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ubemango · 4 years ago

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delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he��s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

#bts smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #ubemango fic #f: farmer!tae series #f: delicacies of the season

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sagasofazeria · 3 years ago

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OC-tober day one!

Prompt: Journey

Taglist: @talesfromaurea @hellishhin @thelaughingstag

And a special Event Tag for oc-tober: @oc-growth-and-development

For this one I’m doing two things! First, I finished the maps of the rest of Azeria and I’m too proud of them to wait to share haha. The heroes journey across a significant amount of this map throughout the story.

I’ve also included some snippets of each character leaving home for the first time, as it’s the beginnings of their journeys here.

Maps up first!! Behold, the full continent in all its massive size and glory. Super proud of all of this, I think it looks awesome. Also please excuse the repetition of the name labels and compasses and that stuff, I have the maps all on separate pages and wanted to make sure they can stand alone as well.

[Image Description: Six hand drawn maps, each showing a portion of a continent. Besides the northwest corner and a small exclave on the west coast, most of the land is of the country Azeria. The other parts are part of Leinos. The continent is covered in deserts, plains, hills, and rainforest/jungle. Off the western coast is the fog-shrouded sea of dragons, and off the eastern side is the vast ocean of Aksir-Atan. To the north is the Ikarron ocean./end ID]

Now for the snippets!

Gonna put them below a cut so this doesn’t get too long.

“Yep. I’m tired, Ardos,” Faulkron said, moving to push past.

“Of what, son?”

“Well first of all, that! Stop saying that, you know I’m not your son,” Faulkron said with a growl.

“Maybe, but I raised you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t care! I’m sick of all this! I’m tired of being here, with you!” Faulkron snapped.

Ardos’ face fell further, and his shoulders sloped. “You don’t mean that, do ya?”

Faulkron groaned and leaned against the wall, throwing his free hand into the air. “Maybe I do! I don’t know! I don’t even know who I am, Ardos! This town is all I know, but it isn’t me! How am I supposed to live like this any more?”

“Oh, a simple life ain’t so bad-“

“Yes it is, da— Ardos,” Faulkron quickly corrected, turning away.

“You almost called me dad,” Ardos said, a tiny kindling of hope in his voice.

“We all slip up,” Faulkron said, the coldness of the words making him almost regret saying them. Almost.

“You’re sure you wanna leave?” asked Ardos, voice much softer than it had been before, and laced with pain.

“Yes.”

“You even know where you’re goin’?”

“No. That’s the point. I’m tired of the things I know, I want something new.”

“I won’t stop ya, son.”

“I know,” Faulkron said as he turned back to face the door again.

“Come back and visit?”

“Ha. We’ll see,” Faulkron muttered, pushing past Ardos and out the door.

“Be careful!” Ardos called after him.

“Hmph.”

“I love ya, son.”

Faulkron didn’t respond.

•••

Fuego

•••

The fog lay, as it always had, like a heavy blanket over the island.

Fuego lit the lamp at the front of his boat with his fire, coaxing it to life and sending the fog hissing back, the slender ship’s front pointed out to sea.

He turned back to shore. His family, friends, the King even, were all gathered on the beach, similar lanterns in hand. The whole island had gathered to see him off as he sailed into what could prove to be a fatal journey.

Fuego took a deep breath, then spoke.

“People of Zul’Zagan! I promise you all, this great journey I’m taking now? It will be nothing compared go the glory of my return! I swear by my life I will sail the sea and find the fire to burn away the Shroud, the gods have decreed it and so that is what I go to do. I will keep you all in my mind, my heart, and my soul. I know these gifts are a thanks for what I’ve done, but it feels wrong not to thank you all as well. This is and always will be my home, and you are my people. I carry you with me anywhere I may sail.”

The king stepped forward, voice regal and booming. “And I pray for smooth seas and a forgiving sky on your quest, Fuego. We will not forget you either, lightbringer.”

The king bowed his head in salute, and Fuego returned the gesture. Waving goodbye to his family, he whooped as he unfurled his sail and his ship leaped forward into the unknown.

•••

Shakari

•••

“Shakari A’Tusaara. You have violated the laws of the Duulza, your people. You have stolen from the Vhamani, those who are your elders and who wield magic you are not yet strong enough to control. You show yourself to have dangerous hubris. Your ambition could be the downfall of all of us, you know this.”

Shakari hung her head. She couldn’t bear to look at her family, watching from the crowd.

“I am aware.”

“So then you know why we must exile you.”

“I do,” they responded, fury and pain boiling inside their chest.

“Very well. Shakari, you hereby lose your place among the Duulza. You are no longer your mother’s child, and have no home in Duulza lands. You will be sent into the desert alone. If you should return and you have not been humbled, you will be met only with blades. If you should return and have made right your crimes, then you will be welcome once more.”

The elder, a rugged-looking dragonborn with sandblown blue scales, stepped forward, magic swirling around their claws.

“I place this Mark on you now. When it has gone, return to us. Remember, you are not above the world, but part of it. A dragon’s ferocity is wasted on destruction.”

A searing heat pressed into their chest, a white-hot symbol appearing on their scales as the elder placed their palm over Shakari’s chest.

“It is done.”

Still wincing from the brand, Shakari turned her back on her tribe for the last time, and walked into the desert.

•••

Jetra

•••

Jetra scowled at the man on the street corner.

“Marakos, the Hero! He died for you, all of you! He fought off a bandit scourge, and sacrificed his life! Honor his sacrifice. Be a hero! Join the army of Leinos! Remember him, and fight!”

She was sick of hearing the army talk about her father like this.

Setting her jaw, she slunk through the crowded streets toward the recruiter.

She snuck up behind him where he was standing on some crates, and before he could spew another lie she kicked the crates out from beneath him.

He crashed to the ground, sputtering, and Jetra took off back into the crowd.

When she was sure she wasn’t being followed, she made her way back to their house.

Her mom wasn’t home yet, so she let herself in. She packed her stuff quickly, and when she’d finished, she waited.

When her mom finally opened the door, Jetra had already made a meal.

They ate it in silence for the most part. They were both tired, and their minds were making all the necessary noise.

When the food was gone, Jetra finally spoke.

“I’m leaving tonight, mom.”

“I suspected,” her mother sighed.

“I can’t take this anymore, and-“ Jetra started.

“Hush, love. The less I know, the better, remember?”

Jetra sighed. “I know.”

“You’ve got everything?”

“Yes.”

“Come here,” she said, opening her arms and standing.

Jetra walked over and sank into her arms.

“I love you, daughter. Please, be careful.”

“I will, mom.”

With that, she stepped out into the nighttime streets of Anikora.

As she walked through the shadowy streets, she saw a small glowing bird appear on a nearby rooftop. It flapped its wings once, then took off. She smiled, and followed it out of the city.

•••

Alejandro

•••

His parents didn’t say why they were leaving, just that it was today. Alejandro wasn’t sure how to feel. He would miss the village a lot. He waved goodbye to all his friends, his old house, the beach, and the rest of the village, as his dad held him on the horse they were riding. His mother was on another horse next to them, with all the stuff they’d taken with them. It wasn’t a lot, because they couldn’t afford that much more space.

When they’d reached the big city, they stayed for a while, before getting on a boat that took them across a lot of water and to another city. Then they were walking again, and they walked with some other people too, people Alejandro didn’t know. There was another kid too, and they played sometimes, but it was mostly boring. They all traveled for a really long time, and Alejandro quickly forgot which way it was to home.

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gumnut-logic · 3 years ago

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Callisto (Part Seven - Investigation)

Here we are again with the next three thousand odd words of this fic.

Many thanks as always to @vegetacide @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and my wonderful science officer @onereyofstarlight (who spent yet more time tackling my odd questions in the last week :D). You guys are amazing and I can’t thank you enough for all your amazing readthroughs and support.

You guys totally spoilt me last week so I hope this week delivers some entertainment. ::hugs you all so much:: Thank you so much for your amazing support.

Warnings: minor whump, far too much indulgence in scenery on my part because I’m having too much fun.

I hope you enjoy this.

-o-o-o-

Alan was sent back with Gordon and one of the dragonflies, while Virgil and Scott scouted back along the tunnel for a high enough point that either a molepod or Thunderbird Three could drill down deep enough to give them easy access for Thunderbird Four.

They found it in one of the larger caverns about a kilometre back from the Crystal Cave as they had come to call it.

Having seen so much crystal in one spot, Virgil now found himself spotting more and more of it along the tunnels. On first glance he had assumed most of the sparkles in the walls were patches of ice – there was certainly enough of the stuff around to cater to the concept. But on closer examination, there were crystals of all sizes and colours dotted along their return path.

In the dry cavern there were even more. Not anywhere near as many as in the crystal cave, but enough that Virgil pulled over, climbed out and collected a couple of specimens for later examination. John definitely wanted in on that analysis. He was still hunting for the source of the interference and was at this point reaching for every straw he could grab.

But first they had lives to save.

The roof of the Dry Cavern, as it was dubbed for convenience’s sake, had a number of large crystalline formations and there was a plea from the Base’s scientific staff to avoid as much damage as possible.

As if Virgil needed that reminder. He wasn’t one for blatant destruction of anything, but in this case as he planted the homing beacon for Three, he realised they were going to lose at least one beautiful structure in the process. So, it was with some sadness, he flipped the dragonfly and attached it to the rock ceiling of Dry Cavern and attempted to uproot a crystal tree as tall and as wide as himself to take back to the base.

With the application of a laser cutter, it came away surprisingly easily and with minimal damage. The dragonfly’s two front claws held it as delicately as they could. Carefully flipping the pod back upright, Virgil lowered it down to land and clambered out to secure the crystal.

Halfway out of the pod his vision doubled and he slipped.

Callisto’s gravity was almost nothing in comparison to Earth’s but the laws of physics still held strong and without atmospheric density to slow him down in any way, his momentum threw him at the rocky floor with enough force to cause him to bounce with a painful squawk. Previously obtained bruises complained and his head throbbed enough to turn his stomach over.

He ended up on the ground, on his side, doing his best not to puke all over the inside of his helmet, his only thought being how bad things would be if he failed.

“Virgil!” Scott was suddenly beside him, hand on his arm and the ever so familiar worry in his eyes.

Virgil swallowed and attempted to keep his stomach under control while his head screamed at him.

God.

But as before, it dissipated suddenly and Virgil was left panting and wondering what the hell was going on.

What the hell had the T- Drive done to him?

“Talk to me, Virgil. What happened?”

“Was dizzy for a second. Sorry.” He waved Scott’s hand away and sat up slowly. Everything stayed stable and sane.

God, he was tired. “I’m good. Just need some rack time.”

Scott glared at him. “I’ve seen you tired. You’ve never fallen off a pod before.”

“It’s the gravity, or the lack of it. It’s throwing me off.” He pushed himself to his feet.

But he knew what was coming next.

“I’m flying. Get in the back.”

“Scott-“

“Now.”

Virgil growled at him. “I’m going to secure the crystals first. We need to get these back to base in one piece.” And he did, Scott at his elbow the entire time. The man knew how to hover.

Once that was complete, Scott marched him to the backseat and made sure he climbed in safely…like he was a little kid or something.

Damnit.

But the moment he let himself relax, his whole body made it very clear that rest was a good thing. Scott’s flying skills kept the dragonfly consistently level and despite himself, Virgil dozed in and out a good percentage of the way back to base.

Despite the headache.

Of course, all of it resulted in a blowout with both Scott and his father.

“I’m fine!”

“You fell!”

“I slipped. It happens you know. I’ve rested. I’m fine. Now can we get moving? I need to be out there to assist with Four.”

Scott opened his mouth to no doubt confine him to the base with their father and Uncle Lee.

“Virgil, you will undergo an examination by the Base medics before you do anything.” Dad’s voice held that strength of command that Scott had so inherited.

He opened his mouth to rebut.

“Now, Virgil, or I will send Lee out in your stead. You don’t mess around out here. You know that.”

Virgil flicked his glance to the engineer his father had relied on for years, who had actually worked with International Rescue early on.

Goddamnit!

“Fine! But there is nothing wrong with me.”

“Then prove it.” Scott was glaring at him, blue eyes on fire and standing strong beside their father.

Well, at least they were working together, even if it was a combined front against him.

Three had already left, so they had to rely on a Base medic. Fortunately, she agreed with Virgil. Tension headache, the voyage out there and lack of sleep was all they could come up with and since he had snoozed in the pod and his skill set was seriously needed, Scott grudgingly gave him clearance.

Virgil so did not have time for this.

-o-o-o-

Alan slipped into Three’s pilot seat with a sigh. There was something about his ‘bird that was just comforting. Familiarity, probably, but also the knowledge that he had the power to get home under his very fingertips. Pods were great and all, but Alan preferred the power of ion engines and the strength of his ‘bird’s hull.

Gordon in the co-pilot’s seat wasn’t the norm, however.

“Okay, let’s get this ‘bird off the ground.”

Alan glared at him, but poked his comms. “Callisto Base, requesting departure for local foray as filed.”

“Thunderbird Three, you have clearance. Safe journey.”

Journey? He wouldn’t call it a journey. More a nick out the back door to grab takeout, if anything.

Great, now he was hungry for pizza and the nearest pizza joint was a bazillion miles away.

So gonna have a pizza night when they got home.

“FAB, Callisto Base.”

The airlock doors above began their ponderous opening sequence like something directly out of an old sci-fi flick. All that was missing was the cinematic music.

Firing Three’s engines was like breathing again after being stifled for a long time. She lifted, rising slowly into the airlock, her length proof that everything the Base owned was smaller. He only had a handful of metres to play with at either end and he was pretty sure he was scorching their inner door.

Nonetheless, they waited and the outer doors slid open revealing Jupiter once again in all her glory.

Alan eased her out slowly making sure she was fully in the clear before tilting her towards the north and, with a twitch of a thruster, throwing her across the jagged landscape.

The moon surface was craters on craters on craters. The Asgard formation rippled outwards in all directions creating rings of hills, stark greys and silvers against the deep of the black sky. Burr Crater was a splash of bright reflected sunlight glaring enough for the filters on the windows to react and protect their eyesight.

Alan brought up the holoprojection showing exactly where Virgil wanted him to drill.

Another flick of a wrist and Three pivoted on her nose, extended her arms, and settled gently onto the surface of the moon.

“Thunderbird One, Thunderbird Three is in position.”

Comms crackled and Alan frowned.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

State the obvious, Gordon. “Thunderbird One, do you read?”

“We hear you, Thunderbird Three. Dragonfly Pod Two en route to rendezvous.” Scott’s voice cut out and Virgil’s took over. “Gordon, deploy Thunderbird Four. Crane her to the surface. Alan we will need to assemble a large gauge molepod complete with vacuum extraction, as we discussed. We’re about fifteen minutes out.”

“FAB, Dragonfly Two.” The line cut out and Alan turned to his co-pilot. “Okay, Gords, your turn.”

His brother’s face split into a grin. “See you in the sky.”

Alan groaned. “Never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Nope, no time soon. Thunderbird Four is going to fly. No more being dragged around by her sisters. Gonna get her some VTOL.”

Alan clambered out of his seat and half floated, half fell to the back of the cabin. Partial gravity was always odd. “Hoverjets, Gords.”

“Tomayto, tomato, squirt. My ‘bird is gonna fly.”

“In micro-gravity.”

“I’m taking what I can get.”

Alan rolled his eyes. Insufferable.

What followed was Three craning out Four through the cargo bay doors and gently lowering her to the icy surface of the moon.

This time, instead of sleds, Brains had attached hoverjets to the body of Gordon’s submarine. Personally, Alan thought she looked like she had a really bad case of acne, her usually smooth lines interrupted by pustules that spat blue ‘fire’.

Gordon apparently couldn’t stop grinning.

Of course, that all changed once Scott and Virgil arrived on scene. Virgil was unusually curt and Scott was hovering just enough to alert Alan that something wasn’t right.

A quick check with John revealed that Virgil wasn’t feeling well and that Scott wanted him off the mission, but Virgil refused.

That just set Alan off. It was always worrisome when an older brother wasn’t right, and considering all his brothers were older, it happened far more often than Alan liked.

So it was with worried eyes that Alan watched Virgil and Scott deploy the molepod.

The plan was for Three to dig down as far as she could - which was a decent distance, if Alan could say so himself, and then lower the extra-large molepod into the hole so Virgil could complete the tunnel to break through into the cave network below.

They were far enough away from the Crystal Cave, as it was now called, to hopefully leave it unaffected by all these excavations.

Gordon was to follow them in Hoversub Number Four - apparently his fish brother was still working on the new name - navigate to the Cave and revert to Four’s original purpose of being a submarine.

Three’s drill was an oddity for a space craft, but an oddity that had saved Alan’s bacon so many times.

The thought immediately prompted hunger pangs. Bacon.

Maybe he should shove a snack down his throat.

“Alan, start drilling.” Virgil’s sharp voice on comms snapped him out of it.

If Three deployed her drill rather abruptly at that, Alan felt he wasn’t to blame.

Fortunately, she performed with her usual ease and brilliance, creating a massive hole in the side of the moon and a cloud of debris to match, rock and ice thrown up in glittering haze.

God, space was beautiful sometimes.

Once Three had gone as deep as she could, Alan shifted her to one side and acted as a crane to lower Virgil and Scott in the molepod down into the newly created tunnel.

A suspended moment and the billowing dust resumed.

“Hey, Gords, is Virgil okay?” He couldn’t help it. He was worried.

“He’s okay, Allie. Just some leftovers from the ride out here.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Don’t mention it. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Sorry.” It was raining glitter in slow motion.

“How you didn’t notice, I have no idea.”

Gordon was in Four and Alan in Three, but Alan shrugged anyway. “Dunno?” But he was distracted by the holographic image of his two eldest brothers gnawing through rock far below. Almost there. Thank goodness, Three’s grapple was almost at its full extent.

“Thunderbird Three, get ready to reel us in.” Scott’s voice was tight.

Far below the mole broke through into the cavern and began to fall in the ponderous gravity. Alan yanked a lever and pulled the cable tight, catching the pod in a pendulous dangle. “Gotcha.”

“Hold it, Thunderbird Three.” Virgil’s voice was even tighter than Scott’s and Alan wondered if the pod swinging was messing with him. A moment. “Okay, retract slightly.”

Alan did so and the pendulum slowed and eventually his brother gave the go ahead to fully haul them out of that hole.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was beginning to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with him. Digging the hole had been simple, but the moment they burst through into the cavern, his stomach tried to invert itself. It had taken everything he had to keep his insides on the inside.

But then it disappeared again! Leaving the goddamned headache that just refused to go away and was currently pounding through his head to the tune of his heartbeat.

Maybe Scott was right. Maybe there was something seriously wrong.

But he had a job to do.

Thunderbird Four was literally bouncing on the spot by the time the Mole resurfaced dangling from Three’s grapple. Virgil had piloted the pod simply because it was his speciality. Scott had accompanied him because he was worried, but he let him drive.

Such was not the case with the Dragonfly. Virgil was clearly demoted via a pair of determined eyes and exiled to the backseat.

Fine.

It gave him a chance to examine the sensor readings of the rock they had burrowed through on the way down. It was a thoroughly fascinating combination of ice and minerals, silicon in particular.

