#except I need a beta because I do not want to die like a man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuswhore · 5 months ago

Text

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final] : 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

[AN]: final part oh my god if youve read the other parts up till now, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, im really proud of this fic and im so happy so many of you have enjoyed it so far. @highvern betaing as always ty for not giving up on me. AS ALWAYS, PLS TELL ME YOUR THOTS IN THE RBS OR THE REPLIES OR SEND ME AN ASK LITERALLY WTV MUAH MUAH HAPPY READING <3

THIS IS THE NICEST PRISON Hoshi has ever been in, which was saying something, because he had been in quite a lot of prisons.

But it was uncomfortable nonetheless, six grown men tied up and shoved into a crouching space to be done with as the men that prowled above pleased.

Hoshi would be lying if he said he hadn’t had to restrain from pushing some of those sorry soldiers into the ice waters beyond the glaciers. He had resisted, the crew had resisted, but just enough to convince them of their unwillingness.

Hoshi had realised early on that there was no possible way of getting aboard Tigress without somehow climbing aboard the King’s boat first. The king wasn’t about to simply hand Hoshi’s ship over, and there was no indication that they'd wait till after nightfall to depart.

Hoshi also knew that the King would refuse to have him die so easily in the waters of the Green Islands, his pride depended on it. He imagines the man drawing up the specifics of the most gruesome execution the Kingdom would ever see. Hoshi was counting on it.

The bounds could’ve been broken out of and the locks somehow picked, but Hoshi also knew that he had to wait. Wait for you to find him first.

“What’s taking her so long?” Jun asks. He’d been the most anxious out of all, the shaking feet and restless moving making it clear.

“The bomb won’t…go off still strapped to her, will it?” Minghao asks and Hoshi isn’t quite sure he wants to know the answer.

“It shouldn’t. Not until she pulls the tab. But…”

“But?” Hoshi whips around. “Why is there a but? You were supposed to make sure there was no but!”

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!”

“Are you sure we can’t break out and look for her ourselves?” Mingyu grumbles, the most compromised with his longer limbs folded in uncomfortable positions.

“The minute they know we’re loose they’ll swarm her. There won’t be a way to get to her, not without fighting off every last bastard on this ship. They’ve taken our stuff too, we don’t stand a chance.”

They did, actually, stand a chance. But that was only if they were to break away and head straight for Tigress that was empty and standing right beside this very ship. But they couldn’t. Hoshi couldn’t. Not without taking you with him.

Nobody dares to suggest the easier route, and he doubts it’s just because of what he wants.

But panic was beginning to trickle into Hoshi’s veins anyway, the closed off brig refusing to give him any indication of the time of day.

The sun was only beginning to set when they were taken to the ship, and he knew they were near done for if they didn’t finish what they started before nightfall. He can’t tell how long it’s been, and it eats away at his insides.

Please be okay.

And then he hears it, the sound of a body hitting the floors with a loud thud, a chortle of air before it’s knocked out. He finds himself sitting up straighter, pressing his hands to bars of the prison, trying to peer out the narrow walkway that leads to the doors.

And then you appear in the lamplight, haphazard and ruffled up beyond measure.

The knife in your hand drips with blood, your shirt torn at the arms, your hands bloodied and bruised.

When Hoshi sees your face he almost doesn’t recognise you.

There’s angry blooming marks of red and purple all across your neck and collarbone, your eyes bloodshot and red, watering like you’d been swimming in salt water.

“Who did this?” he asks before anything else, watching you drop to your knees in front of the prison, unanswering as you fumbled with a giant ring of keys in your hand.

You jam each key into the lock, twisting it to no avail. Your hands are shaking.

The crew finally twist out of their loose bonds, Minghao lurching forward immediately, swatting your hands away. He picks out a few skinny pins from his boot, picking the rusty lock. Despite the strange angle, the bars creak open within seconds.

“There’s…There’s ropes hooked onto the ship on the main deck.”

Your voice sounds like you’re speaking through sandpaper, talking while struggling to emerge with the bomb you had.

Hoshi doesn’t know what to do when he crawls out of the space.

He’d had it all figured out in his head, what would happen in every possible outcome. You getting hurt wasn’t in any of his universal conclusions; especially not on this ship. They’d kill his crew, they might even kill the King with themselves, but you were meant to remain unscathed.

“Why–why do you look like that? What happened?” Nothing registers in his head, not even when Jun is pushing him out into the hall.

“Get up to the deck and get out across the lines!” Jun gruffs in his ears. “That bomb’s gonna go off with us still on here.”

He sees the canister that lies in the same prison they had just exited, he sees your mouth moving without sound. All he can think of are the distinct fingerprints around your throat and how it looked like somebody tried to kill you before they tried to kill him.

“Soonyoung,” he hears you say in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for him to snap out of it.

His crew is looking at him expectantly. He looks back at the door and sees the crumpled bodies of the prison guards.

So much for leaving quietly.

The minute Hoshi is out the door of the brig, he finds a chest next to the collapsed, bleeding soldiers. Kicking it open, he can only scoff as he finds the entire crew’s weapons in such close vicinity.

He feels better with his dagger at his hip, along with the rest of his knives that he slips into the loops. Even more so with the rest of his crew armed and ready.

“We know where the deck is.” He swallows, eyeing his crew’s weapons in their ready hands. He knew they’d agreed to ensure the clean sinking of the ship, but the fallen bodies on the floor were an ode to a different route they’d have to take. “Don’t hesitate if someone gets in your way.”

Taking cautious steps to the upper decks, he finds more bodies collapsed onto the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He opts to ask you the details later, wondering how you were able to take down all these guards by yourself.

It isn’t until they reach the stairs that lead to the main deck that he comes across a guard.

Before the witness can raise any alarm, Hoshi’s slamming the butt of his dagger into the side of his head, knocking him clean unconscious as he falls off the side of the short railing.

Clambering up the steps as quietly as possible, he raises a hand behind him to signal his crew to halt, peering into the main deck first.

The sun is still out, but low in the sky as it dips in the sky. There’s a few people on the deck, pacing and moving about in preparation for departure. Angling his gaze, he finds ropes suspended over the edge of the railing, parallel to the water.

He can’t see Tigress, but he knows that’s what the ropes are hooked on to.

“Jun,” he beckons. “How long till the bomb on the other ship goes off?”

The bomb Jun had planted in the first ship they had arrived in should be going off any time now, and Hoshi finds himself needing it to go off now.

Jun barely opened his mouth to reply when the ship shuddered.

For a moment, Hoshi thinks the bomb in the brigs had gone off, but when he finds the clambering of boots to one side of the ship, opposite to where the ropes tied to Tigress, he realises their surrogate ship had given its last gift to the crew.

The rest of the ship would be bounding to the main deck to inspect the noise soon, so he shoots a quick, “Hurry!” behind him before stepping onto the main deck.

The entire deck is occupied with the ship that lies a ways away across the expanse of sea, the beginnings that would soon lead the entire ship to be engulfed in flames. It’s tilting at a dangerous angle.

Hoshi stands as he uses the crew straight towards the ropes that lead to Tigress. Glancing, he finds Mingyu and Chan already hanging on the suspended ropes, making their way towards the empty deck of their ship.

Hoshi keeps his eyes on the occupied men on board, still staring at the lightshow that was their old ship. It isn’t until one of them turns, eyes towards the stairs that lead to the lower decks, that his eyes dart to the unfamiliar men on the deck.

“Fuck,” Hoshi curses, before lunging, grabbing the man by the shoulders and covering his mouth, dragging him wordlessly to the edge before throwing him off the ship and into the icy waters below.

“Go!” he hears you rasp brom behind him, ushering him to the ropes.

The crew is gone, Jun making the last jump to land on the deck. They’re running around, pulling ropes and fastening the sails to push the ship off into open waters as soon as possible.

There’s two ropes that tie the two ships together, and Hoshi ushers you onto one of them, pushing you to suspend yourself before he follows.

“There’s not enough time, go to the other one!” you tell him, pushing him to hold onto the other tattered rope.

Soonyoung eyes your state, “Are you sure you can—”

“Yes! I promise I can, please, before they cut both the ropes.”

So he trusts you, eyes straight ahead to the railing of his ship, gripping the rough, frayed rope to push himself towards the deck. His hands burn, but he finds himself moving ever closer to his final destination.

His hand grabs hold of the wooden railing of his Tigress at long last, pulling himself onto the deck of his beloved ship. Immediately whipping his head to his right, he tries to find you reaching the ship with him. The crew is preoccupied in attempting to get the ship ready for departure, he finds your form nowhere.

When he looks back, the rope he had climbed was gone, leaving gaping space in its absence. He trails the second rope, from the hook that had dug into the railing of Tigress’s wood, trailing it to the naval ship’s deck.

What he sees puts his heart in his throat.

You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, swarmed by now alert guards and soldiers who swarm you, yelling profanities and orders as they watch their prisoners get away right in front of them.

Hoshi watches as you lift your dagger, and cut the last rope that ties you together, free to fall and hit against the hull of his ship.

He calls out your name in what could only be described as a guttural scream.

His crew halts whatever it was they were doing, taking the steps to realise what had just happened.

Hoshi’s boot meets the top of the railing, ready to take the plunge into the water. He’d climb back up the ship and get you out. He doesn’t know what you were thinking, what he was thinking when he left you there, but he’d get you out.

Arms pulling him, he’s yanked back and positively thrown onto the deck.

“What is wrong with you?” Minghao yells, pushing his captain back as he springs up.

“She—”

Your father emerges from the crowd of guards and soldiers that run rampant on the deck, approaching you at the railing of the main deck.

Hoshi sees the hand that remains on his shoulder, the blood that covers the still bleeding wound, the effort it takes him to simply walk.

The bruises on your neck, the wound at his shoulder that looks like it was slashed through by a knife.

And then it clicks in Hoshi’s head, what had truly happened in the hours that you were out of his sight. And all he sees is red.

WITH THE WAY THE words on the pages seem to double, you would’ve thought you were going mad.

You’re a child, barely grown into your own body as you sit in the dimly lit library of the palace, utterly exhausted, wishing to be anywhere but sitting at the wooden desk with your name on it. The moon barely shone through the window, your only source of light the fireplace that burned in the corner and your lamplight.

It was a time where you felt like you could prove yourself, that perhaps, the reason your father refused you his approval was because you were simply not working hard enough. And now, at an hour where you should be fast asleep in your four poster bed, you attempt to understand diplomatic structures and everything that made your country what it was.

It was late, and there was nothing you would’ve liked more than to put your head on the table and rest your eyes for a few tantalising seconds, which you do, right over the book you were reading.

You awoke in the same place, shaken awake by a panicked looking servant, the sun shining through the great windows of the palace library.

It seems your disappearance from your bedchambers had put the entire palace in disarray, not realising the princess was fast asleep behind the giant pile of books other servants had already skimmed past thrice.

Not only were you unable to recite the rankings of the constitutions with the vigour your father required, but you were unable to give him a reason as to why you were absent for both breakfast and morning lessons.

He made the servants kneel in the throne room for hours, and did not fail to tell you that it was all your fault.

And now, in the ice cold of the Green Islands, old and wise enough to know that your father simply needed a reason to despise his heir, you accept the hands around your throat as his final act of terror.

Red faced and arms shaking, your father does not speak to you as he presses down on your windpipe with all his might. Your vision is going dark and splotchy, and you decide, for a moment, to let him have this moment.

He’s too preoccupied in applying his pressure to realise that you’ve raised your right foot enough for your hands to fish out your knife from its place, taking positivity in the handle of your knife that fits in your hand.

Before you can lose consciousness, you raise your arm high, and plunge it directly into his neck.

Howling, he releases you from his hold, both of you dropping to the floor of the ship with a resonating thud. You cough, sputter and hack, cold hands finding your now warm neck.

Your father lays clutching his shoulder as he remains in agony on the floor, and you realise you missed the crucial plunge in your own disarray.

It was good enough, rendering the old man incapable of finding his bearings.

You watch as he writhes on the floor of the quarters that almost became your figurative deathbed, the same hands that wrapped around his own daughter’s throat now clutching the shallow wound that renders him useless.

Standing over him, throwing your own shadow on his body, you feel a surge of power, a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight to your head. Perhaps this was your circulation returning from the deprivation, but you let the feeling imprint in your soul, let your father’s broken figure bring you satisfaction.

You leave him there, writhing in pain, digging your knife under the lock of the quarters, pulling back to break it away from the door. The guards stationed outside do nothing as you leave, and it isn’t until you’ve taken to lower decks that you hear the distinct yell of, “Your Majesty!”

Two more guards, who don’t expect an altercation from their princess, simply buffer as you send your knife plunging into them both. You do it deep this time.

Nobody was innocent, you knew these people as your father’s closest men, and knew that all of them were to remain silent as their King murdered his daughter. And when the remorse doesn’t do that thing where it trickles in after doing a bad thing, you decide you weren’t part of the innocents either.

It’s easier than you would’ve expected to get to the crew in the brig, letting out a sigh of relief as you appreciate the familiarity of people on your side.

And when Hoshi took his place to guide everyone out and into the open space of the main deck, you let your racing mind rest and decide to trust the man in whatever decision he made to lead you all out. And he did, he led himself and his crew right into the ship that was theirs, safe and where they would have the upper hand.

Hoshi didn’t know it when he climbed onto the ropes that lead to his boat that he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stayed, hadn’t used your voice of authority to keep the soldiers from attempting to shoot at the escapees, cut the rope while Hoshi remained suspended from it, still only halfway there.

You didn’t look at him when you sliced both ropes before either party could pull back, didn’t register him screaming your name across the void, pretending it wasn’t taking everything out of your strength.

But you couldn’t jump into the water, not now when a dozen of the royal guards remained ready to take the plunge to save their princess as their duty. The same guards that would comply with their king when told the princess was dead for reasons they all knew but were to forget.

The bomb had to go off first, and you had to keep them away from hooking another line to the ship in the meantime. You were operating on a flawed plan and an overenthusiastic crowd of guards that were moments away from shooting a canon straight into the side of the disconnected pirate ship.

The distraction comes in the form of your father parting the crowd of soldiers like the red sea, swatting every soldier that attempts to help his bleeding form for anything it was worth. He approaches you at the railing, and for once, you don’t look at the ground in his presence.

“Bold,” he heaves, the effort in his voice apparent. “Bold of you to think you could slip away.”

“I haven’t tried to slip away, father,” you correct. “I’ve stayed right here, even after you failed to kill me. And I, you.”

“Nobody is going to listen to you, child. Give in. This is the easy way out,” he says.

As if on cue, Jun’s bomb goes off for the second time, but this time the ship shudders with more force. It has your father unbalance and fall, along with multiple other soldier’s stumbling. You grip the railing tight, counting on your father’s need to live.

Despite your horrid throat and the ache in your body, you announce as loud as you can. “The bomb is in the brig, this ship is sinking.”

The fallen king trembles in a rage you had never quite seen before. Any other time of your life, you would’ve wished for the ground to swallow you whole to be the subject of such anger.

Except, in the setting sun, a burning ship in the background, a pirate ship that awaits you, and the ground beneath your feet that was actively sinking into the freezing water; you smile at your doomed King.

“Get to the brig! Secure the lower decks, do not let this ship sink or so help me God!” His voice rings across the deck, spittle blowing from his mouth at the situation.

And just like that, your father gives you the final gift of clearing the main deck out for you, leaving but a few straggling soldiers that are too preoccupied with either the sinking ship or their bleeding sovereign.

Looking back, you find the crew of Tigress standing at the railing, you find Hoshi already half over the edge and send him a slow nod.

Turning back to your father that remains on the floor of the ship that would become his coffin, you utter your next words; for yourself, and the girl that was every second before this, all the way to her first ever memory of sad:

“You’ve taught me to be a ruler fit to be the best for our Kingdom. Consider your death my first act of service for the Crown.”

And then you jumped into the darkening void of the waters below.

THE COLD FEELS LIKE every nerve in your body ceased to work.

It was nothing at first, the temperature so intense it had your body numb in the face of shock. And then it grew, to a striking cold, and then a feeling that pricked every inch of your skin like a million needles plunging into your body. It was only getting worse with each passing second, before it was so painful it was hot, going from cold to searing and blistering like you’d plunged into the licks of flames.

Nowhere in your body did you find a rational sense of mind, something to tell you to kick, flail or float. The warped sky was an orange through the green, only more vibrant. Like there were two ships actively burning on the surface of this water.

Hoshi’s face appears behind your closing eyelids, like a mirage or a taunt. Like he was there with you when he wasn’t.

Would he come for you? Would he take the plunge for the girl he held in his arms, promising her something to fill the gap of a companion, right before she killed her own?

You’d given him what he wanted; your father, his worst enemy, dying as he sank slowly into the bottom of the ocean. You’d run your course of use, and if he was as smart as people claimed, he’d leave you to suffer the same fate as your father.

He could find his freedom elsewhere.

And you would find your freedom in the close of your eyes, and the sinking feeling of nothingness.

Except, you feel a hardness against your body, stronger even than the current of the waters. Moving impossibly upwards, you remember opening your eyes to find a leather cord suspended in the float of the water, before you remember nothing.

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.

But as unnatural as it seemed, Hoshi had no inclination to register anything but the way the ship in front of him tilts so far out it's already half submerged in the waters. He’d assumed they might have to ready the cannons, but with the way debris and hollowed wood floats in the waters below, they would not need to.

The King was about to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker at the hands of his enemy and successor, but Hoshi could not care enough right now to relish in it.

Right now, he stares at the direct circumference of water your body had made contact with and disappeared into, like the world would explode if he lost his place.

“Should I jump as well?” Mingyu asks, already half taking his boots off. However, when the man turns to find his captain gone, he lurches over the railing to find his captain diving into the water through all the debris.

Hoshi lets the momentum of his dive take him as further down as possible, whipping his head around as soon as his eyes open into the abyss. The water ripples and erupts in showers of bubbles as broken pieces of ship come apart to fall into the water. It blurs his vision immensely, any ripple that could be you in the water coming out to be yet another piece of wasted wood.

The deeper he goes, the more the water presses into his ears. He was a good swimmer, good at holding his breath when needed, but even he had limits.

When he cannot see any sign of you, he begins to feel the churning of something skin to panic brew. Panic was never good, not this deep in the water.

Twisting and turning, flailing about in place, moving dangerously closer to the burning ship that continued to drop flaming bits of killing slabs, he finds no sign of you in the water.

Instead, he watches men in uniform sink deeper and deeper in their failed attempts to stay afloat.

All he can think about is if they were losing the battle for air, then so were you, somewhere deeper in the void than he was. He prays that he’s looking aimlessly, that you’ve already somehow made your way to the surface by yourself, and you were safe on the deck.

The beaded bracelet that remained on his wrist, but belonged to you.

“A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

Even without the encasing on his wrist, you had given him more than enough reason to want to come out of this alive, to want to live beyond just for himself and his duty to the crew he’d taken in.

He chose the life of a pirate because it was his only out, and every member of his crew that he recruited in succession, he acted as the hand he had needed so desperately in that awful brothel where his mother despised him and his father, a faceless man of Port Ash.

Amphitrite was not kind, it was a lesson he learned quickly in his first ventures out at sea. So he too, had to learn to be unkind, to survive in the horrid bellies of ships that weren’t his own. And when Tigress came into his life like a vessel of hope, he found a home in her merciful wood, in the ship that he could call his very own.

Hoshi lived as a free man on his ship, with his crew that had become his brothers in ways beyond what the thick of blood could offer. He did not care if he lived or died after that, as long as it was on his ship, in the waters that held no quarter for anyone, but gave him everything that nothing else could give him.

And so when you approached him with a proposal so bizarre yet so apt for a man like him, he could not refuse. It may have been the way he saw himself in you, terrified of the prospects but thirsting for an escape more than the fear that came with it.

Besides, the king was a nuisance that needed to go, and he found himself agreeing to play the hand too complicated for you.

What he did not expect was to end up here, in the depths of the ocean in the most uninhabitable part of the earth, trying to pull you out of the cold, unrelenting sea.

