joey found himself making more noise than he’d like. So much noise. Too much noise. Why did he have to be so loose with his footfalls? He’d been walking for over forty years by now.

Forty years? Forty years.

He was a grown man, he should be able to walk quietly. Just because Greta left him, he suddenly can’t be a ghost anymore?

A scream clutched the air as the pantry door slammed shut. (Y/n) turned, not finding herself much a fan of the darkness. She took the doorknob into her grip, violently twisting and pushing on the knob, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The door refused to budge, like a weight was pressing down onto it. It creaked and rocked ever so slightly but there was no way of getting it open.

“Joseph fucking Lowy, open this God damn door!” she pounded on the busted wood, beginning to kick when her hits proved no help, “Dylan! One of you open this door, right now!”

Suddenly, the lock made a click, and all the invisible weight was gone, a sixteen-year-old boy staring quizzically at his mother, “Mom, what’s wrong with you? How did you lock the door from the outside?”

“What are you talking about?” (Y/n) shook her head, giving the pantry a glance over her shoulder, “You locked me in there.”

“You woke me up with all your yelling,” Joey instantly denied, “I’m surprised Dylan’s not up yet.”

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you right now,” she crossed both arms, “It’s not cute.”

“I’m serious!” he shouted in his own defense, neither of them taking notice in the seven-year-old cradling a porcelain doll with a cracked face to his chest, “I wouldn’t lock you in a pantry!”

“Mom…” the boy muttered.

(Y/n)’s jaw clenched, eyes slamming shut and body turning away from her older son to look at the disgusting wallpaper of her kitchen. She sniffed hard, rubbing under her nose before looking back to her younger son, “Yes, sweetie?”

“Brahms made a mess,” Dylan quietly replied, going up to his mother and grabbing her hand, “It wasn’t me, really. It was Brahms.”

“What do you mean it was Brahms?” she huffed, following after the child as he began leading her up to the second floor, “He’s a doll, baby, it was probably just the wind knocking something over.”

“No,” he shook his head, pushing his bedroom door open wider, “Brahms made a mess.”

A mess indeed. Clothes and toys had been absolutely hurricaned around the little boy’s room, some glass from pictures and abandoned dishes shattered across the floor. Dylan’s play table had been toppled over with all the plasticware left on the carpeted ground. Looking over to her son’s feet, (Y/n) felt herself puzzled at the lack of blood; glass was everywhere. How could his reckless little feet avoid all of it?”

“Baby, did you step in any glass?”

“There’s glass in there?” the boy peeked around his mother before looking down at Brahms, “How did you do that?”

(Y/n) turned back to the bedroom, poking her tongue into her cheek as her hands found their places on her hips. Confusion laced into her bones, trickling down the marrow and soaking into her shaking fingertips. Brows knit tightly downward in the midst of her conflict and head thumping for answers, no - no, that was a headache. She was getting a headache.

Taking her son’s shoulders, (Y/n) spun him around to face the way they just came down, “I’ll take care of that tonight, sweetpea, don’t go in here for a little bit, alright? I don’t want you cutting up your feet.”

“Okay, Mama,” Dylan grinned up at the woman, holding Brahms a little tighter in his grasp, “I don’t want Brahms to get hurt either.”

“That’s very nice of you,” she cooed, taking his cheek between thumb and forefinger and pinching gently, “What a good little boy I have.”

Beaming at the praise, the mother-son duo didn’t even notice the panel in the wall rolling back and it’s spidery tendons creeping around the curve of the wall’s edge. Instead, they giggled over nothing as (Y/n) took her son’s small, fragile hands into her own and puppeteered him down the stairs. Doll boy Brahms left to sit on the landing of the house’s flight until somebody, anybody, picked him up.

Passing the portrait of another family was easy enough despite how creepy it seemed. They’d have to take it down, feeling like a guest in one’s own home was never appreciated. Then again, neither were pests in your walls, especially when you didn’t know about them yet.

“Sleep tight, sweetie,” (Y/n) blew one final kiss to her son before closing the bedroom door to her own room.

“Wait,” Dylan whined, stopping his mother in the motion, “Brahms is still gone…”

The woman pursed her lips, “I know, I know. Just try to sleep without him for now, okay? We’ll probably find him tomorrow morning.”

Pouting, the boy kicked his legs out slightly before nodding solemnly, “Alright…”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she smiled tenderly at the child before shutting the bedroom door genuinely. Turning to her other son, (Y/n) forced a much faker smile onto her lips, “And thank you for your upcoming sacrifice.”

“I never said it was a sacrifice,” Joey grumbled, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “You’re just dramatic.”

“Incorrect,” (Y/n) turned her boy around with a few small pats on the shoulder, descending the stairs as a pair until they reached the comically large portrait of a family that wasn’t their own.

Her hand settled against the groove of the curvy golden frame, the other resting against the painted surface as she and her son lifted the painting from the wall.

“Shit,” Joey hissed, assisting his mother in her lifting, “this thing’s heavy. Really heavy.”

“Probably wasn’t meant to be taken off the wall,” the woman reasoned with her son, muscles straining in their removal of the ridiculously big painting.