Thunderbird Four lifted smoothly off the glistening moon surface and with a very unprofessional ‘Yahoo’ slid into the entrance of their new tunnel and disappeared.

Scott was only a second behind.

Four bounced like a rubber ball off the walls, darting around the corners so nimble, Scott had to ask their fish brother to damn well slow down.

Which was just as well, because before they knew it, both Four and the Dragonfly emerged into the cavern, Four in ponderous freefall until the hoverjets could catch on the floor.

“That was awesome! Can I keep the jets, Virg? Please?” An Olympic gold medal, a WASP career and vast experience as an IR operative, and Gordon was still a kid at the candy store begging for his favourite lolly.

“Not important right now, Thunderbird Four.” Commander Tracy’s tone was sharp.

“Just asking!” But below them the bright yellow submarine had obviously latched onto the comms beacon and was moving towards the tunnel leading to the Crystal Cave.

Scott followed as closely as practical and it wasn’t long before both Four and the Dragonfly were sitting on the beach staring at the lake.

Scott and Virgil climbed out of the pod, its lights streaking twin beams across the water and lighting up the crystal walls and glass lake. Gordon hovered at the edge.

“You okay, Thunderbird Four?” Virgil was frowning.

“Pretty fine and dandy, if I may say so myself. Gonna go hover myself out into the depths I think.” His tone while flippant, was distracted. “Scans are reading a hell of a lot of that quartz and I’d rather not test Four’s hull unless I absolutely have to.” There was a grunt. “As it is, that water isn’t just water. I’m going to be cleaning my girl for week after this. It’s mineral soup.”

“Is it a concern? Did you want to abort?” Scott was predictably concerned.

“No, no. She can handle it. I may just need to rope a bro or two into maintenance.” There was a snort that no doubt would be accompanying a grin.

Virg was tired and there were people needing rescue. “Move your ass, Gordon.”

That earned him another worried set of blue eyes. But Virgil was over it and just needed to get this job done.

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.” Four started moving forward, her jets rippling the glass of the water.

Gordon hovered a fair distance out into the middle of the lake before gradually shutting down the hoverjets, letting the sub dip below the surface.

A single breath and she was gone, only circles on circles of steadily spreading ripples remained.

It was damned eerie.

Scott looked like he wanted to climb into the water after their brother.

“Wow, guys, it is amazing down here.” Typical Gordon.

Virgil would have loved to rub his temples.

“Sending visuals to Five. Johnny, you receiving?”

“Affirmative, Thunderbird Four, though I am encountering some interference. Eos, can you clear that up?”

“Guys, I’m getting some temperature variances down here.”

Scott shifted where he stood, his space suit flexing over taught muscles. “Clarify, Thunderbird Four.”

“It’s getting hotter. Not by much, but a definite increase in temperature as I go deeper.” A thoughtful mutter. “This is deeper than it appears, Scott. Readings are fluctuating. What was a hundred metres is now closer to six hundred. Damn, there’s another temperature spike!”

“Thunderbird Four, interference is increasing.” John’s voice crackled as if for emphasis. “We can’t clear it.”

Scott flicked on his wrist display, the two lifesigns pulsing under the icon of Thunderbird Four. “Do you see anything, Gordon? Any sign of what we are facing?”

Gordon muttered something that was drenched in static. “Crystal…temp..ture…rising…” The signal ended in a hiss of static that hurt Virgil’s ears.

Scott’s voice was decision sharp. “Thunderbird Four, abort mission. Return to shore.”

“Sc-“ But the signal cut out completely.

Shit!

The rock under Virgil’s feet trembled. What the-?

Ripples vibrated across the lake.

“Gordon, do you read?!”

“Thunderbird One!” John’s voice had an edge of alarm. “Registering seismic movement in your vicinity!”

“Gordon!”

“Guys! Get out of there! Now!”

“Gordon!”

Virgil grabbed Scott as a shadow grew out of the darkness and into the twin beams of light.

Oh, hell!

“Scott! Move!”

The lake had swelled into a wave, a crest rushing at the shore they were standing on.

Virgil grabbed his brother, turned and ran for the pod.

His fingertips brushed cahelium as the wave hit. Virgil was lifted off his feet, Scott was torn from his grip and he was tumbling.

A sharp pain.

And…

Nothing.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #callisto

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lemons3ason · 4 years ago

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Messed Up Fantasy (Smut)

(Warning: Forced (but consensual you’ll understand at the end), Knife Play, Quirk play, Semi-public, bondage, degradation, Latin King Sero)

You were hero partners, you were both tasked with a special mission of capturing a villain that had a powerful psychic type quirk yet somehow you both ended up captured. Due to the quirk cancelling cuffs on your wrists you were unable to manifest your metal claws while Sero was being controlled by some stupid collar that made him listen to any command the damn witch made.

“You’re gonna pay for this!”, you growled pulling on your restraints.

“Oh shut up you little wench. Cellophane quiet our little brat for us.”, the villainess growled with a snap of her fingers.

In a flash his tape was sealed over your mouth forcing you to keep quiet. She seemed amused seeing you all helpless and tied up, and decided to get some fun out of you two heroes.

“I bet stuck up stubborn brats like you have never been given the chance to feel what it’s like to be a true woman. I wonder how much of your inner slut would come out if your partner fucked you stupid. It’ll probably hurt since you’re a virgin.”, the woman snickered gripping your face in rough hands.

She may have psychic abilities but one flaw is that she couldn’t read minds like others, she was falling right into your plan. She came up behind your controlled partner and whispered something in his ear that forced his body to tremble, you could feel your pussy clench to the sight of his cock hardening under his skin tight hero suit.

“Have fun with her Cellophane, fuck all your agitation and feelings into her slutty body until she can’t take anymore and begs to be freed.”, the woman smiled sitting in a chair just across from you to enjoy the show.

You muffled voice behind his tape was hard to understand but a strange glint in his eyes was enough to provide you a small sense of relief to what he was doing. He carefully removed his tape from your mouth but as you tried to call him name you could only moan as he pressed a deep passionate kiss to your sweet plump lips. You couldn’t help but moan against his rough kiss, his hands trailed down your body resting at your thighs from which he picked you up from the ground. The controlled raven haired man panted against your lips roughly rutting against your cloth core until your own moans started to escape your lips.

“Now now Sero don’t be so patient with her, fuck her senseless I doubt she’s going to do anything if you go in without any prep.”, the villainess purred.

You trembled to her words, for Sero to fuck you without any preparation? God the thought both excited you and made you almost fearful of his length.

“I’m gonna tape your legs open and fuck you even when you cry for me to stop, mi amor~”, he hummed into your ear in a gruff tone making your body tremble in anticipation.

Just as he said he taped you to the cold brick wall of the villain’s hideout by your wrists and legs. You tried to move but the tape that glued you to the wall from the back of your thighs kept you pinned.

“Se-Cellophane please stop this. Pull yourself together.”, you begged almost losing your composure and calling him by his true name.

That’s when your body froze feeling his cold blade against your neck. Your body was scared stiff but your eyes moved to see the very blade that he had pressed against your skin.

“Mi princesa linda.”, he hummed against your ear sliding the tip of his knife to the collar of your hero costume just under your chin.

“I’m gonna fill you up, make you my puta.”, he growled against your ear gently dragging his knife down the fabric of your uniform just enough to cut your clothes open until your naked body was exposed to him.

“Vas a tener mis bebes, and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”, he warned taping the folds of your pussy open so he could enjoy your cute slit in all its glory.

Your face was heated and red, you were panting heavily, and without a doubt your pussy was dripping wet for Sero.

“My my what an intense play, but I’m starting to get bored. Cellophane give me a show, rape your little partner and make her pregnant so she can no longer be a hero and then I’ll take you and run away with you.”, the woman smirked seeing tears slowly slip from your cloudy hues.

You watched as Sero pulled his pants and boxers down revealing his long slim member in all its hardened glory. The tip was swollen pink, the veins on the underside pulsed and twitched in anticipation, and his cock seemed to glow from the precum that coated it so well. You softly called his name begging him to stop but you couldn’t help the scream that left your throat as he thrusted his full member into your core making you cum immediately upon entry. You hid your face against the crook of his neck whimpering as your pussy convulsed against his cock. He sighed and called you sweet pet names as he continued to move his hips, he didn’t care that you had just came, your sensitive insides clamped down hard against him making him feel even better as he continued to rut against your wet core. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust made you both forget about the stupid villain in the room, you couldn’t help but moan for him with each thrust his cock made against your spongy gspot. Your pussy seemed to clamp down desperately against his cock clutching to his shaft as he pulled away to thrust right back in. His hands held yours despite them being pinned above your head and you smiled feeling the pressure he placed against his wrist, he released your cuffed hands and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck holding onto the back of his shirt as he fucked you mercilessly.

“So tight.”, he groaned.

“S-so deep. I’m going crazy oh fuck!”, you cried your legs shook violently as another orgasm washed over you.

Sero flashed his signature smile at you as he rested his forehead against yours. You smirked but continued to play victim since you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

“N-no please! Please don’t cum inside, I-if you cum then I won’t be able to continue being a hero!”, you cried pushing him away weakly to fake your energy.

It worked the villainess smiled and ordered Cellophane to bring you towards her so she could see him release his seed in you and hear your sobs. She was the definition of a pervert in your eyes, your legs were shaky forcing you to fall to your knees which was enough to amuse the woman.

“That’s it little bitch crawl to me so I can see your whole world end.”, she hummed.

Her quirk took control of your muscles forcing you to crawl towards her until you sat just a few feet away from her, you trembled feeling Sero lift you up once again. His arms hooked under your knees spreading your legs wide open to reveal your wet puffy cunt, you looked away in embarrassment shaking as his cock entered you from the new angle.

The woman just smiled in amusement to you as she forced your fingers to attack your clit in front of her. You let tears spill from your eyes to make it seem like she won, once again you felt Sero’s cock twitch inside you and you began to beg and scream for him to stop as he slammed you down on his member. You whined once you felt your walls clamp down on him and the woman laughed watching his balls contract with each spurt of cum that filled your womb. She thought she had won, but her chair falling back as tape wrapped around her body and eyes was enough to bring her back to reality.

“W-what the hell?! Cellophane release me at once!”, she screamed unaware of what was going on.

“Sorry mi amor, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?”, Sero asked breaking the broken collar off of his neck as he put you down.

“No Corazon you didn’t. I will say I’m not a fan of being watched during sex though, it was kinduva turn off if it wasn’t for you fucking me so desperately but oh well I was the one that wanted to try it so it’s mostly my fault.”, your voice hummed.

“What the hell is going on!”, the villain screamed in annoyance kicking in her seat as you wrapped the cuffs around her wrist.

“You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of school teachers and students across Japan. You didn’t think the Hero Society sent you a regular pair of heroes did you? We heard all about your perverted side and just utilized it to catch you.”, you hummed in amusement squatting down to her ear level to talk about how fucked she’d be once they got her to jail.

“Umm p-princesa...y-your leaking out. We need to get you new clothes immediately before Chargebolt and the others get here.”, Sero stuttered his face flushing red as his seed spilled out of your puffy cunt.

You simply shrugged at your fiancé and grabbed the captured villain in her chair as you pulled her outside where cops and heroes were waiting. Sero’s clothes were still intact so he was quick to run after you and order every male on scene to avert their eyes unless they felt like getting fired today. A female paramedic brought you a blanket to cover yourself as the other heroes rushed in the save the remaining victims.

“Well at least we can cross this fantasy play off of our bucket list.”, Sero chuckled kissing your lips sweetly.

Your (e/c) hues shimmered with a mischievous glint as you whispered, “Maybe next time I’ll finally be able to convince you to fuck me over Bakugou’s desk back at the agency mi Rey~”

#sero x y/n #sero hanta #bnha fanfiction #bnha smut #x reader #bnha #cellophane

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ask-them-bois · 3 years ago

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The Scorpion’s Web, part 2/3

SW.pt1

TW: Mild blood, mind manipulation

TLDR: A new troll arrives!

Oliver reclined on his throne, chin on his knuckles as he observed the cavern below. Down on the floor, his followers were gathered.

They chattered with one another, swapping coins and medicine and food- anything the other needed, if it meant they’d make it another night. Oliver heard someone drop a handful of caigers in the offering bowl, only for it to be taken a moment later. The music was soft tonight, a piano melody that wafted through the air as they waited.

The smell of incense and food swirled, heady and warm, around the cavern. Oliver could hear pots and pans clatter in the secondary cave, as a handful of followers worked to provide a free meal. It wasn’t anything special- ground meat and rice, with steamed vegetables- but there was enough to go around, and for some it’d be the easiest meal they’d get for a while. The incense curled out from the braziers hung from the ceilings above.

The soft shht shht of a towel over marble was an indication that someone had taken it upon themself to clean the altar and shrine. Oliver waited for the sound to stop before he called the troll over, gracing them with a touch and a thanks and a kiss to their forehead. When the troll stumbled away, Oliver heard the shift in the crowd as that troll was swarmed, the others eager to touch one their leader had blessed.

At her feet, Bohwie sat on his knees, his head tipped back into her lap as she ran her claws through his fluffy hair. He laughed as he watched the commotion, before he looked up at the oliveblood.

“How much longer, Olly?” He asked, laying his chin on their knee.

“Soon, darling. He promised deliverance. They’ll-” He stopped speaking as he heard, far above their heads, someone entering the cavernous tunnels. “-be here any moment.” He finished, chuckling.

Sitting up straight, Oliver rose to their feet, making Bohwie shuffle out of the way. “Darlings!” They called, the crowd instantly hushing and turning to them, “Tonight, we have two very special guests joining us. They have just entered our hallowed chamber, and will soon be upon us. Welcome them with the reverence you bestow upon Bohwie and I, for just as you all do, they serve a purpose greater than ourselves.”

The crowd murmured to one another quietly, shuffling about eagerly as Bohwie got to his feet.

Oliver listened past them, to the footsteps that were nearing the cavern’s entrance. “Darlings, it is my honor to introduce his most exalted, the child of the Empire, Fayroe Fallen, and the Father’s lover’s son, Zeruki Ursida.”

A hush fell as the two trolls stepped into the cavernous room, which held for several seconds.

“Uh… Wassup, fellow freaky-deaks?” Zeruki finally broke the silence, the jingling of the bells on his tail echoing and shrill when he moved. Oliver could smell fear emanating off the tealblood; he didn’t want to be here, clearly.

“Welcome, darlings. I’m quite pleased you made it here safely.” Oliver said graciously, descending the ramp and walking up to the other two.

“I brought him, just like you asked.” Fayroe said, leather shuffling as they crossed their arms; they sounded absolutely disgusted that they’d done a favor for the oliveblood. “So you’d better-”

“Yes, darling, I’ll help you, as I promised. But first, we have work to do, still.” Oliver assured him smoothly, before she turned to Zeruki. “Welcome, my fellow genetic deviant. I’m sure you have quite a few questions.”

“I sure as flip-fucking-fuck do. Where the hell am I, why am I here, and why did Faybee-baby-bitch show up at my hive? That’s illegal.” Zeruki huffed.

“Well, darling, you are among friends here. I am Oliver Maddel. This is Bohwie Akshai,” Oliver indicated the blueblood as he walked up behind her, “And all these trolls behind us are part of the Black Hand. We are servants of the Infinite Abomination, the most ancient and powerful-”

“Whoopidy-fuckity-doo, you worship a bitch-brat with eyes and tentacles that would be a superstar in Eastern Alternian bucket animation.” Zeruki interjected, sounding bored as he lashed his tail again and made the bells ring, “What the fffffuck does that have to do with me? I was having a nice tippy-time trying to get my lusus to stop eating the lounge-plank when pinky-pie and flufflekins showed up at my door.”

“Don’t you dare disrespect Persephone! I’ll-” Fayroe began.

“You’ll what?” Zeruki taunted, “Kill me? Go ahead and try, bitch-stitch-boy! Jokes on you, I wanna die! Your daddy-pops wants me alive, though! You wanna make daddy mmmmmad? Huh?”

“I could have you-”

“Have me what? Imprisoned? Tortured? Once again the jokey-pokey is on you, pinky-fuck! I’m into that shit! You’re powerless, chuckle-bucket-fffffuck!” Zeruki cackled.

Oliver realized he was quickly losing control of the situation. “Zeruki,” He interjected sharply, before he took a deep breath and continued calmly, “I apologize that we ruined your evening, but I asked Fayroe to bring you.” He gave the teal his most flattering and charming smile, “You see, darling, we have need of you. At this moment, you are the most important troll in the world.”

Zeruki was silent for several seconds. “Dope.” He said at last, “Why?”

“We need your assistance for something that could, potentially, change the world. I promise you, you’ll be royally compensated for your cooperation.”

“Compensated like… money, or like you’re gonna put me on that freaky-fucky table and cut my head off?” Zeruki checked.

“Whichever you’re into.” Oliver chuckled. They turned away, motioning for Zeruki to follow as they headed for the altar.

“Soooo…. What do I gotta do?” The teal asked.

“We just need some of your blood, my dear.”

“McChicken-fuckin-scuse me?” Zeruki asked, incredulous.

“Not all of it, of course! Just a few drops!” Oliver assured him.

“Why?!”

Oliver held out her hand, and Bohwie placed an old, tarnished, gold lapel pin- it was shaped like a scorpion, with two gleaming rubellite eyes- in her palm.

Fayroe sucked in a sharp breath. “Hold on a moment- you’re not going to- to bring em back, are you?” They asked nervously.

Oliver only smiled. “We need em, darling.”

“But- but ey-”

“Trust me, my dear, I know what I’m doing.” Oliver said soothingly. She gently placed the pin on the black marble, before she raised her head, turning it from side to side like she was observing the room. ��Long ago,” She began, “I came across an ancient scripture, left behind by the original Black Hand. It detailed their rituals, festivities, and the god they worshipped.

This scripture… came with a prophecy.” Oliver said dramatically, hiding a grin when he heard the Black Hand collectively suck in a breath, “It was vague, as they often are, but I managed to piece it together- the Black Hand is due, nay, had been promised, a chosen one. This chosen child would usher in an age of glory, victory, and wonder- the age of nonsuffering- swept in on a wave of blood.

I thought, long ago, that I had found that child.” She let her voice fall into nostalgic sadness, “The one called Drayco Afasia. They were devout, beautiful, and were in line to succeed after Bohwie and I were gone. But before they could truly take their place as our chosen child, they were ripped away from us!” Her voice rolled from regret to wrath as she spat out the word.

The Black Hand reacted, growls and hisses emanating from the watching trolls. Oliver shook their head, clenching their fists against the cold stone altar, “The one called Musrio Almawt tore our child away from us, like a feral lusus takes away a grub. He stole our child, ending their life before it was begun! Then, unable to face the sin he committed, he took his own life in repentance! Only to meet our god, to confront the fact that he had taken everything away from us!” Their voice rose in pitch, as their followers jeered and snarled. They knew this story; Oliver had drilled it into them that Musrio was the enemy, conditioned them to react with malice at his name.

“Instead of smiting his soul from existence, however,” Oliver relaxed with a weary sigh, “our lord is merciful. It blessed Almawt with powers like mine, and sent him back to us, rebirthed and purified. It is my belief that our god intended for him to take up the mantle, to atone for his sins, and assist us with our goal. And so far, he has done just that! He has brought back many of those we require for the wave of blood! For that, we thank him.” She smiled warmly, and the scent changed to confusion and uncertainty, until she dropped the expression.

