#he's got natural spider climb for running away into high up corners
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valkyricarts · 8 months ago
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Your big bad badass OCS should have funny fears sometimes it's good for the soul.
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bnhaisliterallymylife · 4 years ago
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Creatures of the Forest
I haven’t written anything on here in months, and to be honest I should be working on my novel rather than this. But, I’m a whore for EraserMic and can’t resist the temptation. Plus, I have a weakness for Monster AU’s, so I’m going to have fun with this.
Also heads up, I did not proofread, and story details might be a little muddy. I am tired and horny, and I will now go to bed.
Word Count: 5,242 (Kill me.)
Pairing(s): Jinn!Shouta x Female Reader x Siren!Hizashi
Warnings: 18+, dub-con, fingering, double-penetration, anal sex, vaginal sex, creampie, and probably more filth.
Premise: You just wanted to have some time yourself, and considering how cheap the cabin was you couldn’t pass up the chance at a countryside getaway. And they couldn’t pass up a chance of you.
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The cabin is not what you expected, but nonetheless you just felt glad at the chance to get away from the city for awhile. Your job has been stressing you out for months, and your family is no better. You booked out this one bedroom wood cabin from the 1970s for the next two weeks, a vacation away from technology and far, far away from the thoughts that kept you from yourself.
When you first arrived you checked out the whole cabin only to find cobwebs and dust covering nearly every surface, and the appliances were horrifically outdated. So, you decided to spend your time cleaning it up a little so you didn’t feel like a spider was going to crawl into your mouth in the middle of the night. Good thing, too, because you managed to find a fiddleback in its nest just under the bed. Now, you might hate spiders, but you’re by no means a killer.
“Work with me here, otherwise one of us is gonna get hurt.” You carefully manage to put a plastic cup over the agitated spider, and using a piece of paper you’re able to carefully take it outside. You don’t want to leave it near the cabin, and you don’t want to leave it out in the open field - what if a bird got to it? You have no choice but to trek out past the lovely field of wildflowers to the dark forest that lay just beyond it.
The trees tower over you as the sun begins to set in the distance. You’re not that far away from the cabin, but hearing the branches rustle against each other as the wind blows a warm summer breeze across your skin sends goosebumps over your body. It would be best to quickly release the spider and get out of there.
You go over to the nearest tree at the very edge of the forest and take the cup away from the paper. There the spider sits, rearing back as a threat, but its dramatics do nothing to you.
“You’re not so scary out in the open, are you?”
“He could probably say the same to you.”
You drop the paper and cup, whipping your head around to find the source of the melodic voice that had spoken to you, but no one is there.
“Over here, little bird.”
Your gaze falls back towards the forest, and just a few feet in front of you is a man with long, golden blonde hair that cascades down to his waist. He’s tall, probably six feet if you had to guess, and he’s wearing a tank top and jean shorts that show off his toned body almost too well. Then there’s his eyes, a green so bright that it contrasts the darkness of the forest.
“What are you doing here?” This land is supposed to be private, or at least that’s what the listing said.
“Sorry! I forget my manners sometimes. I’m one of the owners, you’re Y/N right?” Oh, one of the owners! You remember now, the listing mentioned that the owners of the property lived elsewhere on the land and might come by to check in on things.
“Yeah. You know, the cabin could have used a cleaning. When’s the last time you had anyone else here?”
“Somethin’ like five or so years. You like it though?”
“It’s... Cozy.” The sun seems to be disappearing much faster now. “Minus the spider.”
“Unfortunately we can’t do much about nature, little bird.” You want to ask him not to call you that, but you don’t want to be rude. The cabin is pretty cheap and you’d hate to cut this trip short because of a nickname. “But, if ya want my husband can come spray the cabin for pests tomorrow. I could bring by some food, too.”
“Oh, no thanks. I think it was just the one anyways.” The point of this whole trip is for you to get some alone time, and inviting this admittedly alluring man and his husband over would go against that.
“If you’re sure...” He trails off, glancing towards the spider that is now climbing quickly up the side of the tree. “If you do change your mind though, let us know! We don’t like pests around here, either.” You chuckle a little at that, but by now you’re already starting to back away from the forest to head back towards the cabin.
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir!” You call back, now intent on getting across this field as quickly as possible. But, his next words feel like they’re a whisper in your ear, making you jerk your head back towards the forest. My name is Hizashi, little bird.
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After unpacking that night you found yourself exhausted from the long travel to the cabin. After checking that all of the windows and doors were locked securely, you went to bed thinking about the blonde in the woods and the plans that you had for the next day. Your eyes closed with those thoughts mingling together as you fell into a seemingly deep sleep, unaware of the eyes that watched you from just outside of the bedroom window.
“She’s even better than I imagined...”
“You shouldn’t have gone to her today, it’s too soon.”
“If we wait too long then we’ll lose our chance! Let’s take her now, she wants to be far away, so we’ll take her far away.”
“We need time, and permission.”
“Well, I know how to get one of those things.”
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As the sun peeks through the bedroom window you attempt, and fail to stifle a groan. It might have been a good idea to bring curtains with you, but you suppose that it’s part of the woodsy experience. You sit up and stretch your arms high above your head, unaware of the creature slithering across the floor until you put your feet down and hear a hiss. Immediately you pull your feet back onto the bed with a high-pitched scream. The rattlesnake coils itself up and sets its eyes directly on you, only a few feet away from the bed.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” You mutter to yourself as you reach for your cellphone on the side table. Unfortunately for you, the snake leaps forward and takes a snap towards your arm, eliciting another screech from you and making you back yourself against the far corner of the bed. “Go to the woods, you thought, it’ll be a great experience!” You mock yourself, now looking for anything nearby that you could use as a weapon. You could toss the blanket over it and try to make a run for it, but what you miss or what if it still managed to get you?
“Y/N!” You hear Hizashi just outside the cabin.
“We heard a scream, is everything alright!?” Another voice joins him, likely his husband.
“N-No! There’s a snake in here!” You glance towards the window to see it cracked open. Didn’t you lock it last night? “I can’t get past it!” You hear some banging at the front door, but shouldn’t they have a key? Or maybe they didn’t want to just walk in? “The window to the room is open! Hurry!” How close is the nearest hospital if you get bit? How long would it take you to die?
When you see two figures come around to the bedroom window you feel like you could weep in relief, but they hesitate.
“Is it okay for us to come in? How close is the snake?” The dark-haired man asks, and in your panic you don’t even question the absurdity of the first question.
“I-It’s close to me, you can come in. Be careful though.” You’re much quieter now, thinking that maybe your yelling only made the creature on your floor angrier. Hizashi’s husband only then pushes the window further open, sticking one leg inside to stabilize himself before coming all the way in. The snake is too focused on you to notice the new intruder.
“Y/N, my name is Shouta, and I need you to follow my instructions. Can you do that for me?” His voice is low and smooth, it calms you instantly.
“O-Okay.”
“Good girl. Pick up the blanket from your bed very slowly, try not to make any sudden movements - he’s more scared of you than you are of him.” You highly doubt that, but nonetheless you lean down very slowly while Shouta sneaks around the back of the snake to grab the blanket. “Very good girl.” Your face flushes at the almost sensual compliment. “Now, throw it onto the snake. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.” His reassurance calls you to action, tossing the thin blanket onto the snake. It hisses and wildly whips around under the blanket until Shouta manages to scoop up the blanket like a bag and tie it off. Just like that, your ordeal is over.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay now Y/N, Shou’s got the big bad snake.” Hizashi is suddenly by your side in an instant. When did he come through the window? His hand is on yours as he gently guides your shaky body off of the bed.
“I don’t even know how that thing got in, I-I locked every door and window last night! I double checked everything, I cleaned yesterday, I just don’t...” Why was the window open? Did she maybe get up last night and open it? It did get pretty hot last night... Quite suddenly, you’re extremely aware of how bare you feel in your cute light blue cotton shorts and black sports bra. You hadn’t even thought of it during your state of panic.
“I’m going to take this guy outside and let him go. Hizashi brought a dish over for you to try, if you want the company.” The two of them don’t seem to mind your half-dressed state, but you do.
“Sure, um, do you mind stepping out for a few minutes though.” You release Hizashi’s hand and grab the sheet from the bed to cover yourself. They understand pretty quickly, but both men didn’t mind it. If anything they want to see more of your soft, beautiful skin.
“Sorry ‘bout that beautiful! We’ll give ya some space!” With that, both men are leaving your presence and you feel like you can breathe a sigh of relief. What just happened? It feels like it all happened at once, but you can’t say that you aren’t relieved by their excellent timing. You decide to slip on some normal jean shorts and a faded AC/DC tee-shirt you got a few years back.
When you step out of the bedroom you can see Hizashi already bustling around the kitchen, humming in a way that made you feel warm little fuzzies on the inside. Shouta is sitting at the dining room table with his dark eyes shut. You take a moment to silently admire Hizashi’s husband. He’s more filled out than the lithe blonde, and while his black wavy hair is long, it’s only a few inches past his shoulders. And then she notices the deep scar just under his right eye.
“See something you like?” Your face once again turns red when you realize his eyes have opened and he’s looking directly at you.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare-”
“It’s alright. It’s the scar, right?” When he says this, Hizashi stops his cooking momentarily to look back at you and his husband.
“Oh, no! I don’t mind scars, scars can be sexy!” Why did you have to say that? An amused smirk slides across Shouta’s lips when you say this. Hizashi, meanwhile, lets out a chuckle that makes the air around you feel too light.
“Well of course scars are sexy! Why don’t you tell little bird how you got that scar?” As he says this you come to sit at the table. You may as well indulge them, they did come to your rescue after all.
“It’s not that interesting.” Shouta waves it off, but he can tell that you’re interested. “Unless you want to hear about it?”
“It’s not like I have anything else to do.” You shrug, and with that you get to spend the rest of your morning with the two men.
Apparently, Shouta had a run in with a man trespassing on the land and got a knife pulled on him. He said it wasn’t that interesting, but the way he told it captivated your interest. The guy was probably a hunter, or a thief, but they never found out. The local deputy came to get the guy after the confrontation, and that was that. They continued to talk with you long after breakfast had finished and you all had eaten, asking you about your interests, your passions, the reason why you came out here. You don’t know why, but when they ask you these questions you answer without a second thought. You think that it’s because no one has ever bothered to listen to you for this long, and the couple makes you feel as if you belong here, like you’re a person who deserves to be cherished. Originally you came here to be alone, but when you’re with them you feel something that you never felt back home. You just can’t quite describe it. Hours pass, and it’s well past noon when the two men decide to take their leave.
“If you see anymore snakes-”
“-Or if you just want our company-”
“-just give us a call on the landline.” Shouta finishes for the two of them as they walk out the front door.
“Sure thing, thanks again. I don’t know what I would have done if you two hadn’t come over.”
“Probably woulda sat there, desperately waiting for your prince charming to come save you. Good thing you already have two of us.” Hizashi’s joke manages to get a little giggle out of you.
“You’re cheesy.” Shouta grumbles, though you could see a small smile on his face as well. “Come on, let’s leave Y/N alone.” You watch the two of them walk not down the dirt road that you drove on to get here, but back through the forest that encircles the cabin.
Once the couple is gone, it’s like you snap back to reality. This morning was crazy, and you got lucky, but you swore that you locked that window shut last night. Deciding that perhaps it was better to enjoy the rest of your day than continue to obsess over the snake incident, you take a sketch book and go out back to draw the pretty flowers in the field.
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The night feels even hotter than the day, making it near impossible for you to cover up in any way. Long ago you stripped yourself bare, sprawling yourself on top of the covers with a sheen of sweat covering your body. If you didn’t feel the cool air struggling to reach you from the vents, then you would almost think the AC is broken. Currently, you’re half asleep in an almost dreamlike state. That’s when you hear a soft whisper.
“What is your wish?”
You turn on your side, letting out unintelligible mumbles. A more soothing, honeyed voice joins the first.
“What do you desire, little bird?”
That voice sends tingles all through your body, setting every nerve on fire. It compels you to answer.
“I want...” You mumbles, eyes half open and glazed over as you give your answer. “I want... Release...” You want to feel all of your stresses disappear as if they never existed.
“I’ll give you release, kitten.”
The voice no longer sounds far away, which snaps you out of that sleepy haze and once again makes you aware of your surroundings.Your eyes adjust to the darkness to find yourself no longer in the cabin, but surrounded by looming vertical objects... Trees?
“Shhh, don’t panic, we’re here.” There’s that voice again, the one that makes orgasmic waves pulse through your eardrums. It soothes any worries that you currently have as two hands come up to your shoulders and gently lay you onto the soft ground.
They prepared this place just for you. The cabin had been a front from the very beginning, a way to lure you away from bustling city life so they could give you what you wanted - release. You didn’t know it, but you had met Shouta months before this at a little bakery just down the street from your work. You had been complaining on the phone about your new boss and how stressed you were because of your obligations, and you wished that someone would take you away from your own life. Unknowingly, you had called upon the closest Jinn in the area, and he had already taken notice of you.
“Be gentle with her, it could be her first time.”
“It’s definitely not. But don’t worry, I took care of the ex months ago.”
You can vaguely hear the conversation of the two men looming over you, but you do not react. On the inside you feel fear, vulnerability, and confusion. You can’t quite make out the figures above you, but you recognize the voices; your hosts, Shouta and Hizashi. You just can’t comprehend why they are doing this. Earlier today they were fine, sure they were getting a little too close and asking too many questions, but you wouldn’t say they invaded your space... Or did they?
“Took care of?”
“Nothing like that, he wished for a job in France, so I got him the job in France... But, he might not like that job very much.” You can hear the smirk in his voice even if you can’t see it. “It was necessary.”
“Agreed.” The hands that had pushed you back onto the pillowy moss are now moving down your sides, just barely brushing over the sides of your breasts. You barely register the sigh of pleasure that leaves your lips at the tantalizing contact.
“Zashi...”
“What? Isn’t this what we wanted?”
“We need permission.”
“We have permission! You heard the wish!”
“It was vague. I want details.” Suddenly, you can feel another set of hands gently massaging your bare feet, then moving up your smooth legs to part them at the thighs. The exposure makes you whimper, though there’s little you can do beyond that. “Release your influence, Hizashi.”
“But if we do that-”
“Release her. I want to hear her.” With what sounds like a huff of frustration from the blonde, that hazy feeling that had come over you suddenly dissipates. Your vision becomes more clear along with the two entities above you.
Hizashi has moves your arms so they’re now pinned above your head, preventing you from covering your bare breasts from their view. Shouta still has your legs spread on either side of you, but he doesn’t move any further. You meet his eyes, eyes that had been onyx earlier in the day but now glow an eerie shade of red.
“Months ago you wished to be taken away from your life. Do you remember that, Y/N?” You can’t focus on Shouta’s voice, all you can focus on is your current situation. Tings sting the edges of your eyes, and your throat starts to close up.
“P-Please...”
“She’s not going to respond like this, Shou.”
“She will, be patient. Y/N, I need you to look at me.” His voice is stern. Even though you want to look away, you once again meet his gaze. “What do you wish for now?”
“Let m-me go!” That’s your first thought, but then you feel one of Shouta’s hands creeping further up your thigh, his fingers just barely brushing over your outer lips.
“Do you mean that?” You nod your head frantically, and unbeknownst to you Shouta’s partner is giving him an incredulous look. “So, you want to go back to that stressful life in the city? You want your asshole boss to walk all over you, making you feel like you’re the scum of the earth? You want your parents to treat you like you mean nothing?” He emphasizes the final word with a hiss, and this seems to get to you. Your sniffling briefly ceases, though you’re still tugging against the tight hold of both of the men as if you could escape.
“What are you?”
“A Jinn, kitten. Do you know what a Jinn is?” You nod you head - you’re aware of the mythology behind beings like him, but how does he exist? They’re fictional! “Months ago I heard your desperate plea, and ever since then I’ve been eager to give you want you want... For a price.” His thumb brushes over your clit briefly, making your body stiffen.
“F-For sex?”
“For partnership. To be with me, to be with Hizashi, to be with both of us. It does get lonely out here.”
“And I can’t leave.” Hizashi pipes in with a sad smile. “I’m a Siren tied permanently to this forest. Remember the story about the man with a knife? He was going to hurt this place, so we had no choice. Once this place is gone, so am I.” His thumbs rub soothing circles into your skin.
“You don’t need me though, I don’t need your wishes or whatever! I want to...” You wish that you could say that you want to go home, but do you? Despite your current circumstances, you found yourself considering this deal.
“If you’re here, then Hizashi won’t be alone. I can go out for supplies without worrying about him.”
“And if you’re here, you won’t have to deal with those pesky worries you had before little bird. You get to have fun, be free, be loved by us.” But why you? Why did they want to take you?
“Because you’re special, Y/N. Because out of everyone in that city, you were the one who wanted to escape the most, who cared but wasn’t cared for. You deserve us.” Shouta drives his point home here, but he hopes that it will be enough. After all, he would prefer your consent, but it’s not entirely needed here.
“Okay.” You whisper. After all, what’s really waiting for you back home? Misery and paperwork, that’s what.
“Okay what?”
“You need to be more specific, Y/N.” You take a deep, shuddering breath before you speak again.
“I-I want release, I don’t want to go home anymore.”
“And in exchange?” Shouta pushes, his eyes glowing as he stares into yours.
“In e-exchange, I’ll stay here. I’ll be your... Partner.”
That seems to be all that they need from you, because in the next moment the two men above you are no longer clothed. You squeak and shut your eyes - it’s not the first time you’ve seen a naked man, but usually they don’t just pop out in front of you like that!
“You’re little noises are so cute.” Hizashi uses one of his knees to keep your wrists pinned above your head so his hands could get to work. While your eyes are still closed you feel his soft fingers run across your neck and past your collarbone, headed straight for your breasts. But just before they can get there, a pair of lips smash to yours. Shouta’s tongue flicks out at your bottom lip, beckoning you to allow him inside. Just at that moment, Hizashi’s fingers find your pert nipples, giving each of them a tiny pinch. This causes you to moan, and Shouta takes the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth to get a taste.
You can feel Shouta’s thick erection against your cunt, twitching in anticipation. It has been awhile since you’ve had another man, and you have to admit that the thought of being railed by these very good looking men wasn’t so bad. You start to becoming lightheaded from the kiss and constant ministrations of your sensitive nipples when Shouta finally pulls away from the kiss to let you breathe.
“Good girl.” He brings his thumb up to wipe away some of the saliva from around your lips. “We’ll put this to more use later. For now, I want to see you cum.” In what feels like two seconds Shouta is suddenly between your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders so he could get a good view of your waiting, wet pussy. He blows cool air over your sensitive little nub, making it quiver and throb in anticipation. Meanwhile, Hizashi finally leans down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the little bug while his fingers continue to tug and pinch the other. Your head sits in the blonde’s lap, his cock mere inches away from your face.
“Do you want to suck me, little bird?” As he says this in that low, melodic voice of his, Shouta flicks his tongue over your clit, making your writhe under them.
“Careful, she almost came.”
“Is my voice too much for you?” You can only pant in response, letting out a soft moan when Shouta flicks his tongue over your little nub again.
“Answer him, or we’ll make this last.”
“Y-Yes... It’s... I makes me feel good.” His voice makes you feel like you could orgasm in seconds.
“And do you want to suck daddy’s cock?” The way he words it makes you whine, but you nonetheless give him an answer.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes... Daddy.” The instant that you finish that sentence, Shouta’s mouth latches onto your clit, sucking on it so harshly that you can feel your head spin. Hizashi repositions himself so he’s kneeling right over your face, running his fingers through your hair as he guides your lips to his tip. You take his tip into your mouth and suck it softly, eliciting a groan from the man that gets sent straight to your groin.
“Fuck, just her lips are almost enough... Come on honey, you can take me deeper.” And you do, you try to relax your throat so you can take Hizashi’s cock deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his base, all while Hizashi has his hands continually playing with your nipples, never letting up.
Shouta continues his work between your legs, nipping softly at your clit while bringing a finger to your entrance. He gently pushes it inside of you, giving it a few thrusts before adding a second. You adjust tremendously well. He can already feel your wet cavern clenching tightly around his fingers as he curls his digits upwards. To this you give him a sweet little cry, which only results in Shouta setting a relentless pace. He pounds those fingers into you, hitting your sensitive spot with such precision that you can hardly focus on the cock in your mouth all while sucking and swirling his expert tongue over your swollen clit until you finally clench tightly around his fingers and cry out with your first orgasm of the evening.
Hizashi slows down the thrusts into your mouth as Shouta pulls away from between your legs, slowly pulling himself out as well. For a moment you’re confused, wondering why they could pull away when they haven’t found relief yet, only to be suddenly pulled forward so you’re hovering right over Shouta’s thick length. Hizashi comes up behind you, pressing soft kisses and nipples to the soft spot on your neck - he’s going to leave plenty of marks here later.
“Do you think you can take both of us?” Shouta asks, momentarily confused you until you realize what he means.
“I’ve never done it, um, there before.”
“We can make it easy, if you let us. It’ll only feel good.” Hizashi assures you, rubbing comforting circles into your thighs.
“We want to make you feel good.” Shouta adds, both hesitating until they see you nod your head once again.
“Okay.” You still feel nervous, but you want to feel good, and so far it feels really good.
Shouta helps your ease yourself onto his dick, pressing gently into your waiting pussy while giving your already oversensitive clit little flicks from his thumb. Once he has settled deep within you, you feel Hizashi spread your ass cheeks and press a finger into you. Your face burns from slight embarrassment, but admittedly as he begins to move the saliva covered digit in and out of you, you find yourself enjoying it. You try to move whilst on top of Shouta, but he grabs your hips to keep you still.
“Wait.” He commands, smirking at your impatient whine. That whine then turns into a gasp as you feel a second finger being pressed into your rear hole, nibbling on your bottom lip as an uncomfortable burning sensation takes place of the previous pleasure.
“Relax for me, little bird.” Hizashi whispers, and like his words work magic you instantly relax and that burning sensation goes away. He pumps those a few times while your juices continue to drench Shouta’s cock, then they’re gone, replaced instead by Hizashi’s pulsating member. “Stay relaxed, and take a few breaths.” Hizashi murmurs, placing a few soft kisses to your neck as he pushes himself into you.
At first you feel that uncomfortable burning sensation once again, but then that changes to a fullness that gives you pleasure. You huff in lust as Hizashi pushes the full of his length into you, both men temporarily remaining still while you adjust. Your back is pressed flush against Hizashi’s chest, so you can feel his heartbeat rhythmically hammering against you while they both wait.
“Please...”
“Please what?” Shouta once again brushes his thumb over your swollen clit, making you whimper.
“Please, make me yours.”