As the woman handled the painting, deciding to let it rest on the floor. Her backbones screamed as she slowly bent at the knee to lower the portrait of the wealthy family. Knuckles and joints beginning to ache as she did so.

“Mom…?” Joey muttered, voice much smaller and more fragile than she was accustomed to.

“Yeah?” she gruffed, finally letting the painting down completely. Her hands came to press on her tailbone ever so gently, practically already feeling next morning’s soreness, “Something wrong?”

“Only if you think a human-sized hole in the wall is a problem?” the boy chuckled dryly.

“A what?”

Turning swiftly, (Y/n) was quickly faced with exactly what her eldest son had just described to her. A human-sized hole in their wall. Large enough to fit a six-foot person, maybe they’d have to duck, but the fact remained. Her hands reached out for the edges of where the frame met the actual wall. She turned her head both ways, it was dark but when her eyes adjusted she could tell that there was a clear path running through the wall. Pulling her head back out, (Y/n) nodded towards the hole.

“I’ll go first, you follow.”

“Fine.”

Stepping into the hole, she noted how disgustingly crisp the air felt, it reminded her of being trapped in the pantry. It made her question what ways were waiting to be opened up by creeping little fingers inside that quiet, confined space. Her skin bumped and hairs raised at the thought of whoever had made these pathways still being inside the house. But that was insane, not a chance that somebody could live inside the walls of a manor without anybody finding out. There’d be too many creeks.

And suddenly she was remembering being locked in the pantry again, when those loud creeks were cracking into her ears and her sons had still been asleep. Her sons had still been asleep.

(Y/n) stopped, glad that her son’s eyes, though faltering, had adjusted to the dark well enough so he wouldn’t bump into her, “You’re sure you didn’t lock me in the pantry, right? There’s no way you were sleepwalking or anything?”

It was silent, so silent that there was a deafening buzz drumming into her ears.

“Joey?”

Again, all she was met with was the droning, consistent blare of buzzing in her ears.

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you.”

Once more, she was hit with buzzing.

“Joseph,” (Y/n) turned around, not meeting the eyes of her sixteen-year-old bookworm son, but instead with a stained, smelly, thin white shirt.

It hung low enough to expose the oddly shiny slick of sweat glistening over a hairy chest. Her breath grew rapid, fear racing through her body as she shook her head.

Looking up, her gut was wrenched at the dirtied prosthetic mask angled as if the person behind it was looking down upon her, as though she were a frightened rabbit. Now that she thought about it, she was a frightened, shaking little rabbit.

“Where’s my son?” when there was no response, she tossed herself into his body, attempting to push past him, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The arms of the secret man in her walls wrapped around her, squeezing tightly. One arm abandoned her waist, scrambling for something a little ways behind them, when he found it, the arm raised above her head.

“Joseph?!” she sobbed weakly, beginning to choke on her own nasty cocktail of tears and mucus, “Dylan?!”

A thwack left no more screaming to be heard, the tall man dropping his makeshift club in favor of picking the woman up as though she were his cute, delicate bride.

Brahms turned, heading back for the largest panel of the walls with (Y/n) dangling limply in his arms.

Finally coming to, (Y/n) sputtered in a soft muffle, eyesight unclear and spotting in the corners. The spots and blotches eventually leveled and began to mop themselves into one concise picture of the kitchen. She let out a soft hiss, wrists stinging when she suddenly realized that there were ropes binding her arms back and to her chair.

Head toppling to the left, a snoring Joey was also tied down with his glasses already having slipped from his nose. Crashed onto the floor and shattered, it reminded her of her youngest son’s room; her youngest son.

She looked over to her right, spotting an empty wicker chair immediately beside her and Dylan after that. Dylan was leaning far back, head resting on his shoulder and mouth having fallen open to let out quiet whimpers and whines as though even in Dreamland, he was frightful.

Finally, she looked forward, squinting at the collection of chairs in front of her. They were chairs, obviously, nothing too interesting about that but it’s what was in the chairs that alarmed her. Pillows conjoined together by stolen articles of clothing ranging from Joey’s shirt to her favorite dress and skirt and Dylan’s sweatshirt. Between her pillow copy and Dylan’s was the Brahms doll; staring ahead silently. Watching. Always watching.

A high-pitched, airy, childlike voice rang in her ear, it didn’t match the fully grown man standing behind Dylan. Brahms, the real Brahms, pat the boy’s blond hair before ruffling Joey’s untamed dark tresses, “Little brother… big brother…” he moved behind (Y/n), his hands settling on her shoulders before his mask moved to press it’s cold, hard lips against the goosebumped, terrified skin of her neck, “Mommy…”

Sitting down in the empty chair, Brahms smiled beneath his mask, staring into the dead, glassy eyes of his doll before letting his voice take on the deeper octave more appropriate of an adult.

“Daddy…”

#brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire x reader #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #brahms: the boy #can't believe i spelt the movie name wrong :)#clown energy people i'm telling you

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queen-scribbles · 3 years ago

Text

Acceptable Risk

Art trade fic for the extremely patient @theheroofoakvale, exploring if Shepard’s recruiting Thane had gone a little.... differently.