“But we cannot forgive him.” He continued darkly, “Not when he insists on impeding our work in any way he can. He returned our chosen child to life, but-” He let his voice crack, “I was too late.” He stage whispered, his voice thick with grief, “He had corrupted our child, convinced them that we are the villains, and has refused to continue his work for us.” He rubbed his knuckles over his mask, like he was wiping away tears, cleared his throat, and continued, “So I have been forced to play my hand, perhaps too early. I have brought back the Deadscar Wanderer, and the Hierophant- our beloved founder- and now…”

They held up the pin for all to see. “I shall bring back yet another that will join our cause. Once ey have joined us, there will only be two left! And once those two are within my grasp, we shall harvest their blood, all at once, so that the wave will begin, and our chosen child will come to us!” They announced proudly. The Black Hand were become frenzied, cheers and applause ringing through the cavern. “And once the child has come home, they will lead us into the age of nonsuffering!” Oliver cried over the crowd, “We are nearly there, my darlings!”

More chattering and clapping; Oliver allowed them the jubilation for a moment, before he motioned for silence. Instantly, his followers settled into breathless anticipation.

Laughing, Oliver turned to Zeruki. “So, my darling, do you see now why we need you? You are the descendant of one of the bloods. The connection through your bloodlines will allow em to grace us with eir presence. Will you do us the honor, and give us some of the azure ichor in your veins?” He purred silkily.

Zeruki was silent for a long moment; Oliver gave him that, letting him think it over. Finally, Zeruki took a deep breath, clapping his hands together.

“How do I put this politely?” He asked with mock cheeriness, “You’re flip-shit-fuck-trucking nuts, my guy. Absolutels-tootles buggy-bonkers, out the thinkpan fritz-frazzled. You feel me, Olive oil? I’m gonna go home, mmmmkay, and let my lusus gnaw on my skull so I forget all the lug-nut-lunacy your vocal box just spewed like my bulge during happy-fun-me-and-bucket-time. Okie-dokie?”

There was a collective gasp of horror from the Black Hand.

Icy fury stole through Oliver, freezing her already stony blood-pumper. However, her face did not change. Instead, she cupped her own chin thoughtfully, humming. “I see…”

“No you don’t.” Zeruki muttered, his tail chiming as he snorted.

“No, I don’t.” Oliver agreed and with a convincing giggle, dropping her hand, “But if that’s how you feel, then- well, I certainly won’t stop you from leaving. I won’t force you.” She carefully set the pin down, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Uh… sooo…. I can go?” Zeruki asked, startled.

“I won’t stop you.” Oliver repeated, their smile as cold as their veins.

“Uh… ‘Kay. Dope. … Bye?” Zeruki began to back away, his scent full of uncertainty.

“Oh, wait- just one thing, darling.” Oliver called. He turned towards where Bohwie was standing, waiting patiently. “BB, will you do the honors?”

Oliver didn’t need to see to feel the air suddenly become electrified- crackling, almost, and thick with an intangible power.

“I’ve got him.” Bohwie said calmly, although his voice was trembling with excitement.

“Thank you, my love.” Oliver purred, before they turned to the crowd. “The blessed abilities our lord has given us have come into great use this night, my lovelies. Does anyone have a blade we might use?”

There was a quick, and enthusiastic reaction. However, it was Fayroe who pressed a knife into Oliver’s hand. “Use mine. Just don’t get any of your own filth on it.”

Oliver gripped the blade’s hilt, laughing. “Of course not, dear.” He assured them. Turning towards the sound of Zeruki’s boots approaching, he held out the knife.

“Take it.” Bohwie rumbled.

The knife left Oliver’s hand.

“Slice your palm over the altar.”

Shuffling, and a rough scrape. There was no hiss of pain, no whimper, as the smell of blood filled Oliver’s nose.

“Turn your hand. Cover the pin.”

A brief pause, and a faint splatter of several drops hitting metal and stone.

“Give Fayroe his knife.”

“Ew.” The fuchsia muttered as he took the blade, wiping it down with a handkerchief.

“You’re going to stay here, and watch your ancestor rejoin us. You were willing to help, and gave your blood to us.” Bohwie intoned, before the energy in the air snapped and vanished.

Oliver heard several of the Black Hand take deep breaths, as if they’d just surfaced from underwater; they hadn’t been controlled, but the raw power

Bohwie possessed was still dizzying to be near. Zeruki spluttered, stumbling, as his body was given back to him.

“Wh-” He began, before Bohwie’s final order took over. He fell silent, and did not move.

“Thank you for your help, Zeruki.” Oliver purred as he stepped up to the altar again. “The pin is in place?” He checked.

“It is.” Bohwie assured him.

Satisfied, Oliver carefully peeled her gloves off and passed them to Bohwie. She rubbed her hands together, before she reached up and untied the silk band over her eyes. She let it fall to the floor as she pressed her hands together.

Energy surged through their body, up from their chest, down their arms, and into their head. Their eyes began to glow, as a dark, misty haze formed over their hands. The magic was not all consuming, no matter how hard Oliver tried to make it take over their body, as they were told it was supposed to.

But it would be enough. A bitingly cold wind cut through the warm cavern, racing around the room like a frenzied scale-mate. The lights and torches alike flickered, the scents from incense and food suddenly blown away. From Oliver’s perspective, he was alone; alone in a cold void, with only the sound of the wind and a deep thrumming, despite the hundred or so trolls in the room with him.

As the magic that gathered in her reached its peak, Oliver flung her arms out dramatically, throwing back her head. Her mouth opened in a wordless roar as she threw herself forward, slamming her palms down on the altar, on either side of the pin. Blood splattered on her fingers, the smell sharp and poignant in the void. It burned against her skin as the magic burst.

The wind built to a screaming whirlwind around him, the Black Hand crying out in alarm, only for their voices to be drowned out. Zeruki and Fayroe backed away in fear, as Bohwie stood resolutely beside his morail.

Darkness consumed Oliver inside and out as something tugged on his consciousness. Without thought, he seized it and heaved.

Green flames erupted in the torches that had been blown out, only to turn cyan. The darkness suddenly peeled off of Oliver and enveloped the altar they leaned on, gathering around the pin until it couldn’t be seen.

All at once, the darkness expanded, thrashing and solidifying into a shape.

A body.

Head, arms, and legs bloomed out of the torso, along with an excess limb. Fingers separated out of the dark, horns sprouted from the silhouette.

As the darkness locked itself into a physical form, the wind and roar and magic abruptly vanished, momentarily sucking the air out of the cavern along with it.

The black mist around the form fell away like fog, rolling off the altar and disappearing.

Oliver’s knees buckled, and Bohwie was immediately at his side to catch her. She gasped in air, her lungs frozen in her ribs as the energy was drained away. She had the strength to stay standing, though, unlike when she’d called Hierophant.

Bohwie stood him up, brushing back his hair and tying the mask back on his eyes. “Are you alright?” He whispered.

“I’m alright, BB.” Oliver assured him softly, smiling towards the cerulean’s face. “Did it work?”

“My, my, my… One moment, I am cutting open a subject. The next, the mother of the abomination has speared me through. Now I appear to find myself upon an examination table that isn’t mine. Most peculiar…"

A new voice, scratchy and sneering, spoke behind them.

Oliver turned as they heard shuffling, as someone sat up and rose from the altar top. They beamed, stepping forward and bowing low.

“Welcome back to Alternia, Dr. Dolion Ursida, the Bladepen.”

#the scorpions web #the bladepen #story time #long post #oliver maddel #bohwie akshai #zeruki ursida #fayroe fallen #part 2 #new troll

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years ago

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Movie!Sonamy - A quick little thing

(Found here x Not mine!)

Scene 1:

As Amy reaches out, moving across the pavement of the deserted back-way road, Robotnik--who at the time is still on the mushroom planet controlling Metal Sonic remotely in a makeshift base he created from the portals he created to function like Sonic’s rings to get random objects to fall into the mushroom world--commands Metal Sonic, “Another one!? Just rotten luck... unless??? Metal! Seize the girl! I want her alive!”

Intrigued at the idea that the girl may have a similar power source as Sonic, he watches as Metal Sonic charges and grabs her before a weakened Sonic from fighting the new foe could take her hand.

“Noo...” He stumble back down as Amy is swooped up, crying out for him.

Robotnik’s drone with a screen of him on it flies over to where Metal Sonic hovers in the air, as Amy squirms to try and break free of it.

“Hey! Let me go, you big bully!” She summons a hammer to hit him, whacking him as Robotnik smirks.

“Metal, be sure to keep our little captive secure.” Then looks back to Sonic as though a warning.

Sonic stumbles to his feet again, holding his hurt arm that Metal slashed into and rolled him off his high-speed escape.

“Leave her alone, Eggman...” He wobbles slightly, squinting an eye.

“Sonic, I’m about to get very unlady-like. Please look away!” Amy continues to struggle, but upon Robotnik’s last command, Metal Sonic locks his arms and she’s perfectly stuck in the wedge therein. “Grr! Hurfh!” she stops with her hammer hits as it doesn’t seem to be doing anything but create nose and knock his head back slightly. “Okay, in 3.., advert your eyes! 2... oooonnneeee...” she holds the last count as she continues to kick her feet and try and ‘squirm’ through the cobra-like grip.

She finally flops her arms down along with her head, dangling before seeing Sonic still staring. Gasping, she continues to try and look like she’s making progress, “I thought I said look away!!! I can’t really let him have it if your watching me!” but it’s clear she’s fibbing.

Sonic worriedly looked between her and Eggman, then glares at Metal Sonic. “It’s me you want... let the girl go!”

She stops struggling, amazed that he’s being so heroic. “Sonic...” A moment ago, when he first met her, he seemed frozen time and excited raced over to greet her with a simple ‘hi’ and raised hand. But when she tried to get ‘closer’ to him through their time together, he seemed to almost try and get away from her...

So now... He seemed like he really did care.

Robotnik laughed, “Let’s first see if you can catch her...” The drone parted and shot out a portal beam that was heading back at light-speeds... then Metal Sonic blasted his jets and flew after it.

Robotnik wanted to test out his Metal creation, having used Sonic’s quill to construct him, mostly.

Sonic took off after them, pushing himself even though he was clearly beat up.

“Noo!!” Amy watched as Metal swung her to the side and fired at a pursuing Sonic. “You leave him alone!!!” She summoned her hammer again, but this time, Robotnik noticed something...

“Hmm... interesting.” he fired a laser to knock the hammer out of her hands, but she summoned it right back as it was flying away and shot it at him.

His drone blasted it out from it’s path towards knocking into it, and flew a little closer to her. Robotnik’s smirk tripled in size... (Grinch stole Christmas reference.) “How very... useful information to know. Metal! Come home!” his drone shot out towards the portal, but Sonic quickly bypassed Metal, surprising both of them, and then rolled up into an electric blue ball.

“Like I’d let you get away!” he charged into him and shred through the drone, exploding it with his electric energy before throwing an electric beam to Metal Sonic (Sonic boom reference) and yanking him out of the air.

Metal missed the portal, getting pulled back as Amy swung one last hammer hit to knock him further to the ground while she still flew off at an angle.

“Amy!” he raced to her and grabbed her, tumbling into the forest as the portal warbled and finally dissipated. (The chase is meant to resemble Sonic CD’s Metal Sonic race.)

“NOOO!!!” Robotnik slammed his fists on his makeshift console as sparks flew all around it. He breathed hard... before a light came on and he rolled his enraged eyes up to it...

Metal Sonic... was still operational. He sneered, typing in some commands. “No matter... I’m not out of this game yet..!” he growled in competitive spite.

Amy’s eyes were a bit dizzy-struck, but Sonic moved off of her, shaking his head and breathing hard. “You... You alright, Rascal?”

She puffed out some air, then her eyes closed and let her head fall to her side.

“Amy..?” He suddenly looked her face over. “Amy!” his blue quills sparked with light as his eyes changed color as well, showing the electricity.

She suddenly began giggling, and he pouted at realizing he was being fooled.

“Don’t you know..? This is when you kiss the girl awake!” she teased.

He rolled his eyes and lightly moved her face back to being against the dirt, using her to push off the ground and get up in a comedical way. “If I did that, I’d have to call out ‘clear’!” he was referring to his power and imagining her popping with electrical emergency like in hospitals.

However, Metal Sonic had turned his head and scanned their heart rates during that moment... there was a link between their heart rate increases, and Robotnik twisted one of the hairs on his overgrown mustache at it.

“All the readings and signs point to a very peculiar circumstance caused by teen acquaintance in the most obscure and annoying frequencies in young creatures... Maybe I can lure him to me yet.” He built up his villainous laughter as the mushroom base he created was shown in it’s full glory with drones flying everywhere around it like a bee-hive.

Scene 2:

Exhausted from out-running Eggman, the gang of Tails, Sonic, Amy, Tom, and Maddie were around a campfire by their camper they ‘acquired’ during their attempt to escape Eggman’s robots.

As Tom was speaking, Amy was growing more and more tired, her eyes drooping before finally it was clear she was practically asleep, and her head bobbed a certain direction as though she was about to fall over.

Seeing this, Sonic scooted over to her just as her head was about to topple over from it’s many deeper bows, and was caught softly by his shoulder.

Maddie, seeing this, cut off Tom by moving her arm out of her blanket and putting a hand on his shoulder, “I think we all just need a breather first, Tom. Then we can talk about staging inter-world battles.” She joked, but was slightly serious as Tom looked to see Tails yawning and rubbing his hurt side and head, as Sonic also looked over to him and patted his tail that was by him, as Tails smiled appreciatively over to him.

“Maybe we should all get some sleep...”

“Look at you, being so responsible..!” proud of her boy, Maddie got up and wiggled her head, striding over to help pick up Amy and take her back to the camper. “Looks like you took my advice.”

“Being nice... isn’t so hard when everyone needs you to save the world... again.” Sonic replied in his usual snark, but then looked sorrowfully back to Amy. “If Eggman learns about Tails... will he get put in danger too?”

“Well...” Maddie looked down, “People put themselves in danger... for the things they love the most.” She looked over to Sonic, eye to eye, before Tails and Amy. “These guys risked everything to escape and find you, right? That must mean they truly loved Longclaw... and believed that you would be the one to help free them.” She bobbed and patted Amy as though instinctively being motherly while she spoke, and Sonic just smiled, nodding to her.

However... when she turned away, whispering goodnight, he frowned and his ears fell back.

He didn’t want to be a hero, the responsibility of looking out for these two also didn’t make him feel like he was enough. He worried about Tom and Maddie too... he didn’t want anyone else getting hurt or put in danger...

Maddie placed Amy down and removed her blanket from around her shoulders, replacing it to be on Amy as she rested.

She dropped the blinds and smiled at the window above her, then stroked and curled her fingers around her bangs before setting off....

When red glowed from the window...

Metal Sonic had carefully camouflaged himself behind some bushes in the forest they were hiding in, and moved over to the camper.

Seeing her, he scanned her, but didn’t see any trace of a similar power to Sonic’s. Even so, he had his orders, and carefully used a heated beam to create a square out of the bunker, grabbing it before it could fall over and on her.

He carefully moved the square piece and maneuvered his dangerously spiked claws under her head and body, lifting her to then sneak away as his operation was complete.

However... Tails looked at his device, “Strange...” he rubbed his eyes awake, “Why is that... Sonic, look out!” he dived into Sonic as Metal shot a beam into the camper, exploding it like rapidly fired, circular bombs.

“Oh my-” Maddie stumbled up and ran towards the flames, but Sonic saw something red, like a stream of moving eyes, dip into the forest.

He glared, and ran after it, not looking back as Tom reached out to him. “Sonic!”

Scene 3:

Trapped in Eggman’s containment unit, not able to fully stand up and not big enough to lay down comfortably in, Amy hit the sides of the clear wall, trying to convince Eggman to let her go.

“Is that what you’re all gonna call me!?” Robotnik’s nose flared at the name.

“You smell like rotten eggs too!” she summoned her hammer and slammed it against the wall.

“Ah! Fascinating.” he bent down to look at the hammer. “Metal? Calm down our experiment.”

Metal, using the quill from Sonic, created a blue electricity that sparked on his raised hands and traveled along his metallic claws...

Amy recongized the power, amazed he had it, and scooted back Robotnik stood up, his glasses flaring with light when Metal seemingly off-camera shocked the unit.

Amy’s cry of pain was quick, and Eggman opened the container to pull out the hammer, showing Amy’s limp body. “I said calm, Metal. We aren’t sure if we can extract her power dead or alive yet... But even so, good boy.” he patted his metallic head, but Metal’s face was emotionless.

His red, blaring eyes peered at the hedgehog girl who squirmed back up to look at him, “I’ll make sure... you regret... this...”

He seemed to have a red light blinking on the side of his eyes, as though recording before she dipped her head back down wearily, and he moved over to Eggman, tracing his movements.

Eggman placed the hammer on the same device he used to measure Sonic’s power, but scooted the two rims farther back to make room to place the hammer. The container swung up over it like a clamped shell, and Metal Sonic watched him, still with only his eyes and head following his movements, as he danced and waited for the results.

He air guitar’d before the results came back faster than he anticipated.

Rushing over, he laughed once again, wheezing at times, pounding his fat stomach as though choking when the results showed that the hammer had an unlimited power source as well. “There’s morrrrreeee!!!” he shot himself up out of his chair and shook his fists in the air.

Wickedly Elated.

Scene 4:

Metal Sonic had showed Sonic Amy’s recording, and faking that she was dead, caused Sonic to think Robotnik had killed her and burst into electricity, charging after him through the portal, exactly what Eggman wanted...

With Sonic enraged, he didn’t realize he was being deceived, but soon enough fights, gets captured, fights again, and finds Amy to save her while he escapes.

-skipping along the dvd in my head lol-

Sonic was carrying a now awake and perplexed Amy while trying to escape the mushroom kingdom.

He came alone to avoid further conflict with Tom and Maddie, who he felt were being over-protective and sheltering, when he just didn’t want them to get hurt.

Metal Sonic pursued, but Amy kept complaining he wasn’t holding her like a ‘lady’ and he swung her over his shoulder.

“Better~?” He teased, already remarking how it wasn’t comfortable to run while holding someone, and also the fact that she didn’t make it any easier by squirming.

The two kept trying to figure out what the best position was as Amy kept firing off her unlimited supply of Piko Piko Hammers while Metal Sonic gained on them constantly, due to Sonic’s poor footwork and trying to adjust Amy in his arms.

Finally, he threw her up to dodge Metal Sonic charging at them with his claw swiping out, and then jumped to spin dash him into his engine on the back, before grabbing Amy bridal style.

As they raced away, Amy looked all around at her new position, and nodded approvingly, “This... This will do.” she wrapped her arms lovingly around him and gave him a sweet, adoring smile before looking back over his shoulder... and then bending her eyes in a regret-stricken arch at what she knew Eggman now had...

Scene 5: -Around the end-

Amy has her feet on a stalled and twitching right engine wheel on Metal Sonic, on his knees, head up as she had looped her hammer around and jammed it behind his neck/quills.

she held his sparking head and glared into his eyes, as Metal Sonic’s red dot blinked in the corner of his eye, revealing the same hologram he had showed to anger Sonic and have him react emotionally to try and extract his power. “I’ll make sure... you regret... this...”

