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yelenasdiary · 2 years ago

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Different Kind of Love || Part VII 1/2

Pairing: CEO! MobBoss! Natasha Romanoff x Assistant! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Working for Natasha was never easy and being a low-level assistant for the CEO wasn’t where you thought you’d be after working your hardest for 2 years. After catching you in tears on Christmas Eve, Natasha’s cold ways start to warm up.

Notes: Dylan’s dialog is meant to sound like how a 5-year-old would talk and his nickname is Dyl and not a misspell.

Different Kind of Love Masterlist

"You'd want to hope Kane hurry's up, I'm getting a little impatient" Matt winked at you as you sat on the sofa with your hands tied together, "What do you want? Please, just tell me!" Your mind racing with thoughts of Dylan at home alone, hoping Natasha got your message. "I'm just helping out a friend, Kane just wants to see that kid of yours and I? well, I just want to take a moment to remember that night we shared" Your stomach turned at his intentions. The front door to what you assumed was Kane's cheaply rented apartment by the lack of furniture and the moldy smell coming from the walls, opened and slammed shut.

"About time man! What took you so fucking long?!" Matt put out his cigarette before turning around. "Sorry, I was busy" a familiar voice entered the room before the loud sound of a gun behind fired. Matt dropped to the floor, a clean shot to the middle of his forehead. You screamed at the scene as blood pooled around him.

"Y/n, shhh" Natasha put her weapon away and rushed to you, "it's okay" she added when your repetitively said no over and over with your eyes closed. "It's me, it's Natasha" she cuts your hands free from the rope with her pocketknife. "YOU JUST KILLED HIM!" You jumped away from Natasha in shock. "I know, I know, but it's okay" she tried to calm you as you started to hyperventilate, "Y-YOU SH-SHOT HIM! WHAT THE FUCK!" You couldn't look at her.

"I'm going to give you a moment" Natasha watched as you paced with your eyes closed while you processed what just happened. "Wh-where's Dylan?! Where's my son!?" You shot your eyes wide at Natasha, "He safe, he's okay. He's at my condo, I promise you he's okay" she assured you, she didn't blink once. Your eyes dropped mistakenly to the floor where Matt's lifeless body lay in a pool of his own blood cause a mouthful of vomit to find its way on the floor beside him. "What the hell is going on?!" you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand, "he was right, wasn't he?! Kane, he was right, you –"

"Yes. I'm not going to lie to you, this isn't how I wanted you to find out" she interrupted.

"Find out what?! Natasha you just MURDERED SOMEBODY!" You started pacing again to keep from throwing up again, "oh my god, you're going to go to jail, you're a lawyer and you just killed him!"

"Y/n, look at me, just for a second" Natasha came over to you and placed her hands on your shoulders, stopping you from pacing as you looked at her. Tears filled your eyes and you felt sick to your stomach, "keep your eyes on me, don't worry about what's around you. Just listen to me" Natasha's voice oddly started to make you feel calm as you kept your eyes on her just like she said. "Good, now, I know what I'm about to say isn't what you want to hear but I want you to know I would never, ever hurt you or Dylan" Tears streamed from your eyes at the mention of your son's name.

"I don't care what you want to call it but I'm a part of a mafia, I run one. That's where I go when I randomly take off and yes, I had one of my men to abduct Kane. That man on the floor, he worked for me, and I had no idea he was going to do this to you, I swear to you. I would never put you or Dylan in danger.

When you said that Kane was stalking you, the fear in your eyes told me that he had to be taken care of. Hearing your story, what he did to you, what he has continued to do, made my blood boil. I've never let anybody see me the way I've let you in Y/n. You're my best friend and I love you and Dylan like family. On Christmas eve when you were crying because I selfishly kept you late for my own pathetic needs, I saw a scared young woman who just wanted to be with her son and when you introduced me to little Dylan, I knew I had to do something to keep you both safe.

It's not ideal for you, I know and it's scary, I know, and I understand if you never want to see me again but swear on my entire life, you're my best friend and I'd never hurt you, ever"

You listened carefully to Natasha, she was right, it was crazy and scary but with every word that left her lips you became calmer. Her tone was honest and looking into her eyes you could see she wasn't lying to keep you from freaking out again. "D-did you k-kill him? K-Kane, is he?" You had to ask.

Natasha shook her head, "No. he's still at my bunker" she answered honestly.

"Is he injured?"

"Yes, he's missing finger and he has two bullet wounds"

"I c-can't believe t-this! Natasha, I let you into my life, my son's life!" you shook your head with your eyes closed, "Are you going to kill him?" You looked back at her trying to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach. "I want too" Natasha nodded, "because I know if he's gone for good then you and Dylan and finally live life without fear, that's all I want for you both. You deserve that" she adds.

"Natasha, you're a damn lawyer! You know how this should've happened, the legal way, the right way!" You took a step back from her, finding it hard to believe all the information you just received.

"The right way? Y/n he'd get a few years at the most and then he'd right back to stalking you and Dylan again. He doesn't care about anything; he just wants Dylan. That's why he had this prick take you" Natasha frowned slightly, she was right, you knew she was right. The justice system wasn't going to protect you from Kane forever. "I need to see Dylan, now" you looked at Natasha who nodded, "okay" she replied softly.

----

Your eyes landed kindly on your son as he played with the man who took your victim statement, completely unaware of the world around him. Driving his plastic trucks along the make-believe track, tears filled your eyes at how peaceful he looked. "Come on Bucky! The building is on fire we have to save the people!" He raced his fire truck to the imaginary building as Bucky's toy truck followed, "let's do this big boss!" Bucky smiled softly as if he could see the images in your son's mind.

"Y/n" Natasha's voice broke your attention, moving your eyes to glance at her for a moment. "I don't want to hear it Natasha, please. I just want Dylan and to go home" Tears streamed down your face once again, the entire idea of what Natasha did on the side for a living made your stomach turn. You couldn't look at her, not after everything she just told you. "Stay here for the night, it's late and he probably hasn't had dinner yet. I'll have my driver take you both home first thing in the morning" Natasha suggested, her tone had a promising ring to it making it harder for you to stay upset with her.

"We'll get an uber" you turned to her.

"I know you're ma-"

"Not here, not in front of Dylan. I need some time to process all of this, alone" you frowned even though you were raised with well manners it burnt your tongue with the words that left your lips, "he'll have some dinner, I'll make it and we'll be off to bed. I just can't be around you right now Natasha" you explained. Natasha nodded, pain in her eyes from knowing she'd probably lost you, her first real best friend and she managed to screw it up.

"Bucky" Natasha turned to the boys playing, Dylan's eye lit up at the sight of you. "Mommy!!" he ran into your arms, hugging you tighter than he's ever hugged you. "Aunty Nat found you!!" he smiled widely while looking at you, "She did. Were you a good boy for, I me-"

"James, or Bucky or Bu-"

"She gets it" Natasha interrupted, giving Bucky a look to say stand down.

"Bucky and I were being firefighters! He can make a really cool water splashing sound and he fixed my truck with the broken door!" Dylan boosted; it was as if he completely forgot about his mother being abducted right in front of him. "Wow honey, it sounds like you had plenty of fun" you smiled softly at his baby face before kissing his cheek, "what do you say to James?" you added without looking at either Bucky or Natasha.

"Thank you, Bucky, for playing with me!" Dylan turned slightly and smiled at the man in the black suit, "anytime little dude! Let me know if any of your trucks get a stiff door or a wheel falls off, I'll be happy to fix it for you little man" Bucky returned the smile before excusing himself out of Natasha's condo. "Sounds like you had lots of fun with Bucky! Are you ready for some dinner?" Natasha turned to Dylan with a soft smile as he nodded quickly. Her smile only made your stomach turn, for Dylan's sake you had to play nice with Natasha.

Dylan had mashed potatoes, veggies and some chicken nuggets for dinner. He told you all about his moment of playing with Bucky while getting BBQ sauce all over his face as you and Natasha tried to keep things as normal as you could. Your mind flooding with thoughts of Kane and where Natasha was keeping him, what she'd done or was still doing to him, every thought only made the lump in your throat worse.

"I think it's time for bed, honey" you looked over to Dylan once he finished his dinner, his eyes were heavy as he looked up at you and shook his head. "I'm not tired mommy" he pouted trying his best to have you believe his words. "How about mommy reads you a story and tuck you in?" you suggested quickly earning yourself a light nod. Dylan slid off his chair and walked up to Natasha with open arms. "Good night aunty Nat" he hugged her tightly, "Goodnight Dyl, have a good sleep" Natasha hugged him as her eyes slowly looked up at you knowing this might be the last chance she'd get to hug her favorite little friend.

"Come on honey, let's get you to bed" you spoke after a few moments, Dylan letting you scoop him up into your arms before taking him to the room he'd be sleeping in.

"Mommy?" Dylan looked at you as you tucked him in, kissing him on the cheek. "Yes, darling?" you asked as you sat on the edge of the bed with a book full of children's stories. "I'm sorry I punched that man. I thought he was hurting you" he said as you brushed his beautiful curls with your finger, "You are my big brave boy! I'm not mad at you baby, I'm so proud of you" you couldn't help but place a kiss on his forehead.

"Did he hurt you mommy?"

"No honey" you shook your head hating that your little boy was asking questions that he should never have to worry about. "Why did he take you mommy? I thought you were lost forever" Tears filled your son's eyes as he looked at you with worry. "Oh honey" you made yourself comfortable beside him, snuggling him. "You're never going to lose me; he just took me away to have a talk but he's never going to bother us again" you assured him as you wiped his tears. "Do you promise mommy?" Dylan looked at you, "I promise baby, now, its time for bed! Somebody might be seeing Grandma and Grandpa soon" you hinted with a soft smile. Dylan's face lit up at the mention of his grandparents, "When? I can't wait! I miss them!" He boosted. "You have to get some sleep first then I'll tell you all about it" you kissed his cheek once more as you opened up the storybook.

----

Hours past and you couldn't bring yourself to move from Dylan's side as he was fast asleep. His questions pondering through your mind as you tried to process everything that had happened, and the news Natasha told you. It wasn't long until memories of that night came floating back. The look on Kane's face when he ignored your cries for him to stop, begging him to not take advantage of you like he did, saying no over and over unable to fight him off.

You thought about your life since that night, from finding out you were pregnant, telling your parents, Kane finding out, giving birth, and always feeling like your life was on the run from Kane. His face flashed through your mind as you came to a decision.

Natasha was on the rooftop downing a scotch and a cigarette while looking over the city from afar, puffing on her toxic tabaco as if the world she life never bothered her.

"Natasha" you spoke softly from behind, she looked over her shoulder as she put out her cigarette and turned to face you, "What did you decide?" she asked clenching her jaw.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #fanfiction #black widow #marvel

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that-one-kiddo-in-the-back · 3 months ago

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This video is about Star Wars... apparently.

youtube

Once again, if you don't know me, I'm what Lily would refer to as a Star Wars weeb. I live, breathe, and shit Star Wars. You got it? Good. Let's dig in.

Now, this can't be a Lily Orchard video without her complaining about the thing she claims to love. Now, I have my own problems with the sequel series, mostly that I found it boring and a wasted opportunity to do something a bit different and interesting and felt that they pushed a black man to make room for a white woman. Hell, my siblings even told me that for a week, it was just none stop complaining about Disney owning Star Wars I think the only reason I started to go a bit easy and shut up was when star wars rebels came out but I'll get into my own acceptance of Disney canon in a separate post.

To her credit, she talks about how universal Star Wars is, how it has something for everyone, and if you're someone like me a shit ton of stuff to take all of the money from your account but now we come to Lily not understanding how things work.

She goes into a rant about how streaming services are killing movies and just regularly TV watching, which is true, yes. She's uses Matt Damon's views on streaming she then talks about her all-time favorite movie and the reason she pushes for low stakes storytelling from that time period called John Q. From 2002 which if you don't know, it's about a father who holds a hospital hostage at Gun Point to get them to help his son, who needs a life-threatening heart surgery.

Despite the title, this video has nothing to do with Star Wars. it's more about streaming services with a spit of Star Wars. From 8:37 to 14:48 is nothing about Star Wars and all about streaming and low stakes over high stakes. Despite that, I would argue that John Q, while being more a personal movie of a father desperate to save his son, is a high stakes situation. High stakes storytelling isn't just "The fate of the universe is at risk," and low stakes storytelling isn't just personal drama. John Q stakes are pretty high with taking an emergency hospital hostage where everyone could die if not treated, and the best case scenario for the main character is his son getting treatment while he goes to prison and the worst case being he dies with his son. I hate to break it to you Lily but the movie you say is your all time favorite is a fucking high stakes movie.

Finally, getting back to fucking Star wars. She brings up how Star Wars is a pretty low stakes series simply because of how the story is overshadowed by the family drama that is the Skywalker family, which is turn. I would say that Star Wars can be pretty low stakes, but I wouldn't stay that it is. She talks about clone wars, the "patron saint of the annoying darkness obsessed Fanboys" (A.K.A me) has plenty of episodes of that dig deep into the rot and corruption of the republic and the jedi order but that those are dwarfed by the focus of Anakin and Ahsoka's relationship pointing out that that episode was the series most hard hitting to the fans which is true anyone who watched that episode can tell you they cried their eyes out but that's mostly because that really left an impact on Anakin and one could argue is that's what really made him question the order and when you go back to watch Anakin's descent it makes it all the more heart breaking.

We all know Lily hates serialized TV that's no secret or surprise she'd much rather watch a sitcom over anything else, but the thing is, but she treats serialized shows as moldy bread using the Ahsoka show as an example of losing characters and losing moments for the story to breathe and the fun episodes that do nothing but flesh out a character never mind the fact that Ahsoka and Sabine don't need to have their character fleshed out we already saw that in rebels for Sabine and CW for Ahsoka. I find it kinda funny that she doesn't like the Ahsoka show when that was the lowest stakes show she could ask for a teacher and a student getting back together to help find Ezra while 2 dark side users are also trying to find him so they can find Thrawn hell she even has some lesbians to obsess over but they focus on the force for to long and has too many samurai references dispirit the fact that...

The Jedi are basically samurai!

The jedi takes inspiration from monks and Samurais, so no Lily. Dave filoni isn't some secret Weeb. Blame Lucas if you have to

Something I found interesting is Lily using M*A*S*H and other sitcoms saying they have some depth to them, but we her critics can't see that past the laugh track saying how her favorite All in the Family did a good job talking about drag queens while taking a dump on Rocky horror for their drag queens. Now I haven't seen all in the family or Rocky horror (and I don't plan to), but I have seen M*A*S*H, which is a good sitcom it's pretty funny and a prime example of "laughter is the best medicine" or "if you don't laugh, you'll cry." If you don't know what M*A*S*H is, it's a 70s (1972 to 1983) sitcom that takes place in a medical tent during the Korean War with most of the episodes being about the main group of characters trying to go home but whacky hijinks get in the way the show is all dark humor. Little fun fact if you didn't fall asleep during history class, M*A*S*H was made three years before the Vietnam War had ended, so people didn't care for it until 1974 and you don't have to he a genius to know why it's loved now.

Lily’s main problem with Star Wars is that she's living in the past and won't move forward, and she can't expect that not everyone likes what she likes. Sure, Solo was a flop, but there are still some people who like it.

There is no such thing as peak fiction also applies to Lily herself.

She missed an opportunity to use avatar

#Youtube #lily orchard #lily orchard critical #lily peet #star wars #Ahsoka #the acolyte #m*a*s*h #all in the family #rocky horror picture show

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junbugsarchive · 2 years ago

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🐞 JunBugs Newsletter #17 🦋

Yesterday's setlist (in order)

✧ Last Kiss - Bonnie Pink

✧ Niji no Kanata ni - Reona

✧ Astronaut - Amanda Palmer

✧ Nothing Came Out - Moldy Peaches

✧ Face My Fears - Utada Hikaru

✧ Opium - Mili

Thank you for suggesting that I sing "Niji no Kanata ni", Lynzu! :)

Also, you guys can post your own setlists and what you sang on stream as well .₊̣̇.ಇ/ᐠˬ ̫ ˬ ᐟ\∫.₊̣̇.

These are some songs that I been practicing for karaoke (some upon request)

✧ idontwannabeyouanymore - Billie Eilish - requested by Pardofelis

✧ Idol - YOASOBI - sorry, I don't remember who requested this one, please enlighten me if it was you!

Please let me know if there is a song request that you have for me, I really loved doing the "Simple and Clean" (Utada Hikaru) cover that was requested of me last week!

^ ^

=➖〰️➖=

Special thanks to the lovely co-hosts: Pardofelis and Harlem!

Here are all of the people featured in the new photo album:

✧ Pardofelis

✧ Harlem

✧ sunarock

Please remind me if I forget your name, I try to remember to the best of my ability. If you would like a picture with us too, please do not feel shy about asking on stream, sometimes I don't include people because I either don't take good pictures of them or forget to while they are singing, so please let me know. I never want anyone to feel excluded!

Twitter Album 1 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1653089817281064960?s=21

Twitter Album 2 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1653090222983495681?s=21

Twitter Album 3 https://twitter.com/junithys/status/1653090473056272385?s=21

\ JUNBUG NEWS /

We reached 8,100 followers yesterday!!! Thank you so much!!! ✽-(ﾐ>ᆽ<ﾐ)/✽

I just realized in the old blog posts that I had the "ni" reversed in "Niji no Kanata ni" (so it was "in" haha), I'm glad that I'm less fatigued and have finally started to overcome my slump of depression and chronic sickness!!!

My twin sister (alter-ego), Akira, made her debut on 4-27 and her first karaoke debut on 4-30, and the official JunBugs birthday is now on 4-29!!!

Schedule (starting on 5-4)

- Saturday (3 streams)

- Morning Gaming Stream @6:30am to 9am MST

- Open Mic Karaoke @3:30pm to 5pm MST

- Akira's Left Handed Drawing Stream ("After Dark" @9:30pm MST to 10:30pm MST)

- Sunday (3 streams)

- Morning Anime Watch and Japanese Learning @6:30am MST

- Open Mic Karaoke @3:30pm to 5pm MST

- Otaku Sunday - Introduction to Leaf and Aquaplus ("After Dark" @9:30pm MST to 10:30pm MST)

- Monday (3 streams)

- Morning Gaming Stream @6:30am MST

- Open Mic Karaoke @3:30pm to 5pm MST

- Akira's Left Handed Drawing Stream ("After Dark" @9:30pm MST to 10:30pm MST)

- Tuesday (1 stream) - Rest Day!

- Morning Anime Watch and Japanese Learning @ 6:30am MST

- Web Novel Chapter Release @ 3:30pm MST

- Wednesday (3 streams)

- Morning Gaming Stream @6:30am MST

- Open Mic Karaoke @3:30pm to 5pm MST

- Akira's Left Handed Drawing Stream ("After Dark" @9:30pm MST to 10:30pm MST)

- Thursday (3 streams)

- Morning Anime Watch and Japanese Learning @ 6:30am MST

- Open Mic Karaoke @3:30pm to 5pm MST

- Open Collab Chat (Q&A) - "After Dark" @9:30pm MST to 10:30pm MST

- Friday (3 streams)

- Morning Gaming Stream @6:30am MST

- Open Mic Karaoke @3:30pm to 5pm MST

- Akira's Left Handed Drawing Stream ("After Dark" @9:30pm MST to 10:30pm MST)

\ SCHEDULE /

Morning Anime Stream ☯️ 6:30am MST︱5:30am PST︱8:30am EST︱1:30pm BST︱12:30pm GMT︱10:30pm AEST︱9:30pm JST

Open Mic Karaoke ☯️ 3:30pm MST︱2:30pm PST︱5:30pm EST︱10:30pm BST︱9:30pm GMT︱7:30am AEST︱6:30am JST

After Dark Stream ☯️ 9:30pm MST︱8:30pm PST︱10:30pm EST︱11:30pm BST︱4:30am GMT︱1:30pm AEST︱12:30pm JST

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dragooned-speaks · 11 months ago

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Down Into The Empty Pit of H*ll

Hello ppl! My first attempt at an actual fandom fic, and since I never watched the streams, I did my best but some details may be off. Also, this applies to personality. I did my best to write them in character, but when you’re relying on fanfics to do this… yeah. Also, Tommy was exiled on an island.. right? I tried not to cuss for Tommy so… Also, this might be stretching the timeline (I’m not that up to date on Dream SMP), and this probably didn’t happen, but I wrote this. Now it’s my headcanon (my first!) Also, fair warning, I didn’t read through this after writing it. Whelp, gotta pray on my life for it I guess.