Hoshi realises in that moment that this might ruin him, the possibility of breaking the surface without you.

He decides that if the heavens do not let him find you, he would simply drown in the same waters that gave him purpose, and find peace with the idea that he would lay rest in the same waters as the person who might have given him something more.

Kwon Soonyoung, the deadliest pirate to cleave the seas, was in love with you. A princess, so undeserving of a man like him; a bastard, a rogue, a good for nothing criminal.

And when he spots the all too familiar build of your form, the linen shirt under the corset he had tied for you just hours ago, the dark brown trousers that signified the change he’d brought into your life, he swore to leave everything he’d ever known to thank the skies and seas for bringing him to you.

His burning lungs, screaming and searing for air, grabbing for your suspended arm that looked as defeated as your closed eyes. Tugging you towards him, he wraps his arm around you to press you to him as tight as he could.

Relief. And with the warm sting in his eyes that he doubted was from the salt in the water, he’s sure of everything he’s felt with the feeling of you in his arms.

With the bruising on your neck, the bleeding wound in your father’s shoulder, he finds it within his breaking body to begin kicking upwards.

Every limb, every cell, every hint of life in his body shrieked with its efforts to make him stop. There was no air in his lungs and he’d lost track of time in his search for you, he doesn’t know how long he has.

But if the blots of nothingness in his eyes were anything to go with, he doesn’t presume he has much. In a last ditch effort, he attempts to kick his boots off to weigh him down a little less, holding your dead weight tighter than anything.

He was so close, he could feel the warmth of the upper levels of the water change in its temperature on his skin. The glow was near blinding as the orange refracted on the disrupted surface of the ocean, so close yet so far.

Inch by inch, kick by kick, memory by memory, he does everything left in his drained power to touch the surface.

And he does, breaking out hand first into the burning air of the world above, taking the longest gasp of air he ever has in his life. Once he’s sure he knows where he is, he pushes you up further on his chest, your head resting against his collarbone, still unconscious.

“Stay with me, princess,” he pants into your ear, hoping you could hear. “I’ve got you.”

Chan and Mingyu are in the water beside him, pushing him towards the pulley that awaited them.

Mingyu makes an attempt to take your weight of his already struggling captain, but Hoshi finds himself holding on to you tighter, simply urging him to help him back on the deck.

The minute your head hits the wood of the deck, he’s checking your pulse. There’s no regard for the chaos that ensues around Tigress, both him and his crew too preoccupied with the way you were not breathing.

“I–I can’t feel anything,” he stutters his words as Seungkwan places a less panicked hand at your neck, under your nose.

“It’s weak, she’s taken in too much water.”

In an instant, he reaches for his knife at his hip, only to realise it was gone, lost somewhere in his rescue.

“Knife,” he rasps before repeating louder. “Someone give me a knife!”

The minute a hilt is in his hands, he’s pushing you over, to reach the back of your constricting corset, pushing his knife into the complicated sailing knot he’d tied it into before, breaking it free. With both hands, he takes hold of the top of the corset and rips it clean in half.

Turning you back over, he presses his hands over your clothed stomach, pushing into it with all his strength in an attempt to get the water out of your system. He keeps his eyes on your face, and when he sees no sign of you coming round, he feels another set of hands pushing him off.

Seungkwan takes over for his weakened captain, pushing into your stomach harder, attempting to get a break out of you.

“Why isn’t she coming around, what’s going on?” He throws the question aimlessly as he takes your unmoving face in his hands, trembling from everything.

Only a moment later, he hears the glorious sound of you sputtering like something was stuck in your throat, promptly spilling out an ungodly amount of water onto the deck as you retch loudly.

Sitting up from the force, your hands clamp onto the deck as you cough and heave, Hoshi’s hand coming behind you to thump your back hard, pushing you to throw up any remaining seawater from your body.

The sight of your back moving up and down, the audible sound of you taking in air; it was enough for Hoshi to simply lay on the deck and pass out.

You rear your head and look up at him, both of you still breathing heavily.

“You’re okay,” he assures, gulping. He takes your face in hands cupping it very gently as he speaks to you. “Go with Seungkwan, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be helped up by the rest of the crew, watching as you’re led to the lower decks of the ship.

“Open your shirt, let me see the wound,” Mingyu says, and Hoshi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Looking down, he sees his shirt soaked in red, sticking to a wound on the right side of his torso. He didn’t even know where he got it.

It looks like a shallow gash, but enough to leave a scar. He takes it better to have it tended to while he was still high on adrenaline and he couldn’t feel much of the pain.

By the time Mingyu and Minghao are done cleaning him up and Hoshi’s standing upright with wobbly legs, he finds the two burning ships beyond his own mere floating structures of wood that were in slow flame. There’s too much debris, too many bits of everything that bob in the large expanse of water to make out any bodies.

“There’s nobody,” Mingyu tells him. “Most of them were in lower decks when it all went down. Trapped themselves.”

“And…?” he asks in silence.

“He stayed on the deck until it sank,” Minghao informs. “Yelling about how he…about how he should’ve finished her when he had the chance.”

“Horrible king and somehow an even worse father,” Mingyu scoffs. “Made it better to watch him die.”

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Hoshi croaks as the marks on your throat dot his vision.

Just then, floating in the water, illuminated by the final streaks of setting light, Hoshi sees it. A darkened purple cloth right next to the hull.

“That,” he points out. “Get that out of the water.”

The late king’s purple cape laid on the deck of Tigress, darkened with water, but also with his blood.

To the Kingdom, this cape would be the last piece of their King that was gone too soon. But for every person on this ship, it would forever be their spoils of war.

Hoshi makes sure the cape will be dried and stored, ordering his crew to begin their slow journey out of the Green Islands, before he too crumples onto the deck unconscious.

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element.

Something about how he seemed to beam, like this ship was charging him a different kind of energy. It was infectious, the rest of the ship decreasingly sour as they put on musical performances on the main deck while they cleaned the floors.

As relieved as you felt, the tight ball of anxiety refused to leave the pit of your stomach as you grew closer to the Kingdom. Nothing could prepare you for the shitstorm you’d have to deal with the moment you’d step onto the soil off a pirate ship of all things—let alone as Queen.

The first few days following the ship's exit from the Green Islands were difficult, if that was all you had to describe it. You took to your hammock for most of the day, curled up as you pretended to sleep, only waking up when one of the crew would come down to force feed you and to make sure you hadn’t died.

You knew they were doing all this to make you feel better, and somehow it was working. More than halfway through your journey, you began to feel more like yourself, emerging from your cave to visit the deck on times other than the nights.

Even now, as you sit on the floor of the deck with Seungkwan, who hands you an all too familiar stack of parchment, you feel nothing as you take them into your hands. As you read his handwriting scrawled in ink, you appreciate your past self for having the sense to keep them all.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” he says to you. “Had us worried for a while there.”

“Sorry.” You smile weakly. “But thank you for…everything. I don’t think I could ever express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All of you.”

“I’d like to think we’ve gone past the status of mere business partners,” Seungkwan chuckles. “Lion befriends the bear? Whatever it is. But know we’d do it again.”

Blinking back the sting of tears and doing your very best to not let the warm feeling in your chest overwhelm you, you place the letters on the floor next to your folded legs. When you look up, Seungkwan's eyes are on your neck.

“They’re taking their time to fade, aren’t they?” you say.

Seungkwan has a hard look in his eye, “I guess you didn’t need your letters to remind you of anything after all.”

Your mind wanders, drifting past how easily this crew could have been forgotten in the unforgiving elements. Perhaps you would have let the man that wrapped his hands around your neck finish his job.

“Was getting captured part of your grand plan?” you ask Seungkwan.

“Hm?” It takes a moment to realise what you may be questioning him about, smiling slightly. “What makes you think we went in with a plan?”

“I thought I asked you to man the wheel?” Hoshi stands above the both of you.

“Not to batten down the hatches,” he side-eyed his captain. “Clear waters ahead, the wheel does not need manning.”

You zone out as they squabble over nothing, not finding the heart to be entertained by their back and forth. Seungkwan either loses or forfeits, because you feel him rise from next to you, only for his captain to take his place.

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks.

“Everything,” you sigh.

“How come Seungkwan gets a thank you for your service and I don’t? Need I remind you who jumped for you and who didn’t?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer him, “Thank you, Captain Hoshi Kwon, I am forever indebted to your service.”

He chuckles in exaggeration, “Oh please, all in a day's work.”

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

“I never did say thank you. But you did jump for me when you didn’t have to.”

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Our deal was to get you out when you jumped. I merely honoured that promise!”

“Merely?” you raise a brow. “Was it all merely a matter of conscience?”

His gaze locks with yours. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers for. I would’ve jumped even if you asked me to rope myself to the mast.”

“Please. I have enough blood on my hands and I haven’t even sat on my throne yet.”

“Blood is only on your hands if you tell a soul of what you’ve done,” Hoshi utters. “You’re the only living soul who knows.”

“And you are…?”

“Pirate. Our word means nothing.” Hoshi smiles.

The thought hangs in the air as you take in the man in front of you. He’s changed an era’s worth, yet all the same. His hair is longer, going from his initial shorter crop to curling around his ears, shielding his eyes. It makes him look younger, like a boy with much to live for.

That, and the multitude of notable scars he’s added to his collection, many of which have somehow been because of you. The wound at his torso is doing better, but far to go in its quest to heal.

Hoshi senses something amiss even after his sermon. Breaking his gaze, he turns to look straight ahead at the raised bow of the ship instead.

“Do you know how I got my splendid reputation for being the filthiest pirate on the seas?”

You can only stare, “I have a few guesses.”

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

“Unnamed sailors have the odds of a peanut facing its inevitable fate of being crushed under a straggling boot. Pirates don’t see the government as their enemy when they’re own supposed brothers are more likely to jam a cannon in their mouths.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “My mistake wasn’t that I was on the losing side in my early days, but more about how I was leaving nothing behind when I was done.”

“How humble,” you hum.

“Dead men tell no tales. When it’s worth it, it might be better to leave a straggler or two to live to tell the tale. A routine stab in the jugular can turn you into somewhat of a myth.”

“Am I a survivor?” you question.

“You may be sovereign on land, but you’re also an unnamed pirate,” he responds, turning back to lock eyes with you. “And you’ve left nobody to tell the tale.”

No one listens to a pirate, and everyone listens to a Queen.

“This isn’t to say there won’t be a legend that follows you.” He quirks a brow as he speaks. “Shows up and claims her father and his entire ship and crew sank at sea, only to befriend his sworn enemies in the aftermath. And then it evolves; she sent a cannon through her fathers ship, he died at the end of his own daughter's sword, she cursed him to captain a crew of the undead for eternity.”

“Have I planted the seeds for yet another ghost story?” It’s difficult to not giggle at the thought, despite how morbid.

“You’ve given yourself substance,” he says, a little stronger than before. His eyes too, wander to your neck and the bruises that refuse to budge. “Beyond just a royal or even a pirate. You did it for your honour as a human being, and that may be braver than anything I have ever conquered.”

In your anxiety ridden, feeble mind, your thoughts had convinced your conscience that everything would be over the minute your father’s heart stopped beating. That it would bring you peace at last.

And it did, especially when it felt like you’d gotten rid of this constant monster under the bed that had followed you far into adulthood. But from the bleeding heart of the creature emerged yet another one of its brethren, and then another and then another.

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless.

Weeks of this, and in one short interaction, Hoshi seemed to have given you the key to turn this monster into a pet.

On instinct, you feel your hand reach up, brushing against the skin of his cheek. It’s an all too familiar setting, seated on the deck of a ship too close for anybody but yours’ comfort. But without the rum and resentment, of course. And how you doubt he’d pull away this time.

Very lightly, you brush your lips against his. It was nothing but to simply feel him again, to feel a semblance of familiarity.

You feel him take your hand that rests on his cheek to place a kiss on your palm, nuzzling his nose into the concave of your hand.

Everything that was to come seemed a little more possible in that very moment.

Even more so when his fingers found the sensitive areas of your coloured throat, when his lips closed against your jaw, only to trail lower and to press into the marks his fingers continue to trail tucked into your neck.

That night, when slipping into your hammock felt like the most unbearable prospect in your near future, it couldn’t possibly be worse than uttering your next question to the man that seems to fix it all.

“Will you stay with me?”

With nothing but the light snores of the rest of the crew and the creaking of the ship, both you and Soonyoung laid in a hammock most definitely not meant for two. Head on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart beats under his scar, it’s bliss.

The feeling of his warm body against yours and the scent of him settling in your lungs, you decide that this was enough. At least for now.

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO give yourself the full list for obvious reasons, but it does seem to help when you tick off all the possible reasons why your patience has run as thin as it has.

Sitting at the decorated seat at the convened court of old men appointed by your father, you briefly wonder if you should finish them off too amidst your flash of anger. The men continue to squabble and babble about the next course of action, slamming their wrinkled hands on the pristine table and sending their own daggers of threats to the other inhabitants of the table.

“If you’d like to send a search party for the King’s body, be my guest,” you finally speak, having had quite enough when the throb in your temple worsens. “But remind me what troops you’ll be sending to the North if your best men will be gone for months attempting to find a body they never will.”

The dispute in the North side of the Kingdom was taking up most of the conversation anyway, and you doubt they’d put customary burial rites over their own glory of victory the North would bring.

“Your Majesty—”

“I would happily jump on the next search ship for my father,” you lie through your teeth. “But I watched him drown in front of my own two eyes, and as the next sovereign I cannot let you waste our resources for something that will both risk our soldier’s lives and have them come back home empty handed.”

Perhaps you had come off slightly more heartless than you intended, so you quickly add, “Please, let my father rest in peace.”

That seems to end the conversation easier than you had expected, but they’re quick to jump to the next issue not long after.

“The court would also like to bring light upon the palace guests.”

Tightening your jaw, you slump against your seat slightly. “What about them?”

They remain silent as their mouthpiece attempts to form the right words for the following question, mostly because you’ve addressed this multiple times beforehand but they continue to sit restless.

“Allow me to help you, Lord Bridge,” you sit up straighter, intending to put this matter to rest. “My guests will remain here for as long as they do, and if you have any more arising issues towards my guests I will only take it as your collective issues towards me.”

In the moment of silence, you continue, “The Kingdom is in a place of instability as we are all well aware. I find it most appalling that you remain fixated on trivial matters of the palace’s domestic code of conduct than you do for the wellbeing of this country!”

Silence yet again as you wait for their forcibly rehearsed chorus of apologies.

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

The pain in your temples becomes near unbearable as you dismiss the table after that, screeching your chair as you push it back as loud as you possibly can to do nothing but spite the men.

Turning the corner out of the room, you catch the open gates that lead to the paved gardens outside, the sun seeping into the marble floors indoors. Taking an instinctive step towards the gardens, you find most of the crew sprawled onto the grass as they soak in the sun.

Chan and Seungkwan look like they’re wrestling, their laughter ringing throughout the open court while their captain snaps at them to cut it out, only to get roped under one of their headlocks all the same.

There’s a call of your name and a giant wave from Mingyu, who spots you from beyond the flower beds. Still leaning against the gates, you smile and wave back.

Years the halls of the palace had gone, never hearing laughter in its walls. And something about watching them let themselves ruin the petunias and laugh so loud it echoes, heals you just a bit.

Even that night, when you find yourself in your giant four poster bed you’ve slept in since you were a child, this time dozing under the arm of another, you feel the itch of a healing wound somewhere in your heart.

Soonyoung laid with you for every night on the ship since that night, and stayed even here where the space was big enough to host the ghosts of your worries if not distracted.

He had found you on that first night in the palace still awake, haunting the library fireplace with another stack of papers to keep you company.

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents.

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms.

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed.

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him.

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life.

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner.

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night.

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion.

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented.

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone.

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile.

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?”

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment.

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?”

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours.

But you don’t.

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him.

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you.

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly.

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him.

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer.

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth.

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again.

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more.

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath.

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back.

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face.

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight.

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely.

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign.

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own.

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask.

“Has the Captain approached?”

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.”

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body.

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep.

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss.

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out.

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock.

“Your guards mortify me.”

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway.

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it.

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle.

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving.

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him.

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed.

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much.

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether.

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing.

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed.

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable.

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound.

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound.

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist.

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air.

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up.

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh.

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard.

“Soonyoung!”

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced.

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs.

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach.

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?”

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question.

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah.

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him.

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know.

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive.

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten.

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?”

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his.

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly.

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white.

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers.

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused.

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were.

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue.

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit.

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder.

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt.

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further.

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system.

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree.

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible.

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were.

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath.

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you.

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him.

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence.

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks.

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling.

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth.

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you.

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before.

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up.

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?”

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear.

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions.

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth.

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?”

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.”

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.”

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you.

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you.

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest.

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again.

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before.

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely.

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud.

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own.

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely.

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay.

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake.

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern.

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you.

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched.

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed.

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure.

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast.

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again.

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further.

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop.

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you.

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made.

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs.

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed.

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face.

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could.

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth.

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest.

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping.

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face.

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek.

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine.

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark.

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart.

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens.

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this.

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same.

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.”

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name.

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.”

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes.

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers.

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers.

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone.

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly.

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens.

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow.

You could get used to this. And you will.

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace.

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses.

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer.

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks.

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship.

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow.

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take.

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago.

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern.

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom.

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?”

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you.

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.”

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s.

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands.

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port.

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at.

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace.

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light.

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder.

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back.

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon.

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend.

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings.

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you.

Always.

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

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auspicioustidings · 2 months ago

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I am sure I must have yapped about this before but consider alpha Ghost who despises omegas. Roba was an omega and he used every bit of his biology against Ghost to try and break him. He just cannot be around omegas now, he hates it when any of his pack even smells like one from being out and about.

It means their pack beta Gaz gets treated like their omega to an extent. It's not like he hates it, it's nice that they want to spoil him, but he also wants to look after someone y'know? Everyone thought he'd present as an alpha when he was growing up and he still feels the instinct to protect those weaker than him. It maybe gets to him a little that he feels like an alpha, he is a beta and he gets treated like an omega.

He does not expect to present late. He certainly does not expect an omega scent match to be the thing that triggers it. You're everything he has ever wanted and he knows he will break Ghost's heart if he brings you home. So he doesn't.

You are rejected by your scent match and it hurts. You didn't realise how awful it would be, how much it would wreak havoc on your system. Alphas can reject a scent match and not be too affected but omegas? It is horrific.

Soap smells you on Gaz no matter how much he tries to hide it. His fucking scent match and Gaz is hiding them. The others were too distracted by Gaz's new alpha scent but Johnny always did have the best nose, and he is not going to let this go. He knows Ghost's feelings and he loves the man, but he will not ignore their omega to spare him from confronting his trauma.

You don't trust him when he tracks you down. Another scent match here to break your heart all over again? He's so upset at how sick you've gotten over it, gets to his knees and begs for a chance for his pack.

Only when you finally let him take you home, Ghost growls at you. One of your scent matched alphas growls at you. You want to die. You run away while Soap and him get into a shouting match.

You meet your last alpha while you are running. Price has no idea what is happening when you crash into him as he's walking the path to home. He never thought he'd have an omega. A scent match at that? It's more than he deserves he thinks. He's happy about you running into him, you're his and it feels wonderful. Only you are wildly distressed while smelling like Soap and he needs to figure out why.

He tells you to stay put because he can feel Ghost through the bond, feel his turmoil. He should never have left you, but his concern for his pack mate took priority.

The thing about meeting all your scent matches in quick succession is that it nose dives you into a heat. But they hate you. One rejected you, one brought you to another so he could growl at you, one left you when you were in distress. You are so distraught that you can't go to them because you are certain they will only be disgusted that you would ask them for help with your heat.

You find the nearest shelter. It's a crumbling shed out the back of their property. It doesn't do much to keep out the cold, there are leaks that get worse when it starts to snow through the night. You wish there would be more because you are burning.

The snow storm muffles your scent. The only reason you don't die is because Ghost braved the storm to go grab more firewood from the shed.

