#god damn it there are. Elves. inside of my brain. again. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Stark Spangled Banner

Ch53: I’d Like A Bloody Mary, Please.

Intro: The team plan their Time Heist and figure out exactly where, when and how to get the Infinity Stones.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Some pretty dirty Smut in this one! (NSFW) No under 18s.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: @angrybirdcr is my SSB edit BAE

Chapter 52

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

After some grumbling from Emmy about it being a “ridiculously, god-forsaken time on a Saturday morning” to which Steve had quipped back that there were two six o’clocks in a day, the Rogers family, plus bags and a dog were leaving their Brooklyn home behind and heading to the compound for the foreseeable. Once they arrived, Steve effortlessly grabbed the bags from the car, Emmy picking up her rucksack and following him into the base, whilst Lucky raced off over the grounds to greet Clint who had clearly been on an early morning jog. Jamie shot off after him and Katie headed behind at a slower pace. She watched as Jamie reached the dog who was receiving an ear scratch from Clint and laughed out loud when Jamie straightened up and gave Clint the ‘I’m watching you’ sign with his hands. The Archer’s head fell back as he roared with laughter and Jamie stalked off, complete with sandy coloured dog at his heels, casting a filthy glance over his shoulder to double check Clint wasn’t following.

“Tony taught him that!” Katie explained as Clint looked at her. “I really should tell him off for being so rude but damned, he loves that dog.”

“Well Lucky clearly loves him.” Clint smiled, watching the two as they gambolled over the lawns “You can relax Nova, I’m not gonna steal him back.”

“Good. Because Steve and I would be really screwed if you did.”

Clint threw his arms around her and gave her a squeeze before he headed inside for a shower. Katie called Jamie back and they walked into the compound and down to their living quarters. Steve gave her a quick peck before heading off to the briefing room to meet Tony and Bruce, whilst Katie made sure the kids were settled.

“We’re only doing the brain storming today.” She looked at Emmy. “So if you wanna go out in the grounds feel free but just watch him, okay? And stay away from the labs!”

“Yes, Mom.” Emmy nodded.

“If you need us just ask FRIDAY. We’ll probably break for a late breakfast, or brunch, in an hour or so.”

Emmy nodded and Katie dropped a kiss to Jamie’s head as he was sat furiously scribbling at his latest drawing. She loved how he had taken to art like his dad. Emmy also had a natural talent for it, and it made Katie almost jealous. She had often joked to Steve how she couldn’t even draw curtains.

She headed down the familiar corridors and arrived at the briefing room, grabbing a coffee from the waiting batch someone, she suspected Natasha, had ordered in. Taking a place at the edge of the room besides Clint, she perched on the arm of the sofa next to Rocket and looked up. There were a number of hologram displays, showcasing each of the six Infinity Stones and the rest of the group sat round the room whilst Tony, Steve and Bruce were pacing at the front ready to lead the planning of the mission. They were deep in conversation, and Tony pressed something which made one of the holograms flip to the forefront, the one bearing the Aether or the Reality Stone as they knew it. Katie took a long drag from her coffee.

“Kids okay?” Steve asked as he approached her, dropping a kiss to her head. She nodded.

“Jamie was scribbling away, Emmy was doing something on her laptop, not sure what, she’s being cagey.”

“She got a boy on the go?” Steve frowned. “Do I need my shotgun?”

Clint snorted and Katie grinned as she looked up. “No idea, and if she has threatening whoever it is ain’t gonna help, she’ll just call you a moron or something.”

“She’s right.” Rhodey smirked as he took a seat next to Natasha, overhearing on his way past “Gotta keep it cool, Cap. Although I seem to remember Tony flipping out at your first boyfriend, what was his name?.”

Katie snorted. “Michael Swanson, Mikey.” She sighed. “He was a nice guy.” Steve arched an eyebrow at her. “What?” she laughed, looking up at him. “I was sixteen. Mikey only lasted a year, surprised he made it that long to be honest after Tony threatened him with a blowtorch the first time I introduced them.”

“A blow torch?” Steve pondered. “Now that’s an idea…”

Katie narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”

He gave her a cheeky grin then looked up as Tony called across the room “If you two have finished gazing into each other’s eyes thought we could start.”

“Bite me.” Katie quipped to her brother as her husband returned back to the front of the room and took his place. Katie watched as Steve Rogers disappeared and Captain America emerged and smiled to herself softly at how easy he had retreated back to his Avenger persona, as he effortlessly commanded the attention of the room.

“Okay so the ‘how’ works,” Steve began as he looked at the screens to his side, “now we gotta figure out the when and the where.” He glanced out at the room. “Almost all of us has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones.”

“Well I’d substitute the word encounter for damn well near been killed by one of the six Infinity Stones.” Tony shrugged, sipping his coffee as he walked in front of the displays, looking at the Avengers assembled in front of him.

“I haven’t.” Scott held his hand up. “I don’t even know what the hell you’re all talking about”

“Regardless, we only have enough Pym Particles for one round trip each.” Banner circled the table to the front of the room “And these stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history.”

“Our history.” Tony nodded, pacing as he talked. “So, not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in.”

“Which means we have to pick our targets.” Clint added as Tony passed by him.

“Correct.” Tony pointed to him with the hand holding his coffee cup.

“So, let’s start with the Aether.” Steve nodded, hands on his belt buckle as he stood in front of Banner and looked to the corner of the room. “Thor, whaddya know?”

Everyone turned their attention to the god. He was sat on a chair in the far right of the room with his sunglasses on, left hand resting on his belly which was exposed as his grubby top had ridden up slightly. He looked like an absolute hobo. Katie hated seeing him like this, but they needed him to pay attention and now, well he was making it impossible to tell whether he was awake or asleep. His lack of response, however, made Steve believe it was the latter. He drew in a frustrated breath as Natasha spoke, voicing his suspicions.

“Is he asleep?” She asked, pen clutched in her left hand.

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” Rhodey deadpanned.

Katie sighed, drained the last of her coffee and stood up. She took a step forward and launched the empty cup at Thor. Her aim was impeccable as ever and it hit him softly in the middle of his forehead. Clint gave her a hi-five at her shot and Steve rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging on one corner of his mouth as Thor jerked awake.

“What?” he asked, looking around. “Yes, I, what was the question?”

“Infinity Stones, planning a huge mission.” Katie spoke slowly almost as if to a child. “We need to know what you know about the Aether.”

“Oh, yes, of course Little Stark.” Thor pushed himself up with a groan. Katie watched as he made his way unsteadily to the screens. Clint pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on and took up the empty seat between Rhodey and Natasha

“Where to start? Umm,” Thor began, taking his glasses off and squinting at the light of the room, “the Aether, first, is not a stone, someone called it a stone before.” He pointed at Steve who frowned, puzzled, as Thor continued. “It’s more of a, err, an angry sludge thing, so…” he tipped his head back dropping eye drops into his left eye and pinched the bridge of his nose, “someone’s gonna need to amend that.”

Steve exchanged a glance with his wife at the same time Rhodey and Clint looked at one another. Was he drunk? Hungover? Both? The Captain frowned again as Thor continued, Tony stood not far from him, chewing on a plastic coffee stirrer, peering at Thor over his glasses.

“Here’s an interesting story though, many years ago my grandfather had to hide the stones from the Dark Elves…wooooh, scary beings.” Thor waggled his fingers to imitate a spooky ghost and Katie heard Rocket give out a little sigh from where he sat beside her, holding his paw up to his head, rubbing it slightly. She then looked at Nebula who was occupying the spot Clint had been in and the blue woman shrugged. “So Jane…” an image of the scientist popped up and Thor looked at it, grinning, “oh, there she is. That’s Jane. She’s an old flame of mine.” He pointed to the screen with his sunglasses “She, she stuck her hand inside a rock this one time and then the Aether stuck itself inside her.”

Now Steve was utterly confused and perplexed. He folded his arms and the crease between his brows deepened as he cocked his head slightly to the side as Thor continued to ramble on.

“And, she became very, very sick. So I had to take her to Asgard, which is where I’m from.”

Everyone in the room began to look around at one another in utter exasperation, all except Lang who was eagerly mopping up the information, smiling slightly and nodding.

“And we had to try and fix her. We were dating at the time, you see. I got to introduce her to my Mother, who’s dead,” at that point Thor’s face crumpled slightly and the God looked utterly broken. Banner began waving his hand across his throat signalling Tony to call time and Katie stood up from where she had been sat and headed towards him. “And oh you know, Jane and I aren’t even dating anymore, these things happen though you know, nothing last forever.”

“Why don’t you come and sit down?” Katie suggested to him gently, patting his chest as both her and Tony reached him, Tony gently pushing on his shoulder, guiding him back towards his chair.

“I’m not done yet,” Thor looked at the Stark siblings in turn as Rhodey and Clint shared another glance, Clint’s mouth hanging open in utter bewilderment, “the only thing permanent in life is impermanence.”

Tony clapped his hands together and nodded at the God. “Awesome.”

“Thank you.” Thor acknowledged.

“Eggs? Breakfast?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“No,” Thor chuckled, “I’d like a Bloody Mary.”

Steve exhaled, and rubbed at his brow. This was not how he wanted the day to start. He turned to the Raccoon, hoping that he would be more use. “Rocket, you mentioned something about the Aether the other night.”

“Yeah, when we knew Thanos was chasing it half my team headed to Knowhere, which is a place manned by an idiot called the Collector, at least it was.”

“I had my friends take it to the Collector once we had retrieved it back from Jane.” Thor cut in again as he slumped down in his chair, adding his first thing of real use to the conversation. “My friends, they’re all dead too.”

“So then surely going to Knowhere is our best bet?” Natasha added but Rocket shook his head.

“The Collector, when I call him an idiot, he is an idiot, but he’s also a crafty bastard. You’ll not get it from him without something to trade, unless you wanna go in for a full firefight. And you risk him tipping Thanos off in the process, and we don’t want him to know what we’re doing, regardless of what year it is when we do it.”

“No, we need to do this discreetly.” Steve agreed.

“Thor,” Katie spoke sternly and he looked at her, “how did you get the Aether out of Jane?”

Out of Jane…what the fuck?

“Malekith, he was the King of the Dark elves, he did it.” Thor shrugged. “Before we had a huge fight and he killed Loki. Or didn’t kill him, as it turns out. That was Thanos in the end.”

“That doesn’t sound like an option either.” Bruce shook his head.

“So then our logical opportunity is Asgard.” Katie looked around the room. “Get the Aether out of Jane before this Dark Elf guy does?”

Steve positively beamed at her. She was fucking awesome at this type of stuff. Her brain was so logical, even when everyone else was frustrated she could see details incredibly, analyse and draw conclusions like no one he knew, not even Tony. She looked at him and flushed slightly, knowing full well what he was thinking, he’d told her enough and she gave a small shrug.

“So Asgard.” Tony nodded. “FRIDAY, capture that.”

“Got it.” She spoke, and by the picture of the stone the location flashed up.

“Thor, timescale?” Tony turned to him. But to no avail, he’d nodded off again. “Alright, we’ll come back to that when Sleeping Beauty is back with us.”

Knowing that was about as far as they were going to get on that particular stone for the time being, the team agreed it was a logical place to break for a coffee and breakfast and they all headed to the kitchen, Katie picking the kids up on the way. There was a selection of food already waiting, Tony (or Pepper, as the case really was) having re-stocked the kitchen fully for them, ordering in a large selection of pastries and donuts. Steve watched as Jamie settled in a seat between his Uncle and Natasha, happily munching on an apricot fruit whirl, chatting away. Emmy was talking to Bruce, no doubt about some other science project she was working on, whilst Katie leaned against the counter, picking off bits of a croissant as she poured out coffees for everyone. Except Thor that is, who true to his word, had sauntered in a few minutes after the rest of them with a Bloody Mary in his hands, Natasha narrowing her eyes and telling him he better not have used the good vodka.

Steve had a suspicion there was more likely to be Asgardian Liquor in there than normal strength vodka.

They all ate, the mood slightly bolstered by the fact they were pretty much one down on the Infinity Stones, and Thor was even with it enough to give them an accurate time frame too. Something which set Steve at ease as he’d been a little edgy the God was going to lose it completely.

The rest of the day continued in that vain. The next stone they discussed was the Space Stone, or the Tesseract, which was very much Steve’s domain, although Thor- seemingly pepped up after his Bloody Mary- was able to give them a potted history of the item once Steve had explained his encounter with it and The Red Skull during the war.

“It was used by various ancient civilisations before coming into the Asgardians hands where it was kept in my father’s vault.” He spoke clearly. “He eventually brought it to Earth, don’t ask me why, and it was left in Tonsberg where it was guarded by devout worshippers.”

“SHIELD had it until the early nineties.” Katie then picked up as she knew this bit from the research she had done, digging into files and also from a download she had requested from Carol, the woman finally getting back to her late the previous evening. She moved her hand over her tablet and projected the information. “It was used and studied under ‘Project Pegasus’ until a lady called Mar Vel hid it in her laboratory. Then Danvers took full brunt of its power on an accident. But when Danvers found it again, it was given back to SHIELD and they had it right until it was given back to Thor, full circle.”

“And it stayed in Odin’s Vault until Loki stole it and brought it onto the Asgardian ship that Thanos took it from.” Bruce nodded.

“When he killed half my people.” Thor growled.

“So, is Asgard the best place to get that too?” Clint asked. “I mean we can’t get it from the ship?”

“Possibly.” Thor popped a shoulder as he scratched his head. “It would take some doing to get the Aether and the Tesseract and escape without trouble. It might be wise to consider an alternative time and location.”

“Preferably not New Mexico.” Clint mumbled, and Katie grinned at him.

Their discussions continued through the day, and when the evening light started to close in, Tony suggested a few hours down time before reconvening over dinner, which would allow Katie and Steve to settle the kids for the evening. Katie offered to cook again but Steve shook his head.

“No.” He refused, she’d been up all day, she’d made lunch, and he didn’t want her slipping into the routine of doing it all the time for the group, despite how much she said she enjoyed it. “You’ve done enough, we’ll sort the kids and get takeout, does that suit everyone?”

The group nodded eagerly and started to file out of the room. Katie stood up and cricked her neck as Steve crossed to look at the screen, the image of the tesseract rotated in front of him on one, the image of the Valkyrie airship on the other. He let out a loud sigh. His initial idea had been to split the Avengers into smaller groups to retrieve the stones individually, but he was worried now. There didn’t seem like there was going to be any chance of getting some of them without a full fire fight, and there was no way they could do that apart. Katie, recognising the look on his face as he was agonising over his strategy, crossed the room and slipped her arms round his waist.

“It’ll work out.” She told him softly and he bent his head towards her so she could kiss his cheek. “This is why we’re here, remember? It’s what we do.”

Rhodey approached them to the other side of Steve. “Not meaning to eves drop but she’s right.” He smiled. “Might takes us a bit of time but we’ll come up with something, Cap.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, looking at the images on the screen.

“You got a lot of history with that thing.” Rhodey pondered thoughtfully as he nodded at the Tesseract.

“You’re not wrong.” Steve muttered. At one point it had felt like everything had centred on that damned cube.

“So you and this Red Skull, you fought him?” Rhodey asked.

Katie looked at him, frowning. “Do you not know the story about how my dad found it?”

Rhodey shrugged “Kinda, but there’s gaps.”

“Well me and the Howling Commandos systematically took Hydra down.” Steve spoke, his eyes not moving from the image. “But we never found Schmidt’s hideout. So we mounted an op to capture Armin Zola who told us where his final base was and all about his plan. So we stormed it, only Schmidt escaped. Which is how I ended up on the plane.”

“So what happened to the Tesseract then?” Rhodey asked, keen to fill the gaps in his knowledge.

“Ended up at the bottom of the ocean, which is where Howard found it. Fell out of the plane right before I had to crash it.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask, why did you have to crash the plane anyway?”

“There were bombs on board.” Steve answered.

“Bombs on board, right.” Rhodey turned back to the screen “And you couldn’t just jump out of the plane before it crashed?”

Before Steve could answer, Rhodey patted him on the shoulder.

“Hind-sight eh Cap?” And with that he turned to leave the room.

Steve looked at his wife who grinned at him. “Don’t.” He began with a sigh.

She laughed, her arms snaking round his neck. “If you had jumped off that plane, you wouldn’t have spent sixty-five years taking a cold nap and we would never have met. Maybe it was just fate.”

Steve groaned as his hands locked at the bottom of her back. “Fate, my ass. The damned thing was on auto-pilot, I had no choice. If I could have jumped, I would. I don’t believe in fate, you-“

“Make your own luck, yeah I know.” Katie smiled as he gave her a peck on the lips.

He shook his head, looked at the screen once more before he turned to Katie and took a breath. “Come on, let’s settle the kids for the night and then we can eat.”

****

“Okay, so,” Steve looked up, swallowing his mouthful of chow-mein, “we’ve looked at the Aether, the Space stone, how about the power stone? What do we know about this one?”

“Thanos employed Ronan the Accuser, a Kree warrior, to retrieve it for him only before he could obtain it, it was stolen by our friend. He intrusted it to the Nova Corps on Xandar for safe keeping.” Nebula spoke, Katie looking over to her.

“The what?” Natasha asked, furiously making notes as she ate.

“Nova Corps, they’re, or they were an Intergalactic Military and Police force of the Nova Empire.” Rocket added, looking around to see more blank faces “Seriously? You guys don’t know about them?”

“We’re not exactly versed on Cosmic Security forces, no.” Tony deadpanned, drawing a snort from Clint.

“Well I suppose it doesn’t matter really.” Rocket hopped up onto the table. “What matters is where we can get that stone.” he began pacing in front of everyone. “So Quill said he stole the Power Stone from Morag.”

“Quill, is that a place?” someone asked.

“Morag’s a planet. Quill was a person.” Rocket corrected.

“A planet? Like in outer space?” Scott swallowed, his eyes lighting up. Steve had to smile, Scott was still getting used to things that the other Avengers simply took for granted now. Other planets and aliens existed, it was fact to them. To Lang it was still astounding. Rocket picked up on this fact and smirked.

“Oh, look. It’s like a little puppy, all happy and everything.” He bent over and ruffled Scott’s hair, and when he spoke again his voice made Katie snort, as it was one Steve often adopted when talking to Lucky. “Do you wanna go to space? You wanna go to space, puppy? I’ll get you to space.”

At that Tony’s voice cut sternly across the table.

“Hey Trash Panda, back on track, come on.” He clicked his fingers.

“Trash Panda?” Rocket looked at him indignantly as there were titters of laughter round the table. “Well that’s just fucking rude.”

Rocket went on to explain about the Battle of Xandar, whereby he and the other Guardians of the Galaxy managed to use the power stone between them to save the planet. It was when he mentioned jokingly something about a ‘dance off to save the universe’ that Katie noticed Tony stiffen. Without a word her brother stood up and walked to the doors that led to the small outside area. She gently squeezed Steve’s shoulder, he too noticing Tony’s exit, and wordlessly went after him.

“You okay Tone?” She asked, pulling the door closed behind her as she followed him out to the little patio area.

“Yeah, I just, well I heard that story before, from Quill, you know, about the dance off? It just reminded me of Parker that’s all.” He sighed, looking up at the sky. “He was teasing Quill about Footloose being a shit film and I just told him to shut up.” At that he fell silent and Katie looped her arm round his waist, his falling over her shoulder.

“You really cared about the kid didn’t you?”

Tony sighed, squeezing her shoulder. ”Yeah. I did.”

“We’re so close to doing it.” She looked at him. “So fucking close, Tone. And then you can tell him to his face.”

*****

From the other side of the window Steve watched the siblings as they shared a moment, Tony dropping a kiss to Katie’s head.

“They okay?” Natasha asked, drawing up to his side.

“Yeah, they’ll be fine.” Steve turned to her.

“I think we’re just about wrapped up.” Nat nodded her head to the table. “I think our best shot is to go to Morag and shadow this Quill to see where he found the stone.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds logical.”

He turned back to watch Tony and Katie who were now both looking up at the sky, Tony pointing at something, Katie giving a little laugh as she playfully gave him a dig with her elbow, causing Tony to laugh as well.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” Nat spoke again, and Steve looked at her. “Actually being back together, doing something.”

“I know these past five years have been shitty for you, Nat.” Steve said gently and she shrugged.

“It’s not all been bad. Seeing you and Katie bring up the kids has been kinda awesome.”

He smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You know, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Nat smiled and then took a deep breath. “It’s getting late.”

Steve looked at his watch and blinked. It was almost midnight. He nodded.

“Okay, tell everyone to wrap up, we’ll reconvene in the morning, say eight-ish over breakfast?”

She nodded and walked back into the room she’d left before. Steve gently opened the door that led to the outside and both Katie and Tony turned to face him.

“We’re finishing up for the evening.” He smiled gently “Back to it tomorrow morning.”

Tony nodded and Katie gave him a last hug before she turned away and followed Steve inside.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked she stepped inside.

Katie nodded. “He was just having a moment, thinking about the Parker, that’s all. Then he got on some rambling story about stupid shit I used to say as a kid.” She took a deep breath as Steve slid his arm over her shoulder. “He was talking about how I once told him I was going to be an astronaut and fly amongst the stars. That’s why ‘Drops Of Jupiter’ will always be our song.”