TWs: Death, Temporary Death, Major Character Death, Permanent Deaths, Limbo, Dead People, Bleeped Out Cusses, Angst Without A Happy Ending, Spoilers for Dsmp, Killing, Slight gore? (Aka dead body right after dying), This Is Kinda An Ambiguous Ending, Possession, Illusions, Limbo, Emotional Damage, characters that are (probably) ooc.

“Why don’t you go see him then.”

With those words, the moldy, brown green potato hit him for the last time, and-

THUD

Cold concrete pressed against his skin as the freezing temperature jump started him once more. He had definitely broken something, and he could practically hear his wings screaming in pain. He brought his hands up to push away the dirty, grimy blond hair before freezing. His hands were calloused from exile, but he swore he had at least dunked his hair in water once or twice in the cold, briny water of the sea that surrounded his island.

“Tommy?”

The voice trembled in the air, as if it might fall flat of its target. It was quiet, somber, and yet… it was familiar to him.

Turning, he found himself faced with his.. his brother. But there was something wrong with him. His once peachy, vibrant skin had dulled to an ashy gray, worse than Pogtopia, borderline monotone. His wings were no longer brown, rather ragged and gray not unlike Ghostbur’s. Bright warm brown eyes were empty like the void and dark like the corners of this strange hall.

His brown, fluffy hair he loved to spend so long caring for was limp and dull, sporting a white streak. The beanie he loved so much was tattered and worn, and it looked years older than when Tommy had last seen it.

“You died?” Wilbur asked, without beating around a bush as he would have before.

Confused, the young avian tilted his head.

“I… didn’t die?”

Wilbur smiled, but it looked sad, and tears that used to flow stained his face.

“That’s what they all say, don’t they?”

Dying… suddenly, a light brown blob flashed before his eyes, being swung straight towards him as he closed his eyes, waiting, as he heard the sadistic laugh of the one named-

“Tommy?”

A cry of agonizing pain shook the halls, and Tommy jumped as his reddish brown wings ruffled in panic. He turned over to see… Wilbur, flickering as he fell to the floor. Without knowing it, Tommy was instantly at his side, easing him back to his feet.

“What happened W- what happened?”

He wasn’t ready to say the name just yet.

Again, Wilbur flashed him that same sad smile he had before.

“It’s Dream, Tommy.”

Confusion must have been clear on his face, as Wilbur took in a deep breath before speaking.

“The wielder of the Revival Book controls limbo-“

“The Revival Book?!” Tommy interrupted. “It’s real?”

“Yes, Tommy,” Wilbur said, smile somehow even sadder. “It’s real, and its wielder controls limbo, whether it’s pleasant or terrible, or if it feeds off your fear.”

“Dream…”

“Yes, and I was chosen for this position.”

“What position?”

“I have to show people the way and send them on to their limbo.”

Tommy’s blue eyes quickly snapped towards Wilbur’s face from where they were straying away.

“Wait what?!”

Wilbur’s eyebrows bent in a u shape, as if sympathetic.

��The limbo knows all I want is to keep people safe, so now I have to send people off knowing that they’ll be suffering.”

“Why can’t I just stay here though?” Tommy asked, head tilting in the bird like way he tended to. “What’s stopping me?”

“Oh, Tommy, I would keep every spirit here if I could, but I can’t.”

“Well- that’s- that’s stupid!” Tommy spat, turning his head away before Wilbur could see his watery eyes.

Suddenly, Wilbur’s eyes shot open, and his body stiffened.

“Wilbur?” Tommy tried.

“Glad to see you two have been getting along,” Wilbur sneered.

Immediately, Tommy stiffened, recognizing the sadist’s voice.

“Oh, come on Tommy,” Wilbur grinned. “Playtime’s over now.”

“Get the f*ck away b*tch!” Tommy cried, scrambling backwards, tears evaporating in his fear.

“Come on, that’s no way to treat your only friend, is it now?”

Tommy flinched, and slowly glanced up, feeling the feathers on his head poof as he saw Wilbur’s eyes glowing that hateful shade of green as strings held his brother up like a puppet. Before he registered what was happening, “Wilbur” grabbed his arm and dragged him into a subway train that had come without him noticing.

As “Wilbur” threw him into the train car, he saw tears glistening in the dark eyes of his once brother.

“Goodbye Wilby.” He whispered, and by magic, which was probably true, Wilbur heard him.

As the train doors began to close, Tommy saw Wilbur’s eyes no longer glowing as he ran toward the shutting doors, full on crying. As the train began to move, he barely caught the whisper of sound that left his brother’s lips.

“Goodbye Toms.”

Tommy didn’t know how long it was until the train doors opened, only that it felt like months had passed in the small, compact compartment he was shut in. He grew used to the hard, plastic chairs and the shade of green that ruined his life striped against the gray iron of the walls. He knew where everything was, so there was no need to open his eyes. It hurt when he kept them open too long. Finally, when he felt like he was going stir crazy, the doors finally opened.

Slowly, Tommy’s eyes peeled open, and all he saw was a hazy version of the hall he had left Wilbur in. Wilbur…

As he focused his eyes, he jumped when he saw Wilbur’s sad, somber face appear in the mist. But something was wrong… his eyes glistened like a mad man, and he held his hands near a- Tommy’s heart dropped. He held his hand near a button.

The Button.

“It was never meant to be!” Wilbur shouted at the sky.

Tommy sprung at him, muscles coiled tight as his wings beat to help him travel towards his avian brother.

“No!”

Wilbur slammed his hand on the button, and everything burned a bright color. Tommy braced himself, wings instinctively covering his head and body with the soft feathers. When the painful glare dimmed and his eyes weren’t killing him, he opened his eyes. There it was, L’manberg, in all its unfinished glory.

“Do it Philza, kill me!”

“Yo-you-re- You’re my son!”

“They all want you to, look at them!”

Tommy ran towards the pair, already knowing what had happened on November 16th. He tackled towards Phil, only to fall straight through, landing hard and skidding on the cold concrete flooring.

“Do it, Killza kill me!”

Tommy heard a gut wrenching scream, and as he turned, he froze at the body of his brother, cradled in the hands of his killer.

As he turned, the mist filled the empty space as he curled into a small ball in that empty, green fog filling his senses. How long had it been since he entered his limbo? It felt like years, ticking by as voices spoke seemingly in his ear to gain his attention and force him to live through another scene that he runs from.

“We have a traitor here in our midst.”

The execution.

“You wanna be a hero Tommy?”

Technoblade’s betrayal.

“It’s for the peace, Tommy.”

The betrayal of Tubbo, his best friend.

“Tommy. You f*cked up.”

Scared, Tommy’s wings poofed out again, and he subconciously jerked his head towards the voice. As he focused, bright green eyes shone in the darkening mist. The unnaturally pale fingers grabbed at his arm once more and tugged him upwards.

“F*CK!” Tommy screamed, and no, he did not scream like a little girl.

He screamed like the big man he was. The ceiling rushed towards him, closing in as he reached the roof of his limbo- and passed straight through. For another eternity he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think, as he hurtled through dark void after dark void.

He glimpsed a broken man, bottles littering the floor and ram horns jutting into his eyes. A short, squat man wearing a mustache and a brightly colored sombrero patterned with red, green and white sticking out his tongue while crying out of his left eye at the sight of hundreds of dead bodies. So many others flashed by, limbo after limbo as Tommy shot upwards, dragged by the hand of his “friend”.

Finally, he broke through the surface, appearing in a small obsidian box with lava for a wall. He gasped for breath as he lay, heaving on the mix of crying and normal obsidian.

“How long were you down there Tommy?”

Tommy ignored him.

“I said.”

Fingers grabbed harshly at Tommy’s face, pulling it to look up at the face of the liar, the psycho, the crazy manipulator who ruined his life. His supposed friend smirked down at him, green eyes glowing maniacally.

“How long. Were you down there?”

“I- I don’t know,” Tommy rambled. “A- a week- a month? Ph-Phil, where’s Phil? Where’s Fundy? Where’s Jack? Anybody?!”

At the final sentence, he looked around the cell desperately.

“Tommy-“

“L- let me go you b*stard.”

“TOMMY!”

Silence followed the loud yell that Dream had emitted as Tommy cowered beneath the older man.

“You were down there for two days.”

“Wha- what?”

“Two days, Tommy, no more, no less.”

Tommy, however, wasn’t listening as he looked at his back. Or rather, his wings. They were gray, twisted masses that, instead of Wilbur’s new bright blue like Ghostbur’s when he hands out his blue, it was a dark, leafy green that leered at him.

“Tommy. Are. You. Listening.”

Each and every syllable was an angry breath. Tommy slowly cranked his head upwards, as he say Dream readying another starch filled punch.

“Maybe now you’ll learn to listen.”

As the fist charged towards his face, a new but prominent instinct in Tommy took hold, and he phased through the punch. He wanted to laugh at Dream’s shocked face, but he was too scared.

He had finally cracked, and he yelled with all his might, “SAM! HELP! HE’S KILLING ME!”

Dream flinched away from the yell and another voice was heard in the distance.

“I’m coming Tommy! Just hang on!”

The lava slowly stopped dripping downwards and Tommy stepped onto the platform.

“Suck it, green boy.”

As he was leaving he brought his hands up once more to brush away the blonde locks- but once again he froze. A huge chunk of his hair had a white streak, just like the one he saw in Wilbur’s hair.

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sunflowerdaisybee · 3 years ago

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Hey, can I request a karl irl x male reader fic where Karl does a bf reveal and is teaching him how to play MC. So, they spawn right next to a mushroom biome. And when night falls, reader looks and sees a zombie and just starts saying things like ew, what is that. It looks like dog shit. I wish it was dead. I am literally bout to throw up, I hate that thing." Then the zombie just despawns. Chat spans that they made the zombie despawn because he was rude. And you know Karl is just giggling in his own world. And thought the whole stream reader is just complaining about everything that doesn't go his way.

Karl has one of the cutest and most infectious laughs ever, 10/10 love that man <3

Summary: Teaching you how to play minecraft was the best idea ever

Pairing: Karl x Reader

Pronouns: He/him

[A/n]: Requests are open <3

“I still have no idea why you thought this would be a good idea.”

“Well I wanted to teach you how to play so we could play together, plus I just knew my chat would love you.” Karl rested his head on your shoulder, watching as you spun around after spawning in. Karl had brought you into his streaming room to teach you how to play minecraft, part of his boyfriend reveal video.

“That is a big fucking mushroom.” Karl laughed as you looked around the mushroom biome, there was one next to where you spawned and it quickly caught your attention.

You had spent the entire first day looking around the biome and being funny.

“Is that a cow?”

“Yes, they’re called mooshrooms.”

“How do I punch it?” Night fell and you were still looking around the biome. You weren’t worried about the mobs as you had asked Karl to put you in creative.

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“That’s a zombie.” Karl laughed at the mob, it was lingering on the border of the biome and was minding its business.

“Why is it built like that? Green bean-looking mother fucker. Blegh.” You made a fake puking noise, not enjoying the view of the zombie. Karl was dying at your insults, laughing maniacally.

“I hope that zombie dies a second time, his ugly ass is asking for it. Walking around with his unshowered, moldy dog shit smelling ass.” You continued to insult the zombie, getting offended when he suddenly despawned.

“Where the fuck did he go? I wasn’t done.”

“He, he despawned.” Karl nearly fell out of his seat, he was laughing way too hard. Even chat was dying, talking about how you bullied the zombie so much that he despawned.

“Homie bullied him so bad that he vanished.”

“You made him despawn with your bullying.”

“Good, I didn’t wanna look at his ugly mug any longer.” Eventually, Karl managed to calm down and you were able to continue playing and talking.

Somehow you ended up in a desert, looking at different sand formations.

“Why is it moving?”

“Cause you broke one of the blocks.”

“It wasn’t moving before though!” Karl giggled at your hostility towards the game, he was a genius for making you play.

“How do I pick it up?”

“You can’t pick up mobs.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, you just can’t.”

“Well how am I supposed to bring the squid with me?”

“You can’t.”

“But I want to!”

Taglist: @joyfullymulti

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nott-emotionally-stable · 4 years ago

Text

Professor Widogast stumbles into his classroom one particular Monday morning, silencing the murmurs of "if he's more than 15 minutes late, we're legally allowed to leave!" Well, he presumes that's what they're saying; his ears are still ringing from last night.

He gives his students a quick logical puzzle as a warm-up. However, more than a few moments later, the kids are all still gaping at him. Caleb doesn't blame them; it's not every day that your teacher comes in looking like a human punching bag. There's gashes still visible on his neck and hands, and his body is basically one big bruise. Even Caduceus’s healing paired with a long rest wasn't enough to fully restore him.

"Aright," he sighs, resigned. "Who has questions?"

Every hand in the room shoots up simultaneously. Caleb feels an amused smirk pulling at his lips- at least they're curious.

"Wonderful. Once you complete the warm-up, you may bring it up to my desk and ask one question each."

The sound of pencils scribbling across paper fills the room. The children start quietly muttering to one another, some discussing the problem, most discussing their teacher. Caleb rests his eyes for a moment. Ohhh, that feels nice.

It feels like not a moment later when his trance is broken by the sound of confident footsteps and something being placed on his desk. Without opening his eyes, he responds, "Yes, Elise?"

An assertive, yet slightly squeaky voice answers back. "How'd you get so hurt?"

"I got into a fight last night." He says matter-of-factly.

The room bursts into sounds of disbelief. "No way!" one boy exclaims, as another one shouts "I told you!" Caleb peeks his eyes open and sees a few hands exchanging some copper, as twenty students start demanding more answers out of him. Caleb allows the volume of the room to rise a little longer before trying to regain some control.

"Please calm down everyone, I do not need the other teachers angry with me. In fact, I believe Professor Biesdorf is giving an exam right now, so let's tone it down a notch."

The students are not relenting, so Caleb decides to remind them of the rules. "I am not answering another question until there is another paper on my desk."

It helps a little. Some kids are too busy staring at him in awe to continue. They all must have assumed he slipped on some ice or tripped over one of his cats. These students are too young to have been taught of any of his exploits, so to them, he's just a stuffy professor who spends too much time in the library.

Another paper gets tossed onto his desk. "What did you fight," a boy named Otto demands. He's trying to act unfazed, but there's excitement sparkling in his eyes.

Caleb pauses for a moment for dramatic effect. "Someone I used to call a friend." Gasps echo around the room.

Not much longer, another paper is slammed in front of him. “Did you kill him?”

Caleb grins, “Ohhh, no. She’s much too clever for that.”

Soon enough, there’s a steady stream of worksheets being scattered around him, as his students congregate excitedly on the other side of his desk.

“Did you win, though?”

“Hmmm… I would say no.” Caleb squints his eyes faux-menacingly. “But you better not tell her that.”

“Who is she?”

“For security reasons, I cannot give her name out.” An uncontrollable smile fills Caleb’s face. “However, in this room only, we may refer to her as Fiona Fancypants.”

“Fiona Fancypants?” One girl manages to say through her giggling.

“Yes,” Caleb says with wide eyes. “And you better not underestimate her.”

“Why? What can she do?”

“She is not a sorcerer, and yet, she can create magic without a god, without music, and without a spellbook.”

“But isn’t that supposed to be impossible?”

“It is, yes.” (A/N: don’t come at me if i’m wrong, im dumb and its 2am)

“What kind of magic can she do?”

“I’ve seen her send large beasts to another plane of existence. I’ve seen her glue together petrified people and then bring them back to life. I've seen her deceive an ancient hag with nothing other than her own cunning and a moldy blueberry cupcake.”

“Are you in love with her?”

Now it’s Caleb’s turn to laugh in surprise. “No, but I do love her.”

“Then why did you fight her?”

“She betrayed me.”

“What did she do?”

“Yes, what did she do?” a deeper voice asks from the doorway. All the kids spin around to identify the unknown voice. There stands a dark elven man with curly black hair that sits at his shoulders. In his left hand he is carrying a brown paper bag. Caleb mentally kicks himself. Since he used up all his spell slots last night, he slept at the Blooming Grove with the rest of the Nein, and then he teleported right to the Academy in the morning. Which means he forgot to pick up his lunch from home.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet… Ussek.”

Essek, who has started making his way (🎵making his way🎵) through the classroom, momentarily freezes in bemusement. “Ah, yes. My name is... Ussek. It’s very nice to meet all of you. I’m sorry to interrupt, but even the smartest teacher in the world forgets things sometimes.” Essek places the paper bag on Caleb’s desk, next to the cluttered mix of papers. He picks one up and studies it with a serious expression before turning it around, revealing it to be nothing more than a series of scribbles. “Hard at work, I see,” he says in the driest of voices.

“Yes, well thank you for the reminder. We were all just getting back to our seats.” Caleb gives his class a pointed look. The kids all groan as they return to their spots. They watch closely as the two men turn away from them, speaking in hushed voices.

“So what did Fiona do?” Essek teases with a quirk of the eyebrow.

“... It was a complicated-”

“She challenged your word in Scrabble again?”

“Yes! Every time we play!”

“And you responded by attacking her?” Essek asks dubiously.

“What do you think?” Caleb retorts.

“That she attacked you?”

“Ah, at first it was just Thaumaturgy, but then it… escalated.”

“Well, do not worry. Next week, I’ll be there to protect you.”

Caleb looks at the ceiling and sighs, a smile dancing on his face. “I am going to ignore the insinuation there, and just say that everyone missed you at family dinner.”

Essek mirrors his boyfriend’s easy smile. “Of course they did. I do float, after all. Now, you better return to your students before they figure out my identity and rat me out to the Bright Queen.”

And Caleb most certainly does not blush, because there is no way his super hot boyfriend just made him forget that he’s supposed to be in the middle of a lesson.

Essek holds Caleb’s gaze as he does a quick series of hand motions and vanishes. Caleb just rolls his eyes as he turns back to his class, because he knows Essek just Dimension Door-ed into the hallway to impress the kids.

And it worked. The entire class has their mouths agape once again. Except for one terrified-looking child in the back of the room, who has his hand up.

“Yes Charlie?”

“Is Fiona Fancypants still looking for you?”

Schiesse. It was not Caleb’s intention to traumatize any children, so he shakes his head and responds, “Do not worry, she is on a boat right now on the other side of the world. She has no idea where I am.”

And indeed, Jester is sitting on the deck of The Nein Heroez on the other side of the world. However, at this moment, she is giggling through her scry spell as she’s describing all of this to her own boyfriend. (“He looks sooooo fucked up right now, Fjord, you have no idea.”)

#critical role #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #professor widogast #shadowgast #ish?#my post

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aethwrs · 4 years ago

Text

A broken heart is all that's left

Agatha Harkness x Reader

TW: a bit of violence, character's death (implied)

A/N: I'm sorry this is so short but it was an idea I suddenly had! I'm going to proofread in the morning.

════════════════

You were running between the large number of trees, bushes and giant and moldy rocks that covered the entire surface of the forest making this place a labyrinth in which Agatha and you were lost.

A small flame that floated in front of you lit the way while both of you with your long cloaks and uncomfortable dresses tried to get as far away as possible from the coven that was behind you.

The two of you had read and practiced dark magic, which was not ignored by the coven that was now chasing you to put you through a trial that would not end well at all.

The heavy rain made the dirt road even more dangerous, making you and Agatha slow down, both of you holding hands while dodging the natural obstacles that were in the dark forest in which the only visible light was the one emanating from that flame.

Slipping in a small pool of water, Agatha let out a little cry when she almost fell, being lucky that your hands clung to her waist preventing the fall.

"I got you, darling" you said sweetly, one of your hands caressing her side while the other went to her face, lifting her chin gently and moving a couple of strands of hair out of her face.

