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yesimwriting · 4 years ago

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Searing Starlight (chapter 3)

A/n I CANNOT believe how many people have supported this story,, I’m so excited to continue it with you guys :))

Just a reminder that while this is based off the show i hope to blend in some book aspects/vibes and this is just a fanfic and it won’t be completely accurate/follow the show 100% and any changes I make/parts I chose not to focus on are for the sake of the story I’m trying to tell

I can’t tell if I wish Kaz had let me go with Inej or not. She’s faster than I am, and considering that I have no real reason to be loyal to them, I’m a flight risk. That means I’m stuck here with only the Kaz Brekker and Jesper, who I tricked. I hadn’t exactly befriended Inej entirely in the few minutes I was alone with her, but she seemed more trustworthy than them. More susceptible to reason. And when she heard where I was from, who was responsible for raising me, something in the way she watched me changed. It was the oddest combination--a look of both tired sympathy and cautious admiration.

“What I don’t understand…” Jesper breaks the silence. “Is why you all go back there. He lets you leave, he gives you money--there’s no reason to return.”

I try not to let the question anger me. I shift awkwardly, scratching at my palm. “We tried leaving.” My stomach knots. “Once.” How do I make them understand? “He caught us because we young and stupid, and then he…” I exhale slowly. They’re just words. They don’t change anything. Whether I speak them or not, the events of my history aren’t different. “He picked the youngest, a girl only six months younger than me, and he slit her throat from ear to ear and took a finger of anyone that flinched as her blood splattered onto them. He said her blood was our penance and to live with knowing what we did to her would be our punishment.”

I don’t tell them that I was twelve. I don’t tell them Anya lied about my birthday on the records. I don’t tell them I’m missing the very tip of my pinky--a small punishment for the twitch of my lip. “When Kenya is truly angry, he never hurts you--he hurts those around you.” No one responds to that. They’re making me seem like such a bummer. “It’s not awful all the time...he borders on agreeable when you listen to him.”

Most days we have peace, left to our own devices as long as we accomplish certain goals. Their silence does little to unnerve me. After speaking so freely of such a nightmare, the desire to be rid of the taste of those words from my mouth is almost overwhelming, but I hold to the silence.

“Why has he never sold you to the grisha that are so desperate for you?”

Of course Kaz Brekker would ask a question like that. “He isn’t the business of money, he’s in the business of creating gods. He indentures people he thinks could one day become saints or something else entirely. He wants to be owed by the heavens.”

I watch Kaz carefully, a part of me curious about how someone like him could react to a goal like that. I can see him understanding the ambition of it all, but I can’t imagine himself a person of faith. Perhaps he’ll think it a clever trick. Perhaps he’ll even agree with Kenya.

He nods once; something I get nothing from.

Whatever. He can be coy and distant this entire time. They all can. I’ll be out of here soon enough, and I’ll find Anya. And if I can stop something bad from happening to Alina then that’s a bonus I’m willing to take risks for.

“That man is awful.”

Inej’s voice comes from right behind me. I snap my head around. “You’re in here.”

She nods once, oblivious to how shocking her sudden appearance is. She hands me a knapsack casually, staring at Kaz. “What’s the plan? We have six hours.”

I look around the room, only seeing one closed window and one closed door. “There’s one door in this room.”

“We take the Inferni to the ship.” He doesn’t even bother looking in my direction.

Okay, they can be mean to be all they want but they can’t ignore me. I don’t think I’ve ever been ignored in my entire life. Gods in the making get attention. It may be the cruel attention of fate, but it’s something.

“Did she come in through the window?”

Again, I am ignored.

“And then what, boss?” Jesper casually crosses the room, sitting down next to me on the small couch. It’s like I’m not even here. “We’d need to break into the Little Palace to get Alina.”

What? “You guys are going to--” No. No. I am not kidnapping Alina. And there’s no way she’d be in the Little Palace. “First off--if you want to kidnap Alina Starkov for whatever insane ploy you’re all playing at, you’d never find her at Little Palace. She’s not a Grisha and second--” I cut myself off, standing from my seat. “Why am I even telling you this? I shouldn’t be helping you kidnap her.”

Kaz’s eyes dart to me boredly. At least it’s some kind of acknowledgement of my existence. “I thought you two weren’t close.”

I seriously consider scorching him. Just a little. Not even enough to scar him, just enough to get him to shut up. “She’s still a person who has a right to her body and what happens to it.”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but if we pull this off we get one million kruge.”

What does he think I’m going to say? ‘Okay, well as long as you’re doing it for a good reason.’ Is that the response he expects. “Okay, well that makes it fair.”

His eyes narrow skeptically, but Jesper is the one to ask, “Really?”

“No,” I scoff, slumping back into my seat, “I was being sarcastic.”

I drop my head back, neck craning over the back of the small couch. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it makes it easier to ignore them. I’ve kept worse company for less. There’s an odd silence for a long second. I look forward without moving, I see Kaz vaguely gesture in Inej’s direction.

“Y/n,” Inej’s voice is refreshingly measured, “I think after the kinds of things we’ve gone through we understand that there’s some relativity in morality.”

I shift my head to the right so I can look at her. “...Yes, but you’re just forcing another girl into a similar situation.” Why is Alina even worth so much? “And why would anyone pay so much for Alina?”

Inej hesitates, glancing at Kaz and then back at me. “She’s a Sun Summoner.”

On instinct, I straighten entirely, my body rigid. They’re insane. “You all are cracked if you think Alina’s a Sun Summoner.” No. No. It couldn’t be her. “Bless your hearts, seriously, she’s--she was trained to be a map maker--she’s not…” None of them relax, none of them shift in any way. What good would lying about this bring them? They have no reason to lie about this. “Saints, I should have had more to drink while downstairs.”

So what if she’s a Sun Summoner? She didn’t ask to be one. She doesn’t deserve this. I cross my arms. “It doesn’t make this okay.”

“And would it make it okay if you were getting a cut of the profit?” What?

Kaz is looking at me in that tactful way. It takes all of my focus to not let myself become unnerved. “What?”

“If I offered you a cut, would you be able to push aside more protests in order to make working with you easier?”

Could I do it? Could I betray Alina? I drop my gaze away from his, opting to focus on the forgotten lantern on the coffee table in front of me. It flickers to life with no conscious prompting on my part. The flame is low and blue. Still though, Kaz notices it. What doesn’t he notice?

“I can help you do what I agreed to.” I swallow around a lump in my throat, “But I cannot help you kidnap Alina.”

The corner of his mouth tugs downwards. “We’re just going to get her to work with us.”

“Work with you?”

“We never said anything about taking her, and if Alina is really your friend you should know that the entire world is after her. Better us who can get her out of an unwanted situation quickly than the brutal General Kirigan who will hold her hostage until she does what he wants.”

...I guess he has a point. “Oh.” I’m not naive enough to think that their methods will revolve around making Alina comfortable, but perhaps it’s not as dark as I assumed. “Maybe I was a little quick to assume…” I trail off awkwardly, looking at Inej for some type of reassurance. She avoids my gaze.

I scratch the back of my arm, feeling like a spiraling child. I pick up my knapsack and place it on my lap, fiddling with the strap.

“Come on,” Kaz stands, adjusting his grip on his cane, “We only have until sunrise.”

As I stand, I pull down the skirt of my dress, suddenly aware of how inappropriate my clothing is for this late in the night. “Can--can I change first?”

It’s a sheepish question, leaving me feeling like a child.

“Five minutes,” Kaz offers, stepping out of the room with the rest of them.

Inej leaves last, feet more silent than a cat. She offers me the tiniest hint of a smile. Despite my reservations, I beam at her. Something about me finds her politeness endearing despite it all. I think she closes the door loudly on purpose, to assure me of privacy.

Normally changing in a building so full of drunk men would leave me nervous, but knowing Inej is outside leaves me feeling safe. I may not trust her with my life but something about her being tells me she values personal autonomy enough to protect it.

I sift through the belongings Inej brought me. Clean underwear I try not think of her searching for, a thin white dress, comfortable pants, shorts, a few casual shirts, my red hood, and a nightgown. When I get to the bottom of the bag, and I see the personal belongings Inej smuggled back for me, I’m moved so powerfully my hand flies to my mouth on instinct. She had brought the folded up piece of paper with the only information I’ve been able to find about Kamil, the book I left on my nightstand, the small candle holder Alina had given me the day before I was taken away, the blade Mal had given me the day I left, the deck of playing cards Anya had first taught me to play with, and my mother’s necklace. The silver north star on a long chain.

Before I can become too emotional, I take off the Crow’s Club T-shirt Inej had given me when I looked cold. I change into black pants, tucking the small blade Mal had given me into the pocket. The shirt I put on is pale blue, breaking the dark theme of everything around me. I fasten my red hood over my shoulders, basking in the familiar fabric. Lastly, I pull the north star necklace over my head, watching the blue orb with a black dot at its center blink at me in the light. I always found the stone at the pendant’s center odd. I'm quick to walk towards the door, nervous about what wasting their time could mean.

“Let’s do this,” I sigh, pushing open the door.

They all pause. Or maybe they were never moving. I try to imagine them interacting normally, but it’s hard to picture them as anything but intense and unflinching. There’s something odd about them, though, Jesper practically sulking and Kaz dropping his head despite Inej’s harsh stare.

“What kind of stone is in your necklace?”

I swear to the Saints that if Kaz Brekker tries to steal it I’ll melt those leather gloves into his hands. “Try to take it and--”

“That’s what I get for trying to make ‘polite conversation.’” He throws a look at Inej as he speaks the last two words.

Wait--did Inej tell him to try to make polite conversation? Wait--more importantly, did he just kind of, almost say something that borders on casual?

Wrinkling my nose, I let out a slight sigh. “Sorry.”

His eyebrows draw together quizzically. “Did you just apologize for assuming I’d steal from you?”

Great. Now I’m fully embarrassed. “Can we just go?”

“Not before meeting me, I hope.” The stranger’s voice means nothing to me, but the others tense at it immediately. What? The man continues to walk forward, his steps too casual and confident for me to trust. The stranger is quick to respond to the question on my face, “Pekka Rollins.”

Taglist: @ambrosia-v-black @fandomstuffff @boxofteenageideas @losers-club6 @cityofstaars @stillreadingfantasy @slatersbrekker @xoxo-aclown @alzawas-plug @nuwanda-greaser @swearingsolemnly @-thatgirloverthere-

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years ago

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

WELCOME BACK, AGENT ; PART 4 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k SUMMARY: You're back at your desk job at the TVA, suffering the consequences of your mistakes that led to your crash on Sakaar. However, Mobius has a better job for you than doing just paperwork. A/N: I feel like this one has more platonic mobius x reader than loki x reader lol but you know, this loki is meeting her for the first time again. please leave comments, criticism or love, whatever, I love to hear from you guys who are reading this. enjoy xo gif by @alligatorlokis from this gifset WARNINGS: Swearing. Paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The sweet musky smell almost lulls you to sleep as you skim through the case file of a Loki variant, pictures and text of monochrome glaring under the unforgiving fluorescent office lighting. It’s a harsh reminder of your mishap; a simple overlook during a mission that sent you crashing onto the wasteland of Sakaar. According to the reports as you stood on the pedestal, pleading your innocence to the judge, you were there for an estimated 600 years. Maybe more.

The thought of spending six centuries stranded on a planet sends a wave of pain through your skull—it’s overwhelming information but unsurprising. You do feel like you’ve spent 600 years on that God-forsaken planet.

Now, your once fugitive days have been replaced with the return of being trapped behind a desk and having to recount every event that took place during your time there. Word for word. You despise the TVA’s love of paperwork—it’s a fucking nightmare.

The collar of your shirt feels itchy against the back of your neck, bringing your nails to graze it furiously.

You decide to ignore Miss Minutes' cheery voice despite your agitation, your name rolling off her southern accent. It hints at her chagrin towards your disregarding nature.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

Her voice lacks all sense of her once constant sunny disposition. You spare the projection a glance, watching her rubber-hose-like arms curve to her where you assume her hips would be. She looks at you with an expectant raised brow. You don’t say anything, keeping eye contact as you snatch an empty event report template, spinning in your swivel chair and away from the glowing tangerine clock.

With pursed lips, you swipe the scatter of mess away, revealing an orange typewriter that sits idly within the expense of your stacks of case files and your collection of vintage Earth cassettes. You hear Miss Minutes' sigh as she strides to the other end of your desk, perching on top of a dusty stack of pending paperwork.

“C’mon, it’s just a test,” the animated clock says. You spare her another look as you feed the report template into the roller forcefully. Bing! The return bar dings unceremoniously as it nearly startles Miss Minutes off the stack.

“That is exactly why I’m refusing to listen to you,” you mutter with annoyance, fingers already flying across the keyboard, punching letters onto the event summary section. The loud clickety-clack of the keys makes it impossible to hear over it. “I don’t get why I need to take a test when I clearly know everything I need to know.”

“Well, you were gone for a very long time and we just wanna test your memory on policies and procedures here at the TVA—”

“Then, why didn’t they come and get me earlier? From the moment I stepped foot on Sakaar, I did everything I could to create a Nexus event or even just a spike and you only came when? When I met Loki.”

Your eyes are now on her startled figure, clicks and clacks coming to an abrupt end. You’re upset over your arrest, the whole hoo-ha at the courtroom, and everything before that. Your behavior is nearly childish but understandable to those who express empathy. You feel like you were being used, prioritizing the capture of the Loki variant that has been causing a ruckus to the timeline. But, it is your job to protect the TVA and the sacred timeline. Although you feel that the TVA should be protecting its employees as well.

“Look, I am not taking that test and that’s my final word. Everyone knows I am capable of handling myself. Plus, I do have tons of paperwork to refresh my memory on policies and procedures if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The cartoon clock nods but with hesitation. However, you do make a fair point. Thus, with a swish and a blip, Miss Minutes disappears into thin air, and you’re left to your own devices once more.

Finally some goddamn peace.

As if the universe doesn’t loathe you enough, someone calls your name, approaching from behind you. A groan escapes from your lips, scowling at the glaring keys of the typewriter.

“What?” you spat. In a swift motion, you swivel in your seat and turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s Mobius, approaching you with sudden caution. You let your shoulder sag with relief, happy to see a familiar friendly face.

“Glad to see you’re back and still feisty.” Mobius hesitantly taps your shoulder, flashing you a small consoling smile. Your expression, however, remains unchanged. “Well, you guys did find me after all.” He spots the glimmer of melancholy in your eyes; they avert back to face the typewriter, hands resting on the keys. Mobius shoves his hand into the pockets of his brown slacks, shifting to lean against the edge of your desk. He knows to tread lightly around you after what happened. You’ve changed with wrinkles of age and crinkles of exhaustion. Sakaar must have not been kind to you.

Yet, you’re here, at your desk; alive and well.

“Hey, what’s got you all wound up?”

It’s a stupid question, really but it’s a question to show he still cares. You have every right to be upset. However, you have every right to be thankful. You would have been pruned. Desk cleared and cassettes discarded—it would be as if you never existed. Renslayer would have never given you any mercy after the act you pulled. Disobeying orders and recklessly throwing yourself into danger with the risk of bringing the whole TVA down. You’re impulsive on missions, but it’s your unrelenting determination that drives you to be one of the greatest analysts Mobius has ever seen.

You’re also a friend. A great one. And he isn’t planning on losing one.

“Please prune me, Mobius.”

Your statement comes off as intentionally sarcastic rather than truly meaningful.

“What? I always thought you adored paperwork.” Mobius hears you groan, burying your face in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk. “My back is already hurting, and I have a migraine just thinking about typing out reports of my time on Sakaar. I think it’s quite clear I adore paperwork.” Your muffled voice tinges sarcasm heavily.

Laughter erupts in his chest. He's glad that your sense of humor never changed. Then, the moment quickly passes and he senses a sudden change in the air. You turn up to look at him.

“What was my Nexus event?”

It’s abrupt, almost arbitrary but leads him to even more confusion. Mobius finds himself frowning. “You don’t know?”

You blink. “That’s the one thing they never told me.”

He shifts in his seat on the edge of your desk, blinking up to the ceiling in thought. “Well, from what I heard...it was because Loki willingly helped you. And it wasn’t for his own advantage.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Wouldn’t that be Loki's fault?”

“Apparently not. It was all you.”

You laugh in response; it comes out like a puff of air. “Well, then. That’s a first. I guess I can finally add manipulation to my list of skills. Plus, pick-pocketing weird cosmic fruits.”

Mobius laughs and taps your shoulder again.

“C’mon, take a walk with me. I’ve got a new case that I need your help with.” You shoot him a quizzical look, eyes catching sight of a thick case file in hand—must be important. “I thought I was supposed to be on desk duty.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to sit behind the desk the whole time,” he shoots back a clever answer with a raised eyebrow, beckoning you to accept his offer. Your laugh comes off as more of a snort. It’s the first one in a while. You stand on your feet, stretching your limbs as you shrug on your coat that was hung over the back of your chair.

“Plus, you’re under my supervision,” he says before turning on his heel, heading for the exit. You watch him raise a hand, his back to you, gesturing for you to follow as he pushes through the wooden door. You hum with amusement, trailing behind him.

The winding hallways feel hollow, mundane walls lacking any color of brightness the TVA tries to bring to the space when in all fairness, orange isn’t much of a fun color now that everywhere you look, there’s a tinge of tangerine somewhere. The posters that adorn the walls are your least favorite parts of the headquarters’ decorative choice. You pass one that says 'Always Watching' in big bold letters, ominously glaring at you. The words are far from comforting, almost inhumane—a jarring reminder of where you are and where you stand in the hierarchy of this bureaucratic organization.

Mobius clears his throat from beside you, pulling you out from your thoughts. In a weirdly discreet manner, he hands you the case file with an outstretched hand. You take it, eyeing him and his odd behavior, there’s an unexpected shift in the air.

Then, you glance down, reading the scrawled words on the file that reads: Variant L1130, Loki Laufeyson.

Your strides come to an abrupt end, whipping your head up to see Mobius’ sheepish smile. Your eyes are wide, and you’re shaking your head in utmost objection.

“No, no, no. No. Absolutely no—”

“C’mon, it’s just—”

“No, Mobius. Nuh-uh. I swear, if I have to deal with another Loki, I will prune myself. I literally will.”

You're shoving the file to him, as he attempts to suck it up to you like the optimistic idiot he is although he very well knows once you’ve made up your mind, you cannot be swayed. You’re stubborn, rebellious—it’s what makes you dangerous. Yet, the TVA are pessimists. It’s Mobius who truly recognizes your accompanying positive characteristics that make dealing with your spontaneous character worthwhile.

Then, coincidently emerging from the door of the locker room is Loki himself, dressed in a dress shirt, tie, and slacks—clothes and color schemes accustomed to the TVA’s dress code. Mobius can practically see the wires in your brain short-circuiting as soon as you lay eyes on the God. Your eye twitches and from that, he knows you’re about to go mayhem. It’s the mayhem that’s going to break out on him like a hurricane devouring everything and anything in its way.

“You hired him?! You hired a Loki?!”

Your voice is loud, startling Mobius and Loki as passersby stare at the commotion you’re causing. You find yourself hunching in response, shoulders sagging as if it’s supposed to help with averting the attention away from you. Still, your expression doesn’t falter, and you’re staring at Mobius like he’s nuts.