“Well, you might not be an Astronaut, but you got up to space.” Steve pointed out and she gave a little laugh, before she sighed.

“Yeah, suppose I did.”

*****

"Is it weird to feel like I kinda miss this place a little bit?” Katie turned to look at Steve as he walked out of the en-suite in nothing but his boxers. “I mean, I know it’s not like we’ve never been back in here since we moved but still…”

“No, I don’t think so.” Stev shook his head, crossing the room towards where she was stood by the window. He wrapped his arms around her, dropping his chin to her shoulder. “This was our home for a while after all, sometimes I still miss DC, you know.”

“Yeah.” Katie turned in his arms. “Although I think I prefer our home now.”

He smiled and dropped a kiss to her lips. “My home is wherever you are baby"

"That’s so lame!” Katie snorted.

“Hey.” Steve pouted, mock hurt flooding his face causing her to laugh even more.

“You wanna unpack, Soldier?” She asked, patting his chest, nodding to the case that lay at the foot of the bed.

“Tomorrow.” He mumbled, dropping his mouth to hers again, his hands sliding down her back until he gripped her ass and easily hauled her up against him. She giggled as she wrapped her legs round his waist, a sound he would never tire of hearing.

“You got other plans for me, Stevie?” She teased. Steve looked at his wife and with a quirk of his eyebrow he smirked as he carried her towards the bed.

"I distinctly remember you reminding me that this room is soundproof, and I intend on making the most of us not having to worry about disturbing the kids.”

He dropped her gently onto the soft mattress and she smiled at him, reaching up to brush back the longer locks of his hair that had fallen forward over his forehead, before her hand made it round to the back, tangling in the shorter ones at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

And that was it. Suddenly he was pulling the t-shirt off her, his mouth nipping and sucking at her bare chest as she writhed and keened underneath him. His hand worked into the waistband of the shorts she was wearing and she gasped as he slid his fingers into her.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much.” He sighed, making her groan again as he continued to tease her with his hand. Eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and she wriggled underneath him.

“You want something?” He asked and she raised her head, glowering at him.

“Steve if you don’t fuck me right now I swear to God I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He teased, his fingers curling against her spot and she gasped. “What you gonna do?”

“I’ll tell Jamie where you hide your stash of British Chocolate.” She looked at him and his hand paused.

“You wouldn’t!” His eyes widened, horrified at her threat.

“Oh I would.” She smirked.

“I don’t like being threatened,” his eyes darkened, “especially when it’s simply because you’re being a brat and not getting what you want.”

“Yeah?” She propped herself up on her elbows before she smirked and replayed his words right back to him. “What you gonna do?”

With a grin Steve sat up, grabbed her hips and flipped her over, lowering himself down again. He hovered over her, chest to his back, his mouth tracing a line down her spine as she continued to whimper. His lips formed a smirk against her skin and, as he reached the dip of spine he wriggled out of his boxers and grasped her hips, pulling her ass off the bed. He easily discarded her underwear, another pair he had shredded, but he didn’t give a fuck.

He positioned himself behind her, tip of his cock teasing her entrance. “This what you want?” He practically purred and she groaned.

“Yes, Jesus Christ! Just fuck me already, Steve!”

In a swift movement he buried himself in her and her face dropped to the pillow, muffling her moans.

“Not tonight, Kitten” he growled, as his hand reached out and gripped her hair and he pulled gently on her loose braid, so she was propped up on her elbows. “I told you, I wanna hear you.”

Katie bit her lip as he started moving, hard, fast, deep. Every thrust was rocking her very core and she was putty in his hands within minutes. His hips snapped back and forth, loud grunts and groans filled the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping on skin as he continued his ferocious pace, his hand on her shoulder pulling her back onto him with every thrust he made.

It was crude, coarse, animalistic, a far cry from their love making the night before but no less pleasurable for either of them.

Katie’s hands fisted into the sheets, her toes curling, her entire body trembling as the pleasure mounted, his cock brushing her walls. Tearing his eyes off the sight of his cock disappearing over and over again into her, Steve bent over her to nip at her neck, a little harder than usual, and he spoke into her ear with a growl. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

"So do you.” She moaned to him as he kept up his relentless pace, and she felt the release creeping up through her belly. “Shit, Captain…”

“Come for me, Doll.” Steve groaned and a loud cry ripped from her throat as her hands fisted tighter around the sheets and her entire body shook. Unable to control herself she collapsed and in a flash Steve curled his arm around her waist, holding her up. A few short thrusts later and he was done, giving into the ecstasy himself and he collapsed forward, letting Katie down as gently as he could before he face planted onto the bed, sweating and spent. Katie was led front down next to him, breathing deeply into her pillow. Eventually she mustered the strength to turn her head, only to see Steve led on his stomach, looking at her, a smug grin on his face.

“Fucking hell.” She mumbled and he laughed, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear.

****

“How long did you fight these guys?” Rocket asked, standing on his chair. They were watching footage of the Battle of New York, having started on the analysis of the Mind Stone. The obvious point, as Steve had said to Natasha the previous evening, had been the time in New York when both the Tesseract and Loki’s Sceptre were present. Katie looked at him across the table which was laden with half eaten bowls of eggs, bagels and a Bloody Mary for Thor.

“Oh I dunno, two, two or three hours.” Katie shrugged, glancing at Tony who was sat behind the animal, an electric razor in his hand as he trimmed his beard. He nodded his concurrence as did Natasha.

“Hours?” The raccoon scoffed. “The Chitauri are the suckiest army in the galaxy, why didn’t you just blow up the mothership?”

A silence fell across the room and Katie exchanged a glance with Thor who looked at the Racoon, narrowing his eyes.

“We didn’t know that was a thing.” Steve muttered, somewhat lamely from his vantage point-stood behind his wife, arms folded across his grey Henley clad chest.

“YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS A THING!” The raccoon bellowed and began to howl with laughter. Thor was still looking at him, now with the piece of celery from his drink held in his hand, almost like he was wielding his axe. Steve could tell he was debating throwing it at the animal and part of him really wanted the God to hit him right on the snout with it. The Soldier’s attention flitted to Tony who gave an angry, silent huff and stood up. He held a finger to his lips, telling Steve to keep quiet and he simply raised an eyebrow watching as his brother in law nonchalantly stepped over to the racoon who was still laughing

“EVERYONE KNOWS…THAT’s A-” the gleeful gloating was cut off as Tony ran his razor straight up the racoon’s back, shaving a line into his fur.

Katie spat out the coffee she had been drinking, choking as Scott began howling with laugher. Banner’s roars filled the room and even Steve couldn’t help himself as he threw his head back in glee, clutching his chest as his laughter rang out. Natasha was snorting too and Thor pointed his celery stick at him.

“That serves you right, Rabbit.”

“That’s a shitty thing to do!” Rocket glared at Tony, who shrugged.

“Stop being an asshole then.” Tony shrugged simply, and the Raccoon sat down, arms folded. As they continued to discuss their plan for getting their hands on the sceptre, Katie couldn’t help but snigger as his paw kept straying to the naked line of skin which stretched up his back.

An hour later they were another stone down, and Steve was feeling bolstered. Tony took himself off to the lab, realising that they were making fast progress and he wanted to start working on their own gauntlet for when they brought the stones back, Thor going with him to advise as he explained the stones had to be in a certain order to harness their power correctly. Nobody bothered to tell the God they all had a picture of Thanos’ glove imprinted in their minds forever.

The rest of them were sat on various sofas and chairs by the large windows as Nebula explained about the Soul Stone, telling them that Thanos found it on Vormir.

“What is Vormir?” Natasha asked in a very business-like manner as she scribbled on a pad where she was sat on the arm of the sofa, feet on the cushioned seat. Katie was perched on the edge of the arm next to her, in an identical position almost, with her left arm gently looping round Steve’s right thigh, her hand coming to rest on the inside of his leg, just above his knee, her hand stayed still, relishing the feel of his solid muscle against her palm.

“A dominion of death, at the very centre of Celestial existence.” Nebula explained. Nat paused looking up as the woman’s voice grew sombre. Katie noticed she had tears in her eyes. “It’s where Thanos murdered my sister.”

Steve looked down, arms folded, as an awkward silence fell on the room. Katie exchanged a glance with Natasha, then Clint, no one knowing what to say. Steve took a deep breath, Nat began scribbling again.

“Not it.” Scott muttered.

Steve let out an exasperated breath and glared at him.

“What?” Scott asked, innocently

They broke then for lunch. Once they had eaten, Steve took a break, taking Jamie and Emmy outside to play a bit of ball as their son was growing restless. Katie knew it wasn’t easy for him to relinquish control but she encouraged him to take a bit of time with the kids, Clint and Rhodey joining in so they could form teams. Thor disappeared off with Rocket and Nebula somewhere, most likely to raid the booze cabinet, whilst Katie, Tony, Nat and Banner continued their brainstorming.

The siblings lay on the large table, surrounded by papers and books they’d been making notes in, Natasha lounging in a chair whilst Bruce lay on the floor.

“That Time Stone guy.” Nat spoke, tapping a pen against her teeth.

“Doctor Strange.” Bruce offered his name up.

“Yeah, what kind of doctor was he?”

“Ear-nose-throat meets rabbit from a hat.” Tony quipped, making Katie snort as she looked up at the ceiling.

“Nice place in the village, though.” Banner mused.

“Yeah. Sullivan Street?” Tony asked, his hand pinching his nose as he tried to think of the address.

“Bleecker.” Banner corrected.

Suddenly something in Katie’s mind clicked and she sat up slightly. “Wait, he lived in New York?”

“No. He lived in Toronto.” Tony groaned sarcastically and Katie dug him harshly with her elbow. “Yes, he lived in New York.”

Katie looked at Natasha as she sat bolt upright, understanding immediately.

“Guys, if you pick the right year, there are three stones in New York.” Nat pointed out what Katie had seen.

Tony paused, before he tilted his head to look at his sister who raised an eyebrow grinning at him, as Bruce sat up suddenly in surprise.

“Shut the front door!” Banner looked around at Natasha, then Katie.

“Three stones, one bird.” Natasha quipped, smirking.

*****

Steve felt the familiar bristle of adrenaline as he looked at the holograms which were displaying the different locations and dates. His eyes not leaving the displays for a second, he spoke clearly and confidently “All right. We have a plan.” He walked up towards the screens. “Six Stones, three teams. One shot.”

The other Avengers gathered behind their Captain as they all either rose from their seats or stepped forward from where they had been stood, staring at the screens, the determination seeping from every single one of them hovered in the air which was practically crackling with anticipation.

Katie slipped her hand into Steve’s and he looked round at them all.

“Get some rest, we’ll reconvene first thing in the morning to make the final preparations. We go first light the morning after.”

The team all began to excitedly chatter and move about and Tony stopped, turning to Katie and Steve.

“We’ll take the kids up to the house tomorrow afternoon.” He nodded “I know we’ll only be gone for seconds but…”

Both Katie and Steve agreed, neither of them wanted them around whilst the Stones were at the compound.

“They can stay there until we’ve done the, reverse snap, the ‘pans…’” He quipped, saying the word backwards and Steve rolled his eyes.

*****

Katie had tears in her eyes when she bid the kids and Lucky goodbye the next afternoon, but she had to laugh when Jamie showed her the huge bag of M&Ms Natasha had sent him off with, along with a kiss and a cuddle from his favourite Aunt to keep him going until she saw him next time. She’d also slipped Emmy a crisp twenty instructing her to spend it when Pepper took them into the small village near where they lived to visit the Art Store the Teenager loved so much.

Steve eventually managed to steer Katie out of Pepper and Tony’s house, back to the car, Tony lingering slightly longer to say goodbye to Pepper. The drive home was almost completely silent, the three of them lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t been on a mission together with the full original team in over seven years. It felt odd, yet strangely familiar.

After a final bit of prep, Katie trying on her cat-suit, surprised to see it actually fit, they collapsed into bed, although neither of them could sleep. Katie turned over, scooting closer to Steve as she lay her head on his chest, her mind churning. Over the mission, over the stones, over the kids. Steve let out a sigh and kissed her head.

“I know you’re nervous…”

“I’m not nervous.” Katie shook her head against his chest. “Steve, I’m terrified.”

Steve closed his eyes and sighed, whilst the last five years had overall been kind to him and his family, he was desperate to bring everyone back. Not just for himself, but for the entire world, universe even. He hated failure, hated feeling like they could have done more. And this time tomorrow they’d know one way or another whether they truly had one final shot at undoing it all.

And if not, well, the last five years were about to become their forever reality, and it really would be time to quit.

*** Chapter 54

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #Katie Stark #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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unironicduncanstan · 4 years ago

Text

the “Tangodeltaindia” blog explained,

aka my brain has cringe spots on it and needs to be inspected by the FDA

hi my names randi/uni and i created a total drama island themed ARG two months ago on a whim that almost no one interacted with bc i started off way too niche and difficult, so i kinda just went increasingly off the rails because i knew most likely no one was monitoring my posts and i could just make a real cursed hidden tomb that could one day be discovered by someone in a goonies esque unveiling. but then i got lice and now im sad and uncomfortable so i’m just gonna explain the entire damn thing in one shot. its absolutely batshit and theres a reason no one uncovered it ok here we go;;;

first of all the name. its so stupid but. ‘tango delta india’ = ‘tdi’ in the NATO phonetic alphabet. it just felt like a funny place to start that implies its gonna be a puzzle blog idk,

moving on to the actual content tho; some of the earlier posts mean p much nothing and were just an attempt to draw people in, such as the mr coconut ‘like if you agree’ or the ‘let him inside hes cold’ posts.

then theres the cipher (x). it was posted shortly after the height of the ‘using total drama reference pictures to make an alphabet’ meme. in case anybody didnt see that; for a while it was a joke in the fandom to take the transparent references of total drama characters, and line them up, using them like hieroglyphics to make translatable pictures. its supposed to correspond to the alphabet, based on the first letter of their first name. an example could be, alejandro = a, bridgette = b, and so on. there was no solidly set alphabet amongst the fandom though, it was self explanatory most of the time so i made my own solid personal cipher key for that blog to make the whole thing easier.

NOW ONTO THE FIRST PUZZLE POST,,,, (x). theres a scene, a string of text, the cipher key, and a link to a decoder. the way to decode it all is to plug the characters on screen into the tangodeltaindia cipher key, and then plug That translation into the decoder website, and then finally paste in the text under the photo.

the website linked is to a Caesar cipher decoder. the Caesar cipher is just a code where the alphabet is assigned to numbers (a=1, z=26), and to encode something with it you can move this pattern however you want as long as you keep the regular sequence of alphabet and numbers. so you could scootch over One letter, and “abc” would now say “bcd”. so on and so forth.

looking at the scene + my own total drama reference cipher, alejandro = A, and the beaver = 1, which gives A1. so you could now follow the link to the website, press ‘decode’, and paste in the text under the picture. the ‘shift’ in the middle is automatically set to ‘7′, or as it shows, a -> h, meaning ‘a’ has been moved over by 7 letters. so if you set the shift to just 1 over, or A1, now you can translate the text. it reads;

“lets start simple. after all, a trail of breadcrumbs begins with a loaf. whats the harm in another long winded fandom meme. another inside joke. and arent you curious whats truly lurking inside?”

edgy! simple! kinda just a test to see if people would do it or not. which they didnt so of course i tried to make it weirder-

puzzle 2; (x) using the exact same translation rules as above. we have alejandro and the snake, which with the tangodeltaindia cipher key means A6. going to the website, putting it in ‘decode’ mode, pasting in your text, and setting the shift to ‘6′ gives you this translation.

“in his eyes are an island. nothing but a dream, born out of going to bed angry. sink or swim.”

this was just hinting around at where the story was gonna go so it’ll make more sense later. something else to note; if you zoom all the way in and look into alejandros eye (’in his eyes’), you’ll see the word ‘Thera’. ~thats a surprise tool that will help us later~

so after this one, there are two non-puzzle posts that are also just hints (i was just tryna see if i could get people hyped), the first is a close up picture of chris with red eyes that simply says “those arent his eyes”, and then a post that says “his real names not chris :)”, they’re again referencing his eyes, and this time further implying theres something fake or wrong about them, or with chris as a person. again, it’ll be explained better later on.

moving on to puzzle 3 (x), another test to see if anyones keeping up (which also failed josdfjsdfkjs), using the same translation rules, dj = a dash or minus, and the snail = 5, “-5″, shift the letter ‘A’ BACK five instead of forward, and you get the simple translation of; “getting harder now.”

puzzle 4 and 5; at this point, there are two images posted within hours of each other that i’ll explain together as they line up. (x) (x)

These are some of the only ones that can be translated from just the tangodeltaindia key directly. They end up a string of numbers, which are latitude and longitude coordinates. The first post, labelled “the lie”, translates into “45.57394802102744, -81.46817207492494″. googling that will take you to maps and show you to a place called Lonely Island in Canada.

The second one, “the truth”, translates into “36.404663113177534, 25.39605673375295″, taking you to Santorini, Greece.

This is where the hints got really out there bc i realized nobody was following along but i still wanted to paint a picture. so this is the set up;;; the idea that the ‘island’ (camp wawanakwa) existing somewhere in canada, is a lie. the ‘true’ location being santorini isnt meant to be taken at face value though. the mythology behind santorini is that a man impregnated a goddess and to escape the wrath of her father (triton), she formed the island (santorini) by having her lover throw clay into the sea, and then she gave birth to her son, Theras, on this island, giving the island it’s Other nickname, Thera.

this is again just a vague implication that the island might not be real at all, or that it was formed through cosmic means.

the next two posts are more non-puzzle hints, the first showing the definition of the word ‘fresh’ (new), and the second being images of total drama backgrounds with no characters and the text reading “they were always empty.” more, admittedly very outlandish implications that the island is some kind of illusion, but again mostly just another try to drag people into the blog.

puzzle 6. (x) this one introduces a new concept to the regular translation rules, some of the characters are laying down. its kinda supposed to imply they’re “dead” and that you need to take their corresponding letters out of the alphabet given on the Caesar cipher page, below the shift. The upright characters translate to “-9″, so you shift ‘A’ back 9 letters. Then remove the letters; “TH-E-R-A-S”, and with those letters taken out, you can finally translate the text.