Your eyes locked onto each other's, faces reflecting fear as you tried to catch your breath, your hand resting on the cheek of the other young woman while you took a moment to look at her with pure love and adoration as she did the same, trying to cover her expression full of concern and tiredness.

A single tear rolled down your cheek which was quickly wiped away by Agatha's thumb, tears threatening to leak out of her own eyes as she shook her head, refusing to give up.

"We will be fine, we will finally be happy together, y/n" what Agatha said sounded like a mere whisper, the tone of her voice reflecting her doubts and fears while the screams and other noises coming from the coven members felt closer and closer, the flames of their own torches also visible in the distance.

You smiled briefly, you loved her and what you wanted most was to spend your life with her but you knew that there was no way that both of you could get out of this situation unscathed. Not both. Maybe one.

You felt a tug on your hand coming from your girlfriend's hand, she was several steps ahead pointing the way, silently asking you to follow her.

No matter how much both of you wanted to use your magic to the full in order to escape, you knew that if you did, the other witches would be able to locate you easily no matter where you were.

But still, both Agatha and you knew that none of this could end well and that the chances of having your happy ending faded more and more.

While you kept running as fast as you could, a sudden blast of energy came dangerously close behind Agatha's back, which she managed to easily deflect with a single movement of hands and the help of her magic.

"Are you ok, love?" You gasped, frantically analyzing her body from top to bottom looking for any possible injury while her soft and trembling hands rested on yours trying to calm you down. You looked forward, squeezing her hand and standing protectively in front of her when you saw that the other witches were already too close.

"I'm fine, angel" She nodded reassuringly noticing your your face drop at the sight in front of you both. "We have to keep running, come on" Returning on her way, she ran a few steps until she realized that you were not following her, but that you were still in your same place, only now you were turned around, your glassy eyes looking at her with the same love as always and a slight smile adorning your face while your hands glowed blue and you murmured what seemed to be a spell.

"Y/n let's go!" she screamed, feeling more desperate than ever seeing how you didn't move from your spot even when the first witch appeared behind you.

With fury in her eyes and adrenaline rushing through her veins, her hands and eyes glowed pruple as she lifted the witch into the air, slamming her against a nearby tree.

Agatha tried to run back to you but her attempts were useless, an invisible barrier not letting her get closer. Her spell, she thought. Why were you doing this?

"I love you, Atha" You screamed with all your might as tears streamed down your face, a portal opening behind your beloved as you dealt with the attacks of the many witches. "But you need to go" Letting out a cry of pain when a certain attack caught you off guard, you almost whispered that last part.

"I'm not leaving without you!" Agatha screamed as she tried to break down the barrier with her powers, watching you slowly weaken. "No, no no-" She rambled, kicking and hitting the obstacle that separated you when she saw you fall to the ground, the force of your portal pulling her inside little by little as she tried to fight back.

"I love you" Agatha whispered before being sucked into your portal, which closed after she entered. The force of it being enough to knock her unconscious once she reached the other side.

Waking up hours later, Agatha found herself in a small cabin in the least inhabited part of the mountains. Opening her hand she saw a small golden bracelet that belonged to you, seeing it brought tears to her eyes as she remembered what happened.

Surrendering at her own pain, her legs went weak and a thump was heard as she fell to the floor on her knees. Her hands tangled in her hair as she let out a heartbreaking scream, tears streaming freely from her eyes as her magic wreaked havoc throughout the room.

She couldn't feel you.

Your bond was so strong that no matter where you were, you would be able to feel each other.

But now she couldn't. You were gone.

Objects fell from the walls while she clung to the last thing she had left of you, that piece of jewelry that she would never let go of.

She had just lost the only person she had ever loved. No one would be able to fill that empty place in her heart that had only belonged to you.

Perhaps she would not have believed in soulmates, but she knew that you were both destined to love each other.

__________________________________________

"Agnes?" Wanda called her by her 'name', realising that her neighbour seemed to have gone into a trance after hearing her question.

Coming out of the tunnel of her thoughts, Agatha looked at her neighbor and narrowed her eyes, trying to remember that it was the last thing the redhead had said.

"I'm sorry, dear" She put a fake smile on her face while giggling briefly, looking directly at Wanda. "What did you ask me?" She asked calmly, now paying attention.

"I was just saying that perhaps you could try to find a date for the dance" Wanda smiled innocently, pointing through the window at a woman walking the streets. "She's cute"

"I don't think I'm ready for that, maybe not yet" She looked away, a small sad smile appearing on her face as the memories with you hit her mind.

She missed you, more than she could ever say.

#agnes imagines #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #agnes x reader #agatha harkness #wandavision x reader #agnes the neighbor

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utterlyinevitable · 3 years ago

Note

hc ethan and becca watch p&p

Thank you so much for the request ♥♥

I haven’t watched the film in years, so apologies if you were looking for a more in-depth hc xx

E&B Watch Pride & Prejudice (2005)

“Must we?” he laments half heartedly.

“Yes,” Becca responds simply, a definite tone that tells him this period drama kick she’s on is far from compromising territory.

“We have sat through Emma thrice this week. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not nearly.”

Ethan shoots her an incredulous look that prompts Becca to explain, “It’s about the yearning and small acts of devotion.”

They cuddle into the couch, Becca’s head resting on Ethan’s chest. She pulls the throw blanket around her tighter and sighs with contention, “I could watch Emma 2020 forever.”

Ethan makes an indistinguishable grumble as he presses play on the remote.

It’s all for show. Ethan Ramsey is only complaining because it’s expected of him. In reality, he’s thoroughly interested to finally understand what Dr. Trinh meant all that time ago.

For all all his research on the matter and attempts to read the forsaken novel, he just couldn’t grasp the obsession.

Time passes with the film, Becca sighs and gasps and mutters things under her breath appropriately. She clutches the pillow in her lap more than once when the romantic interests are in the same frame. The powerful hand touches and brushes that never truly grasp. The looks on the infatuateds faces - controlled yet conveying all they wish they could say - ah, yes, Ethan Ramsey knows it all too well.

He’s half watching the film and half dissecting his past - all the moments when she looked at him that way. All the times they couldn’t say what they truly mean for propriety’s sake.

Ethan is pulled out of his thoughts by a confidently enraged statement: “Keira Knightly was robbed.” Then, “Fucking men! She would have won an Oscar for this if those moldy men understood nuance!”

Ethan doesn’t have time to comment. For the credits are rolling and Becca is reaching over him to pause the stream. Asking, “Wanna watch Dickinson? Season 2 just dropped,” as she pulls up the series anyway.

He cocks his head to look over at her. Sitting there in the apartment they now share, doing things he’d never considered doing in this space (like spending an entire day watching tv from the couch). He’s looking at her with all the reserved love expressed in a period drama. Ethan understands that this simple gaze holds more pure love than he’s ever realized, ever blatantly showed her himself.

_________________

> complete masterlist <

Perma:

@lucy-268 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @the-pale-goddess @whimsicallywayward15 @mvalentine @mm2305 @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @withbeautyandrage @forallthatitsworth @stateofgracious @missmiimiie @uneravine @iemcpbchoices @sophxwithers @quixoticdreamer16 @lsvdw-blog

@adiehardfan @headoverheelsforramsey @dickgraysonsscrumptiousbooty @reputaytion-xiii @jerzwriter @kachrisberry @aishwarya26 @rosebudde @gryffindordaughterofathena

Ethan:

@udishaman @binny1985 @honeyandsunfl0wers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @stygianflood @openheartthot @senseofduties @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart @ethanramseylover @a-crepusculo @randomperson111 @anntoldst0ries @aishaaaaaaah @estellaelysian @mysticaurathings @mayarambles

#open heart #choices open heart #open heart headcanon #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc

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woodelf68 · 4 years ago

Text

Teething Time

Based on a post by @lokijiro

-----------

"Mama, Loki is chewing on my blocks!" complained Thor, trying to wrest the wooden block out of Loki's mouth.

"He's cutting a new tooth, Thor, and chewing on something helps. Surely you can spare one?" Frigga was sitting near the nursery window, working on a blanket for Loki, all soft greens, the darker shades that she’d started with blending into lighter ones the further up she went.

Thor looked from his half-built castle to the pile of blocks on the nursery floor still waiting to be used. "I guess. But sometimes Loki puts things into his mouth that he shouldn't, so I didn't know if it was okay," he said virtuously.

"The block is fine. But you're right; he shouldn't have anything sharp or rough, or small enough to swallow and choke on. I wouldn't want him to have a stick from the garden, for instance. He could scratch himself or poke it in his eye or choke on a bit of bark or twig if it broke off. Or it could be dirty or moldy or have a caterpillar crawling on it. We wouldn't want Loki to swallow any poor caterpillars, would we? So I'm glad you asked; thank you for looking out for your brother."

Thor knew that really, he just hadn't wanted Loki chewing on his toys, but he beamed and pushed his shoulders back proudly. "All right, you can have the block," he told Loki. There were more than enough. "After all, brothers share, right Mama?"

Frigga beamed back at him. "Yes, they do. It might seem a little one-sided at first -- Loki doesn't have much yet that he can share with you -- but I promise it will even out as you get older."

The sound of footsteps made them both look up.

"Papa!" Thor jumped to his feet. "Come see what I'm building!"

Odin smiled and laid Gungnir down on the sofa, feeling the concerns of a king melt from his shoulders as the nursery door closed behind him. He had had a productive day, and felt he had more than earned some time alone with his family before dinner. He surveyed the towering piles of blocks, the tallest as high as Thor's head.

"Very impressive.” He looked down at his smallest son, sitting on the nearby rug and assiduously gumming on a wooden block. Ever since Loki had started crawling, he was rarely far from Thor’s side. “Is Loki helping you?"

"No, he's just watching. And chewing on the construction materials." Thor said the phrase carefully, having heard it used in a conversation between his father and one of his advisors the other day. He was pleased to have an opportunity to use it himself already; it sounded much more grown-up than "blocks".

"I see that. How's the tooth coming, young man?" Odin leaned down and picked Loki up, nudging the block Loki held clutched in his fist away from his mouth. "May I see?" He ran a finger over the sharp white nub breaking through Loki's gums and winced when Loki clamped down on his finger for his trouble. "Sore, is it?" he asked sympathetically. "Do you think you could -- ah, that's better." Odin extracted his finger as Loki relaxed his bite with an unhappy little sound, tucking his head under Odin's chin. "Another day or two and the worst should be over," he promised, kissing the top of Loki's head. At least until the next one, he thought, but chose not to burden his son with the knowledge that he was going to have to go through this seventeen more times after this tooth was through.

"You can pass me blocks if you want," Thor said, and Odin put Loki back down on the rug.

“Let me go greet your mother first, and then I am at your service.” Frigga turned up her face towards him with a smile as he approached, and he gave her a quick kiss. “Have you had a good day, my love?”

“I have, and I needn’t even ask; I can tell you’ve had a good day too.”

“I have; for once the meeting with the Council didn’t run overlong and we dealt with all the points on the agenda. If you have no objection, I thought I could spend the next few hours with you and the boys.”

“This is nothing we would enjoy more,” Frigga assured him, and watched fondly as he returned to Thor and began to pass blocks as directed, listening to their eldest chatter about his day. After a few minutes she took advantage of his presence to concentrate on her weaving for several rows, before glancing back up and noticing that Loki was no longer sitting where she had last seen him, gnawing on his wood block. She quickly looked around, her heart skipping a beat when she found him.

"Odin," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Please take Gungnir away from Loki."

Odin spun around, then relaxed when he saw that Loki had been able to reach the butt end of Gungnir where it hung off the edge of the sofa, and was now chewing on it with apparent contentment. "Bor’s beard," he swore with relief, all too able to picture a bleeding, screaming Loki if Loki had grabbed at the other end of the spear. "Sorry. Not used to him being able to crawl yet. It won't happen again." He went over to Loki and tried to pull the spear away, but Loki tightened his chubby fingers around it in a surprisingly strong grip. “Come now, aren’t you a bit young to challenge me for my own weapon? After you snuck away and tried to steal it behind my back?” Odin gently pried Loki’s fingers away from the shaft and pulled it free from him. “My fault, though, for leaving it where you could reach it.” He was about to place it somewhere safely out of reach when he saw Loki’s lower lip jut out and his expression change to one that meant that a vocal outburst was imminent. He quickly let Gungnir fall back to the sofa and scooped up Loki instead. “Oh no,” he said hastily, jiggling Loki in an attempt to distract him. “No no no, shh, no crying. Warriors don’t cry. Frigga? Do you -- “

Frigga was already rising, with Loki’s coral teething ring in her hand. “He’s not a warrior, Odin, he’s a baby, and he’s in pain. Here, sweetheart, do you want this?” She held out the ring to Loki.

“Yes, I know,” said Odin testily. “But do you want him to cry? It’s not going to make him feel any better; it’s just going to make his face feel hot and congested on top of the discomfort that he already is in.” He gentled his voice, addressing Loki as he smoothed down the wavy black hair sticking up on Loki’s crown. “I’m sorry you can’t have my spear to chew on. But you can have your ring, eh? Or a licorice root? Or a cold wet cloth? What do you say, hm?”

Loki looked at the ring that Frigga was waving in front of him temptingly, but then simply held out both arms to her in a silent request.

“Oh, that’s it, come to Mama. I’ve got you.” Frigga took Loki from Odin, and rubbed his back gently “That’s my good boy, my sweet baby boy. Your papa is probably right that crying wouldn’t make you feel any better today,” she admitted. “But you can if you need to, even when you’ve become a man full-grown. There’s no shame in tears if a hurt grows too much to bear.” She kept her voice soft, conversational, and her eyes on Loki, but the latter words were for Thor, nearby and listening. “Isn’t that right, Odin?” She looked at her husband pointedly, her expression daring him to disagree with her, and cut her eyes to Thor and back, meaningfully.

“Ah, of course. What I meant to say was that warriors don’t cry in battle, because they’re too busy fighting,” Odin ad-libbed, hoping that this would be enough to satisfy Frigga. “And getting distracted and blurry-eyed is just asking to get your throat slit,” he added matter-of-factly, and Frigga rolled her eyes. “But if they had a good reason to, they could cry afterwards. However, not getting to use a dangerous weapon as a chew toy is not a good enough reason,” he chided, tapping Loki on the nose. Loki let go of Frigga’s gown with one hand and grabbed at his finger. It was a good, strong grip, Odin thought approvingly.

“Loki’s going to be a warrior, like me,” Thor informed them, leaving his blocks and walking over to join them. “Of course he wants a weapon.”

“He may have one when he’s old enough to wield it properly,” Odin said firmly.

“It’s odd, though,” Frigga said, finally getting Loki to take the teething ring by wriggling it enticingly in front of him. “He doesn’t usually like the feel of metal in his mouth. Was he really trying to hold onto it?” Although Loki had taken the ring, he didn’t seem that interested in it, and twisted around to look back at the sofa even as Frigga spoke, his preference obvious.

“He was,” confirmed Odin. He pulled out a handkerchief and picked up Gungnir, feeling the familiar thrum of magic running through the spear. Was that it? he wondered thoughtfully. Could Loki feel it too? He wiped the drool off the end of the spear and held it out towards Loki. Loki’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed the shaft.

“Odin?” Frigga queried, unsure of what he was doing.

“I think he can feel Gungnir’s magic,” Odin explained. “If he can, I’m not sure if it just feels interesting to him or if it could actually feel soothing on his gums.” He squashed the sudden urge to put the damn thing into his own mouth, out of curiousity. “But let me try something.” He stepped back and pulled the spear out of Loki’s grip again, grounding it. “Give me his teething ring for a moment.”

Frigga pressed her lips together. She had just gotten Loki to take the ring. If he started crying... But he was only holding onto it halfheartedly, and let her take it back without protest. “Here.” She held it out. “What -- “

Odin leveled Gungnir and sent a stream of warm golden magic into the teething ring, briefly illuminating it before the glow faded. “Now let’s see how he likes it.”

Loki’s enthusiasm was obvious the moment Frigga offered him the ring again. He seized it with a happy noise and began gnawing on it at once. Extending her senses out, she could feel the hum of magic now inhabiting the ring. Not enough to be used for anything, but enough to make the formerly dead object now feel warm and alive. “Well,” she said, unable to think of anything more coherent to say but pleased that Loki looked happier again.

“What did you do?” asked Thor, puzzled.

“I fed a little of Gungnir’s magic into the teething ring,” explained Odin.

“Could you do that to something of mine?” asked Thor, with interest. Maybe the magic could bring one of his toy soldiers to life?

“Tell me, can you feel anything when you place your hand upon Gungnir?” Odin asked, holding it out so Thor could wrap his fingers around the shaft below his own.

Thor hesitated, tempted to lie, but if asked, he did not know what it was that he was supposed to feel. He shook his head. “No. Nothing special.”

“Then there would be no point in enchanting any of your possessions. I would not expect you to be able to feel anything,” he hastened to assure Thor when he saw Thor’s face fall in disappointment. “You are yet young, and no seidr user; you did not fail any test. But Loki obviously did, and for someone of his age to be so sensitive to the feel of magic -- “

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise, with his inborn ability to shapeshift. But that was a gift of his birth race, while the magic flowing through Gungnir was the power of Asgard itself. Truly Loki was a child of two worlds, except again he felt that Loki had very specifically chosen him, had chosen Asgard. Were the Norns trying to tell him something? Was Frigga right in claiming that Loki had been meant for them, not just for raising but for always? Would Asgard be served best by a king who had a loyal brother standing by his side? He glanced down at Thor, looking up at him expectantly, and impulsively set Gungnir safely down on top of the wardrobe out of the reach of curious children’s hands before lifting Thor up into his arms, enjoying the feel of the boy’s solid, sturdy weight and Thor automatically winding his arms around him, glad that the war had ended, glad that he was missing no more of his son’s childhood.

“Papa?” Thor prompted, wanting to know what his father was going to say about Loki. He looked across at his brother from his new vantage point and made the silliest faces he could, feeling triumphant when a tiny giggle escaped Loki.

Odin looked down at Thor, and then he looked at his wife, crooning endearments to Loki while cradling him in her arms and swaying gently, her eyes full of love and adoration. And then he looked at Loki, with a small baby smile on his face thanks to his brother’s antics and content now with his head resting against his mother’s chest with a full confidence that it belonged there, while he gummed a princely teething ring infused with Asgard’s magic, with the king’s magic, and he shook his head in wonderment. What had never been more than vague plans for a far-off future seemed to vapourise into thin air. Deliberately setting his boys on different paths that would lead them away from each other no longer seemed like the right thing to do. Asgard was Loki’s home now, for as long as he wished it.

“Well,” he said, finally finishing his thought, “I think we are going to have a sorcerer in the family.”

#ficwoodelf #loki #odin #frigga #thor #lokijiro #marvel fic #teething time

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hughiecampbelle · 4 years ago

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White Rose (Pre-War!John Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: John

Word Count: 1,089

Inspired By: TwentyTwo by Thea

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes

A/N: I am a monster :))) I heard this song it made me instantly think of pre-war Shelbys :) Thank you @lovemissyhoneybee for recommending loml John!!! The more I listened the more fitting I thought he'd be! I know the Peaky Fandom isn't doing so well and I just wanted to bring a lil fluff and joy with a beloved character :) Then I got to the ending and well. . . it was too good of an idea to pass up!!! I promise the next fic will actually be cute all the way through!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You love can survive anything, even war, right? 💕

Gif Credit: @unintended-yuzuki :) why is he so cute!!!!!!!

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

I know you're scared

But I am scared too

Life is unpredictable

And we're barely twenty-two

Young. Baby faced. You hadn't even had the chance to kiss each and every one of his freckles yet. Counting them to yourself softly, losing track, starting over. Too many kisses, too little time. The scream of the train tracks a constant reminder of what was to come, what you were going to lose, what would and wouldn't come home. Sweet John, your John, all yours, but not much longer. The distance between you already growing. Tangled in the sheets, sleeping so quietly. Watching his back fall and rise, his arm outstretched towards you. He never let a moment go by where you weren't together, not even before the letter. Even as he dreamed, he had to hold on to something, someone. The affection in him undying. And you let him. There was never a touch you welcomed more than his hand on yours. Skin to skin. A sense of home, a safety you found yourself trusting. The sun has yet to rise, peaking her way up in the cloudless sky, perched just above the long, summer grass. Your bedroom, small though not camped. Just enough. Everything in this moment was just enough. Gold streaming through the windows, resting on you like a warm blanket. You didn't want to get up, face the day, the uncertainty , instead pulling him close. Your John, in need of being held, cared for, loved, even when he couldn't find the words. A kiss on his head, the last, you were never quite sure. . . .