Your voice comes off as a whisper, tone still harsher than before. “Mobius, are you insane?—”

“Just, let me explain,” he cuts you off with a raised palm to you. You purse your lips, sparing a glance to Loki who seems amused by the looks of the conversation that’s turning to more of an argument because you’re directly questioning your colleague’s sanity in public. Nevertheless, you decide to hear him out.

You watch Mobius sigh at the sight of your raised brow. “We have a variant. A Loki variant that’s been killing our Minutemen and I believe it’s the same one that threw you to Sakaar. So, to hunt down a Loki, what better way than to source the help of another?”

Silence. You’re giving him that deafening silent treatment once more. You’re thinking, he can see the mechanics in your brain running like a steam engine. He observes the way your eyes flicker between him, the file, and Loki who attempts to hide his confusion of you and the whole situation.

You’re not his superior, not even close, but he’s hopeful for your approval of his plan.

You cross your arms, shifting in your stance. “Which Loki is this?” You gesture to Loki with a tilt of your head. Mobius heaves a sigh, a hand to his hip and the other waving in the air.

“He’s, uh, he’s from 2012—”

And you’re back to causing mayhem.

“2012?! Mobius! That’s the worst one yet!”

“Now, hang on just a minute—” Loki interrupts, voice tinged with bewilderment and resentment but with two sharp looks directed his way, he instantly shuts his mouth.

You and Mobius are now back to your whispered debate.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, the TVA’s survival all depends on catching this variant and that means our survival. He has potential for change, so much of it...You just have to trust me on this.”

Mobius makes an excellent point but you can't help but feel the queasiness rising from your stomach. It feels like bile. You begin to feel the weight of the case file in your grasp becoming heavier and heavier. It’s the thought of risky business, and you’re almost upset as to why Mobius thinks it’s such a brilliant idea to pull you into this case after the stunt you pulled.

“Care to explain why I'm involved in this? You do know I’m being scrutinized for every move I make, right?”

Following your question, he glances at Loki who seems to be growing impatient, eyes wandering around the hallway. He leans forward and lowers his voice though his pitch raises, like when he's excited about a breakthrough.

“Because I know you’re capable of getting Loki to trust you. It happened once, there’s a high chance it’ll happen again and that’s good enough for me.” He watches you blink once. Then, twice. He continues, “And you’re being scrutinized by me. So, does it really matter?”

You’re silent again but in deep thought and not out of spite. Your troubled eyes find Loki’s. He’s already staring at you and for a moment, you see an unknown glimmer in his eye, expression nearly vulnerable but in an instant, he seals it away from you and averts his gaze, busying himself with straightening his pecan brown tie. It’s a small sign that he must have heard what Mobius said to you quietly. Nothing more.

Your gaze returns to your colleague and you pull yourself together, heaving a deep sigh. “Fine, but I still think you’re insane.”

Mobius beams down at you in an almost proud manner. “Welcome back, agent.” And with a turn of a heel, he waves for Loki to follow as the three of you head down the hallway. Loki quickly catches up beside you, much to your dismay. “So, what’s your story?” he leans into you with a curious smirk. You keep your face forward, shoulder back, and chin up as you reply with a monotonous tone. “None of your business, daddy long legs.”

In your peripheral vision, you note how the God retracts in response to your reply, brows now furrowed as he glances down to his legs in an almost sheepish and innocent way.

You struggle to fight down a growing smirk.

Mobius looks over his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of you and Loki’s expression after your exchange.

It looks like the two of you would get along just fine.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #mobius x reader #mobius #ravonna renslayer

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draw-you-coward · 4 years ago

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“If you keep shaking your blasted leg I will strap you down to your chair,” Canach snaps.

The shaking stops. “I didn’t know you were kinky,” says the worst person in the world.

“And I don’t need to know if you are,” he mutters in return, doing his best to mentally bleach his short-term memory. Roza can be a disgusting little weed sometimes, either out of social ineptitude or accidentally-but-really-on-purpose. These are the only types of people Canach befriends nowadays: liars, social pariahs, and criminals. And whatever the hell Kasmeer is supposed to be.

“Why are you so jumpy, anyhow?” he asks to a predictable glare. “It isn’t like you to fidget.”

Roza purses his lips. “I do not have my gun,” he says with his ever-present lisp of disgust.

“Your what?” says Canach.

Roza opens his pack and shows him the inside, revealing a few asuran tchotchkes, a couple of oddly-shaped parcels with suspicious stains, and what looks to be someone’s amateur knitting project—perhaps he robbed a retirement home for fresh bodies. “I think I left it at the house,” he elaborates, explaining in actuality nothing at all.

He pulls back before Canach can try and identify which body parts are in the parcels. “I am at full alertness. If I am to meet your mysterious paramour, I must be prepared for the situation to turn violent.”

Canach doesn’t know what part of that to digest first. “My paramour?” he repeats.

Roza’s glare doubles. “Is that not why you have called me here? To meet them?”

By the Pale fucking Tree. “I want you to meet a previous colleague of mine. I said that we worked together on certain illicit activities, not that we—” He groans, pressing the palm of his hand to his thorns so he can prick himself and ensure this isn’t some absurd nightmare. “I knew this was a terrible idea. I shouldn’t have agreed to deal with you while sober.”

Roza makes an annoyed noise at him, only half paying attention. He is rifling through his pack, and pulls out what Canach vaguely recognizes as his secondary communicator. Is it just him, or did it get smaller?

Roza brings it up to his mouth. “Trahearne?” he asks. “Did I leave my pistol with you?”

The device makes a sound that could either be a whine of static or a cat’s mewl. “Your pistol? No, I haven’t come across it. It isn’t on you?”

This is ridiculous. Roza thought Canach brought him here to—he is listening to a dead man talk about firearms, and his contact could join them at any second and overhear it all. He is going to lose what little authority he has managed to hold onto after all these years of moral chastity.

Roza, for his part, does not seem to care about subtlety in the slightest. “No. I usually leave it in the bedside drawer.” He twists to the side, scanning their surroundings with blank anxiety.

“Which bedside drawer?”

“Yours,” Roza says at the same time that Trahearne adds, “Ours?”

Canach is in some terrible audio comedy crime drama and cannot escape. Maybe he is the one strapped to his chair.

“Yes! Yes. It’s next to the…” Roza makes a gesture with his hand Trahearne has absolutely no way of seeing and that Canach wishes he could immediately erase from his memory. “Could you check?”

Trahearne seems to understand him, for better or for worse. “You keep your gun in there? Roza.” He groans, exhaling a puff of static.

“It is easily accessible.” Roza seems mildly confused.

“Yes, but I do not want to shoot myself in the hand while I am looking for—Harley, dearheart, I need to go upstairs. I know. I know—ow! Thor—Thank you.”

“You’re already dead,” Roza argues. “What harm could it possibly do?”

Muffled sounds of furniture being moved come through from the other end. “That is… a good question. One moment…. Ah yes, it’s here.”

Roza perks up. He perks right back down a moment later when there is a faint click, followed by a metallic rattling.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Roza, I am not keeping a fully loaded firearm in my bedside drawer.”

“But—”

“And the validity of my invulnerability aside, I certainly do not want you shooting yourself in the hand. I’ll leave the bullets next to it. Alright?”

Roza sighs. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Trahearne echoes his sigh, although his own is one of relief. “Say hello to Canach for me. And don’t threaten whoever he wants you to meet. Remember what I said: If you try your best to be nice, he will appreciate it.”

What? How does he know about this?

“No promises. Goodbye,” Roza says, and shuts the device off.

“How does he know about this?” Canach demands.

Roza shrugs at him, infuriatingly noncommittal. “I thought you wanted me to meet a date,” he says with large, dark, utterly maddening eyes. “Trahearne usually has helpful advice, so I told him about this meeting. He is very experienced in social etiquette, you know. He befriended three stray cats.”

Truly, an impressive achievement. “And you,” Canach mutters.

Roza smiles with all his teeth. “And I. It is quite remarkable. Is that your little friend over there looking around? Very well, since we are meeting for business rather than pleasure—how nice do you want me to be?”

Canach considers. To hell with it, he decides. It’ll be funny. “Don’t hold back,” he allows.

Roza’s grin widens.

~*~

#canach #roza #trahearne #drabble #gw2 #this is set ''current'' time in 1333 so spodlers for hoT #helooo it is me #happy pride!#i'm gonna do a small drawing this month i'll just... get around to it asdfjskf #writing #ah i knew i forgot a tag

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

Text

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 13

A/N Time to meet our last character

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

Jonah woke me up early the following morning by a shake of my shoulder. I winced as I lifted myself off the desk and stretched my arms above my head until my spine cracked.

“Sleep okay?” Jonah chuckled lightly as he glanced over my shoulder at the paper I had basically slept on top of.

I dropped my hands back to my lap with a heavy tired sigh, “I guess.”

“Any sleep is better than no sleep.” Jonah said. “We gotta get a move on though.”

I got up from the desk chair and turned off the lamp before starting to gather my things up again. The clock on the bedside table read 7:30am and I tried to ignore the ache in my limbs from exhaustion and my uncomfortable sleeping position as I packed up our few things in preparation to leave again. Jonah opened one of the cans we bought at the grocery store with a knife and stuck it in the hotel room microwave to warm up some sort of makeshift breakfast for us.

As I was packing up my laptop bag and Jonah was tending to our weak excuse of breakfast, there was a knock at the door. Our heads snapped over towards it.

“Housekeeping.”

The microwave beeped steadily three times.

Jonah and I looked at each other and I hurried over to the door to look out the peephole into the hallway.

“Close the bathroom.” Jonah whispered sharply.

I closed the bathroom door as instructed before speaking through the main door to the person on the other side, “We don’t need service, thank you.”

“Your check out is today so I need to come in and clean up.”

“Come back when we leave.”

“I was told to come by now.”

I glanced over my shoulder to Jonah who was standing a few paces back with his arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed in confusion and concern. He shrugged and I opened the door to the young man in the hallway.

He gave me a wide smile, standing beside a small housekeeping cart and wearing one of the hotel staff’s uniforms of sky-blue scrubs embroidered with the Riviera logo on the breast pocket and his nametag above it read ‘Corbyn’. The small rectangular shape inside the pocket caught my attention and I narrowed my eyes back up to his face.

“I won’t be long, Mr. Seavey.” he said reassuringly.

The statement of my name sent my heart to my throat, now regretting the fact that I gave my true information over to the lady at the front desk last night. I was now a prime suspect in a murder case and my whereabouts was suddenly incredibly easy to find. Not to mention my bright white Tesla sitting in the parking lot with my identification plates easy to see in the broad daylight. We had to get the hell out of there.

“Thank you, but we’re okay. Give us ten minutes and come back.” I tried to speak as solidly as I could.

“Is your wife here? May I speak with her?”

“My…my wife?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s none of your business.”

“Are you hiding something?” he asked bluntly.

“I just don’t want housekeeping right now.” I retorted.

I tried to close the door but he stopped it with his hand flat against the painted wood.

“Your brother said you left for a road trip…so can I speak with her?”

I reached into his breast pocket of his uniform and pulled out the small recording device before grabbing him by the arm and yanking him inside, slamming the door behind us. I shoved him backwards onto the desk chair and held him by the front of his shirt, glaring right into his light eyes.

“Who sent you?”

“That’s none of your business.” he pushed back on me.

“Are you a cop or a reporter?”

“I plead the 5th.”

“Bullshit.”

“I must say, Mr. Seavey, your panicked reaction to simple questions is quite concerning.”

I took a step back from him and Jonah moved up beside me. Corbyn smirked proudly up at us and started to get up from the chair. I shoved him back down.

“What do you know?”

“I know that you two are some of the most popular people in all of Los Angeles county. I know you have enough money to buy up this entire resort. I know that you’re currently on the run from the police in the possible murder of your wife.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Where is she?” Corbyn pressed. “I’m not a cop. I’m just curious. You…you can call me a fan of sorts.”

Jonah didn’t even need to see my panicked look before he was pulling the rope tie from the closed curtains across the room and tying Corbyn’s wrists together behind the chair. I unbuckled my belt and passed it over to Jonah too and he locked him to the chair around the middle with the belt.

“Nice. Real classy.” Corbyn scoffed. “Is this how you treat all your guests?”

“Shut up.” I snapped, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. I flicked through his cards to find his ID and came across a Press Pass with his photograph and name under Corbyn M Besson. “Fuckin’ paparazzi.” I grumbled as Jonah looked over my shoulder at what I was finding.

“Paparazzi? Ooh, that’s insulting. I like to consider myself more of a journalist.”

“You’re a fucking stalker is what you are. How did you know we were here?” Jonah asked sternly.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Corbyn cocked his head to the side slightly as he stared sweetly at us, “So, tell me, how was the honeymoon, Daniel? Was it romantic and blissful? Costa Rica looks beautiful this time of year.”

Jonah and I knew perfectly well from a few years of being bombarded by paparazzi how to avoid questions and although this was much more serious than ‘which artist are you currently working with?’, it was all one in the same. They were sly and Corbyn seemed no different; being able to hide his true malicious intent behind a handsome face and an almost trustworthy voice. He was one of the pros, no doubt.

“Don’t answer him.” Jonah spoke lowly to me.

“I know.” I mumbled.

“He’s trying to get under your skin to get some bullshit to publish.”

“I know.”

“What’s in that box?” Corbyn asked.

Jonah and I looked over at him and them followed his furrowed gaze to the equipment trunk by the wall. The towel was peeking out from under the closed lid and the blood stain on the corner was unmissable. I swallowed thickly.

“Music equipment.” Jonah answered flatly. “We always take work with us.”

“Yeah?” Corbyn peaked an eyebrow at us. “Avalon’s here helping you?”

I clenched my jaw and stuffed his cards back in his wallet with trembling hands.

Corbyn spoke gently as if we were nothing less than old friends catching up, “I met her before. She’s a really nice lady.”

“Honey?”

The front door slammed and I got up quickly from the couch at the sound of her sobbing and rushing down the hallway. I followed after her, right into our bedroom and she shook with tears, stumbling over each breath as her hands raked through her messy blonde hair.

“Ava? Honey, what’s wrong?” I asked softly as I stepped up beside her.

“Th-They cornered me!” she sobbed, accepting my comfort and she curled into my chest, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

“Who did?” I pressed gently.

“The paparazzi…some reporter…” she cried, her tears soaking through the shoulder of my t-shirt. “Cornered me outside of work and I-I thought he was going to hurt me he-he-”

“What did he say to you?” I asked as softly as I could as I stroked her hair soothingly while she cried in my arms, her whole body trembling.

“Asked me a whole bunch of questions ab-about you…who you are working with…about our wedding…said he was going to show up. Oh God, Dani, I don’t want paparazzi at our wedding!”

“I know. There won’t let there be any. I’ll make sure of it.” I promised, pressing a kiss to her head.

“He cornered me…pushing his phone in my face and asking all these questions and…and…and I couldn’t get him away and he grabbed me. He grabbed my arm so tight and I couldn’t get away! He knows where we live, Dani! He knows where we live and he said he’s going to get the information out of me one way or another…I’m so scared!”

I leaned back from her to take her face in my hands. Her tear-streaked cheeks and shimmering brown eyes made me furious as to who the hell laid their hands on my fiancé. My anger was easily overpowered with concern and I spoke gently to her as I wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs, “I’ll take care of him, honey. Did you get his name?”

“His Press Pass said ‘Besson’.”

I held the Press Pass in my hand, staring at the surname of the man who made my wife fear for her life. I have stated many times that I was not the best husband, dear reader, this is a fact we cannot deny. I am human and I am selfish, and yet, I know the feeling of protective anger when it comes.

“You motherfucker.” I spat, dropping the ID to the top of the dresser in one swift movement and making a lunge for our captee.

Jonah grabbed me quickly before I could throw a punch and yanked me back.

“I know exactly who you are! You scared the fucking hell out of her and you made her scared to even live in our house!” I shouted angrily, Jonah desperately holding me back. “Do you know how many times she woke up from nightmares about you?! About you cornering her in that goddamn alley and threatening her like you did? You are a fucking creep!”

“Daniel.” Jonah spoke sternly from behind me as I thrashed in his arms.

“I was just doing my job. One passionate man to another I figured you might have understood my responsibilities.” Corbyn answered slowly, his face filled with stupid concern.

“If you have a problem with me then you come to me. What nutjob corners a woman in an alley at night? Huh? Threatening her and grabbing her like a psycho!”

“Daniel.” Jonah repeated but his voice was no where near what I was focusing on. Between my fear and my grief and now my anger, seeing red was truly what was happening in my mind. I wanted and almost needed to avenge my wife’s death and this man had guilty written all over him.

“She’s dead because of you!” I screamed.

Corbyn’s eyes went wide and he lifted his head up straighter at my sudden outburst.

“Daniel.” Jonah hissed against my ear, “You better stop talking right now.”

A little smirk tugged at the corner of Corbyn’s mouth, “Wow. The raise I will get for bringing this information in is fucking astronomical.”

I went to shout some more at him but Jonah smacked his hand over my mouth and pulled me backwards and into the ensuite, slamming the door behind us. He shoved me away and gave me a glare that was nothing less than ‘what the fuck’.

“He’s the fucker I told you about. The one who cornered her and scared her out of her mind.” I said through my teeth.

“Okay, but you have to shut the fuck up, Daniel. I’m serious. I get that you’re angry but you just blew our tiny bit of cover. You have to remember that everyone in the whole fucking state right now thinks you killed her and admitting that she’s dead is only going to screw you over.”

I huffed angrily and glanced down at Avalon still resting in the bath of ice.

“He’s a reporter for the paparazzi. He has no remorse and he is an expert at getting a scene out of people like us. He’s going to talk and you are going to be screwed.”

I sat on the side of the tub and held my face in my hands, “I just need more time.”

“I know we do.” Jonah sighed, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck in thought. “We can’t let him go now though; you gave him information that we can’t afford letting out.”

“Goddammit.” I grumbled, rubbing my hands over my face tiredly.

“We could just leave him here. Gag him and leave him tied. It’s not perfect but it will at least give us enough time to make it to the lodge.” Jonah suggested quietly.

I thought it through for a moment before nodding in agreement. It was our only logical option. There was no way I would be willing to take him with us otherwise we may have ended up with two dead bodies in the trunk. One was already far too much.

Corbyn was already tied to the chair so we just had to gag him. If the guy would shut up it would have made it so much easier but his constant pestering questions only made it easier to leave him there.

“You don’t know what you’re doing! I was just doing my job!” Corbyn protested, “I’d do anything for a good story and she was the easiest way to get it! I didn’t mean to scare her but it’s not my fault if she can’t even handle-”

I stuffed one of the cloths from the bathroom in his mouth and Jonah wrapped the silk belt from the hotel robe around his head to finish it off. Corbyn struggled a little but Jonah tied a tight knot around the back of his head to keep the gag in place and we hurried to pack up and get out of there.

Corbyn tried to continue his ranting but it only came out as a bunch of muffled noises. My heartbeat was in my ears. It was so damn loud.