-----

The door opened with a quiet hiss, and Shepard’s entry was greeted with the raised barrels of several assault rifles. The mercenaries, however, paused before opening fire, despite being confronted by three heavily armed individuals pointing guns back at them.

The asari in the middle of the cluster--clad for business rather than combat--spun to face them, her eyes widening. “Shepard?!”

Shepard smirked, centered his pistol on her. “Nassana.”

There was a muffled clatter in the ceiling that had the mercenaries’ attention swiveling upward. Her posture shifted defensive. “You’re dead.”

“I got better,” he retorted, and shot her in the throat.

Her bodyguards zeroed back in on him and his team, torn between them and the threat above, and that was their undoing. A dark figure dropped from one of the ceiling vents, and Shepard used that moment of distraction to take out two of them. When the remaining mercs focused in on him, the dark figure punched one in the throat and shot the other center mass. The few that were left went down quickly.

Massani and Vakarian kept their guns up, leveled at the late arrival, a drell, as he stood in the middle of the carnage, eyes fixed in an unblinking, regretful stare at Nassana Dantius’ body.

“Sorry if I stole your kill,” Shepard said after letting the silence go as long as he could tolerate. His pistol hung at his side in a loose grip, ready if he needed it. He didn’t think he would.

“I was not here for her, though the galaxy is no less for her removal,” the drell said softly, finally looking up from the dead woman and blinking just before he met Shepard’s gaze. “I am here for you.”

Behind him, Massani muttered a quiet curse and Vakarian tightened his grip on his gun, but Shepard didn’t even flinch. “I did wonder. Dantius hardly seems worth the time for someone of your... reputation.”

“And yet you still came,” the drell said, clasping his hands behind him and looking in no rush to kill anyone.

“She used me.” He let the barest edge of a snarl color the words. “I can go along with a likely trap if it gives me an excuse for payback. Also,” he took half a step forward, “seemed the best way to meet you, Krios. We need to talk.”

Thane Krios did not look at all perturbed that his target knew who he was. His expression remained impassive as he studied Shepard’s face. “Do we? What about?”

“I need your help on a mission. You can feel free to continue trying to kill me after we’re done.”

“Why?” Krios asked, still studying Shepard’s face.

“Why, what?”

“Why do you need me? Why should I help instead of killing you now?”

Shepard laughed darkly. “The fucking galaxy is at stake, I need the best of the best, even if they are out for my blood.” Another half step forward, Vakarian and Massani following this time until he waved them back. “As for the second question.... I know some things about you, Krios. I know you’re dying, and I know you have a son.” His pistol folded in on its clip as he crossed his arms and stared hard at the assassin. “And where he is. I imagine you’d hate for something to happen to him before you had a chance to mend fences.”

Three rapid blinks, a sharp breath, posture unchanged, but it was the most reaction Krios had shown in this conversation. “And would you make this... something happen if I say no, Shepard?”

His calm was impressive. Shepard wondered if it was an easier illusion to maintain with eyes that had neither pupils nor iris to betray strong emotion. “If I have to. I need the best, Krios, which is you. Don’t really care how I get your cooperation.”

Krios was silent for a long moment. “This threat must be grave indeed for you to employ such measures.”

He was nigh impossible to read, but the slight shift of his clasped hands was hint enough. “I’m hunting an enemy who’s abducting human colonies and has ties to the Reapers, I’d call that pretty damn grave. Like I said, you can resume trying to kill me if we survive. What’s it gonna be?”

Another heavy pause, though shorter. “You have left me only one viable option if I care about my son.”

Shepard arched a brow.

“I will assist. Consider this a pause in the contract on your life.”

“Good enough for me.” Shepard cast a smug glance at Dantius’ corpse, then turned to exit the room. “We’re done here, so you can either come with us or meet us at the ship.”

“I will meet you shortly. I have a few personal effects to gather,” Krios said.

“Alright. We’re on a clock, so don’t dilly dally,” Shepard replied, and motioned their departure to Vakarian and Massani.

“What’s to stop him from shooting you on our way down?” Vakarian muttered as they headed for the elevator. “He’s already planning to kill you and you threatened his kid.”

Massani beat Shepard to the answer. “Doesn’t know if there’s a dead man’s switch on that something happenin’ to his boy if Shepard bites it.” He chuckled darkly and smirked at Shepard. “What the hell’d you do to earn a death mark, anyway?”

Shepard shrugged, watching the blur of downward travel out the elevator’s glass-paned wall. “Hell if I know, Massani. Certainly pissed off enough people for there to be some options.”

The mercenary gave a rough laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. “Wear like a badge of fucking honor, kid. Means you got someone real riled up.”

---

Krios was, as promised, aboard the Normandy well within an hour. His personal effects he’d gone to collect were few enough to fit in a small shoulder satchel that he politely refused to let anyone inspect. (Lawson was not happy when Shepard told her to drop it, clearly suspicious of allowing an assassin on board without first vetting his gear.) He settled in life support at EDI’s suggestion, and ruffled no feathers with the rest of the crew, unless you counted Taylor’s mistrust of his career in general.

“What will be expected of me, Commander?” Krios asked, in that same modulated tone he’d used on Illium.