I heard your cry

But you'll hear mine too

After all, we're only kids

And this feeling is so new

Blue eyes bloodshot. His face flushed. Behind locked doors, his body shook, sobbed, choking back everything that scared him. Mourning the loss too soon, picturing his own shallow grave, anonymous among the rest. A completely unremarkable life lived by John Shelby. His fate sealed. You learned to pick locks, pick yourself up off the floor and wrap your arms around him. No words. There was nothing to say anymore. Just your racing heartbeats in sync, your fears finding solace in one another. Too many what if's, too many things to go wrong. Neither of you could manage anything more than the strength to hold, to cherish, to will the universe, like all kids do, to keep you together. The privilege of false immortality, of a careless kind of love, thoughts of conquering the world in your youth, none of it was a luxury you could afford. Challenging God instead of bowing your heads, there was that little bit of fight you had left. His heavy head in your lap, hands through his hair, pleading, praying you'd never have to say goodbye.

If you took my heart and you ran away

I hope you'll realize and bring it back some day

And all the while, promise me you'll keep her safe

So you don't ever lose what you can't replace

On one knee, he holds your hand, his words a little slurred, knee dirtying on the cobblestone, asking for your honor of letting him be your husband. No ring, though. Drunk on love, your boy. Offering nothing but a flower he picked on the way. A night on the town, he promised. London, full of life, of joy, a getaway, an escape from all that was to come. Home was too much a reminder. Stumbling your way through the park, his arm around your waist, he decided then and there there was no better time. Now or never. Impulse, the crazed thoughts of a dying man. Proclaiming his love for you so the whole world could hear. It wasn't real. Not in the eyes of any blood you shared, declaring yourselves too young to do so, too impulsive, too blinded by a new romance, even in a time like this. You said yes anyways, and when he kissed you, spinning you until you were dizzy, pulling apart only to laugh, you were kissing a new man, you were kissing your husband. Til death would you part.

We think we both know what the future holds

House in the sun, happy grey and old

There's nothing really wrong with the master plan

But you don't really need one to be a happy man

A house of your own, he promised you. Fingers laced together, the warm breeze welcomed on your cheeks. A house of your own, in a field like this, where no one could ever find you, away from the grey of your home. Wildflowers everywhere. A bedroom big enough for more than just two, with no leaky roofs or moldy spots on the tub. A bath for the both of you, where you could lay as one in between the bubbles. Little feet up and down the stairs. A family of your own, too. Kissing scraped knees and sewing torn shirts. Happy and safe, it's all he dreamed of. A future with you, a lifetime of love. Growing up, lives of their own, leaving you in your prime. White hair, age spots, wrinkling together, hand in hand, as if nothings changed, no time has passed. No ring, just the flower. That would be enough, like it always had. He looks up at you, eyes wide, all smiles. You want it, you want it all, you want to believe that's what you'll have, but you can't let him get his hopes up. You can't crush him, either. So, you nod along, picturing everything that hurts. From ten little toes, to beautiful storms, to the end of a life long and well lived.

So let us love without any thought

Let us love without thinking it over

He saw the end of war, the end of the world, riding the train all the way home. He spoke to the Devil himself, and walked away. Counted his lucky stars every single night, promising himself that he'd come back to you eventually. But you didn't. You'd never know the end of war, the end of waiting, you'd never even know what happened to him all along. Your little flower, a white rose, pressed between the pages of a book where you knew he'd find. Prideful, your worries all for nothing, your sweet John, always too naïve, too hopeful. Mourning a life cut short, but not his. He survived, but he came home to nothing.

We're just young in love

Why would we give up?

#writing #john shelby #john shelby drabble #john shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #john shelby fic #peaky blinders fic #john shelby x reader #john x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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actuallysaiyan · 4 years ago

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Hi it's me moldy salad from a03, listen ik you've been getting a lot of Danny Elfman requests but I was wondering if you could do a Forbidden Zone one where you get lost in the 6th dimension and meet satan and its got a lot of sexual tension in it until you both snap and do the deed and it's got a lot of dirty talk in it? That'd be awsome thanks <3 (sorry this was so long lol)

Word count: 1,210 Pairings: Satan(Danny Elfman) x Reader Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, domination, breeding kink Summary: Reader begins to adjust to her life in the sixth dimension, and she can’t help but fall for Satan. He’s sexy and he wants her just as much as she wants him. He shows her a good time. A/N: For all you Danny Elfman fans(and non Danny Elfman fans), please go watch Forbidden Zone. It’s fucking insane and such a great movie! If you think you’ve seen weird films, well this movie is going to challenge that...plus Danny plays Satan. It’s fucking great!

When you first found yourself in the sixth dimension, you thought you would meet your demise here. Everything was just so strange and beyond words to explain it, you figured you would die. It didn’t seem like anyone could even live in a place like this, but eventually you fell into an odd routine and found a place to call your own in this odd place.

And with all of these adjustments, you also found yourself pining for Satan. Sure, it wasn’t a normal choice, but he was very handsome and he amused you very much. From what you could tell, he was very much interested in yourself as well, which was something you could hardly believe given the fact that you knew that he also had a thing for the princess.

As the days went on, you found yourself growing more and more interested in Satan. He practically haunted your dreams as you continued to adjust to your new life here. You often spent time pleasing yourself to thoughts of him dominating you, and him doing whatever he wanted to you. In the sixth dimension, there wasn’t anything that was too lustful or sexual. Everything here was on the table, and you knew that maybe if you finally told Satan that you were interested in him, maybe you’d finally be able to live out your fantasies.

One day, you found yourself talking to him, and you couldn’t help but flirt and touch him lightly. He was being his usual playful self, which was making you even more infatuated with him. His smile made your knees weak and you wanted to throw yourself at him.

“I can tell what’s going on inside your mind,” he teased. You smirked at him, wondering if he could actually read your mind. You figured he might actually have those powers.

“Oh yeah? Tell me what I’m thinking.” You said playfully. He smiled at you, reaching out to grab your hand.

“You’re picturing me kissing you, holding you down and having my way with you. You’ve been picturing this for months, and you’ve been touching yourself to thoughts of me.” Satan told you, watching your reaction.

You chuckled softly, leaning over towards him and kissing him on the lips. He pulled you onto his lap, his hands lingering on your ass. You could feel his erection grow as you ground your hips into him, making him groan softly. You loved the sound of his voice, it was like music to your ears. He began kissing your neck, moving up to your ear.

“I’m going to fuck you so good,” he teased, his hands coming up to cup your breasts.

“You think you can please me? I’d like to see you try.” You challenged, hoping to get him aroused and ready to have his way with you.

“You’re funny if you think I can’t please you. I know you’ve been wanting this for so long.”

He lifted you up, bringing you over to his bedroom. Everything felt so burning hot, and you could feel yourself begin sweating slightly. He pulled your shirt from your body, leaving you nude from the waist up. He smirked as he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra.

Your back hit his mattress and he climbed on top of you, unbuttoning his shirt as you helped him out of his suit jacket. You couldn’t believe how well he dressed considering how so many people here walked around in the nude or almost nude.

“Little girl, you’ll be begging me to cum inside you once I’m done with you.” Satan said, his breath hot and wet on your neck as he whispered in your ear. You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together to get some kind of relief.

He spread your legs, his hands wandering down and rubbing you through your pants. You whine and moan as he hits all the right spots, making you so aroused before he can even get you fully naked.

He took his time removing the remaining articles of clothing, and then he finally allowed you to undress him. His hard cock rubbed up and down against your wet cunt, drawing needy and throaty whines from you. You needed him now and you didn’t want to wait any longer. He barely touched your soaking wet pussy, and you wanted him deep within you.

“Patience, little girl. I’ll get to that soon,” Satan purred, making you feel impatient.

His fingers expertly worked on your pussy; two of them sliding deep within you while he leaned down to taste your sweet juices. His lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked hard. You cried out as he continued to devour you, making your whole body shake.

You wiped the sweat from your brow as Satan continued to fuck you with his long fingers and lapped up your juices. You felt like you would explode. Everything was different from any of the other men you had ever been with, and that was no surprise. He wasn’t like the other men you had been with. He was Satan!

Suddenly, you felt yourself gush all over his face. He smirked as he continued to lick you, his fingers never slowing. You moaned as your cum coated his face and fingers, and he barely seemed to mind. As your body was wracked with shocks of pleasure, Satan just continued his affections.

“You never thought you could do that, did you?” He questioned and you laughed breathily.

“No one’s ever been able to make me squirt.”

He pulled his fingers from you, placing them at your lips.

“Suck.”

You opened your mouth and sucked your own juices from his fingers. While you sucked his fingers, he roughly entered you. You squealed in surprise, not expecting him to begin fucking you this soon after your orgasm.

His hands gripped your hips as he pulled you into him, causing him to reach new depths within you. You groaned as he began thrusting. He slid deep within you with ease as your juices coated his cock nicely.

Suddenly, he flipped you over and pushed your face into the satin pillows. His hands are buried in your hair, pulling and causing you to mewl. His pace became even rougher and faster, making you closer to your climax.

“You’re going to be my little bitch now, and I’m going to breed you so good.” He whispered, his voice deep and dark. It was like something switched within him. He was no longer playful; only dark and demanding.

One of his hands came down to spank your ass hard, making you cry out. Tears streamed down your cheeks as he continued to fuck you hard, and you were seconds from cumming hard around his cock. Satan reached down to rub your clit harshly, which caused your orgasm to hit you hard. Your vision blurred and you mewled his name and other gibberish as he fucked you even harder.

His thrusts became erratic as he gripped your hips, and Satan moaned as he pumped you full of cum. You could barely make sense of anything as he pulled out, lying down next to you. You were out of breath and your pussy was very sore and leaking cum.

“Little girl, you’re mine now.”

#writing #reader requested #moldy salad #anon requested #ao3 fan #thank you for finding me here!#danny elfman #forbidden zone #satan #satan x reader #danny elfman x reader #smut #danny elfman smut #satan smut #danny elfman x reader smut #satan x reader smut

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plaidbooks · 4 years ago

Text

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 1

A/N: It’s finally here! I really wanted to finish this series before I started posting (mostly because I was afraid I wouldn’t finish it). This is my first time writing for an OC, and for SVU! I promise not every chapter will be this long; I was just trying to establish the character.

The first three chapters are prequels. This chapter takes place during season 5.

Next Chapter

Tags: child prostitution mention, sex trafficking mention, minor character death, child death, guns, blood, normal SVU stuff.

Words: 10k+

Devon Motely got out of bed and stretched, yawning loudly. She walked over to her window and threw the curtains open, letting the sun stream in. She glanced at the clock, 7:05am. She shook her head; it was later than she was used to, but not really; time zones still made sleep times awkward. The dawn was just peaking over the city buildings. New York, Devon thought, a thrill running through her. She had just moved across the country from California at her boss’s suggestion, transferring in the same department, but a new place; a welcome change from the monotony that was Devon’s life. It was fine by her; she was kind of done with California: the heat, the drama, the constant worry of her childhood coming back to haunt her. New York was a fresh start, a new adventure. Though, as someone who worked in the FBI, an adventure wasn’t always a good thing. But she wouldn’t think about that, instead focusing on the positives. For example, her best friend and fellow special agent, Emma, was reassigned with her. Plus, her old psychiatrist-turned-friend was reassigned to New York years ago, and she was hoping to catch up with him.

Devon was nearing thirty and had been an FBI agent, working with the Hostage Rescue Team, since she was 18—a whole decade ago! Most of the time, she hardly believed it had been that long. Other times, it felt like it had been so much longer; working HRT meant she had to do and look at things that would make others sick. They made her sick, too, but she could deal with it; she had to, it was her job. Sometimes while working undercover, however, she had moments of weakness, moments when she couldn’t commit to her illicit cover story, and she had to isolate herself to get back in the mindset. Only once did she ever have her cover blown; she grimaced when checking out “product”—little girls—and she couldn’t recover. She lost a couple girls that day, and she learned to always put on the correct face after that, no matter what she said or saw. Devon was damn good at her job, though, and she almost never lost another life since. Almost.

1 year later

Cubicle of Devon Motely

Thursday, October 25th. 12:37am

Devon sighed heavily; she was in the office—a rare occurrence indeed—flipping through pictures and unconsciously clenching her teeth in disgust and anger, slowly giving herself a headache. The Assistant Director, and subsequently her boss, Thomas Jenkins, had personally given her this task. It was a delicate procedure, one that he needed to make sure made it into the right hands. For that, only one name came up, and that was Devon’s. Devon scrolled through the pictures looking, searching for anything that could be useful—a tattoo, a building, a street sign. Anything. Hell, she’d take a moldy food wrapper at this rate; her search has pulled up dead-end after dead-end, and she was getting frustrated. She knew, though, how to relax and refocus her efforts; getting frustrated helped no one, especially not the poor children that were caught in the middle of this chaos. That being said, flipping through hundreds of kiddie porn images wasn’t the way she wanted to spend her day.

About two weeks ago, another field agent had been able to shine some light on a huge human trafficking ring, one that the FBI had been trying to break into for months. Devon hadn’t really been on the case, besides maybe looking through some facts or pictures in her fleeting free time, but she was now called in. Thomas mostly wanted her to stay caught up on the details because he wanted to send Devon in, hence why she was now stuck at her desk in the middle of the night, obsessively looking for some clue as to the location of where the kids may be. The other field agent, the one that first broke into the ring, was shockingly able to take one of the pimps alive, and even more shockingly, they were able to break through the encryption on the bastard’s laptop. All that he really had on there, however, were private messages with anonymous johns and pimps, something that the FBI’s best computer techs were trying to crack the identities of, and then some very, very disturbing pictures and videos.

Devon had mentally prepared herself for a couple hours before going to work on watching the videos; she figured that they were probably the worst things there, so she’d deal with them first. Sadly, she was correct; the things that she saw in those videos—mostly violent kiddie porn—made her skin crawl and still haunted her at night. It had been about a week since Devon started this “project,” and she had either gone to or talked to a psychiatrist almost every day afterwards. The pictures were…better isn’t the correct word, but they were less intense than the videos...for the most part. Devon kept a notepad and pen by her as she flipped through file after file. She came upon a particularly horrible picture and turned her screen off for a moment, feeling nauseous. She stood up quickly and took a couple steps from her desk, rubbing her temples, trying to get the image out of her mind with no luck. She needed a moment to recollect herself before she did something she regretted—going into their secure facility to beat that pimp to a bloody pulp would help no one. Though, it may make her feel better.

She sighed, taking a sip from her long-cold coffee. She picked up her notepad, going over the few—mostly useless, she knew—clues that she could pick up from the files she had already gone through. One kid in a video—a young boy, no older than 10--begged the man to not touch him, calling him by name, Evan. She wrote down the video timestamp; you can see half of Evan’s face for the briefest of moments. That’s been the most helpful thing she had found, though. Everything else she had scribbled down was just a description of the various rooms in the videos and pictures, or one of the children’s names, or the brand of…items used—anything that may be helpful in tracking down where these children could be. There was a grand total of 4 different rooms; she labeled one as “Evan’s room” and had scrawled down a basic description, but no other names of the pedophiles came up.

Tossing the notepad back onto the desk, Devon took a deep breath before sitting back down. She steeled herself, trying to force herself to feel nothing at all. It was good that she still felt repulsed, she told herself. Once she really did feel nothing, then it would be time to quit…and find a better therapist. Barely containing her groan of discomfort, she turned her computer screen back on, and analyzed the grotesque picture that appeared, looking for something, anything, that could help this child and all the others.

It took her two more days, and thousands of images that she’d need the strongest alcohol in existence to erase from her mind, until she found something concrete. There was a picture of the same bed that Devon had seen a hundred times now, the bed that she had labeled under “Evan’s room.” But Devon ignored the…scene that the picture was attempting to focus on. Instead, she focused her attention on what looked like a receipt—one that someone would get after they signed for something, a carbon copy of the signature on the bottom—that was on a clipboard on a dresser on the other side of the bed. It looked like the signature said “Evan Thompson” or “Evan Frampton,” but it was hard to tell. She needed another set of eyes, a fresher set that aren’t bloodshot from looking at a screen for days. She called Jenkins on his direct line and waited for him to come over to her desk to inform him about her discovery, see if he could make it out.

“I was starting to give up on you,” Jenkins joked as he appeared in the office doorway.

Devon gave a tired smile. “Trust me, I’ve been wanting to give up on this since the first image.” Jenkins came up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the image on the screen. Devon had saved him from seeing the whole image, having it punched in on just the receipt. “What does that signature say to you?”

Jenkins leaned over her shoulder, putting his face almost against the screen. “Evan Thompson?”

“That’s what it looks like to me, too. Think the techs can clean it up?”

Jenkins leaned back, nodding. Devon turned to face him, cautiously hopeful. “I think it’s worth a shot. Good work Motely,” he replied, giving her a pat on her shoulder.

Grateful for the praise, and for the possible lead, she copied the file into a message and sent it to the techs. It took them only an hour, in which Jenkins had retreated back to his office and Devon had been engrossed in more pictures, before they sent back the picture, clearer than before. The receipt now clearly read “Evan Thompson.” She could even see a total amount above it now. With how much it came to, she was pretty sure that she knew what he had purchased; more children.

With a name now confirmed, Devon opened the Bureau’s database, typing in Evan’s name. Thousands of matches pinged in seconds. She narrowed the field down; in New York—the apprehended pimp accidently mentioned that detail--still alive, not incarcerated. Down to a couple hundred. She then pulled up the half-of-a-face picture she had saved and added in a couple things in her search; white, aged 35-50, 160-190lbs. Only a handful of addresses this time. She wrote down all of them, then got up to go to Jenkins’ office, give him the good news. She needed a team of—she looked down at the number of addresses—at least 16 people, if they were to go at all of these Evans at once and in pairs, as per protocol. They were all over the state, but in clusters. The furthest an Evan was from another was 5 miles. Perfect.

The FBI had been desperate to catch this trafficking ring; they had people at their disposal. Getting the field agents to interview the suspects would be the easy part; the hard part was assembling teams to go back them up. Devon wanted to be coordinated in this takedown. If the real perp was to catch wind of the FBI coming down on Evan Thompsons, then he’d be in the wind instantly. They had to be ready to take all eight down at the same time, just in case. They couldn’t let this guy get away. Because of their close proximity, they were also able to place teams in between the suspect’s locations, saving them some manpower. Devon conveyed as much to Jenkins, who agreed; now they just had to pull every agent they could back to base, go through the briefing and saving those children.

FBI Headquarters

Monday, October 28th. 8:05am

Everyone crowded in the briefing room, standing with their partners or teams, watching Jenkins intently. Jenkins went through the whole operation with everyone, 80 agents in all—16 field agents and 64 SWAT members. Every single person wanted these kids in safe hands; they all wanted to take these bastards down, and they hung on every word Jenkins said. Assignments given, the agents started to prepare. Devon vaguely noticed the field agents that were assigned to interview the suspects pair off and get their equipment.

“We better get this guy,” she heard one agent mumble to another. Devon pulled on her bulletproof vest, strapping it tight. She strapped on her glock and put her badge on over her head—she had it on a chain necklace for this. Then she grabbed the rifle issued to every SWAT member. She wasn’t normally SWAT, and the metal weapon felt heavy and unfamiliar in her hands. True, she had learned to use it in training, but it was rare that she used it at all. She couldn’t wait for this mission to be over, to be back in the field, alone, with no liabilities. It was easier that way.