Jonah and I pulled the equipment trunk into the ensuite and carefully lifted Avalon back into it, tucking the towel around her again before closing the lid and latching it up. I tossed my laptop bag over my shoulder and slid the hotel pad of paper into my pocket as we got ready to leave. Corbyn thrashed around slightly on the desk chair, trying to get his hands free of the binds that held him but Jonah and I didn’t give him a second look as we each took one end of the large trunk and carried it out of the room. To tell you the truth, dear reader, after everything I knew about that young man and his conniving ways, I was mostly worried about leaving my favourite belt with him.

The morning was just as hot and sticky as the previous evening when we arrived and perspiration was already forming at my brow when we stepped out of the hotel and into the parking lot. My mind felt as muddled as the desert humidity. I unlocked the car and we lifted the equipment case into the trunk before slamming it shut and getting into the front seats quickly, the denim jacket back in my hands. Jonah offered to take his turn to drive which I was grateful for and I let myself rest back against the window ledge as he pulled quickly out of the hotel parking lot and towards the freeway. I swear I could still hear Corbyn’s muffled screams from the hotel room.

The sun was rising above the mountains in the distance as we drove north-east towards state lines. Once we crossed over into Nevada, I felt like I could actually take a moment to breathe. I wasn’t safe yet, not until I could prove my innocence, but at least the distance gave me time.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx @stuffofseaveyy @hopinglimelight @tempus-ut-luceant @br4nd1s @xkelsev @hiya-its-amber @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

#🔪#daniel seavey #why dont we #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

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superhusbands4ever · 4 years ago

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life is far away from fair - The Bad Batch (Ao3)

Words: 1562 | Rated: Gen | Hunter & Tech & Crosshair (& Rex, kinda)

Canon through Episode 3: Replacements | Lotta Angst

“Do you think he’s eating enough?”

Hunter pulled his eyes from where he’d been blankly watching the hyperspace lane fly by.

Tech was sitting in the copilot seat, fiddling with his inhibitor chip scanner. Wrecker and Echo were back in the bunks, staying with Omega after the girl had woken them all screaming from a nightmare.

Hunter certainly couldn’t blame her. He shuddered when he thought about their time in that Zygerrian camp, the collars around his brothers necks, Omega’s screaming and crying, begging the slavers to stop as they cracked the electro-whip at his back—

They were all sleeping a little rough after that. Thankfully they’d found Rex’s scrambled beacon not too long after and were able to take a couple of days to relax before Crosshair and his team found them and they had to—

And before Cody—

He was grateful to their ori’vod for helping them escape, but prying Echo from the other man was the hardest thing Hunter had done after leaving Kamino without their kih’vod. He hoped Rex was okay.

He hoped Rex was still alive.

Little gods, everything was so karked these days.

Omega was able to fall back asleep pretty quickly with Wrecker holding her, but Hunter hadn’t been able to, so he offered to take the first watch in the cockpit. They were in hyperspace and on autopilot, so there was really no reason for him to keep watch, but he needed some time to gather his thoughts.

Tech had come in an hour later, mumbling under his breath about Wrecker and Echo snoring before dropping into the seat beside Hunter and messing with his scanner.

They’d been sitting in silence for a while, Hunter lost in his own mind, before Tech’s voice broke through the silence.

He was still toying with the device in his hands, his voice the same clinical monotone as always, and he was carefully avoiding looking in Hunter’s direction.

“He has a faster metabolism of course, so if he doesn’t eat often enough he gets—“

“Dizzy spells,” Hunter finished, watching Tech carefully. “Yeah, I remember.”

“And he’s always been weird about eating,” Tech continued as if Hunter hadn’t spoken. “Statistically speaking, with the number of times we had to take him to the mess ourselves versus the number of times he went willingly, it’s unlikely that he’s—“

“I don’t know if he’s eating, Tech,” Hunter said softly, cutting the man off before he could work himself up. “I hope he is.”

Tech nodded, pulling a small screwdriver from somewhere and poking at his scanner.

It was instantaneous when my chip came out. I still remembered everything I’d done, but I was in control again.

Tech had been quiet about Crosshair since they left Kamino. While Wrecker and Echo and even Omega had expressed some fear for Crosshair and a longing to get him back, Tech hadn’t said much. A few passing comments about the chips, mentioning Cross’s name only when absolutely necessary to the conversation — speaking about their youngest brother almost clinically, as if everything was normal and they hadn’t broken the one rule they set for themselves when they left him behind.

It was strange at first, because he and Cross had always been close. Being the two youngest of the batch they tended to drift together more often than not. Crosshair was a man of few words while Tech tended to be a man of many. They balanced each other out, in a way. Crosshair was the only one Tech tolerated casual touch from. Tech was the only one Crosshair let near him when he was injured or sick. It was weird to be on the ship and see the two of them not in the cockpit together, Tech rambling about something or another while Crosshair rolled his eyes and tried to hide a smile. It was strange, at first, that Tech didn’t seem to want to acknowledge their brother was gone.

Hunter hadn’t said anything about it because he wasn’t sure what to do. Tech tended to struggle with complex emotions. He didn’t always know how to explain what he was feeling, and he struggled socially because of it.

But having known Tech since he was barely over two growth cycles old, Hunter knew Tech was really good at saying a lot of words without actually saying anything at all. And usually to figure out what he was feeling, actions spoke louder than words.

Theoretically, if you get the chip out, you should get Crosshair back.

He saw the way Tech would clam up and get tongue tied when Crosshair was mentioned. He remembered the way Tech had snapped at him on Salucamai about the chips. He’d leave the room when Wrecker would tell Echo and Omega stories about their time as cadets, the way 99 had brought them together and the way they became the squad they were today.

(Before.)

He saw the way Tech had barely put his inhibitor chip scanner down since their run-in with Rex, constantly fiddling and tinkering with it since Rex told them that the effects of the chip were reversible. Since Rex had given them hope that there was a chance they could get their brother back.

“I don’t understand.”

Hunter looked at Tech, who stared down at the device in his hands.

“You don’t understand what?”

“Why Crosshair?” Tech said slowly, brows furrowing. “All five of us have the chip. Why did only his work? I’ve been trying to figure it out. There’s no logic to it.”

“I don’t know,” Hunter said, having spent too much time asking himself and any higher power in the universe listening the same question. “Sometimes things don’t have a reason. Sometimes things… just happen. There’s not always a logical explanation.”

Tech scowled and his jaw clenched, obviously unsatisfied with the answer, but didn’t argue.

It was like I was watching someone else control my body from the inside. No matter how much I tried to scream, I couldn’t even open my mouth.

“If anything it feels like some kind of sick, cosmic joke,” Hunter finally said the words that had been plaguing him since the order came down and everything changed. “The one clone out of all of us who hated regs and following orders more than anything…”

I was only under its control for a couple of hours at most, but it still felt like a part of me had been ripped out. Sometimes I wake up and I still feel like I’m not myself.

“I hope he’s fighting it.”

Hunter jerked back at the venom in Tech’s tone. It was the most emotion he’d shown the whole conversation, and it was the first time he’d heard Tech sound truly angry about their brother. It was the first time since leaving Kamino that Tech had sounded anything other than indifferent and unperturbed about it all. The tone made him sound so similar to their brother that Hunter was almost surprised to look over and see goggles instead of a crosshair tattoo.

I can’t even imagine how the others might feel. The ones who have been under longer. How much of them are still left.

Tech turned to look at Hunter, finally, and Hunter felt his heart clench at the fire burning in Tech’s eyes.

“I hope he’s fighting back, like he used to,” Tech whispered. “If there’s even a little bit of our Cross’ika left in him, I hope he’s giving them hell.”

I don’t know the long term effects of the chip. I can’t imagine what that might do to someone’s mind.

Hunter thought about Rex, about the way he said he tried to fight the chip before being sucked under its control. That despite realizing what was happening, the split second where he realized Fives was right and this was Palpatine’s plan all along, he’d still been helpless to it’s pull before it dragged him under mentally kicking and screaming.

The order was to execute the Jedi for treason against the Republic, he’d said. But the order also said to execute any clone who refused to comply.

He thought about Crosshair and the way he’d consistently questioned Hunter about letting the Padawan go. The way he’d spit and yelled and called Hunter unfit and incapable, but never lifted a weapon toward them. He’d been angry and confused and lashed out like an frightened and injured tooka backed into a corner.

He did fight it, Hunter desperately wanted to tell his little brother. He already was, he wanted to say, because Crosshair may have yelled and argued and said things that made Hunter feel like he’d been stabbed through the chest, Crosshair never actually tried to stop them, let alone kill them.

But then he thinks of Crosshair in the hanger bay, his vod’ika, armor as blank and empty as the eyes that looked down the scope of the rifle as he shot down Wrecker and taunted Hunter without second thought, and he doesn’t know what to believe.

Once that chip finally comes out, I can’t guarantee how much of the Crosshair you knew will be left behind.

“I hope so, too,” he said instead, praying to the Maker and the Force and Manda and anyone who was listening that by the time they got to Crosshair there was still enough of their baby brother left to be saved.

(that bit with Rex and Cody is a reference to another fic I am currently writing that will be published... eventually idk)

#cady writes #my fic #the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #seargent hunter #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #captain rex #the clone wars #clone force 99 #clone trooper tech #clone trooper crosshair

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just-fandomthings · 4 years ago

Note

For the kiss writing prompt 💕 frostiron + 29. "...as a promise"

Read on AO3 (Post Avengers, 2012)

...as a promise.

“During my invasion, why did you offer me a drink? You were trying to stall, I’m aware, but why was that the method you chose?”

Stark startles, dropping the gauntlet he’s working on. “What the hell, warn a guy before you appear like that, would you? I’ve got a heart condition.”

“Apologies,” Loki says honestly. “I would have thought you were expecting me; JARVIS told me you agreed I could come down.”

“Yeah, I said you could, but I wasn’t expecting you to be here thirty seconds later. Doesn't matter, I heard you say ‘drink’, are you here to finally collect on my offer?”

“Sir, Loki asked permission to join you ten minutes ago,” JARVIS inputs.

Stark blinks. “Oh. Guess I lost track of time. So, what was your question?”

Loki clears his throat. “I was wondering why you offered me a drink in your tower when you first came to threaten me.”

Stark gives him a strange look. “Well, I needed the bracelets behind the bar so I’d have a suit in case we fought- or, in your case, if you decided to throw me out a window.”

The words are said lightly but Loki still grimaces. “That doesn’t explain why you offered me the drink,” he points out after a moment.

“Why not? I needed to get my bracelets and was planning to pour myself a drink to keep you distracted, so I offered you one too. I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for here.”

“I was not your guest, you owed me nothing. I was your enemy who had just killed your friend- you should have left your armor on when you came inside, instead of selecting a new armor to don.”

“The other one was damaged,” Stark says. “Needed the upgrade- besides, do I have to remind you that was my tower you were using as home base? JARVIS had my back the entire time.”

“Indeed I did,” JARVIS agrees.

“Is this you trying to tell me I’m reckless?” Stark squints at him. “Trying to tell me not to take on an enemy in battle when I’m out of armor or something? Because I gotta tell you, out of everyone on this team except maybe Bruce, I was expecting you to understand that I am more than just-“

“No, that’s not it,” Loki interrupts quickly. “Well, I would rather you not die since you are the least annoying person on this team I’ve been forced on, but I know that you are more than well-equipped to handle any difficult situation with no more than the clothes you are wearing.”

“Thank you, I don’t know why people always assume I’m helpless outside of my armor. And right answer, by the way, I was gonna stick Dum-E on you with the fire extinguisher if you were trying to pull a Cap on me. So, what’s with the third degree, what’re you trying to figure out?”

“I suppose, I am trying to ask why you were polite to me,” Loki mutters. “You did cleverly insult my manhood not a mere minute later, but you saw me in your building, in your home, and your response was to offer me a drink. You certainly weren’t expecting me to accept and talk with you, so why offer it?”

“Uh, common courtesy? Because I wanted to?” Stark frowns at him. “Either of those, both of them really, have your pick. I really don’t see what the big deal is, you know. It‘s not like I had time to stop and think everything through beforehand, so I just did it. And either way, I was going to get a drink as a stalling tactic so I could get to my armor, so why not offer you one too? You haven’t even taken me up on it in the three months you’ve been here, by the way, what's up with that? I thought you would have, to be honest.”

Loki is quiet for a moment. “May I do so later this evening?”

“Seriously?” At Stark’s incredulous inflection, Loki bristles, about to take it back, insult him, and storm out, but Stark surprises him by agreeing, “About time you took me up on my offer! I’m game, but I need to finish this upgrade first. Is my penthouse at eight-thirty alright, maybe later?”

“It’s not as if I will be busy with nefarious plans at that hour,” Loki huffs. “Yes, that is fine.”

Stark grins. “It’s a date then.”

The first two minutes of their conversation is stilted and awkward, with neither of them apparently knowing what to say. It lasts until Stark glances at him, drains the rest of his glass of scotch and goes, “Oh what the hell, I’m going for it. Please don’t smite me for this, okay, because I know you’ve gotten defensive every time someone has asked, but I really want to know about your Seiðr. How you learned it- I’m assuming you were taught- what the scope of your abilities is, and mainly, how it works. From one genius to another, can you please give me some answers?”

Loki blinks, retort dying on his lips. “You truly wish to know?”

“Uh, why would I not? It's probably the most powerful and complex thing I’ve ever come across- which hurts to admit- and I know nothing about it, which sucks, by the way. I hate not knowing things, especially things that interest me.”

“And my Seiðr interests you?”

“Yeah, thought I’d made that pretty obvious by now. I mean, Cap told me off for practically drooling during that battle last week when you eviscerated those doombots. I would have paid good money to see Doom’s face when he saw you literally rip his bots apart with just a wave of your hand.”

“That is but a simple trick,” Loki murmurs. “You are truly fascinated by my Seiðr, aren’t you?”

Stark’s gaze is expressive and searching for a moment before he nods. “It’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly.”

Loki exhales slowly. He thinks Stark might just be genuine. “What do you want to know first?”

It takes only an hour of discussion for them to rearrange the furniture of the penthouse against the wall to give them an open floor space so Loki can show off his Seiðr. Stark keeps up with his conversations remarkably well for a mortal, far surpassing Loki’s expectations, and he finds himself relaxing, indulging in discussion of the more technical aspects of his Seiðr.

When they finally call it a night, hours into the morning, Loki is surprised when he finds himself wishing to stay longer and discuss his Seiðr further with Stark. So few have ever been kind in consideration of his Seiðr, even less have expressed an interest in it, and for Stark to have done both...

Loki doesn’t have words to describe it.

(Later, Loki will consider that evening as the dawn of their friendship.)

It is invigorating to engage in a battle of wits and intellect with Stark, Loki soon comes to find. Such was what had initially impressed him about Stark when he had been under the control of The Other, but with his presence in his mind gone, Loki finds himself naturally drawn to the inventor now. Their conversations are thrilling, and Loki finds himself leaping at the chance to flex his intellect with Stark.

They spend the following months spending an increasing amount of time together, even more so following the cease of Stark’s relationship with Pepper Potts. (Stark isolates for two weeks after that, before he emerges with an impressive performance of being fine.) They discuss in length his Seiðr, Stark’s technology, and other pieces of their lives that they both find interesting.

Stark’s technology, in particular, holds Loki’s attention, for while the designs that Stark has managed to come up with are far superior to anything else on Midgard, a select few are also unlike anything he has come across in his travels of the Realms. It’s an impressive feat, and Loki tells him so.

Loki is also especially fond of Stark’s creations, finding himself impressed by how his bots seem to have such curiosity and personality. (Dum-E and U both, he quickly realizes, are fiercely loyal of Stark.)

As their conversations of his Seiðr continue, it grows impossible to go without mentioning Frigga. Loki isn’t sure what he expects Stark’s reaction to be when he first mentions her, but Stark’s gentle smile and, “She sounds incredible, she must be proud of how talented you are,” far surpasses anything he had expected. The sentiment touches him, and something in their dynamic changes that night.

(Perhaps, it is because that is the night Stark changes to Tony.)

Despite this, they still do not engage in conversation easily about personal topics, both of them with too many difficult stories to wish to recall such information. Still, however, there are many nights where their respective nightmares leave them stripped of their shields, with only vulnerability left behind. It is on those nights that their bond is solidified; empathy and understanding found through sharing stories of past tortures and betrayals.

During one of those nights, Tony tells him of a man called Stane, sharing with him how Dum-E first, and then Pepper, had saved his life. His voice is broken, no more than a whisper, and his hand remains firmly on the device in his chest the entire time he speaks; a further testament to the pain of that betrayal.

Loki vows to him in that moment that he will never betray Tony, he swears it, for he would rather stab his own heart than cause his (only) friend pain in any way.

Tony just looks over at him, his expression sad and resigned all of a sudden. “I don’t think that’s a promise you want to make,” he says quietly. “Not when I’ll likely give you a reason to break it.”

“You know me; I say no less than what I mean,” Loki tells him. “And I can think of no reason that would ever make me want to hurt you or betray you.” He has betrayed others throughout his life, for reasons so little as for fun (stabbing Thor), but he knows he could never harm Tony.

Tony just shrugs. He doesn’t seem to believe him, but he provides no further argument. The blanket covering their laps as they sit together on the sofa suddenly feels stifling, but Loki resolutely ignores it. He understands that Tony’s skepticism is not personal, it is just a mere consequence of being betrayed time and time again by the people he cared about most. Loki knows he would hesitate to accept such a promise as well, even from Tony. Life has taught them both that it’s not safe to trust.

(Perhaps together, they can learn to trust again.)

The other members of the team remain wary of him, distrustful to the point that Loki is certain he will never be able to earn an ounce of trust with them. Outside of Tony, Thor seems to be the most accepting of the fact he is serving a ten year sentence for his attack on New York as a member of their team. Knowing he has Tony‘s friendship makes it easy, however, to disregard the fact that the others do not trust him, even on the field of battle. Never mind that his Seiðr has been limited to keep him in check, they clearly do not trust him to fight on their side. Loki pays this no mind; their belief in him or lack thereof is of no importance to him.

When he finally meets Pepper Potts, Col. James Rhodes, and a man named Happy Hogan, they all threaten him past the point of any return should he hurt Tony in any way. He believes them. The CEO of Tony’s company, his ex, however is the one whose threat genuinely gives him pause. He knows better than to anger her.

But for all their initial threats, the three of them all seem to accept him as Tony’s friend, therefore, as a part of their lives as well. It is awkward at times to be around Potts or Hogan, or even Rhodes when he is able to return home, but those moments of awkwardness, he finds, are worthwhile if it means he can remain at Tony’s side.

It’s a thought that should scare him, that he wants to be wherever Tony is, but he finds himself oddly at peace with that fact. They have grown close over the last five, almost six months since they first shared a drink in Tony’s penthouse, and Tony is incredible, a force of light wherever he goes; it is impossible not to be drawn to Tony, he thinks.

It’s a brisk day in mid-March when he and Tony crowd together on the sofa in his penthouse with a video feed in front of them to watch the fallout of their latest prank on Barton. Tony bursts out laughing at Barton’s indignation and leans against Loki as he praises their prank, saying they absolutely have to prank Cap next. Loki is overcome with joy realizing just how lucky and happy he is to have a friend who partakes and enjoys mischief just as much as he does.

That is also the moment Loki realizes he’s falling in love.

Tony has gone quiet as his side, eyes still sparkling with joy even as he asks, “You okay, Lokes?"