As if you said the magic words, both men suddenly begin to move within you. Shouta keeps your hips stilled while rolling his own to thrust up into you, meanwhile Hizashi wraps one arm around your waist to grope your breast. You feel his teeth graze against your shoulder with enough pressure to bruise, but you don’t care, you’re in a euphoric state right now.
Shouta keeps your clit busy with his thumb while the both of them pick up their paces, the sound of sweaty skin slapping together resonating throughout the dense forest. You can feel your next orgasm already building as the two of them continue at their brutal pace, the feeling of your holes clenching around them driving them absolutely wild with lust - they’re not going to last much longer, either.
“Fuck - we love you, kitten.”
“Yesss, we love you so much little bird.” Hizashi grunts into your ear, and while you can���t say it yet, you’re sure that it won’t take but a few months before you’re saying the same words back.
All it takes is one well timed thrust against your g-spot and another flick to your clit before you’re clamping down on both men and letting out a long, strangled moan with your second orgasm. Shouta follows quickly behind you along with Hizashi, both men pressing deep within you before they spill their seeds. They stay inside of you even afterwards, letting you back in your afterglow as they both praise you, pressing kisses over your skin and telling you how great you did for them.
It’s too late for you to turn back now. You’ve made the deal, and you sealed it the second that you said yes.
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katelyn--renee · 4 years ago
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Composure
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Title: Composure
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader
Words: ±2670
Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?
Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 
Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.
Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!
Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.
Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.
Masterlist
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The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.
The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 
The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.
The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.
Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 
“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.
Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 
Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.
Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 
His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.
He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.
Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.
Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.
All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.
Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?
Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 
Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.
“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.
This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.
His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 
One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.
Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.
Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 
Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.
That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 
She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.
They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.
Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.
Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.
Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 
The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.
His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 
Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.
Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 
Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.
It was a note, addressed to him.
It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.
Squirrel,
Yours truly, 
The King of Hell
“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.
The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.
Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”
Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…
“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.
“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.
“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 
“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”
“Already on my way.”
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Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 
Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 
Taglist!
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@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​
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joyful-soul-collector · 5 years ago
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Spider-Man Lesson Number One
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Prompt: Doesn’t Realize They’ve Been Injured
This was requested by my friend on Ao3 happy_to_be_here!
Irondad Tag List: @phahbiyah​ @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars​ @clevermuffinalmondpeach​ @stuck-in-a-fictional-universe​ @canonismybitch​
Thank you to @nazezdha321​ and @sketchibilitea​ for beta reading this for me!
And of course we have to tag @badthingshappenbingo​! 
Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list! Hope you all enjoy!
Read on AO3
“Oh my gooooooooooood this is so boring! Friday nights are usually crazy with crime, how is it so dead out here?” Peter said to himself. 
“Crime levels fluctuate, Peter,” Karen said into his ear, startling him so hard he almost fell off the side of the building he was sitting on. “Though I did get a report of a disturbance a few streets away. My guess is law enforcement will not arrive for about ten minutes, plenty of time to help out and leave before you get caught.”
“Finally, good lord,” Peter said, shooting a web and swinging his way towards the street Karen indicated. “I mean it’s a Friday, where’s all the raging drunk college kids doing stupid stuff?”
“Perhaps they have all gone to sleep, Peter. It is rather late.”
“Pfft, it’s nine o’clock, the day’s just getting started for them,” Peter said with a snort. Peter landed with a flip on a building by his destination. “Karen, where exactly did you say--”
A scream cut him off and Peter whirled to look down in a dimly lit alleyway. 
“Shit, Karen, night vision please?”
“Of course, Peter.”
Peter could suddenly see a man cornering what looked to be a woman and her son. The man lunged at them and the woman punched him hard, and Peter could hear the snap of one of her fingers from even up on the roof. Peter quickly lept down as the woman howled in pain. 
“Woah! Hey hey buddy what’re you doing!?” Peter shouted as the man recovered from her punch. He pointed a sharp pocket knife at Peter and snarled, “Give me all your money you little brat!” Peter rolled his eyes. 
“Why is it always the same with you guys? Can none of you get that I’ve beat up supervillains? What in the hell makes you think you’ll last longer than the Vulture?” Peter scoffed. The man faltered but didn’t back down, still pointing the blade directly at Peter’s face. 
“Goddamit--I need this money!” The man growled. 
“You don’t need anything enough to kill someone over it man,” Peter said. “Now are you gonna leave so we don’t have to do the ‘you struggle while I win’ thing, or is that the route you prefer? Remember, this action will have consequences.”
Heh, Ned would appreciate the Life is Strange reference, Peter thought absentmindedly. Hey actually I’m not sure how far he got on that game, I gotta ask him about that tomorr--
Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by the man suddenly swinging the blade far too close to Peter’s chest. 
“Woah!” Peter said, doing his best to dodge the man’s swings but stay in front of the woman and her son behind him. “Not cool man!” Peter stopped the mugger’s fist on the fourth swing, squeezing his arm hard until he shouted and dropped the knife. Peter threw him against the wall and webbed him there muttering angrily to himself. 
“Stupid fucking ADHD. Of course I forget my meds on a Friday, the day I should be the most focused! Dammit! C’mon Spider-Man, way to be an idiot,” Peter said as he scribbled a note and stuck it to the webbing over the man’s chest. 
He turned to face the woman who was still holding her hand with a grimace while her son wailed next to her. 
“Oh jeez, yeah that’s definitely broken, here lemme help with that,” Peter said as he saw a deep bruise blossoming over her dark skin. He shot a bit of webbing into his hand and gently wrapped it around her fingers. “That’s gonna dissolve in an hour so you’ll wanna get that checked out as soon as possible, um, I know someone who can help out if you need the bills paid for that--”
“It’s fine, I’m actually a nurse,” the woman said with a strained chuckle. She glanced up at Peter, but her expression suddenly changed to a look of horror. “Oh god, Spiderman--”
“Woops, I can just tell you missed a hyphen there,” Peter said, giving her a good natured glare. “It’s Spider, hyphen, Man. Man with a capital ‘M’. Sorry, I’m a bit of a stickler for this stuff--”
The small boy next to them cut him off with an ear splitting wail, and Peter suddenly felt his heart squeeze. 
“Aw, kiddo, you’re alright!” Peter said, squatting down to be at eye-level with the child. He only cried harder, scrubbing his eyes and sniffling miserably in fear. 
Peter gently touched his shoulder and looked right into his eyes. 
“Hey,” he said softly. That seemed to calm him down a bit, his wails shrinking into small whimpers. “What’s your name kiddo?”
“M-Miles,” he squeaked. 
“Miles, huh? That’s a pretty cool name.”
“Not as cool as Spider-Man,” he huffed. 
“Well who knows, kid! Maybe you’ll be Spider-Man someday too!” Peter said. Miles’s eyes lit up excitedly and he bounced on his feet. 
“Would you teach me!?”
“Ha! I’m sure you could guilt me into it with those little puppy eyes,” Peter said. Miles made his best little doe eyes and Peter gasped. 
“Oh no! I’ve been defeated by the cuteness! You’re too powerful Spider-Man!” he cried. Miles giggled in delight and Peter squinted his eyes in a mocking glare. 
“Alright kid. Spider-Man lesson number one: Don’t watch the mouth, watch the hands!” 
Peter flung an arm up and shot a web, flying high into the air with an elated shout. Peter could hear Miles shrieking with glee below and he smiled.
“See ya later Spider-Man!” 
And Peter headed to the tower, taking no notice of the wet warmth dripping down his side. 
~~~
Peter arrived at Stark Tower right on time for his curfew, which he still felt was too early to be heading home. Ten pm? Really?
But Tony said Aunt May would flay him alive if he let Peter break curfew just because she’d be gone for a week, and to be honest, Peter 100% believed him. She’s definitely a bit of a momma bear. 
Peter quietly opened one of the windows, only noticing Tony was there when he jumped in surprise. 
“Jesus kid, you about scared the hell outta me. You gotta quit that, you know I have heart problems,” he said, tossing his phone to the side on the couch. 
But oddly enough, Peter was having a hard time hearing him. Or at least focusing on hearing him. Probably his ADHD again. 
“Heheh,” Peter said, his laugh feeling weak. What was he laughing at again? Man, he really should’ve taken his medication. 
“Kid? You alright?” Peter ignored him, staring at something on the window he’d just climbed through. It was a footprint, but it looked all smeared, and oddly… red. 
“Wassat?” he mumbled, staring at the bloody footprint, and feeling rather dizzy. Was this an ADHD thing? He couldn’t remember. 
“Oh my god, Peter! Shit, kid you’re bleeding!” Tony said through the water that seemed to be surrounding Peter’s ears. 
“Hmm?” Peter said. Then he looked down at himself and realized there was a deep cut along his side, and blood had leaked out and run all the way down his leg. 
Tony was saying something else, grabbing his arms and trying to lead him somewhere, but Peter resisted. He didn’t want to get blood tracked all over the carpet. 
“Pr’tty sure this stuff ‘s s’pposed to stay inside me,” Peter mumbled. But the sight of his own blood flowing out of him had made Peter dizzy, and he very suddenly wasn’t worrying much about the carpet anymore. 
In fact, he wasn’t worrying about anything at all. 
~~~
Peter’s side was rather sore when he woke up in a hospital bed, though he was more surprised by the hospital bed than he was about the ache. Peter pushed himself into a sitting position and winced as pain lanced up his side. 
“Careful kiddo,” a voice said from the doorway. There was Tony, standing there with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “You don’t wanna rip a stitch.”
“Oh. Yeah that’s a good idea. Wouldn’t wanna, um, do that.” They stared at each other for a moment before Tony rolled his eyes and gave him a soft smile. 
“What I wanna know, is how the hell you swung all the way to the tower without noticing you had a seven-inch long gash in your side,” he said. 
“Um… ADHD?”
“Ha! Well whatever you were thinking about must’ve been pretty damn distracting,” Tony prompted. Peter grinned, thinking back. 
“I met this little kid named Miles. He said he wanted to be Spider-Man like me. I told him I’d teach him if he ever did become Spider-Man, I was thinking about what I’d show him,” Peter said. Tony’s gaze softened as he walked over. 
“Well that’s real nice of you kid. But, you know that even though that gash will heal by tomorrow I still gotta tell your Aunt about this, right?” he said. He held out a cup of strawberry Jell-O, which Peter took with a snort.
“Yeah yeah, but can we just save that for later? I think I should recover from this before going into another battle,” Peter said, making his own version of Miles’s doe eyes. Tony scoffed and ruffled Peter’s hair. 
“Sure kid. Eat your Jell-O and we’ll go watch some Star Wars,” he said. 
Peter grinned widely and ate his treat, too distracted by the warmth in his chest to care about the ache in his side. 
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four-loose-screws · 4 years ago
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FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 10, Section 1
If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!
FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations
If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!
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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.
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Chapter 10: The Secluded Sage
The mountain road to Caer Pelyn looked grueling from the base all the way to the peak.
And it wasn't just sudden, steep slopes that hindered their progress, but also a high fog that was starting to roll in and obstruct their view.
The cavalry all dismounted their horses, then started to carefully climb the rocky areas so that the horses would not fracture any bones. Those who did not have much strength were helped by those who had power to spare. Only the pegasus knights did not struggle.
Tana suggested that Eirika ride with her, but she refused. Since she was so light, she had a much easier time climbing than the soldiers clad in heavy armor. As she aimed for the peak, she cheered on those who were getting discouraged as much as she possibly could.
When the fog cleared a bit, Forde looked back at the road they'd come from and slowly stretched out his hands. "Aaaah, what a nice view! Nature is the greatest painter of all… or so it makes me want to say. It's so unfortunate that I didn't bring my paints with me." Contrary to his very relaxed words, his brow was covered in sweat.
And he was certainly right. The view looking down from up high was picturesque. Neither the fort and sight of one of their most grueling battles, nor the village where they’d met Kilmt and Ewan, felt real from where they were standing now. Both areas blended in with the rest of the scenery.
Eirika asked through heavy breaths from climbing, “So, Forde, you paint?”
He seemed to have wanted her to ask. He answered proudly, “I mean, it’s just how I pass the time. I’m skilled in both landscapes and portraits. If you’d like, I’d be honored to paint you some time, Lady Eirika…”
“She would not.” Kyle, who was climbing behind him, whispered, ruining Forde’s mood. “Everything you draw is so crude. Lady Eirika would pity you.”
“That’s mean, Kyle! You just don’t like painting…!”
“If you talk too much, you’ll waste your energy.”
Kyle was right. As knights of a kingdom, they didn’t want to act improper in front of others. 
Forde did not speak another word, instead choosing to devote himself to climbing the mountain.
The one person full of energy compared to the rest of the sweat-drenched group was Ewan. He’d gotten used to this road when he was much younger, and moved up the rugged mountain as if he was as light as a rabbit.
Not only that, but he was also teasing everyone who was struggling. His main target, for whatever reason, was Innes.
Ewan jumped around like a small animal and made fun of how carefully Innes climbed, saying that he’d be an old man by the time he made it to the top, that he’d carry him for one hundred gold, and other such taunts. Tethys scolded Ewan for it every single time, but he was enjoying himself too much, and couldn’t stop himself from horsing around.
Innes, probably thinking that it would be ridiculous to get angry with a child, simply crossed his brow, and did not respond.
The closer they got to the summit, the thicker and thicker the fog became. They couldn’t even see their own feet clearly, and some soldiers didn’t realize when they were about to step on rocks, causing them to sprain their ankles.
‘Is there really a village up a mountain like this…?’ Eirika began to doubt it.
Suddenly, Innes ordered everyone to stop.
Eirika, who’d gone a little ahead of the main group, turned around while wiping the sweat from her forehead. “What is it, Innes…?”
“There’s a fort over there.”
She looked over at where Innes was pointing, and indeed saw something that looked like a fort. It was hidden in the fog, but it was clear that a stone building was towering over them.
“Yeah, that’s a fort that was built a long, loooong time ago!” Ewan said with a knowing look on his face. “It was made several hundred years ago for those fighting the monsters rampaging in this area. But now, no one uses it. There’s nothing nor anyone inside. I explored it once.”
“Ewan! That’s dangerous…!” Tethys crossed her eyebrows, but Ewan didn’t pay her any mind at all. 
He tried to continue on as if he’d already completely forgotten about the fort, but Innes stopped him. “Wait. If there’s no one here, then what is that noise?”
“Noise?”
“Can’t you hear it?”
Ewan cupped his ears with his hands. His already big eyes grew bigger and bigger, until finally they were as big as could be. “...You’re right! There’s a strange noise coming from somewhere! That’s amazing, mister! My teacher is always telling me that sharp senses are the foundation of spellcasting. You might just have a knack for magic!”
Innes ignored him, and said to Eirika, “It would be best if you told your army to prepare for battle immediately.”
“Battle…? Innes, could there really be an enemy waiting to ambush us here…!?” 
“It’s not the Carcino Army. There’s little chance they could have made it up a mountain like this. The beings residing in that fort are much more of a nuisance than them…”
“Monsters!” A hysterical scream echoed through the fog, one that sounded happy for some reason.
No one even had to turn around to see who it was. They all knew it was Lute.
Innes wasn’t amused by her enthusiasm, keeping his serious composure as he nodded and said, “I believe so. And the noise is getting louder and louder. They seem to have noticed us.”
Their only experience fighting monsters so far was in the Za’ha Woods, and all they knew was that Artur and Lute’s magic was effective against them.
Still, Eirika could not stop her heart from racing, and the reason for that was the fog. The fort was falling apart, with chunks of wall having crumbled and tumbled off. Even the inside was probably filled with fog. To fight an unfamiliar enemy when they could not see very well put them at a huge disadvantage.
‘I wonder if there’s a route around the fort?’ 
However, the moment that thought ran through Eirika’s head, she heard a commotion start from within the fort that only grew louder and louder.
It seemed that it would be impossible to avoid it now. If she hesitated, it would only mean that more of her soldiers would be injured.
Eirika quickly organized her army into their battle formation, then they all marched towards the fort within the fog.
What Innes noticed was not the fort, but something, or rather, someone, just in front of it.
From within the fort clouded in fog came a shockingly carefree voice. “What a spacious room this is! It smells a bit musty, but that just makes it all the more intriguing. I like it! We shall rest here for the night!”
Her energetic voice contrasted completely with the dark and gloomy fort.
And her loyal companion Dozla was of course by her side. He was moving around as quickly as his rotund body would allow, cleaning up the room to make her as comfortable as possible.
L’Arachel sat down atop their large pile of luggage arranged as a makeshift chair, and watched Dozla work with a calm look on her face that made it clear that this was how they normally did things. “Still, I do wonder what happened to Rennac. I told him to follow close behind me, but he disappeared at some point… What a shame. I wonder when we lost him.”
“He’s certainly not a very reliable fellow! Shall I go look for him?”
“No thank you, Dozla. If we run about carelessly, then we will just get lost ourselves. I believe we should rest here for the night. No matter how bad his sense of direction may be, he should show up before long.”
“Of course, Lady L’Arachel! What an excellent idea!” Dozla began to move even more gallantly than before, tearing down the spider webs from the corners of the room.
L’Arachel never failed to pray, no matter the situation, so she knelt down on the cold stone floor.
When Dozla stepped inside the neighboring room so as not to disrupt her, he lept back as if he’d been flicked away like a fly.
“There’s something very important I must tell you, Lady L’Arachel!”
“What could it possibly be, Dozla? Why must I tell you not to be loud every time I pray…!?”
“There’s something lurking in the fog! It’s monsters!” At first glance, Dozla might seem blockheaded, but his senses were sharp towards unexpected, strange presences. It was an intuition he’d picked up naturally throughout his journey together with L’Arachel to eradicate monsters.
L’Arachel was not scared by the news, rather, her face lit up. “What good fortune this is, to be confronted by monsters while seeking to stay at this fort for the night! The gods have truly judged me to be a worthy emissary of justice. We will take care of them straight away, Dozla.”
“My hammer arm is already itching for a fight!"
L’Arachel and Dozla rushed into the thick of the fog.
The signs that monsters were near were finally undeniable. The two travelers, throwing caution to the wind and jumping into the fray, were like a free meal to them. Even those who had been concealing themselves inside the fort came crawling out.
L’Arachel, grasping her staff in both of her hands, looked around at her surroundings, then said in a meek voice, “...Dozla, are you concerned?”
“Why would I be, Lady L’Arachel?”
“Their numbers might be… just a bit too great.”
The horde of monsters surrounding them had grown to several rows.
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tk-writer · 5 years ago
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ransara (platonic or not) with a starter u think would fit ?
It didn’t take long for Sara to notice that Ranmaru rarely smiled. 
Even though they had been friends for a few months, he never let himself be vulnerable around her and seldom showed any emotion other than his usual dolefulness. Maybe it was his personality, or maybe he was going through something unknown to anyone else, but it would have been dishonest to say that it didn’t bother her. She did her best to include him whenever she could, like inviting him along when she hung out with Joe and Ryoko. She even went out of her way to include him in their conversations so he wouldn’t feel like a fourth wheel. But no matter what she did, he stayed as solemn as ever. Even Joe’s stupid jokes failed to have any effect. He’d grin halfheartedly, and sometimes chuckle under his breath, but he never really, truly laughed. And Sara was determined to change that. She knew what to do; Joe and her always messed around this way, and it always helped her feel closer to him. Perhaps this method would work on Ranmaru, too.
She waited until they were alone to act. The perfect situation arose when she invited him over one day for lunch. Her parents were out running an errand, so they had the house to themselves for a spell. After making lunch together they sat next to each other on the couch to eat.
“Hey, Ranmaru?” she piped up after finishing her plate.
He had just finished shoving another rice ball in his mouth, so it took him a second to respond.
“Hm? What’s up?”
“How come you never smile?”
He stared at her, looking a bit puzzled by her sudden question.
“Uh… I dunno… why do you ask?”
“It worries me. You seem so sad all the time.”
He shrugged as he took another bite of seasoned rice.
“I’m alright. I guess I’m just a naturally gloomy guy.”
“Maybe so, but I’d really like to hear you laugh for real one of these days.”
It was subtle, but she could’ve sworn he tensed up. His shoulders flinched ever so slightly, and he almost gagged on his food. This stirred her curiosity even more.
“Why…? It’s… it’s nothing special…”
“Don’t be so modest. I bet it’s really cute.”
When he was in between bites and not paying attention, Sara reached over to gently pinch his side. The reaction was instantaneous; he just about leapt into the air and squealed in an uncharacteristically high pitched voice. Sara couldn’t help but giggle; she never would have expected that out of such a serious guy.
“Was that a squeal I heard?” she asked with a smirk.
His eyes widened with shock when he realized what was about to go down.
“Hey… no!! Don’t come any closer!!”
But it was too late. Sara cornered him in an instant and left no room for escape. She climbed over his hips, pinning him down so all he could do was wiggle his upper body a little. He started babbling before she even touched him, pleading for mercy she wasn’t planning on giving.
“Please, no! Sara, I’m really… EEHEEHEEHEEHEE!! GAAAAAH!”
He cried out the moment her fingers started dancing over his belly. Although his shirt provided some protection, he was simply too ticklish for his own good. He practically howled when she spidered her nails up and down his sides, and even snorted when she began to poke into his ribs at random. Meanwhile, he scream-laughed as he swung his arms from side to side in a desperate attempt to fling her off, but his defenses were weak and after a few seconds he gave up. Consumed by helpless giggles, there wasn’t much else he could do at that point but laugh.
Sara grinned triumphantly as she tickled him, finding herself lost in the moment. For the first time, Ranmaru looked… happy. Sure, his laugh may have been forced, but seeing him finally let down his defenses gave her a lovely feeling she couldn’t quite describe. And as she suspected, his laugh was adorable. It was goofy, loud, and downright silly, which made it all the more endearing. Even his genuine smile was warm and wonderful, the complete opposite of his usual demeanor.
However, she didn’t want to take it too far, so after a couple minutes she stopped and gave him a chance to catch his breath. He kept giggling long after her hands left his body.
“What the hell… was that for…” he sputtered out in between gulps of air.
“Heh, sorry… I got a little carried away…”
He crossed his arms around his chest and curled into a ball, facing away from her. He must have been really embarrassed. Sara felt a little guilty for teasing him.
“I’m glad I got to hear it though,” she said softly.
“Hear… what?” He seemed to perk up at her comment.
“Hear your laugh, duh!”
He sat up and looked at her timidly, as if afraid to ask his next question.
“Did… did you like it?”
She nodded without hesitation.
“Of course. It’s really funny, but it’s nice.”
Ranmaru looked away as his blush deepened, his entire head becoming a comical shade of tomato red. Although he wasn’t facing her, Sara thought she saw a small smile break through. 
She grinned triumphantly, happy that the two of them were able to grow a little closer that day.