“No shipboard duties, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Shepard said. He leaned against the wall by the door and studied Krios. “You can do as you like here. When we have missions, I may want you to come watch my six, if your skillset seems a good fit.”

“I see.” He folded his hands, elbows braced against the small worktable at which he sat. There was a hesitation under the words that almost rang in the air.

“If there’s something else you wanna say, now’s the time,” Shepard prodded. He didn’t have time to be gentle prying out secrets or whatever.

“My son,” Krios said, words measured and careful. “You say you know where he is. Would you be willing to share that knowledge?”

Shepard mulled it over, weighing the value of his options. “In time,” he finally said. “We have a couple pressing assignments that are more important than family reunions. But if we hit a point with some free time I’ll let you know.”

Krios nodded, his expression unreadable as ever. “Very well, Shepard.”

“One thing I need to know from you,” Shepard began, pushing away from the wall, “is if whatever’s killing you will affect your abilities in a fight.”

“It shouldn’t, not yet.” He paused for the space of a few blinks. “I should have several months at least before the symptoms become noticeable even to myself. More than enough time to complete your mission, if it is as urgent as you make you sound.”

“Is that something you doubt, Krios?”

“Not at all.” Krios pushed to his feet and crossed the room to examine a rack of spare rifle parts. “Even someone of your reputation would have to be on a mission of urgency to blackmail an assassin sent to kill you into helping your cause. I simply mean this threat seems the type where a decisive outcome will be reached swiftly; whether in victory or destruction. Well within the time I have before functionality is... affected.”

“Good.” Shepard nodded. “Not sure when I’ll need you, but I want to be sure you’ll be worth it when the times comes.” He left the room, noting Krios’ undertone murmur as he did, and from the cadence wondered what the assassin was praying for.

---

Shepard first tested him on something that seemed of no consequence; a mercenary base on a backwater planet trafficking stolen eezo. Thane did his job, no more no less, all the while making note of how the man fought. The risks he thought worth taking, the sacrifices that were acceptable cost, the balance of recklessness and cunning. It was not a complete picture, not off one mission, and Thane wouldn’t act on what he’d gleaned even if it were.

Not with the blade the commander had hung over Kolyat. Not with the hope of learning where his son might be. Patience was the hallmark of an assassin, after all; knowing when to strike as well as how. And Thane had been an assassin a very long time. He could wait.

Especially as conversations with others aboard the ship painted a clearer and clearer picture of the mission’s scope. A trip through the Omega 4 relay was very likely to be suicidal just on its own. Destroying whatever these Collectors used as a base doubly so. When Shepard made ‘if we survive’ comments, he wasn’t joking. Thane could wait. He could help with the mission--it was a worthy goal after all, one he would have assisted in accomplishing without the threats--and then resume his contract.

After the mercenary base was eliminated, and easily, Shepard made use of Thane’s skills a few more times. Usually on missions with plentiful shadow coverage and good sight lines.

“How’re you holding up?” Garrus asked on one such mission, the two of them picking off targets from a bit of a distance while Shepard made viciously short work of the battlefield.

“I’ve had worse assignments.” Thane’s rifle kicked against his shoulder and the krogan he’d been targeting dropped. He fired another shot, just to be safe, and watched the body jerk then lay still, before searching out another target. “What of you?”

Garrus snorted, took down his own target. “I’m here because he’s my... friend” --there was a brief hesitation, as if the turian wasn’t completely sure that was the right word--”and I trust that whatever he’s doing is worth whatever it costs to accomplish.”

“You’ve fought alongside him before.”

“Against Sovereign, yeah.” Garrus’ mandible twitched as he focused on sighting in another shot. “This feels different.”

He didn’t elaborate, and it was only a few moments more for them the claim victory and press further on with their mission.

Thane watched Shepard, and wondered what had changed in the eyes of his friend.

---

It was after the derelict Reaper, after adding a geth to their mix, that Thane’s patience paid off. At least in part.

“Your kid’s on the Citadel,” Shepard informed him out of the blue. “Lucky for you, Vakarian has some unfinished business there as well, and the techs need some time to integrate the IFF to the Normandy’s systems. I can spare a side trip for personal issues while they get that squared away. Be ready to go in an hour.”

Thane didn’t protest. Didn’t question. He could ask for details on approach to the Citadel.

They set a cold knot in his gut when he learned them. “He’s here to kill someone,” Shepard said bluntly, and all Thane could think was Like father, like son. That was not a path he’d ever wanted for Kolyat. Shepard didn’t have a lot of details, just that Kolyat was there. Apparently even Cerberus’ resources had limits.

They spoke to a C-Sec officer, then to Mouse at his suggestion--Thane was surprised but pleased he was still alive--both conversations Shepard kept as short as possible. Clearly he was not in the mood to waste time. Thane wished that hadn’t involved the commander breaking Mouse’s nose, but couldn’t muster much sympathy when the same proved true of Kelham once they got his name and interrogated him.

“We have some time, not a lot of it,” Shepard growled. “And we still need to find Sidonis when we’re done with your shit, Krios.” He turned to Captain Bailey. “What can you tell me about this Talid Kelham wants dead?”