There he is, the alpha who hates omegas with his scent matched omega in heat, in pain and in danger. He walks away. You accept death would be a kindness now.

Except you don't die because he sends the others. You don't die because even though he cannot stand to be around you or to smell you, he gives his pack to you. He sits in the armchair all night listening as his pack bundles you into the pack bedroom and knots you through your heat while desperately trying to combat the hypothermia that was setting in.

It's months and months of angst and tension and misery as the pack tries to divide their love between their pack mate and their omega. Ghost hates himself every time he growls at you and scares you. You hate yourself for tearing this pack apart.

There doesn't seem to be a happy ending here until a pair of betas visit town. Maybe Ale and Rudy are just what this pack was missing to make it whole. Maybe they soothe all those frayed edges, act as a buffer. And maybe, just maybe, one day Ghost and you realise all at once that somewhere between you starting to growl right back at him and him starting to make an extra cup of tea for you, you fell entirely in love.

The rest of the pack can't believe it took you two idiots so long to realise it.

#mhairidrabbles #rambling once again about omegaverse I fear #not even hot smutty rambling #just angst with a happy ending rambling

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genshin-impact-unofficial · 11 months ago

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Danced With You Once Upon A Dream 🌠

Headcannons of Genshin boys seeing you in a ball gown and asking you to dance.

Ft: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Childe, Thoma, Ayato, and Alhaitham

Tags: Fem!Reader, crushes everywhere, jealousy, fluff, PG, GOOD VIBES ONLY, i chose a lot of smug men please spare me, no beta we die like men Notes: I JUST REALLY WANTED TO MATCH PRETTY BOYS TO PRETTY DRESSES! SUE ME! (Another repost!)

Diluc

Diluc is a known hermit. After his father's death, it was a rare sight to see him at any large social event. He preferred to keep it that way, but tonight's banquet is an exception. The masked vigilante accepted the invitation for an opportunity to eavesdrop on a fatui officer in attendance. Unfortunately, his person of interest appeared to be a complete no-show. The whole night was already a total bust.

Perhaps if he left right then, he could still do a patrol around Mondstadt before dawn. It was the enjoyable option compared to being approached again by another person seeking his attention. Idle chit-chat was never something he enjoyed much anyway and he was in no mood to talk business.

Diluc contemplated his exit strategy that would avoid being stopped by anyone. An eruption of chatter drew everyone's attention to the main doors. There was a late arrival being announced. It was nice timing, he would just need to slip out during the commotion. How odd for one guest to kick up this much of a fuss... Diluc's curious gaze followed up to the large entry doors and inevitably fixated onto the beautiful figure, onto you.

His plans to leave vanished with each step you descended down the grand staircase. Your flowing dress moved in such an entrancing way that he could swear you plucked it straight out of fairy tale. Diluc has been so busy with the winery and his investigations... he couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to you. Perhaps he should stay a little longer, if only just to catch up at least.

The red haired man was utterly enchanted by your movements. It explained why he was drawn in like a magnet, moving as if under your spell. He strode smoothly through the crowd to meet you at the foot of the stairs. His hand extended to guide you down the last couple steps, down to earth, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When you finally glance up from your hands to meet Diluc's gaze, adoration is already clear across his features.

"Y/N" He greeted you, bowing to place a small peck on the back of your hand. "Its lovely to see you tonight." Diluc spoke slow and earnestly, as if channeling every ounce of his princely charm into that sentiment. You felt like butter melting into his warmth, becoming pliant in his hands. “May I?” Diluc gestured forward, asking if he could accompany you in.

The presence of the elusive owner of Dawn Winery did little to quell the whispers and eyes on you. Now awoken from your dreamy haze, you became aware of just how much attention you've managed to garner. You looked yourself over. Had there been a stain that you missed? Were you not on theme? How embarrassing... Your panic was interrupted by Diluc's fond chuckle. It almost annoyed you how amused he seemed by your antics.

“There’s no need to worry. They’re staring because they can't bare to look away. You are simply captivating.” Diluc stated as if it were an obvious fact. “If you are still feeling nervous, how about a dance to get your mind off it?”

Kaeya

Kaeya spent most of the ball like a fly on the wall, listening in on conversations here and there. To his dismay, there was nothing interesting happening tonight. The juciest thing he managed so far were the two Fatui delegates discussing their distaste of the liquor served. “Honestly! Can’t they provide anything stronger? It’s practically disrespect to serve-” A pause. “Hmm... well at least there’s plenty of eye candy to eat up.” The man changed topics in favor of discussing the newest arrival to his comrade.

From his vantage point, Kaeya discreetly surveyed the crowd. His sweep abruptly stopped when he spotted you in such an elegant gown. “My, my don’t you clean up well.” The captain chuckled quietly to himself. He smirked slyly down at you and thought of a couple ways to make you be the one to approach him.

His plans changed rapidly when he noticed how swarmed you were. You hadn’t even taken five steps before multiple men stopped you, a half circle was already beginning to form. Confusion and an awkward politeness were loud and clear on your features yet no one took the hint.

The look of the situation bubbled up something in the pit of Kaeya's stomach. He would sooner cut off his silver tongue before ever calling it jealousy. It was accompanied by a feeling of annoyance. Do those men not have eyes? Couldn’t they see they were making you uncomfortable? They don’t even have the decency to let you greet your friends first before bombarding you.

He simply could not let this stand. As a knight, he is upheld to a code of chivalry after all. It was easy to weave his way through the other guests to get to you. “My dear Y/N, you made it!” Kaeya addressed you, loud enough to make a couple of the men turn to look. Without hesitation, he took the opening to wedge himself between the half turned bodies.

He made the maneuver look easy, like he had done this exact thing a million times over. The Calvary Caption smoothly took your hand in his and gazed into your eyes like there wasn’t a dozen people staring. He flash of a small smirk, with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glint in his eye before, he continuing his theatrics.

“You look simply heavenly.” Kaeya said in a sickeningly sweet tone, playing it up slightly for listening ears. “Now that you’ve arrived, you can do me the honors of bestowing me your first dance of the night. You did promise it to me after all.”

You caught on quickly, nodding in agreement. That's all it took for Kaeya to lead you out of the corner you were trapped in and into the rest of the festivities. Once you both were out of earshot, you quietly thanked him.

“There’s no need, Y/N. Those men were being simply unmannerly.” He laughed, a smug look creeping back onto his face. “Although, it would also be quite rude to make a liar out of me. So how about that dance?”

Zhongli

Zhongli was familiar to with the formal banquets held on the Pearl Gallery. He did not always attend, but when he felt the desire to people watch the consultant accepted the invitation. The harbor is a beautiful heart of Liyue and the its people are the blood that pumps through her veins. To the being who laid its foundation, Rex Lapis viewed it like art to see the continued flow of life unfold before him.

He participated as the role an average guest. Someone may strike up a conversation now and again, in response he would chat idly about nothing at all. The visitor would then move on to their next conversation and Zhongli was perfectly content sipping his drink and taking in the evolving atmosphere.

The next shift in energy accompanied your arrival and his ember eyes watched the scene change before him once again. The former archon was fascinated by the buzz that rippled outward from where you stood. When you approached, people excitedly began chatting, smiling, and laughing. Knowing you well, he could tell you were radiating delight effortlessly, even while just greeting other guests. He no longer observed the gathering as a whole, his gaze instead followed the intricate detailing leading up your bodice. It was entrancing to watch each graceful step while you made your way around the ship’s deck.

Zhongli contemplated the notion of approaching you. Doing so would actively shift the trajectory of the evening. Taking your time for himself disrupts the organic flow of art he admired just moments prior. Would that be fair to you? You, who was someone he respected and admired. You, who looked so divine that it demanded all of his attention in that very moment. You, who Morax would willingly give all of it to.

The answer to his dilemma came simply while watching your eyes meet. Zhongli no longer felt content with his self assigned role of bystander. He had a deep desire to partake. Thus, the stubborn rock uprooted himself.

“Hello again Y/N, you look blindingly radiant tonight.” Zhongli approached you with a graceful bow The lightest kiss is placed upon the back of your hand like a whisper. Your glowing smile and warm greeting prompts yet another decision. “It would be heavenly if you allowed me your company tonight. Would you care for a dance?”

The old archon had already inserted himself into this occasion's flow, it would be foolish not enjoy it in full.

Childe

Jealousy. Jealousy. Jealousy. You were his guest after all.

Tartaglia invited you, along with a few others, to a ball thrown by the Snezhnayan embassy. You weren't EXACTLY asked to be his date. Heck, the redhead even emphasized that you were invited as a good friend. But nonetheless, an honored guest of a Fatui Harbinger should be assumed off-limits. It shouldn't matter how stunning you look. Those men lingering around you will just need to be reminded. Politely of course....

Childe insisted on your attendance, even going as far as offering to buy you any dress you wanted for the occasion. You were still unsure, since you were aware of how bad the Fatui's reputation had tanked in Liyue recently. During back and forth with him, you jokingly pointed at an outrageously expensive dress in a shop display. There is no way, even someone with money, would drop that much on such a frivolous dress. It was double your rent for archon’s sake.

Inevitably, when the dress was delivered on your step, you had to sit down to keep from falling over. You begged him to return it. There’s no way you could accept such an outragous gift. HE WAS BEING UNREASONABLE PLEASE! Like always, Tartaglia only laughed at you and teased how great you'll look in it.

The redhead didn’t expect just how great that was.

Some last minute Fatui conflicts allowed you to arrive before him. The party was in full swing and lively as ever. Guests were having enthusiastic discussions sometimes in a tongue you didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t long before you were pulled into a conversation, and then another.

You already had five drinks lined up waiting for you by the time Childe arrived to the event. The fiery exchanges died down and a few peeled off rub elbows with the harbinger. Unfortunately, you were not able to go greet your friend. Three men blocked your path, insisting you finish your drink so you could dance with them. Any declination was laughed at and brushed over.

“Ah, you must be hard of hearing. My lovely guest here doesn’t wish to dance with you.” The polite words held a chilling edge to them. The men turned to face the instigator with puffed chests and annoyed glares. The Eleventh Fatui Harbringer stood behind them, a malicious smile staring directly back at them. Blood drained from the frozen men's faces and one by one they excused themselves with their tails tucked between their legs.

“Now this isn’t fair.” Tartaglia sighed, his features relaxing now that is attention was on you. “You weren’t supposed to look this amazing in that dress Y/N.” He teased while also taking your hand and guiding you into a spin. “I may have to buy you a few more, so that I can see you like this more often.” You relaxed when you heard his playful tone return. You tell him to quit it while lightly slapping his shoulder. “Hm? I’ll stop if you agree to dance with me. How about it beautiful?”

Thoma

Thoma knew his way around a party. With so many connections to maintain, he fluttered from guest to guest like the social butterfly he was. When the Kamisatos throw a banquet, he’s usually busy with everything that goes on behind of the scenes. As a show of appreciation, Thoma was told to simply enjoy himself tonight. He was sure to take advantage of such an opportunity. The blond even invited you. Since he had no obligations, he could be the one showing you a good time for once.

It was comical how obvious his double-take was when you arrive. The boy's green eyes sparkled and his mouth hung slightly ajar in awe. He catches himself, remembering his manners. Surely, it couldn't be proper to gawk at your friend so openly.

Some habits die hard. The Kamisato Clan’s resident housekeeper is the first to greet you and guide you in. “Y/N you look....! Hah, I don't even know how to describe how beautiful you look. I'm utterly speechless." Thoma's charming smile was blinding when he looked at you. For someone rendered speechless, he didn't stop there. "That dress is perfect on you and the color just make your eyes... wow.”

You are showered in compliments. How he is doing it with a straight face? Thoma tone was so earnest and genuinely delighted to behold you, but each word made your face burn in embarrassment. You had to insist that he to stop to prevent your incoming heart attack.

“Ah, sorry Y/N. I must have gotten carried away.” He chuckled, only then finally showing an inkling of bashfulness. “Here, allow me to show you around, I have some people I’d love you to meet.”

Thoma offered his arm and guided you around the festivities, while also subtly showing you off to everyone and anyone. Like two peas in a pod, you laughed and talked while you mingled around. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were a fresh couple struck with puppy love. But in Thoma's oblivious mind, he saw himself as only your attendant for the evening. He was simply there to ensure you’re a great time. He was happy with this.

The blond noticed your eyes drift over to the dance floor. It's then that he toed a line of where a servant should stay. It would be selfish for him to take you from the party and be the one to dance the night away with you. Sure, he wanted to..... he really wanted to. Would that be ok? Well... what was life without risks? If this was not proper, he'd happily accept whatever consequences.

“Y/N, would you like to dance with me? It would hands down make me the luckiest guy here.”

Ayato

Ayato was bored of the banquet too soon after it begun. As Yashiro Commissioner, he hardly had a moment of peace. There was a multitude of important people in attendance and out of courtesy he exchanged pleasantries and discussed light politics. His lines were well rehearsed, polite and non-confrontational on any one matter.

He didn’t know you were on the guest list until your arrival. It didn't go unnoticed how you dress style and color pallet correlated perfectly with the Kamisato Clan's traditional attire. He deduced that Ayaka must of had a hand in both of those happenstances.

As if confirming Ayato's suspicions, Ayaka was the first to greet you. He watched the two of you excitedly talk amongst yourselves. She gestured toward your dress with a not-so-subtle two thumbs up from her. There was a growing chatter amongst the the guests. In less than five minutes you managed to become the center of talk. Not just anyone was warranted to wear Kamisato colors to their events, and so extravagantly at that too. Even with Ayaka’s clear public approval, people will imagine drama where there is none.

Ayato had to admit, he couldn't tare his eyes from you. The clan head he was speaking to, continued going on and on about business dealings. Meanwhile in the commissioner's head, he began to map out how to speed run through the rest of the interactions he was obligated to have tonight. If he played his cards just right, he may have a moment to chat with you. If time allowed, he may even be able to squeeze in a single dance.

Ayaka inevitably was pulled away to attend to her other duties, but she encouraged you to feel free to mingle and have fun. Once she left, the eyes on you and the quiet murmurs became much more apparent.

Ayato noticed your previous excitement shift into anxiety. Left like this, you would be eaten alive by these ruthless socialites. You might even leave before he had a chance to make his way to you. This definitely won’t do. Ayato politely excused himself from the mind numbing pleasantries and briskly made his way across the banquet hall. Others who approached him received a similar kind but firm dismissal.

“These kinds of people always find something to gossip about, trust me.” You jumped, not expecting the sudden company. Least of all, you weren't expecting the head of the Kamisatio Clan to be the one to approach you. You look around at all the prying eyes and quickly compose yourself. You deeply bow to the man in front of you and state your name and status as a formal greeting. It felt strange since you were both so well acquainted as good friends. It was better to be safe than sorry in your opinion. You waited to be greeted back in a similar manner so that you could be released from your bow.... but there was only silence.

“Hah! There’s no need for that Y/N. You shouldn't feel the need to speak so formally to me for their sake.” Ayato's hand was slightly covering his mouth to stifle a few stray chuckles. You stood up properly and frowned at your friend in more embarrassment. Ayato sighed, amused, and leaned down to meet your eye level. “Really, there's no need for that. Besides, with how exquisite you look tonight, I should be the one honored.” The commissioner took a knee and placed a princely kiss upon your knuckles. Voices began to erupt around you two.

“Hm... Since everyone is going to be gossiping anyway, how about we give them something to talk about?” Ayato asked smoothly, his hand already leading you toward dance floor by the small of your back.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham was only there because he was FORMALLY WARNED that he would be reprimanded if he missed another mandatory Akademiya event.

The scribe was the definition of a party pooper. He sat in the corner with the best lighting and cracked open the book he had brought along. (This is the equivalent to being forced to go to an office Christmas party for this guy.) Any attempts to talk to him were either ignored or efficiently rudely turned away.

The book became front once he finished it twice over. Alhaitham knew he should have brought a spare. To pass the time, he turned off his noise cancelling headphones and waited. People tended to say more when they thought you weren't listening. To his dismay... some conversations were just not worth listening to. The scribe became so bored he actually began his third re-read at some point.

“Is it even allowed to wear something so....... adverse to an Akedemiya function? That has to be some sort of dress code violation.” Two scholars whispered to one another just within earshot. Ah, finally something interesting.

Alhaitham spared a discreet glance from behind his book to the controversy of the hour. It was you... how unexpected. And how you were dressed, also unexpected. A quick glace had become more akin to appreciation. You stood defiantly confident in your body conforming emerald gown, meanwhile scholars were bending over backwards to avoid getting close at all costs. As if being associated with you would also get them a violation too.

The scribe shut his book since he had become interested enough in the situation to give his full attention. He had an idea what this was all about but this was definitely not the outcome he would have bet on.

You had mentioned your annoyance with the Akedemiya’s dress code to him. You even submitted a few applications for an appeal. A couple even got approved through him before ultimately being rejected by the grand sage. It made no sense! Why were you being dress code on the exact shade of green you wore? Or that your attire had to be floor length? For archon’s sake you were even told your comfortable shoes were too dirty to be acceptable. And you definitely showed them. Alhaitham didn't bother hiding the way he eyed you over. And recalling the rules and regulation.... there’s technically nothing wrong with your outfit. Although, you were guaranteed to get an earful tomorrow by the sages. He decided with that alone that congratulations were in order.

“I must say, this a wonderfully scandalous way to prove your point.” Alhaitham mused while approaching you. You rolled your eyes at his comment and both relief and stress washed over your person. While thankful for some sort of company tonight, your antisocial colleague was the last person you expected to run into here. You greeted him stiffly while preparing yourself for the endless teasing sure to follow. Alhaitham had just enough respect for your efforts to hold his tongue for now. He instead held out his hand in an invitation, the hint of a smirk emerging across his features.

“You know, dancing is technically only 'frowned upon' at these kind of events. Care to piss off a few more old men?”

You guys were about to be in so much trouble...

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shiorilizzy · 7 months ago

Note

how about Yandere Wriothesley with an insecure female reader that is willing to be with him EVEN suggesting they should have a Baby so he would not leave her (basically obedient Reader

Thank you for asking, I actually love this concept. Sorry if this my headcanons go astray from your request.

Warning: Yandere theme, absolute no beta @@ because my head is full of thoughts but no words come out, Wrio x Clo may not like this one.

Couple: Yandere!Wriothesley x Female!Reader

In my opinion, Wriothesley is also insecure and has trust issues.

He is afraid that someone will take his precious lady. The sight of you getting bored of him and walking away with others is his worst nightmare.

But you are so well-behaved. Even when Wriothesley dragged you down and literally locked you up in his room, your eyes still looked at him so lovingly like he was your whole world.

Having you is like a miracle to him that he thanks Archon every day. It feels like his missing piece.

(You may be every yandere’s dream)

You are his lovely kitty, his treasure, his only exception, his sanity, his obsession, his comfort.

He loves the way you just accept every dark corner of him without hesitation. The more you look at him, the more he wants to spoil and drown you with his love.

Meanwhile, you always think that you are not enough for him. You are scared that someday, Wriothesley will find a smarter, prettier, and maybe from high society, suitable for Wriothesley’s titles.

So you try your best to be a good girl to him, obey everything he says. You know he likes it.

Both of you are insecure, but you have a way of comforting each other so days fly by peacefully.

Until Clorinde comes to the Fortress one day.

You hear Wriothesley’s chuckles and a female voice, so you take a peek inside.

You see a beautiful woman is having tea with him. You realize her. Clorinde is utterly famous in Fontaine.

The sound of them, smiling and talking, ringing inside your head and tearing your heart.

You’re drowning in jealousy but you do not dare to jump in and ask.

Later that night, you shyly ask for a baby.

Wriothesley was surprised at first, but then he noticed your desperate face.

He knew something was wrong. He patiently hugged you and asked.

“Of course darling, anything you want. But can you tell me the reason for this sudden request? Tell me what’s on your cute mind?”

After a while of “interrogating”, he finally understood the situation.

While you blabbing about how you will be more obedient, begging to stay, Wriothesley's mind was on cloud nine.