“Hey Dev, don’t sweat. We’ll get those kids out safely,” a familiar voice said. She turned to see Emma next to her, red hair pulled back into a low ponytail, helmet already secured on her head. Devon didn’t have many friends, inside or outside of the FBI, but Emma had always been nice to her, always had her back when Devon had to play nice with others instead of going undercover by herself. While Devon counted Emma as her best friend, they didn’t see much of each other outside of work, only a stray text here or there.

“God, I hope so,” Devon replied. She didn’t want to imagine the scene that may be awaiting them. She had done this hundreds of times, but it never got any easier; her brain liked to imagine the worst possible scenario. It didn’t help that she had seen that scene in person. Every time she geared up for a siege like this, the dead bodies flashed in her mind. She shuttered.

“We will. I know we will,” Emma said with such conviction, how could it end any differently? Devon simply nodded back, putting on her helmet. Once fully geared up, Devon, Emma, and the rest of their team—6 other men--made their way to their SWAT van. Devon felt the familiar butterflies in her stomach on the drive to their outpost spot. She tried to calm her nerves; there was only a 1 in 8 chance that she would even see any action today. But she knew her luck. And she knew how much Fate liked to fuck with her. So, she counted the minutes ticking by while her team idly chatted about nothing; getting drinks later, the Knicks game the previous night, the wife and kids wanting to go on vacation with their father for once. Devon had nothing to contribute—she hardly did anything outside of work—so she just listened, replying only when prompted.

Devon’s phone rang, causing her to jump and the others in the van to go silent, looking towards her. Devon quickly silenced it, looking at the caller ID. She never got phone calls outside of spam or telemarketers; she had completely forgotten to turn it off before this. She was shocked when she saw a name appear; Dr. Huang. Fighting the urge to answer it, Devon let it go to voicemail. Dr. Huang only ever called in case of emergencies, opting to communicate through text. But there was no time to answer as the van’s engine sprang to life, Jenkins informing them through their earpieces that the Evan they were sitting on was their guy. Devon shot a quick text to the psychiatrist—emergency, call you later—before putting her phone away. She fought down the thoughts that had sprung up, wondering why the doctor had called her; she had more important things to worry about. The knot in her stomach had returned and every bump in the road made it feel like she was going to be sick. The van drove for a couple more minutes before cutting the engine. Everyone in the back of the van readied themselves. They laid out a basic plan on the short drive over—Jenkins had told them it was a warehouse. A team of four people were going through the front and the other 4 were going through the back. Devon and Emma would be in the latter group. They had done this a handful of times before; all the team knew each other, trusted each other. Devon gripped her rifle, stifling any lingering nerves. She switched her thoughts off, ready to rely on instinct and training. The van doors were thrown open, and Devon and her team charged out and into the beyond.

Warehouse of Evan Thompson

Monday, October 28th. 12:47pm

Devon and her team stormed the place as quickly and quietly as possible. They found the backdoors quickly, unguarded. One of the men pulled out a crowbar, shoved it into the crease between the doors, and ripped it open. It was loud, and they moved in slowly, listening for any sign of life. Hearing nothing, they started clearing little office rooms before they made it to the big, empty space. Well, empty besides a couple of abandoned cement guardrails, like something that littered parking lots, and a huge chain-link cage. Devon had taken the lead, had been the first to peer around into the expansive place. The cage had caught her attention immediately, not because of its size, but because of its contents. What seemed like at least 30 children, all between what looked like 8- and 12-years-old. Devon felt the nausea come back but shoved it down. She could feel sick later. She motioned for the team to follow her as she led them slowly towards the cage, keeping an eye out for danger.

“What the fuck?” a male’s voice called out from across the warehouse. Devon whipped around to the source of the sound, seeing 4 heavily armed men coming out of a small room. Then, pandemonium. The traffickers open fired, forcing them to take cover behind the cement guardrails, firing back. Devon looked over to the cage; it was far enough out of the line of fire that none of them were injured, though the children were all on the ground now, hands covering their heads and ears. But how long would it take until the traffickers decided to cut their losses?

“Cover me,” Devon said, mentally preparing herself for the short run to the cage—it was at least 10 yards. She felt the familiar churning in her stomach when having to make this tough decision; she knew it was highly unlikely that all the children would survive, but it was better than leaving them stuck like fish in a barrel. Wasn’t it?

Emma saw what she was planning and shook her head. “You’ll be killed before you make it halfway.” A bullet pinged off the cement by their heads, as if to emphasize this point.

“That’s why I said cover me.” Without waiting for a response, she poked her gun out from behind the low wall she was crouched behind, rapid firing in the direction of the traffickers. Their gunfire quieted as they took cover from the barrage, allowing the FBI agents to peek their heads out, taking better aim and giving her the cover she had requested. Devon took her chance and sprinted to the cage, firing at the traffickers as she went. A couple of stray bullets got close to her, but none hit their target. The kids noticed the agent running towards them and scrambled to their feet. They came rushing to the door, reaching for Devon through the chain link wall, voices overlapping, panicking as they begged, pleaded for help.

“Stand back!” she yelled over the ruckus. It wasn’t until she took aim at the lock that the kids backed up. She pulled the trigger, bullet destroying the padlock. Devon turned her back on the cage, firing wildly at the traffickers while the children ripped the door open.

“Run, run! Go go go!” she ordered, raising her voice over the gunfire. She could barely hear the children fleeing across the warehouse towards the waiting agents. Devon chanced a glance to the side, trying to make sure they were making it. She felt a pang in her heart when she saw Emma positioned halfway between the cage and the other agents. It was in that moment, that split-second glance, that Devon realized that she loved Emma.

The traffickers renewed their efforts, obviously pissed that their product was escaping. Bullets flew, but Devon held her ground until the last kid left the cage. Once the cage was empty, Devon started to retreat back to her previous cover. It was a perilous journey; there were a few bodies in the path—Devon glanced to find her footing, but otherwise tried to ignore the small, unmoving corpses and the sudden sadness and anger that they conjured. After what felt like hours, Devon made it back behind the low wall. As she was moving to crouch behind it, however, she was hit in the chest. It hit her vest, but that didn’t stop it from knocking the wind out of her, causing her to fall onto her back. It hurt like hell, and she knew she would have a wicked bruise, and hopefully that was it. She scrambled back to her knees, trying to get a baring on her surroundings again. One of her teammates was covering the escape route from their cover to the hallway leading to the exit; a much closer trek than the cage was. The other agent that stayed behind was giving them cover fire from the hallway. Devon joined in; having no more distractions besides the pain in her chest, she was able to take precise aim, shooting two of the traffickers, their bodies falling like a sack of bricks. The firefight seemed to go on forever, but eventually, the warehouse fell silent. Keeping their guns at the ready, the agents came out from behind the wall, making their way towards where the traffickers had been in cover. Six dead bodies; two more must have joined the original four. Right at that moment, the other half of the team came in from the front, calling out the all clear. Devon let out a heavy sigh, lowering her weapon.

“Thanks for the cover, Emma,” she said, turning to find the spunky redhead. But she wasn’t with Devon’s team. She unstrapped her vest, checking the area that she was shot. It hurt and was already bruised, a bump forming, but no broken skin, and from the feeling, no broken bones. “Emma?” she called out after a couple moments of silence.

“You didn’t see?” one of her teammates asked. Devon felt a stone drop into the pit in her stomach. She shook her head and the man raised his hand slowly, pointing. Devon hesitantly followed his finger and felt the ground drop out from under her. The children who were hit were laid out in almost a line from cage to cover, an indicator of their flight. And among them was a redhead, complete with SWAT vest.

No, Devon thought. A pain completely unrelated to her injury punched her in the heart. She hurried over, knelt down, and turned her friend over, hoping against hope that she was just grazed, that she was still alive. Emma’s eyes were flat, grey, staring at nothing. A bullet hole was almost perfectly in the middle of her forehead, blood already drying. Devon dropped her as if burned, falling backwards onto her ass. She started hyperventilating, bile rising in her throat. She had to get out of the warehouse, get some fresh air. There was a roaring in her ears, her heart beating frantically. Out of nowhere, a faint whimpering broke through the blood rushing in her head. Devon whipped her head in the direction of the sound. There—a small form was crying, breathing hard. Devon scrambled over to the child, anything to get away from her dead friend, and found a little girl. She was clutching her stomach, blood seeping through her grasp.

“I need medical attention!” Devon yelled, ripping the shirt off a not-so-fortunate body, and using the fabric to try and staunch the bleeding. She held the shirt firmly, but not too hard; pushing too hard on a stomach wound could damage the internal organs. Devon stayed like that with the poor girl until paramedics came. A different set of medics checked Devon’s injury. They tried to convince her to go to the hospital, to make sure nothing was damaged internally, but Devon declined. She was quiet the whole trip back to the FBI HQ, mind completely blank.

FBI Headquarters

Monday, October 28th. 2:26pm

Devon moved on autopilot, making her way to her locker, ignoring the congratulations or condolences sent her way. She opened the locker and started taking off her gear, her hands like machines. She unstrapped the helmet from under her chin, lifting the piece of equipment and placing it on an empty shelf. She then gently took off her vest, wincing in pain, the events from the past hour still fresh in her mind, flashing before her eyes, as if she were still in that warehouse. Devon closed her locker door forcefully, hands still feeling sticky from all the blood, even though she had scrubbed them clean. In all, 7 children laid dead in the warehouse. The little girl, Patsy, was the only one who was found to still be alive in the pile. She was still in surgery, and Devon had asked for updates; she needed one win to come out of all this. The other 25 children survived, and the FBI were now attempting to track down their family members, if they had any. Now out of her SWAT gear, Devon made her way to Jenkins’ office. She was running on autopilot, Emma’s dead stare branded in her mind’s eye. She really rather just go home, drink until she couldn’t see straight. But she had to be debriefed, and she knew Jenkins would force her in to see the Bureau’s shrink before she was allowed to leave—if she didn’t tell Jenkins that she was shot, then he wouldn’t force her to the hospital.

The debriefing took upwards of an hour, and Jenkins gave her a shot of strong scotch—not Devon’s drink of choice, but she was used to it from past hard cases and highly grateful for the burning liquid, warming her cold, empty shell of a body. As she had predicted, Jenkins all but ordered her to go to the shrink before she left for the day. And to take some time off—she had enough vacation days saved up—and to continue seeing a shrink at least once a week. Devon hid her pain as best she could, but she knew Jenkins saw her little winces. Jenkins, to his credit, ignored it; he knew that she’d make sure she was alright, but he also knew that she needed some time. It wasn’t until Devon was sitting in the waiting room of the company shrink that she remembered that she had a call from a different FBI psychiatrist earlier, before everything went to shit. She pulled out her phone and redialed Dr. Huang’s number.

“Hey George. What’s happened?” she asked when he answered.

“I need a favor, and it’s very time sensitive.”

SVU Department

Monday, October 28th. 4:30pm

Devon stepped through the doors of NYPD’s 16th precinct after blowing off her appointment with the shrink, claiming she was meeting up with Dr. Huang. The psychiatrist had giving her a hard look, but agree that Huang could counsel her, too. Devon looked around curiously; she had never been in this particular precinct before and had to ask for directions from the deskman, who directed her to the elevator. The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the Special Victims Unit. Officers and detectives were wandering about, doing paperwork, or otherwise working. Devon felt eyes trailing behind her as she made her way through the precinct. She tried to shove that down, along with all her other emotions; there was a time and place for that eventual breakdown, and this wasn’t it. Work was work, and this seemed important as well as stressful, as her work normally was. NYPD already felt like walking on enemy ground, no matter how much people wanted to claim about them being “brothers in arms.”

“May I help you?” a woman asked, breaking through Devon’s thoughts. She was in street clothes—a detective, then—with short cropped hair. She had bags under her eyes, slumped shoulders; she was obviously running on overtime, probably hasn’t slept in a day or two.

“I’m looking for Dr. Huang,” Devon replied. She felt a fresh wave of pain as she subconsciously puffed out her chest. She didn’t try to engage in posturing, but this woman already was giving her a hard glare.

The woman nodded. “Ah, you must be his FBI friend—” Devon didn’t miss the…resentment? Venom? in her voice—“he’s in the Captain’s office.”

“Thanks,” Devon said, pushing past the detective. She was used to NYPD disliking her; the Bureau had no friends. But she rarely had someone using that kind of tone so boldly to her face; it was usually coy smiles, sugar-coated threats, and other politics designed to make them seem like friends to the untrained ear. She may not like the detective, but she respected her bluntness. Devon ignored all the other eyes that she could feel on her as she made her way to the only office in the place. She knocked on the open door, sticking her head in. Before she could say anything, Dr. Huang stood up from his seat, gesturing her in.

“Devon, it’s nice to see you again,” he said, giving her a hug. He released her quickly, giving her a concerned look when he felt Devon tense up, hissing in pain. She subtlety shook her head, promising to explain later.

“Same to you, George.” Devon had met the doctor years ago in California as a patient; they’ve been good friends ever since, even after Huang was reassigned to New York. As much as Devon liked him, though, she had a hard time reading him; it made her slightly uneasy, but not enough to stop being friends with him. They’ve worked on cases together in the past. Huang was a profiler as well as a psychiatrist; he made most of Devon’s aliases when she went undercover in her early years, would spend hours working with her until she became that person.

Dr. Huang gestured to the man, presumably the Captain, sitting behind the desk. “This is Captain Cragen,” he introduced. “Cragen, this is Special Agent Devon Motely.” They shook hands.

“I assume Huang told you why you’re here?” Cragen asked by way of meeting.

Devon let out a breath. “No, actually. Only that it was an emergency.”

Dr. Huang gave her a weird look but said nothing. Devon knew the look, though; she had said something wrong, something weird. She knew he’d ask about it later, when they had more privacy. She wasn’t looking forward to that talk.

Cragen looked between the two before answering, “well, we have a missing kid. Kidnapped 16 hours ago. Believed to be taken by a gang member in retaliation. It’s a…delicate situation, one that I felt the need to call Huang in on. Though, he has convinced me that you specialize in this kind of work, that you could get this kid out with no casualties.”

The familiar knot formed in Devon’s stomach; the dead children from earlier, Emma’s dead face flashed in her mind. She took a sharp breath, trying to ground herself in now. She needed to focus; there was another child in danger, another child that needed her help.

“Do you know where the perp is, where he took the kid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, professional.

“No, but I have every available officer on it; we’re closing in on them.”

Devon nodded. “Tell me about the perp.” All business, nothing else. Emotions didn’t belong here.

Cragen led the two FBI agents to where they had a screen and whiteboard, all filled with information on this case. The woman detective from earlier was there, as well as two others; one was a tall white man with glasses and grey hair, the other was a black man, slightly taller than Devon. Another detective was at his desk, on the phone and typing on his computer. Cragen introduced the man as Elliot Stabler, the woman as Olivia Benson, the tall man as John Munch, and the black man as Fin. Devon nodded to them each in turn, but got mostly the cold shoulder or a hard stare in return. As Cragen filled her in, she tried to memorize every detail she could, no matter how small. The perp’s name was Jose Gonzalez, the kid was Eddy Suarez. Eddy’s father was in the same gang as Jose; from what SVU understood, the father had slighted Jose in some way, so Jose took his kid as payback. He was considered armed and dangerous.

“Captain, I may have something,” Stabler called out, slamming his phone on its receiver. His desk was against Benson’s desk—partners, then. The group hurried over to look at his screen. “Got the car and license plate crossing the bridge into Staten Island.”

“Let’s move,” Cragen said, spurring the detectives into action. Devon followed; Huang would stay behind, waiting for the interrogation, to where his skills would be needed.

“We need to talk,” he murmured to Devon as she hurried by him. She simply nodded, then followed the Captain out of the precinct.

540 East Marigold Lane

Monday, October 28th. 5:28pm

They pulled up a couple houses down from where Jose had barricaded himself with the child. ESU was still arriving, scrambling to get into place. It was a normal, suburban house, one story, complete with white picket fence; ESU didn’t need long to surround the place, evacuating the houses nearby. Devon wanted to get in there before they were ready; the most important part was getting the 7-year-old Eddy out, alive and unharmed, not something ESU was trained for. She got out of the car, bulletproof vest on and ready, trying to ignore the pain in her chest and her heart, but failing miserably. The nerves that she normally got in these situations were absent; she was still reeling from the warehouse earlier. She kept glancing around, trying to find Emma, then remembering and grimacing. It was like she couldn’t control her emotions, her mind. Devon was afraid that she’d feel this anytime she put the vest on again.

“You alright there, Agent?” Stabler asked, coming to stand next to her. She nodded absently, not really pay attention to the man. Devon’s mind was far away, her nerves fried. She felt like she was about to scream, cry, explode, all of the above. She shook herself, shoved all of her thoughts and feelings down; all that mattered now was that little boy being held hostage. She conjured up the picture she saw in the precinct; a little boy, laughing, being held by his dad who was also laughing. She focused on that boy, focused on the fact that he was in the house in front of her, scared to death. She took a deep breath, then made her way around the house, away from the NYPD officers. She vaguely heard someone call out to her, asking where she was going, but she ignored them. There was a backdoor in the backyard that had a huge window next to it, blinds open, giving her a clear look inside.

She could see a large living room with couches and a TV mounted on the wall. There was a coffee table and a couple of bookshelves full of a variety of books. Otherwise, the room seemed empty. Looking through it, Devon could see an empty kitchen and a hallway. No sign of the man or child. She tried the doorknob and was stunned that it was unlocked. Why had no one else come back here? she thought. Fearing it was a trap, she unholstered her gun, the familiar steel in her hand. She twisted the knob, opened the door slowly. She stepped back, aiming her glock for anyone who may jump out at her. Nothing. Confused, she slowly went through the open door, checking both ways as if someone could be hiding there against the wall, waiting to kill her. Empty. The house itself seemed empty, but then why was ESU and the NYPD stationed outside? Might as well clear the building, make sure that they were just overreacting rather than blaming them right away for botching the location.

Devon crept through the rooms, listening for any sound, but hearing nothing. She then made her way to the hallway; there were only two doors lining the walls, with a master bedroom at the end. She took one step into the hallway, and her mind flashed. She blinked, and she was back in the warehouse, hard concrete under her boots, Emma’s breath loud in her ears. Devon’s breath caught in her throat as she whipped around. But no one was there; it was an empty living room in a quaint house in a suburb. Trying to calm her racing heart, Devon turned back to the hallway; all the doors were open, almost confirming that there was no one here with her. The first room was an empty child’s bedroom, nothing in it disturbed. The second room was a small bathroom, also empty of human presence.

“Get out of here,” a man’s voice called from the master bedroom, making Devon jump, heart racing painfully against her chest. She heard a soft, metallic sound and looked down, trying to find the source. She was surprised to find that it was coming from her; the hand holding her glock was shaking, hard enough for it to be making noise. Calm down, she told herself. She glared at her own hand until the shaking stopped. Devon took a deep breath, then made it to the doorframe, pressed up against it. She tried to peek in, to see the situation she was about to be in.

“Let the boy go. We can talk about this,” Devon replied, gripping her gun tighter if only to keep in control. She could just barely see the man holding the child, gun to the latter’s head. Eddy let out a choked sob. Another flash in Devon’s mind and she saw Patsy lying in a pool of her own blood. She pulled back, breathing hard. Quit it! she yelled at herself, her own mind.

Jose’s voice wavered slightly as he said, “this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

It took a moment for Jose’s words to make their way into Devon’s mind. “Then stop it from continuing. All you need to do is let the kid go, and we can all walk out of here unharmed.”

She could almost hear him shaking his head. “Naw, that’s not gonna happen. If I let this kid go, you’ll just shoot me. I don’t wanna die, man.”

Emma’s face flashed across her mind. She didn’t want to die, either, Devon almost spat out, but she held her tongue. What was happening to her? It had been a long day, and she needed to get out of there. “I’m going to put my gun down, okay? I’ll be unarmed, and I’m coming into the room.” True to her word, she put the safety on her gun, then gave it a little toss into the room, not close enough for Jose to reach it, but definitely out of Devon’s reach. A little show of trust, so that hopefully he will trust her, even a little bit. She then put her hands up, reaching them around the doorframe before coming in herself. “I don’t want anyone here to get hurt, Jose, I promise. Why don’t you tell me how this happened?” Keep him talking, help him see that there was no winning here, that he’d have to do as she asked.