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kiwi-bitchez · 5 years ago
Text
Permafrost
Chapter 1: LBD
Peter Parker x reader
word count: 2,823 (whoops)
summary: Tony Stark has hired the mountain guide company you work for to assist him and the Avengers on an upcoming mission, you just happen to be invited to the formal party. You meet a cute spider-boy and some mild smut ensues. Might make this a multi-chapter thing... we’ll see. Also, this definitely does not take place in the MCU timeline with Endgame and Tony dying and whatnot. 
warnings: mentions of alcohol, poorly written smut, oral (male receiving)
Although it was nowhere close to your everyday look, you found a strange sense of comfort in the tight black dress wrapped around your body. You look nervously around at all the other tall, beautiful, elegantly dressed people around you and can’t help but feel out of place. This black dress can be your disguise. You don’t have to be yourself here. However easy it would be to come up with some fake name and a fake identity, force yourself to mingle, that just wasn’t you. So you silently reside to another glass of wine and desperately look around for someone you know.
Working for a mountain guide company had its perks, flexible hours, no dress code, living the dream that you had envisioned for yourself since you were twelve. You did not imagine high falutin black-tie events to be in your job description. Your boss had just been hired by Tony Stark to accompany him and the Avengers on some top-secret mission in Antarctica. Something about lost alien artifacts. You weren’t high up enough to get any of the details, but being the only woman hired in the history of the company you got a ticket to the big event to make the company look a little diverse.
You adjust the strap of your dress and fiddle with your handbag to kill some time. You figured it would be rude to sink back into a corner and stare at your phone, yet you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to go introduce yourself to any superheroes or businessmen. So you stay in limbo, finding quiet ways to pass the time, desperately trying to make eye contact with anyone.
Right as you start to turn to go to the bathroom for the third time tonight, perhaps to fix your lipstick for a minute or ten, a strong hand taps your shoulder
“I hate these things too,” you turn to the boy, who was leaning against the door frame next to you, “I’m surprised to see someone my age here, usually everyone at these things are ancient.”
You laugh nervously and turn to him, trying to think of something clever to respond with but coming up blank, distracted by his curls and big brown eyes.
“I’m Peter, by the way, mind keeping me company? I don’t exactly fit in with all this adult chit chat.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure of course,” you stutter, feeling like an idiot, realizing you must have been staring with your mouth wide open. He probably came over here because he felt bad, maybe you should escape to the bathroom anyways… “I’m y/n”
“What brings you here y/n?” he asks, driving the conversation forward, “is one of these old geezers your dad or something?”
“No actually,” you laugh a little, “I work for the climbing guide company Stark just hired.”
“Oooh so will you be guiding us through the treacherous mountains of Antarctica next month,” Peter asks, flirting a little. You stare at him for a moment, trying to register what he meant by “us.” You didn’t recognize him as anyone significant, so you brush it off.
“Nah, they will probably send Stephen and Eric, they are the most experienced climbers. I’ve only been working there for a few years. Never been to Antarctica to climb actually, but I’ve heard its wild.” You look away, avoiding eye contact. His eyes staring intently at you as you talk causes a pink to rise up in the apples of your cheeks.
“Mind if I grab you another?” He offers, gesturing to your empty glass. You agree and follow him across the ballroom to where the bar is stationed. You feel a wave of relief now that you have someone to talk to at least for now, at least until it’s an appropriate time to escape home.
“So if you aren’t guiding Avengers through the snowy mountains, what do you do at this job of yours,” he asks, seeming to genuinely want to know.
“Well I’ve been climbing for basically my whole life, so this job is really a dream. I travel to different national parks and run programs for beginner climbers, show them the ropes and stuff,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty new still, the more experienced workers get to do cool stuff like this job. Hopefully in a few years I’ll be doing more stuff like that.”
You weren’t sure why you felt so comfortable around this boy. You were never much of a talker, and it was either him or the wine that was making you so chatty. Quickly changing the subject, you ask him, “So what do you do here? You the son of one of these old geezers?”
“I deal with more of the local operations of Stark Industries,” Peter answers playfully, avoiding telling you directly that he’s Spiderman, “you know, community improvement type stuff.”
Finding a seat in a far-off corner the two of you talk about everything and nothing. You tell him about your summer spent in Yosemite, and he tells you about his summer trip to Europe. The conversation flows unusually well, despite Peter dancing around questions. It's not that he couldn’t tell you that he’s Spiderman, he just liked the feeling of being treated like anyone else. He liked the feeling of you wanting to talk to him.
His eyes danced across your bare shoulders, admiring the curve of your neck and how your dress fell perfectly across your chest. You notice him staring, but you like the way his soft eyes follow across you. You start to feel your face get hot again and turn away to sip your drink.
“Thank you for saving me, I barely know anyone here and I’m the worst at small talk” you tell him sincerely, “I wasn’t even going to come, but I felt like I had to, you know? Can’t pass up the chance to party at the Stark Tower.”
“I’m glad you came,” he tells you, eyes burning into yours, “then I would have missed the opportunity to meet someone so interesting.”
“Shut up cheeseball,” you laugh as you playfully punch his arm, “for all you know I’m horrible and awful but just an incredibly good actress. This dress just brings out a different side of me.” You joke, sitting up a little straighter in your chair, wiggling your shoulders.
“Well I’d like to see the side of you that’s out of that dress,” Peter mumbles. You stare at him with wide eyes, trying to gauge if he was joking. You laugh a little to ease the tension, but you can see a fire behind his eyes. It was so unlike you to even be at an event like this, so unlike you to be drinking wine and flirting with a cute boy, so why shouldn’t you continue to do some things that are a little out of character?
You grab his knee, leaning in, “outside in 5, yeah?”
He nods a little too eagerly, but you don’t mind. The attention he had been giving you all night is what fueled this strange wave of confidence, and you were going to ride is as long as it lasted.
Placing your glass on an empty table, you sharply turn and start toward the doors, trying not to look too eager. The thought of him not following you crosses your mind, but you are too embarrassed to turn around to check. If he doesn’t show you will be beelining home for sure, take it as a loss and never show your face at Stark Industries again, not that you would ever have a reason to.
You press your back against the cool tile of the wall in the hallway, running your hands through your hair as the reality sets in of what you just did. A pit starts to form in your stomach, the aftermath of all that found confidence wearing off. Just as you were about to book it through the large double doors at the end of the hallway, you see him approaching you. He gestures to a closed door down the hall, and you follow him through it. It was a plain room with a fireplace and some couches, probably used for smaller social events.  
Placing an arm over your shoulder, pressed up against the wall behind you, he leans in, close but not too close. “are you asking me what I think you are?” his tone still flirtatious, but with a hint of real concern, “I know I seem very charming and all, but I actually don’t do things like this very often.”
Your eyes meet his and a smile creeps across your lips, “And I know that I seem amazingly confident” you retort “but would you believe me if I said I don’t do things like this very often either?”
It was true, you were no prude by any standards, but bringing someone you just met into some random locked room at a work function was not really in your repertoire. Even though the butterflies in your stomach seemed to feel more like wild geese, there was a certain quality about him that gave you a sense of ease.
 “If you are interested in doing what you think I’m asking,” you finally respond, “then yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”
He leans in closer, lips hovering over yours, breathing heavily but steadily. “If you want to stop, just say the word,” he tells you, and you nod understanding, “but the way you look in this dress has made it so fucking hard for me to not do this any sooner” he whispers into you before colliding your mouths together.
He takes your face between his large hands, stroking his thumb across your cheek as he kisses you deep and harshly. While the kiss was passionate and desperate, there was still something so sweet and gentle about him. You kiss him back with an open mouth, wanting more. Your arms wrap around him as his hands travel from your face down to your hips, grabbing you firmly and pressing you into the wall behind.
Your hands naturally weave their way into his brown curls, pulling his face impossibly closer to yours. His tongue slips under yours and you let out a breathy moan, feeling his mouth on yours. Daringly you take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull back a little, looking back up at him to meet his eyes. Blown out and filled with lust, he stares back at you wanting nothing more than your mouth on his again.
In one fell swoop he lifts your legs off the ground, instinctively wrapping them around his suited torso. You lean into him more, tongues meeting between wet open lips. He slowly starts to make his way across the room with you, not wanting to break the kiss, but also not wanting to trip over a coffee table. He seats you down gently on the couch below him, finally separating his lips from yours.
Although you wouldn’t mind just making out with this boy forever, never leaving the four walls of this random parlor, the way he looked standing above you, hair a mess and suit jacket rumpled made you want so much more. Before he could join you on the couch you sit back on your thighs, causing your dress to ride up quite a bit. Peter bites his lip, “fuck y/n.”
You press your open palms to his thighs and look up to him with big needy eyes. You slowly start to move one hand up, asking permission “can I? take these off?” he nods and helps you with his belt, allowing you to take care of the zipper and buttons. As he takes a moment to pool his pants down at his ankles, you seize the opportunity to let the top of your dress slide down a little, revealing your upper half.
“I knew I would like you better out of that dress,” Peter jokes, but the underlying tone in his voice goes right to your core, growing wetter and wetter the more he looks at you. Noticing the already wet patch at the tip of Peter’s boxers, you lean forward once more and lick a stripe up his clothed member, “and I think I’m gonna like you better out of these too” you comment back.
Throwing his head back at the sudden contact, Peter brings his hands to your hair, holding it back for you but not forcefully. You were taking your time with him, feeling him through his boxers until his tip began to poke out of the top waistband. Taking that as your cue, you slide down his underwear, joining them with his dress pants around his ankles. You were a little intimidated by his size, certainly a bit larger than any dick you had taken before, but your theme of the night was confidence and you tried to not let it shake you.
You take a hold of his base, making sure to look up at him as you lick a long stripe up the underside of his hard cock. “Fuck y/n you look so fucking good like that” Peter praises you as you start to slowly pump his dick. Taking his head between your lips and starting to match rhythm with your hand, you started sucking his dick like you never had before. There was something in you that wanted to make him feel good, that wanted this to be memorable for him, you wanted to give this boy the best goddamned blowjob of his life.
Tears form in the corners of your eyes, surely ruining your perfect makeup. You give it more and more as you take as much of him as will fit down your throat. Continuing to pump the remaining shaft with your hand, you bob your head as tightly and as deep as your throat will allow. The soft mumbles and profanities that fall from his lips encourage you to keep going, letting you know that you are doing a good job. You like the way his grip on your hair slightly tightens, showing you that he likes what you are doing.
Picking up speed, and now jerking him off with both hands as your mouth takes care of the rest, you feel his hips buck forward slightly. “Fuck y/n I’m close, I’m gonna…” Peter moans, and starts to pull away from you to come into your hands, but you lean forward, continuing to suck him off, taking his cum deep in your throat as he unloads into you.
“Shit y/n that was…that was so fucking… you really didn’t have to do that” he says, still catching his breath.
“I know, but I wanted to,” you respond, licking your lips seductively.
 “That was so fucking amazing, I…,”he says, hands running through his hair and straightening out his button up. He picks up his phone from where it had landed on the ground, noticing a slew of new messages.        
“Fuck,” he looks at you apologetically, “I gotta get back in there, only for a little bit, but I owe you one, because that was fucking amazing so please don’t go,” he rambles as he frantically puts his dress pants back on and adjusts his belt. You also fix your dress, covering yourself back up. “I mean it,” he says to you with sincere eyes right before dashing out the door.
You head into the nearest bathroom and fix yourself up. The pool between your legs had basically ruined the underwear you were wearing, and your makeup was close to gone. You tossed your hair up, fixed up your face although your lips were still a little red and puffy. The thought crossed your mind to just head home, let this be a one-time thing that he can remember, but your purse was in the ballroom, so you had to at least make it back for that.
Entering the event hall, the room was at a hush as someone on stage was making a speech. You didn’t think much of it, keeping your head down and looking for your bag, until you heard the familiar voice of your boss on the mic. “Thank you so much to Mr. Stark for giving us this amazing opportunity…” You turn your head to see your boss and Tony stark shaking hands, with a row of people standing behind them on stage, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, people you commonly knew as the Avengers. Your eyes travel down the line of them only to land on Peter.
Why had you not realized this before. The passing comments, the thing about the Antarctica mission. As your eyes land on him, he is looking directly at you, a smug smirk across that gorgeous face. He shoots you a wink and your mouth drops slightly. You had just blown one of earth’s mightiest heroes. You had just sucked off Spiderman.
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insane-control-room · 5 years ago
Text
Make a Claim
A collaborative work with the wonderful, incredible, lovely, @randomwriteronline (ilysm <<<333)
ao3 link here
inspired by her fic The Thought 
After a grave mistake, the doctor finally asks him, plain as day, to make their claim their own.
“I am at my wits end, Bandit!” Doc Carver muttered in a loss as he repaired the foolhardy puppet’s strings. “I have tried everything - letters, poems, offers to help him, repair him, even repainting his chipped coat! I cannot understand how a man can be so, so oblivious!”
Bandit did not say anything, merely sighing. He was used to the Doctor’s spiel at this point.
“And to add insult to injury...! After I repainted him, he hugged me, and I felt so overjoyed, but…” a noise of frustration broke out of the taller puppet’s mouth piece. “It was too short lived! And then he ran off, and I, like a coward, was too dumbfounded and startled to even try and go after him, so I didn’t follow. Ugh, that was just simply pathetic, wasn’t it, Bandit?”
“Dunno, doc,” he shrugged. “Never tried courtin’ someone, you know.”
“I know, I know,” Carver grumbled. “You know, you’re a great listener, Bandit.”
Looking into Bandit’s tired, cold, dead eyes, one could see that yes, he did in fact know he was a good listener, especially after having to hear these exact words being told to him a plethora of times. Far too many times, in his opinion. Doc had a bad habit of repeating himself, nearly as bad a habit as Banker’s natural stutter. But, honestly, Bandit did not really mind - it was comforting to have some sort of repetition, something natural and flowing, a familiar back and forth between the attempts at not dying any time he stepped outside of his few friends’ sight.
So he just stood, with the face of someone who was about to doze the hell off, as Carver grumbled away his woes and stitched his strings up. To the doctor's reminder to take care of himself, he replied with a firm thumbs up, and then he waddled awkwardly into what in an episode might have been the glorious sunset, but in this case was only another door through to the wild.
Leaving the good doctor alone. Wooden fingers drummed against the unpolished counter of his workstation, filling the deathly quiet world with a steady rhythm. An impatience filled his head, that constant nagging feeling to do something, anything. Instantly his thoughts turned to the Banker, the sweet, timid, scared Banker, and those thoughts curled around daring ideas and wishes like ivy growing steadily on an old house's wall; he shoved them away, just as the Banker had shoved him away. Yet they kept coming back, filling his mind over and over. Carver leaned against the wall heavily with the soft thud of wood on wood, rubbing at his face with a grumble. Another day, another lovesick time. He smiled wryly to himself, humoring his conundrum. A doctor's worst patient is themself, he concluded bitterly, and he could not heal his own aching heart, despite his biggest efforts. He slid down the wall, trying to quell his murmuring mind, so absolutely wanting, no, craving, no, needing another’s touch. Specifically, the gentle, shaky, newly restored touch of Banker. But it was not like he could just, just up and ask him! Oh, goodness, no! The gall, the audacity! Carver scowled, stuffing his hands into his pockets, then took out, picking up his saw to go out into the wild. He was running short on needle and thread anyways, especially with how often Bandit was getting himself de-stringed nowadays.
So he would return to his old place, murder decimate destroy harvest some aracknits, and pick up more thread.
On his way, he encountered a bank booth. He only got a glimpse of something - or rather, someone, a particular someone who wore a shirt of the same light blue as that of the sleeves he saw retreating into the dark right before leaving the place completely empty. Carver stared at the empty bank for a little, recalling the man that had been in it but moments before. Then, with a heavy, sorrowful sigh, he forced his legs to move past it. It would not have done much for either of them anyways, standing in front of each other, waiting for something to happen, and that yet, knowing their clashing natures, simply never would. Hefting his saw over his shoulder, he crept into Dead Man’s Gulch -- and then into the place he used to call home.
The sound of the spider-like creatures sent shivers up his wooden spine, the inebriating thrill of the hunt filling his chest. He forced himself to keep calm and still his nerves, knowing the adrenaline rushing in what he could consider veins would only give him shaky hands, like those of the Banker he so cherished. But he could not risk having them, not now. He silently stalked through the halls, a thin and lithe coyote between hazy sand stone creeping up to its prey.
A distinctly recognizable sound caught his attention. Ah-ha!, he thought, crouching furtively out of sight. There it was: one of those awful little yarn devils, scuttling around in the shade of the doctor's old home with his needle tick-tick-ticking all over the wooden floor. A quick, painless bounty of thread for the blade of Carver's saw. The Doc slowly crept closer and closer, trying to hide the glint of his weapon from his eyeless prey, sneaking forward without letting himself make a single sound…
A fulminous zac!, and the aracknit dissolved into a bunch of strings with four needles attached.
Carver grinned, at least, the best he could with a solid mouth, satisfied. He still got it.
He stopped to gather the materials, keeping himself from humming and attracting too many of the little beasties. A skittering passed behind him.  He froze, readying his saw once more. He turned his head ever so slowly, his motions nearly unperceivable... An aracknit rushed by, and he swung, missing, his saw flying out of his nervous grip. He swore under his breath, chasting his own hastiness and going to retrieve it, but another spider ran by him and stole it from under his reaching hand. A hiss, long and slow, and so, so, so very many quiet, ticking aracknits. He tried to creep out of his corner, but found every stealthy pass blocked by yarny webs. Without a weapon, there was no way he could go through an open area. He would lose his strings in a matter of seconds if he even attempted to do so! Color slowly drained out of his vision, and he cursed his worsening luck. He could feel his wooden heart beat, faster and faster. More scampering. He demanded of himself to slow his breathing, and could not.
“Well, well, well, well, well,” the air turned cold. The supposed to be jolly and high voice creaked and rasped lowly, angrily, softly, dangerously.  “What, or rather, who, do we have here, caught in the webs of his own prey?”
Carver stayed silent, going at a crawl to the thinnest web, planning on breaking through it and making a mad dash to the exit. The sound of the Faceless Bandit’s three footsteps clacked loudly in the still, dusty air, the scampering aracknits now far too quiet in comparison to the terrifying approach. Perhaps because they too, as simpleminded as a bug of raw yarn can be, could not help but being afraid of the scarred danger slowly coming closer.
“I didn’t know you were Dr. Jekyll,” Faceless chuckled, making the wood of Carver’s back to ripple in disgust. “Seeing that you’re playing around with Mr. Hyde.”
Doc Carver scowled. Goodness, how much he despised the other’s use of terrible puns.
“Stop playing around, my dear Doctor,” his words turned the land foul. The dead shivered and rose, disturbed from what should have been their peaceful eternal rest. “You can’t avoid me forever, you know….”
‘Yeah, right’, Carver rolled his eyes, then refocused onto the web he planned on escaping through. He poised himself to run, breathing in, waiting for Faceless to turn around… and the moment he did, he bolted with a, “Ha !”
It was a mistake.
A grave one.
Of course it was all planned out, of course there would not be a weak spot. After all, wherever a bone breaks, it becomes stronger than before.
Dozens and dozens of aracknits surrounded him, wooly fangs bared. Some trembled, others ducked away, and Carver realized that--
“They listen to me,” Faceless droned behind him. He grew very still. “Out of fear, yes, but still… aren’t they so cute? So sweet? So helpful?”
The doctor ran into the crowd of the small eight legged monsters, the spiders parting like a sea, but also like a sea, instantly drove back.
An aracknit jumped at Carver, and he tried to bat it away with his open arm, but it just scampered onto him, leaving a woven strand over his wrist, and jumped away.
Another did the same to his other side, and he struggled even more, despite the fact that he was given less and less ability to do so.
He felt a string snap, and his left leg gave out, leaving him stumbling to the ground. Second came the right arm. He screamed, not to ask for help, knowing no one would hear him, but to try and bolster his own strength: he bashed an aracknit down and restringed him arm, then going back to fighting with every ounce of strength he could have found desperately still kicking in his wooden limbs.
The aracknits kept coming, the few dozens that were cornering him turning into a swarm that only grew bigger at every turn of his head, crawling out of every single nook and cranny. They bit down on his strings almost faster than he could sew them back up (but luckily, not quite as fast), all while stabbing his legs with their small damned needles as they attempted to climb him, possibly to feed off of him, maybe to try to escape their terrifying master by reaching the top of the doctor's head.
Carver felt their webs wrap around him, pulling him back, swirling around him tight, tighter than the knot of a noose, tying him to the ground and the walls, nearly forcing him on his knees. He screamed - not to be heard, not to gather strength: he screamed in pure terror, almost as though he hoped the sound of his voice would delay the inevitable.
A fly. He was a fly, a careless naive fly, who had thought he could outrun the spiders only to fall in their mother's trap, the hunter becoming the hunted - and soon to be the slaughtered.
He gave one last weakened kick before his legs became a useless mermaid’s tail on land, only barely managing to hit an aracknit strong enough to shoo it away before the string wavered away, dropping onto ash. The little beastie tumbled over, legs frantically moving in a terrified attempt to scramble back onto them, and he pitied it, the shared pain of two prisoners trapped beyond their powers, and he wished that it could get to its feet, to give him a sign of hope that he too would rise, but alas.
It was crushed under the handle of an approaching scythe.
Its needles stiffened and twitched, fighting one last time against their lightning quick rigor mortis; then, it dissolved into a puddle of string under Carver's horrified eyes.
Silence. Accursed, blasphemous, terrifying silence. All the doctor could hear was his own panting breath. He had one string left, and a scythe tugged on it for a moment before sliding down his face, making his head tilt this way and that, as if inspecting a specimen most curiously.
The two puppets were still, and silent.
Not a spider crawled, not a soul moved, nothing breathed and it was all so strikingly obvious to Carver. Of course, of course, why should he have gone back here? He should have baited the aracknits out instead of going in like a fool, a cretin, a pup still unaware of the sly tactics of hunting, thinking it all as fun and games. How foolish he had been!
He wished that he was somewhere else.
Somewhere safe.
Somewhere to feel at home.
Hanging up his apron in the hall after a fulfilling day of making puppets feel better and smile, going into a cozy living room to join hands with a smiling Banker, to rest with tea in front of a warm fire and good book, simple domestic perfection and tranquility. That was all he wanted. Was it really too much to ask for…?
It seemed so.
A golden tear bubbled up in his eye, and he blinked rapidly to force it away.
It slid down his face, trailing down his scar.