Amy smiled, knowing he was recognizing that this was her fulfilling her own promise. Not through Sonic...

“You will never be as great as Sonic The Hedgehog...” Amy then rips his head clean off, but as he explodes, his head remains intact and flies off,... he was still recording her...

Forever on his memory now... (concludes Metal Sonic’s hinted jealous rivalry to be better than Sonic, seeing as Robotnik acted about Sonic, and wanted to be more than enough to please his creator... the ultimate Sonic.)

Sonic dives into the flames after her, a slow-motion of him worriedly reaching out as the flames of his exploded body envelop them.

They roll to the side, but Tails, Maddie, Knuckles, and Tom don’t see it. (They will later over hear them and that’s when Sonic will stride in like a hero, touched by their tears and loving speeches)

“We gotta... stop meeting like this.” Amy teased, breathing hard as he got up off of her, mimicking the tumble in Scene 1. “People like to talk.”

For once... he smiles at her charm.

“Well, you said so yourself... There’s only one hedgehog that’s your hero...” He bends down, and as she gets excited and closes her eyes, leaning up to kiss, he moves off of her.

She blinks her eyes and gasps, moving up to see him just walking off.

“Sonic!”

“What? Aren’t you waiting for him to scoop you up and carry you away?” He teased back, gesturing behind himself.

She shakes her head, “I think you know who my destined hero is.”

His eyebrows move up and he smiles. (This establishes their dynamic from here on out. Hero and admirer.)

-I got wind of a rumor about Amy being in the new sequel... I already made 2 scenarios of how she could be played, this is how Sonic could play back xD-

#sonamy #movie!sonamy #cutegirlmayra #sonic movie #sonic movie amy #sonamy prompt #sonic movie prompt #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonicxamy

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detectiveidiotboy · 4 years ago

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His Time In The Commonwealth III: Deacon's Story

so as my beloved fanfiction, The Black Widow’s Waltz, comes to an end, i’ve decided that i am going to re-release the backstory chapters as their own stand-alone fic, since they read well as their own story. before that, i thought i might do a fun little thing where i release each of the companions backstories as their own post here on tumblr under the tag #his time in the commonwealth.

it is now time for part three of this little mini series i have. now that we’ve seen what happened to nick, let’s see how good ol’ deacon ended up where he is...

Deacon stood in the center of the burning remains of the Mercer Safehouse, staring at the man who set the place on fire not two hours earlier. The arsonist's back was turned, cropped black hair shining in the red-and-yellow flashes of the house fire. A woman crawled out from the debris - a synth who’d arrived just weeks before. She was shouldering a sobbing agent with cracked, bloody glasses and leg twisted backward. The man raised his rifle and gunned the two women down with an honest-to-god smile on his face.

Nate, you are one fucked up guy, Deacon thought as he stepped over the burning remains of an agent trapped under a beam.

“Deacon? Is that you?” Nate turned, eyes shining against the flames illuminating the light. “I thought I’d run into you sooner or later.”

“Yeah,” Deacon snarked, unstrapping his shotgun from his back, “I’ve been a little hard to pin down lately - Dez was always the one who assigned my ops in my downtime, but she’s been pretty distracted lately. You know, being dead ‘n all.”

“Morbid.” Nate chuckled. “I always did like your sense of humor.”

“I’ve been told I’m one hell of a comedian.”

Deacon pressed the barrel of his shotgun against Nate’s chest. The man stared at him, seeming far more interested than worried about the twelve gage of death aimed at his sternum. Nate was tough shit - but even he couldn’t survive getting all his organs blasted out by a point-blank shotgun round. At least, that was the hope Deacon clung to. “So, you wanna die here? Or is there somewhere else you want me to shoot you?”

“A surprisingly generous offer,” Nate said, lowering the gun with a finger, “but I’m afraid I have to decline. I have more important things to do than help you get some petty revenge.”

“Sorry, not happening,” Deacon cocked the gun, raising the barrel until it rested just beneath Nate’s chin. “Actually, you know what, nah - I’m not sorry at all.”

“I assumed not,” Nate said, raising his hands. “Fine, Deacon.” He said with a sigh. “If this is really how you want things to go, then shoot me - but wouldn’t you rather know why I’m doing what I’m doing?”

“Nope,” Deacon said as he blasted the fucker’s head off his body.

Except, that wasn’t entirely what happened. Nate stumbled back, almost fell over entirely, but despite the scattershot tearing through his throat just seconds before, his head was still stubbornly attached to his body. Nate laughed, slowly rolling his head forward until it was back on top of his shoulders, smiling widely. Deacon’s own vindictive smile dropped as he lowered the gun. “Shit… you really are immortal.” He said.

“That’s right,” Nate said in a sing-song voice. “Immortal and invulnerable. I’m basically the closest thing this world has to a god,” He laughed as he took a step forward, and Deacon took one back. “Now, since your idea was a miserable failure, let’s try mine.” He said, stretching his legs on the tips of his toes and clasping his hands behind his back. “Don’t you want to hear the reason behind my supposed betrayal?”

Deacon answered Nate’s question by bashing the butt of his gun against the psychotic killer’s face. Nate, momentarily stunned, staggered to the side and Deacon was able to retreat back towards the woods that surrounded the safehouse. At the very least he could act as bait to lure Nate away from any possible survivors. It was the least he could do for them, since he was the one who brought their murderer into the fold.

All of this was Deacon’s fault; he’d accepted the risk when he brought Nate on board. Desdemona had told him it was a bad plan - hell, P.A.M had reservations about it. Deacon should have listened to the future-telling robot instead of trusting his own chronically poor judgment. It had just seemed too good to be true - a supposedly immortal killing machine who resented authority and had a major bone to pick with the Institute? It was like the Atom itself had popped down into the Commonwealth and built them a savior out of clay and nuclear ash. Deacon couldn’t have let an opportunity like that go - and really, he’d asked himself, what was the worst that could happen?

Apparently, the worst that could happen was that the Brotherhood of Steel made their little savior an offer he couldn’t refuse. Now Tom, Desdemona, Glory, P.A.M… hell even Cartington ! They were all gone. Deacon hadn’t been at the base at the time of the attack - Nate had seen to that. Told him to head over to Sanctuary for a surprise. Well, surprise! Everyone Deacon loved was dead. He didn’t know - nor did he care - why he was spared; the only thing that mattered now was putting a stop to Nate before even more lives were lost, both synth and human alike.

Deacon dodged and weaved through the trees. He could hear Nate following him not far behind. It wasn’t long before Deacon’s lungs were straining and each breath was like a stab in the chest - god dammit he was a spy , not a runner. His body was not designed for prolonged exercise. Deacon’s heart was beating in his throat by the time he was forced to slow down. He’d put some distance between him and Nate, but it wouldn’t last. Nate never exhausted, Deacon had seen evidence of that. His stamina was endless - must come standard as part of the whole ‘god among men’ package.

Deacon reached into his pocket and pressed down on a button. It was the last stealth boy he had, and it wasn’t entirely full. It gave him only a few seconds to breathe while he tried to figure out his next move. To his right there were woods, to his left… more woods, and in front of him was, as one might guess, a large expanse of woods. Deacon wasn’t nearly as familiar as he needed to be with this part of the Commonwealth, his basic mental map was insufficient for a midnight life-or-death sprint.

He had less than ten seconds left on the stealth boy. Deacon could hear Nate closing in, so he did the only thing he could think of and backed himself up against the bark of an irradiated tree. He pressed his lips together firmly as Nate wove through the clearing, head swinging back and forth like an attack dog. It was as if he was tracking Deacon down by the scent of his fear. Again, considering Nate's otherworldly nature, not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“I know you’re here,” Nate said, a manic laugh following the words. He drew a silenced 10mm pistol from his jacket pocket, showing it off to the seemingly-empty clearing. “Recognize this, D?” He said. Deacon did - it was Tommy’s gun, Deliverer . The very same handgun that Deacon had gifted Nate on his official entry to the Railroad. “Seems poetic, don’t it? Whispers died hiding in the shadows, and now I’m gonna kill you while you’re curled up with a Stealth Boy in your pocket.”

Deacon lunged for Nate just as the effects of the stealth device wore off. He caught the man off guard, at least, wrapping both arms around him in a bearhug of death and tackling him to the ground. Deacon had no idea how he was going to kill his target if even a point-blank shot to the neck wasn’t enough to do it, but at the very least he was going to make Nate suffer .

Deacon grabbed Nate’s arm and yanked, using his foot to pin down the man’s back and dislocate the appendage with a swift movement. Nate choked on a cry - it was the first time Deacon had even seen the man externally express pain. Maybe it was the first time he’d ever been hurt - good. Deacon slammed the heel of his boot into the back of Nate’s head, aiming for the spine. Nate’s good hand darted up, snatching Deacon by the ankle and pulling him to the ground.

Suddenly, their positions were reversed, and Nate was on top of Deacon, pilling him down with the gun pressed to Deacon’s cheek. The dislocated arm was already back into place, its hand closed around Deacon’s neck and choking him. Deacon clawed at the fingers, trying to pry them off. Nate was unbelievably strong - even with how thin and nimble his fingers appeared they were perfectly capable of crushing Deacon’s windpipe.

“Tsk, how disappointing,” Nate muttered, probably to himself. Deacon snarled as the 10mm dug into his flesh. “I really did hope I would have a chance with you. You have such a pretty face.” Deacon felt the silenced barrel trail down his cheek and press against his left breast, “be a shame to ruin it.”

Six silenced shots rang out. Deacon seized as he felt the bullets slide through him, tearing his heart to ribbons. The delicate organ came to a spasming, sudden stop in his chest, and before Deacon realized what had happened he was dead.

Once the spy had stopped moving, Nate put the gun back into his pocket. Deacon's fists relaxed and fell away from the hand still clutching his throat. Nate's fingers lingered on the bruises he’d put on Deacon’s neck, savoring the feel of indents on the other’s flesh. Nate reached up and gently removed the sunglasses from the dead man’s face, folding them up and putting them in his pocket. “I never did understand how you could see out of these things when it was dark.”

Deacon’s eyes stared back at him, expression still caught between rage, terror, and agony. Nate frowned, reaching over to shut Deacon’s eyes for him. “Pity. You really were cute.” Nate leaned over and pressed a kiss to Deacon’s still warm cheek, then stood to leave.

Seconds after his heartbeat could no longer be detected, the auto-stimpack anklet Deacon was wearing deployed. There was no blood flow to carry the medicine through his system, but through the power of osmosis, defusion, and several other pre-war science words Deacon didn’t understand, the contents of a dozen stimpacks made it to the shredded remains of his heart. Veins reconstructed themselves, weaving together tissue and cells to produce a mass of blood vessels that would just barely manage to function as a pump. Five minutes after the drugs did their best to fix a literal broken heart, the taser went off, sending waves of electricity through the corpse of one Johnathan Deacon and starting up his pitiful excuse for a new heart.

The first breath Deacon took after dying was both the single best, and most painful breath of his entire life. The bright lights and sense of calm that death had brought him were replaced with an agony that the words ‘living hell’ didn’t even begin to touch. He couldn’t even scream, the pain in his chest consuming him so completely that all that was left were small, gasping whimpers as he curled onto his side and clawed at himself.

Every muscle burned as his body worked to repair the damage of going several minutes without breathing along with all the other things that were wrong with him. Nearly half a gallon of blood was misplaced in him, and there were still at least three of the six bullets still somewhere inside him pressed up against his recently revived nerves. Deacon’s vision went black and every muscle in his body was tensed. Part of him wondered how long this would last before he died again because there was no way he could be in this much pain without something being vitally wrong with him. The other, much larger part, trusted his friends’ genius and reminded him to wait the pain out.

“So, you guys want me to wear this thing?” Deacon said, holding up the ankle brace that had been given to him by Tom and Carrington. “Like, on my person?”

“Is something wrong with the design?” Tinker Tom asked, genuinely concerned.

“It’s kind of a fashion disaster,” Deacon said, fidgeting with the thick, untreated leather that made up the strap.

“It is a highly advanced revival device, not a fashion statement.” Dr. Carrington said with a roll of his eyes. “Since when have you cared about your appearance anyways?”

“Hey, my appearance is my life,” Deacon countered. “You should know - you’ve done, like, at least three of my face jobs.”

“Four,” Carrington corrected.

“It’s meant to be worn under your clothes anyways,” Tinker Tom said. “The design was my idea - Carrington’s work here is nothing short of genius, but if we wanted any practical use for this thing with our field agents we needed something easily concealed.”

“Easily concealed, right,” Deacon said as he snapped the brace around his leg. “Unless I want to wear shorts. Man, there goes my summer plans.”

“Would you at least try to take this seriously?” Carrington snapped. “This is just a prototype, but if we can verify that it works it could save the lives of countless agents. Unfortunately, the only way to test it is for one of our agents to become mortally wounded while wearing it.”

“And so you’re giving it to me? Gosh, guys, I’m honored, really.” Deacon placed a hand to his heart. “Voted most likely to die on a mission by his peers.”

“You are the one Dez assigns to the most dangerous operations,” Tinker Tom said with a shrug. “Don’t take it too personally. If anything, it means we want you around the most.”

Deacon couldn’t admit it, but that did make him feel a little warm in the chest area, but he and ‘genuine emotions’ hadn’t seen eye-to-eye in years, so Deacon gave his co-conspirators a wink and a smile and said, “Alright, but don’t expect me to run head-first into danger just to give you guys some data. If this thing actually works like you say it will, I’ll buy the first round of the night when I get back to the land of the living.”

“Hmfph,” Carrington huffed, predictably. Then, less predictably, he smiled and said. “I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

Deacon laughed as he came down from the high of agony that was recovering from a mortal chest wound, the sound pitiful and weak. The worst of the pain wasn't done yet, he could tell, this was just a short reprieve while his body geared up to continue its tantrum. “Carrington, you crazy bastard,” He muttered against the blood-soaked grass. “When I get to hell, remind me to buy you that drink.”

Deacon laughed and sobbed and spasmed until the sun was high in the sky.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout 4 fanfiction #fo4 fanfic #fo4 fanfiction #fallout fanfic #fallout fanfiction #fallout deacon #deacon fallout #fallout 4 deacon #deacon fallout 4 #deacon #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #the black widow's waltz #his time in the commonwealth

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makeithappenandreal · 4 years ago

Text

Even the Greatest Heroes Can Flip Out (Dark Percy!)

How will Percy be if he tries to be scary? -Piper Mclean

Dark!Percy trope:

Nico gulped as they waited for someone, someone very familiar to come out from the shadows in the hollow, deserted cavern they stood in. They had been expecting it. It didn’t mean he, or anyone else in the matter, was ready for it. Ready to face... face their once great, loyal friend and fight him. An army of campers, however, were standing ready with their weapons raised as they waited for him to come out so that they could fight him. Nico glanced at all of them. He knew that none of them wanted to fight their friend, but they had to. He exchanged a few looks with the one and only Thalia Grace, standing there in her silvery outfit and bow and quivers, her eyes at least as much as pain stricken as him, like she couldn’t bear the thought of fighting, fighting him. Just like Nico.

They turned when they heard footsteps, light but fierce, coming closer to them. Nico took a deep breath. The campers tensed and took their positions. Thalia inhaled audibly as she watched the person come out of the shadows.

There stood Percy Jackson, in all of his glory, holding his celestial bronze sword Riptide in one hand and wearing a whole Greek armor and a full black t-shirt underneath instead of his bright orange Camp Half Blood outfit. His jet black hair was longer and messier than always, and there was blood shining on his armor with a golden shimmering fluid...was that ichor? Nico gasped as he turned his eyes to meet Percy's. He grasped his Stygian Sword tightly and saw Thalia grip her silvery bow tighter beside him.

"Percy, we are your friends, we came here to help you. You just have to come with us, we don't wanna hurt you." Nico said, his voice strained. He flinched as an evil, sinister laugh echoed through the rocks of the cavern that chilled Nico to his bones. Percy, still laughing, turned to him with a really mocking expression.

"Oh, Nico, I think that hurt part would be the other way around." He said, and Thalia tensed beside him at the tone of Percy’s voice. Percy looked at the crowd standing before him ready to fight, like they were useless, belittled creatures, and raised an ironic eyebrow.

"Where shall we start, huh?" Percy said, an evil grin on his face, and he raised his free hand up. "Who wants to die first?"

Suddenly, Katie Gardner started choking and her sword fell out of her hand as she fell onto her knees. Before they could help him, two more campers also started choking and collapsed, and Travis cried out in pain from behind.

Nico turned frantically to his side, watching as Percy's endearing sea green eyes, now a whole different shade, darkened and frightening, shined with an evil and satisfied glint as he controlled the campers' bodies with one hand. Some were choking on their own spit, Katie was gagging on bodily fluids and Travis was coughing out his own blood.

"Percy, stop it!" Nico exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You are killing them, you are not someone like this, this isn't you."

"Oh, but it is now." Percy said, showing his teeth in a sly smirk, and Nico could see a smoke of red shading his eyes. Thalia growled beside him. She drew her bow and aimed it at Percy.

"Percy, don't make me do this." She said, voice angry but determined. Percy tilted his head a bit.

"I liked you more as a pine tree." He commented, and one more camper, an Ares kid, also collapsed in pain as blood started flowing out of his nose. Thalia made a sound at the back of her throat and shot the arrow, aiming at his arm but Percy expertly swung his sword and hurled the silver arrow away from him. Thalia roared, throwing the bow away and a flash of lightning blinded everyone as she summoned it and sent it swirling towards Percy. Percy made himself a shield from water this time, but the lightning was strong enough to hurt him a bit. He looked at Thalia menacingly.

"You know what, now I realised I never got to drop that galleons of water on you back in our fight in the Canoe Lake." He said, and before Thalia could hurl another round of lightning, Percy's eyes shined dangerously and a big amount of water came with a WHOOSH sound from the top of the ceiling, right on Thalia's head. Thalia screamed, and Nico ran to her, eyes wide.

"Thalia!"

Thalia tried to recover from the water, gasping and trying to stay upright. Percy formed the water in the shape of an arm so that it wrapped around Thalia's neck applying pressure and she started choking.

"Thalia! Percy, drop it, stop that right now! You have to snap out of it!" Nico shouted. Thalia gasped.

"Nico, do 'mthing..."

Nico turned to Percy, eyes burning up.

"You wanted this." He said, and concentrated as he lifted both of his arms up in the air. Within seconds, a whole army of skeletons popped out from the ground, ready at his command.

“Bring Percy Jackson to me!" Nico shouted an order, and tens of skeletons charged at Percy at once.

Percy turned his head to the army of the dead running towards him but he didn't seem very impressed.

"Nice try." He said and raised his sword to meet one of them's attack and released the grip of the water on Thalia. Thalia fell to the ground gasping, and Nico looked at her concernedly.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and Thalia nodded, trying to come to herself. She pointed at the army.

"Just focus on that." She said and Nico nodded, turning to the skeletons. Percy was turning skeleton after skeleton to dust, so he summoned more. He smiled as he saw that Percy was struggling now. He was annoyed too. But his smile froze on his face as Percy made a disgruntled sound and raised one hand.

"Now I am getting sick of this." He said, and he directed a literal flood towards the skeletons and started wiping them out of the existence with his hold on water. Nico couldn’t control them anymore.