The picture Bailey painted--up and coming turian politician, vocally anti-human and gaining support--made it obvious why Kelham would want Talid gone. He had to be very bad for business. He was also in a very vulnerable position currently; pressing flesh on a walk through the Wards with only one or two bodyguards along for protection.

Thane had to admit surprise when Shepard was alright with them splitting up to track Talid and (hopefully) find Kolyat.

“You can’t find him alone any more than I can,” Shepard commented with a sharp smile s he and Garrus headed for the catwalks. “Stay sharp, Krios.”

As if he would do otherwise. Still, he bowed his head and asked Amonkira for strength and guidance before he vanished into the shadows, hoping they weren’t too late to save his son from a very familiar dark path.

Are you really surprised? a voice inside him mocked as Thane picked his route along catwalks and ducts, through shadows and crowds. Even if he hates you, that’s the example you left.

He shook it off. He didn’t have the luxury of internal debate right now. He had to pick out his route on the fly, keep in touch with Shepard and Garrus, plot out several ways to handle the situation that all depended on Kolyat’s behavior. And he didn’t know his own son well enough to predict that, so his solutions were all loosely structured ideas at best. Some plan was better than none.

It was a close thing, despite their best efforts. Kolyat spooked, shot the bodyguards and dragged Talid into his apartment with a gun to his head.

Shepard was only a step behind once Kolyat broke cover and very quickly had a gun pointed at him.

Thane went very still, watching this standoff. He didn’t know Shepard well enough to know what the man would do, but he knew what C-Sec protocols would be, and he could hear their approach. Shepard had been very clear about the limited time they had for this side trip, the fastest resolution--which would also fulfill C-Sec’s mandate to keep Talid alive--would end with his son dead, and Shepard was not a patient man.

Kolyat’s anger blazed, even from across the room, and he was far from willing to cooperate, his pistol pressed to the back of Talid’s head.

The loud crack of a pistol shot nearly made Thane flinch, his chest squeezing in protest at the thought of his failure. Just this one thing, I wanted to fix just this.

But Shepard’s shot snapped Talid’s head back, not Kolyat’s. The turian collapsed in a spray of dark blood and Kolyat recoiled. In that moment of distraction, Thane surged forward and twisted the pistol out of Kolyat’s hands, unsure if the tremor was adrenaline or rage.

Shepard was talking to an incensed Bailey; “No one will miss a racist asshole, I did you a favor”, but Thane’s focus was all on his son.

“This was not the best way,” he said softly.

“What do you know?” Kolyat hissed back, struggling against Thane’s unrelenting grip.

“More than you might think.”

Kolyat yanked away as if the contact had burned him. Fury simmered in his eyes, and resentment, but he was alive. C-Sec would still have to take him in for what he’d been ready to do(attempted murder? That would likely be the charge), there would be consequences for what he tried to do, and Thane didn’t know if they even could “mend fences” as Shepard had put it. But he was alive. And hopefully could be deterred from a path Thane wouldn’t wish anyone to tread.

“Krios,” Shepard barked and Thane pulled himself out of his reverie watching C-Sec lead Kolyat away. But rather than Time to go, the commander nodded after the arresting officers. “Massani can help with tracking down Fade. You have until we’re done. I wouldn’t count on more than an hour or two.”

Thane blinked, thrown off kilter by the gesture, but recovered quickly. “Understood.” He’d taken three steps after the C-Sec officers before he stopped and turned. “...Thank you, Shepard.”

The man waved him off, already walking away with Garrus in his wake.

---

An hour and a half didn’t go very far working through a decade of distance, but it was a start.

“Why do you stay with him?” Kolyat asked when Thane’s comms crackled with a heads-up Shepard and the others were on their way back and he stood. “If... this” --a quick gesture, more a flick of the wrist than anything, between the two of them-- “is so important?”

For you. In more ways than one. “Shepard’s mission is... critical. And there is, unfortunately, a time limit on saving the galaxy.”

Kolyat snorted at his father’s dry humor. “Right.”

“I will keep in touch,” Thane promised. “Perhaps we can meet again once this is finished. If you would like.” If I survive.

“...We’ll see.” Kolyat was staring at the table rather than him, but Thane would take it.

He nodded and headed for the door. “Very well.”

“Does he have something on you?” Kolyat asked abruptly. “With the reputation Shepard’s made, he doesn’t seem the type honorable people would be following.”

“I have made no claims of honor,” Thane said quietly, hand on the door frame. “And with the stakes of mission, some sacrifices may prove necessary.”

“Sounds familiar,” Kolyat muttered.

Thane made no reply, and didn’t look back as he left the room with a cold weight in his chest.

---

It ha been the right call letting Krios reconnect with his son. He seemed more centered, more focused, for having dealt with his baggage. Probably that whole ‘something to live for’ schtick. Shepard only cared that Krios did his job and the mending bond made the kid an even more effective pressure point.

Not that Krios had ever protested. Ever balked. But everyone had their limit, and if he happened to find the assassin’s, it never hurt to have a brute force solution in your arsenal. Especially as they were very close to actually pursuing the Collectors through the Omega 4 relay.