Jose used the hand holding the gun to rub his shaved head. He was panicking, but Devon was hoping to calm him down, even if she couldn’t keep her own mind calm. “Alonso fucked up for the last time”—Devon recognized the child’s father’s name— “and the boss wanted to make him pay, ya know? So, he had me pick up his kid, but then he wanted me to kill him and I just, I can’t kill a kid, man. But if I don’t, boss will kill me.”

Devon felt a pang of pity for the man; he was in a lose-lose situation. But her fraying nerves and overall exhaustion was making it hard to think straight, making it hard to play the nice cop. “Jose, you’re not leaving this house alive unless you surrender yourself. But, no listen to me, if you give yourself up, you’re only going to jail. You hurt that kid, though? You’re done, you’re in the ground, I guarantee it.” She spat out the last part, a little more violently than she meant to. Normally, she’d use a threat like that just to get a suspect to comply. But right now, she was afraid…afraid that she wasn’t using an empty threat. Afraid that she may actually kill this man if she didn’t end this soon. She had never felt like this before.

Jose let out a pained whine. “I don’t wanna die,” he mumbled. He tightened his grip on Eddy, who was starting to cry louder, as if he understood that the more distressed Jose became, the least likely he was to survive.

Devon took another deep breath, trying to shove all of her personal feelings down, trying to bring that professional side back out. The field agent that she always was. “I won’t let you die, Jose. Trust me, I can get you out of here, but you have to put the gun down. You said it yourself, you don’t want to kill this child. What would that even accomplish? Eddy has done nothing wrong. Think about how terrified he must be, how cruel it would be to end his life before he got to do anything that he’s dreamed of.” Devon glanced at the cross Jose was wearing around his neck. “Do you really believe that God would forgive you for ending this child’s chance at life?” If personalizing Eddy didn’t get through to him, religion probably would.

Jose sniffled, the hand holding the gun starting to shake. “You—you can get me out of here? Alive?”

Devon nodded. “Of course, but you have to put the gun down, let Eddy go. I give you my word.” During this whole exchange, Devon had been making her way slowly through the room, around the bed towards Jose. Jose looked like he was thinking through all of his options, breathing harder and harder. After what felt like forever, he released Eddy, who ran to Devon, wrapping his arms around her legs. She jumped as if shocked by the touch, but played it off, trying not to scare the child. Jose then slowly handed his gun to Devon. She put it in the waistband of her pants at the small of her back.

“I’m so sorry,” Jose said through tears. He turned around, head down, defeated. He put his hands on the back of his head and waited. Devon took her handcuffs out of her back pocket and awkwardly made her way to Jose, Eddy hanging off of her.

“Don’t let me die,” Jose whispered, more to himself than to Devon. Once he was secured, Devon let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. All of her nerves were on fire, as if the slightest touch would set her off. It was taking everything in her to not react to Eddy hanging off of her. As she led the two out of the room, she swooped down to grab her gun, replacing it in her holster. Eddy stayed by her side, never releasing her leg. She was glad he was safe, that she could provide some safety to him, but it was starting to annoy her more and more. He’s a scared child. You just saved his life. Suck it up, she thought to herself. She thought back to Patsy, still in surgery. If Devon had patience for her, she’d have patience for Eddy, too.

“Let me go first,” Devon said, stopping them when they had reached the front door. She pushed Jose gently against the wall by the doorframe, so that none of the awaiting officers could get a clear shot on him. She moved the child behind her legs, effectively becoming a human shield. It’s not that she really distrusted ESU or the NYPD as a whole, but all it took was one overzealous cop to have a twitchy finger, to let this all go to hell.

“Coming out! Suspect is unarmed and apprehended! Don’t shoot!” she yelled out the closed door. Slowly, she unlocked the door, then turned the knob, inching the door open. From the outside, she knew that ESU would only see her standing there, a child behind her. From her point of view, Devon saw guns from every direction aiming at them.

She put her free hand up in surrender, the other hand holding Jose by the cuffs. “Hold your fire!” she called out. She waited until she heard whoever was in charge repeat her order before she moved Jose through the doorframe and out into the open. Eddy took Devon’s free hand when she had lowered it, gripping her tightly. She couldn’t even imagine how terrified this kid must be having this many guns pointed in his direction. She led them out slowly, struggling not to flinch as officers came hurrying up. They all but ripped Jose out from her grip, reading him his rights, and throwing him in the back of a squad car. Devon gave him a sympathetic look as the car pulled away. At least he didn’t die, she thought. More officers came up to take the boy, but Devon refused to release him as Eddy gripped her hand tighter, turning to hide his face against her legs. All of the anger and frustration that had been welling up inside of her finally had a target.

“Back the fuck off,” she said, venom dripping from her voice. The officers scrambled to get out of her way as she led him over to the awaiting paramedics in the ambulance. She waited by his side as he was checked out for injuries. She looked over and saw the SVU detectives, Cragen in their center, looking over to her, something like respect and astonishment in their eyes. She knew Cragen would want to debrief her, but at this point, she was emotionally exhausted—she had spent all day in this damned vest. So, she stayed with Eddy, giving him silent support while he was poked and prodded, asked questions. It eventually came up that they wanted to take him to the hospital, run more tests to make sure he was physically okay.

“Don’t let them take me,” Eddy cried, grabbing Devon’s hand like a lifeline.

“It’s okay, Eddy. I’ll ride with you,” she replied softly. She climbed into the ambulance before the medics could say anything. If they didn’t want her there, they made no mention of it as they loaded up. The whole way to the hospital, Devon whispered encouragement to Eddy—“everything’s fine, you’re safe, you did so good back there”—until he calmed down. Devon stayed with him until the nurses kicked her out, much to his dismay.

“I’ll be right outside. I promise, I won’t leave you until your parents get here,” Devon said as she was shooed out. She went to the waiting room and was shocked to see two detectives—Stabler and Benson—already there.

“That was good work today,” Stabler commented quietly. Benson nodded in acknowledgement. “Even if you did go a little rogue going in the house.” Benson rolled her eyes at that.

“I’m just glad there were no casualties,” Devon replied before slumping into a chair. She felt so drained, so tired. And yet, today wasn’t quite over; she wanted to be there for the interrogation, to let them know about Jose’s impossible situation. To maybe give him some sort of mercy, and maybe some protection from his boss. This day just got longer and longer. Plus, she should probably get her injury checked, too. She rubbed at it absentmindedly, trying to relieve some of the pain.

Benson sat down next to her. “How’s Eddy?”

“He’s fine…relatively. He’s going to need some counseling. But physically, I think he’s unharmed.”

Benson nodded. “Detective Olivia Benson, by the way. Detective Elliot Stabler,” she said, gesturing to the man. Devon was glad that the animosity from earlier seemed to have disappeared. Rescuing a child had that effect on people.

“Special Agent Devon Motely,” she replied, giving them both a small smile. “Any word on Eddy’s parents?”

“They’re divorced; mother is going for full custody, and after today, I’m sure she’ll get it,” Stabler explained. “She’s on her way now.”

Devon nodded, but was too tired to answer. Hopefully, the mother can better protect her son from her ex’s illicit life. She’d make sure she gave them her business card, let them call her if they were ever in trouble again. Even if Devon was busy, she had connections all over the city.

It took about 20 minutes of the three officers sitting in silence—the detectives seemed to know how tired Devon must be, mumbling to themselves every no and again--before the mom showed up. Devon and the detectives had been barred from seeing Eddy until a parent or guardian gave the okay, but they were informed that the child was indeed unharmed, just shaken up by the ordeal. The mother was shown to his room, and the nurse asked for Devon to follow her about 5 minutes later.

“Not you two,” the nurse said to Benson and Stabler. Stabler looked like he was going to start a fight, but Benson waved him down. Devon followed the nurse to Eddy’s room, his mom standing next to him, grasping his hand in both of hers.

“You’re the one who saved my boy?” the woman asked. Devon nodded and the mother came over, flinging her arms around Devon’s neck and pulling her into a tight hug. Devon grimaced as fresh pain coursed through her, but she did her best to stay quiet, keep her pain undetected by the civilians. She awkwardly patted the woman’s back as she cried, thanking the agent over and over again.

“I’m glad he’s alright. You got to watch him, though. Make sure he doesn’t get wrapped up in this again,” Devon replied after she extracted herself from the mother’s grip. She handed her card to the woman. “You call me, though, if anything does happen, okay?”

“Yes, yes of course,” the woman nodded fervently, taking the card from Devon. “We’re moving out of the city, though. Moving closer to my family in Connecticut.”

Devon felt a weight lift off her; getting Eddy out of New York was probably for the best. “Good, that’s good.”

Feeling like they needed time alone, Devon said her goodbyes to both Eddy and her mom—who never stopped thanking her—and backed out of the room. Both detectives were still in the waiting room, and Devon relayed the information to both of them.

“As long as she brings him back to testify, then it’s fine,” Stabler huffed.

“Do you really need a 7-year-old to testify?” Devon asked, incredulous. Devon hated the courts; such bad memories from her past there, plus the unneeded drama and politics that came with it. Besides, hadn’t Eddy suffered enough?

Stabler gave her a hard look. “If we want to get him on kidnapping, then we need the actual kid that was napped,” he explained in a slow tone, as if Devon was an idiot. This was why she liked her job. She only needed to catch the bastards; she didn’t have to go through the whole façade of lawyers, courts, and the politics involved.

“That’s your problem,” she shot back. She really wanted to just go home, have a nice, relaxing bath, and listen to some orchestra music. But she needed to go back to the precinct, listen in on interrogation. Like hell she’d ride with this asshole, though. She said nothing as she left the hospital, hailing a cab. She was sure that the detectives were staying behind to interview Eddy, anyways.

SVU Department

Monday, October 28th. 8:36pm

She made it back to the precinct quickly. Her mind had wandered on the drive over, and she was having trouble focusing. She vaguely realized she didn’t see a doctor about her gunshot wound while she was at the hospital, but she couldn’t force herself to care. She felt like she was floating through the precinct, weaving around the officers as she made her way to SVU’s floor. Her emotions were so frayed, she didn’t think she’d ever feel anything ever again. One of the officers pointed her towards an observation room, where she found Captain Cragen and Dr. Huang watching Fin and Munch grill Jose.

“Fin and Munch have been able to get the whole story out of Mr. Gonzalez, here. Not that it took much prompting,” Cragen said by way of greeting.

“From what he told me in that house, he was in an unwinnable situation. I do hope that you and your DA will take that into consideration when indicting him,” Devon replied flatly. She didn’t have the strength to put up a polite exterior anymore.

Cragen gave her a wondering look; he didn’t seem mad about her tone, just curious about her, about why an FBI agent, especially someone who works in HRT, would be on the perp’s side. “He kidnapped a 7-year-old and held him hostage at gunpoint. Do you really think we should go easy on him?” It didn’t seem like he was trying to defend this point, simply wondering how Devon would answer. As if he were in charge of the debate team in high school, seeing if she could defend her point.

“He was just following his boss’s orders, the promise of death if he failed. And even then, he didn’t kill Eddy. He made it clear how much he didn’t want to,” Devon explained.

“And what would have happened to Eddy if we didn’t find them? If you never talked to Jose?”

Devon didn’t have an answer for that. She’d like to think that he wouldn’t have shot a child, that he may have even killed himself instead. But she could also see the possibility of Jose doing it, because he could make sure Eddy didn’t suffer in death. It all came down to Jose’s fear of death versus his fear of God’s wrath. She resigned to watch in silence as Jose continued to tell the detectives—Fin and Munch—about the hierarchy of the gang, about his boss, about anything they asked about. She could feel Huang’s gaze on her, but she ignored him, trying to focus on Jose’s words.

All three looked to the door when a redheaded woman walked in. Devon felt a punch to the gut as she recalled Emma’s face for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. No matter how many times her empty eyes flashed across Devon’s mind, the nausea and emptiness hit her hard.

“This is ADA Casey Novak,” Cragen announced. “Novak, this is Special Agent Devon Motely.”

“I didn’t know this was a Federal case,” Casey said, giving Devon the familiar I-don’t-trust-the-FBI look.

“Off the clock,” Devon replied, giving her a small, exhausted smile. Maybe she could still have some pleasantries. Casey gave her another look, this time of disbelief—who the hell wanted to do this kind of work off the clock?--before focusing in on the interrogation. Cragen filled her in on the details, including the fact that Devon was the one who collared him, before Devon interjected.

“I’d like to request that you go a little easy on the man,” she said.

Casey gave her an appraising look. “He kidnapped a child, with a gun.” It was the same conversation over and over again. Devon was getting sick of it.

“Yes, but Jose had a gun to his own head. He was acting under duress. Plus, he’s giving you guys all the information on his boss that you need,” Devon reasoned.

Surprisingly, Casey agreed. “I’ll plead him out, then. Kidnapping is 5 to 25 years; I’ll recommend 7.”

“Thank you,” Devon said before excusing herself from the room. With her work effectively done, Devon just wanted to go lay down somewhere for a couple hours…or days. She heard someone follow her out of the observation room and sensed Dr. Huang’s presence.

“We do still need to talk, Devon,” he commented. Devon’s shoulders slumped and she hung her head in defeat as she followed him to an unoccupied room, full of standard-issued beds. Must be where officers could sleep when they couldn’t make it home. It seemed like a cruel joke to bring her here, with how tired she was, but at least it was private. Devon resisted the urge to sit on any of the mattresses; she was afraid she wouldn’t get back up again.

“What’s going on, Dev? Are you okay?” Huang asked once he shut the door.

“Don’t treat me like a patient, George. I know you know me better than that.”

Huang nodded, dropping the professional tone, and adopting something more personable. Yet still that overall calm that he exuded was present. “You’re right. Something did happen to you today, though. Do you want to talk about it?”

Devon huffed out an unamused laugh. “Not really, no. I would rather just down a bottle of whiskey and sleep for three days uninterrupted.” She knew by admitting that, Huang would just dig in further, at least until she got everything off her chest. But she was too exhausted to come up with some elaborate lie about how she was feeling, too exhausted to really care what anyone thought of her right now. She felt nothing, only the dull ache in her chest that pulsed in pain in time with her heart.

Huang looked concerned but hid it well. It only showed in his eyes. “You need to talk it out,” he said. When Devon didn’t reply, he continued, “first, you missed my call, texting me that you were in an emergency. And second, you told Cragen that I gave you no details. I told you the whole case over the phone.”

That stunned Devon; she thought back to the phone call that felt like days ago—how was it only earlier today?—tried to remember what was said. She didn’t remember a single word, though he must have at least old her to come to the 16th precinct, since she showed up here.

Sighing, Devon recounted the Thompson ring takedown. She was a little shocked that Huang didn’t get the notification—“I’m not a field agent, and I was already assigned here,” he explained. Devon got a little choked up when recounting the 7 dead children, and the 1 dead FBI agent, shocked that she even had emotions left.

“I don’t have many friends—you know that. So, losing Emma hurt more than I thought it would,” Devon finished. She refused to acknowledge the feelings that became apparent shortly before the agent’s death—that would be something to unpack later.

Huang had listened intently to her plight. He gave her a look of sadness as she recounted the dead; no matter how many times someone saw another person killed, it never got easier. “You saved 25 children from hell, though.”

“And lost 8 people in the process.”

Huang weighed his words, then responded, “but don’t the lives saved outweigh those lost?”

Devon’s phone went off right then. She recognized the hospital’s number and answered. She felt the dread build in her core, tears finally springing to her eyes as the final nail of the day was hammered into her. “Correction, 9 people. Patsy didn’t make it.” She let the tears flow freely now; it was the first time she had cried that day, but all of the sadness, anger, and guilt from earlier rushed out of her in a wave. She collapsed onto one of the beds hard, face buried in her hands as she let everything out. She vaguely felt Huang sit down next to her, patting her back in comfort, careful to touch lightly after hearing about her being shot. He let her cry until they became hiccupping sobs. Devon wiped her face with her shirt, trying to regain her composure. She tried to make it a point to not cry in front of people; she didn’t want to appear weak. The fact that Huang had been here to see her fall apart hurt her pride more than anything.

Huang waited until she seemed to be back in control before whispering, “Devon, why do you still do this job?”

The question caught her off guard, and an answer didn’t immediately jump out at her. She thought about it, really thought about it; why she got up in the morning, put on the badge, and went to deal with the worst side of humanity. Why she put her life on the line for strangers. Why she cared enough to help people.

“Because if I don’t, who will?” she sniffled. She wanted to expand on that, but the right words didn’t come up right away. She took a deep breath, tried to pull in her scattered thoughts, then said, “you’re right, you know. The lives saved are more important than the lives lost. This city, this world, can be a terrible, terrible place. But if I can save even one person, one child, then it’s worth it to me.” She sniffled again and blurted out, voice desperate, “I just want to help people.”

Huang nodded. “That’s a good answer. The fact that you even had an answer is a good sign, Devon. You still have your humanity. You’re still a good person.” Huang always knew exactly what Devon was really feeling; inadequate, remorseful, and most of all, guilty.

“Even if those 9 deaths are my fault?”

“Devon listen to me. Emma”—her name still hit Devon in the stomach—“knew what she was doing. It was her choice to cover the children’s escape. Besides, if you didn’t unlock that cage, what do you think would have happened to those kids?”

As much as Devon wanted to argue that the cage was out of the line of fire, she didn’t know what would have happened. Maybe the kids would’ve been safe until the firefight was over. Or maybe the traffickers would have decided that they didn’t want any witnesses.

“Survivor’s guilt takes time to digest, to move forward. I agree with your boss, too; talk to a psychiatrist about this. I can talk to you as a friend, but not as a doctor-patient anymore. The one in your sector is good, and a friend of mine,” Huang said.

Devon nodded, agreeing to go to the company shrink. “You know me, though. I can’t take time off; I’ll go insane.”

“You are a workaholic,” Huang agreed. He was the only one allowed to call her that, no matter how true it was. “How about I arrange Cragen to call you if he can use your help?”

Work for the NYPD? Busting low-level rapists and pedophiles? Trudging through the shit field work, the court systems, and the corrupted politics of the mayor’s office? “Sounds like a deal…as long as I don’t have to work with that Detective Stabler.”

“He can be a little abrasive,” Huang said, smiling. “But he grows on you…eventually.”

“Like a parasite?”

Huang laughed at that. “He is a good detective, and a pretty good person. He gets angry, and he’s headstrong. But at the end of the day, I’m glad SVU has him on their side.”

Conversation coming to an end, they both stood up. Devon didn’t really care what her face looked like after all that crying. All that mattered was that she was tired and hurting but feeling lighter than she had all day.

Huang stopped her as she went to leave. “Do me a favor, though.” When Devon arched an eyebrow, Huang said, “go see a doctor for that gunshot wound.”

#everyone deserves love #edl #fanfic #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #law & order svu #law & order svu fanfic #barba x oc #oc fanfic #my writing #chapter 1

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guardianofjunmyeon · 5 years ago

Text

Finding Atlantis (part 7)

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: Sorry it took so long for an update but i was kind of pissed off at baekhyun and exo for their lack of BLM support but whatever now. I’ve received you guys’ messages and asks and I keep meaning to respond to things but i really dont get on tumblr all that often. I really love and appreciate you all though so here’s a pretty...cute chap

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

Darkness. Suffocation. Cold. Not breathing. He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing.

You’re not breathing.

You sit up with a start. “Baekhyun!” You gasp for air. Your chest heaves as you frantically try to breathe. The image of Baekhyun’s unmoving body begins to fade from your memory like a dream you can’t fully recall. Darkness makes way for the brightness that you are beginning to realize surrounds you. You don’t feel seasick; your body is still.

Panting, you look around.

A beach. Your heartbeat slows down when you realize that you’re sitting on a beach, alive. Alive and safe and the boat is pulled ashore.

But you can’t find Baekhyun. Panic rises again.

“You’re awake.” You hear from behind you.

You whip around, and there he is. Baekhyun stands on both of his feet, shirtless with an armful of wood.

And both of his god damn eyes.