Oh my Archon, you must be an angel for his gray life. How could he have such a perfect darling like you?

He was so happy that you were willing to do anything just to be with him.

You accept the risk, the responsibility just to be with him, just for the chance that he would not leave you. You trusted him wholeheartedly and only him. What could he ask more?

No one has ever needed him like this before. Your jealous, your insecure, your begging made him feel so loved.

Wriothesley laughed as he hugged you tightly. He looks like the happiest man in the world.

“Silly, if I want to leave you, I can just take the child and push you out.”

“I want to have kids just because I love you. They will not affect my decision of keeping you.”

He told you that Clorinde was just a colleague. He had no feelings for her.

He planted kisses on your face, showing how happy he was and how much he loved you.

“My dear silly kitten, how could I look at others when I have you already? How could I live without you now?”

“You want it or not, I will never let you go, even till the day I die. I will drag you with me. Even the next life and the next next life. You’re bound with me. You cannot escape from me.”

“Besides, I am the one afraid about you running away…”

He soon lit up your mood with his sassy humor.

Having a loyal lover makes this kinda twisted love completely normal.

Bonus:

After a few days, Clorinde and Navia were invited to a tea party in the Fortress. Clorinde looked at you, sat on Wriothesley’s lap, from top to toe:

“I think I know where all of the factory’s profit goes.”

#genshin impact #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley

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dragonflylady77 · 4 months ago

Text

what's my name again?

Harringrove - Rating: M - 4309 words

A Billy Didn't Die Day fic and a present for @shieldofiron and @intothedysphoria because they love a bit of Amnesiac Billy.

Thank you to @spaceofentropy for the beta, as always. <3

It's also on Ao3!

It's a year since Starcourt. The last thing Steve expected was to find Billy fucking Hargrove on the side of the road one night. Not only is he alive, but he doesn't remember anything, not even his name. This new Billy is flirty as hell and Steve finds that he doesn't mind at all...

“Hargrove?”

He turned towards the voice, wondering if the guy was talking to him. He must have been because there was no one else around.

He wasn't even sure where they were.

The side of some country road, clearly, judging by the trees and the lone street light illuminating a busted phone booth.

Had he walked there? He couldn't see a car apart from the maroon BMW that the guy was standing next to.

He took a good look at the guy. Thick brown hair that you wanted to sink your fingers into, big brown eyes, full lips, a long neck begging for a hickey… a well fitted jacket and light blue jeans that definitely highlighted his… assets.

Okay, so I’m clearly into men.

He licked his bottom lip and took a couple of steps towards the decidedly hot guy. He noticed the guy's hand tighten around something that was dangling loosely from his fingers, then the guy brought up a fucking baseball bat with nails on it and swung it a few times like he was warming up to use it.

“Woah, there, pretty boy, I know we only just met, but I promise I'm no threat to you,” he said, putting both hands up so the stranger could see he meant it. “I'd appreciate a ride, though, into whatever town is closest to here so I can figure out my next step with a cup of coffee.”

He had searched his pockets when he woke up on the side of the road and found nothing besides a couple of twenty dollar notes. He had no idea where he was, or who he was, which was not the best situation to be in.

“How are you here, Hargrove?” the guy asked, bat still raised. “I saw you die, man. A whole year ago, on the floor at Starcourt.”

“What the fuck? Clearly you have me confused with someone else.”

“You're telling me you're not Billy Hargrove? Because you sure as fuck look like him. And sound like him. And that's not possible.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. I woke up under that tree over there not that long ago and I have no clue where I am, or, more to the point, who I am,” he told the guy who immediately scoffed. “Okay, what’s your name then?”

“Steve. Steve Harrington. We were in high school together last year? You beat me up about a month after you arrived in town, when I was looking after your stepsister and her friends?”

“Yeah, Steve, my gut says that doesn’t sound like something I would do, not without a good reason. And I don’t remember having a sister.”

“Well, you just said you didn’t remember who you were, so…” Steve shrugged.

“Sure wish I remembered you, though, because you’re pretty fucking dreamy.”

Steve stood up straight and dropped the bat. It clattered on the road beside his feet. “Oh, um, I don’t… um, I’m not…”

“No need to fret, pretty boy, I meant nothing by it. If you just point me in the direction of the nearest town, I'll be out of your hair and on my way.”

“What? No. You can’t!”

“You don’t want to give me a ride and now you don’t want to give me directions… What the fuck do you expect me to do? I’d call a cab except I have no clue where I am and that phone booth has seen better days.”

“You can’t just walk back into Hawkins like nothing happened, Billy. You died . There was an article in the paper about you, with your yearbook photo. We had a fucking funeral for you, for fuck’s sake.”

“Look, amigo, this conversation is going in circles. I’m tired and I’d love nothing more than a hot meal and an even hotter shower. I have just enough for a shitty motel room, so if you’d be so kind as to tell me if I should go this way or that way, and you never have to see me again.”

“You can come to my house.” Steve blinked a few times, like the words coming out of his mouth had surprised him.

“What?”

“You can come to my house,” he repeated. “My parents are away in Chicago, the fridge is stocked up and you can pick whichever guest room you want for the night. And tomorrow we can work out what happened to you.”

If Steve wanted him to be this Billy, he’d be Billy, especially if that meant a safe place to spend the night. The name kinda felt right anyway.

“You promise not to bludgeon me to death with your nail bat?”

“I promise. Get in the car, Billy. I don’t like this place,” Steve said, nodding towards the passenger side before he bent to pick up his bat.

Billy allowed himself a moment to stare at Steve’s ass before he walked around the car and got in. Steve shoved the nail bat in the boot before he settled behind the wheel and started his fancy car.

“Not sure what’s hiding in the forest, but that building over there gives me the heebie jeebies, Stevie,” Billy said, peering into the darkness at some rusted warehouse with a dilapidated sign. He thought he saw something move in the shadows and was glad when Steve turned the car around and took them away.

Billy let out a low whistle when Steve parked his fancy car outside an equally fancy house. “Jesus, pretty boy, you didn’t tell me you were loaded.”

Steve shrugged. “My parents are, not me. My dad’s pretty pissed that I didn't get into college and keeps threatening to get me a job at his company, but I’d rather stay here and work at the video store, even if it doesn't pay much, than having to travel all across the state selling vacuum cleaners.”

“Vacuum cleaners, ay? Sounds pretty fucking boring. And they’re letting you stay in this mansion for free?” Billy asked as he followed Steve into the house.

“Nah, not quite. I mean, they still pay the mortgage but I have to pay for the utilities.” Steve led the way to the kitchen and made a beeline for the freezer. “Hot pockets, pizza or TV dinner?” He turned to Billy who was staring at him.

“A kitchen this nice and you don’t cook? Not even eggs, or like, grilled cheese?” Billy shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Steve.”

Steve closed the freezer, his eyes never leaving Billy.

“What? What did I say?” Billy was starting to feel a bit self-conscious. He wasn’t sure why Steve was suddenly staring silently at him. He didn’t think he’d made any major faux-pas and if he had, he could hardly be blamed for it. After all, he’d told Steve he had no memories.

“You, um, you keep calling me Steve,” Steve said so softly Billy almost didn’t hear it.

“Yeah, it’s your name, isn’t it?” Billy was the guy with the memory loss but Steve seemed to be the confused one…

“I guess I’m not used to it. You always called me Harrington before…” There was wonder in his eyes and it made Billy feel some sort of way he wasn’t too keen to explore when he was this tired and hungry.

“You want me to call you by your last name instead?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I, um, I like it.” Steve cleared his throat. “So, about dinner?”

“Oh, I’ll have whatever is quickest, if that’s okay. I’m beat.”

Steve nodded and threw a couple of hot pockets into the microwave before getting two sodas from the fridge and offering one to Billy, who took it gratefully.

“Thanks.” The cold drink made Billy realize how parched he’d been. He wondered when the last time was that he’d had anything to eat or drink before he woke up on the side of that creepy road. This amnesia thing was bullshit, if you asked him.

Steve sat with him while he ate and Billy asked him about that life he’d been supposedly living before he lost his memory. The reluctance of his host to answer a few of Billy’s questions made him wonder what Steve was hiding. Something bad had happened on July 4th the year before, leading to the destruction of the local mall, and the demise of this Billy guy Steve was adamant was him.

“I’m sorry, pretty boy, but I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Do you think we could pick this conversation up in the morning?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll get you a towel and some clean clothes. There’s a guest bedroom down the hall, third door on the left. The bathroom is the one before that. If you end up in the garage, you went too far.”

Billy went looking for the room while Steve retrieved clothes for him from upstairs. They said goodnight and Billy had a quick shower before he lay in bed, pondering on the surreal turn his evening had taken. He’d gone from waking up on the grass next to an isolated country road with no car and no ID, to staring at the ceiling on a comfy bed with soft sheets, and a belly full of food.

He hoped the next day brought more answers.

*****

“Are you absolutely sure it’s really him?”

“Dustin, for the fifteenth time, yes, I am sure, okay?” Steve gritted out, trying not to scream. He regretted using the radio to tell the kids about Billy before he went to bed, because they’d all shown up bright and early. He kept repeating the same information, over and over, and none of them seemed to actually listen, or understand he didn’t know any more than what he’d already shared with them.

“But it’s not possible,” Mike said, a sour look on his face. “We saw him die. There’s no way he could have survived the injuries that the Mind Flayer infl—”

Mike’s eyes widened and he stopped talking, staring at the archway to the kitchen. Someone gasped, Steve wasn’t sure which of the kids, then they all turned around as one. It was a very Invasion of the Body Snatchers moment and Steve started laughing.

His laughter died in his throat when he took in the sight of Billy Hargrove padding into the kitchen, stretching with a yawn. He was wearing the gray joggers Steve had left for him the night before, slung low on his hips, and nothing else. The scars on his chest and sides looked pink and gnarly and Steve winced at the sight of them.

He wondered what he was going to say to Billy about them when he asked, because he was bound to ask. Maybe he should just tell him the truth, even though he had no way to prove any of it.

Billy opened cupboards until he found the mugs, then helped himself to some coffee. Black, one sugar. He turned around, leaning against the counter and lifted his mug in greeting.

“Morning, pretty boy. Teenagers I don’t know. Thanks for the bed last night, I don’t remember the last time I slept so well.” Billy chuckled. “Then again, I don’t remember anything before you found me last night so…”

The kids all started talking at the same time, throwing out questions and theories that Steve tuned out automatically. He didn’t care how it was possible that Billy was back, or where he’d been in the past year. The fact was that he was back and he had no memories.

Steve crossed the lounge and walked into the kitchen. He got himself some coffee before joining Billy by the counter.

“Hey,” Steve said, marveling at the smile that bloomed on Billy’s face.

“Hey, Stevie. Are they always this noisy and annoying?” Billy asked with a nod towards the kids.

Steve chuckled. “Uh huh.” The stray thought hit him, not for the first time, that Billy was attractive as fuck, especially when he smiled. He didn’t remember Billy smiling all that much before, at least not in the open and genuine way this new Billy was. He found that he liked it a lot.

After the battle of Starcourt, Robin had asked a lot of questions and Steve had done his best to answer them. Some of the things she’d said when he’d explained his unwanted rivalry with Billy had prompted some serious soul searching.

For Robin’s eighteenth birthday back in March, they’d driven to Indianapolis and used fake IDs to get into a queer bar. Steve had ended up in a booth making out with a guy with a dirty blonde mullet and blue eyes, which had caused him a few realizations about himself.

After long discussions with Robin during boring early afternoon shifts at Family Videos, the two of them had come to the following conclusions:

One, Steve was most definitely bisexual.

Two, he maybe had a type.

Three, there was a good chance Billy had been pulling Steve’s metaphorical pigtails

After the last twelve-ish hours, Steve was ready to add a new item to the list. Billy was definitely flirting with him, and Steve was into it. A lot.

“You know, they usually keep going for a while. I bet we could sneak out to go grab some breakfast and they wouldn’t even notice,” Steve whispered to Billy, his eyes on Dustin and Mike yelling at each other while Lucas and Will tried to calm them down.

Billy snickered. “You’re on. I better put a shirt on though…”

Steve made a show of looking down at Billy’s chest before he locked eyes with him. “If you must… Wouldn’t want you to get arrested for indecent exposure on your first day back from the great beyond, I guess,” he said with a wink that made Billy’s cheeks turn pink. “Come on,” he added before pushing off the counter.

With a nod, Billy headed down the hallway towards the guest room, which went unnoticed by the kids. Steve put both their mugs in the sink and grabbed his wallet and his keys as silently as he could from the bowl on top of the microwave.

He stopped in the archway long enough to get Will’s attention. “Just going to the bathroom,” he told the quiet boy, who nodded before his eyes moved back to Mike.

Interesting…

A fully dressed Billy was waiting for him by the door to the garage. Steve looked back at the house as they drove off, but no one came running after them.

“Are you sure it’s safe to leave those boys in your house like that?” Billy asked when they got out of Loch Nora.

“Yeah, they’ll get tired of arguing eventually and raid the kitchen for snacks.” Steve was over it, if he was really honest. He never signed up to be the unofficial Party babysitter, not that a bunch of fifteen-year-olds needed a babysitter. He sighed. “They’ll either be watching a movie when we get back or they’ll have left.”

“Kinda hoping for the latter, I have to say, pretty boy” Billy said, his gaze on Steve and Steve found himself agreeing.

“That makes two of us.” Steve smiled, feeling a little giddy when Billy blushed again.

“Do you think it’s a good idea for us to go out in public, on account of me being dead and all?” Billy inquired when they stopped at the intersection that would take them downtown.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m taking us to a diner about twenty minutes out of Hawkins. They have the best pancakes.” Steve took the turn that led out to the highway, flipping down the sun visor when the sun peeked through the trees and into his eyes.

“You know, I’m still not entirely sure who I am, but yet somehow, I know I love pancakes,” Billy said, his frustration evident in his tone.

Steve reached across the central console and picked up Billy’s hand in his, slotting their fingers together. “I’m sorry.” He turned his head briefly to smile at Billy then put his attention back on the road, giving Billy’s hand a light squeeze. “If your memories don’t come back, we’ll just have to make new ones.”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t do this. Don’t answer a question with a question. You skirted around a bunch of stuff last night when you were telling me all about how I allegedly died, and now you’re holding my hand and talking about making new memories together. What the fuck is happening?”

Steve sighed. He spotted a service road and slowed down so he could get off the highway. He drove until they were out of view and parked next to a copse of trees. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face Billy, who was sitting in a similar fashion. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and decide where to start and what to tell Billy.

“The truth, please,” Billy said and Steve nodded.

“Over a year and a half ago, you moved here to Indiana from California, with your dad, your stepmom and your stepsister, Max. I’m not sure why you moved over here from there, there were a few rumors at school about it, but they were all as stupid as each other. I do know that you were angry about it, and you took it out on Max, and to a certain degree, me.”

“Okay, so how did we go from that to this? Because I vividly remember you telling me last night I beat you up at some point early in our acquaintance.”

“I did say that. And I remember you saying that you wouldn't have done it without a good reason.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you were right, though I didn’t realize it at the time. By that, I mean when you showed up looking for Max, and found her alone in some stranger’s house with me and those boys you met earlier, I probably shouldn’t have antagonized you, or thrown the first punch.”

“Oh.”

“I also since learned some unsavory things about your father that went a long way to explain why you reacted the way you did and beat the shit out of me. But that’s all water under the bridge.”

“Are you serious right now?” Billy balked.

“As a heart attack. Anyway, around that time and also later, some really bad shit happened, involving an alternate dimension, flower-headed creatures with lots of teeth, and possession by a huge monster made of people.” Steve chanced a glance at Billy to find him staring with an odd look on his face. “Long story short, me and my friend Robin were tortured by Russians but we managed to escape, then you sacrificed yourself to save all of us, and potentially the world.”

“Okaaaay. Alternate dimensions, creepy monsters and Russians in Indiana. Got it. That still doesn’t explain this.” Billy gestured between the two of them.

“Um, I did a lot of thinking, after, and Robin made me realize a bunch of things about myself.”

“This Robin your girlfriend, then?” Billy seemed upset by the idea.

“What? No!” Steve shook his head vehemently, so there wouldn’t be any doubt in Billy’s mind. “We’re just friends. And I’m totally not her type.”

“Pretty boy like you is everyone’s type, Steve.”

The turn of phrase was so familiar, it hit Steve in the gut. He wanted to reach into the past and slap himself for being so oblivious. “Even yours?” he asked, hopeful and not caring about sounding desperate.

Billy laughed and Steve was once again astonished at the difference between this Billy and the one he remembered.

“Especially mine,” Billy replied, sobering up. His gaze dropped from Steve’s eyes to his mouth.

“Billy?” Steve whispered when Billy didn’t look up again.

“Yeah?” Billy glanced up then, and Steve grinned at him.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too, pretty boy, me too.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he yanked Billy to him or if Billy climbed over, but next thing he knew, he had a lap full of amnesiac boy. He grappled for the handle on the side of the seat and slid the seat as far back as it went, moaning loudly when Billy straddled him properly. Then Billy’s mouth was on his and it was everything Steve had dreamed about and more… Billy kissed with his whole body and Steve couldn’t get enough of it.

He wrapped his arms around Billy to keep him close, not that Billy was likely to go anywhere, if the way he buried his fingers in Steve’s hair was any indication. Billy tightened his fingers, giving a little tug that made Steve’s dick jump. The second Steve leaned his head back, Billy left his mouth to nibble along his jaw and down his neck.

Steve let out a keening whimper when Billy started licking and sucking on a spot at the base of his neck. His hand flew to the back of Billy’s head and he bucked his hips, groaning when he felt Billy’s half-hard cock press against his. There was fire running through his veins at the thought of Billy marking him where everyone could see.

“Oh fuck, Steve… you feel so go— fuck !” Billy pulled back all of a sudden, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands dropping out of Steve’s hair as he sat upright. He banged his head on the roof of the car when he moved off Steve and fell back into the passenger seat. He was white as a sheet, his arms curled over his chest, his knees up to his chin.

“Baby, you okay?” Steve asked, concerned at the sudden change in Billy. He wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure it would be well received.

“I remember…” Billy’s voice was shaky and he wouldn’t look at Steve. “I remember everything. Oh God!”

He was out of the car and running into the woods before Steve had a chance to move. Steve took off after him, not even bothering to close his car door in his rush to catch up to him.

“Billy! Wait!” Steve kept his eyes on the red dot ahead of him and kept calling out for Billy to stop. He came to a clearing with a rocky outcrop and stopped to catch his breath, noticing the heaving form of the boy he was looking for huddled beside a boulder.

He approached slowly, careful to make some noise to alert Billy to his presence. “Hey, Billy, it’s me, it’s Steve.”

Billy lifted his head from where it was resting against his knees. His eyes were red and his cheeks wet from tears. “Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” he asked with a voice rendered husky from crying.

Steve let out a relieved chuckle. “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

“I don’t know, Stevie, you seemed pretty keen a minute ago in that fancy car of yours,” Billy replied with a small chuckle of his own.

Steve dropped down in front of Billy, close enough to be touching but not daring to yet. His confidence was bolstered by the glimpse of Billy’s usual bravado “Yeah, I was, until the boy I like ran out on me,” he said with a smile.

“Oh.”

“Can I touch you?” Steve asked, moving closer when Billy nodded. He wrapped his arm around Billy’s shoulder, reassured when Billy leaned into him. “You scared the shit out of me, running off like that. What happened?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Suddenly everything came back to me, every horrible thing I did, all those people… God, Steve, how can you stand me? I can’t stand myself after what I—”

“Baby, no. That wasn’t you. The Mind Flayer controlled you. It made you do those things. It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

“You really mean it?”

“That it wasn’t your fault? You bet.”

“No, the other part.”

“Oh, that? Wasn’t that obvious? I really like you, Billy Hargrove. And I’m glad you’re back from the dead, or wherever you were this past year.”

“Pretty boy, I have no fucking clue what happened to me.”

“What do you wanna do now?”

“I can’t stay here, I know that much, because where the fuck would I go? I died. And there is no fucking way I’m going back to Cherry Lane.”