“Just a few more tests,” Lawson assured him. They wanted it to work right, after all. It’d be a real short trip otherwise.

“So,” he asked Krios, “out of morbid curiosity, who wants me dead?” There were plenty of options, he wanted to know who wanted it badly enough to hire an assassin. And it wasn’t like he currently had anything better to do with his time.

Krios cocked his head, a flicker of what might have been amusement crossing his face. “I cannot tell you, Shepard.”

Shepard snorted and arched a brow. “Client confidentiality?”

“Client anonymity,” the drell corrected.

“You let some faceless coward point you at a target with my body count?”

“As you know, I am dying,” Krios said in that implacable tone of his. “Odds of survival were... far from troubling, as a factor.”

“And odds of success?” Shepard retorted.

This time there was definitely a small smile before Krios schooled his expression neutral. Not mocking or cocky, just... amused. “There is a first time for everything.” The faint amusement was gone when he locked eyes with Shepard. “How will we handle this, commander? When we are finished our mission, assuming we both survive, and I resume my contract to kill you?”

“Feel like giving me a day’s lead?” Shepard grinned sardonically.

“I could be persuaded,” Krios said. He shifted in his chair. “Let us see how things progress, shall we?”

You’d never know to look at the man he’d been... convinced to help with this by threat of harm to his son. He seemed perfectly at home, posture easy. He didn’t talk to the crew much, Shepard knew from EDI, but it was hardly surprising an assassin was accustom to solitude.

As if summoned by his brief thought of her, a glowing sphere materialized on the AI kiosk. “Shepard, Miss Lawson wished you informed that the IFF installation is in its final stage. For the shakedown we will need complete access to the Normandy’s systems, so it is recommended you use the shuttle for whatever you plan to undertake next.”

“Got it,: Shepard tossed in vaguely the direction of the AI. “That’ll make things tight,” he muttered to himself. He had something in mind that would likely need the whole team. They’d fit in the shuttle, but it would be tight. Last thing he needed was Lawson and Jack killing each other before they even hit the Collector base.

Krios was eyeing him with curiosity. “Commander?”

“Gear up,” Shepard said, heading for the door. “Got a search and recover that might take all hands.”

The assassin nodded and pushed to his feet, heading for his locker. “Very well.”

---

Their mission went well. Things on the Normandy in their absence, not so much. Shepard left a fully-staffed state of the art warship an returned to a picked-clean husk manned only by his pilot and the now-unshackled AI.

The Collectors had bloodied his nose, cost him his crew. Again. He’d had it. “Ship’s not getting any more ready than it is. Joker, head for the Omega 4 relay.”

“Aye, aye,” came the determined, hungry reply.The pilot was probably even more eager than Shepard to punch back at the bug-eyed bastards.

Unlike Joker--and probably the others--Shepard viewed getting the crew back as a secondary objective to taking out the Collectors. The threat they posed to humanity ended now.

Get us there was his order, and that didn’t change when they came out of the relay having to dodge starship wreckage, or when they were harried by drones, or even when a fucking occulus busted into the hold.

“Krios, Massani, with me!” he barked, rifle in hand, listening to the scrape and thud of wreckage and lasers ricocheting off the upgraded hull on the way to the bowels of the ship. By the time they had trashed the occulus, Joker had them past the debris field and the drones, and a new problem had arisen.

New, but familiar--the same Collector vessel that he had encountered numerous times before. But this time, the Normandy had sharper teeth. “Let ‘em have it!” he ordered, a command Joker follow with alacrity Darting, looping, dodging, the pilot had them dancing around the larger ship, deftly avoiding the beam that had been their destruction before.

The surge of satisfaction at destroying the vessel was short lived, as it erupted in a fireball more than large enough to knock the Normandy into a crazy, barely controlled descent that could more bluntly be called a crash.

“Everyone alive?” Shepard checked over comms. When that was affirmative, he followed with, “Assemble in the CIC.”

This was it. A quick rundown of schematics pulled from the vessel and what he expected to find inside, a victory whatever it takes reminder, and it was time to go.

---

Than prayed silently to Amonkira as they disembarked from the Normandy. Let our hands strike true, and victory be worth the cost. There would be a cost, of this he was sure. He was familiar enough with Shepard’s methods by now there was little room for doubt. If I am among that cost, please guide my son, that his steps may trace a better path.

He wondered, if he should fall, whether his client would hire someone else to complete the task of killing Shepard or if they would let it go. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He wanted to survive, to speak more with Kolyat before the end, but it would be what it was.

They split into groups, Shepard leading Thane and Zaeed, Garrus the rest of them, to serve as distractions while Tali crawled through the vents to let them pass. It was a good call; the Collectors swarmed thick enough any other plan would likely have been overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. They were not given the luxury of time for sighting in targets, so Thane stuck with his pistol--and occasionally biotics--firing, reloading, firing, with the odd interruption to scrounge more thermal clips because he’d run out.

Shepard’s back and forth with Garrus and Tali was just background noise, like the beating wings of their foes, as Thane gave his focus to the task at hand.