Pain unexpectedly shoots up your middle. You groan loudly and lower yourself back down on your back. It doesn’t feel as intense like this. “Fuck,” you hiss in agony.

“You fractured your rib,” Baekhyun says, now at your side. You look at him through squinted eyelids. “It’s not broken, and it’ll heal on its own. You’ve just got to take it easy for a while,” he instructs you softly. You catch a glimpse of concern in his eyes.

His fucking two eyes.

“You’ve got more than one eye…” you croak dumbly. With each inhale of breath the pain begins to subside.

He blinks and the concern that you think you saw vanishes. “Yeah, and you’ve got fractured bones. Now we’ve both stated the obvious.”

He stands up and walks off while you struggle to sit up without experiencing more shooting pains. It doesn’t work out well; any move to raise your body sends another painful jolt through your body. From experience, you can tell that it’s your lower left rib that’s injured. That’s where you experience the most pain. Breathing doesn’t hurt; you chalk it up to luck that you didn’t puncture a lung in the process. In…all of that.

Your throat begins to close up at the memory. The rain. The waves. The cold.

He’s not breathing.

A decently sized canteen drops into your lap. You jump in your spot. “You’re dehydrated,” is all Baekhyun says before he walks off again.

You follow his retreating figure with your eyes. “Thanks,” you rasp to yourself.

Surprising yourself, you’re glad to see that he’s fine. That he’s alive despite the years you’ve spent wishing him dead.

It takes a bit of time, and a lot of moaning and hissing, to open the canteen. You nearly cry when you’re finally able to feel the water sliding down your throat. You drink it greedily.

What if this is all the water you’ve got?

You stop and pull the lip of it away from your mouth. You drank half of it in just 3 seconds.

“You can finish it,” you hear Baekhyun say from where he’s crouched by the wood. “There’s more on the island, we won’t go thirsty for a while.”

Without further hesitation you drain the rest. You’re still thirsty, but at least now you can talk, and maybe even stand without passing out. Like a baby learning to walk on its own, you slowly lift your body off the ground and on to your knees.

Baekhyun watches you closely, but does nothing to help. Once you’ve caught your breath again and are comfortably sitting on your knees, he stands up. He pulls on his shirt and then starts in the direction of the tree line. He pauses, turns to you and jerks his head towards the trees. A silent beckoning.

With a breath to prep you for the pain, you force yourself on your legs.

After only a few seconds of dizziness, your visions clears and you take careful steps in his direction.

Baekhyun waits until you’re only a step behind him to start walking forward again. There seems to be a clear path to wherever he’s leading you. You’re thankful that you don’t have to duck and dodge branches with your fractured rib.

Actually, the more you think about it, the path is suspiciously cleared of obstructions. You frown and look around. It’s clear as day that branches have been broken off recently. Maybe Baekhyun was going to use it for the fire?

You squint at the ground and see broken pieces of tree along the ground. So, not firewood. Path wood?

Why would he need to do that when he can just push them out of the way? The ground is flat even without the branches he’d torn down. It seems kind of unnecessary.

Your foot catches on a divot in the ground and your body stumbles half a step too far just fast enough to cause a pain to shoot up your side. You bite back a pathetic whine and notice belatedly that Baekhyun is hovering right at your side anxiously. Your eyes water instinctively at the smarting in your torso.

You let out a shaky breath and straighten up. “Fuck.”

He frowns.

“We’re almost there.” A beat of silence. And then, “Watch your step dumbass.”

Your rib prevents you from fighting back. You don’t think you would really want to even if you could. You trod behind him dutifully. The forest is full with the sounds of life, but the conversation between the two of you is dead. Painfully so.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask to fill the silence.

“A few hours. I looked around the island while you were unconscious.”

You hum. You wonder whether the boat washed up on its own or if he rowed here in your sleep.

To your surprise he continues on. “It’s an old prison island from the looks of it. I came across the jail and a bunker when I was gathering firewood.”

“Were there people in the prison?”

“Not living ones.”

“Gross.”

Silence.

“Thanks…by the way,” he says gently. Oh? Is that…a thank you you’ve heard?

“What was that?” you goad.

“Don’t make me say it again…”

“Do you mean for saving your life? Are you thanking me for that? For being a heroic, brave, sexy, strong-”

“I should have thrown your body into the ocean when I woke up.”

You laugh softy, carefully. If you breathe too hard then your rib smarts again.

“How’s your rib doing?” he asks.

“Hurts.”

“Okay smartass-”

“I’m serious!”

A beat.

“How are your stitches?” you ask.

“Hurts.”

“Listen here-”

He laughs. A full one. A bright one.

You shuffle behind holding back a smile. A building comes into view after a few minutes of walking. He was right; it’s obviously an old prison if the dreariness of it is anything to go by. It’s a small one. You follow him through broken doors, barely hanging onto their last hinge.

It reeks of death.

A chill runs down your spine.

Avoiding the actual prison cells, the two of you walk right to the guard room. Light streams through the window and you can see that the place was left in a hurry. There is still a lot of junk strewn around. It smells of moldy water. Maybe the place was hit by a hurricane.

You walk over to the desk and pull out a drawer. Matches, pens, an old pipe. You pocket the matches and check each drawer for anything of use while Baekhyun does the same across the room.

Most of the things you come across are entirely worthless, but you do find a fully loaded gun and a dusty flare.

The finds remind you that you didn’t grab anything when you jumped off the ship. Reckless. Thoughtless. But the realization that you don’t regret it is humbling.

Quickly you pat your body to see if you happened to bring anything of use. Your smallest blade sits reliably on your hip, and your gun still happens to be in its holster.

The compass.

You unhook it from your hip and stare at it in disappointment. Useless.

The sound of glass crashing across the room alarms you.

Baekhyun stands next to the shattered object with startled eyes and a wince frozen on his face. “Can you be quiet?” you whisper harshly.

He relaxes and rolls his eyes. “There’s no one alive here,” he reminds. “It’s not like we’re going to get in trouble.” His voice is as low as yours.

“Then why are you whispering?”

“Because you’re whispering!” He whispers back in frustration.

You cock an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he says at normal volume. He steps over the glass with his hands on his hips and his lips jut out in a disappointed pout.

Clearly there’s nothing else of value in here.

“Do you know where the kitchen is?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah, come on.”

You travel through the halls wordlessly. The dripping of water punctuates every other second that passes. Your boots slosh through puddles of dirty water.

The silence of the jail feels more oppressive than anything else you’ve ever felt in life. It puts you on edge. You won’t say it scares you. Not when you’ve faced death itself countless times in your life. But if a fucking dead body comes back to life to eat your heart, you will not be responsible for your actions.

You are not beyond tripping Baekhyun so that you can get away.

In the kitchen, you split up to look for anything that can be salvaged. There are cans of food, packages of dried meats and fruits. The food left in the broken fridge is rancid, and rats crawl around on the floor. You would probably be better off just hunting and fishing on your own.

The floor creaks awkwardly under your foot as you close a cabinet with metal serving dishes; you look down. There’s a catch in the floor.

A door.

“Hey,” you hiss. You motion to your side when Baekhyun looks up from snacking on a bag of dried bananas. “Can you lift this up for me?” you ask.

He pads over and looks down in confusion at the spot near your foot. His jaw freezes in the middle of chewing as interest spreads across his face.

When he reaches down, the door squeaks open with a severity that hurts your ears. It’s pitch black below.

You dig the matches out of your pocket and lower yourself carefully, closer to the entrance. You strike a match and it dimly illuminates a bit of the space. An oil lamp hangs not far from the top.

Once lit, the lamp brightens up the hidden room.

A ladder.

Despite the burning in your torso you begin to lower yourself down farther.

An hand lands on your shoulder to stop you. “What are you doing?” Baekhyun whispers.

“I’m investigating. There’s no one here remember?” you mock. You shrug off his hand and scale down the short ladder. Another lamp awaits at the bottom. You strike another match and the full room comes into view.

You smile. “It’s a liquor storage.”

“What?”

“It’s a liquor storage,” you whisper a bit louder.

“What?!” he calls louder.

You inhale angrily. “IT’S A-”

“I heard you the first time. Quiet down,” he laughs from above. You hear him jump down into the small space. He looks around appreciatively.

“Party on the beach. Better than dying stranded and sober I guess.”

Baekhyun grabs a few bottles and places them outside of the little room. You attempt to grab a bottle of bourbon that’s caught your eye a bit above your head.

You’ll have to stretch for it.

Bracing yourself for pain, you suck air through your teeth. But before you can lift your hand above your head, a warm body is pressed against your back and the bottle is pulled from your vision. You blink dumbly and once the solidness of his chest vanishes from your back, you turn to face him.

“What part of ‘take it easy’ don’t you understand?” Baekhyun scolds you, the bottle of bourbon you were going to grab cradled in his arm. He exhales in exasperation. “I’ll carry this stuff back. Just…stop doing shit that will hurt your fracture.”

“Aw Baekhyun are you worried about m-”

“If you actually break your rib I’m not going to help you fix it and you can die on this island immobile.”

You quiet.

“Fine.”

Baekhyun ends up carrying all of the heavy items found on your search back to the beach where you’d washed up. You trail behind him, mind shrouded in confusion, and a bit of worry. When did he start to care about your injuries?

He puts down the sheet, that he’d used the carry everything over, with an exhausted puff of breath.

Wordlessly you both begin to set up camp.

Baekhyun works on getting a fire started as the sun begins to lower in the sky, and you spread out the cloth so that you’ll have a buffer between your bodies and the sand when you sit down or sleep.

You take stock of all of the supplies that you’d collected while he continues to nurse dim embers to life. You’re happy to see that he’d found a second flare in his search.

The sky and the ocean are calm, cruelly so, as the two of you settle in front of the growing fire. When the sky is blanketed in black and stars begin to make themselves known, you light the flare that you’d grabbed from the prison. It illuminates the sky briefly and then fades away. Hopefully your ship sees it.

The night is warm, and the fire crackles excited between you. You on one side of the fire and Baekhyun five feet away.

Baekhyun munches on a package of dried meat he’d collected, and you struggle to open a bottle of rum with your teeth. It uncorks with a satisfying ‘pop’.

You take a large swallow and feel is settling, warm, in the pit of your stomach.

When you hold it out towards Baekhyun, he only looks at it, and then trains his attention back to the fire.

You shrug and take another swig. You smack your tongue against the roof of your mouth loudly to show your satisfaction.

“Okay fine. Hand it over.” You smile gratuitously as he takes the bottle and takes a drink for himself.

The alcohol relaxes your muscles and you feel the urge to start talking. “So…two eyes huh?”

You name falls from his lips in warning, telling you to drop it. You raise your hand in mock defeat.

You think maybe the alcohol is making him want to talk too. Or maybe it’s the silence. “…Why do you keep calling Suho a princess?”

“Huh?”

“He’s a prince,” Baekhyun states. He shifts in his spot and turns his body to face you. “He’s the Prince of Atlantis, but you’ve been calling him a princess even though you know that he’s not a girl.”

You shrug. “The stories…they originally just called him the lost child of Atlantis.”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t know when people started to just assume the lost child was a girl. It helped to keep his identity hidden that way even if it was wrong. If everyone was out looking for the Princess of Atlantis, they wouldn’t give a second thought to a man who fits the description. After a while it just became second nature to refer to him like that, to continue to talk about him as a little missing girl rather than who he actually was. Suho is a princess, and Junmyeon is a member of my ship. They weren’t the same person in my head.”

Baekhyun hands you the rum. For the same reason that you keep your own identity a secret, your crew decided to keep Junmyeon’s. Sometimes you gain an advantage by letting people assume what they want.

“Did you find out on your own that he was the princess- the prince?”

You smirk. “Your curiosity finally won out huh?”

He pelts a stick at your arm.

He waited longer than you expected –you’ll give him that.

“Since you are so curious I guess I can tell you.” He picks up another stick. “Anyways! He came up and told me. Introduced himself to me that way, the dumbass,” you laugh at the memory. “It was…years ago. Right as I was starting to find people to join my crew. He just walked up to me while I was sitting in the corner of a bar and slid one of my ‘Man for Hire’ posters across the table. This scrawny guy, soaked from head to toe. He looked exhausted but there was something in his eyes that I’d never seen before.” You look into the fire as you try to recall the details of that night.

“He told me that he wanted to hire me to get him home. I’m pretty sure I laughed right in his face. He sat down at my table, dropped a heavy bag of money between us, and said, ‘I can get you more money than you can imagine.’

“‘Okay I’ll bite. What’s the deal?’

“‘Have you ever heard of Atlantis?’” you repeat the words from the exchange and then pull your gaze from the fire to meet Baekhyun’s. “He went on to tell me that he was a prince and that he’d run away a few years before. He was ready to return, but he had no idea how to do it. He’d left because his family and his people were pressuring him about his destiny and the role he had to fulfill to save the kingdom and he just...panicked. He was just a teenager, you know? He was scared, he wasn’t ready, and so he ran away. He fled and then lived on land among humans for long enough that the connection he’d had with the ocean had dimmed. He couldn’t find his own way home, and they couldn’t come find him, even if they wanted to.”

Baekhyun frowns. You take a drink, pass him the bottle, and continue on.

“I didn’t believe him at first, but decided to do what I could. Our relationship started out like that, with me trying to get him home. After some time he just decided to be on my crew. We would find crewmen, do other jobs to pay for our expenses, and then continue to look for Atlantis. Over time we gained more men, we lost even more, but he was always there at my side as my first mate. As my first crewman.” You smile fondly and play with the sand at your side. “Soon enough, finding Atlantis became an…afterthought. It wasn’t our priority anymore. We went on other adventures, faced other challenges, and strengthened the family we built aboard the ship.

“He said he was fine not finding his way home anymore after a few years of looking. But the way he looks out at the sea sometimes…” Memories arise of him leaning against the side of the ship and looking out at the expanse of the ocean longingly. “It’s heartbreaking.”

You don’t realize that your eyes are starting to water until a tear falls against the back of your hand. You swipe away the moisture and paste on a smile. Baekhyun’s expression is one of empathy. “I know that he misses the sea; I know that he misses home no matter what he says to deny it. I promised him that I would get him back, once. He laughed at me, but I meant it. He’s like my family, but his happiness comes before anything else…even if I have to give him back to the sea.”

Your words settle over you both like a heavy blanket. Your own heart tugs a bit at the memories and realization that you really may be giving him up soon. If they find you on this island and you continue on your quest. You’ll be giving up the person who’s been at your side longest.

“You love him,” Baekhyun states.

His words startle you. You look at him with widened eyes and try to read his expression, or at the very least the intention behind his words. It’s carefully concealed behind neutrality, but you can see a bit of the uneasiness in his eyes. You don’t know what comes over you. Why you want to see his reaction to your words so badly. Why you hope that it’ll bother him –even if it’s just a little.

You keep your gaze steady when you respond. “Yes.”

A glimpse of offense is all you catch as evidence that you words may have affected him, but it could have been a trick of the light from the fire. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of the rum, no longer looking you in your eyes.

“I love him the way I love every member of my crew,” you press on cautiously. You catch the stillness in his throat as he stops swallowing for half a second. Satisfaction thrums through your body. Why? Why? You don’t know for sure yourself. “Everyone on my crew is my responsibility, and with that comes a level of love and respect that we’ve all worked hard to build. Like I said, the men and women on that ship are my family. We wouldn’t work as well as we do if we didn’t love each other just a little bit. Thinking that you can’t love your shipmates just because you’re a pirate and you kill people is old fashioned. Love solidifies a bond like nothing else. We would risk our lives for each other…that goes for us with you and your men too.”

The fire pops loudly.

He wipes away a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lips and gives you a measured look. You watch as he figures out how to form the question he wants to ask next. You hold out your hand for the bottle.

He passes it, and if your hands faintly brush –neither of you mention it.

The next swallow of the liquid burns its way down and blurs your senses. Drunkenness creeps in at the corners of your mind. A weighted silence stretches on while you focus on the pleasant humming in your veins.

“Is that why you jumped in after me?” You twitch in your spot at the sound of Baekhyun’s voice. Enough time has passed of prolonged silence that you have to search your mind for what it is he’s referring to.

Oh, the storm. Your recklessness.

“Yeah,” you say easily. “You’re a part of my crew for now. We shook hands on our truce and everything –and you didn’t stab me after I cut your side, so I figure I can trust you. I would have done the same thing for anyone.” He seems unhappy with your answer, but doesn’t voice it. “If I can save a life, I save it. Especially if it’s someone on my crew,” you ramble on.

He laughs in disdain. “That’s stupid of you. No self respecting captain would do something like that.” He mutters around the bottle he’s slipped from your fingers, “I would have let me drown.”

You toss a handful of sand in his direction. “Well I’m not you.”

His eyes shine in confusion. You curse under your breath from the movement on your rib as you scoot closer to him. “You know,” you start, fully committed to over sharing now that you’ve started, “I haven’t hold anyone this, but years before I met Junmyeon –when I was still just a little street rat pick pocketing to eat and whatever- I had my life saved. You can think it’s stupid, because it kind of is but I don't care.” Baekhyun’s lip twitches up in amusement.

“Anyway! I had my life saved by this one kid. I was being chased down by a couple of thugs a man sent on me after I stole his purse. It was a rich guy who lived in my town, super well-known and feared. I’d really fucked myself over this time. His men were after me, and I tried to hide, but no one was willing to let me in. They were afraid of him. And I was just this random kid; they didn’t owe me anything. I knew if I was caught, I’d get my hands cut off…or worse!” You widen your eyes to emphasize your words. Baekhyun breathes out a laugh.

“I ran around in a panic, crying, shaking, begging. I was only like…10. I hid in an alleyway for an hour when I heard them coming. I could hear them asking people on the street if they’d seen me. ‘Have you seen this girl?’ ‘Have you seen this girl?’” you mimic. “I knew that I was going to be found. But then, this kid, he saw me when he’d come to throw out the trash from the shop he worked at. Or maybe he lived there? I don’t know…I just know that he didn’t have to help me, but he did. He helped me up and hid me in a storage shed under the shop until the next morning. It might not have meant anything to him, but I remember that favor to this day.

“I know it’s unlikely that I’ll ever meet him again, especially since I haven’t returned home, but I feel like I’m repaying him in some way like this. Saving the lives of people close to me or the lives of people who can’t save themselves. I can’t save everyone; shit, I’ve killed way more than I’ve ever saved, but where I can, if I know I can do it, then I do. Since I never got to tell him thank you…it helps.”

You aren’t sure if your words make sense; they don’t the longer you think about them, but you hope that Baekhyun gets the general idea. As a pirate, you pride yourself on killing those who are evil by nature. The people who pick on and hurt the innocent, the less fortunate, the defenseless. You kill, and you collect money for killing, but you have never killed someone who did nothing to deserve it. You’re relentless, sadistic, and at times monstrous, but you aren’t heartless. Despite how you grew up and the struggles you’ve faced –for every unkind soul you encountered, you met two with hearts of gold.

“You know…you talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

“Shut up.”

“No it’s…nice. Having a…normal conversation.”

You blink at him. Yeah, it is. Not throwing curses and insults at each other for once is…nice.

But the thought of admitting that aloud to him makes your stomach twist in an ugly way.

“Are you going soft on me Byun?” you tease.

“I’m allowed to enjoy just talking every once in a while. You’re the one going all starry eyed over some kid from your childhood that’s probably buried in whores and liquor right now,” he throws back. “You shouldn’t idolize people like that. It’ll hurt you less when they don’t fulfill your expectations.” He fingers the neck of the bottle before taking a large swallow. “Besides it sounds like you’re in love with him and you don’t even remember what he looked like.”

“I’m not in love with him,” you feel your stomach turn uncomfortably when Baekhyun looks back at you with an amused eyebrow raise.

So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?

Heat fills your cheeks. “And so what if I can’t remember what he looked like? It was a long time ago and my memory’s been distorted. Fuck off.”

For a while you did look for that kid. You can remember the kohl rimming his eyes, and the hood he wore that hid his face in the darkness. In the time you searched for him you wanted so bad for someone to fit the mental description that you began to make people fit it. You confused what you actually remembered of his appearance with what you wanted him to look like.