“I’m fine,” Loki reassures. “Just thinking of what to include in our next prank against Captain America himself.”

“I love the way you think,” Tony laughs, snuggling into his side the way he seems to do so frequently, now that Loki thinks about it. “Well, hit me with it. What’re you thinking?”

It’s easy enough to conjure a list of possible pranks at a moment’s notice, and from that moment onward, Loki’s feelings fall to the back of his mind, always quietly lingering in his every thought. Given enough time, he knows they will become a force he cannot hope to control, but that is a problem he can deal with in the future; the present includes planning a prank, and that comes first.

(Later, Loki will consider the moment he realized he was developing feelings for Tony as the day everything changed.)

“Can I join you?”

Loki startles minutely, so caught up in his reading, so relaxed, that he had not been paying attention to his surroundings in any capacity. But this is Tony who has come to his bedroom, and Loki knows he need not keep his guard up when the inventor is around. "Are you alright?" Loki asks, lowering his book to his lap.

"Fine," Tony says automatically. He looks uncertain. "I know you're reading and it's late, so if you want me to leave, don’t hesitate to say so.”

“Nonsense, I always enjoy your company,” Loki reassures absently, frowning at Tony’s haggard experience. He gestures to the space next to him on the bed, adding unnecessarily, “Please, sit.”

Tony hesitates for a moment and then sits down on the bed next to him, leaning back. His hands twist unnaturally together; a sign of his anxiety.

Loki marks his page and sets his book on the nightstand. “Do you wish to talk about what has you so tense?”

“Not really,” Tony mutters. “Not like there’s much to say anyway though. I fell asleep working on an upgraded set of arrows for Clint and woke up screaming. J said you were awake still, so I came up.” He pauses and then adds, "You've been reading all this time? Usually you call it a night at midnight."

"I got enthralled in an old journal on Seiðr and lost track of time. When I realized it was past two, I figured I would wait until I came to a natural stopping point before I retired for the night,” Loki admits ruefully. "I'll be tired in the morning, but it will be well worth it."

"I think I'm rubbing off on you," Tony says lightly. "Staying up until all hours of the night to finish something is my shtick, not yours."

"You have a point. You did, after all, initially encourage my pranks, then you took to assisting me with them, and now you have me staying up to all hours of the night," Loki points out, teasing, participating in the lighthearted atmosphere Tony seems to be trying to create. A distraction for his nightmare, perhaps, and Loki is happy to help. "You are a rather bad influence on me."

"Guilty as charged," Tony agrees, snorting. "Though I'm pretty sure everything prank-related is a result of you being a bad influence on me."

"A mere pleasant consequence of our friendship. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you first let me share a drink with you in your penthouse."

"I did knowingly sign up for all the mischief and chaos, you're right." Tony shrugs, looking pleased. "But as Rhodey will be more than happy to tell you, I caused plenty of trouble throughout my life, so you sadly don't get the privilege of claiming responsibility for all of my evil ways."

"I plan to ask about those stories, just so you know."

Tony laughs, looking lighter now than he had when he had first appeared in Loki's doorway. "Pretty sure you'll have to clear your schedule for the weekend when you do- but keep in mind, Rhodey did also participate in a lot of my plans. He was my partner in crime. So don't let his exasperated tone fool you, he's just as much a prankster as we are."

"In that case, we will have to include him in our plans to prank Thor whenever both your colonel and Thor are present in the Tower," Loki muses.

"Deal," Tony responds instantly. He goes quiet just a moment later, his expression darkening a little.

Loki frowns at the sudden shift in mood. "What's wrong?"

"I should probably go, let you finish the chapter you were reading so you can go to bed."

“I am more than happy to have you here," Loki says carefully, sensing that there is something else weighing on his mind. "But if you wish to go, that is your choice to make.”

“I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Then prepare for bed and lay with me,” Loki says without thinking. He pauses, realizing what he just said. Norns, he had not meant to offer that, but the offer has been extended and he is not one to take back his words. Still though, he clarifies quickly, “It’s an innocent offer, no more than the simple opportunity for you to not be alone tonight, if you don't want to be.”

Tony looks startled. “You want me to stay?”

“You are welcome to, if you want.”

“Why?”

“You are my friend,” Loki says simply. “We have fallen asleep watching movies together on the sofa before and that is fine, is it not?” At Tony’s nod he continues, “So too would your decision to stay here for the night. Nightmares are painful, and if I can offer some small comfort or reassurance of safety, I would happily do so.”

“You’re sure?”

“I mean every word I’ve shared,” Loki says gently.

Tony sighs and leans against him, his head on Loki’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he says softly. “For letting me stay and for not judging me.”

“You know how common my own night terrors are,” Loki points out. "I have nothing to judge."

Tony shrugs but doesn’t offer a response.

“Go, get ready for bed,” Loki says, nudging him with his elbow. “I have placed an additional toothbrush and nightwear for you in the bathroom.”

Tony nods silently and gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. Loki uses the privacy to lay down, trying to quell his racing thoughts and pounding heart. There is something charged and vulnerable between them; it feels like he is balancing precariously on a fraying line. What may happen if it snaps, he’s unsure.

When Tony exits the bathroom a few minutes later, he pauses at the side of the bed for a moment before he pulls back the covers. He doesn’t lay down, however, just says quietly, “You don’t seem as bothered anymore to be serving part of your sentence on the Avengers.”

“Is that a question?” Loki asks, never one to make things easy when he can help it.

“An observation, I think. Am I wrong?”

“No, you are not wrong,” Loki says. He takes a shuddering breath and admits, “I hated this team in the beginning. I was no more than a collection of broken pieces being held together by pure spite, and being placed on this team felt like a death sentence. I expected to hate every moment of my time here, for an abundance of reasons.” He swallows hard, suddenly certain he should not keep going, not when he has already stripped himself bare.

“But?”

As always with Tony, he is the exception to the expectations and restrictions Loki sets for himself. He finds himself staring up at the ceiling and admitting, “But I made a friend, someone who cares about me genuinely for all that I am. It took the work of months before I realized that all the reasons I expected to hate being on this team were insignificant in comparison to the friendship I had found. These last several months, I have found myself slowly recovering from the damage The Other inflicted on me- I am trying to at least- I am trying not to be the monster I was destined to be, and I somehow even find myself happy on occasion, something I thought I was only capable of when creating chaos.”

His bedroom is quiet for a moment. “Sounds like your friend is pretty special,” Tony quips.

“Special is not the most accurate term; short, on the other hand, or perhaps, talkative, or even-”

“You're an ass,” Tony interrupts him, laughing. His expression is pensive, however, as he lays down on his side and looks over at him. “Is that all we are though, just friends?”

Loki freezes. It takes a moment for him to remember to breathe, and then he exhales slowly, rolling over on his side to face Tony as well. “I’m not sure,” he admits, “Are we just friends, in your mind?”

“I asked you first,” Tony points out, smirking a little.

“I gave you a response, however vague, and then asked your thoughts. It’s your turn.”

“Uh huh, you want my thoughts on what exactly? You haven’t really specified what we’re discussing.”

Loki refrains from rolling his eyes despite the way his heart is threatening to pound out of his chest. “What are your thoughts on us,” he emphasizes. “That is what I wish to know.”

Tony’s eyes search him for a moment, perhaps trying to assess if this is part of a joke or if he is being genuine. “I think that you’re a royal pain in the ass a lot of the time, as well as dramatic and passionate, but I like that about you. You’re also mischievous and clever; you're a genius that speaks the same language as me. I also think you have feelings for me, just like I do for you. And I want to see if there can be an us...but maybe after I kiss you?”

“Is that a promise?”

“The romantic speech or the kissing part?”

“The part where you mentioned wanting to see if there can be an us, do you mean that?”

“Of course I mean it." Tony pouts at him.

It suddenly is so easy now to see what has been in front of him for months: their close proximity to each other, the way they are drawn to each other's side, their flirting; it has all been leading to this.

Loki leans over and kisses him. Tony gives a quiet sound of surprise and then relaxes, easing into the kiss with an approach that somehow already feels familiar.

“We need to do this more often,” Tony murmurs when they pull back. He's grinning.

Loki laughs, happy. “That is a promise I can easily keep,” he vows, and kisses him again to prove his point.

End.

#frostiron #frostiron fanfic #tony stark #loki #my fanfic #this was a lot of fun!! the concept of a promise was something that was very difficult for me because I struggle with trust #it’s hard to write what I don’t really feel ya know? I had to build their trust in order to answer this #but it was a lot of fun! I just hope I got their characterizations and voices right #this one is also terrifying to answer for some reason lol...i've never attempted a fic like this #here's hoping it's well reserved lol #also Rel i adore you so much- thank you for this prompt! <3 <3

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starrysupercell · 3 years ago

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Silly idea I just thought of: somehow, certain Brawlers lose the ability to lie. The cause could be as innocent as Jessie testing out a new Truth Ray, to something like Starr Park deciding that there needs to be more transparency between brawlers. Whatever the reason, there will be Shenanigans abound

Tbh this sounds super fun, >:) so, of course I'm gonna go into detail on some of them.

(This could be a whole story. Mind the messy layout.)

Brawlers who have to worry the most for business/socially/jobs: Piper, Byron, Belle, Griff, Mr. P probably?, Ruffs, Barley, Gale and, to a lesser extent, Lou (towards Mr. P),

Brawlers who have to worry emotionally: Stu, Penny, the whole Retropolis Gang, Edgar, Mortis.

Brawlers that would be fun if they were hiding something deep, deep down: Bo, Nani, Amber and/or Primo.

(Brawlers who are sus and would be more nervous about this than they should be: 8-Bit, Spike, Poco, Bea, Mike.)

No more sneaky gossip for Piper, and to a lesser extent, Emz. Piper could hardly speak to anyone since she loves weaving so much secret details in her words. I wouldn't call her "fake" because she genuinely enjoys company and has friends, but.. well, you've seen how I've written her. She's just... opportunistic.

Anyway, I'm sure it was in the middle of a conversation that ended badly. I wonder with whom?

Byron can't pitch sales for the time being. 😈

Customer: Well how do I know it works? Is it safe?

Byron: my good sir, I can assure you that...it's a highly experimental concoction. I've never used it myself because I would never be a lab rat to my own mixtures, but I have gotten a few constant test subjects around the park. Besides which, I have the utmost faith in what I'm doing. Even if there have been several unfortunate incidents in the past, I'm undeterred with my skill. Mainly because I'm beyond compare in my abilities but I also know I'm never the one at risk. Hahaha....

Byron:

Customer:

Byron: ...why did I say that?

Sadly Barley is unintentionally rude to several people too. Since this hypothetical truth ray/correction would prevent anyone from keeping their thoughts to themselves, he answers and comments with no filter. Several people (Rico, 8-Bit, Shelly, Bibi, etc.,) find it hilarious, Barley does not.

I truly wonder if the honesty policy also seeps into not only verbal truth, but making somebody avoid anything that's not "Honest" Work?

What I'm saying is, Belle can't even plan heists or delve into thinking up ways to sneak around.

Cue her announcing herself in the midst of a Robbery, ruining the plan and trying to turn herself in. (Unaffected members of her Gang might be able to get her out of there.)

Or, more ridiculously, that "This Pen Is Blue" scene from 'Liar, Liar' with her trying to sketch out a heist.

Maybe this one is a stretch? I'm not sure, but it is for fun.

Ruffs already has a hard time hiding his tail wagging. He's a serious guy who wants to be taken seriously, but now everyone will hear how proud he is of Squeak and how great a friend MXY Kit is to him, and how soft his heart actually is. Which, fine, maybe everybody already suspected, but it was never confirmed until now.

In short, gruff exterior dog is actually fuzzy, but it wasn't that deep down.

THE RETROPOLIS GANG, EDGAR AND PENNY.

1) Bull with his tough guy attitude would have trouble verbalizing mushy stuff. Crow just plain doesn't want to. Bibi is a mix of the two. She's naturally tough, and she doesn't have practice. Imagine it-- the tough gang on the block sharing emotions with each other and being buddy-buddy with people they're fond of! After the ordeal, they agree they need some time apart.

2) Penny is emotionally constipated because she leaves the bad thoughts locked in a chest. Also, she was raised by robots, so it's a little difficult expressing herself... but now she can say exactly what's on her mind! ...if she can even sort through her feelings. The truth device makes you unable to lie, but can it get you to know what you're feeling?

Penny: Holy shit, this is way too philosophical for me, my head hurts, please make it stop

Jessie: D: I wish I could help you!!

3) We all know about this tsundere emo boy. He greeted Colette with a "Hey, Colette. It's really great to see you today. I had a bad morning and you always brighten up my day." And they both knew something was up immediately. Now, as everyone is trying to resolve this, Edgar's Scarf is wrapped tightly after his mouth tightly, lest he says anything else, like how cool he thinks a few certain other Brawlers are, like Shelly, Crow and Bibi. Or how he looked up to and misses

Sorry, he parkour-ed away before he finished that sentence :)

....Stu won't be able to handle this, will he 😔

Stu: Oh, I'm not s-s-sticking around. Rebuild me-e-e when this t-t-truth nightmare is over🤘

Pam: Rebuild? But you aren't--

Stu: *falls into a pile-- he force shut himself down*

People who weren't affected because they're already 100% honest: Jacky, Sprout. That's it. They're the only honest folks here. Everyone else has something to hide.

I think that's about all the ideas I have for the Brawlers.

As for the cause, I like the idea of it being "Starr Park." If they thought complete honesty would work in making things running more smoothly, they thought extremely wrong. In fact, Happiness is dipping at an alarming rate. Clearly, this decision has to be reversed.

If it were Jessie, there's a more peaceful way to resolve this situation, and it started in a more innocent way too. That is, she made a truth ray for fun, but didn't think to make an option that reverses it, so she works on a "Lie Ray" as fast as she can while everyone suffers. (Yes she feels guilty.)

#Brawl Stars #Brawlstars #Too Many Brawlers #Honesty: The Best Policy?#Long Post #Ask

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scarletdawnxx-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Nightmare-A Bucky Barnes x Reader story. Chapter 4

You stared out the window as Professor Xavier and the redhead, you learned her name was Jean, continued to talk with the rest of the group who had now gathered in the briefing room. Sure, you had read the paper on the X-gene, but to know that “mutants” really existed and that you might be one of them was hard to truly grasp. Even surrounded by the extraordinary people in the room.

‘You are like us Y/N’ you heard the professor's voice in your head. You turned and looked at him.

‘I’m not, I can’t read minds or speak to them like you are doing.’ you replied inside your mind, the rest of the room oblivious to the conversation you were having.

‘Perhaps not yet, but with training you could, you can already manipulate feelings, see memories…control their minds and actions’ he added after a pause. You froze and sucked in a breath. That was not something you wanted anyone to know. You had only just learned that was something you can do. You tried pushing your abilities towards him, a warning to back off, but nothing happened. On the other end, his mind was closed off to you. ‘It will take more than that to affect me.’ You frowned and wrapped your arms tightly around you, feeling vulnerable. He had seen into you so easily, knew the potential you had, could have, maybe with training. It was all so much to take in, should you leave? So soon after helping Bucky? Maybe it was for the best, he was safe, he had Steve and Sam, he wouldn’t need you anymore. You had done your job.

“Okay, roll this back so I understand,” Stark said, pulling your attention to him. “There are individuals with this X-gene, the next step in evolution, and they have just been hiding in plain sight this whole time, while the world has seen aliens, and gods, you all just sat quietly back and let us handle the dirty work?” You could tell Tony was more than annoyed. You didn’t blame him. They had all been through hell.

“We have quietly done our part to help where we could, we have had our own set of issues to handle. I run a school for gifted individuals to help them harness and control their gifts, many come broken, confused, abandoned by their families. People often fear what they can’t understand.” Charles replied. Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“And you want Y/N to come join you at this school?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I think we could help her. Her abilities have already grown rapidly, and there is much potential there, but if she can’t learn to control it, it could end up controlling her. She needs to learn to defend herself.”

“How did you even know I was here?” You finally asked.

“I was able to feel you, your power, I have a…device…that helps me locate mutants, now here we are.” He replied, seeming so unbothered by all of this, like he had done this hundreds of times, just shown up to tell people they are different, but not alone. Not alone. There were others like you, there were answers to all of your questions.

“I’ll go with you,” you replied after a moment. The whole room turned and looked at you, some began to protest but you simply put a hand up, quieting them. “It’s my choice, I need to learn about this, about me and what I can do, you all will be fine without me for a little while. Natasha is more than skilled at interrogation and now Barnes is free from Hydra he is fit for field work. You will hardly notice I’m gone.” You told them, trying to reassure everyone. “I’ll need some time to pack my things. If you give me the address I can be there by the end of the week.” You said turning to Charles and Jean. They agreed and you excused yourself to start packing. Though when you got to your room, doubt creeped in. You paced your room for a bit going over everything in your head, wondering if you had made the right choice. Maybe some time away from everyone would be good. Your attachment to Bucky could start to cause problems for you, compromise you both in the field, compromise your sanity, but the thought of leaving him so soon after everything made your stomach feel hollow. As if summoned, Bucky was knocking on your open door.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” you asked him for probably the 100th time in the last few days.

“I think the question is how are you feeling?” he asked leaning in the door frame.

“I’m fine,” you said, putting on a fake smile, always trying to reassure everyone else. “I,uh,” you paused trying to think of something to say. “Just realized I have so much I need to pack up, not sure where to start.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You second guessing yourself?” he pushed himself off the door frame and fully entered your room, it feeling too small all of a sudden.

“No, I think this will be good, to learn more about myself, about this pow…mutation, inside of me. Besides, you guys don’t need me anymore,” you tried to joke. Bucky put his hands on your shoulders, you looked into those all to blue eyes and your heart beat a little faster as you breathed him in.

“We do need you,” he said quietly. I need you. “But we also understand. The team wants what’s best for you. Your friends want what’s best for you. We will all worry like hell. Just promise, you’ll come back to us. Come back to,” me he wanted to finish. You looked at him closely and you could feel it, that warm light you had caught a glimpse of in his mind earlier. Was that feeling for you? Was it something you had left behind in him? Projecting your own feelings into his. The thought made you sick and you backed away quickly and you could see the hurt in his eyes and he straightened himself up.

“Of course, I’ll come back, can’t leave Nat all the interrogation fun. Was there anything else you needed? I really should get to packing.”

“I didn’t get to properly thank you for what you did for me.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, seeming almost anxious.

“You really don’t have to thank me James, you are my friend, I hope, and I would do anything to help a friend.” You told him kindly.

“I know this is probably poor timing now that you are leaving us, but perhaps before you go, I could take you to dinner, outside of the complex?” he asked and you could tell how nervous he was. The idea of being alone with him outside of the complex made your stomach flip. Was he asking you on a date? You shook the thought away.

“You really don’t have to,” you told him, not sure that it was a good idea to form a deeper attachment when you weren’t sure how long you would be gone.

“Please, Y/N, I would really like to take you to dinner. It’s the least I owe you for the months of companionship you have given me.” He took a step closer to you again.

“You won’t take no for an answer on this will you,” You could tell he was determined.

“Nope,” he said, his face forming a half smile. You studied him for a moment.

“Alright, tomorrow night?” you agreed. His face broke into a full smile and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I really do need to start packing though,” you said motioning over your shoulder.