“Oh, well, you wouldn’t be able to, anyway. Your dad left a bit after your funeral. Susan and Max moved into a trailer at Forest Hills because the house was in his name and they couldn’t stay there.”

“Well, that’s just peachy, isn’t it?”

Steve tightened his hold on Billy. “You can stay with me. Or we could…”

“We could what? What are you plotting in that brain of yours, pretty boy?”

“I have some savings, and a car. If you wanted, we could, I don’t know, go to Cali. Or somewhere else. Anywhere.”

“You’d want that?”

“More than anything, if I’m being honest.”

“But your life is here. I don’t want you to end up resenting me, Steve.”

Steve cupped Billy’s cheek and pressed their lips together for a short kiss. “My only friend here is Robin, and she’s off to college in the fall. I’m sick of spending my days off driving a bunch of ungrateful teenagers around. Also, I’ve spent a whole year without you, and it sucked. So if you want me, want this, I’m all in.”

Billy pounced, bowling Steve over onto the soft grass with a wide grin. They rolled over a few times and Steve was still laughing when Billy pulled him down for a kiss.

The pancakes could wait. The damn kids could wait.

The universe had given Steve sunshine back and he was going to bask in it for the rest of his life.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #amnesiac billy hargrove #amnesia #dragonflylady77 #harringrove fic

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hornsent-consort · 3 months ago

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Hello there!❤️ I loved your last Varre fanfiction. Because of that, I wanted to tell you about a scenario idea I had for a Tarnished x Varre that has been obsessing me since the DLC came out. You see when Varre dies, he begs Mogh to help him but he gets no answer. It's probably because Mogh was brainwashed by Miquella or because he had been killed by the Tarnished before. In the case that it was because of Miquella's influence, I can't imagine the pain and confusion in which Varre died. Now, let's imagine that we (the Tarnished) find Varre dying after a fight with another tarnished who killed Mogh. We manage to save him, but Varre is mentally broken because his god abandoned him. Varre is always portrayed as a super sassy and mischievous character. I would be really curious to see him in a lost and desperate state. The Tarnished tries to heal his wound and to comfort him by telling him the truth, that Mogh was manipulated by Miquella. Now they can go avenge him together by going to kill him. Now Varre and the Tarnished travel together. The Tarnished has his own ambitions, while Varre's new reason for living is to restore the honor of his fallen lord.

I think it would be a cute fanfiction if the Tarnished has the opportunity to comfort Varre❤️ I would kiff for some fluff with this man

A/N: First of all, Thank you so much for your request! I’ve been really struggling on how to do this, so I’m going to split it into two parts so I can get the easier first part out firsts and you don’t need to wait too long!

Healing Varré 1/2

Warnings: male reader, no use of Y/N, no pronouns for reader, no beta reader (we die like men), major spoilers for base game and DLC, OOC possibly, hurt comfort, mentions of ED and throwing up, possibly many typos and grammar mistakes

🩸Varré is many things, but most importantly, he is a follower. As much as he thinks he’s in control, he truly isn’t. This is all thanks to Miquella of course.

🩸Mohg truly was an amazing leader and did care deeply for his followers, but the charm Miquella had on him forced him to not show this part of himself. He seemed unresponsive to his faithful followers, but truly was not his fault.

🩸Varré, unfortunately, was not aware of Miquella’s charm or his plan to kill Mohg, so when one of the newer members of the mohgwhyn dynasty invaded him, he expected Mohg to save him.

🩸no matter how much he begged and cried, Mohg never answered him. As Varré was on the brink of unconsciousness, he saw a moving figure out of the corner of his eye.

“Mohg…” Varré groaned, raising his hand at the blurry figure in front of him as his vision started to black. “Please… give me..” he took a sharp painful breath, “life.” He felt warm as his eyes were closed and his body was relaxed. If this was death, he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to live again.

Varré’s eyes tried to open, but the bright limbgrave sun shined on his face. He felt a hand under his head as it lifted him up so he would be staring into his lap. He was finally able to open his eyes, and when he looked up, he was met with a warm and familiar face.

“Oh! My lambkin!” He smiled, finally feeling as if he was able to rest. He sighed as he lowered his head, “I feel so silly,” he chuckled and slumped his head into your shoulder.

🩸you comforted him, and helped him cope with Mohg’s supposed betrayal with warm and hopeful words. He pretty much the same as before, except he would have some bursts of emotion and would need some time alone.

🩸he would not eat or drink anything unless you forced him, and even if he did eat whatever you forced down his gullet, it would end up being rejected later in the day nine times out of ten.

🩸it takes a very long time to get him to accept your help directly, but when you’re able to get through to him, it really helps. You need to put things into perspective for him and show him that his whole life does not revolve around one person.

🩸you know that eventually, he needs to learn if Mohg’s passing. That Varré didn’t do anything to warrant him not being saved, but it was hard. Varré is quite unpredictable, so his reaction could be frightening.

Varré sat against the wall of the abandoned church, just waiting. He wasn’t waiting for anything in particular, but he still waited. It was something he found himself doing quite often when you weren’t near. He heard something, or something, approaching, but he didn’t move. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fast, so he assumed it wasn’t anything dangerous.

“Hey, do you have some time to talk?” You sat down next to Varré and stared at him with your head in your hand. He turned his head towards you and stared you down, “when don’t I have time?” You chuckled and sat up straight, your face quickly becoming serious. “It’s about Mohg, so I don’t want to spring it up on you,” you admitted, trying to read Varré’s expression. “Go ahead.”

🩸you explained the situation of Mohg’s death causing his unresponsiveness to Varré’s past pleas. Varré was very much upset, but he didn’t blow up. He mourned the death of his luminary, but he was glad that there was nothing that he did wrong and was being punished for it.

🩸you’ve gone on a small journey back to the empyrean cocoon just to see if you could find anything of use to help heal Varré’s mental wounds, but when you came back, you found something and didn’t seem ready to rest.

“We need to go”

Part 2 coming soon

#ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁! maxim writes #elden ring x male reader #elden ring x reader #x male reader #elden ring #varre x tarnished #varre x reader #hurt/comfort #help I have school in the morning #Varré x male reader

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lauronk · 4 months ago

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I wish you'd write a fic where ellie was stressed with a job and joel was able to talk her through it and calm her down

this is not because I am stressed with my job hahahaha what

the spinny wheel of destiny picked yours! and boy what a choice because i have also been mad stressed at work lately.

wishing joel comfort upon anyone and everyone stressed at work lately!

what a way to make a livin'

length: ~1.9k words tags: joel & ellie; modern au; father-daughter relationship; shitty customers; retail work; no beta we die like david

All Ellie can think of right now - with this woman hollering in her face - is that gif of Emily Blunt from The Devil Wears Prada. Red eyes, stuffy nose, clicking around on the computer screen and murmuring under her breath “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.” Like it’s a mantra that she has to remind herself of, like if she says it enough times it’ll be true.

I love my job.

Except Ellie doesn’t really love her job all that much. She likes it, sure. It gives her a great discount on art supplies, helps her save up a little extra pocket money. Her coworkers are pretty cool too, always a bonus.

But she doesn’t exactly wanna be an art store clerk for the rest of her life, and people like this woman are exactly why.

She seems to have finally run out of breath, standing on the other side of the counter with her chest heaving and her cheeks scarlet, fury in her eyes. Ellie’d zoned out somewhere around it’s only missing one page and it’s barely a week past the return window and so now she stares at the woman a little blankly.

“Well?” She demands.

It’s right there, on the tip of Ellie’s tongue - Sorry, ma’am, I haven’t listened to a word of your bullshit, and I’m not doing your fucking return - but Jace had told her she was one more customer complaint from being canned. So she swallows it, pastes on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace, and forces out through gritted teeth, “Let me get a manager for you.”

She doesn’t get paid enough to get yelled at.

Jace, though, does, and more than that she loves getting to tell customers off; her face practically lights up at Ellie’s frustrated “She wants to return a used sketchbook purchased four months ago” and bolts to the register like she’s been told there’s a stack of cash there. Sure enough, after about a minute, the woman’s throaty yelling can be heard once again.

A customer in the paint aisle gives Ellie a commiserating look as she settles down onto the ground to take over Jace’s restocking.

“People can be such assholes, huh?” He says sympathetically, right as he takes a slurping sip of a McDonald’s drink and then sets it on top of a stack of canvases. He leaves it there too, and Ellie’s seized with the urge to pick it up and chuck it at the back of his head as he walks away.

You’re not any fucking better! She wants to scream at him.

Instead, she just scoops up the empty cup and tosses it in the trash, detouring to the bathroom to wash her hands afterwards.

Sketchbook Lady and Cup Man have both left by the time she reemerges, and Jace is strolling towards her with a vaguely triumphant air.

“Got her down to store credit for a quarter the value of the sketchbook,” she says happily, plopping back down onto the ground with the boxes of paint tubes. “And told her that if she abused any member of my staff next time she came in here I’d take her picture from the cameras and put a banned notice on the front windows for everyone to see.”

Ellie sighs tiredly, giving Jace a small smile. At least, if nothing else, she’s got a cool fucking boss.

One who’s watching her now with narrowed eyes, hands moving on autopilot as she labels and shelves the tubes. “Why don’t you go in the back and work on today’s shipment. Think we got nine boxes needing unpacking and inventorying back there.”

Ellie doesn’t even try to argue it - she just turns on her heel and strides off.

—

By the time she leaves three hours later, Ellie’s sweaty and exhausted, her head pounding with pressure behind her eyes. She’s supposed to get dinner with Dina and Jesse tonight, but she shoots them a text in the group begging off. She can’t, she just can’t, she’s too goddamn fried right now to socialize even with her best friends. So she just goes home. No music on the stereo, just a quiet podcast she’s only half paying attention to.

She doesn’t really feel herself relax until she’s pulled into her driveway.

Joel’s not home yet - his truck’s not in his driveway - so Ellie toes off her shoes by the front door and flops facedown onto the couch. Dina and Jesse like to poke fun at her for being almost twenty-one and still living at home with her dad, but Ellie loves it. She always jokingly replies that it’s cheaper that way, or that she doesn’t have to do her own laundry, or that Joel’s a better cook.

But really she just…hasn’t felt ready to move out. She’s been living with Joel since she was just shy of fifteen, the first home that she’s ever wanted to really stay in and had the feeling returned. All her foster homes before that were a mismatch, and then in a last ditch effort she got put with this cranky old fuck who Ellie had been sure was going to turn her out within a month.

He hadn’t though - he’d been the first person to ever really look at Ellie and see her.

Sue her, she wasn’t ready to move away from that yet.

Ellie gives herself ten minutes to decompress on the couch - with a few muffled screams into the cushions for good measure - before dragging herself down the hall to her bathroom and making herself take a scalding shower. Normally she cranks some music while she does it, but her head is still pounding and right now all she wants is some blessed quiet.

Fifteen minutes later she’s clean, in pajamas, and back on the couch with a bottle of water and her feet propped up. There’s a text on her phone from Joel saying he’s picked up takeout from Casa Colombia - Ellie’s stomach rumbles as soon as she reads it - so he’ll probably be home in another twenty minutes.

Hopefully by then she’s feeling less like peeling her skin off.

It’s ridiculous, Ellie knows that, letting herself get so worked up by a couple shitty customers at a retail job. She’s dealt with worse before, but some days it was just more frustrating than others - a constant stream of people who don’t see her as a person, simply a robot to find stuff for them or stand behind a register. And even the nice ones can get overwhelming when there’s so many of them. Just constant, non-stop interaction with people.

Ellie groans, letting her head fall back against the couch. All the stress that she’d managed to melt away with the hot shower and quiet time has come speeding back as she just sits here and wallows in her stupid, useless thoughts. Maybe she should’ve turned the television on to distract her.

The sound of the garage door opening greets her, and it lifts a weight off her chest.

Joel’s home.

“Food’s here!” He calls down the hall, and there’s a few thuds as he shucks his boots. Ellie doesn’t move, instead craning her head around to see him emerge, bags in hand. He’s grayer than he was when she moved in with him, wrinklier too. But he’s still Joel, still emanates that sense of safety she’s never been able to find anywhere else.

Still her favorite person in the world.

His brow furrows when he notices her sitting there, already in her pajamas - plaid pants and a (definitely not stolen from him) overlarge t-shirt adorned with a faded Cowboys star. He stills, head tilting as he looks her over. “‘Y’alright, kiddo?”

“Long day,” is all Ellie replies for now, pushing herself to stand so she can walk over and take the bags of food from his hands. Joel presses a quick kiss to her temple as she does, a gesture that never fails to fill her with warmth, before he heads to the cupboards to pull down plates.

They set the table and eat in silence, other than the occasional remark about the deliciousness of an arepa or the perfect seasoning on the churrasco. Ellie appreciates that about Joel, always has. He’s not one to talk about his own feelings, and so he doesn’t push her on hers. But when she wants to talk, he’ll be all ears. Probably have some good, weird southern wisdom too, something like you’ve got horse sense or just because a chicken has wings don’t mean it can fly.

Both things she’s heard him say in utter seriousness.

They both eat everything Joel’s brought home, and then Ellie handles the clean up and dishes while Joel goes to his room to shower and change. By the time he comes back in his own pajamas - which she definitely didn’t get him just because they matched hers - Ellie’s resumed her position on the couch, though with much less tension in her shoulders.

Amazing how much a good meal and quiet time with her favorite person can make the world seem like a good place again.

Joel lowers himself to the couch next to her with a sigh, a heavy hand patting her knee. “Gonna tell me what’s got you all up in your head?”

Ellie sighs, leaning over until her head is resting on Joel’s shoulder. “Just one of those days.”

She feels him shift, and then his cheek is resting against the crown of her head. “Tell me about it?”

The gentle question - one Ellie knows she could refuse to answer, say she doesn’t feel like talking about it - asked in his rough twang, does the same thing it has since she was a teenager. It makes her open her mouth and the words come flowing out.

She tells Joel about Sketchbook Lady and Cup Man and the person who’d hung up on her and the older man who’d kept staring at her chest and the woman who had practically tossed her payment in Ellie’s face and the perfectly nice lady who wanted to tell Ellie her whole life story while purchasing one pack of coloring pencils and a single tube of red paint.

It’s still draining, reliving all the seemingly trivial interactions she’d had, but this time it’s like unloading a weight from her shoulders. By the time she stops talking, finally done, Ellie feels like she could just pass out right there against his shoulder and sleep dreamlessly.

“‘M sorry you had such a day,” Joel replies quietly, readjusting them so his arm’s around her shoulders, and he squeezes ever so slightly. “I bet you'll probably have more shitty ones though, sorry to tell you. But just remember that you're good at your job and they're lucky as hell to have you, baby. And you can handle some shitty assholes. 'F you can't, just let me at 'em.” Ellie chuckles softly, burrowing a little closer to him.

They're both quiet for a few minutes, and Ellie's just about to suggest popping a movie in and digging into the ice cream in the freezer when Joel speaks. “You’re off the next two days, ain't you?”

“Yeah.”

His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, tilting her so he can press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Why don’t you ‘n me take a little day trip or somethin’? Go down to San Antonio, hang out at the Riverwalk. Or we could go out to Fredericksburg?” He offers the last suggestion a little hopefully, and Ellie grins.

“You just wanna go back to the World War II museum,” she teases.

“...No.”

Ellie giggles, eyes slipping shut when his dull fingernails start to scratch over her scalp. “Fredericksburg it is, then.”

thanks for reading!

if you sent a prompt to my inbox, i promise i am still planning to do them all. but i also wanna get the next chappy of if you can wait finished and posted soonish too, so it might be a moment before you see another. and i will once again leave it up to the spinny wheel of destiny.

love y'all!

#these ficlets have been a nice distraction #a good little break from living inside joel miller's sad little brain #he be goin' through it right now #anyways #what a way to make a livin'#tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel and ellie #the last of us #fic request #lauronk answers

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softpascalito · 1 year ago

Text

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Twentysix (SFW)

Tying a tie - Javier Peña/F!Reader

Summary: Javier resigns from the DEA. You both reflect on your life in Colombia while you help him get ready. You also discuss what is about to follow.

Relationships: Javier Peña x F!Reader

WC: 1600

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Anxiety, Established Relationship, Crying, Moving On, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Sad Javier Peña (Narcos), Javier Peña Needs a Hug (Narcos), no beta we die like colonel carrillo

AO3 LINK

notes: my apologies for two sad days in a row. if you want to listen to a song while reading, i highly recommend swan song by lana del rey (bc what would a javi fic be without lana).

_________________________________________

Your hands smooth over the striped tie, tracing the lines that run across it. When your hands reach the edge of the soft fabric, they don't stop, instead continuing a now invisible line on the white dress shirt. You've touched it up this morning, making sure to remove the little crinkles that somehow return after every wear and usually seem impossible to get rid of.

Today, the shirt sits perfectly on him, a little strained by his broad shoulder, a tight fit, like all his clothes.

Your finger reaches his side, stopping at the seam that runs down from his arms. As you stretch your hand, gently placing your palm against the white fabric, you finally register movement below it, a gentle shift as a sigh leaves the man in front of you. The vibration of it carries through his body and you can feel it in your hand.

For a moment, you just stand there, considering if it's possible to transfer the stress that the body below your fingers holds onto you, if you can take any of it away. He carries it so well but he's been carrying it for so long and you know he's tired. So are you.

You refuse to lower your palm, pressing it into his skin a little harder, his soft stomach below adjusting to accommodate your hand as it stays firmly pressed against him.

It must be possible, to take the sadness, the anger, to extract it from the form that holds it. If you'd just find an opening, the one that holds the floodgates, you're certain it would come out in waves, pouring down on you.

“Querida.”

Javier's voice is gentle as he speaks, low like he doesn't want to disturb anyone. Not that there's anyone to disturb, except maybe the cat that is stretched out on the windowsill, half asleep, half watching the two people who are standing in the middle of the room.

“Maybe I should go with the other tie,” he mutters and you shake your head, moving your hand back and forth slightly so that it caresses his stomach, “I'm not letting you wear a clip-on tie to your resignation.”

He seems to see your point because his head droops a tiny bit as he nods, looking down at his chest once more. His chocolate brown eyes watch your hand, back and forth, back and forth.

“Okay,” he almost whispers and your eyes meet as you watch him carefully, already recognizing the signs of slight panic in his form. His jaw clenched to one side, his hand hanging down next to his body and nervously twitching, the movements of his eyes a little faster than usual.

“What if we're making the wrong choice? If the money runs out-” His voice breaks and you're almost certain your heart breaks with it.

You're awfully aware of the things he's considering, the pros and cons of leaving the DEA behind for good, of returning home. With you. And a cat.

You haven't talked about it, about the after. It has always been about leaving. It has never been about arriving.

Noone could blame Javi if he didn't want children. Blame either of you, really. But you have a feeling that the worries about making a living back home has something to do with that possibility. There was always going to be another bad guy, another cartel to take down, another big player to hunt. There was always money to be made in his job. It's just that the price of making that money has become too high.

You sigh a little, bringing up your free hand to caress his cheek, “Then I'll find something. Well be okay, Javi.”

You really do believe it. You think.

“I know, it's just-” You wait patiently as Javi tries to find the right words, his gaze searching your face as if the answer is hidden somewhere in it, “It just feels so final.”

It takes all the strength in you to keep a neutral face, to not let the tears win. You just nod, fingers tracing the mustache above Javis lips.

“Because it is, hermoso,” you mumble, inching a tiny bit closer. The close touch of your other hand is replaced with that of your body as you rest your body against his, connecting as much skin as you possibly can in this moment. The other hand moves steadily over his mustache, stroking the fine, dark hairs that feel just the right amount of scratchy.

“You never have to go back there.”

You lean forward, placing the most gentle kiss on Javis lips as he lowers his gaze, just in time to see your hand fly up and cup his face, another kiss placed on his cheek.

After a moment, he brings his strong arms around you, pulling you in and you do the same, wrapping your arms around his torso, one hand stroking his back.

You pretend not to notice that he cries while you stand there.