Tali stumbled out of the vent just as they finally reached the heavy doors barring the end of the hall. She beelined for the access panel, teetered as a couple shots ricocheted off her shields.

“Get it open!” Shepard barked as the three of them wheeled to give her cover fire. “Vakarian, where the hell are you?!”

“Almost there, a group of the bastards ambushed us!”

A Collector dove toward Tali and Thane shot it--rushed, imperfect, but the grazing shot knocked it off course long enough for him to try again. This time, it fell and did not rise again.

---

The sense of urgency, pounding Hurry, hurry, hurry through Shepard’s veins thrummed louder as the door beeped and started to hiss open. A muffled burst of gunfire reached his ears a handful of seconds before Vakarian and the others came into view, hauling ass down the passageway toward them.

“Massani, Krios! Through the door!” He rattled off a stream of cover fire, driving the Collectors to hang back for a second. Just a second. But it was enough time for the second fire team to reach the end of the passage and dart through the door.

Krios and Massani maintained some cover fire from the far side of the door, buying breathing room for the others as one by one they darted through the door. Lawson brought up the rear, her barrier shimmering out as the doors groaned on closing.

“They’re stuck!” Tali bit out, shoving one door with scraping, grinding protest along its track. Shepard and Lawson ducked through the narrowing gap just as a final shot slammed into Lawson’s shoulder and sent her stumbling.

“I’m fine,” she ground out, slapping medigel on the injury as the group of them shook off the adrenaline to register what the room held.

The walls were lined with dozens, hundreds, thousands, of the Collectors’ pods. The dingy yellow glow throughout the room spoke to them all being occupied.

Movement caught Shepard’s eye and he swung his rifle toward the potential threat. it was just one of the nearby pods; the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman inside stirred, pounding against the transparent canopy in a futile attempt to escape. Even as Tali and Krios rushed forward to try and free her, the pod hummed and the woman only had time for a single terrified scream before she simply... liquefied into a sludgy brown paste which drained away almost before his crew had time to recoil in horror.

“Commander! Over here!” Taylor fumbled with a nearby pod until a very disoriented figure tumbled out. “It’s the crew!”

That broke the horror that had frozen them, and the group surged forward to free their comrades before the same fate could befall them.

Chambers. Daniels. Donnelly. Gardner. All of them were here, as Shepard ran a mental roster, but Chakwas was the one to explain. Near as she could tell, the humans in the pods were being reduced to genetic material and ...piped elsewhere in the base through tubes, though she wasn’t sure where or why. That sounded like where they needed to go.

“We need to get them out of here,” Taylor said, hovering near a few of the engineers as they stumbled to their feet.

We don’t have time for this. “You wanna take them back, be my guest,” Shepard returned brusquely. “We need to destroy this base, but we can mange without you if it’s that important to you.”

“It is.” Taylor’s voice was firm as he tugged Chambers’ arm around his shoulders and herded the crew back toward the Normandy. “See you on the other side, Commander.”

---

Thane almost offered to accompany them; it was a lot of people for one man to safeguard. But Shepard was already snapping orders for the next stage of their infiltration. He’d be taking Garrus and Zaeed, sheltered from the overabundance of Seeker swarms by Jack, down the shortest route that followed the tubes. “The rest of you follow Lawson on the other route EDI indicated, draw some of the flying bastards off.”

Forward, then. Thane checked his reserve of thermal clips, made sure his pistol was undamaged, and fell in with the others as the door hissed open and they pressed on.

They hadn’t advanced far when the first Collectors appeared, drones and a small number of husks that were easy enough tot pick off. Their numbers only increased as time wore on, but that was the point wasn’t it? Draw them here, so Shepard could get through. Thane stood shoulder to shoulder with Tali as their squad advanced, shared his thermal clips when hers ran out first, lent what strength he could to the biotic barrier Samara had summoned to protect their backs.

“There’s a lot of them, Shepard!” Miranda hollered into comms when they were forced to take cover from a particularly large group, dotted with abominations and led by a scion.

“Good!” his reply crackled back underscored by gunfire. “Keep them the hell off us! We’re almost there!”

She hissed a quiet curse, then, “Yes, Commander!” Her fist flared blue and a pair of husks flew off the edge of the path. “Samara, push them back on three!”

The justicar nodded and the rest of them by unspoken agreement turned their focus to give the women cover fire.

“One!”

Strafing fire raked Grunt’s armor and he bellowed a laugh as he shot back. Thane admired his defiance.

“Two!”

The barrier Samar had been maintaining shrank inward in preparation. Amonkira, guide their strength.

“Three!”

The combined power of two gifted biotics exploded outward in a wash over overwhelming ozone-scented blue. Just as it slammed into the descending Collector horde, a heavy, white hot pain tore into Thane’s arm and side.

He was dimly aware of Miranda yelling for them to move, of a hand closing around his bicep to drag him with them, of his legs moving to keep up until the gave out and he was hauled over someone’s shoulder instead. There was rushing sound in his ears and it wasn’t until it was it was punctuated by gunfire and Miranda hollering at Shepard they were under heavy attack Thane realized it was Collector wings and not the lure of unconsciousness.

“Give us a minute, Lawson!”

“We don’t have a minute!”