“I’ll be by at six and we can head out?” he asked.

“Six is great,” you told him, nodding and ushering him towards your door.

“It’s a date,” he said with that charming smile of his, you nodded, not able to speak and watched him walk down the hall. You closed your door and it hit you, you had a date, a date with Bucky Barnes, you could help the dumb girly smile that spread across your face as you began to pack up your life.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #reader insert #bucky x Female Reader #Avengers #marvel #marvel fanfiction #Steve Rogers #x-men #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x y/n

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vaire-gwir · 4 years ago

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.6

Or: I lost a Friend on ao3.

I really can’t let this one go, every time I’m ready to resign myself to the fact that I won’t finish it, I have to write another chapter.

It’s winter again, and for the first time in a while, Lambert dreads the coming of spring. He refuses to go to Kaer Morhen cause he knows he won’t find peace there, so he decides to remain south. Eskel being the good and worried brother he is, finds him eventually. I wanted the reunion to be so much better than this, but I can’t seem to write anything happy lately.

Be kind, english is not my first language and there’s a reason why this blog is called fillingless pie, keep that in mind.

****

Lambert was passing through Velen when he decided he was not heading north.

Something about this place gives him the chills. He's never been here with Aiden, they spent plenty of time in Novigrad and Oxenfurt, but they purposely avoided stopping in Velen, mostly because no one was paying them enough to face ghouls, mercenaries, and religious fanatics all at the same time.

The stained statues, dripping with fresh blood and caked with the remnants of old sacrifices, creep him out. Their empty eyes seem to follow him around, everywhere he looks there's a shrine or a wooden sculpture of some kind, and he can feel their silent judgment.

Lambert has never been religious, not before being a Witcher and not after, especially not after. If there were Gods, it's hard to accept they grant powers to certain people only to have them play with formulas and tweak mutagens until they could create a bunch of monsters to hunt other monsters. How did the Gods allow things like Witchers to happen?

A long time ago Aiden told him he didn't believe in the Gods because they're a useless device to instill fear, they demand sacrifices and tributes but do nothing when it comes to helping a miserable bastard out. They turn a blind eye to starving communities while rich Lords thrive and get wealthier by the day.

<i>So much for justice, right? We're told to not anger them, but no matter how hard folks try, they still never answer people's prayers: I've heard poor farmers begging for their fields to be fruitful, and yet all they got was a scorched square of land and starved, I've listened to innocent mothers pleading for their children's lives and yet they had to bury them, I caught children praying for their father to return from the war and all they got was a bloodied sword in his stead.

If the Gods were listening, they wouldn't allow that, don't you think? If they allow all this to happen, either they don't care about us or they're not really there. I'd rather believe they're not there. </i>

The icy wind howling between the trees surprises the Witcher and tears him from his dark thoughts as he instinctively pulls his cloak tighter. Lambert hadn't noticed how winter silently crept up to him, soon everything will be blanketed in snow, and he should have made its way up to Kaer Morhen weeks ago to retreat to the old keep and wait for spring.

For the first time in a long while he dreaded the coming of spring. He had nothing to wait for this year, spring sounded as lonely as summer, as sad as fall, and as bitter as winter.

And now it was too late, he told himself, the passes would already be covered in snow and it was too dangerous to climb up the Killer in this weather, it was a treacherous path even in summer. It was a pointless risk to take considering that he could find half-decent work pretty much everywhere, he told himself it all depended on how picky he was.

And if he's lying, well, no one is here to call him out.

Because truth is, Lambert doesn't want to go home this year, home is gone and stone walls are no different than the bricks and rocks of any other village.

He won't find comfort or safety in Kaer Morhen, there's nothing he can do there besides chasing shadows around every corner. He's not bringing another ghost to the party, the old castle is already too full of them.

Home was just a word. Somewhere to let his guard down and stop feeling like he was constantly out of place. It was acceptance, understanding, safety. It was the chance to feel something else besides anger and disappointment.

Home was that room at the inn north of Kaedwen where Aiden waited for him at the beginning of every spring, the first time they met there, as soon as Lambert picked up the trail of Aiden's scent his heart started beating so fast he was worried everyone else could hear it and by the time he got to the front door his hands were shaking like a blushing maid.

He felt so stupid and happy and relieved to meet his lover again, he almost couldn't believe Aiden came all the way there for him.

Home was that clearing in the forest out of Redania where they spent the night huddled on the same bedroll after they were kicked out of a tavern, a petty argument turned into foul words and by the time they were forced to leave Lambert had never seen Aiden so annoyed and upset.

Anger was his thing, it looked out of place in his green eyes. Lambert wanted so bad to go back and set the whole place on fire on principle, cause they don't deserve it, they didn't do anything wrong, and he would have done so, consequences be damned.

But Aiden said that people rarely get what they deserve and curled up on his side, burying his nose in the crook of his neck and asking Lambert to stay. Suddenly nothing was more important than holding him close.

Home was the empty house by the river where they fucked until sunrise, the cave where he told Aiden he loved him for the first time, the room at the palace in Beauclair where he was so jealous he almost screwed up but Aiden forgave him anyway. That was home, Aiden was home.

But Aiden was gone. Spending the winter between forgotten walls and frozen gardens is no different than spending it anywhere else if you don't care for the coming of spring.

And he has no way to explain to his brothers what has happened. He’s not going to face his makeshift family knowing they’ll smell the stench of despair right off of him miles before he reaches the keep. He'll have to tell them what happened, there will be questions on their lips, and he doesn't have any answers.

The wasteland surrounding him seems to reflect his mood so well, possibly because he has a different understanding of emptiness now: it's not only in the absence of things that were there, it's also in the impossibility to go back to a previous state, as if the shape of what's missing was still occupying an invisible place, so it's not truly empty, it's full of the shadows of those things that are gone.

And maybe going back is not the point.

Spring is not as alluring and promising as it was before, the rain is not refreshing, the sun less warm, the shadows are always stretching long in front of him, they don't offer relief but only fear.

But it was not spring that was alluring and promising, it was the chance to see Aiden again that beckoned him out of the keep, to kiss him, to tell him any stupid thing that crossed his mind, or just to sit in silence.

The rain is still the same, but it won't cling to Aiden's eyelashes anymore, it won't fall on his face, it won't trace imaginary patterns on his shirt when it drips from his curls.

The sun is still as warm as before, but its bright rays won't dance on Aiden's skin in the morning mist while they're sleeping, and it all seems a bit pointless now if he can't have it with Aiden.

Lambert doesn't find it fair that nothing on the outside has changed. His whole world collapsed and he almost expected the real world to start crumbling too.

Nothing will change in two weeks or in two months, it's not a new season that will make him whole. Days are still slipping from his hands, and nights are filled with the same nightmares he had months ago. He'll still be empty and lonely in spring, just like he was in winter, just like this scorched earth has always been.

Before meeting Aiden he had always lived life like that, without holding any expectations or hope, accepting things as they were, his only defense against the world was his anger. But he's not the same person he was before, much like a snake that sheds its skin can't wear the old one again no matter how much it misses it.

No, he won't go to Kaer Morhen this time. Every inn, every tavern, every empty house can be almost like home, cause when it's dark and he's weary and he can't bother to scrape monster's blood off of his skin, he can pretend that Aiden is getting food downstairs and he’ll be back in a few minutes, he's talking with their employer, burning a body, getting supplies, he'll be back, he just has to wait and behave.

And when the illusion holds, he can breathe easy again for a few minutes, cause he knows he’ll wait until the end of times if it means he gets to see bright green eyes and a cheeky grin emerging from the doorway.

It's not a permanent solution, but he lives by the rule of whatever helps you sleep at night, one more lie won't make any difference.

It's exhausting, searching for Aiden's face in every single person he sees, but that doesn't mean he knows how to stop doing it. Just like he doesn't know how to stop seeing the damn cats.

All of a sudden there's an abundance of felines everywhere he goes, nobody owns them, nobody sees them, but even in the middle of all this ruin, he has seen a gray cat jumping out of the rubbles. Its green eyes seemed almost out of place, too bright, too full of life, too clear. Beautiful things don't belong to ruin, almost in the same way Aiden didn't belong to him.

The cats will follow him all the way to Kaer Morhen, his madness will chase him wherever he goes.

He can already imagine the peaceful, repetitive life of the winter days at the old fort disrupted by his silent confrontation with a nonexistent cat, and his brother, his perfectly sane and normal brothers, as normal as they can be, even Geralt's bard, and Vesemir, all watching him while he trails after an invisible animal.

That would be something to explain.

Lambert is still carrying Aiden's medallion with him, he can't bring himself to leave it behind after all this time.

He vowed he was going to burn it, throw it in a river, bury it in the middle of a nameless forest, but it's still in his pocket, the weight of it anchoring him to reality when he's drifting through the nightmares. It doesn't burn as much as before, or maybe he's familiar with that slight physical pain by now.

Some things are easier than others to get used to. Loss is not one of those things.

And if the Wolf wasn't so lost in his own thoughts, he'd notice the pack of ghouls moving in circles around the ruins of what once was a village, but his mind is not keeping up with his body, it's still focused on the gray cat amidst the ruins, and the creatures pounce before he can even figure out they're there.

Rookie mistake.

***

In the end, it’s Eskel that finds him in spring.

Lambert is investigating a shipwreck along the Pontar river, near Ban Ard, the fourth in a month. He's sure it's sirens he's dealing with, but he hasn't found a single clue yet.

The first rays of dawn greet him on his spot at the end of the bay and the first thing he can think of is that Aiden would have liked it here. He clenches his fists so tight that the dark leather creaks audibly, frustration and disappointment settling in his veins like a snake.

Maybe that's why his mood is darker than usual, a sleepless night out on the shore in the middle of winter will do that to anyone.

Maybe it's because he's not eager to go back to the inn, the maid swore they never let any animals in, and yet there was a ginger cat on the windowsill of his room when he entered and his stomach flipped every time its green eyes moved in his direction.

It's the same maid that greets him when he gets back to the inn, she's tending to the animals as she say "there's another one" when she sees him, "I sent him upstairs, he said he knows you? I figured...well, I don't want to get in trouble."

Lambert stares at the entrance puzzled: it's a bit too early for Witchers to be this south. He used to be the first to leave the keep as soon as the snow melted, the others always stayed a bit longer. Unless it's not a Wolf.

He doesn't know many other Witchers that well though, he has vague memories of his brief encounter with the Caravan, he has seen a Bear in Kaer Morhen a couple of times, and once while they were out on a hunt he saw Eskel talking to a Viper. He wouldn't say he knows any of them.

As he walks through the tavern, a familiar scent finds his way into his senses: beneath the leather and the steel he can smell amber, and sandalwood, with a hint of something raw, welcoming, citrus and apples, it's a warm scent, one he knows very well, he used to wake up to that scent on his pillows.

Eskel always smells inviting to him, like sitting at the table when you're hungry or waiting for a cake to come out of the oven.

How weird, the only two people he ever loved in his life were nothing alike: Aiden smelled like the sea, or the crisp clean blankets drying in the first rays of summer, fresh, spicy, promising, tempting. Eskel was comfort and quiet, reassurance and furs that have been left to warm by the fire draped over the bed.

He stops in front of the door, unsure, for too long. His mind is having a hard time figuring out why Eskel is here, did he happen to pass by, why is he not in Kaer Morhen, what if something happened...

The door opens not even a minute later, and a blur of red and black armor surrounds him distracting him from the questions crowding in his mind. He finds himself enveloped in a tight hug, strong arms circling his shoulders, pulling him closer, muttering something he can't focus on.

When he was younger he used to think that Eskel was the safest place he could find, it's funny how some things never really change.

He’s worried, Lambert can tell something is bothering him, but for some reasons he looks almost...relieved? That's a first, he finds it hard to believe anyone can feel that way when they see him.

"How did you...What are you doing here?" Lambert's confused expression doesn't hide his reluctance in breaking their embrace.

"Lambert, we thought...I was worried." Eskel doesn’t ask why he did not come home or what happened to him, he clutches him for a moment longer, silently grateful he finally found his brother.

Fear is a big part of the winter months. Concern and worry sat in their chest like a stone every time they walked through the frozen courtyard. It's something every Witcher experiences, it comes from not knowing how many of those they left the previous season they'll find the next one.

This year, winter had been an ordeal for Geralt and him, Vesemir kept saying they shouldn't worry too much, but it's impossible to do so when they have no idea of what happened to their brother and the list of things that could have gone wrong is endless.

It's tough, they already have so little, that the idea of losing it is unbearable. Whoever makes it to the castle first is bound to spend at least two awkward and anxiety-filled weeks waiting not so patiently for the others to finally, finally show up. They all know what it's like to lose a brother.

"It's early. You should be in Kaer Morhen," Lambert says trying to avoid his eyes. He sits on the end of the bed as if putting some distance between them could help him explain his brother's presence.

"I left as soon as I could. Asked around in Ard Carraigh and a friend told me a Witcher was looking at the shipwrecks along the Pontar, figured it was worth checking out." Eskel stares at him intently to check that the younger Wolf is not wounded or recovering from some injury. The fact that he doesn't find any doesn't settle his concern.

"It's sirens," Lambert adds scowling. It didn't make sense for Eskel to be here this early, not for such a shitty contract. First job of the season was usually a big one for them, but he must have had a reason to travel so soon just to take a look into this.

"I'm not here for the sirens," Eskel interrupts, his voice low as he crosses his arms over his chest. He leans on the small table in front of the bed and Lambert can see the way he's staring at him, he has that focused frown on his face, the one he always gets when he's engrossed in a book or when he's trying to plan the best course of action before a hunt.

It makes him nervous enough to start ramble: "I can't find anything cause of course those fuckers disappear as soon as they feed and I have no idea where their nest is, but I'm on it, and I know it's sirens, you shouldn't worry about that. No point in coming all the way here at this time of the year, I can handle a couple of bloody fishes, and the sailors..."

"I'm not here for the damn sirens! I'm here for you!" Eskel snaps. Lambert immediately shuts up and lowers his eyes to the floor, the room falling into a tense silence.

Eskel sighs. He sees Lambert fidgeting on the spot, legs bouncing slightly, fingers torturing a frayed thread on the blanket underneath him, unable to settle. Eskel hates himself a bit for putting him in that position.

"You didn't come home." Eskel keeps his voice soft, trying to mask his concern. He used to be the one to help him calm down, relax and unwind when he was on edge, he shouldn't be making it worse.

"I spent winter south before. Things happen." Lambert shrugs as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He was surprised when he met Eskel outside of Beauclair an early fall afternoon of some years ago. It was always nice to run into your brothers on the Path, that brief moment of respite was worth all the hard days of traveling.

Lambert felt almost sorry for lying when he said he couldn't stay long because he had a contract. Almost.

In all truth, he was just eager to go back to Aiden, their little room seemed better than an entire palace. It felt natural, almost too easy, mentioning that he had a good job here and he wanted to spend the winter in town. He couldn't tell the real reason why he was so keen on remaining here, but thankfully Eskel didn't question him.

The memories of those peaceful and carefree days together still cling to his mind, gnawing at his inside in painful bites.

He doesn't know that Eskel thought happiness and quiet suited his brother so nicely he secretly hoped to find him in the same frame of mind next time they'd meet.

"Exactly. Things happen, usually not nice things to us Witchers." Eskel sighs and rubs the lower part of the scar on his face out of old habit. "Do you remember that year I got held up on elf business and I was three weeks late?"

"Of course I do, some of the worse three weeks of my life," Lambert mumbles. He didn't think it could get any worse than not knowing if one of the most important people in your life was alive or not. Now he knows it can get worse. Knowledge hurts more than doubt.

"You said I should never scare you like that again or you were going to kill me yourself." Eskel grins at the thought, the memories of Lambert clinging to him well into the night and muttering every now and then <i> don't ever do that again</i>. "Can you imagine how I felt when you didn't come at all?"

Lambert keeps his eyes trained to the floor, unable to look at his brother. He never thought Eskel would miss him like that, he's not someone others usually miss. He's more like the type of person others can't wait to get rid of, the sooner the better.

Fear of losing someone is etched into their souls from the first trials, when they have to deal with the horrible truth, many won't survive.

Lambert remembers being in his room with tears still stinging in his eyes, trying to be strong, telling himself he made it through the woods and it would be easier now that the trials were done. And when he thought the worst was over, he quickly discovered it only just begun.

Every year the apprehension and dread only ease when they're all finally together in the main hall. Lambert has been in the position of waiting for Eskel or Geralt to arrive, every day being a torturous collection of wasted hope.

That's why Eskel's words hit him differently. He should have known better.

"I...I had something going on...I'm not...I didn't think it was a big deal." Lambert knows he doesn't deserve his kindness or patience.

He's always been a selfish bastard, and the fact that they're here in this room, and he's trying to come up with some excuse for his stupid behavior is proof enough.

"Why not? Do you really think you're not important to us? To me?" For a split second, Eskel wonders if maybe his brother didn't want to be found. He wasn't accidentally late, he hasn't been held back like they all thought, he consciously decided to not go home to them.

For reasons unknown, Lambert didn't think Kaer Morhen was safe for him anymore. And that hurt.

"Lambert, did something happen?" Eskel silently moves to sit next to him on the bed, his hand laying on his shoulder. His senses scream at him that there's something different in his brother's frown, in the way the lines on his forehead seem more pronounced, in how he seems to be so blank.

Lambert was always the only one of them to express everything in extreme, be it something he was passionate about or the anger that seemed to torment him at times. He was rarely measured or composed, he was everything or nothing, no in-betweens.

That's what's different in him now. There's no fire in his eyes, no mounting feelings waiting to explode, it's like something was taken from him.

He doesn't know what's wrong with his brother, but something is off. He's hurt, not in a visible way, but it's there, like a cut you can't see but it keeps bleeding.

This type of wound, he doesn’t know how to heal. He can’t give Lambert some Swallow and let him sleep it off, there’s no injury to stitch or bone to fix, yet he can see his brother is bleeding and broken.

#aiden x lambert #the witcher fanfiction #lambden #the witcher fandom #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #the witcher #the witcher fic #I lost a friend I lost my mind #lambert x aiden #witcher eskel #quarantine writing

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bbnibini · 4 years ago

Text

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – sixty-six🔖

The lull of your everydays should have eased your mind. However, you find that monotony only addled your thoughts, making you cautious of everything: uneasy, unnerved. The only times when your heart felt calm was in the company of Satan. His protectiveness made you felt safe. His gentle inquiries, his tight embraces, his warmth next to yours could never be replicated by anyone. But…must you cling to him like this? Isn’t he tired of you? Weren’t you being paranoid? The investigations were “proceeding smoothly”, according to Lucifer’s words, but…the slightest possibility of everything failing and falling apart persisted in your thoughts. You felt that way before—it was a memory of a few months past; a suffocating cacophony in your head, refusing to be forgotten. In choosing to forgive too early, too prematurely, the wounds in your heart scarred; it was a lot better now, of course. You have started to forget when the nightmares stopped. The sight of purple eyes didn’t make you tremble in its sight anymore. You’d even like to think you were fond of him now. The breathlessness you felt, the tightness in your neck was a reality that never happened. So…why was it so vivid to you now? Again? And why was it…that in spite of it all…

…

…why did it feel like you’re forgetting something?