"How are we gonna stop him?" Connor asked with desperation. "He is too powerful!"

"Yes, Connor, you got that right." Percy mused, eyes shining with a visible sparkle of red in his eyes. "I am too powerful for you."

"Not so fast, buddy." A voice said from behind, and Percy frowned as he turned around. "Frank, Leo, now!"

Percy was startled as a fire tornado blurred his vision. Before his vision cleared, he felt claws on his back and he was thrown to the ground with an enormous bear sitting on top of him. On the right side of him stood Leo with a sarcastic grin and hands in flames, and directly in front of him was Jason with lightning dancing around his body.

"That's it, guys!" One of the campers shouted in relief. “Don’t let him go!”

Jason walked up to Percy, still covered in lightning and his demeanour seeming calm.

"I am gonna cut this one out short, Perce, you are going to come with us now and we'll handle whatever comes next together. I don't wanna fight you, don't make us use brutal force." Jason said, his voice controlled. Percy smirked, even though he had a bear sitting on top of his chest.

“What makes you think you, of all people, can beat me, Jason?” He said sarcastically.

Leo's eyes softened. "We are going to fix you up, man. I know you are not yourself. Once you get out of this place...”

"I don't need fixing." Percy snapped. "I am not one of your pathetic mechanical toys, Leo. Go play with your teddy dragon."

Leo’s expression turned a bit painful, the flame in his hands flickered. Jason took a deep breath.

“Percy, you don’t need to do this, we are your friends, we just want to help you, you gotta believe me. Now don’t force us into fighting you, you can’t fight all of us alone.” Jason said. The bear growled in agreement.

Percy smiled. His eyes were nearly all red now. He looked directly at Jason.

“You shouldn’t have come here tonight, Jason. I really wouldn’t want to be the one to kill you.” He said. And out of nowhere, something in Percy’s belt started to stir. Nico frowned. Suddenly, a bottle popped out free from his belt, filled with dark, bubbly liquid inside and Percy got the liquid out and tossed it to the bear’s eyes.

The bear howled in pain, and before they could understand what happened, Percy broke free of its hold and pulled Riptide out to hit the bear. Frank transformed as he continued to rub his eyes and scream in pain, flying away from where they were standing. Percy, now free, jumped to his feet.

Before Leo and Jason caught up on what happened, Nico understood and shouted.

“It’s poison! Leo get away from there!” He cried out but it was too late as Percy hurled a river of water to Leo’s flaming body and sent him flying across the room. He groaned as he hit his head hard on the wall and passed out. Percy turned to Jason with a sword on his hand and a maniac smile on his face.

“You’re insane.” Jason said, his eyes wide as he watched what happened. Percy raised Riptide and Jason met his strike with his own Imperial Gold sword. He tried to hold his own, but Percy was the greatest swordsman in the last three centuries. Panic started to worm its way into his eyes and he jumped away from him to his side, leaving the sword and summoning lightning as he threw it towards Percy. Percy was caught to it, and his head started smoking a bit. Jason wanted to feel happiness but it dissolved into fear as Percy turned to him with crazy, complete red eyes like it held all the rage in the world. He threw Riptide too, and somehow, it didn’t relieve Jason at all.

“Let’s see how much blood runs through your veins, shall we?” Percy said, eyes on fire, and before Jason could do anything, he felt an immense burning in his stomach and he lifted his hands to hold his throat. Percy closed his fist and Jason buckled over, falling on his knees as he tried to breathe.

“NO!” Thalia yelled out, but Percy shook his other hand dismissively and another wave of water hit Thalia again. She groaned as she tried to break free from the water’s pressure. Percy turned his attention on Jason.

Jason was on the ground now, trying to stay upright as he gasped and gagged and choked. Suddenly, he started to spit blood, coughing up more and more every second. He started shaking violently as blood starting coming off his nose and eventually his ears.

“Jason!” Nico screamed, running towards them with all of his might but the water had created a hurricane around Thalia and the wind was too strong for him to get there in time. He watched helplessly as the greatest hero of their time, arguably the whole time, the person he secretly looked up so much to and had had a crush for years, killed his friends like flies without even hesitating. He didn’t know what could stop him. Percy let out another maniacal, evil laugh as he resumed drowning Jason in his own blood.

“PERCY! ENOUGH!” A familiar, very familiar voice thundered through the cavern and Percy stopped in his tracks. He opened his fist a bit and Jason started breathing again desperately, gasping. Nico turned around to see the owner of the voice at the same time as Percy.

A very familiar girl with blond curly hair and stormy grey eyes stood there, with Piper and Hazel on both of his sides, looking worn out and wounded. She was looking at Percy with a look of agony and sadly, and Percy suddenly dropped his hand. The waters disappeared, the hurricane subsided, and Jason wasn’t choking on his blood anymore. The girl had tears in his eyes.

“Enough.” She said, her voice ragged and breathless. Percy’s red eyes flickered, and Nico could see a sparkle of familiar sea green fighting its way back in. Percy gasped.

“Annabeth? You-You’re alive?” He asked.

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leora-rambles · 4 years ago

Text

The Road I Have Traveled On: There’s A New Kid In Town (La Squadra/Reader [Multiple Chapters])

no empty head thoughts

Next Chapter!

The rain falls around the two figures like prayers from the sky. The man's hold on the other is firm, aware of their power.

To underestimate them would mean death. He knows this.

They squirm on the ground, concrete beneath them scratching their back like sandpaper to silk. Their clawing hands are reaching for an object that was just not there.

“Where is he?” The man asks in his baritone voice, releasing the others throat from his hold. They regain their breath before laughing.

“He’s long gone, fucker! He was killed! Bullet to the lung!” Their eyes were glazed over, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from tears or the rain.

He looks at their spiteful face, the bitter smile on their lips obviously pained.

“How this shitty gang didn’t find that out is beyond me! It just shows how completely stupid everyone here is! How stupid your group is—!”

The hand returns onto the person’s neck and tightens.

They claw at his arms before succumbing to the dizziness.

It’s an unfair system, you think

There are many succumbing to live a life in the mafia. They are often forced, having to repay debts with money that is impossible to make in their state.

People who know no struggle speak as if earning money is easy. As if getting a job fixes all problems.

The rich expect debtors to live a life like machines, to breathe as if they have nothing to live for except for the money they owe.

You hate that you’re in this situation because of that very system.

“There are so many injustices in this world. We have to work our asses off while the people at the top only grow greedier because everything goes their way. It’s unfair, don’t you think?

“There are people without homes rummaging through dumpsters just to not starve... They didn’t ask for a life like that. They didn’t ask to be hungry everyday. It’s a cruel, one-sided system we’re in. To create a world where no one has to suffer anymore… That is my goal.”

Silence rings around the base. Your heartfelt speech is met with crickets.

God you can barely breathe. Was that too much? Did these weirdly dressed men already figure you out simply from your talking?!

A man with four ponytails is the first to crush the silence. Out from his throat comes a baritone, obnoxious laugh.

“Little ‘maggio here was only asking why you joined the family, man! We didn’t wanna hear your middle school election speech,” he scoffs, waltzing up to your form from the couch.

He lowers his lips to your face, light breaths just an earshot away. “What’s next, you��re gonna talk about saving the whales? Are we drinking a little bit too much of their water for you?”

His hand hovers just an inch away from your hat, scarily close to exposing your hair.

You shove him away, clicking your tongue at his remarks. “Whatever. I’m here for Mr. Nero,” you sneer.

You brush off your rustic brown suit and black dress shirt, adjusting your cuffs in the process. The men seated around the glass table ignore your statement.

The one in front of you rolls his uncaring eyes. He points at a door at the end of a long hallway, his weird sleeping bag-like attire rubbing against itself as he did so.

“The last door. There. At the end,” he says, fragmented.

You begin to march towards the door, but not before catching a snarky insult from beneath the ponytailed man's breath. You curse beneath your own before knocking on the dark oak wood.

There’s no answer.

You knock once again.

Still no answer. With a disgruntled huff, you rattle the golden door knob and then whip the door open.

You scrunch your nose up in disgust.

You don’t meet the eyes of the group as they erupt into laughter. The embarrassment sets in quickly, showing through a bolt of heat rushing to your face.

“Idiota!” A voice cackles from behind you.

You’re frozen into place, the toilet before you staring back in all its glory.

You want to kill these men. Can you kill them? You should kill them.

The noise of wood scraping against wood sounds from behind you. You watch the door open to reveal a man around 6’7”, dawning an attire that did not at all look work appropriate.

Did the boss hire some kind of goth clown? What kind of entertainment is this?

“You’re the new recruit, aren't you?” He bellows, black sclera eyes scanning your every move.

Oh. He’s the boss.

You nod, albeit a bit embarrassed since you just opened the door to the bathroom thinking it was his office.

He motions, beckoning you inside the room.

“You have a pretty hefty debt to Passioné, do you not? Where did you get such a suit?”

The man that you know now as Risotto Nero asks. His fingers are crossed with each other. He makes a point to place his chin on top of them.

Risotto scans you down, mentally adding up the costs of your suit in his head. When he arrives at his final calculation, he looks at you right in the eyes.

He speaks first before you answer.

“You shouldn’t be spending debt money on luxuries like that.”

You almost laugh in shock. It’s hard to keep the customer service smile on your face.

“It’s... My relative… My sibling lended it to me.” You fumble over your words, and you pray to god it was believable enough for this 6 foot something behemoth.

He nods, and for a second you think you’ve fooled him. You nearly sigh in relief at his satisfied looking face.

That is until a scary, dimpled smile replaces his placid expression.

“You don’t need to lie,” his low voice rumbles dangerously. His words strike fear up your spine like electricity.

You sit up straight, eyes widening in alert.

Shit.

Did he find out already?

He found out, didn't he? You underestimated him too much. He’s sharp. Much sharper than anyone you’ve ever encountered. He’s going to kill you. You have to kill him first, or else he’s going to k—

“Just admit that you stole it.”

You think you’re going to die of a fucking heart attack.

Mentally you feel like you just won the ‘I didn’t get mauled’ lottery, but clearly that didn’t show on the outside. He laughs darkly, almost cruelly at your fear-frozen expression.

“Luce, am I correct?” He asks, his smile now gone. You nod, still shaken up from his previous response.

“What’s your last name?”

You lean in to whisper it to him. You don’t need the others hearing and making a personal background check on you.

He nods, writing something down on a piece of paper.

He scans you down more and checks boxes off from the form.

“I’ve heard you’re a Stand user.”

You nod your head yes. He writes something down again.

“Show me it.”

With a light call, you release Restless Heart. Risotto stares at the figure, the vibrant red and orange pallet pulling some kind of warmth from his chest.

Clouds surround your Stand, it’s humanoid face reminiscent of drama masks.

“It’s abilities?”

“It can provoke intense emotion in people. The feelings can be so strong that it takes control of their actions,” you explain. Risotto puts a hand up as if to stop you.

“And how will I know if it’s taken effect on me?”

“Oh, you would know. The emotions are in no way small. They’re incredibly noticeable.” Risotto seems to believe your lie.

He nods at this information, eyes set back on the form in his hands. You take this as the cue to pull your Stand back in.

After the light scratching of his pen subsides, he glares at you through his red pupils.

“Alright. Let's get this straight, Luce,” he starts with a serious tone, “Just because you are a new recruit does not mean you are going to get privileges.”

“You will work just as hard, if not, harder than my men to gain my respect,” his low satin voice somehow grows deeper with each word.

He raises an eyebrow at your widened eyes.

“Got that?” He ends.

You furrow your eyebrows. With a nod, you lower your voice to seem sure of yourself, “I understand, sir.”

“You’ll be given your first mission Friday, 6 am. It’s Wednesday today, so that’s in two days. If you’re late I won’t hesitate to fire you.” He shoos you away to the door, where you’re left to walk past your lively coworkers once again.

Formaggio’s the first to notice you walk out of the office and make a beeline to the exit. “Hey, hey, chiacchierone!” He calls out rudely, catching your attention.

He smirks at your embarrassment. “You’re not gonna leave so soon, are you? It’s improper not to introduce yourself to your coworkers.”

“It’s also improper to redirect them to the toilet when they ask for your boss’s office,” you shoot back.

He scratches the back of his neck, an unapologetic look in his eyes. “You can’t blame me for that, man. That was him. You see over there?”

He points at the ponytailed man. “That’s Illuso.” The aforementioned male rolls his eyes at your glare. You make a disgruntled face before turning to leave.

“Hey, hey! Tell us your name first, asshole!”

You clench your fists before calmly waltzing over to the one couch only one of them was lounging on. You take a seat on the empty spot and cross your arms.

The men stare in disbelief. You can tell this was the first time they had ever been stood up to.

There’s a sharpness in your voice as you command, “Tell me all your names first.” You glare the group down with the intent to intimidate. Surprisingly, some did cower a small bit.

You avert your attention to the weakest looking one— a green haired wimp. He looked timid the moment you stepped into the run-down house.

A small whimper escapes his lips as he quickly diverts eye contact from you. He stutters.

The back of his neck is met with a slap by the blond beside him. “Are you a coward?” The finely dressed man yells, words accentuated by his slight overbite.

“No, bro! It’s just—“ The ‘coward’ glances back at you. He swallows a ball of saliva in his throat.

Why is it so hard to introduce himself to you? With the others it was easier, but you just had an aura that scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t just him, too. He could see Ghiaccio’s back straighten out more than usual. Even Melone looked intimidated beside you, though it showed only through the sudden tightening of his jaw.

“My name is Pesci,” he finally mutters. You nod your head back, a smirk on your face.

“Surely…” you start, “Mammoni here isn’t the only one brave enough to introduce himself to me?”

A tension grows beneath the men, the little game (more like trap) you had just set up on them apparent. Whoever cracks to your intimidation first and introduces themselves would be marked as a coward.

Even worse, your words made it seem like the whole group was wimpy for not doing anything.

Could they be overthinking it? Oh, most definitely. But this was a matter of pride now, not a friendly little “hello my name is”.

They look around, eyeing each other’s expressions.

The lavender haired man beside you clears his throat, fingers fidgeting on his laptops keys.

“I’m Melone,” he speaks out, trying way too hard to sound brave and ending up just seeming robotic. Melone looks at his teammates expectantly. The one with the buzzcut speaks up, “Formaggio,” leaving his lips.

The rest stare at you silently, too wary to let you in on their names. Maybe you overdid it a little bit.

Illuso, Pesci, Melone, Formaggio.

You perch one leg on top of the other, resting your elbow against your knee.

“You three have food based names…” You assume that the ones not speaking up are in on the trend as well.

“Aliases, aren't they? Only Mr. Nero knows your real names?”

No one responds, but you guess that you’re right from the looks on their faces. You try to gouge their expressions further. It’s not shock, but also not quite apathy. Curiosity? Interest?

You exhale a laugh through your nose.

“Alright,” you start, an amused smile on your lips, “If you’re all gonna be like that, I’ll play along.” You catch a glimpse of curiosity in the men’s eyes.

“My name is Leche.”

“Leche… like Leche Flan, or Dulce de Leche.”

Melone repeats to the group after the rookie has long left the base. They all grumble amongst themselves, their frustration with the new member evident.

“What an asshole… He acted like he owned the place despite only being here for an hour or two!” Ghiaccio grips at his pinstriped pants, stretching and warping the lines as he vented.

Formaggio runs his palms across the side of his arms, softening his goosebumps. “He gave me the fucking shivers…”

The buzz cut male had always been the most honest with his emotions. Even with this said, he normally wouldn’t be telling his team that someone scared him out of fear of ridicule.

This is a different situation. He knows that they were just as scared shitless as he was.

“That dude has the same energy as Risotto glaring at the back of my head… Remember how pissed off he was after I fucked up that one mission? It’s like that, but turned into a person.”

Almost everyone mutters in agreement. The newbies aura felt downright mortifying, but they all fronted as to not look weak.

Their fear was instinctual, like an animal sizing up its enemy to see if it would win in a fight. The answer was obvious when it came to you.

Prosciutto and Ghiaccio keep their gazes at the floor, unspeaking, trying to rationalize what was so scary about you.

Melone’s head perks up after a bit, “Mission?”

Formaggio nods, still calming down his goosebumps. He doesn’t know why out of all that he said, that was what caught Melone’s interest.

“You mean the one with the accountant?”

There's a long pause after his teammates' inquiry.

Formaggio scratches the side of his nose as he forces himself to repress the memory again.

“... Yeah.”

His response causes Pesci to chime in after recounting the event, “Oh! The one where Formaggio tripped over and—“

The aforementioned male waves his hand, interrupting the other’s sentence before hiding his embarrassed grimace behind his palm.

“We’re not talking about that right now!” Formaggio barks.

The team hides their chuckles behind their collars or beneath their breaths. The red head rolls his frustrated eyes, “Anyways, I don’t like this dude.”

Prosciutto balances his head on his palm, pinning his elbow down against the armrest of the couch.

“No need to be this hostile towards the new recruit. If Risotto says he’s qualified, it’s our best interest to believe him,” he reasons.

Illuso pats the back of his blond teammate.

“I don’t think Formaggio is denying that Leche is qualified.” He slinks into the seat you sat in, resting his arm against Melone’s shoulder.

“You gotta understand, Prosciutto,” Illuso begins, “When you have a stand as useless as Formaggio’s, you’re obviously gonna be a little intimidated by newcomers.”

The insult triggers an angry curse from Formaggio.

He makes a move to stand up before feeling a strong hand push him back down by his left shoulder.

“This is no time to fight,” a deep baritone voice advises.

Formaggio's face pales at the sound. Risotto unveils himself from his Stand, the dim light of the room casting a dark shadow on half of his face.

“Leche isn’t off the hook yet just because he’s done the interview. He’s a different case from you all.”

Risotto had watched everything, from you intimidating his team, to you slamming the base door closed as you left.

He massages the bridge of his nose, his gruff tone clearly tired as he spoke, “I’m positive he was using his Stand during that little… interaction.”

The men did not react the way they would have normally. Whereas a punch would have been thrown at your insults, the most that occurred were petty glares and sneers.

Risotto crosses his arms, “Trying to find out more about him through documents was impossible, so I’ll need all the help that you men can offer.”

He looks at Illuso with his sharp, determined eyes. They’re slightly covered as Risotto furrows his eyebrows.

“Illuso,” Risotto calls out. The ponytailed man nods, already knowing the task he had ahead of him.

“I’m on it.”

#la squadra x reader #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #vento aureo #risotto nero #prosciutto jojo #melone jojo #ghiaccio jojo #formaggio jojo #Pesci jojo #Illuso jojo #jojo golden wind #la Squadra #writing #multiple chapters #The Road I Have Traveled On #jjbaxreader #xreader #I am.... sleepy

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hazbincalifornia · 3 years ago

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Mine

Chapter 19: Blitzo gets some release... eventually.

Warnings: Mpreg, explicit sexual content. The actual smutty stuff starts after the line partway through.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

Blitzo stared up at the balcony, one eye twitching as the rope tied to it flapped in the wind. Stolas was somewhere out of sight- probably laid out on the bed with a rose in his mouth. At the thought, Blitzo could feel his lower muscles clench and he gritted his teeth.

An hour ago, when he’d sent the text message, there had been no response. Not even a read notification. Stolas had practically been begging him to come over before, what was the deal? Was he busy? Oh sure, great, the one time Blitzo needed him...