Instead, your grip tightens a little, holding him close, silently thanking all the gods of this world that you've made it here, that he is in your arms, that he is yours, all yours. No longer a chess piece for any of his higher-ups, no longer government property. Just yours.

Both of you lose track of time, just staying in each other's arms until you nudge him a little, “I think it's time to go.” His voice is a bit hoarse as he agrees and again, you pretend not to notice.

“That fucking cat is staring at us again,” Javi mutters and a small chuckle escapes you at that as you pull back, beginning to properly bind his tie. Your hands seem to have memorized the motions of it by now, easily placing one piece of fabric over the other, “She's curious. She knows something is happening.”

“Oh, you think?” Javi asks sarcastically but there's a playful note in his tone, “Maybe the two dozen cartons that you've stacked throughout the apartment gave something away.” You gently slap his chest before finishing up the tie, making sure to not pull it too tight.

“There,” you say gently, looking Javier once over and nodding in approval. With a sideway glance at one of the mentioned stacks of cartons that hold parts of your life, you feel a small tug in your chest. And, despite putting on your best, bravest face, through all this, of course Javi instantly sees.

“What is it?” His voice is soft, his gaze back on you as he reaches out to place his hands on your waist, “Did I say something stupid?”

You're quick to shake your head. The last thing you want is for him to worry about you today or worse, to blame himself for yet another thing. Still, he doesn't let up, nudging you a little until you soften enough for the words to tumble out.

“It's weird,” you say quietly, “deciding what to pack, what to leave behind.” He nods and this time it's he who waits patiently for you to continue, “How do you decide which parts of your life are worth taking back?”

The hands on your sides tighten a bit at that and you turn your head back towards him, soft eyes watching you. He seems to consider his words for a moment before speaking.

“I've decided which part I wanna take back.”

It's too honest. So, you shrug a little, trying to make light of it, “You mean the cat, don't you?”

He doesn't go for it. It would be an easy way out, one to avoid digging up those emotions inside both of you that are becoming increasingly harder to push down. Javi's never been one for the easy way.

“You know I wasn't talking about the cat. Even though, yes, she's coming too,” he mumbles and then adds, even more softly, “You know I was talking about you. You're the only part of this godforsaken shitshow I wanna bring home.”

Javi brings his lips forward, resting them against your forehead, letting them linger there. It's like he, too, is trying to exchange something inside of you, trying to let his love seep into your body, warming you from the inside out, filling all the holes, the cracks that the last years have left gaping inside of you.

A soft, strangled noise escapes you at the thought and you're back in his arms in an instant, your face pressed into his chest.

“Querida,” he whispers again and you just pull him closer at that. It's practically guaranteed that you're ruining the shirt, no doubt creating another of those wrinkles that never seem to ease up. Neither of you care.

Javi doesn't pretend not to see your tears. He dries them, patiently, under the watchful eyes of the cat that doesn't seem to understand why its two humans keep crying. You're not sure you humans understand either.

You dry Javier's tears too, after the official resignation. You dry them during the last night in your apartment, when his moans turn into sobs. You dry them on the plane.

And finally, you dry them in Laredo, in the kitchen of Chuchos farm, as you prepare dinner and Javier comes up behind you, crying into your shoulder until you turn around and kiss his tears away and hold him until he stops shaking, taking the sadness and trauma and grief from his body and taking it into your own, whispering into his ear that he's here, that he's home.

Whispering into his ear that he never has to go back.

#javier pena fic #narcos #javier peña imagine #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña / you #javier peña / reader #pedro pascal fandom #softpascalito #kinktober #fanfic #sad #angst #hurt/comfort #anxiety #trauma #ptsd

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 1 year ago

Note

Prompt: “you make me happy. that's all that matters.”

For Tolya x Reader please!!

Ask and you shall receive

To Willingly Belong To Anyone Is A Rare Thing - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warnings: Implied Threat And Violence. Confined Spaces (Forced Proximity Trope Anyone?). No Beta/Proof Reading, We Die In The Fold Baby. ((Does this feel ooc I am insecure and cannot tell))

"We need to go," You insist.

Tolya is still searching one of the many draws in the room for something but he hasn't told you what. Despite being sent on this job together, him at the request of Sturmhond, and you at the request of Brekker, it seems that there is a lot about this job you aren't telling each other. But more accurately there is just a lot you two aren't telling each other at all.

You had tried to argue that going with Tolya wouldn't work, that the two of you could not work together, not because you didn't like him, but because of the opposite, you liked him too much, and it was a distraction you had to balance whenever he was around.

Brekker had told you to take the job with Tolya or not take the job at all, and knowing how invested you were, you'd known that he knew you couldn't turn the job down. So you'd taken it, and your concerns about being not fully present for the job due to your company were not unfounded, but so far they hadn't gotten you into any trouble you hadn't been able to get yourself out of.

Except now. Had it been anyone else you would've had enough, and left without them, or dragged them out of the room yourself. But Tolya, was not the type of man you could drag places, besides you had a small but not unreasonable fear that if you grabbed him you would give far too many things away about yourself that you weren't sure you were willing to share.

"Tolya," you start. His back straightens and he turns to you, holding a finger to his lips. "Toly-,"

"Shush," he hushes you, listening carefully.

"Saints," you whisper, "what now?"

"Six heartbeats on the second floor, approaching," Tolya explains quietly.

"We were supposed to be in and out unnoticed," you remind him.

"I was under direct instructions for there to be no casualties," Tolya states.

"I was under direct instructions to not get caught," you reply.

"They're coming this way," Tolya says, backing away from the door.

"But there is no other exit," you say gesturing to how you would not be able to climb out of the rooms singular small window, yet again Tolya.

"Then we hide," Tolya says, taking your hand and pulling you further back into the room and through some thin bamboo doors that lead into a small but relatively bare closet.

Tolya had wondered why Nikolai had sent him on this task, although he wasn't eager to question any job he was sent on when you were involved it did seem strange that given the nature of the mission was covert, that Tolya would be the one to be sent on it. Then again Tamar although substantially smaller in size than her brother, had much more of a habit of making herself known.

Tolya keeps listening, as you keep as quiet as you can in the small space, your back pressed up against Tolya's chest. He can hear the heartbeats as two men go a further floor up, and four continue towards the room. The sounds of rushing, and strange fast paced drums, the sounds of mixed languages and butchered linguistics echo through the emptiness of the rooms.

"How long do we have to stay here?" you ask.

"We have to wait it out," he replies. You exhale deeply and Tolya can feel the way the blood rushes around your body, so close to him it's impossible to ignore you. Not that he has ever found it easy to ignore you, not that he has ever wanted to.

"It's been a while," you say quietly. You could not stand this time in silence, and a quiet whisper through two doors was no threat to you right now. Those four words were so simple as they left your mouth but they meant so much more than they said and both of you know it.

You had missed him, even if you hadn't tried to, and he had missed you.

"That's why I took the job," you say, finally admitting it to yourself. For all your fussing about wanting to be clear of mind and not distracted, the louder part of you wanted to see Tolya again, it needed to see Tolya again, even if it wasn't practical. Even if you knew you shouldn't.

Something in Tolya speaks to you in a way you've never known before. It makes you calm. It makes you happy. It makes you feel like home.

Tolya realises in this moment, you so close to him, the air hung in this quiet suspense as you could do nothing but stay still and hope. Those drums he had been hearing before, all the way into the building and even now, they weren't drums at all, they were his own heartbeat, and yours. He was not sure how things would work, this life was messy and complex and you both had things you owed loyalty to, both had purposes you must fulfil, but here with you in the quiet, waiting and unknown, the question of how it would work doesn't matter to him anymore. Because love works like love does, with or without permission, with or without practicality. When it came down to it, he loves you, and he cannot and will not run from that fact. Rare is a love so honest, a love that creeps up on you, rare a love that loves without caring for love in return, but receiving it gladly. He loves listening to you talk, he loves the way your voice changes as you are filled with excitement, he loves how you never know exactly when you should stop. He admires your confidence, and he loves the willpower behind it. He misses you when you are gone. He was yours, he was already yours, he had been yours for so long he wasn't sure he knew how to be anything else. He didn't want to be anything else.

He knew he would not care to be anyone else's.

And you did not need to be his for all that to be true. But something in him understands that you are, that you have been, and as he will continue to be yours, you will continue to be his.

"Come back with me," he says.

"What?" you ask a little too loud. You raise you hand to your mouth, disappointed in your own surprise and foolishness.

"Come back with me," he says again, voice gentle. You cannot see him, the space in this closet too small for you to turn around and look at him but you know exactly the type of gentle glow that will be in those golden eyes of his.

"Tolya I can't," you say. "I want to, but it would never work. I think," you sigh, not wanting to admit the words you are about to speak but knowing you must say them nonetheless, "I think I would get in the way of you."

“You make me happy," Tolya whispers. "That's all that matters.”

"All that matters?" You ask.

"We can figure everything else out," he says, and then wonders if maybe he misunderstood, "I just... I do not like being away from you, but if you do not wish to-,"

"Tolya, every moment I am with you, you cloud my every thought, and yet every moment you are away my soul tries to find it's way back to you," you say, you're no Heartrender but you feel his heartbeat as it steadies with your words, calmer as you talk. "There is nothing I would want more than to go with you."

"Then say you will," he says, "and when we get out of here, we can figure it all out," his hands move to gently wrap around you, holding you closer in this small space, making you feel safe, making you feel at home. "Just say you will."

"And the duty owed to family. Do I satisfy my long craving self Failing to respect responsibility? Or to my lover's vows turn deaf And pay homage to ageing sagacity?" Your Ravkan is far from perfect as you recite the words that you had heart Tolya state so long ago, back when you had first met, and you thought you could love him, but you decided it would be wiser not to, and then did anyway.

"Even poets can be wrong," Tolya says. "And yet."

"And yet?" you ask.

"I am no longer good through deliberate intent, but by long habit have reached a point where I am not only able to do right, but am unable to do anything but what is right."

"Okay," you whisper sinking back into him.

"Okay?" he asks.

"I'll go with you Tolya, wherever you go in this life and after."

#shadow and bone #tolya #tolya x reader #tolya yul bataar #grishaverse #six of crows #tolya and tamar #fluff #tolya my darling i adore you #tolya yul bataar fluff #netflix shadow and bone

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ssszlami · 2 years ago

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Harry Potter characters as things my friends have said except there's way too many characters

Yes, we write down funny things we say, no that's not weird

Harry: “I wanna jump out a castle window but like not die”

Ron: “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE GOOD AT SOMETHING???”

Hermione: “It’s feminine to write a paragraph”

Neville: “Lore update: I’m confused as hell.”

Luna: “Hey I can’t come to the party on Friday night, I just bought a bunch of cows and I gotta chill with them.”

Ginny: “I feel like you’re only dating me for my brother.”

Draco: “My chat is in it’s gaslight era”

Dean: “This is a lot like a cult for a Christian movie”

Seamus: “Agility: Setting things on fire and watching it explode... but in different directions.”

Dumbledore: “No one here has committed any crimes, and if you have, they were funny crimes, so it’s fine”

McGonagall: “When u get to the exam its not gonna be helpful that you spent your lessons drinking gatorade and eating donuts”

Snape: “If you’re going to traumatise children at least make it aesthetic”

Sirius: “I’m so alpha that the men around me change their sexuality to accomodate for me”

Remus: “I have four lines of self-hate for you”

Lily: “The milfs in my bag”

James: “No beta we die like parental figures”

Molly: “Goodnight offspring.”

Arthur: “How often a day do you reckon your car gets a boner?”

Fred: “Love. Truth. Bodacious Booty.”

George: "In this world, it's either meme or be memed. In my case it's both."

Percy: “It is boring! But.....we like boring.”

Bill: “Sometimes you gotta ruin the vibe for the greater good”

Charlie: "Close your face nipples and think about dragons"

Oliver: “I’m a white man, we always win! Except at sports….except at hockey”

Hagrid: “You can't say fuck you to the dog!”

Lavender: “Not all women want to kiss women. I know, that one was a hard pill for me to swallow”

Parvati: “There is no girl on earth who is so straight she wouldn’t love having another pair of boobs around”

Padma: “Nobody likes princesses!! They’re white bitches who weren’t loved enough as children”

Crabbe: “Pancake....buttplug……pancake…….buttplug”

Goyle: *grunt* “Yes I just farted.”

Cho: “I was like ‘whatever’. Wait no I was really sad”

Cedric: “I just thumbs-upped the roof down”

Krum: “*completely monotone voice* but wait there’s more”

Fleur: “Sexism is bad. Kill everyone.”

Tonks: “Gotta go to the bathroom to change my gender real quick”

Moody: “This is not a time for sassy comebacks, this is a time for SURVIVAL!”

Lockhart: “Because I look cute it’s all my fault. Thats how that works apparently.”

Umbridge: “Oh my god it’s me! Shiny trash!”

Voldemort: “Sorry I’m holding your parents hostage and killing you but your parents can’t hear your screams of terror because they can’t hear you right now”

Bellatrix: “YOU GOTTA KILL SOME CHILDREN TO GET TO YOUR TRUE LOVE”

Lucius: “Have you started another cult?”

Narcissa: “Your son is okay” *sobs and cries*

Kingsley: “I haven’t laughed since 1972.”

Peter: “So, you’re on the floor spooning the rat”

Slughorn: “*loud chewing noises* Wow I hate myself”

Mundungus: “My voice cracked on the crack and im on crack”

Dobby: “I took my ugg boots off for that.”

Winky: “Is she gonna kill me? I’m very excited.”

Kreacher: “It’s just war miss it’s not upsetting at all”

Myrtle: “I went to the toilet and I see like the toilet seat around her neck”

Trelawney: “Teaching pigeons to be art connoisseurs”

Filch: “He’s like a really sticky person!”

Dudley: “Screw you I just want stuff”

Petunia: “Is there a reason you’re interrupting me mid-soup?”

Vernon: “So he’s mad” “Yeah he’s cranky” “No like insane”

Pansy: “I don’t hurt them I just legally stab them”

Lee: “Bro that’s rather cringe”

Quirell: “I don’t need an exorcism” “That’s exactly what somebody who needs a exorcism would say”

Amos: “I’m one of the last old white boys”

Karkaroff: “Terrible behaviour…. ur in denial my guy”

Xenophilius: “EVERY JOB IS A GOVERNMENT JOB, AND I DONT KNOW WHO THE PRIME MINISTER IS”

Greyback: “I… put my hand inside his chest…and ripped out his lungs”

Cormac: “Closeted homophobic”

Blaise: “He’s more attractive in a suit.” “ALL MEN ARE!”

Regulus: “Lucy it’s my turn to drown!!”

Aberforth: “ME? A member of the TEN COMMANDMENTS??"

Nearly Headless Nick: “Well, if you have to execute me… ok”

Marietta: “You can’t slay if you vape”

Mrs Figg: “Old lady woman man and his dog”

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whatwhywhowherewhen · 1 year ago

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Homestuck No Game AU: Canon-Imitation Universe: Stridlondes

This is both a comprehensive backstory to potential fics and the barebones of two aus, Stridlonde focused because they fit the style of fan content I like

Harleyberts and all here

I got everyone from both timelines in! I think! I also made charts!

The Guardian versions of the kids are in black bubbles, and everyone else is in gray bubbles. The horizontal lines each mark a year and the higher up the person is the earlier they were born. The numbers are the age differences between characters

Alpha Dave And Alpha Rose treat each other like siblings but are not biologically related. Their childhoods are as ambiguous here as in the web novel

Alpha Dave has a fling with someone and a baby (Beta Dirk) is dropped on his doorstep 9 months later. He is not prepared for parenthood. Raises him as best he can but does not properly guide him nor create a child-friendly environment. Generally immature parenting style with a bit of too little too late on the side. Maybe some conflicting needed accommodations and a mutual lack of understanding. He and Beta Dirk have a blow-up fight when Beta Dirk is around 17-19 and cut contact.

Beta Dirk moves in with his bad-influence acquaintance, Lil Cal, who might be Caliborn. He's basically living the same lifestyle we see in canon but with additional social-influenced self-destruction behaviors

Alpha Dave has another fling, possibly with the same person because it's funny that way, and gets another baby (Alpha Dirk) dropped on his doorstep. This time he actually reads the parenting books and is fully wanting to raise the heck out of this kid, including a binder/computer drive full of notes for things to do/say at different life stages

At the same time, Alpha Rose is in a long-term lesbian relationship and they decide to have a kid (Alpha Roxy). The method is up to interpretation

About 2.25 years after the Alpha Stridlondes are born, Beta Dirk and Alpha Rose's younger sister (Beta Roxy) have the most unfortunate one-night stand between a probably gay man and his female close family friend ever known. It was so awful and morally awkward they decide to split up the resulting twins by gender and pretend the other parent doesn't exist. Canon-typical shitty parenting ensues due to their respective issues. Everyone be grateful that the kids don't have to deal with an attempt at co-parenting from these two

Next comes the drama. When the Alpha kids are around 5 (could be older, could be younger and the story would still work), the Alpha Dave and Rose and Rose's wife die tragically, probably in a plane crash. Dirk and Roxy are home with an older neighbor. Dirk is put in the custody of his next of kin while Roxy is adopted by said neighbor with an agreement and financial support from Beta Roxy and the wife's family

Preschool-aged Dirk sees toddler Dave and decides that's his squishy now. They bond in a very Strider fashion. Around 3-5 years later somebody calls CPS on Beta Dirk and a lack of evidence that Dave is also being mistreated ends with Dirk being removed from his custody while Dave remains. Dirk spends his childhood "raising himself" using Alpha Dave's notes and refusing/not knowing how to connect to any new family. He befriends Roxy and though her meets Rose and Beta Roxy when he's 16 and is finally convinced to visit her. He is either recognized by Beta Roxy or sees a picture of the Alpha guardians and manages to figure out Beta Roxy is Dave's biomom, and therefore a potential legal guardian for Dave. The master plan unfolds from here

Option 1:

Dirk plans to frame Beta Dirk for (hopefully attempted) murder or another crime with a suitably long punishment. All the kids are in on it and help in some sense or another, except for Dave whose role is pretty much "get out of there".

Cue a tension-filled road trip from hell which could involve Dave having to choose between allowing Beta Dirk to be caught actually committing the crime Dirk tried to frame him for and going with Kid Dirk or going back with Beta Dirk and facing whatever consequences arise

Could be angsty, could be an opportunity for Dave to take initiative regarding his feelings towards Beta Dirk and living by and developing his personal philosophies early on in life by forcing him to take active part in making his fate

Option 2:

In this one, Dave is the one who's baited. I watched a video summarizing all the crazy stories about people claiming they wrote My Immortal. One of these involved a woman claiming she wrote it to try and get famous in order to get in contact with her brother who was separated from her by foster care.

Turns out she lied about nearly everything, but imagine she only lied about half of it. Dirk sets up Roxy to fake having written an infamous fanfic. Rose is helping her sell it by coaching her on writing style and edgy fandom culture.

Once it blows up into a giant meme/event, they say they're looking for a 13-year-old boy. Dirk starts feeding out stories and personal info about Dave without mentioning his name or relation to get his attention. They announce a competition. Finish these stories or phrases correctly to prove you're the guy or just share your name if you think you might be him. Either Hal exists or Roxy writes a program to sort all the responses. They receive the longest, most unnecessarily long tirade that not only answers correctly but also goes on about his unrelated thoughts for 2 extra pages.

"It's him," says Dirk, a single manly tear running down his cheek. They all introduce themselves through pester chum and convince Dave to create trickily specific photos and video diaries around the apartment to "prove it's really him". They then send him plane tickets to John's house, where they claim to live, so as to not raise suspicion that this isn't a dumb internet gimmick Dave won.

The moment Dave lands they spring a custody battle on Alpha Dirk using all the evidence Dave collected of how unsafe the apartment and living conditions are, alongside evidence of the giant mansion and steady job Beta Roxy has. That Alpha Dirk already had one kid removed from his care helps their cause. It's over disappointingly quickly

#strilondes #homestuck #dave strider #beta bro strider #rose lalonde #dirk strider #roxy lalonde #alpha bro strider #homestuck au

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aceforwhatevenisthis · 2 years ago

Text

Band of Brothers - A Good Omens Fic

Summary: “I have no intention of fighting in any war.”