His wooden skin crawled as a scarred and ripped hand came to rest on that mark, and he turned icy cold, shivering. God, how he wished a different, trembling, gentle hand were there! Even if he were in the same position, bound and inflexible and defenseless, he would have given anything for it. For that sweet intoxicating touch, the throne of which was instead being usurped by dirty, loathing, scratching fingers.
“Oh, my dearest Doctor Carver,” the mangled puppet laughed, his words airless. “You always were my least favorite. Always stealing from me those delightful strings of the weakened, of the broken and bent. And you, so resilient and resistant! Why so much of a fuss, hm?”
The doctor felt a knot tie in his throat. He forced himself to stare straight at the eyeless being looming cruelly before him in total defiance: if he was going to die there and then, he would have not given that piece of tumbleweed the satisfaction of seeing him bend his head to him.
“What is it, Doc?” the Faceless hissed, yanking him with annoyance at his silence, scratching at his face, gouging three sharp cuts under his scar that would have bled if the doctor had blood instead of sap, which oozed out of the crevices. “Cat got your tongue? Or did you ever have one? I doubt it, seeing as you’re quite dumb right now.”
Carver inhaled with a low growl.
“Go to hell.” he merely grumbled.
“Ooh, how raunchy,” Faceless snarked back, cutting into his own face with his scythe to display any kind of expression, the smirk he left in his own face jagged and twisted. Carver felt his stomach churn with frost at the sight, so crude and, and unnatural. The scythe returned to the bottom of his chin, sliding up to the top of his head to hook around the string that resided there. Carver shivered as he felt his singular string slowly sawed at.
The Faceless Bandit held his head firmly with one hand, pulled back his arm a little, swiftly, and-
Shhh.
Then there was nothing.
Death felt so weird, the doctor thought.
He had imagined it crueler, darker, colder, more painful. Lonelier.
Instead he felt only… suspended. As if in wait. For what, he could not tell. But it was a peaceful waiting, and he felt far from afraid.
He was enveloped into a gentle, vast hold. A warm, ginormous finger touched his face, tapping each of his eyes, and he felt air seep into his lungs once more.
Another hand carefully, gently, cautiously and lovingly placed strings onto his limbs.
The hands slowly vanished, and he found himself put into something enclosing and… safe?
And then he felt alive.
Which was not ideal, because it made him realize that he was in a claustrophobic and dark space, and with his most recent memories being those of his body tied up in yarn among an army of aracknits and every last one of his strings being cut by the cruel scythe of a criminal lacking a face, so he panicked and kicked the air in front of himself as hard as he could to escape his dark prison.
The Banker nearly had a heart attack when the coffin next to bank opened with a loud noise - only nearly, because he did not actually have a heart or circulatory system.
“B-Bandit? Is, is that you?” Banker’s sweet, timid, wonderful wonderful wonderful beautiful darling amazing incredible voice rang out in the empty room. The doctor pleaded in his heart, unable to find his voice, still gasping and panting, trembling and teary, ‘Oh, please, say more, speak more, keep talking, fill the void.’ There were quiet footsteps, the Banker creeping slowly out of his booth. “L-Lorelei? L-Lookout? Uh, um, Mr., Mr. West?”
And then he stood before him, looking down at the Doctor with four wide eyes.
Carver knew he was a mess, he knew he was shaking and sitting in the bottom of a coffin like container as his tears froze in his eyes, but the moment he saw the Banker looking down at him, silently, mouth open in a slight shock, he felt his frosted heart melt, finally filling his body with relieving warmth, color finally returning to his vision, and his shoulders finally untensed as he looked up at him with total and complete admiration.
The Banker stood, fidgeting with his hands nervously. He was about to start scratching them, but he stopped himself: the doctor had put a lot of time and… and care (wonderful, dutiful, devoted care, whispered the ghost of a thought in his mind) into that coat of paint. He couldn't just… he couldn't just ruin it like that. And, well, he couldn't, he couldn't just leave him there, hazy and frightened and in need of help, either.
He lent him his hand as that terrible fear gnawed at his stomach: “I, I didn't expect you to, to be here, D-Doc.”
Carver grabbed the appendix with both hands, pressing his fingers against its palms. He did not make any motion to stand up; completely honestly, he did not want to. He just wanted to hold it, to hold him, to feel the other puppet's arm curl against him, a soft, shy and gentle shield of blue and brown hues, of tremors and stutters, warming him endlessly. Oh, how he needed it! How he wished for it terribly, now and forever...
“D-Doc Carver?” the Banker felt that fire burn from his fingertips, spreading up his arm. He swallowed roughly to keep it from his face. “D-do you need to make a c-claim?”
“Yes,” he breathed, and pulled Banker’s hand down, close to his heart. Banker stared at him with wide eyes, big, terrified eyes. “Yes, I do, please, Banker, please… grant me this one claim.”
Banker trembled, and still, he asked; “What?”
“I've just been struck down with death,” Carver nearly whispered, eyes glazed with tears. “I have lost my confidence, please, Banker, dear, dear Banker of mine, please, kiss me with life, restore my confidence, please, that's the only claim I ask of you.”
Carver squeezed the hand tight, afraid it would escape his grip, knowing it could.
“K-kiss you?” Banker squeaked, eyes wide, the searing sensations spreading all over his face and neck, but, how enrapturing and captivating those burns were! And how loud the echo of the thought he'd been sure to have killed was! His fear tugged him away, or so it tried, for his body wouldn't move an inch.
Carver nodded, his eyes pleading, as he rubbed his face on the back of the hand, murmuring ‘please, please’ over and over, knowing rejection would have killed him on the spot, and yet not finding the will to care for it. Though he wouldn't beg for life from the Faceless Bandit that so hated him, he would beg and plead for death from the Banker he so adored.
The Banker breathed heavily, shivering. His head shook ever so slightly.
“N, no, no…” he whispered as he kneeled in front of the other puppet; “No, no…”, as he let the doctor cup his cheeks and rub his face on them; “No, no, no, no…”, as he returned the other's affection, kissing him in the way a puppet can kiss, wooden faces scratching ever so softly against each other, slowly, then faster; “No, no, no…”, as his fingers finally curled around the stitches of Carver's scar, stroking it idly, pushing away the tears that slowly dripped from the other’s face, finally seeing his fear as what it was: no fear at all, not even close to fear, even. It was something softer, something that he had selfishly denied himself through his own blindness. Oh, what good were four eyes when he could not use them to see what was right in front of him? What good was the blessing of sight without letting himself revel in the beautiful image in front of him? What good was living to play a part and nothing more if it did not allow him to have the gift of, the, no, his, his dear, dear, darling doctor to gaze upon?
He held Carver closer, nuzzling harder against him. The fire divamping inside him boiled and burned, it begged to be released, to be imprinted on the other puppet for all to see. He was kissing it into Doc, but it was not, it could not be enough. A single face was too restrictive, and he had to improvise, he had to figure out a way to make it more, to have more of the doctor pinned under him, to show him that yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, this was right and wanted and good.
His hand begrudgingly left the side of Carver's head and instead grabbed with all of its strength his arm. The good doctor nearly jumped up from his seat in the case, surprised, left breathless. His own fingers curled around the Banker's forearm, but the kiss they pressed against him was weak, not nearly as deep and passionate as the one pushing into his limb, far more shy and trembling, a near reverse of their usual attitudes. Carver’s whole being shivered with warmth. And oh, oh!, it was so good! So very good, so very delicious, the sensation spreading from that long, long kiss to the rest of his body… goodness, he was addicted to it already. That was it, his only wish, his reason to live. All he wanted was for that magnificent pressure to never soften and leave.
But the Banker had other plans. For him, it was too long, too time consuming; it didn't let him give Carver everything they both wanted desperately after letting so much time pass by. So instead he began to grab and release, grab and release, fast and hungry, pressing quick hasty kisses all over the doctor. On his arms, his chest, his neck, his shoulders, his sides - to hell with his part!, to hell with his fear! - even reaching further down, gripping Carver’s hips and legs in a frenzy, dominated by nothing but the burning embers inside of his wooden frame that pushed him to love and love and love again.
Carver was too slow to reply to those attentions, and he found himself overwhelmed. He was in an almost comatose bliss, jolting and shivering with little gasps and murmurs of, “Yes, yes, p-please, yes….”, only barely managing to nuzzle back his lover's face, goodness gracious, this was it, the moment he always dreamed of, his lover, they were lovers now. He did not feel like himself, not at all. He was out of his body, out of his mind, looking down on that scene from a warm cloud of ecstasy, the prickling of pleasure taking over him in waves.
It took what felt like ages, for the Banker's wild rush of claiming Carver as his to consume itself. It exhausted them both, to the point where they were moments away from collapsing entirely in the box Carver rested in, seconds from slipping into pure bliss and tranquility. They held each other close as they rested, panting softly, Banker’s hand finally finding its place on Carver’s cheek, gently trailing the scar there. Then he felt the ridges, his eyes widening, and he pulled away a bit to inspect the mark, and to his horror and sadness found the three fresh cuts under his hand.
“C-Carver, you, you’re hurt!” he exclaimed, his gentle shaky fingers turning the doctor’s head to inspect the cuts better. “O-Oh dear, why didn't, why didn’t you t-tell me?”
“It’s fine, it really is,” Carver reassured him, though he leaned into and reveled in his touch. “It’s nothing that I can’t mend.”
Banker frowned at that, and so Carver might have even said something more, had a not-so-freshly-painted-anymore visage not rubbed gently on his wounds, kissing away the sap seeping from the small gouges. The kiss threw him for an incredulous loop, stunning him. Had his wood been replaced by flesh, he would have been redder than a blooming hibiscus.
Perhaps it was seeing the doctor like that that slowly brought the four-eyed puppet to his senses. All those newly formed memories reverberated in his mind, slowly becoming clear, first their gentle, almost reluctant, kiss, then the frenzied adrenalinic boiling and burning and exploding cravings that had taken control of him, and finally, when he realized the spontaneous act of kissing those little scrapes, he finally got a grasp on his actions. He gradually began shaking, hands going to cover his mouth already muttering apologies, his legs trying to push him to his feet - oh, but Carver would not have any of it.
His gentle grip tightened around the other's waist, keeping him from escaping into the dark of his shame. Banker would have blushed furiously had he skin, feeling the rippling strength of Doc Carver’s arm around him, his breath hitching as those thoughts that he thought he killed earlier swarmed back into his mind. The doctor collected himself as well, slowly, naturally slipping back into his ordinarily calm and proper self, just like the Banker had returned to his anxieties and worries, their regular personalities bleeding back into their forms as if regaining consciousness after a long sleep.
“Dear,” goodness, how wonderful it felt to say that, “Dear, darling, love, what's troubling you?”
“I- I, I… Doc, I-”
“Carver, dear, please. Carver is just fine.”
“I, I… Car, Carver, I didn't - oh, oh god, I'm, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-”
“Oh, you did!” the doctor adamantly insisted, his eyes widening, but in complete confidence. “We’re… us now. It’s okay, we’re okay… I’m here, you’re here, it’s okay. We… we are good.”
The Banker tried shrinking himself in the other's arms without much success. Carver merely huffed, an adoring look in his eyes, and brought him closer. His gentle nuzzles onto his recently repainted cheek were a balm for the Banker's nerves.
“There's nothing to fear, my darling.” he murmured into the puppet’s ears, feeling him relax from his smooth accent, melting against him in a pleasant warmth, “Hm, but your booth… it seems quite comfortable, wouldn't you say?”
The other nodded, humming absentmindedly, one of his hands trailing up Carver’s arm, twirling around his neck to run over his hair. He had always wondered how it felt, and now found that it was not only wood, but covered in felt to give it a soft velvety texture, and the same went for his handlebar moustache. Come to think of it, nearly everything about the doctor was just so soft and warmly inviting.
“Should we head over to it, then?” Carver's voice caught up to him, pulling him back to reality, yet sending him from one pleasant distraction to another. He barely had to answer, the slightest sigh and the smallest nod, and the doctor slid a firm and strong hand under his knees, and rose him up, carrying him into the bank much like a newly wed groom carries his beloved man into their just made house.
There was some cloth folded in a corner, arranged as if to simulate what could have once seemed like a bed which clearly had been abandoned for the anxious Banker’s many sleepless nights, him preferring instead to pass out in fear on his counter.
The doctor laid him on top of the covers gently before positioning himself on top of him. One of his hands tenderly stroked his cheek, his legs straddling the Banker, looking down at him, eyes shielded by his glasses, though behind those lenses, his eyes were full of pure admiration.
The four-eyed puppet adjusted himself under his weight almost sleepily: “Carver, love…” oh, to be called like that forever and always, what shivers did it send down his spine!, “What…”
“Please, my dearest.” Carver leaned down to press kisses to his throat, and purred against his neck, hands pressing light kisses with thumbs swirling on wooden skin so gently, “You don't truly think I am sated of your kisses? I waited so long for you…”
The Banker sighed blissfully, body melting and becoming as soft as warm clay. He wrapped his arms around his dear, dear lover and let his head fall back on the bed that hadn't seen him in weeks, basking in the wonderful burn enveloping him.
How curious, he thought to himself. He could hear a hummingbird sing in the back of his mind.
For some odd reason, he heard Bandit clear his throat in the back of his mind too.
Then Doc Carver let out a small grumbling shriek, rolling over and tumbling off of a Banker too hazy to notice anything.
“H-Hello Bandit!” Carver stumbled over his words as the cowboy looked at them from the counter where his elbow was leaning on. The four-eyed puppet called for him needily, drawling out the last part of the doctor’s name, his grasp on reality basically non-existent. Carver turned bright red. “F-fancy seeing you here….”
“Sure is, Doc, sure is.” Showdown smiled, cheek resting in his hand, giving him a quick wink. “Mind if I make a deposit?”
“Um, sure,” the doctor stuttered, rushing to the desk to swipe the cash, hastily dumping it in a vault labeled ‘SHOWDOWN BANDIT’.
The cowboy tipped his hat politely: “Thanks, Doc.”
“N-no problem,” he mumbled, staring at the ground.
“Now I suggest ya go back to yer other business. He sounds pretty… um… critical.” Showdown nodded in the direction of the lovestruck Banker. The doctor tried to swallow, and failed. “Y’know what I mean, Doc?”
“Carveeeer, love, please… please, where did you go?” the poor soul lamented, turning on the bed. “You're so cruel, so cruel… ! Oh, love, please… please, I need you… !”
“I know.” Carver muttered to Showdown, closing the Bank’s shutters and swiftly turning around, rushing back into the arms of his darling, finally together.
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meiwroo · 6 years ago
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Can you write something along the lines of Peter being super obsessive over the reader and he sneaks into her room and hides in her closet every day after school, constantly takes pictures of her and has Polaroid’s of her all over his room, she eventually talks to him in class and they agree to do a project together, she insists that they should do it at his place and she comes too early and sees the pictures in his room? ~ what happens after that is up to you ;) -🎱 (can this be my signature?)
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Can you tell I didn’t edit this one as much? Also, I think I’m getting into the swing of things? Enjoy
Okay, so there’s one thing that bothers me. Whenever Peter sneaks into your room, he’s wearing his Spider-Man suit—enough to get caught in broad daylight scaling an apartment building by a bystander—or even worse a villain. Do you know how many villains could peep this and start coming after you?? Anyway
When it comes to you, Peter has a one-track mind.
It’s always ‘Do physics homework—Check the camera to see what Y/N is doing; Cook dinner—Check Y/N’s social media and see if she posted anything new.’ 24/7 until something urgent pops up that requires his undivided attention i.e. trying not to die
And the way Peter ends up in your closet is gradual.
At first he happened to swing by as you were on your way home, and he trailed you
Then he swung by when no one happened to be home. Curiosity got the best of him, and before he knew it, he was putting Karen on mute and sliding open your window before dropping down in your room
One thing he loves is that right off the bat your room smells like you
Staring at the knickknacks in your room, noting whether or not your room and desk is orderly, all of it gives him a better gauge of your personality that he’s not able to see when he’s listening to you and your friends talk during lunch or in class
And then it happens again and again, until one day, his Spidey senses start tingling and he can hear you unlocking the front door and heading up to your room. On the spur of the moment, he hid in your closet. Stupid, if you were the type of person to hang up your clothes as soon as you got home. But for hours until you finally fell asleep, he was forced to sit in your cramped closet watching you in your natural habitat. It was truly a wonderful experience…
It made him feel stupid for not thinking of it before. So, every now and then he would treat himself into sneaking into your room. On particular days where he hardly saw you because you either called in sick, ditched class, or had a field trip with another class.
If you were already home, he’d wait and sneak in when you left the room, or if he was feeling particularly brazen, when you had your back turned and earphones in listening to your music at full blast, he would just slide your window open, climb on the ceiling, and gently sneak into your closet.
If you ever wonder where the sudden breeze came from, that’s Peter.
And it continues until every day after school, Peter beats you home by minutes, sneaking into your closet, getting his daily dose of you.
He’s gotten himself a routine, where he would accomplish all of his work at school before the final bell, head to your place and make himself comfortable on your closet floor, leave when you go to grab dinner and go eat dinner himself with May, and then head out for patrols, before coming back home to catch a bit of shut eye
That’s what? Only like 3-4 hours he gets to spend with you every day? Regardless it’s not enough
Peter does record you though. At first through his phone, and then through surveillance cameras he’s placed around your room; One in the smoke detector and then a listening bug in your light switch
It would be small minor things like you talking to yourself, telling yourself a joke, humming to yourself while you browsed the web, watching you rage quit at video games, and even watching you struggle with homework which frustrates Peter to no end.
Listening to you get upset over not being able to solve a problem makes him want to tear his hair out. If he could just pluck the pencil from your hand right quick and show you how it’s done…All he needed was a minute
Another thing that also irked him? You losing points on homework because you left a section blank or didn’t turn it in at all. During those times, Peter just wishes he could turn homework in on your behalf and not get caught. He’d do it in a heartbeat if teachers couldn’t recognize your handwriting and the assignment had no way of getting back to you
When it’s late, and he’s all snuggled in bed, Peter likes to watch the videos and fantasize about would it would be like if he was next to you. How you two would interact, and etc. He feels closer to you whenever he does this.
Sometimes he likes to fall asleep to the sound of your shallow breathing when you’re asleep
Every now and then Peter likes to ease into bed beside you after hard fights that leave him bruised and exhausted
It’s easy to pick your habits and routines like this. eating habits, bathroom habits, what music you tend to steer towards, what content you like to watch the most on the internet; All of your likes and dislikes, favorite food, color, drink, what’s on your wish list right, what’s even got you stressed right—which breaks his heart because he’s not sure what he can do to help
But Peter has this collection, right?  Of odd pictures that he snaps of you every chance he gets.
He has a collage of them—11 or so—on the wall against his bed. Easy to hide with a perfectly propped pillow if May were to ever walk in his room while he’s away. He hangs the ones that are both artistic and articulates your personality the best. It’s his little masterpiece. 
Let’s say he gets beaten up too badly in a fight and he’s forced to stay home while you recover. Those pictures keep him going
But then there’s the scrapbook Peter has (in his desk drawer). Tons of Polaroid snaps—dated and describing what you’re doing—in addition to nonsensical diary entries beside them about how you made him feel in that moment or what he’d love to do to you, or maybe even a little poem
It’s mainly filled with fun memories Peter wasn’t really a part of. Pictures of you hugging your best friend and goofing off during a field trip, you winning a small award and going on stage to receive it, you participating in extracurriculars e.g. track and field
And then there are the nonsensical ones like your face before you’re about to devour your favorite food, or your aloof expression while you sit outside during study hall, or your deeply focused expression while you cram in gym class before a test you have next period. 
In general, Peter takes a lot of pictures of you; And they’re everywhere. All you have to do is look closely and you’ll find a photo under his desk by the foot of his chair, or a more risqué one poking out from under his nightstand—even phots sprinkled between the pile of dirty laundry he’s been throwing in the corner
It’d honestly be bad if May ever decided to spontaneously do spring cleaning in his room
It’d be bad if you came across these photos which—spoiler: you do.
Everything was going great with Peter watching from afar, and then you had to go and talk with him
Don’t get me wrong, Peter was so happy he thought he would puke.
It had been in APES, and the class was doing a lab. Your friend who takes the class with you and had called in sick, so you decided to partner up with Peter, I mean he did sit directly to the left of you
His heart stopped, of course, he was praising the heavens that his voice didn’t crack, everything was great. His day was blessed, and he actually spent time talking with you which rolled smoothly between you to.
There was a report due on Monday, so you two decided y’all would both knock it out today after school at his place. 
Big, fucking, mistake.
Peter was so high on cloud nine, that he forgot about his little hobby littered around his room—the same room which you two planned to do the assignment in since May had her weird project occupying the majority of the surfaces in the living room which she explicitly told him not to move
It didn’t dawn on him until you asked to use his bathroom, and he walked into his room. 
He picked up a shirt, sniffed, and was ready to toss it into the hamper until two photos fluttered out.
And then magically he realizes that he had his scrapbook out with the recently developed 6-7 photos scattered on his desk.
He heard you exit the bathroom and his heart stops.
“Peter, you in here?”
His eyes dart between the door and the scrapbook comically
He could’ve webbed the door shut, climbed out the window, and then crawl in through the bathroom and say something like he needed to go retrieve something from May’s room—which he should’ve did, but instead there you are smiling at him in the doorway casually greeting him before your eyes flicker to all of the Polaroid's and decide to pick one up
“Y/N wait!”
Your brain takes a full minute to fully process what you’re seeing
Let’s say it’s a picture of you changing in your bedroom
When you look Peter in the eyes and see his panicked expression, it tells you everything you need to know.
You should’ve left after the first picture, but you needed to confirm, so you started picking up the nearest pictures, shuffling through them.
You grabbing coffee with MJ, you going shopping with your mom, you trying on dresses and browsing in a local department store, even you propped lazily against your friend’s car while you wait for them to lock their front door.
“Where did you get these?!”
“I—I can explain!”
You try to make a run for it, but Parker’s quicker than you, stronger than you; He pins you against the wall easily, both of your wrists clasped tightly in one hand.
He’s breathing heavily as though a panic attack was soon about to set in
“I can explain…” is all he says, staring into your eyes wildly
Feedback?
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komahinasecretexchange · 6 years ago
Text
Title: Don’t Get Tangled Up
Author: @collegiate-trash
For: @sawitart
Rating/Warnings: T but with mentions of death and dismemberment, nothing graphic though. Just a mention.
Prompt: Rapunzel AU
Author’s notes: I’m pretty sure this is not what first comes to mind when thinking of Rapunzel but the fic kinda wrote itself so– I made sure to keep its base elements though so this’ll definitely have that infamous tower, a damsel in distress, and someone with a really long hair! I’m sorry in advance if the ending feels a bit rushed and some things may not make much sense. I just have so many plans for this but life decided to interfere. I’ll definitely write more for this verse when I have more free time. That said, I hope you enjoy it! :’D
At the edge of the kingdom stands a tower, tall and true. It has been a thing of legends; with it being older than anyone in the continent, many heroes are tempted see what lies on top of it. But that is all they are - tempted.