“he creates life solely to destroy it. to crush it in his hands. he births chaos so that he may have something to control. the power has given him madness. the isolation, arrogance. don't try to stop him, he's already chosen to be unstoppable. his mind is a perfectly crafted prison, one we will all soon be living in.”

this is where the story gets more on the nose. it’s talking about chris, and about him being an unstoppable cosmic force, a diety who can create worlds within his own mind, and he does so maliciously just for power. hes created the campers through mental energy just to torment them. it also hints that his plan is to expand the world of total drama island and engulf the whole universe.

puzzle 7. (x) same as the last puzzle. beaver and moose translate to ‘1-0′ or ten. the characters lying down to remove from the caesar cipher alphabet are “T-U-L-P-A”. this doesnt have anything to do with the modern way some ppl interact with tulpas but just the actual idea of creating thoughtforms, or willing your thoughts into real life creations, referencing how chris has created the entire island and everyone on it solely through his mind. with those letters removed and the shift set forward 10, you get this:

“his psychic power is unfathomable. the reality he bore was just a passing thought. an idea that became so dangerous. he predates the idea of a mind, the minds own ability to recognize itself, his synapses are paradoxically ancient. the island exists only within himself, to torment the souls hes created, and damned from the start. will they ever be free?”

it states that chris is more than a man or even just a diety, hes an all powerful god already, yet he craves more power. the final line, “will they ever be free” is in reference to the campers, which segways into the next arc;;; freeing the campers from chris’ psychic island imprisonment.

puzzle 8. (x) to solve this one you have to translate the top image with the tangodeltaindia cipher key, and add it to the text given, which creates a link. this leads to a PDF, a page from a book written by terence mckenna. he’s a famous ethnobotanist known best for his studies on DMT, the strongest hallucinogenic drug in the world, its also known as the spirit molecule. many people on this drug (without any prior knowledge of this phenomenon) will recount meeting strange fractal beings that can create things in the universe just by speaking them into existence, theyve come to be known as ‘machine elves’, a term coined by mckenna. ill show the most important excerpt from the page;

this is less about the psychedelic drug part and more about the words and ideas, like “punching a hole through a dimension so it pours through” and “if god didnt exist man would invent him”. its more worldbuilding towards chris’ power and cosmic abilities

then come 2 more clues. a picture of chris holding his own body captioned ‘ego death’, and the meaning behind the name ‘chris mcclean’. the latter is another “please look over here” post, but the first is another minor reference to the previous puzzles answer involving DMT and terence mckenna. ‘ego death’ is a term again used with strong psychedelic drugs, its the sensation that your spirit as you know it is literally Dying, and you are instead connected to and a part of everything around you. another reference to chris’ power and how he may look like a man but his body and spirit are connected to the world hes built in unfathomable ways. at this point im cementing the idea that chris mclean is not a mortal man and cannot be fought with mortal weapons

puzzle 9. (x) this one was an attempt to make easier to solve puzzles, and comes with a visual of chris looming over the island. the text is in wingdings, which can be translated through multiple websites found through google. it says;

“s︎o︎o︎n︎ h︎e︎ w︎i︎l︎l︎ s︎l︎e︎e︎p.︎ h︎e︎ w︎i︎l︎l︎ d︎r︎e︎a︎m︎ a︎ n︎e︎w︎ h︎e︎l︎l︎,︎ a︎n︎d︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ w︎i︎l︎l︎ b︎e︎ o︎u︎r︎ o︎n︎l︎y︎ c︎h︎a︎n︎c︎e︎,︎ t︎o︎ s︎a︎v︎e︎ h︎i︎s︎ c︎r︎e︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎s︎,︎ a︎n︎d︎ f︎r︎e︎e︎ t︎h︎o︎s︎e︎ w︎h︎o︎ w︎e︎r︎e︎ n︎e︎v︎e︎r︎ d︎e︎s︎i︎g︎n︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ b︎e︎ f︎r︎e︎e︎.︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ m︎a︎y︎ c︎o︎m︎e︎ a︎t︎ a︎ c︎o︎s︎t︎.︎ t︎h︎e︎ n︎i︎g︎h︎t︎m︎a︎r︎e︎ m︎u︎s︎t︎ e︎n︎d︎,︎ t︎h︎e︎ o︎u︎r︎o︎b︎o︎r︎o︎s︎ o︎f︎ h︎i︎s︎ s︎y︎n︎c︎o︎pe︎ m︎u︎s︎t︎ c︎l︎o︎s︎e︎,︎ b︎u︎t︎ i︎t︎ m︎a︎y︎ t︎u︎r︎n︎ o︎u︎r︎ e︎f︎f︎o︎r︎t︎s︎ o︎f︎ s︎a︎l︎v︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎ t︎o︎ d︎u︎s︎t︎.︎ o︎u︎r︎ f︎i︎g︎h︎t︎ m︎i︎g︎h︎t︎ e︎n︎d︎ i︎n︎ s︎a︎c︎r︎i︎f︎i︎c︎e︎,︎ r︎e︎n︎d︎e︎r︎i︎n︎g︎ h︎i︎s︎ l︎a︎s︎t︎ i︎n︎v︎e︎n︎t︎i︎o︎n︎ b︎u︎t︎ a︎ c︎e︎a︎s︎e︎l︎e︎s︎s︎ v︎o︎i︎d︎.︎ w︎e︎ m︎a︎y︎ s︎e︎e︎ h︎o︎r︎r︎o︎r︎s︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ c︎a︎u︎s︎e︎ t︎h︎e︎ s︎t︎a︎r︎s︎ t︎o︎ s︎h︎u︎d︎d︎e︎r︎,︎ b︎u︎t︎ w︎e︎ m︎u︎s︎t︎ t︎a︎ke︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ c︎h︎a︎n︎c︎e︎.︎ w︎e︎ h︎a︎v︎e︎ n︎o︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎o︎ l︎o︎s︎e︎,︎ a︎n︎d︎ a︎ w︎o︎r︎l︎d︎ o︎f︎ n︎o︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎n︎e︎s︎s︎ t︎o︎ e︎n︎d︎.︎ m︎a︎y︎ t︎h︎e︎ s︎e︎a︎ s︎w︎a︎l︎l︎o︎w︎ u︎p h︎i︎s︎ i︎s︎l︎a︎n︎d︎ o︎f︎ l︎i︎e︎s︎.︎ g︎o︎d︎ pr︎o︎t︎e︎c︎t︎ y︎o︎u︎.︎”

this is essentially saying that the island, the campers, werent all just created from his mind, but from his dreams. this confirms that he Sleeps, and claims hes going to sleep again soon, and during that time period theres a chance to kill him before he can dream up another world (or season) to control and torment. its also saying that theres a chance killing him will destroy the island and campers, but that its the only choice we would have to end the cycle. hey guys i am so bored and over the years i have been on every stimulant and anti depressant doctors are legally allowed to prescribe and its still just not quite there yet huh

puzzle 10. (x) the video, the title translates to “the island of his eye”. its just meant to encapsulate everything ive already been hinting around at but with real footage and some audios taken from the show, and again, it was me tryna make some lore that was easy to digest and also terrifying to an audience with no other context. the final images are the only new clues, if you pause fast enough you can barely make out the characters that (paired with the tangodeltaindia cipher key) would say “set them free”, and you can also see an aerial view of what is actually called “the eye of argentina”. it is a real island that rotates atop a swamp, it is geometrically perfect and no one really knows for sure why it rotates the way it does or how it was formed. this clue is simply related back to the idea that the island of wawanakwa’s location is not in canada, and that it does not function like a normal island.

puzzle 11. (x) what td blog is complete without a uquiz? anyways, it doesnt matter how you answer the quiz, theres only one possible result. the title is a link to a mega file, which is protected with a decryption key. the image attached to the result, when deciphered, is the randomly generated key to the unlock the file. the image you see from the file is this; (TW for mentions of self harm and eye trauma)

in case this is too hard to read ill transcribe what it says;

“How to escape the dream - accept that there is no dream to escape, and no you to escape it. - believe in it anyways. - sleep on your back. - cover your eyes. - hide a nail under the pillow. - wait for the ringing. - when you first see him, dont call his name. dont speak. - keep your eyes shut. - on the second night, ask where the camp is. he wont respond verbally. - on the third night, you’ll see his eyes. - on the fourth night, you’ll enter them. - you can’t turn back after the fifth night. - don’t try to hide your fears. he knows them before you arrive. - don’t shut your eyes for too long when it becomes too much. you risk losing them. - find chris mclean. - don’t stop till the nail is through the socket. - repeat on the other side. - repeat on yourself. - congratulations. they are free”

this is, believe it or not, an idea that comes from my very own sleep paralysis experiences. ive dealt with it a lot, so why not make a weird ritual thing for an arg based off it ig. so whenever i’d fall asleep on my back, i’d eventually hear this ringing in my ears (or it’d happen upon waking up), and then the sleep paralysis would begin. i only ‘saw’ stuff a couple times but the fear for me was really more about the overwhelming sensation of pure dread that always came along with it even when i was aware what was happening, and i Always got this feeling too that if i opened my eyes in that moment, something was gonna stab them.

so moving on to how that applies to the arg, the first few lines are about how, obviously, the island is not real, even in the lore being given its a figment of chris’ imagination, but you have to enter it anyways, and the only way to do that is to believe its real. then it tells you how to ‘enter’ that world, (btw i didn’t expect anyone to actually follow these instructions if found, but even if they did, the whole ‘sleep paralysis being caused by sleeping on your back’ thing usually only happens if you’re predisposed to having it and only happens to Some people who have it, so the intent was like. never to bring that upon anybody. but if you are prone to sleep paralysis plz do not attempt even as a joke or anything thx)

the parts about hallucinating chris then are as follows, “ask about the camp / he wont respond verbally” , meaning he will show you through a dream instead, one that might look a lot like the video from before. “on the third night you will see his eyes”, meaning you will see the island but not be able to interact with it, or basically, how we see total drama on tv right now. “on the fourth night you’ll enter (his eyes)” references the island existing ‘within his eyes’, meaning you will enter the actual island. the next night chris will sleep and you will be able to enter the island again and find him. the idea with the nail is that, if you destroy his eyes you destroy the ‘island’ within them. wrapping back around to sleep paralysis, the idea of stabbing yourself with the nail afterwards is because sometimes, the only thing you can move during sleep paralysis is your fingertips and toes, and wiggling those can help bring you out of the paralysis. so at first how i used to wake myself up, but it didnt usually work fast enough so oftentimes id just pinch the shit out of my fingers and use pain to make my muscles start up faster.

the next post is a link to a countdown. again, i knew nobody was rly following at this point, but i wanted a little more build up before just dropping the ending. it was set up to end 5 days after the last post, aka the one that mentioned a 5 night dream ritual.

puzzle 12. (x) going all the way back to the normal multi step translation puzzles. the coloring of the cipher is a bit different, and its missing chris, but its meant to be used the same as it was before, these changes are only for dramatic effect. and chris is gone because well. we mentally offed him in the inception dream land last time. so anyways the snake = 6, shift A to 6, take out the letters “R-I-C-K” of the characters laying in their graves, and you get this translation;

“its almost time. we must now crack open our minds like a crowbar to a sealed chest. like an egg to a pan. to find our way into camp wawanakwa our ego cannot remain intact, and to traverse it we must stay strong. to escape it, we must glue the pieces back together. now we sleep. dream. end the nightmare.”

this is a final message before ‘entering the island’ to kill chris and free the campers from the island. it acts like a pep talk.

the next post is just the countdown ending.

puzzle 13 (the finale). (x)

this post sends you to a new blog entirely, called @awakenfromthenightmare. there is only one post on it. the post has another link to a mega file, and the link is attached onto a string of text. follow the link by clicking, then copy the text and paste it in as the decryption key. now you have another image to translate with the tangodeltaindia cipher;

when translated, the text is another link to a youtube video.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ

so there you have it, that video is the ending to the entire arg. it didnt really end the way i wanted at first, i got burnt out from no engagement about halfway through which isnt anybody elses fault, but i still felt this was a well crafted and fitting finale. thank you all for reading.

#tw self harm ment./ //#tw eye trauma / //#tw unreality// //#tw drug ment/ //#long post/ //#like a mile long just look at the tws its a rabbit hol e

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Sorry I Didn’t Know (FebuWhump 10)

Fandom: The Witcher (mix of book and show canon, set after season one and based on events in Blood of Elves) Summary: Jaskier finds himself in the hands of the enemy, being tortured for information about Geralt's location. Unfortunately he hasn't seen the witcher since that horrible day on the mountain. All seems lost and hopeless, but he has an ally on the way that even Jaskier doesn't know about...Yennefer of Vengerberg.

(Yes it’s more of torturing Jaskier, but he does get comforted this time. Just not by the big lug. See the AO3 version for my full rant :D)

* * *

The first thing he was aware of when he pulled himself out of the spiraling blackness was the pain in his wrists. Pain that lanced down his arms to his shoulders, and even his chest and stomach when he tried to move.

The second thing was the burlap sack over his head. It smelled faintly of old potatoes and dust, and he choked and coughed when he tried to catch his breath.

Then it was the taste in his mouth and the back of his throat. The faint remnants of wine and something like the odor of water lilies and incense.

Now Jaskier remembered. The pudgy little man with the greasy forehead and too many rings on his thick fingers. He'd offered to buy the bard a drink, claimed to be a patron of the arts, but he'd only asked about the songs Jaskier had written about the witcher.

“Oh, good, you're awake.”

The sack was tugged off his head in one swift movement and Jaskier found himself blinking in the hazy light of a few candles. There were two or three other people in the room, but they were nothing but vague shapes as he tried to shake the last of the muzziness from his head.

That was a mistake. The movement pulled on his shoulders and sent a shock of pain spiraling up his arms to his wrists, which he now realized were bound above him. No, wait...his wrists were bound together and he was hanging from them. His fingers were nearly numb but he could just feel the metal curve of the hook between his hands. There was just enough slack in the rope for his lower legs and knees to rest against the ground, but that was it...and the drugging had left him without the strength to pull himself up any farther to rest his abused shoulders.

Someone had asked a question. Jaskier tried to focus, but the terror pounding through his brain at being caught in this situation was making his blood roar in his ears. Oh, gods, no one knew where he was. No one was expecting him. He had an open invitation to lecture for the summer semester at Oxenfurt, but if he didn't show up they'd assume he just had other plans. He was utterly alone and at the mercy of men who had drugged and kidnapped and strung him up like a side of meat to cure.

The bucket of water flung into his face snapped him out of his panicked thoughts with a splutter. He coughed and spat and shivered, every movement agony on his wrists and shoulders. “Wh-what is it?” If he didn't think about it, maybe he could convince himself his teeth were chattering from the cold and not fear.

“We're looking for the witcher,” the man said, with the impatient tone of someone repeating himself. It wasn't the pudgy man from the inn; this one was taller and darker. Jaskier couldn't make out too many details in his woozy state, though his eyes seemed to fix on the red brooch on the other man's cloak.

“Sorry?” Jaskier tried to clear his head and looked up toward the man's face. “I don't know where he is. Haven't seen him for months. Not since...not in a long time.”

Red Brooch gave a simpering smirk and nodded to someone behind Jaskier. The rope creaked and Jaskier bit back a cry of pain when he was hauled upward by his wrists, the movement pulling on every joint in his body until...he stopped.

Heart in his mouth, he craned his head back to look at his legs. They were wrapped in heavy chains, one behind his knees and the other across his ankles, and the chains were staked to the ground to hold his lower body in place. Every haul on the rope pulled his body between two opposing forces, threatening to tear or dislocate his joints.

A slap across the face brought his attention back to Red Brooch. The man was obviously impatient. “Everyone knows you follow the witcher around like a simpering maiden,” Red Brooch sneered. “All you've done for most of a decade is sing his praise from one end of the continent to the other and you expect us to believe you just lost him?”

Jaskier swallowed and tried to work a little moisture back into his mouth. “I don't know,” he said, voice weak. “We-we haven't seen each other since the mountain, since the dragon hunt. He doesn't...I don't know.”

Red Brooch sighed and gestured again. This time the pull on the rope was sharp and fast and Jaskier tried to scream, only to realize his captor's upraised hand was glowing as he cast a spell that muted Jaskier's voice.

The stretch was horrible. The coarse rope tore at the sensitive flesh of his wrists and his left shoulder, which had been injured in a fall out a window a few years before, was already very close to being pulled out of socket. The sudden release of tension brought only mild relief, as the man behind him simply let go of the rope and Jaskier fell a few inches before he was caught by the bindings around his wrists. It was all burning and pulling, like he was being torn apart on the inside.

Closing his fist, Red Brooch released his hold on Jaskier's voice. “You wrote that ballad about the Child Surprise.” He leaned in, one hand on Jaskier's shoulder, pushing down just enough that a new spike of agony shot down his arms from his wrists. “So you know he found her. The Lion Cub of Cintra.”

Jaskier shook his head. That had been...that had been poetry. “Just a story,” he gasped. “I made it...made it up.”

Red Brooch opened his hand again, sealing Jaskier's lips, and nodded to the man behind him. The pull was slow and agonizing this time, the world around him erupting into bright explosions of pain as his left shoulder finally gave under the strain and dislocated. He wanted to scream, but the spell on his mouth made it difficult to even suck in a breath.

And through it all Red Brooch just studied him with a calculating expression. When the chains around his knees and ankles creaked, Jaskier was suddenly grateful Geralt had used such cruel words to send him packing all those months ago. He would have said anything, given up anything, to make the pain stop...but he had nothing to give.

Then the rope was released, and the sudden drop against his mangled wrists and dislocated shoulder was enough to make his mind go white for a few seconds, while Red Brooch went for another bucket of water to dash over Jaskier's face and chest.

“I don't kn-know,” he stammered, when he could finally speak again. “Please...”

Something rustled just outside his field of vision. Red Brooch glanced over his shoulder, then nodded at the man behind Jaskier, who lumbered off into the darkness to check. For the first time Jaskier realized they were in some kind of dilapidated barn or stable, which meant they couldn't be too far from civilization. If he was careful, he might be able to shout for help if Red Brooch got distracted.

The other man came back—a big, hulking brute with tangled hair and Nilfgaardian armor—shaking his head.

Nilfgaard. Of course. He could still remember all of Queen Calanthe's rather colorful insults during her daughter's engagement ball all those years ago. The night when Geralt had mistakenly asked for the Law of Surprise and wound up with a child of destiny he had no intention of claiming.

Jaskier was just trying to screw up the courage to scream for help while Red Brooch glared at his companion when the door blew in under a burst of flame. The soldier let out a cry of fury and charged, but another ball of fire caught him in the chest and knocked him back.

A lone figure strode into the darkened space. Dressed in a dark tunic and trousers, rather than the striking black-and-white ensembles she favored, Yennefer was no less intimidating as she released a second searing blast at Red Brooch. He had the sense to throw his hands up to ward off the damage, then he was diving behind Jaskier to put the bard between himself and the approaching mage.

Her violet eyes flicked up to make contact with Jaskier's, then a streaming gout of flame was arcing toward him, only to bend and flow around him without singing even a hair on his head. Red Brooch cursed and kicked Jaskier in the back of the legs, making the bard cry out in pain at the tug against his wrists and shoulder, then there was the warping twist of magic and the smell of ozone and Jaskier could just see a portal forming out of the corner of his eye.

“No you don't!” Yennefer hissed and fired another blast of flame at Red Brooch, but he was already diving into the portal. She started to follow but hesitated, eyes flickering at Jaskier for a fraction of a second, and sent another stream of fire after Red Brooch. For a brief, satisfying moment he thought he heard a man scream, and then the portal snapped shut.

The soldier was still moving, though his armor and part of his face had burned off. Yennefer stalked over to him, one hand alight with the glow of magic, and seized the front of his leather jerkin with her other hand. “Who sent you?” she demanded.

Jaskier tried to call a warning as the soldier lunged up with a knife, but Yennefer had seen it coming. She doubled back, retrieving her own knife from her boot, and dashed in to cut a long gash in the soldier's arm up toward his armpit, right in the unarmored space where his bracer buckled.

The man fell with a gurgled cry, and Yennefer stood over him for a moment with her face twisted in disappointment as blood spurted out of the man's wound to darken the floor beneath him. “Cut the artery,” she commented over her shoulder. “Damn.”

Too relieved to comment, Jaskier let his head rest against his uninjured shoulder. “Yennefer?”

She studied him, eyes going from the rope holding his wrists up to the chain binding his legs down. “When I cut this, let me take your weight. Don't try to catch yourself on your knees, got it?”

He nodded. She wrapped one arm around his chest, almost tenderly, and reached up with her other hand to slice through the rope connected to the hook he'd been hanging from. Jaskier collapsed against her, the hook striking a glancing blow on his hip on the way down, and fought down a sob of mingled relief and pain as his shoulders went slack.

Yennefer muttered something and the chains across the back of his legs went limp, letting him slowly drag himself up until he was standing, with Yennefer supporting most of his weight. She stared up at him for a moment, as though reading the map of his injuries, then twisted partly away to summon her own portal with a gesture.

“Two steps and you can lie down,” Yennefer promised.

“Why...” Jaskier coughed, the movement jarring his wounded body, and felt the sorceress pull him inexorably forward. “Why are you...”

“We'll talk later,” she promised. “Just come with me for now.”

He let her lead him through the portal, and the last thing he remembered before darkness flooded his senses was a warm, cozy room with a roaring fire and—most importantly—a soft, clean bed.

* * *

Waking up was much more pleasant this time. Jaskier slowly sat up, well aware that his clothing still stank of the barn and sweat and blood...but the rest of him seemed pleasantly recovered. He flexed his left arm, surprised and relieved that the shoulder had been reset and even the swelling abated.

“You're finally awake,” Yennefer called. She was sitting at the room's little table, a meal spread out in front of her in half a dozen dishes that smelled heavenly. “Come, join me.”

Jaskier slowly approached. The table had two benches that faced each other, but while Yennefer was seated on one the other was covered with what looked like the detritus of a night's spell work. Yennefer rolled her eyes and made a show of scooting to the end of the bench, patting the empty wood beside her. “I won't bite,” she teased. “At least, not after spending a day and a night putting you back together.”

“Ah.” Jaskier awkwardly sat on the edge of the bench. “Um, thank you. For that.”

She rested a hand on his arm in an almost tender gesture. “I've been looking for you.

He stiffened. He should have known...escaping one danger to fall into another. “I don't know where he is,” he explained slowly. Maybe she'd just let him go, they didn't actually have a reason to hate each other, did they?

“Oh, Jaskier,” Yennefer shook her head, one dark curl falling across her shoulders. “I was looking for you. If I wanted to find Geralt...I have my own ways.”

Jaskier nodded. His stomach was cramping, reminding him it had been at least a day since he'd eaten, but he just couldn't bring himself to fill his plate. “I haven't seen him since...since...”

“Since the mountain,” Yennefer finished. “I'm so sorry, Jaskier. I didn't know. If I'd known he'd said something like that to you, I would have come back. I'd have slapped him across his self-righteous face and taken you straight to Oxenfurt, or wherever you needed to be to get away from him.”

For some reason, her words made his eyes prickle as though he was fighting back tears. This couldn't be real—not the unfeeling sorceress, hero of Sodden Hill, the woman so powerful she'd nearly bound a djinn to her will—people like that didn't care about people like him.

“Poor Jaskier,” Yennefer sighed and scooted across the bench to lean her head against his shoulder. “I hate seeing you like this; you're no fun to tease.”

He laughed at that, and the sound almost surprised him. He hadn't had much to laugh about lately. Yennefer smiled up at him and reached out to fill his plate, piling it up with the delicate food the sorceress preferred over the rough meat and bread that was Jaskier's usual tavern fare. He couldn't complain, though. After the events of the last few days a few pieces of fruit and some light, toasted bread sounded a bit more palatable than a joint of mutton.

“You must know I don't hate you,” Yennefer began. “We don't see eye-to-eye, but I would never want to see anything like that happen to you.”