He’d sent another message. Then another one. By the fourth (approximately seven minutes after the initial text) Blitzo was starting to bounce on the bed again, groaning as heat burned him from the inside out. Visions of feathers and the sharp snap of a beak danced through his head, and one hand clutched at his stomach, claws digging just barely into the skin to keep him from slipping away entirely as the other hand jabbed the ‘call’ button.

It went to voicemail.

“Stolas. Answer your goddamn phone. Ghhh-” His hand had drifted back down between his legs. “F-fuck, you’re the one that always wants me to pound you, so will you be there when I actually need you? I need to feel your tight little ass and your soft feathers and bite into your neck, I wanna watch you go red and feel you pulsing around me.” The bedframe squeaked as he humped the mattress for emphasis. “I swear to fuck if it was possible I’d give you all this back, fuck you full until you know what it’s like to be carrying this little bastard. You’re gonna be my bitch and you’re gonna like it.” Blitzo panted for a moment. “Call me back, because we are going to fuck or I’m shoving a cactus up your ass, got that?”

Blitzo had then jabbed ‘end call’ and fell back on the bed, pulling his fingers out of himself and staring at the ceiling for a minute as his heart pounded. He was about to reach for the dildo again when his phone started buzzing- Stolas had responded by sending several texts, one right after another.

!!!!

That’s wonderful Blitzy! I was in a meeting, I’m so sorry!

Stella should have left just an hour ago, I’ll check but the house is ours for a few days. Your timing is impeccable.

Do you need a ride over?

Blitzo had rolled his eyes and replied, swiping his jizz-soaked hand on the pillow to clean later.

its fine i hve a van. b over ther soon

Another reply from Stolas.

❤️ I assume you’ll want to use the front door, I’ll tell the servants to let you in. The balcony might be difficult in your condition.

Blitzo had hissed at that, glaring down at the phone.

ru saying i cant do it? fck u, Ill go up the usual way

Are you sure? It’s no trouble.

just b ready

Blitzo scrubbed his legs down with five different washcloths in the bathroom and pulled on pants- and they were nice tight ones that showed off his butt too. He stuffed his phone in the pocket before tugging on the lightest shirt in his closet- a long-sleeve mesh thing he’d gotten for partying. It had been a crop top before, so at least when it rode up he could pretend it was supposed to look like that. He considered for a moment before deciding against a light jacket- he was gonna be going straight to the mansion and in the van for most of the way. Finished, he struck a pose in the mirror, and yeah, maybe it was the unbelievably horny hormones, but he looked and felt hot as shit right now.

Then, of course, he’d reached the mansion and realized that he needed to scale a rope up fifty feet while pregnant, and some of the enthusiasm drained away as the brat shifted around inside of him.

“Okay. You’ve done weirder shit,” Blitzo said aloud, cracking his knuckles before curling both hands and his tail around the rope. Climbing ropes were easy. He could do this in his sleep. Probably had at some point, or at least while drunk. He’d been in the circus and did all kinds of crazy physical stunts for IMP, a single rope while he had some weight around his middle was nothing.

He got about three feet off the ground before realizing that the whole ‘fucked center of gravity’ thing combined with the sweat on his palms and slick already starting to soak his pants might pose a problem. No matter, he could still do this. He steeled himself, fingers flexing around the nylon as he shimmied up a bit more, thighs clamping and releasing as his hands moved up over each other.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Squirming inside that made him lose his grip. The rope burned as he slid down, legs getting double-soaked in the slick already starting to make the line smell like a glory hole.

His phone buzzed, but checking it would require letting go of the rope, and nothing was going to make him do that. He snarled, starting to climb again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Time slipped away as he laser-focused on trying to get up the damn rope. Come on, he’d done it a couple times before and he’d always made it, he wasn’t going to be a fucking pussy-

“Sir?” A voice that reminded Blitzo of an airport announcer cleared its throat from behind Blitzo and he nearly lost his grip again, biting back a yelp.

“What the fu-”

It was an imp in a spiffy little suit with a mouth pressed into a thin line and a cracked horn. Butler, probably. “His highness Prince Stolas had requested that I make sure that you were alright.” His fingers were interlaced tightly enough that Blitzo could see the veins popping out. “If you need, I can escort you to his room.”

“I know where his fuckin’ room is, that’s where I’m going,” Blitzo snarled.

“It’s been fifteen minutes since you arrived, sir. He’s waiting.” The ‘sir’ had enough venom to kill a Magne, and Blitzo looked up to the balcony, then down to the ground. He doubted he’d cleared twenty feet and his palms were feeling slippery again.

There was a moment of contemplation before he started sliding back down. “Not one fucking word from you, got it?”

The other imp just nodded, directing them to a side door. At least Blitzo was taller than him so he could feel a little less like a kid caught pissing in the parking lot, and at least these pants were absorbent enough to not leave a trail.

___________

It was like a reverse walk of shame, considering he hadn’t even gotten laid yet. The little butler was, mercifully, good at being quiet, only existing by the clicks of his little feet on the floor and the fact that Blitzo saw him out of the corner of his eye while doing his best to stare straight ahead. He knew vaguely where Stolas’s room was going the normal way, but today the mansion felt labyrinthine, conniving to keep Blitzo from getting to the damn bed. He was pretty sure he was squeaking as he walked now.

After about five agonizing minutes in which he sorely regretted wearing tight pants considering his cock was already straining at them, they finally neared the right room, and Blitzo could practically smell Stolas through the door, all rich cologne and earthy soil and cinnamon. The butler knocked only once before nearly getting knocked out when it flew open, smacking him in the face. Blitzo barely noticed, staring up and up at Stolas who was dressed in only a loose bathrobe.

Man. For having only not seen the guy for two days, he’d somehow managed to forget just how huge he was.

He didn’t have very long to contemplate that thought however as Stolas scooped him up in his arms, twirling him around like a doll with pupils glowing white. “Ohhhh, I’m so excited! And you dressed up for the occasion too, what a sexy little top there.” One finger traced over his belly, hooking at the bottom of the mesh. “Leaves nothing to the imagination…”

If he wasn’t going to mention the rope thing going tits-up, Blitzo wasn’t either. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a sex god and you want me, can we just get to the part where I get to fuck you already? You have no idea how uncomfortable is is to be walking around dripping like a faucet.”

Stolas laughed, nuzzling against Blitzo’s cheek before settling him down on the bed. “You certainly seemed eager on the phone! So no roleplay for now?”

“Just get your feathery butt over here so I can pound it into bird-meat,” Blitzo growled, frantically tugging at his pants as Stolas gave a pleased hoot, shedding his robe in mere seconds before crawling atop the bed, already aroused.

“So forceful when you talk dirty…”

“You like that, don’t you?” Blitzo considered taking his sweaty shirt off before realizing that was coordination he didn’t have at the moment, considering his fingers had gotten slippery just trying to remove his damn pants. He liked this shirt, he didn’t want to tear it. Taking in a deep breath, (fuck, Stolas the full thing smelled so much better than just his stupid shirt had) he peeled his underwear off, chucking them across the room hard enough that they hit the wall with a soft ‘splat’ and slid down, leaving a slimy trail. Red fingers curled around gray thighs, spreading Stolas wide with a snap as the prince let out a tiny ‘eep’.

“Right to it then!” His tone was eager, toe-claws flexing in and out as Blitzo reached between his own legs to coat his fingers more thoroughly in whatever pre-jizz junk had been oozing out of him for too damn long.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?” Blitzo could practically feel his voice lowering as his cock pressed the rest of the way out, oozing more of the lube-juice against his fingertips. “You want me inside of you, filling that perky little ass of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

“Yes, yes!” Stolas wiggled a little with a wide grin as Blitzo shifted closer, lifting the owl up so he had better access to his backdoor, probing in with his fingers for only a second before driving in hard, getting an absolute howl out of Stolas that faded into a moan.

“You’re mine for however long it takes to get rid of this heat shit, got it? You’re my little toy today, because this is all… your… fucking… fault.” Blitzo accented each of the last four words with a thrust and Stolas gripped at the sheets, tail thumping up and down on the bed with each one. One of the thumps sent a white feather fluttering up and Blitzo stabbed it with his tail, glaring at it as his claws dug into Stolas’s legs. All thoughts were starting to flood his mind except for the heat around him and the legs clutched in his fists. “Mine. You hear that?” He reached up for Stolas’s chest, hauling him up by gripping a handful of feathers with sticky fingers.

Because of his height, Stolas was staring down at him with now-flushed cheeks, but Blitzo couldn’t find it in himself to care because he was still all the way in, walls tightening around his dick with slick spilling out and soaking the sheets. “You’re property of Blitzo as long as I want you.” He grabbed Stolas’s wrist with one hand, shoving the palm flat against his middle. “Your baby, your fucking problem.” The hand still gripping Stolas’s chest tugged him down, pulling him into a kiss as a few downy feathers drifted down to the bedspread.

Blitzo was very, very glad they’d figured out kissing a while ago, because his brain was running on heat-daze and frustration and he never would have been able to figure it out now. He could feel Stolas’s hot breath down his throat and a hot feathered body pressed against his own and the palm on his belly, and when he thrust again he could feel the gasp Stolas made.

“You like that?” Blitzo almost breathed, fire singing in his veins. “Of course you do, I’m fucking good at this. Now lay down and take it like you always want to. You’re mine, and I want all of you.” He smeared some of the lube stuff off his fingers and onto the end of his tail, wrapping it around Stolas’s cock. Stolas fell back on the bed, shuddering a little with a dreamy grin.

“Take me, Blitzy.”

If he hadn’t already been about to pound Stolas to within an inch of his life, the breathy way he said that would have done it.

“You’re asking for it,” Blitzo snarled out, pulling back and snapping forward as his cock squirmed inside of Stolas, the owl throwing a hand over his forehead as the bed snapped against the wall from the force, his tail starting to stroke up and down on Stolas’s length. The smell of Stolas’s arousal was getting him off almost as much as the actual fucking was, and he wanted more of it. “Don’t you want to take advantage of all your hard work? Look at me. I said, look at me.” He smacked at Stolas’s side before continuing jerking him off and all four eyes shot back open. “You put this kid in me, you’re gonna watch as I fuck you right back.”

“I’m watching, I’m watching,” Stolas said, eyes falling back to half-lidded. “You look s-so delicious like that… I could just eat you uuuuuup!” The word dragged as Blitzo curled the tentacle of his cock down, clearly hitting the g-spot from the way that Stolas’s lower eyes started twitching. He started moving his tail up and down faster, curled tightly around Stolas’s length.

“C-could say the same to you, you look and smell so so good…” Blitzo could feel something building, and would have been embarrassed that it was so quick if he hadn’t been trying to bust properly for days now. “Gonna fill you up, take it, take all of it you fucking-” He came before finishing his sentence, gasping as he pumped load after load into Stolas, seeing the owl actually bloat slightly on his thin waist from the sheer volume. Stolas more fell than laid back, panting as Blitzo pulled his tail back, the owl’s cock still twitching and on the edge.

“Mm, so full, B-Blitzy-”

“Finish for me.” It was a voice that invited no discussion. “I want to see you jerk yourself off.”

Stolas nodded, wrapping his fingers around himself and stroking up and down while biting down on the skin under his beak. It only took a few pumps before he cried out Blitzo’s name, semen splattering his feathers as he panted from the aftermath.

“Good bird.” Blitzo looked at Stolas’s sticky fingers as they traced over the owl’s body, palm resting flat upon his slightly-bloated stomach.

“That was more than usual.” The words were light, all four eyes eyes glowing as he prodded at it. “You were excited, weren’t you? Wanted to really fill me up- I don’t know if I’ve ever been able to see it like this before. It felt fantastic, and we match now!”

“Oh, hardehar. Come back when my jizz makes you puke up acid and your gut starts moving.” Still, he couldn’t hold back a half-smile as he rolled his palm over his still-erect cock. “So, good and bad news.”

“Mmmm?” Stolas tilted his head.

“Good news is that I’m ready for another round already.”

“And the bad news?”

“Whatever this heat shit is, it didn’t go away yet.”

Stolas tapped the middle of Blitzo’s face as he grinned. “Ah, so it’s only good news, then.” He pulled Blitzo into a kiss and the imp shifted onto his lap before pressing up against Stolas's face, not caring that Stolas was a sticky mess but only that his mouth and that beak felt perfect at this exact moment.

They had plenty of time, after all, and now that he was here, Blitzo planned to enjoy every damn second of it.

#one time #shadow writes stuff #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo #spicy text

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westerhos · 4 years ago

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Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

#outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #myfic #i am so bad at dialogue!!!!!

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crystalirises · 4 years ago

Text

Did He Ever Love Me?

Edit: This is a repost since my tumblr is being weird and for some reason my posts are not showing up??? Help ;-; (also repost since I posted it on the day of the wedding and I wanted to scream about that for a while :) )

-----

Hi guys… I know the wedding is gonna drop soon…

Just kidding, I couldn’t write wholesome Fundywastaken or angst wedding times to save my life. I just can’t write wedding angst guys. I can’t ;-;

Anyway, this is just a scenario that occurs within the DadSchlatt AU I’m making, some of the details are in the link below:

And yeah I hope you guys like this! @oakskull and @meismom, I posted it yay!

(Edit: removed Ao3 tag cause maybe that’s causing my post not to show up in tags???)

"Fuuuuuuuundy, there you are! Holy shit, I’ve been looking all over for you." He froze, tucking his diary within his pocket as a practiced grin formed on his face. He turned to see Schlatt, surprisingly sober as he strode towards him. There was a weary look on the ram hybrid's face, one that Fundy wasn't sure he liked compared to the man's usual smirk. "I need to talk to you in my office. Now."

"Mr. President, it's an honor for you to come yourself but you usually send a guard when you... want to summon someone." Did Schlatt know? Did he know that Fundy was a spy...? He sucked in a quivering breathe, hoping that the man doesn't notice his sudden bout of nervousness. He stood up from the fence post he had been sitting on, his shoes thumping loudly against the ground.

A flash of emotion crossed Schlatt's eyes, a flicker in his gaze that Fundy couldn't pinpoint. A hand landed on his shoulder as red piercing eyes stared into his soul. If Schlatt didn't stab him right then and there, he might as well have died from the man’s intense gaze. "Just... Come with me. It was best that I... It's better that I come to get you myself. This won't be pleasant, Fundy."

He could do nothing but follow Schlatt towards his office, scenarios of his terrible demise flashing within his mind. Schlatt... was strange. At times, he could barely predict what the ram was going to do. Fundy tried not to trip on his own two feet as the building to Schlatt's office began to appear within sight. He didn't want to die. He needed to apologize to so many people. To Niki. To Eret. To Tommy. He didn't even get the chance to apologize to his dad about–

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as thoughts of his dad surfaced. He didn't mean it. He didn't mean to disown him. He needed to gain Schlatt's trust… but that didn't matter now, did it? Schlatt was going to corner him into his office, taunt him for thinking he could have escaped Schlatt's suspicions and slit his throat, leaving him to choke on his own blood. He wouldn't get a burial. Would anyone even care if he died? No… They wouldn’t care for a traitor like him…

He shuddered to a stop, willing his tears to dry as Schlatt abruptly paused. A scowl reached his lips as a single tear cascaded down his cheek. With the back of his sleeve, he wiped the traitorous tear away just as Schlatt turned to face him. Fundy blinked, Schlatt looked nervous. The man shuffled continuously on his feet, his lips pressed into a thin line as if contemplating the words he were about to say. “Fundy. I need you to stay calm throughout this, but I won’t blame you if you start to… uh… ya know… fuck.”

"Of course." He didn't know why Schlatt was mocking him with false display of care. Stay calm? Yeah, he'll stay completely calm even as Schlatt decides to stab him. Fundy wrapped his arms around his chest, as if consoling himself as he followed Schlatt into the building. The cold of the chipped marble floor beneath seemed to seep past the soles of his shoes, the pristine white walls a stark reminder of how they reflected a lie. This entire land was covered in blood yet was so perfectly hidden by the falseness of serenity.

George and Punz stood at the office's doorway, swords sheathed at their sides as they gave Schlatt a nod. For a moment, Fundy caught George's eye. The human's usual exhaustion replaced by weariness and pity. Oh, of course George would know he was about to die. Great. Fundy turned his eyes away, choosing to look down at the floor instead as he entered his death room. The oaken door closed with a soft click that resounded in Fundy's nervously twitching ears, it sounded like the toll of a final bell.

"There you are Schlatt, you know it's rude to keep me waiting! You know I-I-I love what you've done with the place, really captures your style and— oh! You brought my traitor son with you!" His head snapped up, nausea climbing its way to his throat as he locked eyes with his da— with Wilbur. No. No. No. No. Why was he here? Why was Wilbur here? He turned to Schlatt, his breath harsher than he wanted it to be. Sensing his panic, Schlatt placed a hand on the top of his head, as if the gesture was meant to calm him down.

“I’m sorry, sir, but w-what is this?” Fundy doesn’t miss the manic gleam in Wilbur’s eyes. The frantic and frenzied movement he made as he stared fiercely at the hand on top of Fundy’s head. Fundy’s ears were pressed close to his head, the rising need to rush out of the room and hide inside his bunker slowly took over his senses. He only snapped out of it as Schlatt’s hand moved to his shoulder, his grip tight enough to keep him in place. He couldn’t even leave. He wanted to leave. “Why is he here?”

“Your president invited me.” Wilbur let out a chuckle, sitting himself on one of the chairs that circled the long presidential table. Fundy couldn’t help but look at his father, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. His brown trenchcoat was draped heavily across his shoulders, the man’s thin limbs sending a pang of guilt to Fundy’s heart. Wilbur looked like an absolute wreck. “So… Schlatt! Did you invite me to flaunt your little victory in my face? I’ve heard the people love your proposal. A festival! How festive of you, hm?”

Schlatt’s usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. He felt Schlatt’s hand drop from his shoulder and Fundy watched as the ram’s scowl deepened with every word that came from Wilbur’s mouth, his fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that Fundy feared they would begin to bleed soon. He began to back away, his hands clawing the door’s wooden surface as Schlatt began to advance towards the table. Schlatt had a temper. He knew that… but he’s never actually seen him furious before.

“WILBUR!” Fundy jumped as Schlatt slammed his fist onto the table, a small crack forming at its surface. Fundy wished he was anywhere else but there. Wilbur looked up, a perplexed look on his face as he forced himself to look at Schlatt. “I have had my suspicions since I first came here, and I want you to clear them up. For your sake and for Fundy’s. Fundy, I know you don’t consider Wilbur your father but Tubbo clearly says otherwise and I doubt he would lie to me. Fundy, what do you remember of your childhood?”

“I— uh… that’s kind of a personal question…” Fundy laughed awkwardly, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere. “Um… I-I can’t say I really recall much, Schlatt… uh, it was kind of a long time ago, you know?”

“What’s your earliest memory?” Schlatt didn’t want to let this go, huh? Fundy shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable to be under Schlatt’s scrutiny. Wilbur looked between the two of them, a blank look on his face as if the confrontation bored him. Fundy averted his gaze from both of them, concentrating on remembering his earliest memory. He remembered the bitter scent of potions, his feet scuffing loudly against the marble floor of the hto dog van. He remembers Wilbur, reaching down to hold him in his arms.