You see, it was not hidden knowledge that many heroes, all brave and strong and mighty in their own ways, have fallen to the tower’s might. They all succumbed to its mystic ways and none ever came back the same way again. There have been many stories of some returning; however, their accounts of what it was they have seen vary far too wildly to be considered true. Some spoke of a deadly spider, spinning their web and trapping the rest of their party. Others spoke of being granted mercy by the fae themselves. And some, spoke of dead bodies hanging in the walls, faces eternally stuck in a perpetual scream.
Of course, that wasn’t all that attracted people to this particular tower. Oh no. Some would even try and climb it for the loot, for the treasures told to be housed within its tallest peaks. But most importantly, some scale it for honor, and for a chance to catch a glimpse of the famous ill-fated beauty.
A long long time ago, when the world was still young and magic run rampant in the land, the elders told stories of a princess so pure and sweet. She brought joy to the land and love poured out of her in waves. She was beautiful in ways no mere man could ever comprehend, and kind to a fault that the gods themselves could only hope to be. Fate smiles down upon her and lavished her with gifts. She was loved and adored by all who knew her.
And perhaps, that was the reason that life made her the star of this tragedy.
The legends spoke of a poor young man entering her palace one day. Given her unassuming nature, the princess welcomed him with opened arms and treated him as an honored guest. Despite everyone’s clear suspicion of him, she ignored their words and allowed him to stay. The longer the young man stayed, the more the people could see a change in their beloved princess. Her smiles appeared less and her eyes shone of great sadness, the bounce in her steps have ceased and her tinkling laughter has disappeared completely. The people knew then what has occurred: her brilliance has faded and they all knew just who to blame. Lead by the king and queen, the people rallied to the young man’s room.
An intervention was needed, and he must now go.
Imagine their surprise when they opened the door and saw him with his hands around her waist and lips on her neck. It all made sense then and there. The man’s aversion to sunlight, his love of the dark, and the princess’ deteriorating health ever since he arrived. With a cry, the people made a mad dash towards the two to no avail. The young man has finally revealed his true colors: a soul-sucking parasite who was well-versed in the use of magic.
He raised his hand towards them; a dark swirling void appearing on his palm as he held the princess closer to him in another. The people were frantic, aware that this may be the last time they would ever see their shining star should they fail. They screamed her name till their voices grew hoarse as her parents begged and cried for her to wake up.
Alas, it was all for naught.
The devil’s magic has been left alone for far too long, and the princess has no way of breaking free from the spell. The whole kingdom mourned when she was taken.
Everyone searched high and low for the two for years in vain. They disappeared without a trace, vanishing into the abyss the young man has summoned. It was only when the king and queen grew old with age and weary with heartbreak did they found an indication of where they could be: the far off tower standing at the edge of the kingdom.
They sent countless expeditions, hired mercenaries, and even called out to the unsung heroes of distanced lands, all in the name of bringing home their lost child. And yet, despite doing everything they could, all of them returned the same way: a corpse to be added to the kingdom’s growing cemetery, all bearing the message of leaving the tower alone lest the kingdom and all its populace find themselves facing god’s wrath itself.  
There were many stories regarding the tower’s origins, but none were as well known as those of the stolen princess. And Hinata, cynic that he was, never truly believed them until this fated day.
“You have to stop doing this, Kamukura-kun!”
Hinata froze at the words, holding bated breath as he tried in vain to contain his shakes. They knew of the stories. Heck, they grew up hearing them from the elders to scare them straight. But did they listen? Did they try to heed their warnings? Nope. They all decided to be the dumb teenagers they were and scaled the infamous haunted tower. Hinata would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so fucking terrifying.
They should have accepted that maybe going up the tower was a bad idea when the crows started flocking around, descending on them, eager to peck the hell out of all of their eyes the longer they held on with the sheer power of will to the tower’s edges. And they definitely should have stopped when they realized they have been climbing for hours with no end in sight, and turned back around when they reached the dangled corpses. Gods, what were they thinking?!
It was a good thing the voices have receded down the hall because Hinata couldn’t stop shaking from the things he saw earlier.
A woman wrapped in the same silver web as the corpses they passed by was suspended in the center of the room. After many attempts, they have managed to bring her down and confirmed that she was already dead. They decided they might as well bring her back since no one else in the group truly wanted to stay in the tower longer than they should have. Their curiosities were already sated. There was no point in dawdling.
In hindsight, they should have known better than to think that nothing was wrong.
A dead woman, with no signs of decay when rumored to have been in there for hundred of years, really should have tipped them off that something was wrong. As they were about to head back, the woman disappeared from his friend’s arms and hell descended upon them.
Everything happened far too fast after that.
Hinata remembered hearing pained screaming, rushed footsteps, and in the end of it all, the deafening silence. It was mere chance that he found himself hidden from sight when the bloodbath happened. From the safety of his alcove, he witnessed his friends get torn limb from limb as the beautiful damsel they once thought of as the kind princess from the stories, easily turned against them and used the  silver webs littered around to end them all.
He didn’t know what happened exactly, but before long, the walls felt like they were closing in on him as his breathing got worse and worse. Soon, his vision blurred and all he knew of was darkness.
.
.
.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
In his weakened state, he heard someone call out to him in worry. He would swat them away but his body refuses to listen. It couldn’t be helped, he was lying down on what could possibly be the softest mattress he has ever known.
Wait a minute–
Hinata blearily opened his eyes and was astounded by the sight. Snow white locks curled around a pretty face like a halo.
Tinkling laughter reached his ears as the stranger asked, “You’re staring. Are you feeling better now?”
He opened his mouth to answer but it felt as dry as the desert sands. His companion laughed at this and left, shortly handing him a glass of water. Hinata nodded his thanks and drank it all. “What’s going on…?”
The stranger blinked, sending him a smile that he doesn’t know to interpret before answering. “I saw you unconscious in that corner over there, so I dragged you in here. That wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep in here you know. Nor is this place the best place for a nap for someone like you.”
Someone like…
In a flash, Hinata remembered where was and reeled back.
“Well, that is quite rude. I did just help you, no need to act scared all of the sudden…” He pouted and if Hinata wasn’t too concerned with their well-being, he would have found it cute.
“Never mind that. We need to get out of here,” he said in a panicked tone as he scrambles off the bed, brows furrowed as he thought of a plan to do just that.
“I’m sorry, we…?”
“Yes, we.” Hinata sends him a stern look as he said the word. “We need to get out of here. This place is dangerous! Honestly. Climbing this tower is a bad decision - who knows what else sort of monster lurks in here.”
The other merely shook his head with a sheepish smile.
“Ah… I figured something like this would have happened. I do wonder, is this how he feels with all of life’s repetitions? No wonder he’s always so bored.” He sighs, shoulders slumping before sending Hinata a grin so bright and happy. “I have to admit though, this is the first time someone told me to join them in leaving this tower. Truly, thank you so much! To have met someone as kind you is blessing enough, however…
You see, leaving this tower is out of the question for me. This is where I belong and so I shall stay. You should too, if you can see reason. Staying here is the best course of action for the both of us.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Hinata was at lost for words at what the other said. “Stay here? Are you out of your mind?!”
“On the contrary,” he said with a smile on his lips. “I think it is you, who is out of your mind.” He laughed then, as if sharing a joke with him. A joke that Hinata was very much ignorant of.
“I don’t understand…”
“Don’t you feel it? The static in the air? The sense of something not quite right?”
Hinata heard a sigh from behind him. “Leaving this tower is not an option. Not for you anyway.”
“Kamukura-kun!” The stranger perked up and ran pass him, tackling a mess of black by the doorway. “Mou…! You ruined it! He was supposed to guess it,” he whined but that was not Hinata’s main concern right now.
“Not leave…?”
“You’re a dense one,” Kamukura, Hinata supposed, remarked, a frown marring his pretty face as he runs a hand through the cloud-like hair of the other.
“Only because you people refuse to explain anything.” Hinata would have raised his voice in a normal setting, as was his nature. However, given the circumstances he found himself in with these two, even he could tell that would be a bad idea. “Look. I appreciate that you two haven’t killed me yet–”
“No killing!” The still unnamed stranger chirped, eyes bright and smile as wide as earlier.
“Y-yeah, sure,” he grumbled, looking away in order to continue. “No killing. Fine. But that doesn’t explain what happened down there. My friends are dead due to some weird spider lady and you say that leaving isn’t an option, so what? Are you keeping me here to be her food then? Is that it? And what of him?” He nods towards the first face he saw upon waking up. “Is he here to be food too but ended up with Stockholm Syndrome? Is that what’s going?”
Hinata wasn’t proud at the hysteria making itself more and more evident at his tone but it was taking all he had not to collapse right then and there. It was simply too much! All he wanted was to find out the truth of this tower - not have all his friends dead and become potential spider-lady chow!
“Stockholm Syndrome…?”
“Uh… yeah…? Isn’t that why you’re acting all…” Hinata does a gesture with his hands and hopes that it would be enough to get his point across. Based on their shared blank looks, probably not.
“This one is a lost cause,” Kamukura said, turning around to leave the room, only to be stopped by a pair of hands entwining with his.
“Don’t be like that, we do owe him an explanation.” Hinata watched him tuck a piece of dark hair behind Kamukura’s ear. He felt like a pervert, imposing on their domestic yet intimate moment like this. “And besides, I know how draining using that spell is. Whether you like it or not, he’ll be staying with us for now.”
Kamukura sighed, eyes closed as he leaned towards the hand cradling his face. Come to think of it, that was probably the first time he wasn’t showing a poker face ever since he entered the room. “Very well. Three questions, then we’re done.”
Hinata crossed his arms. Odds were he would die here anyway, why not push as much as he could. This was what he wanted, right? To find out the truth?
“Only three? Why not explain all of it? What is this place? Who are you guys?”
A blank look answered him, courtesy of Kamukura. “Who we are shouldn’t be of importance to you - you would be gone soon enough. As for the rest, figure it out yourself.” With that, he turned towards the door, his long black cloak billowing behind him as he paused to look over his shoulder. “I cannot assure your safety outside of these four walls. You will stay put if you know what is good for you.”
“Ah…” The white-haired stranger hummed as soon as the other was gone. “Kamukura-kun likes you!”
“Excuse me?” Hinata was pretty sure they didn’t see the same scene back there. “I think you’re seeing things.”
“He does! Trust me, Kamukura-kun definitely likes you!”
Yeah, no. Hinata doesn’t believe that, not even for a bit.
It must have shown in his face because the other was looked away with a wiry smile. “I understand that you can’t bring yourself to accept my words, but I assure you, they are true. Kamukura-kun, he…” He paused, biting his pink lips that Hinata was most definitely not looking at while listening. “He doesn’t trust others much, but for him to warn you of what lurks outside this room speaks volumes.”
“…Alright then.” He still doesn’t buy it, but he does feel inclined to accept his words. Huh. Wonder why. "What exactly is outside this room?“
"Magic.”
Answer faster. Please. As if he wasn’t already having a hard time believing anything.
“Ah… I know you just woke up, but you probably need some rest now. It couldn’t be helped, you did have an eventful day I suppose.” He laughed. Then, as if knowing exactly what to say to calm him, he added, “Believe me when I say this, your friends are all alright. They’re not harmed other than a few scrapes here and there. Rest well knowing that they are safe, dear honored guest. I’ll bring you your meal later when you awake!”
And just like that, he left as he appeared - with Hinata not knowing a thing of what just happened.
He considered going outside the room and leaving, but ultimately, was it worth the risk? These people, despite their oddity, have so far been hospitable to him. Except for the whole debacle with that spider-lady and their avoidance of answering anything but…
As Hinata lied back down on the bed to rest, countless thought ran through his head.
There were many stories regarding the tower’s origins, but none were as well known as those of the stolen princess. It spoke of how a naive and beautiful princess was whisked away to some haunted tower by a heartless conniving demon who wanted her brilliance for only himself. And yet, so far, all Hinata saw in this tower was a helpful, carefree guy with hair like dandelion puffs, and a snobby, deadpan emo edgelord who both seem to act as if this place was their home.
Things were hella weird and fucking scary as shit, and he was pretty sure he lost his sanity along the way. Yet, as much as he hates to admit it, despite everything that has happened so far, Hinata found himself looking forward to what tomorrow would bring him.
(Especially since that cute cloud-haired guy promised to bring him food, and he really wanted to have a name to call that pretty face. Plus, who knows, maybe they’ll decide to start answering his questions if he decide to be cooperative. For now though, all he could so is hope.)
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littlelovelyspiderling · 6 years ago
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A Wonderful, Incredible, Imperfect Human Being
Thanks @a-bad-actor for this adorable prompt!! Hope you enjoy it!
Peter feels useless, like he’s failing everyone he cares about. While trying to comfort the kid, Tony Stark discovers the perfect way to cheer him up.
word count: 2,350
“You okay, Pete?”
When the kid didn’t answer him, Tony gave his shoulder a shake. Peter started, nearly knocking his web-shooters to the floor, and looked up at him.
“Huh? What?”
“Are you okay?” he asked again. “You seem, I don’t know, distracted. Tired. Less bouncy and hyperactive than normal.” He patted his head. “I thought you were excited about this. You’re the one who wasn’t satisfied with my work and decided you just had to add your own upgrades to your web-shooters, remember?”
Peter looked stung by his words, which surprised him. He turned back to the devices on the table, his expression clouding over.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” He fiddled absentmindedly with the triggers. “Just not really feeling it today.”
Not really feeling it today. By now Tony knew that was code for something very bad. He had not, however, learned the perfect approach to situations like this just yet. The whole ‘mentoring-a-super-powered-protege-but-also-having-to-deal-with-him-being-a-15-year-old-teenager’ was still a bit of a gray area for him, with new challenges to face around every corner. Peter Parker was an amazingly smart and hard-working mentee, but he was still a kid. A kid in high school. That was the part that always tripped Stark up.
But he cared for the young hero. Tony hated seeing him down in the dumps. So, ever since half the universe had disintegrated then come back to life, Stark had tasked himself to do what he could to lift Peter’s spirits whenever they were dampened, despite how out of character it felt. He stood beside him, tilting his head to the side.
“Is there…a reason for that?” he asked cautiously. Peter swallowed, not looking up from the table.
“I…” he began. He rubbed at his forearm and bit his lip. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling kind of useless lately.”
“Useless?” Tony repeated. “A kid that can climb walls and write a research paper on thermonuclear astrophysics like it’s fourth grade science—useless?”
“I forgot Ned’s birthday,” he said, voice breaking. He bent his head towards the ground. “I’ve missed four Decathlon practices in the past two months. I let a stupid rookie burglar get away last night after he hurt two boys. May asked me to get groceries on Tuesday, but I forgot the milk. I can’t even pick up groceries right, Mr. Stark. I feel like I’m failing everybody I care about. I’m useless. I keep disappointing all the people who depend on me, and I don’t know what to…I can’t…”
Tears welled in his eyes. He breathed in sharp, raspy breaths. Tony felt his heart split in two. These were the times when he was supposed to have the right answer, the perfect thing to say to make everything better. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him out of the stool.
“Hey, come here. Come on.”
Sniffling, Peter slid out of the seat. He let Stark walk him to the couch by the wall, hating himself for crying in front of his idol, hating himself for coming up short on all of his responsibilities, hating himself for not being enough. He sat, and Tony sat beside him, resting a palm on his back.
“Listen to me, okay?” Peter looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You, Mr. Parker, are an amazing little person. You’ve got more goodness and bravery in you than all of the Avengers combined, and the biggest heart for helping others I’ve ever seen.”  After a small hesitation, he started running his hand up and down his back, trying his best to calm the troubled teen. “But even the greatest of heroes aren’t perfect. You know that. Everybody fails, especially after going through everything you’ve dealt with. And if the people you care about can’t forgive you for making a few mistakes, then they don’t deserve you.”
Peter dropped his gaze, burning with a mixture of shame and gratitude, wiping messily at his eyes.
“Don’t ever call yourself useless, Peter. Nobody who knows you ever thinks that. You are a wonderful, incredible, imperfect human being. Own the mistakes you make, learn from them, and move on. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said quietly. He combed a hand through his hair, puffing out his cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”
“Don’t apologize,” Tony insisted. “I get it. It’s tough.”
“It’s just weirder now, after everything. I feel so out of sync with the world. Stuff that used to come so naturally to me now just—”
Out of nowhere, Peter flinched, jolting upright, as if he’d been electrocuted. Tony blinked in surprise.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” he asked, moving his hand to his shoulder. “You just jumped, like, a foot off the couch.”
Peter shook his head, looking a tad startled. “N-nothing, nothing, sorry.” He rolled his shoulders and arched his spine, as if he had a crick in his back. “Just, um, a little sore.”
“Did you take a big hit recently?” Stark applied gentle pressure to his shoulder blades, feeling for any bumps or knots. “I have a masseuse lady who can turn all your muscles to jelly. She’s approved by every Avenger except Banner, but he claims massages make him anxious.”
“No, that’s okay,” Peter said, jerking away from his touch. “I just need to stretch more.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so twitchy all of sudden? Am I hurting you? Where were you hit?” He gave his lower back a small squeeze, and Peter squeaked.
“Stohop it!” he yelped, hopping to his feet. “I’m—I’m fine, okay?”
“Well obviously you’re not. What’s your problem?”
A hint of pink rose in the young hero’s cheeks. “I just—I don’t like people touching my back is all. It feels…weird.”
“Weird? Weird how?”
Peter shrugged, crossing his arms. “I…I don’t know. Weird. I can’t explain it. It’s no big deal.”
Tony studied the kid amusedly, the way he was staring off to the side and flushing redder and redder and guarding himself with both arms. Gradually, the pieces clicked together in his mind.
“Weird like you’re ticklish?” he inquired. Peter looked up sharply, eyes flashing wide.
“What?” he stammered. “Oh, n-no, not like that. Something else. Definitely something else.”
“So you’re not ticklish?” Tony said. After a tiny pause, Peter shook his head. Tony smiled.
“Well, then this certainly is peculiar.” He stood from the couch, causing the kid to wince back just barely. “But don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Peter blinked. “The bottom of what?” he asked, pressing his arms a little bit tighter to chest.
“Of what’s wrong with your back, of course.” Tony reached out and gripped Peter’s shoulder. “We have to figure out what’s making it feel weird so we can fix it.”
The red in his cheeks bled into his ears. “No. We really don’t. I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”
“But something could be seriously wrong.” he insisted. He turned him around. “Making peace with yourself means admitting that you have flaws. And then telling others so they can help you overcome them. I know this seems small, but trust me: taking some time to improve something little about yourself is a great first step towards overall happiness.”
“Mr. Stark…” Peter protested sheepishly, but it was too late. Tony started rubbing all over his back, squeezing his shoulders and sides, causing him to cringe.
“Now, be honest with me, kid: what feels weird and why?”
A huge bubble of giggles immediately swelled inside his throat. Peter pursed his lips and held his eyes shut, fighting the urge to wrench away.
“Ihit…f-feels reheally…” A squeal escaped him when Stark tweaked his hip. He spun around before he could stop himself, batting his hands away. “Quihit it!”
“Peter, I’m trying to help you,” Tony huffed impatiently, but by now the facade was long broken. A mischievous flicker gleamed in his eyes, and a playful smirk pulled at his lips. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
The two were at a standoff. Peter stood frozen a moment longer before bolting in the opposite direction. Strangely, Tony anticipated this. He snagged his arm before he could escape, yanking him back and catching him around the middle. High-pitched giggles started pouring from the kid’s lips before Stark even laid a finger on him, which he thought was quite adorable.
“Nohoho! Mr. Stahark! Plehease don’t!” He kicked and shrieked like a little kid. Tony snorted.
“Nobody solves their problems by running away from them, Peter.” He dumped the young hero on the couch, curling his hands into claws. “You’ve got to learn to face them head-on.”
With that, Tony pounced on him, scurrying his fingers up and down the kid’s sides. Immediately, Peter burst into hysterical laughter, scrunching into a ball and squirming like crazy. Stark chuckled along with the giggly teen, endeared by his childlike response. He never knew Spider-Man was so ticklish, and now he was curious how he didn’t realize it sooner.
“Wahahahait! Plehehease! Ahahahaha!” He bucked and twitched and laughed helplessly, burying his face between the cushions.
“I’m confused here, Pete,” Stark said, squeezing his ribs and poking at his underarms. “I thought you said you weren’t ticklish. If being ticklish isn’t what’s causing this, what else could it be?”
“Stohohahahap it!” he squealed, voice muffled. The teasing only made him blush more.
“But look how happy you are. This is the exact kind of cheering up you need!” Tony changed his approach, wrapping both hands around the kid’s scrawny torso and drilling his entire midsection with tickles. Peter screeched, trying desperately to guard himself, but failing miserably.
“Ehehehahahaha shihihihihit!” he cried, quaking with laughter. If the embarrassment didn’t kill him, the unstoppable giggling certainly would. “Oh gohohohod, ohokahahay! You wihihihihihin, Mr. Stahahahark! I’m tihihihihicklish! Now stohohohahahahap it! Pleasepleasepleaseplehehehehehehehease!”
Tony chuckled. “Really? You think so? No way!” He shoved his hands through the kid’s defenses and scribbled his fingers against his belly. “I can’t believe you lied to me, after all I’ve done to brighten your mood. Now you’re really gonna get it.”
Peter rolled on to his side, laughing wildly. “Nohohohohaha! I tohohohold the truhuhuth! You’re suhupposed to lehehet me gohohahahahAHAHAHAHA!”
The kid’s frantic movements had left him vulnerable, and Stark made him pay for it. He snaked a hand up his shirt and started clawing at his defenseless tummy and sides, sending Peter into an instant frenzy. He thrashed and squirmed, grappling at Tony’s wrist, shrieking with laughter, which only exposed more of his tickle spots to his mentor’s evils fingers. Stark liked being playful with the kid. It brought out sides of both of them that had grown increasingly scarce.
“AHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHAHAHAHA! EHEHEHAHAHAHA!” When Tony slipped his other hand up to his armpit, Peter was pretty much down for. All he could do was laugh and twitch, face beat-red and eyes brimming with tears.
“I’ll stop on one condition,” Stark said, wrecking the kid with the most sinister tickle tactics he knew, chuckling at how easy it was to render him a giggly, helpless blob. “I want you to say, out loud, that you’re a wonderful, incredible, imperfect human being who deserves all the happiness in the world. Say that, and I’ll stop.”