Jaskier gave in and let his head rest against hers, her dark hair soft against his cheek. “I think you're the only one.”

“Geralt was angry,” Yennefer replied. “For a man who claims to have no emotions he has a tendency to let his passions override his self control.”

She rested one hand on his arm and shifted her head so that she was looking up at him. “Don't let this break you, Jaskier. He blames himself for the harsh words he spoke to you; don't take them on as your burden as well.”

To his shame, her thumb brushed over a tear that had escaped from one eye. He cleared his throat and pulled away, taking his plate to stand closer to the fire to eat. “What are your plans now?”

Yennefer pretended not to notice the sudden change of topic. “I have a few things I'm looking into for a friend,” she lied smoothly. That was all right. Jaskier didn't really want to know the sort of things the sorceress got up to. For all he knew she was the spy mistress for an underground movement to liberate Cintra from Nilfgaard control. The less he knew about her life the better.

“I need to get back to Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said, though she hadn't asked. “I've been asked to teach for the summer semester, and walking those hallowed grounds would be a nice respite from life on the road.”

The mage gracefully stood from the table, her movements making even the rough tunic and trousers she still wore seem elegant. “I can send you there by portal whenever you're ready,” she offered, holding a hand up when he started to protest. “Please. I would be happier knowing I'd left you somewhere safe.”

Jaskier placed his empty plate on the mantle and gave a curt nod, emotions welling up in him again. He focused on the fire, knowing that a kind look from Yennefer would break him down again.

She seemed to sense his discomfort and crossed the room to throw a cloak over her shoulders. “I'll see if I can retrieve your belongings from the tavern where you were playing,” Yennefer said. “Eat your fill and I'll send you to Oxenfurt when you're ready.”

Yennefer had her hand on the door before Jaskier had pulled himself together to speak. “Thank you, Yennefer. I really...I mean it.”

The sorceress smiled, a soft expression that he'd never seen on her face. “Eat something. You've lost so much weight you look like a plucked chicken.”

The familiar, sarcastic bite to her tone hand him leaning against the mantle as he laughed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes rather than the pathetic, pitying ones he'd been fighting back moments before.

Well. Another plate or two wouldn't hurt.

* * *

I actually have trouble watching the show because Geralt is just kind of mean. He's so much better in the books...even if it is a lot of fun to send my friend pictures of Henry Cavil every time she complains that she's thirsty.

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

The Witcher’s Companion Pt.4/6

(Other parts on my masterlist/AO3)

Geralt limped down the path away from the mountains with the fucking lute strapped to his back. What the fuck was he going to do with a fucking lute?

He snarled and tugged at Roach’s reins before putting one foot, his less injured side, in the stirrup and pulling himself up onto the horse. The road was dusty and sun was scorching hot in the sky. His head was pounding as the bright light burned his eyes. His eyes weren’t adjusting well from the dark cave to the sudden brightness of the valley. His senses were too alert following the bashing he’d taken by the elves.

Filavandrel had put a stop to Toruviel’s ruthless attacks but the she-elf had been vicious and Geralt hadn’t been prepared to fight her unless he had to to defend his life. As a result he now had a painfully twisted knee from where the elf had knelt on it. It had all been anticlimactic after he’d managed to talk the elf king down from killing him and gold had passed hands. Filavandrel had given him the lute as a way to apologise for his injuries.

He scoffed.

He supposed he could sell it, but he knew nothing about lutes and any merchant with a brain would probably give him half of what the instrument was worth. Perhaps he could try and keep it safe until Jaskier found him again.

He scowled and pushed that thought away.

He’d been trying not to think about Jaskier, the lad he’d trained by the river, the kid so determined to become a friend and a companion to him, and the young man who’d rejected Geralt’s offer. Geralt was used to not feeling much. He’d been trained to suppress emotions from an early age but Jaskier’s rejection had stung.

When the boy had first begged Geralt for a chance to tag along, Geralt had been sure that it was just the foolish dreams of a naive child, but then when he’d stumbled across Lettenhove, Jaskier had been bitterly disappointed that Geralt hadn’t come sooner. He’d given up his time to train the boy because he’d thought that was what he wanted.

Geralt hadn’t intended to see him again until he was eighteen but Destiny had intervened. He’d ran into Jaskier at Oxenfurt and the young bard had treated him with such care and kindness that Geralt hadn’t been able to resist asking him along.

But Jaskier had said no.

He hadn’t been expecting that. He was angry at himself for letting his guards down, for letting hope in. Of course Jaskier had said no. By sixteen he’d started to make a life for himself. Why would he throw that all away for a witcher?

Geralt grunted. “Come on Roach.”

His mare picked up pace into a light trot back towards Upper Posada. He would tell Nettly that the devil problem was solved and head on his way. He’d keep the traitorous lute for now. He’d give it another two years before selling it. A voice in the back of his head told him he could always visit Oxenfurt to see if Jaskier was there, but he growled and ignored it.

If Jaskier wanted the damn lute then he would have to come and get it.

____________

Geralt grumbled all the way down the path from Kaer Morhen. He hadn’t meant to pick up Jaskier’s lute again. He’d told himself he would carry it for two years and those two years were up. He had intended on leaving the damned thing up at the keep. If the bard wanted a possibly enchanted elven lute then he would find Geralt, just like he’d promised.

He wasn’t sure why Jaskier had gotten under his skin so much. He was just a human.

Geralt growled at this own thoughts and spurred Roach on faster.

He was used to humans taking back their word. Why was this time bothering him so much?

He accepted his foul mood and headed back into the world, feeling a lot less rested than he normally did after wintering at Kaer Morhen. Lambert had been particularly irritating this year. The redhead had picked up on his bad mood and had taken every opportunity to piss him off, even Eskel, who was usually more tolerant of Geralt’s moods, had had enough. They’d practically thrown him from the keep at the first sign of melting snow.

The lute was heavy weight on his back, heavier than it had any right to be. It was like siren’s call back to Oxenfurt.

He should burn the damned thing for firewood.

Then maybe Jaskier would let him go, would let him get some fucking sleep.

But of course, he wouldn’t do that. The lute wasn’t his. It had been a long time since he’d thought of the lute as his. It was Jaskier’s lute now. Geralt was just looking after it for him. He’d been looking after it for two years and now he was too fucking stubborn to give up. The bard would not win this.

He made his way to the nearest village and subsequent tavern. He needed a drink, a celebration of spring was the excuse he told himself. The tavern was unusually lively for this far north, especially this early in the spring. He almost turned away when he heard the chatter from inside and the strum of lute strings. He wasn’t in the mood for music, but he couldn’t walk away.

There was something about the bard’s voice.

Something familiar.

He took Roach to the stables and headed inside. His eyes immediately met a pair of vibrant cornflower blue ones. Jaskier winked at him as he sang and spun round in a playful dance. The bard hadn’t even missed a beat. Geralt smiled softly as made his way to the bar, Jaskier had been expecting him. He’d been looking for him, and Geralt suddenly felt lighter than he had in years.

He traded coins for ale and sat down in the corner of the tavern to wait for Jaskier to finish his performance. He was singing a tale about bandits lurking in the forests waiting to kidnap innocent passers-by, about the knight in shining armour who would save them, a knight that sounded remarkably similar to Geralt.

He scoffed and shook his head with a fond smile. Sentimental fool. Geralt was no knight, maybe once upon a dream but that notion had been burnt out of his heart very early on in his life as a witcher.

Jaskier had yet to learn that lesson.

“I was saving this table for a friend.” Jaskier was leaning against a nearby beam and smirking at him.

He’d grown… again.

Geralt tilted his head as he took note of the changes. There was very little left of the young lordling he’d first met twelve years ago. Julian had been raised in a strict noble family, and whilst he’d always been petulant, he’d held himself like a young noble should. Jaskier, the man before him, was nothing like that. He was relaxed and open in his body language, more expressive than anyone Geralt had ever seen, a complete open book.

The only thing that hadn’t changed were his eyes.

Geralt could still see the stubborn young lad that had been determined to give Geralt his pocket money in those eyes. The boy who could not get the grip right on his sword, and even the younger bard that he’d found on the floor outside a tavern in Oxenfurt and who’d later tended to his wounds.

He raised an eyebrow at the bard but made no attempt to move from his seat.

“Sit down, bard.” He smirked at his old friend.

“Always so demanding.” Jaskier rolled his eyes but slid into the seat. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you never seem to stop changing.” Geralt noted.

Jaskier beamed. “Well you know what they say about opposites, dear witcher.”

Geralt scoffed. “Opposites attract. This isn’t one of your ballads, Jaskier, and I’m hardly a knight.”

“Oh, you noticed that did you?” Jaskier’s cheeks flushed slightly but his smile didn’t falter.

Geralt grunted and pushed the drink he’d bought for Jaskier across the table.

Jaskier took it eagerly and downed half of it in one go before launching into a dramatic retelling of his last four years. The bard had been travelling all over the Continent. He’d spent some time in the Royal Court at Cintra before the wanderlust had hit him and he’d ran off back onto the path. After that he’d spent time in temple of Melitele with Nenneke honing his medical skills with the priestess. Geralt interrupted to ask after the priestess, he’d known her for many years, she was always kind to him.

“Oh the sly devil never mentioned she knew you!” Jaskier gaped. “Gods, I must have mentioned you half a dozen times.”

Jaskier grinned sheepishly, his cheeks rosy from the ale.

“Nenneke knows how to keep her mouth shut, a concept that is unknown to you, Jaskier.” Geralt teased.

Jaskier stammered and pointed at him. “Oi! I’ll have you know I am very good at keeping my mouth shut!”

Geralt huffed a laugh.

“Oh fuck off, I mean it, witcher. I’ll have you know that after the temple and dipped my toe into a more clandestine business.” Jaskier pouted.

“A spy? You?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Me, maybe, maybe not. You don’t get to know that, witcher.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Who for? Temeria?”

“Redania. Oh fuck off!” Jaskier grumbled. “I was good at it! Nobody suspects a bard, but I found all the politics and unnecessary bureaucracy a bore so I got out and came to find you!”

Geralt felt himself smile, betrayed by the emotions that witchers weren’t even meant to have. He tried to hide the smile behind his drink but he was too slow. Jaskier had seen it and latched on like a dog with a bone.

“Oh ho ho! You missed me!” He announced gleefully. “Aww, Geralt. I didn’t know you cared.”

“Fuck off, bard.” He grumbled into his drink.

“Nah. I’d rather stay this time.” Jaskier tilted his head and gave Geralt, what could only be described as, puppy eyes. “If the offer is still open, that is?”

Geralt grunted with a slight nod of his head.

Jaskier jumped to his feet and patted Geralt on the shoulder. “Excellent! I do have a room for the night if you wanted to stay or we could head out now. I’ll follow your lead, witcher.”

Geralt considered the room. On one hand a free room for the night wasn’t to be sniffed at, on the other hand he was itching to get back on the path. Jaskier must have sensed his hesitation and nodded to himself.

“Let me grab my stuff and tell them my room will be available.” Jaskier winked. “But don’t go running off without me, Geralt.”

Jaskier poked him on the nose. Geralt blinked and frowned.

Why had he wanted to find Jaskier again?

He smiled and shook his head as Jaskier strutted up to the bar. Geralt rolled his eyes at the cocky young bard. Oxenfurt had treated him well. He exuded ease and confidence and joy in a way that had been stifled when he’d been younger. Geralt found it suited Jaskier more this way. He enjoyed basking in the warmth his old friend radiated. It made the world seem a little brighter.

They stayed in the tavern long enough to get a hot meal and supplies before heading to the stables. Geralt had forgotten all about the lute strapped to Roach’s saddlebags until Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he ran over to the mare.

“Geralt!!” He cried. “What is that?!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were a bard?”

“Oh yes, well obvious I know what it is!” Jaskier put one hand on his hip and frowned at Geralt. “But why do you have it?”

Geralt shrugged. “Got it from a contract, thought you might like it.”

Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s neck. He grunted and stumbled back at the unexpected weight of the bard but tentatively hugged him back. Jaskier smelled like honey blossom and chamomile. He hadn’t noticed that before. It was nice, subtle, not too harsh on his enhanced senses.

“Thank you, Geralt!” He cooed happily. “I love it! Oh gods it’s beautiful. Where the blazes would a witcher get such a sexy instrument?”

Geralt grunted. “Elves.”

Jaskier gaped and cradled the lute in his hands. “Elves?” He asked wide-eyed and then mumbled something in Elder speech under his breath as he stroked the wood of the lute.

“Didn’t know where to sell it.” Geralt muttered. “Thought you’d show up eventually.”

“Sell it!?” Jaskier shrieked. “Oh darling no, don’t listen to the big bad witcher. No, Geralt. Absolutely not!”

Geralt shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s yours. You have a horse?”

Jaskier nodded to a white gelding. “Pegasus. He’s a bit of an asshole but I love him.”

“Hmm.” Geralt assessed the horse. He was overweight and would struggle to keep up with Roach but it was better than Jaskier trailing behind on foot. “Saddle up. Let’s ride.”

Taglist: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #the witchers companion #wolfie's witcher writing

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theopengrimoire · 4 years ago

Note

So ever since we talked about this, I cant get it out of my head soo... can I get a headcanon of William and Yami having that drinking contest with Patri stepping in?

This was partially inspired by this wonderful William fan art! Also I felt inspired/challenged for a scenario, hope that’s alright.

A Not So Golden Dawn

Birds chirped through the opened window. Waking up to their song usually put William in a good mood, but not today. This was the first morning in a long while that William had not been happy to see the rise of a new dawn, for he was met with the worse headache of his life. The captain of the Golden Dawn laid in bed, eyes closed in attempts to hold back the waves of nausea plaguing him. This was an unpleasant morning indeed.

With each passing minute, William was waking up more and more, and with his alertness came memories of the previous night. William sighs, realizing what, or rather who to blame for his current predicament: Yami Sukehiro. Yes this raging hangover was the Black Bulls Captain’s fault. William’s memories of the event started off clear and got fuzzier as the night went on.

“Come on Vangeance, lighten up will ya? Have a drink or two, that way it won’t be so painful when I empty out those pockets of yours!” Yami taunts as he pushes the sloshing beer stein into William’s hands. William stares at the golden liquid while Yami chugs his first glass. “What’s the matter Goldy Guts? You afraid of making a fool of yourself if you have a drink? Well if you ask me, nothing looks weirder than that goofy mask of yours.” Yami chides, waving at the bartender for another round. William sighs, shaking his head at Yami.

“No Yami, that’s not it,” William replies. He can’t tell Yami that the reason he’s not drinking is to make sure he doesn’t slip up and let the world know about the elf spirit that resides inside of him.

“Then what is it? Clover Premium Select not your cup of tea? What? You drinkin’ that fancy wine all those damn royals drink?” William shakes his head in disagreement. “Come on then Vangeance! It’s no fun drinking alone!” Yami pushes William again to take a sip of beer. William complies only to please the God of Destruction before him.

“So, refresh my memory, what are the rules of this game again?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

William never thought that this would be the instance in which he lost to the Black Bull’s captain. It didn’t help that William had never played poker before, but how hard could a card game be? William glanced at the cards in his hand before looking to the liquid in his glass. Despite taking small sips over the last hour, the glass never seemed to empty. Was someone re-filling his drink when he wasn’t looking? For this reason it was hard for William to gauge how much alcohol he actually consumed and was most likely the reason why his concentration was wavering and the room was spinning.

“Hahahaha, looks like I win again Vangeance! Lady Luck just isn’t on your side!” Yami cheers, scooping up his winnings. Seeing Yami swipe all of the money off the table left a sour note on William’s tongue. It wasn’t the loss of his earnings. No William was responsible enough with his money that the loss of this coin was nothing for him. No, it was solely the fact that William didn’t want to loose to Yami and bring shame upon the Golden Dawn.

“So it would appear. Would you care for one more game?” William asks, shuffling the deck. Yami chuckles.

“Not getting addicted are ya? Okay, let’s make it interesting this time. If I win, I get your mask.” William gives Yami a puzzeled look. “I’m doing it for your squad. No one should have to see that stupid thing on a daily basis.” Yami remarks before downing another beer and letting out a loud belch.

“Very well,” William replies, dolling out the cards. The Golden Dawn captain looks down at the cards in his hand, but he has to squint to try to bring the cards back into focus. Surely you can’t be serious William. You’re drunk, you can’t even see straight. You’re going to make a mistake. Patri’s voice rings in William’s head. The elf sounded exasperated. I’m fine, it’s just one more hand and- No there’s too much at risk here, rest and I’ll take care of the rest. True to his word, Patri took care of the rest. William doesn’t remember much after he let the elf take over. He vaguely remembers the tables turning and wiping Yami clean of his winnings. This seemed to irk the Black Bull and the only way Patri could shut him up was to beat him in a drinking contest. Apparently elves can hold their liquor better than their human counterparts or humans in general, because Patri drank Yami under the table. And that’s it, that’s all William could remember for the past 12 hours. William couldn’t remember Patri returning back to base or the questioning looks he got from Langris and Alecdora as he stumbled through the halls at 1 am.

William groans as he sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed. The light streaming through the windows makes his brain scream in agony. William trudges to the bathroom. A shower. A shower is what he needed to clear his head. Sadly the hot steam was not enough to cure the world’s worse hangover. Patri, why did you have to go that hard last night? William is only met with a chuckle from his friend.

The blond dries his hair with a towel before wiping the steam off the mirror. William nearly shrieks at the sight before him. It’s not his usual scars that have startled the man, but his ears. Embedded in each earlobe is a shiny new stud. PATRI!!!!!!!! WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT?!? Oh right, I forgot to tell you I’ve been thinking of piercing my ears for a while and- They’re my ears too! William scrambles to try to remove the studs only to be yelled at by Patri. Don’t you dare remove them yet! You have to leave them in for six weeks to heal or they’ll close up and I’ll have to do it again! William groans loudly, the sun’s golden rays now fully illuminating his bedroom. This was hands down the most unpleasant dawn he’s ever had as captain.

#Black Clover #william vangeance #yami sukehiro #black clover patry #Patri is a horrible roommate

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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

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Atlas: Space, Saturn

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 8/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album.

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 8: Saturn

Summary: Loki chooses a terrible time to develop a conscience, thinking he’ll have time to sort himself out and win her back. He doesn’t. (Post Taking Turns.)

Warnings include: Language, character death, and just… so much angst.

The mild autumnal breeze did little to soothe Loki’s fevered thoughts. He had put this moment off for so long that he nearly convinced himself that it was unnecessary, or that he could be selfish just a little longer. With every battle they saw together, with every bruise and bloody lip that they shared, mostly at the other’s expense, he knew he couldn’t hold off any longer. Loki sensed trouble brewing in the Universe, trouble that was coming for him. And he thought–no, he knew–that she would put herself in the middle for him without a moment’s hesitation.

He needed to stop this cursed experiment in feelings.

“I have to tell you something.” Loki’s voice was low and hesitant. Becca straightened up, fidgeting and shifting her weight from leg to leg as she watched him almost statuesque against the oak tree.

“I do, too,” she whispered, ducking her head down to hide her burning cheeks. He nodded her ahead and she took a deep breath, her warm brown eyes glancing up at him through long lashes. She looked so sweet and innocent and his heart panged. “I love you, Loki.”

He should’ve definitely gone first.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Becca.” His words strained to even leave his mouth. All of this felt wrong and raw and he didn’t want to live with the image of her now disappointed face lingering in his mind for as long as she lived. “I’m going with Thor, off to explore. Mother’s… mother is dead and I have a responsibility to help him–”

Her brow furrowed into a deep frown. “A responsibility? You’re kidding me. Thor has actively avoided speaking to you for weeks over this mess with Jane! The only thing you owe Thor is a well-aimed kick for the way he treats you, sometimes.”

“You don’t understand–”

“You’re damn right, I don’t!”

There were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over. He was expecting her to take it hard, but he could never have imagined it would make her this visibly upset. It almost made him want to reconsider his plans. Almost.

“I tell you that I love you, after months of us tiptoeing around each other and basically living together and you tell me–”

Loki’s face hardened. “I don’t expect a mortal to comprehend these issues.” He knew it was a low blow, but it was necessary. “Thor and I will be around each other for centuries more. It’s easy to forgive a slight with that kind of time.”

“Is it possible for you not to sabotage yourself for once in your fucking life?” Her teeth were clenched, but that did not detract from the jab her words delivered. She was so good at reading him, and from the way he tensed and his breath hitched, she knew it, too.

“I don’t love you.” His words came out slow and even, despite the bitter taste they left behind.

Stark had once told him that just letting her go would not keep her safe. He said to embrace the pain and make sure he would never feel that same terror he did when she was shot, again. Stark hadn’t considered the vast reputation a thousand years of being God of Mischief would build, or the enemies it brought with it. Even then, Loki was worried about his brother’s enemies rather than his own, at the moment. She didn’t need to know about the dark elves, or chaos in the realms–it would only make her volunteer for service.

“I don’t love you,” he repeated, barely a breath, whether to convince her or himself, he was unsure.

“Sure.” Becca laughed mirthlessly, nodding her head. “Pretend whatever you want. I’m not going to beg. Fuck off, Loki. See you when I see you.” Her shoulder brushed his as she walked back towards her apartment, arms wrapped around herself.