Shepard’s curse was broken by static. “Vakarian, get that door open! Now!”

Time was fuzzy with the pain that swirled fresh at each jolted step of whoever (probably Grunt) was carrying him, but it still seemed an eternity before, muffled, he could hear someone calling an encouragement.

He slammed against something and the pain flared so white, for a moment he saw Irikah’s face. There was a dull murmur of voices, then a spike of numb shot through the pain and spread, blanketing, pushing back until he was aware again.

Tali knelt beside him, her omnitool just closing down as he became conscious of her presence. “Good, you’re still with us.”

“Thanks to you,” Thane rasped. He passed one hand gingerly over his injured side. The healing wound was large, like from a plasma- or other energy-based weapon rather than bullets. He could cope much better with bullets.

“You are welcome,” Tali said, pushing to her feet and offering him a hand up.

Thane accepted, but leaned against a wall once he’d gained his feet. It would take a few minutes for the medigel to truly do its work. He cast a surveying glance about as he waited. Mordin was limping heavily, Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed all had significant battle damage to their armor....

And Miranda lay still, half-slumped against a wall, pistol resting in her limp grasp. Shepard knelt next to her, blood streaked in his stark white hair, but stood even as Thane’s gaze landed on them. “She’s gone,” he confirmed, as if there was any doubt. He half-turned, hand rising to his ear, expression flint-hard. “Got it, Joker.”

Garrus’ mandibles clicked. “The crew?”

“They made it back.” Shepard shoved a new clip into his rifle. “Taylor died getting them there.”

Thane grimaced. He should have gone along.

“It happens,” Shepard said, as if he’d caught the self-reproof without even looking. “According to EDI, this next room’s the core. Vakarian, Massani, you stick with me, the rest of you cover our asses.”

He didn’t wait for agreement or confirmation, just strode to the console for the necessary door and and punched in the command to open it. Garrus and Zaeed followed silently, the former briefly locking eyes with Tali before the three of them disappeared down the hallway.

---

The rest of them hastily arranged themselves in a defensive perimeter, gazes and weapons trained on the two doors that separated them from the Collector forces.

Thane said a rushed but heartfelt prayer to Kalahira for their fallen, working the fingers of his injured arm to test the medigel’s progress. It would do.

The sheer number of Collectors made the task a difficult one--more than once Thane feared running out of clips for his pistol until a brief pause between waves allowed them to scavenge and share from the fallen. This sort of sustained firefight was far from his normal milieu, but this close to the end he was still determined to do his best.

They held as battle chatter from Shepard’s squad broke through the static. They held even though Mordin fell and Legion fell and Jack nearly followed, snarling and spitting curses as she struggled back to her feet. They held until Shepard’s order came over comms, “Move if you don’t want to go up with this place!”

Then they ran, Samara and Jack shielding them from as much as they could, the rest picking off the bolder Collectors even as they ran. They reached the Normandy, adrenaline surging as they gave Shepard’s squad cover fire until they were aboard as well. Joker had them rocketing toward the relay before the doors had fully closed, and the whole ship seemed to hold its breath until they were safely through.

---

As the adrenaline wore off, all Shepard wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t. Not yet. There were things that needed to be settled first.

Krios was in the medbay, sitting serenely still as Dr. Chakwas more thoroughly treated the nasty, half-healed burns on his side and forearm. (In sharp contrast to Jack, who was glowering and cursing about both having to sit still to let her injuries heal and being around so many people.)

“Looks like we both survived,” Shepard said without preamble. Chakwas took the unspoken cue and moved off to see to Jack.

“Indeed.” Krios didn’t move, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the edge of a bed.

“You make up your mind about that head start?”

Krios chuckled. “I believe my recuperation will be a bit more than a day, Shepard. A good time for me to visit my son, I think, and a good head start for you as the contract resumes.” His lips twitched to a small smile. “Perhaps my client will reconsider in light of your actions.”

“Doubt it,” Shepard snorted. “I get the sense their beef with me is personal. Doesn’t lend itself to rational decision making. We’ll see, I guess.” Stranger things had happened, but he wouldn’t be holding his breath.”I’m not going anywhere near the Citadel, in case the Council gets any bright ideas about me or my ship, but we can drop you on Omega before we head off.”

Krios nodded solemnly. “A fair arrangement.”

A less intelligent person might have wondered--hoped--leaving him on Omega injured was as good as a death warrant, but Shepard had seen him fight. It would take more than a set of already-healing electrical burns to put Krios at a disadvantage against the thugs on Omega. (And if they did happen to prove too much for him, one thing less for Shepard to worry about.)

“We can have you there in an hour or so,” he said. “once the doc’s done with you go get your things together.”

Krios inclined his head. “I shall.”

---

It had been a while since he was last on Omega and Thane hadn’t missed it in the slightest. Fortunately he wouldn’t be here long. Passage elsewhere was easy enough to procure, and from there he could work his way to the Citadel. He could take some time to mend more fences with Kolyat before he resumed his hunt.

That was one thing about Shepard; he was never a hard man to find.

#queens fic #art trade #seb shepard #mass effect fic #hope you like it #hope i got seb right

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