Peter laughed and squeaked, hiccups jumping from his lips and wracking his entire frame. He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I C-CAHAHAHAHAN’T!  PLEHEHEHEHEASE! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Tony shrugged. “Well, then I guess I’m never stopping. This is your life now, kid.” He switched between tickling every one of Peter’s ribs and grinding his knuckles into his entire ribcage. The kid was worn into giggly shambles. His entire body was tinted pink.
“AHAHAHAHAAA HEHEHEHEHELP!” he pleaded. “OHOHOKAHAHAY AHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHI’M EHEHAHAHA WAHAHANDERFUHUHUHAHAHAHA!” He whipped his head from side to side, every word sputtering from his lips swallowed up by uncontrollable laughter. This was actual torture.
“You’ve got this! You can do it!” Stark moved his tickle attack back down to his sides, teasing them with no less enthusiasm but knowing that if he stayed on Peter’s more ticklish spots, the poor kid might never get the words out. Peter jumped and yelped at his every touch like his fingers were full of sparks.
“SHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUP!” he laughed. “O-OHOKAHAY, I—IHIHIHIHI’M AHA WAHAHAHANDERFUHUHUL IHIHIHIMPERFECT THIHIHIHIHING WHOOHOO HAHAHAS—WHOOHOO WAHAHAHANTS—WAHAHAHAHAIT—THEEHEE WOHOHOHORLD’S HAHAHAHAHAPPINEHESS, OR—?” Peter pealed into a fit of delirious giggling. “OHOHO GOHOHAHAHAHAD! I CAHAHAHAN’T REMEHEHEHEMBER! EHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Tony smiled at the winded teenager. “Close enough,” he said. For the finale, right before letting him off the hook, Stark pulled up his shirt and blew a big, fat, monstrous raspberry into his exposed tummy. Peter all but screamed, flailing like a fish out of water, wrenching away and burrowing deep into the corner of the couch. He continued to giggle long after Tony had stopped tickling him.
“You know, I told you before that you’re never useless. But we both have to admit—tickling kinda makes you a little bit useless. You go from a big strong superhero to a puddle of giggles in seconds.” He patted his head, chuckling softly. “But in every other aspect, you’re anything but useless. I hope you know that. Except cooking. Your aunt says you suck at that, too.”
“Ihihi can’t breheheheathe…” Peter wheezed, flopping on to his back. “Ugh. Y-you’re ehehehevil, Mr. Stark…”
Tony snapped his fingers. “Oh, good point. If I ever want you to stay away from a top-tier bad guy, I’ll make sure to to tell them your weakness to ensure you steer clear of them.” He stood and poked him in the side to punctuate his threat, making the kid flinch and squeal. “See? You’re so useful. Keep up the great work, bud. I’ll be in the lab if you need me.”
Stark left the room, working for thirty minutes. For that whole chunk of time, the kid never showed. Perhaps he was mad at him. When Tony went back up to check on Peter, he was in the exact same spot he had left him. Bundled up on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, except now he was sleeping. He walked up to him, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.
Peter Parker, everyone. A wonderful, incredible, perfect human being.
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mariogman25 · 5 years ago
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The Great Lakes Marvel Universe Part 1: The Stupendous Spider-Man
Here’s a sort of pitch idea for an alternate universe of the regular marvel universe. It’s been an idea in my head that basically started, inspired by Spider-Verse, “What if I were Spider-Man?”, and it kinda spiraled out from there. The other questions I asked myself were “How can we ground the heroes even further than now?” and “Oh right Great Lakes Avengers are a thing, I wonder if I can sort of flip the script with this?” And so I’ll just kind of pitch ideas out into the ether to see if people are interested.
From “The Middle of Nowhere” Wisconsin, a college-goer is off on science field trip with his class near Milwaukee, let’s call him... Jacob. He isn’t terribly interested due to the whole reason he’s on this trip is he had to take this class to get access to the stuff he really wants to do. He’s not much into deep sciences, he just wants to entertain people, make people happy. 
As he quietly listens to some tunes on the headphones around his neck, we cut to a small Brown Recluse Spider, somehow having found a new home in a small cardboard box in a pile of cardboard boxes that haven’t been touched in a while at this building. Jacob is called over by a nearby scientist, his arms holding a tray of closed chemicals, and asks him to help him by moving these boxes, tired of them being in the way for so long. Jacob, kind as he is, obliges the scientist. Grabbing the base of the cardboard boxes he hefts them up. Inside the small box on top, we see the spider freaking the hell out as it runs the hell out of its box on down onto whatever it’s disturbing it’s home. Jacob doesn’t notice it immediately, the dust making him squint his eyes real tight, he turns to the scientist, looking to where to put them. Suddenly he feels a massive pain in his arm as he drops the boxes. 
And suddenly it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The boxes strike the tray of chemicals, they fly into the air. Jacob looks to his arm, seeing a spider biting him there. As he’s about to scream about it, he sees the glass tubes of chemicals flying towards him as he tries to get out of the way, holding his arm up to defend himself, a glass of something shatters against him in the same arm the spider bit him... and he lets out a horrific shriek. The overwhelming pain in his arm, he sees his arm flesh melting, he falls to the floor. As he writhes and screams bloody murder, he sees the sweatshirt burning away on his forearm, the spider is melting too. Something shifts and it suddenly feels as though his whole body is burning, sitting on some giant that’s also screaming, as you sink further into his flesh... wait, that’s himself... He’s looking at himself from the point of view of the spider. They both continue to scream as Jacob eventually blacks out, getting carted out of building as fast as possible to the hospital.
We cut to a week later, we see Jacob in his room, sitting on his bed at night. He lives with his own parents still, it being the cheapest option and they’re good people. He seems to be mourning the damage to his sweatshirt. It was his favorite sweatshirt... He eventually looks to the scar damage on his arm. It’s rather horrific to look at, but something has been bothering him about it. In the middle of his inner forearm is a perfectly non-scarred area in the shape of a spider. He just sort of assumes it’s a fluke, like the spider that bit him saved that skin from burning, and those visions from it’s perspective and seeing it melt into his flesh were just... pain hallucinations or something... he doesn’t really want to think about that day, the pain in his arm spikes suddenly, as he goes to take his pain meds and head to sleep.
Over the course of many weeks, we see him develop... odd tendencies. He likes hanging out in small corners, his own mind keeps making him think of “Nesting” somewhere, and the idea of eating crickets is suddenly more appetizing to him now then ever before. It all comes to a head, when in the middle of the night, in a tired stupor in a cold sweat, he walks over to his closet, stands in the corner of it, and as if out of instinct, places his hand against the wall and sprays web out of his forearm... right from where the spider scar is... and that snaps him out of his cold stupor and the adrenaline hits him. He jumps backwards... far... unexpectedly far... and high too, considering he sees himself suddenly two feet higher than before and not coming down. He then sees himself sticking to the opposite corner of his closet... on the ceiling. He lets out a yelp and scrambles down from the ceiling and out of his closet, his heart pounding. His father walks in, eyes wide from hearing his son scream... “What the hell was that?!” he exclaimed “Uhuhuh... spider...” Jacob responded hesitantly  “...did the spider bite you...?” his father asked “...nnnooooo?” Jacob responded again, unsure how to say “OK. Be safe, alright?”  “Ok dad. Thanks.”  “Yeah.” His father headed out of the room as Jacob turned around and stared wide eyed at the spider-scar on his arm. ‘What the hell was that?!’
And so we go further into through a montage of what’s going on in Jacob’s life. He experiments with what he can do. The webbing seems to only com from that one arm, but he’s got a few different kinds if he concentrates on it. Stuff like a line, netting, and what he likes to call “armor webbing” were it spreads out along himself, giving him a sort of armor or nest of netting. Unfortunately creating this webbing makes him really hungry, mostly for proteins, and overuse starts draining him of muscle mass. So he tries to be more careful when shooting this stuff or he’ll starve himself really quickly. 
Jacob was never the most... active person. Not exactly ‘in shape’, but he was decently strong. But... something’s at least changed now. He can lift things easily that he struggled with before, he’s gotten faster, as are his reaction times. He can also sort of... tell all what’s around him. Like a sort of echolocation that he doesn’t need to scream for. He also checked recently but he was sure his canine teeth weren’t also that long before... and for some reason those teeth taste really bitter for some reason... ‘I’ll get used to it I guess...’
Eventually he gets back to everyday life, having kept that old sweatshirt for sentimental reasons. He has to wear a sort of arm sock as not to disturb anyone looking at him or disturb himself until the scar eventually fades... hopefully. Jacob has always been a fan of super heroes, going to see all their movies, and while not really reading their comics, at least knew he had something special. He sometimes has avid talks to himself in his head, figuring “OH MY GOD I’M A REAL SUPER HERO!” “Oh god what should I do with this power... I don’t want anyone close to me to die because of this...” and talks of that nature. He definitely kept the whole webbing thing a secret while thinking all this over.
Then his chance came one day. As he was cashiering at the store he worked at, a man pulled a gun on him and shot in the air. He complied for the demands of course, until the man was being led to the safe in the back. Almost as if acting on instinct again, Jacob jumped from the register to the man, punching right in the back of the head, laying him flat on the ground. This eventually earned him both congratulations and also condemnation, saying he was fucking nuts for trying to stop that guy, but good job on knocking him out.
At home Jacob was thinking it over. He was really good at the whole crime fighting thing. He didn’t exactly want to do the whole “power corrupts” thing as he was just too naturally good/paranoid to consider going to commit actual crimes with his power. He started with his costume. He bought a brand new green sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of sunglasses, and went to work Having watched a few movies with an actual costume making sequence, he pulled a few ideas, eventually sewing a pair of mirrored aviators into the “mask” of the costume, along with adding a zipper to the front of the hood to allow for him to take off the costume easily.
He modified a pair of jeans to allow for flexibility, adding sweatpants material to the knees and other parts to allow him to actually move around very acrobatically. He also figured he’d need a pair of gloves so fingerprints won’t be seen, so he went to his dads workshop and grabbed a good pair of cut resistant gloves. One it was all put together in an ensemble, he looked himself in the mirror at home while he was alone. It needed one last thing to really make it all thematic. He bought some black spray paint, made a decent stencil, and got to decorating his costume. He climbed to the top of his home and stood dramatically on the top.
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(Art by: https://twitter.com/Thwipthw1p )
“Alright... I can do this... I can do this...”
And so the training montage begins. He gets to figuring out his limits, and how to use his webs. Due to the lack of tall buildings for where he lives, he learns how to swing and travel through the trees of his home.
And so we begin to watch this blossoming super hero come into his own. Let us watch where he finally proves to himself that he’s got what it takes.
It’s a bank robbery in progress in town. The robbers have everyone on the ground and are in the process of emptying the vault. The police have not arrived yet, and some people are crying on the ground. The robbers, 4 of them in total, hear someone shout “OH SHIT” down the hall, near the bathrooms. Thinking they missed someone, they send one guy down there to stop the guy from calling the cops... minutes pass, and the man hasn’t emerged from the bathroom. They start worrying, and they send another guy, gun at the ready, and when he opens the door he screams “WHAT THE FUCK!?”. He sees his friend tied up in a gross webbing cocoon of some sort, on the wall across from the bathroom door. The man tries freeing his friend before he feels a striking pain on the back of his head and he’s out like a light. The last two robbers look at eachother worried when suddenly from around a corner they aren’t looking down, one of the robbers is pulled away by something they can’t see, right out of a horror movie, both of them screaming as one is out of sight. As the last one runs to the man that ran away, suddenly a gunshot rings out and his knee gives out as he screams once again, in pain this time. He sees only a flash of green before a brown boot strikes him in the nose and he’s out like a light as well.
The cops find the robbers all in various states of pain. One man tied up in a sort of cocoon, eyes covered, crying thinking he was going to be eaten by a giant spider. One was stuck to the first man, face slammed into the webbing with a massive bruise on his head from one punch. Another man was stick to the ceiling tied up and hanging there knocked out, and the final man as knocked out cold on the floor, a broken nose and a bullet wound through the leg, that same leg also being bandaged up with webs and stuck to the floor. There was no bullet left at the scene.
Later that day, Jacob ate a really large sandwich to replenish all he lost from the webbing.
We jump further into the future of Jacob’s life. He’s been given an official job by the police department so that he may no longer work at that store he was at before, but he made sure to space out his acceptance of the police job and the quitting of his store job as not to arouse suspicion. They let him wear his costume to keep anonymity when fighting crimes, and he’s learned some useful skills.
In place of the webswinging the other Spider-People have, this Spider-Man can surf on cars and essentially “water-ski” behind speeding cars like an expert. He does eventually figure out a way to stop that from wearing the hell out of his shoes (metal plates for the bottoms of shoes). Though he’s still not wholly confident in his abilities, this spider-man also carries a revolver, for surprises.
(I wonder what villains I’d use in this universe...)
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askthiscpblog · 6 years ago
Note
Can we get a meeting between Char and Jace?
It was a cold autumn night in the city and everything was bustling about, but away from prying eyes a warehouse was being prepped for a special event.
“Okay….lights are good. Almost got the place soundproofed. What else? What else?” Jace was getting ready not for Christmas, but for the grand event of the slaughter show.
Char yawned up in the rafters of the warehouse, up in a dark corner away from any lights. Taking out a special hot knife, she sliced through the spider silk cocoon and climbed out. It was a good sleep last night, and she felt like she needed it. Rubbing her eyes, Char looked over the edge and saw the new people in the warehouse. There were two, one unconscious on the ground wearing a white hoodie. He also had black hair and his eyes weren’t even close. The other one seemed to be setting up some weird things, but what, she had no idea. Jace was starting to climb at spots and was putting cameras up. He put up the third one, then stopped and looked around.
“What the hell…relax, Jace. Relax. No one is here.” he muttered to himself.
So, his name was Jace. Char climbed up onto the ceiling and crawled over closer to him, keeping her distance. She’s curious by nature, and that’s what got her in trouble most of the time, too. After lowering himself down, he put up the rest of the cameras and started to hide knives around the area. Some were obvious, others would be hard to find. Char kept watching this Jace with curious intent. He looked dangerous and didn’t seem pleased to be here. He also looked paranoid, looking around, double checking himself to make sure everything was perfect.
“Ok. Good. Now, what should I put under the light spots?” Jace asked himself and thought for a bit.
“Oh! A bat isn’t a bad idea. More swing space an-” he stopped and looked around again. He could almost tell he was being watched. Char kept to herself, sneaking around the roof of the place and keeping up high. Humans never tend to look up, it was how she caught her prey. He was like the rest, if not a little more dangerous. And lean too so he could taste good.
Jace looked around more. This time looking closely at everything. He knew that his imagination didn’t go off this often, and it was almost like how he felt when he was at Zalgo’s lair.
“Come on, Jace. If someone was watching you, where would they be?” It took him a bit as he thought of where he would hide. That’s when it hit him like a bus, but if there was a person there, then he needed to catch them by surprise. “Okay man! Calm your ass! You’re getting a bit anxious that’s all. Just get the showroom finished.” He started to play dumb, keeping his ear out to see if he could catch anything. He even took out his mask and cleaned, hoping he could see something up in the rafters.
Char moved around again, watching him still with her unblinking eyes. It was something interesting, watching him wander around, scared a little about having eyes on him. He was someone who had experience, and that is what made her interested in him. She kept close to the darkness, moving in a methodical fashion to keep quiet. Each step was more meticulous than the last, making as little sound as possible. It wasn’t the hardest thing to do, she was a predator she knew how to stalk and hunt. There was a small build of saliva in her mouth, venomous to most other creatures that weren’t like her. It was something that happened when she was near food. This food was going to be tough and she didn’t want a tough catch. The other person though, they would be better. Taking a loose bit of a beam, she chucked it into one of the lights causing it to spark and flash as it hit the ground. The rest went out from the short circuit.
That’s the thing. She didn’t hear a yell or a scream… it was quiet.
Char started to crawl over to another wall, still ever so quiet. She didn’t care to fight the guy, she only wanted his captive. He looked like a good crispy chicken strip that she could eat.
Jace waited in the dark with a passive expression on, waiting for whoever it was to take the bait. That’s when he saw her descending towards Jeff. A smile formed on his now masked face. He let out his bloodlust as his gaze pierced her. A supernatural aura flowed out from him, radiating the aura of a predator to anyone who was near.
The feeling washed over Char, but she didn’t seem to react to it in any shape or form. In fact, she didn’t react at all. The only thing she did was lash out her webbing, grabbing onto Jeff and yanking him over to her. With him in her arms, she crawled back up the wall, jumping a few times if need be, and carried him away.
Seeing this, Jace chased after, still gazing at her; matching her steps with his, he pulled out a small flare tied to a knife and threw it at…Jeff? Oh, he may want to kill the fuck in the show, but that didn’t mean he minded if he hurt him a bit before. The flare got caught into Jeff’s shoulder, which caused him to wake up and start cursing and screaming. Seeing that he was being manhandled by a freak, he started to wiggle more and cursed the entire time. Not wanting to put up with a struggle for food, she dropped the man and continued to run around in a wide circle. It was a 40-foot drop from the ceiling, too.
“Should I? Yeah, I should.” Jace debated on the decision to save Jeff. He grabbed him and pinned him on the ground with knives through his clothes, inches deep into the ground. Jace then made quick work of gagging and blindfolding him.
“There we go.” He said with satisfaction. Then he looked around for the intruder, knowing full well that she was not normal.
“So,” he called out “you with Zal or that tall guy, or are you a third party?”
There wasn’t much of a sound coming from anywhere. She was still hiding in the darkness above him. A normal human wouldn’t be able to see her, not with how well cloaked she was and how far away she was. No lights coming in made it all that much more difficult. She wasn’t about to speak either, showing where she was in the darkness. So, she kept still, hiding, waiting for the moment to try and get her prey again.
Getting impatient, Jace pulled out a flare gun and shot it up to the center of the ceiling to light up the whole place. When that went off, Char shot out more of her webbing to surround the flare trying to dim it. It only succeeded in catching fire and falling to the ground where Jeff was. She sat up in the scaffolding and rafters kicking her feet over the edge of it. She was in her covered-up clothing too, so not much seen beyond colorful garments.
Jace ran over and kicked the ball of fire away and loaded the gun. He saw the direction that the web came from. Backing away from Jeff and pulled out a knife in his left hand. Looking around, knowing the flare by Jeff was messing up his eyes from adjusting to the dark. What he could tell was that the intruder would rather do hit and run tactics.
Char stood up on the beam and stretched before crouching down frog style. Launching herself from it, jumping from one beam to another, she picked up speed scattering herself around. Her strength helped her speed, but that was about it in this current situation. She made some noise over in the corner to the right of him but stopped and went back to sneaking to get up above him. Hearing the noise, he got ready for an attack. He knew that this intruder had webs and would strike from the above so made sure that the gun was tight in his grasp. That would save his life and he knew it. He must make himself the bait now, he thought; he needed the attack to make the first move.
Inching her way down the wall behind him, Char made no sound. The flare won’t show her shadow because it is going against the light, so he should have no idea she is there. It was a slow process, but one that should be worth it. Taking out her webbing again, she is only a few feet above his head holding her breath. In a flash the whip of web came out from behind him and twirled around his wrist with the gun, flinging it to the side as it fired off on the ground into some corner. A whip happened again, going to the other wrist now. Jace realized what was happening too late to react. His gun hand and his other hand now restrained, he looks up and sees his attacker. He started to pull on the webbing it’s all his might.
She yanked violently to bring him to her as she jumped over his head and landed on the ground in front of him. Springing up from the landing, she tackled him into the wall, her short shoulder digging into his diaphragm and right under the rib cage. After that, she pushed back, spraying out more webbing from her body, trying to get one hand to stick to the wall. Knocking the air of him stunned him for a second, having his body go into fight or flight mode. It always went to fight.
“BITCH!!!” He lifted his legs to wrap around her waist. As she was busy with one hand, he took the other hand and jabbed his thumb in her armpit. He then headbutted her to get her to let go of him. Feeling his legs around her, Char couldn’t back up and away from him now. He had her, and this wasn’t a good thing. Feeling him jab something into her armpit, it caused her to let go of what she was doing to his other arm and to let out a high pitched shrill. Then comes the headbutt. It caused her eyes to water up. To get out, Char bit down into his thigh, breaking the skin to force him to let out. As she moved back covering her the spot where he headbutted her.
“Okay then, be that way,” she mumbled, looking at him before taking the whip to lash out at him. Right on the side of the face too, where the cheekbone is pointing out.
He felt it and was painful, but luckily his mask offered him some protection. Feeling the pain on his scar was almost setting him over the edge. Reliving that day made him infuriated, but he only walked towards her casually. Like he didn’t see her. His bloodlust disappeared. She was backing up, backing away from him towards the other body on the ground. It would be a dumb decision to allow him to get close to her. Stepping over the body that was wiggling and cursing in the gag, she crouched down to it and picked it up.
“You seem to care about this guy. Stop where you are and parlay with me,” she says, holding onto him with one hand and her whip in the other.
He stops and eyes her.
“Now you’re willing to talk…you got one chance. If not. I’ll leave nothing but a memory of you.” His voice sounded joyful, but there was a sense of unease to it.
“Like I was going to talk to you when you already were threatening. I want my dinner here and I can be on my way. And if you decide not, I’ll eat you too.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Then you’re going to die. I have spent seven years of readying myself to fight and kill this fucker and I’m not going to let all my hard work go in vain.”
“You think I’m going to die? Hardly.” She says shifting her weight. “Why not kill him right here and now then? Then I can eat and we both win.” He was wiggling and struggling too much, so she dropped him onto the ground, keeping one foot on his shoulder. Jace shook his head. He couldn’t believe this, it was bullshit.
“No, he is going to be in the Slaughter Show. That killer is going to die. It was going to happen tomorrow, but thanks for your interference I must take a drastic measure. Now I have to delay the finale.” His tone went a bit sour at the end.
Char tilts her head to him, her clothing falling to the side but not showing anything still.
“Can I eat him after you’re done then?” she asks
There was a pause and responds with a slight chuckle as Jace responded with, “Sure. Why the fuck not?”
“WHATTHEFUCKYOUMOTHERSHITTINGFUCKER!!!!!!!!!!” Jeff’s got loose and started to wiggle more.
Char jumped at him getting loose of his gag, and immediately soccer ball kicked him in the head out of reaction. That knocked him out again, if only because it wasn’t a light kick from the strong little lass. With that reaction done and over with, she looked back up to the other man in front of her.
“Alright, I will be up in the rafters watching and waiting. I won’t interfere with anything anymore, so long as I get my food tomorrow night.”