He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets to keep from reaching out for her. “You won’t.”

You taught me the courage of stars before you left How might carries on endlessly even after death With shortness of breath you explained the infinite How rare and beautiful it is to even exist

Becca stood at the rooftop of the Avengers complex, staring at the stars above. In upstate New York, it was easier to see the stars. A corner of her lips tugged upwards as she stared at the burning balls of gas, millions of miles away, recalling each one’s name and story. Loki always had a way of explaining the stars and making their history become permanently engrained in her mind. It was one of the few memories she had with him that didn’t sting like all hell; one of the few moments when she didn’t mind thinking about him.

She had seen him since that day in the park, flashes of him in the complex, but never very long and never alone. Becca had to give it to him–he was stubbornly true to his word. Becca couldn’t conjure a single image of him that wasn’t a blur from the last few years. Thor, sweet as he was, tried not to bring him up, except once to say he had died but that had turned out to be a ruse. She still, stupidly–or sentimentally, whichever was most accurate–, provided both brothers with gear.

I couldn’t help but ask For you to say it all again I tried to write it down But I could never find a pen I’d give everything to hear You say it one more time That the universe was made Just to be seen by my eyes

“Lady Becca.” She sighed, letting her shoulders slump forward. To this day, she had not really forgiven Thor for his part in his brother’s hare-brained plot. He can convince Loki of so damn much, but he could not take five minutes to tell him to reassess what he had done; what he had said. Loki would��and had–risked everything for Thor and his love, but apparently the dedication was one-sided. “Becca.”

“What is it, Thor? Oh–what happened to your eye?” She had turned around, pulling the hoodie, that may or may not have belonged to Loki, tighter around her form. Thor looked worse for wear and there was some emotion in his face that she couldn’t quite place.

“I must speak with you. It’s about Loki.”

Becca scoffed, rolling her eyes. “What is it now? Did he break his AI? Another heat stroke? What?”

“He’s dead.” The words echoed in her head far longer than they should have.

She tried in vain to scramble for her control. “How many times does that make? Two? Three? Loki doesn’t just die, Thor.”

Thor was silent for a very long moment. She expected him to nod and chuckle, tell her she was right and that they should all wait for the frost giant to pop back up. Instead she got a lip quiver and tears streaming down his one good eye. “He loved you so much. He was going to come back for you. I am truly sorry.”

A stone the size of a boulder dropped in her stomach, at once. Her chest was constricting in sheer horror. “No. Thor, you’re wrong. He can't… You’re lying!”

“I’m so sorry.” The floor shook as Thor dropped Stormbreaker and rushed to tighten his arms around Becca.

With shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist

There were so many questions left inside of her head. As much as she wanted to ask Thor the who, what, when, where, and why, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not when he was sobbing so hard and so loudly that she could almost hear his heart cracking beneath his armor. Thor had never been the best brother to Loki, and she knew that, but there was a genuine affection that he had for his little brother that was twisting at his insides. Whatever promises he had made to support Loki or to make amends for his actions were now gone and those regrets hurt more than his death.

Becca reached the point that she had cried so hard and so desperately that she had to go to the MedBay to pick up a rescue inhaler. She had not needed one in over two decades, but this was the night it was going to get a hell of a lot of use. She sat on the floor of what used to be Loki’s room, staring at the stars out of his window, retelling herself the stories of each of the constellations. The tales of how each orb had been hung in the sky; of the warriors of old that went to Valhalla and populated the night sky; the endless patch of dark that was the Universe and how infinitesimal the probability of their existence was in the grand scheme of things. She tried not to think of his soothing voice, calculating odds of how likely it was that a girl from Midgard would meet a god from Asgard and how they’d won the lottery. How he had won the lottery every second he had her.

Most of all, she tried not to hate the fact that he had left her and turned her back into a statistic, never to feel irrationally lucky ever again. The Universe embraced this new reality.

#Loki #Angst #Others #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 8 #atlas space #saturn #Fanfictrashdump

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spidermanifested · 5 years ago

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picture this: you are a buff lesbian pirate dinosaur alien. youre thousands of years old. the rest of your species consists of like 15 total losers who stay in their dumb castle and a few other ones who run around in the woods eating frogs or something, you dont know or care, youre living your best life sailing around on a giant turtle with the help of a clan of tiny bug elves who think youre amazing and badass (because lets face it you are). youve been their Patron Dinosaur for AGES and you give them fun presents and flirt with the bug elf ladies and generally have a grand old time.

now imagine you find out the Castle-Dwelling Nerds have gotten so scared of the concept of linear time that theyre murdering the bug elves for experiments or something, again you dont know OR care but Your bug elves need your help so youre like “okay yeah ill take you guys somewhere while this all blows over, dont worry, ive got your adorable little buggy backs” except before you can leave, some other bugs show up trying to convince your squad that they need to STAY HERE ACTUALLY with the rest of the bug people and get themselves killed ~together~ and youre like no thats dumb also this girl has been poisoned can we focus on that please. and these strangers go NO YOURE EVIL AND YOU CLEARLY DID IT, even though youre like, right there and also have a sword, so like. great sense of self-preservation there. but you arent in the mood to get in fights with muppets so you use your Pirate Detective skills to figure out whodunnit and save the lady and hurray, except one of the strangers just???? randomly tries to fucking stab you out of nowhere and hes got a spider on him so youre like “well clearly the spider was controlling him so ill excuse that for now” but they insist the spider is NOT a spider and wont tell you anything. so youre like “okay fine get off my boat thats also a turtle i need a drink”

then later youre getting all set to go with your Elf Pals, got everything all ready, everybodys there, yep, time to set sail. except you get like a couple miles out and. theres nobody behind you

and you check again and, yep still nobody. and it turns out YOUR bugs ended up flaking out on you because of those same strangers who came over acting all high and mighty and telling them how to run things, which is clearly your job, and they dont even HAVE a boat or a cool hat or a turtle or ANYTHING, and now your bugs are going to stay behind and die like a bunch of idiots and to top it all off you cant get anywhere without their navigators and stuff because despite having 4 arms youre still just one (very cool very buff and swashbuckling) dinosaur lady. so you turn around. youre like “okay. okay. i can salvage this. theres still SOMEBODY i can wrangle into helping me out”

so you go to your god damn ex wife/literal other halfs house like “knock knock im here for your stupid MAPS and ASTROLABES and whatnot” and guess what shes not home! but you know who IS home, and by that i mean in HER home??? those same asshats from before— one of which as it turns out has a bounty on their head, so you just go “okay if im not getting off this dumb shitty god damn no-sea-monster-having landmass i can at least get my estranged colleagues to respect me and maybe theyll let me do my own thing” and tell them youll let the rest of them leave in peace in exchange for the One Elf you need

and shes like “i’ll FIGHT YOU and if you win you can take me in” and youre like pfft sure while you were out camping with your stupid friends i was studying how to quadruple wield the blade. and the rest of them leave, and you fight, except she fucking RUNS!!! and they all get away!!!!!!! because she lied To Your Face and to top everything off???? to put the cherry on this sundae??? the girl you saved from being poisoned before is there and she chops off one of your actual hands

and later. you catch them Again. and youre like okay same deal give me the ONE bug i need and you can go. but they escape AGAIN and take your fucking turtle!!!! and now you have no boat and no navigators and no captives and no nothing, and then the dude helping you catch them who you thought was your buddy blamed everything on you, so not only that, you realize you have No Friends as well. now youre in full on Revenge mode and you do not care about anything beyond bringing the full force of your wrath down on these little shits who have ruined your entire life in less than a week. so you go to the main ones house, its in a swamp or something, and you set everything on fire and theyre throwing knives at you and its a Lot

but then somehow they get into your brain????? your ex wife lets them like, wriggle into your mindscape, and remind you of all the stuff you used to care about, you know, before it all got ripped away from you, by them. and while youre trying to evict them from your own personal nostalgia hell? one of the other bugs sneaks up behind you and stabs you. multiple times. and it doesnt hurt That bad but its still a lot of stabbing! and youre flailing around trying to get her off you

and then

they trap you inside a fucking tree. like they grow a tree AROUND you. one of them literally gives up all her life energy to make a big giant tree grow and trap you in it. and now you are trapped. in the tree.

and your ex-wife is there outside you can SENSE her smug face. and all the bugs too are probably there. and you cant do anything.

because youre stuck in a Fucking Tree.

and now you know the tale of skeksa the mariner, who might not be anywhere close to what the experts call a “Good Person” but ill be damned if i dont look at all the nonsense she experienced over the course of a relatively minuscule span of time and think “yeah id be pissed too what the fuck”

#the dark crystal #skeksa #long post

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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⚜️ Change the Face of History (Skyrim); #2 Skyrim

📑 Table of Contents & Information ⤝ Backward

The sound of wagon wheels on cobblestone mixed with the snorting of a horse broke through my dreams. I became aware of my body jerking as I slowly came to. My eyes slid open but immediately closed. Why the hell is it so damn bright in my bedroom? Did I leave the curtains open? I’m sure I didn’t. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands before blinking several times to clear my vision.

What… in the world…

The first thing I saw was the back of a man as he sat at the front of a wagon, holding tightly onto the reigns of two brown horses. I tried to move, but my hands were bound with a thick piece of cloth. This has got to be some kind of freaky realistic dream… I’ve got to stop eating so many tacos before bed, my god.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”

My gaze snapped up, meeting the gaze of a blonde, blue-eyed man that sat across from me in the wagon. His hands, too, were bound. I wanted to speak, to ask where we currently were and what was happening, but my brain was far too overloaded and the words just wouldn’t come.

“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

Border? Imperial? Thief? My head is starting to spin. Did I try to cross the border into Mexico to steal an imperial from Britain? What… that doesn’t make any sense!

“Damn you Stormcloaks.” The ‘thief’ responded with a glare, his own wrists bound by the same type of cloth. “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” He then turned his attention to me, leaning forward a bit. “You there. You and me – we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“Stormcloaks?” I echoed, brow furrowing.

“That’s right!”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying,” I nearly cried, leaning forward only to throw myself back against the side of the wagon.

“Hey! Stop that!”

With a cry of surprise, the wagon tilted a bit and my body slipped over the side, tumbling to the cobblestone and dirt below. I landed on my upper back, legs caught on the wagon. I groaned in pain, letting my eyes slide closed. Fuck, that hurt.

“Woah, hold it!” Cried the man steering the wagon as he tugged on the reigns. The wagon stopped just to the side of me and my legs flopped to the ground.

A horse stopped to my right and a man jumped down, pulling a sword from his side as he stepped closer to me. “Get up, prisoner, or else!”

Prisoner? Oh yeah, I tried to cross the border and kidnap someone. Was I on drugs for that? I feel like I would remember something like that. Ain’t that a felony?

The man leaned down, grabbing ahold of my arm and pulling me up with little effort – which is honestly surprising because I’m not exactly skinny. “Back in the wagon,” he ordered, shoving me toward the back of the wagon. “And if you try to escape again, I won’t hesitate to strike you down.”

I scowled at him over my shoulder. “No need to be so rude, bro, damn.” He pushed me again and I huffed. “Alright, I’m going!” It was a bit of a struggle to climb into the wagon with my wrists tied together, but I managed it.

“Ouch!” The thief cried. “You stepped on my foot.”

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered, squeezing between him and the other man before settling back down in my seat, my shoulder blades aching.

The blonde furrowed his brows as he watched me. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” The wagon jolted as it started forward again. I glanced around, taking in the trees that lined the cobblestone road as I tried to look for anything familiar that might tell me where in the world I was. Does Mexico have forests?

The thief groaned, lowering his head. “This is all your fault, you damn Stormcloaks.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” Blondie responded.

“Shut up back there!” The wagon driver barked, glaring over his shoulder at me, even though I didn’t even say anything.

The thief lowered his voice so as not to annoy the man further – he did have a sword, after all – and then he nodded his head toward the man sitting beside me who, I realized hadn’t said a word. I glanced at him, taking in his slicked-back camel brown hair and… oh, he’s been gagged. That explains why he hasn’t said anything. “And what’s wrong with him, huh?”

“Is he into BDSM or somethin’?” I asked, turning my attention back to the blonde.

“Watch your tongue,” he snapped in reply. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.” His eyes met mine. “And what is BDSM?”

“Oh, it’s a se – “

“Ulfric?” The thief interrupted with a surprised tone. I glared at him but he was too busy staring at the gagged man in disbelief. “The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion!” He paused, his face turning quite pale. “But if they’ve captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?”

Blondie answered in a somber tone. “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.”

“Sovngarde?” I wondered. “Who is he?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to believe in Sovngarde, since you’re an Imperial, but you must have at least heard of it,” Blondie answered with a confused expression.

“Wait… I’m British?”

“It seems you know a lot that I do not,”

“Likewise,”

“No, this can’t be happening.” The thief clutched his hand as best as he could. “This isn’t happening.”

My thoughts exactly, I let out a puff of air, my head falling backward as I stared up at the baby blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds. My eyes slid closed as I tried to focus on my breathing, but that only made me more anxious. Just calm down, Rae, this is just a dream. I just have to enjoy the ride until I wake up. Don’t they say that time passes by a lot slower in dreams than in real life? I can’t really confirm since I can never remember my dreams, but I feel like I would remember something so vivid as this. Only time will tell, I guess.

“Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?”

“Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts… should be of home.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment. “Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.”

I felt eyes on me and I lowered my head, glancing around at the three men. It was the gagged male, staring hard at me and, holy shit, his gaze is intense. It’s like… like he can see through me to my feckin’ soul and is trying to set it on fire. A chill went down my spine and I forced myself to look away, trying not to focus on his gaze that was still staring at me.

“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!” Called a male voice from somewhere up ahead.

The headsman? Like, headless horseman? No, wait, that’s not right. I should know this, shouldn’t I? I’m British, after all! Wait, no… fuck.

The wagon was slowly moving underneath a footbridge made of stone, pulling into a small town, but it didn’t look anything like any place I had ever seen in my life. The first thing that came to mind was the medieval times and that movie about knights and jousting… what is it called again? Uh… A Knight’s Tale, that’s it! Damn, it’s been a long time since I watched that.

“Good. Let’s get this over with.” Responded another man who I assumed to be this Tullius guy.

The thief started to visibly panic, more so than he already was. “Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.”

I regarded him curiously. Even though I have no fucking idea what this man is saying, I feel kinda bad for him. He’s clearly on the verge of a panic attack, something I’ve experienced a lot as a kid. “Hey,” I called, meeting his gaze. “Breathe in, hold for five seconds, breathe out.”

“What -“

“Just do it,” I ordered him, but then I saw that Shia LeBeouf gif in my mind and snorted.

“This isn’t a joke!”

“Fine, then. Suffer.”

He frowned, turning his head away from me to try and hide the fact that he was complying with my demand. With a nod, I turned my attention back to the front. After pulling under the footbridge, I noticed two horses sitting off to the side, their riders watching us enter. One was a man dressed like Leonidas’s father and the other was wearing a full suit of matte gold armor. Their clothes stood out among the rest of the soldiers, so I’m assuming they are the bosses here.

Blondie glared over his shoulder at them. “Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

“Elves?” I craned my neck to try and get a better look at them, but the man didn’t have pointed ears and the other person’s helmet hid theirs. Wait, this is a dream, right? What if Legolas is here? How dope would that be? Ooh, ooh, or Dobby!

The wagon pulled farther into town. People dressed in old-timey robes and plain, cloth outfits were standing outside the houses, watching as we were slowly pulled around the corner. The soldiers were dressed like they were auditioning for a role as an extra in 300. I’m beginning to wonder if the hamburger meat was laced with something…

“This is Helgen,” said the blonde with a faraway look in his eye. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

I frowned at the sadness rolling off him in waves. Why did I feel such a strong sense of urgency? I wanted to help him, but I have no idea how. I’m way out of my element here.

“Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?”

I glanced over my shoulder as we passed one of the houses. A young boy sat on the wooden steps, taking in the scene before him with curious eyes. Beside him, leaning against the wooden railing, was a man. Most likely his father, I guessed.

“You need to go inside, little cub.”

“Why? I want to watch the soldiers.”

“Inside the house. Now,”

“Yes, papa.” The boy pouted before standing up and heading inside. Just as the door closed behind him, the wagon came to a stop beside the first one.

“Get these prisoners out of the carts,” A female barked. “Move it!”

“Why are we stopping?” The thief swallowed hard, his hands quivering as he looked around wildly.

“Why do you think?” Blondie responded, surprisingly calm. “End of the line,”

I swallowed. Now I’m starting to get nervous. There’s a tight knot being squeezed in my stomach, overpowering the pulsing of my skull and the throbbing in my shoulder blades. Any time you’d like to wake up, Rae, that’d be feckin’ great!

“Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” Blondie stood up, waiting for the two men at the end to do the same.

Normally, I would have scoffed at his comment about gods, being an atheist, but now was hardly the time. You know when you’re listening to a song and there’s that really calm buildup just before the bass drops and the song gets wild? That’s what this feels like.

“No! Wait! We’re not rebels!” Cried the thief as he climbed from the wagon with shaking legs.

“Face your death with some courage, thief.” Blondie scolded before turning to me and holding out his bound hands. “You too,”

My fingers clutched his as he pulled me up onto my feet. The small bit of contact was comforting, but the chill of nerves didn’t leave me. He hopped down from the wagon before offering me his hands again, but I shook my head and jumped down beside him. I knew that if I took his hand again, I probably wouldn’t let go.

“You’ve got to tell them!” The thief begged, voice shaking with terror as his gaze shot from Blondie to Ulfric and back again. “We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!”

Two people walked up to stand in front of us. A brunette male with a black book in one hand and a quill in the other – I immediately thought of Harry Potter for some reason. Stupid brain, this isn’t the time! Beside him stood a woman dressed from head to toe in silver and red armor, and a ridiculous helmet – she looks like a fuckin’ peacock. I wonder if she knows that.

“Step towards the block when we call your name,” she commanded, her voice full of authority. “One at a time,”

Blondie sighed from beside me. “Empire loves their damn lists,”

The brunette glanced at his book. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.”

Ulfric stepped past the two toward a group of prisoners off to our left and Blondie watched him closely, raising his voice. “It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!”

“Ralof of Riverwood,”

Blondie stepped forward without a word, joining the group. Ralof… what a strange name. It suited him, though.

“Lokir of Rorikstead,”

The thief, Lokir, stepped forward, all but begging the two. “No! I’m not a rebel. You can’t do this!” Before they could even form a response, he shoved past the woman and took off running down the road, quite literally, for his life.

“Halt!” The woman ordered, but he didn’t oblige.

“You’re not gonna kill me!”

“Archers!”

On command, the three soldiers standing nearby slotted arrows into their bows before taking aim and releasing, planting the arrows into his back. I flinched as Lokir hit the ground face first and did not move again.

The woman’s eyes flashed angrily as they swept the crowd of prisoners before stopping on me. I nearly took a step back at her intensity but managed to hold my ground. “Anyone else feel like running?”

Why the fuck is she glaring at me? I didn’t try to run!

The brunette glanced at his list and then at me, his brow furrowed. “Wait. You there. Step forward.”

I glanced at the waiting archers nearby before slowly taking a step forward. The last thing I wanted was to make them think I’m trying to run. I don’t have any experience here, but something tells me that three arrows to the back are no joke. And what if they miss? They could hit me in the knee and that sounds terrible!

“Who… are you?”

Without thinking, I said the first thing that popped into my brain. “I’m Rain, and this is Jackass.”

The two exchanged a look before he jotted something down in his book. “You’re a long way from the Imperial City. What’re you doing in Skyrim?”

“Fuck, I wish I knew,” I answered honestly.

He regarded me curiously for a moment before turning to the woman. “Captain. What should we do? She’s not on the list.”

“Forget the list,” she folded her arms across her chest, metal clinking against metal. “She goes to the block.”

Wait, what? “Oi, oi, let’s not be hasty here. You can’t just make a list and then forget it. That’s… that’s blasphemy! That’d be like watching Vegeta apologize to Goku and then having them tell you to forget it, it doesn’t work!”

“Shut your mouth, prisoner.” She warned, narrowing her eyes at me.

“By your orders, Captain.” The man sent me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil. Follow the Captain, prisoner.”

“Who the fuck is Cyrodiil?” I cried in desperation, squatting down where I stood. “What is a Skyrim? Why are you all dressed like absolute idiots on Halloween at a frat party? None of this makes any damn sense!”

The Captain scoffed. “Feigning amnesia won’t save you. Guard!”

A rough, calloused hand grabbed my upper arm and yanked me up before pushing me toward the crowd. If he wasn’t still holding my arm, I would have tripped over my own, naked feet. Everyone was staring at me with a rainbow of expressions, but I just couldn’t care. Please wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up, you stupid cow!

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” The man, Tullius, stepped up to stand in front of said man, looking up at him since he was taller. “Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”

Ulfric grunted something, but his words were impossible to understand because of the gag.

“You started this war,” he continued. “Plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.”

A strange, unearthly sound echoed across the sky and, judging from everyone’s reaction, I’m assuming it’s not a normal thing around here. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt… familiar.