💌 💌 💌

[ Hurt? No. There’s no pain at all. ]

“Does it hurt? Don’t worry. This is all just a bad dream. Here. Hold my hand.”

“You’re fine now…”

[ Then…if it’s not you in pain…who was? ]

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

[ Who was that gentle person cradling you in his arms? ]

….

[ Were you crying? ]

“Farewell my dear…we will never meet again.”

“I love you too…I…”

[ !!! ]

“…ake up!”

[ No… ]

“…I’m sorry.”

[ Don’t go… ]

“Wake up!”

Wake…up?

…you can’t breathe.

…it smells like Satan.

…Satan?

Why did he look so worried?

“It’s just a dream, kitten. It will be okay.”

It was…a dream? What was?

“You’re hugging me a little too tightly, hehe. Is something wrong?”

Oh, good. He looked a lot calmer now. But…what was he saying about some dream? And why were you sweating so much? Your eyes sting a bit too. Were you crying? You…don’t remember.

“You were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you up several times.”

“I was?”

Satan looked taken aback by your response. He loosened the hug and opted to rest your head on his chest instead, making soothing strokes on your back.

“Mhm. I’m sorry for leaving you alone for too long. I’ll stay by your side from now on.”

You shook your head. “I can’t let you do that. The festival is starting soon. Besides, I’m also part of the committee. I can—“

You felt his arms squeeze you in and only let go once you told him it was starting to hurt. “I’d like to say the same but…you deserve to decide for your own.”

“Satan?”

His voice sounded tired and worried. When was the last time he slept properly? His side of your shared bed felt emptier lately, and the bags under his eyes were starting to become noticeable. You hated how you were responsible for all of this. If only you were stronger…then maybe he wouldn’t have to—

…you heard him calling your name.

“What do you want to do, my dear? How can I accommodate you?”

“What do you mean?”

You heard him laugh bitterly as he replied. “You always tell me I’m a thoughtful and gentle demon but…if only you knew what’s going through my head right now, I’m sure you’ll start thinking otherwise.”

Satan…

You weren’t sure what time it was right now. Devildom had never been graced by the sun. However, the silence that enveloped the room seemed to suggest it was the dead of the night. The dim magical device on your bedside casted vermilion on your beloved’s face. You held his cheek and leaned your foreheads against each other, wishing he’d know you would never leave his side.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

He shook his head.

“You won’t like it.”

“Even if I won’t…it will make you feel better. I’m not going away, Satan. I’ll always be here.”

You saw the tremor in his emerald eyes, hesitating and calmed it down by a soft kiss to his lips. It lingered and filled the anxieties in your heart with his gentle warmth. Pulling away, then starting again. And again. And again. Hopeful, hopeful for something to change. To stay. To etch your existence in his bones, never to leave. Yet, he didn’t want you to wither away. The kisses he initiated were gentle and feather soft, as if you would crumble in his arms if he held you too tightly and too long. As you pulled away, the smile on your face finally brought his guard down and he started smiling again.

“I wish I can keep you for myself. To take you away from whatever ails your mind…” his voice trembled at his tight embrace, but you kept your silence and listened.

“I want to protect you, but…seeing you like this hurts. If I can just lock you up so you won’t ever leave then maybe…I can’t. I know it’s wrong.” Your silence prodded him to continue speaking.

“…I feel anger and it’s starting to cloud my mind. But I don’t know who I should direct it to. To what? And why? I…don’t want to be angry. But I feel slighted. For your sake. For everything that matters to you…

…is anger the only thing that defines me? Why is it that no matter what I do, I can only trace everything I feel back to it? Am I incapable of feeling anything else?”

“Satan…”

You returned his embrace tightly and kissed his forehead. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than your anger. After all…

…could a truly wrathful person ever be capable of loving someone as much as you do?”

You kissed him again and relished on his warmth, hungry for something that cannot be filled. Justice? Anger? Vindication? You didn’t know. All that you understand is that he was the way he was right now because he loved you. And you wished he’d know how you felt the same.

“I’ll be okay, Satan. You’re by my side, after all. Thank you for always thinking of me.”

The sound of your name being uttered by him in the silence of the night felt comforting, and the thought of someone worrying so much over you made you feel less alone, less weary...

“…thank you for loving me.”

…loved.

You heard him laugh lightly upon your words. The tremble in his hold stilled as if whatever was ailing him was also abated.

“…I’ll support you at whatever you want to do going forward, kitten. If I ever make you uncomfortable, restricted, suffocated over something we both couldn’t control…please tell me.” He breathed out and took in your scent. “This is…new to me. I want to do right by you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” You answered, assured.

“I’ll try to be more honest. To keep no secrets from you. I won’t shoulder everything on my own so…all I ask is…can you also do the same?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” He sounded genuinely relieved. “I’ll try to update you about your case as much as I could. So until then, please take care of yourself. Call my name. Our pact. I’ll be there.”

“Mhm, I promise.”

“And your nightmares ever since the meeting happened—“

“Is not your fault, or anyone’s…” You continued. “I’d rather know the truth and support you through this than being kept in the dark. You and the others did what you thought was right. And I appreciate that.”

“Even with all the nightmares?”

“Yes, I won’t break just from this. This isn’t the first time someone targeted my life after all.”

Satan frowned at your words, so you hurriedly took it back and laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry. That joke’s in poor taste.”

“That won’t ever happen again.”

“I know. All of you are doing your best. This will all be resolved in no time. So…until then…”

“Until then?”

You kissed away the creases on his brows and smiled. “Until then, let’s be by each other’s side.”

It was such a simple and obvious statement that Satan almost forgot the comfort those words had brought him. With a weak smile returning yours, he held you again and breathed out a sigh. “Do you think you can sleep again?”

You nodded.

“Are you sure you want to go to school normally?”

You nodded again.

“Can we hold hands while we sleep?”

You laughed lightly, then nodded again, making him lie next to you in bed. “Always.”

The last sensation you remembered before your eyes drifted back to sleep was his hand threaded with yours. The nightmares you both feared never came.

💌 💌 💌

Lucifer seemed more subdued than usual. The strictness and rigidness were still there, but along with his usual self was also a pause in his words, an attentive eye that watched from the sidelines, supporting everyone in subtle actions and gestures. The incident caused a rift between some of you(namely you and Belphegor)—his bitterness was understandable; it was a misunderstanding that can only be resolved by the two of you. Still…his stubborn pride and the nosiness eldest siblings shared refused to leave the two of you alone. You noticed him looking after you with his random small talks, his excuses to see see both of you over some trivial matter he would scold you for no reason. The nightmares that persisted only soured your relationship more, yet the eldest was far from discouraged from his efforts. Instead, he persisted with his awkward way of caring, as if desperate for a resolution. You wondered if Belphegor noticed it too.

His summons today was unusual. Instead of Belphegor and some trivial mistake that the both of you inadvertently committed, there was only you and Satan. The blond demon seemed as clueless as you were once you were called in his study.

“Good morning.”

…no scolding? Rather…he seemed at peace?

“Your thoughts are as clear as day, human. I am not here to lecture you this time. Please, sit down.”

?!?!?!?

“You’re quite tense yourself, Satan. Why don’t you relax?”

Satan grimaced, refusing to sit down as a sign of petty opposition. “I am relaxed.”

“Right,” Lucifer said drily, placing folders on top of his desk. “Your perpetrator has been identified. Please be at ease.”

!!!

“This is the first time I have heard of this.” Satan said, frowning. “Was that intentional?”

“No. Rather, I told both of you the second I have confirmed it to be true. In fact, they’re currently being apprehended by Barbatos’ men as we speak.”

Now that you look at him, he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. His red eyes hinted of sleeplessness—a lighter shade of his irises at the white of his eyes, puffy and eye-bagged and…haggard. He was telling the truth.

“Who was it?”

“A high-ranking noble opposed to Lord Diavolo’s reign. We had no means of arresting him before, so I’d say these turns of events are rather convenient.”

There were some documentations about your killer in the folders, crimes connected to his name only to surface due to your assassination attempts. The case is good as solved, and you should feel at ease by now but…

“…is this really okay?”

…why do you still feel so anxious?

“Are we…okay now?”

You heard your name being called by the two demons. Satan in particular, had been comforting. He held your hand the moment he heard the tremble in your voice. Lucifer was about to stand up from his seat, looking like he was going to do the same but stopped, realised the role he needed to play at that moment and remained in his seat. “You’re still worried this isn’t over. I understand. Which was why we had been discussing over something.” Something? He asked you to open the other folder to receive your explanation.

“Staying in the Devildom is dangerous for you right now. You still have a few more weeks remaining, but…if you wish to go back, we have arranged for your early departure.”

Satan interjected, his widened eyes in disbelief over the other contents in the folder. “Me too?”

“They can only feel at peace with you. And it seems like you share the same sentiments.” You heard the eldest clear his throat, looking away from the two of you as he spoke his next words. “…Your name stands out too much, so I have arranged a pseudonym for you while you’re disguised as a human.”

Pseudonym? You turned to the page he was indicating on your own copy and

Pfft!

“Hey! I detest that! Can’t I have a choice in this?”

“Hahahaha!”

“Oi, oi. It wounds me to see you relishing in my pain, you know?”

But…you can’t help it! Lucifer looked so happy with the name. And and…he seemed so proud over—pfft!

“I refuse to use this!”

Well…you couldn’t blame him. The name after all seemed contradictory to what he was standing for. However, you felt particularly cheeky today so you teased him.

“But…Helel is a cute name!”

Lucifer nodded repeatedly, smiling at your approval. “It’s a fine name. It should serve you well.”

“SERVE ME WELL, MY ASS!”

“Language, Helel.” “Now, Helel dear.”

“I hate that you’re going along with this.”

“Do you think Lucifer would change it just because you asked? Besides, it’s good if you get used to it now, won’t you?” You tilted your head as you stated a fact.

Rolling his eyes, he sighed and made a face. You have a point. Lucifer is stubborn as he is. He’d rather save the mental energy he had on keeping an eye on you. “When will we leave?”

“Can you make your preparations in 3 days?”

“I suppose. We’re almost done with the committee work.” You answered.

“Good. If you have any other commitments, be sure to have them fulfilled before you leave.”

Commitments?

!!!

“Is something wrong?” Satan looked over at you and you nodded your head reluctantly. You promised no secrets from each other, so…

“I have something to talk about with Lucifer.” Seeing him frown, you held his hand and squeezed it in reassurance. “I’ll tell you later, I promise.”

“Why not now?”

Because you knew he would be against it. You loved him a lot. You trusted him more than anything in this world but, Mammon was important to you too.

“Please?”

As if remembering your heartfelt talks the other night, he gave in as soon as he looked at your begging eyes. “Hah. All right. Can I at least know if it’s dangerous?”

You shook your head. That was enough of a reassurance for him for now. He let go of your hand and sighed, smiling defeatedly at you.

“…okay. I’ll be waiting for you at the library.”

“Thanks, Satan.”

You faced Lucifer as soon as he left. You had to be honest: you were sure Mammon was right—Lucifer had an idea of what he was dealing with right now. You were worried over that possibility, as his inaction must have another meaning. After all, despite what it seems, it was apparent that Lucifer adored Mammon and his other siblings. So even if the implications of his silence weren’t good, for a dear friend like Mammon, you wanted to try and ask anyway.

“Lucifer?”

…you cannot read his face. He was good at keeping his secrets and his intentions from others. You surmised it was something he learned due to the burdens of his role as the eldest as well as his position in Devildom. Still—it didn’t mean that it didn’t frustrate you.

“You wanted to ask me something?”

…especially if reading you, in contrast came as easy as breathing for him.

“…Yes.”

“Then, ask away.” He tested you, scrutinising your facial reactions. “However, I’m quite curious to know how serious it is that you cannot trust the demon who is closest to you. Is it a difficult request?”

You…didn’t know how to answer. Was it difficult? You only knew that you wanted to help Mammon.

“It’s…about Mammon.”

Nothing. It felt as if he was expecting that answer from you. “Ah. What about my brother?”

Was this still a test? Does he really not know what you’re asking at all? Or was he pretending that he didn’t know?

“I gave him the bouquet and gave him permission to sell it.”

The crease on his brows and the sigh exuding from him made him feel a little more…attainable. Imperfect. Reasonable. Whatever that feeling was, it reassured you.

“You spoil him too much.”

“Am I not allowed to?”

He shook his head. “Of course, you’re entitled to your own actions. Now…may I ask your reasons?”

Your heart was beating really fast. You just hoped you wouldn’t screw this up for him. Then again, confronting Lucifer had always been difficult. “He needs to sell it to get a lot of money…

N-not for himself! It’s for someone very important to him!”

You saw something in his eyes that looked like epiphany. Red eyes widening over something you said. So, it wasn’t omniscience. It may have been perceptiveness he had trained himself to possess over the years. Your worries earlier felt silly now.

“So you know.”

“Eh?”

Lucifer sighed and gave a weak smile. “It’s hard not to take notice of it, especially if that brother of mine is always up to no good.” That smile widened, softened, his eyes hinting of fondness. “What else am I supposed to do but support him?”

“Wait—“

Understanding your confusion, he explained for you. “I’ve known for quite a while. However, the situation is more drastic now, isn’t it?”

He sighed as he saw you nod.

“I’ll try and ask Solomon if he can negotiate with the witches. He has a more…reputable standing with those women than I do.”

Solomon?

Ah!

“Is there anything else?” The eldest asked you and you shook your head.

“No. That’s all. It’s just…I have plenty more commitments I have to settle than I realised.”

💌 💌 💌

This has to be the longest 3 days in your life. But somehow, the desperation of not leaving anything hanging until your departure is giving you the strength to conquer each err…obstacle. You and Belphegor were getting there. It was still a rocky relationship but, your constant company and your more open approach with him is mending everything bit by bit. In fact, other than Satan and Levi, he was one of the first demons who you told about your departure.

It was difficult to approach him at first, but you supposed Lucifer’s nosy efforts to get you two to reconcile had been working. Sure, he was griping, but he wasn’t avoiding you anymore.

“He’s mad at himself.”

…was what his twin told you many days ago, but could it really be true?

The attic room was stuffier than usual. Its small space feeling vast and empty with your distance. Belphegor was frowning as he clutched his cow pillow in his chest, burying his face and muffling his complaints.

“Why did you come here?”

You closed your fists tightly and faced him. You felt him shuffling away from you until he was backed into his bed’s headrest, unable to avoid you anymore. “You’re too close.” His words were hostile, but his tone was far from it. It almost felt like he was convincing himself from something.

“Look at me, Belphie.”

His purple eyes glared at you in ironic opposition. “I can do it again from this angle, you know. Human necks are easy to snap.”

“But you wouldn’t do that.”

His eyes widened at your words.

“Why are you so confident? Aren’t you afraid of me? Of what I could do to you?”

Honesty was what he needed. Sincerity too, you surmised. Beel’s words kept on replaying in your head like a broken record, reflecting the truth—he was right. All his hostility and all his anger was not for you, but for himself. Soon enough, you couldn’t help yourself anymore and wrapped the youngest-born in your arms, letting his head rest on your neck as if the thought of everything repeating itself was irrelevant to you.

“I’m sorry, Belphie.”

You felt him breathe deeply. You continued. “It’s true. I was afraid of you before but…it’s different now. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you. I’m sorry.”

“…”

“I should have considered your feelings more. It’s shameful to admit it was my carelessness that caused this misunderstanding but it’s true. I…just forgot to tell you. But, it doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

However comforting your words did not seem to translate well to him. He clutched your shirt and choked back in his words, unconvinced. “You’re getting nightmares…”

“Which is an entirely different matter. I was afraid of that person, not you.”

“Was?”

“They got arrested now. I have no reason to be afraid anymore.”

The revelation finally made him look up at you, purple eyes awestruck.

“…I wanted you to be one of the first people to know.”

“…why?”

“Why? Mhmm…just because! I…can’t really explain it. You just popped out of my mind once Lucifer told me about it. Thinking back, it sorta doesn’t make sense, huh?”

Your smile was unfair, and so were your words, Belphie thought.

…how could you forgive him so easily when he couldn’t even forgive himself?

You stayed in embrace for a while, letting him rest against you as you felt your breaths next to each other. You were slowly getting back to normal. This in itself was already a huge leap towards a better direction.

“I’m leaving soon.” You blurted out. “Satan is coming with me. And you’re all welcome to visit us once we’re settled! In fact…I wish all of you will. I’ll miss you.”

Belphie grimaced, the self-blame in his tone hard to miss.

“Is it…because of me?”

“Of course not!” You answered on instinct.

“Staying in Devildom is dangerous for me right now, and I’m worried about the people I left behind in the human world so…I thought this was the best course of action.”

“Your…family?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. That’s what you call people who are important to you, right? It doesn’t matter if you share the same blood or not. What matters…” you placed a hand on his chest and smiled. “…what matters is what’s right here.”

Family. Bonds. Its definition changed for you as time passed. It only solidified its meaning in your heart by coming here. For the sake of the people important to you, you must...

“…live.”

!!!

You heard your name being called by a worried Belphie.

“You spaced out for a second there.”

“Yeah…” Huh…what were you thinking about again? And…why does your chest hurt?

Belphie muttered an idiot under his breath as he placed a hand atop your head.

“Thank you for telling me first.”

Belphie let out a surprised gasp as you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly. “You can come visit anytime. In fact, I insist!”

“Fine, fine. If you put it that way, I guess I have no choice.”

His laughter was a good sign that the both of you are moving forward. When you told him that, he only threw a pillow at you and called you something you haven’t heard from him for a while.

“Stupid human...”

You had to admit. You rather missed it.

💌 💌 💌

“A favour?” Simeon blinked his blue eyes at you, looking confused. “A favour for what?”

Huh?

“The one Solomon promised he would do for you?” Perhaps you worded it vaguely so you tried to elaborate. “Well…err. I ended up owing him something so now, I’m doing it for him.”

“Pff—HAHAHAHA!”

Eh? Eh? Why was Simeon laughing? Did you say something funny?

“Sorry…pfft! O-oh yes, I remember now.” He wiped the corner of his eyes and smiled widely. “If it’s THAT favour, I definitely remember.”

O…kay?

“It’s simple really.” His reactions seemed to imply otherwise, but you held back a retort. “You know that I’m busy helping Leviathan with his party now, aren’t you?”

Upon your nodding, he continued speaking. “Well, part of that help is kitchen duty.”

Ah.

“…I feel bad for Solomon now.”

Simeon’s smile never left his face. “I put him in shopping duty. All I ask is that you keep an eye on him until Luke and I are done preparing the food.”

“Is that all?”

Simeon hummed, as if considering something. “Of course you know how passionate he is with cooking. I only ask that you keep this from him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

It sounds reasonable enough, but something about the situation struck to you as…odd. You just couldn’t pinpoint why.

Simeon’s terrible grasp with technology prompted you to check for the sorcerer’s location the old-fashioned way. Mammon and Levi had laughed at your face once you popped out a compass and a map from your bag, but you ignored them. Now, if they helped you instead of laughing at your face, wouldn’t that be swell? But no. You decided to leave them and venture on your shopping expedition alone.

What was…North and what was South again? Tf does a coordinate mean? Eventually, you gave up and Doogled the coordinates Simeon sent you, almost tempted to faceplant on the floor once you realised where he was trying to direct you to.