Even if he sat right in front of you today –you probably wouldn’t even recognize him.

You hear Baekhyun holding back his giggling and you glare at him half-heartedly. With a full smile, all rectangle, all rounded cheeks, he holds the nearly empty bottle for you to take once again.

When your hand touches his this time, you both pause for a second longer than you should. You blame the alcohol. He lets go and averts his gaze back to the fire. You clear your throat nervously. “What about you?” his eyes flicker quickly from the fire. “Any savior stories? Or love stories, heartbreaker? You know, outside of ones with me,” you add jokingly before finishing the bottle.

“No,” he says quickly. You see his ears color.

You gasp. “You do don’t you? Tell me,” you demand. “Was it someone you grew up with? Are you in love with someone right now?”

The red spreading up his neck isn’t a result of your imagination, or your drunkenness, you know it. “Why are we even talking about this?” he complains, a whine taking form in his voice. You’ve heard him whine like this once before –when he was leaving a bar being held up by one of his men (Sehun, now that you know the people in his crew) and not wanting to go home.

“You’re the one interrogating me over my love life!”

“I was not!”

“‘You love him’, ‘Sounds like you’re in love with him’, ‘You’re obsessed with each other’,” you mock.

His eyes narrow. “I never said that last one.”

This time you feel your face heating. “Whatever. You started the conversation.” You grab sand and start to fill the empty bottle just to give yourself the distraction. You don’t think you can look at him right now. “Besides, there’s nothing else to do. Unless you want to spar…” you look over eagerly.

His face scrunches up (cutely) and he lies on his back. “No, I’m too tired and too drunk to fight you right now.”

You frown to yourself and finger the top of the bottle distractedly. “You know…” you start again, “You act like love is a death sentence, or like it’s something bad.”

“It is,” he says simply. His voice sounds far away. You shuffle closer so (so that you can hear him better –obviously) and grumble under your breath as a way to distract from the pain movement causes you.

He doesn’t move away when you lie down next to him. You both stare up at the sky, visions swimming.

Fuck you’re drunk.

“Are you drunk?” you whisper.

“…a bit,” he laughs in a whisper back.

You both continue to look at the stars and giggle to yourselves. It’s funny that you’re here like this, you think –lying on a beach with Baekhyun on your side, so close that the sides of your bodies are nearly overlapping. Giggling and drunk and talking about love like old friends.

I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.

“Baekhyun…”

“Hmm?”

“It could be nice…being in love.” His head rolls to the side to watch you. You keep your eyes trained on the sky. “Like…it could be like having a first mate in life. Someone to help you navigate your ups and downs like a first mate helps a captain navigate the seas. It could be nice having that one person to lean on when the waters get too rough and it feels like the entire world is against you –you still have the one person who will always be there at your side. It might be nice to be scolded and praised and encouraged for just living…for just being yourself. Don’t you think?” you let your head loll to the side so you can look at him.

You observe the furrow of his eyebrows and the way his lips pout as he thinks. You stare openly into the darkness of his eyes and notice how they both droop downwards. How his nose slopes and how his face is so round.

You feel your stomach flip in an ugly way.

Struck by panic and by his silence at your words –you slap on a sleazy drunk smile. “And you can have sex with them whenever you want. That’s a pretty cool bonus, I think.”

He laughs his absolute loudest –his brightest- at that.

You shove down the urge to say something else, something just as dumb, just so that you can see him laugh like that again.

Shit.

“Shut up,” he giggles. His eyes shine and dart across your face excitedly and you faintly register your own doing the same. His cheeks are so round and so red from the alcohol and the joy.

He’s very pretty when he smiles.

Both of his eyes, pretty (he’s got two of them who would have thought?). A mole under one of them, another on his cheek, one more above his lip.

His lips…those stupid little pink triangles that make up his upper and the stupid moisturized swell of the other. As if able to read your thoughts, his tongue darts out to wet them.

“Your lips are so stupid,” you grumble to yourself loud enough for him to hear you clearly.

That pulls another raucous laugh out of him. His teeth gleam in the moonlight and against the fire.

“Your teeth too,” you add softly. “They’re too white.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep,” he says with a smile.

You roll onto your side to face him. He follows. “Am’not. You’re s’the one who’s drunk,” you fire back. He chuckles softly, almost fondly, and it ghosts across your face. You’re close enough to count his eyelashes.

If you had half the coherence to do so.

“Baekhyun…”

“Hmm?”

You pause to figure out why you called out his name this time. You don’t have anything else you really want to say –just wanted to capture his attention.

“You wanna mess around?” you try.

He giggles. “No, we’re drunk.”

“How valiant of you, that’s never stopped us before. I’m only offering this one time so you better take it up before I take it back.”

He scoffs. “No you aren’t. You’ll probably ask again tomorrow too when you’re sober because you’re always horny and always stupid and you’re in love with my dick.”

You hum and close your eyes with a smile. “Touché.”

The world spins even as your eyes are shut. Your body feels heavy with alcohol and warm with whatever it is that has happened tonight between you and Baekhyun.

When you hear him murmur your name, you peak open an eye. His gaze is surprisingly clear for someone who drank just as much as you.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll uh…I’ll take the first watch,” he stammers.

You close your eyes again and hum in agreement. “You’ve got first watch?” you yawn out.

You vaguely hear him hum as the crackle of the fire sound of his soft breaths lull you to sleep.

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fanfics #exo stories #exo story #exo imagine #exo pirate au #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun pirate au #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fanfics #baekhyun story

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tolkienhorror · 4 years ago

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In Sauron’s Lab: File #5

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Fingon/Sauron, Audience, Crying, Collaring, Public humiliation

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I asked for a King to replace the one you lost, Lieutenant, and all you bring me is this, Morgoth had told Sauron when the orcs had dragged Findekáno into the throne room of the enemy’s base.

You have a week to break him, the Dark Lord had told his minion, interrupting Sauron’s almost nervous sounding explanations about how very useful the son of the new High King would be in their hands for their cause, black eyes uncaring, greyish skin glowing like the destructive flash of lightning in the shine of the Silmarils wrongly crowning that terrible, hollowed face. You make him kneel for me, or you can go right back to that mountain I pried you and feed another of your bodies to the crows.

Then they’d taken him away, and Findekáno remembered wondering if it would even take him a week at the mercy of someone who’d long given up on all empathy along with his sane mind, only to serve this monster who didn’t even bother caring about him in the presence of a prisoner, before he would wish for death. For a quick end, rather than clinging to the foolish hope that someone would come to find him here.

No one would. No one even knew he was here and they wouldn't for several weeks, not before he was expected home from his journey to Himring to surprise his husband. By the time, they would start to wonder in Hithlum, it would be too late.

Maitimo would probably learn last, and even he would not come. Findekáno had made him promise, made him swear on everything safe for what would have bordered on an oath that neither of them needed another one of. More than that, Maitimo would know, better than anyone, that Findekáno had been lost the moment his escort and he had been overwhelmed with the help of countless black arrows and half a dozen of fiery whips from behind. A year, he had once told Findekáno. If you could hold on to your will to live or your sanity or both for a year of being a prisoner in Angband, you were counted among the lucky ones.

As it turned out, for Findekáno, it was two days before he started to regret that he hadn’t tried to bite through his own wrist arteries in these few minutes that he’d spent alone in a pitch-dark, moldy cell, damned to wait for whatever what was to come. And that was before anyone had even touched him.

Findekáno had no doubt that a lot of them wanted to. Two of the boldest creatures reaching out for him had died already when another of Morgoth's highest ranking Lieutenants had dragged Findekáno from his cell to lead him towards a huge hall at the end of the dungeon wing that had already echoed with the screams of more than one of his people at that point. And dozens orcs more were very clearly waiting for their chance, lurking in the corner of that torture chamber, scarred faces distorted into sneers. The scornful whispers about all that they would love to do to their most precious prisoner given half a chance were only interrupted by the occasional brawl or by the sounds of two or more of those despicable bastards starting one of their perverted, brutal mating rituals, high on watching their master use his songs and evil instruments and cruel skill on yet another elvish prisoner.

But they would not be allowed to approach. And the one person Sauron would not lay hand on, was Findekáno himself. The former maia might long be beyond a sane mind, but if there was one thing he was not, it was stupid. Very well aware of Findekáno's relationship to the prisoner that Findekáno had robbed him of under his very nose not too long ago, not least thanks to everything Sauron had seen in Maitimo's mind in decades of not only physical but also mental torture, Sauron must know that there was very little he could have threatened Findekáno with that he didn't expect. Spending night after night with talking Maitimo through his nightmares and memories had made sure of that. Repeat performances were very obviously not among the maia's twisted preferences. So he chose to confront Findekáno with the only thing he could truly hurt him with: the suffering of his own soldiers. Which would have been bad enough on its own, but it still wasn't the worst.

Findekáno would gladly have borne every pain, every humiliation if he could have saved any of his warriors by that, even if it was only by the blade to their throats. The uncertainty of what would come for exiles like them afterward was better than even an hour under the clawed hands of Morgoth's lapdog. If they'd let him, Findekáno would have taken the place of every single of the elves and she-elves he had to watch scream their lives out and yet not being allowed to die in the first days of his captivity; and that, too, was something Sauron knew, of course. The worst was that being the only choice Findekáno could not make. This was the promise he had given his husband in return. That he would not give in. That he would not trade his soul for a couple of lives that were forfeit anyway, weakening his own mind by letting the cunning spirit of the maia enter it to rip it wide open and put into it whatever Sauron thought suited to bend Findekáno to his will. They could not have him as long as he did not give himself to them, they said, Maitimo said, so he would endure. For he knew, if his mind would no longer be his own, if he would go back to his people in the fashion Morgoth doubtlessly wanted him to, no longer himself but merely a vessel … A vessel like they had had to eliminate so many who had allegedly escaped their thralldom, coming to either his father's or Maitimo's doorstep for assault rather than refuge … Then the first person they would set Findekáno to kill would be his own husband. By refusing to give his enemies this chance, therefore trading the life of the person he loved most for the one of dozens – almost a hundred, in the end – other elves, Findekáno thought, maybe he had actually sold his soul already.

A high-pitched yell, quickly cut off by the choked gurgling of blood blocking the throat it had emerged from, tore him from the useless circle of self-hate that was his mind.

"As I was saying before you so rudely started to disassociate," Sauron sighed in that honey-laced voice of his while throwing the tongue he'd just cut from his victim's mouth in a bowl nearby, "I'm starting to think, that useless husband of yours made the wrong choice, relinquishing his claim to the throne. If all people from your side of your kin are as breakable as your unit, Your Highness, the Noldor might have been better advised living even under those kinslaying, crippled hands of your lover. Or rather, the one you haven't cut off when you were too weak to break a single shackle, that is."

Findekáno still did not give the bastard the satisfaction of an answer. He hadn't addressed the maia a single time since they'd taken him and very carefully avoided even regarding that black-clad, delicate shape with more than a fleeting glance from the corner of his eyes. It was better, not staring into those flaming eyes for too long, Maitimo had used to tell him, for you never knew what might stare back at – into – you. Besides, he was too busy, trying not to throw up when his torturer yanked the head of that elf who was firmly chained to a narrow wooden table, to the side by his red-matted blond hair, catching the streams of blood from the victim's mouth in that same bowl before handing it to one of the orcs without even looking twice, leaving the delightedly screeching creatures to fight over their breakfast. Once more, Findekáno wished he could have told the elf – his captain – that it would be over soon, at least, but judging by the last three scenes of this kind he'd already had to watch, chained to a chair of metal himself in a way that left no inch of a room to try and free himself, that would have been a blatant lie.

Sauron hated being distracted by too much talk when he was working but he very much enjoyed hearing his victims scream, that was all. So this was always how he started. "Let's see if we can get a little more fight out of this one, shall we? It would be a shame if you had to do without the leader of your escort once you'll promise yourself to the Lord of this world."

The Never was on the tip of Findekáno's tongue, but it never came, and maybe not only because he refused to acknowledge the numbing poison that was Sauron's words with anything but a blank stare. It was hard, holding on to resistance when you had to watch your enemy reach for a diamond-sharp knife and put a first clean, deep cut to his newest victim's body, right around the wrist, in front of the broad shackle holding the captain's arm in place, and then start to peel off the first layers of skin inch by inch, finger by finger, more patches of flesh and skin carelessly thrown towards the drooling audience. It was a mercy, one that Findekáno shouldn't be half as thankful for as he was, that the elf's voice was soon too sore from screaming to produce more than a hoarse noises, hardly even able to drown out the mirthful whistling on Sauron's lips that was a most basic healing spell to keep blood loss and infections at bay. And it was an irony that wasn't lost to Findekáno, that he'd spent almost two years, trying to convince his husband that he had no reason to hate himself for what he'd seen and been forced to do during his own captivity, and that he could feel the same blackness of loathing wash over his own soul now; thick acid trying to bury every memory of light and love and friendship especially to these people he had to see suffer right in front of his eyes, maybe never to be revived. It was far easier to believe in innocence when you weren't the one watching silently. That heaviness of shock and any missing rest for days, that had started to take hold of his soul, was spreading, creeping over his skin in droves and leaving it numb, so that he did not realize, there were tears rolling down his cheeks, until Sauron was suddenly standing right in front of his chair and grabbed his cheek to slowly lick the salt off his face with his forked tongue, laying hands on him for the first time. The nausea grew instantly, a gagging sitting in the back of Findekáno's throat that he didn't want to let his enemy hear either, so he just jerked his head away and bit his tongue bloody to keep silent.

"You taste sweeter than your lover, little Princeling," Sauron murmured huskily, blood-covered, spidery hands brushing through Findekáno's messy hair. "You might want to rethink your priorities. You could have a life so much better by my side than being the useless son of a lesser King. The only thing you're doing right now is hurting everyone in this room." Findekáno's ongoing silence seemed to be loud enough, because he backed away with a shrug. Ridiculously gentle for what he'd been doing to every of Findekáno's soldiers for a few days now, he tugged two of the golden ribbons from his braids and went back to his current victim. After handing his minions another bowl full of red to slurp that had been filled by that skinned hand of a barely conscious elf in the last few minutes, he wrapped the ribbon around the mess of twitching, bared muscle and pressed the captain's wrist down against the table with his elbow while reaching for a long nail and a hammer. "Now, now." An admonishing noise came from Sauron's cherry-red lips when Findekáno turned his head away, unable to stand the sight of that nail being pressed right in the middle of that ruined palm, with only the fabric of the ribbon between, the sight of a usually so proud, brave warrior arching up against his chains in fear. "Is that a way to honor your people's sacrifice for you, Your Highness? You won't even look at them while they're suffering for you?"

A sob that he could no longer hold back came from Findekáno's lips but could never make it past the echo of the new, broken scream from one of his oldest friends when the hammer drove the nail through his flesh in a single strike.

It didn't last long, because the elf had finally blacked out which didn't stop Sauron from repeating the same cruel process on the other arm so that his victim came to even more inhuman pain. With the second nail in place, the chains were no longer necessary to hold that marred, infection-weakened, writhing body in place as Morgoth's butcher reached for his knife once more. "Did you know, my precious Prince," he said calmly while he put the blood-smeared tip to the elf's left side, right under the ribcage, "there's at least four organs a Firstborn body can survive without? And a dozen others of which you can take at least half away before you need to sing the rest back together to function? You should know. I've fed a couple of your husband's parts to my wolves. I think they might get some more elvish dinner tonight." The knife started to cut. With a disgusting, meaty sound, a mess of red and yellow was dropped in a bucket below the table.

But this time, it wasn't the captain's scream that filled the room the loudest but a sound Findekáno hadn't known he was about to make before it came, his resolve shattered into pieces.

"What was that?" Now it was Sauron, not even looking up but reaching for needle and thread instead to close the crude cut he'd just made before his victim could bleed out on him. "Anything you want, my precious Princeling? All you have to do is ask, you know."

"Please." This time, the word came quietly, but clear and unmistakable. Apparently, after all this time that Findekáno had thought he would be the rock in their relationship, had to be, because Maitimo didn't have the strength anymore, it was time to admit, that his husband had been the stronger one between them from the start. Perhaps, when it came to it, if Findekáno would only ever leave this fortress again an enemy of his own people, no longer the master of his own mind and thoughts and will, his husband would even be strong enough to kill him before Findekáno could beat him to it. "Stop. If it is me you want, release my people."

"Is that an order, Your Highness?" Wholly unimpressed, Sauron moved to his victim's other side and caressed the quickly, panicked heaving chest with just the tip of his knife, as if trying to make out the best spot to continue his gruesome work. "I do not need more food for my troops and beasts. I need a servant loyal to me and my master. Is that what you want, Prince of the Noldor? To serve the Dark Lord?"

"Yes." It became easier, Findekáno found dully, once you had given in to your fate. He did not even shy away from that triumphing, flickering stare of his enemy any longer. Maybe it would hurt less if he let himself fall for it quickly.

"Yes, what?" His hand wandering lower, Sauron thrust his knife deeply into his victim's loins, spearing a kidney, impatiently wiping blood of his cheek, both from the new horrible wound and from the captain's mangled hand, from its useless, mindless attempt of freeing itself from the nail crucifying it.

"Yes. Master." Findekáno never lowered his head. There was no use, trying to look away now.

"Better. We're getting there." Sauron just left his tool right where it was, impaling his victim's body in a third place, and went to the back of a room to open a silver box with the symbol of his eye on it that had been waiting there from the first hour on. A flash of gold and obsidian shone in the bright candle light as he slowly approached Findekáno, dangling from a lazy finger a broad collar with sharply carved tips at the top and the bottom. In the hand of a fire maia, the horrible adornment quickly started to heat, a dangerous orange glow matching the hair of Findekáno's torturer, pulsating right in front of his eyes when Sauron stopped by his chair and grabbed his chin, forcing him to surrender to that black stare again. "Ask for it, my sweet little pet, then I might think about allowing your incompetent captain over there to die."

The last of tears dried on Findekáno's skin as he left a part of him behind that he knew would not return, no matter how his life would look from now on and for how long. I'm sorry, Russo. "Please, Master, put your collar on me. Let me serve you."

"So easy." With a lazy snap of fingers, the chains holding Findekáno clicked open, allowing his knees to give out under him all by themselves when an ice-cold hand was wrapped around his braids, shoving him off the chair.

He thought, he could fight, for a moment. But he'd also thought that when they had first brought him into this room, and the rest of that day, he'd spent watching fifty orcs raping one of his best friends to death, so that spark died down as quickly as it had come. It had been too late to fight the moment he'd let himself be foolishly raided from behind instead of securing the area well enough.

"Your father should thank me that I'm taking the weakling that calls himself his firstborn from him," his enemy chuckled, a clear hint of arousal mixing into the purr of triumph in his voice as Findekáno winced and gasped for air, in vain, as the collar was closed around his neck. Melted into one by a single hummed tone, the heated metal was scorching his skin, the first exhausted attempts of breathing, of swallowing leaving marks and cuts on him. "This does look a lot prettier on you though than on your lover, my new favorite pet. Why don't you show me how you like to please him?" Under the approving cheers and leering of the orcs, laces were opened without haste. Thick, crooked hardness brushed Findekáno's tight lips, with ridges and barbs adorning the misshaped appendix that he knew he would soon feel somewhere entirely else and be forced to pretend and love it. If nothing else, at least Sauron was predictable.

But Findekáno didn't move, not yet, ignoring that hand in his braids that was grabbing him harsher by the second. His eyes wandered to the table in the middle of the room that was dripping blood on the ground in a slowly growing pool.

The sounds of searing agony from there still hadn't fallen silent.

Sharp fingernails scratched over his cheek, prying his mouth open with ease, the first brutal bump of hardened flesh against the back of his throat cutting off any protest before it could come. "If you worry about him so much, I suggest, you hurry to please your master, pet. It's only up to you how much more your people will have to take before I let them go."

It was another lie, of course, but one, Findekáno thought, he could live with. None of his soldiers would leave this fortress alive. If he could keep Sauron's filthy paws off of them for the rest of what was their ruined life, he would, at least, have done something right in the mess that his life had become. Findekáno had given up.

#Sauron #fingon #sauron's lab #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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