“What was that?” The brunette questioned, eyes scanning the sky for the source.

“It’s nothing. Carry on.” Tullius ordered.

My gut disagrees if the painful clenching was anything to go by. Ulfric, who stood off to the side and a little in front of me, turned his head to look at me, his eyes boring into my own. I couldn’t look away and the dread I currently felt only got worse. Oh Deadpool, please save me from this nightmare…

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pigeontheoneandonly · 5 years ago

Text

Serendipity

I saw a reply to a post over @ao3commentoftheday suggesting it’s impossible to write a slow burn in less than 10k words. My dumbass brain took this as “challenge accepted”. Who knows if I hit the mark, but I’m pretty happy with the result! This baby clocks in at 2487 words. Tucked under a read more, because that’s still a lot for tumblr.

Fandom: Dragon Age

When we met, I couldn’t see any part of you beneath the mud you’d earned trying to kill me. I don’t know why I took you with us, except that you were an elf without anywhere to go, and in Ferelden an elf with no home was good as dead, and we just don’t do that to each other. Naturally none of the shems understood. I bound up your wounds alone, thinking it would’ve been easier if you’d just fucking died.

The first prick of sympathy came when we arrived at the Dalish camp. You called me my dear warden, mocking the double-meaning of my title and your technical captivity. You flirted shamelessly with me the whole way, undeterred by my gender or my cold silence, and put me in a bad mood because I couldn’t tell if it was genuine interest, or something you felt you had to do, offer yourself to me, to stay in my good graces. With a man for sale it could go either way. But I saw how your ears went red and your tongue fell silent, when our wilder cousins sniggered at your tattoos, your so-called “city vallaslin”. It’s horrible to be an in-between, unwanted alike by the society that spawned you and the one you live with, to be lumped in with those who keep you in squalor and kill you at will. Watching their whispers subdue you angered me more than all the flirting put together. And fuck, wasn’t that annoying.

I bought you a pair of gloves. I don’t know why. They didn’t deserve my money, you didn’t deserve my kindness, but you looked at their tooled leather like you were reading a secret map, and I had to know what you saw written there. You didn’t say thank you. But you told me your mother was Dalish. I told you mine had died. I told you how she died, even though that’s a thing I don’t tell anyone, because my mouth moved before my mind could scream stop.

You made a joke. I shoved you hard into the underbrush and stalked away before I killed you. We never talked about it again.

In fact, we barely spoke at all, the whole long, rainy road to Orzammar. We didn’t speak through the political battle, we didn’t speak cooped up for days in a king’s mansion, and we didn’t speak as the heavy stone gates of the deep roads clanged shut behind us.

I had been a Warden for all of eight weeks. Alistair warned me that Wardens Joined in a Blight always were more sensitive, and all my newfound awareness remained raw as a fresh-hewn board. In the deep, I could hear them everywhere. Feel them, crawling through my skin like worms; smell them in the still and sour air. I could fucking taste them when we stopped to rest and I had no distraction.

The dwarves told me this was where Wardens went to die. I hugged my knees in the weak torchlight of our camp, feeling myself lost in the dark with them pressing in all around me, until they tore me apart, and for the first time, I hoped the Blight would kill me. Sleep was a fantasy. It showed, more and more, the deeper we went.

I didn’t notice the first time you offered to carry my knapsack, so tired I gave it over without question, numb to anything but the need to keep walking. The occasional darkspawn nest was a respite. Better to fight them than sense them waiting, a constant pressure of millions of eyes on the back of my neck.

I didn’t notice when you started staying up with me. I figured you weren’t tired, either. I still wasn’t speaking. But you rambled, about your childhood, about your exploits with the Crows, reciting snippets of awful Antivan poetry and singing bawdy songs you couldn’t quite remember. But it came as a shock when I woke up, the first I’d slept since we entered the roads, curled up against the cave wall, beside you. You smiled, still awake. Wished me good morning.

We fucked for the first time the first night we camped above ground again, drunk on dwarven ale and being out of that thrice-damned hole, that endless crushing darkness. In the morning we agreed it didn’t mean anything. Just the mindless choice of two bodies almost sick with relief.

You flirted less, after that. I talked more. I told you about coming up to the sealed gates of the Denerim alienage, hearing the word purge from the indifferent shem guard, and how I still didn’t know if my father or Shianni or any one of these people who’d been my entire world were alive. The ridiculous story I made up for those two kids, because elves survive on hope. My absolute disaster of a wedding, doomed long before the kidnapping; I was all my father had left, and the truth, that my inclinations were not reproductively compatible, would have crushed him. That if I closed my eyes, I could still feel a ghost of euphoria remembering my sword plunging into Vaughan’s gut, that I was only sorry I only got to do it once.

I don’t know why you listened. Put together, the whole thing rang absurd, not very sane and certainly not much like a Warden.

I do know that when the sloth demon snared us in nightmares, and I saw you stretched on that rack, my vision went red. When I came back to myself, your brother Crows were in pieces and you were gone. A little of whatever-the-fuck that was lingered when we woke; I took two running steps toward you, so damn happy to see you without joints popped and bruised. You stumbled one step back, on instinct, a portrait of humiliation. I faltered and the moment died.

You moved back to your own tent. We’d taken to sleeping side-by-side. The nights grew colder as the season waned, and the Blight spread, and the presence of another body in the night was an affordable comfort. I stared at the large space you left behind, startled to miss you this much.

Things stayed like that as we marched back to Denerim for the Landsmeet. Cordial, but distant. Hurt without reason and annoyed over it, to the point that Leliana warned me that compelling a Landsmeet as an elf would be hard enough without a pissy attitude. Maybe that was why it was so easy for Anora to betray us, because irritation makes me impatient and rude. But you snuck and charmed your way through the most heavily fortified prison in Ferelden to get us out— to get me out. And somehow I was still annoyed.

I said you must be really hard up for protection. You crowded me into the wall. For a wild moment I thought you’d shank me, and then for an even more terrifying one, that you’d kiss me. Instead, you told me to consider your blood debt paid, and shoved off down the street. Angry as I’d ever seen you.

And what was worse, you stayed angry, and I stayed on edge, and maybe that’s how we got jumped by a dozen Crows in a dead-end alley, one of your bad decisions come home to roost in earnest. Their leader offered to wipe your slate, to take you back to Antiva, make up a story and let you go home. Not like an order, but like a friend, offering you a way out.

You looked at me. Months on the road, and I couldn’t read your face. And what I remember isn’t thinking I was about to die, but that I was about to lose you to this smug shem jackass, of all people.

Then you said no. And the shit hit the wall.

We lived, somehow. Your old friend went down last, and hard, your Crow-hilted dagger quivering between his ribs as his heart pumped itself out. You fell down beside him. Uninjured beyond a few nasty scratches, curled into a ball on the cobbles like you were dying, too.

I asked something that amounted to what the fuck. And it all came pouring out. You grew up together, you and him and some girl named Rinna, a little family inside the unending terror of Crow education. If you couldn’t love the Crows, you could love them, and for a time the comfortable rewards of your harsh training were made sweeter by their sharing. Until Rinna betrayed you to a mark.

He killed her while you watched, you told me, your head in my lap. While she begged your help, you taunted her. She died with her love for you on her lips. You both went forward with the job, a loose end to clean up, and discovered there proof of Rinna’s honesty, her fidelity. You killed her together and now you’d killed him, too.

The silence stretched as the torrent of words finally stopped. Feeling your face damp on my leg. There was nothing to say, but that silence was a wounding kind, so I told you the stupid story about the bluebird in the vhenadahl. Recited rhymes we used to sing as kids, playing hopscotch and tag in the dirt. On and on, until the sun slipped below the buildings, and you were able to sit up, and we left.

It never came up between us again. In fact, very little had changed. A mild thaw in an undercurrent neither of us wanted to address. It seemed impossible we’d be able to swim it; diving in could only lead to drowning.

Returning to the alienage put it out of my mind. My family spared by the purge, but still not safe. Murder and disease and hints of darker things make good distractions. When we discovered elves were disappearing, you volunteered to scout, as you had so many times before. I thought nothing of it. Until I was sitting up alone at my childhood dinner table, more than a day past when you should have returned, too paralyzed to do more than stare at the door and plead with the Maker or the gods or whoever might be listening for you to walk through it.

Sometime after midnight, you finally did. You caught sight of me, and tendered a look of exasperation. My dear warden, you said again, chiding this time, and before you could continue I flung my arms around your neck, too tight for you to get anything else out. And we stood still there, like that, because if I let go I’d slap you. I hated you. You were the most important person in my world, and if you died it would change me, and I hated you for it.

We went into that warehouse together, and pulled people— my people— out of cages together. We read the manifest of those already sold away. You put your arms around me, when I stepped into an alley after it was done and screamed and screamed and screamed into my own hands, because even if we somehow got justice this time, there was no undoing it, and no way to stop it happening again. Because this was the Black City we all had to live in. You told me then that you’d been sold, too, into a different fate but one ugly in its own way. And my hand slipped into yours where it wrapped around my chest, just for a moment, until someone called us back to the mess we’d made.

You watched as I took the bastard Loghain’s head, and if it didn’t feel like justice for my kin, it did feel good. You stood beside me as I promised a collection of the most powerful people in Ferelden, shems all, that I could save their country, and hours later, when I was sick back at the manor where we stayed.

You weren’t there when Riordan told me I was going to die. It’s hard to remember now how out-of-our-minds, slap-happy with relief Alistair and I were when he showed up, fucking finally a senior warden who knew what he was doing. That went up like a matchstick when he explained a grey warden giving their life to contain the archdemon was the only way to end the Blight. He said some other things after that, but I didn’t hear them over the sound of one solitary thought: I cannot put Zev through that again. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…

And you weren’t there when Morrigan caught me as I shambled from that room, weak with shock and grief. You weren’t there when she told me there was a way out. You weren’t there to see my revulsion— not at what she suggested, but at myself, because I knew my answer immediately. I could not do that to you, not even with the entire world in the balance. That whatever the consequences, whatever pain this brought on me or on the child to come, if it spared you another heartbreak, the price felt fair.

I stumbled to your room no more than half-dressed. You smelled the sex on me immediately. Your face twisting with hurt and rage, until I fell down at your feet, my head on your knees, and told you everything. What waited for us in the heart of the Blight. The blood magic Morrigan wrought. That I’d done it for you, that I begged your forgiveness, that if you left now I’d never be the same and please, please, Maker, please stay.

Your hand lifted my chin. Your expression like I’d never seen before, tender and fond and something else. Something electric. Your voice a whisper. “My dear warden…”

“I love you,” I said. It was what I’d been trying to say through all the incoherent babble. Maybe for a lot longer than just this night.

You bent and kissed me. And in the softness of your mouth, every worry and doubt melted away.

We’d seen each other many times before. But you never trailed your thumb slowly across my every scar, from the faded wounds of Ostagar to the scrape from just this morning. I never traced over the swirls of your tattoos with my tongue. We never drifted back to each other every other moment for a lingering wet kiss, never burrowed a face into a neck or tangled our legs or clung so close together that we seemed more one person than two. It never felt right, not like this.

And as I looked into your face in the dying firelight, brushing my fingers over your cheek, I thought about you covered in mud and pain and waiting to die. Maybe the world didn’t care about us, but in its making, if there was just enough serendipity to let me find you, maybe that was all the care I needed.

#dragon age #dao #zevran arainai #m!tabris #zevran x tabris #slow burn speed run #alt title: dao in 3k words or less #i think i was possessed when i wrote this #not mass effect #enemies to lovers

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hogwarts-and-mistletoe · 6 years ago

Text

You, Only You

Rating: K+ Category: Sixth Year Summary: On the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party, Ron and Hermione finally clear the air.

Cormac hiccups, rises from his chair, and sways on the spot. A crystal goblet dangles precariously from his hand, one strong breeze away from slipping and shattering on the common room floor.

“Ready to go, then, Granger?”

He takes a few steps towards Hermione, stumbling over his own feet, and instinctively she takes several steps back.

“I suppose,” she replies, unable to help glancing down at her attire as if to confirm this for herself. And she’s not sure she agrees.

She’s in her best dress, yes, the gauzy blush-colored material skimming across her knees. And heels, which are already pinching her feet. But truly? She can’t bring herself to do much more. She’s simply wrested her hair back into a knot at the base of her neck, rather than bother with Sleakeazy; what little Muggle makeup she owns is still wrapped in its original packaging.

Cormac’s not worth the effort.

He drains the contents of his goblet into the back of his throat and tosses it haphazardly in the direction of the hearth, where it crashes against the brick and disintegrates.

Hermione cannot keep the disdain off her face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“S’alright,” he chuckles, approaching her again. “Elves’ll clean it up.”

Blood rises slowly, steadily up Hermione’s neck and into her face as she uses all the willpower she possesses to fight the barrage of disparaging remarks on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she simply vanishes the broken glass with a wave of her wand and marches towards the portrait hole.

He catches up with her just as she’s stepping into the corridor and slings an arm around her waist.

“Hey,” he said, Firewhiskey sharp on his breath. “Whaddya say we skip the party altogether?”

Hermione walks a little more quickly, shaking off his grasp.

“I told Harry I’d meet him there.”

Cormac scoffs. “Potter. Don’t you reckon he’s got enough friends already?”

Just two hours, Hermione tells herself. Two hours, then it’s over.

All she has to do is put in an appearance at the party. Just enough of one for the word of her arrival with Cormac McLaggen (who is currently taunting the portrait subjects as they walk) to enter the gossip circuits. News at Hogwarts never fails to travel fast, and it just needs to get back to one specific person for this all to be worth it.

At the thought of - of him - Hermione’s stomach twists uncomfortably. This is not how she imagined this evening would go.

Slughorn’s office is so festively decorated, the walls dripping with bunting, mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, that it feels like an assault. The air is heavy and thickly perfumed, like Trelawney’s classroom, and the guests - not all of whom are students, as the jolt to Hermione’s stomach upon catching sight of a vampire tells her - seem to press in from all sides. The poor little elves bearing trays of food appear in danger of being trampled. The music is loud and cloying and guests have to shout above it, creating a cacophony of discordant sound. Everything in her body is telling her to flee, that this isn’t worth it, that she doesn’t belong here, that he is too busy snogging Lavender Brown to care if Hermione goes to Christmas parties at all, let alone with a lout such as McLaggen.

“Ya wanna drink?” Cormac half-yells in her ear, his massive hand landing on the small of her back.

“Erm-“ She may as well, if only because the room is stiflingly hot. “Just a gillywater.”

“You got it.”

The smile he gives her as he slinks off in search of a serving tray has no warmth behind it, no affection. It’s a mere baring of teeth, a means to an end, and it sets her nerves on edge. As she waits, she scans the crowd, hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of Harry’s dark mop of hair or Luna’s radish earrings. Anyone friendly will do, particularly when Blaise Zabini pushes past her and nearly knocks her into the wall.

Cormac reappears a second later, as she’s still regaining her balance, to press an icy glass into her hand. Hermione goes to take a sip and nearly chokes.

“Are you sure this is gillywater?” she asks, repulsed and sputtering, as Cormac laughs.

“I might’ve enhanced it a bit,” he grins, though at her expression of disbelief, he continues. “Vodka,” he clarifies, opening his robes a bit to reveal a flask tucked inside. “But only a little.”

“Wha - how did you-“

“Just packed it in my trunk at the start of term,” he tells her, brimming with pride at this feat of deception. “I told Filch it was Muggle medicine, an’ he’s so thick, he believed me.”

For the first time in her life, Hermione feels sympathy for Argus Filch.

“Sorry you don’t like it,” Cormac adds flippantly, taking back the glass and drinking from it himself. “One of the elves over there has butterbeer, I think, if you’d rather have that.”

“It’s fine,” she finds herself saying, even though it plainly is not. The party has only just begun; perhaps she can salvage it. “So - er - so what NEWTs are you going to take?”

“NEWTs?” He furrows his brow like he’s never heard the term before. “Oh, I don’t know yet. Haven’t thought about it much.”

Too stunned to reply, Hermione snatches a glass from a nearby tray and, without thinking, gulps it down. It’s pumpkin juice, and it’s sickly-sweet, making her empty stomach churn.

“You look really fit tonight,” he says, eyes roving slowly up and down her figure, his hand returning to the small of her back. “You oughta dress like this more often.”

“Really?” she says skeptically, sure that he’s just spewing lines as they occur to him. “You think I should wear a party dress to class?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles again, his hand now unpleasantly close to the curve of her bottom. “It’d be hot.” Before Hermione can formulate a response - and it is taking all of her brain power to figure out what to say to him - he jerks his chin up to the ceiling. “Look.”

Against all her better judgment, she does, and of course it’s mistletoe hanging above them, taunting her.

Damn you, Professor Slughorn.

“Oh - er-“ Hermione gives a shaky attempt at laughing it off, as if the thought of them acting on the purpose of mistletoe is so preposterous, only to realize his hand is firmly situated on her backside now.

His mouth is on hers a second later, wet and sloppy and tasting faintly of alcohol and, somehow, onions, and his tongue pushes into her mouth, foreign and invasive, and this isn’t who she wants kissing her at all.

“Stop,” she blurts out, pushing his chest, needing distance, more distance, entire oceans would not be enough. “I’m - I’m just going to get one of those butterbeers after all.”

“Alright, I’ll be here,” he drawls, looking sickeningly pleased with himself.

As Cormac leans back against the wall, taking a surreptitious swig directly from his flask, Hermione steps around a small elf bearing a tray of crudités and strides purposefully towards the opposite end of the room. The scene before her has morphed into a sea of faceless bodies and voices that she can’t discern from one another. And then, when she’s sure she’s disappeared into it, become just another body among the many, she pivots on her heel and bolts for the door. She sprints past a bewildered Harry, and maybe in another universe she would have stopped to talk to him, but right now, she can think of nothing but getting away.

She feels cowardly, running rather than doing what she really wants to do - smack Cormac in the teeth. The shame rises in her, bubbling up from the pit of her stomach and into the back of her throat until she nearly chokes on it, wobbling down the hall in her heels, the abandoned corridor a slate-grey blur through her tears. Nothing that has happened tonight has been worth it. Though she set out to hurt Ron - God, actually hurt him, as though he hasn’t been her best friend for the past five years - all she’s done is make herself feel like the sludge at the bottom of the Black Lake.

It takes a near-tumble on a moving staircase for Hermione to shed her shoes altogether. With the stone floor cool under her bare feet, she spits the password at the Fat Lady (who looks offended, but swings open nevertheless) and steps into what she hopes is an empty common room.

It isn’t.

In a corner of the room, illuminated only by the wavering glow of the fireplace, Ron sits alone in front of a chess board. His lanky body is folded in on itself, a leg up to his chest pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knee. As she hastily wipes the fresh tears from her face, he picks up his head, and his blue eyes land on her.

They regard each other, not moving, not speaking. Just… considering one another.

“You’re back early,” Ron comments, just the slightest trace of vitriol in his voice.

“Yes, well.” Hermione sniffs, trying to fix her face into an expression of utmost dignity. “It was a bit of a boring party.”

“So where’s your date?”

Now, there is definitely vitriol in his voice, but it doesn’t even sting the way it used to, the way it did after that fateful Quidditch match in November. It just makes her miss him and the warmth he used to have, the playful teasing, his sharp-tongued wit that never aimed to wound.

Hermione opts for honesty. “I left him there.”

Ron’s brows lift, briefly, and he nods. “I see.”

“And where’s yours?”

The dim light in the room is not enough to mask the ruddiness growing in Ron’s face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I think we had a fight-“ there is a thud as his foot drops from the edge of his chair to the floor- “and she chucked me.”

“You think?”

“No, I know she chucked me.” He cringes. “She made that part clear.”

“Oh.” Despite everything, there is a little flutter of excitement in Hermione’s stomach that she can’t quite ignore. He’s single again. “You don’t exactly seem gutted over it.”

Mouthing, he attempts to piece together the words. “I - it just - well - she’s-“ He shrugs, resigned. “No. I s’pose I’m not.”

He does not look proud of this fact. His eyes are cast down to the chessboard - it appears he’s challenged himself in a match - and he’s fidgety, fingertips drumming on the edge of the table, as is his habit when he’s feeling guilty.

The fireplace crackles and hisses, flames dancing up against the soot-stained brick. Between them, the silence pulses, growing stronger, threatening to suffocate them.

And then they both speak at once.

“Why did you-“

Ron freezes, stunned, and then chuckles; the stretch of his lips lights up his whole face.

“No, no, ladies first,” he says with a wave of his hand. “You go.”

Swallowing, Hermione steels herself. She could turn, and walk up the stairs to her dorm, and she would probably end up never speaking to Ron again, but even just being in the same room is making her ache from missing him.

“Why did you get so mad at me?”

“Because,” he says in a tone that implies she should already know, “you acted like the Felix was the only reason I could play a decent Quidditch match-“

“Not that.” Hermione pads across the worn carpet floor, shrinking the gap between them. “You were already so mad at me before that happened, and I still don’t know why, I don’t know what I did - it was like you woke up one morning and decided you hated me-“ Her throat constricts, her voice breaking off.