Life was simpler back then, before that bloody war... Before he had been forced into a role he never wanted to play in the first place. Back then, his father didn't dream of independence or glory. No. His father looked at him as if he was all that mattered, as if he was worth more than the entire world itself. Now... He looks up at his father - at Wilbur - and sees a hollow shell of the man he once called his dad. He can't bring himself to look at Schlatt, choosing to disappear into the memory of a better time. To a better life.

"I remember the... camarvan and... I remember Wil." Fundy tries to keep the sweet nostalgia out of his voice, Schlatt could still peg and label him for a traitor if he showed a semblance of regret. "That's it."

"Good. Good." He didn't see how any of that was good. Schlatt laid a hand on the table, his sharp gaze snapping to Wilbur. "Remember those daring adventures we used to have, Wil? All those strange lands we traversed. I have to say, the rising lava one was my favorite. You remember those times, Wil? Just you and me, two idiots thinking they could outrun the world."

"As far as I recall, I remember nearly falling into lava and nearly drowning because you refused to hide your damn horns." Wilbur growled, low and harsh. "Those hunters wouldn't stop chasing us because you— I told you to hide them but you chose to keep them on full display for the world to see and nearly killed me in the process!"

"Yeah... I remember that." A deep chuckle resounded throughout the room as Schlatt walked towards Fundy. "I'm just surprised, you know? When I found out you had a son, I was expecting a human kid but then... Here's Fundy! Glad to see you didn't try to force the kid into wearing a stupid hat... Oh wait! You did! Didn't take your advice either, did he?"

"What is this about, Schlatt? You want me to apologize? Is that it, hm? You want me to say sorry to you for trying to keep you alive?"

"How does a human have a kit for a son?"

The tension in the room grew heavier at the question, almost suffocating as Fundy processed Schlatt's question. Fundy shivered, watching as the manic gleam in Wilbur's eyes turned practically murderous. Fundy didn't understand where Schlatt was going within this. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. His hand gripped at his arms, nearly breaking his skin as he found his voice. "Why are you asking that Schlatt...?"

"Just... I'm really sorry, Fundy. But I think this matter should be settled now." Schlatt didn't even give him the choice, and from what Fundy could tell, Wilbur didn't get a choice either. "Wilbur, we travelled through many lands together and I know you. I know what you're like. When I ask you this, I want to hear the truth. How the fuck did you get a kit for a son? What the fuck did you do Wilbur?"

“What did I… What are you asking me about, Schlatt?” Wilbur stood up, small tremors wracking through his body as he grips the edge of the table. The shine of insanity dancing in his gaze has disappeared, replaced by the look of a man who’s about to lose everything again. “Wha— Don’t you dare—"

“What’s the best way to get people to love you? To show you’re a revolutionary who fights for the freedom of all? I would say having a hybrid for a son would definitely give you some points, huh? Look at General Wilbur. How noble of him to adopt a kit!” Fundy swallowed down the bitter taste of bile climbing up his throat, Schlatt’s words tearing at his heart. “But did you, Wilbur? Did you adopt or did you kill a family and take their child? As far as I’m aware, fox hybrids would fight tooth and nail for their children.”

Fundy took a breath. Schlatt was a liar, Wilbur would never… But then… Schlatt knows Fundy was loyal to him. What did he have to gain by lying? No. No. No. Schlatt was lying, right? He had to be! Wilbur wasn’t—

Wasn’t what, Fundy?

“You’re joking, Schlatt. How dare you—” Fundy’s ears twitched, why was Wilbur glancing off the question? “This is a really funny joke, Schlatt. You're just— you're just twisting this situation into your favor, you-you—”

“Answer the damn question, Wilbur.” Schlatt rolled his eyes, a subtle grin playing on his lips as he leaned closer towards Fundy. “No more running, lover boy. Did you or did you not kidnap a kit from his family?”

“I—”

Fundy fell to his knees, the slight hesitation in Wilbur’s voice the final straw. He curled up into himself, sniffling as he thoughts about the implications. He wanted Wilbur to deny it. He wanted Wilbur to be furious. He… He… He began to wail. Why couldn’t Wilbur just answer the question? Why couldn’t he just say the fucking truth? Fundy’s hands gripped at his ears, tugging them as he tried to abate the horrible thoughts that circled his mind. His heart felt as if it was burning. His whole body felt as if it was on fire.

“No answer. Alright.” Schlatt’s footsteps were muffled under Fundy’s wailing, but he could hear them no matter how much Fundy tried to escape the situation. “You know I was expecting you to defend yourself there, Wilbur. Believe me, I wanted you to defend yourself. Now look what you’ve done. Does this satisfy you, Wilbur? Does seeing your so-called son cry give you joy? ‘Cause I didn’t want this either, Wilbur.”

“If you didn’t want this then you wouldn’t have arranged this meeting. If you didn’t want this you would have left my damn son out of this.” A scathing growl tore itself from Wilbur’s throat, though Fundy barely heard it. Fundy had no choice but to listen to every word that reached his ears, had no choice but to listen as his father’s voice began to rise. “You were my best friend and now you’re accusing me of-of kidnapping?! You think I— Fundy shouldn’t be here. He’s young. You’re filling his head with nonsense—"

“SHUT UP!” Fundy snapped, shutting his eyes to stop his tears. He didn’t want to hear whatever the fuck Wilbur had to say. His avoidance of the question was answer enough. “Just… shut up, Wil. Just shut up.”

“Fundy—”

“Oh! Maybe I have this all wrong.” Fundy wished that Schlatt would just stop, the ram had gotten his point across. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? Fundy looked up at Schlatt, but the man continued, “Maybe you didn’t kidnap a poor kit from his family. No. No. No. How could I forget the second option? Maybe… Maybe you killed his real parents. Maybe you killed them and took Fundy for yourself, huh? Maybe—"

Schlatt placed a hand on Fundy’s head, fondly caressing his hair. Wilbur went livid. He leapt from behind the table, a crash echoing through the room as Wilbur pushed against his chair, knocking it over. Schlatt didn’t get the chance to continue as Wilbur punched him on the cheek, the ram collapsing onto the ground. Wilbur’s back was all Fundy could see, as if Wilbur was putting space between the two of them.

“How dare you.” Wilbur seethed. His hand rising to strike once more. If he had a sword, he would have killed the ram right then and there. Fundy felt fear and so did Schlatt. “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU—"

“GEORGE! PUNZ!” Fundy’s voice echoed through the room and surely out into the hall. Wilbur froze on the spot, turning to Fundy with betrayed shock in his eyes but all he sees in his son’s face is terror. Terror directed at him. At him. Schlatt laughed quietly, picking himself up from the floor just as George and Punz rushed into the room. They took one good look at Schlatt’s bleeding cheek and quickly apprehended Wilbur, the man snarling and cursing as the two finally managed to hold his arms behind his back.

“Fundy… My son…” Wilbur tried to reach out to Fundy, struggling in the two guard’s hold. Fundy looked away, his heart heavy in his chest. He didn’t know what to think, but he knows he didn’t want to see Wilbur. Not now. “I would never… I-I-I love you, Fundy. I would never… I… I… I can prove it. I can prove that you’re my son. Just tell them to let me go.”

“Take him away.” The words taste like poison on Fundy’s tongue.

“That’s right. Get him out of here. Make sure he doesn’t take another step in Manburg ever again.” Schlatt placed himself between Fundy and Wilbur, his lips curled into a sneer. “Mark my words, Wilbur. As long as I live, I will make sure you stay the hell away from Fundy.”

“NO! NO! NO!” Wilbur’s voice began to fade away, Fundy’s ears twitching as he still hears the man screaming his name out in the hallway. “FUNDY! FUNDY! MY SON!”

Fundy breaks down once more, cursing his good hearing as he listen’s to his father’s heartwrenching cries. Maybe the man did care for him… maybe… Fundy didn’t know.

He feels a presence at his side, a hand rubbing up and down his back. Schlatt doesn’t look at him and Fundy doesn’t look at the man either. What could they say?

After a moment of silence.

“Why would you do this, Schlatt?”

“Because I was worried, Fundy.”

“Why?”

“I do care for everyone in the cabinet, Fundy. Believe me.”

“You should have told me what this was about.”

“I know.”

“Was this planned from the beginning?”

“I was planning to confront Wilbur when he first introduced you to me.”

“Do you… do you think he loved me?”

“Maybe he eventually did, Fundy. Maybe he did.”

He feels Schlatt pull him into a warm and comforting embrace.

“It hurts.”

“I’m sorry, Fundy. I’m so so sorry.”

The residents of Manburg watch as a lone fox stands before a roaring bonfire, the smell of burning paper wafting through the air.

With his hat in his hands, he stares into the flames.