But that’s now.

Then, in the midst of the cracking bombshells and the ringing bullets? War didn’t -- and will never -- care about your intentions, whether human, angel, or demon.

(World War I AU?)

Word count: 7.9k

Tags: World War I, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Angst and Hurt/Comfort except the comfort is really minimal, Military, Not Beta Read, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Author's philosophical musings, Demons, Switching perspectives constantly, Hell is Terrible, Heaven is just as bad but more distant, Serious Injuries

Author's Notes: I dug this up from my old drafts and it was close enough to being done so I did. Apologies if the history and/or medical stuff is outrageously wrong; I am trying my best and this was written for fun. Also, general disclaimer that a lot of the things said/done here are not reflective of my views on war (I despise the principle of it, I am very much a pacifist) but are necessary for the environment/plot of the story.

Be warned that people do die and there might be some triggering incidents (please tell me if you want something specifically tagged). Generally, warnings for: violence, chemical weapons, death, medical injuries (not described in too much detail but yeah).

Anyways, enjoy

Also on AO3!

Aziraphale had been called to service, almost entirely because he seemed able-bodied enough for the French government to draft into the army. He was in no written records but a couple of weeks or so into the start of the fighting, Aziraphale would get the strangest of glances from older men in the streets of Paris, so he decided to sign up for the MHS where they took one look at him and thought him a capable-enough physician. It took Aziraphale some amount of effort to convince himself that his new military service was not because he had received an inked letter from Heaven a few days prior.

So off he went, riding in the back of a crowded truck, fitted in a bright blue coat and a pair of blue trousers — a stark contrast to his preferred palette. It was, however, somewhat refreshing to wear such colorful clothings again after so many years since his last grand ball.

A sharp whistle called him to attention and the truck stopped. Aziraphale could see the gleam of eagerness and pride in the eyes of the young men around him. To die for your country, serving with dignity and courage, that was the greatest honor any young man could earn. Aziraphale had seen many wars in his time on Earth — had partaken in many as well, this was no different — and every time he couldn’t help but send a quick prayer for the men he encountered.

But as they left the truck, joyous chatter among the newly-deployed soldiers, Aziraphale frowned at the sight of men digging — trenches? Never in his years of military service had he ever seen soldiers having to dig into the battlefield like such. Aziraphale shook his head, warring off his worry. Perhaps just a simple evolution of warfare, as it tends to happen with humans. The medical tents were but a stroll away from the trenches and so Aziraphale slipped away and got to work. Already there were soldiers in need of attention and there wasn’t a moment to waste.

-----------------

Three weeks later and the trenches were miles along, eventually running throughout all of Europe.

A month and the stench became unbearable. One week later and the soldier’s boots were sogged all the way through. It didn’t take long for their feet to rot away.

Nearly four months and Aziraphale thought he could get used to the sight of corpses littered along the battlefield, in the trenches, in the medical tents. But the men weren’t smiling anymore and Aziraphale considered himself lucky that he wasn’t on the frontlines. The men who came back alive from there were the ones who at first wouldn’t cry, but at night Aziraphale saw them scream into the night void and curl in on themselves. Those were the ones he prayed for the most.

It was nearly three in the morning when Aziraphale paused from washing dirty rags and saw one of the men from the frontlines kick at a tree and then slide his back down the trunk, his head between his shaking knees. The young soldier stayed like that until the sun rose over the horizon, lighting up the dark patches of blood blanketing the destroyed ground around all of them. The next time he saw the young soldier, a mere two days later, Aziraphale was helping the stretcher-bearers support the weight of the soldier’s cold body.

The wrong end of a German machine gun was the last thing the young soldier saw. Aziraphale made sure to personally pass the news to the soldier’s secret lover, who was recovering in a hospital cot from a delicate amputation.

“Sir Doctor,” the lover choked out in French, reaching for Aziraphale’s sleeve. “Please tell me he went quickly.”

Aziraphale fought the urge to grit his teeth. With a warm plastic smile he’s come to perfect in his months reassuring dying soldiers, he said, “Yes, he did.”

The lover nodded and clutched a small green diary to his chest. Aziraphale resigned quietly and sought out other patients in need in the tent.

Within two weeks, the secret lover would be sent home. Nearly fifty years later, Aziraphale would see him again, guiding his hand as they wrote a memoir for the young soldier and his secret lover, a green diary nearby that was in near perfect condition. It would take nearly another fifty years for the memoir to reach the public. It was the one of the only books Aziraphale ever bought various copies of to sell in his bookshop, because it would be after the war that he made sure no soldier would be forgotten to the harsh desert sands of time.

But that’s later, and this is now.

-----------------

Crowley lounged atop his bed in the barracks, surrounded by his fellow soldiers. He smiled as he placed down his cards on his rough mattress. “I believe that,” he pointed to the pile of makeshift tokens on the ground, “is mine, boys.”

Hans threw down his cards and nearly banged his head on the wooden ceiling. “You cheated!” he shouted in German.

“I absolutely did not,” Crowley answered with feigned outrage. He looked down at the bed beneath his own. “Did I, Erich?”

Erich snorted, gathering some cards and shuffling them. “You always do, Crowley. I don’t know why anyone’s surprised anymore.”

“Rematch!” called out Hans. He then promptly cringed when some half-asleep soldiers at the other side of the bunker glared at him. More quietly, he said, “I’ll keep an eye on you this time.”

Crowley laughed and resettled back into his mattress. “Yeah, I think I’m done for the day, boys.”

“I’ll wager my portion of tomorrow’s breakfast.” Crowley could feel the smirk on Hans’ face.

The demon let out a deep breath and shifted, rubbing his eyes. “Erich, you think they’ll give out something good for breakfast tomorrow?”

Erich put the cards away and tucked the tokens under his mattress. “I think Crowley’s saying ‘no,’ Hans.”

“Bullcrap! You’d never give up a wager, would you, Crowley?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Crowley said while pulling his hat down his face, “I do have some form of self-control.” He lifted the hat a little to give Hans a once-over. “Unlike some people.”

“Hey!”

“Honestly, Hans, get some sleep,” muttered Erich as he rolled over on his mattress. “Save it for the frontlines.”

Hans looked at Erich and then at Crowley, before deciding to look at the ceiling and lay down properly on his bed. “What do you think they’re like? The frontlines?”

Erich shrugged. “Didn’t you just get off from the frontlines, Crowley?”

“They’re not worth it. Not one bit. Just a death sentence, really.”

“Isn’t that the point of it? To die for your country?” asked Hans. Crowley looked at him and only saw curiosity in the young man’s dark eyes; a genuine interest in debate.

“Could be. But then again, I’ve always chosen to save my own skin.” And I’ve chosen the angel. Only him.

Hans hummed. “If I die, would it hurt?”

Erich sat up in his bed. “I’d imagine it does, don’t it?”

“You wouldn’t like it. What comes after I mean. Don’t get your hopes up,” said Crowley, pulling his hat further down his face. He imagined that judging by the quietness that the conversation was decidedly over.

Still, Crowley didn’t make any move to remove his hat from his face. From under his darkened glasses, his eyes shut as he tried to chase the peacefulness and emptiness of sleep. After a while, Erich and (eventually) Hans drifted off to slumber.

Come morning, Hans would be sent off to the frontlines and a new soldier would take his bed. Johann was a pleasant young man — the textbook definition of beautiful German youth — but there was the way in which he saluted his commanders, as if he’s putting his entire body behind every salute. Whenever a commanding officer would speak to him, he’d seem like he was hyperfocusing his entire attention to that one conversation, like nothing else mattered. They’d tell him to run at the daily exercises and he wouldn’t question anything; he’d just run until he’s told to stop.

-----------------

Erich threw a small rock at Johann’s bed. “Hey schön, what’re you always smiling for?”

Johann lightly threw the rock back. “Piss off! Go to sleep.”

“If you’re looking for a medal, I don’t think the General would ever give you one. You talk too much for his liking.” Erich shook his head and continued to stack a pile of rocks next to his mattress.

“What medal? You can’t get one without coming back from the frontlines.”

“Well, there’s nothing else worth smiling over. Not in this bloodbath.”

Johann considered this for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Crowley, why do you think I smile?”

Crowley did his best to look uninterested, picking at his dirt-filled nails. “For my money, I’d say you’ve got a nice partner at home.”

Johann laughed and nearly fell off his bed. “I wish!”

“Alright, now you’ve got to tell us,” said Erich, restarting his rock pile, this time adding in the extra challenge of making one vertical pile upwards.

Johann put a finger to his lips and his eyes smiled at them conspiratorially. He beckoned both of them to lean closer. “I’ve got word from a friend in the third division that we’ve got those Russian bastards on the run at the Eastern front.”

“Spectacular,” said Crowley mockingly, rolling his yellow eyes.

“The Deutschland is going to win this war and we can all go home, celebrated as war veterans who defended their country with pride.” Johann punched the air near Crowley, as if reaching for his arm. “Surely you’ve got your own nice German girl back home to impress, Crowley.”

Johann was posed as he waited for any reaction, unbearingly proud of himself for divulging this information. Crowley scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“I’m sorry?” asked Johann, clearly deflating.

“That’s bullshit. If we were winning,” Crowley looked at Johann, “they wouldn’t need anymore soldiers at the frontlines, would they? But they keep transferring more and more, while less and less come back.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Go on all you like with your terrible rumors. It doesn’t change what’s going on. Don’t slack off because you think it’s over. You’d just get yourself killed.”

“Didn’t—” Erich started, hesitantly, “Didn’t you sign up voluntarily, Crowley?”

Crowley frowned and lazily stretched in his bed. “Nah. I’ve got orders. You think anyone would want to sign up for this mess?”

“Well, why don’t you just leave then?” Johann asked with a defensive tone, tensing his shoulders. “Clearly you’ve got no interest in defending your country!”

Crowley smiled. Just by Johann’s normal behavior Crowley could tell the soldier was a ready model. The carefree attitude, the free spirited mentality, the “patriotism,” all of it was perfect. He just needed to push a couple of buttons. “I could just leave, can’t I? I mean, the easiest way to go is through the frontlines, though. Not sure I’d call that a pleasant departure.”

Erich was eerily silent (though Crowley could definitely see the smile in his eyes) and Johann’s mouth had dropped. It was late in the night and while most soldiers were sleeping in the barracks, no one was in a deep slumber. Everyone could hear Crowley, and that was a dangerous thing to hear.

Erich was the first to break the silence. “You’re right.”

“What?” Johann sputtered. Crowley craned his neck to stare at Erich.

“Crowley’s right. Why do we need to die for a country that’s losing the war we’re dying for?” Erich was smiling, as if amused. Crowley couldn’t help but think that it’s not right for kids their age to be so at peace with death. It’s okay for him, he’s thousands of years old, but human kids with their whole life ahead of them? Out of the question.

“Hold on a second! You volunteered too!” Johann pointed at Erich.

“Yeah, because I’m stupid kid.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well,” Erich shrugged, “You can join us, if you’d like.”

Johann blanched and Crowley eyed Erich questionably. “ Us? ”

“Yeah, you, me, and Johann here. Three men, not like they would miss us. I mean, they already replaced Hans. And don’t act like you’re not ready to leave too, Crowley.”

“Absolutely not!” Johann shouted. A couple of men besides them were further roused from their sleep. “We’d be a disgrace. Traitors! The Deutschland would fall to the hands of those French and English bastards!”

Erich shrugged again and laid back on his bed. “Do what you want, then. I bet you’d be glad if you end up in the frontlines. Hell, I bet you’d beg for the promotion . You can get yourself a nice shiny medal, if you really tried.”

Johann growled but didn’t move. Instead, he rolled over, his back to them.

Crowley spent the rest of the night trying to convince himself that this was just a simple temptation, that he was most definitely not trying to convince kids to commit treason, that Hell ordered him to do it. He was a demon, and demons don’t help pathetic human kids cheat death. That would be Nice. Crowley was not Nice.

-----------------

It was a pleasant day, well into a graciously warm April, and Aziraphale mindlessly redressed a soldier’s wounds. The wounds themselves weren’t far too grave (not anymore) and so the task was simple enough after sufficient practice, going through the motions. Aziraphale hummed as his hands cleaned the rags, tying off loose ends. The soldier looked at him with curious brown eyes.

“Why aren’t you out there? In the frontlines?” said the soldier. “I’ve seen you carry other men. You’re incredibly strong.”

“Ah, well,” said Aziraphale as he cleaned the dirt off the soldier’s recovering leg, barely brushing over the sore wounds. The soldier hissed. Aziraphale continued, “I’ve never been much of a fighter, in all honesty.” Not lately. He was once. That was a long time ago.

The soldier nodded. “That’s respectable. I think lots of boys here quickly realized they aren’t much of a fighter.” He chuckled darkly and pointed to his hurt leg. “Then they end up like me.”

Boys — that’s what they were. Simple teenagers expected not to run away or give in when a gun is pointed at their heads, held by a cruel hand ready to shoot, only because if they don’t then they’d end up with a bullet in their own head. Aziraphale remembered how simple warfare used to be, with honor and dignity and respect for the opposing side, split by a green battlefield where you can see clearly who it is you are shooting at. Even farther back, when knights would duel for the sake of their king or their honor, commending each other for the courage of carrying out a duel. Aziraphale remembered when the military was a respectable path of life, honored by the people and by the nobles. But down in the trenches, with the explosive crackling sounds of machine guns and tanks firing overhead, the boys weren’t anything but the same as the rats in the city sewers. All while the commanding officers refused to have their hands dirty, itching for a proper fight for the sake of violence.

In retrospect, not much was different from the trenches than the army camps of old. The technology was different, sure, but the hierarchy was the same. It’s actually not too different from Hea--

Don’t.

Aziraphale patted the leg of the soldier he was working on and pretended like he didn’t hear anything. “All better. Do try to keep it clean, dear. God bless you.”

The soldier nodded and limped away, back to the trenches, back to that insufferable inferno, back to hell.

Aziraphale set a mental reminder to ask Crowley about that when he next sees him; the comparisons of Hell and the trenches (at least, about how the humans see it). He wondered if Crowley even knew what was going on. He had to, didn’t he? Hell loves it whenever humans go to war, especially on this scale.

Then again, so did Heaven. But of course, Heaven had divine justifications; all in part of the Great Plan and thwarting the enemy, guiding humans down the path of good and virtue.

Good. Keep that up.

Believe it.

Never forget it.

The thought of Crowley troubled him. Oh, he did hope the demon was taking care of himself. Their last argument in St. James Park was not ideal, per say, and they haven’t spoken in decades, much less seen each other.

A few hours later, at the crack of dawn, the sound of a whistle was heard and French soldiers were sent off in waves, running across no man’s land, hearts thumping louder than the gunshots. Some time after that, the noise died down and Aziraphale was sent to help collect the bodies from the waste and the debris. He managed to locate an older soldier (around his early thirties) whose right arm was stuck in barbed wire and his rotted feet had gotten sunken into the crater full of water. Aziraphale ran up to him and the startled soldier’s free hand went immediately to his bayonet. It was a miracle that the bullet missed and Aziraphale was able to drag the soldier back to the medical tents, heaving him up to the hospital cot and ripping off his uniform sleeves, exposing his infected arm.

The wound wasn’t as deep as Aziraphale feared and some minutes later, the arm was cleaned thoroughly. The feet, however, were in such a terrible condition that Aziraphale might just have to recommend the soldier be taken off duty.

(It never works. Aziraphale has tried before. But the French high command is dedicated to keeping as many soldiers on the battlefield as possible, not letting any get off easily. It reminded Aziraphale of— Don’t. )

A nurse came by as Aziraphale finished up with the soldier. He looked around himself, at the crowded tent with no hospital cots to spare. Some men had to recover on the dirty mud of the floor and it pained Aziraphale to think that he could be doing more, more miracles, more something.

But Orders are Orders. It will all work out for the best in the end. It has to.

Right?

-----------------

The night was beginning to set in as Aziraphale sat down at the entrance to his assigned tent, overlooking the sleeping soldiers. Most were sleeping, though some were busy in their own hobbies: writing, painting, some were even reciting plays to the people next to them. It made Aziraphale think of the orphanages he would visit occasionally, how pleasantly delighted he would be to usually find Crowley there, and the angel smiled fondly. The demon never talked about it but after millennia of always being able to find him near one, Aziraphale had his own suspicions.

It was a quiet night so far, even with the muffled laughter where some men would recite lines from famous plays. The braver few would indulge in singing their favorite operas. Aziraphale made sure to place soldiers whom he knew had an affinity for instruments next to the singers. It warmed his heart to listen to the confident singers and the resourceful musicians (who more often than not recreated their preferred instruments with nearby objects or their voices). It made this whole mess almost seem normal, if only for a little bit, when the warfare outside has quieted down enough to forget where you are.

There was some shuffling outside, however. Aziraphale could hear it but thought nothing of it. It was typical. The cover of night helped the soldiers do things they normally weren’t allowed to do, like sing or fool around. Be normal young men. If only for some fleeting minutes.

Aziraphale smelled it before he noticed anything else. It was potent and irritating, stronger than anything he’s smelled before. He put down his book and took a breath in, trying to place the smell. Aziraphale gagged immediately, covering his mouth. It was most decidedly not something he would like to experience, thank you very much. Luckily, he didn’t need to breathe, and so he turned off his respiratory system. It was most likely some foul smell from the blood and the rotting flesh around the trenches. Maybe even mixed with gunpowder or the sweat of so many dirty people (who unfortunately haven’t been able to bathe properly in months ).

Then the shouting started and the peaceful ambience of the medical tent vanished as if it never existed. Sleeping soldiers jolted awake and some tried to stand to attention before realizing the pain in their bodies was more overwhelming than awaiting orders. Aziraphale rushed out of his wooden chair and exited the tent with a hurrying pace. Red, blazing flares went up in certain spots along the long trenches, illuminating the green sky.

No, that wasn’t right. The angel pushed his way to the nearby frontlines, searching— There! The sound of a cannon and somewhere down the line of the trench, a metal canister lodged itself between the ground and the sandbags of the trench barrier. Then, like a firework, it popped open, releasing nothing. Aziraphale stared at it, trying to make out any details in the extremely dim light and from such far a distance. But nothing came out of the canister.

The officers closest to his stretch of the trenches shook their heads. The eldest one spoke up. “It was a malfunction of their cannons. Tell the men not to panic but to be ready if needed.”

The officers dispersed and the eldest remained by Aziraphale’s side. He looked at the angel and sniffed. “What do you think of it?”

“Pardon?” asked Aziraphale. “Is it not a failed explosive?”

The officer scoffed. “That’s only to not raise more alarm than is needed, Sir Doctor. The Germans have been too resilient to send in failed explosives and not back it up with something more reliant.”

“Then, and forgive me for asking, but why ask me? ”

“Why ever not?” His pale eyes glared into Aziraphale’s. “I like having second opinions given to me. You are a respectable doctor. My men have said so.”

Aziraphale glanced back at the faraway canister. He frowned and tried to pull some miracle to be able to see it more clearly. It was a long moment before his blue eyes caught something unusual. “If you look closely, the area surrounding it is close to a green color.”

The officer nodded. “Most strange. I will advise the men not to touch it then.”

Then, more shouting erupted, more noise, the sound of help! down the opposite end of the trenches in the area. More emergency flares were sent up, accompanied by a faint green smoke, and Aziraphale paled. The officer must have noticed it too because his war-hardened eyes were full of fear.

The men returning from that side of the trenches were coughing, doubling over as they gasped for breath.

They would cough, and then they would fall, and they would cough again, liquid spilling out from their lungs until their bodies stilled. Paramedics arrived, would inspect the men, shake their heads to each other, before also having coughing fits. They too would promptly fall on the ground and convulse until they stilled.

The officer was the first of the two of them to move. “Damn!” he shouted as he raced to the first soldier he could grab hold of.

“Don’t let anyone get near the canisters!” he hollered to the nearby men.