Hurriedly, he shakes his head, as though eager to dispel the notion. “I don’t hate you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he repeats, rising from his chair. “I’ve never hated you.”

“Then why - what happened?”

“It’s-“ He won’t meet her eyes. “It was nothing, really-“

“It must have been something,” she snaps back, infuriated, “and I want to know what.”

“It was stupid-“

“I don’t care!” she cries. “I want to know why you suddenly couldn’t stand to look at me, why you’d treat me like that - do you know how mean you’ve been to me lately?”

“How mean I’ve been?” He holds up a large hand, the back of it facing her. “I still have scars from the canaries, thank you-“

“And what about in class today?” she counters. “You think I liked being imitated like that?”

She can barely get the words out without choking on them: the recollection of the cruel laughter from Lavender and Parvati makes her want to sink into the floor.

“Yeah, that,” says Ron, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”

“As you should be.”

“Well, I am!” The flush in his face deepens to a boiling red. “It was an arsehole thing to do, I - I mean, I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I told you, I just want to know why you were so mad at me-“

“I wasn’t mad,” he says, with a brittleness in his voice that Hermione isn’t sure she’s ever heard from him. “I mean, okay, I was, but - but I was kinda just… just hurt, more than anything.”

Ron looks lost, almost hopeless, and fearing that he might just escape to his dorm never to be seen again, Hermione takes a step closer to him.

“But why?”

“I told you, it’s stupid-“

“I want to hear it.”

He gulps; he looks as though he’s about to walk to his own execution. “Basically… I didn’t want to be what I was to you.”

The words float through her brain without registering meaning. “Wh - what?”

“I didn’t want to go to the party with you if it was just, y’know, like a pity invite-“

“Pity?” she repeats, stunned. “You think I invited you out of pity?”

“I just reckoned you should go with who you actually wanted to go with-“

“Who I wanted to go with,” says Hermione, her voice trembling with the effort of maintaining some shred of control, “was you. Only you.”

“But I thought you were just - just asking as friends, so I wouldn’t be left out, ‘cause Harry pretty much had to go-“

“No,” says Hermione, desperate to be understood. He needs to know, she decides, with a rush of adrenaline that makes her hands shake. She has to tell him, and it has to be now. “It wasn’t just as friends.”

It’s Ron’s turn now to step closer, until just a foot of space separates them. In this big, empty room, all she hears are his low, shallow breaths. She thinks she might even be able to hear his heartbeat, quick and urgent, matching her own.

She’s a Gryffindor, and she knows that means she should be brave - and she is, when it comes to fighting dark wizards. But this vulnerability, and knowing, despite everything that’s just transpired between them, that Ron could still crush her heart… it requires a different kind of courage, and she has to summon it from deep within.

“And I’m sorry about the canaries,” she adds, “I really am, but when I saw you kissing her-“

“I should never have kissed her.” His words come out in a breath. “She wasn’t who I wanted to kiss.”

Hermione’s breath catches in her lungs as he moves closer, now just a sliver of glowing firelight between them. For the briefest half-second, Ron’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Who did you want to kiss, then?”

Finally, he looks straight into her eyes. “You,” he says firmly. “Only you.”

Then he’s leaning towardss her, fair eyelashes fluttering against freckled cheeks, and he’s so close, just inches between them, then millimeters, then a brush of breath against her lips-

And she jumps back. “You can’t kiss me now,” she says frantically, almost tripping in her haste. “I’m sorry, you just, you can’t-“

His face falls. “But-“

“Cormac kissed me,” she confesses in a rush, “and it was awful and disgusting and I didn’t want him to at all - and if I kiss you now, it’ll be tainted by him.”

Biting her lip, she watches as he processes this, and prays she hasn’t ruined it entirely.

“You’re barking,” he says finally, brimming with affection. “D’you know that?”

“Then so are you.”

Low chuckles rumble out of him then, like he can’t help himself, and it’s contagious, and Merlin, it feels good to laugh with him again.

“Am I allowed to hug you, then, at least?”

In response, Hermione steps into his embrace, closing her eyes as her cheek settles against the heavy wool of his jumper. He smells faintly sweet, like butterbeer, and his arms hold her close and tight, like he plans on never letting go again.

“What were you going to ask me?” says Hermione quietly, her words muffled against his chest. “Before?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore.” His chin settles atop her head. “I’ve got my answer, now.”

#yulefest2018 #romione #submission

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ramblinganthropologist · 5 years ago

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Writober 2019 - 5 (Fantasy)

Summary: lathbora viran - the longing for something you’ll never truly know. Cahel didn’t understand it before, but now in the dark of the night he feels it all too strongly. They talk about not knowing you need something until it’s gone, but what happens when you never had it in the first place?

---

“Quiet... I can see him.”

Nobody even breathed as they sat, waiting. A brook nearby bubbled and wind whipped softly through the trees as a large buck stopped to drink. It raised its massive head, large horns glinting in the light filtering through the trees. It was the first time it had stopped at all in nearly two days.

Slowly, an arrow slipped out of a quiver and notched into a waiting bow. Sinew stretched silently as its owner drew back, waiting. When the beast raised its head once more, the arrow release with a quiet hissing noise. It hit its mark, and the deer dropped like a stone, dead before it hit the ground. It was a clean kill.

“Perfect.”

Tamlen rose from his spot, bow still in his quiver. “You did it again, Cahel.”

Cahel was beaming as he stuck his head out of his hiding spot, the light catching the blue lines inked across his face for Mythal. “Wasn't about to let that one go, it'll feed us for ages! Besides, Ilen could use those horns for something.”

He put his bow back into his quiver and headed towards his prey. “Come on, help me get this thing ready so we can take it back to the clan.”

“And here I thought you told me whoever shoots it dresses it.” Tamlen was still smiling as he followed behind. “You're lucky you're cute, vhenan.”

And as he strode ahead to make it to the buck first, he lightly slapped Cahel's armored behind. That earned him a squeak and a blush as the successful hunter sped after his lover's laughter. This was why nobody let them on hunts together sometimes.

Luckily, nobody had seen them go off this time.

It didn't take them too long to get the deer ready for transport – after all, they were both skilled hunters who knew what they were doing. They soon had it all packed up and ready to go, with the antlers sticking out of Cahel's pack. What little they had left behind was their offering to both Andruil and the beasts of the forest. After all, they had to content with both: it was only right that they gave them a cut of their spoils.

“You couldn't have shot a smaller deer, could you?” Tamlen was already rubbing at a sore shoulder as they walked through the forest, following their mental path home. “Creators, this thing is heavy.”

Cahel chuckled at the display, forging ahead just a few more feet. “You know what they say about sons of Mythal, we don't go easy on anything.”

“I should've remembered that from bed last night, silly me.” He reached out to nudge his partner forward. “You're going to get it tonight.”

That's if he could keep up with that sore shoulder of his; Cahel knew plenty of ways to get the upper hand anyway, both in bed and in the ring. By the end of it, Tamlen would be begging for mercy either way. He was gorgeous when he begged, so that only made things even more fun. Now he had something else to look forward to, and he whistled an old tune under his breath as he walked.

After about an hour, they found their clan's statue of Fen'Harel, the one that they had once drawn on as children. Beyond that, just within eyesight, lay the aravels of clan Sabrae. Most of their fellow hunters were out, but other elves still milled about the camp doing their work. This made them pick up the pace as they closed the final stretch.

It was here they broke off, Tamlen to go deliver the meat, and Cahel to hand off some specific articles he had collected. He made a beeline for the aravel all the way in the back, the one that always set his teeth to twitching. Their Keeper's aravel was soaked in magic, and even though he wasn't a mage he could feel it. Damn thing practically dripped with it.

“You better not be doing anything stupid in there, ada, or Cherche will kill you.”

A head stuck its way out from the back, also with red hair and blue tattoos. Keeper Cahel Mahariel was starting to show signs of aging just from the extra white in his hair and how his steps were beginning to slow. Though at the moment, there was none of that. Magic always breathed life back into him.

“It's just some basic enchantments, da'len, nothing to get your sister in here on me.” He chuckled regardless. “Ooh, did you bring me a present from your hunt?”

Cahel the elder still had the voice of a child some days. His son shook his head as he dug into his pack. The deer liver and berries his father had requested a few days earlier were deposited on the small bench outside the aravel. What the man planned to do with them, he had no idea. It wasn't like he was a mage after all.

“Came off a huge buck, so I hope that does something extra.”

The older Cahel beamed as he came out from inside his aravel to collect them. On solid feet, the younger of the pair had finally outgrown his father. With similar tattoos and faces, they could have almost been twins. Of course, the clan's keeper had white in his hair, and his son wasn't all that fond of undercuts. Without those, and the fact one of them was able to keep a damn shirt on, some people might have had trouble telling them apart.

Ah, family was weird like that.

“I knew you could do it, da'len.” Elder Cahel reached out to ruffle his son's hair, getting a squawk from the young man in the process. “Oh, come on. You're never too old to be messed with by your father. Lighten up a little, you'll go gray before your time?”

The younger Cahel fixed his hair, but he smirked. “Oh, like you?”

“That came from your sister.” The keeper's cheeks still turned red as he bent to collect his packages. That was a point for his son. “Maybe you should go see her. She's been giving the young hunters a tough time again. They could probably use a friendly face.”

Knowing Cherche, she was probably trying to get them to become immune to low levels of poison; perish the thought. Cahel nodded as he left his father's aravel, walking through the busy camp to find his older sister. All the while, he had a spring to his step. It was a great day, they had food, and he had his evening pretty much planned out. Who could want more than that?

“Cahel-”

He could practically hear her vo-

“Wake up, Cahel.”

His eyes snapped open, showing the dark cloth ceiling of a human tent stretched above his head. Cahel slowly came to consciousness as he sat up, hair falling into his face. His mind was a fog as he glanced around.

Yep, definitely in a tent.

“What?”

Cherche's head was in front of him – she was looking into the tent. “It's your turn on watch.”

“Oh...” He shook his head, frowning. “Guess I forgot. Sorry about that.”

Cahel gathered his things quietly and crawled out of the tent. Outside it was quiet, with the only sound coming from the crackling campfire. There were a few other tents, containing the rest of his party. Right then, they were somewhere south in Ferelden, close to the remains of what had been Ostagar before the Blight had settled in. Just thinking about it made his body ache as he took his spot by the fire, dog in tow.

Just another night as a Grey Warden on watch.

“Wonder how Marethari is handling the clan going north...” He shook his head, frowning. It had been months since he had spoken with the keeper. For all he knew, they could have all died. “No... they're probably ok.”

It hurt, not knowing. He was already dealing with Tamlen's... disappearance. It hurt too much to call it anything else. Any other mishaps and his heart just might break it two. Of course, he may never find out with the Blight. He could die tomorrow and never know wiser.

And here he thought the Blight was supposed to bring people together.

“You should've seen the dream I had, boy.” He reached down, petting Tamlen the mabari's large head. “It had everyone in it. And I had vallaslin for once.”

He didn't have that while awake – Marethari had never let him take the hunt before his departure. He ha begged her for months, but her answer was always no or to deflect. Now he resented that she had; it was hard, being away from the clan without it.

“I saw my dad too... or at least I think it was him. Not that I know him or anything.” His shoulders sagged as emotions slowly crested, then crashed over him. Sure, he dreamed of home sometimes... but never like this. “Shit...”

Cahel was glad for the solitude of the night as tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. That brief moment in his dreams had been some of the happiest he had had in months. Now, in the dark of the night, he felt its absence more strongly than ever. The tears continued to roll down his cheeks as he stared into the fire, willing the night to hide them. In the morning, he might be red eyed, but nobody would be the wiser.

Whatever that dream had been, it was too much for him then. Whatever god had planted it in his brain had some explaining to do the next time he found time to pray. But that was then, and for the moment he was lost to tears and the aching pain in his chest.

So... this was lathbora viran, huh? Maybe the ancients had been on to something.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #writober2019 #Cahel Mahariel

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years ago

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In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 5

Later that evening....

[ L.K ] It would be a rough start to the night. Lazarius had accompanied Jursol back to her hut and patched the broken areas just before the storm let loose. And what a storm it was. No doubt those Tide Sages of Kul Tiras were at it again. But the rumbles of thunder and lightening crashing all around, as well as the torrential downpour, it bound them inside.

Lazarius had stripped down to his shorts in the swampy jungle heat once more. The glistening of his brandings, tattoos and scars evident in the light of what few candles there were to give them a way to see. He sat on the edge of the cot she had given him to rest on earlier, and in his silence, his extended palm in front of him would flicker with small galactic wormholes that would pop into existence and fade. A black purple flame swirling around him. He was simply toying with his magic.

“We once worshipped N’Zoth, the old god of the deep. My former Mistress was the leader of our cult of The Nine. In fact, Nine member all of which lead the rest of the order to its victory and inevitably its defeat. Decades passed... I have been leading us since the times of this great Third War of the mortal races. I know your people have never been too keen on involvement but that is how long.”

He closed his hand around the flame and sighed.

[ J ] Once back at the hut, Jursol found a few things to patch the hole on the wall up with. With a smile she handled them to the elf. As she watch how surprisingly good he was at patching up such holes, a small laugh escaped her. She knew like him this was no normal storm coming. Those damn Tide Sages had it out for these lands.

[ L.K ] “In recent months we have shifted further and further away. I took it upon myself to take inventory of what it is we truly do. What we stand for. And it is chaos, but it is more than that. We are saviors of some of the most brilliant and talented minds the world has ever seen. People who would otherwise be killed for their work, or worse imprisonment. We provide a home for like minded individuals who are through fighting others wars and wish to thrive on our own. A nation away from the political nightmare and a place that offers salvation to all who swear loyalty to the cause.”.

In his hand she would see the construct of a void magic made machine. He created it from the shadow to give her a visual representation of it.

“The Void Forge is our greatest achievement. Made from Titan technology, Mogu and ancient earthen wares. It was reversed engineered to take life, not create. Essentially what it does it extracts the void magic from the Ren’dorei. The void elves. It stores it in batteries for us to use.”.

The image would rotate and turn for her to see all the massive gears and devices.

[ J ] Zandalari after all had a great naval force that could rival their own. Due to the ongoing war however, Jursol feared this was perhaps their way of hiding ships sent to scout areas ahead of the coming battle. As she listened her eyes wondered to his hands. She was still mesmerized by the beautiful galactic wormholes he was making.

[ L.K ] “The body is then stripped of its blood which is placed in a dedicated vessel for our blood mages to experiment on. And lastly, the organic husk is used as the fuel source. Perpetually it will run for as long as we provide it with its source of fuel, Ren’dorei.”

He collapsed the construct and peered over toward her, wherever she was at this point.

“We are bad people Jursol, I know this. But we are also true, pure and devoted to one another. Love and compassion are not lost on us. We do this because when the dam breaks, and the old one returns, lives will be lost. Chaos and the Black empire will return, I have seen this. These stores batteries will be enough to provide us with a shield that will allow the world to bypass us safely in the Bastille for generations to come.”

He looked toward her still and smiled.

[ J ] As he spoke of his people, The Nine, and the old one N’Zoth she listened intently to every word. Like many Zandalari she knew the threat of Old Gods was real. They were coming back and soon. Hell there was already the created Old One who posed a threat, Ghuun. While he may be defeated easier then most he was still a threat to all life. Jursol recalled a old Seer speaking of the coming storm. A storm of blood, death, dark magic not seen in years. An evil that once thought dormant was said to be returning.

‘Could dis be N’Zoth then?’ she thought.

The more he spoke of how his people, and their home far from the political nightmare that most live in, the more she realized how truly misunderstood he was. Him and his people may have a strange way of doing things, but their goal is far from evil. She could hardly believe the structure of the Void Forge was real. The way it worked, how it was made, everything about it peaked her curiosity.

[ L.K ] “I could not ask for a better person, you...you Miss Jursol, to be there with me, at my side. I would ask you for it is the respected position that you deserve.”.

She watched as he offered his scarred and worn hand toward her, the image of a serpent burned into the palm.

“Join us. You with your Magic’s..you are the prime candidate to offer us a perspective we have never seen. I see in you...a person worthy of a place where she can flourish...”

[ J ] She only had to think for a moment after he’d stopped speaking. He bright eyes looking toward him over the glare of the fire.

“You not be bad people my friend. Many forget der be times we must be doen thins we never thought we would in order to save ourselves or others Sometimes it be taken being da bad guy to get da job done.”

She said smiling looking at him.

“Da future of yo people means a lot to ya. Der be nothing wrong with dat in my eyes.”

As his hand was reached out towards her with an offer to go with him, she bowed her head and met his hand with her own clawed and scaled hand.

“I be happy ta be joinen ya Da raptors be happy as well. Dey seem to trust ya as I do.”

As she said this big raptors gave a small grunt sound in agreement. The smaller one leaping up next to the elf and laying down.

“A place to be using me magic in peace will be a nice change. Perhaps be learnen more about da blood magic I began studying before.”

[ L.K ] Lazarius would listen to her as she explained and answered each of his various questions and requests. Listened to her explain her side of things. It was quite obvious he knew she was exactly the type of person who could work with the order.

“A place for you to work your blood magic and perfect it. Our former Grand Magus. . . .”

There was that pause again when he regarded her. A hint of sadness in his eyes, but he would clear it away shortly after and continue on.

“ She has written two books on the subject, her parents before her were members of the council of Nine and served my former mistress. They’d written four. Also with the raw essence being reduced down from the forge you can perhaps practice hands on with it. I am sure a Zandalari brain can think of far more interesting ways to use the blood than we elves.”

The compliment was left there, hanging in limbo for a moment as he pondered.

“Blood Huntress Jursol.”. He said with a chuckle.

“Our last Magus took my hospitality and generosity and is currently beginning work on how to utilize this blood. If possible I’d like to put you in charge of how we research the blood within The Bastille. Perhaps you and our resident scientist Doctor Whistletorque can find a way to use the Azerite with it.”

[ J ] Jursol moved around the hut as she listened to him. Grabbing some things to make something for them to eat. Herbs, spices, dried meat, and fresh looking fish. Using a very small fireplace she worked to mix the ingredients together just so. Her clawed hands seemed skilled as she gut, deboned, and flayed the fish.

Chopping the herbs with a large knife as she placed them into a bowl. Chucks of dried beef were tossed into a pot of boiling water. A small dash of spices were added as well. Grabbing the chopped herbs she added a bit of oil to them. In another bowl she worked to crush the herbs, turning it into a paste.

The paste was rubbed over the fish before she laced it onto a rack over the fire. Some vegetable type things got added to the stew of beef and spices.

“A place to be practicing in peace be something I be happy to have again. Ta learn more den I know would be a great gift to my allies. A curse to mah enemies.”

Her face seemed calm her pleased.

“So ya be having a scientist der? Dat would make finden new ways ta use blood magic much more fun, and if he be able to use Azarite as well, dat be amazing.”

A smirk grow on her lips as she laughed.

“Well I be not letting ya down. Dis magic be something I take pride in, even if he hated by many.”

As she spoke she kept up with the food. It now smelled like herbs and spices in the little hut. Her hands stirring the stew as she watched the fish.

[ L.K ] “Well then on behalf of the Council of Nine. . I officially welcome you into our order. I know that it is not the Grand flare and show of excitement one such as yourself should warrant but...”.

The irony was not lost due to the fact that he was but one of the council, and the rest were not in attendance. He extended a finger toward the air and from it a little violet spark shot up and burst into a small firework. The explosion would for a serpent as it slithered around in a circular shape and then into a knot before vanishing.

[ J ] Jursol gave a fanged smile as she watched the serpent slither around in a circle, then a knot, all before vanishing. It seemed to entertain her to see his use of his skills.

[ L.K ] “Ive been giving it some thought. And I think I know how we can get back to the Bastille. But now comes the true test of our survival. Getting us to the Eastern Kingdoms. If we didn’t have to worry about the war I could arrange passage from Kul Tiras if we could get there. But that is out. But I need to reach Alterac. If we can get there... the former Magus I spoke of who should still be there. . .”.

He sneered and shook his head.

“I installed a gateway through her lower sub basement into the Bastille. It will place us directly where we need to be. At that point I can sever her portal thus finally putting an end to that link, and reach my sisters hopefully before something terrible happens.”.

Lazarius would give only a glance toward her meal, granted he didn’t choose to eat anymore because of the parasite but he could still appreciate her talent.

“Are you up for the task Miss Jursol? Any ideas on how we can escape this island?”

[ J ] Hearing him speak about the order, and about getting back to them, she started thinking. She knew of the Eastern Kingdoms, and heard about the Alterac. However she never ventured there herself. Pondering for a few minutes before speaking.

“Hmm, I be knowing one way ya travel der. Dey be smugglers doe. We be needen ta get off Zandalar before dey can help. But if we be getting away from Zandalar dey can help get us ta Alterac, or close at least. Ta get off Zandalar we be needed a boat. Dat be easy, if not for da war. Mah people don take kindly ta outsiders. We be needen ta get past dem somehow.”

[ L.K ] “That is good for us then. Unfortunately the Horde had not actually made contact with your people before this all began. I never gave the order to send my own operatives into Zandalar. But hindsight is of course twenty - twenty.”