“I said it got delayed. Maybe by a week. I need him at his peak…how about this? I’ll do a warm up here and you can have all the people that I killed. Good?” Jace liked how she took care of Jeff but was not the biggest fan of her eating people. To him that was wrong, but he needed to keep Jeff and himself alive from the unnatural. At least if he did kill his victims ahead of time, they don’t have to go through the pain and torture of being eaten alive.
“I could help you set up and fix everything if you want. I can even provide some support or structure help, knowing where the weak areas of this place are. Or help carry things too heavy that you can’t.”
“Alright, what’s the catch?” He’s not used to people offering him help
“You don’t out me, I don’t out you. You leave me alone while I sleep, you do the same. Call it a… temporary symbiotic relationship. Hell, I can probably even get some people for you that you normally couldn’t get yourself.” Though he couldn’t see it behind the cloth, she was grinning.
He thought for a good 5 minutes; then with a deep breath, he took off the mask.
“Fine, you got a deal. Got a name, spider girl?”
“Charlette, but just call me Char for short. What about you?” While he was thinking she was still moving back and forth, slowly but unable to stand still. Almost like a fighting animation but slower and in real life.
“Jason, but call me Jace. Why are you here to begin with? No one would know that someone was here.”
“You answered your own question there,” she responded, taking a few steps back away from Jeff.
He sighs, replying with, “At least you’re a third party.” He said as he went to get stuff to stitch Jeff up. Char then takes some of her webbings as a rope to toss it up and around the beams above them. Then started to climb it up into the beams itself. “Third party, what do you mean?”
“Don’t worry about it. I got involved in a supernatural gang war to get the fucker. Now I’m trying to get as much distance from them as I can.”
“Fine, fine, if you say so. I’m going back to sleep then, so don’t be too loud.”
“…I may do the same,” He started to patch Jeff up, “Night.”
“Goodnight!”
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greyskywrites · 6 years ago
Text
Wolf’s Price
[First] [Previous] [AO3] [ko-fi]
XI. Root
5.5k | Chapter warning for implied sexual assault, poisoning, and description of surgery
The elk had gone into rut, and so every bull in twenty miles was screaming, and Anarin’s demon was wilder than ever. Often as not, when I set out to leave in the morning the beast had broken out of the stables and was wreaking havoc in the courtyard, charging the stablehands who were attempting to catch him before he got to the pen of heat-stricken cows.
Anarin would walk out, whistle, and the stinking, lust-ridden elk would settle and snort resentfully, and be led back to the stable until the next morning. Anarin seemed unbothered by the chaos Bili created, she had other concerns.
I was still helping with Veland’s lessons. He was frustrated, but determined, and was starting to be able to ask for things in Sarenn. I had noticed he was picking up some Kressosi as well, though neither his mother nor I were actively teaching him. Naturally, what he was picking up from the other children was largely profanities, which I quietly advised him he shouldn’t repeat around his mother. Some mothers might not mind that their children swore as well as any footman, but I had my doubts that Lya was one of them.
Strangely, the boy seemed to have grown attached to me. I didn’t know why, I certainly didn’t go out of my way to entertain him. More than once I caught him trying to follow me on my trips out to the lodge, and sent him back into the castle with a firm swat. I would not be responsible for his getting himself into serious trouble outside of Morhall.
My other shadow was more difficult to shake.
Haris knew I could see him tailing me, and I knew he didn’t care. Let me know that I was watched, what mattered was that I couldn’t get rid of him. I took my basket of scraps to the lodge, and I worked as Haris leaned up alongside the door, arms folded, gazing steadily at me through the gloom.
“Who is this?” Spider asked me, her eyes narrowed at Haris.
“He is one of Commander Emiran’s men,” I said, putting down a squash I had stolen whole from the kitchens when the matrons were not looking. “It seems the commander is suspicious about what I get up to.”
I began my rounds as usual, asking each person how they were doing, inspecting their recovery. There was a face I didn’t recognize, a young man pale with fever who was sweating in a bed that had previously been occupied by a new mother. He was very, very ill—and it didn’t take me long to diagnose the problem.
I dragged Spider over by the arm, lifting the blanket to gesture to the boy’s wounded leg, which gave off an unmistakable odor. “Why didn’t you send someone to tell me of this? How long has he been here?”
“Only since last night,” Spider told me. “His father brought him in, he had been concealing the seriousness of the injury.”
“I need to remove the leg as soon as possible. Have someone hang blankets in that corner,” I said, gesturing to the back of the lodge. “We need to move him there so I can operate without distressing the others.” I cursed myself for not anticipating something like this, and dug furiously through my kit bag, praying I had everything.
“Mr. Haris!” I barked, jerking the blanket off of the boy. “I need your assistance.”
Haris stared at me for a moment before he began to move, and I saw the moment in his face when he saw what I had seen. The wound was rotten, and poisoning his blood. “I’ll get his arms,” Haris said, not needing to be told. I grasped the legs, and the boy yelped, but I had no time to be gentle with him. We moved him onto a table in that back corner, and I handed Haris a pair of scissors. “Cut the bandages off of him.” I took a rag from my kit and elixir of poppy. A dab and nothing more, I pressed the cloth over the young man’s face and waited for his eyes to roll back, dazed.
I made sure the blankets were up so that we could not be seen by the entire lodge, and pulled my saw from its leather case. I wiped the blade in pure alcohol, and looked up to find Haris gazing grimly at me. “He’s sedated, but that doesn’t mean he won’t fight,” I said. “Find another two or three men to help you hold him down.”
Haris left me, and I had never been much of a praying woman, but I knew the wards against the spirits of death as well as my own name. I prayed quietly and quickly over the boy, as I scrubbed my hands clean in hot water and tied a tourniquet above his knee. Stupid boy, if he had sought treatment sooner, I might have been able to save his leg.
Haris returned with three men who paled when I lifted my saw. “Quickly now,” I instructed them. “We don’t have a moment to spare.”
I had always hated this.
The boy screamed when I started to cut. I worked hard and fast, hot blood soaking the front of my dress, speckling my face. He had lost consciousness by the time I was done, stitching skin back over the place where his knee had once been and hissing prayers under my breath that it was not too late.
I washed his blood from my hands and face, and set to preparing one of my few syringes. They were costly items, even in Azira, and I treated them with great care. They would be nearly impossible to replace in Saren.
The other men had retreated as soon as they were able, but Haris was still there when I turned. He watched as I felt for the vein in the boy’s elbow, and injected him with a medicine I would not be able to replicate in Saren, and had been saving for a situation as dire as this. It was said to clean the blood, and prevent infection from spreading. I let out a breath.
“Have you done many of these?” Haris asked.
I glanced up at him, running water through the syringe. I would have to boil it later, but for now, I just wanted it rinsed. “Azira is not without its bloody conflicts,” I said. “I would have been considered a piss poor physician, if I couldn’t do this.” I looked away. “As it is, he may yet die.”
“How was he injured?”
“I don’t know.” I laid aside the syringe and turned to the leg with its fouled wound, pushing back the rotten flesh. “Looks like a gunshot,” I said, and let it hang in the air between us. Sarenn people were no longer permitted to own rifles, only muskets for hunting. The difference between a bullet and a musketball would mean everything.
I dug my iron pincers into the wound, and found what I was looking for lodged in the bone. I prized it out, the bullet black with dead flesh.
Haris said nothing.
I dropped the bullet into the bowl of water I washed my hands in, and wrapped the leg in a length of worn old cloth. I called to Henric, a beardless man who said little, and asked him to take the leg out into the woods and bury it. “He won’t be needing it anymore.”
I sat, to catch my breath. I had further rounds to do, but I could not face them, not just yet.
I was surprised to find Haris wiping up blood around the boy, a grim set to his mouth. “I suppose you’re going to tell Lya about this.”
I watched him carefully. “If she asks me why I’m covered in blood, I’m not going to lie to her.”
“She hasn’t been the same since you joined up with us,” Haris said in a low voice. “Now she talks about wolf gods and blood debts, she has Muras believing in ghosts and prophets—”
“And you think I have something to do with it?” I said. “That I’m stirring up trouble with her to drive the commander mad?”
“She was never like this before.” Haris wouldn’t look at me.
“Or maybe you didn’t know her like you thought you did,” I said, losing my patience. “Do you think I was sent to drive a wedge between Emiran and his mistress? If the prince wanted her gone, I have much more direct ways of making that happen.” I stood and yanked one of the blankets down. “You Kressosi,” I muttered, “you don’t believe in monsters, so you start seeing them in people, instead.”
#
Haris made an unwelcome nuisance of himself for as long as I worked in the lodge that day. I did my best to ignore him, though I was furious. This was what Anarin wanted so badly to protect? This image of herself as a woman without bite, the kind of woman a Kressosi officer could take in without fear?
Haris didn’t deserve her, nor Emiran. They were nothing more than footmen in the game of fate, and Anarin a commander. It mattered nothing to the freedom of Saren whether these men lived or died, but everything—I knew in my gut—hung on Anarin using what she had been given. She was the spark to light the fire.
If a few Kressosi men had to burn, then so be it.
We did not speak to each other as I returned to Morhall, although Haris no longer felt the need to follow me at a distance. I thought I should have stayed to tend to the young man, but they could not afford to feed me at the lodge, and as it was—he would either live through the night or he wouldn’t. There was nothing I could do about it.
The gates were open, and Anarin was in the saddle when I saw her, sitting high and proud, her demon snorting and scraping at the stones with his hooves, antlers swinging dangerously wide. She noticed myself and Haris, and I saw the wariness in her gaze.
The elk lifted his head and screamed, and Anarin did not even look at him as she pulled on the reins and brought him under control. “What the hell happened?” she asked, pulling the beast around so she could look at me, still covered in blood.
“I took a man’s leg off,” I said. “It had gone rotten, after he was shot with a rifle.”
Anarin gazed at me for a moment, and then her demon tried to shake off the reins again. She pulled them sharply back, and turned her gaze to Haris. “I’m going out for a ride. I’ll be back as soon as Bili’s too exhausted to get into trouble.” She held the beast to a firm walk out the gates, which gave me time to climb the castle walls, and watch as she reached the empty fields, and in a moment dig her heels into the elk’s flanks and fall low as he gave a great bellow, reared, and took off at a gallop.
The night I first met Anarin she had been as shy as a mouse, withdrawn into herself almost completely. What Haris saw now, what he blamed me for, was the true woman emerging from the mask. This was Liana Anarin, half-wild and powerful. I would have loved to take credit for midwifing that into the world, but it was not my doing.
I took in a deep breath of crisp air, tinged with smoke. I was born in the foothills of the mountains, where the trees grew so tall and thick as to block out the sky in the deep forest. This frostbitten place was not my home, but it was the seat of power, once.
Where the war ended, it will begin again. That was what Anarin had told me, wasn’t it? We were all alone here, her and I, the only people who might be loyal to us the sick, the beggar, and the bed-warmer.
Haris was still watching me, when I turned to descend. I met his gaze, and came down the steps, balancing my bag against my hip.
“You ought to leave her alone,” Haris said in a low voice.
I cocked my head to the side. “I’m the midwife attending her pregnancy, Mr. Haris,” I said. “Until such time as she chooses to replace me, I can hardly abandon her.”
“You know what I mean.” Haris gave me the look a guard dog gives to a stranger who’s about to get too close. “You weren’t the only one with an ear to palace rumor and gossip.”
He turned away from me then. I watched him go, and marveled at the thought that someone believed me such a seductress I could steal away a woman so reluctant to trust me. It seemed Haris was more attached to her than I had previously believed. Or maybe, he only wanted to protect her for Emiran’s sake. I hadn’t observed the man closely enough to tell which.
Perhaps I should have paid better attention.
#
Alvild showed me the flat yellow flowers, shaped like golden buttons, when I was just ten. “You may need these someday,” she told me. “They bring on bleeding, so that you don’t get with child. Every woman of a certain age knows how to make the tea. It’s what keeps them from being overrun with more children than they can care for, and foolish men none the wiser.”
I had played among those flowers with other children in the village, and never noticed them. Now I knew their name—tansy—and I knew what they could do. I whispered their names when I touched their leaves, asking if I was permitted to take some for Alvild’s medicines. I could tell their answer by whether or not the flowers and leaves separated from the stalk easily. Alvild taught me how to harvest the herbs she needed, so that it would be as if I had never been there at all.
“Each plant is a god,” she told me. “Treat it with the respect it is owed. It can choose to lend you its gifts, or it can refuse. If you honor them, they will tell you their secrets.”
I spent my childhood whispering to the mushrooms that grew when it rained. In one basket, I would put the ones that Alvild used for medicines, and in the other, I would put those that could be sold for food. Alvild inspected each basket carefully when I brought them back, but I had a keen eye, and she only rarely found fault with my ability to tell them apart. The money that I made would pay for fabric to make a new dress when I grew too tall for the one I wore, and the old one Alvild would trade to the mother of a younger girl, in exchange for something she needed.
I went barefoot in the forest, as silent as a doe. In the summer I filled my basket with berries, until my hands were stained red and purple. Autumn would come, and I would pick apples beginning to ferment on the tree, and prize the roots of dandelions from the earth.
Strange, that I never thought of it as work. If there was anything I considered a chore, it was tending the fire, as I did near constantly between the first snow of autumn and the first budding of spring, when the only things growing in the forest were the unborn offspring of the animals. My task was to keep Alvild’s home clean, the fire hot, and a pot of water ever boiling in the pot over the coals.
The first birth I ever attended was that of a woman who came to Alvild in the thick of a snowstorm. I had seen her around the village, I knew she was the blacksmith’s second wife. I didn’t realize until I was older how young she was, only nineteen or so. The first wife loathed her, and so instead of sending for Alvild, the girl had come to us, so that she could be sure her baby would be safe until she was well enough to return.
I remember how soft Alvild’s voice was as she helped the woman to the end of the bed, where she knelt on a thick mat. Alvild instructed me to move the water pot to the side, but keep it near the fire so it would still be warm when the baby was born.
I watched Alvild carefully, the way she told the woman to move around to wherever she was most comfortable, how she wiped the sweat from the woman’s brow and how gentle she was with her.
Two boys were born that night, twins, with thin patches of soft copper red hair atop their brown heads. Alvild washed them in warm water and wrapped them in soft blankets. We put them in a basket by the fire, so they wouldn’t catch a chill, while Alvild helped the woman clean up, and scooped the afterbirth into a bowl, so it could be buried at her husband’s house.
Anyone else would have rejoiced at twin boys, but not this woman. She stared at them with something like fear. “She’ll kill them,” the woman whispered to Alvild. Her husband’s first wife had born only two daughters, and only one of them had survived infancy. “I know she will.”
“She will not,” Alvild said, pressing a small bottle into the woman’s hand. “Because you will give her this.”
I didn’t know, then, what it was. A few days later, after the new mother had returned home, the first wife took gravely ill. She came to Alvild to be treated, and Alvild sent me out for firewood. By the time I came back, the first wife was dead.
The strain of walking in the snow with her illness, Alvild said. That was all.
#
I was afraid of what I would find, when I returned to the lodge the next day. The young man whose leg I had removed was laid out on a bed, breathing shallowly. I laid the back of a hand to his forehead, and felt with relief that he was not feverish. I carefully inspected the area around the wound, and was pleased to have no problem changing the bandages. He might live, after all.
A stir drew my attention to the doors, where I saw Anarin stepping inside. She was dressed more plainly than she usually was in Morhall, and most surprisingly—she was alone.
I watched her stop at the first bed, asking the name of the sick woman who lay there. She sat next to the woman, and just talked with her. I carried on with my rounds, and allowed myself to feel cautious hope at the improved condition of several of my patients. Winter would make things harder for them, if I could just have them close to wellness before then…
I reached the bed where Anarin was still sitting, listening to Denna tell Anarin about her home. “…it was always so beautiful there, in the mountains… I miss the rock deer, sometimes.”
Anarin glanced up at me. “Lady Tyna.”
“Miss Sargis, Denna,” I said, nodding. “How’s your gut today, Denna?”
“Better, milady,” Denna said, her frail hands resting on her middle. “I’m quite tired, though…”
“That’s to be expected,” I assured her. “In a day or two, it should pass. You need the rest for your body to heal. May I borrow Miss Sargis for a moment?” I took Anarin aside, lowering my voice so we could speak privately. “How did you manage to get here without an escort?”
She gave me a small smile and glanced away. “No one knows I’m gone. I wanted people to be able to speak freely to me. Or, at least, more free than they would with a soldier hanging on to my shadow.” Anarin hugged her arms across her middle. “The young man who was shot…”
“He may yet live,” I said, looking back at the bed where he lay. ‘He will need careful treatment, but—he lived through the night.”
Anarin nodded, seeming apprehensive. “I—I tried to ask around about who might have shot him.” She let out a breath. “I was told there was a—oh what word did that pompous ass use—an altercation between a handful of soldiers and supposed ‘militants,’ and that was likely when it happened.” Her mouth pressed in a thin line.
“And which pompous ass was that?” I asked.
“Some idiot who works in the central offices,” Anarin muttered. “Couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Muras was out at the time, I didn’t want him to ask why I was there.” She put a hand to her face, sighed, and let it fall. “I was going to go to the feast hall after this, see how things are coming along. Would you come with me?”
The invitation surprised me. I gestured the beds. “I have work to finish here, first, but after—certainly. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
Anarin smiled a little. “Is there some way I can help you?”
“If you’ve a strong stomach, then yes, I think so.”
Anarin helped me to wash wounds and faces, introducing herself to each person we came to, smiling and chatting with them as we worked. She never flinched at their wounds, never recoiled from their sickness. She did wash her hands very carefully.
“Where is your son, by the by?” I asked, handing her a cloth to dry her hands.
“I told him to race Bili around the fields until he was exhausted,” Anarin said. “They both have too much energy.” She tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “And no one will get close to him as long as he’s in the saddle.”
I shook my head. “Quite the nurse you have.”
I picked up my things and we said our goodbyes, after I checked on the young man one last time. Still breathing, still cool to the touch.
Anarin wore a shawl around her shoulders, picking her way carefully through the muddy streets. We kept close together—it was never wise for a woman to walk alone in a city full of soldiers. If I was safer, it was only because of the physician’s stripe on my clothing that told everyone exactly who I was, and who would make sure my death was answered for.
Mud clung to our hems, weighing us down. When the freeze came, I thought, at least the ground would be solid again.
“I have to figure out how to compensate the boy and his family,” Anarin said, when we had been silent for a while.
I glanced at her. “How do you mean to do that?”
She sucked in a breath. “I can’t go spending all of Muras’ money forever. But I have to do something.”
I studied her for a moment. “That’s what this feast is about, isn’t it? You’re letting everyone know who really commands Morhall.”
Anarin didn’t look at me. “Not telling them. Just giving them the opportunity to choose.” She adjusted her shawl, pulling it a little closer. “No dreams or magic tricks will make a true friend. You need to give them a reason to trust you.”
We were passed by a wagon weighed down with boards for the roof of the feast hall, so freshly cut that they still smelled of sharp pitch. The hall came into view shortly after that, a long straight lodge of heavy timber, the skeleton beams of the roof still showing. Anarin circled around, taking it in with a critical eye. “This will be the main door,” she told me, gesturing to an unfinished wall. “I have carpenters presenting me with designs, competing for the commission.”
She led me inside, showing me where the tables would stand, where the smoke vents would be. There, the side doors, there, the wing for the latrine. One thing caught my eye. “Does the commander have anything to say about there not being a dais for the foremost table?”
Anarin tucked her arms across her chest. “What makes you think he’s had the leisure time to keep tabs on his mistress’ latest project, beyond the finances?” She considered the area, and turned, gesturing the ceiling. “There won’t be time for it to be done before the beginning of winter, but there can be banners hanging. I haven’t settled on designs, yet.”
“Quite a feat,” I said, watching the men work. “It seems like you’ve employed half the city.”
“Hmm.” Anarin put her fingertips to her lips, taking it all in. “It’s good to have something to do,” she said, soft. “Otherwise I’d go mad.”
I watched the men working on the roof. “Are you losing sleep?”
“No,” she said. “I have my ways around that.”
“No more… nighttime wanderings, then?”
“Not outside of the castle, anyway.” She hugged her arms across her chest. “No one can ask me what I’m looking for, in the middle of the night.”
“What are you looking for?”
Anarin turned away from me. “I’m ghost-haunted, Lady Tyna,” she said, “that’s all.”
#
I killed my first man long before I ever met Basim Umad.
Girls my age would seek me out to be freed of pregnancies no one could know about, because they knew I would teach them how to make the tea themselves, and their mother need never know. They trusted me, and so many of them told me how they got into trouble.
His name was Agi, a tax collector for the lord’s estate. I had first met him when Alvild treated him for an infection of the lung, and I hadn’t liked him. He was foul-tempered at the best of times, but worse was his wandering eye, always lighting upon the prettiest girl in a house.
He could always accuse her father or her husband of not paying his tax, after all. Could have the family imprisoned, evicted…
I planned it carefully, without speaking of it to anyone. I went out into the forest on my own, collecting the mushrooms Alvild had always told me to leave alone. How strange I must have seemed to those little spirits, seeking out what I had only ever collected by accident, whispering to them exactly what I meant to do with their help.
I wrapped the mushrooms in a cloth that I hid in my bodice, and I dried them by the hearth after Alvild had gone to bed. Black, shriveled little things, as miserable as the pain they caused. I didn’t dare grind them with Alvild’s mortar and pestle, so I rubbed them inside the cloth, between my two hands, until they were small enough I thought I could get away with it.
I bartered for a bottle of whiskey, because I knew Agi to be a hard drinker. My powdered mushrooms dissolved in the bottle like a dream upon waking, and late one autumn night, I slipped away from Alvild’s house to pay a visit to the tax man, in his room at the tavern.
I had combed my hair till it shone like burnished copper, dabbed rosewater behind my ears. I knew what I appeared to be, when Agi opened his door. He took in the sight of me, smiled, invited me inside. I told him I had brought him a gift, that he must have a drink. He said I should share, and I did not refuse. I held the glass to my closed lips, and watched.
A more cunning man would have made sure I drank first, but Agi was not a cunning man. He was a manipulator and a coward, and he died like one, screaming and clawing at the hem of my dress. No one came to help him, and no one looked out their door or window as I left in the dark, the taste of death on my lips, and thunder in my heart.
The girls who had once come to me for help would look at me differently, after that. Not with fear, but with knowing. I was not a woman who would only clip the new sprouts of the poisonous weed—I would destroy it the root.
#
I was scrubbing dirt and dried blood from under my fingernails when the feral little prince ducked inside my room and hid behind my wardrobe so that he could not be seen from the door. I glanced at him and cocked an eyebrow, and he held a finger to his lips, hardly able to contain his grin.
There was a knock a few moments later, as I was still picking dark flecks out from under my nails. “Yes?” I called.
The door opened, and a frazzled looking Haris scanned the room. “Have you seen Veland?”