“IT WAS JUST FREAKING HELLMART!”

Lord, help you. All that Indiana Jones montage for a supermarket a walking distance away from RAD?!

No. Deep breaths. You’re calm. This was a favour. This was for Mammon: for the poor little girl he was trying to save. You tried to will that in your head to prevent yourself from running back to Purgatory Hall and shaking the oblivious angel in frustration. Instead, your eyes scanned for a mop of silver hair amongst the crowd. Your search did not take long, as you saw him mulling over two different brands of flour in the baking aisle.

“Solomon?”

His gold and silver eyes turned to you in surprise.

“You’re shopping too?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like this is the first time you’ve heard about this, Mister ‘Do me a Favour’?”

“!!!”

He didn’t have to look so shocked! That wasn’t the reaction you expected from him.

“Ahahaha…ah yes. I remember. Simeon can be so vague sometimes…p…y…f…r…..t…h…s”

“???”

“I said, as courtesy of our agreement, allow me to pay for you.” He showed you his shopping list and smiled. “We have quite a lot to go over, but I’ll make sure to not take too much of your time.”

“Huh?”

Solomon shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to get ready to leave for the human world with Satan?” Noticing your confusion, he explained. “In case you have forgotten, Lucifer, Barbatos and I are working on the investigations. It’ll be a matter of time until everyone else will know.”

Oh. You were so busy that you forgot. That meeting wasn’t really…a good memory for you after all.

“It’s hard to tell everyone I’m leaving so suddenly.” You obtained a jar of dried newt in one of the shelves and placed it in the shopping trolley. “I’m almost done. It’s just…there’s so many things I have to prepare.”

Solomon was a silent listener. He didn’t speak a single word and let you talk his ear off as if he wasn’t paying attention to you. Instead, he checked every item in your list, asked if you have missed anything and went over the list again if you did. The only indication that he was listening was his occasional remarks of, “Keep talking. Why did you stop?” For someone who doesn’t seem like he wasn’t interested in conversation, he seemed to remember every little detail of what you said. He seemed more subdued than usual. He was always smiling and laughing whenever you see him, so it was rather…strange that he wasn’t now that he was alone.

“Are you always so serious when you’re by yourself?” You decided to point it out to him. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed himself…or something. You realised you didn’t know much about him—only his surface level wise cracks and tomfoolery.

His usual expressions registered on his features at your inquiry. A devious smile curved up from his lips, and his singsong voice sounded…annoying. “You’re feeling lonely?~”

Oh, you take it back! Rolling your eyes at him, you shoved the bag of flour in his arms and pushed the trolley towards the next aisle.

“Give me the trolley, it’s heavy.”

“…”

“I’m sorry for making fun of you?”

So he was making fun of you!

His laughter felt oddly juvenile, even the way he smiled. “My offer to pay for you still stands. Feel free to dry out my funds if such forms of revenge are to your liking.”

“You’re making me sound petty.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh? If the shoe fits…”

THIS. MAN. IS. FRUSTRATING. AS. HELL. Well. What if you are?!

“Let’s buy a present for Ruri-chan then. It has to be extravagant enough to make a dent on your funds.”

He seemed to be holding back a laugh, but he complied nonetheless. “Anything else?”

Hmm…Simeon did say to stall him long enough until they’re done cooking for Levi’s party. If so…

“Why don’t we buy the presents together?”

He looked as if he expected your answer. “What great timing then. I was going to do so even if you haven’t offered.”

You were getting tired of getting annoyed at every little thing he said. He always sounded like he was either provoking you, pushing you away or being as obnoxious to you as much as possible. Was your suffering really so amusing to him? Is he a sadist or what?

You pretended not to hear his nth wise crack of the day and rolled your eyes at him instead. “So, what are you going to buy for her?”

Solomon seemed to be considering your question carefully. Even his answer came out drawling off his tongue. “Since we already have angels and demons attending the party, why don’t we make it more Biblical? Perhaps a manger themed party? I can bring myrrh.”

You frowned. “Are you serious?”

“I suppose it’s an ominous gift after all.”

So he was being serious?!

“You suppose?”

His innocent smiles made you question which screws got loose in that millenia-old head of his.

“Hmm…well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there! Why don’t we go to that shop first once we’re done with the groceries?”

You weren’t sure if bridges were ever crossed at all, or it was you who grew cross with his gradual annoyances. Needless to say, you will never ask a favour from him ever again.

Oh Lord in Heaven, please give me strength.

💌 💌 💌

“Shopping?”

At least your insufferable time with Solomon made you think of a way of how you and Satan can spend your final days in Devildom together.

“Mhm. There’s a lot of daily necessities you’ll need that might not be as accessible as it is in the human world. Besides…”you giggled as you sneaked a kiss on his cheek.

“I want to go on a dateeee!!!”

He laughed as he found out your true intentions.

“Message received, kitten. I am yours for the day~”

…you can definitely see the regret on his face the moment he realised what you actually meant when you said “shopping”. War flashbacks of your times with Asmodeus in Majolish became fresh again in his memories, reneging to his inevitable fate as a glorified manikin.

“This looks good on you!”

“This JUST screams, Helel: the hot human transfer student from who knows where!”

“Oh! Satan, look at that! Cat ear headbands! Let’s get a matching pair!”

His smiles were starting to look forced. “I don’t need these much clothes. Besides, aren’t we here to buy Devildom-exclusive books and items?

You forgot, didn’t you?”

Oops. Haha.

“Hah. Well, now that you’ve had your fill, can I ask you something?”

Now you’re starting to feel bad. You immediately agreed out of guilt. “What is it?”

…

“I want to do something special with you. You’re free to decline if you wish.”

“Special?”

Satan nodded and leaned on your ear to whisper.

“…something really special.”

💌 💌 💌

Well. It was special all right. While you wanted the same from him, it didn’t erase the fact that the both of you were just built differently.

Your hips ached with regrets. He showed you no mercy and littered as much of his evidences on you, giving you many, many mixed feelings. You were happy over your precious, final moments together despite your body telling otherwise. Your heart felt warm over the sweet exchanges you’ve had…your heart-to-heart talks in the wake of the night—it was something you couldn’t ever trade for the world. You relished on another side of him that you have uncovered yet again. The night you shared together felt like an officiation of sorts. Whatever vague line you weren’t ever able to cross before became clearer. Closer.

“Was I too harsh on you?” He wrapped you in his arms, the gravel on his voice a consequence of a sleepless night spent. However, tiredness did not elude him. Instead, Satan felt…happy.

“A little but…I liked it. You’re quite gentle, actually.”

“I was trying to. If I pushed you too far…”

You shook your head, burying your face on his chest, sighing in content. “Thank you for giving this to me, Satan. Thank you for being with me.”

He kissed your forehead and closed his eyes, trying not to smile too much if it made him look less of a fool as he was to you. “I love you, kitten.”

Then again, you’re as much of a lovefool as he was, if not more.

“I love you too, Satan.”

Tonight, you share embrace and sweet nothings under a moonless sky. And tomorrow, another day will come for you on a different world, but it comforted you to know that you won’t ever be alone with Satan by your side.

💌 [ Proceed to Good Ending ]

[ MEMORIA 13 ~For Her Part 1 ~ unlocked ]

💌 Read now

💌tag request: @krussyfed, @lilliansstuff , @cupsof-tea

#psisly #hamartia series #obey me #obey me fandom #obey me fic #shall we date obey me #obey me x reader #interactive fiction #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #love letter #secret admirer

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Listener

John (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Male)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE GAME LITTLE HOPE

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: He wishes to be fine, he wants to be ok. He only wants to get over that night, bury it in the past and push forward. But you can’t bury what you can’t see or touch - the scars on your psyche, the trauma, the nightmares. He’s not able to battle it...not on his own at least.

Requested by @dark-pictures-until-dawn Hello dear! Sorry to be posting your request so late. I really hope you have stayed patient enough to still want to read the fic because I’m really looking forward to hearing your feedback, especially since it’s my first time writing a male reader. Please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

I can’t go home. I feel unsafe and lonely there. I feel how shallow is the meaningfulness of my existence and am constantly reminded of how quickly and gruesomely it was almost taken from me back in that ghost town. How I was prepared to do anything to shield my life as well as the lives of those I was responsible of from the horrors Little Hope provided for us. Speaking of my companions at the time, I think they’re doing far better than I am. Angela is, well, Angela - unbothered by the real problem, rather focusing on herself, mostly appearance-wise. Taylor and Daniel are each other’s support and have finally made their relationship public and I’m really happy for them. They deserve nothing but the best and I hope they get through this soon. Andrew left for home for a week or two to be with his family until the concussion and the trauma wore off at least a small bit. I was really worried for him and still am, but I’m at ease knowing he’s surrounded by people who’ll take care of him.

I, however, am left to my own devices. Devices I’m not sure I have. I can hear the weak side of me whispering to me whenever I get home, telling me it’s ok to break the streak at a time like this, even encouraging me to do so. Telling me it’ll be alright, that I’ll be able to pick myself back up, but for now, I can turn to my old friend for comfort. I can allow the liquor to pick me up like it did then. But then, thank the heavens, my rational side kicks in right on time - one second before it can be too late. It makes me ask myself if alcohol ever did anything for me except dig me a grave for my own dignity. Did it ever pick me up, or was it always the illusion behind which was the defeat and demise it truly gave me?

This rational side has helped me put down the bottle just as I was about to unscrew its cap, and I’ll forever be in its debt. Lord knows I’d be back in the same awful spot I was in before I started by journey of getting clean. I can’t go through the hellish first months of recovery another time. But the escape is a little too hard to resist sometimes.

Tonight it’s especially bad. This afternoon I had a meetup with the principle of the college during which I had to tell him all that happened that night, all the while enduring his ‘you’ve gone mad’ stare mixed with pity. He doesn’t believe any of us, how could he? I wouldn’t believe it either if I were in his shoes. Still, I’m the one who he bothers the most about it, given the others are students and I’m basically an employee of his and I am not allowed to show any sort of disrespect, no matter how much I’d like to put him in his place, if I want to keep my job. Having to reach to the dark side of my mind for the memories of that night took a toll on me like it hasn’t been able to in the past three days. I sometimes experience rather decent days during which my mind is too occupied to crack under the weight of the trauma. But then come the nights when I avoid sleeping just to unintentionally sink in deep slumber which is interrupted by a nightmare that sends me in a state of absolute terror.

Those are the instances in which I need metal chains to tie my wrists and feet so I don’t go back to old habits.

Why I still have alcohol in my house is beyond me. It’s like I’m taunting myself to fail what I’ve worked so hard for. Like dangling a piece of meat in front of a lion. The problem is - I’m both the person dangling the meat and the lion. I end up hurting myself by seeking comfort. It’d be a straight up lie if I tell myself I’m strong enough to resist temptation. The only reason why I do so is to avoid those first few months of the new attempted recovery. If I even attempt it, that is.

Because of the deteriorated state my mind is in right now and my weakened defenses, I have made the only move I can think of - sleeping in the school tonight. I’m lucky to have a couch in my office which I share with another professor, so sleeping here will at least be comfortable. The weather has been holding up well, so I won’t even need to bring out the heater. Just as long as no one...

“John? You’re still here?“

…sees me.

The familiar voice scares me half to death, bringing me out of my spiraling thoughts. I’ve become really jumpy and easily terrified which I consider to be reasonable. Other people are rather cautious around me and when approaching me, which I appreciate.

The person standing in the doorway with one hand on the handle and a startled expression on his face is my colleague Y/N. He’s the professor I’m sharing this office with. Him and I started working at this college at the same time and we quickly bonded over our first-day-on-the-job anxiety. He is pretty swell guy, about my age and height. He is the laid back professor, you don’t see many of his kind, especially since he is an ECON professor. Some of my students are in his class too, and they have nothing but kind words to say about him and his teaching. While the other professors, myself included, sport suits to work, he shows up in a polo shirt and jeans. He hasn’t missed a single day of work and his class flaunts the highest score in the whole college. That should tell you enough about how professional and well-put-together of a person Y/N is.

“Um, yeah...I just have some things to finish up.“ I wave my hand dismissively, hoping he’d leave it at that. But we’ve been colleagues and friends too long for him to let that slide so easily. He knows me well, people are an open book to him in general. He has told me he wanted to pursue psychology but his parents talked him out of it which explains his ability to tap into a person’s psyche like a literal mind reader. God knows I need a psychologist right now.

Y/N steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I can wait for you. We could get some dinner if you want.“ He suggests casually, shrugging his shoulders a tiny bit.

My eyes go wide, “No!” I answer a little too quickly and too loudly, causing him to frown in confusion, “I mean...don’t wait for me. There’s no need. It’s already late. We could get dinner another time.”

Y/N narrows his eyes slightly as if attempting to read a sign in the distance. I know he’s reading me. I bet he doesn’t even have to try so hard. I’m an open book that has suffered too much damage recently. And I’m not only talking the events back in that God forsaken town.

I try avoiding his gaze but when he says my name I can look nowhere but his eyes, “John, I know you’re still rattled and traumatized. Who wouldn’t be? Just know that you can talk to me anytime, about anything.“ His hand rests on my shoulder, “I’m one of those people who believes you. I believe you 100%” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I’ve researched that stuff probably more than I should’ve when I was a teenager. And it still intrigues me. Though I’m really sorry you had to go through such horrible events. You know you can take a paid leave for a month or two, right? No one will hold it against you. I’d be more than happy to cover for you if you’d like.”

I find myself smiling at Y/N’s words, “I really appreciate that, Y/N, but I’m afraid that if I don’t come to work I’ll end up losing my mind. Hell...“ I motion around the office, “I don’t even wanna leave. ‘Home’ doesn’t seem so homey at the moment.“ I force a melancholic chuckle, deprived of almost all emotion.

“Hey, now that offends me.“ He frowns, showing off just how much I’ve hurt his feelings, “You’d rather crash here than come over to my place? Come on, John, you should know better than that.“ He pauses for a second, eyeing me suspiciously before a smirk appears on his face, “You’re just afraid I’ll bring out the chess board, aren’t you?“

I can’t help but laugh, “Not at all. We both know I’m the better chess player.“

A mock offended expression makes its way onto Y/N’s face as his eyes widen, “Oh, you’re so on now.” He quickly open the door, one foot already out in the hall.

I hurriedly grab my jacket and briefcase from where I left them this morning, “Not before dinner, though. My treat.” I call after him, my arm automatically reaching out for him, taking gentle hold of his wrist, “And, thank you, Y/N. This means a lot to me. Your support, your company, your friendship...everything.”

Y/N turns around, sending me one of his bright, dazzling smiles, “I was on board with you till you said friendship.” He snorts, moving his hand so it can hold mine and give it a gentle squeeze, “Jokes aside, John, I really want to help you and be there for you. So, please, I’m begging you, don’t push me away. At least try not to, ok?”

The warmth seeping from his eyes comforts me, helps me forget what’s been bothering me, at least momentarily. He always understands, he’s always prepared to help, to comfort, prepared to give advice and receive criticism. He’s human, obviously, but a human who understands what it’s like to be let down, brought down and forced to pick yourself back up, I haven’t found many who understand that in my life. He was my support when I decided to get clean, my biggest stability pillar, why couldn’t he help me now too? Why don’t I allow him to make me at least half the person he is?

“I’ll try, Y/N. I promise.“

And this is a promise I’ll keep, starting by discarding all the alcohol bottles in my house.

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nothingbutfangirlsmut · 5 years ago

Text

The Trials of Emi

Pairing: A little Minho. A sprinkle of Frypan. Gally x Emi(OC)

Summary: Emi, her twin brother Thomas, and a small group of gladers had been rescued and taken to a safe haven. Or so it seemed. It doesn't take long for Thomas to realize something is wrong. What happens next is a true trial for all of them but Emi's trials began the moment she was ripped away from a dying Gally. Watching someone you love die right before your eyes truly takes a toll.

Finally meeting the right arm could have been the end but betrayal leads to even more chaos and loss. A new mission to rescue those taken from them leads them to a city. The last city. After Emi finally comes to terms with everything that's happened something unfolds that changes everything again. She will have to not only deal with helping her brother take down WCKD and save their friend but also deal with all the new problems in her head and her heart.

Rating: As of right now it’s at most PG13. Some strong language that’s about it but it could change.

(This is the 2nd part/book to my other story "The Maze trials: A Gally Fanfiction". This will cover the events of the scorch trails and the death cure.)

Chapter Six

"Get up!" A raspy voice Thomas tried to shout.

His voice still woke most of us up. He was staggering to get to his feet. He started shouting louder waking the rest of us up. We were all back on our feet in no time wondering what was going on now.

"I see something," Thomas said pointing in the distance.

I followed his finger. I could see the twinkling lights like a small town or settlement in the distance.

A loud crack of thunder had us turning around. A huge storm was rolling towards us quickly. Lightning was striking the ground all around us. We ran as fast as we could towards the lights. They were getting closer and closer but so was the lightening. One good strike hit the ground only a few feet from me.

"Get inside!" Thomas shouted as we reached a building.

I stayed back close to Thomas making sure the others were getting inside. I turned to yell at Minho to pick up the pace when a rather large bolt came down striking a nearby car then bouncing off and hitting Minho. He flew into the air then landed on the ground with a loud thud. Thomas was too close as well. He was thrown a few feet from the force of it.

"Minho! Thomas!" I shouted running over to them.

Thomas looked disoriented but was getting back to his feet. Minho on the other hand was lying motionless with a bit of smoke coming off his body. I grabbed him with my good arm as Thomas got to his feet. The others came out helping me pick him up and carry him inside out of the storm. We laid him down on the ground.

"Minho!" Thomas shouted in his face.

I pushed Thomas out of the way so I could look at the boy. A small smirk played at my face as I had a wonderful thought. I pulled my arm back then slapped him across the face as hard as I could. Minho seemed to jump awake but didn't open his eyes. He groaned in pain making everyone sigh in relief. When he did open his eyes he looked straight up at me.

"What happened?" He asked looking dizzy.

"You got struck by lightning," Thomas told him.

"Then Emi slapped the piss out of you," Newt added with a chuckle.

We helped him sit up making sure he was actually ok. As much as I hate to admit it I was glad he was ok. I couldn't stand to see another one of us die. Even Minho. It didn't take long to get him back to his feet like he was good as new.

"What's that smell?" Teresa asked from a few feet away.

I watched her pull out her flashlight and turn it on. The moment she did I about pissed myself. One of those things was right in front of her! It reached out barely missing her face. We all screamed falling backward. A quick look around showed us there were many of them and they were all chained up unable to move but a few inches.

"I see you've met our guard dogs." A female voice spoke as a light on the other side of the room came on.

What now? What the hell is this place? I think I want to go back to the Glade now. Can I just wake up in my old room in the homestead with Gally beside me like all this was just some insane horrible nightmare?

The girl started walking towards us down a clear path between those messed up people. She stopped a few steps from us.

"Stay back" Thomas ordered her.

She smirked at him.

"You guys look like shit. Come on. Follow me. Unless you want to stay here with them." She said glancing around the room.

We followed behind her quickly leaving that room behind. She opened a door that led into an open warehouse looking building. People were all over the place. Whatever they were doing or saying stopped as we passed by.