Lazarius would think for a moment. His eyes drifted toward his hands. The edges of his fingers slightly starting to blacked right at the tips. Alarming but not enough to warrant attention.

“What if....”.

He slowly smirked and shifted on the bed while sitting on its edge. His pale flesh glistening in the hot jungle night; the humidity was overwhelming and the rain outside on made it worse.

“You take the guise of a guard. One of the elite kings men. Since I can easily pass for a Ren’dorei, you could be doing a prisoner transfer. Say you’re taking me for a parlay with the Alliance, trading one of theirs for one of “ours”. We get our boat and sail to where these smugglers are, they’ll never see us again.”

[ J ] A grin crossed her lips as she gave the stew a last stir. Scooping some into wood bowl before grabbing a wooden spin.

“Dat may actually work. Ta get a guard be easy enough. Get one ta chase ya ta me, and I can use a dart with poison on dem. Can’t be having blood on da armor.”

Jursol took a bite of the stew before speaking again.

“Da dart be covered in jungle frog poison. Works fast and silently. Most be to busy ta question a prisoner trade. One of da Zandalari priest been missing for some time now. If dey ask I can be saying we be trading for her.”

Jursol laughed as she said that last part.

“Don’t worry she not be comon back. Saw her body being eaten by a few stray raptors. Some small men be killing her. Dey were near some strange looking metal things.”

She nodded and smiled, a tusked toothy smile.

“Yes dis may work for us.”

[ L.K ] He nodded right back, and gazed at the warrioress with a matching grin.

“Yes...dis may work for us.”

To be Continued in. . . “In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 6″

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lostinfic · 6 years ago

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Treat, please. Will x Holly. "You're wearing my sweater." + Game Night.

Game Night. 1 / 2

Pairing: Will Burton (The Escape Artist) x Holly Shawcross(True Love)

Rating:Teen

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Will and Holly are part of a group of friends whomeet every week to play board games. Although there is more than friendship growing between them, their pasts prevent them from acting on their feelings.

A/N: I also wrote a fem!Will x Holly version of thisprompt: Sweater Weather

Some details might escape you if you haven’t seen the shows, but I think you can still enjoy the story.

○ Trick or treat prompts

○ All my autumn fics

Available on Ao3

🍂

“You don’t have to do that,” Will said as Holly washed the glasses used by their friends.

“It’s no bother.”

He cleared the table and threw away empty bags of crisps and pretzels.

“How was your week?”

She interpreted his question as a sign that he didn’t mind her staying after the others had left.

Holly worked part time at an immigration center, teaching English to newcomers. As Will wiped crumbs off the table, she told him about a teenage Somalian refugee who drew comic strips of his journey to England. She’d put him in contact with a gallery where she’d once exhibited her own work.

“Did you paint anything new this week?” Will asked.

“Yeah. Christmas cards. I need to stock up my online shop in time for Cyber Monday.”

“But you loved painting Autumn stuff.”

“I know, I really did.” She pouted.

She washed another glass, and Will sided up to her with a towel to dry it.

“I nearly drank my paint water again this week.”

“I told you to stop using that mug.” He bumped her with his shoulder.

“But I love it!” She bumped him back with her hip.

He shook his head fondly.

She asked about his own week, she remembered he had a meeting with a new client yesterday. He lost his smile.

“The man’s a serial drunk driver and he’s killed someone because of it, and I swear his breath smelled of gin when we met.”

“Jesus. Did he drive to the appointment?”

“Thank God, no. His solicitor got him to start the 12-Step Program.”

“That’s good. There’s hope.”

He nodded, his lips in a tight smile.

“You must think I’m naive,” Holly said.

“No, no, but he’s probably only doing it to get a reduced sentence.” Belatedly, he added, “But I think it’s great that you still have faith in people.”

“I have to. Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He had seen too much in his career. That lost puppy look in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings.

She had to believe people could make amends and change, otherwise there was no hope for her after what she��d done. And what he’d done.

She wondered if he knew that she’d slept with one of her students, the way she knew he’d killed his wife’s murderer, by unearthing five-year old headlines on Google. They’d both moved elsewhere, to Cambridge, to put it all behind, so she never brought up the subject, never asked him if he really did it. Who they were now was all that mattered.

“I think some people can become better persons,” he finally admitted.

She touched his arm lightly, a shy show of support, and he surprised her by putting his hand over hers. His thumb brushed across her knuckles, and her arm goose-pimpled from the contact.

She loved these moments, when it was just the two of them and they talked about more personal things, unlike when the others were around.

Will and Holly were part of a group of eight friends who played board games every week. Lately, when the game was at Will’s, she made sure to arrive a little early and found some excuse to stay after the others had left.

Will had joined the group six months ago (one of their members had a baby and couldn’t come to their weekly games anymore so he introduced Will as his replacement). Maybe it was a professional quirk, Holly was a teacher after all, but she immediately took him under her wing, explaining the rules and the inside jokes, and going out of her way to include him in the group. She was only being nice, but somewhere along the way being nice turned into being infatuated.

Jamie’s arrival from his football practice interrupted their moment. They jumped apart and quickly finished cleaning up the kitchen.

Will saw her to the door. The temperature had dropped significantly, and Holly was only wearing a thin raincoat.

“It’s alright,” she said, “the bus stop’s only two blocks away.”

“I don’t want you to catch something, I need you to win the next game. Here.” He removed his grey jumper and offered it to her.

Holly walked to the bus stop with her nose under the collar. Unlike her who shopped at charity shops, Will had the means to buy high quality clothes and this jumper was no exception, a blend of cashmere and wool as far as she could tell. She rubbed her cheek against it. His cologne lingered between the stitches, warm and woodsy, and with the smell of rain in the air, it reminded her of the forest in autumn.

She wore his sweater all week. It kept her warm when she painted or read with the windows open. She became so used to it that she still had it on when they met at Patrick’s house for the next game night. Will didn’t notice however. Even if it was half past seven, he’d obviously come straight from court and his brain was still occupied by work. His hair was messy as if he’d tugged on it.

He sat down next to her without a salutation, and pulled a pre-packaged cheese sandwich and a green apple out of his coat pockets.

Every other week, they played Dungeons & Dragons. Patrick— a stocky, dark-skinned accountant who’d initiated the game nights with his sister Sabrina— recapped their latest quest. Everyone organized their dice, figurines and character sheets on the dining room table. Everyone except Will who was munching absentmindedly on his stale sandwich.

“Will?” Patrick repeated.

He blinked out of his thoughts and looked around as if he’d forgotten where he was. “Uh?”

“That weapon you found at the cave, was it a knife or a sword?”

“In the game,” Jasna, another player, specified.

“Yeah, sorry, erm…” He looked through his notes and answered them.

“Long day?” Holly whispered to him.

“Aye.”

“Relax.” She leaned well into his personal space and loosened his tie.

He didn’t say a word, only turned his torso towards her, offering better access. She hadn’t planned on taking it all off, but now her fingers worked at the knot. The silky material glided under his collar and wrapped around her fist.

“You’re free from work now.”

As he took his tie from her hands, his fingers deliberately brushed against hers.

“Are you wearing my jumper?”

“Have been since I got here.” She chuckled. “Sorry, I’ll give it back to you.”

“There’s no rush.”

Holly’s character was a Wizard and Will’s a Rogue. Because they always sat next to each other, they often separated from the rest of the gang to conduct their own mission. They made a good team. Will was a great strategist, always a step ahead of everyone, even the Dungeon Master. He would lean towards Holly, and whisper to her their next move. Her own strength was thinking outside the box, using her character’s spells in creative ways.

“Holly, you can’t use the Glyph of Warding that way,” Patrick said.

Will put on his glasses and looked through the Player’s Handbook. “Objection.”

Patrick groaned.

Will recited the description of the spell, “You inscribe a glyph that harms other creatures, either upon a surface or within an object that can be closed to conceal the glyph. Did you not say just 10 minutes ago that Mordenkainen closed the portal? Accordingly…”

“Why are you always defending her and not us?” Sabrina asked.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Holly’s weakness. It’s why she’d had an affair with a married man, an underage student and an older woman who called her her Muse. If they made her feel just a little special… But he was a widower, a single father and a workaholic, but she could feel it, like the pull of the undercurrent before a big wave. She was wary of that pull now— three years of therapy had taught her that at least—, but the more she resisted it, the more delicious it was. And really, it didn’t help that he wore such tight jeans.

Sometimes, she drew their D&D characters together.

“Holly, here’s what I’ll do, if Modenkainen is still in this plane, you can use the glyph on his portal.” Patrick rolled a pair of twenty-side die. “And you got it. Damn it.”

Holly and Will high-fived.

The game continued as they ate junk food, drank cider and generally drove Patrick crazy with their antics. “You can’t drug the elves to get in the castle!”

“What was the point of going all the way to Yesterhill to get these pastries, then?”

“I didn’t make you go there. By the way, Jerome, did you hide your tail?”

“Yeah, I shoved it up me arsehole.”

The whole table burst out laughing.

By the end of the night, they’d reigned in their hilarity enough to defeat a dragon and a horde of banshees.

“Same time next week,” Jasna said as she put on her coat. “It will be Halloween, so you’d all better dress up. Just kidding.”

Much to Holly’s surprise, Will offered her a ride home even though her flat wasn’t on his way.

Street lights glistened on the rain-sleek pavement and the wind carried dead leaves across the road. The full moon shone a warm, benevolent yellow over the river Cam.

Although they were silent, the car was brimming with some kind of energy. Will nearly missed a red light even if his eyes were trained on the road, Holly kept squirming on her seat, and they repeatedly snuck glances at each other. He missed the exit for her neighborhood, and they had to drive a while longer. She didn’t mind. She wanted him to keep driving. All night. Anywhere, out of town. They’d talk of nothing and everything.

He stopped in front of her building and killed the engine. She unbuckled her seat belt but didn’t leave the car. She didn’t want to have to wait a whole week before seeing him again.

“So…” he said.

“We’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Not at all. Oh! I have something for you.”

He reached for something on the back seat and handed her a paper bag. She unwrapped a set of mugs labelled “paint water” and “not paint water”.

“I saw them in a craft store window. Thought of you.” He tugged on his earlobe, watching her reaction. “Do you like them?”

Holly didn’t know what to say. It made her so happy that he’d thought of her. She cradled the mugs to her chest and nodded. She remembered something Karen had once said, that she wanted someone who would love “all her nerdy little things”. Holly had found that someone.

She tentatively leaned over the gear stick to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head at the same time and her lips landed right on the corner of his mouth. They both laughed nervously.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“I should give you back your jumper.”

She took off her scarf and raincoat. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach when she gripped the hem of the sweater; she caught the hem of her tank top as well and pulled it all up over her head.

Will’s eyes widened when he saw her bra. Her chest heaved with quick breaths.

“Holly…” He swallowed thickly. “You’ll get cold.”

And she did, for his rejection was like a bucket of iced water to the face.

“Right.” She hastily put her raincoat back on and rushed outside the car with a mumbled goodbye.

Part 2

#lots-o-huggindoctor #meanwhileinpetesworld #Teninch fic #Will x Holly #Lostinfic writes stuff #autumn prompts #fluff and angst #I guess they're both geeks #because they're playing Dungeons & Dragons #game night fic

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gamegrumpiess · 6 years ago

Text

Sleepwalk

I was listening to Sleepwalk by Renee Olstead, and I had this idea.

Grump: Danny (from now on, most will be Danny. Unless you request someone else, which I will be happy to do!)

Btw! I'm this plot, Renee didn't write the lyrics. You did! She isn't even a singer in this universe. Just a heads up.

Y/n's POV

I can't sleep tonight. It's been a month since me and Danny broke up, but I can't help but still mourn our relationship. It was mutual, at least that's what he thinks. I would've never called it off. I was so in love with him. I still am. We told the fans, and they were pretty supportive in what we did. A lot of them were really sad, as was I. Danny is a singer just like me. I do silly songs just like him. But he encouraged me to do a cover album or a cover song. I did one album, Cover Me Up was the name. It got a lot of love, which I am very proud of.

I turn on my phone to check the time. 4:23 am. The bold numbers shine at me in front of Danny's face. I couldn't bring it to myself to change my screensaver. It's not like anyone's gonna see. I miss him a lot, every night gets harder than the last. He was my world. I've known him since senior year of high school, he was a huge part of my life. And now... That's no more. He's probably living his best life. Being Danny Sexbang and all. He probably has girls flying at his feet, throwing him their panties and offering 'the night of his life'. I understand I might be over thinking, but I can't help it. He was mine, and now he's out there doing who knows what. I let a few stray tears fall down ontou pillow. It's so lonely here at night now. I love what I do, singing, dancing, having fun. It was just so much more amazing when I had someone to share it with.

I lay my head back a stare at the ceiling. I need to distract myself, so I reach for my headphones and plug them in, looking for my Oldies playlist. I click on it and the song that comes on is Sleepwalk by Santo and Johnny. Listening to the slow beat and light guitar, I cry even more. Just my luck, huh? I can't just lay here, I really should get up and something. Writing usually helps me calm down. That's when I get an idea for a song, it's a bit sad and people will know exactly who its about. But maybe that's what needs to happen. My feelings should be out there. And if something goes wrong, I'll accept the outcomes.

I pull up my pen and notebook and just start writing.

"Sleepwalk, instead of dreamin' I

Sleepwalk.

Cause' I lost you and now, what am I to do?

Can't believe that we're through.

Sleep talk. Cause' I miss you, I sleep talk.

While the memories of you wither like a soul.

Darling I was so low.

The night fills me with blame. I see your face, tears through my brain.

I know I miss you so. I still love you, drives me insane.

Sleepwalk. Every night I just sleepwalk. Please come back, and when you walk inside the door, I will sleepwalk no more."

I immediately went to my computer set up and staring out my own little version of Sleepwalk. More of like a piano and violin cover, rather than guitar and drum. Once I had it to where I wanted the beat and rhythm, I pulled up my microphone and started singing away.

Danny's POV

This morning was the worst. I couldn't sleep at all, I've been up since 3:30 am. I guess I haven't really gotten used to sleeping by myself. Without y/n's body near mine, it's hard to even get tired. I do miss her. A lot actually. I know it was my idea to call off the relationship, but I was scared of what would happen if I didn't have enough time for her. I have game grumps, starbomb, and ninja sex party. She deserves someone who has all the time in the world to give her all the attention she deserves. When we told the fans, I didn't expect them to be so sad. I even lost a handful of fans because of it. She agreed, but I knew her better. She was on the verge of tears when she left. She was trying to be strong so I wouldn't see that side of her, but I know better than that. When she left I broke down. Gripped and clawed at my hair, cried on the edge of the bed, wondering if I had made the right choice. I big-huge part of me was telling myself I didn't.

My phone buzzes, and I see its a text from Arin.

When you get here I need to show you something.

Oh what fresh hell does he have to subject my eyes to. Last time he said that, I had to watch 12 Days Of Elves... Don't ask.

I finally arrived at the Grump Space. I see everyone in their usual area. Ryan and Matt at the computers, Ross and Barry in the kitchen making coffee, and the only other people here this early is Arin and me. Everyone else usually is a little late. "Thank god you're finally here. You haven't felt your phone buzzing?" I give him a confused look. "Other than you texting me, no. You know I have notifications turned off for my social media. What's going on?" He turns on the computer in front of us. "You should hear this before anything. I promise you, it's important." I roll my eyes. "This better not be some stupid shit, Arin!" I say with a light laugh. He shook his head, and I knew from the look in his eyes that this was in fact important.

Once the computer was fully on, he went to YouTube. Looking up y/n's name, I felt my stomach turn. Did she have a new boyfriend? Was she sick? Did she die?! I understand that last one is a bit of a long shot, but I tend to over think a lot.

A video was uploaded at 7:00 am this morning? "' sleepwalk? ' isn't that an old song?" I say confused. But I'm not all that surprised. She always did love the oldies. He nods his head. "She added her own lyrics and tune to it. And I think you should hear it." I nodded and put on some earphones, pushing play on the video. Her voices comes on, and it feels so amazing to hear her voice again. Even if it is just an intro in a YouTube video.

"Hello everyone. I had this idea for a song at like 3 in the morning. I couldn't sleep, so I made this. I hope you like it..."

The video fades to black and then it shows her at her little office space she has in her room. The music starts up, and at this point I notice her eyes. They're a little red and slightly puffy. She did a good job covering it up, but I've known her since senior year. She can't hide that from me.

She sings softly yet with so much passion and emotion. The lyrics sink in, and I know why Arin wanted to hear this. Its about me. I scroll down to look at the description and comments, and they all say things along the lines of 'I fucken sad now.' 'Wow, Danny really did a number on her' 'DANNY YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS SHIT!' 'This makes me so sad because she literally couldn't sleep thinking about him... Danny get your girl back!' 'Damn that made me tear up... '

After the video ended, I look at my phone. Y/n's face still smiles at me from behind the screen. I didn't want to change it, I couldn't do it. I felt several tears hit my leg, I didn't even realize i was crying. "Hey Dan, are you okay?" Arin puts his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "No... I'm not at all." I open up Twitter and see thousands of notifications to nsp and game grumps. All of which telling me to see what I just saw. I stood up slowly, feeling a little disappointed in myself. How could I let her walk out of my life so easily...?

Y/n's POV

After I posted the video, I decided I should really try to get some sleep. Especially since thousands of people will blow up my phone later on. Once in bed again, I tried to think of all the possibilities and outcomes of this. It could either go really well, or go really horribly bad. I guess we'll just have to see.

I wake up several hours later to my phone ringing. The sky is still a little bright to I assume it's not that late. 'Suzy <3' shines up at me. I smile, me and her always stayed quite close. "Hello?" I try to run the sleep out of my eyes. "Hey, are feeling okay? I heard your song, and I know it's about Dan. How are you, hun?"

It means a lot that she's not just calling about GET HIM BACK! She just wants to know if I'm okay. "Honestly? I feel so empty. Luckily today is just a lazy day so I don't have to adult today. But still.... I feel lost." I hear her sigh, "I know, y/n. It sucks. But you have me! And I'm way better than Danny!" She says jokingly. "Damn right you are! I'll call you a bit later when I'm more awake, okay?" We say our goodbyes and I sit up more in bed. I take a quick look at my notification bar and just as I expected, its blowin up. 'When will I stop being a pussy?' My thoughts we're interrupted by several rings of my doorbell.

Without looking through the peephole I open the door, only to see a certain curly haired man standing on my doorstep. "Danny? What are you doing here?" His eyes are glazed over and puffy as if he had just finished crying. He looked down. "I.... I heard your song. Was it... Was it about me? I'm sorry, I just need to know. I couldn't focus at all today during work. And on my way home, I just couldn't take it anymore. I have to know." My anxiety goes up a long shot. My eyes looking at everyone but him. "Y/n... I need to know." I slowly nod my head, still avoiding his eyes. "May I come in? I think we should talk.." I scoot to the side to let him in. "I'm sorry if I caused a lot of drama. I just thought... It would be better if I just made it into a song rather than.. Just telling you." I confessed. He grabbed my shoulders. "Don't be sorry, y/n. When we broke up, and you left. I broke down. I couldn't handle the fact that I just let you go.. I'm sorry."

"Then why did you do it? Why wait so fucking long to come to my house?! Why hurt me this bad, leaving me all alone when all I wanted was you! I hated knowing that YOU let me just walk out. And you looked like you... Like you didn't even give a shit..." I couldn't help it. I let all my emotions explode on him. "Why do you think I did?! Y/n, you deserve someone who has the time for you, who will give you all the attention in the world. Someone who will GIVE you the world! I want nothing more than to have you back again, but you don't deserve someone like me! I love with all my soul, hell, I'd give up everything for your dumbass! I didn't say anything till now because I thought you'd be mad, and I thought you'd moved on, hated me even!" He was standing pretty close to me by now. "Well no shit I'd be mad! You think I don't deserve you? Bullshit! You've already given me the world and more! Don't think that I don't understand about your job because I do the same fucking thing!!! I know it's hard, but I was willing to work even harder because I love you more than life itself! I deserve you just like you deserve me!" He rolled his eyes. "You're fucking gorgeous! You can have any man you want! What the hell is so special about me?" I got in his face once again, "because you are so much better than any other man I've met! We've known each other for YEARS and you think I'd just give all that up?! What kinda drugs are you on, Dan? Do you think I'm that fucken dumb? I haven't slept in weeks because it feels so horrible not having you next to me. That's some bullshit to say that I can have any man I want. I want YOU, dipshit!" I couldn't help it, I fell to my knees, shaking from trying to hold back tears. How he say that I didn't deserve him? He was my world, he still is my world. Nothing will change that.

He walks to me, and sits on the floor with me. I feel his arms wrap around me, and I lean into his chest. "I'm sorry.. I loved you more than anything. I still do. Can you please give me another chance..? Now, I won't ever think you don't deserve me. I won't think anything like that. You mean the world to me, y/n. Please don't forget that." I look up at him, seeing his eyes filled with new tears. "Well duh, how can i say no to this face?" I grab his cheeks and smush them together and laugh. "I love you too, Danny." He smiled and leaned in and gave me a much needed kiss.

#danny sexbang #game grumps #dan avidan x reader #dan x reader #dan avidan

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