I didn’t look up from my fingers. “I haven’t. Has he run off on you?” I grimaced as I noticed a break in the nail of my index finger. I kept my nails short for practical reasons, but evidently not short enough.
“Lya wanted me to keep an eye on him, and he took off when I was distracted.”
“If he turns up, I’ll be sure to send him to you,” I said, drying my hands. “You might try the stables.” I waited until Haris had gone, his footsteps fading down the hall, and I looked to Veland, who looked nearly read to shake apart in silent giggles. “Are you avoiding something, or just giving him the run around?”
Veland came running across the room to sit across from me as I filed my nails, smoothing them out so they wouldn’t snag or scratch a patient. “Just hiding,” he said, pulling his feet up into the chair. That boy was incapable of sitting properly. Or sitting still. He looked around my room like an owl. “Do you just have one room?”
“It’s all I need.” I tapped the table with my file, drawing his attention. “As long as your here, you can practice your lessons. No writing, just speaking,” I said, before the look of dismay could completely engulf his face. “We’re practicing your Sarenn. Tell me about your day.”
To his credit, he didn’t immediately run away and decide he would try his luck hiding elsewhere. His grammar would still need quite a bit of work, but he was learning, and I understood what he was trying to say. When I spoke to him in Sarenn, I was careful to speak slow and clear, and Veland listened intently. He wanted to impress his mother, I supposed.
Veland got very quiet after a bit, kicking his heels in the air. “Are you well?” I asked, detecting discontent.
Veland bit his lip. “I miss Momo and everybody.”
That would be the Atsa Hasi who had raised him. “Of course you miss them. This is the first time you’ve been away from them like this. I missed my family, when I had to leave them.” I could hardly remember them now, I supposed they must have looked something like me. My grandfather was most certainly dead, and I couldn’t even recall my cousins’ names.
“They left already,” Veland said, sad.
I supposed he would know. The changing season and flitting moon were the only calendars he knew. “Summer will come again before you know it,” I assured him. Then, “It will be my first winter this far north, too. We can keep each other company.” I smiled at him, unsure if I was being comforting or not. Anarin was better at this than I was.
Veland smiled back.
“Now quick,” I whispered, “find a new place to hide, before Haris comes back.”
Veland hit the ground and disappeared, leaving my door to fall shut behind him. I laid my nail file aside and let out a breath. I was out of my element. There was nothing I could do to make things go faster, no problem that I could solve with deadly mushrooms. I had to wait, and watch, and nothing else.
It was driving me mad. With Andon, at least, I was always moving. This—this stasis, where the only thing that changed were the faces in the cots of the lodge—I hadn’t done this in years. I could see what was to be done and had no idea how to get to it.
I picked myself up, resolving to go into town. I had gained a little extra money from tending to minor injuries that Kressosi soldiers acquired on their nighttime outings, that they didn’t want to see the army physician for lest their misbehavior be reported. I had just enough that I could afford to pay a visit to Ania, and forget my troubles for a little while.
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charmspoint · 3 years ago
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I know you said they don't have a concrete story yet, but would you be ok with telling us more about Zan and Ghost? They seem really interesting
Anon you don't know what you unleashed its like past 1am here but I could talk about them forever.
This is gonna be under the cut because nobody has to be subjected to this.
General quick point: Both of these started off as bnha oc's but then reached that point where I was like 'yeah, I want them in their own story' so rn their powers are just powers with no wider context since I aint got that story
I'm gonna start with Zan cuz he's older by creation and my fav oc atm. For him we have TW's of child abuse and neglect, familial death, trauma, drug abuse, depression and anxiety, though I'll be running through this points as quickly and non graphically as I can cuz...I'm not gonna make you read my thesis so it should be fine.
His full legal name is Kazuya Moriyama but he goes by Zan Mori, he's 24. Zan was created to be two things 1. Character design with a fully body tattoo 2. Someone to use a power I came up with but didn't match with a character yet.
Here's that power, yes I have a copy paste off it:
Nightmare fuel is a power that terrorizes everyone, including its user. Zan’s sweat contains a special kind of chemical that when smelled causes mild to severe hallucinations, paranoia and other fear responses by interacting with victims brain chemistry. However, this chemical is only contained in sweat that he produces as a result of fear so, for example if he goes running in the gym, nothing bad will happen. The strength of the power depends on how much Zan himself is afraid and how much sweat he is producing. A weak dose will only result in sense of unease, a feeling of being watched, escalating through general paranoia, with its worst manifestation being complete loss of touch with reality and intense hallucinations. It's odorless and since it’s a chemical can be stored for later use. The last stages of it are very hard to reach because they require for Zan to be at similar levels of severe distress. It affects him as well, often resulting in endless loop of him being afraid, activating his power because of his fear, the power causing more intense fear and so on.
So here is where we start to build.
Zan's backstory hinges on him developing this power very early on in his life, as a result of mutation that his parents were not ready for. Kids get scared of things, a lot, especially when their own power feeds back into that fear. His family quickly spiraled from it, going from trying to figure out how to help him to neglecting him to dying very bloodily in front of him as a result of the constant psychological distress. After that he was cycled through different foster and youth homes with pretty similar result before striking it on his own basically as soon as he could.
Zan's main motivation is to find a way to get rid of his power. He hates it, hates what it represents and how it essentially stripped away his ability to connect with anyone. He doesn't control it, he doesn't activate it, it simply happens to him whenever he gets distressed and as someone with deep seated anxiety caused by that very same power, he gets distressed a lot.
He self-medicates. He self medicates a lot. I don't really have the world planned out but it's very much a world where powers are a new thing and the society just doesn't have systems in place to catch people like Zan. So he basically keeps himself high as much as he can, to numb himself out so he doesn't feel anything so he doesn't get scared so his power doesn't get activated.
When I created Zan, I expected him to be a very jaded, angry, abrasive character and in some ways he is. He's very slow to trust and tends to keep away from people. His first instinct is to mock and insult, he dresses like an emo reject, he's absolutely covered in tattoos, he's a dark humored pessimist and just not the kind of person you want to be around for long. He's also probably one of the most empathic characters I have on the roster atm. He's like, a natural big brother. Any kids younger then him, fuck older than him but awkward and unsure, he's instantly adopting. Fuck everything else, his kids now, he'll make them lunch and make sure they get to school. Zan is more so abrasive out of need than out of actual malice or bad attitude. He does want to be close to people he just knows how that always ends so keeping away is a lot safer. He is genuinely very loving and soft when he lets himself be. He's not great about advice but he's a good listener and the type to throw everything on the backburner to come and help a friend out. He is inherently kind, he just doesn't allow himself to be so very often, unless someone damn well takes a chisel and digs it out of him.
Fun fact time:
He's got a knack for painting and idolizes Van Gogh
He's got a cat named Shikei who he picked up after it got run over by a car, it likes only him and wants to see the rest of humanity burn
Here are his established tattoos, yes I have a copy paste for that too:
Full body tattoo in shape of a jungle of thorns crawling over his entire body, save most of his face. The whole piece is done in eerie, cold colors, with a sudden splash of warmer color here and there, the thorns themselves being colored in misty and muted blues and greens. Over his heart, there is a tattoo of a birds nest, but the nest is breaking apart, suffocated by the thorns clustering around it and breaking into it, its branches drenched in blood, the baby birds in it barely even noticeable. Along the length of his spine and over the width of his hips an ornate cross of st. peter is painted, also crumbling, red spider lilies breaking through the frail rock. His shoulder blades are covered in sunflowers, strikingly bright on the cold surface of the thorns and painted in Van Gogh style. There is a chain of daisies lines across his neck and down to his chest, covering an old scar and a tiny ring of roses over his ring finger. On the nape of his neck, two butterflies are pinned by the thorns, appearing to still be alive and in agony as their bodies are pierced. A silver snake slithers through the thorns on his right arm, though its shade helps it blend in with the color of thorns, it’s body a tiny bit coiled, considering should it strike or not. On the back of his left hand there is a tiny leaf bug, trying to hide amidst the bare thorns and on the outer shell of his ear, mostly hidden from view by his head, is a ladybug, wings spread like it is about to fly away. A swarm of blue butterflies paint the silhouette of his lungs across his skin and two koi fishes circle each other endlessly on his hip. In thorns climbing up and down his neck, there are tiny fireflies, just barely bright enough to be seen. Two thin thorn branches separate themselves from the cluster on his neck and climb across his temples, their thorns appearing to be piercing through his skin and letting blood flow.
The tattoo is still in progress.
This was the brief summary.
Ghost! Ghost is a lot newer than Zan, I only made them at the start of this year so they are a lot less detailed but they hit the ground running. Their tw are mostly prostitution and existentialist feelings but I'm not getting into anything in detail.
Their full name is Ghostown Verb and yes they did name themselves that. They are 27 and their power is Forget me not, as I said previously, as soon as they are out of someone's line of sight, to that person it's like they never existed. The memories of meeting them return as soon as they are back in the field of vision but uhh you can see how it would be super easy to lose a child like that.
Ghost grew up on the street in a kind of do whatever you can when you can how you can attitude. Turns out it's really hard to get help from anyone when they can't remember you as soon as they stop looking at you, which includes but is not limited to social workers, well meaning passerby, police, foster homes and landlords. The name and face for the paperwork doesn't exist and people just find themselves grasping at nothing, feeling like they are forgetting something but not knowing what it is. It works in some ways, shoplifting is a lot easier when you're sure that you can just turn a corner and be safe, but it's mostly just a hassle. Ghost is homeless most of the time and when they were old enough for it their career of choice became prostitution simply because it's pretty much the only job where the customer doesn't need to remember you after they're no longer looking at you and it's not like Ghost has to answer to any boss who would have to either.
They had not had a kind life but they are the let and let live type. They don't stress a lot about things and generally take everything in a fly. They are very extroverted, very loud, very friendly. They form friendships fast because they know they'll lose them fast and same goes with love affairs. They live in the moment because for everyone else the moment is the only place where they exist. Loud fashion, loud words, loud actions, provocative and noticeable, they just want to be seen by people, remembered by people, they want the attention on them even though they know it's useless. Much like Zan they also have no control of their power so all they can do is live with it. At least it doesn't bring anyone any direct harm, they are grateful for that much.
But it does leave them displaced, unanchored. They don't have any support system, no family, no long term friends. The system can't even remember them for long enough to decide it isn't equipped to deal with them. They flitter through peoples lives, there one moment and gone the next. The biggest impact they can hope to have is the nagging feeling of having forgotten something.
It's not like they are exactly sad about it, their main mentality is just not to worry about things they can't change. These are the cards they've been dealt with and play those cards they shall. At the very least they are having fun with their life, doing whatever they want with no one remembering them long enough to stop them.
But it's a lonely existence with no viable human connection. That much does get to them.
Fun facts!
They have a tattoo of a forget-me-not on their shoulder, I haven't decided do they have it before the plot whatever it is starts, or do they get it cuz Zan's influence.
They like to make their own clothes when they can, though having a stable enough place to be for a long enough time is rare.
Their biggest fear is that when they die nobody will remember to look for their body :)
That was a brief rundown of these two! If you made it to the end damn congrats I love you
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meteora-writes · 7 years ago
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So I just found out Luciana is confirmed for s4 and since I am a super petty bitch was wondering if you could write a trick fic where Troy lives and eventually ends up running into luci and nick. Nick has this relationship crisis but ends up choosing Troy? Idk if you can make this short enough for just a req fic but hey worth a shot to ask right? (never stop writing btw please)!!!!!!!
Sorry it took me a while to get to this one, I too am a bit of a petty bitch about this situation (mostly because I think they’re going to have them get back together like nothing ever happened between them in the first place), so I’ll gladly give this a shot.  
~~~~~
No Choice
Parings: Nick Clark x Luciana Galvez & Nick Clark x Troy Otto
Warnings: ANGST, Self-Destructive Behavior, Drama, A nauseating level of fluffy feels, Love Confessions, First Kisses
Notes: Thanks to @anon-ai for helping with the parts of the story in Spanish. I really appreciate it.
~~~~~
Nick made his way back to the bazaar after he blew up the dam. After bullshitting his way back in he went back to working for El Matarife like nothing had happened. No one asked about where his family or friend had gone, and nobody cared that he was constantly drunk and high.
On the morning of his 7th day back working for Matarife, Nick was out collecting walker heads when he noticed a car driving towards him. He ignored it, content to behead a slow-moving walker with his machete. The car was probably headed down the road to the bazaar anyway.
Nick tossed the walker head into his rickety shopping cart with the others and started to push it along the roadside when the approaching car slowed to a crawl behind him. He kept on ignoring it. It wasn’t the first time someone stopped to gawk at him as he did his job.
A moment later the engine cut and Nick could hear the telltale sound of a car door opening and closing. He heaved a sigh as he turned to tell off whoever was walking up behind him, a hand on the handle of his machete just to be safe. “What-” he began, words dying on his tongue at the sight before him.
Standing beside the front bumper of a beat up old Buick Century, was Luciana in all her post-apocalyptic glory. “Nick.” She said, eyes wide as she took in the sight of him for the first time in weeks.
Nick blinked in disbelief, briefly wondering if he was still high before he took a step forward, then another, and another. Before he knew what he was doing, he had wrapped both arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug that she returned without hesitation.
After a long talk (read as: lots of arguing ending in Nick telling Luciana everything that happened after she left him) Luciana told Nick that she had never found her friends in Mexicali, and that she’d been wandering ever since. She’d heard about El Bazar and decided to check it out.  
The two ended up falling back into a relationship of sorts after that. At first Luciana was just crashing with Nick in the quarters that Matarife set him up in, then one night, Nick woke up from a nightmare to Luciana standing over him with this look in her eyes. She ended up climbing into bed with him and the rest was history.
Or so they thought.
Two months later Nick was sitting in the cantina, his head aching from yet another night of terrible sleep and an excess of equally terrible tequila. He had already finished work for the day, so now he was nursing a glass of something that tasted something like lemonade mixed with lighter fluid while he waited for Luciana to return from a scouting mission.
After a while a figure plopped down onto the vacant stool beside Nick’s, their elbow bumping Nicks as they got settled. Nick couldn’t really see the person in question, the hood of his jacket was pulled up to try and shield his eyes from the harsh light of day. He grunted at the other person jostling his arm and in turn his drink, but otherwise he paid them no mind.
The figure, a man, knocked his knuckles on the bar top to get the tender’s attention. “I’ll have a water.”
Nick froze mid sip at the sound of the man’s voice. He knew that voice. It had been haunting his dreams for months.
Turning his head slowly he was greeted with the side profile of none other than Troy Otto. A living, breathing, Troy Otto. Nick fell out of his seat at the realization that the man beside him was real and not a drug induced vision.
Half the denizens of the cantina were laughing at Nick as he flailed to the floor, spilling his drink all over himself and making his hood fall back from his face in the process. He landed hard, momentarily stunning him and forcing him to close his eyes tight against the world.
When Nick opened his eyes again, Troy was standing before him, his own eyes wide with shock as he looked down at Nick. The two stared at each other a moment before Troy smiled and held out a hand that Nick took without hesitation. The instant Troy had Nick on his feet the taller man had pulled him into a bone crushing hug.
“I don’t…  How are you here? You were dead, my mom killed you! How the hell are you alive?” Nick asked, pulling away and looking Troy over. The left side of his temple had a gnarly pink/red scar that spider webbed around the corner of his eye from where the hammer had struck and torn away flesh. His hair covered a section of it, but it was still painfully obvious against the natural tone of Troy’s skin.
“She knocked me out. Pretty sure she fractured my skull, too. I woke up a few days later in some village down river. They told me someone blew up the dam and I was found on the riverbank not long after.” Troy explained looking Nick over as well. “You look like shit.” He added.
Nick snorted a laugh at that. “You’re one to talk.”
“I don’t know. I think the scars give me an air of mystery.” Troy said, grinning broadly at Nick like it’d been a day since they’d seen each other last and not over two months.  
Nick found himself grinning back. “They give you an air of crazed serial killer.”
“So, you’re saying they don’t affect my boyish good looks in the slightest then.” Troy quipped, earning a punch in the shoulder for it.
Nick rolled his eyes before turning back to the bar to flag the tender down for another drink. “Okay, so, you’re alive, you have been this whole time. What the hell, man? Where have you been? Why didn’t you come looking for me sooner?” He asked as righted his stool and took a seat.
“I had amnesia.” Troy said with a shrug as he sat down beside Nick.
“You’re kidding.”  
“Nope. Couldn’t even tell you my own name up until a few days ago. People that found me were calling me Joe. I hated it. But on the bright side I learned some Spanish and I think I’m a little less racist now.” He said with a small laugh before taking a sip of his water.
“Of course, you did.” Nick said with a fond smile and a shake of his head. “It’s really good to see you. You would not believe the nightmares I’ve had since everything that went down at the dam.”
“Yeah? I’ve had nightmares about what happened at the dam too.” Troy said, cocking his head a little to catch Nick’s eye as he stared down into his drink.
“Yeah?” Nick asked, blinking up from his drink to meet Troy’s gaze.  
“Yeah.” Troy said, scratching at his jaw as he thought about it. “I’d see Madison coming at me with the hammer, then I’d see you looking horrified, then I’d wake up thinking it was actually happening.”
“I’m sorry.” Nick blurted.
“For what?” Troy asked with a snort. “Madison’s the one who snapped and tried to kill me. That isn’t your fault.”
“But it is! I couldn’t protect you! If I hadn’t gotten cornered by Daniel then mom never would have found out what really happened with the horde and you never would have gotten hurt!” Nick argued, turning his body so he was mostly facing Troy now.
“Nick, she would have found out eventually. And chances are she would have had a gun instead of a hammer when she did. I don’t blame you for how things went down.” Troy said, grabbing hold of Nick’s hand and giving a squeeze as he looked the younger man in the eyes.
Nick looked from Troy’s eyes down to where the older man’s hand was holding his own. The contact made his stomach do a funny little flip. He kind of liked the felling. “Troy, what are-”
“Just, hear me out.” Troy cut in, giving Nick’s hand another squeeze as he made Nick look him in the eye again. “I couldn’t remember who you were for over two months, but you were in every single dream I had in that time and one thing became crystal clear to me. I am so in love with you, Nick. I’m in love with you and I wanna be with you for the rest of my life.”
Nick felt like he was dreaming. He had to be. No way in hell this was actually happening.
“What the hell is going on!?!?!” Luciana yelled from behind Nick, breaking the spell Troy’s word had created.
Nick yanked his hand from Troy’s so grasp fast he almost pulled the taller man from his bar stool in the process. “Luciana, you’re back.” Nick said as he moved to stand.
“Answer me, Nick! Qué está haciendo aquí este psicópata? Tu me dijiste que el había muerto!” She spat, glaring daggers at Troy, who had moved to stand behind Nick.
“Calm down, please, people are staring.” Nick said, grabbing hold of Luciana’s arm and pulling her away from the busy cantina and in the direction of their living quarters.
“I will not calm down! What is he even doing here?” Luciana asked as she yanked her arm free of Nick’s grip.
“He came looking for me. He survived my mom attacking him and when the dam blew it washed him down river. El despertó con amnesia después de eso. Sus recuerdos acaban de regresar hace unos días.” Nick explained, feeling like his life had turned into a fucking telenovela or some kind of harlequin romance novel.  
“Te das cuenta de lo loco que suena eso?” Luciana scoffed as she came to stop outside the door to  their room. “You lost your family because of him, Nick! Why were you even talking to that monster?”
“Because he is my family! Cuando tu te fuiste el estuvo ahí para mí! When I got high and lost my mind in the middle of a horde he saved me! I know he’s a monster, but so am I, Luci. The only difference between us is that I tried not to be!” Nick defended, all of the feelings he’d been ignoring for far too long coming out in one burst.
“Y qué hay de mi? If you consider that bastardo family then que soy yo?” She demanded, getting right in Nick’s face.
“Luciana, I-”
“Don’t! If you’re going to let that monster back into your life then I want no part in it. Tienes que tomar una decisión, Nick.” She said flatly before pushing past him and disappearing into their shared living space.
Nick watched her go, eyes wide in shock and a hand held out in front of him where he’d reached to try and stop her. A moment later he heard a throat being cleared and he turned to see Troy standing a few feet behind him.
“Did you mean all that?” Troy asked, head tilted a little to the side as he studied Nick closely, like he thought it all might be a lie.
“Every word.” Nick said softly, locking eyes with Troy.
“I’ll understand if you choose Luciana.” Troy said after a short pause with a nod of his head. “I know how much you care about her.”
“Cared.” Nick corrected without thinking. He blinked in confusion at his own statement before speaking again. “I mean, I still care about her… But not like I did before she left the ranch…”
Troy looked a bit taken aback by Nick’s confession, his blue eyes wide and trained on Nick’s face. “So… How do you feel about me then? You didn’t really get a chance to say anything before we were interrupted back there.” He asked, trying hard not to sound hopeful.
“Honestly…” Nick began, taking a few steps forwards so he was right in Troy’s personal space when he went to speak again. This close he could he could see the few strands of red hiding in the dirty blonde of Troy’s beard when his gaze flicked down to the older man’s mouth momentarily. “I’ve been in love with you since the night we got high together and you stopped me from talking myself to death.” He said with a small smile. “Maybe longer…”
Troy’s features broke into a broad smile before he brought both hands to cup Nick’s face and pull him into a kiss. It was soft, and sweet, and totally not what Nick would have expected from a first kiss from Troy Otto. It was perfect.
When the kiss ended a moment later, Troy let his forehead rest against Nick’s as he looked him in the eyes. “So, it took you that long to fall for me?”
Nick snorted a laugh and pushed Troy away from him playfully. “Like you loved me from day one.” He snarked, remembering the look of boredom on Troy’s face the first time he’d seen him covered in walker blood back at the depot.
“Nah. I loved you from the moment you held a gun to my head and told me I wasn’t a scientist.” Troy said easily as he continued to smile at Nick.
Nick cracked another smile at that. “Of course, that would be the moment.” He said with a roll of his eyes. “Hey, let’s get out of here. I don’t know about you, but I seriously hate this place.”
“Where do you want to go?” Troy asked, blinking down at where Nick had taken his hand and laced their fingers together.
“I don’t know, but I’ve got a car and credits for enough gas and supplies to hold us over for a while.” Nick said easily, leading the way to the busy trade area of the bazaar.
“You’re not going to say anything to Luciana?” Troy asked, looking back over his shoulder at the door the woman had vanished through before turning to watch where Nick was taking him.
“She was listening, she knows what my choice is.” Nick said with a shake of his head.
With that they got enough supplies to get them started someplace new, and they left the bazaar. Neither of them looked back or wondered what could have happened if either of them chose differently.
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