"Come on keep up. Jorge wants to meet you." She said back to us.

"Who's Jorge?" Thomas asked.

I noticed rough looking people filling the group behind us as we walked. I suddenly had a bad feeling. Something isn't right.

"You'll see. No ones came out of the scorch in a long time. You just got him curious." She shrugged glancing back at Thomas.

"Me too" she added.

"I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this place," Newt whispered from behind me.

"Let's just hear him out and see what he has to say," Thomas whispered back to us.

We followed the girl up some stairs and into a loft type room. An older man was standing with his back to us. It looked and sounded like he was messing with a radio.

"Jorge, they're here." The girl said.

"Shh, shh, shh" he said quickly as a voice barely came through the speaker.

He rushed around trying to find something. The voices broke off losing signal. He tried messing with it again with no luck.

"Damn" he muttered.

He slammed a few things down then turned to face us. He looked the group over for a moment before speaking.

"You ever feel like the whole world is against you?" He asked us.

We all exchanged confused glances. I knew I wasn't exactly sure what the man was getting at but I did have the feeling the world was against us. The man walked forward as he continued.

"Three questions" he picked up a glass and pitcher.

"Where did you come from?" He held the glass up like he was inspecting it.

"Where are you going?" He poured the liquid in the pitcher into his cup.

"How can I profit?" He looked at us clearly meaning every word.

No one answered. We all just stared at him. I don't think we really knew where we were going. We couldn't answer any of those questions. Well aside from the first one but I don't think telling him we are on the run from W.C.K.D. was a good idea. The man glanced at each of us with a scowl.

"Don't all answer at once." He said sarcastically.

"We're heading for the mountains. Looking for the Right Arm." Thomas said taking a small step forward.

The group of people around us cackled menacingly. Jorge smiled and chuckled.

"You're looking for ghost you mean." He took a drink from his glass.

"Question number two." He said as he walked forward to stand in front of Thomas.

"Where did you come from?" He asked stopping in front of my brother.

Thomas and Minho shared a look.

"That's our business," Minho said.

Jorge looked at him for a second then slightly nodded his head. Two men grabbed Thomas and Minho as others grabbed the rest of us.

"Get the hell off me!" Thomas shouted as he struggled.

He was thrown to his knees as the girl who showed us in stepped over to him with some kind of device in her hand.

"Shut up you big baby." The girl said as she moved to do something to the back of his neck.

The device made a faint beeping sound then she stepped away from Thomas towards Jorge.

"You were right" she said handing the device to the older man.

He put glasses on his face then took the device. He stared down at it for a moment.

"Right about what? What is she talking about?" Thomas asked.

Jorge chuckled as he took the glasses off.

"I'm sorry Hermano, looks like you're tagged. You came from W.C.K.D. Which means, you're very valuable." He looked at us with an icy stare.

I gulped feeling a sudden panic rise in my chest. Each of us was grabbed again this time we were drug out of the room. I didn't get a chance to see where we were going because a sudden pain ripped threw my skull as everything went dark.

I woke up hanging upside down. A rope was tied around my ankles just like the others. We all hang in a circle over a large hole.

"This is great" I muttered.

"Good plan Thomas. Let's hear what the man has to say. Really working out for us." Minho droned sarcastically.

"Shut up Minho" Thomas muttered.

"Maybe I can reach the rope," Thomas said.

I heard him grunt as he was no doubt trying to lift himself up to grab the rope around his ankles. I was hanging with my back to him barely rotating around.

"Enjoying the view?" Jorge asked from the darkness.

He stepped out so we could see him.

"The hell do you want?" Thomas asked him.

"That is the question." He said pointing his cane at Thomas.

"My men want to sell you back to W.C.K.D. Life has taught them to think small. I'm not like that. Something tells me that you're not either." Jorge spoke to Thomas.

"Is the blood rushing to my head or is this shank not making any sense?" Minho asked aloud.

Jorge moved so he could look at Minho. He sneered at him then turned back to Thomas. He lifted his cane to point at him.

"Tell me what you know about the Right Arm." He ordered.

"You said they were ghosts," Newt said.

"I happen to believe in ghosts. Especially when I hear them chattering on the airwaves." He said in a creepy voice.

He moved to stand by the lever that held each of us in place. He placed his hand on it as he looked at Thomas.

"You tell me what you know and maybe we can make a deal." He said as his face looked completely blank.

Silence passed. No one said anything at first.

"We- we don't know much," Thomas said simply.

Jorge hit the lever then we all fell a few feet before jerking back. Each of us let out our own startled cry.

"Ok, ok, alright. They're hiding in the mountains and they attacked W.C.K.D got out a bunch of kids. That's it that's all we know." Thomas said quickly moving his arms as he spoke.

Jorge stared at him for a moment. He stepped forward opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by one of his men saying his name. The man walked into the room glancing between us and Jorge.

"What's going on?" He asked putting his hands on his hips.

"Me and my new friends were just getting acquainted. We're done now." Jorge said nonchalantly.

"Hey, wait, you're not gonna help us?" Thomas asked.

"Don't worry Hermano. We'll get you back where you belong." Jorge smiled then turned his back and walked away.

"Hang tight" he added then left the room.

"Seriously?" I questioned aloud in annoyance.

"What now?" Fry asked.

I glanced around the best I could. I had Next on one side of me and Minho on the other. Next to Minho was Teresa.

"I have an idea," Teresa said suddenly.

"What?" Thomas asked.

"I'm smaller you guys can push me over to the lever and I can let us down." She explained quickly.

Everyone nodded. It was the only plan we had right now. I wouldn’t be any help due to my injury. Fry and Minho were beside Teresa so they made their bodies swing back and forth until they could reach her. Once they could touch her they started pushing her like she was on a swing. They were trying to build up the momentum. Thomas grabbed her once she was far enough to help get her over. It took several minutes and every hand we had to get her over to the lever. She missed the first time but grabbed it the second time. She pulled the ropes off herself then worked on getting the rest of us down.

—

#nothingbutfangirlsmut #fanfiction #gally #gally imagine #gally smut #gally x reader #the maze runner #the maze trials #tmr gally #original character #the trials of emi

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

Screaming

The screaming started again.

Whenever I looked—hiding in the shadows of my curtain, peering through my window to observe the outside world—I never saw the source of those screams. The world just continued to turn. Life kept plodding along like nothing had happened.

In broad daylight, cars just coasted along in the street. People pushed their baby carriages or jogged down the sidewalks. Birds chirped in the trees. Nobody and nothing whatsoever reacted to this screaming.

During the dead of night, no lights turned on in the darkened windows of other buildings in the neighborhood. Deafening quiet always followed while I strained my eyes to search the darkest spots. Nobody to be seen, nobody out and about. Neither could I spot anybody as the potential source of the screaming, nor did anybody react to it.

It always sounded like a young woman. The same young woman.

The screaming carried no words, no message. At least not anything I could identify.

Only that the screams cut deep. Always blood-curdling, like someone suffering terrible pain, desperate for someone—anyone—to come to their aid.

Even when I heard them more clearly, I had no idea who it was. The melody and the tone color of the screams did not remind me of anybody I knew or anyone I had ever heard before in my entire life.

Sometimes, when I stood there, I despised myself for trying so hard to listen. I felt like a voyeur, spying on a murder happening before my eyes, but doing nothing. Nothing but trying to hear it better. Trying to satisfy my curiosity, rather than getting help.

Worst of all, I wanted to tell someone about this. But what should I say exactly? Anybody would think I’m crazy. Even just writing this down makes me think I’m crazy.

The first time it happened, I didn’t think too much about it. I figured someone else might take care of it. Other, braver people can call the police, or do something directly. I’m too afraid to go outside, and even if I did try to intervene, what would I do exactly? I’m not strong, nor do I truly know how to help or provide first aid, and I don’t even have a gun.

The week after the first time, I remember just how familiar the scream sounded. It wasn’t like it repeated itself the same way—it was unlike a perfect recording. Unique in its texture, outstanding in the terror that sang along in that screaming.

I peered out through the crack in between my curtains, scanning the world for any sort of cue or clue as to where the screaming had come from. But nothing.

Everything else looked and sounded like a perfectly normal world. I had to be the crazy one. I began to tell myself that this was the only rational explanation, like that would make it stop.

But it didn’t stop. It won’t stop.

This phenomenon repeated itself without pattern. Sometimes a day passed between the screaming. Other times weeks. Yet other times only hours.

Sometimes the screams sounded like they came from nearby, like just outside my window, or from one of the nearest buildings. Other times, it sounds like it echoed through the streets to my window, or traveled across the rooftops from farther away.

The world outside always looked normal. Like what you would expect from a world without these screams. And I might have been able to live my life in spite of any of this, if it had not started seeping into everything.

The screaming is everywhere now. It’s infecting everything.

See, I have this ritual of receiving packages at my door. Shipments of medications, food, clothing, or other goods. The delivery workers are always nice, even if some of them give me funny looks sometimes. I mean, I’m hardly the only person like this, right?

After they ring the doorbell and I check to see if it is in fact a delivery service, I open it up, greet them in my typical mousy and shy fashion, and take the packages from them. They use the same handful of different lines to be polite, maybe I have to sign, and then I close the door and life goes on.

But just last week, the delivery man looked at me with a smile after handing me my package. His mouth opened and that horrible scream spilled out. The mystery woman’s scream; the scream I’ve been hearing for almost a year now.

I slammed the door shut on him and immediately felt bad afterwards. I could practically see myself as I was doing so; like I had been standing beside myself. I must have looked like I had seen a ghost, with all the blood draining from my face. I vividly remember how hard my heart pounded, how I needed minutes to recover while I had slumped against a wall near the front door, with the package’s weight and cardboard edges cutting off the blood flow to my legs.

Surely, I must have been hallucinating, right? There was no way in hell that this had really happened. My condition and my meds must be backfiring. My brain must be melting.

Well, it didn’t happen again. Not with any package deliveries, at least. And thank goodness for that. They’re my only lifeline to the outside world.

No, the next time it occurred, I had picked up a call from an unknown number. I normally never accept those calls, but I wanted so badly for it to be something positive—some good news, a friendly conversation, just anything to make me feel better.

When I tapped the button to take the call, the screaming started. My fingers just clawed onto the device, clamping around it like an iron vice. I froze; my whole body locked up. It must have been half a minute until I took control and cut the screaming short by hanging up the call, and I remember so clearly how I had been sobbing and shaking for hours after that event.

One time, when I turned on the TV, the news anchor opened her mouth and started screaming. The same screams, as always. If these were mere hallucinations, then they were flawless, because the anchor’s mouth just stayed open for the duration of the scream. The woman’s facial expression never changed—blank and dead—for what felt like a solid minute of the scream, ending almost on a gurgling note.

She closed her mouth and continued talking on her report regarding something about local elections. Different voice. No more screaming. Was anybody else witnessing this? I couldn’t even dream of asking anybody about it.

And I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to take this. I’d been living my own little nightmares, living in my own personal hell, but this was really making everything unbearable.

I’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. Just expecting to hear those screams, but nothing followed. Maybe I heard the screaming in my dreams and that was what had woken me up. But I couldn’t ever remember my dreams, so I couldn’t tell you for sure.

Sometimes, other sounds would remind me of the screams and startled me, making me drop things or break my train of thought, disrupting every last one of my life and work patterns. Rubber squeaking over a clean counter, like the shrill tone underlining the screams. Metal hinges creaking. Car tires screeching outside. Anything. Like little twisted fragments that triggered the memory of the screams.

And the actual screams, they wouldn’t stop.

I had to do something. But what?

So I started researching online, and found other people experiencing this same thing. The exact same thing.

The exact same screams.

Some of them had managed to capture it by setting up devices to record around the clock.

It’s always the same voice. The same woman. I know it. I can hear it. Sure as I’m about to hear her any time now.

I got in touch with one of the people I had met through a message board. When I had finally worked up the courage to call them, and they picked up, only screaming came from my headphones, just like that unknown caller from a month prior. I hung up immediately and broke off all contact—deleted my accounts, canceled my services, and subscribed to new ones.

Maybe an overreaction, but I am at my wits’ end.

The screams cannot be escaped.

It’s not like I went outside a lot before the screaming started, but I haven’t gone outside in months. At this point, I’m afraid the clouds will tear apart and the sky itself will scream at me if I do actually dare to leave my own four walls.

After brushing my teeth this morning and closing the mirror cabinet in front of me, I stared at myself. Disgusted and repulsed by my own appearance. I am shambles. I mean, I was before the screaming started, but I have really let myself go. What’s the point, anyway?

I wanted to say something to myself, and the screaming now came from my own mouth.

The very same screaming.

My own screaming.

—Submitted by Wratts

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zaritarazi · 5 years ago

Note

I'm thinking of a Marlie Beauty and the Beast AU

okay let me set this scene for you. we’re flipping it. bc we know for a fact that mick is very bookish when left to his own devices and also, cannot stress this enough, does not want to talk to anyone, ever. they’re like oh there goes mick, he’s daddy but he never talks to anyone, that’s the song now. he’s daddy but he’s kind of weird that mick

and then there’s charlie who may or may not be an elder god or some kind of demi god like here i am just me, charlie, having a great time scaring some townsfolk, living in this hugeass castle, just me, all alone, that’s how it’s always going to be, me, charlie, over here by myself. im fine and happy with this

so how does mick even get up there?? like this is mick he’s a grumpy daddy writer who wears his period-appropriate shirts stretched over his bara tiddies like who would gaston even be in this situation. barry??? is it barry??? i dont know he seems like he’d fuck around and bother charlie and mick with his life’s problems.... i mean who knows. we don’t need a gaston in this. i want gustin’s role CUT from the musical

okay so we all know mick is a widower. this is not news. and one night some local youths, probably on a dare, sneak into his house and steal like, len’s old pocketwatch or something and mick chases after them up the hills into the woods where they are of course, stopped by some kind of horrible blob thing that is like 2 stories tall and made of like oil slick colored shiny mud-like material and it’s essentially just like, an evil, cackling face in this wall of dripping muck and mick is like oh for FUCK’s sake. he’s like i cannot bELIEVe i have to protect the local youth from THIS. give me back my dead husband’s watch you fucking idiot children. i hope this thing kills me i truly do

oh also worth noting of course is that mick has been carrying a bigass torch this whole time. it’s very sexy and powerful of him

anyway one of the idiot kids starts throwing rocks at this fucking thing and mick is like oh for the love of FUCK and when the creature lurches forward he tries to light it on fire and it shrieks out and the youths are yelling and the giant blob is yelling and in the fray of this thing trying to reach out and grab the youths and drag them along the road and maybe like, blob them up a little? you know just to teach them a lesson, mick gets thrown into a tree and he drops the watch and he gets a concussion and is probably unconscious for like, a day.

so he wakes up and his head is POUNDING and he’s in this OLD ass bed with fresh sheets and he’s still in like, his coat and his nightshirt and the pair of pants that he managed to pull on quickly but his boots are gone and the watch is gone and he’s also fucking famished. he’s like well at least this isn’t the first time i’ve woken up in a strange place and needed to get out quickly but i had hoped i’d gotten too old for this SHIT

okay mick wandering around this old old old castle again, we’re gonna have him carrying a torch bc of the imagery, it’s very good, and he finally finds the kitchen with all the pots and pans hanging up and like the big wood-fire stove and all that jazz. he’s like great. fantastic. there’s some bread and some jam and mick is like perfect let me just guzzle this and then. and then the candleabra comes to life and starts talking, and mick is like, well, i’ve hit my head a lot of times in my life, i think i should just uh, let that one go. and ray, who is obviously the lumiere, and nate, who is obviously cogsworth, bc they are gay and in love, are like. oh my GOD. a GUEST. mick is still ignoring them and candle!ray is like okay we’re gonna sing the welcome song to you now and mick is like if you do that, i will destroy you both with my bare hands

nate: it’s a GOOD song

mick: i doubt that

ray: can we at least do the first verse

mick: no

nate: haha anyway do you like men

mick: you are a clock

honestly if mick is like “so uh why the fuck can you two talk” they just look at each other and are then like “honestly we have no idea. maybe we’re enchanted items?? we have fun here” and mick like great. outstanding. where is the exit. and nate like YOU CANT LEAVE. YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE. mick is like staring at him kind of shocked and then he and ray start laughing like hahahahahah you should see how stupid you look. it’s this way come on

mick: hey while i’m here. you’re a clock. have you seen a watch around here

nate: WOW. you just think all timepieces know each other? that’s so offensive

ray: he didn’t know

ray: but you should really apologize

mick: hey. let me ask. am i dead? is this hell? is that what’s going on?

okay but seriously mick can’t leave without that watch. and they’re like, well charlie usually keeps stuff she finds up in the study, but you’re probably not allowed in there. and mick is like this is literally, literally a kidnapping, so why don’t we just go in for a pound here and you two can take me to the study

nate: oh he said pound

ray: i heard it was very fun and sexy of him

mick:

okay but like as they’re walking through the halls and nate and ray are giving mick just absolutely terrible directions, and he like has to carry them around, essentially, so now that’s his problem, he keeps seeing something out of the corner of his eye flitting around in the shadows and he’s like listen im sure this is all one big concussive nightmare and/or i’m dead so let’s just go with it, he notices that sometimes the shadow seems to reach out to him with a long, sharp hand and sometimes he thinks he can see the face of the monster from before, and like GOD how many STORIES does this castle fucking have? are we even NEAR the study? ray like oh crap i thought you meant the library. the study is on the other side of the building. mick just yelling SON OF A BITCH so loudly the fucking birds fly away outside

mick like so. that giant monster. is that who lives here?? nate and ray making extremely conspicuous looks at each other and going WHAT monster?? theres no MONSTER. there’s the person who owns the castle but thats not a MONSTER. monsters are just a MYTH. maybe YOU’RE the monster. have you thought about THAT.

okay. we make it into the study and there’s charlie dressed like a proper french soldier from the 17th century, for the EFFECT, and charlie is sitting on the desk one leg crossed over the other like HELLO i haven’t be WAITING for you or anything to nate and ray in a not whisper what the fuck took you two so long them like we got lost. it’s very hard we are very small.

anyway charlie sticking out her leggy real far i’m sure your looking for your watch but before i can give it back to you i have to ask you a FAVOR. and mick is like sure whatever but before i do that. holds out nate and ray. what the fuck is this. charlie is like i have no idea they were here when i got the place why mick like well. that makes as much sense as anything else.

not totally sure what mick needs to do for charlie but he would sure love to know where his boots are and maybe get a proper change of clothes and a real meal, if possible

ray: we were GOING to feed you

mick: how

ray: it happens during the SONG

mick: then i’ll starve

so now mick is stuck in this castle with charlie, who is like very small but also deeply suspicious, the talking decorations, and he’d be more keen on getting out of here if charlie didn’t seem so interested in having him over, and if he wasn’t so curious about why she’s interested, or how this tiny little waif becomes a huge monster, (he wonders if she thinks he won’t notice the shadow she casts) or why she’s a monster, and it’s all very confusing to him but her eyes swallow him whole and he thinks he might have to help her out even if he’s not quite sure how.

also for the big ballroom scene they BOTH wear men’s formalwear for the dance. It is VERY good.

#marlie #lot headcanon #long post #this ran away from me on a fucking bus it is my finest work #dykerory #Anonymous

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