Aziraphale flew past all of them. The officer called after him (“Are you out of your damn mind!”) but to no avail. His attention went back to commanding the soldiers around him. In the dense haze of the green gas, the angel could see closely how it affected the soldiers: extremely intense coughing, spasms, faints. The more you inhaled, the more you coughed, but the more air you’d need, and so the cycle continued. Aziraphale was quick to carry as many men as he could, tripping over himself multiple times, until he could deposit them into the farthest medical tents. The nurses and other volunteer physicians set to work immediately and Aziraphale made his way back to the trenches.

The sun was starting to rise when Aziraphale was able to sit down. He panted and ran his hands through his dirty hair, having spent many miracles to help where he could. The green fog was still dense by the time the sun fully rose and the once blue sky was a terrible green. Not so much because of the color but because there was no wind to disperse the gas somewhere else and so it all concentrated in the immediate area. The wet and damp atmosphere made it immensely worse, as the gas ate through and corroded the metal equipment in the trenches.

The next day, Aziraphale was given the casualties report. More than a thousand dead in an area of a few square miles. And those were only the registered soldiers. The doctors and nurses that cared for the poisoned soldiers were not recorded yet and it filled Aziraphale with dread.

The Germans did not start any attack for the rest of the week nor for the week after that. The eldest commanding officer was now a stout man with a full beard and stone-cold eyes. He did not meet the eyes of any of his subordinates nor of the doctors. He gave orders and expected someone to execute them. He was nothing like the officer before him.

“Those bastards will get what they deserve,” he would say often, and those around him would nod solemnly. If he heard laughter or saw smiles, he would roar. If he heard music or chatter, he would threaten to put the offending person on the frontlines as shooting practice.

Aziraphale hated him.

By then, it was well into a hot summer. Aziraphale was moved from the medical tents to the barracks, because the stout commanding officer decided that he looked strong enough to hold a gun and strong enough to face down the enemy. There were soldiers in Aziraphale’s barracks that he recognized from their stay in the medical tents. They looked at him and shook their heads in defeat, wondering how he ended up here and knowing the exact answer to why: the French needed more men. They were losing the war and they weren’t afraid to repurpose.

-----------------

“Put some backbone into it, men!” shouted one of the officers. He shook his fist in the air and the soldiers were drenched in sweat as they banded together to lift the fallen tree. It was blocking the transport line and any more delay would make the trucks late as they rolled their way to the trenches. After the tree was finally moved, the soldiers clambered over to the back of the army trucks. Crowley huffed as he got himself comfortable on the bench.

Hell was more rigorous with appearances this time around and Crowley could only guess why. The war has only been going on for about a year and already so many humans are dismissing belief in God, feeling as though She has abandoned them entirely. So many souls ripe for the picking. Temptations naturally come more easily, as was the logic of Hell, and thus Crowley did not need so many miracles, seeing as any display of the supernatural will equate to divine power in the eyes of the humans.

It was about the most creative thing that the Dark Council has ever come up with, like they were finally taking Crowley up on his advice of getting an imagination. And so, they’d sent him to ensure that the most amount of destruction was made possible, predicting that with Germany’s industrialization, if the Germans were to be only a little more ahead, then the vengeful nature of France and the imperial attitudes of England and Russia would maximize the tragedy.

As much as Crowley hated to admit it, it was working so far, and Hell was even keeping a closer eye on him. They’d even interrupted his depressive nap, claiming he’s done enough slothing about, and ordering him to fulfill his new mission with the utmost efficiency.

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was caught up in this bloody war as well. He probably was; Heaven loved it when humans went to war. He tried to imagine Aziraphale with firearms and shuddered, feeling suddenly fearful of the soft angel he’s known for millennia. A sword was one thing, but a gun? Divine justice to the extreme, enough to make any demon cower in fear.

“—about that, Crowley?” asked Erich, snapping the demon out of his thoughts.

“What?” said the demon elegantly.

“The gas,” said Johann, as if that explained anything. “They just deployed it on the Western front. I think it’s a coward’s weapon. You don’t even face your opponent! And what’s it even going to do to the Allies? Absolutely nothing, I tell you.”

“I think it’s only good enough to shake up the Allies. But we aren’t any closer to going home.” Erich tapped the butt of his gun on the floor of the truck, fiddling with it.

“Sure. Yeah. Gas.” Crowley crossed his arms and laid his back against the wall of the truck. He crossed his leg over the other and fixed his gaze on the disappearing road as the truck carried on.

“You know,” said Johann in that same conspiratorial voice, “I heard that the French have an angel on their side. He came out completely unaffected by the gas.”

Crowley sat up in interest.

Erich groaned in annoyance. “An angel? As if. We wouldn’t be here if God was actually benevolent. We’re all God-fearing Christians. Why do we need to die like this?”

Johann scoffed. “Again with that, Erich?”

Erich opened his mouth to retort but Crowley put a hand on his shoulder and turned to Johann. He’s a violent boy. Exploit that. “If you want to argue, wait until we’re out of this truck. You’ll have more space for a proper fight.”

Johann snorted. “I always think you’re too old for this job, Crowley. You sound like my father.”

“What, are you scared of a little scuffle?” Erich smiled.

“N-No!” Johann sputtered. “I just think that I should save my energy for some pathetic Allied bastard. Be able to enjoy it with all my strength at the ready.”

Erich made a disgusted face and gave Crowley a side glance. Crowley shook his head. “Very honorable,” he said with as much sarcasm as the demon could muster.

“Well, it’s what they deserve for trying to ignore Germany and her might. They won’t ignore us after this.”

“Is that what they tell you?” Crowley asked, in absolute pure disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, however, especially coming from Johann.

“Is it not true, oh wise old man?”

“Definitely not,” said Erich. “Do you even read the news?”

“The news from where? English papers and their lies?”

“ German papers and their reports. Do you even know what happened last summer? Or are you just that thick?”

Johann’s argument was interrupted by the truck lurching to a stop and the soldiers next to the trio filtering out. They’ve arrived at the newly built trench with a restock of supplies for the Eastern front. Johann got out first, Erich stuck his middle finger at him, and Crowley rolled his eyes. Honestly, Johann was too easy of a Temptation and Crowley hasn’t even done anything yet.

The trucks were unloaded quickly. While the other soldiers, including Johann, went ahead, Erich grabbed Crowley by his sleeve and pulled him back.

“What do you want?” hissed Crowley.

“We could leave. Right now.” Erich had a determined look in his eyes.

“Are you insane?” The poor boy would be shot immediately. At least he’d go quickly. Still, Crowley was not up to watch kids die.

“Come on! You want to leave too!”

“They’ll kill you,” Crowley said with a growl, yanking his arm free from Erich’s grasp.

“We’d die anyways if we stay.”

Crowley sighed and slung his gun around his shoulder, resting it on his back.

-----------------

“Shoot those bastards down!”

“We’re on our last bullets!”

“Crowley, look out!”

“Run!”

. . .

“It was him! It was all him! He made us do it! He’s the devil!”

“Shut it!”

“Please, Johann-!”

“ Shut it! Kill this one too.”

“But-!”

“Do you traitors have anything to say for yourselves?”

“...go to hell.”

. . .

“What shall we do with the Brit?”

“Leave him here. The rats will have him soon enough. The general requested us on the Eastern front.”

-----------------

“And why would saving the lives of these humans guarantee souls for our Master, demon Crowley?”

“Well, you’ve got all these humans ignoring orders, rebelling, ya know? And you’ve got 50 million people pissed off at their leader. They’re willing to do anything at this point. And it’s not really saving their lives, innit? We’d have them later in their lifespans.”

“...I see. Then you have your orders, Crowley. We will send a group of other demons to cover all of Europe.”

“...how many demons?”

“Does it matter? Enough to claim all of humanity’s souls.”

“Right. Okay. Yeah. Teamwork. Wahoo.”

-----------------

“Hail Satan,” greeted the demons with toothy smiles.

Crowley strolled up to them and gave a half wave. “Right, Satan. Er, what do you want?”

“To coordinate. Beelzebub wishes a smooth victory for Hell,” said the one with a head full of gray horns instead of hair.

“Right. Well, I’m pretty good here— er, bad— well, you get it.” Crowley stuffed his hands into the pockets of his uniform jacket. “You can do as you please. I’ve got this front covered.”

One of the demons frowned with what was left of their rotten, misshapen face. They sniffed the air and growled. “I smell humans.”

Another demon, much shorter, jumped up to hit their companion over the head. “We’re on Earth, moron. Of course there’s bloody humans!”

“No, not like that.” They thought for a moment and cringed, scowling. “I smell virtuous humans. Untainted by us.”

“Listen, I’ve already said I’ve got it under control here. You can move along and go tempt some other poor sods—”

“Shut it, Crawly—”

“ Crowley. ”

“—you’ve got explaining. Why are there good humans here? Where are they?”

Crowley shifted on his feet slightly. Just a few miles away, back towards the south, along a path he had hiked along, was a farm that had been abandoned at some point in the war. The family had left in a hurry when the war came their way and so the animals and some commodities were still there. Lounging just outside the main barn were Erich and his friends, gathered around a small fire and looking up at the unpolluted, untouched night sky.

Crowley gritted his teeth. “It’s a bit of a harder job than usual.”

The short demon jumped up repeatedly to reach Crowley’s eye level. “Let us introduce ourselves then!”

“Surely a demon would have no reason to object to the help of other denizens of Hell?” said the very first demon with his head of horns. It smirked cruelly. There were multiple reasons to object to the help of other demons. Many of which were fairly obvious, thought Crowley, and he was glad once again for the protection his glasses gave him as he tried for a pleasant smile.

“Oh, they’re already on the brink. It won’t be too long for them to give in.” His hands twitched in his pockets. “Got them to rebel, desert, see? Highest sin: disobedience. Especially in these times.”

The demon with hardly a face grunted, the short demon eyed the red-head suspiciously, and the horn-headed seemed satisfied with Crowley’s answer. “Very well.”

“Eh?”

“Carry on, Serpent of Eden,” said the demon mockingly. “But we’ll be here, in case you find it too hard to handle.”

The other two demons seemed to want to protest, eyes wide, but the horn-headed demon grabbed both of them and dragged them away, finally vanishing into the maze of branches and bushes beyond.

Crowley swallowed. “Right. That was a thing.”

He turned back in the direction of the farm. Upon arrival, he found the soldiers exactly where he left them, even if half of them were asleep or drowsy. Erich was one of the few still wide awake. He grinned at Crowley as the demon sat down next to him.

“Any news to report, Captain?” said another soldier.

Crowley was not a captain but the young man seemed intent on calling him as such. In fact, most of the soldiers here either called him “sir” or “captain.” The few who called him Crowley were the ones he respected the most.

“Ngh,” answered Crowley. “Just the occasional rabbit. More snow. Nothing much.”

Erich laughed. “Did you even try to patrol?”

Crowley smacked him in the arm. “If all of you end up dead, so do I. Not patrolling seems a bit of a conflict of interest, innit?”

The other soldiers hummed in agreement. Some even laughed as well. Erich just laughed harder. One particular soldier just glared at Crowley. The demon racked his brain for a name — nothing came up. That boy was more quiet than the rest and he always seemed reluctant to have joined their group. Back in the trenches, he was almost left behind while the group joined Erich and he had to run to catch up to them.

After a while, as the fire died down, most of the soldiers had drifted off to sleep. Erich was just about ready to turn in for the night, standing up to claim a spot inside the warm barn with the itchy hay. It was a harsh winter but with what all of these boys had seen in the trenches, it wasn’t so bad. It just took some getting used to. There were some sheep in the fields of the farm as well. One of the soldiers used to watch his mother knit and another used to live on a farm, although he only ever worked with the pigs. Together, they had managed to strip the sheep of some of their wool and make something that could count as blankets for the rest of the group.

Crowley stayed near the dying fire, acting as guard. He tucked his knees in and focused his eyes into the dark forest surrounding them. That quiet boy was staring at him with a blank face. It would be unnerving if Crowley wasn’t so used to it already.

Only a mere year into the war and already there were thousands — if not millions — dead, most on the Allied side only because the Centrals decided to play defensive and it seemed to be working. No one was prepared for this though, but it was coming, and Crowley hated that. That’s the thing with free will: humans do this to themselves. Crowley usually just has to open certain doors and they’ll walk right through. Same with angels, in a way. They hold the door open but the path is troublesome and Heaven likes to pride itself in the journey to virtue instead of the virtue itself. In reality, though, Blessings and Temptations are just two sides of the same coin. Free will is the one who flips it and decides which no matter what the result was.

At some point, deep into the night, the fire had died out. Crowley still refused to rest and he could already see just a sliver of sunlight peak over the dark horizon. But it was also the middle of winter and while the fire’s light would be useless in a few hours, its warmth was still valuable. Thus, Crowley got up to search for more wood.

Unfortunately for him, good branches for the fire were further into the forest. The big ones high in the trees were a bit difficult to break off and the ones on the forest floor were hidden by a fresh layer of glistening snow, not to mention wet as well. Frowning, Crowley resolved to snap off the smaller branches: the ones closer to the ground and the ones on the very ends of the bigger ones. Not too great to keep a fire going but okay enough for kindle, if only for a little while. Maybe he could use a miracle to keep the flames going more than they should. Shouldn’t be too big a miracle that Hell would notice, right? Damn their new restrictions for this mission.

Crowley reached towards a small tree, on the edge of a cliff. He stepped around it a bit, mindful of the sudden drop behind him as he found footing. His arms were full of dry branches and he quickly snapped another one off the tree. He stepped again, in the fresh snow this time, then—

The ground gave out from under him.

Crowley fell.

-----------------

Aziraphale always seemed to find looking at his surroundings much more stimulating than focusing on the monotonous marching of soldiers, even if he was marching too. That being said, it’s not like his surroundings were much more interesting. The open valley was the same landscape they’ve been in for the past week and other than some small game here and there, not much would happen. The most comfort they’d had was a small farmhouse they had spent part of the night in and had just left that early morning. The soldiers’ morale was at an all time low as well; anyone could tell you that. The winter was depressing and long and far too cold and Aziraphale had no idea what the actual status of the war was—

Wait. What the heavens was that?

Something fell from the valley walls around them. Aziraphale and the other soldiers near the back stopped and turned. A few of them already armed their guns, pointing in that general direction. But nothing moved so neither did they, except for Aziraphale, unarmed due to his position, who cautiously approached the area. And imagine his surprise when he saw a lanky figure with fiery red hair, stilled, deep in the snow.

“What is it, doctor?” one of the soldiers called, slinging his gun over his arm.

“Nothing, just a rabbit,” Aziraphale called back. “Nothing to worry about.”

The soldier nodded and signaled to the others to resume their marching. Aziraphale waved his hand quickly — a simple miracle to force the soldiers’ indifference — and got to work getting Crowley somewhere else. The farmhouse in the valley wasn’t too far and frankly, Crowley looked like he was in no condition to get there by himself.

-----------------

“What the hell are you doing, Aziraphale?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Crowley? It’s not exactly very discreet.” Aziraphale gently wrapped Crowley’s leg with gauze. He said sternly, “Stay still.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and growled. “Thought you had other people to fraternize with.”

“I still refuse to give you a suicide pill. I thought I made that clear half a century ago.” The angel propped a wooden board against Crowley’s leg and began tying the two together.

“That’s not—!” Crowley winced when Aziraphale tied his leg harsher than he probably should’ve. “Fine. Have it your way then.”

Crowley settled himself against a bundle of hay near the back wall. The splint was expertly made. After a moment, he looked at Aziraphale’s blue uniform, the red cross on the angel’s sleeve, and asked, “Why France?”

“Heaven’s instructions. They had caught me in the middle of lunch. Give me your arm. Why Germany?”

The demon extended his mangled left arm as best as he could. Aziraphale doused it with clean water and started wrapping it in gauze. Crowley said, “Hell’s orders. They caught me in the middle of my nap. Didn’t even know what was going on ‘til I walked out of Hell in a uniform.”

“Seems as though we are canceling each other out,” said the angel, teasingly.

Crowley didn’t smile. “Not this time, angel.”

Aziraphale stopped dressing the rest of Crowley’s wounds and sat down on the hay beside him, looking at him intently. “What happened, Crowley?”

The demon looked away.

-----------------

Crowley buried his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and wrapped himself around his soft angel. They were comfortably in bed and the world was, gratefully, not destroyed. Aziraphale held him in his strong arms, one hand stroking gently through the demon’s fire hair, murmuring sweet nothings. At one point, Aziraphale spoke up, as a thought occurred to him. “Dear? “Hm?”

“Do you ever wonder about your platoon’s families? From the Great War?”

Crowley squeezed him a little harder, sleep still in his voice. “‘Ey weren’t m’ platoon, angel, they were m’ friends. Far as I know, their families had the recession to worry about. No time for grieving.”

“Yes, but…”

Crowley shifted. “What’s wrong, angel? Talk to me.”

Aziraphale pulled his lips together and hummed in thought. “I was wondering… what with the relative life-spans of humans… and the fright we had at the beginning of the 20th century…”

Crowley pulled a face. “Oh, don’t start with this again, angel.”

“No, no, my dear. It’s not that. Though that discussion was certainly interesting—”

“You mean depressing.”

“—I was just wondering how they, the humans, put such blind trust in each other. We’ve been friends for six thousand years, but they only get a maximum of about a hundred. It’s so short in comparison.”

Crowley nodded, trying blinking the sleep in his tired eyes away as Aziraphale continued to run his hand through his hair. “It’s a miracle, innit?”

“It’s certainly heartwarming. I must say, they truly had it in the 1960s. Do you remember the 1960s, dear?”

“Bright as day, angel.”

“Oh, that was a terrible time. So much fighting, like a repeated cycle. But they made it out, to your night canvas.”

Crowley smiled fondly. “I remember your face when I forced you to sit through the recording of the moon landing. Do you really mean to tell me you hadn’t used a telly yet before that?”

“Oh, hush you fiend.” A moment passed in comfortable silence. “They really do love each other, don’t they, my dear? Like a family.”

“Pretty big family. Billions of distant cousins.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m very glad this all isn’t, how did you put it, ‘a pile of boiling goo?’”

“A big messy ball of boiling goo.”

“Yes, that.”

Crowley yawned. “A big soft pillow too. G’night, angel.”

“Good night, my beloved.”

Because even with all its flaws, humanity is not a species or a grand family; it’s a celebration of life and kindness. Because even in the end-that-wasn’t, through the sheer kindness of an 11-year-old boy with his dog and his friends, the earth continued to spin. Because even though terrible things have happened, whole cities destroyed, whole continents mercilessly bombed, whole lives with so much future potential lost, life finds a way. And an angel and a demon can stand testimony for it, because they’ve seen it all, through the good and the bad. And that’s beautiful, in its own complicated way. The unsung heroes of everyday life that you don’t notice, the newborn crying as their mother holds them tight to her chest and promises to protect them forever, the friend you lost but will never forget; they’re all beautiful.

They’re all worth it.

And that’s beautiful.

-----------------

More Author's Notes:

If this story made no sense, just pretend it did. I also initially wrote this during quarantine so do with that information what you will.

Historical notes: 1. The year 1915 was the year with the most fighting on the Western Front. It was also the deadliest year for the French forces, with 349,000 deaths.

2. In 1915, the Germans were also focusing on the Eastern front with Russia. On April 22 of that same year, the Germans unleashed chlorine gas on the Western front but that was the only battle they instigated that year, as an experiment for the gas. However, they didn’t think the gas would be effective at all so this allotted nothing other than further death and destruction.

3. The MHS (Military Health Services) was made up of volunteer doctors and nurses willing to put their life on the line to set up hospitals and medical tents wherever the fighting went. However, they were constantly overwhelmed with the amount of deaths per day on either side of the fighting. It was apparently common for civilians to see dozens of hospital trains and hundreds of ambulances pass through cities on the daily. According to German writer Leonhard Frank, these were a representation of the war as they quite literally brought home the horrors of the trenches, regardless of the side.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #ace writes #world war 1 #why is that a tag on this website #anyways i hope yall enjoy #please ignore any plot holes this is really old

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