He doesn't toss it in.

~~~~~~~

So yeah that’s just a scenario that happens within the AU I’m making. So this is a very ambiguous situation. Is Schlatt being genuine? Is he manipulating Fundy? Is Wilbur the bad guy here? I’d love to hear your interpretations!

So pls do tell me what your interpretations are 👉👈

Anyway, hope you guys liked it!

#fundy #wilbur soot #jschlatt #mcyt #pls appear in tags this is the eleventh time ;-;

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talesfromlissom · 4 years ago

Text

Teeth

A/N: Hey everybody, Omens here. This series is part of my series for the (Y/N)’s. These works are here to establish the backgrounds, personalities, and such of each of my (Y/N)’s, as they’re all separate characters and not a blank slate.

So far, I’m doing my three most popular requested ones which are; Hanzo, Mcree, and Genji. This is Mcree’s. I’m sure these works will have about 3-4 chapters each, with the first being the beginning of their life, to the last being present time. That being said, you don’t have to default to these (Y/N)’s either. If you have a request that’s specific like

‘Mcree with an S/O who has a body like Genji?’. I will easily do that. These (Y/N)’s are just the default if you request something vague such as ‘Mcree goes on a date with (Y/N).’ and such.

However, I do have placeholder names for each of these characters. If you would like a request with this specific (Y/N) you can use (Y/N)!Ambrose. Sorry if this was confusing but :)

| Chapter 2 - Dirty Shoes|

Chapter Summary: They say your childhood flies by faster than your adulthood. That is true. They say that you should do the things you enjoy while your young. That is also true.

They also say that there’s no such thing as monsters under your bed. That’s not true.

!WARNING! This work contains graphic depictions of violence, foul language, and other sensitive topics. Reader discretion is advised.

──•~❉+❉~•──

Rules

Overwatch Masterlist

Ninjago Masterlist

The Arcana Masterlist

Ask Box (Requests are CLOSED!)

Wattpad Version

“They broke my wings, but forgot I had claws.”

~💮~

Your entire life, you had spent it being common. You had a 'common' sob story of losing your parents in the omnic crisis. You had the 'common' new blood mark. You wanted to be special, you wanted people to notice you. You didn't know that this wish would cost your humanity, however.

!WARNING! This chapter contains blood, violence, and death. Please proceed with caution.

Song: Dancing with the devil - Set it off

+-+

It was 9:30 at night when you had received the call from Holland. You had just gotten home to your small apartment which you shared with your (crappy) roommate. The familiar made you pull the phone from your pocket immediately.

"Yeah?"

"Hey (Y/N)! It's been a while, huh?"

You chuckle, twirling your car keys on your ring finger. "Yeah." You began, leaning against the door. "College has been busy, how have you been?" You ask, recognizing the voice immediately, your day improving instantly from this call.

"Ah, I've been better," Holland says. "I've been so busy, so I figured I wanted to go down to a bar to loosen up a little. Wanna come?"

"Sure, which one?"

"Lilac Gardens."

"The one that opened up two months ago?"

"Hell yeah, a lot of people are saying their food is good, and apparently most of their staff are nice to look at too."

You roll your eyes, turning around and grabbing the door handle.

You're halfway out the door when you ask; "I'm guessing you want to go now?"

"Hell yeah I do, I wanna pick up some chicks."

You fake a gagging noise, locking the door behind you. "Don't ever say that again, please."

"So, you want me to meet you there?"

"I bet I can beat you." You say.

Holland laughs.

"You're forgetting I can walk really fast."

"And you're forgetting that I own a car." You retort as Holland sputters over the phone before hanging up.

Just as you expected, you showed up at the bar before Holland did. Not that he minded, of course, it would be fun to tease Holland for being late.

Soon, you see a bus roll up across the street, various passengers coming off. There, you see Holland in all his glory, just as you expected.

Same pale skin, with freckles littering his face, same round eyes, flushed cheeks, and bright cyan hair. He's wearing a nice jean jacket, a white and black striped shirt, with jeans and Adidas. His face immediately brightens as he crosses the street and sees you.

"Since when did you drive?" He asks as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"Since I got my driver's license back sophomore year of college." You reply, rustling his hair.

You two enter the rustic bar, taking a seat as Holland orders two drinks.

"So, has college been pummeling you into the ground?" Holland asks.

You shrug. "Well...kinda. Speaking in front of the class still makes me nervous...but I'm gonna have to do it if I wanna be an art history teacher."

Holland leans back in the chair, sighing.

"Hm, the exact opposite of me then," He muses. "I've been buried in work, might as well dig my own grave with the papers I still have to finish."

You shake your head as the glasses are passed to you two.

You down the drink in one gulp, as Holland, mimics you. The two of you slam your glasses on the counter, as Holland chuckles.

"So, other than college kicking us in the ass, how have you been?"

You shrug.

"Pretty good I guess. Roommate's nice."

Holland frowns.

"Okay, he sucks ass, but he helps pay rent so, y'know. He stays."

"Thank god he does. If he didn't I would've hauled his ass into the nearest dumpster."

You snort.

"He's three times your size."

"So? No man is safe from a kick in the balls."

This time, you laugh, throwing your head back in the process.

"Have you called your moms yet?"

Holland scoffs. "Have I? No, have they? Yes, every day."

Holland shakes his head.

"I love them really, it's mainly just them showing me their dog doing stupid stuff like barking at the wall." Holland pauses. "What about yours?"

There's hesitance. Holland raises an eyebrow.

"(Y/N)?"

Your face contorts. "It's just...Mrs.Parkiston is in the hospital."

Holland's eyes widen. "Oh god. I'm sorry (Y/N). Why didn't you tell me?"

You shrug. "Didn't wanna bother you. She'll be fine, she's tough as nails."

Holland frowns. "Are you sure...you don't wanna talk about it?"

You nod slightly, swirl your drink around in your hand, watching the ice swim in circles.

Holland nods his head slowly and asks for a refill.

"Woah there, don't wanna make yourself drunk, Holls."

"Hey now, I'm a grown man. I can handle a drink or two."

This time, it's you who shakes your head.

"Damn, it's almost midnight," Holland mutters, gesturing to his watch. "Think we should call it a night?"

"Depends. Do you have classes tomorrow?"

"Only one, but it's at 5ish."

"Ha! I have no classes, so why don't we go somewhere else?"

"Like a movie?"

"With you and your loud mouth? We'd get kicked out during the movie trailers." You tease, and Holland huffs. You place your card on the counter, and spin around, surveying the rest of the bar. It's mostly empty, minus the small frail woman on the couch in the far corner of the room.

You raise an eyebrow, upon seeing the woman being approached by a man. Your nose crinkles as the man practically forces the woman to her feet and begins to walk out the door with the man.

\You pause, as the man turns to you, and for a second you feel your heart drop to your stomach, your skin turning cold. The man's eyes are wide, the lighting surely makes them red, and the blood veins are bright as ever. The minute this man looks away, that feeling is gone.

"Hey Holland, are you done yet?" You ask, trying to not stumble over your words, as you take your card back from the barista.

Holland turns to you. "Yeah, why?"

"Did that woman enter the bar with anyone?"

Holland pauses, as you gesture to the woman who's giggling and nearly falling to her feet, just outside the door.

"Uh...No?"

The woman is pulled away and the two begin to walk down the street, past the window. Holland turns to you.

"I know that look (Y/N)."

You're already out the door as Holland races to catch up with you, as you walk down the street, eyes peeled.

"(Y/N), she probably called someone to pick her up-"

"I don't know, Holland. That guy looked at me, and his eyes were all...all bloodshot! I felt so cold, you don't get like that looking at somebody-"

"(Y/N), you're probably just a bit tipsy-"

"I had two drinks-"

The two of you pause before you hear a shout escape through the air. Holland freezes, exchanging a look with you.

"Don't you dare-!"

Before he finishes you take off running towards the sound of the scream. Holland is shouting behind you, but you don't hear it as you slide to a stop on the outside of the alleyway.

You feel your jaw become slacked, your gaze fixated on the black heels on a woman's legs. The legs twitch once. The figure above the body making smacking noises as they lay hunched over her upper body.

"H-hey!" You shout.

The man turns around, and your eyes go wide. Red drips down the man's mouth, and you know damn well that the man's teeth is much longer than normal. His eyes are beet red, pupils blown wide, and his skin is so pale, it's practically white and glittering off of the flickering street light above you.

You slowly peer down at the woman's face, your heart pounding in your chest. Two holes are in the woman's neck, more blood pooling down the wounds and onto the concrete below. Her eyes are wide and glossed over.

"W-what the hell did you do!" You shout, the man doesn't move.

You hear footsteps behind you.

"(Y/N)? Seriously, just-Holy shit!"

Holland stumbles at the scene before you. As the man slowly stands up.

He's muttering under his breath as Holland grips your shoulder.

"Y-Y/N, we should...we should get outta here-!"

The man screeches before launching at you two. One hand coming forward to grasp your plaid shirt, and the other grabbing Holland by his hair. The two of you are thrown into the alleyway, and Holland screeches as he lands on the woman's body.

He scrambles, practically on top of you.

"Oh god, we're gonna die...(Y/N) we're gonna die-" Holland trembled.

"We're not gonna die, Holland." You hiss.

The man, who has blood dripping onto his t-shirt, hisses.

You shove Holland to the side, and the man slams face-first into the dumpster. There are two holes where his teeth were, and you look around the area.

Your hands dart across the ground, scrambling to find something of use, and your fingertips brush against something. You pull out a....bag...from under the dumpster?

"Look out-!"

The man screeches and dives at Holland this time, Holland cries out as he's wrestled onto the floor. His legs kick out, and all over the place, trying to kick the man off. Holland has his arms on the man's shoulders, who lashes out and snaps at him like a dog.

"Call the cops (Y/N) holy shit!"

You reach into your pocket, but don't feel your phone nor your car keys. "They're gone!"

"What-"

Holland screams as the man snaps at his face.

"Then just do something!" Holland yells.

You tear open the bag and with that, your eyes widen.

"What the hell..." You mutter, grabbing the piece of wood and grasping it in your hand. There's a strange symbol on the top of it. You don't recognize any of it.

The man stops, snapping his head towards you so harshly that you hear it. You make eye contact with the man, but this time you don't freeze. The wood feels hot in your hand, almost driving away the cold, and your entire body seems to get a rush from this.

The man jumps at you, your eyes flicker to the wood.

You're slammed into the wall by the man, who shouts when you plunge the wood directly into his shoulder. You pull it out again as he staggers back. His eyes go fully red, and you hear cracking noises.

"Holl-"

The man- no, this thing attacks you again, grabbing your wrist and twisting.

You shout out as the wood drops from your hands, and the man wrestles you to the ground. Jaw snapping.

"Ah! Holland do something!"

There isn't a response from Holland at first, but the man pauses for a second, sputtering. You cry out as you see the pierced end of the stake go through the man's chest, forcing blood onto your clothes.

You shove the man's body off of you. This thing sputters, his eyes slowly meeting your own.

He reaches a frail hand out before you hear the blood drip onto the concrete, and his bloody hands smear finger marks on your cheek. The man collapses onto the ground.

Holland breathes out heavily.

"Holy...did...did I just kill that guy!"

"You...You didn't mean to! Right?"

"Of-of course not! He kept moving too much and I just went for it I-" Holland grabs fistfuls of his hair. "Holy fuck (Y/N)! Now we're screwed, we're so screwed!"

For a moment, you're stunned. There's blood on you, you know there's blood on you.

"We...We should call someone." You quavered, feeling your body tremble as you step back into the wall.

"And tell them what? 'Hey my friend and I just got back from a bar and killed a guy who killed a woman! Ooh! And we also killed him with a fucking stake from Home Depot!"

You make a face at Holland, who gestures wildly at the wood.

"I don't know (Y/N)! I could go to jail for this, we're ruined-! So ruined-"

"Holland calm down."

"Calm down!" Holland roars. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down-!"

Holland pauses, the anger turning to shock, eyes going wide.

"(Y/N)?"

You raise an eyebrow and slowly turn towards the bodies. The man's body slowly becomes bright, before it fades to dust, leaving his destroyed clothes behind. Just as the man's body disappears, the woman does as well. Not leaving any trace of evidence behind. The concrete is clean of any blood.

"What. the. Fuck." Holland mutters. "This is some supernatural type shit."

There's a tense silence shared between you two. You grab the stake, and the bag, and swing it over your shoulder.

"C'mon."

"What-"

"We're leaving, now."

Holland's eyes widen.

"Holland, let's go!"

You harshly grab his wrist as you two run down the street, you see Holland's gaze never leave the alleyway as you two run. Before he faces the ground, his lower lip is bitten. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was on the verge of tears.

You slam the front door to your apartment, and let out heavy breaths.

"Now...now what." Holland whispers. "Are we going insane or something? Maybe...Maybe we had too much to drink?"

While Holland tries to rationalize what just happened, you sigh and shut your eyes.

You softly guide Holland to the couch right to the door. He sits down, hands over his mouth, eyes flicking left and right.

You place the bag on the coffee table before you.

Holland puts his head in his hands as you turn to the bag. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you slowly unzip the bag.

"Jesus, what the hell is all of this?" You ask, slowly grabbing the large wooden cross with your left hand, and a smaller stake with your right.

Holland slowly uncovers his face.

Holland shoves past you, whilst you shout out a 'Hey!'. You reach into the bag and pull out a white bottle, as well as a rolled-up piece of paper.

"Holy water?" Holland mutters, as he places it on the coffee table and unravels the paper.

He snickers. "Jeez, d&d nerd much?"

He nudges you in the side, as you raise an eyebrow.

"Why is that guy on a wanted poster."

You crinkle your nose. "Jeez, they really did him wrong. Look at his nose."

Holland smiles. "look...his teeth too."

"Cain Soloman." Holland reads. "Vampire lord....19 grand for live...capture..."

Holland tosses the paper onto the coffee table.

"I'd say that was a load o' bull, but...you know I'd be lying."

You place the stake and the cross down.

"Is there anything else in there?" Holland began. You shrug, opening the bag wide.

"Nope, that's it."

Holland shakes his head.

"Who would leave a backpack with all of this stuff under a dumpster anyways though?"

"It's not a backpack."

"Then why does it look like one?"

You let out an exasperated sigh.

"Do you...really think that thing was a vampire?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Probably." Holland leans back, head aimed towards the ceiling. "Makes sense. The eyes, teeth, super strength, dead woman with the two holes in her neck."

"But Holland-"

"He turned into dust after you stabbed him, that woman disappeared too, blood and all!" Holland adds. "Holy crap we're in deep!"

"I always wanted to be a sorcerer when I was a kid and fight monsters, but I didn't think that'd actually happen," Holland mutters.

Holland groans and puts his hands on his face again, as you turn to the bag. You pick it up and zip it up again, fingers lightly brushing the stitched symbol on the top.

"Hey, Holland. Recognize this?"

Holland sits up and stares at the golden stitch and shrugs. "I'm a doctor (Y/N). Isn't this up to your alley?"

You scoff.

"I was just asking for a second opinion," You reply. "It's not Egyptian. I can tell you that. Definitely not kanji either."

"Then what the hell is it?"

You analyze for a moment, your eyes going wide.

"Latin maybe?"

"It looks like a really straight 'M'."

You pout as Holland throws his hands in front of his chest.

"What! It does?"

You shake your head, opening the bag again.

"C'mon, let's put this stuff away."

"And then what?"

"I'll just toss it in the trash tomorrow."

"Alright." Holland whispers. "Then what?"

You sigh.

"I...we should just pretend it didn't happen?"

There's a silence shared between the two of you, as Holland fidgets, but slowly nods his head.

"yeah...I...I guess so."

Silence again.

"You uh...wanna stay over?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Yeah, I...I'd like that. Don't wanna get attacked by any uh..vengeful vampires right?"

"...right..."

"Right."

It's about 6:50 in the morning, and you still haven't gotten any sleep. You hear Holland tossing and turning in the sleeping bag on the floor next to your bed. You aren't sure if he's asleep or not, but don't want to bother him and risk waking him up if you do ask.

Instead, you stare at the ceiling, eyes never leaving the fan that blows a soft, cool breeze onto your face.

You put a hand over your eyes as the sun peaks through the cracks of your curtains. It seems that sleep is escaping you tonight. So, you sit up, stretch and swear you hear your back crack as you do so.

You carefully roll out of bed, tip-toeing over Holland. Making your way towards the bathroom, you turn the light on.

You make eye contact with yourself in the mirror before letting out a shout and stumbling backward.

Holland bursts upright as you make contact with the floor.

"Wh-what! I'm up!"

"Why do I have a tattoo?"

"What are you talking about-HOLY SHIT!"

Holland makes eye contact with your chest, seeing the three large, black rings plastered on your left pec.

"Uh, okay then," Holland mutters. "Did you have...have that last night?"

"No." You cry out, sitting up and turning to him. "And I- oh Jesus you have one too-!"

"I'm sorry wh-holy hell I do-!"

You gesture to the very large eye tattoo on Holland's shoulder.

"Did-did you feel anything strange before you went to bed?" Holland mutters.

"No! No I didn't...did you?"

"No! I fell right asleep!"

Your fingers softly trace the eye on Holland's shoulder.

"This...could this be from last night?"

"Unless there's a boogeyman who likes to give random strangers weird tattoos while they're sleeping, I-"

The two of you freeze as you hear the doorbell ring. You make eye contact as you scramble to get to your feet. You pull on a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt, while Holland looks out the window.

"Oh shit, are those the cops."

Your eyes widen.

"Oh fuck me! Those are the cops!" Holland yells. "Well, it's been nice knowing you, pal. Hopefully, we'll be roommates in prison!"

You roll your eyes as you open the bedroom door, and make your way down the stairs. You hear another set of footsteps behind you.

However, as your hand ghosts over the doorknob, you see Holland in the hallway, hands over his mouth. He motions for you to go forward as he hides behind the wall further.

You scoff, muttering 'pussy' under your breath before you open the door.

The man and the woman turn to you, eyes widen.

"You're (Y/N) Parkinston? Correct?"

You nod. "Yes, I am."

"Good...Good. Can we come in?"

You step aside, letting the two enter the apartment.

The woman smiles.

"Ah! There's your bag!" She chippers as she races towards the bag and lifts it up.

She then pauses.

"Who opened this?"

You freeze, as the two people turn to you.

"I...uh...I-"

"I did it!" Holland calls out. "He-he had nothing to do with it I swear!"

The man and woman pause. The woman opens the bag and immediately pulls out the stake, eyes widening at the dried blood on the tip.

"You did this?"

Holland hesitantly nods, before the man narrows his gaze at Holland.

The woman turns to the man. "I can't find the contract."

"Means it's been completed. By civilians nonetheless."

The woman scoffs. "This is gonna be a tone of paperwork, Jason."

Jason grins.

The woman frowns.

"Jason. No."

"What? He's got a marking anyways."

The woman pauses, turning to Holland, and nearly drops the bag in shock. She shoves past you, rather rudely at that, and you narrow your gaze at this.

She grabs Holland by the arms and examines the eye tattoo.

"This is! This is the eye! Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've seen a new blood with one of these!"

Holland raises an eyebrow.

The woman turns to you.

"Did you...get one by any chance?"

You hesitantly nod, pulling your undershirt down to show the rings. However, the woman frowns.

"Aw." But her grin comes back again.

"New bloods! It's been so long since there have been new bloods?"

Holland raises an eyebrow as you fidget.

"New...bloods?"

The woman giggles. "You see, we are monster hunters!"

Silence goes through the apartment.

"And...?"

Jason groans. "And, whenever a new monster hunter or hunters, in this case, is chosen, they are given a marking that explains their best abilities."

He gestures to Holland. "You, have the eye symbol. It means your powerful, confident, independent. It's rare to see a new blood be gifted one of those."

He then turns to you. You fidget slightly.y

"You have the rings. Fairly common, typically means teamwork, marriage, and all that jazz."

"Wait wait wait. Backup a minute." You interrupt. "So, monsters are real?"

"Yes," Tassy said.

"And we just killed one. So that makes us monster hunters."

Jason nods.

"Holy crap." You mutter.

"Congratulations! Pack your stuff boys, and make sure to travel lightly, because it's safer for you to stay on base!"

"Why's that?"

"You could get mauled by a werewolf...sacrificed to a vengeful god by an evil cult...made into a thrall by a vampire, the list goes on and on," Tassy says.

"Jesus Christ," Holland mutters.

#mcree x reader #jesse mcree x reader #character backstory

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bel9ved · 4 years ago

Text

Signless ==> Die.

The blackness had lifted slowly.

You did not know where you were except that you were moving. Smoothly, less like a troll was carrying you and more like you were on wheels. You are standing, your wrists chained above you in cold metal shackles. One of your arms stings in four long stripes where the cool night air hits it. It is eerily quiet, except for the rough sound of wheels on cobblestones. Is someone crying?

Your head is pounding but you are quickly becoming more aware. Your eyes flutter open, and behind the row of subjugglator enforcers you see a crowd. Bigger than any you have ever spoken to, all silent, watching eyes. There is a line of subjugs behind the crowd as well, keeping them penned in. Keeping them scared.

You twist in your chains, trying to look around. To find an escape route, to find... Your breath catches.

Your family is behind you. On another cart, being wheeled by clowns, each of them only just breaching consciousness. All chained to a pole like you are, though they are together. You are all alone.

You twist again, panic starting to set in and you go utterly still with terror when your eyes finally focus on what awaits you. There he is. The Grand Motherfucking Highblood. His grinning skull burns itself into your vision like a brand. Suddenly, he is all you can see, your eyes dilating to pinpricks with the adrenaline. No. No no no no no.

The march continues. By the time you reach him he fills your vision in all his glory. Your pusher is in your ears again but you hear your lusus begin to scream for you as your family comes to a halt some distance behind you.

Someone grabs your arms, holds you tight as they uncuff the cold metal and begin to drag you toward an anvil and a brazier you hadn't noticed until now. A blueblood stands nearby, waiting, his back straight and his head bowed in the presence of his betters.

Finally, your instincts kick in and you begin to fight. You yell and thrash and when they dig their claws into you, you wrench your arm away with all your strength. You barely feel the chunk of flesh that tears beyond your need to escape. It's useless, though. You are one, tiny little mutantblood and there are at least four clowns flanking you. Before long, they have you as immobile as you were in the chains.

As you are dragged forward by the arms, the blueblood dutifully pulls a white hot strip of metal from the brazier. It is placed on the anvil, and you swear you can almost hear the metal whine. You can see the waves of heat coming off of it, the glow against the dark steel beneath.

And then you see nothing as white hot pain takes over your vision. They've lowered your wrist to the cuff and the blueblood is hammering it into a perfect circle molded to your flesh, the agony wrapping around you until it is all consuming. You are screaming louder than you ever have before, struggling like the prey you are to these trolls. Tears are pouring from your eyes. You can no longer hear your family calling out behind you.

Your vision is only just starting to return when the second band is brought from the flames and placed down. You desperately try to get your wrist away from them, but their grip is unyielding and the second cuff is molded just as easily into place. This time, when you scream, it is raw and ragged, your voice already breaking for the audience the Grand has brought to witness your execution.

You are sobbing, shaking as they weld the chains in place. The smell of searing muscle makes you gag.

There is a long, sturdy chain that they take up and drag you forward with. You are in agony as you are wrenched up onto the platform where the stone flogging pole stands. Your wrists go up above your head and you scream again with the new white hot pain that crashes into your system. They drape the chain over the top of the pole, and one of the ones who was holding you swiftly drives a nail into one of the gaps in the links. There is no chance of escape, now.

A few moments pass as the Grand walks leisurely up to you. His smooth voice begins, but you don't understand what he's saying beyond the pounding in your head and the sizzling sound of your wrists in the cuffs. He is reaching for you, and in your shock you do the only thing you can.

You bite.

Fucker isn't even wearing armor. Your fangs, as small as they are, sink into his forearm and you dig in as far as you can. You feel him growl more than you hear it. He tugs his arm. Your teeth tighten and you growl at him, as threatening a warning as you can produce with your breath so shallow.

You see his eyes narrow, but you don't see the knife coming until it pierces into your chest. You've been stabbed before, but never with the force behind it that he has. It's a spike of pain driving into your ribs and you gasp, another sob breaking from your throat. In that moment he easily wrenches his arm from your grip and examines the wound.

You snarl at him. You don't know what else to do.

"if you was so thirsty, you shoulda just asked. you thirsty, mutant?"

"I could say the same of you."

"animal. don't know why anyone listened to you."

His insults help you find your voice. It's hoarse, ragged from your screams, but it's there. He backhands you across the face for your insolence and the throbbing pain in your head becomes much more sharp. You can feel fresh blood trickling through your hair and onto your forehead. You take a shuddering breath, and your head rises again.

"You are vile." You spit at him as you turn your eyes back to the skull on his face.

"i'd say tell it to someone who cares, but."

Your expression breaks. You snarl at him, but your attention has already been taken up entirely by the view your family, staring back in utter horror at what they are doing to you.

As the clown unfurls his scroll and begins reading your charges and crimes, you break down into sobs that wrack your feverish frame. You make eye contact with all of them, each one in turn. You see your mother's cold fury, your love's blazing anger, the worry and terror on your friend's face.

Your head falls as you keep crying.

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

"with all them tears, i think you are gonna get thirsty."

You hadn't noticed he was done reading. You look up at him, barely able to make out his paint with the tears in your eyes, but you don't have enough time to react before he is pressing a jar to your cracked lips and pouring the contents inside.

It's blood. Oh fuck, it's blood. Cold metallic slime trying to ooze its way into your throat. Thick, cloying with its taste. You try to spit it out, coughing and gagging and twisting in your restraints against the sudden searing pain in your wrists as you move.

"what, bronze not to your taste? aight, here this oughtta be better."

A second jar replaces the first as you are struggling to catch your breath, and this time you swallow almost half of it before you can realize what's happening. You are retching. You must have been out a while, because your stomach is empty and nothing comes up, but it hurts where the blade had been in your chest and it tugs at your restraints again and the choking devolves once more into a cry of pain and then into shaking sobs.

"damn he thinks he's too good for all of us, don't he?"

You hear some of the clowns laugh. You hear your Survivor snarl at him. You shake your head as much as you can, but that only gets laughter as well. You're the funniest joke on Alternia right now.

It takes him a moment to come toward you again. The jars he holds now are empty, the knife he had already tipped with crimson stain is in his hand. He doesn't make a fuss. Doesn't flourish or show off. The knife simply dips into your upraised arm, and it hardly even hurts. Not compared to the fire on your wrists or the burning in your lungs. He slices neatly, just above the armpit. You know there is a vein there that will spill your color as fast as it will flow.

He holds the vessel up to catch the precious pigment. Presses it into your skin. When the first is full and the bleeding has slowed a bit, he moves around a few steps and slices your other arm open as wide as the first. To say you are lightheaded is an understatement. The world swims slowly as you feel your consciousness begin to fade. The pain in your wrists isn't as sharp now. Everything feels duller. It would almost be pleasant, except for the feeling of your life slowly being drained into his paint pots.

Finally, he steps away. You don't hear what he says now. Everything is fuzzy and too cold. The world is moving in slow motion and your eyes are full of tears. Your family are crying. You would know those sounds anywhere. Your lusus's heavy sobbing, Psiionic's ragged pleading. Your mate's screeching, angry heaves. In your daze, you try to move your arm to reach for them. To tell them that everything will be okay.

The white hot sear of the metal brings you back into sharp focus. You cry out again, with nowhere near the strength of before. Your head is swimming, but you can see Grand walking away, cleaning his knife, as an archeradicator you don't recognize steps forward and draws his bow, the arrow already nocked and pointed at your chest.

The thudding sound of a bowstring hits your ears milliseconds before you feel the sting of the gash in your side. The arrow catches you across the ribs, missing its strike but opening a wide crimson wound. Blood spills, in a way one might almost call symbolic, and begins to soak into your ruined leggings. You hiss in pain, but the new slash brings another moment of clarity.

You see the man freeze, his ears pinning back with sudden fear. You see the Grand turn around, cold fury on his face. Before the archeradicator can even try to explain himself, you hear the sickening crunch of his neck and he drops lifeless to the ground. You stare at him, his face twisted into a rictus of shock and horror.

...He had been trying to kill you, but... He had been following orders. He had barely missed, and still the Grand treats this life, this troll, like nothing. Even one of his own is not safe from him. He wastes the most precious thing on this planet, and you cannot hear anything over the slow, drumming pulse of rage in your ears. Every bone in your body turns to fury. Every drop of blood that is still in your veins pulses red hot. Your face morphs from pain to white hot anger, and baring your bloody teeth you snarl.

He gestures to another. One you recognize as the Executor Darkleer. One that, in another life, you might have called a friend. He draws his bow with perfect posture. Aims it at your chest again but suddenly you don't care. You have eyes only for the Grand.

Your fury bubbles out of you in a screech that breaks the silence like a gun. It explodes at the Highblood like a whip from the hell that is your anger at a world unfair.

"FUCK YOU."

You don't hear the bowstring this time, or see the arrow coming.

The pain is immense. The arrow hits you dead in the side, drives into you hard enough that the tip pierces through your back. You cough up blood from the sudden impact, the fury leaving your face all at once to be replaced with terror as you realize, finally, that you are about to die. You can't breathe, your head is swimming with pain and blood loss. You struggle to focus, to look at the man who has calmly, and coldly, murdered you.

His face is impassive, but yours is pleading as you try to meet the eyes behind the goggles and find nothing but the void in return.

You barely have time to drag your eyes away from him, to find your family once more before everything.

Goes.

....Black.

#The Signless's Execution #long post #headcanons #tw for:#blood #mild gore #death #casteism shit #forcefeeding blood #ask me to tag anything else!#ooc eyes only #my art #I FORGOT THE HECKIN ART I DID FOR IT #ANYWAY ITS FIXED NOW

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